Courtney Love – America’s Sweetheart

“Shock me, shock me, shock me, with that deviant behavior.” There are a few out there who I know will appreciate this quote. Sadly, there are also many out there who will not, for them I am sad. I’ll get over it soon enough though. I think we can all agree that Courtney Love is not the most predictable, calm, reserved, or sane individual roaming planet Earth. Her antics have found their way to the front pages of a many tabloids and websites, and with good reason. The relationship she had with Kurt Cobain instigated this call to fame or notoriety Love seems to cloak herself with. Usually, I like to try to separate an artist’s habits and lifestyle from his/her music. If I did not do this then I would be left excessively disappointed and would not be able to enjoy much of the music I love. For instance, if I was not able to put aside the drugged up ways of the boys of Television I may not be such a fan of their amazingly good music.

Still, sometimes it is extremely difficult not to identify an artist as an amalgamation of his/her music, personal past, and personal present. This is evident by the excessive amount of media attention given to the personal lives of these beings. I, myself, find it extremely difficult to pull Love’s music away from her oh so deviant ways. I do not mean to say that her behavior is shocking in that sometimes necessary “open your eyes and quit being so stringent about rules” way. It is shocking as in appalling. Doing drugs in front of your child is definitely something I do not condone. I do not see how anybody could defend himself or herself after doing such a horrible thing. Still, Courtney Love is not just anybody, which she has proved time and time again with her schizophrenic like regressions from glam to rock trash. Apparently, she mentioned that she thought it was fun; her daughter taking care of her drugged up mother. Before the heat of the onset of the custody battle for her child could be tamed she was a guest on Letterman promoting her new album. On the show she flashed Lettermen numerous times. It was the oddest thing I had ever seen. Just the manner in which it was done was so psychotic-like, your eyebrows furrow and you wonder what the hell is going on in this bra-less women’s mind.

Well now that I have made it clear that I do not in anyway support her actions, I will say that I do love her voice. I loved it in Live Through This, I loved it in Celebrity Skin, and I love it in America’s Sweetheart. Talk about oxymorons, right? The artwork for this album is cool and sweet. It romanticizes Love in a way that is sexy, adoring, and powerful (the inside artwork is more angelic and alluring than the cover). Even the cover insert background color is a caring light pink. It makes me want to pull on my thigh highs, put my mic in the mic stand, strap on my Jesse Michaels model GPC and play (not in front of anyone, mind you). 

While this solo album is slightly different from Hole’s Celebrity Skin, it is not a big stretch. “Hold On To Me,” “Sunset Strip” (especially the guitar parts) falls in line with the Celebrity Skin tone. For those who found the last Hole album too slow, fear not for “All The Drugs” has much heavier guitar parts than the songs mentioned above. Track seven gladly veers toward the punk rock genre. The ninth song of the album is reminiscent of old school punk rock (Richard Hell or MC5) with the wavering and almost screeching voices and dirtied guitars. While tracks seven and nine hold special places in my heart, my true love is “But Julian, I’m a Little Bit Older Than You.” With the “oi’s” and the “gabba gabba hey’s” I cannot help but rid myself from the knowledge of Love’s horrible antics. The album is much calmer than I expected. I was looking forward to hearing a few more screams from the thorny but sweet throat of Courtney Love. I was also hoping for some faster paced, jump up and down, play till your metal strings break kind of songs. This album does not parallel Love’s bizarre and erratic behavior in the least. This is a classic case of when one needs to separate an artist’s personal habits from his/her music in order to enjoy the work and avoid feeling like a traitor.

(Virgin Records)

Switchfoot – The Beautiful Letdown

I was once under the terribly wrong impression that the singles that were aired on the radio by a band were the best songs of the album. It was not until I bought CDs, listened to them, and compared them to the radio songs that I noticed something awry. Many times the songs played on the radio by band ‘A’ were nowhere near the best song on the album. Quite frankly, I was never sure of the motivation. Now, I am somewhat convinced that radio stations and music labels conspire together to release “not the best” music so your ears may be assaulted. Ok, not assaulted but perhaps teased. Aw yes, teased. I am sure many of you have experienced that in one form or another, unless you are lucky and happen to have relationships with only manwhores and sluts. So they hope you will wonder what the other songs on the album sound like because this song is half way decent. If it becomes common knowledge that the radio plays the songs that are not the best on the album, then perhaps the listener will be motivated to check out the entire offering. Being that downloading songs is “illegal” and “amoral” and “just like stealing from a record store”, the listener is persuaded into buying the whole damn album in hope that there will be better songs (more so than the decent radio song) on the album.

