Thoughts on the Oscars (1) - inevitably leading into: Thoughts on Kubrick (2)

The Oscars are rarely definitive, they are only snapshots contained by the cinematic offerings of a 365-day period, and it's no revelation that they, the Academy, in their selections, can make mistakes.

I am reflecting on this because, well, the red-carpet-set sporting events are coming up soon and I also just watched One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest (for the first time admittedly,) a film that was one of the few films, ever, to sweep the "five major" awards (Actor, Actress, Director, Screenplay, Picture), and I can't help, as I often do, but embrace the urge to scrutinize this "award-winning" performance of an actor, in this case, Jack Nicholson, against other performances in his career.

The limits of the Oscars, especially when it involves such an iconic actor with a long resume, leads me to, albeit irrationally, to weigh this apparent pedastol performance against others that I as an Academy of One, would hold higher.

My personal inclincation, for Jack, goes to The Shining. (Again, albeit irrational - I weigh Cuckoo vs. Shining). The portrayal of madness is always captivating because of how frightening it can be, when captured as perfectly as Jack does - because we are staring into the wild feiry eyes, repelled by the creepy tongue-waggings and disturbed by the visceral howls (specifically displayed throughout The Shining) that suggest that this human being has gone beyond the brink, has been possessed by chaos, whose derranged mind makes him as dangerous as a wild animal - and to see that portrayed, in a performance, and have it be believable, makes you wonder how an actor turns that on and off - outside of the filmed experience - that's the real scary part, you're "conjuring" madness and embracing it.

Whereas in Cuckoo's, the performance that was "awarded," he is playing RP MacMurphy - (similar to Jack in The Shining, they are both the characters of a novel, one from Ken Kesey, the other from Stephen King), but MacMurphy, by distinction, is only "pretending" to be crazy, as a ruse to maybe pick up some bucks on some easily-swindled mental patients. So, while I can watch Cuckoo's Nest and consider it a very strong film, all around, certainly worthy of awards, worthy of four stars, etc etc, I can't help but get momentarily be irked that one performance of "pretending" to be crazy gets the honor and the other where he certifiably goes crazy (and beyond) does not - but it brings us back to the flaw of the Oscar's...

It seems to keep score.

If you've already got an Oscar, like, say, you had won one within the last five years, you might get passed over for another performance, regardless if you're current work is more deserving. (See: Russell Crowe passed over for more nuanced and disturbing role in A Beautiful Mind, perhaps because he won for the essentially one-dimensional performance in Gladiator). Whereas, if Jack's nominated for 80's The Shining, the tacit suggestion may be, hey--he just won back in 75 for Cuckoo's...

The other flaw is the 'make-up' Oscar, the one that's awarded almost for combined work of the past performances that were surprisingly passed on (see: Denzel Washington missing for Malcolm X but yet, winning for...Training Day? And/or, Martin Scorcese missing for Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Good Fellas, The Aviator and...winning for...The Departed??)

Anyhow...my longwinded point is - whether or not I, subjectively, feel Cuckoo is (or is not) one of Jack's best performances - it is futile (and, almost a waste of all the words I've used so far) to get upset about it - because his winning in 75 was likely just a byproduct of the competition of that year. And, one has to admit that Robert DeNiro probably gave the performance of his life in the film, Raging Bull, for which he won, over Jack, that year.

~

So, we should reflect on the power of the director, in this case, Stanley Kubrick. For certain directors, the impact of their signature can outshine the performances in the minds and memories of the audience.

When you think of The Shining, you think of an ax wielded against a door with the inevitable delivery of "Heeeere's Johnny," but, you'll also quickly hear those shrieking strings, stabbing their way through the soundtrack, those blunt and sudden dateline black screens ("WEDNESDAY"), the camera chasing scurrying bodies through a maze, the type writer with pages and pages of one sentence, the blood getting off the elevator, the creepy emptiness of that spooky hotel.

