Local Anesthesia is a new regular feature that focuses on music and issues concerning Louisville.

As reported a couple of days ago, I honestly feel a little sore about the Black Angels not coming to Headliners. In part from the sobering, sinking feeling of not being able to see a band of this caliber at a good venue five minutes from my apartment, but mostly on ethos. This recent turn catalyzed a need for me to share some observations as both a local and an outsider – a recent transplant to Louisville who has been in the music business and truly fell in love with this city. And someone who’s recently adopted what could be considered in this town as a reasonably controversial opinion.

It’s worth noting that I have no vested interest or involvement in any of the parties mentioned, and have no empirical evidence to present, as it were. I simply am offering observations as a townie, and inferences/insight as a music promoter. But I think what I have to say is fair.

First, it’s unequivocal that Louisville gets passed over for awesome shows. A lot.

There’s a few reasons I can entertain. Louisville is not located on a major east-west corridor. When managers route a cross-country tour, they tend to build a logical itinerary along either I-80 to the north or I-40 to the south, neither of which is close to Louisville. Looking at a map, you can see how this is the most utilitarian and economical approach to tour the nation. In addition, seemingly more notable music scenes like Nashville, or college towns like Bloomington always present a reliable gig for someone booking from behind a desk. This, too, is understandable – booking colleges are a guaranteed revenue stream (student activities committees are required to spend their budget, or else they lose it) and guaranteed audience (college kids have the leisure time to attend shows), and a place like Nashville is a legendary “music city.”

However, Louisville’s music scene is certainly nothing to guffaw at. The city has played host to some amazing live shows and festivals, including acting as the flagship American city for Terrastock 7. But a massive void still remains in this city’s live music calendar, namely a deficit in diversity. Having lived here for almost a year, I feel safe in identifying another obstacle not related to any of the aforementioned, but rather, a well-known but culturally static and non-innovative entity that pulls a lot of water in Louisville and does little to further the city’s music locally or nationally. Surprisingly, I’m not talking about a conglomerate like LiveNation or Clear Channel, but our own WFPK (though some of the discussion later may parallel the criticisms toward the aforementioned corporations).

For our of town readers, WFPK, also known as “Radio Louisville,” is a large and popular listener-supported, NPR-affiliated radio station that plays a lot of what I would consider coffeehouse rock – mostly folk, alt country, and what I sorta mockingly describe as “candid, demure, sophisticated” singer-songwriters. Stuff you’d hear inside Starbucks. FPK doesn’t exactly sound like the most nefarious, formidable presence. I mean, I’m not even sure if the station, a member of the multi-station Louisville Public Media, is a 501(c)3 or not, but it certainly is not an organization that rakes in the dough by any stretch of the imagination.

Regardless, the problem with WFPK is not its business practices, but its influence. The issue, as I see it, arises from a music community, our music community, wherein promoters, publicists, talent buyers, and venues are, unwittingly or otherwise, overwhelming friendly to WFPK, creating a sort of ideological monopolization of live music in Louisville.

As far as events outside Derby, Fourth Street Live’s decidedly shitty concert series, or any of the big arena tours that roll through Freedom Hall, WFPK owns this town. That is to say, WPFK is often the presenter, promoter, and/or sponsor of a wide range of concerts and events. On the surface, this sounds like simply a symbiotic relationship between media and publicists. The problem develops when, to cite some legalese, a marketplace of ideas in the Louisville music community no longer exists.

WFPK has a remarkable presence over music in this town, and in the case, “wide range” really means vast majority. Open up any given issue of LEO Weekly or Velocity and look at the ads for shows and events. You’ll see the red and black logo everywhere, indicating that the station is, on some level, involved in almost everything. Go to a show at Louisville’s most visible venue, Headliners, and behold the spotlight illuminating the curtain – a giant two-story WFPK logo that says “hey, tonight’s event is probably brought to you by us.” Visit the city’s largest independent concert promoter, Production Simple (who have hosted some phenomenal shows in the past), and notice how many listings are preceded with “WFPK 91.9 Presents.” Compare that and other venue’s concert calendars with WFPK’s playlists. Compare the lineup of the city’s largest music festival, Forecastle Fest, with WFPK’s playlists. Patterns emerge. The station is involved in a lot, and seems more or less the go-to guys for show promotion.

Here is where the notion of helping vs. hindering music really comes into play, and why I side with the latter. While it is ultimately a nice gesture that this organization assists to promote events and book shows, some of which are free (such as Waterfront Wednesdays), and while some artists have certainly been helped by WFPK, on a macro level WFPK’s influence, I believe, hinders music progression in Louisville. Because WFPK has a power over those involved in making live music happen in Louisville, they probably also have a say. This would not be an issue if WFPK featured diversified programming. Unfortunately, they don’t. This means that only certain music is really championed here in town – obviously, music that WFPK would play.

To elaborate further, when an organization like WFPK becomes a powerful entity that has its finger on a vast array of citywide events, the station’s namesake becomes a commodity – a trusted brand identity that makes your job as, say, a club promoter easier. You’re immediately reaching thousands of potential attendees with spots on FPK’s drive time, and it sure beats stapling fliers on poles for hours. But this relationship only exists when a show is relevant to WFPK’s programming. So maybe you tow the line. Maybe it’s better that you book the Rhett Miller show over something more challenging, sell out the room, make a killing in bar sales, and have WFPK rally the troops with its airwaves. Everyone takes a cut, everyone’s happy, and not a sweat broke. Easy sleazy. I am not citing a specific example here, I’m merely illustrating how a talent buyer or promoter could pander a bit to WFPK. All things considered (no pun intended), it would be an easy trap to fall in to.

Of course, like promoters, WFPK also has people that make their lives easier. As with any sustainable business, WFPK has a duty to appeal to its core audience. Without getting into a debate on agenda setting theory, WFPK’s bread and butter undoubtedly comes from professionals holding down $50K/year jobs that can afford to donate $100 here and there and receive a sweet tote bag for their gift. Ah, the oft fabled power struggle. As Stephen Levitt beautifully summarized in Freakonomics (and I’m paraphrasing here): morality is the way the world should work; economics is the way it actually does. But hey, I understand that. It’s not scruffy dudes like me, who get stoked on Spacemen 3 spazz outs and completely insane freak folk, that throw cash to the station, nor is it any given member of my mid-20s demographic who tend to rarely listen to the radio. I respect this balancing act and sympathize with the notion that you don’t shit where you eat. So it follows that the music that appeals to this target market gets priority, to some extent, in the programming. To that end, it makes logical sense why WFPK is never adventurous with their playlists or events, despite the fact that they’re in a position where they could try to be progressive in some aspects considering their established name in the community.

