Do I Sound Like This?

(Video from the Village Voice. Link courtesy of Ben Johnson.)

Eh... maybe not. My speaking voice is much more lovely.

Update: First of all, I'd like to apologize for the fact that this video plays without prompting as soon as the page loads. I'm aware this is the reason we all left MySpace for Facebook. If it didn't think it was important (or at least pertinent) viewing for most of you, I'd consider removing this post entirely.

Secondly, I wanted to add some of my thoughts regarding Chris Weingarten's opinions of online music journalism and criticism. I would have liked to have done so when I first posted the video a few days ago but outside (read: real world) forces prevented this from happening. I went ahead and posted it anyway sans any of my commentary because a) I found it exceptionally compelling and wanted to share it as quickly as possible and b) I'm very much aware of the culture of "firsties" and I had the mild fear that within a few days this video would be exhausted and irrelevant.

In any case, Weingarten (who I confess, I've never read) makes many points that I myself have made in this space on more than one occasion. It's heartening to hear someone else call bullshit on the "hive mind" blog culture, especially when done as in depth and and colorfully as Weingarten does it: "It doesn't matter what someone writes next to the MP3" and "It's not how you best illustrate a keyword, it's how many times a day you can mention a keyword." Right fucking on.

While I largely agree with most of what Weingarten is saying here, I do have a major point of contention. He seems to claim that pre-internet music magazines were inherently superior to blogs. I won't deny that editorial standards were certainly higher ("some" as opposed to "non-existent") but Weingarten is making what more or less amounts to an argument for elitism and cultural hegemony.

Frankly, major music publications aren't and have never been better at exposing their readers to worthy music than blogs currently are. Take Weingarten's employers at Rolling Stone, who their former writer Richard Meltzer claimed "INVENTED the rock 'n' roll puff piece:"

Rolling Stone in the '70s was, as it remains today, a TRADE PAPER, a record industry HYPE SHEET, a promulgator of mass compliance in the Consumer Sector, a principal factor in the dumbing, maiming, and calming down of the public's taste for a rock-roll beast that had once indeed been not only wild & crazy but GENUINELY ANARCHIC.

That might be a little harsh or considered sour grapes but even a cursory look at RS's history will tell you that they were much more interested in James Taylors and John Cougar Mellencamps than Stooges or Minutemen. And it's not exactly like their non-music pop culture coverage is a recent phenomenon.

My problem with most music blogs is not that they are "lowest common denominator" as opposed to "legitimate" music coverage, but that they follow the trade paper/hype sheet format. It's a sad betrayal of the potential of 21st century communication.

I suppose the utopian ideal is something like thousands of digital fanzines, each reflecting the unique taste and ideas of their respective authors, created with ease and accessible to literally anyone in the world. In other words, individual expression instead of algorithmic-derived groupthink. It's an unfortunate fact that most major music blogs are utterly informed by music biz publicists. Thus, the prospect of free, unfettered exchange of ideas has been co-opted by the mechanisms of industry. Perhaps the internet did cause the death the mainstream but really the major differences are that niche taste (including Weingarten's unkillable indie rock) is much more susceptible to the above process and no one's getting paid.

One has to wonder if Weingarten finds irony in the fact that his video deriding art as meme may well become a meme itself. I suspect he'll find it just as ironic as I do every time I use my music blog to express my disgust with music blogs.

Update #2: Hype Machine responds.

I wrote that I had never read Weingarten but it turns out this isn't true. He is the creator of Hipster Puppies. So he already knows exactly what it's like to be a meme.

Project Mersh 21st Century

This is surely old news by now, but even upon initial announcement the impending reunion of Pavement didn't exactly make me convulse in anticipation. This is for a couple of reasons. Despite more or less growing up on indie rock in the 90s, I never felt as deep a connection with Pavement as I did with other bands from that era. They were a band I respected but never really cherished.

