Rock
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 by Jon Gilbertson
Fu Manchu
By Jeremy M. Rottgen Fu Manchu’s Start The Machine roars with the intensity and consistency of a 502 engine. This is the kind of stuff Marshall stacks and hot-wired humbuckers were made for. This is Fu’s first release since being signed to DRT records. Longtime fans will most likely welcome it because pretty much every song on Start The Machine is a distorted masterpiece. They were allowed more freedom since signing with DRT, and it shows.You’ve got to admire a band that has found the ultimate point between gain and volume, creating an immense guitar sound. The punk philosophy applies as well with no song exceeding three and a half minutes. “Written In Stone” kicks things off with a snarl. Things do slow down a bit toward the middle with “Out to Sea,” a trippy instrumental with enough reverb and echo effects to throw you into a trance-but besides that one break, Start The Machine does not stop churning. Despite being a somewhat unknown success, Fu Manchu have attempted to bring the crunch for many years. They don’t pull any punches when it comes to their releases. It’s consistent and their fans don’t have to guess about what they’re in for next.
Dec 1st, 2004 by Vital Archives
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 by Jon Gilbertson
The Occasion
By Erin Wolf The Occasion re-define the term “noise-rock.” With jangly tambourines, mellow vocals and garbage-can-drum tendencies, The Occasion’s self-titled debut is immense, reflecting the hills of desert sands that grace the cover of their album-completely enveloping and sensory-sweeping. Quietly pretty in spots with the incorporation of twinkly pianos, and psychedelically hard-hitting with enough guitar distortion, fuzz and feedback to make even Sonic Youth raise their eyebrows, The Occasion make music to suit themselves. Vocals range from anguished plodding on “I Can’t Stop Falling” to Morrissey-like lamentation on “Ease Away.” The latter track best showcases The Occasion’s vastness in sound, with its guitars sporadically strumming amidst the soft, steady shake of a tambourine, and with sliding vocal echoes haunting in the background. Upon first listen, it’s hard to accept this band’s unique and ethereal sound, but upon recognizing the intricacies and creativity found in their music, it’s hard not to feel appreciation for this New York quintet. Coloring within the lines is definitely not on their musical agenda-indeed, coloring outside the lines has never sounded so inviting.
Dec 1st, 2004 by Vital Archives
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 by Jon Gilbertson
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
By Erin Wolf Billy Graham, hang up your boxing gloves, Nick Cave is the new Mr. Fire and Brimstone. The latest addition to the Bad Seeds’ library, the double-disc Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus, is a heavy-hitter, changing things up by waving adieu to guitarist Blixa Bargeld and welcoming organist James Johnston of Gallon Drunk. The Seeds, along with Nick Launay, also took it upon themselves to produce and record, lending a rawness and fervor absent in last year’s Nocturama. The double-disc emerged from ample material, and the final tracks fall under two umbrellas: Abattoir Blues whips up hell-raising, heaven-yearning songs with the driving force of an instrumental hurricane, while the soft, lyrical poetry of The Lyre of Orpheus seems gothic and even odd in its contrasting choice of lyrics and sweetness. The Lyre of Orpheus should please Cave fans in that it’s no far step out of the ordinary. “Easy Money” and “Spell” are quiet reminders of No More Shall We Part, finding beauty and hope in the places where one would expect neither. Abattoir Blues comes out stinging with dire gospel proclamations: “Everything’s dissolving babe / according to plan / the sky is on fire / the dead are heaped across the land / I went to bed last night and my moral code got jammed.” Chilling on its own, Cave’s message is further lyrically enforced by the backing of the London Community Gospel Choir, the overall effect of which is strange but somehow appropriate. This may be the Seeds’ strongest album in years. Filled with conviction, raw earnestness and the creativity of an improv jazz ensemble, Abattoir Blues is a jolt of charismatic caffeine, while The Lyre of Orpheus still covers listeners with a security blanket of classic Cave.
