Thursday, May 28, 2009

Surfing with January Tyme.



January Tyme's "Ancient Babylon" may be the coolest artyfact thus far. A band named January Tyme, led by a belter named "January Tyme" who predates Pearl E. Gates, Poly Styrene, AND Roxy Epoxy! Loose, psychy Jefferson Airplane wannabees from a 1970 album that's nowhere! Well, nowhere except the shelves of the invaluable public servants at the "Faintly Blowing" blogspot, and emusic, where I found it.

First line's a classic:

"Grab your bloody heart and ride the wind with me
To a Hades where the red man sets you free!"


So right off the bat we get two prime Babylonian tropes--Babylon is Hades, and Babylon sets you free. Not a combination we're used to making--hell is a place where the red man traps you, right? There's no escape! And yet they make it sound so appealing. We can easily imagine this song as the red man's seductive ploy to get us onto his pitchfork. Mother Tyme and her backing boys alternate couplets that give us a taste of the fantastical hell awaiting...

"Come and sail with me to Ancient Babylon
Let your troubles flee and [something] in the song"

Wait, so it's Ancient Babylon? And not Hades? That would make me much more comfortable with the whole situation, if I knew the red man was luring me, not to hell, but to a millennia-dead civilization with fairly loose sexual mores and a sophisticated legal code. Tell me, red man, what sort of housing will I get in Babylon?

"Where the castles float upon the sky..."
Why do they float?
"You will never ask the reason why!"
Oh. Sorry.

But how will we get there?
"Just a little taste of what will get you there (THERE NOW!)"
From your previous statements, can I assume that we'll be "sailing" on "the wind"? I remember from sailing school that sailing "on the wind" is always close-hauled, but that was a long time ago and I'm afraid I won't be much help, I mean I'm willing to learn...
"The black stallion seems to vanish in the air!"
OK. So no ship then?

That's fine, I do better with horses anyway. Say, red man, what the heck animal is that on the album cover? Do they raise those things in Babylon? You know, I'm really curious to meet with the locals, discuss their agrarian society, learn about everyday life...
"Now the pretty princess turns to queen--
Dancing naked fury she must be seen!"

I see. Well, don't worry about my agenda. So we'll be meeting with the ruling class? Hey, I'm all for that. And if Sarah Palin had danced some naked fury, she might've helped her ticket, knowwhatimsayin'? Let me ask you, do you think she's actually got a shot at leading her decrepit party in '012...

"Come and kneel before the god of fire!
He will give you the riches you desire!!"

Oh... are we doing something else now? And you know something, red man, up until now I WOULD NOT have guessed that you were the god of fire. I had you pegged for a tour guide lacky, but this is a real eye-opener--as eye-opening as the sudden revelation that you're a winged, hydra-headed beast whose powerful jaws are drenched in the blood of the saints. I mean--hehheh--I'm not sure how to deal with this--um, can you excuse me a minute...?

"I love the way you laugh at my insanity
If only you could see me cry...."

Yeah, that's gotta suck... Ah, look, I had something I really needed to do this evening... Lea has a meeting, and we couldn't find anyone to watch Zeegy, and so I've gotta pick him up, and is there any way we could hunt down that black stallion so I could run home? I don't want to give you any trouble, or interrupt you from devouring Mother Teresa there... (Hi, Ms. Mother! Big fan! Can you help me out here?)

"When the shadow lives, reducing you to flame,
This time Babylon will not receive the blame!"

Maybe you know more about Christians than I do, but I SERIOUSLY DOUBT that'll be the case. [muffled by the satanic maw, which is also made of FIRE!!!!!!]

Right, so keep an eye out for this one. It's up there with a lot of Airplane and Great Society tunez, only more evil. And note that it came out in 1970, so it predates Rainbow's "Babylon-as-hell" tune by eight years. Pioneers!

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Surfing with Dio

If you dare:



Since this is the most unspeakably awesome song in the history of mankind--well, in the history of Babylon songs--well, I'm not sure it beats the Pajama Party, but anyway, it's Really Good--I've no idea why we haven't covered it yet. Basically, our industrious friend RJ Dio is the devil and Babylon is hell. How do I know? At the end of the song, he proclaims "The devil is me/ And I'm holding the key/ To the gates of sweet hell/ Babylon."

I normally hate it when singers spell out things that are better left implicit in their texts. You know, at the end of "Missing You," when John Waite cries out "I been lying to myself!"? I want to slap him. Or when, in "King of Pain," the Police backup singers (the Deputies?) sing "That's my soul up there" after every line? I want to, um, freeze them in a waterfall like dead salmon. No, not threatening enough? Well fine, I want to stick them in a room with this demented DIO SATAN who will BIND them, SELL THEM AS SLAVES, REMOVE THEIR VEILS WITH A SABER DANCE, and then DRAG THEM AWAY TO BABYLON, all while making the whole excursion sound appealing. This is the deranged eternal punishment I wish upon the Police, and upon any other singer that doesn't trust the subtlety of their material.

Except I don't mind it so much with RJ, because his song is the mother of everything that rocks the bells. Both in this solo live version I've been listening to, and in the Rainbow original above, he rides what's almost a funk groove, based on a harmonic minor melody over what I think is a Phrygian (=Stygian?) riff, with a flat second. So the harmonies sound vaguely Middle Eastern, and you can TOTALLY envision a diabolical seven-veiled dance going down with heads on platters, plus he mentions a genie and a magic carpet ride, which was probably more sinister in the days before the Disney "Aladdin." And I don't care what anyone sez, Dio's a great singer. Sui generis, oui?

He presents a Faustian, Crossroads-style bargain for the listener. "Look away from the sea," he woos, "I can take you anywhere/ Spend a vision with me/ A chase with the wind." Sounds appealing! Sounds a little like a Chicago song. But then, once you've moved closer to him and seen the Gates of Babylon, all turns sour. "The power of what has been before/ Rises to trap you within." Oh crap! "A magic carpet ride, a genie, maybe more/ A city of heavenly sin." What have I done?!? Well, here's what you've done, in hard insistent triplet syllables: "Sleep with the devil and then you must pay...." (guitar chords buildingggg.....) "Sleep with the devil the devil will take you aWAY!" That, my friends, is badass.

Verse two opens with the demonic couplet, "You can see but you're blind/ Someone turned the sun around." Stop and ponder that line for a moment. Have you ever considered such awesome power? ("Someone"--how coy!) Awesome not just because this power is able to turn the sun around, but also because doing so obliterates all we know about astrophysics. Why would turning the sun around make you blind? It would throw the earth off its orbit, sure, and probably kill all living things, but is the other side of the sun that much brighter than the one we're used to? But see, we're no longer on earth, necessarily--we're out now on some cosmic magic carpet ride, with a man who has just revealed himself to be the devil, and our whereabouts hover between the earth we know and the cosmos of sun, city of heavenly sin, and hell. No moorings, no bearings, but dangerously close to Babylon.

Dio doesn't need subtlety here because he starts off so temptingly. When he sings his Chicago verse and then draws out the line "mooooove closer to me," it's hard to resist. But once he pulls off the Dio mask to reveal the devil inside (albeit one who probably doesn't look a whole lot different), his theft of your soul becomes blatant, and he cackles his delight. And let's face it, if you're cackling your delight over a soul you just won and a terrified little head that'll wind up on a platter, you don't need subtlety. You can just come right out and reveal that you're the devil, this is hell, you've greedily devoured John Waite AND the Police, and who's gonna do anything about it?

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Surfing with Hypocrisy--make sure you enunciate!


Hypocrisy's growly Babylon song is entitled "Path to Babylon." Not on Youtube. So as an alternative, I offer their excellently titled "Pleasure.Of.Molestation," just to give you a sense of what we're dealing with.



"Path to Babylon" comes from an apparently "important" (to the history of Swedish death) 1994 album called The Fourth Dimension. Following in the footsteps of Dio and Rainbow, this song depicts Babylon as hell--only not! We're definitely dealing with some Satanic dudez here (lyrics at the bottom), "destroying all that's good," but the "Path to Babylon" is the path away from the darkness, and you'll note that the first words in the song are "rise from the depths of hell." Babylon is the place where vocalist (and notable producer) Peter Tagtgren can "fulfill my own dark life." So he's a bad dude, shat out of hell, opposed to "all that's good" like all the rest of Babylon. But apparently he can't accomplish what he needs to accomplish in hell proper, so he sets up shop in Babylon instead. Babylon is sort of like hell's overseas office.

