Tuesday, June 23, 2009

The Brazilian Funk Experience


The Brazilian Funk Experience is an album packed like sardines with 20 vivacious and eclectically arranged rarities from Brazil between 1968 and 1980.  These songs, claims the pioneer of the EMI-Odeon Vaults, Patrick Forge, are considered to be among the many branches of MPB (musica popular brasilia) that developed in the 60s. While Brazil was experiencing one of its most tumultuous and restrictive government regimes, musicians developed a creative scene countering the censorship, which just suffices to say that the more you tell someone not to do something, the more they are compelled to do it. The Brazilian funk experience illuminates multiple genre influences within Brazil and from without.  The samba rhythm pervades just about every facet of this album, while, of course, African American inspired funk reigns as the predominant theme of every song.  This ingenious fusion is apparent from the very beginning as the instrumental piece by Meirelles serves to open the flood gates with its guitar, trombone, synth and organ arrangement.  Although I cannot interpret the lyrics because I do not understand Portuguese, I can determine that there is an equal representation of both men and women, at least in the music, MBP is inextricably linked to the politics of zealous leaders, and there are multiple musical marriages and experiments taking place on this compilation.  The Brazilian Funk Experience is a unifying experience that is certainly worth the search and the time to listen.

            My particular favorites on this compilation express an excitement and beauty that comes only from mixing multiple sounds together to create an innovative piece of music.  “Garra”, by Marcos Valle, for instance sighs to convey percussive sounds, and the back up singers evoke a euphoric coolness to create a smooth piece unhindered by trouble or sorrows.  Claudia’s canary-like voice in Baoba is the perfect contrast to the low instruments that play in sync, allowing the piece as a whole a richness that sends shivers up my spine. Another song that might give a similar effect is “Sai Dessa” by Elis Regina; pay attention to the electric guitar and vocals.  “Cala Boca Menino”, by Joao Donato is a very strange coupling of an twangy distorted instrument and a nasally voice accompanied by a chorus of trumpets and a classic samba rhythm.  This music is uplifting and bright.  “Bola De Meia, Bola De Gude” by 14 Bis will certainly bring the shining sun with the featured whistler and the overarching ascending melody.  “Aquele Um” is notable also for its laser keyboard solos juxtaposed with the more traditional samba.  I believe the goal in playing this kind of music was to enjoy life and to honor beauty, whether it be in nature or in humanity.  In any event there is something special in every nook and cranny of this compilation, and every round reveals yet another dimension of the Brazilian Funk Experience.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Raï: the best of the original North African Grooves


Raï: Original North African Grooves is a compilation that claims to contain all of the best original Raï songs of the 80’s and 90’s.  Raï, translated as opinion, is a genre of music that developed around the 30’s in Algeria by the Bedouin tribes and is often compared with early Rock and Roll because of its socially subversive lyrics that often deliberately defy the strict sexual repression imposed by Islamic fundamentalist belief.  Indeed, it has been a vocal chord of the Algerian and North African poor and youth, lauding life, resisting oppression, and evoking the urge to dance even though such movements are an egregious offence to traditional Muslim beliefs. Raï reached its zenith in popularity during the 80’s and 90’s, and artists, including the ones presented on this compilation, began to modernize the music with all kinds of electrical instruments.  Raï: Original North African Grooves certainly exhibits Raï’s modernization and its funky beats cure the sedentary and communicate unhindered freedom and celebratory sentiments even in the wake of a more compromising life situation.

            Even when listening to the Raï compilation, unable to understand Arabic or French, it is clear that there is an unbridled energy that is in constant motion; the frenzy is contagious and music is absolutely unstoppable.  From the very beginning, Cheb Khaled’s urgent exhalations against a hyperactive drum and synthesizer duet command the ears to listen. the body to move, and the spirit to liven instantly. From that moment the intensity seldom slows for a break. There seems to be a particularly distinct North African sound that is especially apparent in the percussion and in the manner that each artists sings, but other styles not indigenous are fused into the Raï music.  For instance, Rasto’s Le Couchemard, is sung in the former colonizer’s tongue and combines reggae and hip hop, and Chaba Fadela’s duet with Cheb Sahroui uses funk inspired guitar riffs and quirky synthetic sounds to accompany what sounds like a possibly liberated romantic discourse.  Malik’s Lila is most daring for its electric guitar power chords, vibrant male-female exchange, and outlandish drum patterns.  In addition to these songs rich in diverse influences and instruments are also a few more traditionally minded songs that use percussion, drums, and one other wind instrument, like Cheikha Rimitti’s Chab Rassi and Cheikh Djelloul Remch’s Harfek, to name a few.  These pieces, though unadorned with all the technology of synthesizers and electric instruments, exhibit a similar intensity and extroverted attitude that the more modern songs express.  Although I am new to the Raï scene, I am almost certain that this album has provided a comprehensive introduction with many opportunities to explore into multiple further directions involving this movement.  My only complaint is that I would have liked to hear more female artists on this album, as I assume their contributions to the life span of Raï are invaluable and thus due more exposure. 

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Vashti Bunyan's "Some things just stick in your mind"


Vashti Bunyan is a musician, and like Gary Wilson, she drifted into anonymity after an unsuccessful venture to establish her music in the folk and pop world. The content of her story is a bit different, however, and it takes place about 10 years earlier.  Vashti had been going to art school but soon was either kicked out or left on her own accord-whatever the case- because she wanted to focus on writing songs and performing them.  The Rolling Stone’s manager Andrew Loog Oldham discovered her playing at a pub one night and promised he would make her dreams of being recognized as an influential musician come true.  She recorded a few singles between 1964 and 1967 and finally released a full length, just another diamond day, in 1970, which did not get much attention and was quickly dropped.  No one was yet ready for Vashti’s music, it seemed, and Vashti, disenchanted with her surroundings, embarked on a traditional caravan with her partner to live in a commune with Donovan, of all people.  Though he had already left when they arrived two years after the genesis of their bon voyage, Vashti lived in what she calls “no-where” for over twenty years, not really aware of the slowly burgeoning popularity of her LP throughout certain threads of the underground.  As was the case with Gary’s rediscovery, Vashti Bunyan’s own musical unearthing can be ascribed to ravenous record collectors and musicians who search for aberrant sources to ignite inspiration.  With interest from musicians like Devendra Banhart, Joanna Newsom, and Animal Collective, Vashti Bunyan resurrected her career in the early 2000s (like Gary, might I add), engaged in multiple collaborations and musical partnerships, began releasing music again, and currently tours all over the world.  Her collection of singles and demos, Some Things Just Stick in Your Mind, spans the period between 1964 to 1967, before her first LP.  This album is absolutely enchanting, as I hear the 18 year old girl singing songs of love and female independence against a strange wintry backdrop that seems to symbolize idleness and the compulsion to reflect a broken heart without choice.  However blue and grey we may imagine this music to express, it emanates an uncanny warmth that resonates with the woman in me.

