But We Were There: Why The Quality of the New My Bloody Valentine Album Kind of Doesn’t Matter

Posted on February 2, 2013 by bgibs122

It’s a Saturday night, and I’m still at home, sitting in my PJs, listening to music I bought at my FYE’s going-out-of-business sale, and playing around on my laptop while my roommates do similar things (video games, read, etc). Unless all my social media sites are bullshitting me, this seems like the norm tonight; no one’s doing a lot of anything–I blame the snow and cold for that. It seems like a pretty chilly and chill night to most people. At least in real life. Online, it feels like half the internet’s abuzz with the news.

The new My Bloody Valentine album, mbv, is supposed to be out. Right now.

That’s the news all over Twitter and every music site that had someone log on to update on Saturday nights (even Billboard has it on their front page). And every news brief I’ve read about it has a tone of suppressed joy and disbelief. So far, Stereogum has my favorite, which ends on the note of “2013 we did it y’all”. And yet, even though I clicked on the link to http://www.mybloodyvalentine.org 8 minutes after it went live on the band’s Facebook page, the site crashed. A few hours later, and we’re all still looking at error messages, waiting for good news.

(Note: If you’re already familiar with My Bloody Valentine and Loveless, skip the next three full paragraphs.)

I should take a few steps back to explain why and how mbv has become the biggest album of the year without anyone hearing it. My Bloody Valentine is an Irish shoegaze band (shoegaze meaning “lots of heavily effected guitars making a ton of noise”) made waves with their debut album Isn’t Anything in 1988, but it wasn’t until 1991’s Loveless that they became the legends they are today. For the sake of brevity, I’ll skip the details of Loveless’ long and storied production–you can get the gist of it here, even by the section’s length alone–but suffice to say that the record’s creation took a toll on band leader (and perfectionist) Kevin Shields. In the end, the album involved a small fleet of producers and mixers (although Shields himself ended up doing most of the production), 19 studios, thousands of dollars, and three years to make.

The overwhelming response is that the time was worth it.

If you’re reading this section, I’m assuming you haven’t heard Loveless, and all this sudden fanfare for a band that’s been out of rotation for the last 22 years is damn near inconceivable. But Loveless has become not just a classic, but the classic. It’s an immersive, utterly gorgeous record that I fell in love with at the first listen. I could gush forever about it, but click here to listen to a few songs from the album, with “Sometimes” being my favorite.

And that was the last everyone heard. There was talk of recording in 1996, but nothing came of it. Since 2008, Shields has got the band back together, and said that they’re recording “something”, often with a sketchy idea of a release date, but nothing leading up to it. No single, no hard date set, nothing. Then, last week, he made an offhand remark about the album being out “in a few days”, followed up with an announcement on Facebook today that it would be up “later”. And here we are.

(The rest of you are welcome back!)

I can already guess how the next few weeks will pan out. Most publications–hell, including this one–will cram in every listen to the album they can this weekend, with the reviews starting to pour in Monday morning. Some of the stodgier publications will wait until Tuesday to roll out the red carpet (sorry, Coheed). Initial reviews will extremely analytic, but focusing on the album’s positives, both real and perceived. The initial fan reaction will be split far and wide, everything from “As good as Loveless” to “They should have broken up”. A few weeks out, the heavy backlash will start to set in, and claims of “overrated” and “Waste of time” will come up, as well as creative ways of slamming whatever the album sounds like. At the end of the day, we’ll be left with mbv for better or worse, just as it is.

But, this has gone so far beyond what mbv sounds like. Whenever you find a new band with an album that blows you away, the first instinct is to look for more, to find more of that magic in every song you hear. With My Bloody Valentine, the great tragedy was that you often got your introduction through Loveless, only to find that there was no more (fans of the TV show Firefly, you know the exact feeling I’m talking about). But now, there is more music, and that wish, or that promise, of there being more music, has been fulfilled.

And above that, this release blindsided everyone in a way that album releases never get to anymore. Everyone from the bigwigs at Pitchfork, to myself, to Todd and Suzie on Facebook are on the same page: there’s no leak, no album stream on NPR, no straight-to-SoundCloud link, no promo copies or reviews. This is as close as skipping second bell to go to Sam Goody as we’re going to get. In a rapidly more fracturing music scene, mbv‘s release is a rare communal event, and for people used to keeping themselves and their music isolated, that unity is a strange and kind of wonderful event that transcends the actual music.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t believe I got an error message this time.

