Mononeon's Readymade Identity and Supermane

An introduction to Mononeon and his killer 2021 album Supermane

Relevant Links A bit I wrote a while back on the Death of the Album

Põhja Konn and the Problem of Translation

A review of Põhja Konn’s self- titled 2018 album.




Plus previews of

Black Panther OST (2018) and The Claypool Lennon Delirium’s South of Reality (2019)

Some links mentioned in the post:

2019 Preview Episode 3

The Lennon Claypool Delirium and Homelessness

Hyphenated Identities: Netflix's Iron Fist and UZU

Marvel’s collaboration with Netflix has been a game changer for superhero cinema. The mini-series format gave both Daredevil and Jessica Jones the kind of deep backstory and character development that fans appreciate, but that is difficult to develop in the limited screen time available in the movies. I, for one, am really looking to the next installments in this project, Luke Cage, Iron Fist, and the eventual crossover into the Defenders. Of all the series, the one I am looking forward to the most is the one we have heard the least about – Iron Fist.

When he was conceived in the 70s, Iron Fist was a very deliberate attempt to tap into the martial arts movies that were prominent in pop culture. As Danny Rand, he was, predictably, a yellow-haired white guy who, after being orphaned as a child, discovered a mystic city and received martial arts training and powers. This did not seem too odd back when “everybody was kung fu fighting,” but by today’s standards of diversity and equity, Rand’s ethnic background has the scent of colonial appropriation. Of course, this did not matter to me, a nerdy white kid that loved comics and had a hankering for the martial arts. Iron Fist was a no-brainer, and one of my favorites.

These days, though, I see the necessity for diversity in the growing Marvel Cinematic Universe and, consequently, the need to sometimes reinvent characters.  Changing the gender or race of a given character shouldn’t matter, but when you are altering someone’s childhood memories, it should be handled with care. I usually support these changes, but in some cases they have felt forced.  To be convincing, these changes have to align with what is essential about the character and then maintain that essence across perceived boundaries of race.

I have seen some discussion about Iron Fist in this regard, with some fans speculating that he should be cast as Asian in his Netflix series. As a fan, I would be the first to say that the casting should stay true to the comic book.  I can, however, see the point in an Asian Iron Fist, especially since this particular ethnic group is sorely underrepresented in the current Marvel Cinematic Universe. Part of the reason why this reinvention seems to make sense at first glance, however, is due to essentialized stereotypes about Asian people.  Although it might result in more a diverse Defenders roster, it would not help to dispel such prejudices. It would actually reinforce them.

There is, however, way to sidestep this issue, or at least address it in a way that might actually serve to deepen the character rather than flatten him, and that is to play Danny Rand as an Asian-American. By this I mean that Iron Fist's alter ego grew up America, perhaps as a second or third generation son of immigrants, and identifies himself as American. Asian-Americans deal with distinct and complex stereotypes that arise in the rift between identifying as American and being perceived as Asian.

Canadian band Yamantaka//Sonic Titan use similar tensions as inspiration. They examine their own authenticity by referring to traditions that they identify with, but have been pushed aside by modernity. Their debut album piqued my interest in a couple of years ago, and although their second album UZU did not crack last year’s top 20, it has been interesting enough to warrant revisiting on several occasions.  I admit that I am not always convinced by Yamantaka//Sonic Titan from a purely musical standpoint, but I do find their carefully constructed identity compelling enough to keep me coming back.

While most might watch Yamantaka//Sonic Titan and see a noisy new-wave reinterpretation of KISS makeup, a seasoned prog fan might also recall Peter Gabriel's costuming in his early Genesis days, especially his "Britannia" character (seen right).  The latter is probably a fairer comparison, as Gabriel intended to make a cultural reference, but Gabriel's cultural background and ethnicity is incontrovertibly  British.  Yamantaka//Sonic Titan juxtapose noh-inspired makeup and First People chanting across cultural boundaries in ways that are less satirical.  Collisions like these in their artwork and imagery subtly deepen the listening experience and paint an engaging picture of culturally hyphenated identities.

It would be similarly engaging to follow an Asian-American Danny Rand that experiences tension between how he feels he is perceived and his own self-image. Perhaps he might feel the weight of his heritage and, feeling out of touch with it, reconnects with it through his transformation into Iron Fist. Conversely, he might feel encircled by an ethnicity that he rejects, but finds that fate draws him though an experience that allows him find his own unique way to “be” both Asian and American. There are probably other scenarios that, not being Asian-American myself, I cannot imagine, which is exactly why they warrant nuanced investigation.  Iron Fist could then be made uniquely relevant in a way that broadens horizons while embellishing (not reinventing) an already established childhood icon of many.

Layers of Thanksgiving: "Junun" Over Dinner

I was really looking forward to having a full week for Thanksgiving this year. I would have some quality time with the wife and kid before I went down for the big annual event on Padre Island with the extended family. Inevitably, having a lot of free time with the Little One eventually results in a little Netflix-for-Kids, and I was very surprised to find that there were absolutely no thanksgiving specials up. Not a one. There were, however, lots and lots of poorly animated b-rate Christmas features. The best I could find was a grainy, third-party posting of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving on YouTube. It has been up for a couple of years, as if no one cares enough to challenge its legality!



