Let's just put this out there right now. This isn't going to be a typical, emotionally distanced, unbiased record review. There are some bands that hit you at just the right time, and in just the right way, that they become a part of who you are. For me, that band is The Hold Steady.
If someone (say, the President or something) were to put me in charge of the Fine-Art Capsule, where my main responsibility would be to gather the best of human artistic achievement and put it in a capsule we were going to give as a goodwill gesture to an invading alien race, "Boys and Girls in America" (with the song "Same Kooks" banished forever) would be one of the first items I picked. You probably wouldn't do the same. You'd probably go with The Beatles or Miles Davis or something -- and that's reasonable. I'm not trying to be logical here.
Reviewing a Hold Steady record would be like reviewing my Dad, or better yet, like reviewing the 27-year-old me, but in the emotional state of 10th-grade me. There's no possible way the reader is going to get an accurate summation.
So if you're reading this post in hopes of finding out whether or not you should purchase "Heaven is Whenever," I'm afraid it's going to be utterly useless. This post is going to focus more on my relationship with art and how I use it to better understand my life.
I put off listening to this record until the actual release date. Sure, I'd hear the various songs that trickled out to Pitchfork or the New York Times or whatever as they became available, but I refrained from acquiring the full record until May 4. I have no problems listening to leaked copies of anyone else's work, but I always wait patiently for The Hold Steady. Since this is the only band that actually makes me feel like a teenager, I feel like it's only right to approach the entire process of listening to them like it was 1998 -- back before files could be swapped anonymously and the only way you could hear a band's new album was to actually purchase it on release day.
I told you this wasn't going to be logical.
I knew there was no way "Heaven is Whenever" could possibly measure up to "Boys and Girls in America" or "Stay Positive." Oh, the pressure of unrealistic expectations. Those two records were as good as this band -- hell, any band -- is ever going to sound.
When the group emerged out of the ashes of Lifter Puller in the early part of the decade, it really didn't have any idea what it was trying to accomplish, other than "literate songs, rockin' guitars." On the debut "Almost Killed Me," you could tell they were onto something big, but the music hadn't quite caught up to Craig Finn's magnificent storytelling. There seemed to be next to no relationship between Finn's vocals and the rest of the band -- which was kinda neat, sorta.
The music started to catch up on "Separation Sunday," with songs like "Your Little Hoodrat Friend" having honest-to-goodness choruses and hooks to supplement Finn's incredible stories.
But there's no way I could've properly prepared myself for "Boys and Girls in America." I could spend 10,000 words writing about everything I love in this record, but in the interest of saving time, let's just go with the thumbnail sketch: It's everything I like about rock & roll.
"Stay Positive" was somehow almost as good. And when anything is this good and this distinctive, it's inevitably going to garner a lot of attention.
Obviously, I'm not the only one who loves this band. They're really huge now, and for good reason. They managed to make highly specific stories seem universal -- essentially, the purpose of any real art.
However, that success was going to present a band like The Hold Steady with some unforeseen challenges. This is a group that thrived on being the underdog, the unfashionable outcast. Their hard-edge sound was a direct response to all the dance-rock that was making it big in New York at the time, and the thoroughly dense wordplay and complex narratives chased away any troglodytes that "just wanted to fuckin' party, dude!"
So what can a band like The Hold Steady do when it's already won? The chaperones crowned them the king and the queen. Now what?
It didn't help matters when Franz Nicolay bid farewell in January. Nicolay joined the band in between "Separation Sunday" and "Boys and Girls in America" -- not coincidentally, the period in which The Hold Steady made that massive artistic leap forward. His dramatic, Springsteen-esque piano parts and that kickin' harmonica solo in "Southtown Girls" added unforgettable flourishes and provided Finn a much more colorful backdrop to tell his tales.
"Heaven is Whenever" desperately misses him.
It's not a bad record by any stretch. In fact, it's a damn good one, and one I'm sure to love even more the longer I sit with it. I've only given the thing four front-to-back spins, so what you're reading here is a first impression of what is no doubt a transitional album for a band at a MAJOR crossroads.
With that said, it doesn't seem as if the band is as, well, committed as it was in the past. And that's understandable. It's tough to commit when you don't really know quite where you're going.
