Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Is That It?

Apparently NME magazine feels Is This It, the 2001 debut album from those posh NYC hipsters (yes, "posh hipsters" is the best way to describe them) The Strokes is the "best album of this decade".

I'll be honest; I really don't have the energy to vehemently disagree or at least counter with my own suggestion. There has been a lot of good music in this decade if you've been willing to look, and while I was never a huge fan of these guys, I originally welcomed the wave of adulation they received with the incessantly catchy (albeit musically simple and wildly overplayed) single "Last Night". Terrestrial radio up to that point had become swarmed with the likes of Limp Bizkit and Kid Rock, and I certainly didn't mind these "five rich kids who listened to way too much Velvet Underground growing up" taking some of the former's commercial oxygen.

That said, what "impact" have The Strokes really left? Their albums since commercially have sold well, although I haven't paid much attention to them. The same kids who embraced their style at the beginning of this decade; vintage rock t-shirts and Chuck Taylors, are now in the workforce and are probably too busy with Real Life Shit
() to spend hours each weekend at thrift stores to don themselves with the appropriate apparel while nodding along to the cheeky lyrics of late-night shenanigans in Hipster Paradise by Julian "even my real name has its own fashion identity" Casablancas. Interpol, another NYC band from a similar cloth (but different sound) is still chugging away, but they too no longer carry the aura they once did back at the dawn of the 2000s.

Worse yet, neither band's music, in of itself, is terribly memorable. Is it good? Sure, but ultimately disposable. I brought it upon myself a couple years ago to obtain and listen to the entire catalogs of both bands as well as from others, such as British imports The Libertines, and others in that same ilk, and as much as I tried...I couldn't find anything meaningful.

So there we go. The "album of the decade" is nothing more than a promising debut from guys who idolized Lou Reed, yet aren't Lou Reed, and even two albums later their most profound lyrical statement is, essentially, "dating in NYC is hard". Sweet.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

The "Monsters" Among Us

I caught a piece of some WW2 documentary recently late at night, mere moments before I went off to bed. A former Soviet prisoner, a captured Red Army grunt who had an unpleasant stay at one of the concentration camps barking out something which sounded awful (Russian is not exactly a "sexy" language to being with), which the subtitles translated to something to the effect of "Those Nazis...they were monsters. What they did to us (I assumed "us" meant fellow captured Soviets), and those people...". He was asked a follow question regarding what he thinks of the Holocaust, and basically repeated the same thing.

Any snarky comments aside about the not-so-humane treatment Soviets treated the POWs they got their hands on, I found the comment...odd. I can only imagine the hell he went through, and surely he has every right to make disparaging comments towards his captors, but to sum up the most tragic event in the 20th century as being perpetrated by "monsters" is too easy. It's convenient and narrow-minded.

The same fire-from-the-hip analysis we give when news of a captured serial killer hits the airwaves, and we him or her arraigned in court for the first time and say to ourselves "what a monster" isn't easily translated to a mass murder of the magnitude we saw in during WW2, is it? When so many individuals are complicit in an atrocity of the highest order, and your brain flickers like a bad spark plug trying to rationalize the "why", and you simply utter "monsters", are you satisfied? Probably not, but many still do it. Genocide is ugly and terrible, but it must be carried out by several, so were they all just "monsters?" When does one become a "monster"? Is it at birth? Is there a switch that turns on when a group of "monsters" who have been suppressing their maniacal and perverse view on humanity in the name of morality suddenly get together? We seem just fine brandishing them as "monsters", which really means "not human", so you tell me.

The psychology of groupthink, realities of economic and social disparity, and anything else one can throw out to explain the worst in human behavior has been well documented and explained time and time again, and it's a discussion perhaps best saved for those who want to spend the next several hours all coming to the same conclusion I can wrap up in a sentence; these things happen because we're human. Doesn't mean these behaviors should be excused or condoned, and the sanctity of human life should be protected most of all, but the answer sadly lies in the mirror.

