The French Connection: M83 and Phoenix

To animate a recording within my imagination, I often do YouTube searches, read reviews, and read Wikipedia listings.  Although you guys get to see the end results of this rather obsessive practice, I never really know when it will work out, and sometimes the results create abstract connections between unrelated things.  For example, last February I was listening to several new albums during the annual road trip to TMEA in San Antonio.  The hotel room at the La Quinta where I stayed had wifi, and in the evenings as I got ready for bed, I did a little online piddling into some of the bands that were then currently grabbing my attention.  The access was intolerably slow, resulting in a stuttering, halted “streaming video” experience that seemed more like an upload on dial-up.  Despite this, several clips “came to life” and I kept them up in my browser to rewatch during the isolation of this stay.  Two of them stood out as being particularly good, neo-80s retro and, by coincidence, French. 

For those of us that were in the 80s, it is no secret that the music largely sucked.  We don't like to admit it, and there were lots good songs, to be sure (the visibility of which was largely decided by the attendant video), but good “albums” were hard to come by.  When we look back on that era, however, the “rose-colored glasses of nostalgia” allow us to look back fondly.  Apparently, sailors of yore who spent long periods at sea would sometimes suffer from profound homesickness that they called “nostalgia.”  For us, though, it is not so much homesickness, but a longing for an idealized version of the past that may not even be our own.  Today, we live, eat, and breathe the stuff.

Pontificating at length on nostalgia probably deserves its own blog post (possibly one with a warning label).  I’ll spare you for now….

In any case, it’s hard to say exactly how I got into Phoenix – they just kept “coming up.”  I saw their name here and there and put “Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix” on last year's Christmas list.  I found it to be a pretty compelling and consistent set of mid-80s style synth/power pop.  Although I initially did not crave it, I certainly enjoyed it every time it came up in the player.  Then I found this performance clip of them on David Letterman:

Blam! Oh, yeah – that song.  You probably heard “1901” all over the place last year.  It was even in a car commercial.  Although Phoenix’s work has a studio polish, it seems that they have the capacity to reproduce this polish in a live context is a way that, due to technological differences, was not conceivable in the 80s live setting.  They, in the words of my good friend John, "kill it" on this vid.  For me, the entire album sounded different after I saw this clip and abstracted an idea of how they potentially execute their songs in performance.

With M83, on the other hand, I had slightly different experience.  I first heard them during the closing credits of Horror Remix, and proactively sought them out.  I bought “Saturdays=Youth” simply because it was the most current album by M83 that Waterloo Records had in stock, but it turned out to be a good one.  It’s an explicit tribute to the 80s, and it does a hauntingly compelling job of capturing the standard-issue radio ambience of this timeframe.  It seems to have “instant nostalgia:”  it immediately began to bring back discolored visions of my high school hallways and heartaches, even though none of the songs served as the soundtrack to (or even existed during) that era of my life.  Even weirder, I eschewed mainstream music in high school, leaning towards my own youthful progressive rock elitism.  Regardless, I was quite enamored of “Saturdays=Youth” by the time I found this clip:

While this live clip of "Kim & Jessie" may not have the flawless execution of “1901,” it certainly shows a nostalgic 80s style.  That these bands are both French and spontaneously came to have meaning to me on a solitary trip to San Antonio a year ago connects them in only my imagination and experience.  In any case, both of these examples come from albums that are now consistent favorites, so much so that I have been hesitant to get deeper into their catalogs.  If anyone has feedback on any other albums by M83 or Phoenix, please give me a shout-out.

Jon Brion and Sean Lennon: Separated at Birth?

I first thought of starting this blog to try to capture some of the bizarre thoughts I have about music (that probably only make sense in my head) as I listen in the car.  I awoke this morning to snow on the ground and no coffee in the pantry.  Despite the admonishment of the entire city of Austin for people to stay off the roads, I embarked on a low-friction adventure to Starbuck’s to remedy this nightmarishly caffeine-free situation and one such thought came to mind. Sliding backwards downhill to the soundtrack of Sean Lennon’s “Friendly Fire” album, I began to make some compelling connections between him and one of my past favorites, Jon Brion.  I began by comparing their musical similarities, but as I continued, I began to wonder if they were, like, separated at birth or something.  While the arcs of their careers are not completely analogous, it seemed like there were some interesting junctures worth blogging about.

