The Ultimate Singer Songwriter?
Josh Rouse continues to endure. He plays Turner Hall Sunday.
Jun 2nd, 2015
The Sheer Spirit of Split Single
Jason Narducy’s single project has resulted in a ton of sparkling songs; he plays (with Wilco’s bassist) at Cactus Club.
May 26th, 2015
Jenny Lewis All By Herself
Former Rilo Kiley singer is still doing great music, and will perform at Turner Hall.
May 18th, 2015
Japanese Noise Rock Loudly Comes
Melt-Banana comes to the Cactus Club, ready to discombobulate.
May 11th, 2015
The Overlooked Artistry of Alejandro Escovedo
A great musician who effortlessly mines country, Tex-Mex, folk, punk and more, he plays at Shank Hall.
May 4th, 2015
Death Cab for Cutie Gets Angry
After its leader’s divorce and despite glossy new album the band is playing harder and angrier on its new tour.
Apr 27th, 2015
The Beautiful Agony of Sufjan Stevens
Singer songwriter’s latest album takes on his parents. He performs at Riverside Thursday.
Apr 20th, 2015
Steve Winwood Can Still Thrill
Longtime rocker comes to Riverside. And James Hunter comes to Northern Lights.
Apr 13th, 2015
Why Robbie Fulks Matters
The “insurgent country” artist can confuse audiences. But he’s edgy, funny, and good.
Apr 6th, 2015
The Mavericks Are Still Hard to Define
They mix country, Latin, pop and even vaudeville. They play two shows at Northern Lights Theater.
Mar 30th, 2015
TV on the Radio Still Won’t Compromise
Indie rock group, playing at the Pabst, has won popularity without sacrificing its artistry.
Mar 23rd, 2015
Dan Bern Is Dead Serious
Maybe even when he’s being silly. The singer songwriter comes to Shank Hall and should be a treat.
Mar 16th, 2015
Of Montreal Lands In Milwaukee
The group’s leader, Kevin Barnes, might be called twee, pretentious or emo, but Of Montreal can no longer be dismissed as minor.
Mar 9th, 2015
Best Rocking Scot You Never Heard Of?
Midge Ure comes to town, with a long, impressive history behind him as musician and songwriter.
Mar 2nd, 2015
Still Eccentric After All Those Years
Three decades on, English rocker Robyn Hitchcock is still a unique charmer. He plays Tuesday at Shank Hall.
Feb 23rd, 2015
Kacey Musgraves Comes to Town
Grammy-winner at Pabst Saturday; or there’s bluesy Hozier at the Riverside.
Feb 16th, 2015
The Return of Sleater-Kinney
Reunited band comes to town, as does Fleetwood Mac and B-52s.
Feb 9th, 2015
The Mellow Side of Marilyn Manson?
After years of making controversy, the man and the group have settled into making music.
Feb 2nd, 2015
Rocking Out at Alverno College?
The ever-productive Jon Mueller and his Death Blues ensemble celebrates life -- anywhere -- with a vengeance.
Jan 27th, 2015
Folk, Prog-Rock and New Age?
That’s the sound of The Soil & The Sun, known for “Are You” and coming to Turner Hall.
Jan 19th, 2015
The Power of Pablove
Chicago’s Sons of the Silent Age headline a rocking benefit that features four bands and great guests
Jan 12th, 2015
Two Great Bands You Probably Missed
Marshall Crenshaw and the Bottle Rockets come to town, with decades of good music to draw on.
Jan 5th, 2015
The Legacy of Frank Zappa
Zappa Fest celebrates his music. And Trampled by Turtles plays Riverside on New Year’s Eve.
Dec 29th, 2014
The Return of Sam Llanas
He’s quit the BoDeans, his music has gotten darker and he's ready to rock at Shank Hall.
Dec 22nd, 2014
Jazz That Entertains. Honest.
The Bad Plus, playing at the Jazz Estate, mixes jazz with rock, covering songs by Nirvana and Pink Floyd
Dec 15th, 2014
5 Top Shows, 5 Different Venues
Best shows are all over town and all over the musical map.
Dec 8th, 2014
Five Wildly Different Concerts
From the great Wilco to folk rocker Shakey Graves to Dillon Francis’s electric dance music, it’s a crazy week.
Dec 1st, 2014
Why Volcano Choir Matters
Justin Vernon’s real band heads up a weird week of music.
Nov 24th, 2014
Ready Or Not, Here Comes GWAR
Imagine Vikings from outer space. But funnier. The thrash-metal band lands this week at the Rave.
Nov 17th, 2014
New Pornographers Best Pop-Rock Group?
The best of this century, our critic says -- and the best of this week’s top five shows.
Nov 11th, 2014
The Restless Style of David Bazan
The Seattle-based musician revisits his songs with Passenger String Quartet at Turner Hall.
Nov 3rd, 2014
Best Shows of the Week
Five best shows include Reigning Sound, John Prine and the Milk Carton Kids.
