My Christgau Problem

I'd like to invite you to look back, briefly, at early December 2009. This blog had been existing for quite some time, I had become a recent addition, and we had just got on the Twitter bandwagon. I was using this newfound tool as a means to tell Raekwon (or @RAEKWONICEWATER) that Schindler's List was an awesome movie, although (to quote myself), "the ending is slightly weak." My esteemed colleague then wrote the following at 5:45 PM on Dec. 9th:

slate's music club kinda sucks this year. where's christgau?

To which I replied at 6:09 PM:

Christgau is not the solution to the Music Club's problem (fad-chasing, strawman-bashing): he is the source.

To which he would later reply at 8:13 AM the next day:

to my colleague: not alarmed, but saddened by your xgau bashing. i'll keep my hopes up for the movie club

And now, three months later, I feel as if I should address my concerns about Christgau and the damage I think he wrought in detail, so depressed am I at the very idea that said esteemed colleague could be "saddened" by a(n admittedly overblown) tweet. So yes, it's true that I have a massive problem with Robert Christgau, the dean of music criticism, and the point of this post is to convince you the reader that it has nothing to do with those common canards such as professional jealousy, intense and/or frequent disagreements in taste, or dissatisfaction with the Village Voice mode of badass journalism (well...maybe the latter). These are criticisms born entirely out of odd and completely incongruous statements the man has made and continues to make, and I think he is directly responsible for the most technically showy but intellectually empty music criticism masquerading as journalism today.

Christgau has been writing non-stop for the last 40 years at least, so it's hard to sum up what I dislike about his writing without feeling like I'm cherry-picking arguments, so I thought I'd start with a bit of criticism that I'm pretty sure only I have paid attention to: a 1990 capsule review of a thought-provoking book (sadly out of print) called Signifying Rappers: Rap and Race in the Urban Present, written by David Foster Wallace and his college buddy Mark Costello. The book, and particularly Wallace's segments (the two alternate writing chapters), is probably one of the few extended pieces of music journalism I can think of where there is a genuine attempt to reconcile the authors' love of the music with their unease dealing with the subject of contemporary black America--a dichotomy that is entirely ignored by today's Tom Breihans and Zach Barons, whose uncritical love of the most hoary of hip-hop cliches (guns, abusing women, sociopathic behavior in general) goes unquestioned. I will quote the entirety of his review, which is short enough to get many of my points across:

With its Basquiat cover and footnoted text, Signifying Rappers: Rap and Race in the Urban Present might tempt the browser to lay down cash money for (ahem) "the first serious consideration of rap and its position as a vital force in our American cultural consciousness." Don't do it. The analysis is adequate to ignorant to barmy, and whenever the authors--Mark Costello an attorney and jazz fan, David Foster Wallace a philosophy grad student and writer of highbrow pomo "fictions"--get near a fact, it hangs its head in shame. Their revelation that "almost all established rock critics . . . tend to regard serious, ever new, non-crossover rap as essentially boring and simplistic, or as swaggering and bellicose and dangerous" will astonish the voters who made Public Enemy and De La Soul winners of the 1988 and 1989 Pazz & Jop Critics' Polls (and high finishers in Rolling Stone's more conservative tallies). I presume both acts qualify as serious and ever new because both appear in the pencil-necked discography (which proceeds directly from Run-D.M.C.to Raising Hell--there was one called King of Rock in between there, fellas). Costello says his "favorite rap ever" is an "untraceable 5-minute cut" he taped off the radio with an "inscrutable chorus" about a "Honeychild." Er, that wouldn't be Ice-T's "The Hunted Child," would it? B side of "High Rollers," later on Freedom of Speech? Nah, it's his favorite. Surely he cares too much to have missed anything so obvious.

Let's unpack this. First, there is the pissing match aspect of this--Christgau is basically waving his dick around pointing to the fact that he, unlike them, is aware of the Ice-T B-Side that Costello seems to have forgotten about (has to put in a plug for the Pazz & Jop poll too). Why point this out, especially in a paragraph-long review? Christgau obviously relishes, for no real reason other than puffing up his own rap scholarly bona fides and admonishing outsiders or casual fans. Of course, it should be noted that Wallace and Costello did in fact listen to every single rap album and single they could get their hands on, and the fact that Costello has a hard time coming up with the name of a certain track doesn't mean that both author's opinions are automatically invalidated. Read those final three sentences again. How are they not unnecessary, smarmy, and completely self-serving?

And then there's that line about Wallace being a "writer of highbrow pomo 'fictions'," the sheer condescension invoked in that descriptor being all but palpable. Christgau obviously doesn't know what he's talking about. At the time of this writing, Wallace had written two other books, his first novel The Broom of the System and the short story collection Girl With Curious Hair, both of which could be labeled "pomo" due to the obvious Pynchon and Barth influences, respectively. But "highbrow"? "Fictions" in scare quotes? There is nothing highbrow about either of these books,* and in fact both contain quite novel uses of popular culture (the town shaped like Jayne Mansfield's breasts in Broom; Pat Sajak and Alex Trebek pulling pranks on each other in Curious; a million other examples). And, with the exception maybe of the final story in Curious, both of them can be firmly designated as fiction (no meta-ironic commentary, no playing around with the novel form) not "fiction" (in a way that Barth's Lost in the Funhouse, to cite an actual pomo "fiction," does not). The irony here is that Christgau sees no problem attacking the authors for not doing proper research, but he obviously didn't know anything about Wallace or his "fictions."

