Sum 41 - Does This Look Infected?

During my early teen years, I spent a weekend at a camp for members of local 4H groups, at which we were supposed to develop leadership skills. From the start, I had found the entire idea cheesy and lame, and so I made sure to bring some tunes along with me to keep myself entertained. The main disc that accompanied me was Sum 41’s Does This Look Infected?, which I spun endlessly each evening in my bunk. However, returning to it almost a decade later, I’ve found myself unable to recall anything but the radio singles, prompting me to this time give the record a deep and thoughtful listen, to see if these tunes can sink as deeply as they did all those years ago. 

            The band’s second full-length release, Does This Look Infected? delivers an invigorating and novel concoction of the pop-punk sound that blew Sum 41 into the charts and the heavy metal influences on which the members were raised. Though power chords and catchy choruses abound, Sum 41 dips into its heavier sensibilities, adding double bass runs, drop tunings, and even some screamed vocals. Brownsound shreds his strings to shadows, seeming to play every possible note on the fretboard, while Steve-O 32 simulates a tsunami in his speedy beats and booming fills. Bizzy D explores his extensive vocal range, singing pop-driven melodies one moment before shouting angrily through the next. Capping this quartet is the humble bass stylings of Cone, who drives his lines through intricate changes and rhythms that most punk and metal bands never approach. Despite jamming in genres hardly known for their technicality, Sum 41 manages to provide fun and energetic music that is hardly formulaic.

            Between the songwriting and the equipment, Does This Look Infected? has a completely distinct flavor. With the exception of a muddy bass guitar, the overall mix is remarkable: the lows explode like cherry bombs in storm drains while the highs squeal at volumes that rival a threatened macaque. Though apparently the mix is Bizzy’s only regret for this album,[1] in my opinion the guitars especially benefit, boasting a grungy and ragged tone that has a serious metal growl. Andy Wallace’s affectation of the record’s sound perfectly complements the genre-blurring musicianship and composition, letting the band tear through its slash-beat punk riffs as easily as they pound through palm-muted metal madness. Even the layout of the songs captures the specific energy of the album, with focus equally presented in both sing-along choruses which any listener would be daft to ignore, and heavy, intricate instrumental sections that exhibit how tight this act is. No matter what song you decide to sample, there is no doubt which record that tune calls home, or what band has had the audacity to create it.

            If one song completely encapsulates the sound, energy, and approach of Does This Look Infected?, I would place my money on “Mr. Amsterdam,” which flawlessly merges every element that is Sum 41 into a rocking monster. Opening with syncopated hits, the band suddenly rolls into a circle-pit punk progression that beckons frenzy. Bizzy D takes center in this song, using an angst-driven vocal to vent his disgust with the xenophobic and whiny world in which we all resign to reside. His repetition of “I’ve said this before…”[2] at the beginning of the verses is poignant and intelligent, and the call-and-response moments between singing and screaming drive the song to incredible sonic heights. The song rides the vocals through two verses before diving into a hardcore instrumental outro loaded with sonorous drum fills and tremolo-picking that could rival most speed-metal guitarists. Sum 41 then races to the finish, halting on a dissonant and unresolved minor second, denying the listener closure and mustering a thirst for more. “Mr. Amsterdam” denies conventions in structure, notation and even feel, yet kicks ass from inception to death, a homunculus of the awesome lifeblood flowing through this record.

            Despite their relative youth and their goofy stage names, the precision with which Sum 41 performs on this record demonstrates logic and maturity, and both attributes are equally and expertly expressed in Bizzy D’s lyrics. It is apparent he has a complete handle on intelligent use of rhyme and consonance, employing feminine rhyme in the chorus of “No Brains” with the lines “I’ve had enough frustration…this dead-end situation,”[3] while riding digraph sounds in “Thanks For Nothing:” “No patience / this nation’s / obsessed with exploitation.”[4] In line with his mechanics are his topics, as he eschews well-worn teenage issues in favor of serious subject matter, including suicide and ineffective social institutions. However, he doesn’t completely abandon the humor for which Sum 41 is famous; he scathingly attacks Anna Nicole Smith in the miniature “A.N.I.C.”[5] and relives drunken forays in “Over My Head (Better Off Dead).”[6] Bizzy D uses his lyrics to explore all aspects of his life at that time, accepting his adventurous youth without denying the burgeoning adult within, letting Does This Look Infected? remain lively while flirting with the cognitive.

              In terms of responsibility and maturity, perhaps the weightiest tune on this record is the one that kicks it off. “The Hell Song,” a pop-punk drag racer and the second single off of Does This Look Infected?, is not only one of Bizzy D’s favorite tunes on the record[7], but also the vehicle for addressing a serious topic: HIV. Having written the song shortly after finding out an ex-girlfriend had contracted the virus, his lyrics carefully describe his reaction to the news, as well as the life-shattering effect it had. He observes his newfound mortality with the line “I feel I’ve come to realize / How fast life can be compromised,” while acknowledging how beyond his control the whole situation as he says “I feel so useless in this.” Despite the shocked, almost despairing tone, he attends to the idea of responsibility associated with sexually transmitted diseases as he asks “Why do things that matter the most / Never end up being what we chose?”[8] With “The Hell Song,” Bizzy D utilizes gentle metaphor and catchy melody to face a troubling reality while also asserting how he too must be held accountable for his actions and his reactions in this life.