Oct 27th, 2014
Five Best Shows of the Week
From home-town act Field Report to NRBQ and tUnE-yArDs, it’s a week of wild variety.
Oct 20th, 2014
The Legend of Patti Smith
Alverno College show boasts top musicians reinterpreting Smith. Other nights feature Ryan Adams and Kina Grannis.
Oct 13th, 2014
The Angriest Funny Man Alive
Comedian Lewis Black returns. And top music shows include David Gray and OK Go.
Oct 6th, 2014
The Indelible Impact of Erasure
‘80s synth-pop band comes to town. As do the Wood Brothers, Braid and Warpaint.
Sep 29th, 2014
Majical Cloudz and Lorde, a Peculiar Pairing
Naked vulnerability in a cold bed of beats comes to the BMO Harris Pavilion
Sep 22nd, 2014
Spoon Brings Un-Fussy Rock to Riverside Theater
The Austin natives take their summer album to a cooling Midwest, Club Garibaldi prepares to host a Brooklyn gem.
Sep 15th, 2014
The Black Keys, Rock Music’s Arena-packing Purists
The Ohio natives evolve, but stay true to their bluesy roots
Sep 8th, 2014
The Return of Ramblin’ Jack Elliott
A huge influence on Dylan and others, the legendary folk singer comes to town.
Sep 1st, 2014
The Dutchess and the Duke’s Strange Journey
The Pacific Northwest duo have reunited -- yet again -- playing their dark folk music at the Cactus Club.
Aug 25th, 2014
Is Alejandro Escovedo the Ultimate Survivor?
A key rock innovator since the 1970s, he headlines a week that also features Jeff Bridges and the Abiders
Aug 18th, 2014
Red Headed Stranger No More
Willie Nelson & Family sell out two nights in a week that includes metal-influenced Spanish guitar (Rodrigo y Gabriela) and a 19-member collective (The Polyphonic Spree).
Aug 11th, 2014
Why I Love Future Islands
They’re at Turner Hall this Sunday, and definitely worth a try.
Aug 4th, 2014
The Secret to Pat Metheny’s Success
He’s a prodigy who pleases, as his Tuesday show at Northern Lights should prove.
Jul 28th, 2014
Everything But Natalie Merchant
Alas, Merchant cancelled her Pabst concert, but lots of other shows on tap this week.
Jul 21st, 2014
The Long Life of Dick Contino
The famed accordionist, 84, will play Festa Italiana, in a week that also features Jack White and Jackson Browne
Jul 14th, 2014
Sarah McLachlan Turns Down the Volume
After the thundering decibels of Summerfest, it’s a quieter week of music, led by the Lilith Fair founder.
Jul 7th, 2014
The Return of Bob Mould
Plus, great albums by First Aid Kit, José James and Gabriel Kahane.
Jul 2nd, 2014
Top 5 Summerfest Shows
Bonnie Raitt, Hold Steady and Phantogram lead the list.
Jun 30th, 2014
Summerfest and Beyond
The week’s five best concerts aren’t all at the Summerfest grounds.
Jun 23rd, 2014
Why Nick Cave is Hated — and Loved
Cave provides the dark side of a week also featuring Nikki Lane, The Features and the Old 97s.
Jun 16th, 2014
Old Gold
Elvis Costello, Jeff Tweedy and Richard Thompson head up a great week of concerts featuring veteran performers.
Jun 9th, 2014
Five Best Albums of May
Tori Amos, Haley Bonar and the Roots are three of the best.
Jun 4th, 2014
Everyone Loves Vampire Weekend
And if they don’t, the week also features Tony Bennett, Holy Wave and Sandra Bernhard.
Jun 2nd, 2014
Man of Many Bands
Ever-busy Conor Oberst, the Safes and the Monkees come to town.
May 27th, 2014
The Greatest ‘90s Band You’ve Never Known
Failure, revived after 17 years, is the latest success and heads top concerts of the week.
May 19th, 2014
Rodriguez Tops the Week
Rediscovered soulster comes to town, as do Truckfighters and Wye Oak.
May 12th, 2014
Shooting for the Fences
Week’s heavy hitters include Flamin’ Groovies, Chicago Afrobeat and Queens of the Stone Age.
May 5th, 2014
Get Psychedelic, Man
Cactus Club’s four day, Milwaukee Psych Fest features some 20 different bands.
Apr 21st, 2014
Death & Taxes & Good Music
Never mind the IRS deadline, there’s great music coming this week.
Apr 14th, 2014
Great Music, Less Regurgitation
Five great acts coming to town, none of whom feature any Lady Gaga-style grossness.
Apr 8th, 2014
Monthly Musical Musings
March’s best albums include new ones by Future Islands and by Ambrose Akinmusire.
Apr 1st, 2014
No April Fool’s Jokes Here
Sorry, just a roundup of the week’s best five shows.
Mar 31st, 2014
Play Ball, Soon
Opening Day is here and so are five shows that are much warmer than the weather.
Mar 24th, 2014
After the Hangover
Five shows that may help you get over that Post-Paddy’s Day funk.