So there you have two Christgau tropes, at least: a man prone to focusing on asinine, irrelevant details as a means of criticism, and a man eager to prove his superiority as a rock scholar to anyone who dares horn in on his territory (let's not forget, the appellation "dean of American rock critics" was entirely self-inflicted).

However, the review above is pretty lucid compared to a lot of the stuff he used to write for the Voice, particularly his consumer guides. I want to stress that it is difficult for me to get a lot of this down because reading what I've written so far could give the impression that I'm simply cherry-picking quotes that would sound more ridiculous than others, in the hopes of prematurely winning an argument (call it the "B.R. Myers tack"). If people have counter-examples, I want to hear them. But how do you defend something like Christgau's short review of XTC's first album White Music, wherein he writes:

Although it took a year and a half for this debut album by the premier English art-pop band to get released in the States, two Andy Partridge songs on side one aim directly at the American market--"Radios in Motion," which mentions Milwaukee, surely isn't about the BBC, and the avowed purpose of "Statute of Liberty" is to get a look up her skirts. The third, "This Is Pop," is why he missed--radio programmers resent anyone telling them their business, especially subversives who favor herky-jerk rhythms, jerky-herk harmonies, Lene Lovich radar noises, and depressing subject matter. Colin Moulding's songs, on the other hand, are aimed at bored Yes fans, which is why he missed--the lad doesn't know that Yes fans like being bored. B+

Just read that last sentence and tell me--what the fuck is he talking about? Let's put aside the fact that I hear no resemblance to Yes in Colin Moulding's songs. Yes fans like being bored? How is this? I hate Yes as much as the next guy, but I can see what fans might find exciting about them, and their love of being bored doesn't really follow. Who in the world likes being bored? My father has an old VHS tape of Yes performing in concert (which would become the live album YesSongs), and based on the few minutes I managed to watch, I know there are people in the audience that look pretty excited and amazed when Rick Wakeman starts playing Vivaldi backwards in a silk tunic or whatever. If people in the audience loved being bored, I would think they'd be more inclined to stay home and wait for YesSongs to come out on vinyl. If that.

One common component of Christgau's shorter writings is that there is no logical flow from sentence to sentence. Honestly, this is something I can find hard to do in our monthly Critical Beatdown segments, and it sure is hard to sum up a song (let alone an album) in a few sentences, but Christgau's reviews are particularly egregious because it seems like he is just laying down confusing observation after confusing observation with no regard for any sort of linear thought pattern or argument. To a not-very-observant reader, it sure seems as if Christgau is good, even a great writer--his sentences are punchy and lively, filled with odd and interesting juxtapositions of words, often succinctly describing songs in a manner that many (including me) probably couldn't replicate.

But take a closer inspection, and it all falls apart. I urge you to look at the above quote again. This sentence: "The third, 'This Is Pop,' is why he missed--radio programmers resent anyone telling them their business, especially subversives who favor herky-jerk rhythms, jerky-herk harmonies, Lene Lovich radar noises, and depressing subject matter." All of this sounds accurate--there's really no better descriptor of XTC than "herky-jerk," but why is he insinuating that "radio programmers resent anyone telling them their business"? Isn't that what they do, a lot of the time? Why is it that British radio programmers are somehow different from American radio programmers in this regard? Maybe there is something here, but I don't see it.

All of this seems pretty random, right? One more example, and then I'm done. Let's take a look at his capsule review of the New York Dolls' first album, one of his favorites (and one of my own as well):

At least half the white kids who grow up in Manhattan are well off and moderately arty, like Carly Simon and John Paul Hammond. It takes brats from the outer boroughs to capture the oppressive excitement Manhattan holds for a half-formed human being the way these guys do. The careening screech of their music was first heard in the Cooper Union station of the Lexington IRT, and they don't stop there. Mixing early-'60s popsong savvy with late-'60s fast-metal anarchy, they seek love l-u-v from trash and bad girls. They go looking for a kiss among the personality crises. And they wonder whether you could make it with Frankenstein. A+

This is not criticism. This is Christgau talking about affluent white people in Manhattan, followed by a few sentences working several song titles into phrases that are otherwise completely empty of substance or content. The A+ at the end tells you more about how he actually feels about the album than anything before it. Imagine if I wrote a review of Raw Power in which I seriously put forth the following: "You'd have to be on a DEATH TRIP with no SHAKE APPEAL to not see the RAW POWER inherent in this PENETRATION of an album. This album leaves me NEEDING SOMEBODY to GIMME DANGER." The only place where you find that kind of criticism is on the back of DVDs, usually from Gene Shalit or Joel Siegel ("Austin Powers is groovy, baby!"), and even that is becoming less common. So that's Christgau in a nutshell: an artier, fancier version of Jeff Craig from Sixty Second Preview.

It is possible that I'm being too harsh because of his shorter criticism, and I should pay more attention to his longer reviews. To be fair, a lot of these are indeed better. A while ago, my other enemy Jody Rosen tweeted that a column Christgau wrote for Barnes & Noble Review (?) was "the best piece of Weezy criticism ever written." He could be right--it is quite good. Unlike many of his other articles, it seems to follow a logical progression from beginning to end, it provides some insights I haven't heard elsewhere, and it generally stays away from the trap of vindicating Lil Wayne as some godlike, above-the-law rap maestro. But then I will come across something completely unreadable like this piece of self-aggrandizement, and I realize that my opinion of Christgau's writing, at least as far as I know, continues to be relevant. His criticism is two parts self-regard and one part flashy adjectives, which doesn't leave a lot of time for him to get around to the music.

