Top Records of 2007 part 3

As I sit here watching Karate Kid for umpteenth time, I like to fondly recall some of the records I've purchased this year. It's been a weird one; I worked in a record store for the first part of the year, and got to listen to a lot of new records. And I also had to listen to the Red Hot Chili Peppers thanks to my ridiculous boss. Ugh.

What I found in all this new music is the same old thing. About five years ago, I fell out of love with contemporary independent music. This fall out also included quasi-indie bands like Modest Mouse, Wilco, I dunno, I just didn't fall in love with any records from 2007. Re-issues were fantastic as usual, and I just built my collection with rarer and rarer discs.

Josef K - Entemology

As most writers will tell you, Josef K were one of the greatest Scottish bands not named Orange Juice. This record got me through slow nights at the record store, and it still gets me going. Some classic post-punk chock full of manic-to-the-point-of-falling-apart drums, tumbling and sometimes slinky bass, absolutely squalling anti-lead guitar scratching, and a guy yelling and speak-singing his way through various bouts of paranoia and hyper glee.

Favorite Song: All are pretty great (if not Interpol inspiring), but "Chance Meeting" gets me every time, only because it sounds so different from the rest of the record. The song has a great build of layered guitars and stilted rhythms. The closest thing Josef K has to a pop song, they manage to make a straight up 4/4 beat sound shakey and nervous, as the guitars build on a giant hook that ends each verse. Also, it contains a great example of how to use a solo trumpet tastefully (Cake, please fucking take note).


Harmonia - Muski von Harmonia/Deluxe

Upon these records being re-released I promptly sprayed urine into my underwear. I love Krautrock, and have been digging into Can, Faust, Cluster, Neu!, Amon Duul II and Kraftwerk for about 10 years now. The first time I got drunk (in 7th grade) my friend put on Autobahn as we drank his father's warm Bass Ales.

These two records came about when Cluster (of the dreamy cosmic music) and Michel Rother of Neu! (the masters of the motorik pulse) collided and decided to create the Blind Faith of Krautrock, a fucking supergroup. Full of synth wash environments, drum machines, spindly patterns and hypnotic guitar drones, these three guys and Conny Plank (the George Martin of this era) made some of my favorite music of the 1970's.

Song- "Veterano" fom Musik von Harmonia is the definition of motorik, taking everything Kraftwerk did with a electro drum kit and morphing it into a pulverising and delayed bomp and swish that is propelled by the fluttering keyboard and guitar syncopations.

"Monza (Rauf Und Runter)" is my personal focal point of Deluxe, a forboding wall of stretched out guitar leads that pulls a thick gauze over the proceedings until a single distorted snarl kicks the song into high gear. Resembling a castoff from Neu 75, Michael Rother's guitars splinter and crash, as the band burbles along. The vocals surge along in a spirited chant, and goddamn it this song needs to last forever! It of course ends eventually. Whatever, it's the shit.


Soft Machine - Soft Machine Volumes 1-3

A psychedelic band so musically adept they essentially moved past the scene in less than a year. Led by the unhinged but steady as a rock foundation of Robert Wyatt on drums and vocals, the Machine played some of the most inspired art-rock of the late sixties. Full of outrageously tight rhythm work-outs, spiraling tape loops, solemn organs and clattering pianos, these guys were the anti-Pink Floyd, superior musicians and truly deranged composers willing to take risks that reward the listener far more than any of their paisley-covered contemporaries.

All of the music on these records is essential if you're a fan of psychedelic and generally experimental music. Volume 3 is more jazz-oriented than the previous entries, but the weirdness remains. Wyatt's side-long composition "Moon in June" is a fucking impossibly dense well of ideas. Vocal melodies and bits of narrative fly by and disappear as soon as they pop up, as a vocal/drums/organ trio gives way to a full-blown quartet sound, which is then overtaken by a creeping organ drone being ripped apart by a jagged violin tape loop. Volumes 1 and 2 are steeped in the pop sound, although still jazz-informed. If you can, find the vinyl versions of these albums, as the CD transfers are pretty horrible.