I think that this, along with the scads of Christmas sale ads popping up in my feed early in the week, caused me to be a little defensive about Thanksgiving this year. I have always felt that it is its own holiday with its own feeling, and I dislike the sense that it is increasingly becoming subsumed by consumerism related to a totally separate holiday.  I am starting to get the feeling Thanksgiving has devolved into nothing more than some time off to let the public get some shopping done.

Taking matters into my own hands, I organized my own little informal Thanksgiving dinner and invited my bandmates from Ethnos over. We are all super-busy, and as we get closer to the end of the semester it is safe to assume that we would only get to be more so. It seemed like a good opportunity to hang out before the holidays scatter us to the wind.

One catalyst for our conversation was Junun.  I acquired this album with the intent of listening to it on beach walk like I did with Barrett a few years ago.  Long before its recent release, a brief article about the cross-cultural collaboration that produced Junun generated quite a bit of personal excitement.  Its authorship is so complex that it took the whole staff at Waterloo Records to figure out where the CD was filed.

The most visible contributor is Jonny Greenwood of Radiohead fame, and going into the store I was aware that he was working with an Indian ensemble called the Rajastan Express. The surprise, however, was Shye Ben Tzur, an Israeli musician who is trained in Indian styles.  Although a superficial listen to the album doesn’t bring traditional Jewish music to mind, his songwriting contributions placed the album in the “Israel” section of the international music.

The album as a whole is really quite incredible - perhaps even compelling enough to be considered a very late contender for album of the year.  Superficially, it is easy to indulge in the exotic aspects of the album, but the harmonic environment provided by the guitar work and the subtle electronic atmospheres frame Junun’s “Indian-ness” within a decidedly contemporary field. Even more layered is Shye Ben Tzur’s Hebrew lyrics performed in ecstatic Indian styles. Certainly, with the current state of the Middle East, his identity structure makes a political statement that should be read as particularly relevant.

This statement was not lost on us. My bandmates are a very diverse group, with members from India, Taiwan, and Pakistan, and each of us had different perspectives about the way the various contributions of Junun fit into a cohesive statement. I was enthusiastic about its textural overlap with Kid A, while our tabla player nodded his head in approval to its roots in Indian street music. The exchange was as layered and engaging as the music itself.  As I have said many times in the past, I am very grateful for the opportunity to know and create with these outstanding individuals. Spending time and conversing with them, however, reminded me of just how thankful I am for having such open-minded and diverse friends.

Oh, and shameless self-promotion: The band's website is right here.  Check us out....

Seeking Continuity in Retrospect: Yes' 90125

Although I cite Fragile as my entry point for Yes’ catalog, it was not my introduction to the band by a long shot. In 6th grade, long before I became aware Yes’ already long and sometimes sordid history, I bought a 45 of Owner of a Lonely Heart. 90125 was subsequently one of the first tapes I bought, and the CD soon followed. This album not only defined Yes for me – it laid the first stone in a path that later led me to Rush and progressive rock in general. Even today, it is, without question, my favorite Yes album.

As crucial as it has been to Yes history, 90125 was almost the Yes that never was.  Drama, its predecessor, was controversial for installing Trevor Horn and Geoff Downes into two very well-established roles within the band, but it retained a certain a sense of artistic continuity within Yes’ already established parameters. 90125 saw the return of several classic members, including Jon Anderson on vocals, but from a stylistic point of view it was a more radical departure. It retrospect, however, it was a stroke of genius to continue under the Yes name.



When considering 90125, it is impossible to ignore the importance of Trevor Rabin. From the standpoint of guitar style, replacing Howe with Rabin might not have been too much different than replacing Bill Bruford with Alan White in the mid 70s. Rabin was also an outstanding vocalist, though, and his writing contributions created the framework for a much different Yes.  The atmospheric fantasy that the band was known for in the 70s gave way to powerful, textured songwriting in their 80s iteration.



But like all of Yes’ best work, 90125 was generated in a collaborative environment. Rabin’s material was significantly rearranged and rewritten by the band’s members and their invisible “sixth” member, producer Trevor Horn. History will show that Yes is most successful with a strong producer, and Horn, continuing his relationship with the band from the Drama period, was as invaluable to 90125 as Eddie Offord was to Close to the Edge or Fragile. I have often felt that it was unfortunate that he was not more regular in this role as the band continued with Rabin.



To bemoan stability in Yes’ creative pool, however, is foolhardy.  It is far more engaging to look at the conceptual threads that hold their oeuvre together in the face of perpetual change.  Although the stylistic shift on 90125 is impossible to ignore, the input of the continuing and veteran membership granted the album a degree of continuity. I think Drama hinted that Yes’ parameters had grown past a dependency on Jon Anderson, but his contributions on 90125, which I think are the most powerful of his career, were crucial to the album's success.