            In all of her lyrics, an eloquent maturity is evident while at the same time her youth and naivety are also perceptible only because every woman has probably felt her encapsulated feelings at least once in their lives. Of all the preoccupations that Vashti presents in this collection of songs from her early days, issues of independence, mobility, idleness, and the right to knowledge in the context of womanhood as defined by her stipulations in matters of love and loss appear to be the ascendant themes in her music. Vashti does not want to be dictated by the whims of others; she wants to travel emotionally and geographically on her own schedule. In the raga inspired “I want to be alone”, for instance, demonstrates her restlessness and tendency to feel confined in relationships, as she explains that sometimes she just wants to be alone. She sings, “don’t make me stay and walk aimlessly hand in hand. Just today set me free, let me be alone”, likening herself to a caged animal. In “I’d like to walk around in your mind”, she associates the desire for mobility with the ability to destroy the lover that destroyed a part of her. Although her lyrics are somewhat playful, her ultimate goal is to walk around in the person’s most private cerebral areas and destroy any self assurance that person harbors so closely to make himself superior to her. The ability to traverse this man’s mind and unveil his secrets would empower her subject him to the vulnerability that she has felt because of him.  She cannot take already established norms for granted, and asks “how do I know” in multiple ways to illustrate that her place as a woman is not resolved in her mind, and that she will not sit passively and accept the ideas being given to her by others. She asks, “why should you say I can’t love any man, have his children and still be free?”, alluding to the multiple protests surrounding the time period and insisting that she should be able to live life the way she wants- quite revolutionary for her time, and likewise not quite accepted by the mainstream because it was just a little too early, although I don’t know why any woman wouldn’t have championed these songs, but then again, I didn’t live in these times, and perhaps Vashti could have been misunderstood.

            As much as Vashti praises mobility, she also dreads the idleness of mourning the loss of a lover. “Winter is Blue” exemplifies being unable to move forward because of constantly remembering yesterday’s love in the wake of today’s loneliness. “Girl’s song in Winter” likewise exclaims, “I was in love when I was young and I have not been free” because of the baby that her lover left her, along with the burden of remembering. “17 pink sugar elephants” may be a metaphor of idleness, for the elephants are only consumables for little children to have during tea breaks and they “have two eyes but…couldn’t see me there” and “had four legs but couldn’t go anywhere”.  Perhaps these pink sugar elephants are women.  In her eyes women are strong as elephants, but they are fragile and sweet because they are made out of sugar, and their color, pink, presents a stigma to the rest of the world, rendering them almost inanimate. Their abilities are very limited, as their purpose is for children to enjoy.  The tone of this song is extraordinarily sad and beautiful, and it quite possibly presents a coded series of conditions that address her own fears and circumstances.

            This collection of songs and demos was written by Vashti Bunyan (with the exception of the Rolling Stones cover) mostly when she was 18 years old.  I wish I would have discovered this album when I was younger, because I am certain I would have realized so many emotions with her as she expressed her spectrum of ideals and wishes.  While she wants to be independent and casual with her relationships, she still desires one person to love and respect her. As she praises productivity and the ability to move without being attached, her anxiety is obvious in songs about stillness and retrospection. What resonates most with me, however, is the overwhelming skepticism in her love songs, and her reluctance to give herself fully because of a colossal pain which occurred early in her flowering years. All she wants is to be free of having to rely on others for happiness. Her music is sensitive and the images of winter convey a seriousness and a demand for esteem in opposition to summer time flings and love’s fleeting warmth.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Cocteau Twins' "Blue Bell Knoll"


Cocteau Twins

 

            The Cocteau Twins was found in 1981 by everlasting friends Elizabeth Fraser, vocals and Robin Guthrie, songwrier and guitarist, and was later supplemented by Simon Raymonde. On pianos, guitar, bass, and developer of the bands’ distinct sound The former two come from Grangemouth, a small industrial town in Scotland that has been described as dirty and boring (wikipedia has a nice panoramic view to support this claim), and the latter is from Tottenham, England.  Together the dynamic trio developed a unique sound which blossomed and flourished between 1982 and 1996 and inspired, not surprisingly, many notable shoe gazer bands like My Bloody Valentine and Lush. I discovered the Cocteau Twins about 6 years after they broke up from my friend’s ridiculously eccentric mom, of all people.  Her reason for liking them was mostly because “the vocalist sings all crazy and makes noises instead of singing real lyrics that anyone can understand!”  And there, a sophomore in high school, I entered a new era of understanding popular music that could never have been credited without the Cocteau Twins’ aural explanation.  Names of songs that I couldn’t make sensible image of in my mind, this kind of cheesy sense that I was surrounding myself in a pastel gothic world willingly. Blue Bell Knoll felt like death, and death didn’t seem like such an ugly state of  unbeing.  That might sound a little dramatic but this album is charged.

            Where as normally popular music conveys its message primarily through a commonly understood language, the Cocteau Twins allow themselves few discernible advantages on The Blue Bell Knoll. This album, particularly, is really special because Elizabeth uses her voice as an instrument.  Most of the lyrics on this album are sung as mouth tones holy tongues Elizabeth’s goal seems to be forgetting straightforward communication.  Words no longer possess their conventional meaning, for they are contorted by Elizabeth’s voice and woven into the instrumental orchestration of every song.  Perhaps the idea of distorting lyrics into sounds is a way to transcend the boundaries of language into a medium of communication that relies on evoking more abstract emotions and feelings in the listener.  Even in songs that supposedly contain English lyrics, the listener who attempts to decipher any clear annunciations will only do so in vain.  The lyrics are only a sketch on the napkin, a skeletal structure for the greater living thing. I am tempted to call Blue Bell Knoll an instrumental album, as the vocals contribute greatly to the atmospheric quality of the music.

            The music as one entity carries the listener with it. We are idle passengers in this 35 minute blast of sonic warmth. Songs like “Athol-Brose” will melt the ice off of any field and embrace the listener in a sparkly and soft, gooey womb. The guitar plucks in “Spooning good singing gum” and Elizabeth’s voice multiplied in “For Pheobe still a baby” are an underwater spectacle with mermaids singing and all the sea creatures acting some instrumental part.  The guitar releases in “Cico Bluff” foster this imagem and “A kissed out floatboat” emits a sea cave vibe. This album is certainly reminiscent of an old fairy tale as I know and old fairy tale to be, probably a little tinged with Disney, that is if fairy tales could have sound tracks.  Even if the vocals are not discernible, and even though words mean nothing in this album, it is clear that this album is quite optimistic and I always feel an overwhelming sense of comfort.  It is warm and child like, friendly and care free.  Blue Bell Knoll is simply beautiful.  Blue Bell Knoll is an important album because it illustrates that popular music is not just interpretable by predominating lyrics.  The listener doesn’t even have to search for another way of understanding, however.  Music becomes a universal form of communication that everyone can connect with.  Words don’t matter; everyone is welcome, as there seem to be no linguistic walls to block any listener.  