The "monsters" are us.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

All Aboard

The roommates and I, inexplicably it seems, had a rousing conversation the other night about "running the train". No idea how it started, or even how it ended (we were drunk) but I do recall laughing my ass off when one of our friends who was also over our place, who had not taken part in the discussion during its initial moments blurted out innocently something along the lines of "hell naw, that shit never happens."

Oh yes, yes it does, my friend.

Without any further ado, here goes my favorite "A party crashed by train-runners" story, witnessed hilariously (and perhaps unfortunately, given the really random circumstances of it) by me.

Rewind to Junior year in college. My then roommates and I throw a bit of a party at our apartment on a rather "meh" Friday night. Around 15 other people show up by 10pm, and nothing crazy or particularly monumental happens over the course of the first hour over the sound of ping pong balls careening helplessly across the kitchen thanks to errant shots at the beirut table. Then, four people just walk in our place (a girl and three dudes), and while it wasn't like a scene from the movies where the record skips and all attention is drawn to them, as the four slowly make their way through our living room, one-by-one heads turn and the occasional "who are they?" whisper floats through the air. I notice them right away myself, but I'm not alarmed...while I have no clue who the fuck they are, and it's obvious no one here invited them, they did bring their own booze and, hey, it's college; perhaps the only four years where brazenly walking into a party uninvited is more or less acceptable.

They plop on our couch and while they made little effort initially to introduce themselves to anyone, they seemed perfectly pleasant when I took it upon myself to say "hi", and at that point the largest of the men, while never even saying his name, just hands me a beer and smiles. Nowadays, you walk uninvited into my place at anytime and I'm going to want a verbal explanation, but again, this is during college; where the mere "gift of alcohol" is something akin to major powers brokering a peace treaty. Further attempts to chat them up a little (or, in other words, find out a goddamn name our two at least) go basically nowhere, so I just leave them be.

I completely forget about them, and seemingly so did everyone else since almost all of us where huddled around the kitchen, and after another hour or so I turn back towards our living room to say hi again to my "new friends...sort of" only to find their 30-rack on the table. "The fuck? They just left their beer and took off? SWEET!" While alcohol was a-plenty otherwise, we all dive in like vultures, or at least I did so more like a hyena since I was giggling maniacally (I'd been pregaming since 8pm and was well on my way towards Plasteredville) and pounded a few down without a second thought. Party continues, a few more people come and go, but at least we know THESE newcomers, and all is well.

Fast-forward to sometime around 2:00am. The party is starting to wind down, partly because of one my roommate's declaration that he had to work in the morning. I'm contemplating spending the night in my own bed or calling up the girl I was kinda/sorta seeing at the time, and doing so standing in the middle of our short hallway, when I feel a blast of air coming from behind me, and upon turning around, guess who I see leaving my roommate's bedroom?

I imagine because of the alcohol I had consumed, I thought nothing weird whatsoever about the four strangers leaving my roommate's bedroom at such a time. I actually apologized, for fuck's sake, about thinking they had left for good and drinking their beer, and was still a good few minutes away from understanding the shit-eating grin on all three of the guy's faces when they each told me "no problem, man". The girl, still without saying a single word to me, or anyone throughout the whole night, ducked into our bathroom for some time before finally meeting her three...whatevers....at our door and leaving...like for real, this time. The actual roommate in question, whose bedroom was "used", was still fucking around in the kitchen and never saw them exit, and briefly blamed me for the fact his bedroom door was wide open and the light was on. He had less to drink than I did that night, so you can imagine his lack of haste and understanding when I tried to explain to him it was "those" four who apparently were in there the whole time.

Just a couple minutes later, while in our bathroom myself, I hear said roommate exclaim "WHAT...THE....FUCK!!!" I run out, and he's standing by his bed with a look of horror, pointing to the floor.

Rubbers. Lots of them. Just scattered.

Used rubbers, by the way, in case I'd failed to set up the scene I was too drunk to interpret at the time. Lots of them. Just scattered.

By now, for me, it had finally come together, and I laughed like hell. My roommate looked like he wanted to punch me, but even he himself began to laugh. The other two roommates who had just gone to bed heard the commotion and were just stumbling out of their rooms, to find us two laughing, one of us pointing to a mass grave of used rubbers at floor of his bed.