"Heaven is Whenever" opens with a pretty ballsy move, kicking things off with a slide-guitar-driven ballad in "The Sweet Part of the City." The last two records came out swinging, with "Stuck Between Stations" and "Constructive Summer" setting the tone: We're The Hold Steady, and we're here to rock.
"The Sweet Part of the City" eases the listener into things, but it doesn't feel self-conscious. And, ultimately, the message is the same. Finn ends the song by repeating, "We like to play for you."
The next couple tracks, "Soft in the Center" and "The Weekenders" are typical straight-ahead Hold Steady rock, but the edges have been buffed clean. Instead of the big "whoa oh OH" moments that defined the previous albums, the backing vocals follow more of a "Oooo, Oooo" format. Pleasant, but this band is better than pleasant.
My favorite rocker in the collection is "Hurricane J" -- a bittersweet callback to the theme of the previous record (looking for something better, and having the courage to break bad habits) and quintessential Hold Steady.
On the downside, the clarinet solo midway through "Barely Breathing" is a big letdown -- not the solo itself, but how the instrument is awkwardly jammed into the mix, almost screaming to the listener "WE ARE TRYING NEW THINGS!" The only clarinet solo that has ever worked in indie rock was the jaunty bit in the second half of The National's "So Far Around the Bend." In addition, the closing track "A Slight Discomfort" overstays its welcome with a cacophonic outro it didn't earn. It's no "Slapped Actors," that's for damn sure.
Am I nitpicking? I really can't tell. I'm obviously willing to give this band a much longer leash than I would for just about anyone else. I know if anyone else tried that "Barely Breathing" clarinet mess, I'd give that the big, rubber FAIL stamp.
Seeing a band like The Hold Steady feel its way through this new phase of its career is inevitably going to be a rewarding experience. Especially when we know there's still brilliance lurking beneath the growing pains.
The record's centerpiece is a tune called "We Can Get Together." It's among my personal musical highlights of 2010 (alongside "Excuses" by The Morning Benders, "World Sick" by Broken Social Scene, "All I Want" by LCD Soundsystem and "The Loneliness" by Frightened Rabbit). It's self-referential, deeply personal, and completely right about everything.
I love The Hold Steady. That will never change. Heaven is whenever we can get together, sit down on the floor and listen to their records.
Verdict: It's nearly impossible to feel comfortable in your own skin when everyone is staring at you.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
"High Violet" -- The nasty side of ambition
A few weeks ago, The New York Times published an article titled "The National Agenda" -- a stellar piece by Nicholas Dawidoff profiling The National just as their fifth album "High Violet" was set to be released. Dawidoff's thesis: This album was going to be a Big Deal.
For those not familiar with this band, The National is a five-piece collective made up of two sets of brothers and frontman Matt Berninger. Their first two records (the eponymous debut and "Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers") sort of hinted at what could one day be a good band, but their "Leonard Cohen meets alt-country" vibe didn't do anything to highlight this band's strengths.
The seven-song "Cherry Tree" EP was a massive artistic breakthrough for the group, as they began exploring more dramatic, cinematic elements. "Wasp Nest" found the band finally zoning in on an emotional viewpoint, and an early take on "All The Wine" is among my personal musical highlights. It's a Perfect Song.
The success of this EP led to "Alligator" -- The National's first real major statement. There were a couple of duds, but for the most part, this record let us know that these guys were serious.
"Boxer" soon followed. Everyone loved "Boxer." It was more polished and accomplished than its predecessor, but the tension was left to simmer throughout the 43:25 run time. No moments of catharsis along the lines of "Abel" or "Mr. November" to be found here.
Between the one-two punch of "Alligator" and "Boxer," everyone who gives a crap about modern music had jumped on The National's bandwagon. These guys were accomplishing Great Things, and "High Violet" was set to be one of 2010's most anticipated releases.
The aforementioned New York Times article caught the fivesome at a crucial juncture. They were fully aware of the expectations surrounding "High Violet" and knew that people were expecting them to deliver a record that captured The Sound of the Times.
For the most part, "High Violet" delivers.
