Lollapalooza was a fantastically well-executed event. Every show went on right when it was scheduled to go, and that is all that you can ask for at a music festival. Combined with adequate facilities and reasonable prices, what could have been a hellish couple of days in Grant Park was made into a truly great weekend.

Those that bought single tickets were more than likely in attendance on Friday. Like 80,000 others, I had been waiting to see Radiohead perform live for three hours (on top of a decade prior to that), and the show did not fail to disappoint. All in all, the show was superb. All of In Rainbows was played, and at least one song was played off of each album except for Pablo Honey, a perfect compendium of 12 plus years of fantastic work.

The sun begin to fade just before Radiohead’s set, and the stage was set for a fantastic display. As proof that Radiohead is bigger than Lollapalooza itself, this is the only band that had anything like extensive stage apparatuses or decoration—even the Lolla-jumbotrons were filled with the In Rainbows tour images. Flashing, multicolored sixths of the board would change every so often to excite the insect-like swarm of fans that slowly started to gather around noon that day—the show started at 8:00pm. Giant glass cylinders were suspended above and around the band’s area, creating the illusion of a box of negative space. As these glass tubes started to glow from within. An electronic intro track greeted the crowd with a minute of 8-bit logic. The snaps and crackles of “15 Step” soon emerged from tinkling noises, and the crowd is instantly assured of their position in the universe. “Airbag” followed directly after the In Rainbows opener finished, making for a fantastic one-two punch opening sequence. Ed O’Brien looked like a hired killer in a suit jacket, rocking from the start, singing an impressive accompaniment to Thom Yorke’s vocal gymnastics. Impressive, classy and nothing less than expected from the greatest live act in the world today.

I did not expect to hear a song off of Hail to the Thief until a few fan favorites were out of the way. “There, There” followed the grand two-song introduction, immediately putting the entire band on percussion duty—even O’Brien on the toms—making for quite a show. Its themes, it’s content and feel seem to contribute to a more dark and brooding tone than the average rock concert. Then again, this was in no way an average concert. In Rainbows piggybacks off of Thief’s vibe, though with more compelling, sensitive arrangements. “There, There” and “The Gloaming” bookend two of the slower tempo songs off of In Rainbows: “Nude” and “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi.” It was an artistic introduction into Radiohead’s music rather than simply playing “Creep” or another song that could start a Coldplay-like sing-along. Hearing these creepy songs performed live in concert really made me listen to them in a new way. Honestly, “The Gloaming” is a creepy song—but the band obviously appreciates this period in which mixing electronic samples and live percussion became fundamentals of their current sound.

When some of these songs were performed live, they sounded drastically different than their original LP versions. A few of the Kid A songs lose their nuances; a lot of the electronic samples and noises that were so questionably received upon that album’s release in 2000 are phased out as the tempo increases and bass levels are jacked through the roof. It was the harbinger of the “new” Radiohead that experimented with their sound, but they have since streamlined songs out of their electronic era (like “Everything in Its Right Place”) and retrofitted it to bridge the gap in time between OK Computer and In Rainbows. The song once was presented as a cool, soothing electronic opener that found its chi in great, synthetic harmonies and electronics, but it has since been reduced to a simple crowd-exciting, up-tempo affair performed for public consumption. The lower range of many songs seemed to jar the crowd, in fact, I think the bass was turned up as loud as possible in some instances when a song clearly did not call for the thumping noise. “Faust Arp,” stripped from its lavish string arrangement on the album and performed as a two-man, acoustic number, seemed to be the only song that gave the crowd any sort of respite.

I believe Radiohead to be a healthy, shining star in our universe at this point in time, but who knows what or when the next release might be. There is no indication of what might come: by now the B-sides and unreleased material has mostly been scraped together for the In Rainbows LP or Bonus material. Only time can tell, I would imagine. Radiohead is a constantly changing entity; each new album adds another lens through which I can view the band. Right now, they are on the up and up; I think everyone in attendance can agree that rose-colored lenses currently prevail. Things have and will change quickly—upon the release of Amnesiac, Radiohead fell out of fashion for a short hiatus out of the public eye—the true fans understand the direction that the band took and welcomed Hail to the Thief as a rock album that capitalized on this new, darker expression in electronica. In Rainbows, while wonderful, yes, is a return to the public eye, and must come with a decent dose of scrutiny. However, upon close, personal assessment, I believe that this band is and will continue to make art for art’s sake, ars gratia artis.