I don't want this to be the end of the argument. If you think that I am willfully misrepresenting his writing style, and would like to point to counter-examples, I would like to read them. These are merely my responses after reading a good number of his books and commentaries, but my knowledge is by no means exhaustive. So, bring it on, Xgau fans**.

*Although "highbrow" strikes me as yet another word that tends to mean a multitude of things, most of them negative, all of them nebulous, depending highly on the writer. In this case, I assume he means that they are somehow inscrutable, allusion-heavy, academic, jargony, dense, allegorical, not-fun-to-read, etc. The Broom of the System is none of these things and Girl With Curious Hair is allusion-heavy in one particular story. And of course Infinite Jest is a whole different cookie, but in my experience the only people who consider it highbrow are those who haven't read it and are intimidated by its length.

**Mr. Christgau is of course also invited to respond.

Maybe They Will Shut Up If We Buy Them Happy Meals

Recently, a reader suggested that Kidz Bop would make for an interesting post. He didn't say what about it, and I don't know if Dave was kidding or not, but it's worth a try.

As of March 2009, 17 Kidz Bop compilations have been released, as well as 8 "special collections." The Kidz Bop albums' closest analogue is the U.S. Now That's What I Call Music! series. Beyond sharing individual tracks, which they often do, the two series have a similar M.O.: to rush out compilations, multiple times a year, of current hits. Kidz Bop albums have more PG song choices, understandably, and avoid the more risque hip-hop songs on the pop charts.

Despite that, the clear difference between the two series is that Kidz Bop feature interpretations of popular songs, rather than the tunes themselves, and if I were a betting man, I'd predict that the children's series will outlast Now That's What I Call Music, which merely repackages what I could have heard on the radio two months ago. It seems increasingly redundant in a world in which I can individually purchase, sequence, and listen to my favorite pop singles--often for less money than the cost of a CD.*

The near term future of Kidz Bop also seems assured given its sales: volumes 7-16 all debuted in the top 10, and the series has never debuted at less than number 2 on Billboard's humorously named Kid Albums chart. Strong opening weeks mean that either parents or children, probably both, are bombarded by Kidz Bop material and promos, and actually go out to purchase the albums the moment they become available. I'd love to know what percentage of purchases are by parents who assume their kids will shut up if they can bop, and what percentage are driven by kids who actually just love the music.

But what of the actual music? It is painful to listen to. The songs closely approximate the originals--in some cases they might use the same track--but always sound much chintzier. The vocals are identical on every song, regardless of lyrics, with tons of upbeat kids shouting, not always in tune. Oftentimes, an adult who sounds somewhat like the original vocalist takes the lead, though the kids will sort of answer him at the end his lines, and occasionally sing along with and overwhelm him. The videos are pretty weird, featuring presentable little kids acting like an eight year-old's idea of coolness. Surely there are pedophiles who enjoy Kidz Bop?

Kidz Bop covers completely drain pop of its element of danger. The chintzy arrangements don't help, but the children's choirs totally neuter the source material. And since sex is what makes the Top 40 tick, taking the sex out of Top 40 material makes for awful listening. Not that I'm arguing that children should listen to explicitly sexual music--they shouldn't--but desexed pop makes for awful listening for adults. Its like if you eliminated all traces of crime from any film noir: sure, you could still make a movie, but it'd be about an honest cop sitting at his desk.**

Perhaps the strangest aspect of the Kidz Bop phenomenon is its echoes of the Langley Schools Music Project. Still revered among fans of outsider music (and released in 2001 by Irwin Chusid, who compiled the bizarro Songs In the Key of Z albums), the LSMP was a choir of Canadian school kids in the 70's who sang disquieting takes on popular tunes of the time. The most famous are covers of Klaatu's "Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft" and David Bowie's "Space Oddity." Bowie was a fan of the LSMP's take on his song, and actually reenacted the project, calling it Langley Schools Revisited. He also, in an unguarded moment admitted

The backing arrangement is astounding. Coupled with the earnest if lugubrious vocal performance, you have a piece of art that I couldn't have conceived of, even with half of Colombia's finest export products in me.

Which he seems to have actually said (sources here and here). I bring up the LSMP because the obvious parallels suggest that society, not merely children, and perhaps even you, share a desire to hear scores of children's voices belting out the hit songs of the day. And that's pretty fucking weird.

*Now That's What I Call Music seems to be fairly cheap on iTunes--about $12 for 20 songs--so maybe it does have a future in the digital bargain bin.
**There probably wouldn't be any femme fatales either. If there were Venetian blinds, they would be of the chintziest variety imaginable.

On Why Cameron Crowe Is Often Incorrect

I dig a lot of Cameron Crowe's work, such as Almost Famous, because it's hard not to appreciate the obvious love and energy he puts into any critical discussion regarding the vaunted beasts of classic rock. He's obviously sentimental about a certain (very limited) type of music, but he manages to sidestep Guitar World/Rolling Stone-type gratingness due to the sincerity of his beliefs and his ability to really meditate upon why particular components of something like, say, Tommy can remain so resonant. On the other hand, this guy has virtually nothing to say outside of classic rock, and like his fellow gatekeeper of boomerism Nick Hornby, he makes some particularly specious claims about the music he loves that reinforce every white classic rocker stereotype.

