Top 40 Track Reviews, Written As If The Songs In Question Were By Lady Gaga

"Break Your Heart"

Peerless even among The Fame Monster's third-wave fembot anthems, "Break Your Heart" showcases the shapeshifting Gaga in black widow mode. The lyrics reveal a heart of darkness, doomed to a lifetime of self-sabotage, though the Ludacris guest verse brings a bit of levity. The track also features production from frequent collaborator RedOne, whose style on "Heart" is more inventive than Quincy Jones and the Bomb Squad combined. All in all, another epoch-defining jam from Gaga.

"Baby"

Lady Gaga's kid-pop pastiche, and a profound comment on our times. "Baby" exposes the infantilizing effects of internet-era celebrity, but with a delicious twist: the song features no less than 40 costume changes. How Gaga keeps this up is anyone's guess; there's no precedent for hitmaking of this caliber.

"Imma Be"

Less a song than a treatise on performativity, and a damn smart one at that. This is the sound of 2010, and kudos to Gaga for repurposing a mixtape cliche for mass consumption. The tune has some boilerplate synthesizer work, but this in fact functions as a comment on the dullness of these very sounds. And what can you say about the video that Entertainment Weekly hasn't already? It's a half-hour confection with all the flavors pop has to offer: we watch Gaga and Jason Mraz storm a leper colony, and there's a scene set in a Pizza Hut that gives new meaning to the term salad bar.

"BedRock"

Gaga boldly confronts rumors about her gender and sexuality in this buzzed-about Euroclub number. "BedRock" pushes the envelope to new levels--again--with a verse in which Gaga and Nikki Minaj exhume Warhol's corpse and sodomize it with a tube of Crest toothpaste.

Great Guitar Solos #5: Blur, "Look Inside America" (Graham Coxon)

Available On: Blur, 1997
Solo Bits: 2:42-3:09

I've already talked a bit about Graham Coxon on this blog, particularly in regard to how in terms of wedding technical and creative sensibilities, he is basically an unmatched player. Further stoked by the release of a video of Albarn and Coxon playing "This Is A Low" (unfortunately acoustic style), I felt that it was time to give this man his due.

Truthfully, Coxon may be an integral component of Blur's sound, but Albarn has proven he is capable of making excellent music without Coxon (Think Tank, Gorillaz, etc.). But Blur is just an all-around great band in my opinion, in the sense that they are a group of four great, easily identifiable musicians, and they're generally underappreciated by my friends in part because the British press has made it a habit of oversaturating its content with talk of Blur and Oasis, as if they are the two standard-bearers of Britpop. I can hardly believe that there continues to be some sort of rivalry between Blur and Oasis fans--not because it is more than a decade after the fact but because I can't believe anyone could consider it a contest at all. Blur is a better band than Oasis in every way, ever since their inception, and I'm sure they still are now. Die-hard Oasis fans perplex me, because their argument will often boil down to the fact that Blur does songs like "Girls & Boys" that lack the rawk-authenticity of their main competitors. And they sound gay.

Many critics have noted that a lot of Blur's best work illustrates the tension between Albarn's songwriting and Coxon's playing; I always get the sense that Coxon has no patience for the poppy and pastoral chord changes of Blur's early years and did his best to undermine what could be typical-sounding music by surrounding his lead lines with notes that don't fit harmonically. Coxon's playing is unique because he often chooses not to play the melody of the piece, or at least the chords that Albarn tends to use. He's a restless player, prone to mixing bursts of fuzzy noise with leaden open strings and weird, dissonant arpeggios. An example of his genius at work can be heard in the first nine seconds of "Magic America" off Parklife. What is it that he is even playing here? It sounds like he is playing a lead line that trips over itself and ends on a big, dissonant non-chord. He manages to out-Keith Levene Keith Levene here, who was so fond of trying to find the wrongest notes possible.

In addition, Coxon can simply play as well as anyone. Even Blur's ballads show Coxon's virtuosity to be pretty much engrained in everything he plays--in "Tender," for instance, Coxon manages to make a lead line out of something as banal as a chord change from A to E. Of course, Coxon's reliance on these techniques and his general habit of avoiding bluesy, tonal solos and lead lines has given him a reputation as a "reluctant guitar hero" or an "anti-guitarist." Whatever. He could easily play the sort of derivative motifs of his peers, but his technique is far too personalized. Plus, I'm sure he seems like the kind of guy who just prefers Sonic Youth and Glenn Branca anyway. Like those artists, Coxon doesn't do many typical solos per se, making it difficult for me to find one that really illustrated his skills. "This Is A Low" came to mind, and it is a beautiful moment, as is that moment in the middle of "Coffee & TV" when he stretches out just a few notes past the point of perceptibility. I'm not sure "Look Inside America" is my favorite solo, or even the most representative, but it certainly gets me excited.

So "Look Inside America" is from Blur, the album that was supposed to be Blur's tribute to Pavement as well as a significant departure from the heavily orchestrated Great Escape. It contains, if you remember, "Song 2," probably the most distorted song to ever become a stadium hit, and "Beetlebum," perhaps the most catchy heroin ditty of our time. "Look Inside America" is a song that harks back to previous Blur songs like "Magic America," exploring Albarn's simultaneous need to make it across the Atlantic while remaining aloof and disappointed with American consumer culture. At least that's what I think it's about: I'm too often distracted by Coxon's crunchy ringing chords in the chorus (which admittedly sounds similar to "Country House"). The song adds strings, which is a nice touch, and the whole thing seems to be one of those Blur songs full of sweepy backing vocals and lots of Pixies stop-start moments. The solo itself begins as a sort of bluesy high-octane riff, which follows a brief harp interlude. It only lasts a few seconds, and then the harp returns, followed by Graham doing what he does best, playing combinations of open and fretted notes, weaving slight touches of feedback without overcoming what seems to be his shot at providing a completely alternative melody. The solo just jams, even if not that many notes are actually played. It's just so economical and is played with such rhythmic heft (if it were Oasis, they would probably call it "swagger"). It shows just how much control Coxon has over his instrument.