Concerning WFPK’s programming, some of the music they play is not intrinsically bad, per se. But they play a lot of bland stuff (known to this blog as “borecore”), and it’s all in the vein of what is known in industry jargon as the AAA format, or “adult album alternative.” You hear some good songwriters on WFPK, but nothing new or too outside the box. You hear the new Son Volt, the new Decemberists, some old Decemberists, maybe a cut off Thom Yorke’s solo record if someone’s feeling saucy. Not exactly an edgy playlist. I’m sure at least one person on the staff is describing Wilco (The Album) as “visionary” as we speak. It’s worth mentioning that you also hear a lot of shit, too. In the afternoons, WFPK features a “Guilty Pleasure of the Day.” Often, the guilty pleasure is actually a better song than a third of their programming. That’s probably an issue on multiple levels.

WFPK switched to its current format in 1996, and interestingly enough, a lot of the songs aired come from new albums by artists that were around during that time. Even when WFPK plays a “new” artist, it’s usually someone poorly knocking-off something done decades ago, such as Vampire Weekend. The station seems to be in some sort of metaphysical realm where time is slowed.

I’m not the only one who feels this way. The Courier-Journal’s Peter Berkowitz published an article last year about WFPK just not being as good as it used to be. The second and last paragraphs really encapsulate the crux of the issue:

Billy Petot, a 30-year-old insurance agent and part-time musician, is less diplomatic. [Editor's Note: Petot is also a fellow WRFL alum and member of excellent local group Whistle Peak]

“WFPK is too white, and often times too stale,” he said. “A lot of the music lacks flavor. I don’t feel like the station introduces us to anything or promotes something that hasn’t already been tested. It’s like Hillary Clinton waiting for the poll numbers to decide her stance on an issue.”

Long viewed as the city’s most adventurous radio station, the WFPK that you now get depends on when you tune in. Dial up 91.9-FM and you might get to sample what the early adopters are listening to. Or you may get the soundtrack to “Grey’s Anatomy” — or worse, “Closing Time” by Semisonic. All within the same set.

“I feel like WFPK only introduces me to new music from old artists,” Petot said. “If Louisville is the cultural center it claims to be, why don’t we encourage that culture by introducing folks to new art that is starving for promotion?”

I also feel like WFPK is a little out of touch. Another poignant illustration concerns one of the website’s Question of the Week features last month. Program Director Stacy Owen wrote: “Locally there’s backseatsandbar, myoldkentuckyblog and WFPK’s Weekly Feed. What other music blogs are your favorites for finding the latest news and mp3s?” A couple of the regularly-updated Louisville blogs were omitted (including this one, but I’m not bitter… I do cuss on this blog and half of what I post would horrify Friends of WFPK) while one that was cited that is not even a local blog (My Old Kentucky Blog is based in Indianapolis and discusses Brooklyn a lot more than Louisville), and one was their own, The Feed, which is updated once a week and usually features whatever songs were slammin’ on Hype Machine last month. Last week’s installment included a new song from a struggling up-and-coming new rock and roll band called The Pearl Jams. Nice.

The C-J article mentioned above also discussed a little bit of WFPK’s history, and its original program director Dan Reed, who is responsible for establishing the AAA format and now runs Philadelphia’s WXPN, home to the wildly-influential World Cafe on NPR. Evidently at some point before my time, WFPK was edgy. It certainly isn’t anymore. Here are a couple of very telling quotes from within the station:

At the door to the music library, we run into afternoon DJ Marion Dries.

“Stacy, did I hear that Moby has a new CD out?”

On this day, Moby’s latest CD has been out for two weeks. Owen dryly acknowledges this to Dries, and the tour moves on.

And…

Still, new music can be a struggle for 55-year-old Meyer, an unabashed fan of Hendrix, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Bob Seger and graying Louisville singer-songwriter Tim Krekel. When the male singer Cass McCombs was heading towards town last fall, it took Meyer a few days to stop referring to “her new album.”

Ay carumba. An organization that wields a lot of power in this town and influences so many facets of our music scene should really be a little more ahead of the curve than this.

So if an organization like WFPK has its finger in many pies and features a playlist of very limited scope and ample staleness, then it follows that the safest shows to book, shows that have WFPK’s unfettering support, will have to fall in line with this paradigm. This leads to total stagnation in the live music scene.

The local concert calendar has been indisputably saturated by a lot of watered-down, totally unexciting, Nissan commercial-ready jive, and I have no doubt, based on my observations outlined above, that WFPK is partly responsible for this. However, I believe there is a quick, preliminary remedy to not only help the station’s programming grow and its influence to diversify, but to also give the local scene a boost. How about – start spinning what’s really going on in Louisville? Not local musicians who sound like what’s popular nationally, but musicians who are doing very distinct, original music in town. Why aren’t R Keenan Lawler, Invaders, Phantom Family Halo, Shedding, any of these guys that are doing something unquestionably more interesting, and most importantly adventurous, getting the same support from WFPK that, like, Ingrid “Old Navy” Michaelson is getting? They need exposure, and WFPK is certainly big enough to really make an impact. WXRT in Chicago, while also an AAA format station and not the coolest kid on the block, still had the balls to play Pelican on their local show. Doesn’t Louisville deserve the same service? This is the first step to moving things forward.

As stated earlier, it’s completely reasonable that FPK is aiming for a specific target market and demographic, as any good business would. But who’s reaching the other market of young music fans? Who’s reaching the small yet loyal demographic that thinks Phoenix, and certainly stuff like Josh Ritter, is kinda lame? Where’s our response?