Sure, Slanted and Enchanted was, and remains, a brilliant record. However, by the time of the release of Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, I began to find the band's deep sense of sarcasm and undercurrent of privilege and entitlement to be somewhat off putting. I've never been a fan of over earnestness but when a band trades in ironic (and, frankly, elitist) detachment, it's difficult to form an emotional bond with them. A little sincerity and conviction go a long way. Malkmus had announced he was "crowned the king of it" back on "In the Mouth of a Desert" but actually appearing with a crown (and scepter and cape) in the "Cut Your Hair" video was really pushing things. One might be tempted to call me a snob for my less than total devotion to a band this well regarded but that's a bit hypocritical. Has there ever been a rock song more steeped in snobbery than "Range Life?"

Furthermore, the band's reunion seemed depressingly inevitable anyway. They can just be added to the ever growing list of bands who've recently reunited to capitalize on the new indie audience: My Bloody Valentine, the Jesus Lizard, the Pixies, Superchunk, Dinosaur Jr., Polvo. I could go on. And "capitalize" is absolutely the correct term. There's no reason to think these bands would be making music together again if it wasn't for monetary gain. The indie audience of the 21st century is simply much larger than when they originally played. I don't blame these bands for attempting to profit from a greater demand for the type of music they purvey. I wish them good fortune. Nor do I begrudge anyone for wanting to see a much-loved band they were too young experience the first time around. I was certainly front and center when Mission of Burma first reunited. However, there's something disheartening about bands who were once champions of music that was made without regard for commercial considerations suddenly getting on stage for little reason other than money.

This is representative of a philosophical shift in indie culture that's marked the last decade. Once a movement centered around independence from mainstream pablum and music industry (and, by proxy, capitalist) values, indie music (I hesitate to classify much of the recent vintage as any kind of "rock") has become merely a niche taste for a particular demographic, interchangeable with any other from a marketing standpoint. The AV Club's Erik Adams pretty much hit the nail on the head when he called today's indie "songs that are used to sell today’s iPods and Zooey Deschanel movies" in his recent review of Cymbals Eat Guitars.

In the pre-internet age, indie culture was driven by fans. That "fan" is short for "fanatic" is absolutely apropos in this case. It took a level of commitment and literacy. Knowledge was achieved by sorting though countless fanzines and record guides, word of mouth from discerning record store employees and college radio DJs, and trust in labels that reliably put out good music. Now, information on nearly any band is just a Google search away. Being a fan of a band like the Clean was once a sort of secret handshake. Coverage of the Clean's recent album, Mister Pop, was wide and unprecedented for a band that toiled away on and off for nearly 30 years in semi-obscurity. That the album (which is fine, by the way) is their first full-length since the release of Merge's easily available and modestly hyped, career-spanning 2CD anthology of the band's material is no coincidence.

The accessibility granted through 21st century technology, be it general information or the music itself via file sharing, eschews the cultural fluency of old school fanaticism. Whether or not this new approach is inherently inferior is debatable but it seems to me that there's a difference between reading about archeology in a textbook and actually going out on a dig. The dilettante can claim expertise with minimal amount of effort.

I am not such a Luddite that I believe that these modern methods don't have an upside. That a band as good as the Clean has gained greater recognition is undoubtedly a good thing. However, as the audience for indie music increases and it becomes more financially viable, its already loose defining qualities become even more amorphous. "Indie" has always been an umbrella term, used to cover an array styles and existing on a slippery-slope to meaninglessness. Not for nothing did Sebadoh's 1991 name-dropping, open fan letter "Gimme Indie Rock" have a large amount of eye-rolling mockery mixed in with its affection. Still, there was a sensibility and kinship there beyond being an alternative to pop. By contrast, that anyone has ever considered major label, chart-aspiring bands like the Killers or Kings of Leon to be "indie" is a joke, a fundamental misunderstanding that somehow got warped into a truism. In 2009, indie seems to exist only to cater to consumers of a specialized taste. It's not even an opposition to the Kaynes and Lady Gagas of the world, but additional product for those who crave something a little different.