Coxon is the ingredient that makes even the most tossed-off Blur song sound interesting; it's hard to think of a single song of theirs featuring Coxon that doesn't feature at least one extraordinarily out-of-the-box guitar lead. How many bands have any instrumentalists that fulfill this sort of function? Santiago comes to mind, although I am always unsure as to whether or not it's Frank Black dictating what he's playing anyway. As far as non-guitarists go, maybe Jean-Jacques Burnel. The way he plays, I'd just listen to whatever recordings I could of him goofing off.

A Brief History of Sir Luscious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty

At the risk of assuming my esteemed colleague's opinion on the matter, I'm pretty sure that there is nothing we at Rockaliser are more looking forward to than Big Boi's long-delayed Sir Luscious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty. My long-simmering anticipation for this album has nothing to do with subscribing to the rap hype machine and everything to do with the consistent stream of incredible tracks Big has leaked since March 2008, which run the gamut from merely bangin' to extraordinary to extra-extraordinary. Due to a protracted label battle (of which the details still seem sketchy), the album has been the victim of constant delays, and I feared that label disputes might result in a partially-formed, slapdash kind of project.

But everything Big Boi has done so far has significantly allayed these fears. Having finally signed to Def Jam, and with the release date for SLLF:TSOCD finally set (July 6), I thought it might be a useful public service to provide a brief history of all things Chico Dusty, and in doing so, I thought I'd make a few extrapolated assumptions about what the album means for Big Boi and the future of Outkast as a cohesive unit.

I'm not in-the-loop enough to know when exactly Big Boi began sessions for Chico Dusty, nor do I know when the general concept for a solo Big Boi album was first suggested. My guess is that he started working on the album in the summer of 2007, which would have been around the same time that "International Players Anthem," which featured both Big and Andre 3000, was released. He first mentioned the album publicly in December 2007, in an interview with Vibe Magazine (and let it be stated for the record that Vibe makes it a pain in the ass to go looking for archived articles). In that interview, Big Boi was referring to the album merely as Sir Luscious Left Foot. He mentioned that the bulk of it would be produced by Organized Noize, Outkast's regular production team, and there would be twelve songs in total, nine of which at the time he claimed to have already finished. Amusingly, he also said, "I want all the stuff to be '08, everything to be brand new." At the time, I believe, it was assumed that the album would be on Laface/Jive Records, which had been Outkast's label since Southernplayalisticadillacmusik.

The first track to be leaked was "Royal Flush," named after Big's production team, featuring Andre 3000 and Raekwon (the team first featured on Outkast's track "Skew It On The Bar-B" from Aquemini). It appeared in late March 2008, made the blog rounds, and everybody seemed to love it. I did, for sure: as I have written before, it's really defined by Andre 3000's extended, virtuosic verse at the end, but basically everything else about it is great as well. The relative minimalism of the beat (bass + drums, with a little vocoder thrown in) is the perfect tether to keep these three MCs afloat, and the Isley Brothers sample that separates each verse provides just enough breathing time to appreciate more keenly how these rappers basically rise above hooks: nearly every phrase uttered sticks in one's mind as being either immediately repeatable or profoundly truthful. Critics, as far as I know, were unanimous in their swooning. It charted on Billboard's Hot R&B/Hip-Hop list and was later nominated for a Grammy for "Best Rap Performance By A Duo Or Group." It lost to the T.I./Lil Wayne/Jay-Z/Kanye juggernaut "Swagga Like Us," not that anyone cared.

In late April of that year, Big Boi gave an interview with MTV News, where he talked about his overall plan for the album. At this point, his goal was to drop Sir Luscious Left Foot in July of 2008, which would be followed by a solo Andre 3000 disc and then a new Outkast album. He also said that the album had "thirteen cuts" (as opposed to the previously-reported twelve), and the official title was now Sir Luscious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty (Dusty Chico was Big Boi's father's nickname while he served in the Air Force). Most intriguingly, Big talked about an upcoming duet with Mary J. Blige that "will probably be the second single, called 'The World Is Too Big.'" The article goes on to state that the collaboration "addresses the election, poverty, crime and the war."

Big Boi gave another interview that following May to Billboard.com, in which he claimed that the album would be finished "by the end of August." The brief interview also mentioned "The World Is Too Big," and Big Boi uses the interview as an opportunity to describe Chico Dusty's lyrical message in general terms: calling it "a recession special," he said that the album would explore a number of relevant social issues, from "rising gas prices to the election." Interestingly, there was supposed to be a "Royal Flush" video at some point, directed by Bryan Barber, but nothing came of it, due possibly to Andre 3000's scheduling problems.

Between May and July of 2008, "The World Is Too Big" became "Sumthin's Gotta Give" (or, alternately, "Something's Gotta Give"--though I believe the former is how Big Boi spells it, you find that a lot of major publications spell it otherwise). An official video was released not long after the track was leaked in late July. The song is a much different beast than "Royal Flush": its roots are quite clearly socially conscious old-school hip-hop and R&B, more of a think piece really than anything you can jam to. True to his word, Big Boi addresses a bevy of social ills, ranging from the war to urban poverty to empty rap battles between "who can jive talk the best." The video shows Big and Blige rallying disaffected blacks, interspersed with shots of urban blight and decay. So it's obvious what this song's true purpose is, which was to endorse Barack Obama for president. The video starts with an epigraph from Obama and includes these lines from Mary J. Blige: "And the only hope I have to help me deal with this drama/is that maybe in November we'll be cheering for Obama." The question, then: is this song still going to end up on the album, 18 months after Obama has already taken office? Should we expect to see it augmented slightly? Since no one seemed to pay much attention to this song and we've yet to receive a set track list, no one is sure.

