Knifed & Spooned

2006-11-30T09:01:00.000-08:00

A Review of William Bowers’ Review of Swan Lake Beast Moans 2.9

Over the past few months, bloggers have stroked themselves into a frenzy over Swan Lake, and only validation from the “real media” is going to get the kids to toss their load. For those of you unfamiliar with Swan Lake, it’s a crime-fighting trio from Canada (like Alpha Flight but with better costumes and worse haircuts). Swan Lake is the indie-credible Dan Bejar (New Pornographers/Destroyer), Carey Mercer (Frog Eyes), and Spencer Krug (Wolf Parade/Sunset Rubdown), each pitching in the songs that weren’t up to the standard of their respective projects. Instead, each member contributes a few of these tracks in a somewhat non-collaborative fashion to the project. It’s like any herd animal that travels in numbers to evade predators. But will these three gazelles escape by the grace of indie cred alone?

William Bowers says “sure”. More importantly, he gives his approval with groan-inducing quips like “Beast Moans is no pornographer’s rubdown; it delivers on its tease”. It’s not unusual for Bowers to channel the imaginary or the irrelevant (“In the event that you are an anxious consolidator of last.fm stats trying to weed out fluke acts, you might switch "Swan Lake" to "Destroyer" in the artist-blank…”) and make an unintentional insight here and there (“A Venue Called Rubella as the title hints, plays like an outtake from Rubies).

His attempts at drawing from lyrical imagery manifest all of the grace of a morbidly obese ballet dancer with a glass foot. Beginning his lyrical dissection with a line so abysmal, it would graze the low bar set by most high school newspapers- “That great not-American source of American imagery, the Bible, is responsible for a shocking number of lines”, Bowers presses on only to admit defeat after scratching superficial surface.

In Bowers’ own words:

Pretending to discuss the lyrics is a sad surrender, though, because anyone attempting to decode them is going to lose the songwriters' rigged game of "guess which finger I'm holding up behind the tapestry."

One would hope that with a record that borrows so many of its themes from the contributors’ familiar and high-profile work that a little from the material lent it self to interpretation. Like any critic, Bowers has very particular taste, but unlike most critics, his reviews seldom approach or attempt fastidious interpretation. Instead, Bowers favors inane ramblings that occasionally make brief mention of how an album might actually sound. What is more important to a review? And why is that harder to find than a condescending tone toward readers, bloggers and artists in the average Pitchfork review? Where does all of the attitude come from? If you are an anxious consolidator of last.fm stats, try writing William Bowers or any other reviewer’s name in the artist blank. Do you know what will come up? Absolutely nothing.

-E. L. Eauface

2006-11-29T10:18:00.000-08:00

A Review of Peter Macia’s Review of Jay-Z’s Kingdom Come 7.2

I wasn’t sure if there would be another review. On November 20th, 2006, I retired. But after 9 days, I’ve become tired of retirement. I’ve done everything I’ve ever wanted to do. Granted, I’m a fucking phenomenon in the arena of critiquing critical review. I’m the reviewers’ reviewer- the word after the last word. That can be tiring. Not just for you, but for me too.

If my hyperbole makes your stomach sour like chunky milk and olive loaf, than what do you think of the criticism sandwich Peter Macia serves up on Jay-Z’s Kingdom Come. Everyone knows how to make a criticism sandwich. Pretend the new Jay-Z record is an underwhelming pile of languid productions and lethargic rhymes devoid of any content worth a crumb from anyone’s stinking ass. Just pretend.

Now, saying this could be potentially unfashionable, and incur the slings and arrows of Jay-Z lovers everywhere. Less likely, Jay-Z’s feelings would be sincerely hurt and he’d have no recourse but to dry his eyes on a fistful crisp bills. By piling on some flattering words and grand overstatement for the self-proclaimed Jay-Hova, a hostile rebuttal is effectively sidestepped, even at the expense of scuttling Macia’s most insightful moments.

My personal favorites:

Twice he addresses his recent heavily publicized boycott of Cristal champagne which even he acknowledges is unimportant. But that's Kingdom Come: Jay boringly rapping about boring stuff and being totally comfortable with it

and more notably:

He thinks he's going to save hip-hop and New York City with his triumphant return, and maybe he might. But it won't be because he shouldered their burdens; it'll be because he shrugged and someone else carried the weight.

Macia’s opening paragraphs feel like a misguided attempt to sate fans who are likely as disappointed (if not more) with “dozens of uninspired stretches and misguided rants” instead of the anthems comparable to those that earned him accolades in the first place. If his editors had just axed the first two ball-cupping paragraphs, Macia’s review would retain some ballsy sincerity.

-Dan

2006-11-20T11:53:00.000-08:00

A Review of Stephen Troussé’s review of Jarvis’s Jarvis 4.4

It’s not easy being relevant. It’s probably safe to assume the alternative is no easier. Jarvis Cocker is probably referenced at least once a month in a ‘fork review, which is more than Albarn, Coxon or any of the dudes from Menswear manage. Troussé doesn’t blow any more hot air into Cocker’s inflated status, but finds fault with the following:

1. Opening a record with an instrumental.

Apparently, Cocker should stick to writing 6 minute synth driven lyrically rich ditties about profound subject matter like a song called “Underwear”, written so women will throw their underwear at him.

2. It isn’t 1991.

It’s 2006, and Cocker’s still here (kinda). Everybody knows that artists are supposed to go to the shores at thirty and walk into the sea with their mouths open into the salty embrace of death. If Cocker insists on continuing to make records, he should just reprise Separations over and over and over…

Troussé writes “What awaits the disappointed romantic, when he concludes that life isn't elsewhere, is the evil of banality... and maybe the banality of evil.” Cocker in 2006 is a disappointed romantic. Whether Troussé is touting the promise of “Quantum Theory” or “Big Julie”, his hand is revealed as that of the listener looking for the optimistic romantic of 1991. Troussé’s review reveals little more than which romantic he prefers. For my enjoyment of the record, his preference is irrelevant.