I started to get scared for the future of Radiohead when I watched Johnny Greenwood—simply because he is that good. On “Paranoid Android” his solos seemed absolutely out of control, light-years away from what kind of music he was capable of in 1997. It would be impressive to see some more work of his included in upcoming Radiohead projects, having since proven his worth as a composer by scoring an original soundtrack for the 2007 Oscar-winning movie There Will Be Blood. He has already created a few pieces for the band, my favorites being the closers “The Tourist” off of OK Computer and “Wolf at the Door” off of Hail to the Thief. Despite being lead guitarist and gaining a reputation as the man behind the massive, wild solos that became the hallmark of Radiohead’s work in the late 90s, he has never been able to have as much creative input as Thom has had in the band’s development. Some of the samples that Jonny looped on stage for “The National Anthem” made it seem like the studio did very little work to produce the awesome sounds of Kid A, and emphasized just how much I had underestimated Radiohead’s abilities as musicians. On “Fake Plastic Trees” the accompaniment that Jonny offered Thom was absolutely incredible: the band gave new life to this song. Jonny filled the stage with an electronically produced uproar as Thom crescendos into the finish—this reincarnation of the Bends crowd favorite seemed even better than the original performance simply by including elements of their later work and reinventing their back catalog through experimentation in electronic music. As the band and its members develops their talents, as Jonny and matures, I hope that each member of Radiohead is able to continue to contribute to the band; if Jonny’s creative input is more limited than he would like then a rift will begin to form in Radiohead. Like the Beatles, I think that Jonny and Thom might soon exert equal force in Radiohead to form a creative divide. When two truly great musicians—and I think that Jonny is getting there—combine their songwriting talents, then the style that results is greater than the sum of its parts. I would only hope that Radiohead not collapse under the weight of its own talents. A comfortable metaphor for a great band follows the life of a star: typically a supernova explosion happens before a dying star enters into complete collapse in a black hole.

We can only hope that this next album is not Radiohead’s supernova explosion.
I hope that their version of The Wall, the White Album, and Physical Graffiti never comes. Its not that I hate these albums, it’s just that these were harbingers of less respectable things to come. For Pink Floyd, a monomaniacal Roger Waters that eventually controlled all creative aspects of their entire double-LP project in late 1979, kicking out original keyboard player Rick Wright in the process—and then he went to use the last remnants of Pink Floyd one more time to release the autobiographical The Final Cut. For the Beatles, their 3-sided, eponymous 1968 release is a vast collection of magnificent songwriting from its individual members (even Ringo), but there exists little collaboration or cohesion as an album and thus stands as a lesser endeavor than that of Revolver or Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. The band recorded one more fantastic LP in complete solitude and then collapsed under its own weight. As for Led Zeppelin, I’d rather not talk about In Through the Out Door. Many people can’t fathom the idea that the same band that created songs like “When the Levee Breaks” could ever reduce themselves to the pseudo-samba of “Fool In The Rain.” Plant’s lyrics makes me want to accidentally Braille myself in the ear.

Awl in awl, I believe Radiohead to be a healthy, shining star in our universe at this point in time, but who knows what or when the next release might be, when they will take that next step. There is no indication of what might come: by now the B-sides and unreleased material has mostly been scraped together for the In Rainbows LP or Bonus material that was included for people who decided to buy the discbox. Radiohead is a constantly changing entity; each new album adds another lens through which I can view the band. Right now, they are on the up and up; I think everyone in attendance can agree that rose-colored lenses currently prevail. Things have and will change quickly—upon the release of Amnesiac, Radiohead fell out of fashion for a short hiatus out of the public eye—the true fans understood the new direction that the band took and welcomed Hail to the Thief as a rock album that capitalized on this new expression in electronica. In Rainbows, while wonderful, yes, is a return to the public eye, and must come with a decent dose of scrutiny. I believe that this band will continue making art for art’s sake, ars gratia artis, and this will separate them from their forebears.

Their fan base has come of age in the nineties, a time when they were, perhaps, at the apex of their popularity. Now, ten years down the road, the band is creating music that is as good as anything else being released today. Many of the people in attendance listened to The Bends in their formative years and fondly remember, and these are the enlightened souls that trust these guys to expose them to other kinds of music. Their acceleration is now positive, and they are playing to crows of 80,000 people at a time. Radiohead is primed and ready to release the greatest album of all time (and for free). As the egos accrete over the next decade what can we expect? There is only answer: we can expect to wait.