Luscious was still aiming for an October 28 release date when Big Boi dropped "Dubbz" to not-much fanfare in September. Again, the conceptual basis of the song, which features the rapper Backbone (of whom I'm unaware), seemed to come entirely out of left field: an asymmetrical synth line trades parts with melodically-similar blasts of compressed electric fuzz. There's some familiar Outkast super-deep vocals, but for the most part the song sounds like the two rappers have a hard time adapting their styles to such a leaden beat, and it's only at the end that the track manage to build up a little momentum.

Several release dates came and went before Big Boi released "Ringtone" in February 2009. In fact, I'm pretty sure that Sir Luscious Left Foot was officially without a release date at that point (there are some signs pointing to the summer of 2009, but I've been unable to confirm that). Despite having no official video and no album to promote, "Ringtone" was a modest radio success, probably due to the relevance of its subject matter as well as its use of autotune. I found that some critics accused Big Boi of catering to mainstream fads, but I don't really see that here: sure, there is some autotune going on, but it doesn't sound like any autotune vocal I've ever heard, and the flamenco guitar interpolations and low-end synth blasts are as Outkastian as it gets.

(It was also during this period that Big Boi began the transition from Jive Records to Def Jam, which I guess took him about a year. While I don't really understand why it took him so long [Big Boi attributed it to "behind the scenes label politics"], there is evidence to suggest that both Big Boi and Andre 3000 were no longer happy at Laface Records after it was acquired by Jive, possibly because the label kept interfering editorially with the kinds of music that the two rappers wanted to create. Though I would love to know, it is incredibly hard to find instances of the kinds of music that Jive didn't want them creating. But it's worth recognizing that at this point Big Boi is done with the album, and delays from here on out are due to protracted label-fighting.)

In July 2009, a two-minute snippet of a track called "Lookin' For Ya" is leaked. The Boi-1da-produced jam includes a chorus sung by serial collaborator Sleepy Brown and a verse from Andre 3000. This leads to some speculation that "Lookin' For Ya" was in fact meant to be on Andre's solo album, but Big Boi later says in an interview with Eye Weekly that it is indeed a Chico Dusty song, and the complete track will contain two verses from each. As such I don't feel it is right to evaluate the song just yet, although it sounds cool from what I can tell. It was also in this Eye Weekly interview that Big Boi revealed that the album would be released on Def Jam.

"Fo Yo Sorrows" followed, after a semi-long drought, on September 24, 2009. An Aphex Twin-ish blunt-rolling anthem, the track featured vocals from George Clinton and a ten-second cameo from Too $hort (appropriately named, in this instance). It caught on in a way that no Big Boi track had since "Royal Flush." Revelatory and endlessly inventive in the best Outkast tradition, one could easily make the case for it being the first single if it weren't entirely about smoking weed. This was followed not long after by the mighty "Shine Blockas" in October. Banking off a Teddy Pendergrass melody line and featuring a more-mealy-mouthed-than-usual Gucci Mane, it became yet another universally-praised instant classic. Nearly six months later, there aren't many days that go by where I don't listen to it at least once. "Shine Blockas" was released a couple days after Big Boi hosted a listening party at Stankonia Studios in Atlanta, GA--at this point, a total of 15 tracks were said to be on the album.

Videos were eventually made for both "Fo Yo Sorrows" and "Shine Blockas," although the latter is conspicuously sans Gucci Mane, who was in jail at the time of filming. Both of them seem to be pretty cheap, and as far as I know, they weren't meant for anything like MTV play. Seeing George Clinton (who might as well be called the third Outkast) act relatively lucid on camera is always a treat, though. Big Boi has stated that he plans to make a video for every song on the album, which certainly is no longer unheard of in the world of rap, but at least we may finally get to see Raekwon, Dre and Big in a room together.

Another truncated track made somewhat less of a splash in January 2010. "Tangerine" features yet another southern rapper, T.I., whose verse must have been recorded before he went to jail this past March. The song has a tribal, Timbaland-ish feel to it, but there's a conspicuous lack of bass in the leak, suggesting that, like "Lookin' For Ya," it wasn't released in finished form.

In late March, it was made official that Big Boi had signed a deal with Def Jam. The label battle was basically over. A release date was set for May 4 (EDIT: I'm reading now that it will be July 6), with a rumored track list of 20 songs, and a few days later Big Boi held another listening party in Electric Lady studios with LA Reid, playing several new songs, including "Shutterbugg," which will apparently be the "true" first single to the album. "Shutterbugg" is also awesome, by the way, especially if you're into syncopated talkboxing and Gary Numan keyboards. Oddly, it was produced by Scott Storch (odd only because it sounds like nothing else I've ever heard from Storch). Listen closely for a reference to "Protect Ya Neck" and an interpolation of Soul II Soul's "Back To Life (However Do You Want Me").

So that about brings us to the present. Big Boi has stated in multiple interviews that he's pretty set on Outkast's current plan--release Big Boi's album first, then Andre's, then get together for a new Outkast album. Since we haven't heard anything from Andre's end about this, it remains to be seen how long it might take for another Outkast album to see the light of day. I'm afraid that Andre's problem is only compounded by the fact that everything Big Boi puts out these days turns out to be gold--but if there's anyone up to that challenge, it has to be Three Stacks.