            After again burying myself in this record’s embrace, over a decade since my first exposure, I find it easy to understand what middle-school-me found so enticing. Though this record has its indecencies—Bizzy D too often sacrifices syntax to fit in a rhyme, and the first half of “Hooch” is suspiciously reminiscent of “Boom” by P.O.D.—I have no trouble drifting in its sonic waves, and what’s more, I don’t feel dumber for having listened to it. With Does This Look Infected, Sum 41 infuses intelligence, maturity, and variety into their pop-punk moniker, providing me with rocking tunes that resound as deeply now as they did when my biggest obstacle was summer boredom and responsibility was something I could still avoid. And with each subsequent spin as I careen down my daily commute, I pray that when this record next drifts into my path, the thirty-something me will discover as much meaning and truth in it as did the boy lying on the bottom bunk, mouthing along to the worlds and drowning out the world he had yet to encounter.

Tunes to Check Out:

1) No Brains

2) Mr. Amsterdam

3) The Hell Song

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[1] http://www.absolutepunk.net/showthread.php?t=2963472

[2] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/sum41/mramsterdam.html

[3] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/sum41/nobrains.html

[4] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/sum41/thanksfornothing.html

[5] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Does_This_Look_Infected%3F#Background_and_release

[6] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Over_My_Head_(Better_Off_Dead)#Background_and_writing

[7] http://www.absolutepunk.net/showthread.php?t=2963472

[8] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/sum41/hellsong.html

Between the Buried & Me - Alaska

            My life in relation to music mirrors a multi-stage rocket blasting through the atmosphere. My initial exposure lay in my dad’s classic rock collection, all Black Sabbath and Deep Purple; my second dose came in my early teen years with my best friend’s expansive collection of pop-punk and alternative from the 90’s, while the third wave broke in high school with my immersion into ska. Up until that point, the heaviest music on my iPod might have been Mudvayne’s radio-friendly hits, until a mix CD of hardcore music somehow drifted into my hands. Among others, engraved on that disc was the guttural and grueling “Autodidact” by Between the Buried & Me, the first song I’d ever heard that truly scared me. Its squealing pinch harmonics, throaty screams, and thundering blast beats were unlike anything I’d ever heard, and urged me to delve deeper into the darkness of hardcore. After only a few weeks, BTBAM’s Alaska found its way into my car stereo, kicking off the fourth stage of my musical ascent.

            Naturally, the initial terror I felt in sampling this band was only magnified when I began to listen to the full record; however, I quickly learned that this band could reach both brutality and beauty. Alaska features a broad spectrum of sounds, showcasing both this band’s unbelievable technical skills and their diverse approach to composition. Complicated time signature changes abound on the record, but Between the Buried & Me glides through them with ease, alternating between 3/4 and 4/4 in “All Bodies” and “The Primer” and trudging through a slowly collapsing 7/4 section in “Roboturner.” Paul Waggoner and Dustie Waring prove themselves as free-range guitarists, chugging and sweeping through “The Primer,” fiddling with syncopated madness in “Autodidact,” and fingerpicking and comping along the Latin-tinged “Laser Speed.” Blake Richardson hammers his drums in impulsive blast beats before dumping the clutch into low gear grooves, all four limbs flavoring each tune with improvisational syncope hits. Even the vocal spectrum is explored, as Tommy Rogers drops into deep and unintelligible growls in tunes like “Croakies and Boat Shoes,” only to amaze with gentle and spirited melodies such as in “Selkies: An Endless Obsession.” Being the first full-band writing effort for BTBAM,[1] Alaska seems to dip into every genre available, all while maintaining the band’s unique voice. Though much of their music spelunks in the abyss of deathcore, the spread of sounds, feels, and energies on this record proves that for Between the Buried & Me, genre labels hardly dictate behavior.

            The heavy nature of death metal is perhaps universally defined by three things: detuned guitars, bullet train drumming, and gruff screams shaped at the very bottom of the lungs. Often, virtually no room is left for basswork in such a formula (especially since guitar tunings regularly reflect drop C or lower, making a bass all but unnecessary); yet, as is their forte, BTBAM refuses to play into genre stereotypes, and with a weapon in their arsenal like Dan Briggs, it is obvious they made the right choice. Rather than drowning in the noise, Briggs lays down a heavy foundation with mosaic, jazzy lines, building on each successive rhythmic idea like the strata of a canyon wall, filling any available spotlight with sick tone and incredible finesse without outshining the rest of the band.

            One tune in which the bass shatters the mold is the certifiable “Roboturner,” a seven-minute onslaught of distortion and screams. Though perhaps as metal as it gets on this record, the star of “Roboturner” is undeniably Briggs, who slips through all the chugs with complicated walking lines that run the entire length of the song, not to mention a groove composed of chords and even a short sweep. The tune jumps between tempos and time signatures before finally crashing into the last suite, a 7/8 trudge introduced, of course, by Brigg’s overdrive-soaked thumping. The suite trudges on, slowly decreasing in tempo, before being swept back into the groove of chords and runs that leads “Roboturner” to its banging conclusion. Briggs dominates the composition on this piece, making damn sure that every listener knows that, though Alaska may fall under the deathcore label, the seventh track unequivocally belongs to the bass.  