How untrue can a Cameron Crowe be, at times? He is perhaps at his worst when putting his obvious opinions into the mouths of characters that really should know better. Here's a famous moment from Fast Times At Ridgemont High, in a scene where Mike Damone (Robert Romanus) explains his five-point plan for getting chicks:

First of all Rat, you never let on how much you like a girl. "Oh, Debbie. Hi." Two, you always call the shots. "Kiss me. You won't regret it." Now three, act like wherever you are, that's the place to be. "Isn't this great?" Four, when ordering food, you find out what she wants, then order for the both of you. It's a classy move. "Now, the lady will have the linguini and white clam sauce, and a Coke with no ice." And five, now this is the most important, Rat. When it comes down to making out, whenever possible, put on side one of Led Zeppelin IV.

Conservatively, I can think of approximately 1,000,000 albums (making that 2,000,000 sides) that would be more conducive to making out than Led Zeppelin IV. Every other Led Zeppelin album, for instance. I know that Mike Damone isn't supposed to be an expert on the matter, and Fast Times is generally about naive, often idiotic high school students with no conception of what sex is actually like, but let's be real. You think the sputtering stop/start riffery of "Black Dog" works as a conceivable entry point (so to speak)? To be followed by the ear-shattering tumult of "Rock & Roll," as unsexy a rhythm as has ever been in blues? To say nothing of the Tolkien blather of "The Battle of Evermore" ("The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of aftermath"--not a sentiment you want to put out there) and "Stairway To Heaven," renowned for 30 years as the ultimate slow dance libido killer (the book Kill Your Idols has an entry on Led Zeppelin IV that revolves around a "Stairway To Heaven"-caused premature ejaculation episode at a high school prom). The only conceivably worse choice Mike Damone could have made was side two of Led Zeppelin IV, at which point I'm pretty sure the one-two punch of "Misty Mountain Hop" and "Four Sticks" will have your special friend feeling nauseous.

There's another time and place for a great list of make out albums, but right now I want to focus on another Led Zeppelin album that Cameron Crowe would have been smart to pay more attention to. In Through The Out Door gets a lot of crap from Rolling Stone for its forays into disco and synth-pop (before the term existed, I think), but as a collection of songs it betters Led Zeppelin IV as a smartly-programmed make out album. "In The Evening" is a great rock monster of an opener with a groove that flows continuously (unlike "Black Dog") and some heavenly John Paul Jones keyboards. Particularly, the interval between 4:24 and 5:00 is textbook smoothness-before-the-storm. "South Bound Saurez" may sound a bit more jarring in this context at first, but Bonham's propulsive rhythms match the lovemaking impulse far better than the sustained shitfrenzy of "Rock & Roll." "Fool In The Rain" (aka the "is this seriously Led Zeppelin?" song) is basically a tarted-up old soul number at heart, fitting in perfectly if you want things to go further.

The following track "Hot Dog" doesn't really fit my thesis (embarrassingly so--check out that wacky rockabilly number here if you haven't heard it), so you might want to delete that from your playlist. But, once again talking in terms of sides, I believe In Through The Door's second side has everything Mike Damone claimed side one of Led Zeppelin IV had. First we have the mighty and proggy "Carouselambra," a raucous and danceable track that slows its tempo considerably at 4:23, morphing into a melody as slinky and sexy as any in rock music. And, at over ten minutes long, it allows you to get a lot done. "All My Love" has Jimmy Page's mournful guitar patterns and John Paul Jones' swooning-with-sentiment symphony of keyboards, making it a logical next step as long as you forget that it's about Robert Plant's dead son. The last song, "I'm Gonna Crawl," is possibly the most romantic thing Led Zeppelin ever did, belonging in the fine tradition of slow-burning blues and soul numbers. If things haven't progressed at this point, there's something wrong with you.

If you happen to be one of those people who continues to follow Mike Damone's advice, I really suggest trying out side two of In Through The Out Door instead. If your love life doesn't substantially improve, I will never write about music again.

Listen to the Album That Recorded Itself

What do I like most about Liars? Since their 2001 debut They Threw Us All in a Trench and Stuck a Monument on Top, the band has mined a form of groove-laden post-punk so schizophrenic that the band's imitators are basically non-existent--it's not that no one wants to sound like Liars, but pinpointing any singular characteristic of their music lies outside the power of even the most lateral of thinkers. I called Liars the band of the decade a while back and didn't leave anything in the way of commentary, and part of the reason for that was because they really pose a substantial problem for the average adjective-dependent critic sick of leaving it at "post-punk" or "experimental art rock." I want to really delve into the musical character of Angus Andrew and co., and I'm in luck, because their new album Sisterworld is not only pretty good, but also easier to describe than its predecessors. Still, be prepared for a few meaningless critical buzz words that can't be avoided.

Here's some commentary on Sisterworld. And keep in mind that I still like to listen to their 30-minute track "This Dust Makes That Mud" for fun, so this post may be aimed at a very small niche that enjoys the same.

1. "Scissor." One of the best non-musical things about this new album--Liars have clearly taken a cue from their last eponymous album and have basically jettisoned the long, inscrutable titles of the past. Luckily, "Scissor" is as incisive a title as it is a piece of clear-minded AB songwriting. Most Liars tracks can be divided into either dirges or rock monsters with dirge elements, and this is definitely something of the latter category. The first 1:40 utilizes the classic Liars trick of building a slow track both beguiling in its instrumentation and unsettling in its presentation. Then, like any good modern rock song, the band comes down hard on a riff/groove combo that is as clunky as it is brief. Then the slower part A picks off as if part B never happened, and then we're back to part B. End of song. Elemental, yes, and primal, and worthy of serious headbanging--all of these points and more make this song classic Liars. Were it not for this song, it would be the best ever written on the subject of hand-operated cutting instruments.

