Jaybee Wouldn't Know a Good Fill-in-the-Blank If...

Wasn’t it Frank Zappa who said that Americans wouldn’t know good rock n’ roll if it bit them on the ass? It’s a shame he didn’t test this thesis by actually making any.

Easy now! I didn’t say Frank wasn’t the greatest artist of all time. He clearly was, but blah, blah blah…

Okay now that I’ve distracted the Zappa fans let’s admit that the guy never played rock and roll in his life, and, well, good for him, and for us, because it probably would have been even worse than what he did produce.  (Sorry Petey!)

Okay, not fair. But possibly accurate. I base this judgment on five of his 5,000 or so albums. But then again, I’m still bitter over having bought Waka/Jawaka thinking it was Hot Rats, due to the misleading-to-idiots cover art (note the faucets):

 

But I’m just one of those heathen less interested in influences and sophistication than the end result, and, well, fun.  And let’s face it, unless you’re into Frank’s potty humor he’s no fun at all.  

But why am I ragging on Frank, who, sadly, died, prior to 9/11 (lucky him)? What I’m really interested in is the not-recognizing-something-if-it-bit-you-on-the-ass phenomenon. I was having trouble with the concept since I’m not sure why a bite on the ass would somehow help me see or hear better.

But I may have finally gotten it. And It, came in the form of Synth-Pop (Duran Duran, Soft Cell, etc.) - or rather the complete absence of it - which only dawned on me after listening to this record about TWENTY times:

Colossal Youth - Young Marble Giants

This is what happens when you get older. You not only forget things. Without realizing it, you begin to splice together things that aren’t supposed to go together at all. Like recalling the Ten Commandments but somehow missing all the “Nots”.  (By the way, do you notice how I say “you” when I mean me?  I do that a lot. Usually when I’m pondering one of my very few shortcomings.  I only use “me” instead of “you”  when erroneously attributing lovemaking skills.  Somehow people see through this, but I resolve to carry on nonetheless.)

So immediately below are my original notes about Young Marble Giants by Colossal Youth (or is it Colossal Youth by Young Marble... oh, nevermind), followed by the eventual recognition of my own stupidity. And I’m talking sh*t about poor Frank?

Come to think of it, I don’t think I like any artist named Frank. Yep. I just did a search of “Frank” on allmusic.com and I can state that I don’t like any of them.  Over a lifetime I’ve come to tolerate Sinatra and even like a lot of his songs, but it’s been a long road. I don’t think I have enough time left for Zappa, especially if I approach all those Franks alphabetically.

Anyway, here goes:

“Bare bones synth “pop”, and at first, antiseptic to a fault. One thing I always hated about 1980s synth-pop was how it had no balls. CY has somewhat of an excuse in that the lead singer (whisperer, really) is female.

I catch myself here and can now report that there isn’t a  single synthesizer on this whole (25 song) album!

Now why did I think there was?  It goes back to an article by Stephin Merritt, where he lists his year-by-year favorite records of the 20th Century. I somehow confused it with another article where Merritt states that the Human League’s Dare is a synth pop classic. And I go and splice these two separate thoughts together.

Or at least that’s my theory.  And really, why should my theory be considered any more reliable than what I now happen to think was a mistake?  I’m far too lazy to go checking into this stuff. For all I know Stephin Merritt said exactly what I originally thought he said, and this whole thing is his fault.

Anyway back to the only part of my notes that remain somewhat valid:

“Amidst the usually whispered or mumbled vocals, a bass eventually emerges, and every once in a while a guitar. Sometimes a keyboard (but never in the same song as the guitar.)  It’s kind of like Pylon but on Prozac instead of Welbutrin. I guess I have to give it another chance.”

And it got a lot of chances, since it was eminently playable in a number of different contexts (work, early morning, late night, dinner) without  irritating anyone. (Which is normally my definition of bad music, but whatever).

Which is what I required to finally realize the most obvious aspect of this non-synth-pop record. It’s also a non-drums album! All rhythm is handled by said guitar/bass/keyboard.

So it grows on you. And while some might prefer something less spare, I think it’s quite nice. Peaceful even.  B+

When to Play It: Night. Dinner, or when you don’t want to wake anyone.

When to NOT Play It: A party (unless everyone has just taken heroin.)

And it just goes to show that some records - maybe even some by Frank Zappa - require a non-idiot listener to figure out the most obvious things.