Speaking personally, my dream would be for an Andre album for summer 2011, and an Outkast album in 2012. Hopefully, this would be their long-rumored "ten songs" project, an album which would be comprised of ten potential singles, no filler or skits, and no guest stars, with everything being coproduced by Big Boi and Andre. However, the large time gap between this album's inception and its release gave Big Boi the opportunity to record another album's worth of music, so we may be seeing another solo album from Daddy Fat Sacks before anything from Dre comes down the pipeline.

I'll be sure to amend this post once I can find a legit track order. And you better believe I will be doing a track-by-track review in July. In the meantime, let's recap with what we've heard so far:

1. Royal Flush (Feat. Raekwon and Andre 3000)
2. Sumthin's Gotta Give (Feat. Mary J. Blige)
3. Dubbz (Feat. Backbone)
4. Ringtone
5. Lookin' For Ya (demo snippet; Feat. Andre 3000)
6. Fo Yo Sorrows (Feat. George Clinton and Too $hort)
7. Shine Blockas (Feat. Gucci Mane)
8. Tangerine (snippet; Feat. T.I.)
9. Shutterbugg

We'll likely hear more new material from the album in the next few weeks; until then, I will content myself with another listen of "Shutterbugg."

Critical Beatdown: Round 6

The Black Keys, "Tighten Up"
NS: You can make or break a Black Keys song based on the quality of its central riff, and in the case of "Tighten Up" it is a good one. Far bluesier than anything the White Stripes have done in a long time and a lot lighter as well, this is a good track that reminds me what I once liked about the Black Keys: a punk-filtered bluesiness as authentic as it is catchy. 4/5

AM: Muscle Shoals guitar stabs, soulful white blues vocals, percussion nearly as wild as a certain Archie Bell and the Drells classic; I didn't realize The Keys had this in them. Although the song ends on a detour less exciting than the first 2:30, I can safely say I never thought I'd live in an age when Dan Auerbach's songwriting outpaced Jack White's. 4/5

The Hold Steady, "Hurricane J"
NS: I've never been much of a fan of the Hold Steady, but to my mind this song constitutes at least a slight improvement over what I've heard in the past. The lyrics don't make me cringe with their Springsteenian exactness, and Finn's songwriting has a lot of forward momentum, even if the melodies are typically generic. However, like most Hold Steady songs, it can't hold my interest for two minutes, let alone three. 2/5

AM: Who fucking mastered this? Every Hold Steady album sounds twice as compressed as the one before it. We're now at iteration eight or so of the good chick in bad company theme, and this fan is getting a bit tired. "Hurricane J" almost bored me, but Craig and crew make midtempo sound better than it should. 4/5

Orianthi, "According To You"
NS: Hearing those lead metal breaks force their way into this saccharine, hyper-calculated Disney-rock song that can best be described as "Avril-lite" has been one of the most unpleasant experiences of my 2010. Michael Jackson's former guitarist is a perfect storm of generic voice plus generic playing ability, saddled with an arrangement as plain and uninspiring as they come. To paraphrase her deceased boss: This Is Shit. 0/5

AM: "According To You" features unusually wild fretwork, at least by mall-punk standards, by the young singer herself. The lyrics could use a shot of grrrl power--don't let those boys define you, O--but it sure beats "Telephone." 2.5/5

She & Him, "In The Sun"
NS: Maybe I'm in a bad mood today, but boy, this song pushes all the wrong buttons. Zooey Deschanel has been in some good movies, but her voice is the lifeless instrument upon which this uninspired mish-mash of generic indie sounds hinges upon, and it has the musical staying power of airport jamz. If stuff like Sufjan Stevens' orchestrations and epic singalongs are your thing, then you might like this. I'm already asleep trying to describe it. 1/5

AM: No one asked for a peppy take on Cat Power, but M. Ward and Z. Deschanel deliver. Or maybe they decided an annoying version of El Perro Del Mar was in order. I'm not sure what they were thinking, but if the lyrics are any indication, they weren't thinking very hard. 2/5

Drake feat. The-Dream, "Shut It Down"
NS: Drake and The-Dream are two of pop music's preeminent maximalists: both of their productions are characterized by deep, epic synth lines and echo-laden drums. So it's sort of surprising how flimsy this is. It sounds indulgent and dirge-y at first, and only towards the very end does it progress in an interesting manner. Drake is not as good a singer as he is a rapper; this is even more obvious when he trades lines with The-Dream. 2/5

AM: Astute Critical Beatdown readers may have noticed me slowly warming to Drake, and I'm always game for some Dream. Producers Noah "40" Shebib and Omen lay down a slow, intergalactic soulfulness, and the principals coo words of devotion, as if to each other. Beautiful stuff. 4.5/5

Some Kind Of Mixture

From: Noah

i really like some of it is great!...cuz ive never heard anything like it...but yea i dont really like the songs where albarn just wails to sad music

Received:
Monday, Mar 22 5:34 PM

Having just clipped twenty cat toenails, I was unhappy about everything, and not thinking about the end of M.A.R.C.H. A surprise text from my younger brother, on the topic of the new Gorillaz album Plastic Beach, and the ensuing e-conversation, brightened my mood considerably.

Noah and I share certain tastes in music: we both like the Wu-Tang Clan and White Stripes, for instance. But more often than not, our tastes diverge, even on artists with a lot in common: Noah loves Esham's KKKill The Fetus, whereas I much prefer Dr. Octagonecologyst. But his grossly misspelled texts got me to thinking, and I decided to close out the month with a track-by-track look--this blog's sixth!--at Plastic Beach. I invite Rockaliser's Damon Albarn expert, and anyone else with an opinion, to weigh in in the comments section about the album, which I just saw for sale at Whole Foods.

1. Orchestral Intro (feat. Sinfonia ViVA)
Something that sounds a lot like a film score, performed by a real orchestra. The mood is forlorn, and the wave-crashing introduces a nautical theme that will continue to confuse, but at barley a minute, there's not much to discuss here.

