I'll be reviewing the album in the coming days. Suffice it to say that it's rock music the way Satan intended, with gigantic, soaring hooks and lines that resolve in a most satisfying way. Not only does the singer look like a blue medal winner in the Warren Zevon lookalike contest, but he has a pretty amazing falsetto, which will unfortunately put a lot of people off.
Jaga Jazzist have just released a new album called One-Armed Bandit on Ninja Tune. I've been a fan for years, but I was beginning to think they'd broken up because it's been 5 years since their last album came out. Judging by the live clip, they appear to have turned down the electronic elements and cranked up the prog-rock/jazz-fusion to 11.
This clip has me wondering if all of Norwegian television is this cool. I'm sure they must have Norway's Got Talent or The Real Housewives of Skudeneshavn, but if there were five minutes that were this good once a week on any American channel, I might actually be persuaded to buy a television.
If you came of age in the 1980s and you were into music that was decidedly non-Top 40, MTV was a harsh mistress.There it was, after school, beckoning you like a siren-- so tangible, so full of promise, yet just so blandly god-awful.Video after video, you'd wait and wait in hopes of catching something remotely interesting, hoping and praying for a morsel.Maybe you'd get a video by Devo or Talking Heads if you were lucky.But you were far more likely to get Bryan Adams, Lionel Richie, Genesis, or David Lee Roth.Even Hall & Oates began to seem like a blessed reprieve from the mundane.
But then, magically, in 1986, something happened.If you were lucky enough to be able to stay up late on Sunday nights, all of your pent up anxiety suffered at the hands of Huey Lewis and the News was rewarded with two full hours of music that didn't totally suck.It was called 120 Minutes.
It wasn't perfect.Far from it.It suffered from numbing repetition, Dave Kendall, and repetition.Honestly, how many times do you need to see the video for "Bastards of Young?"Every week, apparently.
For me, the highlights were the guest VJ episodes.My favorites were Henry Rollins and Robyn Hitchcock.They're about as opposite as possible, but the one thing they had in common was that you didn't know what to expect from one minute to the next.It felt like it could all come crashing down at any moment.But it didn't.Henry yelled at me to go buy John Coltrane records and Robyn told lysergic fairy tales while he strummed the guitar.Those 120 minutes actually made the rest of the week on MTV forgivable, if unwatchable.
I've always wanted to be a Guest VJ, and now, thanks to the power of youtube and the internet, I can.And after the fun I had traipsing the limitless library of fantastic stuff out there, I've decided to make it a regular thing.So, every now and then, I'll put together a mini set of music videos for your viewing pleasure.This inaugural edition should explain exactly why MTV would never let me take the helm of anything other than a mop bucket.Enjoy!
I stopped collecting vinyl LPs when I opened my own record store in 1997. My beginning stock was my collection, and I sold all but a handful. While LPs do hold a dear space in my heart and I am a fan of all things anachronistic, I've never felt the urge to start collecting again.
But this Shogun Kunitoki record makes me want to at least own a Fisher Price turntable so I could trip out on the spinning disc. For 25 Euros, you can buy the vinyl version of Vinonaamakasio and a little strobe light (or save 3 Eurous and DIY.) Then, turn the lights out and shine the strobe on the LP for the ultimate mystical experience. OK, it's a gimmick. But it's a really good gimmick.
Contrary to the experience of my good friend Paul Booker in Texas, it was a positively beautiful first weekend of spring here in El Lay. It has been cold and rainy nearly every weekend since January, rendering my convertible top useless as an anorak in Hades.
So, now that I can put the top down again, the pressing question is what to listen to? The Kinks are an awesome choice of course, but I was in mood for something more groovy.
Check out this awesome clip of the Small Faces on French television in 1968, getting groovy with the instrumental opening to their seminal record, Ogden's Nut Gone Flake. Or, according to the French translation, "Not Gone Flake." If only we could get that stamped on the forehead of every Angeleno....
