Experiments with Sleep

I've been slacking on here for a while. School, even though only three days a week, wipes me out and kills any drive to post; I spend enough time in front of a computer doing homework, I tend to afterwards gravitate towards a television to turn my brain off with Fraiser reruns. When I get the urge to write, it's normally reviews for Totally Crushed Out (which is turning out to be a swell little publication). Any of the brief dumb shit I used to post on here now ends up on Facebook. So what will become of of this blog, I'm not sure. I won't delete it. But it will probably deteriorate into sporadic randomness...

...for example, I've developed this habit of going to sleep with my iPod. It's like a nightlight or a stuffed animal for kids. I need it in order to get to sleep. However, it can't do all the work alone; normally I have to read some boring ass Russian literature (right now: Anna Karenina) in order to induce drowsiness. Then it's time for some drone/ambient stuff to nod off to - music that holds a steady equilibrium, without much change in dynamics. Some of my favorites along these lines include Mogwai and Earth.

But lately I've noticed something rather interesting when I've incorporated Sleep's Dopesmoker into this routine. (For those of you who don't know, Sleep were a super-heavy stoner/doom metal band that sounded like Black Sabbath on Qualudes. They featured Matt Pike on guitar, who would go on to form High On Fire.) Dopesmoker is the band's once-canned major label debut, consisting of the title track which clocks in at over an hour, along with a bonus live track titled "Sonic Titan". It is by far away the most effective record in getting me to slumberland. Vocals don't kick in on the title track until around the 20 minute mark and I'm normally long gone by then.

The odd thing is that each time after listening to this album at night, I will wake up the next morning to find my iPod sitting on my bedside table. It's always paused at about 45 seconds into the next track, "Sonic Titan". I never have any recollection of either stopping the music or placing the iPod on the table. This might not seem like much to some, but I'm not one to do things half-asleep. When I'm stirring at the witching hour, I'm normally aware of it. Often when I employ these sleep-inducing tactics with other albums, I'll wake up at some point after they've finished to put my iPod on the bedside table and quickly fall back to sleep, with the ability to recall doing so the following morning. I don't function that way with Dopesmoker and it's beginning to creep me out. It's almost like it works a little too good. I must be taking some sort of subliminal bong hit through my ears in order to more easily reach the REM cycle. Weird stuff.

And while on this subject of falling asleep to music, may I recommend not attempting to do so with Sunn O))). I could go to their live show with earplugs and a sleeping bag and call it good. But I tried to pass out to Monoliths & Dimensions once and was frightfully robbed of a night's rest; seriously, some of the most unsettling audio I've ever come across. That's not to say it's offensive, it's just...ah, I can't describe it. It's just one of those things you don't fool around with in the dark, like chanting "Bloody Mary" in front of the mirror.

TV Letdown

So I, hopefully like the other eight of you, was all excited for a new episode The Office this last week, as it had been a month since the last one aired. Instead of getting an actual episode, we are shafted with a half-assed clip reel sparsely interspersed with original material - none of which was all that memorable. A clip reel? Come on. It's 2010. Fans of the show have either a) purchased the DVD boxsets for each season, b) illegally downloaded the episodes, or c) use to Hulu. Clip reels served a purpose back in the eras of shows like Cheers and Seinfeld, where unless you religiously taped episodes, it would be hard not to miss one here or there. Even with syndication, the scheduling of was too erratic to catch unseen episodes by anything other than dumb luck.

That was then, though. Nowadays, when a show implements a clip reel, it can only mean that writers are running low on ideas. I'm careful not to call them "lazy", because I can only imagine how difficult it is to continually come up with fresh material for 25 episodes a season. So I will place the blame on NBC, who should have just shortened the season by one episode and not tried to pass off this outdated convention as a legitimate entry in the series. I would have much preferred a rerun. But how about doing something different? Interviews. A documentary. Yes, things of this sort have been included on the boxsets, but with varying degrees of quality - the forum set up with the cast (special feature, Season 5 ) was a great idea, but poorly executed, with the audio being a mess.

Again, I will invoke the word "legitimate". That's all I'm asking for here.

Crucial 00's

I decided to jump on the bandwagon and do a Best Albums of the Decade list, barely sneaking it in before the new year. I'm not Pitchfork, meaning I don't have a bunch of cronies to review 100 records. So I went with a more manageable number in 10, counting down to my favorite. I made these picks based on the first 10 that popped into my head. I think this kept it honest, rather than turning things into a hipster checklist. Unfortunately, the picks lean heavily on the first half of the decade, with none past 2005 and most coming from the first three years. Well, like I said, at least it's honest. Enjoy.


