Well, I finally saw 8 Mile. I have to admit that it’s pretty good. Eminem’s low-key charismatic screen presence, and the gritty camerawork showing Detroit, make up for the hokeyness and predictability of the plot. Still, it’s a film that raises more questions than it answers…
Well, I finally saw 8 Mile. I have to admit that it’s pretty good. Eminem’s low-key charismatic screen presence, and the gritty camerawork showing Detroit, make up for the hokeyness and predictability of the plot. Still, it’s a film that raises more questions than it answers…
Continue reading “8 Mile”
My friends Michelle and Jaime took me to see El Vez, the Chicano Elvis impersonator. It was quite wonderful and hilarious; El Vez channels Elvis, but at the same time he alters Elvis, messes with him, “Mexicanizes” (or “Mexican-Americanizes”) him. The show is quite an extravaganza, with costume changes, male strip tease, rewriting of Elvis’ lyrics, etc. There’s the Quetzalcoatl costume; but there was also the black vinyl look, the East LA gang look, even the S&M look with a tall dominatrix. I can’t say anything about the cultural significance of El Vez’s act, that hasn’t already been better said by Michelle Habell-Pallan. But I can testify that the set was a sheer, high-energy delight.
My friends Michelle and Jaime took me to see El Vez, the Chicano Elvis impersonator. It was quite wonderful and hilarious; El Vez channels Elvis, but at the same time he alters Elvis, messes with him, “Mexicanizes” (or “Mexican-Americanizes”) him. The show is quite an extravaganza, with costume changes, male strip tease, rewriting of Elvis’ lyrics, etc. The picture here shows El Vez in Quetzelcoatl costume; but there was also the black vinyl look, the East LA gang look, even the S&M look with a tall dominatrix. I can’t say anything about the cultural significance of El Vez’s act, that hasn’t already been better said by Michelle Habell-Pallan. But I can testify that the set was a sheer, high-energy delight.
I’ve been listening a lot lately to Miles Davis’ On the Corner, originally released in 1972. I am in general partial to Miles’ early-70s electronic period, but On the Corner is unique. More than thirty years later, this album still sounds absolutely radical, fresh, and contemporary. It’s swirling, propulsive funk, probably the most abrasive, explosive music Miles ever made. Pure rhythmic bliss, riffs weaving in and out, dense but never murky, atonal but never grating, “world music” (listen to those Indian tablas) but never sounding like mere touristic sampling. On the Corner can be heard behind nearly every interesting musical innovation of the last decade or so, from Aphex Twin to Timbaland to D’Angelo to UK drum ‘n’ bass and garage to microglitch, but in a real sense none of these artists or trends have yet matched its full intensity.
I’ve been listening a lot lately to Miles Davis’ On the Corner, originally released in 1972. I am in general partial to Miles’ early-70s electronic period, but On the Corner is unique. More than thirty years later, this album still sounds absolutely radical, fresh, and contemporary. It’s swirling, propulsive funk, probably the most abrasive, explosive music Miles ever made. Pure rhythmic bliss, riffs weaving in and out, dense but never murky, atonal but never grating, “world music” (listen to those Indian tablas) but never sounding like mere touristic sampling. On the Corner can be heard behind nearly every interesting musical innovation of the last decade or so, from Aphex Twin to Timbaland to D’Angelo to UK drum ‘n’ bass and garage to microglitch, but in a real sense none of these artists or trends have yet matched its full intensity.
Well, the other shoe has dropped. The Recording Industry Association of America has announced that it will sue individuals who are engaging in unauthorized file sharing. We can expect hundreds of lawsuits by the end of the summer. Of course, everyone is commenting on this, usually either with outrage or grudging, fatalistic acceptance. I might as well put in my two cents too. Especially since there are certain aspects of this case that have not been sufficiently discussed…
Well, the other shoe has dropped. The Recording Industry Association of America has announced that it will sue individuals who are engaging in unauthorized file sharing. We can expect hundreds of lawsuits by the end of the summer. Of course, everyone is commenting on this, usually either with outrage or grudging, fatalistic acceptance. I might as well put in my two cents too. Especially since there are certain aspects of this case that have not been sufficiently discussed…
Continue reading “RIAA Lawsuits”
Tricky‘s new album Vulnerable is the best thing he’s done in quite some time, I think. Dark, twisted lyrics, vocals by Costanza (whoever she is, she’s the best female vocalist Tricky has worked with since Martina–Tricky is once more in touch with his feminine side, as he was not in his last few post-Martina releases, as Charles Mudede has twice noted), and a variety of musical styles from almost-r&b to almost-metal (but the metal sound works here as it did not on Tricky’s previous album Blowback). Under it all, a more driving rhythm than in any of Tricky’s previous albums, though these songs are mostly too depressing to dance to. In a way, Vulnereable could almost be seen as an attempted mainstream move on Tricky’s part, in the way he seems to have abandoned for good the avant-garde fragmentation of his earlier work like Pre-Millennium Tension (still my absolute favorite among his albums) in favor of a more commercial sound. But what’s great about Vulnerable is how he manipulates, twists, and perverts that sound, so that even the (originally fairly downbeat) songs he covers on this album, by XTC (!!) and The Cure (!!!) seem negatively, malevolently transfigured by the treatment Tricky gives them, Vulnerable shows Tricky at his almost-best, and it’s about time.