Hellish operative Peter (upon this rock will I build my bloodthirsty church of evil) isn't too far removed from the yahoos drumming the Decadent Babylon beat, licentious shmucks like Taime Downe (Faster Pussycat) and David Johansen (New York Dollz). He acknowledges that Christianity is "good," yet only finds fulfillment in crushing it. To quote Johansen, "He won't feel safe, he won't feel free, till he's in Babylon!" He's decadent Babylon taken to the pro-death EXTREME!!!!!

lyrics copyrighted 1994 by the guys in Hypocrisy--for educational purposes only

Rise from the depths of hell
Destroying all that's good
Crush Christianity and let Satan loose

Fake your ways
And give us a sound
And let us know the time in here
In dark religion,
Those who never sacrifice are killed

The true believer
When no one is alive
The real freedom
To let one die

The path will lead me there
The way from the darkness
And there I will stay
To fulfill my own dark life

(Who completes the long lost journey
will rule through history
The one prophet
depends on the walk
With souls of death
is near)

The earth will be like a dungeon
Hell will rise through the sand

My life with always protection
As long as they hate you

[repeat "the true believer.."]

The path will lead me there
(The path) to babylon.
And there I will stay,
To fulfill my own dark life.

Surfing with the 39 Steps, as we enter the Bottom of the Barrel!


And believe you me, it's a big barrel.

So the 39 Steps were Canadian Cult soundalikes (at least for the duration of their Babylon song) who titled an album Neon Bible 13 years before their Montreal landsmen in the Arcade Fire. Their song "(All Roads Lead To) Babylon" was released as a single and got some MTV play in '93, but is currently unfindable on Youtube, and the lyrics don't seem to be anywhere either, so you'll just have to trust me. Interestingly, eight years before their Babylon song, 39 Steps got to portray The Band Woody Allen Hates in Hannah and Her Sisters:



"(All Roads Lead To) Babylon" is a "she said" song, like Matchbox 20's "Push" and innumerable other annoying tunez, in which the singer ducks any blame for his insipid lyrics by prefacing them with a "she said," thus pinning any lyrical blame on the girl he's obsessing over. In this case, "she" says that all roads lead to Babylon, and I'm trying to discern what "she" means by that. She looks older, wiser, and worldlier, anxious to die. Go on, beautiful! Where have you been? And that's when she chimes in with the title claim.

Essentially what we've got here is the same plot as Train's "Drops of Jupiter" (note how this song keeps making me cite abhorrent Hot AC shit, another reason I resent it, despite its catchiness), where a small-town narrator marvels over a woman who's left him for greener pastures, or in Train's case, liquid planets. In each case, the narrator is obviously hurt and lonely. In Train's case, he imagines himself a "plain ol' Jane" who was "too afraid to fly so he never did land." (Please make me stop.) In 39 Steps' case, singer Chris Barry feels "so alone, but I just thought that one last call... might be worthwhile..." We've all been there, and I suppose making anthemic CBGB rock out of the sentiment is more worthwhile than making sadsack Facebook status updates.

Interesting to note is the similarity between this type of song and another subgenre of Babylon songs, exemplified in the work of Everlast and Jo Jo Gunne, who actually name their female subjects "Babylon." For example, Everlast's Babylon taunts him with her "forbidden thrills," and then becomes the woman by which all other uncomfortable relationships shall be measured--they all give him a "Babylon Feeling." Babylon is, of course, the "other," and in this case a brazen sexual other that brings out feelings of inferiority in our sadsack narrators. 39 Steps don't go as far as naming their woman "Babylon," but by putting the words "all roads lead to Babylon" in her mouth, they imbue her with the same incomprehensible sexual power. In their aforementioned tunes, Matchbox 20 and Train do pretty much the same thing, which makes me think this is a symptom of LOTS of male pop songs.

I wonder (this can be a Topic For Further Research) if you find this sort of inequality--with the woman as the holder of sexual power, and the man as her insecure complement--only in Western Babylon imagery, or if Mesopotamian sexual relationships had the same sort of power structure? For example, is this at all related to the Shamhat/Enkidu relationship in Gilgamesh, wherein Shamhat civilizes the wild beast-man Enkidu by having sex with him for a week? Are men sexually insecure throughout the history of civilization, regardless of location, because the woman always has the power to say "no"?

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Hearing Babylon Two Ways (and Hearing Babylon Threeways)

Here's my paper from the recent EMP Pop Conference in Seattle. I had a wonderful time, thanks in large part to all the great folks I met. I did feel very much like a smalltown midwestern boy, though. I cannot forget from where it is that I come from.

Those looking for examples of male suspended adolescence need look no further than a man named Taime Downe. In 1987, on L.A.'s Sunset Strip, the band Faster Pussycat were busy resembling 5th grade boys, which fact constituted much of their appeal and charm. On their largely overlooked debut album, the Pussycat recorded the almost-definitive depiction of decadent Babylon, entitled "Babylon," during which lead singer Taime Downe engages in some very decadent behavior. For instance, in verse 1 he yells insults at other drivers while caught in traffic ("Boy, you is ugly and your girlfriend weighs a ton!"). In verse 2 he has sex with a woman, makes a sophomoric joke about how the woman smells with her panties off ("like she might die"). Then he hops back into the car--into another traffic jam, even!--for verse 3, which co-stars two disreputably named women, Buffy and Biffy, and two disreputably named substances, sniffy and Spanish Fly. All of this is accomplished over a rap/rock beat that sounds mostly like the Beastie Boys debut one year prior, with Downe's cartoony voice veering between barks and squeaks, some sort of carnal dervish telling poontang jokes. There's no question these guys are having more fun than the rest of us. When Swedish garage bores the Backyard Babies recorded the song in 1999, it instantly became the best song in their repertoire.

In the first line of the song Downe clearly situates Babylon in L.A., and by extension the Sunset Strip hair metal scene that was, by all accounts, a late-'80s orgiastic fairyland of sex, drugs, alcohol, and cars. So what made Downe choose "Babylon" as an appropriate name for this playland? He may have picked it up from the New York Dolls, who in 1974 led off their second album, In Too Much Too Soon, with another almost-definitive depiction of decadent Babylon, again entitled "Babylon," during which lead singer David Johansen gets pulled over for speeding and maybe does some other stuff. Really, Johansen isn't too specific about the decadent things he's doing. His Babylon is more philosophical, his generalities more sweeping, and his words less clearly articulated. Some fun Babylon facts, according to Johansen: "A Babylon girl ain't got no past." "The Babylon men gonna be a boy." "I won't be safe I won't be free 'til I'm in Babylon." In Babylon, as in Surf City and Taime Downe's car, there are "two girls for every boy." (The two in Johansen's world work as a masseuse and a dancer.) And in the part that's enunciated the clearest, the refrain, we learn an additional, crucial bit of info: Johansen always has to "get away" to Babylon. It's forever someplace else, away from humdrum everyday life, where there's maybe only one girl for every boy and no drugs. When you put the Pussycat's demented carnival of sin together with the Dolls' "I gotta get away," you get the totally-definitive vision of decadent Babylon.

This vision pops up plenty of places, from Kenneth Anger's lurid 1981 (or possibly earlier) book of ill-fated movie stars, Hollywood Babylon, to the cottage industry of similar titles that have popped up in its wake--Hotel Babylon, Fashion Babylon, Broadway Babylon, and yes, Rock 'n' Roll Babylon. This vision is in the crucial "On the Run" chapter of Chuck Eddy's Accidental Evolution of Rock 'n' Roll, which connects Johansen's girls with no past to Donna Summer's bad girls, and to the rest of the Sunset Strip milieu. And Babylon's earliest mention in Rolling Stone was not an article about reggae, but Jules Siegel's 1971 "Midnight in Babylon," a bleak profile of L.A., Bob Dylan, James Taylor, and Siegel himself that today reads like Hunter Thompson adapting The Day of the Locust after downing a bunch of sleeping pills. Says Siegel, "Too many of [L.A./Babylon's] citizens are refugees and wanderers who ran away from the old tangles of family roots and class lines... They wanted to be free..."--just like David Johansen!