10) Andrew WK - I Get Wet

For a moment in time, he was a god amongst men. Appearing on first encounter to be a full grown wild-child that had been haphazardly positioned in a band, great purpose resided underneath the apparent mental case that was Andrew WK. Of a singular earnestness and dedication, this man headed one of the most remarkable humanitarian crusades in recent history: the party. I Get Wet served as an enduring mission statement which did not mince words: life is not to be attended as a soiree or gala, but to be set ablaze with the intensity of an (not necessarily sexual) orgy. This manifesto found perfect companionship in a raging pomp and circumstance best described as Def Leppard mainlining a cocktail of meth and 'roids, within the context of colossal, overdub-happy production. It did not take long for the music and the message to take effect. Soon collectives of supposedly incompatible people (nerds, jocks, geeks, uber bros, etc.) came together under the banner of the party. Yet as mysteriously as he had first arrived, blood face and his dirty white jeans disappeared into obscurity (i.e. Japan). Fortunately, I Get Wet remains - a dream not deferred.


9) Burnt By The Sun - Soundtrack to the Personal Revolution

The initial tag-line for this record was "a detailed study in the forward motion of heavy music." I'd like to amend that statement with the following: "Progression is great, but if you're too hip for Pantera - get the fuck out." Not to kill the analogy, but Soundtrack to the Personal Revolution is Far Beyond Driven written by Coalesce. Burnt By The Sun are a noble example of what "metalcore" was before the term became associated with tepid hybrids like As I Lay Dying and All That Remains. Tempo and groove shift with the force of passing tectonic plates, ranging from an ambush of blastbeats to some of the most crushing breaks ever put to tape. A seriously menacing listen when it came out, this one still obliterates today. (I wrote an explication piece on the song "Famke" for a high school English class. In retrospect, I should have chosen "The Boston Tea-Bag Party" instead.)


8) Bane - Give Blood

Having discovered hardcore by way of 90's Victory bands like Hatebreed and Buried Alive, much of what I considered to be "hardcore" actually had prevalent metal influence. Not to discredit those groups in the least, but Bane showed me the merits of taking things back to basics: if purpose and energy are job #1, a solid foundation for the music has been laid. Grasping this maxim, they penned a contemporary classic in Give Blood - a record that pays respect to a history rich in tradition, yet avoids an '88 jack move. Echos of the old school fuse with a willingness to evolve within the parameters of the style. In doing so, Bane demonstrate a keen knack for supplementing the punk stampede with huge kinesthetic grooves that dodge metal categorization. Getting verbose about Give Blood as a composition is unnecessary, in a way trivializing the experience - one that revives the now fleeting inspiration of youth, when becoming a better person was a feasible goal. If that comes off a little too sanctimonious, know that "Ante Up" is about a poker game.


7) Pedro The Lion - Control

How this - an album centered around divorce - was sold at Family Christian bookstores still baffles me. I guess it is as "Rapture" says: "Gideon is in the drawer." Witty quips aside, Control is an incredibly affecting record to take in as a whole. David Bazan's waning lamentation poignantly illustrates the deterioration of a marriage in all it's infidelity and melancholy. That is not to say this a right-versus-wrong finger pointing scenario. By weaving in and switching between different perspectives, Bazan complicates the matter much to our consternation, in way stating that everyone carries these reproachable characteristics and is capable of such social wreckage. Told with an everyman's simplicity, there is no questioning the reality of the tale. To make this bumout palatable, Pedro The Lion's signature stripped-down approach was revamped with a newfound vitality. Songs like "Magazine", "Rehearsal" and the already noted "Rapture" rock a little harder than previous Pedro material, while "Indian Summer" implements a lush synth to create a humble pop-gem. Bazan may have put The Lion to sleep, proceeding on to other credible projects, but Control continues to be the songwriter's most focused and moving work. Look at it this way: I - an intolerably harsh critic of faith - have recited "God bless the Indian summer" countless times without thinking twice.


6) Cursive - The Ugly Organ

Domestica solidified Cursive's place amongst the upper echelon of inde-rock, brandishing a group who could expertly tow the line between raw catharsis and catchiness. It can be said that the proceeding album kept the same elements in tact, but that they were more pronounced with a larger dichotomy between the two, submerging the listener into a nerve-wrought atmosphere akin to walking on glass. A precarious doppelganger, The Ugly Organ wolfed down those in search of instant satisfaction. While the angelic "The Recluse" cast its complacent lull, "Herald! Frankenstein/Butcher the Song" quickly reigned down with a jarring racket that was anything but harmonious. Credit is due to cellist Gretta Cohn, who played an integral role in the musical juxtaposition just outlined, providing elegance to the delicate parts and severity to the clamor. Continually shifting from pastoral to caustic and then back again, The Ugly Organ forced a new, comprehensive definition of beauty.