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Gary Wilson's Mary Had Brown Hair


In the very same moments when Punk rock was saying fuck you to the previous generation’s current decadence and disco techniques, Gary Wilson self-released an album called “you think you really know me”, doing it himself like so many others in 1977.  He preluded the synth craze of the 80’s with a concoction of strange sounds, funkadelic grooves, and lyrics that would make any woman’s skin crawl if only it were in the form of a silent love poem, unadulterated by the all those outlandish and distracting sounds.  His performances were (and still are) a spectacle as well- he always wears sunglasses and a wig, and on stage he will wrap bags around himself and his band with electric tape or whatever he can find. Costuming has also been DIY for Gary.  After releasing “you think you know me”, Gary stopped recording, though he claims that he still performed in smaller venues in Southern California that unfortunately did not receive him well, and the 600 albums that circulated New York and other places created a slight cult following of this clearly novel and strange mystery man that seemed to have disappeared from even the underground media’s watchful eye. Gary resurfaced in 2002, when Motel Records re-released “you think you really know me”  and “forgotten lovers” in 2003.  Unfortunately, they went under shortly after the 2003 release, but almost instantly Stones Throw Record’s Peanut Butter Wolf saw his opportunity and swooped Gary from the depths and now he resides in the hip hop label that takes a special interest in funk and funky beats.  Mary had Brown Hair is the first album released by Stone’s Throw in 2004.  It meets all expectations of a fan expecting more creepy songs about girls that you can dance lonely to, and new comers are in for a rare delicacy.

            His music is ridiculous.  It is jazzy and funky and under the influence of other worldly substances.  All of this accompanying even more absurd chants and repetitive pleas to Linda and Debbie to just pay attention to him.  Even at his creepiest in songs like “Gary’s in the park” and “Mary had Brown Hair”, I can’t help but laugh and think about when I was twelve and stalked other boys in that harmless leaving-mix-tapes-in-your-mail-box kind of way; the most harmless thing a fixated person can do is give the gift of music, free of sexual perversion and any cause for real alarm.  His music has been a healing tool for me at times when I have gotten a little too crazy with the boyfriend, too.  When my boyfriend and I would get into arguments while I was overseas, I was forced to either listen to Gary or whine to other people about my problems.  Realizing that other people probably didn’t care, I was able to detect the absurdities in my own dramatic life in Gary Wilson’s swanky and at times sleazy songs that make me shudder and giggle at the same time- a truly uncomfortable sensation.  Gary’s woes were mine, and if he could give me the worst in himself then I could loosen up a bit, too.

            But, who is the man underneath the trash bags and behind the sunglasses? The album only further mystifies the innocent maniac and brings us closer to his obsessive persona, a past filled with women and pubescent woe. We know the women by name, Linda, Debbie, Lisa, Shauna, Mary, Cindy, even Frank Roma, the guy that Gary spotted kissing Linda, but Gary refers to himself in the third person in many instances and alters between his regular speaking voice and a high pitched chipmunk, probably generated without the aide of any machines. 55 year old Gary allows himself many different personalities that have the capacity to love so many different women based on a few dates and an adolescent fantasy. His music is obsessive , insane, experimental, but that the lyrics spread themselves so thinly over an array of similar scenarios lends little to any potential depth to Gary’s purposely veiled identity. I watched his documentary today and it did not give me much else to work with.  After seeing award winning documentaries on artists like Daniel Johnston and The Brian Jonestown massacre, I was spoiled with the expectation that every documentary conveyed a defined purpose, -giving the viewer an intimate portrait of the artists(s) with the intention of explaining either the music or the artist’s path. Something like that.  But “You think you really know me” was more a sloppy synopsis of how Motel Records was able to discover Gary before anyone else, allotting them a prized amount of street cred.  I even got acquainted with Frank Roma, but the documentary didn’t really go into any detail on Roma’s relationship with Linda. During many instances Gary showed himself without anything covering himself, but I still didn’t discover the man I wanted to meet.  I wasn’t satisfied; the convoluted compositions weren’t given any story except a jazz background and an obsession with John Cage and Dion.  I suppose  the music is the only place to uncover, or atleast appreciate, the mystery of the small town freak form Endicott, New York. 


            Rock Criticism from the beginning: Amusers, bruisers, and cool headed cruisers is Co-written by two Danish men, a Swedish man, and a Norwegian man; it is not written from the perspective of an insider American, but rather a group of countries that have been influenced in one way or another by Rock and Roll from both America and Britain.  Their perspectives have the potential to differ from that of an American or British disposition, as they don’t hesitate to mention that all “serious” Rock criticism has come from America and Britain, that the field is dominated overwhelmingly by white men[1], and that a lot of it is US-centric (though not all, especially in the case of Lester Bangs). 

            Rock criticism from the beginning  starts by explaining first the difference between high culture, that of established and accepted artforms (think classical music, and eventually jazz) and low culture (rock and roll in the beginning, and most African American music in its genesis).  They mention that high culture tries to degrade low culture, but it is dependent upon it at the same time as a defining “other”.  They proceed to take Bourdieu’s reflexive sociology and applies it to rock criticism. What is this reflexive sociology?  I might be able to answer that.  His theory supposedly has transgressed the boundaries between objectivism and subjectivism, making social reality a “dynamic unity of the agents’ [or person?] dispositions [habitus] and systems of positions (fields), which are subject to historical change” (29).  Habitus is “embodied knowledge- a person’s taste, style and way with words.  It determines how people think, perceive, evaluate and act, not as a fixed prescription but rather as adjustable dispositions, which are internalized very deeply and change very slowly. Habitus is embodied socialization, determined by background, present circumstances and future prospects… the market value of certain habitus is settled only as it is realized in a social field.” (30)  Basically, The “social field” is a place of conflict “occupied by special agents and institutions”.  Fields are comprised of “production and consumption” and are “dominant and dominated”.  They are “populated by different kinds of artists, directors, producers, publishers, gallery owners, journalists, critics, editors, etc” (31).  All fields require a habitus because “in order to have any success in the game/struggle of the field the participants must have incorporated certain ways of thinking and acting, some of it consciously but always to a high degree unconsciously” (31) A field takes time to develop and is always in conflict with some other field about taste. It tries to gain credibility, or “cultural capital”, and autonomy from these other fields that are trying to suppress it.  Tastes are divided into three categories; “legitimate (already established and respected) “middlebrow” (the potential to bring highbrow to the masses) and “popular” (hedonistic pleasure, no educational worth).  But all of this explanation is just one of many lenses with which to explore their study.  They are going to keep an open mind.

