Saturday, December 14, 2013

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

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Norma Jean - Wrongdoers


Note: Dear friends, at this time I am unable to latch videos of the songs I refer to below. Until such a time that I am able to place those tunes in this article, please accept the below live clip and the official video for "If You Got It at Five, You Got It at Fifty" as an apology and a teaser. And pick up this record. It's filthy. 

            I would argue that I’m a patient person, and rarely the type to let anticipation dominate my mindset. However, when I heard at the beginning of the year that Norma Jean was working on a new album, I had no idea how to contain myself during the interminable wait. After devouring their previous catalogue over the past two years, Norma Jean quickly rocketed into my list of favorite bands, and the thought of new music to meet my fix was one that never left my head. And since it’s arrival at my doorstep three months ago, Wrongdoers has remained in heavy rotation, for the boys of Norma Jean are never ones to disappoint. 
            If there is one sound Norma Jean sought to capture with this release, it is the ear-pounding beat of adrenaline. Jeff Hickey and Chris Day match licks and chugs on guitar, through which the thumping bass work of John Finnegan demands to be heard. Clayton “Goose” Holyoak absolutely slaughters on his drums, ranging his approach from speed-metal thrashing to laying down beats worthy of a hip-hop record. His eclectic but rock-solid drumming feeds the focus of the instrumentation on creating serious, swaying grooves, something relatively unheard of from this act. But despite featuring three completely new members in the lineup, Wrongdoers lacks not at all for Norma Jean’s signature smashing heaviness, and Goose would argue this is perhaps the band’s most “pissed off” record to date[1]. The brutality and chaos that defines this band’s sound is a heavy presence, with every tune featuring disgustingly low tunings and no small amount of screeching feedback. The insanity and truth inherent in the mess of this group’s music shines throughout—indeed, the middle of “Neck in the Hemp” features a complete collapse of the song before an explosive return, which drives me wild every time. The sonic onslaught recorded on this record pure and honest in every way, and as always, super goddamn heavy.
            With Wrongdoers, it is wholly apparent that Norma Jean has spent some real time cultivating a sound so dynamic, it simultaneously encapsulates the sonic journeys of previous albums while maintaining an extremely distinct flavor of its own. After completing recording, Cory Brandan remarked on the new record that “we really pushed ourselves to do something really different while expanding on what we’ve done in the past.”[2] And while I always hate to place an album against its predecessors, with this one, the band deftly recalls old musical themes—or as Brandan calls it, “old school classic Norma Jean nastiness”[3]—and takes them farther than they had previously gone. For instance, “Hive Minds,” the record’s opener, features a long instrumental space reminiscent of Bless the Martyr & Kiss the Child, while “If You Got It at Five, You Got It at Fifty,” sounds like a b-side from the Redeemer days. Despite this, Wrongdoers maintains itself as the continued evolution of the band’s pounding voice. It is as soaked in the melodic melodies of later releases as it is driven by atonal, grindcore guitar that hasn’t really been heard since O’ God, the Aftermath. Brandan’s blatant juxtaposition of frank, beautiful vocals and guttural screams break ground that Norma Jean has only tasted previously, and the decision to focus the majority of the instrumentation in stomachable time signatures furthers this band’s foray into the melodic sector of hardcore, without sacrificing the fearsome voice for which they have always been known. 
            One of the most sonically interesting tunes from this record is the album’s closer, “Sun Dies, Blood Moon.” Clocking in at a little over fourteen minutes, it is an epic that effectively sums up the many themes and choices evident on Wrongdoers. Inherent in the tune are multiple references to the band’s previous work: the song is separated into two suites, a callback to O’ God, the Aftermath’s closer “Scientifiction,” and both the instrumental space and sheer length of the tune are highly reminiscent of the band’s first release. However, the definition in “Sun Dies, Blood Moon” obviously flows from the span of new sounds and approaches built into it. Opening with a clean guitar riff (practically a Norma Jean first), the heavy palm mutes and simmering vocals seem to be an apparent homage to Tool, and the small orchestra dominating the beginning of the second suite speaks to this band’s commitment to making interesting and meaningful music that is beyond themselves. Though the tune’s focus is melody from all angles, yet it lacks nothing of the grinding, heavy foundation this band has built itself upon, leaving “Sun Dies, Blood Moon” as a perfect amalgamation of everything that originally hooked me into this band and everything that keeps me craving more.