2. "No Barrier Fun." Remember "Houseclouds," the second track off Liars' last album? Few segues have been as jarring as between that and "Plaster Casts of Everything," and I wondered if I had accidentally picked up a Beck album by mistake. So to say that "No Barrier Fun" is the logical sonic continuation of "Scissor" is to say either that Liars have matured or become sadly typical as track programmers. Anchored by a Pixies-esque bass line and two scattered, interlocking grooves, this track is the sort of moody fun I like to put on the dark. There's also a stray violin about, making things sound a bit like Modest Mouse for a while, but once you realize that the melody is going nowhere, the groove becomes much more fascinating, with the journey really starting at 0:39. Also: glockenspiel?

3. "Here Comes All the People." The first guitar-oriented track, featuring a moody, repetitive lead line that appears to be briefly strangled by Bernard Herrmann strings at 1:05. There's also a piano somewhere in here, and the overall instrumentation evokes a feeling of something really implosive and unpleasant happening simultaneously. We finally get a payoff during the last 20 seconds, as what once seemed to hint at madness emerges as full-blown primitivism. Not Liars' most impressive songwriting moment, but here, for the first time since 2001, a consistent mood is finally established.

4. "Drip." Like "Scissor," this begins with some eerie ambient noises accompanied by Angus Andrew's chanting. Unlike "Scissor," we are presented with a tinny drum machine-sounding rhythmic accompaniment that sort of floats in and out of the arrangement whenever it feels like it. At this point the average listener is liable to wonder if Liars are laying on the mood too thick, like in They Were Wrong So We Drowned. At this point, we are in need of a Liars rocker before we drown in gooey dirge.

5. "Scarecrows On A Killer Slant." And on cue, we have ourselves a riff monster. Liars have a history of pulling off alarmingly simple-sounding riffs by virtue of the aggression embedded, as well as the likely rhythmic off-turns. Something else to note: this is a strangely quiet-sounding track for such an aggressive performance. Unlike virtually any of their modern rock peers, Liars defy our expectations to turn up the volume whenever distorted guitars are at the fore. The final, looping electronic pulse is, again, proof that atmosphere trumps the rock once again.

6. "I Still Can See An Outside World." Angus Andrew really likes breaking out the falsetto on this album. Like "Scissor," this is vintage Liars of the quietLOUDquiet variety. But like the previous track, the loud component is all fuzzy guitars and cymbal crashes but still oddly muted as a performance. The connecting tissue is how Angus Andrew's vocals remain much louder than everything else, and the way he harmonizes with himself is scarier than anything any guitar could pull off.

7. "Proud Evolution." This is where it starts getting really hard to talk about this album without repeating myself. "Proud Evolution" stands apart from the rest of the pack due to its Krautrock beat and some guitar work that sounds more like a doppler radar than any conventional tune. Being the longest song on the album, you expect tension and release, but I guess once again Liars knew what I was looking for and did the exact opposite.

8. "Drop Dead." Subdued and atonal, anchored by guitar work amateurish even by Liars standards, "Drop Dead" is filled with scary noises and not much more. Just when it seems to be going somewhere, it doesn't. It's a subdued, repetitive performance that just sort of ends in lieu of anything better to do.

9. "The Overachievers." Thankfully "The Overachievers" picks up the pace, in a manner that calls back similar outbursts of noise like "Plaster Casts of Everything." This is the Liars I love most--banging out the simplest groove imaginable and interjecting noise whenever the pace seems lacking. The shouted vocals also help to pick things up a bit, making this the most brisk rocker on the album, and one of the most enjoyable performances. Also nice to hear something resembling normal lead guitar here. As long as they don't make a habit.

10. "Goodnight Everything." This is the other Liars I like the most, slow and ponderous yet intense and melodic. The other surprise here: horns! I just love the intense, inscrutable drama emanating from the band's performance, sounding like the perfect tune to play the day evil has finally won (I'm keeping my iTunes calendar open for a November 2012 Palin victory).

11. "Too Much, Too Much." A bit of a downer as a closer, and I must admit I was distracted by severe melodic similarities between this song and Wire's "Practice Makes Perfect." Which makes sense, because why not--there is a line to be drawn between the independent post-punk spirit of Wire and Liars. Whether or not this was a deliberate homage, I don't know, but the song is otherwise treading on territory done better elsewhere on this album. Maybe the title is too accurate.

Imaginary Album: Rose Pink Cadillac

There are a great many brilliant things about the Rolling Stones--and surely just as many awful ones--but among the unequivocally good stuff nothing tops their catalog of country originals. "Sweet Virginia," "Dead Flowers," and "Memory Motel" attack country from different angles but rate among Jagger and Richard's best. The material consistently brings out Jagger's most arch, condescending poses, or else provides for unusually direct, irony-free moments.

Let's envision an alternate universe in which, during the Stones' classic period (1967-1978, in my book, but feel free to extend or shorten it a couple years in either direction) they only released genre albums.* You'd have a double LP of electric rockers, a blues disc, an EP of reggae tunes, and Satanic Majesties as is. I took the liberty of doing this for their country songs.

Before we get to the album, however, a couple notes. First, the definition of country is broad and not technical. Second, the imaginary album must follow the constraints of Rolling Stones albums from this period, so between 8 and 10 tracks around 45 minutes. Third, we'll leave out earlier songs--I'm thinking of "Some Things Just Stick In Your Mind" and "High And Dry"--because they don't have the right attitude, or else sound too English.

