Efterklang

Magic Chairs

[4AD; 2010]

Links: Efterklang | 4AD | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 11 February 2010

Wikipedia informs us that the word “Efterklang” is the Danish equivalent of “remembrance,” which is somewhat ironic, given that post-rock and ambient albums can be some of the more difficult to recall. In my first year of college, I think I might have listened to Brian Eno’s Ambient I at least once per week during study sessions, and I’m not even sure I could really recreate any of the songs in my mind beyond vague details. You can hum that latest Lady GaGa single, but try to sing along to Godspeed or Tortoise.

So it should be mentioned that Magic Chairs,the latest release by a Danish rock band named Efterklang, is more melodic and pop-oriented than their earlier albums, 2004’s Tripper and 2007’s Parades. The former was essentially an ambient record with singing; indeed, some critics even complained that the singing was intrusive and the album should have been entirely instrumental. Comparatively, the latter was a decisive move towards stickier melodies, with an increased use of vocals and lush arrangements.

Magic Chairs, then, can be seen as a logical extension or evolution of the group’s impressive dynamics, recalling few of the hushed soundscapes of Tripper but welcoming a more expansive variation of chamber pop. Think Grizzly Bear meets Explosions in the Sky. Frankly, it’s rather beautiful stuff.

The band seems to have acknowledged its decision to strive for melodies with song titles such as “Harmonics” and “Natural Tune,” the second of which features a moving vocal duet, accompanied by sparse acoustics and pianos.

And call me crazy, but those warm pulsating synths on “Alike” aren’t far from Book of Love’s “Modigliani.” (I’m not sure I’d have ever listened to Book of Love if it weren’t for John Hughes’ Planes, Trains and Automobiles,which I have probably seen throughout my lifetime more than any other film. I’m not sure if that says more about the film or more about me.) Nor do they avoid a rhythmic parallel to Bruce Springsteen’s “Streets of Philadelphia,” which, incidentally, was also on a popular film soundtrack.

“Raincoats” opens with steady clapping before a guitar riff creeps in, and then maybe some flutes, and suddenly vocalist Casper Clausen chimes in, humming along to the melody, starting to sing: “I begin to fall apart…” And there’s something in there about “fingers falling off again,” and it’s all quite dream-like and haunting and poetic in its unique way.

Efterklang have done something remarkable here. This is maybe the first great album of 2010 – which, I suppose, isn’t saying a whole lot considering how early it is, but certainly it is a record that will be deserving of recognition – err, remembrance – at year’s end. Don’t overlook it.

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Julian Casablancas

Phrazes for the Young

[RCA; 2009]

Links: Julian Casablancas | RCA | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 09 November 2009

Some people think they’re always right. Julian Casablancas may be one of those people, if his antics and comments over the years are to be taken in earnest. Never one to mince words, Casablancas has always carried himself with the effortless cool of a rock star who just doesn’t give a shit, most recently popping up in his leather jacket on Converse ads and singing about boomboxes with the unfunny guy from SNL.

In the past his disaffected mumbling has often given way to a sort of drunken croon or despairing croak, but – as much as I love the Strokes’ first couple albums – I feel like he’s never utilized his voice as much as he could have been outside of the band’s albums.

Phrazes for the Young, then, reasserts Casablancas’ musical persona as something of a space-rock bar singer, sliding his voice around the synth organs of tracks like “Left & Right in the Dark” or breaking out in falsetto (!) on “Glass,” which is one of the best pop songs I’ve heard all year.

The reigning champion of this album, however, is lead single “11th Dimension.” Filled with a euphoric sense of joy, it’s one of those songs that just makes you forget about all your troubles for roughly three and a half minutes. We heard a hint of this melancholy on “You Only Live Once” – the best track from 2006’s First Impressions of Earth – but now he’s gone all out, unafraid to pile on one layer of sound after another until the final chorus sweeps in – and knocks you out.

Casablancas has never been a great lyricist, but there’s something about his simplicity — “Forgive them / Even if they are not sorry” is “Dimension’s” main hook — that just lends itself to the music and, well, feels right. The opening lyric of the album, for example, might give a hint to how he imagines himself to be seen by other members of the Strokes: “Somewhere along the way / My hopefulness turned to sadness / Somewhere along the way / My bitterness turned to anger.”