-- Dan

2006-11-07T13:53:00.000-08:00

A dialogue between two Neanderthals on an indie messageboard regarding Tom Breihan’s Review of the Evens’ Get Evens 4.7

Grargh: Fugazi loud.

Thok: Evens still quiet.

Grargh: More Fugazi?

Thok: Maybe no more Fugazi… but new Evens.

Grargh: But Evens quiet. Want new Fugazi!

Thok: No!

Grargh: Want the Argument again?

Thok: We argue now.

Grargh: No. Want Fugazi!

Thok: Shhhh! Evens!

--Two Neanderthals (in the employ of the Village Voice and the Chicago Reader respectively)

2006-10-31T09:06:00.000-08:00

A Review of Dominique Leone’s Review of LCD Soundsystem’s 45:33 7.2

With 1300 reviews on Pitchfork every year and tens of thousands of records released, one might assume that there is plenty to review, but despite the numbers there is something to be said of being selective. Tastemakers build a reputation with what they review and not just how they review it. They can build struggling artists (like LCD Soundsystem) and give a voice to outsiders of popular culture (Nike?).

Dominique Leone is given the unfortunate task of reviewing an iTunes only release of an LCD Soundsystem workout mix commissioned by Nike™. You can even print out your own cover art with the Nike™ swooshtika® on it. Leone structures her review of 45:33 around a workout routine. That probably sounds really tacky, but it frames the review rather nicely, aside from a slightly clumsy attempt at validating Nike™ as a contributor more than a vampire in the landscape of popular culture.

Leone follows the building momentum of amoebic musical structures into an accretion of layers and gradual accelerando that mimic the arc of the run. Her descriptions of the sounds that characterize each stage (“unassuming analog synth line” at start, flowing into “jazzy house piano line” to “mid-tempo disco-funk”) best serves the release as an entity tightly crafted, sequenced, and dynamically designed around a basic concept. Swooshtika® aside, that’s the kind of record reviewers want to review. While a dismissive monologue of more corporate schlock is what most of us would rather read, Leone takes the high road in actually engaging in a review of 45:33. Unfortunately, it also reads like an advert for a Nike™ product, built to assuage the neo-liberal guilt that would drive some LCDS fans away. Like 45:33, whether you take the review for an advertisement or its own statement, the content remains the same.

--E. L. Eauface

2006-10-25T07:44:00.000-07:00

A Review of Jason Crock’s Review of the Walkmen’s needless remake 7.9

In 1998, Gus Van Sant directed a shot for shot remake of Hitchcock’s Psycho. Eight years later, no one but Van Sant is certain why. Was it an exercise? Was it vanity? What drives established artists to attempt reinventing iconic work? Enter the Walkmen, with a white-knuckle grip on their LP of Harry Nilsson’s Pussy Cats. Like any of us, Jason Crock’s review can only ask why.

Crock writes:

It'd be more forgivable if this record were bringing Nilsson's material to a new or wider audience, but despite the Walkmen playing illustrious venues like the Bait Shop, I'd guess the opposite is happening. The Walkmen's Pussy Cats is for the tiny sliver of the Venn diagram where fans of the original LP and long-established Walkmen fans intersect (and where this writer admittedly rests).

Crock has the answer, but not before he gives us an obligatory brief history of Nilsson’s original. Perhaps there’s nothing to discuss about this record except the degree to which it successfully imitates and the magnitude to which it fails to innovate. Crock’s assumption that this record is the product of an identity crisis sounds on the nose.

If the Walkmen came into making this record creatively lost, they finish in the same state. Crock’s review implies very little deviation or exploration of the material. By adhering to nothing more than ground already tread by Nilsson’s original, there doesn’t appear to be any epiphany from the process of remaking Pussy Cats that they wouldn’t have gained from just listening to it.

--Dan

2006-10-23T09:01:00.000-07:00

A Review of Jessica Suarez’s Review of the Curtains Calamity 4.9

A friend once told me, “try skipping the first paragraph of every review you read, and see if you’ve missed the writer’s angle”. 4 out of 5 times it’s just gristle. Jessica Suarez gives us the skinny on what The Curtains’ Chris Cohen looks like in his press photo and why he can’t creatively bare children.

Post gristle, we get a lean review that teeters between well-rendered specifics (“palm-muted bass” and “staccatoed guitar down strokes”) and the inarticulate (“the simplicity does get simplistic at times”). I never get the impression she doesn’t have an ear for detail, but Suarez fails to incorporate her observations into a coherent direction. Her review of the Curtains’ Calamity reads as fragmented and underwritten as the album she’s writing about.

It’s not just unfortunate, but uncharacteristic of her best work. Suarez’s excellent track reviews prove her ability to use her ear in a way that lends to the depth of her writing. She is more than capable of picking up subtle details, but I don’t see her relating them well to a particular context, here. Maybe, the reader could better connect her observations if her thesis wasn’t also the last line of her review.

--Robin Graves

2006-10-19T14:36:00.000-07:00

A Review of Marc Hogan’s Review of Cold War Kids’ Robbers and Cowards 6.4

Do hipsters hate Jesus? I don’t know, but I see a lot of beards. Maybe the indie kids and groans just hate on social conservatism (while engaging in their own skewed version of it). So, when Wovenhand is singing reverent little ditties about Jesus, it’s just pretty, and when some boys start casting God as the leading social conservative in every district, it's obnoxious.