            So, when thinking about Rock music, rock criticism can be seen as a field with many people in it that possess certain habitus that might be different or similar, who all possess strong urge to legitimize rock and roll through their blossoming discourse.  This discourse began a little after Rock began- in the 60’s and initially with the hope that rock would save the world. Critics felt the compulsion to write about it because it was serious to them and they felt its healing powers and hoped they could convince others of It as well.  It developed when pop art was in vogue and when new journalism (see tom wolfe and maybe even Thomspson) was in its prime.  But Rock Criticism actually started as an attempt to legitimize rock in Britain with magazines like melody maker and NME, whose writers, and musicians for that matter, thought that rock was exciting, a common first inclination of the rock fan to become the rock critic. Instead of asking rock musicians trivial questions like what’s your favourite colour, these critics sought to treat them seriously. People like welch and coleman were spreading the news abou the beatles and Clapton, making sales go up exponentially because their magazines had that much power. They also took an interest in American Blues as an “authentic” form of expression when American music critics were totally dismissing it as trash because of its lack of technical skill. In this develops the question of authenticity. Authenticity in terms of the blues was actually experiencing the blues.  If you had never had it, you couldn’t play it Interestingly British critics found the rolling stones to possess the ability to play the blues authentically because they were working class kids even though the stones denied that. Rock criticism would develop a little bit later in the us

            There were three main rock critic magazines in the 60’s – Crawdaddy!, Rolling stone, and Creem.  Crawdaddy! Was the first.  But the most influencial critics of this time period according to this book were, Jon Landau, /Robert Christgau. Greil Marcus, Steve Marsh, and Lester Bangs. Landau, based out of Boston, was a firm believer in the 50’s rock n roll as opposed to the conventional belief that the 60’s was king.  He was skeptical of white bands save the ones who played the blues right, even though he was the cause of Cream’s break up.  Landau’s credibility is based upon academic training and record production experience. His idea of authenticity is “a ressurection or extension of the spirit of early rock ‘n’ roll” .  He always promoted African American music, (despite the rolling stone’s hesitance to cover acts).  However, he is extremely US centric, and does not consider any other countries.  Rober Christgau, based in New York, was an“opinionated, self-conscious, and antielitist”,  critic who  distinguished rock from the academic.  He took no prisoners, save women and non white people, because he felt guilty. Unlike his counterparts who promoted the live experience as an atmosphere for review, christgau supported AM radio. Christgau is versatile yet has had consistent tastes for the past 4 decades.  Greil Marcus, unlike Christgau, supported the idea that rock was not counter culture, It was a part of American history and pointed to more cultural and political ideas of the 60s. This became a legitimizing force for rock music. He paid attention to overarching thenes.figures, and myths in the music which reflected American culture. Unlike other new jounrnalists who championed their own presence at an event as the credibility that reader needed to believe, marcus was more subtle.  He explained how he felt watching it instead of placing himself in the action. To marcus, rock is respectable and it forms the American identity.  He is supposedly the best person to connect rock to “wider cultural and political discourse” and has written many books about it. Dave Marsh, based in Detroit, was a supporting member of the white panthers in this ultra politically charged atmosphere, supported all the African American artists, but got his big break when he covered MC5.  He believed that “rock music” was “ aform of culture for the uncultured, and particularly as a means  of expression for those to whon more rigorously credentialed channels are denied”.  To him, good works were always collaborations, and seldom was something good was done alone.  Instead of catering to the idea that britian reintroduced rock with the british invasion, Marsh insisted that “rock and soul” are “a fruitful interplay between black church-based music and crossover rock” (173)  His writing was deeply involved in the personal experience, and when heavy metal came around, Marsh defended the freedom of expression.  Lester Bangs was a wild man who died of a drug overdose in 82. He did not write with credentials to back him up like other critics; all he had was a deep commitment to writing about music.  He was a fan of the beats and crafted his whole sensibility based on this mentality. Culture, to him, was defined by the negative ways in which culture reacted against him.  He spared no one in his interviews and became “the master of irreverence”.  Lou Reed was his hero because “he stands for all the most fucked up things that I could ever possibly conceive of” (181).  All of these critics were searching for an identity and authenticity in their writings.  They began with a love for rock and roll and helped uplift rock to legitimacy because they felt that rock was the vocal chord of some cultural movement, whatever they saw that culture being.



[1] They say that “until recently the female critic’s choice seem to have been limited to becoming a token, identifying with the male dominated approach of the critical institution or moving into another niche….publications which have a higher female readership and emply more women as journalists tend to be in the teenage pop area…which treat music in a less analytical and more anecdotal manner, and are more concerned with fashion, health, and social relationships” (21)

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Fred Frith's "Cheap at half the price"


Fred Frith is a youngest child, like I am, and he graduated with a BA and a masters in English literature (I’ve got the first half, at least). He seems like someone I’d want to be and it seems possible because our paths are similar.  His brothers are Simon Frith, famous sociologist and prominent Rock Critic, and Chris Frith, well-known psychologist.   Fred Frith is an amazing guitar player and no mode of playing is too silly or weird for him.   He experiments with different materials and sounds by making his own instruments.  On Cheap at half the price, Frith uses many of his inventions and guarantees an appropriately indicative solo in almost every song, creating an interesting piece of work that is sure to amuse and entertain.

             Cheap at half the price, released 1983 on Ralph Records (the mysterious act The Residents founded this label) is an album that migrates back and forth from the political to the personal, providing a manic tension between lyrics and instrumentation. Songs like “Some Clouds Don’t” “Cap the knife”, and “Too much, too little” all emanate carnival like atmosphere while advising listeners not to trust the wise and to be weary of those who claim to be spreading prosperity (see Ronald Reagan samples in “cap the knife”) but are really just killing others in the name of true democracy.  “Too much, too little”, is an ironic euphemism musically for its heavy content. With lyrics like “what the eye doesn’t see the heart won’t mind” it becomes certain that the lightheartedness of the music reflects the nonchalance of leaders on issues that should be taken more seriously, as well as the sad reality that much of the world’s suffering is covered shamelessly so that those causing trouble won’t be held accountable.

“True love”, “Same old me”, and “the Welcome” are more personal songs that express definite discontent and hopelessness.  For instance, after a hysterical one man fight in “true love”, an audience can be heard clapping, as if the song’s horrific occurrences were something sensationalized for entertainment. “Some clouds do” is an explosive attempt for reconciliation that does not find any middle ground or solace.  All of these songs are extremely shrill and overflowing with positivity from an instrumental standpoint.  The rest of the songs somehow slide into less rocky terrain, where the obstacles of sheer excessiveness are ironed away.  Lucidity can prevail, though maintaining complexity, less hindered by the manic depressiveness of his previous songs. 

            Turmoil eventually settles into more ambient rhythms without lyrics that begin to convey honest notions unattached to the previously pervasive irony.   The instrumental section is interesting, not only because it sounds, strangely enough, like the more avant-gard and more stimulating father of radiohead, but because it  does not follow the law of opposition to another element like the instrumentation in previous songs does with the music.  It is by itself, at once making each piece more genuine yet increasingly abstract. The instrumental movements give some resolve to Fred Frith’s worries and to adopt the role of the “Great healer” of all the trauma that world is continuously causing.  Indeed, the last song of the album is a far cry from the beginning or even the middle, which seemed hopelessly entangled in a million mental knots.  It is soft and subtle, calming and hopeful…

            And the end could possibly put you to sleep if you aren’t patient.  The majority of this album doles out a sort of sensory overload in the form of a crazy carnival that slowly wanes as it nears its final moment.  As the album progresses it sheds its mores of insanity and all the disconcerting friction caused by overly uplifting sounds underlining unpleasing issues that could cause  undue sensitivity.  Maybe Frith is making a point, that the “great healer” is only a façade,  way to end the album, close some doors, and start anew, even if things aren’t quite that way in reality.