Radiohead Set List
1. “15 Step”
2. “Airbag”
3. “There, There”
4. “All I Need”
5. “Nude”
6. “Weird Fishes”
7. “The Gloaming”
8. “The National Anthem”
9. “Faust Arp”
10. “No Surprises”
11. “Jigsaw Falling Into Place”
12. “Reckoner”
13. “Lucky”
14. “The Bends”
15. “Everything In Its Right Place”
16. “Fake Plastic Trees”
17. “Bodysnatchers”
18. “Videotape”
19. “Paranoid Android”
20. “Dollars & Cents”
21. “House of Cards”
22. “Optimistic”
23. “2 + 2 = 5″
24. “Idioteque”

A non-professional recording of this performance exists on Megaupload:
Radiohead1 – http://www.megaupload.com/?d=3U6YR8ZE
Radiohead2 – http://www.megaupload.com/?d=88U7BKYW

(Note: “Fake Plastic Trees” and “Idioteque” are incomplete tracks, unfortunately.)

For three days, an eclectic, modest bunch of 80,000 festival-goers crowded Grant Park, Chicago, if only to catch a glimpse of themselves participating in what boils down (in the August heat) to 39 hours of pure, unadulterated madness. I myself was thoroughly prepared for this festival after 8 hours in a car, a few minor bumps in the road (no, we can’t go back and look for the tickets; we’re in Des Moines), a fantastic night in Wrigleyville at the behest of our gracious hosts, and a fat Giordano’s stuffed pizza (highly recommended by Barely Legal).

Because of aforementioned technical difficulties, I was unable to hear either Rogue Wave or Yeasayer, both of which I had intended to review. Yeasayer, I am sure, kicked ass, but to be fair I heard their set from across the street, behind a fence, standing in the Box Office line, etc. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. All Hours Cymbals was a very good indie album from this past year, so, yeah. It was a bit of a disappointment that I missed out. To make myself feel better, I will give them an arbitrary rating of 20. This is sort of like a Pitchfork rating, except more meaningful.  (follow the link for much more Lolla coverage)

The only tidbit I received regarding Zach Rogue and his band Rogue Wave was a bit disheartening to say the least. I somehow missed the news that they have left their Sub-Pop label-mate compatriots Iron & Wine, The Shins, Wolf Parade, Fleet Foxes, Flight of the Conchords [ed: a Barely Legal favorite], to head to the green, Soma-poppy-filled pastures of Brushfire Records. Yes, Jack Johnson’s label. But wait, this is no J.J. bashing session, I can’t approve of something berating a single artist like that; please, don’t forget Matt Costa. Read straight out of the Official Program: “[With this move, Rogue Wave] seems primed and ready to conquer the mainstream arena circuit.” Requiescat in paradiso, adios and say good-bye. What a shame—Out of the Shadow showed some of promise.

Akron, Ohio’s premier export is rubber, hearkening back to the days when the Goodyear company occupied a great deal of this small town in the great Midwest. In its stead, the Black Keys have made a name for this suburban paradise. I was lucky enough to enter Lolla-fest in time to witness Akron, Ohio’s second best export politely introduce themselves and then proceed to mercilessly assail the crowd with their trademark attack and release blues in “Girl Is On My Mind.”

And it hit me: I had arrived.

Time and time again, this band would feverishly grab the attention of the entire crowd, send it to soaring heights with all the gusto and velocity their teeth-gnashing blues-rock could possibly provide—only to “hit the brakes,” as Dan Auerbach (vocals and guitar) loves to say. The groove stops; the pent-up frustration, the tension is perhaps most palpable. Orbiting at some height, sweet, woeful lyrics begin the audience’s descent a few miles above the Earth, the crowd cool off from the ride on a soothing descent, finally touching down to the ground to lay each of their respective heads to rest, to sleep, upon a pillow of feathers and Egyptian cotton as the guitar melodies fade away. This outpouring of problems, woes, have been discussed (read: wailed about) and now the audience can collectively sigh in cathartic relief.

At least that’s how I saw it happen.