Hogan’s review of Robbers and Cowards reads like a list of disappointments. One third of the review reaches outside of the content of the record to take a couple of jabs at the bloggers that would give a band recognition that hadn’t been pre-ordained by big media and the curators of cool. Is the blogeratti breaking artists that sound like nothing we’ve heard before? Who is? I don’t see a pile of Tzadic releases getting reviewed anywhere outside of Wire and nobody is touting the brilliance of the Blue Meanies or Burnt Sugar. Instead we get the uniqueness of the Hold Steady (forget the record sounds like the Boss) or Tapes ‘n Tapes (which shouldn’t remind anyone of the Pixies). With 40,000+ releases a year, some familiarity may be unavoidable (if you try taking Lanzaframe out of my stereo, I'll chew your hand into a bloody mass).

But when Hogan delves into the sonic landscape that characterizes the record, the reader ends up entreated to the dreaded shorthand of listing other bands and vocalists. Forgive me, but I sincerely haven’t the slightest idea of what an “edgy Spoon jitterscape” entails. Nevertheless, Hogan touches on plenty of faults from needless tempo shifts to poor mastering, but by linking Robbers and Cowards favor of plodding narratives over more personalized songwriting the review resonates with what makes Cold War Kids' supposedly non-Christian Christian music unpalatable when compared to the more “idiosyncratic hymns of Sufjan Stevens and Jeff Magnum”. Here we have the root of Hogan’s review. The difference between inspired personal songwriting and conservative, preachy narratives are like the difference between being moved and being shoved.

--The Remedial Reader

2006-10-18T12:32:00.000-07:00

A Review of Ryan Dombal’s Review of Badly Drawn Boy’s Born in the U.K. 6.8

Is it me, or does the word “penultimate” get misused a lot? I always hear it used to reference the paramount instead of the nearly-best of something. For example, if you were to say that London Calling was the penultimate achievement in the Clash’s catalogue, you’d be lying and I’d have no choice but to shove you ass first down a flight of stairs. Dombal says the following of Born in the U.K.:

”The Time of Times", the penultimate song on Damon Gough's fifth album in six years, recycles the chord progression and guitar melody from "The Shining", the first song on his first album, 2000's justly loved The Hour of Bewilderbeast. The obvious bit of self-reference is a disheartening representation of how much this once-promising Brit has squandered his potential.”

He goes on to lament the lack of progress for Badly Drawn Boy five albums later, lamenting overwrought orchestration and “bumptious piano” (note to self: insert “bumptious” in every conversation). One might wonder how many would complain about the lack innovation if this were the third Badly Drawn Boy album in six years instead of the fifth. Dombal doesn’t seem to hold such productivity suspect, instead fingering a move to a major label and commercial ambition as the culprit responsible for sentimentally retarded songwriting.

If Badly Drawn Boy hasn’t shown much artistic development over six years, I find it hard to believe a label upgrade would spur a radical change in approach. Nah, more likely the canned themes and sentimentality have always lingered in the foreground, only now they’ve become the target of critical backlash. So more to the point, how does an artist create a bulwark (good scrabble word) of past accolades to protect them from an onslaught of changing winds and critical digs? I’m glad I asked.

1) Don’t ever (EVER!) allude to Springsteen. This year, every record sounds like Springsteen (according to Pitchfork). Certainly there are more respectable ways to embark upon a personal quest to become entirely lame.
2) When you’ve reached the apex of your critical trajectory, do a covers record or a release under a different name entirely. Scoff all you want, but while you were scoffing Spencer Krug just started three new bands and Joanna Newsom’s brushing up on her covers of “Bicycle Race” and “Venus as a Boy”.
3) Fake insanity or instability. Critics give artists all kinds of creative license that they would otherwise deny to fully capable and deserving musicians.
4) Attribute ambitious conceptual conceit to your work (but don’t collaborate with your grandmother)

Dombal gets a mouthful of bile from some atrocious lyrics, but the enjoyment I get from listening to shitty love songs is learning what statements of love are considered universal. Isn’t the real reason some of us find a line like “I’ll be by your side, believe me” or “But how will we carry on when all of these things have gone” is that they’re vacuous and devoid of specifics? How is that more romantic than brushing your teeth while your lover takes a shit?

Rather than imply some grandiose interpretation of Born in the U.K., Dombal safely chooses to point to Badly Drawn Boy’s lack of direction. While the bland compositions warrant mention but little illustration, the reference to underwhelming lyrics and exhuasted themes paints the portrait of an artist either a little lost, a little bored or both.

-- Dan

2006-10-16T11:28:00.000-07:00

A Review of Ray Suzuki's Review of Jet's Shine On 2 Blue Mana

-- The Dungeon Master

2006-10-09T13:25:00.000-07:00

A Review of William Bowers’ Review of What Made Milwaukee Famous’ Trying To Never Catch Up 3.9

What a treat! I get to read a review that’s as unpleasant and mildly obnoxious as the album it’s reviewing. Reviewer William Bowers marvels at the lack of singular vision and consistency on a record penned by three different songwriters. Bower’s might credit the lack of cohesion to “Austin, Texas’ crowded, hyper-self-conscious scene” (I think we’d all be hard-pressed to name a maverick band or songwriter to break out of Austin).