1. Some Clouds Don't

2. Cap the Knife

3.  Evolution

4. Too Much Too Little

5. Welcome, The

6. Same Old Me

7. Some Clouds Do

8. Instant Party

9. Walking Song

10. Flying in the Face of Facts

11. Heart Bares

12. Absent Friends

13. the Great Healer

Friday, May 8, 2009

David Bowie's "Heroes"


David Bowie has traversed many different fashionable arenas and ways of expressing himself musically, but no time period was ever as sophisticated, beautiful, and cohesive as “heroes” (1977).  Bowie created “Heroes” along with two other albums, Low and Station to Station with the help of Brian Eno while Bowie went on a hiatus from England to live in Berlin and recover from a lengthy and taxing addiction to cocaine.  While in Berlin, Bowie became interested in the emerging Krautrock scene (Kraftwerk, Neu!, and Can are some notable artists) and embarked upon his experimental phase.  Where other points in his musical career may have been a bit superficial, Bowie is at his best in this era, as “Heroes” mixes Soul with the Experimental Avante Gard to create an emotionally coherent current and a tightly orchestrated cloud of cacophonous synth, distortion, and organic music.

             Immediately in the beginning of  “Beauty and the Beast” during the song’s initial buildup, Eno’s distinct synth can be heard to introduce this semi-collaborative album’s eclectic amalgam of sounds. The first five songs situate themselves in an implosion of many different areas of musical expression.  David Bowies previous stint with soul is still present as his back up singers make the meat of all the choruses, the saxophone has its fair share of flamboyant solos, and the music is driven primarily by an unwavering beat.  The back up singers provide Bowie’s frantic vocal moments both clarity and intensity. Soul’s influence is accompanied by Eno’s signature noises, multiple untamed electric guitars playing at once, and Bowie’s emotionally driven voice.  Indeed, Bowie’s voice signals the cerebral mania of each song in the first half of the album, as he switches from being calm and collected into a wailing ball of anger and wretchedness amongst all the weaving noise.  The movement of the music just won’t quit.  The lyrics denote a certain despondency as well; “Beauty and the Beast” claims “You can’t say no to the beauty and the beast”, that resistance to distractions that are abound is futile. “Heroes” concludes that “nothing will drive them away”, them being the forces that keep two lovers from living peacefully and happily together. where Bowie’s voice is best heard in “Joe the Lion”’, he tells us, “It’s Monday, slither down the greasy pipe, so far so good no one saw you, hover over any freeway” and eclipses into the proclamation that “you’ll be just like you dreams tonight”.  Not a pretty picture being depicted here.

            The second half of the album is instrumental and begins with “V2 Schneider” with an upbeat group of saxophones that introduce the next three instrumental songs.  This trio of very dramatic pieces are a rise and fall of emotional turmoil. “Sense of doubt” sounds like being in a dark cave of uncertainty with little glimmers of light that eventually wash away into a new tide of dread. This pattern recurs throughout the song overlapping and then settling into“Moss Garden”, which is a bit of a reprieve, a breath of fresh air with chirping birds and peaceful instrumentation.  There sounds to be a hope that equilibrium is possible until we reach “Nukoln”. “Nukoln” displays a similar set of contrasts that “Sense of Doubt” has, though the main voice is a saxophone that sounds as if it is in mourning. Doom descends in three notes with celestial pricks and pangs in the background, and the saxophone’s death is the last thing we hear.

            Bowie and his back up singers return for a surprisingly buoyant finale that will make you clap your hands and start dancing, even after that semi-over the top plunge into the abyss. “The Secret Life of Arabia” is an unsuspecting but perfect solution after everything that we have just been through. Although I have broken this “heroes” into two parts, the album flows very well together despite its seemingly separate styles.  This is one of the most cohesive albums I’ve ever listened to. While listening to it in my leisure time, I have always found myself at the end thinking that I have just gone on a long and arduous journey through emotional and physical ups and downs, all driven by music that makes sense. 

1. Beauty And The Beast
2. Joe The Lion
3. Hereos
4. Sons Of The Silent Age
5. Blackout
6. V-2 Schneider
7. Sense Of Doubt
8. Moss Garden
9. Neukoln
10. The Secret Life Of Arabia

Roky Erickson's "I think of demons"


Roky Erickson and his Austin, Texas band the 13th Floor Elevators were one of the first to play what we know today as psychedelic music, complete with an electric jug and the usual suspects- guitar bass, and drums, and, as Roky stated in an interview featured in his documentary, Erickson’s singing was heavily influenced by little Richard’s music and wailing voice.  Of course, as it seems was par for the course of most, if not all, psychedelic bands of the 60’s, Roky Erickson dabbled in acid.  Actually, he wasn’t exactly the recreational acid user; he ingested something like 300 hits in one year, or so the legend goes. But that kind of over indulgence may not have been the sole factor that changed him after he emerged from his three-year sentence at the mental hospital as a diagnosed schizophrenic.  It could have been the regular shock therapy treatment and the daily deluge of mistakenly prescribed psycho-actives (as was common those days) that contributed to his unchanging state of mental illness. Whatever the agitating factors may have been, after he came out in 1973, he began to work on some, well, you could say, thematically congruent songs with his new band, The Aliens.

             “I Think of Demons” (1980) was the first album to be released by Roky Erickson and the Aliens since the 13th Floor Elevators. Just like the old band, the new group’s music is obviously inspired by old fashioned rock ‘n’ roll (so much so stylistically at times that it seems like Roky’s tastes have been forever encapsulated in the 50s), and Little Richard’s influence remains intact in Roky’s voice. However, keeping with the traditional Roky Erickson manner of interpretation, there are a few musical innovations and lyrical twists that make this album very listening worthy. Just about every song is a reference to an old B horror movie. It is apparent that Roky Erickson is a big fan of horror flicks, (Daniel Johnston mentions watching horror movies with Roky Erickson at his house in one of his songs) so he dedicated a whole album to what seems like a collection of his own theme songs to these movies.  “I walked with a Zombie” is named after a 30’s movie of that title and arranged as a typical slow dancing song anyone would hear in a dance hall in the 50s; it sounds almost romantic when taken out of context. “Don’t Shake me Lucifer” is a song made for people to do the shake or to twist and shout to get the demons out.  That he imposes the devil and other evil creatures into formulaic music that has been played millions of times is really genius, because this guy is totally serious about his music.  Other songs that don’t quite resemble a 50’s style is a complete burst of energy fraught the need for expulsion. There doesn’t seem to be any irony attached to his lyrics, his multiple run on gems like “If it’s rainin’ and you’re runnin don’t slip in mud cuz if you do you’ll slip in blood”  or “baby goes in the 1900s says beat him with your chain…drag your spoon, drag your chain away”.  To an innocent bystander it all sounds like insanity, and it is.