Everything that makes The National a great band is on full display here. Berninger's limitations as a vocalist is somehow the band's strongest asset. His range exists in between a baritone, a higher baritone, and a lower baritone, where he mumbles his broken poetry over his band's sweeping soundscapes. Berninger's narrowed focus gives the band its emotional core, which on "High Violet" is terribly nervous. He's bleak, but not entirely hopeless.
Everything Berninger says on this record is a reflection of his continued discomfort with growing older while becoming more famous. In pop music, the "successful band struggling to deal with fame" typically results in the most boring music imaginable, but The National has a built-in advantage. They'll never feel comfortable, which helps to keep their music compelling.
There are some unspeakably beautiful moments on "High Violet." The opening track, "Terrible Love," builds and builds into an explosion of sound that sums up every reason why people fell for this band in the first place. "Bloodbuzz Ohio" highlights the band's secret weapon, drummer Bryan Devendorf, as Berninger turns in the album's catchiest melody. "Runaway" is on the short list of the band's most effective slow burners, with Berninger getting downright tender on the "What makes you think I'm enjoying being left to the flood?" line. Outside of the lazy "Do do do do" part on "Lemonworld" (the album's only true dud), this record is rock solid.
Just like every record these guys put out, I admired this album (but didn't love it) the first time I heard it start to finish. Then I gradually loved it more and more each time I played it. The National makes music that you need to sit with for a while. It's heavy stuff.
Every review you read on "High Violet" that came out the week of release is utterly useless -- like trying to determine whether you want to marry someone after a first date.
That said, the New York Times article was a total bummer. Much like the dreadful documentary the band released as a companion piece to the "Virginia" EP, it let people behind the curtain, and I really would rather have not known anything about these guys as people.
It turns out that everyone in this band is a total shithead.
Their creative process is essentially an exercise in passive aggression. Everyone cuts down everyone else in the most juvenile ways imaginable. It takes them weeks (sometimes months) to finish songs, because there isn't a track that goes by without some cutting comment or petty remark.
Says Berninger: "Everybody thinks everybody else has secret ulterior motives because we all do. We purposefully set up decoys and red herrings to attack a song. That we’re all playing mind games is sort of funny, but it’s also frustrating."
Doesn't that sound miserable?
It's that conflict that makes The National's music so terrific (the old cliche "conflict creates drama" most certainly applies here), but it makes me kind of depressed. I could never be in a band like The National.
I've played bass in my friend Daniel's band for almost five years now, and I would've quit four-and-a-half years ago if Redlands was anything like The National. Playing music is the most fun anyone can possibly have. Why would you want to turn that into something so emotionally draining?
The National is a Band That Matters, but is it really worth it if you spend the majority of that time being mean to everyone you're creating that music with? What does it say about The Times We Live In if the band responsible for The Sound of Our Times is deeply, profoundly unhappy?
Verdict: Be nice to each other.
For those not familiar with this band, The National is a five-piece collective made up of two sets of brothers and frontman Matt Berninger. Their first two records (the eponymous debut and "Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers") sort of hinted at what could one day be a good band, but their "Leonard Cohen meets alt-country" vibe didn't do anything to highlight this band's strengths.
The seven-song "Cherry Tree" EP was a massive artistic breakthrough for the group, as they began exploring more dramatic, cinematic elements. "Wasp Nest" found the band finally zoning in on an emotional viewpoint, and an early take on "All The Wine" is among my personal musical highlights. It's a Perfect Song.
The success of this EP led to "Alligator" -- The National's first real major statement. There were a couple of duds, but for the most part, this record let us know that these guys were serious.
"Boxer" soon followed. Everyone loved "Boxer." It was more polished and accomplished than its predecessor, but the tension was left to simmer throughout the 43:25 run time. No moments of catharsis along the lines of "Abel" or "Mr. November" to be found here.
Between the one-two punch of "Alligator" and "Boxer," everyone who gives a crap about modern music had jumped on The National's bandwagon. These guys were accomplishing Great Things, and "High Violet" was set to be one of 2010's most anticipated releases.
The aforementioned New York Times article caught the fivesome at a crucial juncture. They were fully aware of the expectations surrounding "High Violet" and knew that people were expecting them to deliver a record that captured The Sound of the Times.
