Chapter Book Revue

Thanks to Hennepin County's libraries, I've managed to read a few books about music in the past month. I thought I'd write them up...

Silence, John Cage
Cage was an important, even pivotal figure in 20th Century music, and this book collects many of the experimental composer's lectures and magazine pieces, up to the early 1960s. He returns to the same subjects over and over--the dichotomy between noise and music, the nature of 'experimental' music, electronic sounds, the influence of chance in composition, and silence, or the impossibility thereof.

Profound questions, and, at its best, inquiries well-handled by Silence. On noise and silence--those false antitheses to music--in particular, the book sparkles with uncommon depth and a sense of intellectual mischief.

But to find the whole of Silence interesting, or even readable, one's interest in music must align perfectly with the composer's. I don't believe the concept of filler existed in Cage's period, but Silence is stuffed with it--uncritical expositions on Eastern philosophy, an unending barrage of unordered vignettes, 'experimental' lectures that were never meant to be read. Parsing the good from the nutty isn't difficult, however--when Cage chooses to write clearly his unorthodox ideas are almost always provocative--and still worth you time.

The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society, Andy Miller
An early entry in Continuum's 33 1/3 series, Andy Miller's take on The Kinks' greatest album features an unimaginative structure, unimaginative prose, and an unimaginative take on 15 of the richest songs every recorded. Miller mostly pulls quotes from Ray Davies' autobiography and articles about the Kinks, and connects with wordy, worshipful sentences; it reads like a lengthy Wikipedia article. The track analyses are OK, but by the time I got to the chapter of analysis about Village Green-era tracks not included on the album, I put down the book. The volume itself is slim, but the whole book seems very slight.

Invisible Republic: Bob Dylan's Basement Tapes, Greil Marcus
Greil Marcus' prose, on the other hand, is sublime. Large parts of Invisible Republic are given over to lengthy, novelistic descriptions--of live performances, Appalachian history, the Anthology of American Folk Music, and above all, the worlds Marcus hears inside songs. Some of these sections are reason to read the book by themselves.

But in a book ostensibly about Bob Dylan & The Band's landmark Basement Tapes, Marcus' stream of consciousness cultural history doesn't always work. The ace writing masks the fact that parts of the book have the cluttered, impenetrable inner logic of, well, a Dylan epic. Like "Desolation Row," Invisible Republic sometimes insinuates very thoughtful points through clouds of poetry and allusion. Other times you get the letter just as the doorknob breaks.

Perhaps you have heard that Greil proposes an "old, weird America"? Why yes, yes he does, and this old and weird America is a shot at poet Kenneth Rexroth, recognition of the centrality of the coo coo bird in American song and mythology, and home to Smithville and Kill Devil Hills, hamlets of the author's own creation. Among thousands of other things.

I won't rule out that large parts of Invisible Republic simply elude me, though I doubt the whole thing does. Dense and twisting thoughts work wonders in "Desolation Row," but as cultural history their power is somewhat diminished; I'd argue style should sometimes take a backseat to decipherable analysis in any history. This is by no means a bad book, however, and I can promise you that Marcus writes beautifully and with great knowledge.

The Replacements: All Over But The Shouting: An Oral History, Jim Walsh
An oral history of rock's greatest fuckups that gives more time to fans, scenesters, critics, and local history than it does to the band. The approach was probably necessary: Paul Westerberg doesn't appear to have talked to Walsh for the book, Bob Stinson sadly cannot, and while Chris Mars and Tommy Stinson participated, they don't play a major role as storytellers here. Walsh relies on folks like Peter Jesperson, Lori Barbero, and Peter Buck to fill in the details.

But the outside looking in angle makes sense for a band that was almost more important to its fans than its own members. There's a wealth of hilarious and heart-wrenching anecdotes, though major aspects of the band go almost unmentioned. Notably, there's very little about the terrible incident, shortly before Bob's dismissal from the band, when Westerberg forced Stinson to drink after having completed a treatment program, and absolutely nothing about Chris Mars' Pappy the Clown alter ego.

Walsh's book has a wonderful sense of place, at least if you're reading it in South Minneapolis. The obsession with street names and local hangouts may explain the mixed reviews Shouting received in 2007--that, or the author's boring articles from the 1980's that he chose to reprint--but it gives a sense of the scene and city that gave rise to the Placemats.

Stick With Me Baby, Stick With Me Anyhow

Back in October, Nathan suggested that I do a track-by-track take on Bob Dylan's unexpected Christmas album. I've taken the liberty of trashing Bob's other 2009 disc, Together Through Life, three separate times on this blog.