            And maybe there is another side to this literally crazed fan’s album dedicated to old horror movies. Roky places himself within these narratives of ghoulish mayhem and they become his experiences.  He confesses that “white faces always haunt me so beautifully”, admitting that it brings out “the white of the devil in me”.  Similarly, in “Don’t shake me, Lucifer”, he screams, “I’ve been up all night, and no suicide plot will work”.  I feel like I’m getting to know some of Roky Erickson’s deepest and darkest secrets when I listen to this album, because  I don’t see it as just a collection of possible B movie title tracks.  They may very well in some vein be musical manifestations of his bouts with schizophrenia, and they perhaps might even deal with his experiences in the mental institution.  He sings about insomnia, voices, demons, hallucinations, and many other occurrences associated with schizophrenia.  Perhaps superimposing himself into horror movies, where the supernatural regularly takes place, allows him a kind of therapy as well as  some sort of grasp on reality. In any case, it seems obvious that playing music is what this man was meant to do.  He takes everything he loves and brings it all together for one lively, strangely uplifting, and undeniably weird album- an intense debut which charges through and sheds his psychedelic moorings for a new kind of rock and roll. 

1. Two Headed Dog (Temple Red Prayer)

2. I think of Demons

3. I walked with a Zombie

4. Don't shake me Lucifer

5. Night of the Vampire

6. Bloody Hammer

7. White Faces

8. Cold night for Alligators

9. Creature with the Atom Brain

10. Mine mine mind

11. Stand for the fire demon

12. Wind and More

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Rolling Stone

Uncensored History of Rolling Stone is written by a journalist removed from the magazine whose information comes primarily from input given by many people comprising the ever changing  staff from its birth in 1967 to roughly 1989.  The current and (many) former staff’s wealth of information creates an overly comprehensive history (some of which I really don’t need to know about) that revolves around one man- founding member Jann Wenner- and essentially all of his whims.  As the story goes, Wenner wanted to be where all the glamour was, hanging out with rich friends and begging to go all the great parties when he wasn’t necessarily welcome in such high circles. He was a superior networker who worshipped people like Lennon, Dylan, and Jagger in the 60s; his ultimate goal seems to have been to meet them and to be among people like them. When he convinced his father figure friend Ralph Gleason, a music journalist characterized by his belief in the healing, mystical, and all seeing powers of music (clearly partial to a psychedelic 60’s reasoning), to join him in making a magazine, as well as convincing others to support him financially, it was all most likely to meet these figures and to become one of them, to be the “ultimate groupie”.  The details divulged in this “uncensored History” include all of the intense business deals that had to be made to keep the magazine afloat, what seemed to be the constant changing in and out of employees and the unceasing shuffling of roles,  plenty of cocaine and speed, and overall a hectic system that left little room for sleep.  In this hairy mess of negotiations and principled writers who actually made the magazine, a few things came to my attention.

            There were few aspects and people of the Rolling Stone as presented in this book that I have either learned from or wish to think about further. Being a total fan about your subjects brings politics into the reviewing process, and it could potentially make the magazine into a sort of place for idol worship;  What I really got out of this book was how many people Jann collected and how he saw that his success depended on all the people that he sucked up to.  While the magazine was in publication, he would specifically instruct his reviews writers to write positive reviews for his friends or people that he wanted to be his friends, and in turn his writers, like Ed Ward, would write passive aggressive endings like “In the end, this is an album that, the less said, the better” (132 about a Bob Dylan album).  My volatile hero, Chuck Young, had to fight for what he wanted to write, especially since he was coming in as a reviewer toward the end of the seventies, a certainly dry period for rock n roll, but also the beginning of Punk Rock, to which he fastened himself. Jann would always tell Young to “quit writing about Punk Rock!” for “Jann’s tastes were either social (Jackson Browne, Boz Scaggs and other recent cover subjects), or sentimental (Dylan, the Beatles, and the stones), and in both cases antiquated.” (my italics)” (280).  Whereas James Cameron, the 15 year old boy writing for Rolling Stone, “embodied all the traits of mid seventies American Rock- amiable, unoffensive, and enormously successful,” (271) Young sought to “smear the cult of celebrity that so infatuated his boss” (277). He did so with humor and constant deconsecration to get his point across., using his spot to ask, “which would you rather do; read another ‘random note’ about Mick Jagger or pull your own teeth?”  which received favourable response from staff members and readers alike (288). Wenner even admitted that Jagger thought it was funny.   Young is my ideal rock and roll journalist because he holds nothing sacred.  He has no political attachments that would inhibit his ability to critique an album or a musician thoroughly and honestly. That is pretty hard to come by in a magazine, especially one whose life depends on record company endorsement and subscriptions as well as multiple other companies who put up their add space. The more people whose money goes into the magazine, the less space the magazine has to work with.

            It seems as if in some cases the Rolling Stone’s hands were tied, especially if Jann Wenner was aware of the effects of print.  But in terms of politics, Jann was pretty a-political- if anything only because he had no interest, or he didn’t have a clue. If Hunter S. Thompson hadn’t come on to the staff, the Rolling Stone would have perhaps stayed a lukewarm magazine uninterested in Politics.  Jann once thought that the world should be run by a good business man, exhibiting his total ignorance.  Rolling Stone’s political stance was that of Thompson’s.

            Jann Wenner had a very specific vision for his magazine- one which largely excluded African Americans and ugly people on the staff and in the magazine.  Africans Amercans were either ignored or “black music- despite Landau’s presense [probably the only writer who gave black music a chance] despite 1974-75 music editor Abe Peck’s varied tastes and depite the occasional brilliant profile…-was usually discussed only with great discomfort” (270)  They hated disco in the 70s, which claimed to have a “different audience, blacks and gays and women” (270).    He was also known never to hire someone because they were particularly ugly.  One female staffer who was not conventionally beautiful was not allowed to be in the company photo. (216)

            A woman was welcomed into the office, and if she could “get the job done, so be it” (217).  However, most women were stuck bringing Jann coffee or were subject to sexual harassment, save the photographer, who was able to hang out with the boys.  After Marianne Partridge was hired to be copy chief, she “changed the dynamics of the office forever”, and gave these women official jobs. (217)  Before Partridge, Women were not necessarily restricted forcibly, they were neglected, and their roles were just assumed.