My initial point: Switchfoot’s The Beautiful Letdown has one single that has been played on MTV and KROQ. This single is not by any means the best song on the album.

I had not heard of this band prior to this release so I was somewhat interested in whether the album would take a turn for the worst or the better after hearing the single, “Meant to Live” on the radio. As I had suspected, it got better. There is a Third Eye Blind feel to this album. You remember them don’t ya? If not, don’t worry because this pop is just as good. Well, I mean it is obviously somewhat different than Third Eye Blind but this album or band carries a sound that one can use as an analogy of sorts: Shutters are to blinds as Third Eye Blind is to Switchfoot. They both do the same thing, but one is out of fashion. I should write the SATs. Surprisingly the title track was the best of the lot. Of course, this is just my opinion but really, I am right. This album is definitely pop-rock meant for radio and TRL. Still, I am not sure if either radio and/or TRL will see that it is the best song on the album. Or perhaps the conspiracy continues and both media outlets refuse to play “The Beautiful Letdown” because they cannot play the best song or else years of conspiring would have been for shit. I mean because the radio and TRL play their songs constantly and mercilessly, so if they play the only song you want to hear all the time eventually you will get more than enough of it. Then what is the point of buying the album? These tricky little bastards think they are soo smart. Ah, but I have them figured out.

(Columbia Records)

Guns N’ Roses – Greatest Hits

This notorious saga continues its dragging through the mud-strewn back alleys of public attention with the release of this pathetic collection aimed at cashing in on whatever is left of a long gone cornerstone. And it is not entirely the fault of Geffen, they’ve been waiting for more than a decade on a promise that “new Guns N’ Roses material will soon see the light of day.” Without doubt, there is the need to point the proverbial “fuck you” in more than one direction: Geffen for putting such dismal effort in a release it actually got Axl, Slash and Duff to collaborate on a lawsuit (hey, at least they’re working together on SOMETHING) and of course, Mr. Rose himself for comically hashing on with a project with such pitiful results.

Anyone who managed to catch their so-called return at the MTV Music Awards saw an overweight, less-than-enthused Axl Rose laughably overshadowed by an imbecile with a bucket on his head. Not exactly the lasting image for one of last century’s most potently combustible mammoths of rock music. Then there was that disastrous comeback tour which was promptly cancelled due to Axl being Axl and not enough people caring that he was still getting up to old tricks. So now it comes to this, their Greatest Hits collection hastily thrown together with the shambolic incompetence of a drunken baboon.

With an apparent desire to portray the band’s “greatest” songs with nearly as many cover songs as originals, it clearly steps off into all sorts of wrong directions. The given hits are present; “Welcome to the Jungle”, “Sweet Child O’ Mine” and “Paradise City” (one of the top 10 greatest stripper songs of all time) but there is little in way of interest or intrigue; any fan or enthusiast of the group (or quality rock music in general) will already own these tracks in one shape or form; and simply lumping a few together and labeling it the “greatest” collection just isn’t worth the time. Perhaps the one redeeming quality of this sham is that Geffen bothered to include a few songs from their much under-ballyhooed, and very sound Lies; “Patience” and “Live and Let Die” make their appearance, but it would have been a far interesting turn if they had included say “Mama Kin” and the hefty “One in a Million” instead.

Moreover, the backend of the release – The Stones’ “Sympathy for Devil” (in one word: dreadful) and the inclusion of a pair of tracks from The Spaghetti Incident (“Ain’t It Fun” and “Since I Don’t Have You”) means this collection is rife with the poorly contrived spectrum of their adaptations, severely dampening those they did with extreme competence. And it is a wonder why, with such a deep discography of worthy original tunes, they so hastily include tripe from The Spaghetti Incident while overlooking the band’s so-called “secondary” songs (What? No “Mr. Brownstone”, “My Michelle” or even the potshot-happy, profanity-laced “Get in the Ring”?) For shame!