It’d be nice to get a new Strokes record in 2010, but Phrazes for the Young is that rarest of vanity projects: a successful one. Though it has its share of missteps (the weakest track, “Ludlow St.,” is just a bit too smug for its own good), let’s face it — this could have turned out terrible, but instead we have one of the finest, tautest and most surprising rock albums of 2009. I guess he was right after all.

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The Beatles

Please Please Me

[EMI; 1963/2009]

Links: The Beatles | EMI | Purchase The Beatles Remasters

Posted by John Ulmer on 10 September 2009

“One, two, three, four” – followed by that unmistakable guitar riff – and all at once the Beatles had announced themselves to the world. Nothing would ever be the same.

The thing about grading any Beatles record is that it’s relative — with Please Please Me, you’re contrasting against Sgt. Pepper’s and Revolver: the types of work in a league of their own. Anything will pale in comparison to such output. While most bands would be proud to ever record something as wonderful as Let It Be, the general consensus is that it’s their worst studio album. Thus, you have a tendency to underrate an album that, from another artist’s catalog, you wouldn’t hesitate to praise.

The amazing thing about the band, both then and now, is how quickly and masterfully they covered musical ground – Please Please Me is fairly straightforward by their later standards, but they essentially moved across more genres and boundaries in under a decade than most groups ever do in their entire careers. They established themselves, deconstructed and reconstructed themselves, and imploded in less time than it takes some artists to record a single album.

Please Please Me feels sporadic and loose – probably since it was recorded quickly in a last-ditch effort to capture the sound of the band’s live act and capitalize upon their pending fame – and, as a result, it’s not perfect: there are some songs here that many fans, depending upon which Beatles era they have an inclination towards, may not revisit often. Personally, most of the covers on the record have never done much for me – save “Twist and Shout,” which is one of the band’s early highlights. Recorded last because of the toll it took upon John Lennon’s cold-affected voice, this raucous rocker pretty much defines rock n’ roll. And if you can listen to it without thinking of Ferris Bueller dancing on a parade float, then props to you.

While it may not earn direct comparison to the band’s truest masterpieces, Please Please Me stands as an insightful snapshot of an evolving band at a pivotal moment in time, right before anyone had quite the idea of how big they’d really become.

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Jay-Z

The Blueprint 3

[Roc Nation; 2009]

Links: Jay-Z | Roc Nation | Purchase on Insound | Listen on Rhapsody

Posted by John Ulmer on 10 September 2009

Jay-Z isn’t a businessman — he’s a business, man. And when you’ve branded your image to the point where you’re simultaneously managing a clothing line, sports club and record label, it’s fair to say the Hova has landed. The new quandary becomes maintaining your self-proclaimed street cred whilst juggling decidedly non-street multi-million-dollar finances — something done in 2007 with American Gangster by hiding behind the “concept album” guise. (It wasn’t Jay-Z rapping about slingin’ heroin — it was Jay-Z channeling an American gangster who just happened to bear a strong resemblance to young Jay. The fact that he all too clearly blurred the lines between himself and his character on tracks like “Roc Boys” didn’t seem to matter; the beats, the rhymes and the flow were all at a peak — and, collectively, a welcome resurrection after the disappointment of Kingdom Come in ‘06.)

Bad news, then: Blueprint 3 isn’t nearly as good as American Gangster. The production is more excessive; the lyrics are often derivative; Jay’s rhymes are inconsistent, jumping from hot (”D.O.A.”) to cold (”Hate”). It’s more BP2 than BP1; more Kingdom Come than Reasonable Doubt. But it’s still not the flop that some critics are labeling it as.

The album’s primary fault is its length — at 15 tracks, it’s too damn long, especially since it’s relatively front-loaded — in other words: all the best stuff comes at the beginning. “What We Talkin’ About,” with its warm synths and pounding bass, is a great intro; “Thank You” recalls the neo-soul production of the album’s original predecessor; “Death of Auto-Tune” overcomes its burdensome gimmickry with a stripped-down instrumental section and a take-no-prisoners Hov. (That being said: the problem with placing an anti-auto-tune song on an album featuring songs whose main hooks include obvious usage of auto-tune is notable.)

“Run This Town,” the record’s second (and underrated) single featuring Kanye and Rihanna, works even better within context of the album; but Jay is overshadowed by ‘Ye, and he never quite recovers for the remainder of his album; “Real As It Gets” is good but strangely familiar, and “Empire State of Mind” — while definitely one of the album’s better tracks — is basically a remake of “Brooklyn Go Hard,” featuring the exact same unique vocal inflections on its verses and chorus.