While I always had faith that the Black Keys knew how to rock, and how to do it well, a fresh breath of songwriting on their latest 2007 release—Attack and Release, imagine that—provided the much needed direction for the power duo’s career. While “power duo” may be a startling term, perhaps even something of an oxymoron in most instances (save The White Stripes, No Age), the newfound depth on their newest LP is not betrayed in the least in their live performances—they can pull this off and are most deserving of this moniker. And for some reason this excitement reinvigorated their older material, as songs from Rubber Factory and Magic Potion alike came alive in a way that really made for an exciting show. What is old is new again, I suppose.

The awesome Black Keys Set List:
1. “Girl Is On My Mind”
2. “Set You Free”
3. “Thickfreakness”
4. “10 A.M.”
5. “Same Old Thing”
6. “Stack Shot Billy”
7. “Busted”
8. “Everywhere I Go”
9. “Strange Times”
10. “Your Touch”
11. “The Breaks”
12. “I’m Glad”
13. “No Trust”
14. “I Got Mine”

But, in the words of my idol, Alan Parsons, where do we go from here? Is this it, Black Keys? Are you destined to simply be a great, great blues-rock duo? I suppose they are satisfied with their niche, as there is no blues-rock duo that can hold a candle to these two right now. I am unsure whether or not they will ever grow to the headliners that their sound suggests that they could be if they were to expand. They hold so much promise, but I am also of the opinion that they are playing a kind of music for audiences that have already developed a love of this kind of music in other artists, artists that came long before this duo rose to fame. Does blues-rock fall upon deaf ears in the digital age? It may be anachronistic, yes, even consider it a tired genre, but it will never out of style.

If I were to give a name to the cutting edge it would be the Brooklyn, New York, quartet Grizzly Bear—easily the second best act that I saw all weekend.

And while their talent and penchant for fine harmonies in their own music may constantly draw critical comparisons to the Beach Boys, these gentlemen definitely have their own sound. A soothing folk rock sensibility is often betrayed by their rock sessions, as evidenced by their latest Friend EP, but many songs are of the best sort of variety and fall neatly in the realm of uncategorized, original expression.

While even vague allusions to Brian Wilson and co. might be a little off-putting for those who aren’t a fan
of the endless summer, I can attest that listening to this is a much more subdued affair. Rather than trying to write “teenage symphonies to God,” Grizzly Bear seems absolutely content writing music for this world, and they rarely falter.

Their Lolla-set opener was one of four new tracks they debuted this weekend; I feel blessed to have witnessed the first live performance of “Two Weeks.” In a sparse, cold start, an up-tempo piano melody keeps time in a simple major chord progression, one of the basic molecules of music and melody (and one of Brian Wilson’s favorite fall-backs). The otherworldly vocals of Edward Droste (vocals, guitar) and Daniel Rossen (guitar, vocals) float in, seeping through the booming, almost viscous foundation set by Christopher Bear (drums, vocals) and Christopher Taylor (bass, reeds, electronics). The sound is immense, warbling, sweeping and impressive.

The single greatest highlight of the show was their performance of “Knife,” in which they proved that they still held the rights to their bread and butter. Covered and sampled by everyone from the likes of CSS and Atlas Sound on the Friend EP, to Girl Talk at the recent Pitchfork Music Festival, their performance in Grant Park exceeded my expectations. The groove of Taylor’s bass line is one of the best that exists in today’s music—it drives the beat that supports the intoxicating, alternating blend of Droste’s plaintive vocals and the vocal team of Droste and Rossen’s ethereal, harmonious cooing. With the spice of electronic effects slipped in on the vocals—never overwhelming, and never a crutch for their talents—it makes for something truly amazing.

After a tour with Radiohead and a successful Letterman appearance (in which they performed “Two Weeks”) I expect that this band will gain quite a great bit of notoriety in the upcoming months.

The killer Grizzly Bear Set List (new tracks denoted with star)
1. “Two Weeks”*
2. “Little Brother”
3. “Knife
4. “Fine For Now”*
5. “Untitled”*
6. “Fix It”
7. “On A Neck, On A Spit” (Abridged)
8. “While You Wait For The Others”*

I don’t think anyone could have readied my soul for what was to follow. Bloc Party current carries the pride of the English indie scene, I thought that I would perhaps find a new interest in this imported artist.