But I resisted for other reasons. Not only did Christmas In The Heart seem like a clunker, but I despise Christmas music. Treacly, staid, and, worst of all, explicitly Christian, Xmas tunes have never been my thing. In fact, to my knowledge the only good Christmas-themed songs ever recorded are Prince's "Another Lonley Christmas," Dump's brilliant cover of that song, and "Jesus" by Big Star. Those, and a great SNL sketch featuring comedic genius Horatio Sanz. Other listenable savior-related songs, like Modest Mouse's "Jesus Christ Was An Only Child," Slayer's "Jesus Saves," and The Birthday Party's "Big-Jesus-Trash-Can," among others, seem not to be sincerely about the birth of God's son (Jesus, not Nas).

But here I am with some free time on a Saturday, and an irrepressible curiosity about what a Christmas album from the Hibbing Jew sounds like. Is it a Tarantula-level disaster, or Masked And Anonymous-level disaster? Or, as the reviews suggest, actually OK? I only intend to listen to this thing more than once, so let's see:

1. Here Come Santa Claus
Dylan sounds cheery enough, backed by an all-male choir. The music is pretty much what you'd expect--part Americana, part pre-Elivs pop. The tune, rendered with a light skiffle, goes by in a pleasant 2:42. Not bad, not bad at all.

2. Do You Hear What I Hear?
Bob groans his way through this one, an odd pairing of syrupy strings, chime-y piano, and slide guitar. I'm hearing typical Jack Frost production so far--clean, upfront, but perhaps too perfect to give Dylan's band room to breathe. I'm digging the percussion.

3. Winter Wonderland
A female chorus sings the title hook, and the song's light Americana swirls around like tiny snowflakes in a snowglobe. Tidy, but oddly charming. A far cry from the dark, caustic songs on Together Through Life.

4. Hark The Herald Angels Sing
Looks like there's no originals here, and the song selection is pretty standard. But you expected that. This is a showpiece for Dylan's voice. People shit on it all the time, but I appreciate his command of bleating and crooning--it's occasionally a thing of beauty (listen to Modern Times' "Workingman's Blues #2"). Not so here.

5. I'll Be Home For Christmas
These songs are all rather sparse, but the production and backup vocals (the latter are rare on Dylan records) make them seem otherwise. They are also mercifully short. They don't overstay their welcome one bit--Dylan goes through 15 songs in just over 40 minutes. This one sounds a lot like the previous song, so that's why I don't feel like describing it.

6. Little Drummer Boy
Among the more execrable songs in the cannon of execrable Christmas music. Dylan's take at least has a cool, reverb-y guitar going for it, so I can pretend I'm listening to Tom Verlaine's "Cold Irons Bound" cover.

7. Christmas Blues
Dylan's take on Christmas is so out of touch with how modern Americans celebrate the holiday--from his album cover on down--you wonder why he bothered recording this at all. He's still on Tin Pan Alley in the era of the information superhighway, and even his sad Christmas song reflects that. A harmonica shows up, briefly.

8. O' Come All Ye Faithful (Adeste Fideles)
This one's gained some notoriety its first verse, which is in Latin. It's totally in keeping with the classicist spirit with the album, though, and I suppose it's become notable for a Latin verse because there's little else of interest here.

9. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
I swear I hear a Hawaiian inflection in some of the guitars on Heart, even on this song. I'm really impressed with the vocals on the album--Dylan has taken a genre that seems to play to his weaknesses, i.e. his lack of range, but he consistently nails these songs. The longest song on the album at barely over four minutes, it also goes by fast enough, even with the slow tempo.

10. Must Be Santa
The record's barnstormer, previously reviewed in a Critical Beatdown. The accordion reminds me of Together Through Life, but the band really barrels through this. The call and response is great--add another point to my previous score.

11. Silver Bells
The response to this album has been really interesting, because it deprives critics of their usual talking points. Dylan didn't write a single lyric for the album, and it exists outside of what I'll unhelpfully term "Dylan continuity." It's an aberration--a bizarre genre album that doesn't fit into the narrative about Dylan's work from Time Out Of Mind through Together Through Life. I suspect it will be remembered as what it is, a curio, sometimes entertaining but never great. We get not a whit of insight into The Man. But whatever it is, please don't ask yourself if he's fucking with us. He's always fucking with us.*

"Silver Bells" blows, by the way.

12. First Noel
This sucks too. Extremely corny, and I now want to recant my praise for Dylan's vocals. Strings, female choir, organ, blah, blah, blah.