Check out this live amalgamation of "Sun Dies, Blood Moon" and "Disconnecktie" 

           Also groundbreaking for Norma Jean is Brandan’s performance, both vocally and lyrically. While the past couple of records have given him a taste of a singing voice, it is on Wrongdoers that he truly discovers how much that voice is worth. The album is an even mix between clean, sung melodies and heavy screams, and Brandan functions quite well in both realms, giving each style its due over the progression of their tunes.  “Sword in Mouth, Fire Eyes” is dominated by Brandan’s powerful and evocative melody, before transitioning into the brutal thrash-punk yells of “The Lash Whistled like a Singing Wind.” Accompanying the dynamo vocals are lyrics that, while not Brandan’s best, are consistently interesting and stuffed with raw emotion. Many of his phrases are straightforward, yet in some songs his word choices explode with originality, such as with the phrase “Unhand the knife drawer” in “Wrongdoers,”[4] while in others, he takes a cliché image completely reworks it, as in “Sword in Mouth, Fire Eyes:” “We calmly weigh our thoughts before we know them / Careful not to break our only scale.”[5] Many of these lines seem to focus angst and anger against the music industry, but Brandan’s images and allusions make this bloody pulp of a topic seem like a fresh corpse ready for beating—his comparison of a record company to giant man-eating plants through the title “Triffids” is brilliant in its brutal honesty.
            Although the lyrical content of Wrongdoers may be the weakest part of a strong record, Brandan and the rest of the band hit a grand slam in one particular tune. “Hive Minds,” the apocalyptic opener to the record, features music and verse that flow like pure poetry, painting an image of a world slowly being dominated by creeping vines. The tunes lyrics are the most solid on the record, as Brandan implores his listener to see the destruction slowly swallowing the world around him. His desperate vocals seem to writhe with energy, which is easily captured in his original approach to his lyrics. As in other tunes, he re-imagines a cliché into something light years better with his line: “Gravity may not be a law / but all things will find ground.” Furthermore, many of Brandan’s phrases, such as “change hungry hands” and “a sunset care ride with a bottle of meds” create such powerful images that they seem more worthy of a poem than a song, but his deathly screams assert that they belong to this saga alone. Mix that with a drawling instrumental bridge and a thunderous performance from all ends (especially Goose’s landmine drumming), and you have a monumental opener in “Hive Minds,” a sure sign that the end is indeed here, even if no one saw it coming.

"If You Got It at Five, You Got It at Fifty"


            With Wrongdoers, Norma Jean took a ton of risks. Between new sounds and an upheaval in the line-up, this record could be seen as hardly worth the title of a true release from this band. But spin this record one time and any doubt that what your hearing is Norma Jean will be erased. With this record, the band begins a move into a new era of music, one that Brandan calls “easily the most energetic.”[6] Wrongdoers is as brutal and honest as it gets from this group—it’s smart, it’s scary, it’s heavy, and it rocks. Embedded on this record is the simple truth of what a hard-working and fun-loving band is capable of, and if you haven’t picked it up yet, you are truly missing out.

Tunes to Check Out:
1) “‘The Potter Has No Hands’”
2) “Hive Minds”
3) “Triffids”

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Album Autopsy: Harvey Danger's Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone?


Disclaimer: The following piece is a super-in-depth look at one of my favorite records, and as such, it is riddled with personal opinions and praise for said record. This cannot be helped.

