Reviews by kuvien

I had a friend who was attracted to crazy girls, and I never understood that. Why would a man want to borrow that kind of trouble? Was there such a lack of interest in his own life that he had to manufacture it? Maybe he just wanted to look in the crazy mirror. Like Cohen, he failed at relationships again and again. Was it all an unconscious self-sabotage? Knowing it wouldn’t work out, and being able to blame it on the craziness of the girl?

trash

Turns out you can't really dance to the sound trains make, so we need Kerls like this to tweak it a bit. Just fill the cars with mannequins and send the whole thing on its beeping, synthy way.

Sexy spoken-word music to objectify / seduce underage girls with. It's a French tradition!

oh thank fuck I'd already heard this so I don't have to listen to it now for this dumb challenge

When you're so far gone in the liquor you think even the rain is a beverage. Anyway, it doesn't take much imagination to understand the implications of the album title, an obvious reference to Hollywood and Vine in Los Angeles, the very heart of the rise of cinema and all its attendant lures into the corruption of innocence. This album is certainly more blues guitar-driven that his six previous recordings, bringing with it even sexier grit (that seems to be obsessed with prostitutes). Like pretty much all his other music, these songs are snapshots into the lives of seedy people who live in the quiet, dark, lonely hours between the closing of the bar and the opening of the circus. This is the final Asylum record, and Waits was contractually-obligated to write it since he owed the label seven albums. You might know Springsteen's cover of Waits' "Jersey Girl"... and I can't help but wonder if the "sha la la la la la las" are indicative of Waits' fatigue with his label.

I find it hard to think of anything to write about this album because it's been a part of the fabric of my soundscape for so many years. This is a beloved favorite because of the cerebral lyricism married so effortlessly to fun singalong rock songs.

"They tried to give me advice down at the record shop. I said, 'Sit down, boys. This may come as a shock: the only thing I listen to is freedom rock'." I love this sense of awareness Black has in calling out music snobbery.

Clocking in at 22 tracks, this album has plenty of room for the harder, faster rock songs and more ballad-y or bouncy pop tunes.

Some smooth, mellow blues rock tunes and covers. Nothing especially exciting here (not sure why the guitarist was compared to divinity) but these chords can strike the right note in your soul under certain circumstances. Roll on.

This is an interesting album, especially since it’s the only one the band released, and yet it’s highly regarded. Harsh in some parts and playful in others, this album maintains a strong psychedelic feel throughout. The weird spoken samples that break down the end of the album are a collage of sound that was envelope-pushing in the late 60s.

Janis is the draw here for me. Without her, they'd be a competent blues band but nothing to catch my interest. But you know...it's Janis. Her voice, and that definitive live version of "Piece of My Heart"--classic vocal blues. At 37 minutes, this album is not a minute too short.

It's clear from the beginning how central Sufjan's faith is to him, what with the way he equates a UFO sighting with the Incarnation and its attendant signs in the heavens. How effortlessly Sufjan calms the celebration and, without taking away any of the joy, brings us into such a beautiful turn of musical phrase that leads us all into a singalong ballad! Float away on lazy horn clouds, or leap above them on the strings of violins. And you know what? It's okay to cry yourself to sleep sometimes. Not all tears are sad. For the record, I've never heard a more uplifting, beautiful song about a serial killer. Not sure what Sufjan is trying to do here, but I just close my eyes and shake my head at the loveliness/ugliness and the conflicted feelings with me. If you want to know just how full this album is, take a look at just what Sufjan is doing: vocals, acoustic guitar, piano, Wurlitzer, electric bass, drum kit, electric guitar, oboe, alto saxophone, flute, banjo, glockenspiel, accordion, vibraphone, tenor recorder, soprano recorder, sopranino recorder, alto recorder, sleigh bells, shakers, tambourine, triangle, and church organ. The only instrument featured on the album he didn't touch is the trumpet. Thematically, the album is at once inaccessibly specific about historical facts that really don't have anything to do with anyone, as well as being broad in his allusions to our common human condition, to say nothing of the all-pervasive Christian framework. Why do we need our faith? Well, for one...bone cancer. So celebrate life while you can, and understand just how much you have to give.

This album is a wonderful kind of bait and switch, starting off with something quite philosophical but then veering into blues songs about traveling and heartbreak. The slide guitar swirls around the vocals like a dance, enough to distract anyone from his jigsaw puzzle. And don’t worry about being so far from home—it ain’t no crime. Just make sure you don’t let your mama know what you’ve learned how to do. For all the swagger of these songs, however, there’s an underlying theme of a desire to return home, a longing for peace and quiet.

Lazy, sexy jazz that blows hot and cold, like a love affair. Just when you’re certain, the rug is pulled from under your feet, upending you and calling into question everything you thought you knew.

This is my favorite Stones album. I’m not a super fan of the band’s career in general, but I can’t deny how amazing of a blues rock album this is. I mean, it’s the kind of work where, at the end of every song, you just shake your head in disbelief and wonder if it can get any better. And then it does. It accomplishes perfectly what it sets out to do: make a cool, swaggering record of tavern blues songs. The testosterone-driven hedonism is strong on this one.

This album shines in my mind like a prism hit by a million rays of white light, breaking into new spectra that can only be felt and not seen. So much wonder in the exploration and joy in the revelation as circuits duplicating emotions attempt to comfort you. AI gains the ability to feel. This is a whimsical journey through the mind of a machine, a mind trying to understand a new heart, to analyze its frequencies. My world flutters and pulses, just like the robot’s new beating heart, just like the bugs and butterflies of summertime. Join the confused robot as it sings its soliloquy to an empty sky. "What is love, and what is hate?" asks the solemn simulacrum.

The spirit of the typical, modern teenager is demonstrated by his indulgence in meaningless entertainment and violence, further revealing a world where nothing has any value, where there is no memory, and identity becomes nothing more than chasing after trends. And thus the teenager cares about nothing, yet neither does he mind what happens to him or around him, no matter how vile.

I love the dramatic way in which the MC introduces not only James Brown but the whole damn set list. When live albums go right, they go oh-so right. And this recording is a shining example of the live magic a master like James Brown can summon up. I feel like I'm right there, screaming along with the ladies, body swaying with the crowd. Those interludes, though... it's like I'm in church!

It's a time-honored country tradition to sing about Jesus while drunk, but Prine does it differently. He calls Our Blessed Lord as witness to all the meaningless deaths soldiers are sent to by bloodsucking politicians in rich suits. There are five songs that are either direct criticisms of the Korean War or explorations of the isolating psychological aftermath on a soldier's mind, as that soldier navigates the wreckage of his life, futilely searching for any meaningful human contact, a search that ultimately leads to suicide. Time passes into loneliness as you're locked inside your own meaningless existence, numbed by alcoholism and drug abuse. You have time to sit and do nothing and wallow in your survivor's guilt and mourn the loss of that world of your childhood when everything was still beautiful.

Schlockingly bad.

An exploration of the profound loneliness one can feel whilst being surrounded by a sea of people. Alone in the crowd with only an equally-lonely alto sax to keep you company. I wonder if his musings on what he could have been is him head-hopping into all the strangers around him. "Fly" is the clear frontrunner here, expanding on his search for identity, be it in faces or names. And only in understanding identity can we make real connections with others. Like many great albums, there's an existential crisis at the core.