NEW MUSIC FOR OLDS #42
Mea culpa, babycakes!
Here we go with another NEW MUSIC FOR OLDS. Praise the (dark) lord!
Today I bring you:
Beyoncehead!
The Dad Rock band that shall not be named!
Devil worship of yesteryear!
Some personal whining!
My dogs!
And, the magic of SVIIB!
Once more into the breach, my friends.
GOOD STUFF
A handy-dandy Glossary of Terms.
L’Rain, “Knead Bee”
Listen on Apple Music // Listen on Amazon Music
Album: I Killed Your Dog
Nutshell: Avant garde R&B
Voltage: 5
Thoughts: Finally, that Beyonce/Radiohead collaboration you’ve been waiting for! L’Rain is a multi-instrumentalist, singer, songwriter and kinda all-around genius. I had a difficult time picking which song to highlight—this album covers a lot of ground, drawing from jazz, indie rock, neo-soul and electronica. The dreamy key changes in “Knead Bee” are a good example of how L’Rain displays musician-y chops without coming off academic. I cannot begin to wonder why this album is called I Killed Your Dog, given that this very laidback artist does not suggest vicious sociopathy. Were I on L’Rain’s “team”, I might have suggested something that better captures her vibe, a la I Got Super High and Discussed Quantum Physics With Your Dog.
Pairing Suggestion: Eating an entire bag of treats in one sitting
Wilco, “A Bowl and a Pudding”
Listen on Apple Music // Listen on Amazon Music
Album: Cousin
Nutshell: (sigh)
Voltage: 3
Thoughts: I hate that I’m writing about Wilco again. I’ve put it off for weeks. Talk about undermining my credibility as a purveyor of “new music”! But look, it’s not my fault Wilco decided to record its most experimental album since A Ghost is Born. Only a year ago, Jeff Tweedy released a double album’s worth of slight front porch Americana in the same vein they’ve been mining, more or less, since 2007. And that was swell! But, working with Welsh avant pop werido Cate Le Bon as producer, they’ve now returned to the knotty left-field stuff that made me start giving a shit in the first place. Tweedy’s never been a powerhouse singer, but that actually works to his advantage as he ages. When he sings, “I can tell how long this night is gonna be”, you damn well believe him. I especially like the skittering kick drum underneath the delicate guitar arpeggios—it’s like arrhythmia in musical form. I won’t touch the “Wilco fan/AFib” joke that’s just hanging there like a pinata, but feel free to have a whack.
Pairing Suggestion: Asking your doctor if the new Wilco album is good for you.
It’s got a good beat and you can regret to it!
Twin Temple, “God is Dead”
Listen on Apple Music // Listen on Amazon Music
Album: God is Dead
Nutshell: Classic doo-wop (with a twist)
Thoughts: Twin Temple recreate the pop sounds of the Fifties and Early Sixties. You’ll immediately hear The Shangri-Las, Roy Orbison and a grab-bag of what you and I once called “Oldies”. God is Dead is recorded with meticulous attention to period detail—it’s virtually indistinguishable from “real thing”. There is one minor exception: Married couple Alexandra and Zachary James are avowed satanists. From my cursory research, they seem fully committed to the bit—like, to the extent they won’t admit it’s a bit. But with song titles like “Burn Your Bible” and “Let’s Have a Satanic Orgy”, there’s no getting around the fact that Twin Temple is a novelty band. But it’s well-executed—I especially like the bouncy outro, with the missus chirping “I’m so happy that God’s dead”, with a classic Ronnie Spector “whoa-oh-oh”. On a purely human level, I’m thrilled that these groovy devil worshippers managed to find each other.
Pairing Suggestion: Wringing goat’s blood out of your bobby socks
NOTE: It’s odd that I stumbled upon God is Dead in the Hard Rock section of Apple Music. I mean yeah, I get it—they’re singing about the Dark Lord! But remove the lyrics and there is literally nothing “hard” about this music. By this logic, “Black Water” by The Doobie Brothers should be filed under Funk and/or Dixieland. And because the lyrics deal with an unfaithful partner, the Country section should include Riskay’s “Smell Yo Dick”.
Ummmmmm you were saying…?
And here’s where you tell me how much this music has altered the trajectory of your life.
SOME BULLSHIT
For reasons too numerous and diffuse to list, it’s been a rough few weeks around Finnegan Way. Past Me is locked in mortal combat with Current Me, with Future Me hanging in the balance.
This feels very selfish to admit, that I’m going through some intense navel-gazey bullshit while the world is literally exploding around us. In fact, I’m certain the bleak situation in Israel/Gaza is contributing to the dark cloud that is currently parked directly over my head. How could it not? I say this as someone with zero connection to what’s going on. If you have actual skin in the game, either personal or cultural, I wish you nothing but love and I encourage you to be gentle with yourself and those around you.
All of this is to say, I’m not exactly bursting with creative energy. A lot of wall-staring going on this week. As if often the case when I go through one of these phases, I find myself retreating into music that reminds me of better times. Or if not “better”, a time when I felt more purpose-driven, when everything didn’t feel like such a fucking effort.
