Dear Mister Softee,
I know you're trying to make it in this world just like anybody else, and that you like to serve students and children everywhere with overpriced ice cream that we can get without even having to go anywhere. And if you make a few bucks on the side while providing this invaluable service to the community, all the better for you.
That said, Mister Softee, I hate you.
I hate the fact that I can hear you coming from half a mile away, due to your extremely loud song. I guess this is helpful so that people can hear the siren song of the ice cream truck and run and get their wallets and run outside. But do you have any idea how annoying it is when you're just sitting in your living watching TV or trying to read? Of course you do, you have to hear it all day every day. But you're not getting any sympathy from me. Every time I hear that song, it feels like being harpooned in the stomach and stabbed in the head, all at the same time. And you know you're going to hear it for at least the next ten minutes, as you slowly make your way around each and every block in the neighborhood, waiting for people to run outside demanding ice cream. And the noise is made worse by the fact that you only come around during weather that calls for open windows. It's noise pollution, and I don't want it where I live!
Remember how you used to park outside my dorm for an hour at a time, playing that damn song the entire time? I hate you for that.
I hate the song itself too. The piercing, shrill high notes sounding a jangly sing-song melody for about 10 seconds, before ending awkwardly in the middle of a phrase. I'm a songwriter, don't you know how much that aggravates me?! It needs a resolution! You can't interrupt it like that, pause for two seconds, and then start over! Write an ending! You go along like you're Irving Berlin for 10 seconds, and then suddenly you're Arnold freakin' Schoenberg? Who do you think you are?
Last night I was walking around, and I swear you were just following me. There you were at 38th and Lancaster, serving some neighborhood children. As I walked down Lancaster Ave., I noticed your song wasn't getting any quieter as I moved away. At 34th and Lancaster, I finally turned around to look again, and there you were, across from the 7-11! I know your game, Softee (if that is your real name), and you can't strongarm me! I will not buy Klondike bars out of intimidation!
I hated that too.
In conclusion, Mr. Softee, please go away. There are supermarkets and corner delis that all sell ice cream. You're unnecessary. You can still hang out in Ocean City and Brigantine and other beach towns if you want, but here in Philadelphia, we don't welcome your kind!
Sincerely,
Tom
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Sunday, April 23, 2006
I was thinking about my mini-rant about Wynton Marsalis in my previous post, and I realized that I'm a bit of a hypocrite in that area. I dislike Wynton Marsalis because he's done what I consider to be pointless retreads of sounds that were perfected decades ago. And yet I'm willing to indulge and even love people who do the same exact thing with pop music.
Now, granted, pop music, as far as I'm concerned, is still evolving, and at a much faster pace than jazz has in quite a long time. But I'm talking here of the pop traditionalists. People who deliberately recreate the sounds of bands and artists that preceded them by decades. People like Dr. Dog, the Wondermints, latter-day XTC (which is my favorite XTC), and even the new generation of folkies like Devendra Banhart, Feathers, and Espers (who might be moving away from the old sound, as I'll explain in a forthcoming post). They're not doing anything new, and in fact, are doing things that are very old, but they all get free passes from me.
Why is it ok for them and not for Wynton Marsalis? First of all, there's a line to be drawn between being influenced by somebody and completely ripping them off. Marsalis worshipped at the altar of Miles Davis, to the point where he even put together a backing band that sounded like Tony Williams, Wayne Shorter (his brother Branford being that doppelganger, incidentally), Ron Carter, and Herbie Hancock. This is also why I can only like the Wondermints so much before they make me cringe. Let's just say there's a reason why they're currently Brian Wilson's backing band (and let's be fair, I'd jump at that opportunity too).
Second, pop music is my pet genre. It's probably fair to say that I listen to a wider range of music than most people, but first and foremost, a well-written pop song can move me in a way that most other genres have yet to do. That's why I worship at Brian Wilson's altar, and why I don't really care if a song was written by the Zombies in 1967 or by XTC in 1992. I'm sure there are people who feel the same way about Wynton Marsalis, but I'm not one of them. It's a hypocrisy I'm willing to acknowledge and willing to live with.
Final caveat: I realize that the term "pop music" encompasses a ridiculously huge range of music, but for this purpose I mean Beatles/Beach Boys/Zombies style pop. It's for the lack of a better word, really.
