You Can't Put A Price On Art

Recently, the RIAA's been stickin' its nose where it shouldn't be. It's one thing to sue file-share programs like Limewire and Kazza, but Muxtape? Where do the motherfuckers get off? Or rather, what do the motherfuckers get off on? Money? They're so worried about losing a little green or dipping into the red that they'll lash out at the audience, the ones who used to shell out money for quality (or shit) music, to make it exclusive again. There weren't Muxtapes or Limewires in 1967, or 1977, or 1987, and I don't think in 1997. Back then, you either bought the LP, the EP, the CD, or the single. NO. EXCEPTIONS.

But times have changed. The Internet has opened up the entire world and revolutionized how we (people) interact and exchange information. Pretty soon, two factions were at war. One faction (the lovely people who made programs like Napster, Limewire, and Muxtape) saw the Internet as an open highway, a way to spread information and what people wanted, such as good music for free. The second faction (RIAA, Lars Ulrich) saw the Internet as a marketing tool, a way to spread information and good music for a price. These two were natural enemies from the beginning. And who is right depends on who you ask. I say Faction One is right. Not (only) because I'm a cheap music nerd, but because you can't put a price on art.

Yes, art.

A general definition of art is a class of objects that can be aesthetically judged. But it goes deeper than that. Art is a reflection of the outer world, as well as a looking glass into the soul. Art conveys thoughts, feelings, the abstract and the known. Good art can amaze and astound you, but great art speaks to you. Reaches past all logic and reason to touch upon your very soul. That art defies all time, space, and age to reach immortality. And music does that. In fact, music does that best.

Think about it. A painting can defy time and age to become immortal, but it doesn't move. The words written in a novel can convey emotion, speak to the mind and soul, and become timeless enough to defy time, space, and age; but it doesn't move. But music moves. Music can shift, and chug, and pound, and groove, and spaz, and stomp, and erupt, and dance a pirouette upon the gossamer silk strings of a spider web. Music can scream, and whisper, and moan, and bemoan, and hum, and whistle, and croak, and wheeze, and weave a dense curtain of lush sound.

How can you price that?

How do you price that?

The business aspect of the music industry is one of the most perilous dangers an artist can face. To survive unscathed, you either need to be a shallow, conforming slave (a la the chump in "Pull My Strings" by The Dead Kennedys) or do the business aspect yourself (do I hear "In Rainbows"?). Anything in between those poles is cruising for a bruising. Artists have declared bankruptcy to escape contracts. Lou Reed went as far as recording Metal Music Machine (which isn't that bad actually. Just not...um..."authentic" enough to be a genuine foray into avant-garde noise).

The business aspect of the music industry is so ready to make a profit that it will do the cardinal sin of making music cold and distant; a hollowed out husk barely retaining its shape. Picture it. Muzak? Boy bands? Emo music? The Spice Girls? Please shudder where appropriate, or suggest any additions. So the RIAA is not only giving us a slap on the wrist, but they're trying to chain us to an archaic system and spitting in the face of art. Art was not meant to be sold. You can't expect to get rich selling art.

and So whenever you hear a story about the latest RIAA lawsuit, don't be surprised and ask yourself, "How could they?" It's just business as usual to them. And business was good until the Napsters and Muxtapes started showing up. Faction One vs. Faction Two. And its a war that won't be stopped until A) A worldwide police state is created or B) The RIAA is put six feet down.

That's not extreme. That's the truth. The RIAA won't stop until everything is set for a price. Today, it's 99 cent downloads; tomorrow, they'll have you buy the whole album for one song. Now it's pretty clear to see that greed and art do not go together well. They may gotten along during the fifties and sixties when some of the basic rules were being written, but it's clear now that a greed/art relationship can only be detrimental to a music nerd (or appreciator).

So don't be cynical enough to claim that people are just being cheap when they illegally download music or borrow it from a friend. That can be a motivation. But another motivation is that good music is an essential art form. And you can't put a price on art.