Nov 1st, 2004 by Vital Archives
The Ex
By Jeremy M. Rottgen When you think of The Ex, imagine mad scientists with guitars and drums pushing the raw sounds of their musical and political agenda through anything from punk to noise. Now imagine these scientists staying up all night in the lab, spreading their message relentlessly… for over two decades. Since their debut, Disturbing Domestic Peace, in 1980, The Ex have released almost two dozen albums. Turn is a long listen on two discs, defying the punk way by creating huge textures and strange harmonies. The set offers more standard rock fare, plus several excursions into house beats. The Ex rely on over-driven yet articulated rhythms. Stand-up bass provides a solid bottom. Steve Albini produced Turn, giving the guitars punch, but it’s the beat that ends up taking you away. “Listen to the Painters” begins Turn with the rant “We need poets we need painters.” “Pie” is a great rendition of a sweet potato pie recipe being barked into a microphone before a ridiculous breakdown. Disc two features more of a percussive onslaught inspired by international rhythms. “Theme from Konono” has a catchy African-themed guitar sway. “In the Event” ends Turn with a haunting melody accompanied by a lone saxophone. Turn is a roller-coaster ride of interweaving dynamics; from extreme highs to subterranean lows, unafraid of risks. That’s a good thing for a hazardous band like The Ex.
Nov 1st, 2004 by Vital Archives
Willie Nelson
By John Hughes Willie Nelson has turned in a quietly elegant album that showcases his singing talent in its burnished, golden essence. It Always Will Be is perhaps not on the level of Nelson’s masterpieces, Red-Headed Stranger and Stardust, but it is among his top ten records (out of over 100). The title cut is a classic of Texas Mellow, and the duets with Paula Nelson, Lucinda Williams, and Norah Jones, flowing from a bluesy feel to country to pure jazz, evoke Nelson’s finest singing in recent memory. The women are in superb voice as well, and these three songs are the backbone of the disc. A weak moment is Nelson’s cover of Tom Waits’ brilliant “Picture in a Frame.” Whereas Waits’ rendition features a deeply resonant piano, and Satchmo-style vocalizing, Nelson’s sounds like Muzak. The guts are gone from the song. This is quickly forgiven, however, and forgotten, because from there Nelson quickly moves onto his home turf with the delicious “The Way You See Me.”On the whole, the disc evokes dreamy reverie as the songs melt seamlessly into one another. The consistent use of electronic instruments is a slight annoyance, and the album’s sound could have been improved with a switch to acoustic guitars. Still, there is no denying that Nelson, despite his lack of vocal range, is a tremendous singer. His immaculate taste in songs is evident here, and after he closes the album with a Latin-tinged song called “Texas,” the listener walks away from the experience with a tranquil heart.
Nov 1st, 2004 by Vital Archives
Reeve Oliver
By Jeremy M. Rottgen In teen-angst TV shows like Dawson’s Creek or The OC, soundtracks featuring music that boosts the drama of adolescence are linchpins of the genre. From a songwriter’s perspective, the subject matter of those tumultuous years will never run dry. Reeve Oliver may not be as sappy as the aforementioned television programs, but they do have their moments of post-adolescent rock. “I Want Burns” starts out with an acoustic strum-along evolving into an almost Weezer-esque distorted progression. “Young and Dumb” features a cool intro of major to minor chording which spins into a sweet music box-type love song. “Until Someone Loves You” opens with softly blended vocals and piano keys, then reverts back to a distorted, happy guitar sound. “Revenge” is probably the hardest-hitting track, with a flying-fingers kind of riff. Guitarist Sean O’Donnell is singularly talented, both vocally and on the six-string. If only the subject matter could change up from teen romance and break out of the formulaic. Nevertheless, R.O. are successful at what they do and can certainly take charge of the pop-music spectrum. It’s not exactly the toughest music in the world, but they probably get a ton of groupies.—Jeremy M. Rottgen
Nov 1st, 2004 by Vital Archives
Sally Timms
By Erin Wolf Touch and Gowww.tgrec.com Those familiar with Sally Timms’ work with the Mekons know her as an artist of creativity and charm, with a voice as sireny and sweet as a lullaby. Influenced by the Mekons’ drift into alt-country or “cow-punk,” Timms offers a genuineness to her solo efforts that is often lost in the Nashville scene. Her first solo country album, Cowboy Sally’s Twilight Laments for Lost Buckaroos (1999), included covers by Patsy Cline and Johnny Cash, offering up a bright, inoffensive take on typical sentimental material. Her latest effort, In the World of Him, finds Timms once again dipping into the pot of country influences, but meandering in a different direction with heavier, more thought-provoking lyrics and tones provided by a myriad of artists. This “theme album,” recorded with Johnny Dowd and his band, arranges songs penned by Mark Eitzel, Ryan Adams, Jon Langford and the Mekons into unique and evocative soundscapes surrounding Timms’ soft and emotive voice. In the World of Him explores, in a post-feminist sense, the perspective of men on subjects such as commitment, communication, love and war. Although a departure from her previous material, Timms, along with Dowd, manages to confidently create an album that is beautifully strange in its diversity of style and seriousness of subject. Beautiful in its blatant take on humanity’s natural tendency to despair—“Lord, Lord, can you hear me? Are your angels just children laughing insane at the fools we are as men?”—the album’s lyrics are dark and striking. Take it or leave it, this is an album that will leave the listener deep in thought. On November 21, Sally Timms and Johnny Dowd play Bremen Café, 901 E. Clarke St.
