Please read this article. As it stands right now, every leftist blasting Wal-Mart might as well stop in to a Supercenter and pick up some patio furniture. You've already paid for it.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Why aren't you listening to Grizzly Bear?
No seriously. Are they too pretty? Listening to Grizzly bear is the most satisfying musical experience I've had since I was 14 and heard The Beatles' Revolver. Both bands satisfied something inside me that recognizes exceptionally well composed pieces of pop music.
Why is it so much easier for me to write about something I hate than something I really like?
When Katy Perry stand next to Anna Kournikova on the Graham Norton show, you realize no matter how hard Katy makes those tits work, she can't cut it. Unless you prefer a cheap date, the grace and strength of Anna makes Katy seem kind of pathetic. Anna exerts herself for a living. What does Katy do? Squeeze into tight dresses?
Grizzly Bear may be more challenging to listen to then say, the Katy Perry's of the world (sorry, she works for both comparisons), but like Anna and her natural grace and hard earned strength, they're also more worthwhile. But because they're incorrectly grouped with their contemporaries, fashionable novelty acts like Beach House, they haven't earned their deserved level of notoriety. A more accurate comparison could be made with canonical pop acts like the Beach Boys.
Take Beach House. Victoria Legrand has an undeniably haunting and recognizable voice. OK, fine. Who is that other guy? What is she doing with that keyboard? Are they crafting songs? Or is he wanking on arpeggios for four minutes?
Like Beach House, most acts today are gimmick rockers. There's nothing unexpected. The argument is usually that their sound is organic, less produced, more raw. Yeah, okay, but do you want raw meat or a perfectly prepared steak with all the trimmings? This isn't the 70's. Stop pretending it's novel to not know how to play your instruments.
Like Grizzle Bear. These guys make you work for it. Because they're not writing it to sell. They're nervous art school boys, they like to keep to themselves. It's a cliche but that's what makes it so satisfying. Perhaps it's good these guys aren't mega stars. I don't know what I'd do if I saw Ed Droste on reality TV, drunkenly apologizing for infidelity I'd like to think I'd be sick. But if you're reading this, you're probably not going to sell them out. So please go give them a listen.
Why is it so much easier for me to write about something I hate than something I really like?
When Katy Perry stand next to Anna Kournikova on the Graham Norton show, you realize no matter how hard Katy makes those tits work, she can't cut it. Unless you prefer a cheap date, the grace and strength of Anna makes Katy seem kind of pathetic. Anna exerts herself for a living. What does Katy do? Squeeze into tight dresses?
Grizzly Bear may be more challenging to listen to then say, the Katy Perry's of the world (sorry, she works for both comparisons), but like Anna and her natural grace and hard earned strength, they're also more worthwhile. But because they're incorrectly grouped with their contemporaries, fashionable novelty acts like Beach House, they haven't earned their deserved level of notoriety. A more accurate comparison could be made with canonical pop acts like the Beach Boys.
Take Beach House. Victoria Legrand has an undeniably haunting and recognizable voice. OK, fine. Who is that other guy? What is she doing with that keyboard? Are they crafting songs? Or is he wanking on arpeggios for four minutes?
Like Beach House, most acts today are gimmick rockers. There's nothing unexpected. The argument is usually that their sound is organic, less produced, more raw. Yeah, okay, but do you want raw meat or a perfectly prepared steak with all the trimmings? This isn't the 70's. Stop pretending it's novel to not know how to play your instruments.
Like Grizzle Bear. These guys make you work for it. Because they're not writing it to sell. They're nervous art school boys, they like to keep to themselves. It's a cliche but that's what makes it so satisfying. Perhaps it's good these guys aren't mega stars. I don't know what I'd do if I saw Ed Droste on reality TV, drunkenly apologizing for infidelity I'd like to think I'd be sick. But if you're reading this, you're probably not going to sell them out. So please go give them a listen.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
It's not easy having a vag
I'm here to tell you this is one of the worst times in recent history to be a woman. Well, maybe one of the hardest times. It reminds me a little bit of being a man these days: you're treated disdainfully if you're not sexual enough, ironically if you're overtly sexual. Time was Phyllis Diller and Joan Rivers were around to remind you that even if you're not Bo Derrick, you could still maybe tell a few jokes, do some unusual sexual favors and end up married and pretty happy.
Now, nobody tells it like it is (except maybe Mad Men,which uses the guise of 60's high fashion to tell some pretty startlingly rich stories about women). You're stuck between two choices: The obnoxiously pretty, like Taylor Swift, who uses her charming looks to shove her chastity in your face, or Key$ha, who's small frame acts as the ironic fuel for her debauchery. But it's never enough; these girls aren't particularly sexual, they're not even particularly attractive. What they are is offensive to the senses. This is the qualification now for pop stardom: whoever can shout the loudest and annoy me the most will get the record contract. Never mind if they secretly deserve to be boiled alive, or if they show an shocking lack of talent. That's part of the act, that's part of what they're throwing in your faces: "Look guys, I'm not talented but I'm shouting and dressing like an autistic clown and I'm a star, it's okay to be mediocre!"
That's why these young women are popular: like reality TV, like watching the Kardashian's shit all over human accomplishment, like a man eating a ten pound cheeseburger on live TV while everyone silently hopes his coronary hits on screen, they exist to make people feel better about themselves. But I'm not for it. I don't care if I'm the last hold out alive and I never get laid again, (why is it that women always fall for this shit first?), I'll go to my grave alone and smiling.