13. Christmas Island
This song actually is Hawaiian-themed. I imagine Hawaiin's non-Christian indigenous inhabitants would take umbrage with their homeland being called "Christmas Island." But then the tune's inoffensive, which is not to say good.

14. Christmas Song
The last four songs have really taken a nosedive, quality-wise. "Song" superficially resembles the gentler moments on Modern Times and "Love & Theft", but lacks the wizened perspective of a song like "Mississippi." I guess no Christmas album would be complete without "Christmas Song," but my life will never be complete while I'm listening to it.

15. O' Little Town Of Bethlehem
Unbearably slow, sparse but without a hint of intimacy. The album--better than expected--ends after five shit songs in a row. Maybe I'll play this for my Mom sometime.


So 2009 has come and almost gone, and seen Dylan release two mediocre albums, something he hasn't done in the same calendar year since 1973. Still, I'm glad Bob's around, even if he's not.

*Fucking with us even though he's donating proceeds from Christmas In The Heart to charity in perpetuity. A nice gesture, but it doesn't mean he's not fucking with us. He's always fucking with us.

Critical Beatdown: Round Two

Gucci Mane feat. Plies, "Wasted"
NS: I was originally embarrassed to note that I only know Gucci Mane through a verse he did on Big Boi's beautiful "Shine Blockas," but this anodyne example of shallow, corporate rap doesn't make me think I've missed that much. The beat is okay, the kind of thing Lil Wayne could leverage into something better on his next mixtape. 2/5

AM: A rarity--an ode to getting drunk as dumb and fun as the real thing. Attention minors: there is no such thing as a "Ghetto Public Service Announcement," so take Gucci's pronouncements with a grain of salt, or at least a glass of water. 4/5

Beach House, "Norway"
NS: Beach House could be blamed for not showing much depth in their trafficking of woozy soundscapes, but one can't argue with effective wooze, accompanied this time by vocals that really showcase the best of both singers. Top-notch songsmithing. 4/5

AM: Beach House always sounded out-of-focus, but now they're gone blissfully out-of-tune. If Vic and Alex are going to keep releasing killer first singles like this, I'm going to continue buying their albums the day they come out. 4.5/5

Califone, "Funeral Singers"
NS: Nothing Califone does these days seems as cool as Heron King Blues, but that's okay. The singer-songwriter angle is redeemed, as in the Beach House song, with odd male-female harmonizing, plus some gnarled electric guitar. 3.5/5

AM: They sound rootsy, and they sound worn-out. Neil Young this ain't, but Califone prove there's still plenty of gas left in the tank, if a bit of rust around the wheels. 3.5/5

Timbaland Feat. Nelly Furtado & SoShy, "Morning After Dark"
NS: I'm ambivalent about Timbaland's increasingly digitized direction--songs like this don't carry the luster of early work but this certainly deserves to be the biggest thing on the radio when contrasted with the latest Gaga or Cyrus. It's all about the chorus with this one, and it is a lustrous chorus. 3.5/5

AM: Shock Value's embarrassing moments--and they were legion--were redeemed by their creator's bug-eyed sense of humor and talent behind the boards. Here, Timbo autotunes himself beyond recognition and chases trends, rather than creating them. Just generic. 2/5

Bob Dylan, "Must Be Santa"
NS: It surely is predictably embarrassing, but what else can one say? Dylan-the-singer is worse than ever, he's performing a rather chintzy song written by someone else, and his accordion-laden arrangement is a deadly combination of obnoxious and unmemorable. 0.5/5

AM: Gonna be honest: I don't hate this. Dylan, who apparently has been sipping from the same cup as Gucci Mane, blusters his way through a song that, it must be said, has considerably more vigor than the entirety of Together Through Life. He's one of a kind, he can't help it. 2.5/5

Same Rag You've Always Known

No one asked, but here it is: a list of the 11 albums that Rolling Stone gave five stars during the 2000s, baring any late entrants. The only remaining 2009 disc that seems like a contender is that weird-seeming Dylan Christmas album, which doesn't have the glow of a five star album about it, particularly after the turgid Together Through Life. In chronological order:

Bob Dylan-- "Love and Theft" (2001)
Mick Jagger--Goddess In The Doorway (2001)
Beck--Sea Change (2002)
Bruce Springsteen--The Rising (2002)
The White Stripes--Elephant (2003)
Brian Wilson--SMiLE (2004)
Beastie Boys--To The 5 Boroughs (2004)
Kanye West--Late Registration (2005)
Bob Dylan--Modern Times (2006)
Bruce Springsteen--Magic (2007)
Bruce Springsteen--Working On A Dream (2009)

Seven of these albums, distributed over just four musicians, are by artists who in any reasonable estimation of their work peaked sometime between 1965-1975. I'd add that Beck and The Beastie Boys peaked long before 2002 and 2004, respectively.