I wasn't even disgusted (the fact it wasn't MY bed helped), just, amused and somewhat flabbergasted. Seriously...who just picks a random apartment, then goes into a random bedroom, and then initiates THIS of all things? Really? Is it supposed to add an element of danger or some shit?

I never saw those four again around campus...not that I spent my last three semesters of college actively looking for them or anything, but a part of me wanted to track down one of those guys (I doubt the female would talk about it) and be like, "I'm not mad, but, just, WHY?"

And in case any superheroes want to assume the worst about the situation, I can remember clearly the girl being just fine and sober both when entering and upon leaving...so, yeah, it was voluntary alright.

Why they picked our joint, no idea.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Oontz oontz oontz oontz

Been on an electronica kick recently, and I'm not terribly sure why. I went through a phase when I was about 18-19 years old listening to all kinds of stuff by Underworld, Orbital and others almost around the clock, but stopped and had only intermittently listened to it since...until about last month.

I bought Daft Punk's Alive a couple years ago but almost never listened to it. During a road trip recently, I gave it a spin, only to do it again, and again...hell, the entire 6 hours on the way there was a constant barrage of the French duo's live beats emanating from my vehicle on the interstate. I remember the big fuss about the Alive tour back in either '06 or '07 but the actual album cuts I had heard from them never really moved me (I thought it was decent but not "HOLY SHIT I MUST SEE THIS GROUP" material). Back in 2001 one of my high school friends was all about them when they first got big, but I was still in my alt-rock phase and was pretty indifferent to what they were doing at the time.

That said, Alive is a very good live compilation because Daft Punk was smart enough to do track mash-ups, which is a must for any electronica/house group. Rock groups and other musicians unfortunately get a pass for going onstage and usually playing songs exactly the same fucking way they're played on the album, all in front of fans who have paid God-knows-what to see them. Because DJ's are usually hidden behind their gadgets and whatever light show emanates behind them, for them especially it's imperative to do something a little different onstage for the paying audience. They can't just put their guitar behind their head and adlib a solo in full view of everyone, because they don't have fucking guitars. They can't interact with the audience by stating "I wrote this song about..." because people who would see a Daft Punk don't give a shit and just want to dance. The whole "heard and barely seen" aura of electronica groups in concert puts a real emphasis on the actual sonic output, and for that I give them a lot of respect. REM could go on stage, play random folk music on ukuleles for two hours and Michael Stipe could go on random political outbursts and I'd bet every single person would leave the arena thinking "BEST SHOW EVER, MAN". What, they didn't play "What's the Frequency Kenneth?" Who cares, Michael "interacted" with us, yo!....bands who actually play instruments and say stuff are elevated to such levels by their fans, that I don't think said fans would know when they've been had (I think REM is fucking amazing, btw).

I still personally prefer "rock" to electronica, but I give electronica groups more credit since they have to take the stage, and figuratively fire automatic weapons into the crowd and make them dance and have a good time. Your token rock band gets to play in front of thousands who have probably memorized all of their lyrics and bought into whatever image they've projected, and are generally mindless drones marching on the orders of their dear leader, Mr. or Ms. "Really deep songwriter". Big difference.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Music Rant # 3,455 (b)

A couple days ago while mindlessly touring social networking sites and perusing the updates of people I only pretend to care about, an old friend dedicated a "status message" to the wonders of Jeff Buckley, and in the comments section was having a back and forth with someone I didn't know about whether or not he was an overrated musician only receiving praise "for dying young".

Like many, I find his cover of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" breathtaking, but after giving myself several opportunities to enjoy his debut album Grace, and several other scattered tracks, I just never "got it".

To me, Buckley was an attractive dude with average guitar-playing ability and songwriting skills. The only real "eye-opener" (unless you're a female and a sucker for emotional singer-songwriter rocker boys) was his singing; or...well, his vocal range in particular. As a pure singer, even after a million takes and production magic in the recording studio, his voice is unpolished and lacks control, often warbling in unpredictable (which isn't bad in of itself) and needless directions. You can't knock his range and unrestrained power, however, as at times he could make Mariah Carey and Freddy Mercury look pedestrian...but whether it was youth, arrogance, or perhaps a combination of both, he just couldn't harness it for my liking.