That reminds me, this was supposed to be about women. When did I get on the topic of myself? Anyway, for women, nobody is telling it like it is. Pop culture is now too baked in sensibilities, like all things, it's too afraid to take risks, nervously holding it's breath while everyone waits for the next great depression to hit. I miss cocaine, I miss amphetamines and LSD and the affects they had on our pop culture. Where has all the weirdness gone? There's still pockets, still little chances for incredible talent to seep through, (go listen to Grizzly Bear now) but on the whole, who cares? Ke$ha could bend over, spread her vagina lips and give birth to a black baby on live TV and two weeks later we'd be waiting for the next big dump to be taken all over America. I'm going to read a book.
Now, nobody tells it like it is (except maybe Mad Men,which uses the guise of 60's high fashion to tell some pretty startlingly rich stories about women). You're stuck between two choices: The obnoxiously pretty, like Taylor Swift, who uses her charming looks to shove her chastity in your face, or Key$ha, who's small frame acts as the ironic fuel for her debauchery. But it's never enough; these girls aren't particularly sexual, they're not even particularly attractive. What they are is offensive to the senses. This is the qualification now for pop stardom: whoever can shout the loudest and annoy me the most will get the record contract. Never mind if they secretly deserve to be boiled alive, or if they show an shocking lack of talent. That's part of the act, that's part of what they're throwing in your faces: "Look guys, I'm not talented but I'm shouting and dressing like an autistic clown and I'm a star, it's okay to be mediocre!"
That's why these young women are popular: like reality TV, like watching the Kardashian's shit all over human accomplishment, like a man eating a ten pound cheeseburger on live TV while everyone silently hopes his coronary hits on screen, they exist to make people feel better about themselves. But I'm not for it. I don't care if I'm the last hold out alive and I never get laid again, (why is it that women always fall for this shit first?), I'll go to my grave alone and smiling.
That reminds me, this was supposed to be about women. When did I get on the topic of myself? Anyway, for women, nobody is telling it like it is. Pop culture is now too baked in sensibilities, like all things, it's too afraid to take risks, nervously holding it's breath while everyone waits for the next great depression to hit. I miss cocaine, I miss amphetamines and LSD and the affects they had on our pop culture. Where has all the weirdness gone? There's still pockets, still little chances for incredible talent to seep through, (go listen to Grizzly Bear now) but on the whole, who cares? Ke$ha could bend over, spread her vagina lips and give birth to a black baby on live TV and two weeks later we'd be waiting for the next big dump to be taken all over America. I'm going to read a book.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Kimbra should not write her own music
It's true. I said it. I have nothing against the little Kiwi. She definitely knows what she's doing behind a microphone. If anything, it's her talent that's holding her back. Like most songstresses of the day, she thinks that because she's got the pipes to bring the house down, she's an artist. But she's not. If anything, she's a technician. If you haven't already, go listen to her Grizzly Bear/Tears For Fears remix. At about two minutes in, she coos out the first few words of Head Over Heels, and then quickly belts out the next line like she just found Jesus. That kind of feminine mood swing is very sexy, but it's almost definitely calculated. Incidentally, I think it's the best work she's done, and it's NOT EVEN HER FREAKING SONG.
Not that there's anything wrong with that. The advent of soul performers singing their own works is a fairly recent one. In the 50's and 60's, you'd have been hard pressed to find a Motown singer doing their own lyrics. Teams like Holland–Dozier–Holland and Ashford & Simpson wrote thoughtful and charismatic songs that great performers like Marvin Gaye and Quincy Jones just didn't have the talent have come up with on their own.
That's the disease Kimbra's suffers from. It's rare to find someone with the observational skills, personal demons and sense of humor to be a talented songwriter, and at the same time be a great performer (see: Amy Winehouse). The personality types the two talents require are almost diametrically opposed. So predictably, her results are a little uneven: "Settle Down", is a charming song on female frustration that suffers from inane lyrics (I wanna raise a child/ I wanna raise a child/ Won't you raise a child with me?/ raise a child), and a break that goes nowhere and extends an already strained structure. Even worse are "Cameo Lover" and "Plain Gold Ring". Both songs exemplify the kind of identity crisis a talented songwriter would never suffer from.
I feel a little bad. Lord knows throughout all these songs, and particularly Settle Down, Kimbra's voice comes across as authentic, sassy and even a touch hurt. She's got the pipes to make it to the top of the charts (Or be the number 1 or download, whatever), but until she learns her limitations, it's tough for me to see her as more than a niche artist.
Not that there's anything wrong with that. The advent of soul performers singing their own works is a fairly recent one. In the 50's and 60's, you'd have been hard pressed to find a Motown singer doing their own lyrics. Teams like Holland–Dozier–Holland and Ashford & Simpson wrote thoughtful and charismatic songs that great performers like Marvin Gaye and Quincy Jones just didn't have the talent have come up with on their own.
That's the disease Kimbra's suffers from. It's rare to find someone with the observational skills, personal demons and sense of humor to be a talented songwriter, and at the same time be a great performer (see: Amy Winehouse). The personality types the two talents require are almost diametrically opposed. So predictably, her results are a little uneven: "Settle Down", is a charming song on female frustration that suffers from inane lyrics (I wanna raise a child/ I wanna raise a child/ Won't you raise a child with me?/ raise a child), and a break that goes nowhere and extends an already strained structure. Even worse are "Cameo Lover" and "Plain Gold Ring". Both songs exemplify the kind of identity crisis a talented songwriter would never suffer from.
I feel a little bad. Lord knows throughout all these songs, and particularly Settle Down, Kimbra's voice comes across as authentic, sassy and even a touch hurt. She's got the pipes to make it to the top of the charts (Or be the number 1 or download, whatever), but until she learns her limitations, it's tough for me to see her as more than a niche artist.
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