Little did I know at the time that their 2005 album Silent Alarm sounds like the forgotten, bastard child of Ian Curtis, if that child were beaten mercilessly, forced to listen to Earthbound by King Crimson on repeat for 8 hours a day and only had a vague understanding of the English language. The new release is no better, if not worse. Unbelievably, the live performance transcends the “Fripp & whip” studio treatment and dives towards a wholly despicable state of annoying. Inane Kiedis-style lyrics (sheer idiocy, no funk, thank god), amplified to an insane volume (over the noise of the band, so all the kids can sing along) simply exacerbates their already dismal situation. Frontman Kele Okereke stands as still as an onyx obelisk, screaming out his Mad-Lib life in a ruddy Cockney accent.

Bloc Party identifies with a post-punk mentality, therefore Bloc Party is a sham. In 1975-80, the bands that influenced their assumed style truly had relevance in the U.K.; several like-minded artists chose to identify with the new post-punk movement. Often characterized by their persistent, throbbing guitar melodies, incessant drumming, little to no variation in the tempo of the song—this style is even usually considered repetitive and unvarying by non-believers. The frontman or vocalist usually drones on about something vaguely apocalyptic or sorrowful, and a machine may in some instances replace the drummer. These bands were formed in the dawn of the digital age, when the minimal, industrial cool of the electronic machine perfectly represented the isolation and inauthenticity of the modern world.

Perhaps this is best explained in simple geographical terms. The geniuses of the post-punk era performed in Manchester, some great distance (200 miles North, in the heart of the black country [when I was a robber/in Boston Place]) far enough away from the big business of London (Bloc Party’s hometown) that essentially panders to the masses for a profit. Bloc Party is this same capitalistic mentality wrapped up in the guise of their forebears’ style.

Bloc Party’s sound takes full advantage of this aesthetic. A guitar line sounds great until the song means absolutely nothing; if the drums beat as fast as possible without focus or direction, they’re ultimately just noise. The music then becomes a vehicle for the band to go up on stage and act like idiots, which is exactly what Okereke decided to do.

Bands like Joy Division adopted and subsumed the mentality of the punk movement—i.e. do your own thing and to hell with everyone else— to create original art. When the purity of this concept of art is broken apart—when people start playing for applause, for money, for pleasure, or for anything other than the art of the music itself—that is when the
artist is promoting its music in bad faith. I’m still not sure what is the most offensive part about this performance: the shabby “battle of the bands” guitar licks, the speed metal drumming or the banshee-like, wailing vocals. There is no honesty in this music: it’s as unfashionable, grotesque and ham-fisted as a bloody kidney on a meat hook. I don’t actually know if that’s relevant, I just wanted to provide the Barely Legal readers (both of them) some disgusting frame of reference to which they might compare the work of these fools.

That said, Nitsuh Abebe of Pitchfork gave Silent Alarm an 8.9. It is as if this review was meant to pity and encourage the floundering U.K. indie scene. North America has got wished to pity the Perhaps Abebe is just another Pitchfork pseudonym for the idiot who gave Source Tags & Codes a 10.0 (it deserves a 7.5—its not Forever Changes, for god’s sake).

If you want to talk about “lyrical clunkers,” consider the following: this is the beginning of the first verse of “Helicopter,” the effervescent crowd-pleaser that ended Bloc Party’s set at Lolla-land. Lyrics delivered with back-up vocal accompaniment are denoted with a star.

“North to south
Empty*
Running on
Bravado*
As if to say, as if to say
As if to say, he doesn’t like chocolate*”

Hold your applause. Wait for the chorus. It’s a bit repetitive, but, hey, that’s post-punk, right? Try to remember the words (because that’s the mark of a truly good song, you know, if it’s catchy, easy to remember and such).

“Are you hoping for a miracle?
Are you hoping for a miracle?
Are you hoping for a miracle?
Are you hoping for a miracle?”

For this travesty of a band, Abebe published one of the worst explanations I have ever read:

“And so, inevitably, the people who don’t love it will start complaining. And when they complain, they’ll point out that this is just a regular-old rock album, full of all the current stylish rock-album tricks. And they’ll be absolutely right… being a good ol’ unchallenging rock band is this outfit’s whole point– and their biggest strength.”

Bravo. Well done. And the defense rests. The judge, jury, and executioner (myxomatosis) ask: why, then, is this placed among the greatest albums of all time? I want to figuratively slap this guy around, shake him, and ask him if this is the sort of album deserves its place among the all-time great albums. I find that it does not.