"Young Marble Giants"

And So You Shall, You Old Fashioned Boy!

Go Betweens - Tallulah

This is probably the best Go Betweens album, unless you count 1978-1990 (or my personal Fave Oceans Apart), but I’d better get the rest of them to be sure. Robert Forster’s contributions are even stronger than usual - the strong guitar/bass/drum attack more than offsetting his slightly askew vocals.

 

And just as usual, Grant McLennan goes pretty, and hits a couple of home runs - “Bye Bye Pride” actually being a grand slam. It’s a nice balance of melodicism and a strong rock bottom. The added female voice and instrumentation don’t hurt a bit, either. If the overall effect on me is less than overpowering it’s simply because I’d already been exposed to the best of these songs via 1978-90 already.

 

You should find it just dandy. A-

 

When to Play It: Late Morning, Early Evening

When to NOT Play It: When you want to slit your wrists. It’s just too... civilized for that.

Why So SERIOUS???

The following post makes a number of statements I couldn’t be bothered verifying (Feel free to look it up. You can use that Internets thingy.) plus some gratuitous tangents.

The National - High Violet

Well it was about time I got something by these guys.  Lately I’ve been getting stuff by bands just before they move from hipster level to a wider degree of acceptance.  So get ready for the National to go, well, national.

Just one issue, though. The music.

The singer has a deep voice and tends toward a monotonous almost-mumble a la early Michael Stipe (ah but REM played faster, and played guitars), so he sounds a bit too serious, even when he’s trying to be funny. And the lyrics are a little too serious, too. So they come across kind of adolescent in their concerns and level of self absorption/pity, thus risking derision from us older folks who just don’t have the time anymore. And yet they’ve been around for a while, and must be pushing thirty.

There aren’t many melodies per se. There are portentous chord changes and organ/synth swells than can occasionally get you all choked up.  But it’s all too samey samey, and I’m not tasting, as Lydia would say, the complex flavors yet. It needs more sauce. And guitars.

So no matter how many more times I listen, it only achieves a certain level of intensity before leveling off. Which makes me want to clunk their heads together a la Moe Howard, and tell them to just cheer up.

On a side note, these guys remind me of Interpol, who my son beat me to earlier this year. I was on the verge of making fun of them until I heard the National.

You didn’t ask but Interpol, in turn, reminds me of Joy Division. This has been pointed out to them, and I  understand the comparison pisses them off. But as xgau said, they should have taken it as a compliment. At least you knew Ian Curtis meant business - hanging himself at age 20(?).  

Interpol, however, wear ties and tend to, like the National (remember the National? This is a post about the National.) go on and on about their misery. But slightly watered down Joy Division still sounds pretty great, so I only complain about it towards the end of Turn Off the Bright Lights, where they begin to sound like A Flock of Seagulls off their meds.

I have a dream (more like a passing fancy, really) that they all get together to form a supergroup: Joy Division for their sincere misery ("Transmission"), A Flock of Seagulls for the melody ("Transfer Affection"), Interpol for the guitars ("New York Cares") and the National for the dramatic swells ("England"). This band would make an album that would be nice and depressing but wouldn’t make me giggle, except in all the right places.

But the National on their own lonesome? B-

At least that’s what I thought after listening only on an iPad. But then I play it on my desktop and it comes alive! Instead of sludge, I now hear crucial detail. Instead of mumbling, I now hear nuance and emotion. And drums! Bravo. B+

When to Play It: Morning, but only if you’re wide awake.  (Oh, and “England” works great before a 5k run.)

When NOT to Play It: When you’re in a great mood.

2013 So Far:

1. Celebration Rock, The Japandroids

2. Lonerism, Tame Impala

3. Piper at the Gates of Dawn, Pink Floyd

4. Alien Lanes, Guided By Voices

5. Copper Blue, Sugar

6. The Creek Drank the Cradle, Iron & Wine

7. Present Tense, Shoes

8. High Violet, The National

9. Pleasures of the Harbor, Phil Ochs

10. Tongue Twister, Shoes

You notice above how Sugar is just getting no respect at all?  Is it because there’s so much of it it feels like work to put it on? Sorry Bob!

Honey Can You Pass Me a Tissue?