Mar 17th, 2014
Who Says You Need St. Patrick’s Day?
Not much Irish music in the weekly round-up, but plenty of other great stuff.
Mar 10th, 2014
Monthly Musical Musings
February’s best CDs include those by Beck, Neil Finn and Neneh Cherry.
Feb 25th, 2014
Monthly Musical Musings
Five new CDs of note and one to avoid, with apologies to The Boss.
Jan 24th, 2014
Religulous
This was supposed to be about Nickelback, but that will have to keep for next time, or another time. By all indications, that horrible Canadian band will still be here by the time I get around to tearing into them with vituperative insight. The delay was caused by the release of Religulous on DVD in mid-February. This is, of course, the “documentary” from comedian and talk-show host Bill Maher and Borat director Larry Charles, and I put the term in quotes because Maher and Charles seek less to illuminate the subject of religion than to make light of it. I am, it must be said, not against this. I will not share with you the stories of how I came to be a non-believer—such stories are almost always as boring as those of the born-again and otherwise converted—but now you know I am one, at least. And I have read many of the recent anti-religious books, including Richard Dawkins’s The God Delusion, Sam Harris’s The End of Faith, and of course Christopher Hitchens’s God Is Not Great. (Ann Coulter had a book whose title, Godless, could easily place it among the others, but that title was meant as an insult to non-believers. The actual text was an insult to intelligence, proper research, and sanity, and then there is the fact that Coulter hotly believes that more religion would benefit the world, so long as it is the correct religion.) I had read those three best-selling texts before I went to a local theater to see Religulous, so I thought I had the arguments well in hand. I didn’t really need any of the arguments, though, because the film’s main method is to find various religiously oriented lunacies and point cameras at them. Such a method would, theoretically, not have required Maher to venture much further than his own California backyard, but he and Charles racked up the miles in traveling from London to Amsterdam to Megiddo, Israel. This last location, seen at the beginning and the end of the film, is a rough framing device of seriousness: Megiddo is, according to the Bible, the site for Armageddon. Inside the frame, however, Maher and Charles make good on their title, ridiculing Orthodox Jews, Christians, Muslims in Amsterdam, an ex-Jew for Jesus, Mormons, and Scientologists. Interestingly, they don’t include religions commonly considered “Eastern,” such as Hinduism or Buddhism, even though such supposedly laid-back faiths have produced a considerable amount of violence, bigotry, and hatred. But the negative results of those faiths don’t get much media play in the United States. This is probably just as well for Hindus and Buddhists and other omitted believers, because Religulous often has the air of a particularly ripe episode of “Jaywalking,” the late-night feature in which Jay Leno appears to run into no one but the most ignorant, unthinking people in the nation. It doesn’t help that Maher’s default facial expression is that moment before a smirk, which is only encouraged by magical Mormon underwear and […]
Mar 4th, 2009
Stupor Bowl
As I begin to write this, my inaugural blog as Vital Source’s Heartless Bastard, it is less than 24 hours after the latest Super Bowl, in which a bunch of physically overdeveloped, mentally underdeveloped men representing Pittsburgh narrowly defeated a bunch of physically overdeveloped, mentally underdeveloped men representing Arizona. That’s about as much as I can tell you about the game itself, the 43rd (or, in NFL parlance, the XLIIIrd) in an annual series of Sunday time-wasters. Clearly, the idea of this tedious, grunting spectacle as an Important Event came into the head of an advertising executive who wondered, “Is there some way we can sell more tasteless beer to people who are already drinking it?” Our media—as ever, focusing on important issues—have given the television commercials a lot of coverage, ensuring not only that Budweiser can get some free advertising on top of its expensive advertising, but also that viewers can enjoy these clever/funny/pointless ads without sitting through endless replays of large, dim men running into each other in flagrant suppression of homoerotic urges. At least there was the halftime show. After the infamous Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction of several years past—up until that fateful moment, no one was really sure Ms. Jackson had breasts, or so I would’ve thought from the “shocked, shocked” response—the Super Bowl organizers have taken great care not to inflame the FCC. Tom Petty, the Rolling Stones, Prince: sure, they all have nipples, but not attractive ones. This year, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band put on a pretty fine, if standard, show. Springsteen himself was in predictably good form—perhaps even better than usual, as he knew he had to run around for less than 15 minutes—and the only potential for trouble came when the Boss slid on his knees until his pelvis bumped into a camera. Fortunately, his pants withstood the impact with nary a popped button: surely a tribute to the strength of American-made trousers. Springsteen could be said to be one of the few people at the Super Bowl who attempted to earn his fee (by various estimates, two to nine million dollars), although his upbeat attitude didn’t quite match the rather less upbeat mood of the United States. A football game might not be the place to break out downtrodden anthems like “Atlantic City” or his recent title track for the movie The Wrestler, but the 90 million people watching from their decreasingly valuable homes might have appreciated a note of the blue-collar sincerity Springsteen is supposed to represent. But this was The Boss, and these days that’s not a nickname likely to arouse positive passion in the hearts of the downsized, the laid off, or the evicted. I was reminded of shows I’ve attended at which I found myself disconnected from the crowd, asking basic questions of relevance: Why guitars? Why drums? Why microphones? Why music? I felt something similar watching Springsteen at the Super Bowl, although of course disconnection was easier and less eerie: it was a […]