2. Welcome To The World Of The Plastic Beach (feat. Snoop Dogg and Hypnotic Brass Ensemble)
Commencing with an 8-horn pile-up, and then a pulsating synth sound that plays for most of the song. The structure seems unusual--Snoop comes in and drops a single line, waits while the song stokes itself into a neon frenzy, and returns a minute later. The production is fantastic, with elements constantly coming in and out of the mix, but a consistent, deeply digital funkiness. Damon Albarn could make a career as an avant-rap producer, if this song is any indication. But I can't say enough about the Boss Dogg's performance. As always, he's preternaturally calm, but he owns this beat, and his sparse, free-associative lines make his presence less incongruous. Probably the best thing Snoop's done since 2007, if not 2004. Since I enjoy rating things, I will give this song a 5/5.

3. White Flag (feat. Kano, Bashy, & The Lebanese National Orchestra for Oriental Arabic Music)
Another orchestra, another shanty (though not shabby) intro. The LNOfOAM do their thing for about a minute, and then a colorful SNES beat takes over. The manic bloops never achieve a coherent flow, and while Brit rappers Kano and Bashy team-tag respectably, they sound a bit lost. Eventually the strings come back, this time with the beat, but "White Flag" pales compared to what came before it. 3/5

4. Rhinestone Eyes
Presumably what Noah meant by "wails to sad music." The first time we've heard Albarn's untreated voice (he's in "Plastic Beach" very briefly). Damon must own closets of vintage synths, and on this song he'll have four or so going at once. The song picks up power and some menacing vibes as it progresses, with tension building between his monochrome intonations and the dark sounds that surround him. 4/5

5. Stylo (feat. Bobby Womack and Mos Def)
"Rhinestone Eyes," as it turns out, is fodder for the truly apocalyptic "Stylo." An unforgiving bass pattern dominates this song, and while the vocal performances are secondary, they all succeed in different ways. Mos Def, who's beadth of musical interests rival Albarn's, is a natural collaborator, and his fuzzy raps are as blunt as the bass. Womack is the more interesting choice, and his powerful, throaty words are nearly as intense as the notes which threaten to engulf him. Albarn sings about overloads, but the bass here dominates in every way, sounding like a reccord put on repeat shortly before the apocalypse, still playing in the absence of anyone to hear it. 4/5

6. Superfast Jellyfish (feat. Gruff Rhys and De La Soul)
There's absolutely no reason a transition from "Stylo" to the jokey "Superfast Jellyfish" should work, but the humor and art-jingle angle work wonders. A song with more of the spirit of Three Feet High And Rising than most of what De La have done since--I could hardly give a higher compliment. Any track with the line "All hail king Neptune and his water breathers/No snail thing too quick for his water feeders" rules in my book. 4.5/5

7. Empire Ants (feat. Little Dragon)
This song also starts out as a sad-music-wail number, and Albarn sounds genuinely weary in the song's first half. The song transforms into a glacier-cool dance number halfway through, with Little Dragon vocalist Yukimi Nagano providing a nice foil to Dame. Little separates her voice from Albarn's, in fact, aside from the fact that she's a woman and slightly more emphatic in her phrasing, but the slight differences make for a Janus-faced song, each half gaining something from the other. 4.5/5

8. Glitter Freeze (feat. Mark E Smith)
Eternal curmudgeon Mark E Smith--one of the most surprising cameos--blathers to introduce this one. This song, too, goes the synthy endtimes route, and lord knows it has a great title, but there's nothing of interest going on. Mark utters maybe 10 words, but "Glitter Freeze" sounds like it could soundtrack a montage in a robot anime. 1.5/5

9. Some Kind Of Nature (feat. Lou Reed)
Lou Reed gives the absolute shabbiest performance I've ever herad--in stark contrast to a backing chorus of Albarns--but there's something fantastic going on here. I hear a distinct echo of the Velvets in the jaunty piano, but it's transported into Albarn's version of the present, with a punchy drum machine, several supporting synthesizers, and chopped and screwed Lou vocals. Simple pleasures, to be sure, but lovely ones. 4.5/5

10. On Melancholy Hill
"definatly one of the best," wrote Noah, and I don't disagree. I'm not the first person to note similarities to "Waterloo Sunset"--one of rock's perfect songs, and a favorite of Albarn's--and a shared wistfulness is undeniable. Yet I hear more in common with "This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)." Like that Talking Heads classic, "Melancholy Hill" thrives on simplicity: nothing more than a handful of well-placed notes and the momentum to last four minutes. Unlike the antisocial "Waterloo Sunset," these are love songs, confused ones, maybe, but songs whose stories are told not just in their lyrics, but their joyful melodies. 5/5

11. Broken
Noah's criticism becomes more relevant with the slow "Broken." The wall of synths--including one that sounds like a coyote's whistle--and Albarn's eternally subdued vocals aren't thrilling, but the pieces all fit, and at least Damon isn't wailing about his personal problems. 3/5

12. Sweepstakes (feat. Mos Def & Hypnotic Brass Ensemble)
I don't care for this song, and I listened to Tru3 Magic all the way through. The problem isn't Mos Def's performance, but the radio transmitter bleeps that mar the entire song. Things pick up slightly when the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble join in, but I can't help but note that the soulless surroundings drain all traces of Mos' West Indian inflection. I also have no idea what this song is about, moreso than most of the rest. 2.5/5

13. Plastic Beach (feat. Mick Jones & Paul Simonon)
A mean spaghetti Western guitar introduces...a reunion of most of the living Clash?!? It doesn't sound particularly like a Clash song, nor a Morricone one. It does sound glitchy. I hear a bit of island music in the bass, so perhaps Simonon does insinuate his old band in there. 3.5/5

