Water Curses EP
[Domino; 2008]
Pitchfork gave it a 7.3.
I realize this is just a four song EP they whipped off and nobody expects me or anybody else to take it seriously. But yeah, I don't like these fucking guys. So much of what they do is the sonic equivalent of being eaten alive by mosquitoes in the Everglades in August. Down to the buzzing-in-your-ear noises you keep trying in vain to shoo away. It's miserable itchy rock.
The Tallest Man on Earth
Shallow Grave
[Gravitation; 2008]
Pitchfork gave it an 8.3 and called it the 47th best album of 2008.
If a Swedish guy from 2008 sounds almost exactly like good old Bobby D, is there any possible way it's an accident?
No.
Let's say Bob Dylan never existed.
Ok.
If I told you there was a guy? A Swedish guy with a raspy nasal voice who played solo acoustic guitar or banjo while singing lyrical tunes with simple melodies about loss, regret, and other complicated human emotions, does that sound like something you'd take to?
Not necessarily. In fact, probably not.
Well, what if I told you the lyrics were very good?
How good?
Like, pretty good.
So good I won't even notice the raspy voice or the lack of any instrumentation other than solo guitar and/or banjo, and I will be awestruck by the breathtaking truth of the insights being shared?
No, not quite that good. But still: good.
Ummm... pass.
What if I told you it sounds very much like Bob Dylan?
You just told me to pretend he doesn't exist.
Yeah, well, he does exist. And this sounds like him. It's a Swedish guy. The lyrics are pretty good. Interested?
Why would I all of a sudden be interested if I wasn't before when I was pretending Bob Dylan never existed?
Because he's... Swedish?
Goodbye.
Sun City Girls
You're Never Alone with a Cigarette (Singles, Vol. 1)
[Abduction; 2008]
Pitchfork gave it an 8.2.
When you're not overly familiar with the output of a loose, rambling noise band who put out over 80 things in their 26-year existence, it's really hard to get into them. Especially when their whole raison d'être seems to be a huge fuck you to the musical conventions of song structure, genre, tastefulness, or any shred of what traditional music fans (including myself) would call "shame" in the face of self-indulgence. But so what? Shameless self-indulgence in the avant direction is at least a counter to shameless self-promotion in the capitalist direction, and it's also harmless. This stuff is easy enough to avoid.
From what I've heard and read, these guys were not in any way concerned with doing anything that anybody might actually like. They did make likable music at times (and this compilation of singles from the late 80's counts as some of the most listenable stuff of theirs I've heard) but they were sure as shit not going to be bound to replicate it in any reliable manner. Not in the next album or the next song or the next two seconds. And they stuck rigorously to this program for over 25 years and over 80 releases. It's a pretty unimpeachable track record. It's also pretty intimidating. And maybe useless too.
In a way Sun City Girls seems more like an idea than a band. And it's a great idea, but I'm not going to lie to you and say that you or anybody needs to listen to this. Or any of their other 80 releases. Just let the hardcore Aspergers-addled collectors do it, and let strung-out musicians hear this stuff and be inspired to just fucking go for it instead of mollycoddling their precious (shitty) material. That should be enough for any sane person. Not that I'm an advocate for sanity.
Kassin + 2
Futurismo
[Luaka Bop; 2008]
Pitchfork gave it a 7.5.
Ah, Brazil.
Right now people are rushing headlong into afrobeat as the world music bandwagon du jour, and the result is that for now more relaxed Brazilian stuff like this sounds like over-the-top sex oil leisure suit bachelor pad music for a young, brash, over-eager and musclebound Governator, his physique and demeanor combining to warn everybody with an active reptilian danger-sensing cortex of a possible rape in progress.
It's not Brazil's fault that their more sensual, languid music (dripping with legitimate cultural tradition, but still "other" to us non-Brazillies) has always been translated to our American ears with an attending cornball quality. It's not the Brazilians. They're legit. It's us. We're not suave enough to pull it off. So we project. To the point where your friends will laugh at you if you put "The Girl From Ipanema" on during the cocktails phase of a dinner party. And it's just not because that song is corny even to Brazilians. It's because bossa nova to non-Brazilians is a little too on-the-nose, it sticks out like an unasked-for visible crotch bulge through linen pants. Sure it might get you laid, but it's not the most subtle of subtle moves. In fact it's so embarassingly unsubtle that anybody not already on your wavelength will immediately put their drinks down and call their loved ones just in case their mojito has been roofied.
But it's not like Mulatu Astatke is inherently better, and we'll swing back in the way of Brazil soon enough. And when we do, this trio featuring Caetano Veloso's son will absolutely be ninth or tenth on our list.
Clear Tigers
Brutal
[Self-Released; 2007]
Pitchfork gave it a 5.6.
Using the internet to track down some of this shit from two years ago is the computer equivalent of barebacking a herpetic sailor.
Here's what I know about this without taking a sandblaster to my computer's genitals:
1. It's just one dude from Brooklyn, but he calls himself "Clear Tigers."
2. He put this out himself.
3. I have never heard of it.
4. It came out two years ago.
5. The "cover" for this looks like this:
So now without even listening, I will predict that:
1. Calling yourself a plural band name when it's just you is annoying.
2. Self-releasing material is a great idea, but it's better if you press some LP's too. Shows you actually believe in the material.
3. If you put something out by yourself and nobody's heard of it two years later, then it wasn't good.
4. Actually, it "came out" in October of 2007 but Pitchfork didn't get around to reviewing it for over six months, and they did so probably just in order to...
5. Show the cover again:
Well, guess what. I just listened to a couple of these tracks while shooting penicillin directly into my eardrums, and I was not wrong about a single thing. As albums go, this is a fantastic audition for designing other shitty bands' future LP covers that make you look at them for a split second (in the tradition of Blind Faith's genre-defining Topless Child Holding a Plane) before you realize you're there for music and not to buy expensive eyejokes that have shitty music inside of them.
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