For Yes fans whose associations with the band began in the 70s, continuity in and through this period may be difficult to see or accept. As an 80s fan that looked back through Yes’ catalog, I certainly saw the differences, but I also actively sought out the similarities. I will still argue that 90125 was, and continues to be, a masterpiece in Yes’ catalog that examined new horizons in progressive rock as the 80s began to get underway. In terms of content, arrangement, and performance, it represented a new kind of prog that did not rely on extended song lengths, but on pushing the possibilities of complexity within accessibility.



Listening for “backwards-compatibility” in this retroactive way has, I think, informed my conception of what Yes is, even to this day. I find their continuity fascinating, which is why I don’t fully understand the conservative faction of Yes’ fanbase that harbor so much resistance and, in some cases, anger over Billy Sherwood’s recent installation as bassist. Clearly, the circumstances surrounding this passing of the torch are grave and clouded by emotional reaction. Squire is irreplaceable, but I think that his absence does not preclude the emergence of a new lineup that can carry on the Yes name.

From a certain perspective, however, it is a little weird. Fans that invested in the band in the early 70s probably see little resemblance between “their” Yes and the current lineup. "My” Yes only has one member in common with the group that now bears the name, drummer Alan White.  I have been saying for over a year, however, that their fluid membership uniquely positions Yes to continue past the involvement of its originating members. Not just in terms of performance as a repertory ensemble or "ghost band," either.  I think that within Sherwood and Davison lie the creative potential for this current lineup to sincerely contribute to the current state of progressive rock while still keeping a firm root in its history.  Judging by 90125, that would be a distinctively Yes-like feat.

Yes and The Ladder's Next Rung

Before I launch into the reasoning behind my support of Billy Sherwood playing bass for Yes on their upcoming dual-headline tour with Toto, please don’t misunderstand my intent. I am in no way trying to eclipse Chris Squire or make light of his recent leukemia diagnosis.  He is a historically significant rock bassist, and I have never lost belief in his vision as Yes’ musical director.  I am genuinely concerned for him and wish him the best in his recovery. By naming Sherwood as his stand-in on the tour, however, it is quite safe to assume that Squire believes the show must go on.

This isn't terribly surprising, because this mindset has circumscribed the band since their inception. Musicians have come and gone, but the band has forged ahead. The interwoven contributions of Yes’ various members have enough common threads for an essential “Yes-ness” to emerge that is easy to hear, but tricky to exactly pin down. For example, like many Yes fans, I see last year’s Heaven and Earth as a flawed but ultimately successful work because it evokes this indescribable “Yes-ness,” due in no small part to current lead singer Jon Davison’s persuasive conviction for Yes music.



Propelled by the theory that Yes’ music transcends any specific membership, I have spent an embarrassingly inordinate amount of time daydreaming about who could carry on the Yes name for another ten or fifteen years in the event that the band’s original members were to retire and pass the band on. I have posted a couple of times on this subject, and I still stand by February’s dream-team lineup.

This seemed like the meandering fantasies of a prog-rock nerd at the time, but Squire’s inclusion of Sherwood on this tour as his stand-in sets an interesting precedent. As I said last summer, he is the only artist who could realistically come close to stepping into Squire’s impossibly big shoes. His history with Squire and Yes make him the singular musician that diehard, open-minded fans would allow on stage (which are probably the majority of Yes' audience at this point, anyhow).

I have virtually zero investment in Toto, but I am seriously thinking about traveling to see what Yes looks like with Sherwood on bass. I feel quite sure that, with their limited performance time, Yes will be “playing the hits” once again. In an ideal world, however, their setlist would include some of the excellent music that Sherwood contributed during his time in the band, particularly from The Ladder.

Sherwood had been an official member of Yes for several years when this album was released in 1999. Although the band has had many good releases since, The Ladder stands, in my opinion, as the last really great Yes album. After nearly two decades of exploring various incarnations with sputtering success, this album represented something that the band had been searching for since 1988: a coherent compromise between their exploratory 70s work and the accessibility that they enjoyed in the 80s.  It was convincing enough back then to turn on some of my high school aged students on to Yes music on its own merit, rather than the merit of the band's long history.



Historically, the band has done their best work with a producer that takes an active role, so I think that it is fair to give some of the credit to producer Bruce Fairburn. Like Nick Raskulinecz did for Rush almost a decade later, he brought the objective ears of a longtime Yes fan to the recordings and encouraged the band to look at their own long history as a source of inspiration.

With his oversight, there was a sense that The Ladder recaptured the collaborative atmosphere that generated Yes’ best material. This allowed for the creative inclusion of keyboardist Igor Khoroshev, who managed to channel the best of Wakeman’s characteristics without cloning him outright. Although Sherwood’s performance contributions are much more subtle, his compositional fingerprints are all over The Ladder in terms of songwriting and arrangement.