But if Babylon is the place you go to get away, does it follow that it's also a place to find freedom? Because for much of its history in Western thought, Babylon has been a symbol not of freedom, but of severe government oppression. One of the central events of the Hebrew Bible is the Babylonian Empire's conquest and exile of Israel, an event that had far-reaching metaphorical implications none of us here can avoid. Essentially, we still think of Babylon through the filter of Israel's exile. Judged on a purely historical basis, the Babylonian Empire wasn't any sexier or crueler than most of her neighbors in the Ancient Near East. Babylon had a more liberal sexual culture than the Hebrews did, as you no doubt learned from snickering over Gilgamesh in World Lit class, but it wasn't especially debauched for a civilization of its or any other time. Babylon's conquest of Israel caused devastation and bloodshed, yes, but it was far less brutal or permanent than the Israelites' earlier conquest of Canaan--the Promised Land--which was, if we give historical credence to the book of Joshua, a massive God-sanctioned slaughter and scorched-earth campaign. (You know "Joshua fought the battle of Jericho"? That asshole also fought a slew of other battles and committed, in the words of Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann, "nothing less than genocide".) Whereas, after 50 years of exile in Babylon, the Israelites got to return to their Promised Land and rebuild, their faith and culture intact. And because of their durability, we see Babylon through their eyes, even today.

And how does Babylon look through the eyes of the Hebrew Bible? In the Bible, the word Babylon moves from being a real historical location to being a symbol for otherness or opposition. In a paper entitled "The Changing Face of Babylon in Prophetic and Apocalyptic Literature," Howard Divinity professor Alice Ogden Bellis lays out Babylon's four-stage symbolic progression through Hebrew scripture. In stages one and two, some of the earlier prophetic books, Babylon remains a literal place, an "evil empire" that's likened to a vareity of disgraced women and livestock.

It's when we move into apocalyptic literature in stage three that pure metaphor takes over. The book of Daniel is set during Israel's exile, and as such is often taken for a historical account of a brave Jew named Daniel and a godless king named Nebuchadnezzar. (Think Daniel in the lion's den.) In fact, the book was probably written three or four hundred years after the exile, in a Jewish community under the rule of the Hellenistic Empire, as a fable about maintaining Jewish identity under foreign occupation. And by the time we enter stage four, the book of Revelation, you can--and believe me, people do--read into Babylon pretty much what you want. John the Revelator, author of this ultimate apocalypse and a noted sexist pig, depicts Babylon as the "mother of all prostitutes," "drunk on the blood of the saints." Most often interpreted as Rome, the Jews' opressors du jour in the first century, John's "Whore of Babylon" symbol has also been variously decoded as Catholicism, Islam, Satanism, Jerusalem, the Soviet Union, the United States, the Statue of Liberty, anyone who's not a Jehovah's Witness, and both Barack Obama and John McCain. (I just made up those last two.) And it's a short walk from this sort of catch-all symbolism to seeing the Whore of Babylon as a stand-in for any sort of decadent behavior you can imagine--including having extramarital sex, drinking alcohol, doing drugs, and drving really fast.

But what exactly are these guys--and it's nearly always guys--doing in Babylon that's so bad? There's the sex--Taime Downe has Buffy and Biffy, Johansen has his "two girls for every boy," and in Outkast's Babylon song, Andre 3000 recounts sneaking off to the woods and dry-humping during PE class, then sums up his surprisingly puritanical feelings on sex with the line, "They call it 'horny' because it's devilish." But none of this sex is forced or adulterous, and Pussycat and the Dolls seem to be doing it with consenting adults. The drinking and drugs are a little worse--in the Outkast song, Andre is born a crack baby, and Faster Pussycat appear to be doing some of their drugs while caught in traffic, which I cannot in good conscience endorse. But if you look at a song like "Sunset and Babylon," by the LA hair metal band WASP, the level of debauchery is really laughable. WASP, of course, were the guys that so excited Tipper Gore and the Parents' Music Resource Center (PMRC) with their 1984 song "Animal (Fuck Like a Beast)". Ten years later, lead singer Blackie Lawless was reduced to bragging about all-night parties at the mythical intersection of Sunset and Babylon, his "hand firmly wrapped around a fifth of Bacardi," and inviting his listeners, "Just come on down and we'll get crude." And it's not even like he's drinking while driving--his song takes place safely inside the Rainbow Bar and Grill! I hear the Babylonian surf and turf is fantastic.

Let's face it--in the grand scheme of all the decadent things you could be doing, the least scandalous are probably consensual sex, drinking liquor, and taking limited amounts of recreational drugs. Our attitude toward such behaviors should properly recall that of Joan, the sensible sister in Philip Roth's My Life as a Man. After her brother Peppy confesses to some narcissistic peccadilloes involving his girlfriend and a zucchini, Joan responds:

"To have asked a pretty girl to have intercourse with a zucchini in your presence is morally inconsequential... You announce it... with all the bravado of a naughty boy who knows he has done wrong and now awaits with bated breath his punishment. Wrong, Peppy, is an ice pick, not a garden vegetable; wrong is by force or with children."

Not surprisingly, Steely Dan pick up on this theme of misplaced wrongness, wink, and run with it in their 1980 song "Babylon Sisters." Their narrator is a swanky old dude who enjoys drinking Kirschwasser from a shell and is hooking up with two golddigging babes on the Sunset Strip. The song's perverse irony comes from the fact that we know the girls are just in it for cheap thrills, but the narrator wants love, or some reasonable facsimile. And so he encourages the Babylon sisters to keep shaking it, presumably forever, or at least far into the night.

By calling his two mistresses "Babylon sisters," our creepy narrator shorthands what he perceives as the sordidness of the affair. Maybe he's Taime Downe, only 20 years older and wistful for the traffic jams of his youth. So he names his young charges after Babylon to convince himself that having a threesome is still wild, wild stuff. But really, it's only wild if you need it to be. Whenever I read a rapper quoted about threesomes, he sounds very nonchalant, if encouraging:

50 Cent promotes the merits of threesomes
(http://www.mp3.com/news/stories/4870.html, June 9, 2006)
This just in: 50 Cent is a simple man and he likes to double dip.
In an interview with MTV this week, Fiddy professed his love for threesomes, saying that everyone should try a ménage a trois at some point.
"If you can get a threesome, I'd say try it," he said. "Well maybe it's just me. I'm a simple man and a simple man would say: 'What's better than one good woman? Two!' You see what I mean?"

Fiddy is neither plagued by transgressive shame nor overcome with sensory delight. It's like he's recommending a particularly successful low-yield bond or something.

The celebratory hedonism of rock 'n' roll has always been calculated, at least in part, to offend the squares. From Little Richard's "Good Golly Miss Molly" to Sunset Strip songs like Warrant's "Cherry Pie" and WASP's aforementioned "Animal," you hear the delight in bodily pleasure for its own sake, along with the peripheral delight in upsetting people like your parents and the PMRC or the US Congress, people who get far too worked up over the little matter of sex. Like Fiddy and his threesomes, those songs know they're not doing anything wrong, and they only implicitly challenge anyone who'd argue otherwise. But when singers throw the word "Babylon" into the mix, they start to protest too much. If you envision your pleasurable activity as part of someplace called Babylon, you acknowledge that there might in fact be something transgressive about it, something that runs counter to societal norms. Thus, your parents and Congress are no longer just tight-assed killjoys who don't understand the God-given wonder of fucking like a beast--rather, they become the face of acceptable society, and your pleasure violates that society's standards. In other words, calling your pleasure "Babylon" plays right into the hands of those who disapprove, because it gives them unearned moral legitimacy. While you're still free to delight in bodily pleasure, that pleasure now makes you a transgressor in your own mind, when in fact you're probably not doing anything wrong. (Unless you're taking sniffy in your car--don't do that.)

But who are the people that disapprove of all these Babylonian moral lapses? Parents, sure, but they just don't understand, and their disapproval doesn't reach very far. There's Congress and other politicians, when they're roused into one of their periodic furies over inappropriate rap and rock lyrics, media violence, and other such horrors. There are political action committees like the fundamentalist American Family Association, whose homepage encourages me to boycott Pepsi for sponsoring Family Guy and the gay lifestyle, while simultaneously asking me to participate in something called a Taxed Enough Already, or TEA, Party Protest to express my outrage over President Obama's wealth-redistribution plans. In fact, if you add up all these authoritarian figures--the government, the network of influence peddlers surrounding the government, organized Christianity--and if you throw in the military and the corporations who, by and large, would stand to benefit from a successful TEA Party Protest, you get a power structure that looks very close to what Bob Marley called "Babylon System."