For the most part, "High Violet" delivers.
Everything that makes The National a great band is on full display here. Berninger's limitations as a vocalist is somehow the band's strongest asset. His range exists in between a baritone, a higher baritone, and a lower baritone, where he mumbles his broken poetry over his band's sweeping soundscapes. Berninger's narrowed focus gives the band its emotional core, which on "High Violet" is terribly nervous. He's bleak, but not entirely hopeless.
Everything Berninger says on this record is a reflection of his continued discomfort with growing older while becoming more famous. In pop music, the "successful band struggling to deal with fame" typically results in the most boring music imaginable, but The National has a built-in advantage. They'll never feel comfortable, which helps to keep their music compelling.
There are some unspeakably beautiful moments on "High Violet." The opening track, "Terrible Love," builds and builds into an explosion of sound that sums up every reason why people fell for this band in the first place. "Bloodbuzz Ohio" highlights the band's secret weapon, drummer Bryan Devendorf, as Berninger turns in the album's catchiest melody. "Runaway" is on the short list of the band's most effective slow burners, with Berninger getting downright tender on the "What makes you think I'm enjoying being left to the flood?" line. Outside of the lazy "Do do do do" part on "Lemonworld" (the album's only true dud), this record is rock solid.
Just like every record these guys put out, I admired this album (but didn't love it) the first time I heard it start to finish. Then I gradually loved it more and more each time I played it. The National makes music that you need to sit with for a while. It's heavy stuff.
Every review you read on "High Violet" that came out the week of release is utterly useless -- like trying to determine whether you want to marry someone after a first date.
That said, the New York Times article was a total bummer. Much like the dreadful documentary the band released as a companion piece to the "Virginia" EP, it let people behind the curtain, and I really would rather have not known anything about these guys as people.
It turns out that everyone in this band is a total shithead.
Their creative process is essentially an exercise in passive aggression. Everyone cuts down everyone else in the most juvenile ways imaginable. It takes them weeks (sometimes months) to finish songs, because there isn't a track that goes by without some cutting comment or petty remark.
Says Berninger: "Everybody thinks everybody else has secret ulterior motives because we all do. We purposefully set up decoys and red herrings to attack a song. That we’re all playing mind games is sort of funny, but it’s also frustrating."
Doesn't that sound miserable?
It's that conflict that makes The National's music so terrific (the old cliche "conflict creates drama" most certainly applies here), but it makes me kind of depressed. I could never be in a band like The National.
I've played bass in my friend Daniel's band for almost five years now, and I would've quit four-and-a-half years ago if Redlands was anything like The National. Playing music is the most fun anyone can possibly have. Why would you want to turn that into something so emotionally draining?
The National is a Band That Matters, but is it really worth it if you spend the majority of that time being mean to everyone you're creating that music with? What does it say about The Times We Live In if the band responsible for The Sound of Our Times is deeply, profoundly unhappy?
Verdict: Be nice to each other.
"Together" - Professional Popular Song
This is a tricky one.
As far as I can tell, The New Pornographers is a Canadian collective put on earth solely to craft the most perfect pop music mankind is capable of. And their batting average in this pursuit is insanely high.
Mastermind and all-around nice guy (probably) A.C. Newman spearheads this crew, which also includes Destroyer's Dan Bejar (the other male voice you hear and the group's loose cannon), three other folks, and secret-weapon and unofficial "Best Female Singer Currently Working" Neko Case.
They've released four full-length albums since forming like Voltron (or perhaps more like Captain Planet -- where Case would most definitely serve as "fire" in that convoluted analogy) in the late 1990s, and this new batch of tunes is as strong as anything they've ever released.
The general consensus on this band is as follows: If you like pop music, there's no way you can't enjoy what The New Pornographers do (double negative!). If they would've formed in the mid-1970s, they'd be at least as popular as Cheap Trick and playing a casino near you. This is exactly how guitar-driven pop music was meant to sound, and the fact that they're relegated to cult status (popular enough to fill a joint like the Rialto, but still not popular enough to get regular airplay on 92.9) while Ke$ha gets to take over "The Simpsons" opening credits is a damaging indictment on our culture as it's currently composed.