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Feedback: Linkin Park – Minutes to Midnight

Posted on February 2, 2013 by bgibs122

For my money, Reanimation's the most interesting Linkin Park release.Hello, and welcome to Feedbacks, where we look at some of the lowest points of some of the biggest artists. Today, we’ve got Linkin Park on the menu.

There’s no way to beat around it: I was a Linkin Park diehard back in 2004 and 2005. Then again, as a 13-17 year old dude who was into rock, how could I not be? Hybrid Theory and Meteora, records less dissimilar to each other than some double albums, were made for my age bracket: loaded with chugga-chugga guitars with occasional electronic sounds for “sophistication”, Mike Shinoda’s raps, and of course, Chester Bennington’s anguished screams. And yet, there was crossover appeal to LP that their nu-metal peers lacked; they might have been tortured, but they still knew the value of a good hook, and how to weave it perfectly into adolescent aggression. It made them one of the most commercially successful bands at the turn of the century.

Unfortunately, it was only guaranteed for so long. Linkin Park’s first album came out in 2000, when nu-metal was at it’s peak, and when follow-up Meteora came out in 2003, nu-metal was noticeably out the door. By 2007, it wasn’t only a label to avoid, but something that had fallen off the map entirely (imagine if someone made an emo record today). It was either adapt and survive, or fall into obscurity.

The decision was to adapt and survive, but no one said survival had to look pretty. In music journalism/blogging, “mature” has become shorthand for “try too hard with lukewarm results”, and in that sense, boy is MtM a mature record. All bands have to grow and change, but it has to be on their time; this is a clear case of a band trying to change too much in one swoop.

Two signatures of Linkin Park’s sound are largely absent from Minutes to Midnight: Brad Delson’s distorted riffs, and Mike Shinoda’s rapping. It’s hard not to see either of these as kneejerk reactions to the nu-metal tag that the band was so desperately trying to avoid. This in itself isn’t a bad thing, but the replacement parts for the album get poorly executed. There’s a new focus on soft sounds and ballads; things that require a deft touch, subtly, or nuance to succeed.

Remember who we’re talking about here.

Like I said, the change isn’t bad in itself, but the execution where the band loses points. “What I’ve Done” isn’t a bad song, but with it as a lead single, did “Leave Out All the Rest” need to make the album (the band’s made mention that they demoed 100 or so songs for MtM)? Both are slower piano looped songs with uninspired rhythm guitars on the chorus to justify Brad Delson’s cut, and barely distinguishable from each other. “Shadow of the Day”, a somber ballad that uses those soft electronic sounds, looped drums, an honest guitar solo, and a fantastic vocal from Bennington, is one of the best songs Linkin Park’s ever done, but it makes the last four songs on the album sound redundant (“In Between” gets a mercy point for Shinoda singing lead–he does a nice job).

“Shadow of the Day” is the album’s best song, but not its only quality one. “Given Up”, the heaviest song of the set, is a Shinoda rap short of being a three minute best-of for the band at their most aggressive; the riff’s a little meaner than most of Linkin Park’s material, and the chorus is brutal. Only the breakdown bridge mars an otherwise spotless song, and Bennington’s killer scream at the end damn near saves it. Shinoda finally gets to run loose on “Bleed It Out”, a half-brilliant song front-loaded with rapping that gets killed by repeating “I bleed it out/Digging deeper just to throw it away” for nearly a minute (the song clocks in at 2:46). And, as already mentioned, “What I’ve Done” isn’t terrible if you don’t mind “Crawling” rehashes.

Even when they’re trying to do something new on Minutes to Midnight, LP gets the best results when they try to sound like themselves. “Given Up” and “Bleed It Out” sound like logical progressions from Meteora, and the other singles (“Shadow of the Day” and “What I’ve Done”) aren’t serious surprises, either. Working way less in the band’s favor is trying to do something new, and never does it feel as jilted and awkward as it does on “Hands Held High”. It’s another track where Shinoda raps, but he does so in front of a martial drum beat and it’s the band’s big political “We sure hate George W. Bush” song. To be fair, MtM was released in 2007, the same year as Year Zero and Neon Bible, so I guess LP were just trying to be timely.

And being timely isn’t what sinks “Hands Held High” (or Hurricane Katrina-inspired six and a half minute closer “The Little Things That Give You Away”), it’s just not Linkin Park. I’d be tempted to say it isn’t them playing to their strengths, but it isn’t even playing to their weaknesses; it’s trying to do something (mature anthems about political struggles from a common man’s viewpoint–be U2, in other words) that isn’t in their DNA, and by offing some of their trademarks, there’s no core sound to integrate the new ideas into. For example, when Panic! At The Disco incorporated psychedelic pop on Pretty. Odd., it still sounded like Panic. You don’t get a lot of that on Minutes to Midnight, which is more tedious to slog though.