            The indomitable “mix tape” has always been a mainstay in introducing music to another person, by collecting a saga of songs that truly mean something to the creator. While the “tape” has since become defunct, the ideas embodied by its magnetic ribbon live on over multiple format changes. In the late 90’s, one of my best friends received a mix CD from a relative, which introduced us to many punk and alternative acts, including our mutual obsession, Goldfinger. Another act that we soon found ourselves drooling over was Harvey Danger, whose then-popular single, “Flagpole Sitta” was burned into our minds and hearts as we spun that disc. After learning the lyrics by heart, I happened upon the parent album, Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone?, in a local library, a discovery that has literally changed my life since.
            As “Flagpole Sitta” made apparent to everyone in ’97-‘98, Harvey Danger have an extraordinary and unique sound. Their very approach to their music feels completely original, as they squish alternative and punk conventions  together with pop sensibilities and poetry, presenting something that is tastefully artistic and simply rocking. Aaron Huffman’s eclectic, distorted, and treble-heavy bass work has made him a hero of mine, and I can confidently say that I have yet to find another band that splits lead responsibilities equally and perfectly between guitar and bass. Though Huffman takes the spotlight for me, guitarist Jeff Lin and self-taught drummer Evan Sult are equally inventive and creative players who easily hold their own against the fuzzy onslaught of bass leaking from this record. Capping this mighty trio is vocalist Sean Nelson, whose sarcastic but soulful vocals complete the package that is Harvey Danger. Nelson’s nonpareil lyrics flirt with the very line between poetry and prose, and are littered with irony and wordplay, making his stories and metaphors into music you can read as much as listen to.
            The sound that this quartet has assembled is a scrawling signature that none have yet to be able to forge, and Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone? is the launchpad from which it took off. The exclusive tone of their performance is what ties each of the ten tracks on this record together. Each tune features a voicing that is both intricate and unique, complete with a feel that makes it obvious these tunes belong nowhere else than on this record. Furthermore, every tune is laden with the honesty, truth, and youth of these musicians, assuring anyone listening that these four absolutely mean every hit, every note, every word. The intention behind this record is pure, real, and present from start to finish, so much so that to write an overview of the article would deny this record the justice it merits and demands, and similarly deny me the chance to gush about one of my all-time favorite albums.


1.      Carlotta Valdez


            Switching between subdued verses and a pumped up chorus, this song is the perfect introduction to the youthful enthusiasm flowing out of this record. Sean’s vocal performance on this tune is perhaps one of his best, giving us a great example of how dynamic his voice can be: he starts the tune with a gentle melody that gradually devolves into raging shouts in the bridge and final choruses. His lyrics pay homage to the Hitchcock film Vertigo[1], about a cop who gradually plummets into madness, and the band’s instrumentation choices, beginning in beauty and ending in thrashing punk insanity, perfectly mirror the movement of the film. With an exclaimed “yes!” dropped at the very end of the track, “Carlotta Valdez” is obviously a tune that gets this band excited, and with every listen I find it impossible not to share in that sentiment.

2.      Flagpole Sitta


            Besides being my personal introduction to this band as well as Harvey Danger’s most (or only) recognizable tune, “Flagpole Sitta” is a sarcastic testimony to teenaged angst, layered over a catchy swing groove. Released as a single in 1998, it has since been peppered throughout film and TV[2], as well as covered by notable acts like Chiodos.[3]  Obviously, Nelson’s innuendo- and anger-laden vocal is the star of the tune, an anthem for the counterculture of the late nineties. Nelson’s lyrics are hyperbolic and introspective, and the line “If you’re bored then you’re boring” has since become an American idiom. While the instrumentation is relatively simple, it is also solid, creating a perfect backdrop for the spiraling vocal. Aaron’s melodic bassline in the intro remains to this day as one of my favorites, and the thumping outro riff behind Nelson’s “1, 2, 3, 4!” holds this song’s impeccable energy to the last millisecond. Though Harvey Danger has never found its way into the public’s eye, this tune solidifies their vibrant sound as a staple of the 90’s, reverberating into the new millennium as in inspiration to countless artists.

3.      Woolly Muffler


            This tune is another great example of the dynamic abilities of this band, both in composition and presentation. It’s almost surprising that a band so sure of their sound could produce a tune that embodies the feelings of reluctance and indecision. Nelson’s vocals seem teetering on that indecisive edge, and his lyrics, though often accusatory, seem to be sung themselves through a muffler, never straying past a vague sense of non-commitment, as the speaker recognizes a stage-five-clinger but does nothing to prevent the inevitable “hands…growing together.” Furthermore, his comparison of his romantic involvement to that of a piece of seasonal clothing is particularly brilliant and hysterical.
              In contrast to the hesitant vocals, the instrumentation feels like a building tantrum. The song begins with a quiet and unique chord progression from Lin, but soon the entire tune explodes outward in a fit of anger, releasing all the pent up rage that Nelson’s words won’t express. The tune is full of syncopated hits that you can truly feel through your stereo. Also notable is Aaron’s bass riffing on this tune: he’s got a very interesting harmony part for Lin’s intro chords, and he rips through a small bass solo in the middle of the tune. Although not as catchy as its brothers, “Woolly Muffler” easily keeps up the pace of the album and makes a great point that the best way to an indifferent sound is in making deliberate choices.