If you know who Jon Brion is, you probably read a lot of liner notes.  He was a behind-the-scenes guy for a lot of the more artistic LA-based pop bands in the 90s.  He was Jason Faulker’s under-credited stand-in on Jellyfish’s “Spilt Milk” album, and was a contributing member of The Grays.  He co-wrote and produced Aimee Mann’s first three solo albums and probably influenced her subsequent work to the present day.  He provided the soundtrack to several movies, “Magnolia” being the stand-out.  Brion produced a ridiculous number of albums, as well, from artists as diverse as Robyn Hitchcock and Kanye West.  Between all of this work, he has a standing Friday night one-man show at the Largo in Los Angeles where he performs on a wide array of instruments and loopers with no setlist, improvising covers and originals and pretty much whatever else comes into his head.  

Despite all of this proliferation, Brion has only ever released one solo album, the pristine, slightly rare, indie-before-indie-was-cool "Meaningless.”  Completed in 1997, dropped by the record label, and subsequently independently released in 2001, “Meaningless” is well-crafted, lyrically deep and musically moving. Although I generally prefer live video, Brion is pretty short in this department.  This is a good song from "Meaningless" that a fan put to a rather bizarre traffic safety video.

Due to his pedigree (which seems to be a bit of an albatross around the neck), Sean Lennon has actually garnered a bit more attention than Brion.  If he were to capitalize on his name, he would most assuredly be more widely known.  By choice, however, he has remained largely behind-the-scenes as a session musician and producer, most notably contributing to the career of Cibo Matto.  A quick look at his resume also reveals soundtrack and some film work.  Given that his career does not have the exact same span as Brion’s, there does seem to be a significant crossover in output and interests.

If output is measured in only terms of solo work, however, Sean Lennon’s resume seems to also be similarly meager.  Two releases, "Into the Sun" and the one I am currently listening to, “Friendly Fire,” form the entirety of “Sean Lennon albums.”   Both are, like “Meaningless,” well-crafted, lyrically deep, and musically moving.

“Friendly Fire,” in particular, is stylistically similar to “Meaningless” in multiple capacities.  Of course, there is the late Beatles influence that pervades most creative pop music.  Beyond that, both albums sparkle, shuffle, and smirk the listener through a singable collection of dark psychological self-examinations.  In fact, it seems to me that the dissonance that arises between the uplifting beauty of Brion’s and Lennon’s work and the melancholic narrative of their lyrics is what gives their music so much gravitas.  It’s almost as if a person who has experienced the song could not possibly have written it so sweetly.  It feels like they are talking about themselves in the third person, which means that they could be talking about anyone – even you.  

 

Lennon’s career is, as I stated, a little shorter than Brion’s and the similarities (which now seem loose, as I look back on it), will probably peel apart.  Still, its fun to think about – and it is, after all, just a thought.

P.S. In the process of writing this, I found out that Brion contributed to "Friendly Fire," by the way.  Um, maybe that's why there are some similarities.........

Deerhoof, Ben Butler & Mousepad - and Let's Not Forget the Cold

In the summer of 2007, I saw Rush on the “Snakes and Arrows” tour at an outdoor venue, the Smirnoff Center in Dallas (or whatever they are calling it this year).  It was an outdoor show in the middle of a particularly bad Texas heatwave – heat index 108 degrees after sundown.  Last night, I experienced its counterpart when I was Deerhoof at the Mohawk here in Austin.  When I left the venue, my phone said that it was 27 degrees.  I had on some serious layers on my torso, but of course, no thermal underwear.  Its hard to find that kind of thing when you only wear them once every two years.  I can’t imagine what it must have been like to play in that environment.  I had wool socks on my hands, which were planted firmly in my pockets, and they still were numb.  When the wind chill hit, I started looking for a Tauntaun (nerdboy reference). 

