Pitchfork Reviews 4/8/08

Colin Meloy - Sings Live! [Kill Rock Stars; 2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 6.5.

I almost listened to this until I heard it was the guy from the Decembrists doing solo acoustic versions of Decembrists songs. Nice try, glittertits.

Wait, it's on Kill Rock Stars? Weird. I mean I guess it's an appropriate moniker for this guy's mission, but I never thought "Kill Rock Stars" meant "and replace them with guys who write for McSweeney's and think they're clever." That would make me want Rock Stars back.


Man Man - Rabbit Habits [Anti- 2008]

Pitchfork gave it an 8.0.

We know more or less how this one went. John Sharkey III of Philadelphia's Clockcleaner said something to the effect of "if this was 1994, Man Man would be a ska band" (I'm paraphrasing). And it was such a brutally, hilariously accurate put-down (I mean I guess, I was 14 in 1994, and went to a few ska shows, and had fun, whatever), that everybody jumped off of the Man Man bandwagon as quickly as they had (some of them) jumped on of it. Nevermind the fact that if it was 1994, Clockcleaner would still not quite be the Melvins. That's ok. It was a cruel, withering burn line. And, technically, yes that one anti-hype "this is bullshit" callout was better than this entire album. I mean, here I am remembering it.

But Man Man were a live act anyway. Putting them down for getting a ridiculously big fanbase of goofadoodle nerds is kind of unfair. You go there, at some point I think you're supposed to throw toast, you have a good time without ever needing to imbibe an illicit substance. You don't get laid until college. What's wrong with it? It's good clean fun. Makes the "cooler" among suburban parents feel safe that their kids aren't doing anything too dumb (or awesome). They're just going to a full on nerd-out, and you'll have a chance to smoke a little grass and watch an action movie with explosions and tits in it that the wife won't otherwise "let you" see (and you listen because it's better in the long run) and then you pick them up and you all go home.

I mean seriously: what's the harm in Man Man, John Sharkey III? Nobody treats Calvin Johnson like this. Why? Because he's better or because he's first? First. Better. Both. Right. Well, I get it. I'm more or less on your side.

Anyway, yeah, this album is like a thing you should get your 14 year old kid if he's getting really into sci-fi stuff and you don't want him to slip out the bottom end of D&D and end up like those gluesniffing weirdos at Gamer's Universe who make their own chain mail, listen to Sepultura, and are currently failing out of community college. Which is to say: both Man Man and 1994 ska have their time and place, and that place is at least also fun for girls (fun ones who aren't too jaded to give head yet). I'm looking at you, Clockcleaner.


James Brown - The Singles, Volume Five: 1967-1969 [Hip-O Select / Hip-O; 2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 7.9.

James Brown is untouchable, but what are we gonna, own this? The man is dead and we're not Hip Hop DJ's. We already have enough. Thanks but no thanks.


YMD - Excuse Me, This Is the Yah Mos Def [My Pal God; 2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 7.5.

Ok. So this is a "hardcore"/"hip-hop" hybrid. So... why do I like it?

Don't get me wrong, I don't necessarily "like" like it, like want to listen to it over and over again, but I'm glad it exists.

It's:

1. Shitty.
2. Obnoxious.
3. Insincere.
4. Derivative (Beastie Boys).
5. Fun.

Reminds me of the first high school bands people my age had in Silver Spring circa 1996. Basically "we're gonna try to combine X and Y, and we're going to have fun even (maybe especially) if it's terrible." That's a magical period of time. Like first you're a kid, then you're a teenager, and then your oldest friend gets a license and you realize you can use it to cart a drum kit and some amps in the back of somebody's mom's minivan, and you can BE IN A BAND and play church basements and all your friends will freak out and have fun and so will you, and you might even end up having sex even though everything you and everybody you know says is dumb.

So even though this is technically awful, it's the exact right kind of snotty we-don't-give-a-fuck awful that makes me want to go to a YMD show in a church basement while high on nutmeg (seriously, dude, nutmeg will get you high).


The Felice Brothers - The Felice Brothers [Team Love; 2008]

Pitchfork gave it a 5.5.

Pitchfork nailed these guys for trying to sound like Bob Dylan and the Band. But they didn't go the extra step of nailing Bob Dylan and the Band for trying to sound like Bob Dylan and the Band. They still like Bob Dylan. And Elvis Costello. Because apparently those guys haven't talked about themselves enough yet and they still need help. And here comes a jolly group of copycats, and they get flack for trying to sound like one of these guys, and I guess rightly so; but doesn't the fact that any buncha douches who gets a mind to can come reasonably close to the originals somehow tarnish the original guys? It's got to, right? To the point where you go "aw, fuck it" and never play Blonde on Blonde ever again. You just don't need to, despite what Jack Black tells Rich Talarico in High Fidelity. I mean, declared Dylan fandom is officially a Hollywood movie joke at this point.

Why the slavish devotion? Why bother playing king of the hill? Just say "a way off in the distance over yonder--that's Dylan's hill" and say "on a quiet night, you can hear him telling you about it." And then when the person you're talking to is quiet and listens, you squeak out of the side of your mouth in a fake faraway voice, "I'mmmmm Bobby Dyyyyylannnnn." And then you both laugh and laugh.

Maybe he's for campfire singalongs. And maybe he's the best choice available in an old person or a folk-y person's (same difference) music collection. And maybe in your darkest, meanest, most self-obsessed hour you can get crydrunk alone and play yourself some Dylan for catharsis. That's what he's there for. It's music for and by the self-obsessed.

Anyway, yeah, this sucks.