Reviews by verlainemorrison96

'I want a pistol / I want a gun / I'm scared baby / I wanna run'; 'Cause baby I'm just a scared and lonely rider / But I gotta know how it feels.' Polly, like Bruce, runs b/c she's scared and at the end of her rope. That feeling of a last-ditch effort pervades the entire record, simultaneously providing it w/ edge and flight, attitude and restraint. Despite the obvious comparisons to Patti Smith, Polly is a fresh and moving approach to the perennial tropes of popular music: love, sex, drugs, violence. Besides, if we're doing honest comps, this is Because-Of-The-Night-Patti (I know, more Springsteen, but that's where I'm at), not Radio Ethiopia or even Horses. Words like 'brave' or 'fearless' don't do this album justice: how 'bout 'destined,' 'staggering'?

I get that once the 'album' was introduced to the world, consumers didn't look to greatest hits packages much anymore, but w/ certain artists - Elvis, Chuck Berry, James Brown - those collections of singles make a whole lot of sense. That's not to say that a record like Elvis Is Back! isn't worth your time - it absolutely is. It's to concede that what you're getting are deeper cuts rather than the tracks that made the man into the cultural icon he was, deservingly or not. Elvis's fourth studio album is not always a rockin' thing, but that's not exactly lamentable: I prefer the soulful version to the white-guy-gets-the-chicks-to-dance-edition. If you want who the world recalls, this Elvis isn't that. But if you want who he was at bottom, this Elvis is it.

The National stand for everything that was wrong w/ Brooklyn in the 2010s, a hipsterism that's hopefully on its way to obsoletion, but I'm not going to insincerely denounce the band that got me listening to genres I wouldn't've dared appreciate before. I understand that they don't exactly make rich or very exciting music, but it's not pretentious, it's honest enuf, and it exhibits an authentic beauty I'd like to swim in. Berninger's baritone is a rare thing and his lyricism, tho imperfect, has its moments of provocation + identity: 'Don't leave my hyper heart alone on the water / Cover me in rag and bone sympathy'; 'Awesome prince, get your sleep / Lose your heart in history.' We don't need any more bands like them in the world, but they've a place.

What makes this a great album is that it intermingles so many apparent and yet inevitable influences in engaging and memorable ways. On the opening track, Masekela blows like Freddie Hubbard (I think the trumpeter's implicit mentor); Larry Willis comes in on the second track sounding like his best + most fragrant version of Keith Jarrett; the third has a Cannonball Adderley-type feel; the fourth is a Miles thing w/ Ntshoko injecting the Elvin Jones we know from 'Psalm'; etc. And thankfully, he never draws from the dismal + boring hard bop of Horace Silver. I do not mean to diminish the originality of the artist by citing so many prior jazz authorities, but isn't that the point of jazz criticism to an extent? Anyway, this long record is really excellent.

Waits has always essentially been a storyteller, but on Rain Dogs, along w/ Swordfishtrombones, he becomes some sort of medium for the (un)reality of an America he ceaselessly aims to depict. Theatrics certainly define a major element of this masterpiece, but so does a prolific directness and a frightful realism, as if you were to meld Lewis Carroll w/ Theodore Dreiser. Lyrically, he has the ability few others have to be utterly memorable and yet invariably exciting: 'We can always find a millionaire to shovel all the coal'; 'I'll tell you all my secrets, but I lie about my past.' I love that most tracks do not exceed the three minute mark, w/ only two longer than four, and that its initial strangeness gives way to a gentleness and grooving perspective.

Grunge + punk + alt, that is, Nirvana + Hüsker Dü + R.E.M., Sugar adds heft + drone + melody to the St. Paul outfit known for speed + a playful thinness + flirtations w/ the melodic. At times, Bob Mould sounds amazingly similar to Michael Stipe, but Mould is actually the better lyricist: he seems to have always known how to simplify, to do less w/ more, to play to the strengths of integrity and real life: 'If you're thinking of changing / If you're thinking of staying w/ me / We need to agree / We need to make some changes.' It isn't any small success to be able to merge pop sensibilities w/ this much rawness, but what this record lacks is one or two truly great songs: you're thus left w/ an idea, a stance, and even a good time, but no notable wrinkle.

'You thought I couldn't see w/o you / Perfect vision / You thought I couldn't last w/o you / I'm lasting.' Before Beyonce was singing about 'irreplaceable' she was in the crew that sexified women's empowerment via juxtaposition: the trilogy of 'Survivor,' 'Bootylicious,' and 'Nasty Girl' perfectly exemplifies that possibility. That logic, which isn't irrefragable, has nonetheless had a profound impact on our music and cultural sensibilities: no Nicki Minaj, no Cardi B, no Megan Thee Stallion, indeed no Lil Nas X or Lady Gaga w/o this. Musically, it's not only pleasurable but deliciously experimental: off-kilter rhythms and cadences that pop and prowl ('Sexy Daddy,' 'Perfect Man') transform a record that already buzzes w/ attitude into a fertile aesthetic.

