Book Review: 33 1/3 #72 Pavement - Wowee Zowee

Bryan Charles' author blurb on the back of his book about Pavement's Wowee Zowee is short and direct: "Bryan Charles is the author of the novel Grab On to Me Tightly as if I Knew the Way." That's all the ethos we get going into this book. We don't see any affiliation with Pitchfork, or The Village Voice, no ties to the actual music business. All that the blurb tells us is that Bryan Charles is a novelist, a writer. As such, fans of hardcore music journalism might be a bit hesitant in approaching Charles' take on Wowee Zowee. Let's hope they aren't, though, because Wowee Zowee is a fun, compelling read, and is easily one of the best books in Continuum's 33 1/3 series. This is a bold claim to make, I know. What, with a writer penning the book instead of a rock critic, not to mention the fact that this is the seventy-second entry in the series, usually a sign that the good albums and ideas are all-dried up. Rather, Bryan Charles' Wowee Zowee is a perfect example of why the 33 1/3 series is so successful and has had such long legs--with every volume there is the chance at greatness. Not every volume is great, and a few are downright boring, but Charles' sharp writing, self-referential framework, and measured earnestness make his book one of the series' biggest successes, and a great piece of rock journalism.

On the surface, Charles' Wowee Zowee might sound like any other 33 1/3 book; the volume combines personal fandom, band interviews, analysis, and a brief track-by-track walk-through in its attempt to get at some sense of truth or understanding about the album. What sets the volume apart from its peers, though, is Charles' engaging prose, and his ability to wind the book's disparate parts into compelling narrative threads. What are these narrative threads? First, we get the author's story, how he came to Pavement, how he, more reluctantly, came to Wowee Zowee, and then how the album unfolded throughout his life. Not always gripping subject matter, but in the hands of a sharp writer with an unique eye for detail and a fiction writer's narrative chops, the memoir elements of the book pop. Second, we get a research narrative, of sorts, complete with a thesis that Charles sets out to either prove or disprove: "Underdog rock record greeted with head-wags and confusion stands the test of time to become fan favorite and indie rock classic" (22). With this thesis in mind, the author digs up old reviews and articles, then sets out to interview band members, label heads, and studio technicians. Rather than delving into straight rock journalism, however, a funny thing starts to happen--Charles' Pavement fandom, the importance of the record to the man, begins to bleed into the research narrative. We read as he stalls on his project due to nerves, chuckle at his frustrations dealing with Matador Records' curmudgeonly Gerard Cosloy, and feel awkward for him when he trips up Stephen Malkmus with a question about lyrics.

Charles' volume on Wowee Zowee is so successful because he strikes the perfect balance between fan enthusiasm and rock journalist curiosity. Nothing is too giddy, or too factual--both of these narrative threads bleed together as one man's attempt to get at the heart of an album he loves. Even the song-by-song, a pet peeve of mine in many 33 1/3 volumes, is handled admirably. The section closes the book, not with section headings and dry explication, but with a stream of conscious rant that ties each song to moments and ideas from the author's life--moments and ideas that tie back to early moments from the book, heightening the ethos that the jacket blurb only hints at. The book is at turns touching and funny (try to read the side-by-side comparison of Billy Corgan and Stephen Malkmus without losing it), and encompasses the best qualities of 33 1/3's finest moments.

"In Defense Of...": LCD Soundsystem - "Drunk Girls"

Despite Pitchfork's support of "Drunk Girls," the lead single from LCD Soundsystem's upcoming album, This is Happening, many fans of James Murphy's previous material are less than enthused. Truth be told, I was skeptical of "Drunk Girls" status as the album's first single after hearing the song a few weeks ago. My initial response was one of disappointment and unease for the album to come. "Really?" I thought to myself. "This is the best they could come up with?" Thankfully, with repeated listens, "Drunk Girls" grew on me. The song is short, sweet and raw in its energy. Early comparisons placed it alongside "Daft Punk is Playing At My House" from LCD Soundsystem's self-titled debut, and "North American Scum" off of what will now be dubbed "the middle album," Sound of Silver. Truth be told, "Drunk Girls" may be better than both--the songwriting is funnier, and catchier, and the arrangement--down to the ascending "Drunk Boys" harmony, guitar solo, and key board counter melodies--is nice and thick without overwhelming the song's momentum. What really gives "Drunk Girls" its edge, though, is James Murphy's assured but raw, unhinged to the point of almost--but not quite--losing control vocal delivery. The song is easily among his most playful and engaging performances. On the merit of Murphy's singing alone (and kudos to the back up vocals as well--even though they mostly sound like Murphy, too) "Drunk Girls" is an excellent addition to the LCD Soundsystem discography.