5) Little Brother - The Minstrel Show

The most significant concept album the genre had seen since De La Soul Is Dead, The Minstrel Show was a desperately needed satirical critique upon the lowest common denominator of modern day hip-hop. Under the guise of a TV station (UBN) thriving off the purveyance of such cliches as the foolish slow jam (see Percy Miracles) and misplaced cultural affirmation in white people (see Dave Wood), Little Brother not only took their shots but provided track after track of filler-free bangers. Like forefathers A Tribe Called Quest and the aforementioned De La Soul, these natives of North Carolina managed to make the smooth hit hard, so as to provide for maximum head bobs. Much of this can be attributed to 9th Wonder's stellar production, a masterful infusion of soul into beats that is on par with the work of the late J Dilla. Of course, history shows us that artistic achievement generally goes unappreciated; in a case of sad irony, BET declined to pick up the single "Lovin' It" because its was considered "too intelligent".


4) At The Drive-In - Relationship of Command

The album that introduced independent music to a generation of naive suburban kids weened the mainstream. "One Armed Scissor" somehow infiltrated popular radio and video outlets, displaying a sound completely at odds with that of its accepted peers on K-ROCK and MTV. Punk in spirit but full of alluring instrumental twists and turns, Relationship of Command put ATDI in an elite company of genre innovators with Refused and Fugazi. Though the band/album may not have been so impactful minus one eccentric frontman with melodies to burn: Cedric Bixler - creator of a long-stemming infatuation with both nasal sass and girl jeans. And while Bixler's irrefutably self-indulgent lyrics are more or less ambiguous poetry, ATDI's swansong was an arresting venture, leading many of us to question the necessity of our Linkin Park records.


3) Godspeed You! Black Emperor - Lift Your Skinny Wrists Like Antennas To Heaven

Imagine compiling an array of rock instrumentation, classical arrangements, along with various products of human sound and sending them out into space. Then imagine a signal is shot back to earth with all original components still in tact but rearranged and cross-linked in a manner where unfathomed sonic territory has been forged. Enter Lift Your Skinny Wrists by Godspeed. Utterly triumphant layers of beauty cascade into moments of disconcerting sorrow, all held together with the interspersed words of a doomsday prophet, an aging Coney Island beach bum, and an automated teller machine. It's difficult to move beyond cryptic descriptions. A crude lineage traces back to Sonic Youth and Slint, while streamlined descendants are identifiable in Explosions In The Sky and Mono. Such comparisons, however, only get you halfway. Godspeed exhibit an omnipresent expansiveness on Lift Your Skinny Wrists which places them on the fringe of conventional reference points. Here is the postmodern opus of the decade. Kid A, you have been served.


2) Mastodon - Remission

What's in a band name? Be it to correspond with predetermined molds? To increase t-shirt marketability towards brats? Alas, these things are often the case. Though sometimes a name can capture the very essence of a sound. The first time I called upon Remission, thence appeared before me the great mastodon: a indomitable prehistoric behemoth that stormed over frozen tundra, forgoing all regard for that which lay in its path. An animal fiend from ages past, I did see. But its sonance failed to fit any previous documentation. It was a brutish amalgamation, combining the arithmetic of Botch, the physics of Celtic Frost, the putrefaction of the Melvins and the occasional melodious refrain of Iron Maiden. One labyrinthine riff spun dizzily into the next, all while the never-ceasing war hammer struck out in new sequences, refusing to settle on a meter. It's cry? Well, it was the call of the mastodon: a wrathful bellow which cut the terra firma from itself. Since this meeting, the depicted creature has amassed a phenomenal amount of acclaim. Criminal it may be to forsake Leviathan from inclusion on this memorandum, yet I do believe Remission to be its zenith of destruction. All parts in perpetual chaos, but always moving forward as a whole; it was here that I first looked the beast in the eyes and knew it for what it was. Righteous.


1) Converge - Jane Doe

If you know me at all, you saw this one coming. If we've conversed about music, I've spoken highly about this record, perhaps to the point of becoming overzealous in praise. Hype is hype, but this one lives up to every positive word ascribed to it. I say this as someone who wasn't necessarily sold on Converge and Jane Doe the first time our paths crossed. Simply put, it was just too much. "Concubine" would hit and trigger an immediate sensory overload. Still teething off Sepultura, I couldn't get my head around it. But I did recognize the sheer power that came through my speakers. Playing it passively in background was impossible. It compelled, forcing confrontation. So I kept coming back, trying to figure out what the hell all this noise was doing. Eventually I got it (at least partially) and realized why this band and record are a pair of all-time greats.