The tracklist, followed by a run through:
Rose Pink Cadillac, Side One
1. Country Honk
2. Dead Flowers
3. No Expectations
4. Dear Doctor
5. Sweet Virginia

Rose Pink Cadillac, Side Two
1. Love In Vain
2. Memory Motel
3. Far Away Eyes
4. Torn & Frayed
5. Angie

The fade-in of "Country Honk" gives us a sense of place, a dusty stoop on a minor road, with no sense of urgency. The song itself, a superior, countrified take on "Hoky Tonk Blues," with a wily fiddle and guitar work that sounds disinterested, or drunk. In this setting, Jagger's lyrics lose the sense of misanthropy, and sound more like bar room reminiscences, of dubious veracity, and more than a tinge of regret. The second song, and undoubtedly the lead single, is "Dead Flowers." An eminently bitter song, it's quintessential Stones. I've already examined the lyrics, but I will add that it's perfect, lyrically a summation of the vices that made the Stones tick, and musically a complete jewel. Charlie, Bill, and Keith, on rhythm, give the song an understated kick, and Mick Taylor's lead sounds as twangily insolent as the narrator. The piano and acoustic guitar never sound that present, but form a crucial part of the whole. "Dead Flowers" makes the case that invective sounds better drawled.

From there, a transition to straight-faced country and back. The spare "No Expectations" follows "Dead Flowers." Jagger doesn't deploy his country snarl here [it wasn't worked out yet], but an evocative, dejected slide carries the song, with an assist from Wyman. This narrator will grow up to sing "Dead Flowers," discovering that he had many more expectations than he realized. "Dear Doctor" injects some humor into Rose Pink, and keeps intact a transition that worked on Beggars Banquet. The guitars and harmonica chime, egging on the narrator to share his tale of ice cold feet on a young man's wedding day. Jagger's faux-female singing voice is as bad an impression as I've ever heard, and there's an egregious one to come. But, before that, wrapping up Side One, is "Sweet Virginia." A slow number that hits upon many of Jagger's pet themes, but with a rare generosity of spirit; the backup singers play an important part in this. The songwriting coalesces like little has before or since, Charlie Watts' lazy stomp laying down the groundwork for a wearily optimistic Stones orchestra of acoustic guitars, harmonica, ivories, and Bobby Keys on saxophone, who practically duets with Mick. It ends Side One because "Sweet Virginia" gives the listener as much incentive to go face the world again as she's likely to ever get. A pause seems appropriate.

Side Two of Rose Pink Cadillac begins with "Love In Vain" and the mood is as downbeat as the title suggests. Barnstormers weren't something the Stones did, and if you thought Side One was slow, or a bummer, best get off now. Not that you would: "Love In Vain" is the Stones' best Robert Johnson cover, a song with the unhurried gait of a man with nothing left to lose but plenty to wallow around in. The tune sounds more terse than it actually is--there are at least four musicians playing, including Ry Cooder on mandolin--but there's nothing wrong with being direct. Johnson's lyrics marshal a handful of simple phrases into three powerful verses, and Jagger's straight reading of the material complements the somber tone. The side's second track, "Memory Motel," features an electric piano that's not particularly country, but it's a beautiful ballad, country in spirit. Certainly paid-by-the-tear Nashville types would recognize their craft in "Memory Motel." It's the only time on Rose Pink that we heard the Richards' hoarse, soulful voice. It's also the fourth song sung from the perspective of a man who can't get over an old flame who did him wrong, though "Memory Motel" is the most adult take on this theme, downright sentimental. Easily the longest song here, its forlorn swirl makes 7:09 sound brisk.

"Far Away Eyes," practically dripping with scorn for its nearly retarded narrator, takes a different approach. Utilizing nearly every convention of country and western music--from a cozy shuffle to Ron Wood's pedal steel to the rural, God-loving narrator--nothing about the instrumentation necessarily suggests irony, though Jagger's insistent performance inclines me to read everything in that way. Probably a parody of the Bakersfield sound, but done with respect for the music, if not its listeners. As "Far Away Eyes" draws to its close, the ballrooms and smelly bordellos of "Torn & Frayed" take over, as does another beleaguered narrator. Uniquely, this one finds redemption in music, his shoddy coat be damned. And, though rendered with a light touch, the sweet chords of "Torn & Frayed" prod us in the same direction. The beat here is somewhat harder, the emotion genuine again; it sounds like something Dylan, Kooper, and the Hawks could have banged out in 1966.

As moments of desperation go--always a fine way to end an album, incidentally--"Angie" doesn't quite match "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry," but it doesn't aspire to plumb the same depths. For one, the narrator holds out hope--he's only desperate because he knows he and Angie could still have it so good. Whether or not he's right--and if he's anything like Jagger I hope Angie heads for the hills--his conviction defines "Angie." It's downright mawkish--check the piano and those syrupy strings--but the melody redeems the tune. Rose Pink Cadillac ends on this more delicate emotional note.


*Today this exercise would be called making a playlist or, more generously, a fan-curated mixtape, but how much fun is that?