Remember Babylon's symbolic progression, from actual historical place to all-purpose symbolic other? My friend, education professor Charity Jennings, has usefully described the Babylon symbol as "the civilization that runs counter to some correct, better, or Right civilization in which one is supposed to exist." That can mean Faster Pussycat's debauched madhouse of wanton pleasures, sure. But it also means that Babylon can be an oppressive empire, the place that Rastafarians vow to "chant down," the strange land beside whose rivers the Melodians and Boney M and Sinead O'Connor can't sing their songs. And if you combine the two, say during some congressional hearing featuring testimony from Frank Zappa or David Banner, you get the bizarre spectacle of imperial Babylon ("the Man," Congress) condemning a place with the same symbolic name, decadent Babylon. At the very least, this should make us wonder about the empire's role in perpetuating the decadence.

This isn't a new point. It's pretty much the central thesis of Thomas Frank's What's the Matter With Kansas?, a 2004 analysis of the Republican Party's shotgun marriage between unfettered market economics and conservative social values. Since Frank's book is pretty high-profile I won't rehash much of it, except to point out that in his view, the Republican Party's market interests have used values-driven populist voters to nurture a culture war. While the market interests get rich off values-driven votes, the values-voters' pet issues--restricting abortion and gay marriage, and generally forestalling the coarsening of the entertainment industry--go nowhere and have little hope of success. Now, five years later, with the Republican Party and the market currently in disarray, I should also point out that neither Frank nor the Babylon symbol lets Democrats, or any organized power system, off the hook. Regimes, whether Bushian or Obaman, will find ways to get what they want, sometimes through oppressive means. And when they're getting what they want at our expense, they'll find ways to take our eyes off the ball.

This connection is fully realized in some Babylon songs--for instance, "California Babylon," by California punks the Transplants, depicts a teenage "bad girl" who moves to Hollywood to become a star, and instead can't find work and does a lot of drugs. The other two verses show us striking workers and street fights, and the Transplants sum up all of this--the drugs, the violence, and the market-driven Hollywood glamour that's guaranteed to leave lots of people in the shadows--as "California Babylon." But you can also make the connection if you read between the lines of other Babylon songs. Take the traffic in all those songs I mentioned earlier--WASP and the Dan drive around congested Sunset Boulevard, David Johansen gets pulled over for speeding, and Taime Downe spends most of his song caught in traffic jams. Is it too much to ask that these guys lobby for some decent public transportation? Well, maybe they would, if they weren't so invested in being bad boys. But Babylon the empire has convinced them that decadent Babylon is something they need to fight for. And so Taime Downe gleefully enlarges his carbon footprint, while I'm sure he'd have just as much fun doing Spanish Fly, sniffy, and Buffy and Biffy during a nice, long ride on the Metro Rail.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

The Flowtation Device Presentz: "Lose Yourself" verse 2

Here it is, folx! I heard your clamorous cries! This may be my favorite verse of any rap song ever, what I refer to in my head for obvious reasons as the "O" verse of "Lose Yourself." (May be my favorite--these things are not set in stone or otherwise documented.) The string of "O" rhymes is staggering. Analysis to follow, but first--remember the key!

KEY:

CAPS = syllable on beat

small = syllable on offbeat

* = beat without syllable

. = offbeat without syllable

/ = barline separating groupings of (usually) four beats

-- = beat bearing second half of "carryover" syllable (syllable with duration of more than one half beat)

_ = offbeat bearing second half of "carryover" syllable (I'm finding this hard to put into words) (just look at the example)

STRESS or stress = syllable with unusual vocal stress (I still haven't gotten the hang of deploying these consistently)

(parenthetical) = syllable with duration of less than one-half beat; pickup syllable

To experience the system in all its glory, you should play the second verse of Eminem's "Lose Yourself"--starting at 2:00--while reading the lyrics as notated below.

second verse and chorus of "LOSE YOURSELF," copyright M. Mathers, J. Bass, L. Resto, for educational and appreciative purposes only, courtesy the fabulous http://www.ohhla.com.

* . * . * . * soul's / --esCA_PING_THROUGHthis / HOLE_THATisGAP_ING_ /

* thisWORLDisMINE_FORthe / TAK_ING_MAKE_MEking /

* . ASweMOVE_TOWARD_ / A .* newWORLD_OR_DERa /

NOR_MALlife--isBOR_ / INGbutSUPerSTAR_DOM'Sclose /

--toPOST_MOR_TEMit / ONlyGROWS_HARder * . /

HOmieGROWS_HOTterHEblows / --it'sALL_OverTHESEhoes /

--isALL_ONhim * coast / --toCOAST_SHOWS_HE'Sknown /

AStheGLOBE_TROTter * lone / --lyROADS_GODonLYknows /

--he'sGROWN_FARtherFROMhome / --he'sNO_FAther * he /

GOES_HOME_'N'bareLYknows / --hisOWN_DAUGHter * but /

HOLDyourNOSE_CAUSEhere--goes / --theCOLD_WAter * these /

HOES_DON'T_WANThimNOmo' / * he'sCOLD_PROduct * they /

MOVED_ON_TO(THE)next--schmoe / --whoFLOWS_HEnose--dove /

--andSOLD_NAda * and / SOtheSOAP_OP'raIStold /

--itUN_FOLDSiSUPpose / --it'sOLD_PARTnerBUTthe /

BEAT_GOES_ONdaDAdum / --daDUM_DAdah


My favorite sequence comes near the end at:

"they / MOVED_ON_TO(THE)next--schmoe / --whoFLOWS_HEnose--dove / --andSOLD_NAda"

Besides revealing Em to be the most Jewish rapper since Paul Barman (whose prospective subjection to this analysis gives me pause), this line breaks the repetitive beat pattern he's set up for much of the verse. Abstracted, that beat pattern looks like this (where _ is a syllable off the beat, -- is a syllable on the beat, * is a rest on the beat, and . is a rest off the beat):

* _ -- . --_--_ / * _-- .--_

Huh? (That looks a lot like my Dad's handheld electronic football game, circa 1982.) As in:

"--he'sGROWN_FARtherFROMhome / --he'sNO_FAther * he /

GOES_HOME_'N'bareLYknows / --hisOWN_DAUGHter * but /

HOLDyourNOSE_CAUSEhere--goes / --theCOLD_WAter *"

It's a pretty swingin' pattern! And then, in my favorite sequence above, he extends the pattern by inserting an extra measure ("he nose dove and sold") before the final trochee of "NAda." This is tricky stuff. Eminem inhabits his beat as confidently as any great jazz instrumentalist. Immediately after he's thrown us off a little bit with the displaced "NAda," he reels us back in, resuming the same pattern and parodying the pattern in the process:

"and / SOtheSOAP_OP'raIStold /

--itUN_FOLDSiSUPpose / --it'sOLD_PARTnerBUTthe /

BEAT_GOES_ONdaDAdum / --daDUM_DAdah"

That wordless "daDAdum / --daDUM_DAdah" functions on three levels. It completes the rhyme with "NAda" and "PARTner" and all the corresponding words that have come before. It completes the lyric about how "the beat goes on," how in life you can't tell a new story because it's all been said before and even our mundane lives wind up feeling like parodies of fiction. AND it abstracts the beat pattern that Em's been using throughout the verse. It's a purely musical moment that allows Em to wink at his audience and let us know he's placing us back into familiar territory. If it's not already clear, I LOVE THIS SHIT, when lines serve all sorts of purposes at once.

Of course, I guess lyrics usually serve some sort of "meaning + sound" function simultaneously. Rarely, though, do they revel in the simultaneity. Often in Dylan. (Kyle, remember at that Maynard Ferguson concert when I told you Eminem was the new Dylan? This is why.)


Wednesday, January 21, 2009

The Flowtation Device Presentz: "Lose Yourself" verse 1

It's a typographical system for notating rap lyrics! I want it to visually reproduce what you hear, so that it makes sense when you read along to the song. This'll have two ramifications:

1. It'll be easier for jerks like me to learn the songs and annoy our wives.

2. It'll visually organize the song, allowing for technical analysis and appreciation.

KEY:

CAPS = syllable on beat

small = syllable on offbeat

* = beat without syllable

. = offbeat without syllable

/ = barline separating groupings of (usually) four beats

-- = beat bearing second half of "carryover" syllable (syllable with duration of more than one half beat)

_ = offbeat bearing second half of "carryover" syllable (I'm finding this hard to put into words) (just look at the example)

STRESS or stress = syllable with unusual vocal stress (I still haven't gotten the hang of deploying these consistently)

(parenthetical) = syllable with duration of less than one-half beat; pickup syllable

To experience the system in all its glory, you should play the first verse of Eminem's "Lose Yourself"--starting at 0:54--while reading the lyrics as notated below.

first verse and chorus of "LOSE YOURSELF," copyright M. Mathers, J. Bass, L. Resto, for educational and appreciative purposes only, courtesy the fabulous http://www.ohhla.com.