4.      Private Helicopter


            Few musical performances seem more sincere and playful than those recorded on “Private Helicopter.” Though musically simpler than the rest of Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone?, the musicianship laid down in this tune speaks only of absolute fun. Evan Sult’s improvisational drumming controls the energy of the song, and his constant alternation between hi-hat and ride, mixed with jazz-driven snare comps, keep that energy driving to the very end.
            Ingrained in “Private Helicopter” is also one of my favorite lyrical moments. Towards the end of the song, Nelson begins playing with the sound of his language, taking his poetry and making it absolutely playful. His lyric utilizes repetition of sounds, as he riffs on the sound of the word “hold,” to great effect: “I reserve the right to hold my judgments / friends like you, you know the rest / but all told I hold onto my anger for too long / until it’s a joke, the night is cold / the joke is old and poorly told / I told you once…”[4] The enthusiastic and elated nature of this performance is one of the many things making this song simply brilliant and immensely fun. 

5.      Problems and Bigger Ones


            Featuring perhaps the most solemn intro ever written, “Problems and Bigger Ones” takes the energy down in favor of a more emotional approach. The band plays with a “tension-release” format, led by Lin’s guitar as he alternates between gentle arpeggiating and screaming distortion. The entire performance is laden with emotive expression in all sections, reflecting the somber tone set by the vocals and lyrics. And while I’ve been listening to this tune for years, a recent spin revealed to me an interesting nuance hidden within the mix: right before the band explodes into the first chorus, Evan Sult puts his kick-drum rhythm in 3/4, while his hands remain in 4/4. Always a sucker for interesting time-signatures, this only adds to my mountain of appreciation for this band and its music.

6.      Jack the Lion


            Full of distorted bass and guitar, “Jack the Lion” has the feel of a rock ‘n’ roll tank treading down the interstate. For the volume it carries, this tune adopts a relatively slowed tempo, and is driven largely by Huffman’s straightforward thumping bass line. Lin all but sits out during the verses, almost letting the listener forget he is there until his thrashing chords burst into the chorus. Against the driving guitars is Nelson’s introspective vocal part, which avoids energy in favor of a subdued and thoughtful flavor. However, he does not leave the listener wanting, for as the bridge rolls around he begins to scat-sing, letting his melody evolve over the relaxed feel the instruments are laying down. Coupling that with uncomfortable claps in the intro and a mid-song break that invites swaying back and forth, “Jack the Lion” becomes the awkward anti-anthem of the record, packing power without shoving it anyone’s face.

7.      Old Hat


            Definitely my favorite from this record, no song showcases Aaron Huffman’s intricate and unique bass style better than “Old Hat.” Huffman completely dominates this tune, alternating between overdrive and clean and exploring his bass’ entire neck. He effortlessly moves from simple strumming to treble-heavy chords, pushing the tune along without overshadowing any other instrument. His signature approach to his instrument is one of the main reasons I’ve fallen so helplessly in love with this song, record, and band, and his indelible performance on “Old Hat” has been one of my main inspirations in my approach to the bass. Indeed, since the first time I heard it, this song has become so ingrained in my being that it became my very first live-performance on stage at the age of fourteen, and I've remained in awe of it since.
            Although the bass in this song remains forefront in my mind, it is hardly the only thing that makes “Old Hat” so damn great. Nelson’s lyrics are so calmly obsessive, painting a vivid and tangible image of a person’s very first crush and the pedestal we place our object on. However, the subject of the song is ambiguously referenced, making a woman fit as seamlessly as a landscape might. His alternation of human and environmental language is mirrored by the instruments in the bridge, as Lin and Huffman trade off solos in a call-and-response manner. If there’s any tune where Harvey Danger gives everything it’s got, a pretty strong argument can be made for “Old Hat.”

8.      Terminal Annex


            While Harvey Danger generally gravitates towards an alternative rock sound, occasionally they dip their fingers into the muddy waters of cutthroat punk, often with interesting results. The band begins this song with a misleading gentle hum, yet as the song picks up, so does the energy level. By the bridge, Huffman rips through a scratchy solo while Lin and Sult smash away at their instruments. Nelson starts each vocal part gently, but by the end his voice is tearing with emotion and raw enthusiasm. 
            The instrumentation of “Terminal Annex” captures the youth energy of a young band, but in sharp contrast, Nelson’s lyrics for this seem like they stemmed from the pen of a seasoned poet. His vicious attack on his subject of the song determines his every move here, and his writing works to reflect an unbelievable amount of animosity. He chooses words rather carefully, using lots of harsh or guttural sounds to contrast the sweet aesthetic of the music. His chorus drives a particular and deep image straight into the listener’s brain, that of “a zero drowning in a sea of higher numbers.” Nelson’s anger even culminates in a rare vulgarity as he asserts “you complain about an overflowing cup / Don’t forget that I’m the one who filled that fucker up.”[5] The choice to stray a bit from metaphors in favor of a direct attack only adds to this tune’s punk flavor and excitement, making “Terminal Annex” one tune to which you can’t sit still.