Now for the inspiration for this post. Last week, I posted some news about a festival Lexington’s WRFL is hosting. The station has confirmed appearances by some legendary, truly genre-bending artists that I will not mention right now. As I’ve discussed in various entries, I lived in Lexington and booked shows at The Dame Music Hall. I can tell you unabashedly that Lexington is rather puritan community that’s not friendly toward art. It’s a place where a 35 year old, annual masquerade ball for charity, The Beaux Arts Ball, can be shut down by police because it’s late and all the freaks are bumming out Lexington’s bourgeoise. It’s a place where the police would surreptitiously video The Dame’s patio looking for excuses to come in and harass patrons – particularly on evenings when we had a punk or hip-hop group performing. It’s a place that’s home to the University of Kentucky, a strictly dry campus… except for tailgating parties during a UK football game. It’s a place where the city government has a fervent debate concerning whether it would be appropriate to build sidewalks along busy roads considering some people’s immaculately manicured front lawns might be at stake. It’s a place that boasted an organically grown, blossoming entertainment district that was completely leveled to make way for a high-rise hotel and condo development that remains, to this day, a hole in the ground. It’s a place that is hostile to unique expression and interests outside of horses and basketball. It’s a quaint picturesque college town that wants no boats rocked.

Louisville is none of the above. Louisville is a cosmopolitan town that prides itself on being regionally ambiguous and distinctly unique. It’s a place where the city government is greatly supportive toward local business. It’s a place that spawned the movement “Keep Louisville Weird,” and has fan clubs called “Possibility City” and “Why Louisville Loves You.” It’s a place that’s attractive to the creative class – to artists and thinkers and people interested to doing things a little differently. The city’s funky aesthetics – a jaunt up Bardstown Road, a barhop through Germantown, a sunny afternoon stroll down historic 4th Street in Old Louisville, or a nighttime gander at the city’s magnificent skylight whilst driving south across the Rogers Bridge, whose cantilevered trusses are basked in warm purple floodlights – will all demonstrate that pretty quickly. You can cut the potential here with a knife. But where’s the music scene that will put us on the map?

We know that there’s an audience for important, forward-thinking, internationally-revered music. Look at some of our hometown heroes: Slint? Squirrel Bait? June of 44? Rodan? The For Carnation? Sapat? Tara Jane O Neil? Crain? Hello, McFly?!?! According to this interview Backseat Sandbar did with the festival organizers for last year’s Terrastock, this name dropping is what got Louisville the festival. So what is the current stifling factor? Is it pursuit of the aforementioned easy way out on the part of our music promoters? Is Louisville just not interested in its rich history of boundary-pushing indie, punk, and psych?

Doubt it.

Is it lack of a tightly packed music scene like WRFL can provide to Lexington?

Hmmm, possibly. This is my call to action…

Louisville has a strong music scene, and a lot of folks like the Backseat Sandbar guys, Joel Hunt, the Sapat boys, Ken at Transpanther, Sean from Buzzgrinder, Matthew at Derby City Espresso, and a few others are working to bring great acts through and pair them with relevant and deserving local artists. And there are some really great artists in town. Read my review of Invaders’ newest for a taste. It’s time to band together to get some things moving. It’s time to reach a demographic that, outside of Terrastock and the awesome annual Good Folk Fest, has been under-served. I will be publishing ideas I have for the city in later posts, and I welcome dialogue from others in the music community. I want to network and help build the type of community that WRFL has built in Lexington, wherein people cross-pollinate their music projects, are dedicated to attending and participating in live shows, and maintain a compact, explosive scene. Sure, Louisville does have a music community, but it needs to be tighter, more succinct, and more proactive. I want to help light a fire. Care to join? My buddy Sean at Buzzgrinder has outlined some great ideas in this guest column on Consuming Louisville. There’s a great start. It’s time for the rest of us to respond to complacency. WFPK doesn’t have to be the lone ranger in town, ya know?

Despite the lengthy prose, this entry is not meant to serve as an indictment on WFPK or anyone in Louisville. I love this city and its people. This article means only to demonstrate that we should have different movements in our live music scene, and now is as good of time as any.

While The Decibel Tolls tends to be immature and vulgar, I do enjoy good, thoughtful discourse. Feel free to comment with your thoughts! So… enough with the bellyachin’ – on to more positive topics. But before I go, here’s a great song about bellyachin’. It’s called “Boo Hoo,” which is probably how the vast majority of this article comes across. And a Bark Psychosis song, because it felt right.

MP3 :::
Marvin Rainwater – Boo Hoo
Bark Psychosis – All Different Things

Recently, I opened a Tumblr account (kenny-bloggins.tumblr.com if’n yownta follow me) to post photos, graphic design work, and various sharable media. Whilst dickin’ around late last night, I tried to find an old website of mine hosted on the now-outdated University of Kentucky student server, since it had a lot of rad photographs of mine to upload on my new Tumblr page. Said website also featured a lot of various writing I had done during my freshman year in college, including an analytical piece I wrote for one of my English classes. I decided to keyword this paper to try to locate the old website. To my astonishment, I found that a number of different people – on websites, in other college papers, and even on Wikipedia – had cited this piece I wrote back in 2003 called Brainwashing, Misanthropy, and Society: an Analysis of Boards of Canada’s Geogaddi.

I wanted to publish this piece on the blog to share with you all, as well as to give the piece a more official source. You see, concerning the latter point, the paper is attributed to my nickname when I was 18, the name that appears on the title of the website – Mikey P Diddy. Yeah, that’s rather embarrassing. And since I wrote it when I was 18, the writing is certainly a very different style than how I write now. Evidently, I was a rather pretentious tool at that age that was too good to use phrases such as, I dunno, “dickin’ around” (again, note that I was evidently a pretentious tool known to his bros as Mikey P Diddy… Christ, that’s downright horrible).

Unfortunately, I don’t have the works cited page available. Roughly half the observations were mine, and half were various interpretations found in discussions on the old boardsofcanada.com message board. Otherwise, the good ol’ Encyclopedia Britannica was utilized. Again, this is a college paper, so I don’t expect a lot of folks to be terribly intrigued. But if you are, the full text and relevant Boards of Canada MP3s (your reward for reading, I suppose) are here for your perusal after the jump. 

Misanthropy, Brainwashing, and Society: An Analysis of Boards of Canada’s Geogaddi

Superb albums, which provide a long duration of playability and excitement, are the types of work which create a soundscape and atmosphere that makes room for the listener to discover something new upon each listening experience. Boards of Canada recorded a work that does just that, last year’s Geogaddi. The album remains fresh on repeated listens not only because of the dense layers of textured sound and abstract structures, but also because of the covert message and ideas which allow the listener to interpret the meaning of the artist’s expression. Not only is Geogaddi an innovative, creative, and extraordinarily recorded ambient electronic/IDM/psychedelic album, but the amount of different layers of simultaneous expression and stimuli reveal underlying themes which pontificate to an audience willing to read between the lines. The following is my interpretation of Geogaddi, which I hope will open the minds of individuals who either own or have listened to the album. Better yet, I hope reading about an artist recording works so innovative, surreptitious, and intrinsically deep will encourage the reader to listen to the album. Geogaddi, essentially, is a work about the relationship between man and spirituality, the supernatural and the pragmatic, and nature and technology – each citing the different reactions humans have toward the surrounding phenomena.

