Cameron's Album #8: Piper At The Gates Of Dawn

I should have my dear ol' dad to thank for getting me into Pink Floyd at the age he did. I was first introduced to Pink Floyd in grade 7 on a very long drive to Myrtle Beach, SC as we listened to Dark Side of the Moon and about 5 choice cuts from The Wall while passing through Maryland.

Thanks, Dad. I love you.

I can't say that I really got into them until 2 years later when my good friend Kevin, a massive Floyd fan reintroduced them to me through a copy of Wish You Were Here on the 45 minute bus ride home from school. As I delved deeper into the band`s catalogue, I was awe-struck by an album that didn`t quite sound like the others. The band name was still Pink Floyd, but the front cover wasn`t quite as ominous; there was something quite `psychedelic` about the honeycomb of mirrors that gave me an instant impression of a sort of drug-inhibited vision. It was as if I was looking at a proper picture of the band through a kaleidoscope. I also wasn`t aware that the lead singer was strikingly dissimilar from Roger Waters or David Gilmour. The guitars--oh the guitars--didn`t sound like Gilmour either. Rather, they were completely atonal, wild, and relentlessly "Wierd". As a 14 year old boy barely having smoked pot for the first time, it was the closest thing I could imagine one would experience during a really wicked acid trip.

Being introduced to the album at a young age, I don`t think myself, nor anyone could possibly appreciate it without letting it grow into your head a little bit. I`ve probably given the entire album a good, ample listen a few times a year for the past 9 years and I am always stunned by its brilliance. Anyone that can make a song about a Bike, and how I can `ride it, if you like` into a creepy, hellish circus piece is enough to make anyone love this album.

While I still love the rest of Floyd`s albums, there is no doubt in my mind that Piper at the Gates of Dawn is my absolute favourite Pink Floyd album. Though Floyd did undergo a radical change after this album having then hired a new guitarist (Gilmour) and letting Waters takeover much of the vocal performance, I can still honestly say both eras of the band have collectively worked to produce some of my favourite albums of all time.

The amount of stoner rock riffage from songs like "Astronomy Domine" or "Interstellar Overdrive" seemed to be enough to put the gears in motion for an entire genre of fuzz-driven protopunks like Simply Saucer to begin their space-rock assault on us all. God Speed.

MP3: Pink Floyd - Interstellar Overdrive

James' Album #8: Daydream Nation

8. Sonic Youth - Daydream Nation

Like many people who were three years old when Sonic Youth released Daydream Nation in the fall of 1988, I missed it when it was first released. To be honest, the first album of theirs I ever got into was Goo and, for the longest time, Dirty was my favorite Youth record. Their pre-Geffen catalogue, to my less-than-hip teenage brain, was much too dense and difficult and deliberately challenging. I just couldn’t speak its language; its alien discourse baffled me. I bought it because I had been lead to understand that any self-conscious music fan (and oh how I longed to be one of those) must have a copy of it. But, in reality, I only played it now and then and usually not for too long before swapping it out for something friendlier.

Now I wouldn’t go so far as to say that one requires a university education to understand or like this album. In fact, most of the people I went to school with (for English, I should add) weren’t even that well versed in the language they were studying let alone the finer points of seminal rock albums. But higher education (which, it’s worth mentioning, all the band members had) does train one’s mind to think about things, particularly art, in certain critical and analytical ways that an untrained mind might not be naturally inclined to do. With that in mind, Daydream Nation is, at this moment, one of my favorite albums of all time.

While there are several reasons for Daydream’s sudden rise to the high end of my own personal best-of list (besides my own increased level of external comprehension) the one that seems the most obvious, in retrospect, is the fact that Lee Ranaldo sings three songs on this album.

Three.

That’s not to say that Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore don’t pull their weight. They are both in masterful form here. But there has never been (and probably never will be) a Sonic Youth album with this high a concentration of Lee Ranaldo jams. From the surreal Joni Mitchell homage “Hey Joni” to the band-name inspiring “Eric’s Trip” and the weird, seldom played darkness of “The Rain King” Lee really steps out of the shadows on Daydream Nation. And it shows.

It might have taken me a long time to understand it. But now that I do it’s like I’ve learned to communicate in some savage, wordless language. That’s some rock-crit hyperbole, to be sure, (something else they teach you in College) but sometimes excessively great works of art deserve excessively great hyperbole.

MP3: Sonic Youth - "Hey Joni"