Deerhoof is an interesting band.  While they are probably not bombastic enough to earn the “prog” label, they are certainly quirky enough to be considered “art rock.”  Something about them that reminds me of the Talking Heads - perhaps Satomi Matsuzaki’s awkward Japaneseness reminds me of the ways in which David Byrne used to capitalize on his own whiteboy gawkiness.  Unarguably, Deerhoof has better technical chops than the Talking Heads.  Drummer Greg Saunier takes a page from the Keith Moon playbook, rifling out seat-of-the-pants fills just to see what he can pull off.

Last summer I picked up “Milkman,” and it was definitely a slow cooker, but I came to like it after many, many listens.  There is something that is missing, though, that keeps Deerhoof from being a favorite, rather than just an interest.  Trying to find out what that thing is might be what keeps me listening to them.  The point of going to see them live was to perhaps gain a better understanding of the band, and although I walked away satisfied, I can’t say that I am any more or less a Deerhoof fan than when I started.  I still just like them.  To be fair, I got their new release “Deerhoof vs. Evil” last week, and it comprised the majority of their set.  That recording is still simmering for me, and admittedly, it does sound a little different after the show.  Additionally, I was not familiar with a lot of the work that they played.  I have one other album, while they have an extensive catalog that spans around fifteen years.  Being kind of a weird band on an oppressively cold night, the whole thing may not have invigorated my interest in the group like I thought it might, but it might not have been a fair sample.

On the other hand, maybe it is fair.  When I walked in the door, the opening band, who I had never heard of before, immediately caught and held my attention.  Comprised of a keyboard player and a drummer, this group, calling themselves “Ben Butler & Mousepad,” totally blew me out of the water.  I have tried to find a clip that represents this group well, but unfortunately they all seem to be like the one I personally tried to capture – OK video, but totally blown-out sound.  This one kind of gives you an idea....

Keep in mind the drummer probably can't feel his hands here.  For a better live tidbit, check out my later post.

The thing that really disturbed me about the overall experience, however, was that after Ben Butler and Mousepad, Deerhoof seemed a little….archaic.  Despite the Deerhoof’s killer chops and impressive energy in a hostile environment, their guitar-centric approach left me a little cold (pun intended).  Conversely, the keyboard and drum approach of Ben Butler and Mousepad fascinated me. 

One of the things I enjoy about music is unraveling the tapestry of its performance.  Figuring out who plays what part at what time is very satisfying to me, and kept me listening to some songs for years.  When you add this new wave of “soft” sequencing, where laptops can be made to react more like instruments, I find myself really curious as to how it is being done.

Keyboard and laptops present another problem, however – that of stage presence.  It is difficult to make keyboard playing and computer-controlled accompaniment look cool.  Ben Butler and Mousepad deftly circumvented this problem by employing hyperactive drumming and charismatic crowd interaction, allowing their music to bridge the gap between Keith Emerson and Thomas Dolby.  Although they were danceable, they were also virtuosic, adventurous, and above all, fun.  Any group who tries to get the audience to clap and dance to a song in 9/4 has the kind of Zappa-esque humor that I appreciate.    

I bought their CD "Formed for Fantasy" and, predictably, it does not quite capture the live performance, although it does have its moments.  Once I get some distance from last night, I might be able to be a little more objective.

Finally, a portion of Deerhoof’s performance was also marred by some drunk guy with an accent and a microphone whose enthusiastic thrashing about was encroaching on my space.  Of course, I became annoyed, and when he turned to speak to his girlfriend I took great joy in barking into his microphone like a junkyard dog.  I’m pretty sure he never actually caught me doing it.  Regardless things improved when I made the miraculous realization that I could pretty much stand wherever I wanted to.  After I moved about five feet back, he became someone else’s problem and I got back to enjoying the show.  Lesson learned. 

The Beginner's Guide to Mew

Some people who I know love music feel like they are in a bit of a rut when it comes to keeping abreast of current music releases.  When finding music becomes your responsibility, where do you start?   Undoubtedly, there is great music out there, but it never seems to compare to the beloved soundtrack of yesteryear – particularly that of the teenage years.  Many of us cling to the music that is attached to that time of our lives.  Even in the event we do find something new, we find we prefer it because it is reminiscent of something that is already in the realms of our already fossilized tastes.