Feb 28th, 2009
Various artists
A few years ago, after attending a Christmas-charity show featuring several metal-styled acts, I posited a reasonable question: are rock ‘n’ roll and Yuletide cheer compatible? After all, this is the season of comfortable sweaters, chestnut visions, and a jolly old fat man who apparently helps remind us of the birth of Jesus Christ — none of which is exactly “metal.” Nevertheless, We Wish You a Metal Xmas attempts to introduce crunchy riffs, elaborate solos and headbanging tempos to the festivities. The success of the introduction is debatable, but there’s no doubt that it’s sort of fun, and most of the time it’s definitely funny. For example, a version of “Run Rudolph Run” features ZZ Top’s Billy F. Gibbons, Nirvana/Foo Fighters’ Dave Grohl, and Motorhead’s Lemmy Kilmister — the latter of whom navigates the lyrics with his usual death’s-door wheeze. And Ronnie James Dio rolls through “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” as though he’s grandly shoveling dirt on the gentlemen’s graves. Some of the other tracks would count as sacrilege if we hadn’t all heard most of these songs until we’re well sick of them. Testament lead singer Chuck Billy vomits all over “Silent Night,” while Alice Cooper naturally finds the perverse breaking-and-entering side of “Santa Claws [sic] Is Coming to Town.” Yet even metalheads get all sentimental this time of year, something admitted here with the final track, in which Styx lynchpin Tommy Shaw gives all due respect to John Lennon’s “Happy Xmas (War Is Over).” This is only right and proper — and thus not very metal, so the answer to my question is a resounding No.
Dec 1st, 2008
Smashing Pumpkins
This might not be the Smashing Pumpkins you remember from seven years ago—or, as seems more likely, from around 1995, when leader Billy Corgan symbolized the meld of artistic and commercial ambitions of alternative-rock as it went mainstream. Back then, the Pumpkins were really his baby, and Zeitgeist discards any pretense of a “band:” the credits state, “JIMMY CHAMBERLIN: DRUMS/BILLY CORGAN: ALL THE REST.” Chamberlin, once as famous for his addictions as for his drumming, remains Corgan’s reliably virtuosic ace of controlled frenzy. And Corgan remains one of rock & roll’s most grandiloquent noisemakers, layering tracks of guitars atop each other and trying to sing through it all in a voice that makes him sound as though he’s releasing an inner child driven to desperation by the captivity. Zeitgeist finds the child trapped in America—perhaps the biggest, most elusive subject possible for any native. Corgan pursues it in ways both oblique (the fiercely buzzing “Doomsday Clock” ) and direct (the black-metallic “United States” ), although his lyrics (“apocalyptic screams/mean nothing to the dead” ) are as cryptic as ever. When Corgan gets more personal, the lyrics and music get less remote: “That’s the Way (My Love Is)” drifts into tenderness and “Pomp and Circumstances” revives the earnest, synthesized lushness of 1980s ballads. Yet Zeitgeist fails to capture America, or indeed anything resembling its own title. Instead, it offers a mélange of distant memories of what used to be the Smashing Pumpkins. VS
Aug 1st, 2007
Crowded House
Fourteen years since their last album, 11 since their last show and yet it feels almost effortless the way Crowded House pick up where they left off. Admittedly, Time on Earth represents an incomplete reunion – original drummer Mark Hester died in 2005, and keyboardist Mark Hart wasn’t part of the initial lineup – but lead singer and songwriter Tim Finn papers the cracks. It’s not too remarkable that Finn remains a lively creative presence; after Crowded House broke up, he continued to write with his brother Neil, carried on a solo career and collaborated with artists like the Dixie Chicks. (That specific collaboration, “Silent House,” was on their album Taking the Long Way and shows up here as well.) You could say Time on Earth puts Finn back where he belongs, or at least where he’s most comfortable. From the opening track, the lucent and lovely “Nobody Wants To,” Finn and Crowded House don’t seem to have been away. In their absence, no one else really emerged to make mid-tempo pop-rock seem so simultaneously effortless and brilliant. And, at times, a little facile. With his smooth voice and acute ear for accessible melodies and smart lyrics, Finn is like a cousin to Paul McCartney, all prettiness and no edge. But the descending melancholy of “Pour Le Monde,” the sleek romantic hope of “Don’t Stop Now,” and the hushed glimmering of “A Sigh” cannot be denied. Time on Earth spends its own minutes well. VS
Jul 1st, 2007
Low
Two years ago, The Great Destroyer marked a period of incredible transition for Low. Not only did the album itself bristle with challenges to the band’s established method of slow and steady and hauntingly beautiful, but the period shortly after its release also saw bassist Zak Sally leave the band and founding member Alan Sparhawk check into the hospital for mental health treatment. Clearly, there were shakeups, and Drums and Guns refracts the altered configuration of thoughts and people. Producer Dave Fridmann returns to work the subtle transformations that informed his efforts on The Great Destroyer (and with bands like The Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev) ; new bassist and vocalist Matt Livingston fills no one’s shoes but his own and the album feels constantly unsettled. Even now, with listeners braced for new directions, Low’s music surprises. The opening track, “Pretty People,” crackles in with static and feedback as it raises a golem of Eastern-flavored psychedelic meditation. “Always Fade” sets an electronic whirl in the background of a jazz-funk bass line and a thunderous cardboard-like snare snap. And “Take Your Time” drops chiming bells over a deliberately skipping loop of church-like vocal cadences and a tinny drum-machine rhythm. Even in relatively familiar territory – the vocal harmonizing between Sparhawk and wife/drummer Mimi Parker is as tenderly hushed as ever on “Belarus” – Low orient themselves to see and hear things differently. Drums and Guns mesmerizes listeners to do the same. VS