Give a man an Amazon gift card and there’s no telling what he’ll do. Give him enough time to research and he’ll l dig out some real gems. And if he's me, why not an all girl punk band from Switzerland?  I’m sure that category is uppermost on your list, too.

Kleenex/Lilliput:

They start out as Kleenex, but, pressured by the Runny Nose industry, change their name to Liliput. I actually got this before Shoes, back in June(?) but this took much longer to absorb. There’s just so much of it - 46 songs. Plus, Mrs. Jaybee hates it, and so I have to find the right time to put it on.

But think about it for a second. Punk. All female. 1977! That’s pretty impressive.

Over the course of two CDs worth of music, they move from minimalist punk to arty rhythm and texture. The first half takes some getting used to since they keep it REALLY simple.  The second CD is more sinuous and tuneful.

 

They are usually singing in English, although it’s sometimes hard to tell.  The accents can distract a stupid American like me from noticing how their riffs stand up to any punk this side of the Atlantic. (Speaking of this kind of stupid, I let this same tone deafness affect my reaction to the krautrock Friend Mike used to send me during his stint in Germany in the 80s. It comes from watching too many World War II movies - you develop a negative association with any German who speaks or sings with any stridency. I’m sorry, I know it’s wrong, but there it is.)

And the joke’s on me of course. I missed out on some great music. But I don’t plan to let that happen with Kleenex/Liliput, whose then-young women were smarter than I ever was or will be.  

“So when will this CD be over?” An even smarter woman - Mrs. Jaybee - asks.  Not a good sign. I can patiently explain that, in fact, it’s an mp3, but I don’t it’ll help. So I’ll just file it under “music to listen to when alone and NOT feeling suicidal”, which is an expanding genre in my house. B+

Do You Mind My Dream

I Know, But They're So Comfortable!

The Shoes: Present Tense/Tongue Twister

The Shoes make generic, guitar-based pop music. On one hand, I’ve told you nothing. On the other, you kind of know what I’m talking about anyway.

Generic is another word for “not brilliant” or maybe “good enough”. (I’ll still put that less than one tenth of one percent of pop music that is brilliant up against Rememberence of Things Past any day of the week, though.) And when in a genre you’re not a fan of to begin with, it must be downright annoying. Which is why I wouldn’t have blamed my showtunes-loving daughter if she made a snide remark about it - Really dad? Yet another (two, really) “guitar based pop”album? Exactly how many do you think you'll be needing? I guess. It must have sounded astoundingly dull. And pretty damned generic. It sounded that way to me, too.

But that’s how people react when they hear a genre they’re not crazy about. I do it too.  When it’s country, I hear the predictable chord changes, the southern accent and the pedal steel guitar. When it’s hip-hop, I hear a young man boasting and a loud beat. When it’s Broadway, I hear a precisely sung, consciously pretty melody.

But fans of those genres hear so much more than that. They spot those signposts that identify the genre but quickly move on to the details that make that particular example of it, hopefully, unique. The things that non-fans never hear. The non-fan is judging it based on the seeming cliches. The fan, on the variations on those cliches. In truth, they don’t hear cliches at all. Truisms, probably.

Which brings me back to the Shoes. Present Tense/Tongue Twister is a two-fer, not a best of - their second and third albums, depending upon how you count them.

So did I ever get past the recognition of the cliches? Yes and no.

At times, the Shoes sound like an embryonic Fountains of Wayne, just not quite as snide, which may be due to their Midwestern roots. While the singing verges on the wimpy, the beat and the guitars are just hard and fast enough to make up for it and still keep it pop. If they were from New York, they would have gotten a lot of critical support by appearing to be ironic, like Nick Lowe. But they weren’t. (Nor was he.)

Like Big Star before them, they just wrote, played and sang pop songs at a time when it was out of style - after the Beatles but before New Wave. And when it came back, there was Nick Lowe ready to take over for them. So they kind of got lost in the shuffle.

That’s a shame, if not quite a tragedy. They’re really expert technicians of the genre. Each song has at least a couple of things going for it - the rhythm guitar sound, a great hook, etc. When you notice the lyrics they’re actually not bad. And thet more or less maintain that level throughout, occasionally catching you off guard with something REALLY good, like “Every Girl”, ‘Three Times” or “Girls of Today”, all of which have at least three things going for them.