From most accounts, it’s not a problem that followed the band to A Thousand Suns, which got pretty decent press, but I’d checked out of Linkin Park by then. Hell, I’d check out by Minutes to Midnight, as did a lot of people. And, after finally listening to the album, I can see why. I’ve done Feedback on albums that were overlooked, interesting experiments, misshaped passion projects, or transition phases, but never anything I considered outright bad. In that regard, Minutes to Midnight remains a low point in this series, and likely in Linkin Park’s career (only singles “Given Up” and “Shadow of the Day” are constantly in concert setlists). They tried to be something they weren’t, and in that, were nothing.

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New Music: Being There – Breaking Away

Posted on January 30, 2013 by bgibs122

Being There is out now through The Young & Lost Club.Hey all, today’s the first full album New Music review of 2013! Today’s group is London-based indie pop Being There, and Breaking Away is their debut album.

The first word that comes to mind to describe Breaking Away is “airy”. The band favors jangly guitars and a rhythm section that stays light on its feet; think 1980s college rock that skews towards the shimmering instrumentals of dream pop, and you’ve got a good starting point. “Airy” also describes frontman Sammy Lewis’ vocals, which are breathy but tuneful, and still grounded in young playfulness. The lyrics, bouts of wistfulness and nostalgia for late adolescence and the power of mixtapes, are more than likeable through his delivery. The record’s unpolished production adds to the dreamy haze of some of these songs; opener “Allen Ginsberg”, driven by a clean rhythm guitar with occasional lead guitar and bass, feels light enough to fly away at any second. It almost feels like more of a composition than a song.

Some songs on Breaking Away share that “composition” feel. While it’s a little more sped up and features drumming, “Back to the Future” is still an understated tune, where the main action is in Nick Olorenshaw’s nimble guitar work, including a blistering closing solo. “Over Me” is an exercise in instrumental minimalism; for most of the song, a lone guitar line serves as an accompaniment for Lewis, who is drenched in reverb. And while it crosses into pop song territory, the point of “Infinity” still seems like the band showing that they can work acoustic guitars into their sound successfully. Most of the songs clock in between two and three and a half minutes; the same cannot be said for six and a half minute “Silent Runners”, the album’s most ambitious offering. The first half of the song is fairly standard for the record, but it’s followed by a noisey coda and reprise outro that drifts into post-rock territory. It’s a well-textured experiment that pushes the band past their perceived comfort point.

That’s not to say that Breaking Away doesn’t have great pop moments, either. As good as the previous mentioned songs are, they require a few listens to stick; the opening combo of “Allen Ginsberg” and “Back to the Future” makes Being There sound a little thinner than they really are. The first fully-realized song on the album is the immediately enjoyable title track. It’s a nice slice of post-Britpop; the riff is catchy, there’s a short but enjoyable rise and fall to the verses, and the chorus is great too. Lead single “The Radio”, an already sunny track, gets a boost from its bright synth hook, and a nervous gleeful energy that sounds like anything could really happen. For my money, “Tomorrow” is also a standout; it keeps the poppy energy of the other songs mentioned, but also features some impressive guitar work that blends the line between shoegaze and pop.

Like some of their college rock influence, Being There turn up the noise on a few songs. The band never gets as noisy as, say, the new Bleeding Rainbow album, but they stomp around on “Punch the Clock”, where the drums hit a little harder, and the song’s defining feature is the scrapping electric guitar. A little lighter on its feet and more dynamic is “Up”, which sustains the jolt of energy on the album’s closing stretch.

The most sizeable complaint about Breaking Away is the sequencing. It makes sense that a dream pop group wants to put some of their more textured material up front, but tossing something as single-ready as “Tomorrow” or “17” towards the front would break up the sameiness of both sides (post “Silent Runners” is a string of four poppier songs).

All around, though, Breaking Away is a great listen. It shimmers and rocks in all the right places, and shows a young group with considerable technical skill, as well as a surprising range that rewards first listens and repeat spins in equal measure. Go ahead and check them out, you won’t be disappointed.

Keep up with Being There through their Facebook or Tumblr.