Cameron's Album #9: Yahweh or the Highway

At some point in the late 1990s, five factory workers quit their jobs in Providence, Rhode Island to form a band. Showing an enthusiastic inability to play their instruments, Arab on Radar engaged in minimalist techniques by default. They played loud if they even played at all; Incoherence was a skill Arab on Radar perfected early on in their career.
Still...who were Arab on Radar?
A desription on the cover of their DVD Sunshine For Shady People (2008) reads "Defining the band as "No Wave" was often an ill attempt to explain a sound so new it had no frame of reference. At the height of their popularity Arab on Radar abruptly disbanded, leaving many people wondering who want what they really were." Yahweh or the Highway (2001), was Arab on Radar's swan song, and a masterpiece of contemporary music that effectively expresses the band's incalcuable ability to walk the line between immaculate genius and the sociopath's lament. Yahweh is an album that is constantly eluding the listener. While the music is extremely organic it is by no means natural. If music is formed by the brain's organization of sound to recognize rhythmic and tonal patterns, Yahweh is--intentionally or not--challenging this very neural process. Repetition of "sections" is simultaneously integral and completely irrelevant. As soon as you have become familiar with the idea behind what you are hearing, you are once again dislocated, attempting to re-order your senses to align with the sound coming from your speakers.
The guitars are loud, buzzy, and inchoherent. You hear the notes being played, but are never sure of which guitar is making them. The basslines are muddy, washed out with distortion and truly have a life of its own. The drums never really stay on time...or maybe they do. The end result is agressive, but also highly abstracted, in a way that challenges your ability to judge the band's intentions. Arab on Radar constantly elude the listener in ever really understand what or how anything is ever happening.
The vocals, performed in shrill, manic faux-falsetto barely constitutes as singing. Instead, "Mr. Pottymouth," can be related more to highly stylized poetry readings spoken/shrieked/whined clearly and distinctively, yet sometimes barely audiable over the instrumental cacophony. I could spend an entire day talking about the lyrics, so I will attempt to be brief. Pay attention to any of the words coming from his mouth and you will be shocked, horrified, and offended. Topics range anywhere from very descriptive accounts of child abuse, sexual perversity, violence and simple derrangement.
After maybe 50 listens to this album, I still can honestly say I have no idea what is going on, but I am in love with it. It makes my #9 only because I am forced to be intrigued by its ability to elude me time after time.

MP3: Arab on Radar - Birth Control Blues

James' Album #9: Drum's Not Dead

Liars - Drum's Not Dead

Where to begin? Somewhere between the city of Berlin; the displacement of three young Brooklyn-ites and the early hours of the 21st century Drum's Not Dead got made. There's a rushed, tribal madness to the whole affair, as if Angus and crew found something between here and there that couldn't be transported but merely bottled. This album is a portion of something far more sinister and far more lovely than we can imagine. I've tried to measure its parts, hash it up and dissect it and give back what I've taken.

But I cannot.

The story? Your guess is as good as mine. Who is Drum? Who is Mt. Heartattack? Their epic love/hate is stretched to absurd levels; painted in off-colours and sold back to us in loose, jeering fragments. There's all the gooey stuff that comes between the pavement and the stars: love, sex, murder, violence, hate, joy, fear and redemption. Somewhere, buried. But it's worth digging, worth searching. Worth being haunted by.

Shivers when the organ moves suddenly into play during "It Fit When I Was A Kid". A mix-up of sorrow and peaceful resignation as the clean guitar notes echo through album-closer, "The Other Side Of Mt. Heartattack". And, of course, the drums. Those mad, fury-drums carrying us through with ancient simplicity. If it seems like it's all a bit much to take in one meal, it is. Tastes like this demand to be savoured.

To me, Drum's Not Dead is like some rude drug that increases in potency with each trip. It will encompass you, if you allow it to. To the ears of the offended it may seem harsh and grating, but its open spaces are inviting despite being poorly lit.

I suppose that's the best summary I can give you. My grand attempt at distilling sea water. A cruel thing to try and do really, as futile as most criticism, even that of the positive sort. I will say that the music sneaks up on you like weeds, parasitic but comforting; synthetic but still alive. Like an android or a photograph. A captured piece of time. That kind of bullshit.

Take a walk.

MP3: Liars - "It Fit When I Was A Kid"

Cameron's Album #10: De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas

De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas is the product of a series of events that occured between 1990 and late 1994 in Norway. Ultimately, this album is but a fragment that reflects on the mysterious and bloody tale that is True Norwegian Black Metal. Mayhem's sonic masterpiece is, in the truest sense of the phrase, a horror story.

The events in question that surrounding De Mysteriis' creation take place over a period of 5 years of what can only be described as pure pandemonium. It was during these 5, long and violent years in Norway that this album was given its conception and birth. It is interesting to note that only one of the band members from the early 90s era of Mayhem are still living today. Guitarist and main songwriter Euronymous (Oystein Aarseth) was brutally mudered during a confrontation with sessional bassist Varg "Count Grishnakh" Vikernes. Original vocalist known famously by the name Dead shot himself with a shotgun after slitting both wrists, leaving behind an apologetic suicide note that simply read "excuse the mess." A photograph of Dead's 3-day fresh corpse was used for the cover of a bootleg vinyl release "Dawn of the Blackhearts." Attila Csihar, a hungarian vocalist was recruited to fill the empty spot and, in my opinion is the jewel on the crown of this masterpiece album. His style is often characterized as operatic, theatrical and demonic. While most Black Metal we know today focuses on high pitched screams, Atilla chooses to fill his voice with depraved torment. A masochistic, hideous creature from the depths filtered through the reverb of an abysmal void.