Robert Wyatt - Rock Bottom

I've spoken enough about Robert Wyatt on this website. By now you should know that I like his music, and I am not a fan of cynics who decry that his music is too "whimsical" or "silly." He has one of the most heart-breaking voices in music, and on this recording he gathers his friends and creates a triumphant tapestry of harsh organs, muted guitars, swirling percussion and child-like sea imagery to re-imagine his musical life as it led up to that point. Better production values could've helped (why one would enlist Pink Floyd's DRUMMER to produce a record is beyond me), but I still can't hate it.

This Heat - This Heat/Deceit

These two records alone have changed everything for me. I had close to a religious experience when I turned on "Deceit." I can't describe the music, I've tried very hard. There are elements of prog, avant-garde, jazz, eastern modal music, noise, hardcore, punk, garage rock, psyche, musique concrete, 60's folk, the list goes on.

Please, track down these two albums. They will change everything; band's you thought created sounds and movements are pretenders. These guys were true visionaries.


More later, I'ved gotta listen to some new records I got yesterday. A quick list (even though I'm anti-list):

Neil Young - Zuma
Motorhead - Ace of Spades
Magazine - The Correct Use of Soap
Chrome - Alien Soundtracks/Half Machine Lip Moves
Gong - Camambert Electrique

Time to get my listening on.

The Great Gang Up

I admit it. I like Robert Wyatt. He ain't perfect, nor does he claim to be. Do you know who hates Robert Wyatt?

The hipsters at Pitchforkmedia.com. Samir Khan had handled ALL of the reviews so far, creating in my mind the idea that Pitchfork is just another bullshit hype machine. The hype machine sat down one day and said, "Hey, why does everyone like Robert Wyatt? He's overrated. He's outdated and he never played in a post-punk group. Let's lambast him, that way no one will ever want to listen to his music, ever!"

And now Michael Sandlin decides to jump on the bandwagon.

Well, I've managed to stay awake through another Robert Wyatt reissue, his latest sleepy affair being 1991's Dondestan. All these heaps of critical praise, and I'm still puzzled. Why all the fuss?

Oh, poor Michael, too hip to stay awake during a Robert Wyatt record. Do you know why you're puzzled, Michael? Because people like this album, and you don't. This puzzles you because:

a) You believe yours and Pitchfork's opinion of music is the only thing that matters.
b) You are actively taking part in a Robert Wyatt smear campaign

His previous releases, especially the likes of Old Rottenhat and Rock Bottom, are embarrassingly feeble and amorphous, not to mention notoriously overrated.

Based on whose opinion, Pitchfork's? Notoriously overrated? YOU are feeble, Michael. Do you understand music, at all? So far the music is sleepy, and he basically compares it to embarrassingly feeble and amorphous. So this guy hates unstructured meandering things. So, without further ado...

Michael's Day

I wake up and make the bed. I brush my teeth. I eat my breakfast. I go to Pitchfork's office. I drink coffee. We choose what is hip and what is not. I eat lunch. I make phone calls. I do some writing. I go home. I eat dinner. I take out the garbage. I repeat this every day, because every day should be rigorously structured. I am Michael.

I would hate Michael if I met him. He writes this review about hating meandering, amorphous music, but I guarantee if you threw on Sun Ra, Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music or Deerhunter he would bust a gasket trying to tell his friends how great this music is. Only because this music is hip. Robert Wyatt is square and overrated. I hate this man.

As far as I'm concerned, when considering the solo work of former drummers in influential bands, even Ringo Starr made better solo albums than this revered Soft Machine drummer- turned- muzak- making- man- of- the- people.

Ah, nothing like evidence to back up my point. Michael makes a sophomoric jab at Wyatt using...Ringo. Terrible drummer joke. Awful. Also, I wonder who wrote all of Ringo's tunes on his solo records? Oh yeah, some shmoes named Lennon, McCartney, and Harrison.

Are you kidding me? Is it that ridiculous of an idea that the drummer from one of the greatest bands of all time, with all three songwriters from said band contributing material, creates one of the great former drummer records? It's not. Most people know that this is a great record, you're just stating the obvious to create more anti-Wyatt sentiment.

Other examples of this outrageous claim, just to add some levity to this bilious entry:

As far as I'm concerned, when considering the work of guitarist in The Yardbirds, even Eric Clapton made better albums than Jeff Beck, that I-wish-I-was-Jimmy-Page-wanna-be.

As far as I'm concerned, when considering the work of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, even Neil Young made better records than David Crosby, that fat coke-snorting harmony-singing fuck.