The Magic of John Fahey

Woo hoo, another record review/life story/tribute to an idol post. Great. But what the hell, this guy's worth it. And this review may be crap, but who cares?

So who's heard of John Fahey? Anyone? If yes, than just skip to the bottom for free music. If not, please keep reading.

John Fahey was an American acoustic guitarist born in 1939 and went on to spearhead a movement called American Primitivism, which involved country blues fingerpicking used to make avant-garde/neo-classical music. His career started in 1959 with the recording of the album Blind Joe Death, and went on from there until his death until 2001.

I've only heard of John Fahey recently, having discovered his CD Death Chants, Breakdowns, and Military Waltzes (1967) in the basement last month:


I was skeptical when I first heard it because I've never been much of a folk or country blues guy. But slowly, the CD grew on me, as I was slowly hypnotized by the rhythmic pattern of Fahey's strumming and picking. The opening tune, Sunflower River Blues, defined everything to be found on that CD, opening with four seperate chord flourishes before setting into a folksy picking groove. Since Fahey doesn't sing on this record, he lets his picking do all the talking (with the exception of The Downfall of the Adelphi Rolling Grist Mill where he duets with a flautist). It's not perfect, but it is a prime document of American Primitivism.

Fahey's other great CD, and stunning example of both his pick work and some slide work thrown in for good measure, would be The Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death (1965):

The CD follows the same pattern and style as Death Chants, Breakdowns, and Military Waltzes, but the production (or MP3) quality sounds better on this one. Fahey contines to amaze on what has to be his best CD. I can't even pick out a best track, since the whole thing meshes together to form one unified CD. Probably his best and my favorite and recommendation. But I'll let you judge for yourselves.

hxxp://www.sendspace.com/file/vh6azc (Death Chants)

hxxp://www.sendspace.com/file/zd0d0d (Transfiguration)

Sitting still and staring straight ahead

OK, so you know that little post that Cat made earlier about Rings Around the World? How she talked about the type of bands that you always want to check out but for some reason never get around to it until much later? Well, the same thing happened to me with this little band that I'm writing about in this post.



Let's take a time-machine and go back to early 2007: A Philadelphia band called A Sunny Day in Glasgow release their debut album. A certain popular hipster review site then gives it a R*c*mm*nd*d rating, and soon features it on some list that compiles the most under-rated stuff from the year. Of course, I hadn't really given a shit about that site's ratings (and I still don't) - however, curiosity may have killed the cat on for that one. The shoegaze/noise-pop comparisons were convincing enough, but I still hadn't bothered to check them out. Fast forward to now: a few days ago, I had gotten this record on a whim, only familiar with the name from the aforementioned review. Sure, I was listening to Supreme Clientele, You Turn Me On and Pinkerton, and those three records are good on their own, but given my slight compulsion to get more records, it was time to check out something new. Hence the whole "acquiring on a whim" thing.

The very moment I played Scribble Mural Comic Journal, I was enchanted - it really was shoegaze, but it felt like it had this modern twist to it. The lyrics were just as indecipherable, but the music that was drowning out the already-quiet voices was so dreamy. Whatever little lyrics I could find for the album felt like so dada-esque, like a slightly more understandable version of Liz Fraser's lyrics for Cocteau Twins' songs, but just as puzzling. Once the final seconds of the last track "The Best Summer Ever" had come to a close, I decided to play it again just as I went to bed that night, and it finally caught onto me. The fact that I hadn't checked this record out still makes me want to kick myself sometimes, but then again I did just listen to it a few minutes ago while I was typing this. Sometimes I feel the same about half the records that I get, but after a week or so it kind of fades away - those records still get played, albeit not as obsessively as the first week or so I had listened to it. Given how my city is halfway near the last month of winter, Scribble Mural Comic Journal only seems appropriate as the soundtrack to the tail-end of winter, fading as the sunrise only steps in even more everyday. Sure, it's no Loveless, but it's close enough as its modern counterpart.