            If Alaska is any example, Between the Buried & Me is a group that loves music enough to approach it with both heart and mind, and at the helm of this titanic stands Tommy Rogers, whose lyrical and vocal contributions shape the tone of the record’s though processes. Rogers seems to approach his lyrics from multiple standpoints, sometimes serious and accusatory: “Selkies: An Endless Obsession” criticize the capitalization of love and art with lines like “Market this change / exploit this idea of innocence,”[2] while “Croakies and Boat Shoes” attacks the faultless and condescending attitude synonymous of the “suburban elite.”[3] But despite the sinister tone of the music, Rogers also shows his humorous side through his writing, using the title track to explore insomnia and its effects with quips like “I’m fucking delirious right now…Not the best time for lyrics I suppose.”[4] Rogers presents a variety of tones and attitudes in his lyrics; however, he unfortunately slips into the cliché drawback of fronting a hardcore band where those lyrics are all but lost in his delivery. Alaska is loaded with both powerful singing and violent screaming, but the latter, being Rogers’ preferred method, completely drowns his poetic and literary senses in favor of intensity. Though his performance is quite spectacular in both realms of vocalization, the ratio of sing:scream unfortunately keeps much of his lyrics from being deciphered or understood.

            As is the rub with all technical musicians, much of the composition of Alaska, being both complicated and theory-based, runs the risk of erasing the emotional and human imprint of the performers. Many listeners find themselves unable to connect with music that has been dissected like a dead frog; diminished chords, tritones, and shifting tempos, while being interesting intellectual ideas, ring dissonantly in the ears of a non-musician. Truth be told, although there a lot of great ideas at play, between tremolo picking and quadruple kicks on the bass drum, some of Alaska devolves into pure noise. Chord progressions are lost in babbling tempos, taking significance they might have imparted into the abyss. However, unlike their colleagues, Between the Buried & Me refuse to stick to one formula or sound, peppering otherwise hectic compositions with moments of beauty. They even reserve three instrumental tracks to showcase their diverse and human sides, allowing the listener to find a foothold in tunes such as “Medicine Wheel” or “Laser Speed,” before diving into the dark waters of “Alaska” or “The Primer.”

            Because of this band’s dichotomous approach to their music, reserving moments for both technicality and luminosity, perhaps the most diverse song on this record is one that juxtaposes both. “Backwards Marathon,” Alaska’s longest composition, literally explodes into existence with headbanging rhythmic riff that would make most metalheads lose their cool. The song only gets heavier, sliding downhill into rhythmic chugs and sweeps like a house into a sinkhole. The instrumentation holds onto this anger for almost half the song, until suddenly falling into a gorgeous bridge, a repeating cycle of 5/4 and 6/4, championed by an innocent bass riff. Rogers’ chant of “It’s raining”[5] perfectly captures the gentle shape of this new section, whose gentle guitars and tingling ride cymbal create the image of the lightest of drizzles. The sheer magnificence of this section completely contrasts with the lunacy that preceded it, until, after culminating in a high and powerful vocal note, it explodes back into the intro riff, only to conclude in a heavy yet charming outro. “Backwards Marathon” is BTBAM’s treaty with the listener, a complex and delicious mix of both their technical musicianship and their soulful creativity.

            Though perhaps not the most accessible record, Alaska blends a myriad of genres and focuses them through the talented prism that is Between the Buried & Me. These musicians ostensibly know what they’re doing when it comes to music, and such a truth assures any listener music that is both complete and thought-provoking. Furthermore, this band compromises none of its vision or ability for anyone—Between the Buried & Me is making exactly the music it wants to, refusing to play into genre standards or stereotypes or to settle for less. “We don’t ever want money to get in the way of what we are doing,” says Rogers. “We just want to make the music we love.”[6] There is no illusion or compromise in their art, only five guys having a damn good time jamming together, and such honesty is what urged me to explore the word of hardcore, and what has kept me digging to this day.  

Tunes to Check Out:
1) Backwards Marathon
2) Selkies: An Endless Obsession
3) Roboturner

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[1] http://www.teethofthedivine.com/features/interview-with-between-the-buried-and-me/

[2] http://www.darklyrics.com/lyrics/betweentheburiedandme/alaska.html#4

[3] http://www.darklyrics.com/lyrics/betweentheburiedandme/alaska.html#3

[4] http://www.darklyrics.com/lyrics/betweentheburiedandme/alaska.html#2

[5] http://www.darklyrics.com/lyrics/betweentheburiedandme/alaska.html#7

[6] http://www.teethofthedivine.com/features/interview-with-between-the-buried-and-me/

At the Drive-In - Vaya

            Whereas releasing a full-length record, the definitive collection of audible art, is forever the ideal dream for an artist, such a feat is always laden with expectations, both monetary and creative. Because of the sheer work involved in writing songs, recording, marketing and artwork, not to mention the gross amounts of money spent along the way, a band quickly learns that there is a whole lot riding on the success of their record’s sales. Conversely, the EP, because of its shorter length and production involvement, feels more like a gift than a death sentence. For the fans, the EP is a small record to collect and appreciate; for the label, it’s a small-time release that promotes the act and keeps public interest; and for the band, it is a chance to try new techniques, sounds, and ideas without worrying about sinking the entire ship. The extended play lets a band flex their creative wings, and gives them a few tunes on which to concentrate their expression, regardless of whether or not anyone likes it – and this is exactly what At the Drive-In does with Vaya.