'Pounding out aggression turns into obsession.' I think that line articulates well my trouble w/ metal: it's obsessive to the point of being compulsively neat rather than chaotically heavy. Formula reigns - even the occasional shift mid song is too much an anticipated variation. I don't doubt that this record is as influential as it's reported to be, and for that reason I respect it, but Hetfield is not my kind of gruff (I'd take Lemmy), and the messaging is politically upright yet brims w/ cliché: 'Welcome to where time stands still / No one leaves and no one will.' Succinctly, it doesn't give me the energy or the remnants of a shattered beauty I know it gifts others. Wallace Stevens insists that the supremest poetry 'must change.' This doesn't change enuf.

Sometimes uninteresting things are interesting in their own right. Boston's self-titled debut is that sort of commodity. It doesn't inspire musically, tho the group can certainly 'play,' and it doesn't inspire soulfully since their hits ain't from the soul. But it does inspire culturally, e'en or especially if it begs you to discover a better product. Classic rock radio stations serve up crap mostly, and there's a whole lot of crap that's better than this: ZZ Top, Tom Petty, The Stones, Lynyrd Skynyrd. Still, Boston has good intentions: 'No, we didn't have much money / We barely made enuf to survive / But when we got up on stage and / Got ready to play, people came alive.' It's also a worthy experience to listen to an 8-track record that spawned 8 hit singles.

Adjacent to British bands like Simple Minds and Fine Young Cannibals, the The (the most pretentious but inevitable name) boast a surprising amount of soul on their second release, Infected. Their successes derive straight from Matt Johnson's vocal stylizing, always cool but never strained like Knopfler's distant modishness. At times he's a composite of Tom Waits + Bowie ('Heartland,' 'Sweet Bird Of Truth'), at others he's as tortured as an Ian Curtis. Lyrically, he's both personal and social: 'Y'see I didn't want to be w/ any people I know / But God knows I didn't wanna be alone'; 'This is the 51st state of the U.S.A.' Far superior to pop-soul outfit Simply Red, the The is the authentic stuff: wild, civil, corporeal, deliberate. + big ups to Neneh.

For this Radiohead-valuer but not so much -adherent, Ok Computer and In Rainbows (yes, not Kid A) are their two best releases, and nearly prepare me to concede that they're one the great bands. Insofar as In Rainbows is the apotheosis of their gorgeousness, Ok Computer is the zenith of their rawness and vulnerability: it's the record that's more believable and more emotionally pertinent than any other. Yorke is still a limited and too-studied lyricist - 'And now we are one / In everlasting peace'; 'Don't get sentimental / It always ends up drivel' - but he never whines, just lays down his oomph w/ color and variety. The fact that each song is essentially a ballad is what makes this record so impressively complete: it's doing what it's good at.

Brits probably knew of this band when they first hit the scene - conceived of them as some sort of amalgam of Oasis and Radiohead - but Americans have Stephen Frears to thank for any exposure to The Beta Band: Cusack puts on 'Dry The Rain' from The Three E.P.'s to apparently sell five copies of the record. Unfortunately, Hot Shots II doesn't boast a track nearly as good as 'Dry The Rain' and is far flatter than Heroes to Zeros, their third and final release. Lyrically, it's wanting - tho I do dig this outburst: 'I never been the type to sing all night but Aaaaaaaaaah!' - and every song begins to sound the same, rhythmically as well as vocally, aiming but mostly failing (save on 'Quiet') to achieve a negotiation of the casual and the vigorous.

W/ a name like The Flying Burrito Bros, you'd think you'd get farce or parody. W/ an album called The Gilded Palace Of Sin, you may think you'd get prog or intellectual snobbery. But what you get is country - I mean the straight-up version, the simple, haunting, and necessary foundation. Gram Parsons is a hell of a singer, and tho he's no Aretha or James Carr, his renditions of 'Do Right Woman' and 'Dark End of the Street' are soulful and profound. 'My Uncle' is an essential political track, rivaling CCR for how much punch they pack: ''Cause they don't need the kind of law and order / That tends to keep a good man underground.' They're everything The Eagles are not, and even if they never released a comparable product, this is superb enuf.