The movie itself, it seems, is almost competing with Jack, on who can best disturb/effect the viscera of the viewer. In essence, the power of the film, Kubrick's eery wordless naration by way of camera angle, pacing, editing and soundtrack, could have such a wave of influence thus that Jack's performance becomes (not merely) an (albeit formidable) added gale pushing the tidal wave forward. Whereas in the, by comparison at least to Kubrick, even-keel delivery (with exception of admittedly exceptional editing and good use of close up) of Cuckoo's director Milos Forman.

Then, I thought, this seems to be true with 4 of Kubrick's (arguably) 5 most revered films: The Shining, A Clockwork Orange, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Full Metal Jacket. The exception, I would say, is Peter Sellers triple-pronged performance in Dr. Strangelove. Whereas Jack, and commendably Malcolm McDowell (in Clockwork) deliver two of the most memorable performances of all time, the circumstance of the film - (Jack going crazy, and Malcom's evil-reveling-Alex being "corrected" by the State) dominates are regard.

We all remember their performances, but it is Kubrick's hand that frames that devestating close up of McDowell's face in the milkbar, or that positions the camera lying on the ground facing up at Jack, as he bangs on the freezer door (or follows along his dragged-body through the kitchen):

Space, the black obelisk, the monkeys, the classical music all over the soundtrack, and the immortal hallucinogenic time warp sequence are all the bigger stars of 2001: A Space Odyssey. And, does anyone else remember Matthew Modine's (or, for that matter, Vincent D'Onofrio's) impressive turns in Full Metal Jacket? You remember one giving the thousand yard stare at the end - and the other shooting himself in the bathroom, but they are both led more dominantly by the hand of Kubrick.

In a weird way, I guess I was arguing that maybe it would be hard for an actor to compete with the dominating personality/style of a director - and thus, that the often chincy Oscars had no recourse but to give Kubrick's work and his actors that awkward stare that some cosmopolitan mainstream squares in the room would give the avant-garde dude who just hooted a Ginsberg poem in Portugese at the wine and cheese party, and then move on...

Sellers, is the exception - as, even though I would argue Dr. Strangelove to be an invaluable commentary on the Cold War, the arms race, the imbecility of those in power (with such a horrifying effect that such gum-chewing, gun loving, shruggers-off-of-death have their fingers on the buttons) - still, his performance, (with the exception of Slim Picken's riding a bomb like a bucking bronco) is the most memorable facet of the film - and, probably due to Kubrick's 1964-youth and still-developing-style, is able to compete with the director.

Cars and Trains - the Roots the Leaves

(on Fake Four Inc)






Listen:
cars and trains - "Intimidated by Silence"

Plaintive, pained, scuffed and scribbled, Portland based multi-instrumentalist Tom Filepp constructs an ornately cluttered attic, resonating with memory and shrouded with poetic perspective. The dusty air throbs with synthesizers and glockenspiels, your feet shuffle through pages of lyrics and occasionally unintentionally crunch on a toy piano or a xylophone, as Filepp, some wandering stranger with a heart not broken but at least singed, invites you in to this escapist folk-flared, earthy haven of songs.

It’s an evening record, to be sure, comparatively lo-fi at points, but pleasingly dressed with atmospheric electronics: timid at points, meditative, a comforting book by candlelight, but the radiating synths, echoing acoustic guitar strums and poignant mid-to-low baritone of his vocals can replicate the bracing rejuvenation of a deep inhalation of that deep forest air – making it feel akin to the sensibilities present in Frost’s poem, “Acquainted with the Night,” a good soundtrack for errant, moonlit wandering.

More info

Songs about Girls in a Post-Apocalyptic Future

Hi-Speed Dubbing's spinning the reels right off of their tascams - hitting the 2010-ground at running speed - with shows lined up - a free download-able EP - and a full length cassette album available on Jan 28th - at the Woodward Avenue Brewery. Lately, live, the quartet is a groove-heavy blues thing, fierce but sweet, with some undeniable pop-leanings mixed in with some punk and weirder, more atmospheric textures.

