Monday, October 27, 2014

Song Spotlight: The Smashing Pumpkins' "Infinite Sadness"


           For whatever reason, the season of autumn is synonymous in my head with the music of the Smashing Pumpkins.  As the air begins to cool and the fading foliage takes its leave, my deep-seated love for the Pumpkins’ music once again blooms, and one by one, their albums begin to cycle through my car’s CD player. However, none lingers so long as their explosive double album, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. To me, the somber yet melodious sound of that record, laden with longing and dread and exaltation and everything in between, is the very voice of the season, a voice the Pumpkins have flawlessly captured with their songs. 
           This fall, while exploring the colossal pile of music the Smashing Pumpkins have offered with their new rerelease series,[1] my research led me to an alternate track listing for the vinyl pressing of Mellon Collie, which features two tracks not included on the CD version: “Tonite Reprise” and “Infinite Sadness.”[2] With obvious excitement, I tracked these two songs down, and while I found “Tonite Reprise,” an acoustic rendition of “Tonight, Tonight,” to be interesting and appropriate, I was absolutely blown away by “Infinite Sadness,” the closer of the reimagined album.
           Itself a reprise of the symphonic title track from Mellon Collie, “Infinite Sadness” is an instrumental B-side, one of many recorded during the band’s sessions for the album.[3] Opening with deceptively gentle acoustic chords, the track suddenly explodes into movement as the keys and drums enter, all but shoving the guitar to the wayside. The symphonic arrangement is reminiscent of the opening track, yet both the choice to emulate that arrangement through synthesizers and the thundering presence of Jimmy Chamberlin’s peppy drums allow “Infinite Sadness” to draw the album to a close from a unique and powerful perspective. The vigorous and airy path on which the tune expands and evolves feels triumphant, a cumulative celebration of the many life experiences, thrilling and tragic, that Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness captures in its music. 


           The sound of this recording absolutely feels like a live take (which it very well may be), and as such, each member of the Smashing Pumpkins leaves out not a drop of energy or enthusiasm from their performances; however, there is only one star of this tune: bassist D’Arcy Wretzky. From the moment the beat drops, her bass booms through the speakers, each growling tone insisting on being heard. Rather than take the backseat as most bassists are wont to do, D’Arcy wrenches notes from every inch of her fretboard, marking the end of each phrase with flourishing lines. She plays her instrument with courage and fervor, letting her fills grow longer and more intricate as the song progresses, all without ever relinquishing her rhythmic duties.
           D’Arcy manages to turn the bass guitar in “Infinite Sadness” into the center of the song, squeezing beautiful and complex melodies from her instrument that both interlock with the whole of the piece and highlight her abilities as a musician. The musical moment she creates is monumental, as it represents one of the first times since the band gained fame that D’Arcy can truly express herself through her instrument. In an interview with SongFacts, Butch Vig, producer of the Pumpkins’ first two records, confirmed the long-running rumor that Billy Corgan recorded virtually all the strings in the early days, because he was “just technically better.”[4] While that made for two very solid and groundbreaking records, it left D’Arcy’s bass skills without a voice.
           However, with the new writing and recording processes introduced during the Mellon Collie sessions,[5] D’Arcy was able to take back the bass with full force, while the more dynamic sound the band was exploring gave her an outlet for her classical training. She blends grand orchestral arrangements and hard rocking thumps in elegant unity, giving us pieces like “Infinite Sadness” that transcend the normal bassline into realms uncharted by most rock bassists.[6] D’Arcy gives voice to the understated grandeur inherent in her instrument and so scrawls her distinct and vital signature across the Pumpkins’ music for all to experience.
           Despite its dreary name, “Infinite Sadness” is hardly a lamentation; rather, it is a monument to an instrument that rarely receives recognition, and to a player who finally found an opportunity to flaunt her skills while the tapes are rolling. In this song, D’Arcy takes a sonic opportunity and squeezes every last drop from it, subtly demanding that she be heard because her contribution is as vital as anyone else’s. With such a message at the core, “Infinite Sadness” is a song both driven and inspired, and one that I highly recommend for casual listeners and hardcore fans.