I digress, but not without reason. This is what the fans of Radiohead had to endure to secure good seats (not great seats—those seats had been assumed by the rabid bunch of fans through the gate at 11:00am that morning). Adding insult to injury, the Raconteurs were playing at the same time as Bloc Party (at the other end of Grant Park) and Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks were playing only 200 yards away. It is a shame that neither of these bands (or Grizzly Bear, for that matter) were chosen to perform directly prior to Radiohead. The crowd was not terribly excited for this show; one could cite anticipation for Radiohead as a likely source, but by the time the audience arrived to wait for Radiohead (and, incidentally, to begrudgingly bear witness to the Bloc Party show at 6:15pm), we had seen two or three displays of talent that simply blew this schlock out of the water.

The highlight of the show came when Okereke declared that “the last song was really nice, because the sun set at the same time the music was winding down.” The band continued into the next song, and the crowd then watched the sun radiate through the cloud that had just recently passed by. In a painful way, the sun illuminated Okereke’s face in the middle of the very next song and then continued to shine for the duration of the set; the sun usually sets around 8:30pm in the summer in Chicago–the set ended at 7:15pm. Apparently Okereke simply wanted to draw attention to how truly oblivious he is to the entire world.

The awful, meteorological Bloc Party Set List:

1. “Hunting for Witches”
2. “Waiting for the 7.18”
3. “Banquet”
4. “Song for Clay (Disappear Here)”
5. “So Here We Are”
6. “The Prayer”
7. “Mercury”
8. “This Modern Love”
9. “Positive Tension”
10. “Like Eating Glass”
11. “Helicopter”

The immensity of Radiohead deserves its own post. There is more to come.

Siler

The industry has to change. This much we know. Recently, we’ve seen iTunes exclusives, strains of viral marketing, and pay-what-you-will downloads take the place of more traditional pitch-and-push revenue streams. While the availability of new music really needs a music fan to stop and think a moment, moments that aren’t allowed since the Hold Steady record leaks today and the Oneida will leak sometime tomorrow (etc. etc.), my question is, is this detrimental to the art of studio albums and formal recording?

In many music discussions in which I’ve been involved, I’ve always offered my opinion that music is democratic, that technical competence of instruments isn’t always necessary, and that if you can think up the hooks and riffs but can’t sing or play them, there’s something there that needs to be recognized. I hate to evoke a T-Pain example on a blog that almost exclusively serves alternative tastes, but T-Pain thinks up hooks that are splattered all over the Hot 50 Billboard singles and cures them with a vocoder. In my opinion, that’s perfectly ok. He thought up the hooks. He deserves the credit for their execution.

Democracy in music becomes a central idea now, where music can be transmitted anywhere in the world via the internet. However, I think the idea of making albums suffers because of this fluidity. At the head of the post, I placed a picture of Wolf Parade’s Apologies to the Queen Mary which I believe to be the last great indie/alternative album that I’m aware of. Of course, this is very much subject to debate, but since then I can’t think of an essential record along the lines of a Funeral, a Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, or a Forgot it in People. For me, it’s due to the intrusiveness and instantaneous information transfer on the internet. Your favorite band played a new song last night in Toronto? Youtube it. We become familiar with the songs when they are just sketches of what they will become, so when the album comes out, the effect isn’t as jarring as it should be because your first impression is a skeleton of the song, a shadow of the glossed up and mastered version.

Noticeably, the only albums that have really elicited the “oohs” and “ahhs” of the media have been debut albums, where the album’s content wasn’t wholly available before the record release. After that, the listening audience, thanks to the legions of blogs in cyberspace, is privy to any musical developments the band makes; the Youtubes I mentioned before, the band members’ MySpaces, personal accounts from seeing a live performance, etc.

In 2006, I was fortunate enough to attend two Radiohead concerts on back-to-back nights in Chicago, part of the mini-tour where the band tested/worked through some new material. Due to the widespread availability of mp3s of the new songs, and the fact that the curiosity consumed me to the point where I, somewhat of an audiophile, gladly downloaded 128 kbps tape recordings, I had grown familiar with each of the new songs. I found them underwhelming and questioned the bands’ new softer direction. However, seeing them live (always superior than listening to a great bootleg) put the new songs in a different glow, but I had already formed opinions on them, which somewhat diluted the effect of hearing “new” material live. My first listen of their 2007 In Rainbows suffered because of these preformed ideas.