But listen to this record and honestly ask yourself this question: Do The New Pornographers move you on a visceral level? Does their music elicit a gut reaction from you?
After you answer that question, ask yourself this: Is that necessarily the level on which this band was meant to be judged?
This is where the review gets tricky. I don't want to make it sound like I believe Newman leads his group of Canadian pixies into a studio wearing lab coats and plastic goggles, where they go about creating pop music with beakers and Bunsen burners. This group approaches their material with care and with a human touch that can't be replicated.
They pull off one of the most difficult feats one can accomplish in any artistic field -- they make the excessively complicated seem simple and natural. They screw around with time signatures and key changes and all the ultra-esoteric pop minutiae that the average listener (read: sane person) couldn't care less about, yet each song sounds like it should've already been created long before The New Pornographers came along.
I mean, just listen to that riff that opens "Moves." How did it take us until 2010 for that guitar part to be released? Or the string part that ties "The Crash Years" together or the wordless outro in "Daughter of Sorrow"-- what were humans doing if we weren't creating that?
But I have yet to crack these guys. What makes them tick, other than the pursuit of pop perfection?
All truly great music comes from an emotional viewpoint. Angry, depressed, lovestuck, lovelorn, giddy, confused -- all songs come from somewhere. Take, for example, "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" by Wilco. There's no way a record like that could exist if the person at the center of it wasn't dealing with some serious hurt. Jeff Tweedy never directly addresses what's going on inside that head of his, but the sound he was able to create will live on longer than whatever emotion caused him to create it.
It doesn't even have to be an emotion the songwriter is experience in the first person. I know a guy who writes phenomenal songs mainly from a third-person perspective that resonate just the same as if he were the one burning bridges or setting fire to his adulterous dad's correspondence or picking up the pieces of a broken marriage.
But The New Pornographers seem to be somewhat emotionally inert. The songs sound great. The arrangements and instrumentation are flawless. There is nothing anyone could possibly want to change about them.
And that might be what keeps them from resonating on that gut level.
The New Pornographers are like that kid in high school -- the straight-A Valedictorian who was exceedingly nice to everyone, never got into trouble, and realized two weeks after graduation that they never really connected with anyone (think Diane Court in "Say Anything"). Case occasionally plays the John Cusack role, holding that boombox high and urging these guys to climb out of their shell. But that pursuit of perfection seems to hold these guys back a little. Instead of playing a few wrong notes on the path toward something big, they stay in their groove and churn out their pristine music, safe and sound.
And is it fair to expect them to do anything other than that?
A piece of art can only be judged on what it's trying to accomplish. Obviously, it's futile to use the same grading rubric for "The Godfather" and "Superbad," but Greg Mottola's film achieved exactly what it set out to do -- get some big laughs, remain true to its characters, and create a somewhat realistic portrayal of the end-of-high-school experience.
The New Pornographers occupy a much-needed niche in the current pop landscape. They provide the instructional manual on how these types of songs should be constructed.
But when was the last time you were moved by an instructional manual?
Verdict: It's OK to screw up once in a while, even if you're successful -- hell, especially if you're successful.
As far as I can tell, The New Pornographers is a Canadian collective put on earth solely to craft the most perfect pop music mankind is capable of. And their batting average in this pursuit is insanely high.
Mastermind and all-around nice guy (probably) A.C. Newman spearheads this crew, which also includes Destroyer's Dan Bejar (the other male voice you hear and the group's loose cannon), three other folks, and secret-weapon and unofficial "Best Female Singer Currently Working" Neko Case.
They've released four full-length albums since forming like Voltron (or perhaps more like Captain Planet -- where Case would most definitely serve as "fire" in that convoluted analogy) in the late 1990s, and this new batch of tunes is as strong as anything they've ever released.
The general consensus on this band is as follows: If you like pop music, there's no way you can't enjoy what The New Pornographers do (double negative!). If they would've formed in the mid-1970s, they'd be at least as popular as Cheap Trick and playing a casino near you. This is exactly how guitar-driven pop music was meant to sound, and the fact that they're relegated to cult status (popular enough to fill a joint like the Rialto, but still not popular enough to get regular airplay on 92.9) while Ke$ha gets to take over "The Simpsons" opening credits is a damaging indictment on our culture as it's currently composed.