Top Gear presenter James May has been a very busy man lately. First, there was his cosmic tribute to the 40th anniversary of the moon landing, James May On The Moon. Maybe I'm slow, or maybe it's because BBC is so persnickety about what we Yanks get to see, but I've just learned about two new programs (or as the Brits say, "programmes") that probably won't make it on to BBC America for another year.
So, with all due praise to those fabulous youtubers who figure out ways around things, I just learned of James May's Toy Stories and James May's Big Ideas. From watching the previews, it looks like my favorite middle-aged spanner sorter does everything from building Erector Set drawbridges to flying experimental aircraft to constructing a gigantic slot car racing set. But the house made entirely of Lego bricks is positively magnificent. And hilarious.
I'd eat fish and chips for a week if I could buy NTSC DVDs of each series.
I never thought John Cusak and Tiny Tim would ever be the jumping off point for a blog post, but an odd bit of serendipity has made it so. It started this morning with a post on BoingBoing, wherein Cusak picked a 10-minute video clip of Tim to share with all the happy mutants. It got me to thinking of James "Big Bucks" Burnett, who managed Tim and produced his last record. I had the honor and pleasure of working with Bucks at Dallas' premier dysfunctional, snob-topian record store, Pagan Rhythms, in the late '90s.
Bucks is world big-time famous for a lot of reasons. Yes, there's the Tiny Tim connection. But he was also the president of the Mr. Ed Fan Club. He also tangoed with Robert Plant and had smaller hair than Jimmy Page during the '80s. But Bucks is most famous for his eight track tape collection. So famous, that Texans have seen fit to give them their very own museum. Even the world famous Wall Street Journal has noticed Bucks' famousness.
My personal recollection of eight tracks in my life is spotty. I know they were around in some measure, but it was probably more tablespoons than quarts. I remember an eight track tape of Christmas music at my grandparents' house-- it was a compilation of the classics: "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" by Gene Autry, "Frosty the Snowman" by Burl Ives, etc. Though I remember well the dynamite-blasting players, I can't remember any other specific eight tracks in the LP-centric household of my youth.
That fact doesn't stop my nostalgia meter from pegging into the red. If I were in Texas this month, I'd certainly find a way to make it to the Eight Track Museum. But if I'm honest, it would probably be more to visit with Bucks than to admire his stacks of unopened Rutles eight tracks.
I just hope Texans find a way to make it permanent. It would be a real shame to see this museum go the way of the minidisc.
The local music scene in Dallas, Texas during the '90s was abysmal. Unless, of course, you were a fan of Pantera or Robbie Van Winkle. But for those with a discerning palate, the pickin's were slim. This was especially true if you happened to be in to jazz.
One consistent bright spot was drummer Earl Harvin. His always tasteful playing earned him recording dates with Seal, The The, Richard Thompson, The Psychedelic Furs, Dallas legend MC 900 Ft. Jesus and tour dates with Air. But his passion at the time was jazz.
The now-defunct Leaning House records documented Harvin's various jazz groups on several CDs, but as is true with most jazz, it was best to catch him live. I had the pleasure of seeing him many times, and he killed every time.
So imagine my surprise when I found out he's now in one of my favorite bands. Congratulations, Earl. Better yet, congratulations to Tindersticks.
This video commissioned by UK ISP TalkTalk (which apparently has nothing to do with the seminal ‘80s band of the same name) as a response to the anti-filesharing proposals making the legislative rounds in Britain does a remarkable job at laying to waste age-old arguments that it's the fans who are killing the music biz.
Cobbled together by Dan Bull, who became an internetional star in the wake of his Dear Lily parody, “Home Taping Is Killing Music” features the unlikely likenesses of Madonna, George Michael and Adam Ant at their ‘80s awesomest, singing about how if you, the fan, were to spuriously record their music onto a cassette tape, you and your proletariat friends will bring the record business crashing down, and all your favorite artists will starve to death in cardboard boxes on the steps of a boarded-up Capitol Records office building.