Bon appetit!

hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?vfugkpyvauc

A strong though loving world

As if I'ma let Cat have the top post for more than like a second. If she wanna be on top she better be prepared to match my prodigious no-life-having. I mean output. Now let's get to business.

YOU! YOU THERE! READING YONDER BLOG! YES, YOU! You have probably heard of a band called the Velvet Underground. In fact I can almost picture you scoffing at the very thought that there might be, amongst the elite, resplendent ranks of robot cake readers (I steadfastly believe they exist, y'all can't tell me no ways diff'urnt), one who has not. I can see it now. You, scoffing at the computer screen. What foolishness! It will not change the text! I wrote it and it stays unless I find a typo, in which case I will edit it accordingly. Fuck, I'm off track again. Let me take a moment to reorient myself.

SO AS I WAS SAYING BEFORE YOUR COMPLETELY UNCALLED-FOR SCOFFING TOTALLY BEWILDERED ME: You have probably heard of the Velvet Underground. You all likely have differing opinions of the band's quality but you likely have heard their music and realize their importance in the evolution of rock and roll as an art form. If you are not a moron you will further know that their first two records, The Velvet Underground and Nico and White Light/White Heat are way better than their last two records. Why is this? Could it be Lou Reed just used up all of his good songs on those albums and had to use scraps to fill up the latter two? Of course not: the answer is the lump o' sex you see below, the incomparable Mr. John Cale.

Okay, maybe he's not a lump o' sex, but he's certainly a lump of something. 

Now I can imagine your formerly complacent self blubbering at the computer screen "B-b-but Mister Thomas, I thought Lou Reed was the famous genius!" I can only imagine why someone would both scoff and blubber at mere words on a screen but I don't pretend to be able to read your minds. While Lou Reed surely played a large part in the quality of The Velvet Underground, I find his solo career to be extremely lacking. Transformer, perhaps his most celebrated record, is an unconvincing stab at "glam" packed with shrill, shallow songs that irritate more than titillate. Although punctuated by some truly great tracks (Perfect Day, Walk on the Wild Side) it is, as one might say, totally crappy. Berlin was fairly good but overproduced. His only album I actually enjoy is New York, which is a solid rock and roll album. Overall I think Lou is capable of greatness (evidenced by VU and several great solo songs) but so much of his catalog is just bland. He just doesn't have very much range. All of his albums are just straight rock or straight pop rock (I'm not counting Metal Machine Music because he just did that to get out of a contract). I'm probably grossly misrepresenting him since I haven't heard all his records, but when I heard Magic and Loss I couldn't help but forsake him (subtext: Magic and Loss is really shitty).

ON! THE! OTHER! HAND! John Cale is extra hot great. I won't lie, he has had some really bad albums as well. I won't pass him off as a wonderman who can do no wrong. He can do wrong and he has. However, what separates him from Lou Reed is that John Cale changes. Rarely do Cale albums sound like each other. His first solo album, Vintage Violence (which, incidentally, is only decent), is light country pop. Consider that, and also consider the last song Cale released before Vintage Violence was a 17-minute noise freakout where he bashed on an organ like a man possessed. John Cale is an innovator, an experimenter. His experimentation with noise and drone made the Velvet Underground great. His need for innovation assured that he would not dwell on noise and drone for his entire career, but reinvent his sound constantly. EXAMPLE: Cale's most famous and highly rated album, Paris 1919, heavily features beautifully arranged strings, and beautiful, delicate, almost chamber-pop songs (IT'S ALSO NOT HIS BEST ONLY ONE OF THE BEST DON'T ONLY DOWNLOAD THIS ONE). None of his other records sound remotely like that. Like, at all. Ever. It takes a truly courageous man to step away from a formula that produced such marvelous success. 