The EP, available here - is the early-2009-collection of lead singer/guitarist Justin (Audio) Walker - so they've got that fuzzed, muffled, bang'ed around in the dryer grit - but still range from paranoid punk ("Nightlife"), to cathartic, slow-motion-pummeling blues ("Two Tears"), to tingly Martian-flavored pop ("Stepping") and to....

This

WAB (in Ferndale) - HI-SPEED DUBBING / PRUSSIA / MARCO POLIO & THE NEW VACCINES / DESIGNASAUR

Book Party - 1 / 21 - Emory (The Tender Bar)

Time for one more book party hosted by The Ferndale Public Library and The Emory (Troy and Woodward) - as they get closer and closer to facilitating a community-wide-book club for Dashiell Hammett's The Maltese Falcon - The idea: come drink one free cocktail or brew, on the house --if you show your library card, get loose with some new friends and discuss a book that, hopefully, you've read before showing up (or bring it with you and flip through it at the bar). Next week, Thursday - Jan 21, as we hang out and toss a few back between pages, getting comfortable discussing books with one another - we'll talk about J.R. Moehringer's The Tender Bar, a cozy and engaging read for any of us who (might need to be comforted for certain habits, like) visit(ing) the local watering hole a few times a week - as a haven, as a living room, as a source of rejuvenation.

For more info - you can check out this blog, adorably titled

(photo^ Trever Long)

Ypsi Band Showcase - 1 / 22 - Elbow Room

Hallway (above) is a new classic-pop/soul-leaning project fronted by singer/guitarist Jeffrey Freer (formerly of another band known by his last name), with bassist Jessica Sacks and drummer Nick Adams. They have an album on the way, playing off (or through) their band name, called "The Rugs."

They're playing as part of a bill (inside the unique ambience: dim and mysterious at one end, laser-light-show-and-loud at the other) of The Elbow Room in Ypsilanti - that features three other bands from that area: The scratchy folk and art-rock of Ferdy Mayne, the post-hardcore-leaning indie rock of Brass Tacks - and, also joining the line up is Derby Mama. (Who can't be found, momentarily on a Google search, but, we'll see...)

Come experience Ypsilanti, what Wikipedia assures me is "the Brooklyn to Ann Arbor's Manhattan."

Woodbridge - One Year - 1 / 22

Woodbridge Records celebrates one full year of opeartions from the Big Grey Shack - having gathered together an eclectic trio as their main roster - from the epic and expansive, ornately-dressed indie rock of The Summer Pledge, to the aggressive, groove-laden, melodious swoon and shred of I, Crime, to the rousing, whirling anthemic pop and punk style of Noman (pictured - photo: Alyssa Mullen ) -

After more than 365 days - they've released: Noman's Broadcast (recorded with Steve Albini); I, Crime's Doveskin Gloves 7", The Summer Pledge's Recurring Dream 7" and their You are You LP. (The I, Crime full length is still in the works.)

Anyhow - you can see the Woodbridge family, and the humble hard working team that represents its forged releases, at the Magic Stick - on Jan 22nd - as they form the bill for the 1-year-birthday party.

More info at Woodbridge Records site

~

Josh Malerman - Phantom of the Opry

"This is how I play..."

Josh Malerman has always negotiated two sides of himself – songwriter and storyteller. As singer/guitarist of rock trio The High Strung and as novelist between tours, the bridge between these sides was always linked by the obliging pair of guitar and typewriter, helping to make T.H.S. songs (lyrically) into stage-set short stories culling conveyor belts of new vibrant characters and varying circumstances of love, theft and neuroses – over their intricate, hard-driving pop song structures. Certainly not just the “hey, girl, yeah” or “got a new rose” punchy monosyllabic nonsense of most pop-or-garage rock lyricists, Malerman would invite more nuanced characters who plotted and connived, who preserved chivalry or reveled in one-night freedom, monsters and bed-wetting and self-discovery!