Now, granted, pop music, as far as I'm concerned, is still evolving, and at a much faster pace than jazz has in quite a long time. But I'm talking here of the pop traditionalists. People who deliberately recreate the sounds of bands and artists that preceded them by decades. People like Dr. Dog, the Wondermints, latter-day XTC (which is my favorite XTC), and even the new generation of folkies like Devendra Banhart, Feathers, and Espers (who might be moving away from the old sound, as I'll explain in a forthcoming post). They're not doing anything new, and in fact, are doing things that are very old, but they all get free passes from me.
Why is it ok for them and not for Wynton Marsalis? First of all, there's a line to be drawn between being influenced by somebody and completely ripping them off. Marsalis worshipped at the altar of Miles Davis, to the point where he even put together a backing band that sounded like Tony Williams, Wayne Shorter (his brother Branford being that doppelganger, incidentally), Ron Carter, and Herbie Hancock. This is also why I can only like the Wondermints so much before they make me cringe. Let's just say there's a reason why they're currently Brian Wilson's backing band (and let's be fair, I'd jump at that opportunity too).
Second, pop music is my pet genre. It's probably fair to say that I listen to a wider range of music than most people, but first and foremost, a well-written pop song can move me in a way that most other genres have yet to do. That's why I worship at Brian Wilson's altar, and why I don't really care if a song was written by the Zombies in 1967 or by XTC in 1992. I'm sure there are people who feel the same way about Wynton Marsalis, but I'm not one of them. It's a hypocrisy I'm willing to acknowledge and willing to live with.
Final caveat: I realize that the term "pop music" encompasses a ridiculously huge range of music, but for this purpose I mean Beatles/Beach Boys/Zombies style pop. It's for the lack of a better word, really.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Random thoughts on Steely Dan
A while ago, I heard a song on WXPN from Donald Fagen's new solo album, Morph the Cat. Not surprisingly, you could probably stick the song in the middle of Side B of any given Steely Dan record and few people would be able to tell the difference. It got me thinking about Fagen and Steely Dan.
First of all, why bother making a solo album when it sounds exactly like the band you're already in? Solo albums, especially those made by members of a band that is still together (which, as far as I know, Steely Dan still is, having won an "Album of the Year" Grammy not too long ago), are generally good times to explore departures and new angles that wouldn't work within the band context. If you make solo albums that sound different from what you've done before, you're Paul Simon (at least Paul Simon through about 1990): exciting and interesting even in your failures. If you make solo albums that sound exactly like all of your previous work, you're Ben Folds: boring and predictable.
Of course, Steely Dan has never been about exploring new territory with each release. Granted, I've only heard a couple albums in full, and a selected smattering of songs from other ones, but they all sound pretty much identical: smooth, jazzy, groove-oriented, and spotlessly produced (one of my professors was so impressed by the production on Aja that he recommended everybody in the class buy a copy to use to test sound systems; consequently, that's the only Steely Dan record I actually own). I've heard that defended the same way people defend the retro-jazz of Wynton Marsalis: that it's not about innovation, it's about "perfection of the craft." It's about improving incrementally, and eventually reaching nirvana, or something like that.
Of course, I'm not really hearing any incremental improvements in Steely Dan, or in the new Donald Fagen song I heard, because, as I've mentioned several times now, they all sound exactly the same to me. And I happen to think that Wynton Marsalis sucks too. At least Steely Dan has a unique sound, and one that wasn't perfected decades before they started, which is more than I can say for Marsalis. (To be fair to Mr. Marsalis, I haven't heard any of his latter-day stuff when he supposedly "found his own voice," which I take to mean "stopped shamelessly imitating Miles Davis.")
Anyway, if you ask me, Donald Fagen belongs in a category with bands like Stereolab: they probably couldn't sound different even if they tried, and whether or not you need to buy any new release is determined only by your appetite for that sound. Which is why I own only one Steely Dan record. That's pretty much all I need.