“A Star is Born,” “Venus vs. Mars” and “So Ambitious” are largely forgettable. You’re left wondering why “History,” “Jockin’ Jay-Z” and “Swagga Like Us” (all tracks released since ‘07, before the album got bumped back multiple times) were left on the cutting room floor in favour of these turkeys. Did Jay and his team of producers really think this material was up to par?

Interestingly enough, the impression I was left with after Blueprint 3 was over? Jay has been listening to some indie rock — I’m not sure what happened to that missing MGMT track, but the production as a whole reeks of hipster influence. (Even the album artwork, the first of Jay’s not to feature himself on the front cover, seems unmistakably…indie. Add to the evidence: Jay was spotted moving to the sweet rhythms of Grizzly Bear at a show in NYC last week.)

As interesting a concept as this may be — indie rock hip-hop? — it’s not entirely effective on Blueprint 3, and you’re left wondering how much better this all might have been if we sensed that Jay had a purpose. Jay’s rise to fame has been a blessing and a curse (BP2 pun intended) — it’s enabled him to be the biggest and, for a while, the best; it’s also undermined his outlook. Everything here is far too insulated — as good as “Run This Town” may be, you’re left with the feeling that Jay actually believes those esoteric lyrics. Surrounded by an army of yes-men and enablers, it would be hard for anyone not to buy into their own name — especially when their name is spread across so many ventures — but, you know, the best rap albums — Reasonable Doubt and American Gangster included — usually channel the hunger, strive and purpose of an underdog. Jay doesn’t have that drive anymore because he is on top — and it might take him hitting rock bottom again before we ever hear something as bold and beautiful as the first Blueprint. In the meantime, we’ve got a relatively above-average work from an artist who’s proven himself capable of so much more.

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Dirty Projectors

Bitte Orca

[Domino; 2009]

Links: Dirty Projectors | Domino | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 07 July 2009

So much has been written about Bitte Orca, the latest album by Dirty Projectors, that it’s an almost daunting task to find something worth bringing to the table that hasn’t yet been discussed at length. The album has been greeted with a level of pre-release hype amongst indie circles this year that was surpassed only by the likes of Animal Collective and Grizzly Bear. The immediacy and over-saturation of the Internet has rendered my thoughts typical; discourse is redundant. What’s left to be said about an album released three weeks ago whose Google search already results in well over one million hits?

The chief singer and essential mastermind of the project, Dave Longstreth, is a wildly divisive vocalist; he sounds a bit like the lovechild of Freddie Mercury and Antony Hegarty, but the execution is lacking. He’s seemingly incapable of channeling anything beyond frenetic elasticity. His falsetto bends and winds its way around opener “Cannibal Resource,” which sounds a bit like something Prince might have written on a coke and heroin binge in 1986. (The small bass riff surely must be a nod to “Kiss.”) The female choir is eerie and haunting — a recurring theme all through this trip.

What Longstreth is crooning about here or anywhere on Bitte Orca is a bit of a mystery, but it’s equal parts infectious and annoying, which is the simplest way of summarizing the album as a whole. In both tone and substance: it’s bizarre, frustrating, unique, and derivative all at once.

Album’s lead single, “Stillness is the Move,” is arguably the best – and most accessible – tune on display here. Like much of the album, it has a white-boy Afro-Pop stadium-rock edge. Longstreth actually moves aside on this track and lets the girls take over to full effect. “Useful Chamber” opens up with a fuzzy, Black Moth Super Rainbow-like synth riff before opening into a beautiful melody. While revisiting the track, it seemed to linger a bit more than any others, leading me to put it on repeat. “Two Doves” is a ballad that would have been better as a half-assed replication of “When Doves Cry,” especially if it had been recorded in the same manner as Rise Above (the band’s 2007 Black Flag-inspired semi-cover-album). These are the sort of aimless thoughts that Bitte Orca invokes.

Although Bitte Orca has sharply divided the indie community, it is hard to deny that there’s something interesting at work here, though I’m perhaps less inclined to believe its alleged “genius” was calculated. Longstreth is not a brilliant visionary, but he has created a masterpiece to the extent that he is capable. Bitte Orca is either deliberately frustrating or frustratingly deliberate, but in any case, it’s worth a listen. Or two. Or three.

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