On Phantom of the Opry, Malerman is free of the crunchy guitars, proggy atmospheric inflections and spasmodic rhythms of The High Strung and offers up more pared down and pure servings of his songwriting. The presentation is rough and fuzzy - but it's what one can expect from home production. The lyrical content is also eery at times, yes beautiful but yes-also--macabe - but there are these bursts of infectious pop whimsy that keep teasing you back...

We are guided along by Malerman, through the theatre of the album, in an almost one-man show manner, or, as we traipse onto different sets dressed with different characters, and our nasal narrator takes on different costumes, it begins to feel that these songs are each plucked from whole albums onto themselves, varying in mood from poppy marches, to charming waltzes, to macabre dirges. Malerman, who played the instruments and recorded it all himself at home, presents a storytelling-style of pop music, but even more evident and clear cut then with THS. On this night at the Opry, we shoulder our way through influences such as the crowded cloaked masqueraders in the wings and pits of the Beatles’ at their darker, ornately wrung latter-day-theatrics (“The Ruins”; “Life Out of Reach”) to the very plaintive and melancholy-tinged piano-bar gruffness of post-VU Lou Reed (“Plots”) and, we might dare, the classy shimmy and heartwarming orchestral-pop build and sway of a Leonard Cohen (the melodious chorus of the otherwise sing-speak narrative “The Aisle”), and Malerman’s made no secret of his admiration for Bob Pollard, for which we feel a similar crackled aesthetic on “The Town with Torches,” just a nauseating-bend on the acoustic under Malerman’s pure and pained vocals).

But with all that to whet your literate-folk leaning whistle, Malerman, as the conductor of his own musical now, embellishes his appreciation for literature altogether austere, chilling and supernatural with some jarring interludes of ripping guitars and frantic pianos (“First Rise 2”), pedal-fuzzed guitars splaying and cutting under melodies like some crazy krautrock squeegee (“Stan Anderson’s Party”), and the Poe-ish seesaw dissertation over distant thunder strings and coaxing-yet-haunting piano (“Buried Whistle”). All that, and you have the swirl of emotions stirred by the different characters and circumstances laid out as each song stands as its own short story – only now propped up by piano, synth and moderate guitar-n-drum backdrops. Perhaps its strongest element of intrigue Is that after a dozen songs, we never glimpse beneath the masquerade mask of our thespian host and solo-songwriter – the voices and emotions are all those of his characters. Still, the wails of guitars, runs of piano and marching plod of drums are at least all by the hand of the man, the writer, the curator of these characters – and through Opry , we get to know him through sonic sensibility, “…this is how I play,” he nods in perhaps the strongest piece, “Mystery From a Crawlspace (What Is It?),” with it’s Zappa schizophrenia arm and arm with Abbey Road’s charm and prog rocks spacey guitars. Any roughness in recording is forgiven by its charm, the intimacy of feeling as though you're in the dude's living room - (and at some points, deep inside his head...)

“Hey, check it out, this is how I play…”

Magic Stick says Thanks with punk rock and free beer (with more goings-ons in the Cafe)

Well, ...free domestic draft brews from 9pm - 10pm -

The folks at the Magic Stick are hosting Customer Appreciation night - Friday the 15th - with no cover, free pool all night - and free food (for as long as it lasts).

Local rock enthusiasts will recognize the billed "Buick and Hentch" providing DJ duties as Keep On Trash.

Meanwhile, two punk acts are in town from New Jersey: Highest Power and Liquor Store (and, they also play the Lager House the following night). Meanwhile, Detroit acts include Gardens and the Sugarcoats

After yer fill o' food and beer and avant-garde sounds - should you get ancey, head down to the Cafe - for Oblisk, Oscillating Fan Club and Lord Scrummage.

Contra Review

mp3 - Vampire Weekend - "Horchata"
Or Stream the whole damn thing here
Even more info here

Does Tickle Me Elmo ever drunk dial a Zhu-Zhu and tearfully harangue him in a slurred speech tearing him down; screeching out some mascara-dribbled Joan Crawford-eque tirade of how everyone’s just going to love you and then leave you and move onto the next hot young floozie? I’m sure it’s happened…right?

