Sometimes I get into this kind of music. Murder folk music. A. A. Bondy does a lot of it, and he's pretty damn good at it. He sings sweet songs, too, but I much prefer the murder ballads and the pseudo-Biblical tunes. "How Will You Meet Your End" is the first song off American Hearts (great album title), and I dig the sounds he forces out of the strings-- it's like he's sharpening his guitar. It's frightening. The rattling, too, sounds like a storm's a'comin'. But what I really love about this song is how patient it is. Bondy's in no hurry. It's all going to come. And what comes has great economy and evocative phrasing. "And Hell upon the breeze," is a great line. Bondy writes excellent lyrics, but he's a master of tone. He creates these songs laden with meaning before you even start listening to the words. Besides the aforementioned geetar strop, there's the notes themselves, the hard repeat and then they almost drift off into dust. The percussion sounds mostly like knee slapping, guitar tapping, and hand clapping, but less corny than those rhymes make them sound on (virtual) paper. Bondy has a new album, When the Devil's Loose, that's more of a full-band affair, which I haven't listened to a whole ton yet.
One of my favorite music traditions is the diss track. Hip hop has a pretty firm hold on this genre. I mean, "Ether," "Takeover," "No Vaseline," "Hit 'Em Up," "The Bridge is Over," "Fuck Wit Dre Day." Please.
But rock has its own less prominent tradition. Rock's diss tracks tend to be a little slighter, a little humorless. They are usually aimed at ex-lovers. There are some, however, that target more interesting subjects. Think of "Positively 4th Street." Or "Range Life." Or Okkervil River's "Singer Songwriter." Now, let me introduce you to Volcano! and their epic and masterful (and hilarious and techincally amazing) diss track "Africa Just Wants to Have Fun."
The song pretty much speaks for itself. But let it be said that Bono deserves every note of this song. He's been inviting this kind of criticism for some time now. His level of righteousness is out of control, and I admire the fact that a little band from Chicago has the set to call Bono out on his bullshit.
For those of you (us) who struggle with lyrics, they're impossible without a lyric sheet (as you're no doubt learning at this moment). I've taken this from the band's website because the lyrics are amazing:
CHORUS Sick of your crucificool Cootchy-coo, look at you, cootchy-coo, look at you, and you're a Heck of a champion too Hands to god, 'rena rock, hold the poor, in your heart, flash'em the Shades and the leather perfume Smell of God, martyr fool, win their hearts, king of tools, king of the Philantharopicacool 'Mericans, Africans, holding hands, buying pants
VERSE 1 I'm on top of the new new thing Gonna get the new line of bling, and I'll Shine shine shine shine like a white god natives gonna worship me I woulda done it anyhow, so I'll Buy it up buy it all right now, because Africa just wants to have some fun
BRIDGE In the land where nothing grows, nobody even knows Nobody knows that it's a Chrissamuss, What do they do without the Chrissamuss, ooh Lets go on a safari, show these jungle cats how to party This desert is so beautiful, hey lets make a music video, yeah Me and the natives will be singin' holdin' hands we gonna stop all the violence in this land I'm gonna set this world straight, I'm suckin' dick at the G-8, but I'm not the only one lickin' choads at this safari party Clear channel men fellatiate me, censor me and proliferate me
CHORUS 2 VERSE 2 (yelled) Where'd ya get that jacket, Bo-no? Where'd ya get those shades, Robo-Cop? You and your little booby Bobby, Sellin' the new Spanish gold
BRIDGE Everyone out on the floor Its supergroup pop for the poor Savin' our souls at the store Savin' us all from the horror Let your martryrs arms Bear the winds Of the wind machine, wind machine
CHORUS 3 OUTRO Gonna get a little drunka tonight, gonna get a little drunka tonight, gonna get a little Gonna get fucked up tonight, gonna get fucked up tonight ee-aigh-ee-aight, Me and the kids are pickin' fun at you, we're pickin' fun pickin' fun pickin' fun at you Cuz when you're actin' like Christ on the cross, you look ridiculous OOHH I admit it I don't know what to do, I don't know I don't know what to do But I know what not to do, and I know the smell of your leather perfume, it smells like Death to me, smells like piss on a fire, smells like toxic fumes at a maquiladora Where'd ya get that shirt asshole Whncha make Whncha make up your mind Are you bored Are you bored or inspired? Well either way You just came to shoot your load off the stage A pacifier for a nation of beige After your concert and at the G-8 You came to party yeah you came to get laid
I picked up this album last week and I can't get enough of it. I never listened to the Format, never even heard of them I don't think, but I guess this is the spinoff of its remains. But that's as far as I care to place this band in any context—as far as I'm concerned, Fun.(that period is annoying as shit) is totally divorced from any time or trend...not because they're that original, but because they're that exceptionally derivative.