Apr 1st, 2007
Ted Leo and the Pharmacists
Ted Leo might occasionally feel nostalgic – one of his best-known songs, “Where Have All the Rude Boys Gone?,” yearns for old-fashioned ska – but he’s not. Better than any other current musician, he understands that punk rock is unfinished business: a promise that needs to be kept. He also understands that punk rock is less a style or an ideology than a commitment, and that understanding suffuses Living With the Living. Leo has never shied away from songwriting variety, but this album might be his most wide-ranging yet, even as it showcases a further tautening of the threads connecting him to Pharmacists bassist Dave Lerner and drummer Chris Wilson. Some of the paths Leo and the Pharmacists take aren’t particularly unexpected. “Bomb.Repeat.Bomb” is a typically blistering, coolly angry attack on attackers, “A Bottle of Buckie” explores friendship via an Irish-American take on the Pogues and “Army Bound” cuts Leo’s razor-barbed guitar riffs across a martial rock beat. But “The Unwanted Things” is a surprisingly fluid, sweet angle on the punk-reggae combination explored so well by Elvis Costello and The Clash, while “La Costa Brava” mixes crunchy pop-rock with a romantic urge to travel to sunnier climes. If Leo weren’t in such good, tuneful voice, these stylistic transformations would be even more surprising than they are. Producer Brendan Canty of Fugazi helps to keep the music lean. Ted Leo’s intelligence and intensity come through quite clearly, each undimmed by the other. Living With the Living keeps the promise. VS
Mar 1st, 2007
The Apples in Stereo
As any negative nabob can tell you (and in fact is telling you right now), it’s extremely difficult to favor the pop – or pop!, onomatopoeically speaking – in pop-rock without coming across as a chirpy Pollyanna. Even the Apples in Stereo, for all their honest effervescence, have periodically seemed like the token frown-upside-down representatives inside the Elephant 6 collective. Apples leader Robert Schneider has often overcome such perceptions with pure conviction. And New Magnetic Wonder, the band’s first full-length since 2002’s The Velocity of Sound, layers a considerable amount of ambition atop Schneider’s foundation of belief. Actually, New Magnetic Wonder layers a lot of layers: the opening two tracks, “Can You Feel It?” and “Skyway,” quite un-ironically recall the massive, colorful edifices once erected by ELO and Queen. (There are even a few guitar figures reminiscent of Brian May’s overheated parts on the Flash Gordon soundtrack.) Various effects and exotic and/or vintage instruments reinforce the hugeness. Yet Schneider’s ever-youthful voice and childlike romanticism temper the grandeur, and a song like “Sun Is Out” is as charmingly ramshackle as one of The Beatles’ looser offerings. A generous handful of light interludes, including Mellotron samples and the accurately titled “Vocoder Ba Ba” also help to erase the threat of grandiloquence. The only sad thing about this album is that it marks longtime member Hilarie Sidney’s departure to devote full attention to her band, The High Water Marks, although her positive glow shines with “Sunndal Song” and “Sunday Sounds.” Otherwise, New Magnetic Wonder brims with joy. While it’s playing, the world actually looks brighter. VS
Feb 1st, 2007
Beck
No artist is ever completely unpredictable: patterns form and grooves are worn. Some have no need to pull themselves away from the paths they’ve already beaten. Sometimes, like Björk or Beck, they simply realign, rearrange, rethink. At its most functional, The Information is a rethink of Beck’s creative relationship with producer Nigel Godrich (now highly acclaimed for his work with Radiohead and Paul McCartney). Here, Godrich usually finds – or at least allows Beck to enter – a reflective mode, as heard on Mutations and Sea Change. Started before and completed after last year’s Guero, The Information naturally features some refraction of Guero’s compilation-like tendencies. The easygoing hip-hop of “Elevator Music” segues into the (deliberately?) “I Feel Fine”-like treble of “Think I’m In Love,” which falls into the street-corner robot dance and muffled beatbox that activate “Cellphone’s Dead.” The Information also maintains Beck’s dedication to craftsmanship, which tightens the art without restricting it. Godrich, for his part, keeps getting better at adapting his own considerable sensibilities to the artist at hand. On Thom Yorke’s solo album, The Eraser, he shrink-wrapped Yorke’s paranoia; here, he’s like a near-telepathically responsive DJ, slapping down the right sounds to match Beck’s multitudinous moods. The overall vibe on The Information is pleasure. It’s not encoded in the lyrics; keep in mind that Beck can write entire albums, like Midnite Vultures, of near-total absurdity. Nor is it right up front in the tunes, but rather a pleasure that Beck and Godrich take in making music, a satellite orbiting each track, receiving and transmitting information. VS
Dec 1st, 2006
Rammstein