In this case, I’ve been listening to a lot of School of Seven Bells, who released four albums (and one lengthy EP) of dreamy-but-disciplined shoegaze/electronica between 2008-2016.
In a perfect world, SVIIB (their stylized nomenclature) would have continued putting out fantastic just-outside-of-the-mainstream alt-rock for 20+ years. Alas, the band came to an abrupt end on Dec 29 2013, when founding member Benjamin Curtis died of Lymphoma at age 35 (their final album was released posthumously). Around the time of Curtis’ passing, I wrote a blog entry about the insularity of loving a band, and how hard it sometimes be to “share” them with others.
So there’s this band called School of Seven Bells. This past January I went to see them play at Music Hall of Williamsburg. I went by myself. I went by myself because, as far as I was concerned, School of Seven Bells was making music for me and me alone. Why temper my concert-going experience with the fear that the friend I dragged along wasn’t sufficiently “getting it”?
I wouldn’t say it was a perfect show. The sound mix wasn’t quite right, and I quibbled a bit with the setlist. But I think I was also mildly disappointed to see all of those other people in the audience. Of course that sounds absurd. I want ALL of the artists I love to be fabulously wealthy and own castles and yachts. But I think there was a tiny part of me that hoped I’d be the only to show up–I would walk in the empty concert hall and the band, far from dejected, would be relieved that their unwitting muse had finally arrived. “Thank god you’re here,” they’d say. “We can start now.” After all, School of Seven Bells had written and recorded all of this music solely with me in mind, right?
That’s how it is with a band you love: you feel a sense of ownership. Most of the time it’s a cheap “I knew them way back when” feeling. Other times it’s based on some sort of lyrical synchronicity (“Hey, I’m a brown-eyed girl too!”).
Rarest of all, and therefore most precious, is when you stumble upon a band whose music sounds like what you’re already thinking and feeling. A certain chord progression. A particular harmony part. A guitar sound. For whatever reason, it hits the ear and everything inside you yells, “YES, EXACTLY!” You may not even believe they’re the world’s greatest band. You just know that they're your band.
Less than two weeks after the Music Hall of Williamsburg show, guitarist and co-songwriter Benjamin Curtis announced that he had a rare form of bone cancer. Despite initial word it was treatable, the situation quickly spiraled and he passed away yesterday.
I’m not 100% sure why I’m writing this. Benjamin Curtis was by all accounts a great dude, but it’s not as if I knew him personally. And to be frank, I’ve always believed it’s in poor taste to over-mourn the passing of a stranger. It makes a mockery of the genuine grief felt by friends, family and loved ones.
If I’m being truly honest, what I’m feeling is self-pity. I’m gut-punched at the prospect of there never being another School of Seven Bells album. Both with SSB and his former band, Secret Machines, Curtis’ epic scope and ear for off-kilter chords spoke to the wispiest corners of my musical id. Co-songwriter Alejandra Deheza will continue to make fantastic music–she has a true gift for melody and harmony. It just probably won’t be music solely and explicitly for me.
When someone passes away, we all remind ourselves to hold loved ones close. After all, you never know when someone could be gone forever. Of course this is true. But it may not also be a bad idea to, every once in a while, take stock of the stuff you love–the movies, the comedy specials, the pieces of art. And more than just the stuff you enjoy, take inventory of the artists whose work speaks directly, almost intimately, to you. As we enter the new year, take a moment to thank them for giving you a vague sense of who you are.
In that spirit, I’d like to thank Benjamin Curtis, Alejandra Dehaza, David Bowie, Elvis Costello, Alfonso Cuaron, John Davis, Alexander Payne, Alison Goldfrapp, Wallace Shawn, Paul Westerberg, Joni Mitchell, Prince, Raymond Carver, Sandy Skoglund, Peter Gabriel, Nick Hornby, Gillian Welch, Paul Buchanan, Matthew Caws, Jack Black & Kyle Gass, The Coen Brothers, Cameron Crowe, Katherine Dunn and at least a hundred more.
I’m honestly not sure why I feel compelled to share this today. Because it saves me from having to actually write something worthwhile for this week’s newsletter? MEA CULPA, BAYBYCAKES! Or maybe it’s just nice to take inventory every now and then, to remind yourself “Oh yeah, I’m that guy”. It’s not dissimilar to the way my dog Griswold, upon being startled or frightened, will center himself by immediately sniffing his own penis.
By the way, enough time has passed that I now feel fine about sharing School of Seven Bells with the world. Evangelical, even! Here’s a selection of my favorites.
This playlist on Apple Music // This playlist on Amazon Music
Pretty great, right?
Alrighty, that’s all for today. Be good to people (and that includes yourself, I suppose). See you in dos semanas.
Can't believe I hit that Wilco button. I don't even know who I am anymore.
God Is Dead went into Spellbreaker and I'm gobsmacked by the authentic charm of their shtick. For me, this succeeds where Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings or Amy Winehouse failed. In fact, I would put them in the same class as Los Straitjackets, who, until now, were in a class by themselves. Maybe Tenacious D is in there, too. Bands with an undeniable, larger-than-life gimmick that doesn't manage to diminish the music in any way.