It would be inspiring to see Yes include a couple of tracks from The Ladder on this tour to acknowledge Sherwood’s presence, but the band just doesn’t work that way these days.  Given the opportunity, they gravitate towards playing full versions of their past music even when they have new material to feature.  There are already rumors of Fragile and Drama features in 2016.  I will gladly accept seeing Davison and Sherwood together onstage, however, in the hopes that they generate some chemistry. With Davison’s melodic strength and Sherwood’s penchant for Yes-like compositions, I hypothesize that these two could one day form the creative core of a totally next-gen Yes.

There will be some who have the opinion that this sort of theoretical play is disrespectful to Squire, and you are entitled to that opinion. I feel, however, that it is the grandest compliment imaginable. To realistically propose that Yes’ music can convincingly transcend the confines of its originators and live on is a testament to Squire’s life work. If it were to happen, it would put Yes's music in the same league as legendary musicians like Count Basie, whose band continues to tour and record even today, nearly thirty years after his passing. No small company.

Yes' Step Beyond: Imagining a Change

All week long I have been at Aikido Summer Camp, and have had the great pleasure of watching my wife take her black belt test.  Classes have been great, and her success has made me very proud.  As I climb in bed at night, however, I've been playing meaningless little imaginary games that only the hardcore Yes fans could even understand. If that's not you, this post might not make much sense.  At the very least, if you are just tuning in, you might want to back up to yesterday's post for context.

While Fly from Here was a pretty good effort, its essence laid in revisiting past material and really did not provide a sustainable vision for Yes’s future. Heaven and Earth, however, is quite a different story. Like it or not, it has an inarguable Yes-ness, and Davison's enthusiasm for the band hints at a longer range, perhaps past the point at which some of his elder bandmates might be willing or able to continue.



At different times, Yes' ex-keyboardist Rick Wakeman and bassist/musical director Chris Squire both have hypothesized that the band could, in fact, exist after its originating members have retired. Many people draw the line at Anderson’s departure, but with Jon Davison injecting new blood into the band, it kind of begs the question: Could the Yes name move forward with even more new blood than Davison, maybe without a single original or classic member?

It is a tricky proposition, but an important one for the classic rock generation. As bands with strong identities reach the age of retirement, can they “sell the business” in a way that the fan base will accept? Yes, a band whose identity has already survived so much change, is uniquely positioned to address this issue. There are certainly musicians out there with clear ties to the band’s heritage that could move the Yes name forward not by just playing the classic albums well, but by creating new music in the Yes tradition.

Because there is a tradition, there are roles to fill, but fortunately, Davison has emerged as Anderson’s heir apparent and a member to rally around. If a full changing of the guard were to come to pass, however, it would have to follow the retirement of Chris Squire, who has been keeping Yes’ flame alight for the past 45 years. In addition to his distinctive bass playing, his backup vocals are absolutely integral to the Yes sound, and he is, for all intents and purposes, the band’s musical director. The only person that could come close to covering all these bases would be Billy Sherwood.  He has worked behind the scenes with Yes for over a decade at this point, and it would be really exciting to see him form the core of a new Yes with Davison. Watch him tear up this classic:

A potential successor for Howe was a bit less obvious, but in doing research on Sherwood, I discovered a contender in the above video clip. Clearly, Jimmy Haun has some rapport with Sherwood and he has the flexibility to cover both Howe and Rabin’s guitar work. His contributions as Howe's stand-in on the politically troubled Union album weaves him even further into Yes’ DNA. It would be interesting to hear his unique voice officially take the lead in the context of a Yes project.

The most fluid role in Yes’ history is that of the keyboardist, and there are many players that the fanbase would love to see come back. In my opinion, however, Oliver Wakeman never really got a chance to shine on his own before he was ousted in favor of Geoff Downes during the Fly from Here sessions. His presence would simultaneously acknowledge and sidestep the issue of his father’s rather long shadow.



That leaves the drummer, a role that has not been as fluid, but perhaps the one that needs to be addressed. I can’t help but think that if White abdicated the drum throne and allowed some fresh hands behind the set, the energy of Heaven and Earth would have been much different. Despite White’s immense contribution to the Yes canon, significant part of the fan base still laments the loss of Bill Bruford. At the risk of turning this lineup into “Yes Kids,” bringing Dylan Howe into the fold is an interesting option, and one that would satisfy the more conservative fanbase. The last name alone buys him some credibility, and he would most likely bring back the jazzier approach that characterized the early days of Yes.



Davison, Sherwood, Haun, Wakeman, and Howe: I would like to think that if these five guys were put in a room and told to “make a Yes album,” the results would be phenomenal. At the very least, they would know what to do.  Of course, it’s all just fantasy football for the prog-rock nerd. These are real live musicians with their own careers and political complications, and not just pieces on a chess board. In any case, such a reconfiguration of the group would be interesting no matter what form it took, and would be a distinctly Yes thing to do. Considering the resistance to Anderson’s departure, however, I can’t imagine the resistance that would come from more conservative factions of the fanbase. Such a next-generation group would absolutely have to have Squire’s blessing if there were any chance of acceptance. That and a Roger Dean cover.