Cale has released pop songs, love songs, rock songs, extremely minimalist avant-garde anti-songs (I made that term up, it means nothing), hyper-aggressive punk songs, ballads, and classical. Also his voice: maybe the best? Not technically, of course, but I have heard no voice in music that can match his in terms of convincingly conveying such a broad range of emotion. When he breaks down into insane yelping, he sounds like an unstable, coked-up maniac (which he was for a while). His vocals on "Cable Hogue" affect me like none other ever have. His anger and self-hatred on "Guts" are startlingly authentic (probably because it is authentic. His friend Kevin Ayers had sex with Cale's wife. Guts is not affected in any way, it is Cale's mind). What can I say? John Cale is one of modern music's greatest treasures. Genius is wasted if it doesn't strive to go beyond complacency. Cale has never been complacent. He has always gone above and beyond to create something amazing. He hasn't always succeeded, but at least he aspires to do something different. The same can't be said for certain other members of a certain band.

Now comes the real treat: after metaphorically jizzing repeatedly on John Cale, I can't leave you with one mere album, especially after playing up his prodigious range. YOU good sir are left with EIGHT JOHN CALE ALBUMS I AM SO GENEROUS CAN YOU EVEN STAND IT

Vintage Violence (his solo debut. Country pop, nothing too special, it's good enough)

hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?zzmfnzs7xlb

Fear, Slow Dazzle, and Helen of Troy (the "Island Trilogy," these sound the most alike of any of his records. Contains some of his best work, e.g. Fear, Heartbreak Hotel, Gun, Guts, Helen of Troy, Ship of Fools, Cable Hogue, Leaving it Up to You, etc)
hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?q92qtfoylhk
hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?1d3vurjijcv
hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?e1m88rfh08h

Paris 1919 (classic)

hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?ebtioefwiop

Music for a New Society (extremely minimalistic, bleak, poetic, avant garde. Great but not an easy listen. Also extremely hard to get a hold of. You're welcome.)

hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?vlwcdl7biaw

Sabotage/Live (a live set at CBGB's with Cale at his loudest and most aggressive.)

hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?ncvndom4pfv

Fragments of a Rainy Season (live album of all of Cale's best. Every song only feature Cale on one instrument, either piano or acoustic guitar. The incredibly stripped-down style exposes the strength of the compositions)

hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?klz8cdb49vm

Other recommended records include Hobosapiens (bought on iTunes so I can't upload) and Circus Live (too large a file to upload)

I'm not in love with you, but I won't hold that against you

So you know those kinds of bands that you always mean to get into sooner or later, but yet you never really find the time to get around to checking them out? Well, up until a couple of months ago, Super Furry Animals were That Band for me. I had always been sort of intrigued by the idea of them—wacky Welsh psych-poppers, what's not to love?—yet I had always been distracted by other bands whose discographies I hadn't quite fully explored. It became more of a pressing matter with their discovery by my British friend Richard, who soon bought their entire discography on a whim before seeing them in concert. Incidentally, a couple of months ago is when I was going to Europe for the first time and taking some time off from my family's and my primary destination of Paris to take a day trip to London. I had told Richard that I was only going there to meet another friend, Alex, and that my parents would not let me see anyone else since they were going to be with me. Well, as it turned out, my parents let Alex and me go off on our own since they went to get a cell phone (figures...sorry Rich, next time), and Alex had picked up the greeting present from Richard to give to me. I opened the loosely wrapped package and out fell the SFAs' first two albums, Fuzzy Logic and Radiator, as well as a mix CD. Once I got around to listening to them, I was hooked on their idiosyncratic lyrics and impeccable melodies. But as much as I liked those two albums, it was the SFA song that Richard had included on the mix CD, "Receptacle For The Respectable," that most captivated me. It was incidentally the first song I'd heard by them, months prior, and I was glad to revisit it. But while that first time I'd been jarred by the transition from a perfect pop song in the first minute and a half to faux-death metal vocals and blorpy electronic sounds at the end, now I saw it as amusing—and addictive. I knew I wanted to hear more from these guys, so I made it my mission to track down the album that that song was from, Rings Around The World. Luckily for me, it wasn't that hard at all to find—when I made my quarterly trip to my local record store a few weeks later, there it was, and used and under $10 to boot! I took it home, wondering what would be in store—and I was not disappointed. As Richard would say, it's bloody brilliant.