Thematically, the lyrics, originally written by the late Dead border the thin line between 18th century romantic and gothic literature in the vein of Byron or Polidori with songs like Funeral Fog, "All natural life has for a longtime ago gone / It's thin and so beautyful but also so dark and mysterious." Musically, Euronymous chooses to invoke a classical air to his riffs and time signatures. While the characteristic of many Black Metal guitar tones is a cold, isolated and treble-heavy sound, Euronymous armed with a Gibson Les Paul Standard offers a much brighter and sustaining sonic quality, embracing the listener into the comforting arms of death.

Particuarily interesting as a side note is the credits that go to sessional bassist and murderer of Euronymous. A request for his basslines to be removed were put forward by the deceased's family, but drummer Hellhammer was unable to accomodate. Haunting is the four-stringed instrument barely audiable over the blast-beat drums and drowning wash of guitar.

Depression, Suicide, Murder and Darkness is the death shroud that covers the body of work that makes this album THE most true and honest metal album ever recorded.

MP3: Mayhem - Freezing Moon

James' Album #10: Separation Sunday

The Hold Steady - Separation Sunday (2005)

When it comes to fictional works (films, novels, TV shows), there are a variety of character tropes that get endlessly recycled: there's the hardass cop who breaks the rules for the all right reasons; there's the hooker with the heart of gold; there's the valiant hero who sacrifices himself for the greater good; there's the poor man who goes from rags to riches; there's the addict who finally gets clean: and the unbeliever who finally learns to believe. Usually, all these characters are seeking some sort of redemption and, more often than not, they find it by story's end. As we all know, however, the real world seldom plays out like this. Sometimes cops are just assholes, hookers are just hookers, the poor just stay poor, the hero just gets ignored, the addict just stays hooked; and the unbeliever just continues to not believe.

It is, perhaps, this reliance on the formulaic (on behalf of the mainstream media, at least) that has drawn me so deeply into ballads, story-songs, concept albums and other narrative-related forms of music. Outlaw folk ballads and albums like Pink Floyd's The Wall taught me that music was one of the strangest and most bewildering art forms for story-telling, allowing its creator(s) to combine poetry, prose, pop hooks, abstraction and genuine (if sometimes vague) narrative into one complete (and often brilliant) package.

Which brings us to my #10 album: Separation Sunday by the Hold Steady.

Using classic rock as a musical template, Separation Sunday tells the story of Hallelujah (but the kids all call her Holly), a down-and-out woman in her early 30s who is forced to come to grips with her fading youth, as well as the questionable choices she has made throughout her life. Lead singer/lyricist Craig Finn uses his gruff voice and sing-speak vocal style to tell a coherent (if not totally linear) story, perfectly capturing the decadence of 80s youth in middle-America and the tiring burnout of a drug-addled hoodrat chick finally coming to terms with herself.

Craig Finn grew up in Minneapolis so it's only natural that the city's specific idiosyncrasies colour much of Holly's story. Finn has a real knack for detail, managing to simultaneously wrench profundity from the banal while also finding humour in the absurdity of modern life. Subverting the high-minded philosophies and epic Shakespearean pathos of earlier concept albums, Finn and crew choose instead to centre in on a few very real-feeling people and make us love them, warts and all. That's not to say that Holly doesn't grow or change, or that the ending of the story (the magnificent closer, "How A Resurrection Really Feels") isn't grande in its own way, she does and it is. It's mostly that Finn doesn't bog us down with purple prose and needless abstraction which, to me, is the less-trodden and considerably more difficult path.

Though there are a number of great songs on Separation Sunday (and an almost unlimited supply of wicked quotes and pop-culture references) I've decided to offer up "Banging Camp" as a suitable introduction to the album and its themes. While every song introduces a variety of interesting lyrical ideas, it is the final section of "Banging Camp" that, because of its brilliant execution, stuns me the most.

I saw him at the riverbank/
he was breaking bread and giving thanks
With crosses made of pipes and planks/
leaned up against the nitrous tanks
He said, "Take a hit, hold your breath and I'll dunk your head
Then when you wake up again/
you'll be high as hell and born again."

Religion (Catholocism, in particular) plays a large part in the story of Separation Sunday. In fact, Holly's conflicted relationship with God forms the crux on which the entire album is ultimately based. It is because of this that I can think of no better moment than Holly's Nirtous Oxide-baptism at the hands of some drug-pushing pseudo-preacher to accurately sum up this record as a whole. It is also interesting to note that immediately after the final line of the aforementioned verse there is a meta-pause as Holly is submerged and the band stops dead, only to return (along with the freshly baptised and totally high Holly) with a chorus of racous guitar and thumping drums.

Enjoy.

MP3: The Hold Steady - "Banging Camp"

Cam & James' Top Ten Albums Of Ever . . . Right Now!

Loyal Readers (all 3 of you),

Cam and I have decided to do a super fun list-thingie counting down our individual top ten favorite albums of all time. Of course, both of us are well aware how fickle and ridiculous lists of this sort are, which is why I'm pointing out right now how un-seriously we're taking it. We all know how much we change from month to month and year to year, which makes definitive list-making quite the impossibility. So we'll have to settle for this: our favorite albums of exactly-this moment- right now-for-totally-ever-except-probably-not.

Coming soon...