Friday, October 24, 2014

Switchfoot - The Legend of Chin


            Though I have an obvious obsession with music, it is not an all-encompassing infatuation. Some music in no way appeals to my sonic palate, and as such, there is a group of bands whose mention will immediately elicit disdain from me. For some acts, I can justify my aversion, but for others, my gut reaction of scorn has no real genesis or source. For reasons I can’t explain, Switchfoot has always been on that list. However, when I (reluctantly) gave The Legend of Chin a shot, I found myself chewing on a heady mouthful of crow, because the music this band presents on their debut is both exciting and stimulating.
            After spinning The Legend of Chin for a few weeks, I find myself rather surprised that Switchfoot was able to generate such a dynamic feel on their first record. Each of the eleven songs touch on a different section of the spectrum between the genres of pop and punk: “Home” and “You” seem tailored to fit into the Top 40, while “Edge of My Seat” and “Bomb” tap into fast beats and distorted guitars that could certainly keep a crowd moving. Furthermore, the sound that these three musicians produce is just as intricate and well-defined. Jon Foreman’s guitar chords and melodies interlock gracefully with Tim Foreman’s fluid bass lines, the two brothers’ complementing each without once muddying the music, a fact that says as much about the mixing as it does the composition. Moving along with this grace is the band’s forceful performance, imbued with a passion that Jon calls the “once-in-a-lifetime urgency that breathes down the neck of my soul and makes me cry or laugh or throw something.”[1] The Legend of Chin collects all of Switchfoot’s burgeoning creativity and consciousness and uses it to fill the few and hardly-noticeable seams in these songs, forcing this record to stand out further than just a debut. 


            All three of the instrumentalists in Switchfoot find moments to show off considerable skill and creativity, but the real strength seems to stem from Jon’s unique and guitar-driven songwriting. Many of the songs show an understanding of chord progression and melody composition rarely seen outside of jazz, perhaps stemming from the fact that Jon considers himself a “major Led Zeppelin fan.”[2] For instance, the intelligent shape of the melody allows “Might Have Ben Hur” to change keys across a tritone in the chorus, while the main progression in “Chem 6A” avoids being cliché by implying a descending chromatic riff underneath itself. Little interesting moments find their way into every tune, whether it be the chromatic hits in “Life and Love and Why” or even the multifaceted structure of “Don’t Be There,” keeping the listener interested without forcing technicalities into his ears. Jon’s approach to songwriting involves just enough music theory to avoid reusing worn-out ideas, but features a delicate restraint as well, allowing those songs to rock hard and get stuck in our heads, just as they were meant to do.
            Many of Switchfoot’s musical decisions are shrewd in their application, and it is not surprising to find the same attention in the lyric writing, albeit a different type of subtlety. Anyone who has heard of Switchfoot has undoubtedly caught wind of their Christian roots and following, an idea which extends all the way to their debut. However, when taking a close look at the lyrics on The Legend of Chin, there is nothing preachy or blatantly Christian to be found.  In fact, the only direct reference to God is in “Ode to Chin,” with the line “Life’s more than girls / God’s more than words / You’re more than this;”[3] otherwise, the positive and uplifting message that saturates Jon’s verse is presented in a neutral but effective manner. Foreman tailors his phrasing so that the subjects of songs like “You” and “Bomb” can be taken either as a god or a person—the language alone is purely positive, a text which can be supplemented by the band’s beliefs without shoving them down our throats. 