* . * . * hisPALMS_(uh) /

SWEATy * . KNEES_WEAK . / ARMS_AREheaVYthere'sVOmit /

ONhisSWEAterALreadY . / MOM'S_SPAghetTI he'sNERvous /

* butONtheSURfaceHElooks / CALM_ANDreadYtoDROP_ /

BOMBS_ * . BUTheKEEPS_ / ON_FORgetTINGwhatHEwrote /

--down--theWHOLE_CROWD_ / GOES_SOloud--heO_ /

PENShisMOUTH_BUTtheWORDS_ / WON'T_COMEout * he'sCHO_ /

KIN'how?-- . EV'ryBODy's / JO_KIN'now--theCLOCK'S_ /

RUNout-- . TIME'S_UP . / O_VERblaow!-- . SNAP . /

BACK . TOreALiTYoh / --thereGOES_GRAviTYoh /

--thereGOES_RABbitHEchoked / --he'sSO_MADbutHEwon't /

--giveUP_THATeaSYnope / --heWON'T_HAVEitHEknows /

--hisWHOLE_BACK'StoTHESEropes / --itDON'T_MATterHE'Sdope /

--heKNOWS_THATbutHE'Sbroke / --he'sSO_STAGnantHEknows /

--when(e)GOES_BACKtoTHISmo / --bileHOME_THAT'SwhenIT'S_ /

BACK_TOtheLABaGAINyo / --thisWHOLE_RAPshitHEbet /

TERgoCAPtureTHISmoMENTand / HOPEitDON'T_PASShim-- . /

YOUbetTERlose /

--yourSELF_INtheMU_ / SICtheMO_MENTyouOWN_ /

ITyouBETterNEverLETit / GO_ * youONlyGETone /

--shot--doNOT_MISSyour / CHANCE_TOblow--thisOPpor /

TUniTYcomes--onceINa / LIFE_TIME_YOUbetTERlose /

--yourSELF_INtheMU_ / SICtheMO_MENTyouOWN_ /

ITyouBETterNEverLETit / GO_ * youONlyGETone /

--shot--doNOT_MISSyour / CHANCE_TOblow--thisOPpor /

TUniTYcomes--onceINa / LIFE_TIME_


In the remarkable and difficult example above, look at the sequence about halfway (starting with "Back to reality") through the verse where every bar starts on the first offbeat. Eminem manages 10 (plus 2 almost) bars of exactly the same syncopated rhythm, along with internal "o" "a" "ee" rhymes and ending "o" ryhmes that rarely repeat a syllable. This is a remarkable achievement, reminiscent of an instrumental soloist who finds a great pocket and rides it for a while as the excitement escalates. Then, look how he breaks the sequence the same way he got in--by placing "BACK" on the one. I am more wowed by his elegance than ever before.

In addition, I now realize Eminem's remarkable knack for making offbeats seem like strong beats (assuming I analyzed the song correctly). I now recognize that Eminem is capable of great legato phrasing, whereas I usually think of rap as a very staccato form. This sort of analysis takes a long time, but it's addictive and the analytical possibilities are numerous.

Thursday, July 03, 2008

Surfing with Don McLean.

We join the "Neshamah interns" mid-round...



Maybe you've heard this song at the end of Don McLean's album American Pie, where he leads a group of about 5,000 people in a round. This song has the unfortunate authorial credit of "traditional," but it's derived from Psalm 137, the one that starts "By the rivers of Babylon..." Complete lyrics of this version are:

"By the waters, the waters of Babylon
We lay down and wept, and wept for thee, Zion
We remember, we remember, we remember thee, Zion."

In case you weren't paying attention in confirmation class: In 586 BCE, the Babylonians had destroyed the temple in Jerusalem, the symbolic home of Israel's god. Not only that, the Babylonians had marched much of the Hebrew population off to Babylon and held them captive. Only after Persia defeated Babylon, about 50 years later, did the people of Israel get to return to their homeland, by then a decimated and temple-less shell of its former glory. In the years following the exile, an anonymous liturgist commemorated the nation's sadness and outrage with this song.

In this tiny excerpt of the psalm we get only the lament. McLean sez in his spoken midtroduction that the third line offers a "little glimmer of hope," which I suppose is true, and "that's what makes it a great song," to which I take exception. (Has he never heard "Yer Blues"?) To hear the hope, though, you have to know the whole story--that the Hebrew people would eventually return to Zion. And whoever originally wrote this song probably did so after that restoration, and so did know that part of the story. But if you imagine yourself singing the song in the position of the exiled Israel, "remembering" isn't necessarily hopeful.

The point of the psalms, like most other songs to which you sing and listen, is that you use them in your situation. This portion of Psalm 137, written after Israel's restoration, was meant to be used in worship as a lament. If you read the rest of Psalm 137, you'll notice much more than lament. There's rebellion against our captors, a faithful pledge to god, and most strikingly (and least-used), the expectation of violence against our captors' children. To use the entire psalm in worship is to embrace the complexity of the feelings surrounding your lament. But it also works with the lament distilled, as in McLean's version. The melody drips with sadness, and by joining all those voices in a round, you at least get the reassurance that 5,000 (or however many) others are equally sad. So if you're in some sad, oppressed place, singing this song could help you out, because you see that others before you have been worse off, and because you see that they got out of it. You also realize viscerally that you have friends to sing with.

There's an interesting paradox here, though. The people most likely to sing this song in today's world are, by and large, the least likely to be in a position of oppression. Look at the kids in the video. I know nothing about them, except that they know how to enjoy a good meal and one guy knows how to beatbox. And I don't know anything about the Neshamah community, except that they're Jewish. But let's face it--if you're singing a song like this in harmony, you're prospects are probably pretty good. That's not to say bad things won't happen to you--I know two pretty well-off middle class guys who've been recently laid off, and I know of plenty more such people, and they could all conceivably have this song at their disposal. In a country whose wealth is being steadily concentrated at the wealthy end, getting laid off counts as a form of oppression. But do those who are truly oppressed--whose people have a history of being oppressed and are still trapped in an economic and cultural hell with no visible escape outlets--I'm thinking mostly of poor black people in the US, but also rural whites without arable land, the people of Zimbabwe, Mexican immigrants caught between Scylla and Charybdis--do any of them have this Don McLean song at their disposal? Doubtless some do. And many more sing the psalms in different ways. But we should remain aware that, for most of us, singing a psalm of lament is useless if it's not driving us to stand with the oppressed poor in other ways.

That's most of the time. Obviously, we all go through times of needing psalms like this ourselves, and we should wallow in them. But when we're wallowing, let's hope that we have a couple, if not 5,000, other people with whom we can lament. Maybe simply having those people is the solution. I'm sure you remember when Jesus had a singalong with 5,000 people and they got hungry. They found a way.

Friday, May 09, 2008

Surfing with Joseph Arthur.

So, my hipster friend, you went to South by Southwest and you're a friggin' trapstar, while I have not left the house in months. And did you see Joseph Arthur? Did you see him sing this song? It's called "Rages of Babylon" and it's (drumroll...) a Protest Song About Iraq!



You might expect that there'd be lots of current songs likening Iraq to Babylon, and you'd be absolutely wrong. Not to say there aren't lots of songs about "Babylon," because they emerge, hot and steady, like a flow of burbling oil from beneath the sandy ground of collective unconscious. It's just that, by and large, they have nothing to do with Iraq. Mr. Arthur's song is an anomaly. (Well, OK, there's Lili Haydn. And Sheryl Crow, sort of... but only sort of.)

Where exactly is this "Babylon" that people keep writing songs about? It depends. Sometimes it depends on your genre. For instance, if you're a rock 'n' roll band that someone would conceivably describe as "rock 'n' roll," Babylon is likely a land of 24/7 debauchery, where cocaine and vomit and virgins that YOU DEFLOWERED all mingle together into some unholy mess, maybe on the floor of a temple. Think of this as the Faster Pussycat/Dolls/Turbonegro nexus.

If, on the other hand, you're a rock 'n' roll band that nobody would conceivably describe as "rock 'n' roll", and you blow your per diems on issues of Artforum, you probably see Babylon as a dead civilization or as hell. If you're honest (which you are... unrelentingly), you'll find this dead civilization/hell inside your own heart. Bands in this category include Rainbow, Celtic Frost, and Symphony X.