            The band’s penultimate release before their dissolution, Vaya is a heavy dose of distilled ATDI, seven songs composed to the band’s specific and intellectual tastes, and a great example of their dynamic approach to music. Though tempos may vary, every tune drips with pure, unfiltered energy, the fury of youth wound around the precision of experience. Because this record is made up of only seven songs, the band takes the opportunity to really stylize their sound and give Vaya a unique feel. Every song is written in a minor key, allowing for a somber and frustrated mood to settle into the listener, reflected by pervasive time signature changes and dissonant intervals. Similarly, the EP is laden with an electronic influence, showcasing Jim Ward on keys almost as much as on guitar, and featuring a heavy array of new effects. In an interview, drummer Tony Hajjar remarked that the band “get[s] bored really fast” and so always “want[s] to do different things” with their music, finding ways into integrate “new toys” into each subsequent project.[1] Between dub drum beats and squealing synthesizers, At the Drive-In lays a fresh digital flavor onto their melodic and heavy punk tones across the span of this record, filling it with a crisp feel that is neither boring nor hackneyed.

            There is a whole lot of arranging a band can do in the small space provided by an EP, and At the Drive-In wastes not a second. The composition is very focused on this record, and ATDI leaves the listener with seven complex and thoughtful tunes. The guitar work often moves through dissonant territory: Omar Rodriguez-Lopez paints some incredibly tense images across the mind with “Metronome Arthritis” and “300 MHz,” finding tones that are terrifyingly and certainly reminiscent of his later work with The Mars Volta. The sincere amount of thought poured into Vaya shows a maturity rarely seen in punk music, yet the honest blood of these fives musicians screams through the speakers with every spin, proving that they have lost none of their youthful motivation. At the Drive-In approaches the songs on Vaya from a completely novel viewpoint, allowing them to extend far beyond the boundaries of simple music.

            One tune where the band truly lays it all out is “198d,” the record’s emotionally-charged closer. Named for the inscription on the gravestone of drummer Tony Hajjar’s grandmother,[2] this tune voyages back and forth between the realms of ballad and anthem with undeniable grace. Beginning with soft synths and delayed guitar melodies, “198d” feels like a funeral procession, and seems to travel through all seven stages of grieving, wavering between virtually inaudible verses and sharp, wailing choruses. Similarly, Cedric’s vocals are a sympathetic whisper in the verses, sharply contrasting with the heart-rending shouts of the chorus reminiscent of the grief-stricken. The tune’s time signature even reflects the constant changes, morphing into 12/4 in the bridge before sliding back into common time. “198d” encapsulates more sorrow, anger, and attention to detail than most records do, and is a prime cut from a band known for its intelligence and feel.

            Not surprisingly, Cedric’s lyrical contributions to Vaya are just as thoughtful and intricate as the composition. His writing edges heavily into metaphor on this EP, and he takes a firm grasp on the musicality of his words, giving them the feel of pure poetry. His word choices and syntax reflect a deep level of cognition, as he effortlessly juxtaposes images of Roman Emperors with those of the Space Race in “Proxima Centauri,” fusing two vastly different ideas into one seamless movement. Much of the lyrics are focused through a lens of violence, and Cedric’s screaming delivery doubles the effect. Another powerful motif which is handled with care and intensity is that of crime: Cedric’s desperate queries of “What if forensics finds the answers? / What if they stole my fingerprints?” in “Metronome Arthritis” are both chilling and guilty,[3] while his commanding “Let the thieves in through the front door”[4] in “Heliotrope” is one of the most poignant moments on the record. Cedric’s heavy topics and subtle imagery mix very well with the heavy and disturbing tones of the instrumentation, working to maintain the mood of darkness and unrest present on Vaya.

            The brutal and universal honesty at the very root of it is what makes this EP move so powerfully through its listener. Every note of every tune is imbued with absolute importance by this band, a belief that what they’re creating is worthwhile, even if the end result isn’t always spectacular. Truthfully, although certainly listenable, I find “Metronome Arthritis” and “300 MHz” to be too laden with dissonance to truly enjoy them, and the minute-long wait for “Proxima Centauri” to really take off looses a lot of steam from the song. But even if I don’t love every second, I can’t help but appreciate the raw and meaningful veracity At the Drive-In has poured into it. In an interview with Buddyhead, Omar stated that even though “people want the same record” to be made over and over again, At the Drive-In refuses to bend, because for them, making music is about “keeping ourselves happy and entertained.”[5] There are no delusions or ulterior motives, which is why even the worst decisions on Vaya work so well. The sincerity of the music is so prevalent that it seems almost its own instrument, and deftly resolves any harsh moments of noise into robust and gritty successes.

            Though the record is tinged with some lukewarm moments, one song where At the Drive-In slaughters from start to finish is the punchy “Heliotrope.” Perhaps the fastest tune on this EP, “Heliotrope” offers an intricate blend of both punk intensity and post-hardcore aesthetics. The band tears through heavy verses, as Omar yanks notes from the bottom of his neck and Cedric all but tears the lining of his throat out. Tony’s drum beats are simply insane, and he leaves no part of his kit unbruised. In stark contrast to this madness are the more melodic-based choruses, where guitars whine and the rhythm section sounds more like a gentle knock than blunt trauma. The juxtaposition of loud and soft, beauty and fury pervades “Heliotrope;” Cedric’s entire vocal is screamed, but poetically powerful lines like “Heat seeking, gums bleeding / fingers snapping at the catacomb stabbings”[6] only gain from his guttural delivery. With its delicate shape and exhausting pace, “Heliotrope” is a tune that incites both moshing and intellectual discourse, an unsteady and almost unheard-of combination of mind and body.