Geogaddi contains 23 songs – ten traditional duration songs (three to five minutes), with the remaining tracks serving as sonic experiments or segues between movements. The first regular length track is called “Music is Math.” This title is an indicator that many of the mathematic hypotheses proposed for interpretive value could have merit. The genesis of the harmony flushes around the verbal sample “the past inside the present.” This is actually a school of postmodern philosophical thought whose origin can be traced back to a German Marxist playwright named Bertolt Brecht who lived during the early 20th century. Brecht’s plays included Mother Courage and The Life of Galileo. What made his work distinct was the fact that he didn’t want his audience to feel emotions – he wanted them to think – and towards this end, he determined to destroy the theatrical illusion, and, thus, that dull trance-like state he so despised. Formulaic art and conformity among the collective psyche began to fuel a misanthropic distaste within Bretch for his post-WWI society. His radical thoughts, often anti-religious, caused his books to be burned worldwide, and ultimately, led to his self-exile. “The past inside the present” reflected Brecht’s realization that “the rapidity of change and the increase of knowledge in the modern world have forced us to see history in a new light: not as a finalized past but as a process in which the new continuously transfigures the old.” The philosophy of Boards of Canada parallel Bretch’s world view, which suggests the connection between Bretch and Boards of Canada may not be coincidental. Both Marcus and Michael of the Boards are known for their separatist tendencies and anti-censorship views. Though their music conjures up a wide spectrum of emotions, they make thinking music, and want the audience to think introspectively, as well as worldly, toward the messages they wish to abstractly convey between the lines. What exactly is their message?

One of the first things one probably notices is the album artwork. The cover features various shades of orange, with a hexagon on the front. Around the perimeter of the hexagon, human figures and trees hold hands around the polygon. The human figures engaging with trees represent a recurring theme of nature vs. mankind in the Boards’ music, ranging from samples in the music, to the titles themselves (which are most prominent on their sophomore release Music Has the Right to Children). Their reclusion in the country and obsession with the wilderness can be found through the titling of their 2000 EP A Beautiful Place Out in the Country, which also acts as a reference to the latter discussed Amo Bishop Roden. Their Bretch-influenced criticism of human behavior derives partly from society’s disrespect of nature. The segue track “Energy Crisis” feature a sample of a 1979 public service announcement discussing the possibility of energy shortages in the future due to societal squandering. The hexagon itself features a luminescent glow which creates a sun-like effect, renowned sacredly as the provider of light and often represented as a god-like entity in many indigenous religions. The Boards’ recording studio is named “Hexagon Sun.” The religious symbolism soon takes a darker turn with a keen eye. One may notice demonic, sinister faces in the trees. There are six of these faces. There are also six human figures around the hexagon, which is a six sided polygon (666). After observing the artwork, one may put the album in a CD player and notice the duration of the music after the disc is scanned. The total playing time is 66:06, or 66′6″ written nautically. This type of disturbing imagery appears in the music too, most notably in “You Could Feel the Sky” (with the sky also being a symbol of “heaven,” “nature,” or “god”). Around the two and a half minute mark, an indiscernible sample plays forward with the minor and fluttering echoes of crackling fire and the ringing of church bells. When this sample is played backwards, the vocal track reveals “a god with horns… a god with hooves.” This description can be paralleled with a number of mythological characters, but the one people probably relate most with this is Satan, particularly in combination with the sound of fire coinciding with church bells.

Geogaddi, however, examines more than just Satan. Many God references, such as the sky, the sun, and mother nature, are spread throughout the recording. The track “The Smallest Weird Number” has been intriguing me for a while. I’m not a huge math person, but I remember discussing abundant numbers before. An abundant number is when the proper divisors add up to more than the original number. So for 70: 1+2+5+7+10+14+35 = 74, which of course, is more than 70, so it can be described as abundant. If there was some subset of these same numbers 1, 2, 5, 7, 10, 14, 35 which added up to 70, then 70 would be said to be semi-perfect. However, it doesn’t work that way for 70. Any other abundant number under 70 is also semi-perfect, but 70 is not, which yields it as the smallest weird number. Some have pointed out that 70’s significance can be pinpointed to the name of their label Music70. One could find that answer sufficient, but one could also interpret a deeper meaning, since the Boards have already establish mathematics as a communicative tool in Geogaddi. First, review the album’s tracks. There are 23 tracks total. Out of these tracks, ten are regular length songs. The other tracks on the album are one minute segues or sonic experiments. This leaves ten songs. Take the number ten and divide it into the smallest weird number. 70/10 = 7. Seven is a biblical number, a number used when describing God. Man is 5, Satan is 6, and God is 7. Focusing less on the satanic imagery and more on the godly themes, “You Could Feel the Sky” features epic and tribal (sacred) beats, and sounds like the “pounding of the sky” in a sort of Godly manner. “Sunshine Recorder” also has covert themes of God. A sunshine record, intuitively, records sunlight, and is used by geologists in study. The solid glass sphere focuses the sun’s rays to an intense spot on a card placed in the spherical mount behind the sphere. The focused sunlight burns a trace on the card as the sun moves across the sky. This light, as described in Genesis, was created by God on the first day in his seven day creation, noting seven as a significant number. Light itself, when refracted through a prism, breaks up into the visible spectrum of light, also known as a rainbow. The visible spectrum contains seven colors: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. In the song “Music is Math”, one can hear a faint voice during the song’s breakdown exclaim “PURPLE,” which, of course, is the color in which violet and indigo originate. In the same song played at half speed, “RED” is faintly repeated for a few seconds. In “Alpha and Omega,” a female’s voice whispers “YELLOW.” “Alpha and Omega” is also a Godly theme, creating the analogy of God being the beginning and end, utilizing the first and last letters in the Greek alphabet. The album’s cover is “ORANGE” and the back cover is “BLUE.” Such light comes from the sun, reflecting again the hexagon cover coinciding with the theme of nature and God. Returning to the track listing again, with “Magic Window” being a track of complete silence, there are 22 tracks of music. There are also 22 chapters in Revelation, a book of the Bible written in clandestine code, like Geogaddi, about the eventual end of the world due to the world’s sin – reflecting the Boards’ skepticism of humans’ treatment of nature. So are Boards of Canada some sort of religious fanatics or is this a sardonic joke? Marcus Eion of the Boards himself may shed some light:

“I do actually believe that there are powers in music that are almost supernatural. I think you actually manipulate people with music, and that is definitely what we are trying to do. People go on about hypnotizing people with music, or subliminal messages and we have dabbled in that intentionally. Sometimes that’s just a bit of a private joke, just to see what we can sneak into the tracks.”