Bowers asks himself some rather searching questions, which he then promptly answers:

Shouldn't bands have "a sound"? Not necessarily, reckon, especially if their talents are all spastic and confidently roaming. Shouldn't albums "cohere"? Not necessarily, reckon, especially if the band presumably feels that certain tracks are better served with vastly different vocal treatments and instrument tones. But check out the ride provided by Trying to Never Catch Up's turbo-jalopy: You get three initial songs of Franz Ferdinstrokes suped up with the synths that the Faint suped up after the Rentals' suping up of the Cars”

Okay, so I may have the puny glazed brain of the average parakeet, but I can’t fathom an album derivative enough to justify writing such a clusterfuck of a sentence. This whole review reads a bit like a blog troll suped up with fatwah against Barsuk suped up with a hard-on for the Strokes suped up after a bandlisting suping up of a rateyourmusic.com post.

Bowers takes a few more stabs at picking apart the missteps, pooh-poohing and drawing more comparisons to the Strokes (never even heard of them). Inevitably, Bowers does his best to flex his mind-reading abilities to presume the intent behind making Trying To Never Catch Up (“By now the listener wonders how much these unabashed capitalists (in interviews) are craving (via Barsuk) some Death Cab for Cutie coattails”) and lets us know his true feelings about Death Cab (“Among my most boorish and indefensible opinions is this stinker: ‘Straight females are the only people who have any reason to listen to Death Cab for Cutie’) as if they were relevant to the review.

--E. L. Eauface

2006-10-09T09:10:00.000-07:00

A Review of Grayson Currin’s Review of Wovenhand’s Mosaic 6.1

The words “Christian music” have a very negative connotation with most people (at least the guys in my regular AD&D group). Now, I'd like to think this connotation stems from contempt for bland music that just happens to be Christian, rather than a reactionary dig at the Christian Right. Ex-Sixteen Horsepower frontman David Eugene Edwards solo joint Wovenhand bears the burden of being saddled with the Christian music stigma, and Grayson Currin’s review examines the saddle, ignoring most of the musical horse under it.

Currin makes a distinction between the songwriting of Wovenhand and what one might expect from a Skillet record. Unfortunately, very little of the review delves into the arrangements or sonic atmosphere of the album. Instead, Currin expounds upon the lyricism and metaphors that Edwards uses to explore his faith. Certainly, lyrics are a large part of most records (or at least they should be), but by spending the entire body of his review talking at length about the Christianity of Wovenhand, it makes it seem as though no other element of Mosaic is worthy of mention.

--Dan

2006-10-06T09:43:00.000-07:00

A Review of Rob Mitchum’s Review of The Killers’ Sam’s Town 5.7

If I may summarize the opening remarks of Rob Mitchum’s review:

Rock music in the 21st century has been subject to an unprecedented emotional arms race of Cold War proptions, precendented by Bruce Springsteen.

A few things occur to me readings this review. One, wouldn’t the E Street Killers have been a better band name than just the Killers. I like it better, but I would also prefer Duran Shmuran. Two, Why has Springsteen hijacked the review of the Killers record? Is the Springsteen influence that profound, or is the Killers record really that boring to review?

Some vocab from review which I found interesting:

Indie-fluence: the continued abuse of hyphens that makes me vomit-sick in my gut-stomach
Enterlude: How an illiterate or group of illiterates begins their album
Exitlude: How an illiterate or group of illiterates ends their album
Faux-Queen: what the Swedish Chef appears to be saying when he mispronounces the word “fucking”

I could try pulling something out of the actual review, but that would involve more Springsteen references. I prefer to make fun of Springsteen rather than reference him. Whether it’s poking fun at the mumbled verses in the dreadfully static "Glory Days", doubled over laughing during idiotic chorus of “Dancing in the Dark” or wondering if I’m the only person who doesn’t give two shits about Nebraska, a review of a Killers review isn’t any more appropriate of a forum to discuss the Boss than the original review.

Mitchum sells the reader on the shadow of Springsteen over Sam’s Town, but it becomes the singular point of the review. Overusing the Springsteen influence as a touchstone overshadows Mitchum’s original discussion of the emotional arms race and how the Killers transition from Hot Fuss to Sam’s Town is indicative of the shift from rock as the source of party and dance music to rock as the source of insight and emotional cache.

-Robin Graves

Added Note 10/9/06: Just heard a couple of tracks from the new Killers record and the Springsteen influence is overwhelming and entirely gross. If every track is as awful as the one I heard than God save us all! +.5

2006-10-03T12:55:00.000-07:00

A Review of Scott Plagenhoef’s Review of the American Jarvis Cocker’s new Hold Steady album 4.1

For Plagenhoef, “America’s #1 bar band” doesn’t hold as a suitable tag for the Hold Steady. Bar bands are the music you talk over and do your very best to ignore. On this front, Plagenhoef and I would have to agree to disagree. His argument that there’s more weight to this “unique and powerful” band is done little justice by vapid lines like “feeling good about their liquor run” and “gonna walk around and drink some more”. It’s like trying to mine profundity from a Donnas record.

I like the line: “the more likely you are to use music as a social lubricant than as a social balm, the more likely you are to enjoy the Hold Steady”. As an assignment, I urge all of you to divide your record collection in two piles. For extra credit, ask Craig Finn if he sees his writing as social Vaseline or social Aloe Vera. When he asks what you mean, tell him you have no fucking idea?

Plagenhoef goes on to suggests Craig Finn is the American Jarvis Cocker. Personally, I enjoy the music critic if-they-made-its. My past favorites have included: “Ani DiFranco is the female Billy Bragg” and “Pavement is the American Radiohead”. It figures that we’d get the Radiohead that can’t sing or tune a fucking guitar. You can make your own if-they-made-its by blogging ridiculous shit like "_____ is the L7 of funk" or "_____ is the female _____" or better yet "_______ is the white Wu-Tang". Greg Graffin is the American Jesus!