So what we have are two very good - but not great - records. Expertise will only get you so far, and there’s nothing quite weird/brilliant enough on it to rank with Big Star.  And so I like and appreciate it, but don’t love it. B+

And their very generic-ness is what keeps them jumping around on my 2013 rankings. One day it all comes together and they’re near the top, the next day, they’re down in the lower third.

So Far This Year:

1. Japandroids

2. Tame Impala

3. GBV

4. Pink Floyd

5. Sugar

6. Shoes-Present Tense

7. Iron & Wine

8. Shoe-Tongue Twister

9. Phil Ochs

Jaybee Just Misses Yet Another Great Time

1967 is generally considered the high water mark in rock n roll. (Yeah, I know I already did a post on it. Just bear with me please?.) It was an apex of experimentation and songwriting. Apparently it’s been all downhill since then, even though I had a perfectly good time afterward.  

I was only ten years old in 1967, so my enjoyment came via singles, Sgt Pepper and maybe Monkee’s Headquarters. Albums, along with many of the year’s more...exotic pleasures were beyond me, so I can’t help but think I missed all the real fun. This “just missed the real fun” would become a theme in my life. Upon entering a new job, grade, decade or even room, I was always being told what a great time everyone had last time, and that it just isn’t the same now.

I’ve done a lot of catching up since then, but Pink Floyd somehow got left behind. Probably because we had the 1970s era Floyd to distract us. They hit my radar on early FM radio and weird TV music specials. Since this was before my serious record buying days, they would always seem way too daunting to take on. Plus, I was afraid that if mom or dad heard them, they would (correctly) conclude that pot was the inevitable next step. I’d’ve gotten in trouble for it without even having gotten to smoke any.

But in 1973 they broke big, with Dark Side blah blah blah, so you and I and even your mom got to know them. And for the rest of the decade they were actually pretty hard to ignore. So I cared less and less. I found The Wall to be kind of annoying, actually. Not as much as John Lydon, who would wear a Floyd t-shirt with the words “I Hate...” painted on it.

They can now be heard as mainstays on classic rock stations. Where the contents of maybe three albums are still in pretty heavy rotation.

All this kept me away for some time. It was only after having gotten - and loved - the Zombie’s Odyssey and Oracle and the Small Faces Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake - did I venture to dig deeper into flower power era English rock again. So why not check out a record that is now remembered as one of Floyd's best, one featuring the Crazy Diamond Syd Barrett himself?

Pink Floyd  Piper at the Gates of Dawn

As is always the case with records of that era, I was less than impressed the first time around, mostly because of all the drug induced whimsy. However, I eventually noticed that Syd was not bad when it came to writing actual tunes, even when the lyrics were a bit off off the rails. I also noticed that the ten minute “Interstellar Overdrive” isn’t content to be merely spacey like so many excursions of that era. There is some pretty aggressive guitar playing on it, too.

And when it comes to the songs, Old Syd turns out to be a bit more down to earth (believe it or not) than the other guys anyway.  Otherwise, why are the songs so catchy?

Oh, it’s all kind of hazy like Tame Impala was/is. Plus it’s got a thin crust of 60s-psychedelic cliches on it. But it’s so light and fluffy!

As usual, it took awhile for it to finally hit me. (Mrs. Jaybee was humming it way before me.) And I’m not totally sure I’ll be humming it all six months from now, so I’m going to hold off an unqualified endorsement for now. B+

But between you and me, if anyone brings up Pink Floyd to me again, citing Dark Side or anything after, I’m just going to have to tell them that Piper was their peak, and after Syd left, they were just never the same again.

Welcome to the Show, Now Shut the F*ck Up

I took the title from that obnoxious tee shirt we’ve all seen, “Welcome to America, Now Speak English”. It’s usually worn by young men whose grandmothers have been here since 1950 and  still don’t speak it.

I’ll put it to better use.

Welcome to the....”Guy Sitting Next to You” Show:

Perhaps you’ve had this experience, too. You pay a small fortune for tickets to a concert and go, only to find you’re sitting near someone who talks constantly throughout the entire show.

He’s a first cousin to the guy who takes phone calls during a play. The person who ignores the call, and turns off their phone is to be forgiven. The one who actually answers the call should be summarily executed.  And, no, I DON’T care that he was passing on the antidote to prevent a zombie apocalypse. He should have taken care of that before he left the house.