As expected, there is nothing new, unreleased or rare amongst the bunch (severely reducing any logical reason for purchase) – and the exclusion of some of their less noted songs means this wholly haphazard release is so ridiculously obvious, it leaves little but a taste so very sour. The parties responsible for this catastrophe deserve to be lynched; but one is left to wonder, perhaps Greatest Hits is what happens when the appetite for destruction becomes nothing more than the longest, over-delayed project punch line in recent rock history.

(Geffen Records)

Review: Guns N’ Roses – Greatest Hits

This notorious saga continues its dragging through the mud-strewn back alleys of public attention with the release of this pathetic collection aimed at cashing in on whatever is left of a long gone cornerstone. And it is not entirely the fault of Geffen, they’ve been waiting for more than a decade on a promise that “new Guns N’ Roses material will soon see the light of day.” Without doubt, there is the need to point the proverbial “fuck you” in more than one direction: Geffen for putting such dismal effort in a release it actually got Axl, Slash and Duff to collaborate on a lawsuit (hey, at least they’re working together on SOMETHING) and of course, Mr. Rose himself for comically hashing on with a project with such pitiful results.

Anyone who managed to catch their so-called return at the MTV Music Awards saw an overweight, less-than-enthused Axl Rose laughably overshadowed by an imbecile with a bucket on his head. Not exactly the lasting image for one of last century’s most potently combustible mammoths of rock music. Then there was that disastrous comeback tour which was promptly cancelled due to Axl being Axl and not enough people caring that he was still getting up to old tricks. So now it comes to this, their Greatest Hits collection hastily thrown together with the shambolic incompetence of a drunken baboon.

With an apparent desire to portray the band’s “greatest” songs with nearly as many cover songs as originals, it clearly steps off into all sorts of wrong directions. The given hits are present; “Welcome to the Jungle”, “Sweet Child O’ Mine” and “Paradise City” (one of the top 10 greatest stripper songs of all time) but there is little in way of interest or intrigue; any fan or enthusiast of the group (or quality rock music in general) will already own these tracks in one shape or form; and simply lumping a few together and labeling it the “greatest” collection just isn’t worth the time. Perhaps the one redeeming quality of this sham is that Geffen bothered to include a few songs from their much under-ballyhooed, and very sound Lies; “Patience” and “Live and Let Die” make their appearance, but it would have been a far interesting turn if they had included say “Mama Kin” and the hefty “One in a Million” instead.

Moreover, the backend of the release – The Stones’ “Sympathy for Devil” (in one word: dreadful) and the inclusion of a pair of tracks from The Spaghetti Incident (“Ain’t It Fun” and “Since I Don’t Have You”) means this collection is rife with the poorly contrived spectrum of their adaptations, severely dampening those they did with extreme competence. And it is a wonder why, with such a deep discography of worthy original tunes, they so hastily include tripe from The Spaghetti Incident while overlooking the band’s so-called “secondary” songs (What? No “Mr. Brownstone”, “My Michelle” or even the potshot-happy, profanity-laced “Get in the Ring”?) For shame!

As expected, there is nothing new, unreleased or rare amongst the bunch (severely reducing any logical reason for purchase) – and the exclusion of some of their less noted songs means this wholly haphazard release is so ridiculously obvious, it leaves little but a taste so very sour. The parties responsible for this catastrophe deserve to be lynched; but one is left to wonder, perhaps Greatest Hits is what happens when the appetite for destruction becomes nothing more than the longest, over-delayed project punch line in recent rock history. (Geffen)

The Kite-Eating Tree – Method: Fail, Repeat

There is a wistful childhood story of The Kite-Eating Tree’s guitarist and vocalist Mike Hunter that can best exemplify how commanding and striking this release is. The nostalgic story is based around the advice and guidance Hunter’s uncle gave him on that apprehensive first day of school. I assume nearly everyone can relate to the nervous, uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach the eve of attending a new school or starting a new grade. Our parents or guardians all give us some sort of guidance and reassurance that everything will be fine, but Hunter’s uncle had some out of the ordinary advice to give.