But listen to this record and honestly ask yourself this question: Do The New Pornographers move you on a visceral level? Does their music elicit a gut reaction from you?
After you answer that question, ask yourself this: Is that necessarily the level on which this band was meant to be judged?
This is where the review gets tricky. I don't want to make it sound like I believe Newman leads his group of Canadian pixies into a studio wearing lab coats and plastic goggles, where they go about creating pop music with beakers and Bunsen burners. This group approaches their material with care and with a human touch that can't be replicated.
They pull off one of the most difficult feats one can accomplish in any artistic field -- they make the excessively complicated seem simple and natural. They screw around with time signatures and key changes and all the ultra-esoteric pop minutiae that the average listener (read: sane person) couldn't care less about, yet each song sounds like it should've already been created long before The New Pornographers came along.
I mean, just listen to that riff that opens "Moves." How did it take us until 2010 for that guitar part to be released? Or the string part that ties "The Crash Years" together or the wordless outro in "Daughter of Sorrow"-- what were humans doing if we weren't creating that?
But I have yet to crack these guys. What makes them tick, other than the pursuit of pop perfection?
All truly great music comes from an emotional viewpoint. Angry, depressed, lovestuck, lovelorn, giddy, confused -- all songs come from somewhere. Take, for example, "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" by Wilco. There's no way a record like that could exist if the person at the center of it wasn't dealing with some serious hurt. Jeff Tweedy never directly addresses what's going on inside that head of his, but the sound he was able to create will live on longer than whatever emotion caused him to create it.
It doesn't even have to be an emotion the songwriter is experience in the first person. I know a guy who writes phenomenal songs mainly from a third-person perspective that resonate just the same as if he were the one burning bridges or setting fire to his adulterous dad's correspondence or picking up the pieces of a broken marriage.
But The New Pornographers seem to be somewhat emotionally inert. The songs sound great. The arrangements and instrumentation are flawless. There is nothing anyone could possibly want to change about them.
And that might be what keeps them from resonating on that gut level.
The New Pornographers are like that kid in high school -- the straight-A Valedictorian who was exceedingly nice to everyone, never got into trouble, and realized two weeks after graduation that they never really connected with anyone (think Diane Court in "Say Anything"). Case occasionally plays the John Cusack role, holding that boombox high and urging these guys to climb out of their shell. But that pursuit of perfection seems to hold these guys back a little. Instead of playing a few wrong notes on the path toward something big, they stay in their groove and churn out their pristine music, safe and sound.
And is it fair to expect them to do anything other than that?
A piece of art can only be judged on what it's trying to accomplish. Obviously, it's futile to use the same grading rubric for "The Godfather" and "Superbad," but Greg Mottola's film achieved exactly what it set out to do -- get some big laughs, remain true to its characters, and create a somewhat realistic portrayal of the end-of-high-school experience.
The New Pornographers occupy a much-needed niche in the current pop landscape. They provide the instructional manual on how these types of songs should be constructed.
But when was the last time you were moved by an instructional manual?
Verdict: It's OK to screw up once in a while, even if you're successful -- hell, especially if you're successful.
"Forgiveness Rock Record" -- Strength in numbers
How the hell do these guys pull it off?
Broken Social Scene isn't so much a band as it's an idea. Well, that's not entirely true (and it's a stupid sentence I shouldn't have written because nobody talks like that). Broken Social Scene is a dizzy, stream-of-conscious, revolving-door collective that has ten times more ambition than focus. The fact that anything coherent can come out of a band like this is incredible.
Kevin Drew is the guy mostly in charge of steering this unwieldy ship, but he's got dozens of friends who float in and out of the crew to add a dash of creative energy to whatever Drew is trying to lay down.
"Forgiveness Rock Record" is the collective's first official release in five years, but the BSS imprint has only gotten stronger. BSS alumni Feist, Metric, Do Make Say Think, Stars and The Weakerthans (and at least 10 other bands) have developed into major acts on their own. More so than any other modern indie band, Broken Social Scene is probably who I'd play for someone who had absolutely no idea what indie rock is and wanted to "kinda hear what the fuss was all about."