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Album Review: Carly Rae Jepsen – Kiss

Posted on January 27, 2013 by bgibs122

Kiss is out now through Interscope records.Let’s rewind the clocks to fall 2011. Two nearly unknown singer-songwriters have just released fairly unassuming singles that shifted styles from their dead in the water careers. Both of these singles (and videos) would go viral, and would be called some of the best songs of the year. Their success generated enough interest in each artist for a full album. Both records are fairly different, but neither one matched the success of the initial singles. But they’re still interesting listens, all the same.

I’m talking about Lana Del Rey and Carly Rae Jepsen. Del Rey, rebranded from her Lizzie Grant days, lit up the blogosphere with “Video Games” and the hype leading into Born to Die before that album fizzled out. Rae Jepsen, meanwhile, had to wait until last spring for “Call Me Maybe” (released in Canada in September 2011) to become the international beast it was. Similar to how “Video Games” birthed Born to Die, it’s hard to argue that Kiss was anything but a demo or two before “Call Me Maybe”, but how does the album do beside?

There’s weird, conflicting expectations going into Kiss: on one hand, “Call Me Maybe” can’t help but raise expectations; on the other, Born to Die showed that a great single doesn’t guarantee 11 more, and conventional wisdom is to be wary pop albums. It’s a slight relief, then, that Kiss ends up simply “ok”. Nothing here (well, nothing new here) says immediate classic, but the album never descends to pop hell, either.

One of the most striking things about Kiss is that it houses one of THE songs of 2012, but isn’t indebted to the year’s pop landscape in most ways. There’s nary a dubstep breakdown  or guest rapper to be found, nor is there any pervasive Eurodance or house influence. The list of guest collaborators is short as well: Max Martin only shows up once, and Owl City and Justin Bieber drop in for a song each.

While none of them reach “Call Me Maybe”‘s level of greatness, the first half of Kiss has great mileage. “Tiny Little Bows” is all bright synths and disco rhythm with teen pop sweetness; admittedly a bit much on the first time or two, but the sugaryness of it gets less abrasive on repeated listens. Third “This Kiss” keeps the same polished synths for the hook, but packs a surprisingly strong low-end kick that gives the song considerable heft.

After opening on a decent one-two combo, Jepsen finally unleashes “Call Me Maybe”. While the rest of the album isn’t radically different from Jepsen’s signature tune, it’s different enough that “Call Me Maybe” feels different from what we’ve heard so far; it’s a little more restrained, a little more nuanced. Something similar can be said for the slightly electro-dance “Curiosity”, the other holdover from the Curiosity EP. The first four songs on the album are all enjoyable if slightly weightless pop, but there’s enough thought and craft put into each one (check out the key change in “Curiosity”) that they all differ themselves from each other, and Jepsen sounds involved in each one.

The lone dud in Kiss‘ first six songs is the team up with Owl City/Adam Young, “Good Time”, whose long purpose here is to remind us to be thankful that the rest of the record didn’t sound as thoughtless and lazy as it does. Young can’t help but come across as overselling weak material and desperate, while Jepsen, given little to work with, slums it. While we’re on the subject of collaborations, “Beautiful”, her duet with Bieber, is an odd man out; on an album full of synthy pop songs, the tambourine and acoustic guitar song can’t help but sound shoehorned. It also has the same subject matter of One Rejection song “What Makes You Beautiful”, which doesn’t work here, either.

“Beautiful” comes in a few songs after Kiss starts to lose its focus. “Turn Me Up” and “Hurt So Good” aren’t bad songs per se, in fact, “Hurt So Good” has a fun string/bass/vocal bridge, but they’re the least interesting songs here aside from “Good Time”. The album picks up for the last three songs, though; “Tonight I’m Getting Over You”, the Max Martin song, steers Jepsen toward club pop territory without abandoning the album’s general sound, and “Guitar String/Wedding Ring” is a last minute standout. The guitar riff adds a little crunch, and Jepsen comes in especially strong on the chorus backed by some massive synths. Closing ballad “Your Heart Is a Muscle” is never able to make its central simile sound anything but corny, but it still gets a passing grade.

And that’s the long and short of the record. The key to the record’s success is Jepsen: she truly commits to the material, and always sounds engaged. Is it just because she knows that Kiss is her one shot? Perhaps, but even when it was new, she demonstrated great showmanship on “Call Me Maybe”. It’s far less fascinating than an album like Born to Die, but more outright successful instead. Will it be remembered by time? Who knows, but it still holds up well for now. Three stars out of five.

tl;dr: Kiss isn’t revolutionary, but a serviceable pop record. 3/5

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