From the title track that opens this album, you might get the idea that Rammstein remain the same: Till Lindemann growls verses and operatically chants choruses, everyone else stomps up a blitzkrieg behind him, and the song fades in a swoon derived from both beer hall and dance club. Yet even here, Rammstein sound more open, more ready to emphasize their musicality as much as their omnipresent German muscularity. Throughout Reise, Reise, they manifest the playfulness of a band who have realized that their prominent quasi-military discipline-still in force on their last album, 2001’s Mutter-was becoming less an impression they left with others than a repression they imposed on themselves. Of course, you wouldn’t mistake this looser, freer Rammstein for a jam band, but an actual rock ‘n’ roll groove (as opposed to a sturm und drang march) drives tracks like “Keine Lust” and the relatively barebones, acoustic guitar-based “Los.” And it’s hard to imagine the old Rammstein chuckling heartily in the midst of “Amerika,” a buzzing grind that mixes English and German and quotes Public Image Ltd. (“This is not a love song“) relevantly. Reise, Reise does hold onto the metallic-tinged Wagnerian grandeur that immediately distinguished Rammstein from their American peers, while it also brings their previous hints of electronic melodicism-the influence of Depeche Mode and New Order-directly to the surface. Hearing that combination and the flowering variety it catalyzes, you might get the idea that Rammstein have changed for the better.
Dec 1st, 2004
Lydia Lunch
First, Lydia Lunch was the girlfriend of Dead Boys frontman Stiv Bators; then she took over the mic herself in Teenage Jesus & the Jerks, then Eight Eyed Spy; since then, she’s been on her own. But she’s always been a mercurial figure, a no-wave queen and a hot-and-cold seductress. That continues with Smoke in the Shadows, Lunch’s first full album in five years. Slipping into a familiar role-the faded jazz chanteuse, lighting a cigarette with gloved hands and exhaling that first postcoital cloud of smoke-she slips along back alleys drawn from dimestore novels and film noir. She narrates more than she sings, and her lyrics swerve closer to beat poetry than they do to song structure, but with the able co-production of Nels Cline, Len Del Rio, and Tommy Grenas (all of whom also throw in on songwriting), she doesn’t need to be normal. Lunch’s collaborators-including, notably, Cline’s Geraldine Fibbers bandmate Carla Bozulich-supply bend to her strong will, generating atmospheres sodden with sex and death. From the break-in of “Hangover Hotel” to the closing “Hot Tip,” Smoke grovels in bad impulses and bodily fluids, lonely horns and sleazy keyboards. Lunch moves through everything here with the air of someone who craves the guilt that comes with the pleasure. Her trick is to make the listener feel the same.
Dec 1st, 2004
Interpol
as it is to loathe, but Interpol actually make it comprehensible and appealing. Because, even more on their current album Antics than on their 2002 debut Turn on the Bright Lights, the NYC quartet view that time through their own artistic lens, focusing the best of the (largely non-American) music of that period into something more than a slavish reveling in the past. The best, subjectively considered: the eternal loneliness of the Smiths, in which Morrissey held hands with himself; the crisply supine melodies of the Go-Betweens; the resolute affectation of New Order (plus the curiously romantic realism of New Order’s predecessor, Joy Division); and above all, the sense that emotion finds its fullest literate expression in obliquely impressionistic lyrics. On Antics, there is even a distinct insinuation of the recklessness that drove bands like the Replacements and Sonic Youth. On a basic level, Interpol remain a rock band, with the syncopation of bassist Carlos D. and drummer Sam Fogarino, and the noisy riffs and angular solos of guitarist Daniel Kessler. Across the intense electricity these three generate in the dark liveliness of “Public Pervert” and the Pixies/Talking Heads snap of “Evil,” singer Paul Banks can be by turns regretful, introspective, furtive, shy and indirect. But he can never be entirely hopeless. Antics unfurls its diverse shades of blue moods against a bright light that never goes out.—Jon M. Gilbertson
Nov 1st, 2004
Buddy Miller
New West www.buddyandjulie.com Nashville might not be what it used to be, but the city must have something to recommend it still, because Buddy Miller lives there. Perhaps he serves as a reminder—like better-known friends Steve Earle and Emmylou Harris—of precisely what Nashville used to be: a place where a man like Miller, who ordinarily wouldn’t get noticed walking down the street, could create magic from little more than his throat and his hands. Earle occasionally has credited himself with big balls (the phrase is his) simply for standing on the same stage with Miller. For his part, Miller, on Universal House of Prayer, displays considerable cojones by taking ownership of both the Louvin Brothers’ “There’s a Higher Power” and Bob Dylan’s “With God On Our Side.” In those two songs alone—the first a bluegrass-brushed gospel number, the second a spark that builds to an all-consuming wildfire in little over nine minutes—Miller encapsulates the best of American faith: its constant questioning doubt, its constant steadfast renewal. Miller runs through that cycle repeatedly on this album, through the songs of others and through those he writes (with Victoria Williams, Jim Lauderdale, and his wife Julie). Whether pondering his travels on “Wide River to Cross” or considering fate on “Fire and Water,” Miller always seeks redemption, even salvation. His music, which bears the sheen of modern country without the burden of its pandering, lights the way. His voice, which contains the power of experience and the wisdom of the country, carries him home. On October 23, Buddy Miller plays with Emmylou Harris at Lund Auditorium in River Forest (Chicago area), 7900 W. Division St.