First of all, why bother making a solo album when it sounds exactly like the band you're already in? Solo albums, especially those made by members of a band that is still together (which, as far as I know, Steely Dan still is, having won an "Album of the Year" Grammy not too long ago), are generally good times to explore departures and new angles that wouldn't work within the band context. If you make solo albums that sound different from what you've done before, you're Paul Simon (at least Paul Simon through about 1990): exciting and interesting even in your failures. If you make solo albums that sound exactly like all of your previous work, you're Ben Folds: boring and predictable.
Of course, Steely Dan has never been about exploring new territory with each release. Granted, I've only heard a couple albums in full, and a selected smattering of songs from other ones, but they all sound pretty much identical: smooth, jazzy, groove-oriented, and spotlessly produced (one of my professors was so impressed by the production on Aja that he recommended everybody in the class buy a copy to use to test sound systems; consequently, that's the only Steely Dan record I actually own). I've heard that defended the same way people defend the retro-jazz of Wynton Marsalis: that it's not about innovation, it's about "perfection of the craft." It's about improving incrementally, and eventually reaching nirvana, or something like that.
Of course, I'm not really hearing any incremental improvements in Steely Dan, or in the new Donald Fagen song I heard, because, as I've mentioned several times now, they all sound exactly the same to me. And I happen to think that Wynton Marsalis sucks too. At least Steely Dan has a unique sound, and one that wasn't perfected decades before they started, which is more than I can say for Marsalis. (To be fair to Mr. Marsalis, I haven't heard any of his latter-day stuff when he supposedly "found his own voice," which I take to mean "stopped shamelessly imitating Miles Davis.")
Anyway, if you ask me, Donald Fagen belongs in a category with bands like Stereolab: they probably couldn't sound different even if they tried, and whether or not you need to buy any new release is determined only by your appetite for that sound. Which is why I own only one Steely Dan record. That's pretty much all I need.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Holy crap, another new Fiery Furnaces album?
Ladies and gentlemen, the Fiery Furnaces are back.
Not that they ever really went away, of course. Their last album was released a mere six months ago, and their EP (which is a full length album) was released only nine months before that. And Blueberry Boat came only six months before that. So if you're keeping track, Bitter Tea, released next week but widely available on the internet for at least the last month, is their fourth full length album in under two years.
With the hindsight provided by Bitter Tea, last October's Rehearsing My Choir (links one and two from the archives) can be seen as a one-off diversion. Bitter Tea is the real sequel to Blueberry Boat, following the same insane song structures and cacophony of sounds that have been their trademark since the latter album was released, but also sharing with it a knack for lovely pop melodies that just pop out of the blue and disappear just as quickly.
If nothing else, the Fiery Furnaces are proof that being a great band and not being utterly serious and self-important are not mutually exclusive. It's hard to take some of their stuff seriously because it's just so goofy. Not goofy like the Bloodhound Gang, but goofy in that you might find yourself constantly scratching your head saying "huh?" They're also proof that quality and quantity are not mutually exclusive either (see the above run-down of their prolificness).
So, my point was that Bitter Tea is very similar in content and sound to Blueberry Boat. It is indeed, as promised, "poppier" than Rehearsing My Choir, but that's kind of like buying a light bulb and be promised that it will be brighter than pitch black darkness. If anything, though, the first few tracks are even crazier than Blueberry Boat, cramming enough parts and melodies to fill a nine minute song into three and a half minutes. This is Brian Wilson's fragmented songwriting technique (see "Good Vibrations" and "Heroes and Villains") taken to an extreme, not only in the content of the songs, but in the sounds themselves. Each part of any given song might switch at random between a litany of instrumentation including electric pianos, tack piano, dobro guitars, electronic drums, acoustic drums, harpsichord, and a litany of synth sounds last heard on a Kraftwerk record, or maybe an educational film from the 80s.
For the most part, Bitter Tea is almost as good as Blueberry Boat, but it lacks the scope and the range of that album. Its songs build into to what should be huge climactic endings, but fail to really move they way they have in the past. It also kind of peters out at the end, with pointless repeats of two songs that already appear earlier in the album, as if Matthew Friedberger sequenced the album and realized that he could still cram more songs onto the length of a CD.
Don't get me wrong, Bitter Tea is still a damn good album, and the Fiery Furnaces still sound like nobody else on the planet. It's just that, like many people who release really great and idiosyncratic albums, they suffer in comparison with their own back catalogue. They probably will in the future too, without a change in sound (like, well, Rehearsing My Choir).