Add the Jarvis Cock-up to a growing pile of reaching, overstatement. The close of Plagenhoef’s review attributes the Hold Steady’s lack of arena-sized success to its unwillingness to embrace vague abstraction. Nonetheless, Plagenhoef does take note of a lack of lyrical specifics in favor of a more universal approach, which leaves the reader to wonder if there’s a more conscious push in that direction.

- E. L. Eauface

2006-09-26T11:07:00.000-07:00

A Review of Joe Tangari’s review of Paul Schneider’s Forever Debts 9.0

Joe Tangari’s review of Paul Schneider’s Forever Debts doesn’t read as though it's particular to an agenda or smug slant as we frequently encounter. It’s always refreshing to know that one can draw something from a review other than a shortlist of similar sounding artists and a few new words that can be used to compare an album to excrement. That being said, Tangari is one of the best reviewers at Pitchfork.

Aside from avoiding crossword fodder, Tangari engages his readers, articulating the merits of Forever Debts covering all of the bases, from tone of Schneider’s voice (“very nasal, comes right from the top of the throat, and has just a little bit of grit”) to the structure, dynamics and transitions inherent in his songwriting.

While some readers prefer cheap digs or insights into the imagined political statements hidden in records, I think most artists would prefer an honest and more straightforward evaluation of their work. I'm sure Paul Schneider appreciates it. If only every songwriter were so lucky.

- Dan

2006-09-25T11:05:00.000-07:00

A Review of Mark Pytlik’s Review of the Scissor Sisters’ Ta-Dah! 7.9

Aside from his Bjork biography, Wow and Flutter, I’m not really familiar with Mark Pytlik’s writing. One reviewer of Pytlik’s book claimed that the Bjork bio lacked a prevailing theme connecting the events transpiring in the book and accused Pytlik of “overwriting”. That reviewer kinda sounded like an out of touch a-hole. I trust dear reader that you’re capable of detecting the overwritten in Pitchfork reviews, and Pytlik’s aren’t among them.

Now, I’ll be honest. I don’t listen to the Scissor Sisters. My love for music begins and ends with Phil Collins’ No Jacket Required. Pytlik doesn’t sell me on the Scissor Sisters’ “triple-layer cake of showmanship, falsettos, and 1970s AORisms”. I need triple-layer cake like a fat 12-year old with diabetes.

Despite my diet, Pytlik’s point isn’t lost on me. Excess is a virtue of performance, just as restraint is often a virtue in the studio. Pytlik’s love of the Scissor Sisters’ grandiose singles doesn’t find itself at odds with why it might lend itself to an exhausting record. Thankfully, the review rests on the divisive nature of the production and tongue-in-cheek songwriting rather than arguing over sincerity.

I come away from the review knowing what Pytlik thinks of it, whether or not it appeals to me, and a vague sense of its sound. Personally, I’ll probably hit repeat on this frick’n Phil Collins cd before ever checking out this Scissor Sisters album… that is if the six minutes of useless chorus at the end of “Take Me Home” ever ends.

- Adam Wosniak

2006-09-22T11:28:00.000-07:00

A Review of Mark Richardson’s Review of Jane’s Addiction’s Up From the Catacombs: The Best of Jane’s Addiction 3.7

As music journalism veers from print to the web, I wonder what record there will be in 2022 of what albums grab all of the good press now. I can’t imagine someone treasuring archived Pitchfork review files like I hang on to old Wire, Punk Planet, or Hit It or Quit It issues. No one is going to take notice of all of the records that get reviewed with an 8.4 and then are reissued and reviewed again as 10.0 records.

Mark Richardson gets assigned a greatest hits record, this time for a band with a discography I can fit in my coat pocket. He knows this compilation is pointless. We get the prerequisite fluff piece that could very well have been sitting mostly written in some drawer or dusty MS Word document for a number of years. So what more is their to do for a defunct band than talk about their legacy as it relates to the release of another unnecessary greatest hits CD.

Of course, the review reaches a little far for validation, confusing the impact of Jane’s Addiction with Lollapalooza on the ensuing band-signing frenzy (but that can be argued both ways) that shaped 90’s alternative. Richardson gives us an irrelevant 200 words or less bio of Perry Farrell followed by three sentences highlighting the contributions of his bandmates. He then wraps up with finally getting around to reviewing the arbitrary record and calling it such in so many words. At the very least, Richardson might be able to spare someone the misfortune of buying an inadequate and unnecessary record. Near as I can tell, Richardson gives the record a terrible review and instead assigns the legacy of Jane’s Addiction a numerical value (8.5). That’s useful.

-Dan

2006-09-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

A Review of Matthew Murphy’s Review of Acid Mother Temple’s Have You Ever Seen the Other Side of the Sky Benji says it’s alright

Man, Acid Mothers Temple is messed up. Matt Murphy likes them. I like them too. I wish I knew some real people that liked them. That would be so awesome. Unfortunately only critics and people who want to be critics give a stinky crouch about them. That totally sucks.

Japanese names are cool. If I’m ever in Japan, I know how to say “hello” and for everything else, I’d probably just scream “Kawabata” or “Bio-Zombie”. Anime sucks though, because their big eyes give me the creeps, and I don’t get why they’re all so white. Japanese horror movies are kinda popular now, but they’re usually boring. Mostly it’s just talking-talking-talking-creepy kid-talking-creepy kid-the end. Acid Mothers Temple could make a hella cool score for one though. It could be called Kill the Space Kids in English. In Japanese they could call it “Kawabata” or just draw those little pictures of the name.

-Benji

2006-09-21T08:16:00.000-07:00

A Review of Marc Masters’ Review of Wolf Eyes’ Human Animal 6.0

When I was in first grade, students in reading class were broken into three groups and asked to come up with their own name. There were the rockets (the advanced group), the ghosts (the intermediate group), and the snakes (the slow kids). Every once in awhile, I’ll read something that reminds me that I used to be snake. I needed to read several parts of Masters’ review to make sense of it.