9.      Wrecking Ball


            Perhaps the slowest tune on the record, “Wrecking Ball” brings something wholly unique to Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone? in the form of a ballad. Although being mostly driven by Aaron’s bass chords, what really fills this tune is negative space, something that Harvey Danger cultivates and puts to great use. Evan Sult taps his drums seemingly without any effort, creating perhaps the quietest drumbeat in history. Lin’s guitar work is quite sparse, making room for a well-deployed violin to fill the treble void. Nelson whispers the majority of his lyrics, which revolve around the central themes of disconnection and destruction. While Harvey Danger leaves the rock at the door on this one, they take the space vacated by volume and energy and utilize it extremely well, allowing “Wrecking Ball” to stand as a testament to their compositional expertise.

10.  Radio Silence


            Few tunes are ever written around a musical dynamic, but one listen to “Radio Silence” makes it apparent that this tune is all about crescendo. Beginning with gentle guitar strumming, the tune spends its entire five-minute length building in volume, and although the song eschews high-speed thrashing, its eventual explosion into the climactic outro is as heavy as it is beautiful. Nelson overlays this song with more delicate poetry, and in sharp contrast to the previous track, the band leaves no musical space unexplored, as Huffman spreads another small bass solo while Lin drives atmospheric keyboards through the tune. Filled with unbridled power and abandoning all restraint, “Radio Silence” is the perfect closer to this record, making it impossible for the listener to avoid spinning Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone? again as the final notes ring into silence.


            Although there are certainly moments of mirth, truthfully, the music that Harvey Danger presents on Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone? is relatively simple as far as the whole package—a rockin’ sound and some clever writing, delivered tastefully and without flourish. Virtually every song is in 4/4 time, and only two truly stray away from a major key. However, no one could argue that this record is anything less than 100% pure Harvey Danger, because their particular flavor, their mistakes and triumphs, and their utter love for their craft is undoubtedly at the center of every song. In an interview with GlobeCat, Sean Nelson proudly claims that when he looks back on the music Harvey Danger has made, “I’m proud to know that we always meant it,”[6] and in listening to any tune off of this album, it is clear that this band is fully behind the music it’s making. They “mean” it, and it shows, and any doubt that they’ve since strayed from that truth would be seriously misplaced.
            Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone? is an incredible record of four guys putting absolutely every ounce of their being into ten songs, making this collection more powerful, more interesting, and more damn fun than thousands of its competitors. It is a record that to this day I cannot stop playing (so much so that I recently bought a second copy because I wore through my first one), and it continuously inspires me as a bassist, a songwriter, and a person. It lets me know that my own endeavors, no matter how far their ultimate reach, are entirely worth it if I am true to myself. Furthermore, Harvey Danger remind me that no matter what, the most important thing is that I enjoy what I am creating, because, as they so frankly put it on their website, “everything else is secondary.”[7]