As far as I'm concerned, when considering the work of solo Wu-Tang releases, even Raekwon made better records than Cappadonna, that taxi-driving-Ghostface-guesting bastard.

See, it's easy. Anyone can do it. It all depends on how much you want to look like an asshole.

His solo work is child- like and primitive compared to the complex modal noodlings of the Soft Machine.

GAHHH!!! There it is, my favorite rendering of the musical term "improvisation", noodling. This is fucking ridiculous. Here we go, maybe a dictionary definition will clear things up:

improvisation:

The act or art of composing and rendering music, poetry,
      and the like, extemporaneously; as, improvisation on the
      organ.

noodling:

A thin strip of dough, made with eggs, rolled up, cut into
   small pieces, and used in soup. 

informal terms for a human head

Hmm, the only difference between the two terms is that one is a clinical description, while "noodling" doesn't exist in the dictionary. That's because it's derogatory slang. I could only find "noodle". STOP USING THE TERM NOODLING. If you care not for improvisation, say so. If not, consider yourself gutless.

I had a dream about this recently. I saunter over to the Pitchfork office and sit everyone down. First I slap all of them in the face. I ask if anyone has any formal music education. Almost half the staff is dismissed when their hands are not raised in response. Secondly, I tell them to do research. Actual honest to god research, so they don't end up sounding like morons. Because that would prevent things like this from happening:

Wyatt's songwriting collaborator on Dondestan, Alfredo Benge, actually handles much of the wordsmithing here. Benge seems less overt in his politics, yet likes to clump words and images together in ways only a stoned Allen Ginsburg could have appreciated...

Sounds coherent enough. Until you realize that Alfredo Benge is Robert Wyatt's WIFE, Alfreda Benge. Un-fucking-believable. How much does Michael care about this review? Not at all. If he cared, he would have realized his error.

Or his editors would have recognized the error. Oh, that's right, I forgot, this is the Great Gang Up against Robert Wyatt. No one gives a shit, as long as the albums receive low marks. This is really the height of responsible music criticism. If their purpose was to drive me to self-flagellate, the mission is fucking accomplished. Oh yeah, why not throw some salt in the wound?

And what's with that voice? It's like some sick permutation of Benny Hill and Neil Young!

A sick permutation? Robert Wyatt sounds like Benny Hill how? Because he's British?!? How fucking childish can you get?

Let me also state that Pitchfork LOVES bands with terrible lead singers. The Flaming Lips. Mercury Rev, Pavement (S.M. isn't that bad, but he ain't perfect), The Fall, The Swell Maps, Liars, Modest Mouse, Built to Spill, the list goes on and on and on...

Nothing like blatant hypocrisy to spice your day up, huh Michael?

So, when does this sort of lazy repetition wear out the tag of high- concept "English eccentricity" and become simply monotonous sloppily- conceived hippie crap? I mean, whether we're talking about a clumsy offhand phrase or mind- numbing instrumental passage, Wyatt plunks it all down on tape while adoring critics fondle their Thesauruses in anticipation. And what for? Why? Eh, I'll just shut up and go back to bed.

I'll now answer his questions in this final, horrible, hipster hipster hipster paragraph.

1. This sort of lazy repetition will never wear out it's tag. Never. Everything ages Michael, even you. Soon you will 50 years old, bald, fat, still trying to convince people that hippies are idiots.

2. Hippie crap? You couldn't possibly sound more cynical/full of downs syndrome. The anti-hippie movement ended maybe 15 years ago, fuckface.

3. People are allowed to like this album. So are critics. I'm sure you fondle your Thesaurus when Yeah Yeah Yeah's release their all-yellow vinyl single. Don't act like you're above other critics. Michael, you are part of the problem. You don't do any research and you don't even care.

4. Yes, just shut up and go to bed. Dick.

An Ugly Triumverate

Last night before leaving work I stumbled upon yet another Pitchforkmedia review. It was about Robert Wyatt. Guess who wrote it?

Fucking Samir Khan. Somehow his editors allowed him to write EVERY single review of Robert Wyatt's re-released discography. How does this happen? At what level does this oversight occur? How could you let one guy who obviously does not enjoy Wyatt's output continue to hack away at the veritable obvious tree?

