elliott smith - new moon

I've been less than kind to Mr. Elliott Smith in this blog. In fact, in my review of Figure 8, I was pretty much a complete asshole. In hindsight, this makes perfect sense, because Figure 8 is a shit album.

I went overboard, however, in my total dismissal of Elliott Smith, and essentially any dead singer-songwriter who wasn't Nick Drake. I was blinded by my hatred for the album, I overreacted, and I was wrong. Because I listened to New Moon today, and not only was it enjoyable, it was downright great.

I had no idea what this album was when I listened to it--I just thought it was a normal double-album, albeit one with a unusually stripped-down, raw style. Turns out, this is a posthumous release, a bunch of leftover tracks from old sessions thrown together into a double-album. Which is truly remarkable.

New Moon is clear evidence that Elliott Smith had more talent than the vast, vast majority of singer-songwriters in the world. It nearly places him on Nick Drake's level (though no one will touch him, in my opinion). The sheer amount of brilliant songs that were left off his albums his simply overwhelming. As a document of his talent, it's wonderful. But even on its own, as a normal part of his catalog, it's still amazing.

New Moon showcases Elliott Smith at his best: just him, a guitar, and a microphone, for the vast majority of the tracks. Some of the sparser arrangements on the album still do him justice, but for the most part, his style simply isn't well-suited to loaded arrangements. (This is probably why I hated Figure 8 so damn much.) There's a haunting element to his music that appears when his music is left at its most basic. Now that I know this was a posthumous album, this clearly wasn't a mistake: the production gives Elliott's vocals an ethereal quality, and the songs themselves seem to be floating in an empty void, buoyed only by his words.

That being said, I still believe Elliott Smith is somewhat overrated, and most of his fame is still due to his untimely death, but this album has definitely risen his stock. He was an undoubtedly talented songwriter, and the demons that tormented him are plain to see throughout New Moon. I'm glad I had the chance to listen to this album without knowing its origins, as it gave me a chance to view them as songs in themselves, and not as statements on his death. But I'll definitely be giving this one another listen to get that version of the album too.

mgmt - oracular spectacular

(Missed my Friday post because of that Blogger login bug that was going around. My apologies.)

I'm not completely opposed to the use of deception in music. I listen to plenty of rappers whose stories of drug deals and careless murder are almost certainly fake. I love all those mean-spirited punk records by bands like the Sex Pistols, even though the guys themselves were practically teddy bears. Kanye West isn't even really a person anymore, but I like him just fine too.

But for some reason, MGMT just rubs me the wrong way.

I've always loved "Time to Pretend," but beyond that, I was always weary of jumping on the MGMT bandwagon. Oracular Spectacular was absolutely everywhere in 2007, sucking fans from all corners of the musical spectrum into their void, even sparking fashion movements based on their pseudo-hippie attire. But somewhere along the way, the fact that they were just fucking with us all got lost in the noise.

Andrew and Ben make no attempt to hide their beginnings: they started out playing music to piss off their friends, and somehow they ended up getting signed to Columbia. And aside from "Time to Pretend," the music itself reflects that fact.

These guys piss and shit great pop songs. That much is undeniable at this point. But the end results still reek of the piss and shit they came from, almost like they aren't trying to hide it--which they aren't. To the untrained ear, "Weekend Wars" and "Kids" are just solid little synthpop singles. They're fun to dance and sing to, la la la, who gives a shit beyond that. But in truth, they're fucking unbearable.

"Kids" is the biggest offender of them all, and I have to admit I fell for their sick ways the first five or six times through. But in reality it's just a terrible, terrible song, written in ways that only fans of terrible, terrible songs can enjoy.

By my count, the following stanza is repeated twelve times at the end of this song:

"Control yourself

Take only what you need from it

A family of trees wanted to be haunted"

What in the ever-living fuck does that mean? Being haunted sucks, why would anybody bring that upon themselves? Are these trees being haunted by tree ghosts, or human ghosts? How are MGMT speaking to trees? Assuming they're addressing the "Kids," why do they need to control themselves? They're fucking kids, let them be. Aren't you hippies supposed to be all about that shit?