            Jon’s decision to turn belief into a subtext rather than allowing it to dominate his pieces shows some serious control of language; however, the actual lyrical work on The Legend of Chin is hardly as resolute. Much of Jon’s language is so simple that it borders on the juvenile, and the record is completely loaded with clichés, such as line “the bridges that I’ve burned” in “Home”[4] or the everlasting wedding promise “for better or worse” in “Might Have Ben Hur.”[5] Undeveloped or unimaginative lines are scattered throughout the record, but there are some good moments as well. Jon expertly epitomizes the idea of teenaged indifference in “Chem 6A,”[6] only to confront it in “Bomb” with the opening line “With blankness staring back at me / And screaming from the pages / I feel the fear of apathy / Gripping me, pushing me on.”[7] Also, “Concrete Girl” is soaked in language both cold and unmoving, thus solidifying the themes into a vivid emotional image.
            One of the most developed lyrical ideas on the record comes from the song “Underwater,” especially in their juxtaposition against the instrumentation. Across changing dynamics and a plethora of bluesy guitar chords, Jon relates to us the woes of a girl who has “nothing to be” because “she’s already been.” Against a catchy beat and rhythmic swings, we watch the subject of the song struggle to find meaning, starting fresh again and again only to end up “down [in] the bottle” as she always does. According to Jon, “The girl in Underwater faces the dilemma of modern humanity” in a world “where nothing really matters.”[8] The simple phrases Jon employs through the song envision depression as the empty and unsupportive landscape that surrounds this girl. The lyrics lack for any positivity, but even the melody that carries them is upbeat, reminding us that even when life seems at its darkest, there is always something bright hiding just behind it, if only we will reach for it. 


            If the cognitive arrangement of “Underwater” is any evidence, The Legend of Chin shows some remarkable maturity in a group whose oldest member was twenty-three at the time of recording. There is an array of diverse sounds from which to choose, and even the simplest songs have something meaningful to offer. Switchfoot’s jazz-tinged punk imbued with pop melody is tasteful and refreshing, a sound built on top of youthful enthusiasm and an overwhelming belief that “a song could go anywhere.”[9] For me, these songs have far surpassed my meager expectations, unfounded as they may have been, and I can happily say I may soon explore more of their catalog because of it.  

Tunes to Check Out: 
1) Underwater
2) Ode to Chin
3) Life and Love and Why

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Job For A Cowboy - Doom EP


            I am now a pretty strong supporter of a lot of metal music, my experience with the genre was quite limited until my senior year of high school. My main focus had always lain in pop-punk, and ska had only recently joined that tier of interest when that pivotal third-hand mix CD landed in my hands. It was only in my seventeenth year that metal took on any distinction to me, and the very first disc to do so was Job For A Cowboy’s debut EP Doom. Despite having no understanding of death metal, I found that I loved the brutally heavy atmosphere that bled from the record, an estimation that was sustained through college. However, returning to it seven years after my first encounter, I’m somewhat shocked at how small my opinion of this once-revered record has become.  
            Though less than a half hour long, Job For A Cowboy wastes absolutely no time in presenting the straightforward brutality that defines their sound. Elliott Sellers crunches his kick drum under masterful blast beats and polyrhythms, against which the strings lay out speedy harmonies and gritty chugs. The instrumental section is dominated by the interlocking play of guitarists Ravi Bhadriraju and Andrew Arcurio, who effortlessly trade off the spotlight with frantic and intelligent riffs and screeching pinch harmonics. Against this wall of sound are the squealing vocals of Jonny Davy, who growls and screams with such intensity and darkness that it sounds as if his lungs are housing a legion of demons.
            If there was any doubt that the members of JFAC were either competent or hardcore, it is quickly erased in the first thirty seconds of the murderous “Entombment of a Machine.” Those first thirty seconds are loaded with pinch harmonics, mortar-like drums, and screeching vocals, all leading up to a blood-curdling scream that sets the entire record in motion. The swirling chaos that ensues in this tune is heady and disturbing, as Davy tears from his very core the story of a sentient machine that by all accounts should have been destroyed. His final screams of “I saw it die / I watched it die”[1] are horrifying in their energy and delivery, almost conjuring this AI creature before the listener.