Yes' Big Generator and Previews of Coming Attractions

The Yes identity is partially defined by its constant lineup changes, some of which have had a more noticeable impact on the band's sound than others. One of the more dramatic changes came with the installation of Trevor Rabin in the early 80s. His textured, muscular, and (most importantly) accessible take on progressive rock was a purposeful turn from Yes’ sweeping epics of the 70s. Even today, nearly thirty years later, Yes fans are sharply divided on whether this lineup had the right to carry on the Yes name. Inarguably, however, the Rabin-led Yes produced the band’s greatest hit. Owner of a Lonely Heart became almost ubiquitous towards the end of my elementary school career in 1983. As a result, Rabin’s lineup was the one that I came to initially know and love as Yes.

A lot can happen in four years, especially during the early teens. By 1987, I was a self-proclaimed progressive rock devotee. I had learned every gesture that I could discern on 90125 and gained some familiarity with Yes’ back catalog. It would be an understatement to say that I had built up a lot of anticipation for Big Generator. This was also the year when driving a car by myself was a new and beautiful thing.  As a result, when the album was released it played incessantly in my blue Subaru GL as I learned to commute across town to my desegregated eastside school.


I genuinely liked Big Generator. I felt like there was an effort to recapture the successes of 90125 by tracing its more defining moments, but I also thought that there were also efforts to redefine the band’s sound to more closely align it with the Yes tradition. Especially on the second side, as the songs passed the six and seven minute mark, Jon Anderson’s vocals began to soar above the rhythm section in a way that was distinctly Yes.



As much as I outwardly advocated for the album, though, even back then I secretly sensed that at times, Big Generator seemed a little forced. As I revisited Big Generator recently in anticipation of Yes’ upcoming release Heaven and Earth, time and nostalgia has not eroded this feeling. The album is not unlistenable by any means, but there are a few moments that just seem to ring hollow. In retrospect, the discrepancy between accessibility and experimentalism that this lineup was forced to wrestle with would not be fully resolved until nearly a decade later with the release of the woefully unrecognized Talk album. Big Generator itself, though, is still a somewhat jagged listening experience, with great highs and a few dubious lulls.



I have always held that despite the somewhat radical change in style that Rabin’s songwriting and production brought to Yes, this lineup was as valid as any. The thread that held the legacy together through this period is, I think, Jon Anderson’s distinctive vocals. Certainly, the band could not have convincingly carried on the Yes name if Anderson had not returned to the fold when Rabin overhauled the Yes sound.

With this in mind, it might seem contradictory that I also cite Drama as one of Yes’ best releases and also unashamedly support the flawed but enjoyable Fly From Here. While both of these albums feature lead vocalists other than Jon Anderson, from a musical standpoint they fit more readily into the stylistic conventions of the Yes oeuvre. In both cases, the presence of Trevor Horn and Benoit David  challenges the group’s musical identity far less than Rabin did.

In a month, a new Yes album, with yet another lead singer, is due out. Jon Davison, who over the course of the last few years evolved into the lead singer for Glass Hammer, stepped into these very big shoes. When I first heard, I was very, very apprehensive. To see so many big changes in such a short amount of time did not sit well with me, even for Yes. Then this video surfaced:



In my opinion, Wondrous Stories is virtually a Jon Anderson solo piece executed by Yes. I think that it would have been a hard sell for Fly from Here's Benoit David to pull off.  In this clip, however, Davison’s stage presence and his clear passion for the song buoys the band's admittedly geriatric performance, and it convinced me that he might be an even better fit for Yes than David was.  This has piqued my interest in Heaven and Earth because Davison, in addition to being a good Anderson sound-alike,  is also a pretty prolific writer.  Since 1980, Yes has been most successful when they have an inspired collaborator to act as conjurer. I hope that Davison is able to act in this role in the current lineup.

Daft Punk's "Random Access Memories" Breaks the Spell

Although in many ways, I am still on the fence about the new Daft Punk album, I have to admit I that I am enjoying the controversy that it seems to have stirred up. On the one side, the critics would have people believe that it is the most important album of 2013, but here on the street level it seems that praise for Random Access Memories is very rarely given without some reservation. At worst, a lot of Daft Punk fans, both old and new, simply don’t care for it.

Listening to it, I think this is understandable. Since 1997, Daft Punk has become associated with well-crafted, adventurous house and dance music, a style of “robot rock” reinforced by their mechanized stage presence. Despite releasing relatively little material in the past decade, Daft Punk have garnered a devoted following that hotly anticipated the release of Random Access Memories. As an intentional tribute to late 70s disco and early 80 synth-pop, however, the album is a challenge to Daft Punk’s well-established identity.

Well, we were warned. All of the early press indicated that any fan expecting well-defined electronica would most likely be disappointed, and its true.  The cybernetic pulse of One More Time and Digital Love is largely absent.  In fact, despite the persistence of vocoders and autotune to “robotize” vocals, there is significantly less mechanization present on Random Access Memories than expected. Overall, the album would sound much more at home in a roller rink circa 1978 than thumping at a late 90s rave.