The supernatural phenomenon of subliminal messages, as well as the reactions by those of demanding religious fervor, fascinates Boards of Canada. Their own insertion of such messages acts as a sarcastic musing, social commentary, as well as connect some of the themes of the album, providing a psychological segue. Movies Theaters were one of the first establishments known to use subliminal messages aimed at a mass audience – utilizing flashes of words and images to encourage the audience to purchase items at the concessions. Judas Priest was subpoenaed in 1990 on charges of creating subliminal messages encouraging children to commit suicide. Subliminal messages are considered by alarmist factions as a medium of brainwashing. Many ideas constructed by Nikola Tesla were considered to create brainwashing technology during the Cold War. There were reports of electromagnetic disturbances of radio transmissions in Europe that seemed to be coming from somewhere in the former Soviet Union. There is a good record of these disturbances and some had alleged that that the Soviets were testing a Tesla Transmitter that was supposed to yield limitless supplies of energy by creating resonant frequencies and transmitting the energy throughout the earth. This is relevant because this same technology was used to create the “over the horizon radar,” an actual military spy project in which one of Geogaddi’s sonic segues shares a moniker. The Cold War theme also plays a part in “Gyroscope,” in which a spiraling, abrasive beat builds around a child’s voice repeating random numbers. These vocal samples were taken from The Conet Project, a documentation of transmissions from “numbers stations.” Numbers stations broadcast random numbers on the short-wave radio band, which spies utilized to communicate to each other. Numbers stations were undecipherable because no universal language existed, each communication had a different character, letter, or idea assigned to a different number for each broadcast. The thought of what such broadcasts actual transmitted is a disturbing one. This is where the themes of the supernatural and the inexplicable come in. It’s a fact that brainwashing is a real phenomenon used in warfare, and it’s speculated religious cults also manipulated parts of the human psychology not quite comprehensible, another fascinating theme Geogaddi touches on in two separate occasions. Themes of religious cults appear on two separate occasions: “Sunshine Recorder” and “1969.”

One discovers some fascinating new textures in “1969″ when partially slowed down and reversed. The track features someone speaking, but the voice is electronically phased into melody. Melodic speaking, if you will. Slowing down the voice, one discerns: “Though not a follower of ____ _______ she’s a former devout Branch Dividian” The blanks, when flipped backwards, reveal the name “David Koresch”. David Koresh was the leader of the Branch Dividian cult in Waco, Texas. David believed he was Jesus Christ and was able to brainwash others into believing he was the Messiah. Not everyone in the Branch Dividians believed him, one being Amo Bishop Roden, whom was featured in a documentary about the cult filmed by PBS, which is where this sample came from in “Sunshine Recorder”. She described the Waco compound as “a beautiful place out in the country.” “Sunshine Recorder” features a sample speaking “a beautiful place.” One can assume this is Amo herself. Returning to “1969,” the track time of the song is 4:19. April 19, 1993 was the date the Waco compound was torched after gunfire between the ATF and the Branch Dividians, also written as 4-19-93. The year 1969, though, makes sense only after understanding that 1969 was the year CS gas was banned by the US government against foreign enemies. This same kind of gas was used by Koresch in the Waco massacre.

The topics Geogaddi touches on is fairly broad and universal. Essentially, Geogaddi is used as a tool to criticize human behavior. When looking under the surface of the music, the blatant use of satanic imagery with the satirical slant of brainwashing could alarm those who don’t question its existence in the album. This reaction points out, experientially, the oft irrational behavior in society. Boards of Canada views cults the same as they view religion: ritualistic ideas that can sometimes seem archaic and defy logic. Though religion is not the genesis of the problem, it is the human interpretation of something as sacred as a god or a holy book which perpetuates and exemplifies war and civil strife. It is human greed that causes people to exploit the mind for less than noble purposes. It is humans that have bit the hand feed them, destroying nature and our environment. It is humans which upset the delicate balance of the world’s binary oppositions, the extremes that paradoxically create order out of chaos. This is probably why the Boards of Canada, like Bretch, have chosen to go into self-exile. The name Geogaddi, directly translated, means “geo” – the earth, “gad” – to run wild, “di” – two, twice, again. So Geogaddi can mean “the earth to run wild again.” The book of Revelations describes this occurring through God’s wrath of fire. Of course, it could be the fallacy of humans that ultimately create the decay of our species. Without humans inflicting horrors onto the planet, nature is free to run wild again. This is just my interpretation. Of course, my interpretation is based solely on my perspective. Perspective can blind you, or skew your view of the world. I encourage you to listen to the album and ascertain your own interpretation. This is the whole point of Boards of Canada placing this message in their music. They hid this message for those who are willing to look for deeper meanings, to determine one’s own definition of the world around you. These people are the audience Boards of Canada were aiming for. Boards of Canada want you to question the status quo, and to free your mind – let yourself wander into the unexplored regions of man, the earth, and our imaginations. (Purchase Geogaddi)

POSSIBLY RELATED :::
Adventures in Shortwave, Part 1
Adventures in Shortwave, Part 2
Odd Nosdam Does Boards of Canada Right

MP3 :::
Boards of Canada – 1969
Boards of Canada – You Could Feel the Sky
Boards of Canada – Music is Math
Boards of Canada – In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country

If Wikipedia serves me right, election 2004 saw the birth of the ‘two Americas’ meme – blue state/red state, Democrat/Republican, Target/Walmart, patriot/commie, etc. It seems like so long ago… Joe Lieberman was a Democrat, Usher and Now! 16 (where are we today – Now! 42?) were topping the charts, and your house was worth more than it is now. In the past decade the two Americas have multiplied like Jon and Kate into multitudes of Americas. How do I know this? Witness the schizophrenia that is the Billboard 200 chart.