BUT--if you're a rock 'n' roll band that people describe as "freestyle" and you're Pajama Party, your take on Babylon is visionary and defies interpretation. You're like Herman Hesse or the Yahwist. You titled this blog. Thanks!

If you're a Rasta, you're not reading this, but everyone who is reading it is an integral cog in the Babylon machine. Don't worry, they'll soon be destroyed! If you're a mainline Christian singing a setting of Psalm 137 ("By the Rivers of Babylon"), Babylon is whichever oppressive society oppresses mainline Christians-- because, let's face it, you're just as oppressed as any impoverished descendent of the Middle Passage! Watch out, though. If you're Sinead O'Connor singing Psalm 137, Babylon is mainline Christianity. And if you're Boney M singing Psalm 137, your take on Babylon is visionary and defies interpretation.

As you may have guessed from all those choices, Mr. Arthur's more literal approach is just about the least interesting option available. It's a pretty tune, and disrupted family life is always a good angle for a protest song, but this one just seems to sit there. For one thing, there's no image as immediately affecting as Springsteen singing "Too much room in my bed, and too many phone calls" in "You're Missing" (for example). So the narrator's intimacy never really hits home.

But then, it's hard to tell whether he was going for intimacy. I mean, he did call the song "Rages of Babylon" and not "Rages of Iraq." ("Doooooo you know who has got yer back/ Throuuuuugh the rages of this Iraq?") ("Rages of This Iraq" would be much better, you're right.) He obviously wanted to stick in some metaphorical heft, to make this thing resonate beyond our current skirmish and speak to the ages. So ultimately, I'm disappointed he didn't run with the metaphor and appeal to "Babylon" in the larger sense of any of the above uses. From this song, all we learn about Babylon is that it's sandy and unpleasant for American soldiers--which I'm guessing is also the case with Iraq.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Langhoff Unpublished: Cesium 137's Intelligent Design

Another gem from the Metropolis goody wagon. I sent this off to Chuck shortly before he was canned, and he replied with a diplomatic "Probably not, but I'll hang onto it if space opens up." Understandable, as this review is long and nobody else has heard of these guys and Metropolis seemed not to care about this release at all, instead focusing their attention on Gary Numan's awful new album. When Harvilla came aboard, he said he'd try to run this review, and thus did I love him--but to no avail. Anyway, somebody oughtta hear this CD, cos it's one of my three favorites of the year... possibly. I still need to figure that out and listen to Pitbull. So, all you anonymous commentators who keep talking shit about Carman, go out and listen to Cesium 137, will ya?

Oh, and in re the final paragraph, I wrote this shortly after the '06 Grammy awards, at which U2's "Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own" won Song of the Year and Green Day's "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" won Record of the Year. I hate both songs.


Cesium 137
Intelligent Design
(Metropolis)

What if there was a godlike computer that could quantify impossible data? I’d first ask it: During my life, what song have I heard the most? If it’s the Friends theme, how much should I hate myself? Is “Bizarre Love Triangle” really my favorite song? When writing music, what’s the most beautiful chord that could possibly follow the notes I just put down?

Philly’s dynamic darkwave duo Cesium 137 seem to have accessed the computer for that last one--or maybe they are the computer. Whoever came up with the chords on Intelligent Design, their answer seems to have been, “Throw some 7ths and 9ths on top of some IV’s and vi’s, maybe a suspension every so often, and you’re set! Humans eat up that shit.” It’s true, I do. Cesium’s chords oscillate through waves of yearning, and every chorus is lovely, if not necessarily memorable.

I’m not fool enough to think these overwhelmingly diatonic chords and tunes are interesting, but the songs’ forgettableness isn’t usually a problem. Cesium’s point isn’t the chords so much as all the different synth parts providing notes for the chords. This is, simply, some of the busiest pop polyphony I’ve ever heard. Four or five repetitive patterns of laser blasts, alarm clock shrieks, and bass farts are usually flying around the melodies. The patterns often sync up with the basslines to provide those split-second 7ths and 9ths and whatnot that people, through centuries of musical evolution, associate with anguished prettiness. But as soon as the synth lines hit their marks, they’re gone, back about their business until the next pleasure moment locks into place.

Not that this is anything new. Counterpoint’s been around for-freakin’-ever; classical and pop musicians love exploiting the tension between independent horizontal lines and what those lines are doing vertically with one another. Since Cesium’s counterpoint uses diversely timbred non-melodic patterns more than hummable melody lines, it often feels like something new, but the difference is more one of quantity than quality. That is, I’m amazed they’re able to coordinate all the different elements of each song, without anything sounding extraneous or random. Each part plays its necessary part, and the precise interactions bring the songs to life as organic wholes, like beehives or something.

Take “Gravity,” which is not a scientific treatise! The bassline gallops out the Lone Ranger rhythm from Rossini’s “William Tell Overture,” only shifted a fourth of a beat earlier. When Cesium pair this up with the 16th note squiggly pattern speeding through the song, the composite sounds remarkably like Angus Young’s bouncy “Thunderstruck” riff, no doubt a big influence. Then there are the two different synth melodies--one a mirror of the vocal refrain, played by both thick techno chords and airy legato synths, and one a shriller filler during the verses. Over the top runs an ethereal line that performs the same function as the strings in a Johnny Mathis song. Put it all over the relentless cymbals and snares and the big old backbeat--there’s one in every song; the Cesiums clearly learned from Chuck Berry and Huey Lewis--and you get a whole mess of stuff that somehow coheres into a fine chipper melancholy.

I’m gonna go out on a limb and say Cesium 137 will never win a Grammy for Song of the Year. Based on the evidence of Intelligent Design, their songs divorced from instrumental context--the way you’d find them in a fake book--aren’t much. At least I can remember the chorus of that damn U2 song! But since Cesium’s music is all about production, performance, and intermeshing synth lines, tunes like “Gravity” and “Forsaken” should be a lock for ‘06 Record of the Year. “Forsaken”’s 1999-era drums, two levels of bass throb, and three revolving synth patterns swell around the climactic line, “Divine inspiration isn’t worth much these days,” which is more moving than anything in that idiotic Green Day song. I should now admit that I have no idea what these 10 magisterial songs are “about”. How much do I care? Let’s ask the divine computer…

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Another review of an offensively named band!

Would you like to read a review of the Revolting Cocks and Ministry? I thought you might. This was edited by new guy Rob Harvilla, in what turned out to be a pleasant exchange.

As it's June and we're halfway done with the year, I'd like to point out my favorites from the pitifully small amount of new ('06 or late '05) music I've heard. A public service for no one.

Yolanda Perez's Esto Es Amor (I think; can't find it) seems to do something new (but whaddo I know?) by mixing banda horns and tunes with reggaeton beats. The opening horn riff is really exciting, and when I listen to the title tune I'm transported into some spiralling blissful heaven. The coda just keeps singing about love and repeating itself over and over, and it's really happy. But the kind of happy that makes a man cry.

Damone's Out Here All Night is MySpace hair metal with a chick singer and a fine power ballad, "Stabbed In the Heart." Their modulations in all the right places make me laugh. You know, I was marvelling the other day at how Neptunes beats are funny in and of themselves, because they're somehow self-aware. This is not a phenomenon I can currently explain; I dunno if it's just because they sound like they're referencing past kitsch or what, but whenever I hear Britney's "Boys" or Mariah and Snoop Dogg's latest hit (sorry--"Say Somethin'"?), I laugh not at the singers but at the backing tracks. So those Neptunes really know how to tap into our pop-kitsch zeitgeist (ouch!), I surmise, and Damone seem to do the same thing, but with rock. Not that they're any more ironic than, whoever, Little Richard. They mean it and I mean it, but their musical (not even lyrical) funniness lets me know we speak the same language. But some of the later songs are pretty rote. They do make me wanna get a MySpace, though.

The Coup's Pick a Bigger Weapon is standard issue Commie goodness from them, and I really like how "I Just Wanna Lay Around All Day in Bed With You" (words separated for your ease) builds and builds and sounds really evil. Haven't listened to this in, like, a month, so it may be better or worse than I remember.

Falkenbach's Heralding the [something]blade is earth-scorching one-man Viking metal from some cold European country that also has a triumphal oboe riff (ok, maybe a trumpet) on the first song. Reading these synopses, who else is amazed that I've ever made money writing record reviews? I guess I usually do more research. But Falkenbach's loads of fun, and when Mr. Falkenbach isn't growling his singing voice is charming, like Dan Fogelberg or someone. Not that I've ever heard Mr. Fogelberg, but the Dan Fogelberg of my mind sounds like Dan Falkenbach.