But Daft Punk, in my opinion, have always been innovators. They pushed the boundaries of house music so far that they came to define it. With artists like deadmau5 and Ratatat now occupying the space that has opened up in that arena since their last proper house style release it is logical for Daft Punk to take steps to vacate.  For them to take such a dramatic turn towards nostalgia, however, begs the question: where does the innovation truly lie on Random Access Memories? How does retreading these waters deepen them?

While I do think that the album is enjoyable (not to mention pristinely produced), the tracks that overtly point to that era are not necessarily any better than the music actually of that era. I get the sense that if I really wanted to indulge in that kind of nostalgia, I would do just as well to listen to the artists that originally innovated the style. Daft Punk’s reinterpretations are not offensive, by any means, but not earth-shatteringly great.

What I do like about the album, however, is the proliferation of live instruments, and I think that this is the area in which Random Access Memories pushes Daft Punk into a new field. There are several tracks that feature their classic techno sounds, but also showcase live instruments attacking these textures with an improvisational fervor.



Here, the instinct of human hands plays off the drive of technological automation.  By its end, this tribute to the synth innovator responsible for Donna Summer's I Feel Love becomes an epic drum solo propelled the song's bass sequence.  I think its electrifying and epic - worth the price of admission!  This is the area that I would have liked to see Daft Punk step into with the Tron: Legacy soundtrack in their rearview mirror.

Additionally, with technology becoming more user-friendly and seemingly human in our everyday lives, the metaphor that Daft Punk was previously trying to sustain about themselves as "robots-making-music" could still be intact and, perhaps, even more profound as a "2.0 upgrade." Random Access Memories, however, just makes them seem like really, really talented producers dressed as robots. Spell broken.

June Roundup: Cultivating the Special

In an interview conducted during the Snakes and Arrows tour, Rush drummer Neil Peart quite casually made the observation that the idea of personal change is a misnomer. Instead, he said, people grow, and either accept or deny the events and perceptions of their past. Whether I like it or not, the seed of who I am today was already present in the person I was yesterday. I can gratefully say with all confidence that I have grown positively in the years that have passed since the move from Denton to Austin. Life is better than it has ever been.

One of the things I have worked on since I relocated is that for me, building a world with myself at the center is not healthy. I feel most centered when I am strong, but not the strongest; brave, but not the bravest; calm, but not the calmest, and I can lead by example rather than force of will. After all, it’s not a competition. Absolutely everyone wants to feel like they are special, but to do so at the cost of the people around you is, I think, an illusion.

When I left Denton, I left behind a world that I constructed around myself, for better and for worse, over the course of nearly twenty years. That world has also grown in its own way without me (as it should!) and the place that I held within it is receding into the horizon. I can see that and I accept it. Truthfully, I am overjoyed to notice the seeds that I helped to plant take root in fertile soil, but the maturation of this fruit is bittersweet because I don’t see to its daily cultivation.

Furthermore, I don’t always feel special in Austin, at least not in the same way. I often I feel like I’m just another face in the crowd. I grapple with the temptation to disingenuously stand out to massage my ego rather than work patiently for the growth that I am now undergoing to take root in this somewhat rockier soil.

Speaking of rock, for the Year in Rush project, I blew through almost two decades worth of material early in the month: Counterparts, Test for Echo, Vapor Trails, and Snakes & Arrows. I was anxious to finish before the release of Clockwork Angels, but I’d like to let this last one one simmer awhile longer before I respond to it with the gushing positivity of novelty. Don’t worry; I’ll post on it soon.

In the meantime, something special - beginning in 1991 on Roll the Bones, Rush began to compose freestanding instrumentals again after over a decade's break. This point was edited from the blog for the sake of brevity. Therefore, for this month's roundup, I am compensating by posting a collection of instrumentals from this late period that might be considered, for the studious Rush fan, the Gangster of Boats Trilogy (all four parts).

-and furthermore:

Soundgarden - Badmotorfinger: Before grunge became the new thing, Badmotorfinger was the underground metalhead's delight. Its difficult to divest it, however, from the typhoon of airplay that Soundgarden subsequently received later in the 90s.

M83 - Before the Dawn Heals Us: My first step backward into M83's catalog has been incredibly gratifying. As emotionally affective as the album is as a whole, the most moving tracks, both poignant and terrifying, are spoken-word experiments.

Miike Snow - Happy to You: I'm not sure if the band is trying to be psychedelic or humorous with their imagery, and keeps me off balance. There are lots of things that I aesthetically like about the album, but sometimes it seems a little goofy. 

Beach House - Bloom: Beach House has been getting a lot of attention in the indie press, which I think is largely deserved. Its accessible enough for a casual listen, but smart enough for deep examination.

The Wondermints - Mind If We Make Love To You: Another relatively obscure power pop album that, despite being intentionally retrospective, should be more visible. Track for track, it compares favorably to classic psychedelic pop.