Masters’ review hinges on his opening statement: “The cycle of tension and release is a well-worn musical ploy, but Michigan's Wolf Eyes have somehow managed to find new ideas in that technique's cracked façade.” Huh? I wouldn’t call dynamics a “worn musical ploy” anymore than I’d brand conflict a gimmick in a narrative. Rest easy, dear reader. Wolf Eye’s have found new ideas in the cracked façade of compositional dynamics.

I’d prefer less focus on the audience experience of hearing the Wolf Eyes record and more characterizing Human Animal’s sound. Masters does keep with the build and release motif, and it never feels as awkward as his ball-cupping first sentence, but it does overshadow insight in to what the record sounds like. “Snake-charming saxes” pique my interest more than “inscrutable cacophonies of noise”, but that’s just a matter of taste.

The review would be better served with more illustrations of how the actual sounds lend themselves to building and discharging tension. Masters seems to wait until late in his review to tie the two together. Still, as a former snake, I’m left wondering how in the black and white of tension and catharsis, how does one get a “dripping swirl of different shades of gray”?

-The Remedial Reader

2006-09-20T08:51:00.000-07:00

A Review of Jess Harvell’s Review of Missy Elliot’s Respect M.E. 0.0

Greatest hits records are basically a third nipple in the era of downloadable music. Reviewing a greatest hits record is nothing but an opportunity to kiss the ass of a celebrated artist. Subjectivity is no longer tethered by the desire to be taken seriously. Overstatement abounds. Why the hell not? Most who read the greatest hits reviews are already fans of the artist in question and (more importantly) own the records where the selections for such compilations are taken.

So basically, I’m reviewing a useless review for a pretty useless record that wasn’t even released in the US because it was probably so useless. So actually, I’m just reviewing how much Jess Harvell likes Missy Elliot.

Well, Jess Harvell likes Missy Elliot a lot. Sometimes Harvell fasts for days at a time for Missy. Sometimes Harvell kneels in her direction for hours of meditation. Sometimes Harvell writes gushing verbage of Missy’s greatness- understandably. Most people must not know of her work. Is she a pretty marginal figure in mainstream hip-hop? Yes, I am being sarcastic.

Put simply: Missy’s too alive to be eulogized. Life is too short to review a greatest hits record.

- E. L. Eauface

2006-09-19T11:34:00.000-07:00

A Review of Ryan Dombal’s (AC:3, HP:15, Thac0: 19) Review of Emily Haines & the Soft Skeleton Knives Don’t Have Your Back 2d4

If your favorite record shop affixed a sticker to a cd stating: “RECOMMENDED IF YOU LIKE SWEATY FUCKING”, would that be more alluring than the album of a sad-bastard singer/songwriter moping over piano and conventional instrumentation?

Dombal answers “No”.

This is where many will no longer have interest in his review. Those people may turn to page 55 and look for records that sound more like sweaty fucking.

For those who are still interested in Haines’s Knives Don’t Have Your Back, you may continue.

Dombal guides us through some of Haines’ banal lyrics (“it won’t be enough to be rich” and “our hell is a good life”). This after he cites the following quote from Haines Under the Radar interview. "I really don't relate to the female singer-songwriter. You're all precious and everyone has to hush while you go over the shadows of your emotions. I've always hated that.”

If these lyrical passages have caused an eye-opening epiphany, please turn to page 71.
If these lyrical passages have caused you to lose all hope in the work of singer/songwriters everywhere, please take your own life.
If neither is the case, please continue.

Ha!

You should have turned back when you had the chance, friend. Unfortunately, you have been ambushed by six kobolds. You beg for mercy, but they don’t understand your common speak… or they do and just ignore you. It’s hard to tell as they beat you savagely with sticks.

- the Dungeon Master

2006-09-18T09:58:00.000-07:00

A Review of Stuart Berman’s Review of Scanners’ Violence Is Golden 4.7

The following 12 are name-checked in Stuart Berman’s review;

Elastica, Garbage, Blur, New Order, Republika (Good God!), Sleeper, Cobrasnake, Duke Spirit,
The Kills, Evanescence (less shocking after mentioning Republika), PJ Harvey, the Sounds, the Cardigans

Granted, I know who they are, because most were mainstream poo and I am old and farty. I can’t give a concrete numerical limit for how many namedrops are too many, but this feels excessive. Maybe it speaks more to Scanner’s scattershot record, epitomized best with: “one band’s inspired eclecticism is another’s existential crisis”. I don’t know. I haven’t heard the goddamned record.

Luckily I don’t ever have to, because I review record reviews instead of records. Besides, I feel like an expert after reading Berman’s review. I may not have heard Violence Is Golden but I’ve heard 10/12 artists mentioned in the review. That reminds me- this one time in high school, my grandmother got me a Republika cd for x-mas (what atheists call Christmas/or a celebration of the X-men’s birth), because I “like cd’s”. Oh, grandma…

Berman’s opening analogy states theTrainspotting soundtrack was to Britpop what Saturday Night Fever was to disco. Both emerged at the decline of their respective movements. Scanners’ Violence Is Golden appears ten years after the decline of Britpop. Rather than describe what characterizes Britpop and why Violence Is Golden is a Britpop anachronism. Instead, Berman’s thesis rests on his frequent comparisons to bands of the era (and a few outside of it).

- Dan

2006-09-18T09:16:00.000-07:00

A Review of Matt LeMay’s Review of Bonnie “Prince” Billy’s The Letting Go 8.8

I frequently have those moments in checkout lines where I spot a toddler with a middle-aged face. I could recoil in horror… I do recoil in horror (I’m not talking about progeria, just babies that look too much like Kelsey Grammar), but until reading Matt LeMay’s review of The Letting Go, I never drew a connection between the freakishly old babies and Will Oldham.