Friday, May 1, 2009

Zines chapter 6 comments

When thinking about the history of advertising in relation to the counter culture movements across the 20th c one major similarity in strategy stands out- the advertiser’s way of honing in on what the phlolosophies of that counter culture are, their ability to use these beliefs that are held fast by revolutionaries in their own right and making a profit.  Convincing  young women that smoking cigarettes are a symbol of power and that every woman should smoke them if they want to be equal to men, selling irrelevant items with hippie slogans of peace and love and harmony, claiming a pair of mass produced shoes are alternative and will help YOU express your individuality more freely- all of these tactics take the very core of the underground and attach it to items that are meaningless to create meaning. I have an example of advertising’s manner of cracking a hipster's shell of today, or, better yet not just a hipster, but my whole generation- brought to you by my ex advertising school boyfriend and supplemented by the encyclopedia for the people by the people.  Pabst Blue Ribbon has certainly become the drink of choice for youths my age, but how is Pabst keeping up as the coolest beer around?  What kind of people is it catering to, and how will they embrace Pabst without feeling betrayed?  Well, here’s how- It doesn’t advertise at all on a large scale, but rather “through the surreptitious sponsorship of indie music concerts, local businesses, dive bars, and radio programming such as NPR’s all things considered”.  (Wikipedia)  

zine chapter 6 DISCOVERY

Chapter six in Zines deals with the mainstream media’s discovery of Zine’s and the culture of “neglected…angry, lazy cynical, media savvy, apathetic” 18-29 years olds worth potentially “$125 billion” in the early 90’s and teases through the corporation’s infiltration process, harkening back to other moments in the 20th century when the underground is discovered and marketed.

            When record companies discovered the underground, they signed Nirvana and sold millions of copies of their albums, and “zines became de riguer on the new generation and its music” (132).  All of the mainstream magazines covered these “wacky” zines in their more frivolous sections, for they were “not to be taken too seriously”, of course.   But the mainstream media had found a gold mine.  The underground was accessible, and the key to selling products to this disaffected generation.  All concepts that the underground held sacred were exposed; “the underground’s condemnation of the dominant culture was being used to package and sell that very same culture” (133).  For example, MTV had shows like alternative nation, which played ‘alternative’ music and had converse commercials, as well as a road trip show called “road Rules”.  A plethora of magazines came out that were incredibly corporate- slacker, details (how to make your expensive clothing look dirty), Slant, by Urban outfitters, another corporation posing as underground fashion, and Dirt, commissioned by Time Warner.  All these were tools to reach the alienated generation.

            But how exactly does a corporation trick the generation of “media savvy” people into thinking they are not corporate?  Says one magazine, “the idea is to fake an aura of  colorful entrepeneurship as a way to connect with younger consumers who yearn for products that are hand-mad, quirky, and authentic” (135).  The first way to do this is to make them believe that what is being sold is not imposing upon the individual, but rather it is part of that culture’s life already.  In order to do this, they make it seem homegrown and stylize it after respected artists or styles of that culture.  The second is to appeal to “bohemian libertarianism” that demands constant change (137).  Unfortunately this has been going on since the 1920s.  Apparently Bohemians are the perfect consumers, as they have to be with it at all times, and, as Edward Burnays, the guy who basically started PR, found out, products define being with it.  For instance, women’s seeking suffrage in the 20s was defined by smoking cigarettes- the liberated woman smoked the “torches of freedom” – a huge boost for tobacco companies.  The same thing happened to the beats, the hippies, and people in the 70s seeking inner freedom as opposed to social freedom. The reaction against corporate bullies appropriating the underground for profit is and has always been to “stay pure”, meaning stay one step ahead, do anything you can to escape the man, even if it means becoming militant (in the case of the 60s and such groups as the weathermen).  In the next chapter, entitled, “Purity and Danger”, we will discuss the dangers of staying pure at all times. 

 


Thursday, April 30, 2009

Together through life

The New Bob Dylan album “Together Through Life” is a swirling descent into the shit -coated throne that proclaims to be today’s Rock and Roll. Bob Dylan is first and foremost a folk rock musician, but this album is a burlesque nightmare, sleazy and degenerate with a cackling accordion beating us all into submission, and, most importantly, far, far away. Bob Dylan is reckless as always, retching into the microphone off key about bleak relationships and his wife’s hometown, Hell.  Really, the reason this album is so good is because it has multiple levels of interpretation and so many eyebrow-raising moments.  At first I thought a frumpy old woman in a moomoo sitting outside of a café would listen to this album, but quickly this jolly and hopeful but kind of lonely and overweight dreamer turned into an alcoholic chain smoker waiting for someone to put her out of her misery.  The first listen makes you feel like Bob Dylan just wants to retire on a hawiian island because of all the quivering mandolins or he is hinting at Paris with the over use of accordion sounds. But after a while it starts to sink in that there is no hope- “Beyond here lies nothin.”

            Let’s face it, Bob Dylan has tricked is into listening to something completely counterintuitive and we have no choice but to reckon him a genius. He probably hopes that everyone will leave him alone after this one but that is never going to happen; it seems as if people will continue to respect the man and give him 5 stars as long as he produces, no matter what he egests.

 

 

Concert review number 1

I went to see the father of my friend play with his country band at the highway 99 blues bar tonight.  Highway 99 is across from the Aquarium and seated next to an antique shop.  It lies beneath the foothills of Seattle, a short distance from the ferry terminal; if it weren’t for the large, seemingly displaced, and dimly lit sign a person would probably walk down the street (most likely the other side since that is where all the water and the tourist action is happening) passing by without acknowledging it.  Although it was a Wednesday night and we were witnessing a rarely known band playing a style unusual to the venue, it is probably the Highway 99’s location that lured an intimate crowd of 12 into a space that could easily facilitate 200.

            The 5 man band mostly played covers from the late 50s to the early 60s- the Beatles, The Birds, Elvis Presley, Santo & Johnny- most a little too up tempo for my taste but nonetheless technically flawless; the beat of the music cranked the dance-ability on high although nobody was dancing on the tempting, empty linoleum floor, probably tended to by the bar tender who didn’t wash her hands. Everyone, aged 50 plus (except maybe for the long haired bassist who should have been playing tool covers), was dressed in black.  The lead singer wore a black blazer over his black shirt and sweat profusely because of it.  My very thoughtful boyfriend astutely observed while sipping on a can of cheap beer, “you know when old people sweat, and they get a little tired… well they don’t look very good at all”. This remark brought me back to the meat market gym at school where sweating was sexy for all the young people. I pushed that nightmare out as fast as I could and focused again on the middle aged sweating man singing “and then he kissed me” and dripping all over his electro acoustic guitar. This lead singer, Dennis, just had to crack a joke or make kisses into the microphone after every song. As I sat and listened I half dreaded half waited with sick pleasure for the next lame comment.  I should have kept track but they must have taken up at least half of the show.  He would babble on about how they pronounce repertoire, say things like “you guys are lucky, we only play this song once every gig”, and when they played a Honky Tonk song, he declared “you are now entering Oklahoma, you are no longer in Seattle” in a semi mystical voice. During a song I think he winked at me.  He and the electric guitar player would do half assed old man Elvis moves also but that’s “showbiz” I guess. This band also had a steel guitar player, who showed up an hour late, but tardiness was only a minor offense after hearing Santo & Johnny’s Sleepwalk.  The man who looked like the mafia mayor of Las Vegas in a cowboy hat and glasses could have made an ogre weep with his steel guitar. I think I was the most impressed by the drummer’s astounding ability to sing and play at the same time (and to look off into space whenever Dennis would start talking in between songs).  People just don’t seem to do that anymore.  In fact, I liked the distribution of singers in this band- the drummer, Dennis, and the electric guitar player. Having so many singers made up for Dennis’ ego issues.