14. To Binge (feat. Little Dragon)
Plastic Beach's nautical-themed songs--and I think this is one--all remind me in a way of Wind Waker--they're out to sea and cartoony, even when melancholy. And they don't particularly sound like the work of a cartoon band. "To Binge" bounces along, somewhat glumly; Albarn outdoes Nagano this time. 3/5

15. Cloud Of Unknowing (feat. Bobby Womack & Sinfonia ViVA)
A short, atmospheric number, with a beautiful performance by Womack, who sounds wizened in that way only an old soul singer can. No percussion, just instruments that hover and give Womack his footing. 4/5

16. Pirate Jet
Wobbly synth, bouncing bloops, stomping synth, multitracked vocals--there's a lot happening on this insistent, dire, and intriguing closer. It all works, and yet at 2:30, the song feels far too short. It leaves you wanting more, but not in a good way. 4/5

Frank Zappa's Ten Best Albums

I was reading this the other day, and I thought to myself, what other rock artist has the sheer depth of good material to merit a list as diverse as this one? I was thinking David Bowie, but he's only produced, at most, 12 great albums, and my choices would probably be predictable anyway (hint: Never Let Me Down doesn't make it). But then I thought to myself, who can match Dylan in terms of sheer recorded output? Lou Reed, maybe. And Frank Zappa.

Zappa and Dylan share a few defining characteristics: they're iconoclastic, genre-hopping, and not very good singers, plus they love to piss all over that already urine-drenched institution Rock Criticism (something they share with Reed as well, hm...). Upon closer inspection, though, it's easy to tell these were two people, vaguely defined as "pop stars," who nevertheless played wildly different games.

In the case of Zappa, he truly is the closest we've come to a great classical composer-as-rocker, as opposed to being merely a great guitarist or songwriter (let's forget about Roger Waters' operas, for now). The distinction between Zappa and virtually everyone else in the rock guitar game is as clear as day: for Zappa, rock music wasn't a way of life, it was merely incidental to his compositional and performance strategies. Nevertheless, he was also as prolific as they come, and having scoured through most of his repertoire (up to the 80s, honestly), I feel compelled to give my list of

THE TEN GREATEST FRANK ZAPPA ALBUMS (as chosen by Nathan)

(Note that I am lumping Frank Zappa, the Mothers of Invention, and all variations thereof because I think we can all agree they are all indelibly stamped with the personality of their primary creator.)

1. Läther
"You asshole," you're probably thinking. "Läther doesn't count--Warner Bros. wouldn't abide by Zappa releasing a quadruple album so the songs were split up into four lesser Zappa albums (Zappa In New York, Sleep Dirt, Orchestra Favorites and Studio Tan)." This is true, but it was eventually released the way Zappa intended, and it's as marvelous a 3-hour album as has ever existed, starting with some career-best fusion in "Regyptian Strut," continuing with the beautiful "Broken Hearts Are For Assholes," etc. etc. "The Adventures of Gregory Peccary" is one of his best longer pieces.

2. Zoot Allures
Unlike my No. 1, Zoot is lean and mean in addition to being a powerful experience, a showcase for some of the greatest guitar performances in rock history, including the opening blast of fuzz in "Wind Up Workin' In The Gas Station" and the mighty composition "Black Napkins," featuring fret runs so magnificent that a thousand budding electric guitarists gave up and became yuppies instead.

3. Hot Rats
The most beloved Zappa fusion album is also probably his best. Whenever I feel like having my mind blown, I listen to "Peaches en Regalia," and if for some reason I want to convulse to the guttural meanderings of Captain Beefheart, I sway along to "Willie The Pimp." The longer songs are front-to-back compelling and listenable, with none of the fat of some of Zappa's other fusion releases.

4. Over-Nite Sensation
Although this and Apostrophe (') are basically two parts are what is essentially the same album (so much so that a Classic Albums documentary lumped the two together), I prefer Over-Nite Sensation, slightly, if only because I love album opener "Camarillo Brillo" slightly more than "Don't Eat The Yellow Snow." I find the last minute of "Montana" to be irrationally exuberant, given its subject matter.

5. Freak Out!
For some people, Frank Zappa's first album with the Mothers of Invention will always be his greatest moment as a musician. In terms of weighing great songcraft against audacious experimentation ("Help, I'm A Rock!"), it certainly ranks up there. It's also probably Zappa's funniest album, and it has two of his greatest riff monsters in the form of "Hungry Freaks, Daddy" and the still-relevant "Trouble Every Day."

6. Apostrophe (')
Though, as stated earlier, I generally view this album as basically of a piece with Over-Nite Sensation, it functions as a great listening experience in his own right. The Yellow Snow/Nanook medley is a great three-part suite with wonderful drumming in particular, and the title track is one of the mightiest bass monsters ever concocted (played by Jack Bruce, I believe, whose personality didn't mesh with Zappa's at all).

7. We're Only In It For The Money
The Mothers' third album, which unlike Freak Out! takes quite a few listens to get into, WOIIFTM is still considered the classic anti-hippie polemic, featuring commentary that strikes me as alternately biting and overly simplistic. Nevertheless, it abounds with moments of compositional genius, my personal favorites being "Let's Make the Water Turn Black" and "Harry, You're A Best."

8. Waka/Jawaka
Though it will probably forever be known as Zappa's second-greatest fusion release, the only difference in terms of quality between this and Hot Rats is the lack of an opener as iconic as "Peaches en Regalia." The two shorter, poppier songs are as lovely as anything on Freak Out!, and the final title track begins with a great trumpet-induced frenzy of melody, almost Miles-ish in its exactness. It's one of my favorite moments on any Zappa album.