Fishbone - Truth and Soul: So many people came to know Fishbone through The Reality of My Surroundings, and as good as that album is, it seems very overworked by comparison. Truth and Soul is the clearest and most direct statement of the band's career.

My Bloody Valentine - Loveless: Now that I've acquired the taste for this album, I find it to be incredibly beautiful. More importantly, I am starting to gain an awareness of just how influential it really is.

Now, Now - Threads: Now, Now's melodic songwriting and overall energy have me excited. This one may need to simmer awhile, though, just to make sure that what I think is going on is what it seems.

R.E.M. - Document: In the long run, I lost faith in R.E.M. From a songwriting and performance perspective, however, Document was a relatively important album to me (in 1988).

Baby Lemonade - The High Life Suite: This Father's Day present was unexpected, but is a brilliant example of the kind of songwriting I really enjoy. It is also incredibly short, unless you count the 25 minute bonus that sounds like a suspended animation effect from a video game.

The Beach Boys - That's Why God Made the Radio: The Beach Boys have long seemed to be functioning as their own tribute band, with very little to offer artistically beyond a fossilized nostalgia for yesteryear. Wilson, however, has skirted the margins of relevance for several years now, and the possibility of a real follow-up so SMiLE, no matter how slim, is too compelling to pass up.

John Coltrane - A Love Supreme: Coltrane was always searching, and A Love Supreme was the first clearly stated hypothesis in a newer experiment. It could be studied at length, not just from a musical or theoretical point of view, but also as a historical and cultural statement.

One last thing, if you made it this far.  Since "The Year in Rush" is drawing to a close, I'm considering a new background project: "The Jellyfish Family Tree" (unless anyone else has any other suggestions......).

Yamantaka//Sonic Titan: Killing the Buddha With Noise

For a fan of both Japanese culture and prog rock, Yamatanka//Sonic Titan seems to be a dream come true. From behind Noh-inspired stage makeup and elaborate stage sets, they emit a compelling contemporary experimental rock sound that has a noticeable Japanese flavor. But conceptually, they are far more complicated than merely being a Japanese band. In actuality, Yamatanka//Sonic Titan’s members are a collective of Asian-Canadian musicians whose constructed image is not just Japanese, but an open challenge their own pan-Asian authenticity. This heavy-handed ideology could easily ring hollow if the band didn’t deliver musically, but ultimately Yamantaka//Sonic Titan’s alchemic genre-jumping crystallizes into a distinctive statement.

Despite being comprised of a pastiche of styles, their debut YT//ST maintains a respectable coherency. The album opens like the soundtrack to a rainy anime film, recalling rolling credits from Ghost in the Shell and Akira. Although this attention to atmosphere persists throughout, YT//ST''s overall palate is much broader than pentatonic and open 5th soundscapes. Yamatanka//Sonic Titan also subverts the meditative qualities of their Buddhist upbringing with noise, sometimes resulting in an intensity comparable to Battles, Tool’s deeper cuts, or, at times, perhaps even the assaulting noise rock of the Boredoms. YT//ST mostly unfolds between these extremes, however, creating a challenging riff-injected shoegaze dream-pop reminiscent of Mew and early Radiohead with just a sprinkle of proggish organ pyrotechnics for good measure.



Yamatanka//Sonic Titan’s explicit mission statement is to incorporate and reinterpret cultural material from groups whose traditions have been pushed aside by modernity. It may seem that the day for stage makeup has passed, but like Peter Gabriel-era Genesis, YT//ST stands on its own while the band’s performance art enhances, rather than replaces, their music. The stage presence and meditative drones that Yamantaka//Sonic Titan employ might be met with confusion out of context, but have a deeper meaning when couched from within their overall concept.



On YT//ST, the band’s members explore the authenticity of their own Asian descent in a contemporary Western framework, and in the process create an intriguing debut that delivers on multiple levels.  From a certain point of view, music has an inherent responsibility to challenge the listener with social issues. Yamantaka//Sonic Titan don’t try to speak for these groups in the rather blunt way that U2, Midnight Oil, or other politicized bands might.  Instead, they mine their own hybridized identities as resources for inspiration, attempting to synthesize something both novel and meaningful.

the tUnE yArDs "W H O K I L L:" I Am What I Am

If, to paraphrase a certain sailor, we are what we are, then we also become what we practice.  Even worse, although we do get good at the things we work at, we also get better at them in the way we work on them, which can sometimes be detrimental.  Confused yet?  Here's an example: when I was in high school and had my eye on a career in rock music, I figured that once I learned to play bass well enough, I could start working on my singing.  I got better at playing, and I got better at singing, but I rarely practiced singing and playing at the same time.  By the time I reached a certain proficiency at the bass, I had a hard time accepting the detrimental effects of splitting my attention between the instrument and the voice.