Final verdict? Very good, but damn it, not quite good enough.
Not that they ever really went away, of course. Their last album was released a mere six months ago, and their EP (which is a full length album) was released only nine months before that. And Blueberry Boat came only six months before that. So if you're keeping track, Bitter Tea, released next week but widely available on the internet for at least the last month, is their fourth full length album in under two years.
With the hindsight provided by Bitter Tea, last October's Rehearsing My Choir (links one and two from the archives) can be seen as a one-off diversion. Bitter Tea is the real sequel to Blueberry Boat, following the same insane song structures and cacophony of sounds that have been their trademark since the latter album was released, but also sharing with it a knack for lovely pop melodies that just pop out of the blue and disappear just as quickly.
If nothing else, the Fiery Furnaces are proof that being a great band and not being utterly serious and self-important are not mutually exclusive. It's hard to take some of their stuff seriously because it's just so goofy. Not goofy like the Bloodhound Gang, but goofy in that you might find yourself constantly scratching your head saying "huh?" They're also proof that quality and quantity are not mutually exclusive either (see the above run-down of their prolificness).
So, my point was that Bitter Tea is very similar in content and sound to Blueberry Boat. It is indeed, as promised, "poppier" than Rehearsing My Choir, but that's kind of like buying a light bulb and be promised that it will be brighter than pitch black darkness. If anything, though, the first few tracks are even crazier than Blueberry Boat, cramming enough parts and melodies to fill a nine minute song into three and a half minutes. This is Brian Wilson's fragmented songwriting technique (see "Good Vibrations" and "Heroes and Villains") taken to an extreme, not only in the content of the songs, but in the sounds themselves. Each part of any given song might switch at random between a litany of instrumentation including electric pianos, tack piano, dobro guitars, electronic drums, acoustic drums, harpsichord, and a litany of synth sounds last heard on a Kraftwerk record, or maybe an educational film from the 80s.
For the most part, Bitter Tea is almost as good as Blueberry Boat, but it lacks the scope and the range of that album. Its songs build into to what should be huge climactic endings, but fail to really move they way they have in the past. It also kind of peters out at the end, with pointless repeats of two songs that already appear earlier in the album, as if Matthew Friedberger sequenced the album and realized that he could still cram more songs onto the length of a CD.
Don't get me wrong, Bitter Tea is still a damn good album, and the Fiery Furnaces still sound like nobody else on the planet. It's just that, like many people who release really great and idiosyncratic albums, they suffer in comparison with their own back catalogue. They probably will in the future too, without a change in sound (like, well, Rehearsing My Choir).
Final verdict? Very good, but damn it, not quite good enough.
Monday, April 10, 2006
1) Get well soon, Arthur Lee! 2) Another list
There was a news item on Pitchfork Media yesterday that elicited an unusual response from me. It went something like this:
1. "Holy hell, Arthur Lee is still alive!"
2. "Holy hell, Arthur Lee is on the verge of death!"
Arthur Lee is one of those people that you just never stop to think about what he's doing now, because he stays out of the public eye. Plus he was never that famous in the first place. Anyway, I suppose my surprise wasn't so much that he wasn't dead so much as that he didn't simply cease to exist sometime in the 1970's. To me, everything in his life worth tracking down was done in the 1960's, when he was a 20-something. And because he kind of faded away, I'd simply never stopped to consider that his very existence might have continued on.
At any rate, I wish Mr. Lee a healthy recovery. I would contribute to his financial situation, but as it turns out I have medical debts of my own, to say nothing of student loan debt, and while we're at it, we'll throw in my debt of roughly half a dollar to the Free Library of Philadelphia ("free" my ass!).
Finally, since I'm into lists and such lately, here's a list of people like Arthur Lee. In short, people I probably won't think of again until they die and their obituaries run. People you forget are still alive. Not to be disrespectful to the accomplishments of any of the following (or Arthur Lee for that matter), I just find it to be a curious type of celebrity.