The guy could play, I'll give him that. If he were still around today even with the same musical capabilities (which is of a fairly talented person still unsure of how to channel his strengths), I'd see a show if he were playing nearby. That said, while I'd never intentionally poke the eye of a diehard fan with a stick to stroke my e-peen in some useless internet spitfest, I do put myself in the "he's glorified too much because he died" camp. He left behind only enough music to show he had potential, but even then that potential, from what I can honestly gather, was of "a dude who someday could REALLY know how to sing". The actual music he left behind in my mind was not much more intellectually and muscially challenging than other pop stuff put out in the mid-90's by bands such as, say, The Wallflowers.

Way back in high school, I remember watching a film in class where a song by Buckley was played in the background. "Such a great musician" some classmate uttered.

"More like a great voice" our teacher, albeit somewhat smugly, responded.

I agree with the latter.


Thursday, April 30, 2009

We Be Trafficking People...

I've been pretty stagnant of late (going a few months w/o a job has a funny way of putting a clamp on your expenses), so after scurrying around the eastern seaboard of both the U.S and Canada for Christmas and New Years, my ass has been planted here in Seattle for months and I've probably wandered at most 20 miles away in any direction for any sort of activity. If you know me, that's not me. I'm no global jetsetter by any means, but I used to be that guy who would grab a friend and drive four hours to Montreal for a weekend for no reason, or hop a plane to Phoenix because I know a guy and a really good restaurant there. Even spending a few nice days outside and partaking in some fun shit here and there in the area still gives me a horrid case of cabin fever if there wasn't a random excursion to Calgary, Baja, or SOMETHING mixed in. I don't like hanging out in airports, but being in one is a great sign.

Now that money is coming in again, I'm doing my best to stimulate the economy, or more importantly, the airline industry. I have a couple weekend trips back East for some stuff in the works, and am working out the kinks to go for at least a week down in Belize next coming winter. The coolest thing on my agenda however does not in any way resemble a vacation, or something "fun" on the surface. It's actually 'Serious Business'.

The first Global Forum on Human Trafficking is taking place in Carlsbad, Ca this coming October. I've been a member of Not For Sale for awhile, dating back to college, but like many liberal, white-guilt ridden new adults who glob on to any cause that makes them feel important, once I left school I did a crappy job of keeping up with it (and other orgs). Bills, jobs, weird girlfriends, relocations...hell, LIFE, has a funny way of making things you once viewed as important take a back seat. You stop buying the merchandise, and the e-newsletters over time magically get sent to your junk folder. Since I spent most of January and February on my ass dicking around online, a friend mentioned something to me through IM and my brain starting working, which is a rare occurence in of itself. A couple phone calls to old friends from school whom, like me, let this fall by the wayside, reinvigorated that old eager-to-save-the-world self of mine (to be fair, we mostly exchanged "I can't BELIEVE you slept with that chick!" stories, but it came up. Like, once, during a conversation. But still).

Had an email correspondence recently with a heavily-invested Seattle member, and while quite frankly she annoys me a little, I can tell her intentions are sound and she's worth working with closely. For an organization as large and with such an international reach and political capital, the "foot soldier" contigent here in the States is actually quite pathetic in comparison to other countries (I noticed in particular some South American countries are very well represented and organized). Hopefully this gets corrected, and soon.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

More Useless Opinions on Music

Once on my old blog, I wrote a fairly long-winded post on the "Five albums I'd take with me on a deserted island." After listening to some older tunes recently, here comes the follow up; "Five worst albums by otherwise good bands."