This week the top 10 albums in this great land of ours are from artists such as Kenny Chesney, Busta Rhymes, Lady GaGa and Hannah Montana. That’s at least four Americas right there (none of which I really care to live in). There’s another America that includes Kate Voegele who is apparently a fictional character on television and Myspace.

Is this really the schizo musically retarded demographic into which we’ve disintegrated? Or does this melting pot simply represent the 12 year old girls and knuckle-draggers who still purchase music in mall record stores? Let’s cross-reference the iTunes charts.

Lady GaGa. Check. Kenny Chesney. Check. Hannah Montana. Check.

Damn.

Digital music was supposed to herald the democratization of music. No more hegemony from the likes of major labels since even the most fringe artists can easily access the market. Maybe I should be encouraged by the fact that Grizzly Bear has debuted at #8 in the most recent Billboard chart. But then again, the #11 artist made it by selling CDs exclusively through Cracker Barrel restaurants.

Perhaps we weren’t really oppressed by the evil major labels and controlled distribution. Perhaps many of us just have exceptionally poor taste in music. Or perhaps those of us with good taste in music tend to steal tunes rather than pony up at Sam Goody.

On second thought maybe not. Check out Pollstar which tracks concert ticket sales. Acts with average ticket prices over $100? Bette Midler ($142.48), Cher (148.72), Celine Dion ($114.30), The Eagles ($129.01), and Madonna ($153.88). Some people apparently haven’t been slapped hard enough by recession. And considering you can’t illegally download a concert for free, it’s not likely that the numbers are skewed by freeloading cool kids.

With all that said, I will say it’s refreshing to finally have a President who appears to appreciate music. Bush’s inauguration featured Wayne Newton, Brooks and Dunn, and Ricky Martin. Meanwhile, Obama gave us Kanye West, Stevie Wonder, Bruce Springsteen and… Hannah Montana. Gotta throw a bone now and then to that other America.

MP3 :::
The Books – That Right Ain’t Shit

More and more artists are paying homage to Thoreau lately and recording their music in the midst of a hermetic retreat. And while most return with nothing more than a bruised ego and a full beard, every now and then they stumble back with something personal and articulate enough to rattle the ears of unsuspecting strangers. Damon McMahon, working under the name Amen Dunes, made a similar pilgrimage in 2006 to the Catskill Mountains to record what would become his debut album DIA. Both insular and cavernous, this debut LP is an uninhibited trek through McMahon’s psychedelic mind-scapes.

The album opens with the raw, dirt-in-the-fingernails garage rock of “Amen Dunes,” a successful throwback to 60’s style surf and distortion. Through his spidery reinterpretations of classic rock that has a tendency to take some noise detours, Amen Dunes fits somewhere within the vintage-minded acts like Crystal Stilts, and the clamorous sermons of Pumice and the New Zealand scene. But in the end, McMahon seems most at home cooking up spaced out lo-fi folk with just the right amount of static kindling. “By the Bridal,” is a drunk and driving ballad that plays a little bit like a cannibal-fruit-era Modest Mouse, but it’s a driving ballad that’s been thoroughly sunburned and then dunked in a bucket of reverb. Other highlights from DIA include “White Lace”, which effortlessly transitions from a folk song into a mountain of tape layers and effects, and the closing hymn “Breaker”, that pairs a muffled organ to a naked wailing vocal piece.

DIA is available now through Locust Music, and is highly recommended.

MP3 :::
Amen Dunes – By the Bridal
Amen Dunes – Amen Dunes

I recently started exploring the realms of what was known as the Paisley Underground, a movement mostly around Los Angeles in the early to mid ’80s that acted as a reaction to the machismo of the hardcore scene percolating at that time. The groups involved in the Paisley Underground (a moniker that, like punk, was meant as a joke) wanted to spread peace and love again through candy-ass rock and roll. Some very incredible albums came from this movement, and not all were specific to LA (Soft Boys and Big Star come to mind). While The Dream Syndicate and The Three O’Clock probably championed the scene the most, The Rain Parade’s austere yet lavish 1983 album Emergency Third Rail Power Trip is my pick of the litter. This album rips.

If “I Look Around” sounds familiar, The Asteroid #4 covered it last fall on These Flowers Of Ours. Jangly, lush, gorgeous – Emergency Third Rail Power Trip is unrelentingly powerfully, probably because it’s the perfect balance between two significant movements in rock – ’60s psych, and C86 dream pop. “This Can’t Be Today” is the type of unequivocally perfect, slightly askew pop song that makes everything else sound shitty. Everything. I mean, really, after hearing a song so flawless, it makes me want to go find the members of poppycock groups like Passion Pit, roundhouse kick ‘em in the domes, steal their money, and donate it to the formers members of the band. While The Rain Parade never saw much commercial success before their split in 1986, vocalist David Roback went on to form two other excellent bands – Opal, and the mighty motherfuckin’ Mazzy Star. So Roback still got real paid in the end, I suppose.

Though Rain Parade’s original label, Restless, is no longer around, Ryko still distributes Emergency Third Rail Power Trip, but not widely. Hence, if you don’t live near a rather large record store, your best bet is to grip it through Amazon. Which you should. Amazing that there was a time when indie rock didn’t suck, yes?

MP3 :::
The Rain Parade – This Can’t Be Today
The Rain Parade – 1 Hour and 1/2 Ago
The Rain Parade – I Look Around

Thousands of years ago, early rock drummers stretched animal skins across hollowed tree trunks and beat them silly with a dinosaur bone.  Primitive cultures continued to worship the drum for many millenia and even modern humans still regress into ancient ritual at hippie festivals worldwide.  Hipster humans have eschewed the traditional drum in favor of such innovations as beatboxing and electronic gizmos called “808s.”  But one man is poised to take modern beats to an entirely new level; Mr. Quintron with his revolutionary Drum Buddy.

Quintron has a day job as a performer – showcasing the Rhodes and Hammond organs along with the occasional puppet show – mostly at his own club, the Spellcaster Lodge in New Orleans.  He had previously tinkered with a number of homespun inventions including the Disco Light Machine and the Spit Machine and his experiments have culminated in a theremin-like contraption affectionately named the Drum Buddy.