Monday, September 30, 2013

Action Toolbelt - Self-titled


            When I was a kid, I would save every coin and bill that came my way, whether through luck or hard work, to purchase a record. Often I would forego spending for weeks just to buy an album that would turn out as an absolute waste of my money. However, the risk of new music and its potential reward always appealed to me, and when I came upon an offer in my local Hot Topic—$2 for five sampler CD’s—I simply couldn’t say no. $2 was hardly a risk, and the potential payout was too much for me to resist. Although only possibly twenty of the ninety songs I collected that day were worthwhile, one in particular became embedded in my eardrums until I had purchased its parent record, thus birthing my love/hate relationship with Action Toolbelt’s eponymous debut.
            As this band’s first foray into the world of music, I’m willing to give a lot to Action Toolbelt. The energy and enthusiasm in the band’s playing is forefront and consistent, with this trio pounding its way through ten anthems of teenage love and angst. The vocals explode off the record, and each song is loaded with at least one melodic hook that, according to the AllMusic review, gives this record “a subtle charm.”[1] Most of the composition is straightforward power-chord punk with lots of thrashing on all instruments, and for the style of music, it certainly works. However, Action Toolbelt does stray a bit outside the lines of convention: both “At My Expense” and “The Radio Moves Way Too Slow” employ electronic drum beats and keyboards, not heard elsewhere on the record, and also forego repetition by closing both songs with unique outros. These factors make the music of Action Toolbelt endearing, but, unfortunately for them, also draw attention to the weaknesses of the record.
            While this band is attempting interesting things, repeated listening makes it clear that the necessary follow-through isn’t quite there. The keys and electronic drums might be interesting, but they have no business wrapping up a record that hardly features them—95% of Action Toolbelt features solid rhythms and a punk approach, and to close an album with singing organs and an awkward synth-beat lets down the energy the band spent the entire time building. Yet, even the punk sound to which the band lays claim is overall an undeveloped and unexplored one. The energy is high, but it feels as if Action Toolbelt only scratches the surface of their compositions. Don’t get me wrong, I truly love their pop-punk melodies and attitudes, but I find myself wishing this band had taken the time to really flesh out their good ideas. Even the mix seems haphazard, as the guitar leads and melodies are completely covered by everything else, especially the rhythm guitar.
            Although the musical approach is a bit skewed on this record, on a few tunes Action Toolbelt completely gets it right, and no more so than on the song “Alphabetically.” With a dynamic melody, crashing drums, and a worthwhile mix, Action Toolbelt proves that it can pull together to create something more than just acceptable. The song features multiple time signatures, beginning in 5/4 before twisting into a prechorus of 11/4, but all the while pushing a heady and catchy melody that never lets go. The guitar parts in the chorus perfectly balance chaotic distortions and trebly-counterpoints, while the raspy truth in Owen Bigg’s vocals seems to burst forth from his lyrics. The dynamic nature of the song, ranging from almost-whispers to screeching feedback, creates and releases tension in such a way that few since Nirvana have been able to truly accomplish. A distinctly fun song, “Alphabetically” mixes musical chops and catchy charm that set it apart as one of the tightest jams on Action Toolbelt while providing a damn good example of what this band’s pop-sensibility is capable of producing.
            Although unpolished, this record can be said to have some pretty cool things going on musically. Unfortunately, the lyrical writing on this record is not nearly as endearing or catchy as the music is, and the incriminating statement “All songs and lyrics written by Owen Biggs,” plastered at the top of the liner notes, leaves the blame to fall on only one person. While some ideas and images Biggs creates are a little remarkable, the majority of his verse is flat and uninteresting, and a few are almost insulting; take the line in “Sick and Tired” that begins the bridge: “I swear I’ll make sure things won’t ever change/And I know things will never be the same.” He also clings to cliché phrases such as “see this through” and “nothing left to find.” However, it’s not entirely hopeless drivel; Biggs occasionally creates a tight image and follows through with it in the subsequent lines, really solidifying it in the listener’s head. In other instances he provides us with killer phrases that assert originality, like “dead end kiss” and “backing up to change the view.” Furthermore, though the lyrics may hold very little meaning, Biggs’ passionate and proud vocals take the simple lines and make them into anthems, really giving his songs the oomph that they lack on the lyrics sheet.
            No song on this record packs nearly as much of that oomph as the title track, “Action Toolbelt.” Although naming a record after a song that’s named after the band is both silly and audacious, it seems that Action Toolbelt did this for a reason, for there is no better example of how this record or this band sounds than the one named after both of them. Right off the bat, the band rockets into an interesting and catchy chord progression that’s as major-key as every pop song ever to touch the radio. The very first line, “A crowded schoolyard in a deliberate town,” is perhaps the most inventive of the record, and with Bigg’s laid-back melody and John Orestano’s pounding drums, this song demands participation from the listener. Both the lyrics and the music are youthful and vibrant, inviting the image of a swirling crowd of high-schoolers standing before the stage. “Action Toolbelt,” my own introduction to this band, is a tune that simply kicks ass all the way through, while pulling me back to my own high school days and the hijinks that filled them.
            Though for the most part this record is weak for words, the song “Action Toolbelt” brings up an important an interestingly portrayed lyrical theme evident throughout this album: growing up. Many songs reference the movement of time and how quickly change can happen, such as “I Quit” with the line: “Been working here a year and nothing’s changed,” which is soon remanded in the next verse with the introduction of a girl: “She’s been working here three months now and I can’t seem to leave.” Other songs like “Away Home” pick up the image of the changing year: “Now it’s the last call of the night/On the last night of the year/What am I doing here?” Lyrics like this make it apparent that this band is on its journey out of youth and into a new world of adulthood, and it appears their feelings are a mix of excitement, dread, and complete confusion. With songs like “Action Toolbelt,” the speaker reflects on the experience of youth and its many ups-and-downs, remembering without remorse that his past is what has created his future. Such an idea, while a little cliché, is one every listener can relate to, as they too change and grow and leave youth behind for the responsibilities of adulthood.
            Though  Action Toolbelt  might have its shortcomings, its undeniable energy and coursing catchiness make it an an album worth picking up. Even the slow songs are loaded with pep, and the plethora of catchy hooks make it a fun listen, even if each tune doesn't go as deep as you know it can. If you’re looking for music that makes you think, consider passing this one by, but if your search is for music that makes you feel, Action Toolbelt’s debut record is great fun and certainly merits your attention.