His uncle’s masculine advice was to go up to the biggest, most dominant kid in the class and punch him right in the face. Punch him so hard that the poor bastard drops to the floor. The reason: nobody is going to mess with you and you will have earned yourself oceans of respect. That’s exactly the type of craze and power Method: Fail, Repeat delivers. From the first post-hardcore sounds of the guitars crashing and the bass lines pounding on the opening track, “Softer Seems the Pavement”; The Kite-Eating Tree bursts through with commanding authority.

It is a powerful album boasting extremely sharp and intellectually moving lyrics and songwriting. None of the songs on the album have anything to do with failed romances or the girl who you’ve been pining over. This album is much deeper and genuine; with lyrics that travel deep inside a certain mindset.

Hunter and The Kite-Eating Tree squeeze out and articulate their thoughts with social observations on tracks like, “Lucifer Employed” and “Hollywood Hates You.” The lyrics on the earlier track really echo a social cry; “Flowin’ out via pins and needles / little by little found a way to suck you dry / can’t hear a reason from dome or steeple to let one leave alive.” He also cuts himself wide open on the sensitive track “Save Your Stares for Strays.” This track documents his delicate experience while pushing his wife’s wheelchair. The lyrics insinuate the pain and suffering in a certain optimistic way, “Through every stare / she’ll walk right on / keep your cares / she’ll still shine on / I’ll keep my swallowed fears / next to yours they taste like champagne / as long as no one moves / I’ll lie and look at you we’re OK.”

The Kite-Eating Tree manages to open more than their minds, in process, lets everything flow through Method: Fail, Repeat. The concept is refreshing in terms of the lyrical style and bass-driven music that complements it. This album just hurdles over anything in terms of substance, musical variety and range.

(Cowboy Versus Sailor / Suburban Home Records)

Ahleuchatistas – On the Culture Industry

Those “RIYL” tags magazines and press releases use to simplify an entire thought process into easy-to-use comparisons and generic recommendations are certainly handy aren’t they? Passive listeners raise the roof at the incredible ease in which thinking has been denounced to nothing more than association. Perhaps it is the fault of the many artists whose work is so lacking in any distinctive traits that we reviewers are left with such a feeble route for discourse. Maybe people just don’t listen enough; and thus quick analysis has become routine to ensnare potential revenue cows. Nonetheless, it is quite perturbing that Ahleuchatistas have so effortlessly been recommended to those who like Don Caballero and Rush. Not because the comparisons are without merit, but because Ahleuchatistas simply has a lot more to offer than just being some offshoot of the mentioned groups. Formed in the untapped resources of mountains high, this unrelenting trio is everything the rational listener dreads: that music is no mere form of comfort, no warm bed light to soothe, no outlet for understanding.

It would appear that the two characteristics most common in Ahleuchatistas that in one way or another could be derived from both Caballero and Rush would be the ideas of “progression” and “mathematics,” and while they do possess a certain progressive nature, there isn’t too much to warrant “math-rock” descriptions. That would mean there is some form of structure or certainly involved within the music and that negates the strongest aspect of what is on display here. This trio relies more on freeform expression than anything that would construe a distinct meaning or interpretation. And it can be said that music sans lexica is a far more challenging method of conveying ideas and emotions, but that is precisely the quality On the Culture Industry so strongly exhibits. There really is more that one way to absorb the bass-heavy, frantic, wavering of “Lacerate,” easily the album’s most winning combination of boundless and bounded instrumentation. Similarly, the rest of the album may pull instances from a range of styles – the eerie atmospheres of “I Don’t Remember Falling Asleep Here,” the frenzied metal leanings on “Fodder for Defamation,” and the more systematic deconstruction of noise in “Empath / Every,” (even briefly sampling instances of melody) they never quite settle for one lucid trait.

So it would be far too basic to lump On the Culture Industry as an album exhibiting a singular scheme. They’re very keen on breaking specific molds; boldly implying more complex, unstructured entities that have been formed from recognizable styles and genres. Repeated listens will evoke new understandings and ideas, undoubtedly awakening emotions previously unfelt – and that is a quality a lot of music today just isn’t built to do. Simpletons will be fazed; caught in a dimension wrought with confusion, fear, anguish and a complete lack of control. It is the very reason why so much of the aural landscape is so stale, and it begs the question (and duly answered by Ahleuchatistas): Why are we so afraid to be challenged?