My blood is boiling. Let's see if I'm jumping to conclusions.

Robert Wyatt
Ruth Is Stranger Than Richard [Thirsty Ear]
Rating: 6.0

Released one year after after his second solo record Rock Bottom, Ruth is Stranger than Richard showed former Soft Machine drummer Robert Wyatt further dabbling in twisted prog pop. But whereas Rock Bottom seemed more wanky than wonderful, venturing into music theory inside jokes, Ruth is Stranger than Richard finds him focusing his prodigal musical talent upon something somewhat more listenable.

Here we go again. He's already thrown out the word "wanky," so I can safely assume that he wrote all of these Wyatt reviews one after the other. What a twisted bastard.

The dorky vibe is still very much in full effect, but this time it's mostly more charming than grating. "Black Notes and One White Note" takes a colorful synth drone and builds in electronic sound loops and noisy horns not unlike some of the tracks on the last Gastr Del Sol record.

"Dorky vibe." You just turned off about half your readers from the music with those two words. I'd be more pissed, but he's actually reviewing some of the music, and he uses a hip experimental music reference to prop up his claims. Using such a reference is useful, as it gives the readers a good idea of what they're in store for. However, a review should not just continue to do so. A comparative crutch very quickly becomes annoying.

"Solar Flares" is a shuffling jazzy instrumental that Stereolab would go on to perfect some 25 years later.

This is where the comparisons go bad. Stereolab plays a certain type of music, but there is plenty of variation on their theme. In fact, Allmusicguide.com says they combine elements of bossa nova, lounge-pop, Krautrock, Alt-rock...the list goes on. Maybe he mistook these genres for "shuffling jazzy." Also, do you know why Stereolab perfected something that Robert Wyatt first undertook? Because he did it 25 years ago. Not sure why this point bothers me so much, but I see this line of thinking all the time. He may not have meant it, but he quietly ascribes a level of inferiority to Wyatt's vision. Also, two contemporary band comparisons are enough. How about you go into a little more descriptive detail in terms of the music.

"Team Spirit" begins with a bopping introduction that could have been from outake from a Miles Davis acid trip before launching into a psychedelic riff fest, replete with feedbacky drones courtesy of Brian Eno.

A Miles Davis acid trip? You mean In a Silent Way, Bitches Brew, or On the Corner? Or maybe Live/Evil? Do a little research. Oh yeah, you admitted to doing no research in your last review. Why would you start now?

But things get problematic when Wyatt decides to lend his vocals to the music. It's terribly hard to take the man seriously when his ass- wincingly high falsetto kicks in with lines "What do cubs and brownies do at night after a boring day?/ Sine their boots and practice tying notes."

Oh, you mean you don't like Wyatt's five-octave vocal range? Also, have you listened to Soft Machine or Matching Mole? They're both former Wyatt projects whose lyrics were often irreverent and silly. Oh yeah, you don't do any research, so you would think that this is a special problem specific to this Wyatt album alone. This is turning into a painful exercise of futility.

Even more troublesome is that fact that when Wyatt sings, he also has a habit of letting the music go similarly wonky. And tracks like "Muddy Mouse (C)" barely hold up musically, completely submerging themselves in multiple key changes.

Fun. Samir got bored with "wanky" so he used its close cousin "wonky." Creative. Fun. I think my brain is bleeding.

Also, notice when the reviewer encounters musical complexities like (gasp!) multiple key changes. A relatively simple concept, Samir believes that the music is lacking because it is "submerged" in the key changes. As if the concept of key changes is so submersive that he can't truly explain what's going on.

You want to know how long multiple key changes have been going on in music? Let's see...polyphony (a musical texture that involves more than one note) is said to have occurred some time around 900 AD. I'm going to be kind and put the tag of the 12th Century as the first period of heavy key changes and modulation in music.

So, multiple key changes have been around for approximately 900 years. And Samir doesn't know how to write about them without revealing his apparent confusion. He's a fucking musical Luddite.

This is not to deny Wyatt's unquestionable abilities as a musician and as a conceptual thinker. This is just to say that Ruth will not be every booty- shaker's cup of Earl Gray. We'll keep looking.