Many sophomore releases have suffered due to this effect. Even bands who I thought were on the way up-and-up, like Interpol, stagnated in their future releases. Neon Bible was good, but not what I was expecting. The second Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! album flat out sucked.

It’s a constant war with many moving elements: technology, expectation, innovation. Due to the pressures from all three, the album, as an idea, takes the hit.

The solution? The complete veiling of new tracks, giving an album’s first listen a much-needed punch.

Can a band still make money and retain its die-hards without showing constant (i.e. week to week) signs of progress?

I urge bands to start surprising us. Otherwise, it’ll be difficult for the album format to recover.

Pick your price.  www.illegalart.net 

A joyous affair.

\”Gobbledigook,\” Sigur Ros

Lil’ Wayne

Tha Carter III

Cash Money Records

Rating: 7.5

If you’re a mixtape fiend who has hunted down every Lil’ Wayne release, official or non, memorized its content, and burned it for your friends over and over, Lil’ Wayne’s much anticipated studio album Tha Carter III will likely leave you disappointed. While some of the fire from the mixtapes does surface up on the album (“A Milli”, “You Ain’t Got Nuthin’ on Me”), the overall feel for The Carter III resembles a more calculated, pop-centered approach from Mr. Carter.

When Wayne started boasting that he was “The Best Rapper Alive,” the pundits came out of the woodwork to diagnose why that wasn’t true. Sure, the flow and the lyrical prowess on mixtapes such as Da Drought 3 and the DJ Drama-produced Dedication 2 were jaw-droppingly impress, but could Lil’ Wayne actually make songs, complete with hooks and structure that the mixtapes don’t have? After having listened to The Carter III several times, I think Wayne will silence those critics, but that won’t necessarily please his fans.

The record itself starts of well enough with the strong duo of “3 Peat” and “Mr. Carter” featuring Jay-Z (An odd thing about “Mr. Carter” is that he appropriates Wayne’s jarring, stream-of-conscious style. Listen for it, it’s kind of bizarre). “A Milli” sounds like one of the better mixtape tracks, so it’s inclusion is a no-brainer. After that, though, there seems to be some pretty conscious pop-posturing by Lil’ Wayne, with songs featuring T-Pain, a Babyface sample, and Robin Thicke. The mixtape fans (like myself) will find this passage particularly slow until Juelz and Fabolous show up.

On the first couple listens, I was really disappointed by Wayne’s leaning toward the pop charts rather than pleasing his hardcore fans, especially since a number of really good Carter III session songs got left off (the original “La La La,” “I’m Me,” “Kush,” “Help”).  So it’s not like I’m asking for the impossible, the deliberate placing of loosely structured, verse-after-verse mixtape fare for the studio album.

However, after seeing the rap community’s overwhelming response to Tha Carter III (many industry people praising it, Diddy calling it “a classic” on his video blog), I realize that this record is far from a disappointment, and definitely outshines his other studio work, including the all-too-Baby-influenced early chapters of the Carter series and the pumped out, formulaic Tha Block is Hot (I can just see Baby telling Wayne in the studio, “No! No!  This freewheeling flow will not sell!  You gotta rap about car specs more!).

Sure, the hype swell around this album was unsustainable; there’s no way an album could ever live up to so much hype.

As this Slate.com article famously put it, rappers have a track record of picking unpopular rock and pop acts to collaborate with.  There’s one exception I will make right now–Adam Levine of Maroon 5 on Kanye West’s “Heard ‘Em Say.”  I honestly don’t know how that worked; perhaps it was so disastrous of an idea that it just kind of had to work.  But there’s some famous lows, all starting with their progenitor, Run DMC’s collabo with Aerosmith.  Chris Martin and Jay-Z.  Chris Martin and Kanye West.  Gwen Stefani and everybody.  Lily Allen and Common.  I’m not necessarily knocking these pop artists (except Christ Martin…heh heh), but these aren’t exactly dream matchups.

My resolution to the differences in expectation and reality?  To make my own Carter III, with my preferred tracks on my preferred version of the album.

Now there’s a novel idea!  Album customization.