- Dave Brubeck
- Kurt Vonnegut
- Les Paul
- Shirley Temple
- Gerald Ford
- Syd Barrett (gone but not forgotten in my case)
- Boris Yeltsin (former political leaders are good for this)
- Arnold Palmer
- Maya Angelou
That was a hard list to make, because its subjects are by definition a little obscure (at least currently). I really wanted to put Leonard Bernstein, but as it turns out, he's been dead since 1990. I also thought of including people who are more local celebrities like Dallas Green or Bernie Parent, but decided that they should be famous on a wider scale.
1. "Holy hell, Arthur Lee is still alive!"
2. "Holy hell, Arthur Lee is on the verge of death!"
Arthur Lee is one of those people that you just never stop to think about what he's doing now, because he stays out of the public eye. Plus he was never that famous in the first place. Anyway, I suppose my surprise wasn't so much that he wasn't dead so much as that he didn't simply cease to exist sometime in the 1970's. To me, everything in his life worth tracking down was done in the 1960's, when he was a 20-something. And because he kind of faded away, I'd simply never stopped to consider that his very existence might have continued on.
At any rate, I wish Mr. Lee a healthy recovery. I would contribute to his financial situation, but as it turns out I have medical debts of my own, to say nothing of student loan debt, and while we're at it, we'll throw in my debt of roughly half a dollar to the Free Library of Philadelphia ("free" my ass!).
Finally, since I'm into lists and such lately, here's a list of people like Arthur Lee. In short, people I probably won't think of again until they die and their obituaries run. People you forget are still alive. Not to be disrespectful to the accomplishments of any of the following (or Arthur Lee for that matter), I just find it to be a curious type of celebrity.
- Dave Brubeck
- Kurt Vonnegut
- Les Paul
- Shirley Temple
- Gerald Ford
- Syd Barrett (gone but not forgotten in my case)
- Boris Yeltsin (former political leaders are good for this)
- Arnold Palmer
- Maya Angelou
That was a hard list to make, because its subjects are by definition a little obscure (at least currently). I really wanted to put Leonard Bernstein, but as it turns out, he's been dead since 1990. I also thought of including people who are more local celebrities like Dallas Green or Bernie Parent, but decided that they should be famous on a wider scale.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
A new classification system for art...
Awhile ago, I was reading a brief article about Penn Jillette, the abrasive loudmouth who makes up half of the magic-for-people-who-hate-magic duo Penn and Teller (he's the one who talks). In discussing his supposed intellectualism, the article talked about his idea of how all artists can be classified in one of three categories: "those who had genuine skill, those who had genuine passion, and those rarefied geniuses who had both."
Normally the mere sound of Penn Jillette's voice makes me want to hurl him off of a cliff, but this was an intriguing idea to me, and the more I thought about it, the more it made sense to me. So I've decided to make a list of some of the artists that I think belong in each of the three categories. And since music is the type of art that I'm most qualified to talk about, that's what I'll focus on.
First, a couple caveats: if an artist is classified in the "genuine passion" category, it doesn't mean that the artist lacks skill. It simply means that they don't have the natural, God-given talent of, say, a Paul McCartney or Charlie Parker. And likewise for those in the "genuine skill" category. Basically, if somebody leans toward one side or the other, I'm likely to put them there.
Genuine Skill:
- Miles Davis
- Duke Ellington
- Johannes Brahms
- Elton John
- Bob Dylan
- Tortoise
- Jimi Hendrix
- Todd Rundgren
Genuine Passion:
- John Lennon
- U2
- Kurt Cobain
- James Brown
- Marvin Gaye
- Elliott Smith
- Bjork
- The Flaming Lips
Both:
- Beethoven
- John Coltrane
- Brian Wilson
- Charles Ives
- Stevie Wonder
Now, the interesting part: I want to know if you agree or disagree. Or if you have any names to add to any category that I didn't include. Or if you think the entire concept is crap. I have it set so that you don't have to have a blogger account to comment on my page, so by all means, contribute!
Normally the mere sound of Penn Jillette's voice makes me want to hurl him off of a cliff, but this was an intriguing idea to me, and the more I thought about it, the more it made sense to me. So I've decided to make a list of some of the artists that I think belong in each of the three categories. And since music is the type of art that I'm most qualified to talk about, that's what I'll focus on.
