The Blues Magoos on Kraft Music Hall, “Tobacco Road”

Honestly, this is just psychedelic rock at its peak at its best, with a studio television program that understood the aesthetics of the style of the music, and doing the band justice. It’s excessive in places, but since when does psych-rock understand restraint? Never!

Lou Reed’s Legacy

This is what I’ve always said about Lou Reed’s approach to rock and roll:  for all of the avant-garde moments that challenge his critics and casual fans and what they could never wrap their head around is that, ultimately, he was the blue-collar rock star. Indeed, he was far more blue-collar  than Springsteen and Mellancamp and the like. And this is not because he sang of making ends meet and unionizing problems. Instead, he sang exactly of the kind of environment that fit him best — the mixture that is New York, the high, and the impossibly low. And because he was the artist to do so, it’s what made him the middle class: All of his albums, from the Velvet Underground’s self-titled album to the very end, they have kind of work-man quality to them: he speaks of things no other artist is willing to discuss so frankly, but he does so in such a plain, honest, and frank voice.

But the secret of this is not in the studio albums. As a graduate of the Pickwick school of musical apery, he knew exactly where his bread was buttered. Instead, if you want ANY indication of the sort of artist Lou Reed was, you need to look to his live material. Every song, every version of “Viscous,” “Sweet Jane” and “Satellite of Love” is vaguely the same, but each time performed differently, even slightly. You can look to the simple artistry all you want in the one-chord brilliance of “Heroin,” but the beauty of Lou Reed’s music is that even he performed his songs differently, each and every fucking time. Compare the studio version, to the “Rock and Roll Animal” version, to the one he did with Metallica for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and every one of them is different because that’s the way it goes as he sings them. It is the work of a man whose interests are rock and roll in and of itself, and the avant-garde: Things can be familiar and foreign at the same time, and hell, they should be.

Lou Reed proved that rock can be primitive and artsy simultaneously. “Heroin” is a testament to that philosophy, just as much as anything from “White Light/White Heat,” or “Metal Machine Music.” Anyone looking for one or the other is looking like a fool: Lou Reed  could do whatever he pleased, because he was held to no philosophy, no matter how much he studied, or how much he ignored.

Lou is rock’s everyman. Art, performance, and composition was the 9 to 5 for him. It’s the reason why New Yorkers resonated with him, just as much as it is  the gritty depictions of street life, one of so many in the mid-century era of New York chock full of gritty in-your-face attitude artists. Even his most inaccessible work (Metal Machine Music) is based on the principle that it gives somebody “what they want” (you love guitar sounds? Here’s all the guitar sound you can handle). Lou Reed was simply too busy giving everybody what they wanted to bother with compromise, and that’s the lone reason why he is so loved, hated, revered, tolerated, and respected across the board — no matter who you are.

Ezra Furman Connects to the 80’s Underground in All the Right Ways

At the ripe old age of 26, I have come to terms with myself as being disconnected from my generation and what has become widely popular with the age groups that I have been lumped in with overtime for stupid and arbitrary reasons. In a society obsessed with crediting or blaming Baby Boomers for all the great things that happened in the 20th century, then quickly lambasted how shameless and listless their progeny, Gen-X, came to be, I enjoy a kind of bizarre ambiguity. In time, since 1999, I can recall reading articles that would define people in similar age brackets being part of “Generation Y.” Then “Generation, Why?” Then the “Nintendo Generation.” I’ve been lumped in with “iGeneration,” for a spell. And then there was that useless catch-all, “The Millenials,” which I do not consider myself a part of, as I can recall a time in my life when I did not have the Internet, or a cellular phone.

For the most part, I meet most of the recommendations I get from my peers regarding music with a skeptical ear. That useless bias for things widely considered classic by the critics and powers-that-be, as well as the “underground” and “secret successes” of bands long-gone get lumped similarly to me. I love anything that doesn’t have the power to disappoint me in the future, as I can only discover the the good things from a band long-gone, even if they were never that popular to begin with. Personally, this has drawn me primarily to the garage/punk bands of the 60’s and 70’s, and modern bands that take that sound directly. Even then, there are some bands recommended to me that I tend to avoid because I’ve developed an ear that can tell the difference between earnestness, trite and hollow tribute, and laziness.

My girlfriend is, admittedly, not somebody who takes music seriously — at least, not as much as I do. Regardless, she has become the default mixtape composer for our car trips together, and lately, she has knocked it out of the park. A lot of the tracks stem from our early days together as DJs at the world’s finest Internet-based college station, VIC of Ithaca College, but she still has the power to surprise. In particular, I cannot believe I missed Ezra Furman and the Harpoons during their college-rock hey-day as a group of absolute nerd-rockers who know the worth of keeping it simple, and isn’t afraid to be so.

In particular, she’s introduced me to “I Wanna Be Ignored,” a hyper-ironic pop-punk tune that combines the absolute best of two original CBGB’s bands — the Ramones and the Talking Heads — and sounds as modern as possible, while seemingly comfortable with the brainy-nervous qualities of New Jersey’s very own, the Feelies.