Tunes to Check Out:
1) Action Toolbelt
2) Alphabetically
3) By the Way

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Song Spotlight: James Brown's "Funky Drummer"


            At the beginning of the summer, I had the opportunity to see Bruno Mars live during his “Moonshine Jungle” tour. The roadies began assembling the massive stage set behind an equally massive curtain, I began grooving to the tunes booming from the house speakers, including some Black Keys, the English Beat, and to my extreme delight, “Superman” by Goldfinger. But the last tune the sound crew chose, which faded right into Bruno Mars’ monstrous opener, was one I’d never heard before but have since become addicted to: James Brown’s soulful vamp, “Funky Drummer.”
            Born from an improvised jam,[1] “Funky Drummer” is over nine minutes of pure groove. The band holds down a funky and freeform riff behind alternating organ and saxophone solos, punctuated by James’ signature jive interjections. Though the piece is largely amorphous, James steers the band through occasional changes and dynamics, captaining his cruising ship of soul.
            What really appeals to me in this tune is how truly organic it feels; you can actually listen to this tune grow. The entire band takes a simple idea and explores all of its possibilities, leaving all direction in the capable hands of James and allowing the groove to go where it needs to go and become what it is meant to be. James improvises 100% of his part, switching from organ to vocal and back on a whim. Beneath that, his horn and rhythm sections simply dominate the backdrop into which they’ve settled, with each musician occasionally peeking through with an improv’d feel or line. In fact, although James and his zen-like ad-libs are forefront in the song, it is the contribution of the rhythm section—or rather, one specific rhythm instrument—that truly makes the tune.


            Behind the drum kit and everything else sits Clyde Stubblefield, who for the entire tune holds down a simple but immaculate beat, occasionally adding flair and flam without ever losing control of the rhythm. The incessant hi-hat play he offers might turn the arms of another drummer to putty, but Stubblefield works his sticks without difficulty. His drumming is funky enough to catch James’ attention halfway through, who decides to “give the drummer some of this funky soul,” offering him a four-bar-break to “let [him] go.”[2] When the break comes, the beat that Stubblefield puts down is one that has since come to define the idea of groove, so impressive in its solidity and feel that James Brown soon declares “the name of this tune is ‘the Funky Drummer.’” Truly, despite all the fantastic improvisation and instrumentation present in this jam, the defining moment of this tune comes in Stubblefield’s break, where he asserts his ownership of this tune.
            “Don’t turn it loose,” James Brown calls to Stubblefield before the break, “Cuz it’s a mother.”[3] The funky and soulful drum line Stubblefield offers us in this song is certainly a “mother,” having since become one of the most sampled drum breaks in all of music history.[4] With those four bars, James Brown realized that their vamp had transcended the term “jam session,” and Clyde Stubblefield solidified himself as the Funky Drummer[5]. His improvisational but sturdy style of drumming has inspired countless artists in countless genres, proving that a drummer doesn’t need to venture far from rhythm to impress. “Funky Drummer” is a tight groove and an extremely fun tune, a fantastic selection to pump the crowd up, myself included, for Bruno Mars’ live show. If ever you’re feeling you could use a little more soul in your day, this tune ought to be your first destination.