In scientific terms, it’s a “five-oscillator, light-activated, mechanically-rotating drum machine” and sounds a bit like… well… listen in the video below – a 10 minute infomercial featuring Quintron, Ernie K-Doe and the Miss Pussycat puppets hawking the Drum Buddy for the low low price of $999.99.  In layman terms it’s just fucking weird.  ”Does NASA have one?  Have they flown one to the moon yet??”  No, but you can get your very own.  Watch and learn:

MP3 :::
Quintron & Miss Pussycat – Chatterbox

Discovery is a true commodity nowadays. It’s obvious when Bigfoot sightings don’t deliver and people claim to have found Atlantis using Google Earth, but luckily, there always seems to be relics of good music to uncover. Most recently, we soaked in the missed-connection allure of proto-punkers Death, but a few years ago, an equally remarkable keepsake was brought to light in the form of German folk songstress Sibylle Baier.

In the early 1970’s, during a “particuarly dark and moody period of her young life,” a good friend took Sibylle on a road trip through the Alps in Genoa. After returning with fresh vitality, she wrote and recorded a set of dark, fragile songs on her reel to reel device. Content with her life at home, she opted out of a singing career (and acting too, she appeared in Wim Wender’s Alice in the Cities), and so these intimate portraits of family and friends were never heard outside the ears of their respective subjects. Flash forward thirty odd years to find her son Robby having compiled her songs on CD, handing it out to friends and family as a gift, including one copy for an unsuspecting J Mascis, who, after realizing what he was holding, passed it on to Orange Twin Records, where it finally saw a proper release in 2006. These 14 gorgeous songs were assembled into Sibylle’s one and only album, Colour Green.

This collection of skeletal folk is an austere study of domestic claustrophobia, pursed longing, and bittersweet optimism. Images of overgrown gardens and strained relationships color the album’s buoyant melodies. Sybille’s voice, a unique vessel in itself, strikingly combines Vashti Bunyan’s naive wonder and Nico’s taxed spirit into a haunting presence that would have stood tall beside either chanteuse if it had been available to the public. It forms a tapestry around her intuitive, deceptively simple guitar style, rooted in the narrative picking of Songs of Leonard Cohen but with a demure spin that fascinatingly contrasts her sharp observations. Case in point, Colour Green is an instant classic.

Unsurprisingly, the recent discovery of her work hasn’t seemed to phase Sibylle much, and there are no deadlines announced for a follow-up album, but she and her son Robby have been working on some new songs. About this time last year, the two reportedly entered the studio to record some piano pieces she wrote in the mid-80’s, after relocating to America. One of the new songs, “Let Us Know”, was included on the soundtrack for Wim Wender’s most recent film Palermo Shooting, and was released earlier this year. Check her website for updates on new material, and in the mean time do yourself a huge favor and pick up Colour Green, available now through Orange Twin.

For fans of: Vashti Bunyan, Marissa Nadler, Tara Jane O’Neil, Mount Eerie

MP3 :::
Sibylle Baier – Give Me a Smile
Sibylle Baier – The End

There’s something about Louisville that produces adventurous female songwriters who completely eschew traditional (i.e. bland) folk leanings for massive, beautiful soundscapes and experimental song structures. Perhaps it’s the high grade weed that passes through here, who knows. Last week, you were introduced to the graceful Cheyenne Mize, who collaborated with Will Oldham on his Among the Gold EP.  I suppose you could classify her and other similar artists as part of the New Weird America camp.  But Tara Jane O’Neil, who recently relocated to Portland, is not new and not easy to pinpoint. She’s a longstanding freak folk luminary whose resume stretches far and wide, and she would stomp Joanna Newsome’s annoying ass and beat her with her own harp without a second thought.

A quick history lesson for the uninitiated. At 20, TJO tamed the low end in the legendary Louisville math rock collective Rodan, and played on their one and only album Rusty. After Rodan’s deterioration, she drfited between the likes of Ida, Mirah, Naysayer, Retsin, Jackie O Motherfucker, and good ol’ Dave Pajo as Papa M. Rodan enthusiasts will hate me for saying such, but her solo work, in my opinion, has left the most shattering impression. And the forthcoming A Ways Away is one of her best. It’s a scorcher.

While some of her recent work has adopted a more intimate and traditional folk approach in the vein of latter Fairport Convention or Townes Van Zandt, A Ways Away is lush, weird, and engrossing. Psych folk is the closest reference point, as the spinning textures and ambient flourishes are reminiscent of some of The Incredible String Band’s best stuff.  Yet, TJO is also entirely something else.

In a way, A Ways Away is a return to form and a maturation. The crafty utilization of space and syrupy slow tempo is reminiscent of early Low and, of course, Rodan and her first effort Peregrine. At the same time, TJO is fully owning her sound – writing concise songs while letting the drones and riffs wander in myriad directions. The result is a beautiful and accessible work that relishes in desolate sounds and bucolic late night wandering.  If you were intrigued by Grouper’s Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill last year, A Ways Away will floor you. Respect to Grouper, of course, but TJO was doin’ this thing first and, as such, deserving of your attention.

It’s important to note that you should stay very, very far away from alcohol whilst enjoying A Ways Away. It’s extremely somber and sorta creepy, notwithstanding that it’s absolutely gorgeous as well. Which reminds me, one of my best friends’ older brother had the pleasure of getting wasted with Tara at a Stereolab show in Louisville in 2002. I can’t even piece this scenario together. Stereolab played at one of the douchiest bars in town, Phoenix Hill Tavern (imagine “Parsec” amongst a sea of popped collars, ya know?). And here’s Sam, a total good times dude, taking whiskey shots with the distant TJO. I’ll have to ask him what they talked about next time I see him.

Ah, I follow tangents as they come, where was I?  Oh yes, back to how and why A Ways Away rules. The tonality TJO employs on her clean electric guitar, with huge atmospheric reverberation added to great effect, is remarkable to listen to, and perfect for driving west during the storm. “Pearl Into Sand” is a beastly, rowdy drone instrumental that just handed my ass to me. This leads into the equally beastly “Beast, Go Along.” As beautiful as it is haunting, “Beast, Go Along” is the best representation of A Ways Away as a whole. Morricone-style riffs drift in and out, while light touches of steel guitar adds a slight cosmic American music slant – all of which ride delicately over thick, warm drones. It’s a delicious dirge that you can expect on my best of ‘09 list.  While firmly cemented within the parameters of atmospheric folk, TJO’s A Ways Away reveals many facets that only get better with each listen.