Yes, I'm aware that it's got an ugly cover, but albums are like books—they can't be judged by the covers. It's certainly not a cohesive album in the traditional sense, what with its constant genre-hopping from pop to folk to electronic to soul, sometimes even within the span of one song! Byt my best description of this album is that it reminds me a good bit of The Flaming Lips' The Soft Bulletin, but it's EVEN BETTER. And Welsh! (although sadly not in Welsh, check out "Torra Fy Ngwallt Yn Hir"—or "Nick The Dolly, Your Wife Went Here," as I like to call it—off Radiator for that) Like the Lips' 1999 masterpiece, this album has an epic, sweeping feel and tight pop hooks, but it's far goofier and much less serious in tone, and its instrumentals are mercifully shorter than The Soft Bulletin's. "(A) Touch Sensitive" is actually a track that holds its own with the songs with vocals, it's a neat little electronic piece. And the rest of the songs are just plain great. "It's Not The End Of The World?" is perhaps the most "epic" of the songs on Rings Around The World with its echo effect and swelling strings, but it's not so much an apocalyptic anthem as a reassurance when things are bad ("At least it's not the end of the world!"), and it also throws in a hilarious falsetto from singer Gruff Rhys. The somewhat-title track, "(Drawing) Rings Around The World," is a silly, fuzzy power-pop track with such whimsical lyrics as "Sheep are becoming radioactive!" and "Earth will become Saturn II!", which really add to its fun atmosphere. At the far opposite end of the spectrum from that song is "No Sympathy," which starts off as a folk-ballad ode to misanthropy and veers off into synth noise by the end. "Run! Christian, Run!" is a sweeping, slow country song that skewers cultish religious fundamentalists (which I find particularly amusing.) Best of all, aside from the aforementioned "Receptacle For The Respectable," is "Presidential Suite," which has this unforgettable opening verse:

Monica and naughty Billy

Got together something silly

A holy war out of lusty minutes

Another Cuban cigar crisis

Honestly, do we need to know if he really came inside her mouth?

How will all this affect me now and later?

So basically this is one of the best pop albums I've discovered this year, and the SFA are in strong contention for the best band I've discovered this year (although The Magnetic Fields are giving them some stiff competition), and anyone who likes a little idiosyncrasy and creativity in music ought to love Rings Around The World. Enjoy!

hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?znnmz4nzzjl

Check 'em out if they're your thing

So a while back I was trollin' eBay looking for posters (sweet callback to the previous post, by the way. I know, thank you) and there was only one Shellac poster. I didn't buy it because it was ugly like a butt but (Protip: If your writing includes the phrase "butt but" you are the tits) below "Shellac" on the poster was the word "Pinebender." If a band was good enough that Shellac toured with them, I figured they were worth investigation.

So a few minutes of research told me Pinebender was a band (From my hometown of Wilmette [aka "Thrillmette"] no less!) that played slow, heavy math/post/whatever-rock. Not very original but there are worse genres.

I downloaded their record The High Price of Living Too Long with a Single Dream (the title of which I have to believe is inspired by The Great Gatsby, so, you know, bonus points) off of iTunes on a whim. And it isn't bad at all.

However, it's not an immortal, 5-star classic, either. This isn't going to change the minds of anyone who thinks loud, droning, down-tempo songs are musical NyQuil. The lead singer's voice is nothing to write home about either. Unless it's in a letter home where you, like, are in the 1800s and you have to tell your parents that your wife Clarabelle died from the typhoid, and that, like, a week earlier, your would-be child Caleb came out stillborn. In which case you might as well throw it in. But honestly it's very solid for what it is. It's pretty loud, reasonably hypnotic, non-pretentious, and the songs are good. If really slow Dinosaur Jr. or less crystalline Slint sound like things you would enjoy, check them out. They're not "big" and they deserve to be a lot bigger. Even if only one of the people who read this listen to them, that's still one more person listening to them.