In a way, the song was both a brilliant and awful choice for lead single. On the one hand, the song will immediately appeal to many fans of pop music, dance music, and indie rock. It's catchy, immediate, fun, and great to play loudly in the car while driving around town. On the other hand, it wasn't the best choice to entice fans of the band's previous work. Sound of Silver brought a ton of new fans into the fold, in large part on the strength of the album's epic one-two punch of "Someone Great" and "All My Friends," songs that considered mortality and relationships in ways that this kind of music isn't supposed to do. "Drunk Girls" doesn't really do either, and its easy to see how fans of Sound of Silver might be a bit put off that "Drunk Girls" is the first glimpse into Murphy's upcoming album. In that respect, perhaps "I Can Change" would have been a better choice of lead single.

But it wasn't, and that's fine. Those who appreciate LCD Soundsystem's previous work will check out This is Happening, and they won't be disappointed. They'll probably even spend some time with "Drunk Girls" and realize how awesome it is...

Until then, I'll leave you with the video for "Drunk Girls" (note: for those who haven't heard the song yet, the video features sound and singing that aren't part of the song--it's awesome-fun though, so watch it):

"We're Not Above Reviewing Leaks": Caribou - Swim

Back when Caribou's Dan Snaith was still making music under the name Manitoba--back before colostomy bag Handsome Dick Manitoba, in a fit of good old fashioned American arrogance, got upset at Snaith for using his name, despite the existence of, you know, a Canadian province named Manitoba--he made one of the best albums of the previous decade, Up in Flames. What made Up in Flames such an exceptional album was its vibrant sonic palate--Snaith incorporated psychedelic samples, sick beats, and sun-drenched melodies to make one of the most beautifully explosive "electronic" albums of the last ten years. Since then, Snaith, carrying on as Caribou, has continued to work within the boundaries of dance and electronic music, always exploring new sonic territory and doing so, more often than not, exceptionally well. 2005's The Milk of Human Kindness was a dense, almost claustrophobic affair, while 2007's Andorra superficially returned to the sunnier aesthetic of Up in Flames, but in a way that was slightly haunted by the specter of 60's pop, the album's atmosphere and melodies invoking The Left Banke and, more directly, The Zombie's summertime masterpiece Odyssey and Oracle.

On his upcoming release under the Caribou moniker, Swim, Snaith keeps things summery, but in darker and more aggressively dancier ways than anything on Andorra or Up in Flames. While those albums were a bit haunted and sunny, and ecstatic and bright, respectively--each capable of sounding perfectly at home on a hot day at the park or beach--Swim feels a bit more like summer alone at a cabin in the woods, at least when we're talking about atmosphere. The production is a bit denser than the previous albums, and the beats heavier. While opening track "Odessa" rides a slick percussion and bass groove, the subdued vocals and key flourishes gives the song a peculiarly solitary feel. Even more immediately bright songs like the accessibly dancey "Sun," conjures scenes of humid, foggy evenings at dusk.

One of the key's to Swim, it seems, is the anchoring of Snaith's sunnier elements with thicker beats and electronics, resulting in something that sounds both from the future and otherworldy, beautiful and exciting, but shot through with an uncanny current of quiet solitude. "Found Out" opens with warm keys and Snaith singing "While she waits she holds her breath/And thinks about the things he said." The nervey synths pulse beneath Snaith's voice as he describes the song's subject attempting to sing a not entirely familiar song. Already, the song's mood has been set as contemplative and a bit dark. When the beats kick in, and Snaith introduces new sonic layers, the song builds towards an unsettling sense of confinement, but never arrives, managing to keep itself anchored in the song's initial delicate sadness.

Elsewhere, "Bowls" rides a hard street beat percussion groove, while album closer "Jamelia," comes off as a cool down lap, albeit one with occasional stabs of strings and keys, re-asserting the album's slightly unsettling aesthetic. In the end, Snaith has, once again, progressed his art, pushed his sound to someplace that makes sense, but that we didn't necessarily see coming. The songs are still lush and accessible, but the production is richer, perhaps, than anything he's yet released. While Swim doesn't quite match the consistent heights of Up in Flames, its healthy balance between a dance foundation and eerie psychedelia easily places the album among Snaith's finest work.

Swim will be available on 4/20 from Merge records.

