Pitchfork Reviews 4/17/08

The Kooks
Konk
[Astralwerks / Virgin; 2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 4.9.

Story: when I was like 14 I was riding in the car with my Mom and trying to find something to listen to on the radio. She was like "turn it off!" And I was like "come on, we can just find something we both like." Then she slapped my hand away from the radio, turned to me, and sneered "I would rather hear total silence than my FAVORITE SONG OF ALL TIME."

Blew my 14 year old mind.

It sounds more severe than it really was, too. My Mom just gets stressed out when she's driving.

But: sometimes, for instance when listening to The Kooks, I understand her point. Music is essentially all just noise. None of it is really necessary, and, worse, it's both incessant and generally homogeneous. In a way, this IS silence. Only less interesting. I get it now, Mom. Good one.


Black Francis
SVN FNGRS
[Cooking Vinyl; 2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 6.8.

I wrote earlier in a re-review of a Breeders album that the Pixies are getting close to useless. I mean, how many times have you heard Doolittle? It is going to reveal something new on the 148th listen? Is it just comfortable, the auditory equivalent of cleaning the toilet and taking out the trash in a pair of old sweatpants? I think more or less. It's certainly no longer immediate. But that's fine. Immediate is overrated.

The problem with rock music (or any creative endeavor) from a practitioner's standpoint is your vitality wanes as your ability waxes. There's a perfect nexus in the middle where they intersect, and then it's goodnight forever and you'll never be as good again. There are two treatments but no cure.

One is you can try to get some vitality back with a "fuck it" release like this one and do the best stuff you've done in years. But your ability is such that even when you shit out stuff like the purposefully bad, vaguely "OMG is Black Francis rapping?" track like "The Seus" (worth a listen) it's still got too much polish, completely by accident. It's just the years of experience and there's nothing you can do. Despite every effort to fight against it, it still kind of sounds like you know what you're doing.

The second way you can do things is to go with "pared-down minimalist arrangements" so that the effects of your musical ability take a downward swerve into "I'm only this vital now" territory, and you get the serious musician treatment. Exhibit A: that Johnny Cash covers album. But still you get betrayed here by your musical abilities and it ends up sounding "fucking great" by some arbitrary non-rock chamber music standard, and you're tunefully humming in an experienced musicianly way that none of the young kids can or want to, idling like some Eric Clapton Ferrari museum piece stuck in neutral, and even though you didn't do anything difficult, you did it so "soulfully" and with such "knowledge" and "weathered voice" that everybody is forced to admit it's because you're a genius. Even though the music itself is boring.

Frank Black has gone both ways, and I like this "fuck it" one more. But that doesn't make it necessary. Sadly, I'd rather just wait until it's time to clean the toilet and take out the trash, even though his "fuck it" stuff is still pretty great. Thanks a lot for still making records, Frank Black. Even if they're pretty good, all they're doing at this point is reminding us about how we're all gonna die.


Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark
Dazzle Ships
[Virgin; 1983/2008]

Pitchfork gave it an 8.4.

Since reissue discoveries say as much about what's going on as actual music, I can only conclude that in April 2008 we were looking for a British answer to Animal Collective's Strawberry Jam techno leanings. And we wanted it to be Patrick Wolf.

Unfortunately, both Animal Collective and Patrick Wolf are almost intolerable, and going back 25 years in time for such a comparison is a kind of unfair thing to do to Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. Or it would be if they were anything but a pretentious arty new wave band with a long lost "interesting album." Which means that the comparison is not unfair. My attitude about all of these guys: I like this more than I don't, but it's not going to get a ton of play around my house. Maybe it's just for the kids.


Autistic Daughters
Uneasy Flowers
[Kranky; 2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 7.4.

My good old Dad was a hippie, but an M.I.T. hippie, so he was also a nerd while at the same time as being a hippie. I'm a nerd too, but I feel like my partying experiences are valid enough. So when my Dad gets a couple in him and decides it's ok to let slip a drug story or two because we're both adults, it's believable. He's not embellishing to sound cool. The man gave up on cool a long long time ago.

One thing I remember him saying once was "I never understood people who did downers for fun." It's an A-plus observation/turn of phrase, and pretty great Dad wisdom.

These guys do downers for fun.

Also: I didn't even notice this upon first listen, because I usually listen first and investigate second, but these people call themselves "Autistic Daughters." Like that's really what they are called.


Naked on the Vague
The Blood Pressure Sessions
[Dual Plover; 2007/2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 7.3.

This is slowed-down Australian doom noise punk issued in the U.S. by Siltbreeze, and the part of me that likes it at all finds it to be excellent. There's a big part of me that hates it, too, but that's the same part of me that loves "Rich Girl" by Hall and Oates, and I can't give that part full control, otherwise I'd base my entire taste in music on how much everything sounds like Thriller. And I don't need to do that, it more or less already happened for 25 years.

I once asked my Dad what kind of mood he'd have to be in to enjoy speed metal, and his response was "comatose." And he was talking about Master of Puppets, which in terms of mass appeal is like The Archies compared to Naked on the Vague. But in the case of Master of Puppets, he's got a point. You try listening to that whole thing.

Even though I can no longer tolerate Metallica, I still like to annoy my imaginary inner parents at least as much as I like to listen to my real parents. "You want silence, Mom? How about I play some Naked on the Vague at full volume until you beg for the opportunity to listen to a little Simon and Garfunkel, because I'm not in the mood for silence!" I wish I could say that part of me was dead, but nope. And I'm not sure I want it to be. If I was in a super bad mood and angry teen rock fan me flared up, I might actually find it fun to do downers to the point of being just this side of comatose and then put some Naked on the Vague on. Suck it, Mom and Dad! Huuwah! Nyeh! I'm 30!