Surely someone has thought of that…

(Ed. Note:  I bought the record.  I obtained all of the wonderful music Mr. Carter made in the last year for free, so, I owe him my supporting this record.  I encourage everyone else to do the same)

My Morning Jacket

Evil Urges

ATO Records

Rating: 7.7

From the first spin of “Evil Urges” to the last prog-drenched seconds of “Touch Me I’m Going to Scream pt. 2,” it becomes clear that Evil Urges is a mixed bag of My Morning Jacket’s latest studio work, spanning Prince-induced funk (“Highly Suspicious”), straightforward southern rock ‘n’ roll (“I’m Amazed”), rootsy soul (“Sec Walkin”, “Look at You”), and full-scale synthetic freakouts (the previously mentioned “Touch Me…pt. 2). While I don’t find Evil Urges to have the continuity and consistency of their two most previous good releases, Z and It Still Moves, Evil Urges still exhibits some new highs for the band, even if some treacherous lows are discovered in this “creative leap” of a record.

Jim James has an incredibly warm timbre in his voice, one of those voices that deserves full recognition as an instrument in My Morning Jacket’s sound dynamic. However, in the first couple tracks of Evil Urges, James throws his voice into an obnoxious falsetto, corrupting one of the bands greatest assets. Perhaps this change in pitch was an effort to channel Prince or some unrecognized god of funk music, but it doesn’t work for me at all. The prevailing great things about My Morning Jacket are 1) The guitars and 2) Jim James’ voice. Why neutralize one of the band’s core components? It makes no sense to me.

After that though, specifically regarding the album’s second half, it gets much, much better. A string of standouts begin in the middle of the records starting with “I’m Amazed” through “Two Halves.” A quirky, boring song about a lusty librarian stops the momentum, but the album builds toward the driving “Smokin’ from Shootin” and the expansive and gorgeous-in-parts “Touch Me I’m Going to Scream pt. 2.” The logical creative leap should’ve been a step toward songs like this, rather than falsetto jams about Peanut Butter Pudding Surprise (“Highly Suspicious”). While I like some of the creative steps taken by MMJ in Evil Urges, I don’t believe it to be the Yankee Hotel Foxtrot publications like Rolling Stone claim just because MMJ has altered so many pieces of their dynamic; a record like this could only ascend to such status if they did everything differently and the record still worked cleanly and cohesively. Evil Urges is not that record.

Evil Urges contains some of My Morning Jacket’s best music, but also some of its worst. Overall, it’s still a great listen from a band that has more-or-less become one of the prominent American rock bands in a time where even that is an accomplishment.

I wish there were more guitar solos, though.

At SigurRos.com.  They have a little widget that you’re supposed to embed on blogs, but I’m having trouble with it, as the code appears to be messed up/doesn’t quite click with WordPress.  Perhaps this statement can be interpreted as a reflection of my own technical limitations…but whatever.  Free streaming music, and I’ve heard it’s pretty good.

Let me preface this entry by saying this: I was wholly and completely bored by X&Y.  I thought it was a thoroughly disappointing record where Coldplay, fronted by the overrated Chris Martin, employed an “arena-rock” attitude to a song-writing that style that lends itself to simple, elemental rock and roll.

I just heard the new record today, and it’s another different-but-kinda-the-same affair–and I mean that in the best way possible.

Like I mentioned a few characters ago, Chris Martin remains to be one of the most overrated musicians of this generation.  I’ve never been one to read too much into the lyrics, but Chris Martin delivers some lyrical clunkers that confound even the most casual music fan (see: “Shoot the apple off my head”).

I like the new record, and it’s because of the other elements of Coldplay, the bandmembers who have been under-appreciated since their formation.

Mr. Martin is the principal songwriter, and, for what it’s worth, he fronts a band that sells millions of records.  Viva La Vida, while remaining true to the Coldplay form, embodies a great reason for those who had written the band off to hop back on the bandwagon.

Coldplay probably won’t get the credit they deserve for this record due to the humongous print ads in prominent media and their all-too-U2 TV ads, but this is a good record.

It’s still no…

Evil Urges.

I’m gonna get back into album-review mode sometime next week and I will size up a few records, like:

My Morning Jacket, Evil Urges out 6/10

Lil’ Wayne, Tha Carter III out 6/10

Apparently you can add audio now too (YEAH WORDPRESS!) so here’s some music for you to ponder as you wait for our site to be updated!

Pavement, \”Stereo\”