            Besides providing us with some incredibly intricate compositions, Vaya is a record of this band’s complete fearlessness in pushing boundaries in their music, a factor few artists even consider, never mind wholeheartedly embody. At the Drive-In uses this EP to make some new choices and take some new turns, and while not all of them work, the fact that they had the gall to try anyways makes a bold statement about what it means to be an artist, and is the reason Josh Watkins of Heave Media labeled this EP “the last vestige of the band at full force.”[7] With Vaya, At the Drive-In throws its entire weight behind its musical movements, and whether the ship glides, rocks, or sinks, it is obvious they plan to follow their course to the very end. For all the things that this EP does hold, there is not a single trace of fear in its beats or screams, and such a silence has never sounded so good.

Tunes to Check Out:
1) Heliotrope
2) 198d
3) Proxima Centauri

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[1] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P3LOAlnjUbk

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaya

[3] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/atthedrivein/metronomearthritis.html

[4] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/atthedrivein/heliotrope.html

[5] http://www.buddyhead.com/1999/05/25/interview-with-at-the-drive-in/

[6] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/atthedrivein/heliotrope.html

[7] http://www.heavemedia.com/2012/04/24/45-rpm-at-the-drive-in/

Nirvana - In Utero

Quite a few artists in the genre of rock get pinned with the adjective “seminal,” yet few are so universally recognized as Nirvana. It wasn’t until about the age of twelve that I really found out who Nirvana was, and everyone I encountered simply could not believe I had yet to delve into their music. Thus, like many of my generation, I became engrossed in Nirvana’s catalogue during their resurgence in popularity following release of the With the Lights Out box set and Kurt Cobain’s Journals. I got my grubby teenaged hands on every release within my reach and immersed myself in the mountain of music and literature surrounding this mythic group.

During this time, I remember being caught up in the hype around this legendary act, sucking down biographies and recordings with fervor. Most of my time was spent with their studio albums (being both readily available and wholly celebrated), yet the one that received the least attention was In Utero, Nirvana’s final true studio release. Though I had spun it dozens of times, I found the abrasive, feedback laden, brutally raw tracks to be frightening and headache-inducing, and thus clung to the radio singles and abandoned the rest. Perhaps my age stood in the way, for I could not know that in returning to that same record ten years later, I would be addicted to those bleeding deep cuts that once drove me back.

Though as a young boy I read and re-read the saga of Nirvana’s rise and collapse, the artistic struggle to remain both creative and credible was something I couldn’t truly fathom. Unfortunately for fourteen-year-old me, unwavering commitment to that ideal is an integral factor in the sound of In Utero. For their third full length, Nirvana recruited producer and indie legend Steve Albini[1] in hopes that he could assist them in creating a record devoid of the label influence and over-production that had so overwhelmed Nevermind. Being that Albini had produced The Pixies’ Surfer Rosa,[2] a band idol, they knew what they were getting into, and the result is as chaotic, messy, and real as anyone could have hoped for. Kurt’s guitar screams through his distortion pedal for most of the record, releasing melodic solos and grating chords amidst horrifying squeals of feedback. Krist Novoselic’s bass growls like a tank, and Dave Grohl’s drums hold more punch than a battery of cannons.

In Utero invades the ears like an army of mastodons at first listen, but repeated spinning shows that this record is much more than noise. Although Albini certainly helped the band achieve the aggressive tone they’d been seeking, all of the pop-driven songwriting which made Nirvana into a household name is still completely captured in and complemented by this musical hurricane. Before the release of the album, Cobain remarked that In Utero was not an attempt at abandoning Nevermind or its fans: “Let’s face it, we already sold out two and a half years ago. There’s no sense in trying to redeem yourself by putting out an abrasive album and pretending you’re a punk rocker again.”[3] Thus, tunes like “Heart-Shaped Box” and “All Apologies,” featuring clean guitar and soft singing from Cobain, lay adjacent to punk monstrosities like “tourette’s” and “Very Ape,” yet neither style really overshadows the other. Indeed, the vulnerability that this band displays in some of its lighter tunes offers just as much definition to In Utero as the thrash and bash sound of the mix. The fact that Nirvana, while trying to make a record that is untainted by corporate greed, still insists on imbuing their music with meaning and melody shows that, even with ideals and anti-ideals in mind, this band’s first mission remains making the music it wants to make.

One tune that captures Nirvana’s well-worn and pop-driven side is “Dumb,” perhaps the tamest tune off of In Utero. Described as “Beatlesesque,”[4] this track twists the provisional template of the production into a melodic masterpiece that remains in rotation for many radio stations. Against the more belligerent songs, “Dumb” stands out not only for its focus on gentility and beauty, but also its uncharacteristically optimistic lyrical content. Although the speaker appears unsure on his feet, he asserts, “I’m having fun”[5] despite any obstacles that might land in front of him, whether they be darkness or over-intoxication. The positive and calm energy of this tune contrasts starkly with the punk fury around it, but it lacks for none of Nirvana’s emotionally-laden energy, and remains one of my favorite Nirvana songs of all time.

Due to its immediate catchiness and mellow approach, “Dumb” is a bit of a black sheep on In Utero. The majority of the music on the record is both messy and violent, and Kurt’s lyrical and vocal contributions are just as chaotic. He spends half of the record guiding his vulnerable voice through skittish moaning melodies, and the other forcing that voice into guttural, almost primitive screams—his yells leading into the chorus of “Scentless Apprentice” are so loud that the vocal track clips. While certainly entertaining, many of his lyrics sink underneath his delivery, making them all but unintelligible. As for the lyrics themselves, Kurt wavers between pop sensibility and punk rock rebellion, offsetting his clichéd hooks with a plethora of sickness and death imagery. His melodies provide the listener with unstoppable choruses that get lodged in the head, but when built on refrains like “Sit and drink pennyroyal tea / distill the life that’s inside of me” or the simply blatant “Rape me,” those melodies wriggle like tapeworms swimming through the intestines.