Fagen-Becker Quality Rating

A Ways Away is her first album on K Records, and is out May 5 (along with every other record I’ve covered recently – that’s a huge day).

For fans of: Grouper, Linda Perhacs, Belong

MP3 :::
Tara Jane O’Neil – Pearl Into Sand
Tara Jane O’Neil – Beast, Go Along
Tara Jane O’Neil – Dig In

A lot of general interest has piqued again for the fascinating genre-jumping Scottish songwriting duo known as The Vaselines. They are hands-down one of my personal favorite artists of all time, so I’m certainly excited, but also a bit disappointed (due to higher expectations that are explained later) with Enter the Vaselines.

The Vaselines lay everyone to waste. From 1987 to about 1990, Eugene Kelly and Frances McKee concocted a seamless amalgamation of shoegaze, psychedelic rock, punk ethos, fuzzed-out twee pop, and folk narrative (such as following the acid trip gone wrong on “The Day I Was a Horse”). Shit, there’s even a fiddle that pops out of nowhere on “Oliver Twisted.” Their range and good sense in pop songwriting would’ve made the Vaselines the shining star of the C86 crop, that is, if they were even invited to that party – which they probably weren’t (how did you sleep on that one, Alan McGee?).

I don’t say lightly that the Vaselines were brilliant, and there’s never been a clearer case of an artist’s artist I can think of. It seems only dudes in bands like The Vaselines, which explains why the were never known during their late ’80s heyday, and not widely recognized now either. But those who do know and love the Vaselines swear by them with religious fervor (as I do). Most appealing to me (and other fans I’m sure) is how the Vaselines were one mighty contradiction – a massive sound crafted by only two people, double entendre lyrics sung with coyness, gritty production and sloppy instrumentation coupled with truly soaring, gorgeous melodies – this duo was a real gem.

Perhaps this is why Sub Pop wants to curate another Vaselines retrospective. After reforming to play some choice music festivals last summer, it seems now is a great opportunity to reintroduce the band to the masses, re-excite the fan base that has built around the Vaselines very, very slowly over the past two decades, and show everyone how lame indie rock has become in the interim when directly compared to the Vaselines.

Enter The Vaselines is a double CD/triple LP collection of the Vaselines catalog, the first issuance of any Vaselines related music since the compilation The Way of The Vaselines: A Complete History dropped in 1992 (also by Sub Pop).  The first disc contains all their recorded and mastered songs, which includes their one and only album Dum-Dum and the materials on their first two EPs.  The second disc features live bootlegs and demos.  Of the three demos featured, “Rosary Job” and “Red Poppy” are the only two songs on the entire 2CD/3LP set that were not already part of The Way of… disc.  That’s what I was talking about earlier when I mentioned being slightly disappointed. Of course, that’s not Sub Pop’s fault at all, the Vaselines didn’t stick long enough to record a lot of material. However, if you’re only vaguely familiar with the group, or if this is your first time hearing them, Enter the Vaselines is a the certainly the best and easiest to find introduction. Actually, the term “introduction” isn’t fair because this is absolutely everything that (as far as we know) they’ve laid to tape. And every one of those songs is absolutely golden.

As an aside, I’d love some reader thoughts on this – groups like The Vaselines, Flipper, Meat Puppets, Sonic Youth, The Melvins, and The Raincoats were hugely influential for Kurt Cobain. So why is it that only douchebag bands are influenced by Nirvana (as cited by the bands themselves)? What is that? Not trying to over-generalize here, but you know what I’m sayin’…

Enter the Vaselines is available May 5, courtesy of Sub Pop. The Way of the Vaselines is also available courtesy of said label, and you can grip that right now.

MP3 :::
The Vaselines – Lovecraft
The Vaselines – Oliver Twisted
The Vaselines – Slushy

Experimental cover albums generally tend to disappoint. Usually an artist’s motives for interpretation are sound, yet the final product is rarely impressive, often belittling the original work. Mark Kozelek (Red House Painters, Sun Kil Moon), known for his “interpretive covers,” has reconstructed a myriad of works ranging from Francis Scott Key’s “The Star Spangled Banner,” to various AC/DC tracks, to an entire collection of Modest Mouse songs (Sun Kil Moon – Tiny Cities). The problem with Kozelek’s covers, as with others who compose hyper-experimental covers, is that frankly, no one really cares. All he really did (and this is no knock on Kozelek’s earlier work like Down Colorful Hill, just his questionable later years) was write a completely unrelated song with his own trademark musical style. Then instead of writing lyrics that could tie a noose around any listener’s neck, he used the author’s original ones…obviously.

Unlike Kozelek’s frequent use of “poetic license,” David Pajo’s relatively unknown, vinyl only release, Scream With Me, finds a tolerable balance between interpretation and reiteration. As you’ve probably guessed, the record takes a rather sobering look at a collection of songs from the original Kings of the Underworld, The Misfits.

Pajo is probably the most important guitarist since the late 80s, and even though this record doesn’t really add to his impressive resumé (Slint – Spiderland & Tweez, Tortoise – Millions Now Living Will Never Die & TNT, Royal Trux – 3 Song EP), it does serve as an intriguing work backed by a semi-original idea. I’d like to note here that I have been acoustically covering “Hybrid Moments” for over two years now, leading me to believe that Pajo’s been using me as his own personal fountain of creativity. Hence, semi-original.

Anyways, if you the thought 3-chord punk couldn’t be simplified any further, then you’ve been misled. Pajo takes punk’s musical manifesto and turns it into very simple lo-fi acoustic jams. Pajo follows the chordal tonality of each song, then turning the power chords into natural chords more suitable for the tenderness of plucking and finger picking. Pajo’s feeble vocals could bother some, but I found them to be pleasantly human.

You’re not going to find a whole lot of progressive jazz riffs, piercing harmonics, spastic time signatures or anything else that made Pajo a Louisville legend, but there is a great way to enjoy this album: build a camp fire deep within your local wilderness destination, crack open a few cold ones and indulge in one of the most epic sing-a-longs courtesy of Pajo, and of course, Dr. Glenn Danzig.

You can purchase Scream With Me exclusively from the friendly ghouls over at Black Tent Press.

MP3 :::
Pajo – Where Eagles Dare