The Brazilian rock albums by Nacao Zumbi and Cabruera have some fine grooves, and Julius Eastman's Unjust Malaise comp is fascinating and enjoyable post-minimalism, or probably just minimalism in some cases. I need to listen to all those more.

OK, but that's it. A disgrace! I mean, I've heard some more, but that's all I can wholeheartedly endorse at this point. Pitiful, not the "state of music," but me! Some fine singles on the radio now, though, including the Mariah and Snoop listed above, Ne-Yo's "When You're Mad" and "So Sick," Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie," Nelly Furtado and Timbaland doing "Promiscuous," Sugarland's "Down In MS and Up to No Good," and the All American Rejects' "Move Along." And whatever gospel song I keep hearing on WGCI, "Just Can't Make It Without You." I'll go research at Radio and Records now.

Friday, May 26, 2006

Langhoff Unpublished: Electric Six's Senor Smoke

Metropolis is the only label I get promos from on a regular basis, so I was excited to see this one come down the pike. A real album that people care about! Man, was I gonna write the heck out of it! And I think I did--at least I got off some good lines and I didn't say "Jack Black." So imagine my chagrin when I sent it to Chuck at the Voice without Googling first, and he replies that Mike Barthel's review of the damn import already ran last August! "Don't be a fool: use Google," is my message to all you aspiring freelancers! So then, desperate to beat all the other freelancers no doubt chomping at the bit while feeding at Metropolis's trough, I sent it off to the still no-go Matos at Seattle Weekly, who kindly replied that it was already assigned. Sure enough, the affable Anthony Miccio's review appeared before too long, furthering my envy if not my embarassment. Neither Chuck nor Matos still works those jobs. Now, I'm not saying it's because they didn't run this thing, but...

Electric Six
Señor Smoke
(Metropolis)

Dance rock is here to stay! How do I know? Because fully a third of the songs on Electric Six’s Señor Smoke use the words “dance” or “disco”! And their drummer, the “amusingly” named Percussion World, occasionally plays some syncopated hi-hat! Which is the universal signifier for “disco”! Seriously, I’ve heard Nonesuch recordings from distant corners of the world with disco syncopatin’ that’ll knock yer boots off!

Much more than disco, though, the Six aspire to the hope and the curse implicit in Loverboy’s Get Lucky album cover. A parody of the iconic cover shot, of fingers crossed behind a red leather butt, appeared in Charlie’s Angels II, whose soundtrack featured the Six’s first hit, “Danger! High Voltage,” thus establishing the kitschy trash-rock connection. The fingers are crossed, of course, in the hope of “getting lucky,” and we all understand what that means to the leather-clad. Leather’s uncomfortable! You wanna take it off!

But you also cross your fingers when you lie--well, I do--and that coy insincerity mixed with horniness is all over the Six’s music. The mixture usually comes out sounding like forced aggression to which the band realizes they have no real claim. The same mix is all over Loverboy’s muisic, too--don’t think they didn’t understand the double meaning of their album cover, or that their lyric “When I say jump/ You better jump!/ When I say walk/ Well, you better get ready to say goodbye!” wouldn’t fit seamlessly into les Six’s repertoire. All it would need is Dick Valentine rasping the ends of the words into curls like Captain Beefheart doing Tom Jones, and ironi-hipsters everywhere would laugh their leather asses off.

Truth is, Valentine’s better than nine of ten rock singers today. He’s got attitude, recognizable sound and phrasing, good pitch, and Lord knows he sticks to themes. Throughout Señor Smoke, he’s able to use the depth of his tone and his overwrought vibrato to marshal the sound of his band into a legitimately rockin’ force. Even on Queen’s “Radio Ga Ga,” the combo of distorted guitars, decent drumming, synth squelches and the Valentinian voice spirals into a dark potency. But of course, the song still uses the word “ga ga.” If former label Warner indeed forced them to cover it, that’s plenty worse than all the shit they did to Wilco.

So are there any good songs, you ask? Sure! Churning arena rockers with solid backbeats and fun rhymes? See “Bite Me” and “Rock and Roll Evacuation.” Synthy sci-fi rockers that the Epoxies should cover? Sure, “Future Boys” and “Vibrator.” Pretty decent stabs at, yes, disco rock, to which I’ve invented some lovely dances? Yep, “Devil Nights” and “Dance Epidemic.” A song that sounds like fake Talking Heads Africana? Well, “Future Is In the Future,” if you must. And if you were looking for a song that sounds like the guy from Crash Test Dummies singing Bush’s “Glycerine” with lyrics that name presidents and cite the Backstreet Boys and Don DeLillo, there’s one of those too. Though it doesn’t work.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Hello to the beautiful world!

New: a nearly comprehensible review of the We Are Scientists CD!

I'm currently sick of music, going on three weeks, so I've been listening to a book on CD in the car. It's by Tom Wolfe. It's good. Hopefully my sickness will end soon, as I've got a Riot CD and a Frank Kogan book at work waiting to be bought, plus a couple thought-provoking Morton Feldman CDs I wanna listen to some more. Plus a paper on Carman to write. His fundamentalism is much more entertaining on tape than it is in book form, so if you were thinking of shelling out a penny to buy Raise the Standard from Amazon, save it for the toll instead.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Right... new posts!

A recent Brandi Carlile review!

My favorite music of 2005!

If I had more gumption, I'd create an Imaginary Popscape 2005 page to include the above. Gumption and time, though, are currently at a premium. Plus, somewhere in the distance, a baby cries. More soon!

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Langhoff Unpublished: 12"/'80s Box Set

Unpublished probably; I sent it to Chuck at the Voice, but before he could find the space for it, a volume II came out and sort of rendered this one less relevant. Not as au courant. I keep thinking I'll buy the volume II and update this thing and send it back, but so far I've had other fish to fry, and it's not like this was my favorite set of CDs in the world, as you'll see below. Gave me a chance to employ a hoary metaphor, reminiscent of the ones buddy Karl and I useta come up with in HS typing class.

Various Artists
12”/'80s
(Family)

Beware, nostalgic dilettantes! There are two overlapping versions of Family Recordings’ 12”/'80s box set floating around, and one has “White Lines” and one doesn’t, which fact would seem to make your decision pretty easy, except the one with “White Lines” doesn’t contain Echo and the Bunnymen’s “Never Stop (Discotheque),” whose pizzicato string propulsion has changed my… well, it made my sad little whole grain breakfast much more enjoyable. If you’re not that dependent upon “White Lines,” no fear, because both sets boast Simply Red’s “Money’s Too Tight to Mention (Cutback Mix)” and Grace Jones’s “Pull Up to the Bumper,” my other morning revelations among 37 or 38 remixed British Chart Hits (some only climbing as high as Slayer’s “Criminally Insane,” not included, but hits still) by Predominantly British People. Most of these 12” singles are interchangeable and quite useless, which fact doesn’t necessarily make them art.

In fact, whether the terms 12” and 80s deserve equivalence depends on whether both sides are equally well served by the association. In this case, the 80s are a wealthy landowner whose skillful pruning of the twin forests Punk and Disco produced an incomparable series of pop wind-up-toys, resulting in much public goodwill and critical acclaim. Though we may question the 80s’ murder of that hoary beast Prog, the decade’s slightly smug patrician benevolence seemed to invite nostalgia from the get. By contrast, the 12” is a wastrel tinker who mistakenly wandered onto the 80s’ estate, got lost in Punk’s self-sufficiency and Disco’s vast repetitions, and used the landowner’s ample resources to force his way into the public eye. By now, the damn tinker’s reputation is way overblown, his contraptions too often empty of invention or joy. The 80s may have produced as rich a legacy as her sister decades, but she suffers from proximity to the 12”.

All except the stuff I said before and anything by New Order, not included.

Friday, August 12, 2005

Langhoff Bound: Mercenary's 11 Dreams and Samael's Reign of Light

These aren't available on the web, but they did show up in the April '05 issue of Decibel, this fantastic metal magazine that's about a year old. I actually understand very little of the magazine when I get it, but it's witty and my main outlet for reading Scott Seward, probably the best pure stylist currently criticizing records. So far Decibel hasn't made me buy anything I can't live without, but the Mercenary disc (which I got free) is sure to be on my year end top 10 list. It's a scorcher!