Radiohead: Pablo Honey

-
"Anyone can play Guitar", "You", and "Stop Whispering" notwithstanding, their debut effort was full of sophomoric lyrics, muddled string arrangements (with the exception of the boring, any-garage-band-can-cover "Creep"), and Thom Yorke's near Rivers Cuomo-like tendency of including some real embarrassing shit about himself that no one needed to hear. Luckily, I was already really into The Bends before I really gave this album a good listen the first time around, and knew that these boys were actually capable of writing intelligent songs about politics, the age of technology, and...well, more than teenage angst (even though they were already in their mid-20's when it came out) riddled with "look at me!!!" grunge/Pixies wannabe drivel. It's not a bad album, really, but only average at best standing on its own, and more importantly just fucking awful when compared to the rest of their catalogue.

Pearl Jam: Binaural

-
This album failed for me for a completely different reason; it was too political for its own good. Vedder and co put so much effort into preaching social and political commentary (okay, I get it, the US really sucked at dropping bombs in Eastern Europe) that finding a coherent melody in any track is futile. If they just scrapped all instruments and turned this into a spoken word album, then perhaps I'd dig it while sipping a vanilla latte at Tully's.

Blur: Think Tank

- Actually, not a terrible album at all. I even choose to listen to it on occasion.

Slight problem. A jarring lack of Graham Coxon. Meh. Anything else by them is better

Boards of Canada:
The Campfire Headphase

-
Their first two major releases were awesome. This is just decent...ly boring. Maybe it's the more prevalent use of guitars. Perhaps
Geogaddi and Music has the Right to Children were just 12 kinds of better. Either way, major letdown.

The Pixies: Doolittle

-
Perhaps a shocker, but I never understood this album. At all. "Hey", "Here Comes Your Man" and others I find to be very good songs. One problem; they're kind of...well...dare I say radio-friendlyish.

Now, before someone attacks me with a sledgehammer, a more "pop" sounding song doesn't automatically mean I assume someone is selling out, in fact, I doubt this was their intention. But, in case you haven't noticed, Frank Black absolutely fucking sucks as a singer, and is, surprisingly, at his best blaring out-of-tune wails with his jerky lyrics.

Call me a retard, but I enjoy those moments on Surfer Rosa where Frank trails off randomly into improper spanish for no good fucking reason. The straight-ahead rock sound (for the most part) on this particular album just sounds like your run-of-the-mill good alternative music, and the Pixies are not run-of-the-mill; they're one of the most influential bands in recent memory for good reason.


Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Thousand Mile Stare

You know it when you see it.

Spirit broken, and soul empty. The mind is going at the speed of light, flickering through the myriad of awful images witnessed which brought the person to this horrible conclusion. It's like the body, this now hollow shell, is asking "What is there left to do or say?"

The strange thing was, I didn't see this myself on the battlefield. On the corner of 5th and Cherry this woman just stood there, staring. As corporate types and regular folk alike marched on by, emotionless and stiff she was. I couldn't help and think what brought her to this point; what hand did life deal her which led to such a jarring realization that now standing completely frozen in time became her fate. A strange sadness came over me as I began to piece my own version of what brought her to this place, and suddenly everyone around me seemed to walk slower, and cars once buzzing around us seemed to disappear. Sea gulls one by one began to shut up, and scattered vagrants ducked in alleyways. Before I knew it, literally nothing was in motion, or emitting sound.

Then...*flash*...some impatient motorist blasted their horn, sea gull shit splattered on the ground mere inches from me, and life seemed to re-enter the picture. Also, the woman in question was now halfway through the crosswalk, and I was even able to detect a smile on her face.

At this juncture I realized this woman merely was daydreaming, and I am one giant retard.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Does Your Safeway Have a Hump?



I felt like doing some grocery shopping a half-hour away where there was actually some sunshine (it's been cloudy and foggy by the Sound for awhile now) and I was greeted by a hump.

I'll call him "Humpy".

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Oh Canada

I've been in Toronto since the 30th and will be back in Sea-town on either the 7th or 8th (weather permitting; winter in these parts can be terrific).

I actually haven't done much of anything spectacular over the past few weeks. After celebrating Christmas with the folks somewhere in the woods of New England I arrived here, and since I'm trying to keep myself on a budget I've probably spent more time playing video games than anything else.

I have tickets for Maple Leaf and Raptors games before I leave however.