Since I bought the record on iTunes I can't upload it and put it here because of Apple's jackassery. It's only 8 bucks on iTunes, though, and I think most of you can swing that. Just give them a chance.

You call it cheap entertainment

The glory you see above is just one of the many stunning beautifications hung upon the walls of my room, a room which you plebeians no doubt would attempt to visit but for the knowledge that I would instantly turn you away and laugh at your worthless efforts to look on the wondrousness.

A funny story about this poster is that I owned it before I actually owned my first physical Rocket From the Crypt album, and not for lack of trying. Well, it's not really a "funny" story, but bear with me, you morons. Tear yourself away from your Animal Collective long enough for me to lead you to some skull-cracking awesomeness.

 

It all began long ago, when my attentions were brought to the existence of a band known as Drive Like Jehu. I could tell the tale of exactly how this band was brought to my attention, but it's best left unexplained (if memory serves, it involved smuggling child pornography to a prominent Russian politician I'm 80% sure wasn't Vladimir Putin. Once again, best left unexplained). The next few times I found myself in Borders or some other such store I thought it would be a lark to scan the music section and try to find a DLJ album. I honestly did not expect to find one, and my hunch proved correct as there were none to be found. Eventually I made my way to an indie store, thinking it would have to be there, only to find it MIA yet again. I ended up searching on iTunes and finding their second (and last) album, Yank Crime, available. I was very pleased with its absolute fucking quality from top to bottom. While it was amazing, it was not what I'd call skull-cracking, and hey, I promised you skull-cracking. Its complex, intertwining twin guitar lines and post-punkish time signature crap made for quality music but the brutality was somewhat waylaid by the "music theory" detours. It did not take long for me to learn of DLJ guitarist John Reis's other group, the group this article is dedicated to, Rocket From the Crypt.

Unlike Drive Like Jehu, RFTC is hard, fast, riff-heavy punk-rock ass-killing with no frills save for a two-man horn section which only serves to exacerbate the amazing. They even had a contract with a major label! And they had a modest hit with "On a Rope!" I figured I would have no trouble finding this band in the indies, and might, with luck, stumble across an album even in an evil corporate store! So wrong I was. I visited no fewer than 4 indie record stores and found not a single RFTC album. The internet offered a few options, but the albums I lusted after most, including their major label debut Scream, Dracula, Scream, were scarce, and, if available at all, overpriced out the ass. This was a band with a sizable fanbase, so why the hell are all their albums out of print and harder to find than reasons your dad never told you he was gay?

Eventually my RFTC jones was sated by a very generous member of last.fm. While they were very good, I couldn't help but think that my imagination had made them out to be some beautiful dream no band of mere men could ever possibly fulfill. I learned a valuable lesson that day about the dangers of hyperbole, and realized that no artist can create something perfect.

Just kidding, you stupid morons. They are fucking amazing. You need to listen to them and it's an absolute tragedy of nigh-Holocaust-levels that it's so difficult to get a hold of any of their records. In fact, all of John Reis's bands (all of which, in fact, are awesome) seem to keep their records hidden away in some kind of Indiana Jones-style temple/dungeon.

If only they were more available to today's kids I can guarantee they would be held in as high esteem as whatever passes for punk rock these days. Times New Viking? Cute. But come on, now. I used to call the no-holds-barred riffery of RFTC "the thinking man's butt rock" but then I realized that all I was thinking about was how much I was being rocked by the amazing butt rock I was listening to.

One last thing: Some of a certain viewpoint may say that John Reis's singing voice, while impassioned, is largely tuneless and difficult to decipher, ultimately a far cry from the emotional range of DLJ and Hot Snakes vocalist Rick Froberg. However, those of a more accurate viewpoint would rebut: Fuck you guys, shut your god damned mouth. John Reis is amazing and you're lucky he doesn't fucking murder your family.

Here is their album Scream, Dracula, Scream, which I count as my favorite. I think it might have the best first 6 songs of any record ever.

hxxp://mediafire.com/?fg3aq5eclvl