Mercenary
11 Dreams
(Century Media)

The thing Mercenary do most, and they do it well, is to pit impassioned not-quite-Broadway melodies against a scorching rapid-fire kick drum attack, with guitars and bass in between, playing both sides. After an orchestro-synth prelude, the band’s dreams (or “songs,” if you’re dead inside) #2-5 adhere to this successful formula. The Sandager brothers, Mikkel and Morten, provide Rent-worthy caterwauls and keyboards, the guitarists arpeggiate, and founding bassist/growler Kral brings the requisite violence, but the whole thing comes off a little restrained and wearing--too much of the same good thing.

So it’s a relief when the boys start mixing things up during dream #6, “Sharpen the Edges.” They deepen the minor chords from the preceding pleasures and add ominous male-chorus intonations. “Supremacy v2.0” is similarly dark and nightmarishly Neapolitan of chord, but the real shocker is just ahead: in a twist worthy of Million Dollar Baby, but giddier and more danceable, our gothic heroes cover Kent’s pop tune “Music Non Stop,” and it can’t, won’t, and don’t. Drummer Mike Park gets to rest his ankles and provide a syncopated livinonaprayer (Danish for “swinging like fuck”) beat while Mikkel invites the world to dance to the music he hears inside his head. Blogs and message boards are currently lighting up with cries of sellout, but I say if you’ve ever longed to hear Ryan Seacrest utter the phrase “Scandinavian metal gods,” this is the way to do it.

That’s the peak, but the rest doesn‘t let up. Add on an extreme atonal thrasher, a piano/guitar ballad, and a chunky modern-rock-chorded closer and you’ve got one of the more intriguing side twos, capping one of the more impressive stateside debuts, in recent memory.


Samael
Reign Of Light
(Nuclear Blast)

Samael’s eighth album differs in many important ways from Rammstein’s Sehnsucht, the watershed for gothy Euro-tech metal. To begin, Vorph is a hipper vocalist than Till--he sounds more relaxed, he barks around the beats and sometimes you can picture him shimmying with his friends the clanking machines. We can probably attribute this looseness to Swiss neutrality. It’s funny, though--Vorph “sings” in English, but I’m sure I could transcribe Till’s Sehnsucht vocals far more accurately, though I can’t understand a lick of German. With Rammstein, everything sounds clean and in its place--one part of the song ends, a title hook repeats four times, the volume drops and a synth plays a little tune, the loud guitars start back in. Samael are messier and the mix isn’t as clean, so you can’t always understand what Vorph is demanding of you. The rhythms are still lockstep and repetitive (we’re not talking Converge here), but there are more dirty guitar lines and fewer shiny song components. We can probably attribute this relative messiness to rebellion against Swiss banker parents. What this means is that individual Samael songs are harder to distinguish than individual Rammsteins. “Telepath” is the one where Vorph pronounces grace “guhlaysse,” and the bonus track is a remix of “Telepath,” but the others are more difficult, which isn’t to say bad because they’re enjoyable while they last. You could attribute indifference towards posterity to Swiss watchmaking or something Jungian, but I chalk it up to another classic archetype. A prancing vocalist you can’t understand because the mix is muddy and all the songs sound alike? Samael are the Stones to Rammstein’s Beatles, and I can’t wait to hear the new Paul Revere and the Raiders!

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Langhoff Unpublished: Black Mountain's Black Mountain

In a fairly embarassing chain of events, I initially submitted this to M. Matos at Seattle Weekly; he politely informed me that he'd already run a review of the thing. Indeed, Jessica Hopper's review appeared several months before; it's far more informative than mine, but the musical effects to which she devotes so much detail are really not all that interesting. So then I sent it off to Chuck at the Village Voice; he politely informed me that Frank Kogan's review was appearing online as we emailed. As with most of his writing, Frank's review gets to the heart of the musical matter well and offers a closer musical analysis than mine; I didn't think the CD was worth much more than some drug jokes. I haven't yet brought myself to go back and listen to the two tunes cited in the Kogan review, but I sure didn't notice them the first three or four times. Anyway, I've submitted it to a third outlet, but haven't heard anything back yet. Looks like it'll live here. (That whole explanation may be better than the review, if only for the links.)

Black Mountain
Black Mountain
(Jagjaguwar)

The Black Mountain credits thank “members of the Black Mountain Army,” which is funny because, dude, that’s gotta be one seriously stoned fuckin’ army. Listening to Black Mountain is like enlisting with the Swiss, whose latest model Army Knife includes a killer flashlight, as they take off the month of August to hang with their buds in Amsterdam--these Canuck guys/gal are totally Euro when it comes to their blues-psych. Don’t get me wrong, they can play loud and heavy, but mostly the BMs drift from riff to riff, firing one off and watching amused to see where it’ll land. The most concise song lays out an appealing twang-piano gallop to back up its Westerbergian refrain of “I can’t get no satisfaction.” The next most focused is the floppy soul single “Druganaut,” whose brilliant lyrics include “Are you freedom, man? We’re young and fast/ lighting up the sky.” I like to imagine mopey NASA engineers reciting those lines into their Scotch. The other tunes are decidedly Unfocused, which isn’t to say “Bad,” at least not for the first half; and even when the band runs out of ideas halfway through and you stop paying attention, the music remains an inoffensive backdrop to foraging for food or waiting for a man.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Langhoff Unpublished: Suzzy and Maggie Roche's Why the Long Face?

This represents my first unsuccessful attempt to get into Seattle Weekly; I never heard back from editor Michelangelo Matos. I enjoy the review quite a bit, mainly because it seems very light on its feet, even with the elaborate 7 Habits joke.

Suzzy & Maggie Roche
Why the Long Face
(Red House)

Amid the Folk Society syncopatin’ and self-deprecatin’ highlights of Why the Long Face, the second CD from the Roches-minus-sister-Terre, Suzzy cheerfully opines that she read The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People only to discover she had none of the habits. I don’t believe her for a minute! I mean, New York folkies probably don’t Synergize or Begin With The End In Mind a whole lot, but I bet they Think Win/Win and always Seek First To Understand--they’re such Proactive sweethearts! (And their bluesy delivery on that Seven Habits song sure makes me wanna Sharpen My Saw, if you know what I mean!) The jig’s up--the Roche sisters are now busking for NY Arts Foundation grants instead of spare change, and have become, if not rich and famous, at least responsible adults; so their scatterbrained mode can start to seem disingenuous and set your teeth on edge. And when they Put First Things First and sing the words of a community prayer group or a kid with Asperger’s Syndrome or Brian Wilson, I’m tempted to set my CD player on pause. So instead I skip back to the first two songs, which are gorgeous, heartfelt, plainspoken acoustic chugalugs. Or ahead to the one where they sing bitonally, “Set down your key and trumpet/ Go have a dream and hump it.”

Friday, July 29, 2005

Langhoff Unpublished: Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver's A School of Bluegrass

This was admittedly a bit long for something that would likely garner no interest from Village Voice readers; I never heard back from Chuck. I actually placed it in my Pazz & Jop Poll Top 10 for 2004, which was kind of an overstatement, but I didn't hear that many CDs last year. And it is a really interesting CD, if exhausting.

Doyle Lawson and Quicksilver
A School of Bluegrass
(Crossroads)

Bluegrass didn’t make it into Derek Bailey’s 1980 Improvisation treatise, but probably just because he couldn’t interview any practitioners by deadline--I bet Derek’s right at home with the deprecating wit, oral tradition, and even the tight constraints (YOU try playing “free” without breaking into “Autumn Leaves” or something) that bluegrass players embrace. Of all the hot playing on Doyle Lawson’s brilliantly-titled silver anniversary comp, the hottest moment comes from young roving fiddler Hunter Berry, who slashes his way through “Twinkle Little Star” (his only track) with wild invention, while still landing on the ones. But mandolinist Doyle makes sure everyone else in his revolving lineup has a great time, picking and swinging and filling any dead air with matter-of-fact melody.

That’s improv in micro--this two-disc live-and-rehearsal overview also documents the macro-improvisation of Doyle Lawson as a bandleader. As the notes point out, bluegrass folks “experiment” too; they’re just not WEIRD about it. Over 25 years, Doyle and the boys play around with sacred and secular, black gospel standards and ‘75 Bee Gees, fiddle and non-fiddle, piano and nose trumpet, all while maintaining exceptionally tight instrumental and a cappella ensemble. There’s an unfortunate patch where evangelism overwhelms the shredding fun, so when Doyle advises “Please listen to the words,” you can skip ahead a few tracks. Outside those, 40 of the 50 tunes create a monument to music-as-everyday-work that grows more mysteriously satisfying with every listen--not unlike 50,000 Fall Fans Can’t Be Wrong, with which this package shares more than you’d think.