(Angura Sound)

Challenger – Give the People What They Want In Lethal Doses

We could sit here all day and discuss the ethos behind the entire ‘punk’ mantra; in the end inspecting the spiraling consequences of the mainstream upsurge that ultimately peaked in 1994. Three years after the breakout year, dubbed by many as “the year punk broke” (1991), the resurgence of the punk subculture back into the mainstream scope was in significant contrast to the 70’s and early 80’s – there was now widespread acceptance.

Some high touted scripture penned by punk rock historians? Aging musicians lamenting on what has become? Actually, just part of a feature I wrote a little while ago pointing the significant corollary of a subculture’s rise into its supposed “higher tiers.” Yes, its very self-indulgent, but I’m not one for simply regurgitating something done before, although that could very well crystallize as the one defining impression left by this Milemarker-cum-Challenger trio. Not to say this is some transmutation of Milemarker; although it does consist of both Al Burian and Dave Laney of said band, Challenger is, plainly stated, an update of what Hüsker Dü, The Minutemen and the Dead Milkmen did in their heyday. And when most of today’s so-called flag bearers all look like Johnny Depp’s lost third cousin desperately trying to imitate Conor Oberst, a bit of Bob Mould and Mike Watt is undeniably refreshing. However, it is important to state that in this century, you really only get one real chance at making a lasting impression, and with all their straightforward, no-nonsense rock pastiche, machinegun drumming and heavily fuzzed out guitars, Challenger do little but skip to vague reminiscence and the unavoidable “back in the day this meant something” chain of thought.

Blame it on MTV, blame it on the genre’s current state, blame it on the commercial goldmine it has become, but Give the People What They Want in Lethal Doses lacks the venom to pull the desensitized masses away from the tripe and garbage of music television. The components of Give the People… resonate with certain competence; “Input the Output” would fit a home on a Minor Threat set list while “Crushed City” does well to case the aggressive vocals in similar musical aptitude. Yet as the fist-over-fist hamming struts with reckless abandon, it does so with very little distinction. It is all good and well that Challenger harkens back to more, how do we say? Challenging days, but they too often crave more musical tones – at times making them sound a lot like Screw 32 – diluting the aggression and forcefulness. A problem? Indeed, the bands that pummel, kick and stab with great results are extremely hard to find (save a few), Challenger on the other hand, are readily available thanks to many favorable circumstances.

It leads to this point’s finality. In mainstream acceptance, the thought that nothing is shocking anymore has completely drained much of the initial value of interest. It is unfortunate too because a lot of listeners could use a good kick in the head, but there just isn’t enough here to grab you by the throat. Give the People What They Want In Lethal Doses just isn’t dangerous enough. Fostered to great health some time ago by Fear, Youth of Today and the aforementioned bands, Challenger is an example of all the right ideals done with little effect at all the right times.

(Jade Tree Records)

Denali – The Instinct

Every female fronted band’s image and/or description is mostly based on how the band’s lead singer sounds. No matter how dark the music is, if the singer sounds like Mandy Moore than it will be called pop. To be categorized as rock, the female lead’s voice needs to fit the classic build of rock design; scratchy, hard, a cross between Chrissie Hynde and Brodie Dalle. If they don’t have that type of vocal range then their entire band is immediately doomed to be categorized in the endless void of pop rock nothingness. Maura Davis and Denali (which included Jonathan Fuller, Cam DiNunzio, and Keeley Davis on record) come very close to defeating this stigma but ultimately are left in limbo due to Davis’ slightly operatic voice. Starting as a side project, Denali soon began to take the limelight as their debut release placed them on the radar. Their first album was full of dark, electric, smooth grooves that showcased each member’s ability to carry a tune.

On their latest release, Denali’s music is moody, murky, and once again demonstrates how well these musicians work together. When I began listening to this release, I kept thinking about how smoothly the baleful music went with Davis’ operatic vocals. The first track entitled “Hold Your Breathe” begins with a driving guitar riff and a low hollow beat. Despite the immediate grab of this track, the first real sign of life is when Davis’ voice kicks in with the lyrics “What’s your reason to kill or not…” Her voice and the music became this otherworldly force to be reckoned with when they were perfectly blended together. The chorus has tense escalating melodies that seem to be building up to a grand ending yet instead of going for the obvious over the top finale, the band heightens the level of intensity and ends with a sole guitar echo.