I'm afraid to postulate just how many times a record reviewer will do this: Become afraid of their convictions and turn tail, thus rendering their opinion moot. They have the nuts to do no research and barely review any of the music, but when it comes to the conclusion they turn yellow. This is infuriating. This is how this review looks in a condensed form:

I hate this album, it's full of wankery.
Forget what I just wrote, Robert Wyatt is talented, so, whatevs.

COWARDS!!!!

Oops, He Did It Again

Robert Wyatt
Shleep [Thirsty Ear]
Rating: 7.1

Eleven years have elapsed since underground prog- rock hero Robert Wyatt released the horrendous Old Rottenhat before putting together another solo album. Following Pitchfork's policy of not doing any research whatsoever, I can't tell you what he did in the time that's passed (one can presume that eating and talking figured prominently). Whatever the facts, Shleep proves that the time away did him good. Whereas Old Rottenhat and its predecessor, Nothing Can Stop Us, were like a nose- picking cousin, Shleep is quirky like a squirrel on amphetamines. That is to say, this record is a bit bizarre, but worth your time if you're feeling so inclined.

Samir Khan, I presume? I believe this was the initial review that led Samir to review "Rock Bottom." It seems to be a bit more level-headed than the aforementioned. And then he writes that section, oh, what was it again?

"Following Pitchfork's policy of not doing any research whatsoever, I can't tell you what he did in the time that's passed (one can presume that eating and talking figured prominently)."

This is funny. This makes me laugh and also hurt inside. Let's see if I can look up what Robert Wyatt did during his musical hiatus in less than 10 minutes.

"As of the mid-2000s, Wyatt has comfortably worked in and out of the music business. He records when he feels like it, paints, writes, devotes time to political work, and continues to show no interest in the machinations of the music industry."

-John Dougan, All Music Guide

One can assume with this knowledge that during his hiatus he probably took part in similar activities. I wish I could say it is isn't, but Samir's claim that talking and eating featured prominently in Robert Wyatt's life is not incorrect. You know why? Because those are base human activities. Your sarcasm makes me nauseous.

...combined with expert guest appearances by Brian Eno, Paul Weller and a host of lesser- known, but equally adept musicians makes for an interesting jumble of sonic frottage. It's way better than that half- assed keyboard wank he previously indulged in.

Frottage: n : masturbation by rubbing against another person (as in a crowd)

Can't he just say that it sound pretty cool? Or that there is decent chemistry between the luminary and lesser-known musicians that produces a sound? Why must you pull out a vague group masturbation reference? Also, out of the two review of Samir's I've read, both have used the word "wank."

Shleep's mostly jazzbo bent makes for some nice little ditties.

Ugghhh. I know I'm knitpicking, but the use of "jazzbo" and "nice little ditties" in the same sentence is too much. This would be a great line in a record review from Prohibition-era USA. Not so much right now, sarcastic or not.

"Maryan" begins with lightly picked guitars and Wyatt's soft trumpet work before a spooky violin gently intrudes on the song's momentum. "September The Ninth" is a wonderfully subdued, jazz- influenced piece that features svelte keyboard drones. The album's closer, "The Whole Point of No Return," is written by mod god Paul Weller and lays a heavily effected trumpet melody over a vocal hum. Inbetween these highlights, Wyatt conjures all sorts of absurd and interesting pop songs, some of which shimmer with happy exuberance. Other songs, like the slightly cloying "The Duchess," however, are too damn perky for their own good.

Not too bad of a musical summation. He actually likes some of the songs, and some of them are cool. Some are "too damn perky." I have a suggestion: Listen to "Rock Bottom." All of those songs are eerie and drenched in a world-weary mood. Oh yeah, you hate that record. That's fine, opinions are opinions I guess (asshole).

The moral of this story? Cheese is just soured milk before it becomes edible. Ignore the bulk of Wyatt's earlier stuff and give a Shleep a try. It has, after all, been 26 years in the making.

This last piddle of a paragraph is brutal, just brutal. You know what the enemy of a good review is? A refusal to judge albums from prior eras in the proper context. Also, dismissing the formative and ENTIRE BULK of an artist's career. And what's worse than that?

Telling impressionable people who read your record reviews to do the same. This is an atrocious abuse of power. Someone take away this guy's keyboard. And pen and paper. Also, make sure he doesn't think anymore.

"Thank you for feeding us music critics.

We will control everything, the music and the criticism."

No, thank you music industry. Thank you.