I realize some of you of a certain age may not remember the campaign (some of you may not even know what a cassette tape is.) but there was an actual campaign by the major labels centered around the battle cry, “Home Taping Is Killing Music” in the ‘80s. I remember it well and laughed about it at the time. But for some reason, it wasn’t until I saw this video that I made the connection between that ill-fated campaign and the new one against downloading that the record companies are fighting now. It’s still a war on the consumer. And that’s why they’ll lose again.
One of the things that made me laugh about the original anti-home taping campaign was the Dead Kennedys. Though the DKs made me laugh frequently, I remember the smug thrill I felt upon purchasing their In God We Trust, Inc EP on cassette and seeing the infamous text printed on Side B—“Home taping is killing record industry profits! We left this side blank so you could help.”
I felt like I was enlisting in the Dead Kennedys Army, and did my part by promptly recording my favorite songs from a Homestead Records compilation on the other side. But I’d already bought the record and Homestead was a valiant indie label. I had unwittingly defeated the purpose. But it felt rebellious.
By the time I began working in record stores in the early ‘90s, a new campaign was underway. The Parents Music Resource Center, headed by Tipper Gore (wife of Manbearpig hunter, Al Gore) was out to save the world from those who dared to swear. Although it wasn't a record company initiative, the major labels were more than willing to grab their collective ankles despite artists' objections. It’s thanks to the PMRC that you now see the ubiquitous “Parental Advisory—Explicit Lyrics” stickers on every other CD. Unless you shop at Wal Mart.
They actually had congressional hearings on the matter. I remember watching parts of the hearings and being amazed by the ridiculousness of it. But the hearings had two unintended consequences for me. First, they formally introduced me to Frank Zappa. I’d heard the name and seen his records, but being a young punk, I assumed by the shear size of his catalog that it was music for old farts. Boy, was I wrong. His eloquence at those hearings turned me on to a new world of sound, humor and virtuosity. For that, I can’t thank the PMRC enough.
The second thing the hearings did was even more remarkable. Coming of age in the ‘80s was rough if you hated heavy metal like I did. Metal acts like Motley Crue, Def Leppard, Poison and Twisted Sister were second only to the cheesy pop that dominated MTV back then. But someone else came to speak out against the PMRC during those hearings—Dee Snider, the lead singer from Twisted Sister. I could tell when he walked into the hearing room with is big hair and ripped denim that the congress critters were all checking to make sure their wallets were secure and they had a clear path to the exit. Snider sat down, pulled his speech out of his pocket, and proceeded to destroy them. It was awesome. Suddenly, I had an unlikely hero. Though I’d never buy his music, I was in Dee Snider’s Army every bit as much as I was in the Dead Kennedys Army.
Throughout the early ‘90s, I watched as the “Parental Advisory” labels took up valuable real estate on CD covers and record companies manufactured “clean” and “dirty” versions of every record that came with a warning. I dutifully wore my Sonic Youth “Smash The PMRC” shirt and watched artists find clever ways to make fun of the stupid label, culminating in Jane’s Addiction’s now-famous “First Amendment” cover art for the “clean” version of Ritual De Lo Habitual.
And so it goes. Back then, there were seven major label distributors. Now they’re down to 3 or 4. I can’t keep track of all the mergers. But it doesn’t matter because the tactics are the same. They cheat the artists, they blame and go after the consumer when profits trend down, nothing is their fault, and, of course, their dated business model is not the problem.
Home taping didn’t kill the recording industry and downloading won’t kill the recording industry. But things like record labels going after consumers and governments treating consumers like children will. Nobody wants to be told what to listen to or how or when they can listen to it. And though it’s unclear whether there is a business model that can satisfy record labels, artists and fans, what is clear is that one of those three is becoming superfluous thanks to cheaper technology and nearly limitless worldwide access directly to consumers. It is the labels who will be left behind if they don’t figure it out. They’ve been slow to act and I believe that “Home Taping Is Killing Music” nicely explains to the major labels that these sorts of tactics did not and will not work. Unfortunately, they won't acknowledge it until long after their obituaries are written.