One band that seems to have broken into that upper echelon of artists for me over the past five or six years is the Danish band Mew.  They look forward and back in a compelling way that fits well in my musical conception.  I got into them in around 2006, and I rank them up there with Hall & Oates, Tears for Fears, Rush, and King Crimson(My elementary, middle school, high school, and college favorites, respectively).  Their work is consistently epic, melancholy, aggressive, and thought-provoking, and if their YouTube clips are any indication, they are a great live band, as well (which I think is important, but the irony of using YouTube as a measure of this is not lost on me).  If you are looking for new music that may not be mainstream, you could do a lot worse than to at least check them out.  This post is meant to provide a framework for getting into Mew’s oeuvre. 

A quick note before I continue: the “album” is my unit of musical consumption.  I don’t listen to singles, and I don’t use playlists.  I buy CDs and rip them for soft use, but I mostly use the six-CD changer in my Scion XA for listening purposes.  I keep liner notes around in case I need to refer to them.  I understand that some of my more technologically snooty friends scoff at such affectations, but all I have to say to that is – you are being technologically snooty, not to mention elitist.  I connect with my music, and it does not really matter if its part of some amorphous cloud of streaming information or an 8-track, does it?  

That being said, Mew has three “albums” that I suggest.  My introduction to the band was “…And the Glass Handed Kites,” released in 2006. I wrote an Amazon review of that one that I still stand by, so check that out for a more in-depth look.  For now, let’s just say that I listened to “…And the Glass Handed Kites” nearly every day for a long time, and after several months I feared I would burn it out.  I purposely stopped listening to it, and to fill the gap I purchased its predecessor, “Frengers.”  Usually, when I get into a new band, I favor the album that serves as an introduction, but “Frengers” confounds this tendency.

“Frengers” is a little more digestible than “…And the Glass Handed Kites.”  Whereas the latter is a bit more conceptual and complex, the former is a consistent set of free-standing songs.  There were tunes that I initially gravitated toward, the first of which, “156,” is still my representative single of choice as an introduction to Mew.  It showcases their atmospheric side right alongside their more aggressive riff-driven aspects, while singer Jonas Bjerre’s characteristically dreamy approach unifies the entire song by floating above it.  Mew is also great with hiding complexity within accessibility, and for those with an affinity for the subtle might raise an eyebrow at the asymmetrical time changes and melodic bass work hidden in the mix.

Although “156” is an excellent example of Mew’s approach, every single song on “Frengers” reveals different components of the band’s approach.  Eventually, they have all evolved into my “favorite track on the album” for different reasons. Rather than give a track-by-track, I’ll just get to the point and state that “Frengers” is the one to get.   I still like “…And the Glass Handed Kites,” and if you like “Frengers” you will like it as well, but if you want a place to start, here it is. 

Their more recent work, the exhaustively titled “No More Stories/Are Told Today/I’m Sorry They Washed Away//No More Stories/ The World Is Grey/I’m Tired Let’s Wash Away,”  released in 2009, is more atmospheric and complex than even “…And the Glass Handed Kites.”  It is great, and has its moments, but it lacks an inexplicable confidence that the other two exude.  Bassist Johan Wolhert left the band before this recording, and this may have had an impact. “No More Stories…” is also noticeably heavier on texture and lighter on intensity.  There is no “Snow Brigade” or “Special,” which I had a hard time adjusting to.  Don’t misunderstand, I do like and suggest the album, but in comparison to the other two, it might not be the best starting point.

Mew has also recently released a “Best of” compilation called “Eggs are Funny.”  The tracklisting is pretty substantial for this collection, but being an album guy, I rarely get into “Greatest Hits” releases - they always feel jagged and incoherent.  As a unit, albums provide me with a context that enhances all of its parts, so in my opinion, anyone who is genuinely curious about Mew should just get “Frengers” and go from there.

One last thing – I need to correct an unrelated oversight from the January Listening list.  After reading Paul Berliner’s “Thinking in Jazz,” I purchased Art Blakey and the Jazz Messenger’s “Moanin’,” and it turned out to be one of my favorite listening experiences early in January.  I put it away with the intent of letting it stew in my subconscious for awhile.  “Moanin’” is a great, classic jazz recording, and it is a travesty that I forgot to include it on the list.