Okay, that isn’t entirely true.

LeMay’s plainspoken review of Oldham’s new record is breath of fresh air when compared to the verbose insecurity of many of his colleagues. Considering the late autumn stroll through the wood metaphor, and quotes like “organic and cozy” or “fond familiarity” might make the favorable review slightly baffling to some. My immediate expectation would be James Taylor on lithium, or just another pleasant but dull record.

Of course, I would never be able to draw the conclusion that this record is probably quite boring without LeMay’s earnest attempt to aptly describe the sound and atmosphere of The Letting Go while keeping his review safe from idol worship or hyperbole.

- Dan

2006-09-15T14:08:00.000-07:00

A Review of Marc Hogan’s Review of Charlotte Gainsbourg’s 5:55 5.5

Editor’s note: The following review was submitted in atrocious French, so we at Knifed & Spooned felt it prudent to use a free online translator to transcribe it into similarly atrocious English. Both have been included here for your satisfaction.

L'ouverture avec une discographie peut être l'équivalent de « Salut, je suis Troy McClure. Vous pourriez me rappeler des films tels que… » mais il a toujours ses usages. Sans mettre le rapport dans le contexte d'un album par la fille de Gainsbourg de Serge, Hogan dit a très petit dire du rapport.

Hogan remarque “Les mensonges d'appel de l'album centraux dans Gainsbourg whispery, Londres-Accentué vocal.” Ceci est clairement un de côté. Hogan fait l'éclaircit tout à fait que l'appel singulier de ce rapport est que de paternité écrasante n'importe quel intérêt pour l'artiste (ou les contributions de célébrités).

Cette revue se sent comme un effort décevant d'un critique déçu. Cela étant dit, ceux-là sont les rapports l'un probable a le plus de raison pour éviter.

*****************************

The opening with a discography can be the equivalent one of "good day, I am Troy McClure. You could remind of me the films such as…" but it always has its usages. Without putting the report in the context of an album by the girl of Gainsbourg of Serge, Hogan says has very small to say report.

Hogan notices "The call lies of the central albums in Gainsbourg whispery, Stressed vocal London." This is clearly an aside. Hogan does clarify it completely that the unique call of this report is that of any crushing paternity interest for the artist (or the contributions of fame).

This magazine feels as a disappointing effort of a disappointed critic. That being said, those are the reports the one probable has the more of reason to avoid.

- Robin Graves

2006-09-15T07:35:00.000-07:00

A Review of Stephen M. Deusner’s Review of R.E.M.’s And I Feel Fine 7.8

Who on earth is this R.E.M? Someone told me they’re just a rip-off of Frente. Whatev! All that matters is that Stephen Deusner seems a little obsessed with them (the R. E. M. band, not Frente), and obsession is the prerequisite when reviewing a compilation of a band’s demos, early work or live material, that only piques the interest of diehard fans.

If you’ve never heard of this band, there is a lot you will learn.

1) R.E.M. was a once on an independent record label making good music, but then they went to a major label and started making bad music. This dynamic is unheard of today.
2) There is an Athens in Greece AND in Georgia. If more bands came from Athens, GA, then I’d probably have heard of it before.
3) The band had an “expansive vocabulary—encompassing power pop, folk, soul, classic rock, and even punk- [that] proved surprisingly malleable over time”.

Deusner’s enthusiasm for the material here is really infectious and does a lot to draw his readers in, but it also assumes we share the same base of knowledge regarding this virtually unheard of band (he never explains what R.E.M. stand for). Nonetheless, it’s hard to come away from this review without feeling disappointed that this band never became massive.

- E. L. Eauface

2006-09-14T09:25:00.000-07:00

A Review of Zach Condon’s Review of Daughters Hell Songs ¾

“Bands like the Locust or Discordance Axis made a mid-1890’s routine of throwing dozens of different riffs into one-minute or less songs”

Dude, I know it was a typo, but how bitchin’ would a wax cylinder of mid 1890’s style riffs packed into one minute tracks sound. I would punch my mother in the throat to hear that. I wonder what kind of instruments were big shit in the 1890’s. I bet in the 1890’s they just beat their horses, children and wives and sang Sacred Harp tunes over them. I know that I was alive in the 1990’s and musicians usually just beat on the same dead horses and covered an occasional Sacred Harp tune when they were too lazy to write another cut for the record, but still didn’t want to pay for a cover.

I don’t know what art-rock and post-punk mean these days and most metal feels robotic, because robots are made of metal (except cyborgs which have living tissue and robot metal underneath). That aside, I don’t know if I’d like this record, but a song called “Boner X-Ray” sounds tight and I like the part where Zach describes the dudes voice as sounding like talking while throwing up. I tried that once, but it just made me throw up more.

Usually, I don’t listen to bands called “_____ Girls” or “_____ Sisters” or “Daughters of _____” because those bands usually have zero chicks and 3 or 4 twentysomething beard-faces making music that some record store dickweed is into. And what is up with hell now. Hell is alright, but it’s way more badass to be from Michigan. People are always like, “dude, yr from Michigan? How are you still alive?”

- Benji

2006-09-14T08:52:00.000-07:00

A review of Brian Howe’s review of Richard Buckner’s Meadow, 8.0

Brian Howe knows how to toe around the lazy trappings of name-dropping other acts in lieu of offering evocative language to give readers some insight into the actual sound of a record. The bevy of adjectives approach doesn’t appeal to everyone, but by articulating what he appreciates most in Meadow, a door is left open that many more reviews make a conscious effort to keep closed.