Review: Have One on Me - Joanna Newsom

Against my better judgment, I'm going to try to review Joanna Newsom's stunning 3xLP, Have One on Me, after only spending a few days with it. Be forewarned, I don't intend to offer a final conclusion on the album's quality. While I intend to discuss some of its songs, I just don't feel as if I'm deep enough into this album to really read it well. And who can blame me, right? Newsom's latest is over two hours of music spread across three CD's or LP's. That's a lot to take in. If anything, my early reaction to Have One on Me is one of awe. As I listen, I don't hear anything I dislike, and everything seems to fit together, but I feel lost in the album's epic scope. I want to feel as if I can enter into this album and be familiar with it, but that will take some time. My suggestion to you, the listener who goes out and buys a copy of Have One on Me? Listen to it once or twice all the way through, then spend time with each individual disc. Eventually the album will begin to feel familiar.

Of course, the biggest question everyone is asking about Newsom's latest is, "is it worth it?" This is a valid question to ask. Three discs of material is a huge commitment for an audience. The question's answer is simple and to the point: yes. Have One on Me is worth every minute. Early interactions with the album might find listeners longing for the more accessible songs of The Milk-Eyed Mender or the grandiose, epic sweep of Y's, but Newsom has moved beyond both. The new songs are nuanced and complex, less whimsical than Newsom's previous work, but more heartfelt. And while the arrangements aren't as big as Van Dyke Parks's work on Y's, they are rich and subtle, full of motion and surprise. The title track is a constantly evolving tapestry of musical textures, incorporating recorders, banjo, and mandolin. "Baby Birch" introduces a bit of distorted electric guitar into the mix, giving the song a slightly ragged feel. "Good Intentions Paving Company," is driven by pianos, but builds with a pseudo-gospel choir and trombone, elevating the song into the most soulful moment of Newsom's entire catalog. In general, Newsom's use of piano across a handful of Have One on Me's tracks adds a fresh warmth to her songs--"Soft as Chalk," almost sounds jazzy at times and "Occident" is elegant and gloomy. Beyond this new sonic territory, what keeps the album from feeling overblown is what has always made Newsom's work exciting, her complete dedication to sincerity. There isn't a whiff of hipster irony anywhere among Have One on Me's eighteen tracks. Newsom's vision remains pure, and that, above all else, is how she is able to release over two hours of music, all of it engaging.

The album's one fault, at the moment, is that it leans heavily toward mid-tempo harp pieces. At times, the album feels a bit homogeneous. I'm not willing to offer this as a definitive critique yet, however, as "In California," and "No Provenance" have already transformed from "mid-tempo harp songs" to gorgeous ballads, overflowing with artistry and restrained emotion. The keys to these songs are Newsom's matured songwriting, melodic sense and voice. While the songs on Have One on Me are still uniquely Newsom's, it's not difficult to imagine her listening to a lot of Joni Mitchell and Kate Bush while writing this album. "In California" finds both influences combined to stunning effect--the song's warm melodies sound like a second cousin to Mitchell's, while the climactic outburst at the song's climax is as dramatic as anything in Bush's catalog.

It's still too soon to really read Have One on Me as any kind of unified text, but that's okay. I, for one, am looking forward to spending some quality time with this album and really getting to know it the way it demands to be known. The task may seem daunting, but the more I ease into the songs, the more impossible an accomplishment Have One on Me sounds like. While I'm not willing to make such a statement yet, Newsom's new album could find itself alongside The Magnetic Fields's 69 Love Songs as the rare triple album that works on every level. Only time will tell, but just the fact that anyone at all is willing to dedicate that sort of time is a pretty good indicator that Have One on Me is a truly special album.

"We're Not Above Reviewing Leaks": Ted Leo and the Pharmacists - The Brutalist Bricks

Almost a decade ago, Ted Leo opened one of the finest albums of his career with a stunning song that climaxed with the line, "All the songs you hear down here, they have a purpose." This line from "Biomusicology" has proved a fitting mission statement for Leo's career. Leo has a knack for trying to squeeze political action into every corner of every song. At first, the politics were more subdued, a mixture of the personal-is-political, and more overt soap-boxing. As America's political climate soured, though, Leo's songwriting grew increasingly political. Shake the Sheets was an outright protest record, and Living With the Living was a sprawling mess of an album that tried to focus on the personal, but was too bogged down by its own political clutter. That's a shame, because turning back to "Biomusicology," the song's more important lines are the supporting sentiments that follow the above quote: first, "all in all/we can not stop singing"; and second, "but we will ne'er be broken hearted." Why these lines? Because they maintain a sense of political action while focusing inward to the vital, human tendency to seek joy. The song isn't simply a political diatribe, it is about finding spaces in which to maintain one's humanity in a fucked up, dysfunctional culture. These are the kinds of songs where Leo shines and that, at times, make me wonder if he isn't one of our best living songwriters. And of course, Tyranny of Distance and Hearts of Oak are full of such songs. Then there's also the song that many Leo fans consider, not just the finest moment off of Shake the Sheets, but from Leo's entire discography, the personal-is-political pep talk, "Me and Mia," featuring the ecstatic refrain: "Do you believe in something beautiful?/Then get up and be it."

