Pitchfork Reviews 6/9/08

My Morning Jacket
Evil Urges
[ATO; 2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 4.7.

I don't know, I think this is a pretty bold move. It's like they stood up for themselves and said, "Hey, wait a minute, guys. You're getting carried away calling us an 'important band.' We're not an 'important band.' In fact, we suck." In a way, it's the best song they've ever done. Because they're right. They do suck. They always sucked. We just didn't know because everything else also sucked.


The Orb
The Dream
[Six Degrees / Traffic Inc.; 2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 3.6.

I stared at this review for a while with an uneasy feeling that I should know what this is. I didn't read it. It was more of a "transfixed by the cover art and artist name" thing. I had the feeling that it recognized me and I was supposed to return the favor. The sensation was probably a bit like what having Alzheimer's is like. I didn't enjoy it.

So I found some snippets online and listened, and it came rushing back: this is one of those shitty interchangeable 90's UK techno supergroups, like The Crystal Method or U.N.K.L.E. or The Chemical Brothers or Fatboy Slim or Prodigy or etc. etc. The Orb. The Orb. Which one were they? Was that the "shamma dah dow boy, kneecaps boy" song from the Trainspotting Soundtrack? Nope. That's "Born Slippy" by Underworld. Well then. The Orb is just one of the other ones, then. They probably had a hit beat that I would recognize. If I heard it, I would probably describe it as something like "the one that goes bowbow bow bow BOOOOM tikkatik tik tikka tik." But I'm not gonna waste my time tracking down the big Orb hit from 1996.

I looked them up on Wikipedia. They are old now. It must be sad to be an old man in 2008 with all of your worldly possessions hitched up to the "big techno" wagon. Hopefully they're drug addled enough not to know what year it is. There are certain situations under which memory loss can be a blessing.


Christopher Bissonnette
In Between Words
[Kranky; 2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 6.7.

This is a total snoozefest. As in it's the vanguard of the ambient electro-composition scene, and this guy is going to headline Snoozefest this year, with support from other notable acts such as "a vacuum cleaner in the next room" and "hissing baby monitor." Get your tickets now.


Walter Meego
Voyager
[Sony / Almost Gold; 2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 6.5.

Sometimes I wonder if I hate fun. That would depend on whether or not fun is this. If it is, I hate it. If fun is subjective, then I love fun but hate this.

(FYI it's American Apparel music for ironic fucking.)


James Pants
Welcome
[Stones Throw; 2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 5.0.

Oh man. This is strange. I feel like I'm being busted right now, because from a musical standpoint this is exactly like Walter Meego, but for some reason I like it and I think it's great and I want to be friends with James Pants and have fun dancing at a house party while he's playing. For some reason I feel like delineating the subtle differences so as to not come off as a hypocrite.

There's two kinds of kidding: real kidding and fake kidding. Walter Meego are either really really amazingly great like next level shit at kidding, or else, more likely, they're fake kidding. I don't know how else you'd explain something like this. It's ineffective kidding in bad taste. Or else, basically the same thing, it's wishful thinking fake kidding in bad taste by some dudes on a major label. The bad taste I can live with. The bad at kidding I can't. If it's a joke, I should be laughing. There are only like two actual jokes that happen in that video, and they're not good or funny. You get the feeling that the Walter Meego guys themselves are not actually funny. They seem like the kind of guys who'll call your sister fat and then say "just kidding" as if that saves it.

James Pants on the other hand, is really kidding. Which I appreciate. If you're going to be a joke, I figure, be serious about it. Joke all the way. Don't make a synth-overload song called "Girls" and then accompany it with an expensive-looking video about how you've got the power to airblast any female just by walking by them and then in the course of its narrative never smirk even once or have a punchline. It's confusing. I think you're probably a joke, but if the joke you're trying to make (and either you're playing your cards too close to your chest or else you're a shitty joker) is that you're not a joke, then either I'm not in on that joke, or else you're actually a total fucking JOKE. And regardless of what's happening, I'm too busy trying to figure this out to be able to enjoy myself, so it's not fun or funny. So if you don't mind, I'm going to go hang out with my buddy James Pants, who would never call my sister fat but would, and often does, gleefully fuck a fat chick.

But of course the distinction is all hypothetical. I'm not gonna go out and buy or routinely listen to either of these albums. I just would be psyched to be at a James Pants party, and if I was at a Walter Meego party, I'd feel a "this sucks" compulsion to get drunk on the official vodka sponsor, pull the plug on the band, get kicked out by the black suit black t-shirt bouncer with the secret service ear thingie, and then piss on the banana tree in the lobby of The W on my way out. That would be the only way I could enjoy myself. In other words, it's asshole music, where James Pants is buddyfun music.