Whereas Mr. Beast was good, but not as remarkable as their earlier efforts, Mogwai is shaping up to release something really special next month if “Batcat” and “Devil Rides” are any indication.
I was totally psyched when I heard that the the mighty Roky Erickson, legendary psychedelic cult hero, was going to appear on the new Mogwai jam hive The Hawk is Howling, already notorious for its most triumphant track listing and flea market-worthy cover art. It’s quite amazing that Roky is not only still alive, but making music today (though most of it is only a shadow of the 13th Floor Elevators’ reach). I mean, how many languages can you say “fuck yeah” in? I can only say it in one, and that’s English, so I will commence into cheering a loud “fuck yeah” for (probably) the most important duet since Michael Jackson and Eddie Murphy’s “Whatzupwitu.” Continue reading ‘Mogwai meets the 13th Floor Elevators’
I’ve got a lot going on this week, so look out. I’m currently working on two different interviews, as well as a relatively in-depth essay on the use of non-commercial broadcast in music. I have a special surprise to unleash this weekend to celebrate the “Holy Shit! My Bloody Valentine is only a month away” event. I also have an advance of the Verve album and will probably post a couple of the songs that don’t bum me out. For funs, I found this really nerdy seven freakin’ page (single space) analysis I wrote about Boards of Canada’s Geogaddi album when I was 18. In my defense, I was on adderall when I wrote it. I’m usually not that intense. So, good stuff comin’ up on The Decibel Tolls just in time for fall sweeps.
Also of note, next week is my birthday. Thursday, specifically. It’s gonna be ballin’ outta control.
Continue reading ‘Special Comment from Kenny Bloggins’
Not to be one of those morons that likes to be nostalgic about the ’80s even though your hippocampus was not developed enough to hold many memories of it because you were fuckin’ five years old… BUT, if you were born in 1984 like me, the Flintstones Vitamins jingle has been permanently burned into your cerebral cortex. The person who wrote it made a lot of money, I’m sure. As such, every time I think of the band Growing, this melody pops in my head. Not exactly the tune you want to have circulating in your dome whilst Growing is ripping a hole in the sky immediately above you. Continue reading ‘10 Million Strong and Growing’
I’m going to bat for Bradford and pals. Deerhunter has been good to us. On their blog, bandleader Bradford Cox is pretty great about providing new songs and sneak peeks of forthcoming material. While posting a link to the new Atlas Sound single, via Mediafire, Bradford unwittingly provided a public portal to all of his uploaded material, including two not-yet-released albums, unfinished demos, and the famous Deerhunter “micromixes.” In essence, his diary was discovered. As you can imagine, a free-for-all ensued. Old dude made it over to the At Ease Message Boards and posted all the files. Do you think Captain Yorke and the boys would approve of this, brah?! I’m a blogger too and all, but I’m sorry guys, that was a bitch move on your part, indie dorks. For shame. Continue reading ‘I’m Sorry, Bradford Cox’
Wouldn’t it be totally lulzy if I posted a picture of the Seattle landmark and was all like “no, not that Space Needle, silly?!” Oh em gee, that would be hysterical. But since I have no sense of humor that I’m aware of, that won’t happen. Instead, I’d like to talk about how Space Needle (the band) is the fuzziest ever. I’m talking Snuggle Bear fuzzy. And by the way, this is not product placement, I’m really into Snuggle Bear. I fucking love talking bears. Continue reading ‘Space Needle is for Lovers’
About 10 years ago, Art Bell, then host of late night alien and conspiracy theory-themed radio program Coast to Coast AM, aired the frightening urban legend recording “The Sounds From Hell.” It’s an unsettling clip, but also morbidly fun. It’s also completely a hoax (literally speaking, not theologically). The origin of this sound is as follows: Soviet scientists drilled a hole nine miles deep in the heart of Siberia to study plate tectonics. When they hit a heat pocket, their drilling equipment was destroyed, followed by the sound of millions of screaming souls. As any good scientist would do, they whipped out the mics and recorded it.
I tell this anecdote as it relates the feeling I get when I hear Cloudland Canyon, and subsequently, when I feel my face melt off my skull. I don’t believe in hell, but I believe in nine mile deep holes. And at the entrance of such a tremendous cave, portal, the dark and cavernous chasm reaching deep into foreboding stretches beyond our measly surface existence, is the sound of Cloudland Canyon. It’s huge, it’s beautiful, but it’s teeming with trepidation. If they ever make a film adaptation for Mark Z Danielewski’s House of Leaves, Cloudland Canyon should produce the sound of the ever-expanding house. This is the biggest thing on the planet. Cloudland Canyon, should their discography get too prolific, will knock our planet right off it’s fucking orbital plane. Continue reading ‘Cloudland Canyon Ain’t Nothin’ to Fuck With’
Califone played Monday, 8.11.08, at the Jay Pritzker Pavilion in Millennium Park in Chicago as part of the Audible Architecture Concert Series and Pitchfork’s Nightclubs at Noon Series. I caught Califone back in November of ‘06 as they were pushin’ Roots and Crowns. Though the show was good, it was held in an art space with little to no heat, the band seemed sorta bummed, and it certainly didn’t hold any weight compared to what they brought Monday (and at lunchtime, no less).
Perhaps it was just the acoustics of the Frank Gehry designed amphitheater, but Califone got better since last time we met. Tim Rutuli’s vocals were at their most melodic and pop-aware, meanwhile the band was increasing their sonic depth before your very eyes, unfurling louder, thicker, trippier soundscapes that were strange even for Califone. Walls of thick ambience, collapsing structures and disjointed melodies, violins, horns, jingly percussion – Califone did not fuck around. Seeing them reminded me of why I like Animal Collective, as in, there were two very disparate forces pulling away from each other at the same time. While one segment of the music moved more into the major key pop realms, the other spun off into a noisy, marshmallowy sea of sine wave shredding psych. Jesus fuck, they were really good. The hippie contingent was out in full force, too, which is always fun to see juxtaposed with all the douchey fasttrack business folk.
Continue reading ‘Califone – “The Orchids” in Chicago – 8.11.08′