9. Absolutely Free
Equal parts sonic exploration and complete goof, the Mothers' second album laid out the blueprint for Zappa's future career, oscillating between longer medleys of melodic motifs and shorter, jokier songs (including yet another riff on "Louie, Louie"). I love the lascivious nature of "Why Don'tcha Do Me Right?" and the album includes one of my favorite rave-ups "Invocation & Ritual Dance of the Young Pumpkin."

10. Shut Up 'N Play Yer Guitar
A niche album to be sure, and a wildly uneven one at that, but if you're willing to sit through a lot to get through to those moments of beauty, this album acts as a great compendium for those wanting to know why Zappa is considered one of the greatest to pick up the guitar. There aren't many guitarists who can play for ten minutes and still remain as fascinating and memorable as they were at the beginning, but Zappa was a man of limitless, effortless skill and imagination.

"This Sounds A Bit Like Goodbye/In A Way It Is I Guess"

I discovered Big Star when I was 18. Just in time, it seemed to me, before I outgrew the tales of adolescent insecurity and longing on my #1 Record/Radio City CD.

Five years later, and days after the death of Big Star guitarist/songwriter/vocalist Alex Chilton, I've come to appreciate the emotional complexity of Big Star's first two albums, and the supreme melodic gifts of Chilton, which I never expect to outgrow. The group's final album, Third, is a different beast, but ultimately no less true or, in its own way, gorgeous than Big Star's first two.*

Aside from a handful of 12" singles I spun during my college radio days, I don't know much about Chilton's post-Big Star career. Others, I hope, will give his life and work the appraisal it deserves. But the three albums Big Star recorded between 1972 and 1974 deserve to be heard by as many ears as possible. For Big Star's three albums, so different from one another, are linked by two elements: their wonderful, melancholic songwriting and Chilton's absolute honesty as a lyricist. In these qualities, and particularly the latter, Chilton's only real peer, aside from part-time Big Star bandmate Chris Bell, was Neil Young. The two songwriters, in drawing upon different strands of Anglo and American popular music, proved to be almost pathologically honest, desperately following their muses in whatever direction she led them.

This journey is audible on each of Big Star's records. #1 Record is reticent but wide-eyed, with an anthem-filled first side and more reflective second half. That record sold poorly, thanks to inept promotion and record label confusion, and follow up Radio City features an embittered Chilton, wounded and lashing out at the women in his life. After Radio City, also a commercial failure, something in Chilton snapped, and he recorded Third. A major sidestep, sometimes frightening to hear, Third was deemed so commercially unviable that Stax avoided releasing it for four years.

The three records have had long afterlives and became founding documents for generations of power-pop acts. But anyone who's ever loved Big Star knows how deeply personal Chilton's songs felt. Reading the comments on Chilton's obits on Thursday, I was struck by how many days his death ruined, how personal the loss seemed for people who had neither met Chilton nor seen him perform. Many simply quoted Big Star lyrics.

I'm one of those people, and this is my comment. It's hard for me to dispassionately assess the life of a man whose music has meant so much to me. And continues to: the problems that teenagers face never really go away, they just transform. I'm reminded of Roger Ebert's review of Ikiru, one of very few films, he says, that holds the power to change someone's life. Big Star were like that. Their music was so gorgeous, their lyrics so deeply felt, they seemed to come from some part of my own consciousness, and I know I'm not alone in feeling this.

My personal favorite Big Star song is Radio City album closer "I'm In Love With A Girl." In his appreciation of Chilton, Nathan noted how unique and devastating Chilton and Bell's lyrics can be. "I'm In Love With A Girl" expresses a sentiment I've never heard in other pop songs. A song that seems to presage Daniel Johnston and Elliot Smith, it seems relatively simple: just Chilton strumming a sugary guitar strings and singing about his love for a girl. What sets it apart are the three simple verses, and Chilton's vocal performance. The final lyric "I didn't know this could happen to me" is deeply ambiguous--does the narrator celebrate his feelings, or equivocate because he's apprehensive? I've always heard the latter, and it makes the song more heartbreaking than any song with that title has the right to be.

Dozens of such moments populate the Big Star catalog. People who have heard these can attest to the powerful feeling that they provide: that of not being entirely alone. RIP Alex Chilton.


*A fourth album, In Space, arrived bearing the Big Star name in 2005. This album will probably occupy a space in the Big Star canon similar to the one that Squeeze has in the Velvet Underground corpus.

Alex Chilton and the anatomy of "Feel" + "The Ballad of El Goodo"

Upon learning of Alex Chilton's death last night at the age of 59, I assumed that there would be the standard outpouring of love and uncritical devotion from the standard quarters, or the three M's, as I plan to call them: Middle-aged indie rockers, Memphisians, and Miserable teenagers. Apparently he cast a net a bit wider than that, evidenced by the number of trade publications announcing the death of "the lead vocalist of the Box Tops" on their front pages. The Replacements song "Alex Chilton," which is probably as famous and enduring of a musical love letter as any Big Star song, once seemed to be a missive from a parallel universe, wherein "children by the millions sing for Alex Chilton," conjuring ridiculous levels of adoration unthinkable for any modern artist, save maybe Michael Jackson. But...just a few hours ago, Rep. Steve Cohen of Tennessee decided to delay the health care vote an extra two minutes in order to pay tribute to the man (making this probably the first and last time many of these representatives will ever hear the words "indie" or "alternative" in their lives), and the SXSW Festival in Austin will probably be a far more muted event this year, so emotionally pervasive was his effect on musicians and fans of all ages (the reformed Big Star was set to play the festival on Saturday). So maybe this Westerbergian utopia is finally made manifest as it was intended--his death in Memphis, by no means marking a life tragically cut short, could be the catalyst for a groundswell of support and adoration from the millions of children yet to hear his music.