Anyways the most notable of these reviews is Jann Wenner's five-star write-up of Mick Jagger's Goddess In The Doorway. The review, possibly written by Wenner because even hacks refused to award a Mick Jagger solo album five stars, strains mightily to praise the album. In 974 words, it embodies almost every conceivable qualm one might have with Wenner's publication, presenting them with--and this is the most shocking part--a completely straight face. Is it even worth my time critiquing it?:

In terms of consistency, craftsmanship and musical experimentation, Goddess in the Doorway surpasses all his solo work and any Rolling Stones album since Some Girls

Goddess in the Doorway resembles the Stones' best albums in that it's a varied yet cohesive collection of ballads, hard rockers and one country song

Making the most of this opportunity to stretch himself, Jagger has recruited some outstanding guests...Rob Thomas...Lenny Kravitz...Bono...Joe Perry

It may seem a truism, but it's worth noting that he is - along with John Lennon, Van Morrison, Bob Dylan and Bono - one of the great male rock voices of this age

These statements wear their self-parody as unknowingly as the real Mick Jagger!

But what of the other ten? I suspect that about half of these albums will make the magazine's Decade Top 10. Personally, I've heard most of them--many of them on the strength of the RS reviews, I confess--all, in fact, but the Jagger disc and the three Springsteen albums. I doubt I'll hear any of those four, ever: though I love the Stones, I have no desire to hear Doorway, and while Springsteen fans seemed to love The Rising and Magic, I am not of their ilk.

Aside from Goddess in the Doorway, To The 5 Boroughs stands out as this list's other big misfire. It may have seemed natural at the time--responding to 9/11 helped net The Rising five stars, the Beasties hadn't released an album since the 90's, the singles were pretty fun, and RS does adore the Beastie Boys. But as a long-player, it's unexciting, surely the group's worst.

I can understand the Dylan reviews better. Note that 2 albums represents half of Bob's 00's output, and the magazine, which exists in large part to worship at the shrine of Dylan, picked the right two. "Love And Theft" is the weaker of the pair, but still quite good, one of three great records to be released on the 00's-defining, above-mentioned date (the other two being Jay-Z's The Blueprint and Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, which are both better so go figure). I do love Modern Times, however. Aside from its deeply ironic title, the album shows a reflective, lonely Dylan, with an arsenal of sharply written tunes. Still, it's a four-and-a-half star LP, tops.

Beck's Sea Change is another album on the list a half star short of RS's ultimate honor. It meant a lot to me when I first heard it, and the first five tracks will blow your mind. But Beck's transformation into a Nick Drake-like singer-songwriter arrived just in time to capitalize on the massive goodwill lent that particular mope in the early 00's, and the second half of his album drags. Plus, it sucks that Beck's vocals are always dirge-y now, even when his musical surroundings aren't. Wasn't that way before Sea Change.

The vocals on SMiLE bother me as well. Wilson's voice is audibly strained a number of times--most noticably on rerecorded but only slightly inferior versions of "Heroes and Villains" and "Good Vibrations"--and we can still only wonder what it would've sounded like had Brian been able to keep it together in 1966. But the old man and his many collaborators' take on a teenager's symphony to God is wonderful, complex stuff. RS surprised no one with the review, but they weren't too far off, either.

Which leaves the two best albums that Rolling Stone awarded five stars, the only two given to youngish artists. The Late Registration review might be the more surprising of the two, and not just because a black person got it. Previously, the magazine hadn't seemed particularly keen on Kanye--College Dropout, which won the Village Voice critics poll, got just 3.5 stars (which Ye later called them out on), and he'd never landed a big profile or anything. But Late Registration is not only an incredible record, but one that also caters to rock crit tastes (I mean, having Jon Brion co-produce your album?). A lush, hip-hop White Album, with enough subtle production tricks and facets of Kanye's then-interesting persona to make 70 minutes go by fast.