This is close to what I imagine when observing the already-exasperated phenomenon of "blog-buzz-bands." The "blog buzz" background’s often the preface to any blurb, screed or review hacked out for New York’s crisp, clean, champagne-bubbly pop and cutesy Afro-beat folksters Vampire Weekend; how listeners were prescribed to get on the bandwagon early for this hip, clean-shaven crew that promised to reappraise Graceland-era Paul Simon, make yacht-rock edgier and wow-you-n-woo-you with their honey-dipped harmonies and invigorating choppety rhythms.

Well, yeah, that pretty much happened (before their debut even came); but then it did come out and all the rumors seemed true and we all fell in love with their Oxford collars (and "Oxford Commas"). Their style of pop, maybe a wee bit wimpy (if not nerdy) and maybe a wee bit derivative (if not ostentatious) was the epitome of "infectious." Like crystal meth-Starbursts – we all kept unwrapping it – but, just as quickly, we all got stomach aches and crashed from our sugar highs. To their credit, or vindication, they are still the apex of what was considered "buzz bands" in terms of disarming talent, (however fleeting it still might end up), still, though, Vampire Weekend, with their debut batch of orchestral calypso-flavored rumba folk, entranced us with their sorcerer-like pleasing pop.

But there is something to be said for staying power – and that’s something that just can’t be conjured by would be tastemakers, be they Pitchfork.com for bands, or Wal-Mart for Zhu Zhus. Hence, I’m leery when, initially I feel, again, sanctimonious gaga love for these cascading string plucks, measured cello hums, head-swimming coos ("White Sky"), these charming xylophones that chop and pound into marching drums and elegant humming ohhhs falling like the winter snow vilified in its escapist chorus ("Horchata"), or the almost Talking Heads-ian style of those strangled, jittery guitar riffs under the oh-my-god-I’m-freaking-out-tightness of the drums ("Cousins"). But they can’t pull off the high strung style of "Cousins," and "Horchata" can overstay it’s welcome (not unlike "Cape Kod Kwassa Kwassa"), and attempted poignant pieces ("UR a Contra") fall flat. The victory here is when they bring in the synths in (sorry Ted Nugent), like the revelatory reggae-pulsed space-buzz/piano prance of "Diplomat’s Son," or massaging gush and fuzz furled march of "Run."

The nigh-Animal Collective-tasting electro-poppety-pop of "California English" recalls keyboardist Rostam Batmanglij’s foray with recent synth-project "Discovery." Though we may burn this out just as fast, Contra’s one redeeming quality is it’s intricate layers ("White Sky,") dressy but discrete arrangements ("Taxi Cab") and ponderous lyrical content (the lackluster "Holiday"’s anecdotal Iraq War reference.) "Here comes the feeling you thought you’d forgotten," Ezra Koenig aptly sings in "Horchata," the question: how fast will we forget it again?

Questioning the need of almost everything - and having to choose which story to tell

Welcome to somewhat of an unwinding freak out moment... Feeling a shaken perspective in this "post everything" generation - and exploring the limits of the language of music - (or, can anything sound like something else, can't everyone/thing be compared to someone/thing?)

Anyhow...

I was having a conversation with a Detroit set songwriter/recording-artist, about blog buzz bands dominatnig the internet channels and how they come with - clipped to their links and mp3 downloads, as they sit on the shelves of blogs everywhere, these tacit, hard-nosed suggestions that if you are not "in-to" this band, than you are losing your proverbial edge - The most recent buzzed lamb to fall before the commenter slaughter (actually this will be their second asscention to the shat-upon-throne since their 08 album assured them an inevitable return), is Vampire Weekend - a review of (their latest, Contra) you can read here in a day or two...