Like Greg, I also started to listen to Chilton's music in high school*, and though I haven't really given it up since, it's hard to come back to these albums without immediately feeling like I'm picking up where I left off at high school, as if those interim years boiling with hardbreak and madness are reduced to a simpler, more reflective period in my life. Big Star still remains emotional music for me, but the kinds of emotions it engenders are rooted firmly in my past, so when I say I'm mourning Alex Chilton I also feel as if I'm mourning the effect such music used to have on me, before I went to college and got more preoccupied with the nonsense all incoming adults must face.

In fact, when I started out listening to Big Star, my immediate reactions were so personalized that I first felt as if the music was some sort of canard, embodying as it seemed to do every single facile and petty emotion that made me the teenager that I was. At first, it made me feel selfish, given the easiness with which Big Star's music seemed to penetrate my adolescent fallacies. Chilton's voice, a tuneful, lilting whine, could be easily appropriated by someone of my limited vocal range; his guitar-playing, an always underrated component of his work, was chimey and complex, rooted in something bluesy and flighty at the same time, and when he felt like it (such as in "O My Soul") he could really turn it into a beautiful second voice.

It's perhaps inappropriate to point out at this moment that Chilton was neither the most prolific or daring of songwriters--his solo work in particular was always spotty, and the Big Star reunion record that came out a few years ago, In Space, was pretty terrible. But in a way that seemed to matter less with Chilton than it did for other artists. I would go after Mick Jagger or Pete Townshend for their lack of interest in putting out new material, but Big Star's moment in the 70s was so defined, so concrete, that I couldn't imagine anyone continuing to write that kind of music well into their 40s or 50s. Not only that: I didn't think I had the emotional facility to listen to any more of that kind of music, at least not without feeling like I was regressing severely.

Why was this? I'm not sure, but I do know that when I first started listening to #1 Record/Radio City, I would rarely make it past the first two songs "Feel" and "The Ballad of El Goodo." I trained myself to restart the CD upon hearing the first rumblings of guitar in "In The Street." For a while, I could never get past those two songs, and I wondered why this would be given the general quality of Big Star's music. Chris Bell's songs, of which "Feel" was one, were great, and in many ways Chilton improved as a musician after that first album, but I couldn't push myself to go further. For a while, those two songs were enough, in fact way more than I was capable of handling.

If you have 7:55 to spare today, I really encourage listening to those two songs in isolation, which each show Chris Bell and Alex Chilton play off the respective strength of each other. Those first descending chromatic notes of "Feel," played on both a chunky electric and (less audible) acoustic guitar, explode into a fiery miasma of bluesy apprehension, with Chilton's voice the anguished instrument overlaying the dramatic instrumentation. What comes after, however, is even more flooring in context: "Feel like I'm dying--never gonna live again." The way Chilton phrases that chorus is the rarest of things in popular music--the most articulate and yet most simple of poetry, inviting readings out of the most simple declarative sentences. I take the line "feel like I'm dying" to not have anything to do with anyone actually close to death, but rather it signifies a mental state all too familiar too anguished teens of all stripes, so unfamiliar with this new idea of having to make choices with permanent ramifications. And this is followed by the admission that the narrator is "never gonna live again," which again doesn't seem to have anything to do with death and more with the idea that we all will spend of the rest of our lives lonely, directionless, and ultimately unfulfilled. These are all sentiments that are heavily implied by an eight-word chorus. And for a teenager, it's about all you need to hear.

"The Ballad of El Goodo," on the other hand, is more specific in this regard, and yet it is somehow just as piercing as a lyrical accompaniment to the most insular among us. It begins: "Years ago my heart was set to live, whoa/I've been trying hard against unbelievable odds." It is completely unlike any opening lyric ever uttered in pop music previously--these aren't sentiments dictated by the rhythm or melody of the song, they're straight out of someone's diary. And then he follows THAT devastating remark with "It gets so hard in times like now to hold on," stretching out the penultimate word in that phrase ("hoooold on") as if he is grasping at something desperate, unattainable. The whole song functions as a series of insights almost too penetrating to bear, and all of this is in addition to a level of songcraft previously deemed impossible by any group of non-Beatles. Chilton's deft fretwork (at least I think it's Chilton) at the beginning of the track weaves its way around these insights, subtly and devastatingly highlighting the dramatic fulcrum of the song, continuing into the ether even as the rest of the band stops and starts around him. You can imagine how intensely I and many others could relate to this song. In particular, if I had had the technological capabilities, I would have spent a lot of my evenings listening to Chilton sing "hoooold on" repeatedly, on loop, accompanied by that back-and-forth high register guitar-playing.

Big Star's next two albums have moments of equal power, but for a while I saw no need to go further than those first two tracks off #1 Record. Nothing they did after, whether it be the famous "September Gurls" or even "Holocaust," had such an immediately wounding effect. And even as I am older and in nearly every way a more jaded individual than I used to be, I find it impossible to tire of those few songs. I think that every major music fan knows of about a dozen songs that become so familiar and so personal that they essentially become part of one's emotional DNA. For me, I can trace many of the best and worst decisions of my life back to my initial responses to those two seemingly innocent pop tracks.

So we can take comfort knowing, at Chilton's passing, that many others probably felt his songs even more deeply and profoundly than even I did, and I can't conceivably think of a more enduring legacy than that. Many bands have changed my life, but only Big Star managed to define the way I used to think and feel so specifically. For that, and for "Feel" and "The Ballad of El Goodo," I say this to Mr. Chilton with all the sincerity that a now-23-year-old white American male fuck-up can muster: Thank you, friend.

*I got it via Greg, actually, so thanks for that.