To make things ever more confusing, the Internet can't seem to decided whether MGMT uses the word "wanted," "wanting," or "wantin'"--all of which present an entirely different meaning to the line, which makes no fucking sense to begin with.

Yet you'll find this song played at a hundred million parties around the world at any given second, with people ages enjoying the tune to an outright delightful extent.

I'll be honest, even I add "Kids" to party playlists when I need to please the masses and make sure no one unplugs my iPod (it tends to buy me an Oblivians song or two), because the masses fucking eat this shit up. There are probably millions of people who wish this song repeated that chorus a few more times, because they love it and the line about trees wanting to be haunted serves as a perfect metaphor for the pseudo-problems that haunt their made-up lives.

The worst part? MGMT completely did this on purpose. They write these songs with such bullshit finesse and a perfect sense of how much watered-down avant-garde the public can tolerate that it makes me sick. (Lady Gaga upped that ante a year later, but that's a whole different story.) The whole album sounds like two slightly-stoned pretentious college kids dressed like hippies flipping me off and fucking with some old Flaming Lips keyboards while a gang of 15 year-olds dance around them and shower them with money.

They're evil fucking geniuses and they know it. I feel like deleting this album would be a personal victory for them, so I'm keeping it around to listen to another day. Somehow I feel like I'm still losing.

the replacements - let it be

(My farewell column for my college newspaper.)

I always imagined my last few weeks of college would be different.

In my mind, my remaining days would pass by in an introspective blur, my thoughts reaching back to all the memories I've made around campus in my four years here. In truth, the exact opposite is happening. I can't wait to get out of here, and I cringe thinking about all the embarrassing things I've said and done on all those regrettable weekend nights.

In that same vein, I feel no real desire to do this grandiose final column to sum up my time here or cement my legacy within the paper. (If the Rebecca Black column doesn't do that, nothing will.) Instead, I'm just going to write about my favorite album in the world and call it a day.

---

Fun fact: “Let It Be” by the Beatles is the second best rock album entitled “Let It Be.” By a significant margin.

Aside from the fact that the Beatles' version is an incredibly mediocre effort, a Minneapolis punk band called the Replacements put out a record in 1984 that completely dwarfs it, along with pretty much everything else the Beatles ever did.

The Replacements were the last true “drugs, sex, and rock 'n roll” band, and they have the scars to prove it. The Replacements would play a song called “Beer For Breakfast,” then start their day out with vodka. They lived the life every rock band in the 1980s claimed to live, only they did it for real.

The quartet battled drug and alcohol addictions throughout the 1980s, and guitarist Bob Stinson died in 1995 by simply wearing his body out through drug use. This album catches the band between their early punk immaturity and the more grown-up college sound that would characterize their later albums, with both playing styles deeply affected by the substance abuse that permeated the band.

“Let It Be” is almost directly split between these two sounds. Childish songs like “Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out” and “Gary Got a Boner” are heavily contrasted by the emotional outpouring in “I Will Dare” and “Sixteen Blue,” effectively documenting those adolescent moments where you're not quite done being a kid, definitely not ready to be an adult, and desperately searching to make sense of everything around you.

For an album that will turn twenty-seven in October, this teenage concept holds up incredibly well. The inherent duality of adolescence rings true for any generation. Paul Westerberg's angst-ridden vocals, the best in rock 'n roll (save for the Boss), turn even the most lackluster lyrics into anthems. Every song is seemingly fueled by the very frustration and confusion Westerberg sings about, based off the same treacherous experiences that color everyone's teenage years, resulting in an album that anyone over the age of sixteen can relate to.

Given that I haven't matured that much since high school, this is clearly the album for me. I'd like to say my relationship dynamics have changed since I was sixteen, but they really haven't. The same old crap rears it's ugly head time after time, and luckily I'll always have “Let It Be” to make some sense of it.

- 4/26/11