Critical Beatdown: Round 5

The New Pornographers, "Your Hands (Together)"
AM: I never saw the New Pornos, Canada's preeminent eight-person jitter-pop collective, as a band concerned much with progressing. "Your Hands (Together)" bears my theory out, and sounds like an amped-up take on the power melodies of their finest, Mass Romantic. 4/5

NS: Jaunty as always, and utilizing the sort of rolling dynamic changes that only the New Pornos can pull of with such zeal, this song would at first glance seem to be very much the equal of some of their earlier, classic singles. The very end may not reach those ecstatic heights, but I'd say this would maybe be two hooks short of a perfect song. 4/5

Die Antwoord, "Enter the Ninja"
AM: If only American rappers, whose efforts are not conceptual art projects, were making music this idiosyncratic and intense. The beat could've come from Houston, but unmistakably South African rapper Ninja spits like a man possessed (as well as obsessed with video games and ninjas, global signifiers of coolness). You need to watch this video. 5/5

NS: I would hate to judge the surely-fecund domain of South African rap based on this song alone, and the rapper Ninja certainly sounds capable of spitting for spitting's sake, but this is otherwise a pretty dull song, especially in the sonics department. I especially do not like singer Yo-Landi Vi$$er's vocal contributions, or her name for that matter. I will admit that I am curious to hear more. 2/5

The Thermals, "Canada"
AM: An important milestone in The Thermals' gradual evolution from lo-fi punk to shouty power-pop. Last year's Now We Can See was a slight disappointment, and "Canada" responds by packing in more hooks than even NWCS's rousing title track. Alas, it's not quite as good, but a new Thermals single is always welcome. 3.5/5

NS: The one band around today that could probably rival the New Pornographers in terms of sheer, overwhelming peppiness, the Thermals nevertheless contribute what is possibly the best song ever written about our northerly neighbors. I've always found their propensity for ebullience to be endearing as well as (usually) rocking, and this song follows a formula that will never be beaten. 5/5

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, "Good Enough"
AM: I like what Petty and the Heartbreakers were aiming for--there's nothing wrong with caustic blues jams, per se--but the end result here is too Grand Funk-y for comfort. Still, if I were hightailing it out of town in my pickup, leaving my entire life behind, I might put this on. 2.5/5

NS: When Tom Petty is on point, and the majority of the time he is, he can write songs of effortless greatness, usually one after the other, and his '00s material in particular has yielded lot of great stuff that tends to be criminally ignored. However, this slow blues jam showcases Tom Petty's rare generic side, in an overlong song that fails to distinguish itself save for Petty's vocals. Mike Campbell's guitar work is also not his best. 2/5

Robin Thicke Feat. Nicki Minaj, "Shakin' It For Daddy"
AM: Whereas "Enter The Ninja" hijacks pop trends for its freakishly weird vision, this song slavishly imitates Top 40 productions to annoying effect. Thicke gets overshadowed by Minaj, who sounds like Fergie. 1.5/5

NS: While Robin Thicke strikes me as basically Justin Timberlake with an even more whispery voice, Nicki Minaj demonstrates an ability for I will call "beat-riding," in lieu of a more technical term, in which Ms. Minaj manages to basically prattle on about nothing but still sound commanding and rhythmically unpredictable. It's kind of a thrilling showcase that gives this otherwise interminable corporate R&B-swill a few points in my book. 2.5/5

Prince, "Cause and Effect"
AM: I'm reminded of The Love Symbol Album's proggy "Three Chains Of Gold." And like that song, this is actually exciting. I could do without the crowd noise, but there's much tossed-off brilliance to be found here. Prince restlessly transitions from light funk to arena rock, new wave groove to a wild solo, and it works. 4/5

NS: I haven't been this blown away by a Prince song since "Fury" off 3121. It combines the rhythmic sparseness of Dirty Mind, the adventurousness of Sign 'O' The Times, and the heavy rock anthem elements of a lot of his stuff with the New Power Generation. Like his best 80's output, this song is dense with ideas, most of which work, and they lead into a guitar solo worth the time of any serious Prince scholar. 4.5/5

M.A.R.C.H.

Next month is March, and I've decided to try an experiment in blogging. For the month of March, I hope to make one substantive post per week, not counting Critical Beatdowns. I've long meant to post here more often, and since spontaneous inspiration isn't striking often enough, I've decided to submit myself to creativity's best friend, the iron-clad deadline.

The deadline will be Sunday night at midnight. That gives me 11 days to come up with the first post, which is a long lead-in, but then I hope keep myself busy next month, aside from blogging.

At this point, you are surely asking, with no small degree of selfishness, "Aaron, where do I fit in to this?" To answer your question, I've come up with an acronym: March At Rocaliser Content Help. Get it? I want you to suggest topics, just like real music journalist Maura Johnston answers questions on her tumblr. I've got a couple ideas, but I welcome yours in the comments or, if your the sheepish type, in my inbox (email is aaronsbloggeremail@gmail.com). I'd gladly do four reader-suggested topics, or even debate you, just don't disappoint me with no suggestions.

Hey Guys, Catholics Can Drink the Kool-Aid Too!

L'Osservatore Romano, the Holy See's inside source for all things Pope-related, has been doing its part in recent months to rehabilitate the Catholic Church's public image, particularly when it comes to the Church's history of opposing adult themes in popular media such as music, film and literature. As we know, though, even Bishops have to eat occasionally. What do do when you're a Catholic newspaper that wants more blog traffic? Well, the first thing you do is write an article calling Avatar overrated. And, like that other magazine catering to the whims and prejudices of those who have let modern culture pass them by, they know that nothing redirects web traffic like a numbered list.

In this case, L'Osservatore has determined the ten best pop albums of all time. The resulting list is way more interesting than Rolling Stone's. But are these really the sort of jams Pope Benedict should be kicking out to while going through his morning prayer-and-hat-shopping routine? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the newly installed eighth sacrament of the Catholic Church: Rock music!