Tricky‘s new album Vulnerable is the best thing he’s done in quite some time, I think. Dark, twisted lyrics, vocals by Costanza (whoever she is, she’s the best female vocalist Tricky has worked with since Martina–Tricky is once more in touch with his feminine side, as he was not in his last few post-Martina releases, as Charles Mudede has twice noted), and a variety of musical styles from almost-r&b to almost-metal (but the metal sound works here as it did not on Tricky’s previous album Blowback). Under it all, a more driving rhythm than in any of Tricky’s previous albums, though these songs are mostly too depressing to dance to. In a way, Vulnereable could almost be seen as an attempted mainstream move on Tricky’s part, in the way he seems to have abandoned for good the avant-garde fragmentation of his earlier work like Pre-Millennium Tension (still my absolute favorite among his albums) in favor of a more commercial sound. But what’s great about Vulnerable is how he manipulates, twists, and perverts that sound, so that even the (originally fairly downbeat) songs he covers on this album, by XTC (!!) and The Cure (!!!) seem negatively, malevolently transfigured by the treatment Tricky gives them, Vulnerable shows Tricky at his almost-best, and it’s about time.
In certain ways, Adrian Sherwood‘s Never Trust a Hippy and Andre Afram Asmar‘s Racetothebottom are very much alike. These are both electronic dance records, which use dub techniques in order to incorporate a wide range of “world music” sounds within the general framework of a reggae-influenced beat. Sherwood and Asmar are both celebrated producers, who have produced many famous albums by others, but who have rarely or never recorded under their own names before. Yet in terms of my response, these albums couldn’t be more different. Racetothebottom, frankly, bores me. It never comes into focus, but rather seems to me to be an exercise in pointless, all-over-the-place eclecticism. Never Trust a Hippy, on the other hand, is a delight. It somehow combines the spacy feel of dub with a surprising sonic density. This CD really moves, maintaining a plateau of high intensity throughout. And the samples, from a wide variety of musical styles, always pack a punch and make musical sense to me–they are eclectic for sure, but they never seem merely eclectic. So go figure; as is usual when I write about music, I don’t quite have the words to explain why my experiences of the two CDs are so different. It’s a matter of affect: either the sounds intersect with my nervous system in exciting ways, or they don’t.
In certain ways, Adrian Sherwood‘s Never Trust a Hippy and Andre Afram Asmar‘s Racetothebottom are very much alike. These are both electronic dance records, which use dub techniques in order to incorporate a wide range of “world music” sounds within the general framework of a reggae-influenced beat. Sherwood and Asmar are both celebrated producers, who have produced many famous albums by others, but who have rarely or never recorded under their own names before. Yet in terms of my response, these albums couldn’t be more different. Racetothebottom, frankly, bores me. It never comes into focus, but rather seems to me to be an exercise in pointless, all-over-the-place eclecticism. Never Trust a Hippy, on the other hand, is a delight. It somehow combines the spacy feel of dub with a surprising sonic density. This CD really moves, maintaining a plateau of high intensity throughout. And the samples, from a wide variety of musical styles, always pack a punch and make musical sense to me–they are eclectic for sure, but they never seem merely eclectic. So go figure; as is usual when I write about music, I don’t quite have the words to explain why my experiences of the two CDs are so different. It’s a matter of affect: either the sounds intersect with my nervous system in exciting ways, or they don’t.
Rounds, the new CD by Four Tet, is another beautiful instrumental hiphop album–if that is not too much of an oxymororn–in a year that has had several great ones already (notably those by Prefuse 73 and by DJ Krush). Four Tet mixes seemingly organic noises and folk-like harmonies with a full repertoire of twisted beats, micro-glitch soundings, and Satie-esque melody lines.The result is something that I can only call magical (despite my fears about the triteness of such an adjective). This is an album of strange encounters and quicksilver transformations.It seems lighter than air, and it is suffused with an oddly impersonal warmth (I insist both on the sense of impersonality, and on the warmth, oxymoronic–again–as these may seem in combination with one another).
Rounds, the new CD by Four Tet, is another beautiful instrumental hiphop album–if that is not too much of an oxymororn–in a year that has had several great ones already (notably those by Prefuse 73 and by DJ Krush). Four Tet mixes seemingly organic noises and folk-like harmonies with a full repertoire of twisted beats, micro-glitch soundings, and Satie-esque melody lines.The result is something that I can only call magical (despite my fears about the triteness of such an adjective). This is an album of strange encounters and quicksilver transformations.It seems lighter than air, and it is suffused with an oddly impersonal warmth (I insist both on the sense of impersonality, and on the warmth, oxymoronic–again–as these may seem in combination with one another).