What I'm getting at is that Leo's songs work best when they are about human struggles and interactions, but informed by a political sensibility. The more that politics become a song's focus, the less vital Leo's songs feel. A prime example of this is the hardcore punk inflected "Bomb.Repeat.Bomb" off of Living With the Living. The song finds Leo sacrificing the humanity in his songwriting in the name of vitriolic anger. This song also points out another trend in Leo's songwriting: Leo's best songs tend to be informed by a punk sensibility, but never concern themselves too much with sounding "punk." The charm of Leo's earlier work from the 00's is that it synthesizes power pop, punk, folk, and straight up rock and roll into a brilliant and engaging concoction of undeniable pop music.

Which brings us to Leo's latest effort, the forthcoming The Brutalist Bricks. A good chunk of Leo's new album could be described as a satisfying return to form full of songs that, for the most part, leave politics in the background as a context within which the song's characters strive for a better way to live. Musically, the album trends more consistently toward power pop than fans might be used to, but that's okay because the melodies and hooks are consistently strong to match.

The album asserts itself immediately on its urgent opening track, "The Mighty Sparrow." Leo opens the song with a vigorous strum-and-howl, the lyrics pointing both to turbulent global politics and the necessity of human connection: "When the cafe doors exploded I reacted to/Reacted to you..." When the Pharmacists kick in after this brief introduction, they sound tighter and more excited than they have since "Me and Mia." The opening song's momentum carries through the albums first four tracks, resulting in two more highlights, "Ativan Eyes," and "Even Heroes Have to Die." Among the other highlights, there is the two-parted "Bottled in Cork," which moves from a punky, politically minded, power pop intro into a buoyant acoustic jam about sister's having kids and infectious optimism where "a little good will goes a mighty long way," before ending with an exhortation to "tell the bartender/I think I'm falling in love." And let's not forget the bright guitar pop of "Bartolemo and the Buzzing of Bees," built around a slick bass hook and an all around tight performance that reminds us why Leo's Pharmacists are such an impressive live act.

Despite this album's obvious successes, the end product comes off feeling a bit uneven due to a couple of puzzling song and production choices. The album's first cracks become visible on its fourth track, "The Stick." It's one of the "hardest" songs Leo has recorded as of late, and the end result sounds labored and forced. Then there is the album's difficult three song run of "Woke Up Near Chelsea," "One Polaroid a Day," and "Where Was My Brain?" The first takes itself too seriously, as Leo proselytizes, "we are born of despair/we're gonna do it together." "One Polaroid a Day," dealing with an unnamed characters' desire to "control everything," is built on an interesting, light, funk-type rhythm, but Leo sings the song through a hushed whisper in his uncomfortable lower register, making the song somewhat difficult to listen to. Finally, the Ramones-esque "Where Was My Brain?" isn't bad, exactly, but its goofy chorus and bright production feel more like b-side material than a strong deep cut off of a largely exceptional album. In some respects, the unevenness brought on by these songs tempts us to draw more explicit comparisons to Living With the Living, which suffered from wild variation between styles. Fortunately, despite its inconsistencies, The Brutalist Bricks is a much stronger album.

Trying to figure out why certain songs feel out of place on an album isn't an easy thing to do, so I won't try. Perhaps where The Brutalist Bricks goes wrong is in trying too hard to diversify its sound. In this album's case, the attempt took what could have been an out-and-out power pop masterpiece and made it "just" an excellent album with a few awkward moments. After years of listening to Leo, though, I suspect he's not all that worried with making another masterpiece, instead finding satisfaction in making a fun, passionate, sincere album that takes some risks. And, I can honestly say that no matter how little I care to listen to some of the album's weaker tracks, they won't detract from the finer moments. Make of that what you will, I'll chalk this one up as another win for Team Leo.

The Brutalist Bricks by Ted Leo and the Pharmacists is available on March, 9 in the U.S. on Matador Records. You can pre-order the album here.