One could make the case that the accessibility granted by the hyper-communicative nature of the internet has opened up possibilities for independent bands. The popularity of a band like the Shins earlier in the decade is probably at least partially attributable to this. On the other hand, one could just as easily argue that these new avenues have been readily co-opted and exploited by savvy music marketers and have all but obliterated any grassroots connection to the music. Pop music mechanisms of "breaking" new artists remain firmly in place, even if they travel through different paths. The mass marketing infrastructure of the source broadcasting to the target has been adapted to appear hipper and less obvious, gradually usurping legitimate word-of-mouth. It is perhaps naive to think that the taint of commerce had never previously been a part of indie culture but it's inarguable that that taint has ever been more prominent than it is now.

Tom Lax of Siltbreeze Records, on sending the first Times New Viking album to Pitchfork:

I did send one to Pitchfork for review and after a while I e-mailed to ask if they got it. In response I got an e-mail asking me if I'd like to advertise. I didn't and it never got reviewed. So the more things change, the more they stay the same, don't you think?

Then again, when I saw Times New Viking around the time of Present the Paisley Reich, they played a cover Pavement's "Box Elder." Perhaps, the flood of 80s and 90s band reunions shows that today's indie audience craves something more authentic and is resisting the hype machine. That may just be wishful thinking.

Speaking of which, I hope they play "Debris Slide."

Dancing About Architechture (Again)

For the past few days, I've been thumbing through one of my all-time favorite books, A Whore Just Like The Rest: The Music Writings of Richard Meltzer. Lest you think the title is an indicator for some kind misogynist rant, it's actually an ironic comment on Meltzer's status as a music scribe, mocking the cozy relationship between the rock press and record label publicity departments. Despite a chapter entitled "Quid Pro Quo," Meltzer was nothing like the rest. Like his peer (and friend) Lester Bangs, Meltzer wrote about rock in the first person. Time and time again, directly and indirectly, he argued that there was no way to experience music outside of the context of your life. You can call it "new journalism" or "gonzo" (Meltzer hates both terms), and point to it as the parent of the navel-gazing and pseudo-sociology that passes for music criticism these days. (Yours truly, guilty as charged.) However, the difference is that Meltzer spoke a language of high ideas in a voice that was consistently funny, insightful, opinionated and engaging. There's a full chapter entitled "Prime Wallow," which contains record "reviews" from a period in 1973 when Metlzer made a point of not listening to the records he was reviewing. It's probably the book's most entertaining section. Lester Bangs died young and became the rock crit role model and martyr, but Meltzer was the better writer.

In any case, there's nothing quite like reading the work of one your heroes to make you contemplate your own work. (Or betray its influence. Just take a look at all the parenthetical phrases, one of Meltzer's favorite techniques, in the preceding paragraph. I'll stop now.) The frequency of my posts has slowed to a crawl of late. At first, I simply figured I had little which moved me to put pen to paper. However, upon review of some of my more prolific periods of blogging, I discovered that I used to be content to throw up a link to some other website and write a little commentary. Or if I felt particularly desperate for material, I'd simply embed a YouTube clip I found worth sharing. Nowadays, I tend to save this sort of activity for my Facebook wall and my circle of friends therein. Synergetically speaking, this makes no sense. If I were a more industrious type, I'd start a Twitter account where I'd share my hit-and-run musings with subscribers while promoting the blog and podcast at the same time. I'd save the meatier bits for the blog and use Facebook for its proper function of spying on girls I think are cute.