A turn-of-the-millennium album, Nixon puts you in a good mood, even an inspired one if you allow it to flow w/o much investigatory intent. In other words, this is nothing more than a pop record, tho it has the quirky lyricism of an indie-rock release and Kurt Wagner sings w/ a been-there-done-that hipsterism. Its optimism is a welcome elevation, especially when it nears a gospel-affect, but it eventually cloys too much and bottoms out in the end. I'm left w/ bits and pieces of what isn't genius but merciful decency: 'Each and every stinking day / I'm getting much better / This evening's little up-setter'; 'Part of the process / Is sifting thru the piles of shit.' If Chance the Rapper were in a soul-rock outfit, this is the sort of sappy thing I'd expect.

Part two of Kid A, at times its leftovers, at others its genuine extension. In either case, Amnesiac isn't very exciting: even w/ its signaling of forgetful and bewildered states of mind, I'd have liked more energy, at least more in-your-face lethargy if a slothful approach is indeed what they're going for. I wouldn't call this a caricature of the Radiohead sound, but only a handful of the tracks poignantly command the band's signature resonance: 'You And Whose Army,' 'Knives Out,' 'Morning Bell/Amnesiac.' Lyrically, Yorke relies too heavily not only on the obscure but the trite: 'There are doors that let you in / And out / But never open'; 'While you make pretty speeches / You feed me to the lions / A delicate balance.' Ya can't tell me that’s not...soft.

Devendra's middle name is Obi, taken from the Star Wars character, which should give you a good idea what kind of household this guy grew up in - I can only imagine that the arts were emphasized, that he was encouraged to be 'different,' etc. Nothing wrong w/ that - in fact that sort of parenting ought to be adopted by each and everyone. What I'm trying to get at is my ambivalence w/ this record - it seems he's more affected artiste than real folk artist. That's not to say there aren't any good songs here, tho nothing strikes me as great, or eloquent lyricism: 'We've had a choice / We chose rejoice'; 'This is our father / And this is how he strayed.' It's to say I don't buy his cabaret number. I'd like this most at a cafe in Bennington, Vermont.

'SF freak scene was on my mind / Fillmore Slim is just a-wasting time.' If you didn't know, which I didn't, Fillmore Slim is a bluesman and former pimp from the Bay Area. Also, if you didn't know, which I didn't, this self-titled debut is the very best exemplar of the psychedelic blues to come out of the 60s, better than Clapton and the Blues Breakers, better than Cream, than Love and The Doors, fuller than the early Kinks, just as soulful as The Rascals. The only comparable act, at least in terms of quality, is Hendrix, but this has variety and foresight while Jimi had visions and impossible-to-replicate virtuosity. +, is this the first album cover to feature an artist (Don Stevenson) flipping the bird, before Johnny did it on the Ramones debut?

'Bondage to lust, / Abuse of facility / Blackmailed emotions confused, / The demon and devilty.' Chrissie Hynde is neither Poly Styrene nor Patti Smith: she's Strummer + Reed w/ a little bit of Costello there for nerdy relief. The music is essentially unclassifiable - every time I'd like to call it punk or new wave, it displays an edge that's older and more fundamental, a feel for 50s rock 'n' roll and Doo-wop that brings to mind the likes of Link Wray and girl groups such as The Crystals. The reggae-rhythms on tracks like 'Private Life' are purposeful rather than a distraction, more than you can say about most whites attempting that sort of thing. There's a whole lot of joy here, but it's of a perennial kind: summer jams don't monopolize their ambition.

Listening to this conjures up memories I don't actually have, a testament to disco's time-capsule nature, at least when it's a classic like this is. I can't pretend to hold any specific prejudice against disco since I didn't live thru that era - I can't calculate how vexed I would've been to hear that genre flood the airwaves. All I can say is that this particular record, besides being monstrously influential, has a special warmth that I can certainly get down w/: 'Don't be a drag, participate / Clams on the half shell and roller skates, roller skates.' Repetitive, sure, but the rhythms are often irresistible, and the percussion often inventive, especially on 'My Feet Keep Dancing.' I'm moved to throw this on at a party to see what happens. Folks'll dig, right?

The Notorious Byrd Brothers, at least the original eleven-track event, is a brilliant thing of juxtaposition: lyrically, instrumentally, perspectively, even cosmically. It starts off w/ an unexpectedly funky gem, apparently reeling from the effects of speed: 'I'm coming down off amphetamine / And I'm in jail 'cause I killed the queen.' It then goes into an exploration of all stuff psychedelic, from loving relations to a metaphysics of evanescence: 'I can recall a time / When I wasn't ashamed to reach out / To a friend'; 'Change is now, change is now / Things that seemed to be solid are not.' I guess what I love most about this record is the brevity of the songs, almost punk-like in their economy, as well as the intimations of Americana and country music.