First, a couple caveats: if an artist is classified in the "genuine passion" category, it doesn't mean that the artist lacks skill. It simply means that they don't have the natural, God-given talent of, say, a Paul McCartney or Charlie Parker. And likewise for those in the "genuine skill" category. Basically, if somebody leans toward one side or the other, I'm likely to put them there.
Genuine Skill:
- Miles Davis
- Duke Ellington
- Johannes Brahms
- Elton John
- Bob Dylan
- Tortoise
- Jimi Hendrix
- Todd Rundgren
Genuine Passion:
- John Lennon
- U2
- Kurt Cobain
- James Brown
- Marvin Gaye
- Elliott Smith
- Bjork
- The Flaming Lips
Both:
- Beethoven
- John Coltrane
- Brian Wilson
- Charles Ives
- Stevie Wonder
Now, the interesting part: I want to know if you agree or disagree. Or if you have any names to add to any category that I didn't include. Or if you think the entire concept is crap. I have it set so that you don't have to have a blogger account to comment on my page, so by all means, contribute!
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Liars Liars Liars
In the world of experimental rock music, what makes the difference between a good album and a great album? In my mind, a great album is one that combines the intellectual or cerebral properties that are, by nature, part of anything that could be considered "experimental," with the emotional qualities of the best pop music (or any other kind of music, for that matter). Does it make you feel something? Does it absorb you and take you to a different place?
The new Liars album, Drum's Not Dead, is a great album.
The first thing anybody will notice about it is the drumming. Even if the word "drum" itself wasn't in the album title and half the song titles, the drums are omnipresent, thumping their way into a hypnotic groove on almost all of the tracks.
But as much as Drum's Not Dead is about rhythm, it's also about texture. Check out the gorgeous opener, "Be Quiet Mt. Heart Attack!" or the similarly beautiful "Drum Gets a Glimpse," which, with some high-pitched androgynous vocals, could easily fit in on a Sigur Ros record. Even the heavier songs with what sound like a chorus of tom-toms rapping away in a tribal rhythm feature amazing attention to detail. Listen for the way they manipulate the songs through the pitches of the drums themselves, and the way they augment them with pitchless percussive synth sounds in songs like "Let's Not Wrestle Mt. Heart Attack."
I guess my point here is that Liars have retained the gift for pounding rhythm that they've always had (even going back to their debut album), and added to it a heretofore undiscovered gift for melody and texture. If their last album, 2004's They Were Wrong So We Drowned, existed on almost a purely emotional level (being one of the most deeply unsettling albums I've ever listened to), Drum's Not Dead retains most of the eerieness of that album, and makes it a lot more interesting to listen to to boot. Not only that, it adds moments of shimmering beauty that were nowhere to be found in any of the previous Liars work.
Drum's Not Dead is easily the best album of Liars' short career, and meets expectations while still surprising. All in all, a terrific album.
The new Liars album, Drum's Not Dead, is a great album.
The first thing anybody will notice about it is the drumming. Even if the word "drum" itself wasn't in the album title and half the song titles, the drums are omnipresent, thumping their way into a hypnotic groove on almost all of the tracks.
But as much as Drum's Not Dead is about rhythm, it's also about texture. Check out the gorgeous opener, "Be Quiet Mt. Heart Attack!" or the similarly beautiful "Drum Gets a Glimpse," which, with some high-pitched androgynous vocals, could easily fit in on a Sigur Ros record. Even the heavier songs with what sound like a chorus of tom-toms rapping away in a tribal rhythm feature amazing attention to detail. Listen for the way they manipulate the songs through the pitches of the drums themselves, and the way they augment them with pitchless percussive synth sounds in songs like "Let's Not Wrestle Mt. Heart Attack."
I guess my point here is that Liars have retained the gift for pounding rhythm that they've always had (even going back to their debut album), and added to it a heretofore undiscovered gift for melody and texture. If their last album, 2004's They Were Wrong So We Drowned, existed on almost a purely emotional level (being one of the most deeply unsettling albums I've ever listened to), Drum's Not Dead retains most of the eerieness of that album, and makes it a lot more interesting to listen to to boot. Not only that, it adds moments of shimmering beauty that were nowhere to be found in any of the previous Liars work.
Drum's Not Dead is easily the best album of Liars' short career, and meets expectations while still surprising. All in all, a terrific album.
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