It's not that I think my FB status updates are without worth or wit. A recent example: "Paul Bruno can't follow the logic behind naming the Marlins' stadium after the first Fang album." Funny stuff, if I do say so myself. However, given the lack of substance in the world of music blogging, and the fact that I've complained about this lack of substance on more than one occasion, I feel the need to say something about something. Having a point is usually a good thing. I'd like to think one thought-provoking essay is worth a dozen paraphrased-from-the-publicist "This Week's New Releases" posts. (Which is why I should post at least once every three months.) While my posts have been less frequent, the ones I have written are generally pretty long, which I suppose makes up for it. Length isn't a virtue in and of itself, of course, but when trying to use premises and reasoning to form a valid argument, one might as well take advantage of the lack of mandated word count. It's using the 21st century for the best, I figure.

There's no getting around the fact that effectively writing about music is a difficult task. When I say "effective," I don't mean getting someone to buy an album, which if you know your audience, is relatively easy. Keyword + signifier + comparison to better known band + thesaurus = a tidy prop to generate interest and possibly move some units. This approach maybe conveys the general aesthetic to the probable consumer but says nothing about execution, which is ultimately what's most important. Oh, it's a movie about superheroes? Well, is it The Dark Knight or Fantastic Four? "It ain't what you do/it's the way that you do it," Mark E Smith sang in "Copped It." Above all else, music is evocative and how it goes about the task of evoking is the source of its power. I try my best to convey this, fully aware that no matter how much verbiage I spill, it's nowhere near an equivalency for actually listening to the damn thing. I can only hope to add some depth to the experience or perhaps shed some light on some artists who have evoked enough in me that I can't help but feel they should be part of your lives as well. Yes, I file my tax returns under "enjoyment enhancer."

While 2009 has been a fairly lean year for quality releases thus far, there's a whole bunch of new product out now or soon that shows potential. Through purchase or promotional freebie, new releases from the Clean, Times New Viking, Polvo, David Bazan, TV Ghost, Meth Teeth, Vivian Girls, Yo La Tengo, Pissed Jeans, Grass Widow, Box Elders and Kurt Vile are all in my cue for listening. I'll either write about them or I won't. I'm not getting paid to create propaganda pieces to promote the health of the music industry. (Actually, I'm not getting paid at all.) If I think they're worth sharing, I'll undoubtedly play them in my podcast, which neatly sidesteps the whole dancing about architecture conundrum by giving your ears direct access.

Still, there's one recent release I feel I should have covered and that's the latest Reigning Sound album, Love and Curses. The band's first new release in 5 years should have been enough to qualify as noteworthy. I nearly tacked on my thoughts about the album to the Jay Reatard review I did last week. There are more than a few parallels to link JR and Reigning Sound's Greg Cartwright. They're both from Memphis. They both emerged from the same garage-punk scene. They both were previously in bands of whom I was aware but considered less than spectacular (JR's Reatards and Cartwright's Oblivions). They both released one of the decade's best records (Reatard's Blood Visions and RS's Time Bomb High School) on the same label (In The Red). Hell, they even worked together, as Reatard engineered the Reigning Sound's Too Much Guitar album. However, I ultimately felt that treating Love and Curses as an addendum to anyone's else release would be doing it a disservice. It's a fully realized statement which has little to gain and nothing to prove via the crutch of association. (So I just tacked it on to a solipsistic rant instead. Way to go, author.)

More importantly, I felt that there's just no adequate description for the Reigning Sound for someone who hasn't heard them. Writing about them was an daunting propostion. In the most basic sense, they play garage rock heavily influenced by soul music. For many, this may conjure visions of affected white nergoisms played over 60s-inspired raunch, and that's simply not the case. For the Reigning Sound, soul music isn't window dressing, it's deeply encoded into their musical DNA. It's got soul. And depth and nuance and smarts and all the other qualities of great music that are easy to hear but hard to define. The group rocks forcefully and convincingly but it's on their frequent slow jams where it's plain to see the band is something special. Cartwright is simply the finest writer of the rock ballad since another Memphisian, Alex Chilton. The guy is a national treasure but nothing I can say is going to convince you the way his music does.