Anyhow, I rattle off a handful of bands to said songwriter, a list that included bands that "blew up," momentarily, three or maybe even four years ago - God forbid blogs attempt such a retrospective-ready long memory - and name-dropped flahses like Tapes & Tapes, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and Wavves...

Wavves, we paused on, and then posited that perhaps he had done some considerable damage to the legacy, whatever its worth, of the "genre" of "lo-fi." Lo-fi: scorched and scraped sounding recordings from a 4 track or 16-track, often recorded thusly for economical purposes, (maybe even sometimes caught on a minidisc recorder, or perhaps even more shrewd and primitive and despearte means), is a sound and style often attributed to Guided By Voices - then later Sebadoh, and as we progressed through the 90's, Pavement and then Ariel Pink's Haunted Grafitti.

We started wondering about the damange done by what could be perceived as manufactured trashiness, or, simply, bands that try to sound "lo-fi" - the actual embrace of rough-hewn aesthetics, as opposed to, in the past, it being out of necessity or economy. Well, before I could go into any deep philosophical rant, I stumbled onto a "rant" from the I Guess I'm Floating blog. Definitely worth a read.

And then, reading through that comment board, it made me decide that perhaps instead of lamenting the idea that this 2010-and-beyond generation of forever-altered blog brained listeners will have mangled perceptions about "lo-fi" music, contorted by resentment born from hipster-site-pushed overexposure, I should instead flip it around, step out of the box, and question what role "blogs"-themselves have played in this hysteria.

Sebadoh and Guided By Voices and Pavement were already famous, on some level--an underground cred-thing or whatever, after they broke up, but they have gained a new kind of fame ever since bloggers started constantly writing about music (thus often having to compare new bands to something) - they became messianic, mythologized, crowned as ominious and powerful Godfather figures.

I decided not to argue the legitimacy of sonic aesthetic - (so many musicians/bands, when they're starting out, just immitate what they grew up listening to, and some may just go the extra mile, in this, the year of our lord, two-thousand-and-ten, that they are that much more dedicated to recreating the sonic quality of their favorite bands and now that much more capable, through technology, of creating that screwy amp-filtered fuzz) - 'nuff said, for now, from me.

Where I started unwinding was, the rant link above, most importantly, questioned the legitimacy of the labels or "genres" created for these buzz bands. These labels, or "genres" are a symptom of so many blogs.

The operative word above is "so" many blogs...I could have easily said "too..."...many. (Are there too many?) Anyhow, you can only describe sound with so many words (as Elvis Costello said, "writing about music is like dancing about architecture...") - and eventually, with so many of us at our lap tops uploading paragraphs packed with witticisms as we try to keep things sharp for our readers on a daily bassis - it becomes an added trick for the game and its players, to dream up new classifications for these bands.

Thus that "genre" invention - the cause of digging up so many bands so quickly and needing to classify their sound as, not necessarily unique, but part-of-something - part-of-an-exploding-spider-web-of-a-trend, trendiness!! hipness!! ...as a new movement, a new buzz, a new "must be in-to-this-band" situation, that we need to name the beast, give it a species - because every epidemic needs to be named - every band needs to be put under a banner. Or do they?

If "genre" creation/designation and band documentation is out of control - if there are too many blogs all copying each other or blowing out and blowing up the same shit - then it exposes the flaws of so many of these would-be music "journalists" as actually being closer to attempted taste-makers - (is that not the goal of 94% of these blogs? To get a piece of this....this weird monstrous club of cool, where we dole out hip knowledge or direct people to new places to download new things to feel the "new hip!")...when they (all these bloggers) should all cool their jets and remember why they really (or hopefully) started their blog (in the first place) - because they love music.

But the epidemic of trying to go gaga (or manufacture a new gaga-feelign) over the next buzz thing - is eerily close to selling something - cooking up a frenzy to then shoo people into - perhaps, and this is probably reaching, not far from the "pop" explosion of '99 with Britney et al - where TRL sent hoards of people into music stores to buy the-now-dinosaur-ized-CDs. But then, is it really that bad?