And finally: self-indulgence is the name of Jack White's game these days, but there was a time when he'd indulge his audience as well. That Rolling Stone would love the White Stripes was a foregone conclusion, but to award Elephant five stars took at least a small amount of balls in 2003. I vividly remember the issue, the first RS I got via my subscription: it was "The Cool Issue" and featured Lisa Marie Presley on the cover, along with a small blurb about the Stripes album. Elephant is where it all congealed for the Stripes: a blues-punk barnstormer that envisioned the Brill Building as a rickety garage, lower frequencies as the apocalypse, and a glorious coexistence of country-kitsch and multitracked screeds. The best album to receive five stars from Wenner's rag this decade and just enough to make me thankful that Rolling Stone existed in the 00's, if only for personal reasons.

Google Yr Idols

Two posts ago, I noted that Alan Sparhawk likes to talk about how he likes dub. To back it up, I googled it. I found what I wanted, but also discovered what googlers are looking for when they search for Alan Sparhawk: Unless there's an Alan Sparhawk who works as a drug dealer, I think that it's sad that the number one search result for his name is "alan sparhawk drugs." The guy's had problems, sure, but even higher than "alan sparhawk low"? Disappointed in internet users, but intrigued by the opportunity to glimpse at what people associate with some of my favorite musicians, I did a few more.

I suspected Courtney Love's would be sordid, but take a look at number three:I don't think I've ever seen it put that bluntly.

This one was pretty interesting. It turns out that people aren't interested in Craig Finn's favorite beers, but rather his favorite Drive By Truckers songs. But wait, what are numbers two and three?:
Turns out Craig worked as a divorce lawyer between Lifter Puller and THS. Or something. I clicked on both and found out nothing about his personal life, so instead of searching for "craig finnberg" I assumed he changed his name to Finnberg upon moving to Brooklyn.

Speaking of East Coat pretension...
Woah! Or at least that's what I'd say if "Kim Gordon's Panties" weren't a song by Rapeman, Steve Albini's late Eighties group. But that a song from a 1989 noise-rock album, especially one with that title, is the number one suggestion for Kim Gordon searches...you have to wonder about that.

An MF Doom (who now refers to himself as the more imposing but less googlable DOOM) search produced a couple of interesting resultsThe last one particularly captivates me. Could there be a video of the erstwhile Daniel Dumille slam dunking? Alas, the dunk is a sneaker. I was glad to know in advance that the second half of "mf doom ball skin" referred to a song title.

Finally, sometimes you can prod the search toolbar to produce fun (or disturbing) results:

Shot Of Dylan

I've been reading the recently-published Cambridge Companion To Bob Dylan, a collection of 17 interesting if unimaginative essays about the Harp-Blowin' Hibbingsman. The prevalence of statements like "obviously his unparalleled body of work will live on forever" lead me to reflect on my own relationship with Dylan, one of the first musicians I fell in love with. While much of the praise offered up in the Companion is deeply unnecessary (the above quote being the best example), I nevertheless throw my voice into the fray and cherry-pick my ten favorite albums by the man. Not included is this year's dirge-filled Together Through Life, a pretty big disappointment.

Aaron's 10 Favorite Bob Dylan Albums

1. Blonde On Blonde
Every song creates its own sound-world, wicked mixes of crooked blues and over-enunciated wisdom.
2. Blood On The Tracks
As unguarded as Bob got, a real, beating heart revealed amongst lush and gorgeous instrumentation.
3. Nashville Skyline
Dylan's late 60's/early 70's country albums are his most underrated, and this is the finest among them. Modest in ambition but lovely in exectution, it even proved that Dylan could croon like a cowboy.
4. The Basement Tapes
Lo-fi transmissions from a vividly imagined, fictional America. Like if you and your buddies got drunk in the basement and recorded some of the best, murkiest and most eccentric Americana ever.
5. Bringing It All Back Home
The split between the jumpy, amphetamine-laced electric blues of side one and the paranoid, surreal folk of side two captured a messed-up songwriter torn between two worlds.
6. John Wesley Harding
A tight, unpretentious set of country-rock totally at odds with the swaths of psychedelia Dylan had wrought.
7. Highway 61 Revisited
Dylan snarls for 35 minutes before his despairing yowl takes over. An album with the force (and subtlety) of a lead weight.
8. Desire
An album-length duet between Dylan's furious, resigned and garbled (again!) vocals and Scarlet Rivera's nimble violin.
9. Modern Times
The best of Bob's late 90's/00's discs, an old man's honest and often spirited look backwards. Jack Frost lays on too much studio sheen, but the songs still sparkle in that heavy way.
10. Another Side Of Bob Dylan
Not even my tenth favorite Dylan album, merely an acknowledgment that of the folk albums, this is tops. Without the deadly serious folk puritanism, Bob's sense of humor, for once, shines through.