Oct 1st, 2004
Ryan Adams
RYAN ADAMS Rock N Roll Love Is Hell, Pt. 1 Lost Highway www.ryan-adams.com So this new Ryan Adams album is called Rock N Roll — the title’s printed and spelled backwards on the artwork, presumably as a symbolic gesture — because it features a lot of, y’know, rock ‘n’ roll. And this new Ryan Adams EP is called Love Is Hell, Pt. 1 — no spelling oddities here — because it’s one of two volumes of stuff that’s less, y’know, rock ‘n’ roll. Anyway, Rock N Roll will satisfy anyone who wants to buy a rock-related collection this year (just in time for Christmas!): it features about half a late-period Replacements album, complete with Paul Westerberg-like fragility and self-laceration. There are bonus representations of U2 (“So Alive” ), T. Rex (“Shallow” ), the Cars (“Burning Photographs” ) and myriad other familiar stylistic variations of the last 30 years. No heavy metal, which is a plus. Gets better when cranked louder, also a plus. Sure, it’s undermined by the same absence of coherent personality that made 2001’s Gold such an Elton John favorite. But Love Is Hell nourishes the introspection Adams seemed determined to starve after he disbanded Whiskeytown, and brings his songwriting to the fore: “Political Scientist” and “This House Is Not For Sale” accent details and shades, and even the Oasis chestnut “Wonderwall” benefits from the nuance. Balance the EP and the LP, and Ryan Adams could be the next Jeff Tweedy. All he needs is a kick in the teeth of his ego.
Dec 1st, 2003
Sarah McLachlan
SARAH McLACHLAN Afterglow Arista www.sarahmclachlan.com When Sarah McLachlan disappeared half a decade ago, it wasn’t the artistic equivalent of Patti Smith’s retirement, but in hindsight it helped to clear the way for the Parade of Candy-Striped Sluts. In the meantime, too, her adult-contemporary niche was subdivided (“Here’s your slice, Alicia; here’s yours, Norah…” ), which meant theoretically that her return would need to be a lot splashier than her departure. Nothing ruins a beautiful theory more completely than an inconvenient fact: Afterglow is a ripple. Six years after Surfacing hinted, strongly, at McLachlan’s creative stasis, the follow-up almost realizes that nullity. Recorded over the last three years, these ten songs obviously needed time and patience to reach a zero-g level of taste, restraint and caution. Compared to the musical gangbangs of Pink or Aguilera, McLachlan does gain the advantage of intimacy. Her voice remains a sure comfort, tuneful and lush and womanly. Yet McLachlan refuses to push or prod her gift; she holds it back at all times. The music, which craves her guidance, thus walks or floats behind her at a respectful distance. Surely no one wants McLachlan to move toward the false climaxes of Mariah Carey, but on Afterglow she recedes into such pillowy blandness that references to heartbreak, to unease, to drinking away pain, contain as much emotional impact as the fourteenth long high note at a Barbra Streisand concert. Sarah McLachlan might as well not have come back, because Afterglow practically erases itself as it plays.
Dec 1st, 2003
The Twighlight Singers
THE TWILIGHT SINGERS Blackberry Belle Birdman Gore Vidal wrote it first: style forms the crux of art. Without it, an artist must fall back on his obsessions, which never adequately support his muse. As frontman for the much-missed Afghan Whigs, Greg Dulli freely intermingled his musical and thematic fixations — rock/decadence, rap/violence, Prince/sex — but the other band members kept his strut tight and tailored. As the center of a looser aggregation, the Twilight Singers, Dulli lets his pimp-suit wrinkle and his shuffle lurch. On the collective’s second full-length, Blackberry Belle, Dulli also tightens his hold on the creative reins. The 2000 debut, Twilight, featured the capable presence of Harold Chichester of Howlin’ Maggie; his near-falsetto provided a lilting counterpoint to Dulli’s hissing growl. Here, the growl is everywhere: other singers, including Apollonia Kotero and That Dog’s Petra Haden, serve as local color. Only in the final track, “Number Nine,” does Dulli give ground, and his duet with Screaming Trees’ Mark Lanegan suggests, in many (mostly good) ways, a showdown between Tom Waits and Leonard Cohen. Against the constant shift of backing musicians, Dulli gives full play to his style. It’s the living embodiment of old-fashioned cool: the stray cat whose eyes are always narrowed, yet whose heart and soul never stop questing for the most potent high, the most thrilling fuck, the most lasting love. From the acoustic guitar drift of “St. Gregory” to the dripping of piano notes in “Follow You Down” and the hip-hop funk of “Feathers,” Dulli works his mojo until Blackberry Belle subverts a listener’s obsessions with his own.