January Listening

In the past, we could all be bound together by the music we listened to through the radio or, in my day, MTV.  Now we have more latitude and independence in our listening habits, which comes with a price.  Potentially, our personal playlists remain personal, and the shared musical experiences of the past seem to be more isolated.  On the other hand, I could just be getting old and out-of-step with what is really happening in the music world.

Regardless, there are probably more like me who want to find something new to listen to, and this blog is mainly for them.  I don't want to pontificate too much right off.  There's plenty of time for that later.  Instead, I'll get down to business.  I got a lot of new stuff for Christmas, and as January draws to a close, I want to sum up my listening so far this month.  For the uninitiated, I try to make these "shotgun reviews" no more than two sentences (this sometimes takes some creative grammar: get over it).

Here goes:

Daft Punk: "TRON Legacy Soundtrack" -  Daft Punk's foray into a more orchestral approach is compelling.  It does not totally stand on its own, so It won't exactly unseat John Williams or Danny Elfman, but for the soundtrack to a TRON movie its the right mix of majestic and clever.

Miike Snow - A very slow-cooking repeat from last year that for some reason has really turned on for me recently.  Electronica and songwriting collide full-force on this one, although keep in mind they are a production-driven project: live clips of them are sometimes inconsistent.

"The Sound of Siam - Leftfield Luk Thum, Jazz, and Molam in Thailand, 1964-1975" - I have a soft spot for listening back to the places where Western popular music met local traditions for the first time.  This has some very excellent stuff on it, but a few dogs, too.

The Psychedelic Aliens: "Psycho African Beat" - See above, except in an African context.  Not the most compelling collection of African Psychedelia I have heard (check out World Psychedelic Classics Vol. #3: Love is a Real Thing for that), but the influence of Santana and Jimi Hendrix is definitely noticeable.

KTU: "8 Armed Monkey" -  Warr guitar, accordian, drums, and samples.  You can't deny the chops or the energy of this King Crimson offshoot, but the line between intensity and loudness is sometimes uncomfortably toed, especially when the microtonal caterwauling cranks up. 

J. Paul Slavens: "Alphabet Girls Vol. 1" -  This is a holdover from last year's top ten that is just too good to take out of the player.  If you remember a band called Ten Hands from yesteryear, Slavens was the lead singer- he's developed a bit of a Elvis Costelloesque cleverness in the interim.

GiGI w/Material: "Mesagna Ethiopia" - Considering I was a fan of Material in the 90's and am a recent fan of Ethiopian pop music, this should have been a no-brainer.  I was a little disappointed with it, though.

The Sword: "Warp Riders" -  If you'd like to hear what Sabbath would have sounded like if they had today's production, you should definitely check this one out.  If you are not a diehard fan of the style, however, The Sword can get a little dull (pun intended).

Philip Selway: "Familial" - A surprisingly textured acoustic guitar album from Radiohead's drummer.  That should be enough to pique interest, right?

The Black Keys: "Brothers" -  Another holdover from last year that would have made a top twenty list, but not the top ten.  Sometimes a band lives up to their hype.

Dengue Fever: "Escape from Dragon House" - a Cambodian singer meets up with and LA funk-groove band, and they produce the soundtrack for all the lost cold-war era James Bond movies (y'know, 'cuz so many are lost).  Has some real highlights, as well as a couple of yawners. 

 

I also plopped the 2003 album "Frengers" by Mew in the player somewhat carelessly last week, and I have fully decided that it belongs on my top-10-stranded-on-a-desert-island-for-reallz list of albums.  I think, however, that this deduction may deserve its own blog post.  For now, do your own YouTube searches and whatnot and get acquainted.  There will be a quiz.  

 In my post-birthday musical landscape, I got Sean Lennon's "Friendly Fire," The Budos Band "III," and "Deerhoof vs. Evil" coming up.  I'll sew it up for now, though.  I know better than to ramble too much online, and I'm thinking the Indian Buffet nearby sounds dang good for dinner.