Oct 1st, 2004 by Vital Archives
American Music Club
By Erin Wolf Merge Records www.mergerecords.com It’s official: American Music Club frontman Mark Eitzel now reclaims the Bleeding-Heart title for writing cutting and honest lyrics. Even under the long shadow of his Rolling Stone-bestowed designation of “Best Songwriter,” he helps to create an AMC album (the first since the band’s breakup in 1995) filled with heartfelt disappointment, frustration, pathos and occasionally insightful contentment. Love Songs for Patriots may seem like a Springsteen-esque title, but it’s a far cry from that. As Eitzel comments on Ladies and Gentlemen, “This is what George Bush should have said after 9/11.” More tongue-in-cheek than Jersey Shore, Eitzel reflects upon his own vision of the United States. Politics aside, he also remains America’s response to Morrissey, musing on love (and lack thereof) and life hardships, incorporating touches of rock, blues, jazz, pop and country into an astounding sonic masterpiece. Orchestrated by the original band members with complete fervor, American Music Club welcomes pianist and trumpeter Marc Capelle for an added twist. Harsher than previous recordings like Mercury and Everclear, Love Songs for Patriots focuses on Eitzel’s unique voice, more weathered than before—timeworn, life-worn, but completely affecting. Fuzzy distortion lends an air of confusion to complement purposefully plodding vocals on songs like “Job to Do,” while “Love Can Set You Free” captures a clean, meandering, acoustic guitar-enforced melody with an almost sweet hopefulness. Although Eitzel sounds pessimistic as he sings “…only love can set you free,” he also sounds as if he’s truly learned this lesson, not as if he’s simply waxing poetic. “I’ve been so lucky,” he concludes. And we’re lucky to welcome back American Music Club. On November 12 and 13, American Music Club plays Schuba’s in Chicago, 3159 N. Southport.
Oct 1st, 2004 by Vital Archives
Bjork
By John Hughes Atlantic www.bjorkweb.com It would be misleading to write that Bjork’s new disc is sort of an Icelandic spin on that Chant album that was such a phenomenon in the 1990s. Medulla is in no way churchy. I mention the comparison, though, because both albums demand that you listen with both ears. They are about the human voice, and both evoke some sort of inflamed Spirit, in their individual ways. Medulla, a visionary record for the new millennium, will no doubt expand the musical lexicon of its listeners. It certainly expanded mine. This music utilizing human beat boxes, Inuit (indigenous Canadian) throat singing, and choirs from Iceland and England, in addition to the writing and singing performance of Bjork’s inventive life—is thoroughly unusual. It took me some time to realize that what I was hearing on most tracks was profound and challenging beauty. It’s futuristic yet warm, postmodern yet sensual: a heart-stoppingly elegant, deeply subtle and erotic celebration of humanness. Unlike Bjork’s previous outing, Vespertine, which was heavy with instrumentation and electronica, Medulla is almost entirely instrument-free; a piano, for example, accompanies only two songs. The album has an organic, rich and compelling texture. It’s like a beckoning to your own primordial awareness. This is avant-garde music, and like most albums that can be so labeled, it may strike you as “weird” at first. (It makes Moby’s Play sound like three chords and 12 bars.) The considerable rewards will surface gradually, and for an hour, make you glad to be alive.
Oct 1st, 2004 by Vital Archives