Nov 1st, 2003
Pretty Girls Make Graves
PRETTY GIRLS MAKE GRAVES The New Romance Matador In a ranking of best current band names, Pretty Girls Make Graves (also the best use, period, of a Smiths song title) would have to be up there with … And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead, but it proves to be a misdirection long before the 40 minutes of The New Romance have elapsed. Lead singer Andrea Zollo is among the most alive — that is, jittery and nerve-attuned — female vocalists in rock. She’s not digging a grave for herself or anyone else; she’s clawing and shouting her way out of one. It’s a mass exhumation, too: there are four guys in there with her, each using his instrument to shove aside crumbling dirt. Not unlike Sleater-Kinney, Pretty Girls Make Graves inhale the thin, trebly air of the era that straddled the blurry line between punk and New Wave, and when they exhale the air turns to crystalline mist in the cold and explodes into a kind of warmth. Which is a pretty good way to fight the numbness that Zollo obviously, passionately hates. The Morse-code guitar of “The Teeth Collector” communicates her response to dishonesty; the phased bass of “Blue Lights” provides the pulse inside her neuroses, and the urgent rhythm of “This Is Our Emergency” flashes like police lights accompanying her siren call to stay true. The New Romance often hints at burial, but only to remind you that you’re not dead yet.
Nov 1st, 2003
Josh Rouse
Josh Rouse 1972 Rykodisc www.joshrouse.com Mosh Rouse slides away from easy comparisons today’s demographic culture requires. He manifests some of the shyness of Nick Drake; he sings with some of the grainy charm of Paul Westerberg; he can move with the quiet heard in late-period Yo La Tengo; and he reveals his romantic side in the shy, sly manner of many other modern singer/songwriters. Yet everything he’s done since his 1998 debut Dressed Up Like Nebraska has stepped around facile similarities, and with his fourth full-length album the step turns into a confident stride. 1972, the year Rouse was born, and the year he constantly evokes here, as if he remembered and assimilated everything he heard on the radio while he was learning to speak and walk. Instead of merely regurgitating those memories—not hard to do, as demonstrated by every guitar-toting hustler who owns a couple Beck records—Rouse frames them in the current century. The flute, the backing vocals, the walking bass line of “Comeback (Light Therapy)” or the soul strings of “James” should carry the mustiness of leisure suits left too long in storage, but Rouse wields the old signifiers with respect instead of reverence. The signifiers respond openly and fully, so that songs like the blushing, lovesexy “Under Your Charms” and the carnival-ride “Slaveship” come as new messages from a past with which no one is finished. Least of all Rouse, who once again manages a kind of individuality within the swirl of the tantalizingly familiar.
Sep 1st, 2003
Frank Black and the Catholics
Frank Black and the Catholics Show Me Your Tears spinART www.spinartrecords.com/bands_frankblack.html The standard spiel about Frank Black could apply to any other seminal rock ‘n’ roll figure (Bob Mould, say) who presaged the alternative-rock insurrection but neither profited heavily from it nor died conveniently young. The line goes like this: “He hasn’t done anything great since he was in [insert band name here].” This cuts deeply in Black’s case because, more than anyone else, the Pixies — his band back when he was Black Francis — defined the edgy dynamics that Nirvana used to sell millions of records, inject electricity back into radio, destroy metal temporarily, etc. And after the Pixies disintegrated, Black formed a new band, the Catholics, with whom he’s cranked out rock ‘n’ roll that has been frequently good, sometimes better than good, but never quite so scintillating as the earlier flashes of fire. Show Me Your Tears is Black’s latest. Like most of his work in the last few years, it sounds as if he’s decided to reduce not merely his own expectations but those of everyone else as well. It’s just 13 songs ranging from the dark, stalking rockabilly of “Nadine” to the airy brooding roots-rock of “Manitoba,” with influences like Tex-Mex and spaghetti Westerns in between. None of the songs qualifies as a genuine waste of time, but Black’s voice — mostly low grit with the occasional leavening of melody or falsetto — lacks tension. The elastic snap that would propel the music past its own fleeting pleasures simply doesn’t happen. Show Me Your Tears, the title says, but Black gives out mere traces of tears, blood and sweat: the bodily fluids of art.
Sep 1st, 2003