While every song seems to have a general theme or direction, the sparse wordwork and mild metaphor aren’t too conducive to the movement of ideas; however, the songs work very well to convey universal themes on the record, specifically the band’s reaction to the debacle of fame they experienced two years earlier. After releasing a monster record like Nevermind, the bar for a follow-up certainly must be ludicrous in its height, and the buzz surrounding that venture is enough to drive most into madness, but Nirvana’s choice to deal with said fame in the sarcastic composition of their new record is brilliant. Kurt directly addresses the focus of the public on his life in “Serve the Servants” with the line “That legendary divorce is such a bore,” and plays on their success with an opening of “Teenaged angst has paid off well / Now I’m bored and old.”[6] In “Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle,” he laments the loss of the innocent simplicity of being in a band, groaning his chorus line “I miss the comfort in being sad.”[7] The music itself also reacts to Nirvana’s stardom, as the band continually denies the listener resolving notes at the end of their songs, letting them peter out into feedback and moans rather than achieving a climactic close. The band eschews conventions in popular music, playing on dissonant intervals and unfiltered candor in their boredom with being idols, effectively giving the music industry and anyone else who believes “Nirvana = Nevermind” a big middle finger.

For a record laden with derision and indifference, no track offers more sarcasm than “Milk It.” This grueling and boisterous tune features Nirvana purposefully avoiding almost anything that a “Top-40” lover needs to enjoy music. The song begins with Kurt randomly picking his guitar through gross intervals that feel intentionally wrong, before sidling into an overdriven riff. Dave Grohl’s drumming deliberately misplaces the downbeat, making it impossible to tap your foot along with the tune. Kurt moans in the verses and almost vomits in the chorus, keeping his vocal sounds far from pronounceable. This musical dumpster is capped with lyrics laden with sickening imagery, as he hangs on the motif of parasites feeding off of the least appetizing of human bodily fluids. The song seems a sardonic comment on fame, an acknowledgement that an artist could sell absolute rubbish to its fans if they have enough backing, as well as many musicians’ willingness to “milk” stardom by putting no meaning or intention behind their art. While a commonly addressed issue in the music world, Nirvana uses “Milk It” to put themselves under the spotlight for this very issue, using a crass and sarcastic attitude to respond to assertions that they fall under the umbrella of “soulless sellouts.”

Anyone who takes the risk of spinning In Utero can expect an overdose of feedback and unbridled anger, but there is more than enough energy and melody to turn the noise into meaningful music. Nirvana’s last record is one that requires attention and thought, something a younger me couldn’t give, and that an older me is glad to apply. When examined in a thoughtful and receptive fashion, even the radio hits that have pummeled alternative radio for two decades become fresh and momentous. Thus, if you dare pick up In Utero, take the Nirvana you think you know out of the equation, and judge it for what it is—you may find something with which to fall in love.

Tunes to Check Out:
1) tourette's
2) Milk It
3) Serve the Servants

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[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Utero_(album)#Background

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Steve_Albini%27s_recording_projects#1985.E2.80.931989

[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dumb_(song)#Composition_and_critical_reception

[4] Azerrad, Michael. Come as You Are: The Story of Nirvana. Doubleday, (1994). ISBN 0-385-47199-8

[5] http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/nirvana/dumb112589.html

[6] http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/nirvana/servetheservants.html

[7] http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/nirvana/francesfarmerwillhaveherrevengeonseattle.html

Song Spotlight: "3 Chords" by Assorted Jelly Beans

            Recently, a close friend of mine, while taking a bus from Greece to Germany, awoke after a restless sleep to find himself in West Nowheresville, Romania, hundreds of miles from his intended destination. Burdened by his luggage and without any grasp of the local language, panic nagged my friend as he searched for a foothold in this strange land. However, instead of giving into that fear, my friend calmed himself by simplifying his dilemma in his head, breaking down each obstacle he had to face and handling them one at a time. His calm approach of focusing intently on each step, rather than becoming overwhelmed, carried him through his crisis, leading him all the way to a friend’s doorstep in Berlin. His tale reminded me of a song I hadn’t heardto in a few years, a song defined by the same “take-it-easy” attitude, the simple and extremely amusing “Three Chords” by Assorted Jelly Beans.

            A two-minute ditty, “3 Chords” is named as such because of its extremely simple foundation—the entire song is composed of different riffs using the same three major chords. Despite this makeshift blueprint, however, this trio seems to pull every possible sound and riff out of those three chords. Wylie Johnson switches between squealing ska and chugging punk, altering the feel of the tune without spilling an ounce of energy. Rick Boyer tears through some incredible walking bass lines, running through notes like a marathon, and all while speed-singing his goofy lyrics and pop-driven melody. Behind it all, Ricky Falomir (currently drumming for legends The Aquabats)[1] slams his sticks against every piece of his kit, driving the tempo to near-dangerous speeds. For a song based on almost nothing, Assorted Jelly Beans lays out enough for a sonic feast.

            Because of my obvious affinity for the bass guitar, it is Rick Bowyer’s contributions in this song with which I truly connect. While the overall mix of the tune is shoddy (especially for Johnson’s guitar), it naturally favors the frontman in both vocals and instrumentation, and Bowyer’s bass skills are monster enough that he easily earns the spot. His fingers cruise with ease over complicated and rhythmic walking lines, barreling up and down the neck like a skater on a boardwalk. His pieces are as melodic as his voice, giving the song and the bass the flavor of a lead instrument, a title it rarely receives and hardly ever survives. Similarly, Bowyer’s vocals are delivered with utter enthusiasm, energy, and fun, proving him as a ridiculously enjoyable lead singer.