So instead, I'll just fall back on that old CMJ standby of "Recommended If You Like."

RIYL: Stax Records, the Rolling Stones' very best work, essential art, affirming existence, owning one of the best records of this (or any) year, rock music.

This Shitty Decade: A Dry Run

(Justin or Kelly?)

We're just about 6 months away from the end of the 00s and we're hearing surprisingly little fanfare. Perhaps it's all coming in few months. Or it could be that the past ten years are something we're collectively trying to forget rather than recapitulate. In any case, I've been pondering a list of the best records of the decade that was and I've decided to share a preliminary list with you.

Albums are grouped according to cultural significance and will be ranked and dissected at a later date. I've not included any releases from this year or last as I'd like those to have a bit more time to sink in before determining long-term musical correctness. Certainly, some are likely to make the cut.

You are more than welcome to share your thoughts on any albums you think I've missed. This will likely result in me thanking you for reminding me or making fun of your terrible taste. Comment at your own risk.

Post-9/11 NYC Trust Fund Rock
The Strokes Is This It?
Interpol Turn on the Bright Lights

Better Refutations of W's America than John Kerry Offered
Ted Leo and the Pharmacists Hearts of Oak
The Thermals The Body, the Blood, the Machine

Stuck In The Garage Without the Motor Running
Dirtbombs Ultraglide in Black
White Stripes White Blood Cells
Reigning Sound Time Bomb High School

Punx Snot Dead
Jay Reatard Blood Visions
Marked Men Fix My Brain
Times New Viking Dig Yourself

Music on the iPod of Teenage Girls Who Have a Crush on Michael Cera
Belle & Sebastian The Life Pursuit
The Shins Oh, Inverted World
New Pornographers The Electric Version

Smart Pop UK
Sally Crewe and the Sudden Moves Drive It Like You Stole It
Futureheads s/t

Smart Rock North America
Destroyer Streethawk: A Seduction
The Oxford Collapse A Good Ground
Ponys Celebration Castle

Post-post-hardcore Shenanigans
Hot Snakes Automatic Midnight
Pissed Jeans Shallow

Radiohead Was Cribbing Notes But You Didn't Notice
Clinic Internal Wrangler
The Notwist Neon Golden

I can't help but notice I didn't include any of Spoon's four albums from the past decade here. They certainly deserve to be but I cannot at this time decide which of these albums is best. Once I'm told by a respected media outlet in their summary of the aughts, then I'll know for certain. I don't want to go out on a limb and look like a fool. Collective agreement is what having a blog is all about, right?

Your Personal Feelings, Digitized

Production description from X-tremeGeek.com (Thanks to Doug Williams for the link):

Before CDs and MP3s came along, mixtape creation was a time-consuming art form practiced by many but mastered by few. Can you assemble the perfect collection of music in less than 60 minutes? The USB MixTape gives you the opportunity to show off your musical collection brevity skills. This dinged-up looking cassette case holds an equally dinged-up looking USB memory stick. Load only the crème de la crème of your MP3s, because you only have 60 minutes (at best) of playtime to prove your music connoisseurship. Inscribe your play list in fancy penmanship and your gift is complete!

It is true that modern digital methods have yet to duplicate the intimacy of the mixtape. Even mix CD's are cold in sterile in comparison. How can one make an emotional connection to something that's "burned?" When making a mixtape, one had to, at the very least, listen to each some as he or she was recording it. Taking the time to do that and handwriting each song and artist conveys a completely different feeling than a digital readout.Besides, cassette were fragile things. One false move and they were ruined forever, so one had to really cherish a particularly loved tape.

Trying replicate that experience via a USB flash drive seems like a quixotic gesture at best and totally stupid at worst. For $20 retail, one can buy and 8GB flash drive, which, if my math is right, is 125 times the capacity of the above item. Granted, it won't come in a cute package but you can impress that special someone with not only 100 hours of music but also a PDF of that screenplay you've been working on.