            “Entombment of a Machine” is a disgustingly heavy tune that, years after my first listen, still shakes me to my core with its unbridled ruthlessness. And while I have no qualms about calling all of Doom brutal, unfortunately, that brutality is all that holds up on this record. Every song is absolutely heavy, so much so that there is really no distinguishing between them. The band explores absolutely no dynamic in their writing—there’s a ton of tremolo picking and double-bass, but not much else. Sellers’ drums are undeniably killer, but the fact that marks every single turn with his ride and accent cymbals makes his drumming feel habitual rather than exciting. Similarly, Jonny Davy’s growls are so dark and devilish, but when he screams a cappella in “Suspended by the Throat,” it’s absolutely laughable. Worst of all for me is the bass work of Brent Riggs, simply because it is nonexistent. The low end is completely indistinguishable from the guitar mix, and even when he momentarily grabs the spotlight in “Relinquished” and “Suspended by the Throat,” he doesn’t even stand out.
            Similarly, the lyrical content on this record, though surprisingly poetic in some places, falls far short of the level it had held when I was seventeen. A few songs proffer original concepts and themes—“Entombment of a Machine” explores the fragility of humanity in light of technology, and “Knee Deep” blends the ideas of addiction and the Oedipus complex into a cohesive tale. However, the vast majority of Davy’s lyrical contributions play into the tropes exhausted by the death metal genre. His imagery is in fact so steeped in the violent and gory that each word might as well be soaked in blood. Worst of all, there is no subtlety or finesse to the application of those mores: “The Rising Tide” opens with the line “Blood begins to spill from an open sea / Dead bodies churn within the tide,”[2] while the entire record is closed with the blatant “Tonight you’ll die / Suspended by the throat.”[3] Though the direction that Davy takes with his verse is to be expected, after even a bit of analysis, the few ideas and images that are strong are simply not strong enough, and leave the whole lyrical section of the record feeling contrived, if not immature.


            If there is weakness on this record, it stems from two things: the band’s immaturity at the time the record was made, and the ostensible success the record immediately garnered. Between the truly polished sound of Doom and the fact that, despite negative reviews,  it launched Job For A Cowboy into the upper echelons of the metal scene,[4] it is hard to remember that this whole record was written when the members were in their teens.[5] In an interview with Loudwire, Davy remarked that “with our band, we got popular and we got a lot of recognition before we even put out a full length, which is weird; from a little ‘Doom’ EP. I think a lot of people already have their opinion on that and don’t give us a chance because of that.”[6]
            Doom has remained a highly-scrutinized record for almost ten years[7] because of its genesis in youth and inexperience, and as such, doesn’t always get a fair assessment. Although there are a bunch of weak points on the record, I am loathe to lean too hard on them, because they were born of honest enthusiasm for music, which is more than most polished musicians can offer. This complete belief is the nucleus of the record, and bleeds through every note. JFAC has confidence, so much so that they put out a deathcore record, pig squeals and all, at a time when that genre was subject to constant ridicule and disdain.[8] The initial expression of self that is burned onto the edges of every track is so real, even the silly moments prove themselves as worthy.


            I fell in love with this record at a time when (if you can believe it) I was even less mature than I am now, and thus, despite finding the years have removed some of the importance that this EP once held, I find that it still means a whole lot to me. Even though every decision on this record is predictable, I can easily chalk that up to the immaturity of JFAC, who was hardly out of high school when they penned these songs. Furthermore, I find that the youthful approach taken on this album lacks not an iota of the brutal honesty that every band should exude. Job For a Cowboy pumps everything they are into the core of Doom, and the sound of that truth never taints or fades because it is the most eternal—and the most human—sound that exists.

Tunes to Check Out:
1) Entombment of a Machine
2) Knee Deep
3) Relinquished