            While Bowyer’s voice is tinged with comic absurdity, the lyrical roots of his vocal roots extend far beyond the superficial. Like the composition, the lyrics are straightforward in their approach, as Rick breaks down his process for dealing with stress, opening with the assertion that “the only real thing I’ve learned along the way / is that nothing is for sure so I take it day by day.”[2]  Though he accelerates through his lyrics like a rapper, the message inherent in the words is loud and clear, as Bowyer reminds his audience not to take life too seriously, and that his best remedy for dealing with daily train wrecks is to “weigh it out and figure out just where I’m going.”[3]  The lyrics ply that a simple, cognitive approach is the best way of dealing with life, an idea perfect for a song built on three chords.

            In the chorus, Bowyer reminds us that “we all get slapped up in the face / but still we get back up and play.”[4] A simple message presented in a chaotic way, “3 Chords” assures me that the simple paths of life are both rewarding and engaging. Its catchy melodies and roadrunner beat take the seriousness out of making music, pushing the fun to the forefront and letting the meaning come after. The boisterous excitement bleeding out of this tune rings in my ears, leaving no doubt in my mind a step-by-step approach is often the best one, and affirms that the casual beauty of life is to be had in every moment and in every song, even if that song’s core is nothing more than three well-worn power chords.

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[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Falomir

[2] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/assortedjellybeans/3chords.html

[3] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/assortedjellybeans/3chords.html

[4] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/assortedjellybeans/3chords.html

The Mars Volta - De-Loused in the Comatorium

            As a lover of music, I am constantly recommended new material by my friends and peers. I do my best to experience these suggestions, but it sometimes takes me years to finally give it a listen, even if the particular act I’m being recommended is universally acclaimed by those whose opinions I hold dear. For years, I had heard the name The Mars Volta spoken with reverence and awe, but I had never allowed myself to delve into their catalogue, until a few good friends urged me to pick up their first record, De-Loused in the Comatorium. And when this record finally did make its way into my hands, I found myself immersed in a completely novel, completely indescribable world of music that I have since come to revere.

            My fresh fascination with De-Loused, and thus The Mars Volta, rises from the fact that I have truthfully never heard anything like this before. The myriad of sonic pulses on this record make it transcend the very idea of genre. Omar Rodriguez-Lopez’s guitar work ranges from high-voltage punk thrashing to deft solos reminiscent of Led Zeppelin to salsa-injected finger-picking, and being the main composer on the record, the rest of the band is truly tailored to fit into his intense compositions. Ikey Owens’ keys dominates any treble space left untouched by Rodriguez-Lopez, while Flea absolutely tears apart his fretboard on the bass, laying runs and rhythms that perfectly meld with the monster drumming of Jon Theodore. Rounding out this chaos of intense musicianship is the sonic stylings of Jeremy Ward, whose sound manipulation and effects loops allow for the vibrations of the band’s music to form tangible environments that are downright disturbing. Together, this group conjures a powerful tapestry of sound on a scale to which few have aspired, which Tiny Mix Tapes calls “an earful of flavourful, imaginative and cognitive music.”[1]

            Where the instrumentation sparks a dark universe within ­De-Loused in the Comatorium, Cedric Bixler-Zavala populates it with his emotional and erratic vocals. Cedric approaches his voice as an instrument, with melodies that climb and dip and double-back like the mind of a maniac. He often layers his vocals with heavy effects, or spits small lines that Ward shapes into frightening moments to be incorporated into his sonic nightmare segments.

            Cedric’s lyrical method is just as unique. He apparently houses a very poetic mind, for his word choices are almost exclusively intense and vibrant. His incendiary vocal only enhances their effect, as he wails through lines that raise the hairs on my arm every time, such as with “Spector will lurk / Radar has gathered / Midnight nooses from boxcar cadavers.”[2] He relies heavily on metaphor, which is made only more interesting by the fact that his lyrics unite the tunes of De-Loused into a theme record, reflecting a short story written by Bixler-Zavala of the same name (which you can check out here), loosely based on the life and death of artist Julio Venegas.[3] His style of writing reflects a stream-of-consciousness approach, which, while keeping the original intent of the writing hidden, allows the listener to thoroughly insert his own meaning into each line, and to draw his own emotional connection from the story. Also, by taking the focus away from the specific meanings of the words, Cedric zooms in on the sound of his lyrics, furthering his instrumental contribution to the record. Though some of his phrases can come off exceptionally weak (for example, “transient jet lag ecto mimed bison”)[4] no one can argue that Cedric’s interpretation of his role as vocalist is both progressive and interesting.

            The approach to both composition and performance that this band takes is a complete synthesis of energy and cognition, two very dangerous ingredients to play with in music. Much of the songwriting is built on the idea of tension and release, where the music creates an uncomfortable space before resolving into something considerably more pleasing. While countless acts have used tension before, none have taken it to the level that The Mars Volta does on De-Loused, where the sought-after resolving moment is often denied to the listener for most of the tune. This tension is embedded in the compositions, as the band stutters between tempos, rhythms, and time signatures, refusing to the let the listener find their bearings often until the final moments of the song. For instance, the opening riff of “Inertiatic ESP” is repeated almost randomly throughout, denying the listener a foothold by removing the idea of a downbeat, and making Cedric Bixler-Zavala’s declaration of “I’m lost” all the more poignant.[5] Similarly, in tunes like “Cicatriz ESP” and “Drunkship of Lanterns,” the tunes are built to collapse into the maelstroms of Jeremy Ward, which lull the listener into dark corners of noise before exploding back into the song proper. All of this madness works to reflect the true insanity embodied by the story, for a man’s trip through his own mind must indeed be a dark one. While many might just view such antics as obliviously poor musicianship, after spending a month with this record on repeat, it becomes obvious that these are choices, not accidents. Quite frankly, this band knows what it is doing to you; every note has been sculpted to illicit not only emotions, but impressions of the primal urges of fear and confusion.