Clearly, I’m on the far end of the tolerance spectrum. I get annoyed, for instance, watching youtube videos of concerts recorded on a smartphone, where the performance is competing with conversations taking place near the phone. The further away the phone is from the stage, the more understandable the background noise.  I once saw a video taken not twenty feet from Robyn Hitchcock, with a  the sound of an avid conversation at least as loud as the song. I half expected Robyn to climb down and kick their asses. The English don’t seem to do that, unless it’s Motorhead. A shame.

It happened more recently at a couple of shows I attended.  And I fear we’re talking epidemic proportions people.  

Mrs. Jaybee and I caught the (musical, not apocalyptical) Zombies at Central Park over the Father’s Day weekend. There were other old folks like us there, and one poor schmuck made the mistake of dragging his teenage daughters to the show. In appreciation, they chatted through the opening act, but saved their most intense conversation topics for the headliners. Me and the Mrs.decided to leave those seats to brave the standing only area, but not before muttering insults and curses.

It happened again at a tribute to Big Star’s “Third” album, where two men were more into getting to know each other than the music they purportedly loved and came to hear. Get a room, I said, preferably a sound proof one. They eventually complied after ruining a couple more songs.

I had begun to feel self-conscious about my apparent obsession with, ahem, ACTUALLY HEARING THE MUSIC, when I was thanked by someone. I guess I could have said “you’re welcome” instead of “hey you wanna keep it down?”  But I think he understood.

Like zombies, though, their numbers grew.. So again, I found myself (no wife this time) leaving the cheap seats, where this kind of thing is rampant, to the standing-only area. But even there, I found two guys talking during the concert highlight. ‘So, let me get this straight,’ I pretended to ask them. ‘You go to the trouble of coming to a show, and stand for hours only to have a conversation during the best part?’ Who ARE these people?

I understand that these concerts are also social events. The performers interact with the audience and audience members interact with each other. And that this is a good thing.  (No, the more I think about it, the less I think it’s a good thing. Human interaction is so overrated!) Couples should be able to exchange endearments, and friends should exchange pleasantries. Hell, I even want to sing. And someone else should be able to write a blog post telling me to shut up.

The overly obvious point-that-shouldn’t-require-a-blog-post-but-since-humans-are-assholes-it- clearly-does, is that I’m there for the music, not you.

I realize that this differs somewhat from the view of a lot of people.  Their main purpose in attending a show is to...be able to say that they attended the show.  The show itself holds little interest for them.  These people are event collectors, and I hate them more than Anakin Skywalker hates the Sand People.

I’ll admit I may err on the side of anti-sociability.

Just One Look:

My kids tell me I have “a look”. One that has probably scarred them during childhood, when it rightfully should have been directed at the outside world, where it could have done some good. So I tried it out, and sure enough it did!

We recently attended a Jerry Seinfeld show, with Colin Quinn opening. The young couple directly behind me apparently felt that Mr. Quinn had nothing to contribute to the evening, and happily continued to chat when he came on. I turned around and shot them the look. Damn if they didn’t stop talking in mid sentence.  Mid word, actually

Which in retrospect is a shame, because I suspect that Mr. Quinn is quite capable of addressing this situation himself. That would have been fun to see, but it was good to know I possessed this super-power.

I also tried it on an otherwise nice couple at the Big Star show and it had a similar effect.  Proximity seems to help since people sitting further away, don’t seem to notice it.  It becomes a garden variety old man glare that is ignorable.  Up close, though, it’s devastating.

Even at a recent Belle and Sebastian show in Prospect Park, a young couple stood behind me, chatting amiably in another language. I glared at them several times, not using my full power, which could have killed them.  A good thing, too, because, they then asked me who the artist was, and I realized they were experiencing that most rare happy accident - stumbling upon a new band they immediately liked. How could I stay mad? So once I extracted a promise that they never again speak at a show, and an invitation to their wedding,  I told them who it was. May they have many intimate conversations very far from concert venues!

Go Forth and Shut Up!:

Such circumstances are rare. So, if you’re heading for a show, go to dinner first and exhaust all your conversation topics beforehand. If you’re like me, it should take about five minutes. Then come to the show feeling completely drained and mute, stay that way for two or three hours, and then on the way home, talk all you want about how great the show was.  And be proud, because you helped make it that way. At least for me you did.

The (non musical) Zombie Apocalypse can wait for the end of the show.