1. The Beatles, Revolver. It makes sense that the Catholic Church would be about ten years behind VH1 in choosing the exact same contender for best album ever. Of course, Revolver ranks among the four or five greatest Beatles albums (I have always slightly favored the White Album over the rest), and therefore belongs somewhere on this list. As far as Catholic bona fides go, George Harrison's "Taxman" rejects government taxation without explicitly calling for the Church as an alternative; "Eleanor Rigby" could be used as an unofficial theme song for Catholic liberalism, which doesn't really gibe with the Reign of Benedict; "I'm Only Sleeping" subtly illustrates the Catholic work ethic; "Tomorrow Never Knows" is about drugs, and how awesome they are. Lennon's vocals for "Tomorrow Never Knows" would work well as a Gregorian chant, though.

2. Pink Floyd, Dark Side Of The Moon. L'Osservatore was wise not to choose the explicitly anti-authoritian and anti-organized religion albums The Wall and Animals; similarly, the narrative of Wish You Were Here includes songs lauding acid burnouts and condemning capitalism. Piper is too schizophrenic, and has songs about Lucifer, and Meddle is too bass-heavy. Dark Side is the safe choice by comparison, and it tackles some big, religious subjects. But does anyone in the Church have the gall to support songs calling money the "root of all evil today?" This is probably the pet favorite of Vatican astronomers.

3. Oasis, What's The Story (Morning Glory?). Apparently the Catholic Church has finally taken sides in the Britpop wars. I'm fully prepared to begrudge this, picking a middling album from a band whose reputation for childish antics far exceeding their songwriting. Perhaps they like Oasis because their lyrics are so confused, lacking any remote form or subject, that there's no way one could cull any sort of anti-religious message, or any message at all. Britpop fans and Catholics are alike in that respect.

4. Michael Jackson, Thriller. This makes sense. The title track, and its accompanying video, serve as an amusing throwback to the Hollywood reign of Father Daniel Lord and Hays Code horror movies (where no one is brutally murdered, except offscreen, and monsters tend to run around looking terrifying as opposed to dishing out wanton slaughter and gore). L'Osservatore says that they like the "illuminating simplicity and musical thrust" of the album, and they might as well be right: if they wanted to get away with a pop album that was as sexless as it is ubiquitous, they made the right choice.

5. U2, Achtung Baby. U2 was a sure shot for this list, but what do we make of their choosing Achtung Baby over The Joshua Tree? Only that they're interchangeable, for the purposes of staking out one's dubious claim of being a fan of alternative rock. It's worth noting that Bono, the Edge, and Larry Mullen, Jr. were (are?) all evangelical Christians.

6. Fleetwood Mac, Rumours. This is basically an album about how infuriating adultery can be, and how insufferable it can make you when you decide to write songs about the people you work with. The Vatican understands that Fleetwood Mac were no paragons of virtue, but ranting about infidelity, when accompanied by smooth grooves, surely rings of condemnation. I'm one of those people that prefers them with Peter Green, but I realize that Rumours better fits a narrative at once popular and moral-ish.

7. Donald Fagen, The Nightfly. My personal favorite choice here, mainly because I love imagining the conversation that went into it. What I think happened was that the Vatican has some major Steely Dan fans that nevertheless may have had problems with their dark sarcastic lyrics, so they decided to look further into the oeuvre of Dan and found this classic to be less dark and sarcastic by comparison. The Nightfly may have the first (and last) instance of an unabashed love song in the Dan catalog, "Walk Between Raindrops," and some of the other songs ("I.G.Y.," "New Frontier") could, at first glance, be less sarcastic than their predecessors. In any case, any person or group that lists this album at No. 7 is automatically cool in my book, no matter how they choose to pad the rest of it. Even Santana.

8. Santana, Supernatural. Others may find this appalling, when Abraxas is so clearly the superior choice. Is it, though? I find myself unable to care, but color me disappointed that the Vatican adds itself to the list of institutions propagating this myth that Carlos Santana is the world's preeminent guitar legend. Not an egregious sin, but a sin nonetheless.

9. Paul Simon, Graceland. Of all the articles I have ever written on the Internet, none have caused so much continual negative feedback as this particular post I wrote on Paul Simon. I will still get an email or so every couple of months admonishing me for my obvious jealousy, lack of talent, ignorance, etc. So I don't have much more to say about Paul Simon. While I still can't see what some people get about Graceland, at least the Vatican didn't choose Still Crazy After All These Years.

10. David Crosby, If I Could Only Remember My Name. My theory: The Magisterium contains many a closet CSNY fan, but if you only have one slot left, which do you choose? Stephen Stills is a rockin' multi-instrumentalist, but he was also a Democratic delegate for Florida during the 2000 election; Graham Nash has been in many great bands, but he's also a complete fruitcake, and he's been know to collaborate with a-ha; Neil Young is a Canadian lefty who sometimes distorts his electric guitar. Crosby is, by elimination, the safe choice.

Many thanks to the Vatican for inspiring me to listen to my first David Crosby solo album. Will we see more lists of its like? That depends on whether the Church continues to take its cues from the Pope and use its power for censorship, or whether it comes to see that there's nothing wrong with a religion that embraces culture of New, rather than trying to regulate it. I hope it won't be the former, because that would be some papal BULLSHIT.

UPDATE: Apologies to Greg for probably misrepresenting the church he used to attend before he grew up and came to know better. Happy Ash Wednesday!