One of the strongest tracks on the album is “Do Something,” a guitar and beat heavy track that sufficiently showcases Davis’ extremely intense vocals. It begins with Davis slowly cooing the lyrics “All I am now, fall for a way down,” then as her voice shifts from the previous to a strong purr, the industrial backbone that once resonated behind her fade and are replaced with raw guitar abrasions. As the track continues, every instrument and to a certain extent, even Davis’ voice, becomes heavier and louder until they hit a breaking point; the instruments stop and all that is left is Davis’ soft sound and the mechanized thumping. 

Throughout The Instinct, they somehow manage to maintain the same level of morose melodies that made their sound appealing in the first place. And while Davis’ voice keeps them out of categorization, it also defines them as a uniquely dark presence in the current music landscape.

(Jade Tree Records)

Jen Chapin – Linger

With Norah Jones so effectively carrying the jazz/pop banner into the inert ears of mainstream music, one need not gander far to find others like her. Sometimes it really does take one good musician to push an entire horde through the door, but at least in terms of Jones, she touts a far classier brand of pop music. Like many occasions before, those who come through following have either been just as profound or noticeably poor. Jen Chapin has indeed come through this window of opportunity, yet we can’t dismiss her as a product of someone else’s grand appeal – otherwise we would simply overlook Chapin as nothing more than an offshoot of some current wave of popularity; and that assumption would be glaringly erroneous. She is in fact, quite well schooled in the musical arts; it is practically in her blood: Chapin is the daughter of late folk artist Harry Chapin. The elder, noted for his hit “Cats in the Cradle,” was as much a musician as he was a social activist; often spreading much of his moral values through the songs he wrote.

While the younger is very much an activist for the social cause (she sits on the board of directors for the WHY organization – founded by her late father), her music isn’t just her voice of cause to the masses. Far from it, Linger is very much her personality as well; telling stories of discovery, finding one’s self in the world and her briskly pleasing take on the emotions of the heart. Much like her award-winning counterpart, Chapin’s music is an amalgam of breezy light-jazz resting in cloudless pop elements while at times soaking in splendid bluegrass rays. It soothes as much as it sways and for the most part, Linger will appeal to both enthusiasts of modern jazz/blues and to those more receptive of pop music. Chapin opens her latest chapter with the delightful pull of “Little Hours.” The nimble, good-natured effort is the album’s most musically sound track; reminiscent of Paula Cole’s better days or Sarah McLachlan back in 1993. It boasts an excellent refrain while the melodies sparkle in crystal clear polish. Yet perhaps, in terms of more accessible means, “Little Hours” is as far as she’ll go into general territory.

The remainder of the album is far more comprehensive, leaning more towards grandeur and chic. Determined on building deeper connections with the listener, it flourishes with more reflective song structures, lengthier execution and a particular, elegant sophistication. Not surprisingly, the music resonates with the graceful charm of more classical instruments. The downbeat hum of “Hurry Up Sky” becomes ever more soulful in reflection incased within her beautiful-as-falling-snow voice and deep murmur of low-end instrumentation.

Moreover, her music has the ability to traverse different levels of listening; or in some respects, certain moods. While it would appear on first listen most reflect some level of sadness, it is deceivingly so. Occasions alluding to more definitive musical arcadia are not far to find; from the aforementioned “Little Hours”, gleaming in its untroubled self-assurance, to the oblique observations of “City,” the album does well to capture many contrasting atmospheres with nothing more than slight changes. It does however prompt the album’s most significant setback – while consistent in its entirety, it remains indifferent in the longer efforts. The tracks of greater length (more than six minutes worth) require a far more tuned approach to truly appreciate, and detracts from the approachability of those more undemanding. It is nevertheless a small grievance when considering the rest of the palette. Chapin has done remarkably well with Linger; a truly pleasant and tender record. And an album so near to immaculate deserves plenty of heartfelt admiration.

(Hybrid Recordings)