            I’d like to see what kind of crowd really goes to these shows.  They usually play every week at the red hen on Thursdays, which is a Country and Western bar suitable for a band like that. And the people dance there, too. I can imagine these guys have a pretty decent following, for they are not just a cover band, but they have some “pretty good originals that are worth hearing”, or so the drummer says.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Let's talk about Bob Dylan tomorrow.

This is in two parts, roughly 15-20 minutes




summary rockin' in time

Rockin’ in time provides an analysis of the history of Rock and Roll in American and Britain spanning the birth of the blues until 2004 through five main lenses.  The first is the recognition that the origins of Rock and Roll spring from African American (essentially, African) music, and the path that rock and roll has taken in its development reflects the racial inequalities that African Americans had to endure throughout the 20th century. He asserts that “throughout the last 5 decades rock music has helped integrate white and black America” x.   Rock and Roll, the child of the blues, for instance, brought to life by pioneers like Little Richard and Chuck Berry, integrated black and white kids in some of the most segregated places in the South, promising a brighter future.  However, parents and government officials, fearing that their daughters would be corrupted by African American men, did everything in their power to block white reception of black music, even going so far as to manufacture rock and roll by white people.  Later, in the late 50s and early 60s, African Americans were trained and molded physically by Mo-Town producers to be presentable to a white audience. Mo-Town reached its prime because of talent, but also because many people worked to mold the African American singers from the streets into people appropriate for “the white house or buckingham palace”, two places dominated by white men (and the queen); they worked toward integration in favour of white attitudes. This changed, however, with soul in the mid-60s, where women “began wearing natural hairdos” and “newfound African American consciousness” was found, and hiphop in the late 70s (173). Both were strident movements responding to racial inequalities despite the promises that civil rights legislation failed to fulfill. Both movements brought attention to white people and brought some justice to African Americans wanting equality.  The second factor that Szatsmary considers is the baby boom generation and its impact on rock and roll. He says, “a dramatic population growth during the post war era provided the audience for an African American inspired rock n roll”.  This audience started creating rock & roll, starting with Sun records’ own Elvis Presley, who sang about the things that teens at the time were interested in. As the teenage baby boomers grew they became interested in the politics that Bob Dylan and Joan Baez had to offer, and with the Vietnam War and the stifling patriarchy of the 50s, the hippie generation developed, professing free love and freedom of mind expansion, often through the medium of psychedelic music.  After the incident at Kent State in December of 1969 (a bunch of people were shot), the baby boomers became disillusioned with politics and turned inward with smooth sounds, at first, and later the most superficial of all sounds, disco.  From there a new generation of counter culturists, the punks first, and then the grunge movement, sprung out of hate for the decidedly apolitical and conservative baby boomers.  His third theme is the rollercoaster economic situation which much has reflected.  During good times in the USA, post ww2, rock could flourish. He juxtaposes America’s good situation at the end of WW2 with the dire straits that England had to endure as he looks at the musical developments and exchanged between the two countries. During bad times in the USA, namely the 80s, music like industrial and grunge began to develop, emanating a bleak and hopeless tune. The fourth idea he delves into is the developing technology throughout the 20th c that shaped rock n roll, i.e., electric quitars in the 40s, and later synthesizers, which became particularly popular in the 80s with artists like Gary Numan. His 5th and final point of interest is that the increasing popularity of rock and roll turned into an industry.  The image of a band determined its audience, and the television shows which featured that band determined the success.  Such concerns killed Elvis and gave the Beatles and the Stones their incredible fame.  The dawning of MTV made Michael Jackson and Madonna into superstars, and it took 80s electro rapidly to new exposure.

            I’ve learned from this book that I can learn a lot about a time period just by knowing the year, listening to the sound and lyrics of music and paying attention to the group being represented by the artist/s. For instance, Aretha Franklin’s RESPECT is all about African Americans needing respect from everyone in the 60s for who they really are, T.Rex’s danceable sounds yet primarily meaningless lyrics reflect glam rock’s embodiment of the decadence and apolitical nature of the 70s as defined by the baby boomers, Throbbing Gristle’s dissonant, hardly musical machine sounds depict  society’s decay in the 80s, and house music’s ambient, repetitive, entrancing beat signifies the escapism that British youths sought when unemployment was up to nearly 8 percent in the early 90s.  Music is sometimes portrayed as nebulous, on the side of the Dionysian intoxication and chaos, but this book puts some real sense and context into music’s untamed madness for me not just in terms of obvious lyrics but also in the sounds produced. Music is the atmosphere surrounding every moment.  So, what can be said about this generation’s music? I don’t even know what the hell is going on because the only movement I can attribute to this generation is indie, and that is so incredibly broad and certainly the bands I’ve heard that are indie don’t speak to me as a living 22 year old.  The answer, I believe, lies in the diversity of the internet.  We are embarking on a new era of music that probably cannot really be defined until a group of people really explore and prioritize everything available on the internet.  Without regulations and access to garage band, we as listeners and creators are exposed to and can expose others to all types of new music for little or no money.  We can create virtually anything we want and get it out to  a large audience by friending a million people on myspace and publicizing our blogs.  A new chapter for this book should be, “rise to stardom via the internet/myspace”. here are a few such stars that you may have heard of, but these are also people who have been signed to major labels and/or featured as reality tv super starts since their debuts on myspace and message boards.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1sHAX2F4PE



Either you know or you hope that these musicians do not accurately represent internet musicians. This is true, and the only reason we know about these people is because major record labels have picked them up and publicized them as rising stars from the uncharted lala land of the internet through magazines, interviews, youtube videos, shameless reruns on mtv, and internet ads. Although it is certain that these stars are only a tiny fraction of self publishing on the web, it is clear also that there is a large percentage of music unaccounted for that some community, be it probably small, is listening to.  There is probably no single or collective of musicians that can unify my generation’s tastes. But all the bands popping up on the internet make me think about all the music that was never discovered before technology allowed distribution and even studio quality creation that bypasses major record labels.

 

         It is also interesting that white people, Americans and British people alike, have been impressed with African American music and have progressed musically with a large debt to African American innovations.  For instance, the Rolling Stones were obsessed with blues music in England, “not knowing what it meant, just that it was beautiful”, and from there played blues covers which eventually, with the help of managers and record executives, turned into original songs heavily influenced by the blues. (122)  With marketing and a great sound, they were able to reach the top in England and near the top in the United States.  This is one of many examples throughout the history of Rock n Roll.  It is completely justified to assert that music helped in great strides to integrate America.  But it is also true that African Americans have been cheated out of success because of racism and a sense of superiority on behalf of white people in the past.  It seems as if the white musicians appropriating African American styles were not involved in this racism, surely, but that the people marketing music to the public were the perpetrators. Have these appropriations and restrictions been prevalent recently?