This mindset followed me into my college music studies.  I thought that if I just studied hard enough, one day my musical identity would magically spring forth from the head of Zeus as a matter of course: my birthright for all the work I had done.  Although I feel that I am a pretty good musician today, I am hardly the virtuoso that I envisioned myself to be when I was fifteen simply because in my academic studies, I waited too long to begin developing the practical aspect of performance.  Before I realized it, my path had already been carved out.    

With all this in mind, I admit that I am often envious of musicians that have built a musical concept simply by listening to things they like and imitating them without too much formal study.  Of current interest are the tUnE yArDs, a band that defies easy categorization and description.  No matter what you have playing right now, their quirky and innovative release W H O K I L L will probably contrast it in some way - unless you happen to be spinning some central African pop music.

The Afro-pop flavors of W H O K I L L might suggest that it was crafted by music students caught in the orbit of some collegiate ethnomusicology department.  However, Merrill Garbus, lead singer and conceptualist of the tUnE yArDs, has an academic background in the theater - specifically puppeteering!

Puppeteering?  What the heck!  I give up....

Like many, Garbus counts among her influences the “world music” of Paul Simon and Johnny Clegg.  Not so big a deal.  What infuses the tUnE yArDs’ Afro-pop overtones with authority is significant first-hand study experiences in Africa.  Coupled with her unusual performance background, Garbus developed into an aggressive challenge to the standard idea of the female pop/rock vocalist.  With the tUnE yArDs, She commands a devastating range of timbres, singing as sweetly as Prince in androgynous mode and as explosively as any wailing Shona mbira player. If W H O K I L L doesn’t make it into my top ten albums of the year, Garbus will get the prize for best vocal performance, hands down.

In the tUnE yArDs, Garbus and bassist Nate Brenner deconstruct the traditional “band” even further than the “bassless” groups that seem to be in ascendency. Considering the general importance of rhythmic percussion in their influences, being absent a dedicated “drummer” seems a bit curious.  Garbus, however, is one of many musicians like Tyondai Braxton and Imogen Heap who explore the potentials of current looping technology in interesting ways.  She deliberately structures her self-samples to capture the “Africanness” of interlocking ostinato patterns, sometimes sketching out the rippling vocal polyphony of central African Pygmy music.  In the studio version of Gangsta, these backgrounds are subtly distorted to even further emulate Colin Turnbull’s influential 1961 field recordings of the Mbuti pygmies.

And sure, it is morally troublesome that we, as white Westerners, continue to culturally colonize the third world by copying their music and selling it as our own.  On the other hand, the world has gotten a lot smaller since Paul Simon released Graceland.  There is a difference between cultivating a musical concept out of personal experience and superficially pilfering the style of the “other” for the sake of adding something new and cool to our repertoire.  The tUnE yArDs’ music is who Garbus is: a commentary on her experiences as a cultural nomad.  Fortunately, she seems to be more concerned with making music than dodging academic issues.  Thank goodness.

No Knife Cuts through the Haze

On the suggestion of a reader, I had been listening to Riot for Romance for about a week and a half with sort of glazed-over indifference.  Certainly, I found their dual-guitar math-rock leanings appealing, but on a shallow listen, No Knife’s 2002 release shows its age.  This wasn’t necessarily a bad time in music: long-suffering bands from the late 90s were finally finding their voice on independent labels and audiences through digital conduits.  Many of these bands were likable enough, but superficially there was an omnipresent Jimmy Eat World aesthetic whitewashing the indie rock scene, and although I was hearing it on Riot for Romance, I knew I was still skipping across its surface.

My present-day indifference, however, seemed to belie the suspicion that the album had something deeper going on, a suspicion fueled by my adoration of this track.

Last Friday, though, I was primed to jump into the deep end.  Later in the evening than it should have been, I had just seen that last student get in their parent’s car and drive off from our annual “Band-O-Rama” event.  Wrangling over two hundred inexperienced band students (beginners, even!) through a high school halftime show is an impossibly overstimulating game of Whack-A-Mole.  I was exhausted and relived to have navigated the whole thing with only a relatively small amount of confusion and frustration.  I felt like I was in “middle school band director” mode all day long, though, and that persona takes some energy to sustain. By the time I lumbered to the car, I had held my face in that position for so long that I felt strangely disassociated with my everyday existence.  On the ride home, Riot for Romance cut right through this identity haze.

Lead vocalist Mitch Wilson often put guts above nuance in the singing department, giving the impression that No Knife has no small amount of angst to get out.  Overall, though, they had a distinctive intellectual precision that clearly distanced them from their punk or emo contemporaries.  The band seemed to be less concerned with writing clever hooks than they were with creating memorable songs using angular and sometimes atonal dual guitar riffs.  This concept permeates Riot for Romance.

With its deliberate yet defiant aesthetic, No Knife was a welcome sound after playing the role of the unwavering moral icon for the entire day.  I would not stoop to melodrama and say that Riot for Romance helped me find myself, but as an album, it sunk its teeth into me that evening and has not let go yet.  Truthfully, I can’t imagine how I missed it before.  No Knife are smart, catchy, energetic, and just edgy enough to remind you that there is always an establishment to rail against – even if you are part of it.