The whole record is like a tour of the best and kitchiest from the last thirty years of pop history—there's ELO and Queen in heavy doses, late 80's power ballads (I'm thinking of you, Firehouse—represent!), 90's GooGoo Doll grunge pop, Graceland/Vampire Weekend, the multi-instrumentation of post-NMH Indie, tons of Andrew Lloyd Weber, 80's pop saccharine, the structure and bombast of Meatloaf/Jim Steinman, and heaping portions of 70's singer-songwriter sincerity. The homage is so clear and rapid-fire, that it's almost like listening to samples instead of influences . It's low-art Frankenstein, and I love it. But the one influence that's notably absent—as in like COMPLETELY absent—is any sort of reserve or irony.
I mean, there's an entire fucking song about an old couple holding hands in their back-yard and what an awesome life they've had—and how their kids are all grown, and awesome, and how totally great it is that they did it all together...and I keep waiting for him to say that he's regretted the whole thing, or there's another woman, or doesn't mortality suck, or she has cancer...but it doesn't happen. They just hug it out or something and the song ends. Which is kind of jarring in it's jarringlessness. Also, it rulz, and I actually find it kind of moving.
So I'm going to try to just do a running diary of the opening track which I've heard like twenty times already—we'll see how it goes. Somehow, I think a stream of consciousness review probably suits this song the best—if ever there were a band that delighted in the ephemeral moment—it's these fools.
We start with some poignant stage-setting violins, like some Gone With The Wind prologue, which die out and usher us into some Rentish moping about love-lost with the violins keeping time. And then the falsetto kicks in, with soft Queen harmony behind and you know something's coming when he starts talking really quick about bodegas. I think there's an accordion, too. Then our first crescendo head-fake. Instead, there's some sort of angsty conversation between multiple voices going on over a 2000ish pop synth-beat. It's probably in his head—not that it matters. Then he does some weird rapping with the beats and hand-claps and violins building behind him and the crescendo comes for real...and there are horns and they kick ass and it's resplendent with self-affirming cheese. It's R. Kelly via Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. But maybe that wasn't the real crescendo, because we've shifted into ELO sound laced over Jellyfish power-pop, and this seems to be going somewhere else. And then the falsetto hits a new place, like the key change in Living on a Prayer—and there probably can't be another level, because we're at least three crescendos in at this point. But there might be...because there's the time-tested pause that tells you something else awaits. And now we're re-crescendoing that last-crescendo this time at the lower octave that hammers the sincerity—I think Heart pulled this trick in Alone--and there's no way that there can really be a song in which the dude is telling me “be calm, I know you feel like you're breaking down”, is this really all about empathy and everything will be all right? And he cracks his voice to show he really means it. And then we close with the same sad violins that opened, and Scene. That's how you close a first act.
My doctor said to me, "If you love NyQuil so much, why don't you marry it?" Which we did, tying the knot in a small ceremony. Our first act as a married couple: slept all day. Our second? Super-long post!
Something old: Johnny Thunder The Kinks, The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society, 1968. My favorite Kinks song of all time, and that's saying something. The most perfect chord progression of all time. I love a lot about "Johnny Thunder," but one of the most amazing things about it is that most of the lyrics are just baby-talk notes and sounds. The perfect two-and-a-half minute pop song. The entirety of The Kinks Are The Village Green Society is worth your time.
Something new: The Jubilee Choruses Sin Fang Bous, Clangour, 2009. Sin Fang Bous (a 26 yo Icelandic guy) splits the very large difference between something like Loney, Dear and Animal Collective. This album is great to listen to when sick because it's so fucking confusing under the most normal of circumstances that with my wife at my side I don't care at all if it doesn't make any sense. "The Jubilee Choruses" has emerged as my favorite song on Clangour, mostly because of that ridiculous swirling ending where the breakbeat gets doubled up on itself. This song does an awful lot in four minutes-- it's the Vinny "Microwave" Johnson of music.
Something borrowed: Love Cats Cursive, Daytrotter Session, Sept. 22, 2009. Perhaps the most obvious cover ever. The fascination Tim Kasher and Conor Oberst shared for The Cure, above all else, seemed to drive the whole Omaha scene. Thing is, Bright Eyes grew out of it and added on to it. Cursive has been stuck there, which has led to some good records (including their latest, Mama, I'm Swollen) and one great one (The Ugly Organ). Still, it's fun to hear a screechier cover of "Love Cats," right? I think so.
Something blue: Jews for Jesus Blues Clem Snide, End of Love, 2005. "Now that I'm saved, I wish I was damned." Eef Barzelay is an amazing lyricist, which one would have to be given how clear-as-a-bell they make his vocals. Clem Snide is a terribly underrated band. Most people I know who are fans prefer The Ghost of Fashion, but I have always preferred The End of Love. Do yourself a favor and listen to them both.