Howe’s thesis is that Meadow is a reflection of Buckner’s pursuit of a refined sound over immediacy. Howe serves his thesis well by guiding readers through the polished touches and refinements throughout Meadows with lines like:

“The songs are melodically portentous (whipped into fine froths by GBV alums Doug Gillard and Kevin March); sung in a gruff yet honeyed voice so enveloping that it feels more like a place you go than a sound you hear.”

Howe’s lyrical dissection does not permeate the layers of abstraction Buckner cocoons around himself, but his review touches on precisely what makes Meadow so lyrically confounding. “The lyrics are dense with subjectivity, attaching one hallucinatory image to another by obscure but inflexible dream logic”. This returns to the notion that Buckner is creating a sonic place. Howe suggests he’s conjuring an atmosphere of images larger than he’s capable of forcing into a coherent narrative.

The strength of Howe’s review rests in the success with which he connects his appreciation of the record with the elements of Meadow that are likely to be the most divisive. The only contradiction in the review to Howe’s poise over immediacy angle is that the arrangements seem to favor one while lyrically, Buckner seems to favor the other.

- Dan

2006-09-13T12:18:00.000-07:00

Review of Brandon Stosuy’s review of the Mars Volta’s Amputechture, 7.4

“The Mars Volta’s piss-soaked indulgence often pushes critics to similarly bombastic, mouth-foaming performances” writes Brandon Stosuy before launching into his own 700 word self-indulgent “performance”.

Reviewing a great record can be fun.
Reviewing a truly awful record is always more fun.

It gives colleagues like Mr. Stosuy a chance to indulge in the part of reviewers psyche that appeals to scatological imagery in an attempt at universality. Sure, when I was five or six, I used to chase after my friends with a handful of dried green goose turds. Over twenty years later, here comes Mr. Stosuy ambling in my direction with a handful of so many green turds.

“It’s not like that,” Brandon might say. “Mars Volta came after me with it first”.

That’s why I’m here Brandon. Who watches the watchmen? Who judges the judges? That’s right, Brandon, we do.

In the body of Stosuy’s review, synths lap, strings weep soppingly, and time signatures flash (?). Occasional jabs at prog (which I hate), Total Guitar subscribers, and his continued pokes at the “bong-toting college boys” that he thinks are the intended audience make me smile. A good dose of humor is the best review for a record that goes over as well as a tampon fashioned from a dead hamster.

Omit any qualifying statements like: “Now, I dig indulgence when it’s done well” and the use of yawn-inducing crit-speak like “buzzsaw guitars”, “guitar wank(ery)”, “ham-fisted”, etc and you have a pretty entertaining review that uses a self-indulgent scatological pan (bedpan?) of a self-indulgent record.

- Robin Graves

2006-09-13T09:20:00.000-07:00

Review of David Raposa’s review of Peeping Tom’s cleverly titled Peeping Tom, 3.7

A basic outline for David Raposa’s review would probably look something like this:

Fluffy introduction with the thesis statement: “Peeping Tom doesn’t deliver.

Then:

1 "Five Seconds" (Featuring Odd Nosdam) - 4:20
2 "Mojo" (Featuring Rahzel and Dan The Automator) - 3:40
3 "Don't Even Trip" (Featuring Amon Tobin) - 5:46
4 "Getaway" (Featuring Kool Keith) - 3:22
5 "Your Neighborhood Spaceman" (Featuring Jel and Odd Nosdam) - 5:45
6 "Kill The DJ" (Featuring Massive Attack) - 4:09
7 "Caipirinha" (Featuring Bebel Gilberto) - 2:46
8 "Celebrity Death Match" (Featuring Kid Koala) - 3:42
9 "How U Feelin?" (Featuring Doseone) - 2:44
10 "Sucker" (Featuring Norah Jones) - 2:33
11 "We're Not Alone (Remix)" (Featuring Dub Trio) - 5:10

Yes, Raposa plods through the record track by track with a brief dismissal of each. This should probably be expected of an unambitious zinester or an even less ambitious volunteer at the high school newspaper, but for fuck’s sake. Rather than continuing to lambaste him for his laziness, I’ll instead offer a tedious but nonetheless entertaining alternative.

Five Seconds
Soft. Loud! Soft. Loud! Add
Odd Nosdam

Mojo is the single
Which is an obvious choice
For lovers of beats

Getaway does suck
But it is only because
You didn’t hear it high

Next, time I see a Raposa review, I hope to find a few written in warrior haiku.

- E. L. Eauface

2006-09-13T07:39:00.000-07:00

Review of Tim Finney’s review of Justin Timberlake’s FutureSex/LoveSounds, 6.1

Tim Finney’s review of Timberlake’s new record opens by introducing him as a celebrated iconoclast of the decade and the four singles released from his previous record are hailed as “monumental”. Once Finney has sold his reader on Timberlake’s artistic gravitas, he dispenses that a successive record to any monumental work could only yield diminishing returns. This idea is nothing more than music journalism folklore.

Adroitly, Finney clothes repugnant generalizations in content that actually engages Timberlake’s stylistic influences just as a frozen Salisbury steak can hide in the thickening skin of cafeteria gravy. Repugnant Generalizations™ like: “Nothing I necessarily gained (and often much is lost) when pop music attires itself in notions of artistry and ambition”.

When a review of a pop record contains an admission that pop music isn’t served by ambition or artistry, does it serve to do anything but undermine the credibility of the author? Finney’s review is somewhat articulate, adorned with cliticized terms and mapping every flaw to keep his praise of this shitbomb from direct criticism. Finney’s grasp falls short of his reach; the measure by which makes no difference.

- Dan