What happens, do we go radical and forget "genres?" What about the old stand-bys? Indie-rock? Garage-Rock? Punk-Rock? Prog-rock? Shit...one keeps going...neo-psychedelia - electro-pop - new-wave - glam-rock - ahh... on and on.

Bloggers pre-suppose that, if not now already, then soon - we will not need traditional music journalists, because the power is in the hands of the DIY-home-set-writer. And, sure, right-on-and-more-power-to-ya...

But if this recent veritable upchuck against buzz bands, where blogs seem to feel the way to make a name for themselves is to "stay ahead of the curve" and thus continue to find band after band after band......and thus...collect each new fniding under a new exasperating genre name...if all this wacky out of control genre-labeling is any indication - then we can pre-suppose that no one can really play the game of blogs correctly, no one can stay AS ahead as possible, because there is always another blog around the corner with crazier, newer, hotter shit that you ain't ever heard of... The snake just eats itself.



Then what the hell is the worth of a blogger? Make up your mind. Are you a critic? Or a tastemaker? Or are you something else? Because you can-NOT be both...or at least, it will take some fine-tuning if you would like to be... Finding buzz band after buzz band forgets the crucial question - what is the worth of the next buzz thing???? Why do we lap toppers take some perplexing comfort in knowing...that we know...what all those who are cool and cutting edge, also know...

Do we need genres? Do we need blogs? Do we need journalists?

One hopes we need journalists. It's likekly, I'll admit, that the traditional music journalist should submit that he/she can never compete (or, for that matter, win-back) the ground of music reviews - that is forever the territory of the online writer. But a documentary style feature/interview/profile - will hopefully weed out the journalists from the bloggers. Or at least, the music writers from the bloggers.

That is the hope.

But if blogs, in their mad, rapid-fire-way, create the need for so many different buzz bands to be given attention to - how does the journalist really know who to document - who will be worth the documentation? Who really has the good story...

But there is no final answer to any of this - and I don't claim to have found it. I'm not preaching we go back to the old ways, I'm not saying we hold artists to high/elitist/snooty/masterpiece standards and I'm not saying we tear down the whole thing and embrace anyone who farts onto a snare drum and records it to be-also-worthy of our attention... But, we shouldn't reduce the treatment of artists and their songs to level of quickly-forgotten-youtube-clips. (Again, it's a snake-eating itself - is it not great that so many bands can get onto these blogs? Yes. But what is the worth of getting onto these blogs anymore? Especially when they often give the music lip-service or just tag it with catchy genre-labels and call it a day, - with another band, bagged, tagged and classified...on and on and on)

I think we all have a good story to tell... So perhaps the journalists' use is not dead yet. And good criticism can survive - but I'm not sure if it embraces a wariness of being selective of what bands to consider, or consider everything? It's chaotic.)

Since more and more musicians are finding the means to record on their own and upload their material - that means more and more albums for more and more blogs to review...

But how about instead of trying to cache everything under banners of quirky genre names - we just talk about the music, describe it, how it sounds, the movements it follows, the arrangement, the passion - and whether it's actually any good?

Or forget about good vs bad - at least just try to interpret it - on a deeper level then putting a sticker on it that says "lo-fi/surfer-pop/psycho-silly/world-freak-noise-orchestra/yazz-rock..."


If we don't have the attention-span or patience to take in a record, re-spin it numerous times and form our own conclusions and loves for it - then we may see the death of a crucial element to one's personal library - "staying power."

1 / 15 - Lager - - 2 / 12 - Majestic Cafe

G'mornin...welcome to Saturday

I have little words today - just posters

Like these that include some DC favs, like the Marthas, Black Lodge, Rogue Satellites and more!

Local lovers of Brian Jonestown Massacre and old-timey Black Rebel Motor Cycle Club should check out the above show to support/acknowledge a visit from touring LA band The New Romans

Meanwhile, stay tuned for more about February 12th at the Cafe^