On Jane Doe, Converge transcend the plethora of influences which make up their sound. It's not hodgepodge of styles that stand apart from one another. Hardcore, punk, metal and grind: these components are seamlessly integrated, coagulating into something completely different, not anchored in any one source. There is no moments of "oh, here's the mosh part and there's the thrash part." This cohesion is result of a nihilistic dissonance and tireless intensity which permeate the songs, eradicating direct resemblances. I mean, what have you heard that even comes close to "Thaw", a demential funhouse on an angry sea of riffs? Where can you place the primal brutality of "Phoenix In Flames", which is composed only of percussion and vocals? And though incessant aggression is a trademark of this album, dynamics and textures have variance; "Distance and Meaning" reeks of The Jesus Lizard smut, while "Phoenix In Flight" exudes a Swans-like ethereal canopy. Closing out is the absolutely massive title track; with a duration of nearly twelve minutes, this monster finale is the culmination of each already mentioned facet of Converge.

Considerable lengths have been taken to explain how ugly and overwhelming this record is. But in many ways, Jane Doe is a positive, empowering experience. The auditory violence is not self-serving. It is the deconstruction of traditional conceptions of art, including the allegedly extreme forms. It takes preconceived notions about music, rips them apart and demands that you either put it back together or walk away. Choose the former and forevermore become an engaged listener - always searching for and constructing meaning. Reflecting back on this record and the challenge it posed, I see it as making an important contribution to my progression in critical thought: not finding truth at the start, but through a process of constant reassessment. To those of who snicker at these principles, by all means continue to arbitrarily nod your head along to REO Speedwagon. This is not for you. But for those who come forth with patience and an open mind, the effect of Jane Doe can be galvanizing.

Best Holiday '09 Commercial

Not trying to push this camera, but you can't deny The Biz.

Glassjaw - El Mark EP

Warner Bros.
(2005)

A few leftovers compiled here: the first two from the now out-of-print Cosmopolitan Bloodloss import single (which I almost purchased years ago at an exorbitant price) and a third that was just unreleased. "El Mark" is standard fare GJ - meaning it's catchy but doesn't sacrifice energy or urgency, leaving me scratching my head as to how it didn't make the cut. "The Number No Good Things Can Come Of" is a full-fledged ballad, stripped-down and subdued in a manner the band had previously only really displayed for brief periods in songs. "Oxycodone" has a similar feel with a more prominent jazz influence; while the verses are a tad awkward as Palumbo attempts the poetic bounce of Fiona Apple, he redeems with a chorus that is both sultry and undeniable.

Whether you're anticipating the new Glassjaw record or it's been awhile since you last listened to them, check this EP out (if you haven't already). Better yet, revisit their full lengths. Either way you're likely to hear a band that has aged surprisingly well.

"I was raised on classic rock."

More like you were too lazy to dig outside of your parents' anemic and uninspired record collection or turn off KZOK. Not saying it's all bad, but "classic" status in "rock" music can be easily and rightfully extended to bands/releases from the 90's and beyond. And ditch the Led Zeppelin shirt. That mess is tired and about as definitive as having eating food and watching sports for hobbies.

Iron Maiden, Motorhead and Black Sabbath are not classic rock, since they receive little to no play on stations designated to play such music (ironically, because they probably rock too hard for the wuss-demographic who make up the majority of radio's audience). That's right. Black Sabbath are not classic rock. You might occasionally hear "Iron Man" and "Paranoid" on the airwaves, but that's it - which is criminal considering the plethora of raditude that band produced (Dio years included).

So when someone asks you if you like classic rock, tell 'em Dave Wood says "to hell with you and your misnomers."

Lots of sauce

Is it just me or are there a lot of commercials airing for liquor? Ketel One, 1800 Tequila, Jameson Whiskey, Crown Royal, Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, etc. I've seen a bunch of TV advertising for these brands lately (much of which is terrible - maybe I'll get to that another time). This is the first year in quite a few that I've had cable, so I could easily be mistaken. But I swear the first time I ever saw a bottle of Old No. 7 was in a Guns 'n' Roses video, not in a commercial. I guess hard times calls for hard alcohol. Get strapped and loaded. Been there, done that. Without the gat. I'll stick with beer. Though I am hoping one of these brands' ads will show their liquor relieving a small child of a toothache. That I will drink to.