            Although some would argue otherwise, one listen makes it apparent that some heavy responsibility falls on Jeremy Ward’s contributions. Omar’s compositions are blatantly technical and emotive, but it is through Ward’s soundscaping that the tunes reach their full height, connecting with the vast continent of images into which Cedric’s short story unfolds. With a tumbling drum sample and buzzing guitar bends, Ward creates an audio photo of the main character’s tumble off of an overpass in “Take the Veil Cerpin Taxt,” while his mixing of dub beats and guitar feedback evolve into empty lullabies into which the listener can sink, before being surprised by the riotous beginning of the next tune. His parts may seem superfluous upon first glance, yet without his influence on the space of the tune, I doubt the story of Cerpin Taxt could be so well translated into music as it is on this record.

            As a collection of music, De-Loused in the Comatorium has a pretty sound hull; however, it has been the subject of much critical scrutiny since its release, and not without reason. Many find that the focus on tension and soundscaping leaves the record as an interesting but ultimately flawed endeavor—Brent DiCrescenzo of Pitchfork remarks that “The Mars Volta mistake sonic piling for complex architecture,” and claims the technical approach “just isn’t fun,”[6] while John Hanson of Sputnik Music condemns Cedric’s lyrics as “utter tripe.”[7] Truthfully, while I do enjoy this band’s innovative audacity, it does sometimes get in the way of the music. Many songs feature a lot of repetition and jam without evolution, curbing my appetite for more rather than whetting it. And while I adore the idea of lyrics operating as sounds as well as words, I find the occasional moments when they devolve into incoherent drivel deprives the song of depth, since it is apparent Cedric can create gorgeous phrases when he applies even a hint of effort.

            Despite this, De-Loused is a largely solid and emphatic record, and a damn good listen, because it is complicated and convoluted, and because, as Cedric puts it, “demands your attention. It demands at least an hour out of your life, and with complete silence and with complete devotion.”[8] This record makes it apparent that what is most important to this act is creative freedom, the ability to try new things without fear of rejection or failure. According to the AllMusic biography, TMV exhibits a “willingness to eschew conventional logic and push themselves into new artistic directions instead of opting for the more marketable sounds,”[9] an impressive move for a fledgling act, and one that sets them apart. With De-Loused­, The Mars Volta adventures to unexplored territories of music, and wrong turns ought to be expected along the journey, because they are just as pivotal as the right ones.

            Regardless of the small hiccups almost guaranteed by pioneering music, with De­-Loused, The Mars Volta usurps the artistic throne and proves they have a right to rule. Their musical prowess is ostensibly vast, and when these musicians do click, they create something amazing. One such tune is “Eriatarka,” an excellent example of all elements coming together in a perfect unison of emotion, energy, and importance. Featuring a high energy chorus juxtaposed against gentle verses laden with lilting melodies, this tune encapsulates the entire dark side of the human mind. Omar utilizes time signature changes between sections to create his tension, taking a step back from tritones and musical arrhythmia in favor of a more tender touch of madness. Cedric’s vocal is simultaneously a caress and a stab, and his lyrics wield poetry without becoming reckless, reflecting the energy the bands exudes in each section. “Eriatarka,” though only a sample of the madness this band is capable of, is a tune that rocks to its very core, and is easily my favorite from this record.

            With ­De-Loused in the Comatorium, The Mars Volta found a way to translate into sound the senses of the body and the impulses of the psyche. Though their tunes might not be readily accessible to the average listener, there is no doubt that this band has accomplished an incredible feat, and with their first full-length no less. As Cedric puts it, the goal of The Mars Volta is to “jab the common man’s ears,” because “if we don’t, we’ll never get to a place where future music exists.”[10] Thus, De-Loused pushes the listener to transcend the very thought of how music can and should be done, to explore the vast universe of sound that until now has only been cursorily observed. Consider this record then as a satellite launched into orbit with a purpose of urging us to hammer the boundaries, to find out what humans are truly capable of when they band together in heart and mind.

Tunes to Check Out:
1) Eriatarka
2) Take the Veil Cerpin Taxt
3) Drunkship of Lanterns

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[1] http://www.tinymixtapes.com/music-review/mars-volta-de-loused-comatorium

[2] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/marsvolta/roulettedaresthehauntof.html

[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De-Loused_in_the_Comatorium

[4] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/marsvolta/roulettedaresthehauntof.html

[5] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/marsvolta/inertiaticesp.html

[6] http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/5117-de-loused-in-the-comatorium/

[7] http://www.sputnikmusic.com/review/6839/The-Mars-Volta-De-Loused-in-the-Comatorium/

[8] http://www.theaquarian.com/2008/01/30/the-mars-volta-happy-pastors/

[9] http://www.allmusic.com/artist/the-mars-volta-mn0000045560/biography

[10] http://www.theaquarian.com/2008/01/30/the-mars-volta-happy-pastors/