Greg Tate’s Midnight Lightning: Jimi Hendrix and the Black Experience is as brilliant a piece of music writing as I have read in a long while. Tate seeks both to evoke Hendrix’s sound, and to theorize Hendrix as a musician and cultural icon. He succeeds in both aims, with a coruscating prose style that crackles with sharp insights as much as with extravagant metaphors. Tate’s main goal in the book, or his “racial agenda,” as he self-consciously calls it, is to place Hendrix as a Black musician. That means dealing with the paradox that Hendrix appealed, and still continues to appeal, almost exclusively to a white audience. (Many other black musicians, before and since, have had such “crossover” appeal, but usually they have also had more following among blacks than Hendrix seems to have). Tate shows how fully grounded, both culturally and musically, Hendrix was in the African American experience; and he links the seemingly magical way Hendrix was able to “pass” among otherwise racist white audiences to the alchemy he performed on musical traditon. He illustrates both art and life from a variety of perspectives, ranging from a straightforward and insightful accounting of musical developments, to a deliriously poetic take on Hendrix’s semi-divine position in music history and in the history of black (and just plain American) culture. The volume also includes first-person accounts by other black folks who knew Hendrix, and even a horoscope. The overall effect of Tate’s book is to freshen what might have seemed utterly banal (since probably no popular musician of the last half century has been written about as extensively, and as hagiographically, as Hendrix has), as well as to put the question of Hendrix’s blackness into a totally new light.
Greg Tate’s Midnight Lightning: Jimi Hendrix and the Black Experience is as brilliant a piece of music writing as I have read in a long while. Tate seeks both to evoke Hendrix’s sound, and to theorize Hendrix as a musician and cultural icon. He succeeds in both aims, with a coruscating prose style that crackles with sharp insights as much as with extravagant metaphors. Tate’s main goal in the book, or his “racial agenda,” as he self-consciously calls it, is to place Hendrix as a Black musician. That means dealing with the paradox that Hendrix appealed, and still continues to appeal, almost exclusively to a white audience. (Many other black musicians, before and since, have had such “crossover” appeal, but usually they have also had more following among blacks than Hendrix seems to have). Tate shows how fully grounded, both culturally and musically, Hendrix was in the African American experience; and he links the seemingly magical way Hendrix was able to “pass” among otherwise racist white audiences to the alchemy he performed on musical traditon. He illustrates both art and life from a variety of perspectives, ranging from a straightforward and insightful accounting of musical developments, to a deliriously poetic take on Hendrix’s semi-divine position in music history and in the history of black (and just plain American) culture. The volume also includes first-person accounts by other black folks who knew Hendrix, and even a horoscope. The overall effect of Tate’s book is to freshen what might have seemed utterly banal (since probably no popular musician of the last half century has been written about as extensively, and as hagiographically, as Hendrix has), as well as to put the question of Hendrix’s blackness into a totally new light.
The Soft Pink Truth is Drew Daniel, who is otherwise one half of Matmos. But the new Soft Pink Truth album, Do You Party?, is a goofy, chintzy pop album, very different from Matmos’ experimental electronica. Catchy beats, silly lyrics, electronic bleeps and squiggles. This is what pop music ought to sound like.
The Soft Pink Truth is Drew Daniel, who is otherwise one half of Matmos. But the new Soft Pink Truth album, Do You Party?, is a goofy, chintzy pop album, very different from Matmos’ experimental electronica. Catchy beats, silly lyrics, electronic bleeps and squiggles. This is what pop music ought to sound like.
I haven’t thought much of most of the “alternative” New York (I think) bands that have been hyped in the last year or two. I find Interpol deadly dull; The Strokes are just a bunch of snotty rich kids informing the world how much cooler they are than anyone else; and the rhythm/dance bands like Out Hud and The Rapture just aren’t funky enough to play the sort of music they are trying to. But I’ve been won over by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Basic punk, I suppose, but the guitar is edgy and off-kilter enough to keep things interesting, and Karen O.’s voice is brilliant, finding just the right point between pretentious declamation and fevered hysteria. Their new CD, Fever To Tell, also reveals a variety that I wouldn’t have guessed at from their previous EPs. All in all, I’m pleased that Punk Lives, and even manages to sound fresh, so many years later. (I’m showing my middle age here, I know, but so be it).
I haven’t thought much of most of the “alternative” New York (I think) bands that have been hyped in the last year or two. I find Interpol deadly dull; The Strokes are just a bunch of snotty rich kids informing the world how much cooler they are than anyone else; and the rhythm/dance bands like Out Hud and The Rapture just aren’t funky enough to play the sort of music they are trying to. But I’ve been won over by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Basic punk, I suppose, but the guitar is edgy and off-kilter enough to keep things interesting, and Karen O.’s voice is brilliant, finding just the right point between pretentious declamation and fevered hysteria. Their new CD, Fever To Tell, also reveals a variety that I wouldn’t have guessed at from their previous EPs. All in all, I’m pleased that Punk Lives, and even manages to sound fresh, so many years later. (I’m showing my middle age here, I know, but so be it).