This time around, Drew teamed up with John McEntire (credits include drummer for Tortoise and the Sea and Cake) and laid down a record much more streamlined and sharp than one could reasonably expect from a band set up like this. The Scene's two previous full lengths, "You Forgot it in People" and the eponymous follow-up, played like a collection of post-it notes jammed together into some really hip collage.
Drew and his clan were always expert sloganeers. "You Forgot it in People" remains my favorite album title of all time. Just love that combination of words, for some reason. Drew could run for President of Indie Rock, if such a thing existed.
This time around, those short bits coalesce into a whole more so than ever before.
"Forgiveness Rock Record" is exactly what the title would indicate. It's a big, awesome indie rock album, complete with jagged guitars, sing-a-long choruses, forays into minimal dream-pop and an underlying theme of catharsis, acceptance, and, um, forgiveness.
I've yet to hear a song that stopped me in my tracks like, say, "Anthems for a Seventeen-Year-Old Girl," but "World Sick," "Forced to Love," "All to All," "Meet me in the Basement," and "Sentimental X's" come damn close. Even "Water in Hell" would've been a really awesome Built to Spill song, if it wasn't so Pavementy.
There really isn't a false step, musically. The record sounds huge -- the way any record with two dozen contributors should sound. There's another massive Canadian indie-rock outfit who are no doubt hearing this record and saying to each other "We have to step our game up."
Is this record pretentious? Oh, totally. Do I give a crap? Not in the least. Sincerity covers up just about any flaw this record might have -- at least in my book.
Verdict: "Forgiveness Rock Record" is gigantic. A big, big love.
Broken Social Scene isn't so much a band as it's an idea. Well, that's not entirely true (and it's a stupid sentence I shouldn't have written because nobody talks like that). Broken Social Scene is a dizzy, stream-of-conscious, revolving-door collective that has ten times more ambition than focus. The fact that anything coherent can come out of a band like this is incredible.
Kevin Drew is the guy mostly in charge of steering this unwieldy ship, but he's got dozens of friends who float in and out of the crew to add a dash of creative energy to whatever Drew is trying to lay down.
"Forgiveness Rock Record" is the collective's first official release in five years, but the BSS imprint has only gotten stronger. BSS alumni Feist, Metric, Do Make Say Think, Stars and The Weakerthans (and at least 10 other bands) have developed into major acts on their own. More so than any other modern indie band, Broken Social Scene is probably who I'd play for someone who had absolutely no idea what indie rock is and wanted to "kinda hear what the fuss was all about."
This time around, Drew teamed up with John McEntire (credits include drummer for Tortoise and the Sea and Cake) and laid down a record much more streamlined and sharp than one could reasonably expect from a band set up like this. The Scene's two previous full lengths, "You Forgot it in People" and the eponymous follow-up, played like a collection of post-it notes jammed together into some really hip collage.
Drew and his clan were always expert sloganeers. "You Forgot it in People" remains my favorite album title of all time. Just love that combination of words, for some reason. Drew could run for President of Indie Rock, if such a thing existed.
This time around, those short bits coalesce into a whole more so than ever before.
"Forgiveness Rock Record" is exactly what the title would indicate. It's a big, awesome indie rock album, complete with jagged guitars, sing-a-long choruses, forays into minimal dream-pop and an underlying theme of catharsis, acceptance, and, um, forgiveness.
I've yet to hear a song that stopped me in my tracks like, say, "Anthems for a Seventeen-Year-Old Girl," but "World Sick," "Forced to Love," "All to All," "Meet me in the Basement," and "Sentimental X's" come damn close. Even "Water in Hell" would've been a really awesome Built to Spill song, if it wasn't so Pavementy.
There really isn't a false step, musically. The record sounds huge -- the way any record with two dozen contributors should sound. There's another massive Canadian indie-rock outfit who are no doubt hearing this record and saying to each other "We have to step our game up."
Is this record pretentious? Oh, totally. Do I give a crap? Not in the least. Sincerity covers up just about any flaw this record might have -- at least in my book.
Verdict: "Forgiveness Rock Record" is gigantic. A big, big love.
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