In a mere 3:37, this band (which has called both Massachusetts and Chicago, IL home) displays a strength for simple-as-all-get-out riffs, but mixed with the nervous, herky-jerk voice style of David Byrne in his prime. It creates a sound that is very much at home with the Feelies around their debut record, Crazy Rhythms, but has something that the Feelies would never dare display: Confidence. Ironic hesitation and shyness is one thing, but Ezra Furman and the Harpoons have a kind of bravery on display when frontman proudly proclaims, “I Wanna Be Ignored” — it’s not just a character to the song. It’s also the Ezra welcoming all to simply enjoy the music regardless of taste and personal background. And damned if it doesn’t work, even when, in the same song, manages to come off as too nerdy for its own good.

It’s difficult to judge whether it’s intentional or not, because most listeners will be quick to point out the originators of any particular influence, rather than the most obvious link (“Speedy Ortiz doesn’t sound like Pavement, because Pavement sounds like Sonic Youth and Television!” would be a recent example).   But in my collection, I would hesitate to liken Ezra Furman to the Talking Heads and Modern Lovers, even if the influence IS obvious. In my mixtapes, Ezra Furman and the Harpoons have earned a spot closer to Camper Van Beethoven and the Feelies by virtue of simplicity — either because an acoustic guitar is all you got, or because it’s all you want to play with. But where a sense of humor is shared among all of the aforementioned bands, Ezra Furman demands your attention, ironically, and for all the right reasons: Music is meant to be loved in the moment.

Rock Primer: How to Start Listening to Captain Beefheart

Much like the efforts we take to write more, exercise more, drink less, spend less, work harder, take more time for ourselves and family, etc. etc., we also make resolutions at the beginning of a new year to change our cultural consumption habits as well. Maybe you’d like to visit more art museums, or read at least three historical non-fictions by the end of the year. Maybe you also want to start listening to an artist that you never really considered listening to before. Here at Electric Comic Book, we are dedicated to helping you get the most out of your musical experience, and so, we’d like to offer this short Rock Primer on how to appreciate a classic artist that can seem daunting to jump right into. Our first subject to this new feature is the notoriously intimidating Captain Beefheart.

Whether you’ve read past essays on this site on the life, times, and death of the good captain (aka Dan Van Vliet), Captain Beefheart still remains a mystifying and daunting figure for both the myths and legends behind his personal life, but also what’s actually on the records. While many of them are worthy of acclaim after years of gestating in the critical back shelf, it seems that since his death in 2010, interest in Captain Beefheart’s music has enjoyed a slight upswing as other critics (namely, Rolling Stone, who, I’ll admit, put together a good list of songs, but not albums) pointed to his ‘best stuff’ in their  eulogies — many of which pointed to his masterpiece, 1969’s Trout Mask Replica.  However, because it does remain a haunting, challenging listen — even now, and after I published last week I would sooner turn that album on at a party before White Light/White Heat — the focus of his ‘best’ is not the intention here. This primer will be a guide for those who still look upon the Captain’s work with trepidation, and need a guide on dipping your toes in first before diving in to the rest of the Beefheart legacy. And even though many of your favorite artists will be quick to cite him as an influence, and usually point to Trout Mask Replica as the starting point (indeed it was for me), there are some who are still unable to make the plunge. Mind you, among the artists who consider Beefheart an influence include (but are not limited to): Tom Waits, Jack White, Kurt Cobain, John Frusciante, Black Francis, John Cale, Little Feat, the Clash, Johnny Rotten, Beck, the Black Keys, Beck, and Matt Groening — who got the Magic Band to reunite for the year he curated All Tomorrow’s Parties. And if you like any of them, chances are you’ll find something to love about the shambling, intentionally mad, silly darkness and intentionally ‘wrong’ music of Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band. And for that, we don’t start with his most well-known work, but in a some safer territory.  

After the Jump: Loving One of Rock’s Most Difficult Personas. 

Why We Rank: An Introspective

Fig. 1: Some Kind of Point I’m Trying to Make.

Let’s forget about what a year-end review means in terms of best-ofs, or how records reflect the zeitgeist of a generation, a time, a country, a political movement, etc.. And beyond favorite songs that you can think of off the top of your head. Let’s forget about all of that.

If you seriously sit down and think about the songs that have influenced your taste in music more than above all else, I think you will find that the songs within the top ten will be more revealing than you think. Lately, I’ve been thinking less about the songs that I like because I instantly feel good upon hearing their opening riffs or notes, or about the songs I turn to when I feel blue, or the songs when I need to get a party started. Instead, I’ve been thinking about songs I legitimately respect, and love at the same time.

These are the songs that do so much at once for us personally. Not talking about firsts here — I don’t care about songs by artists that were the first to use a counterpoint guitar solo — a distinction, I’m going to assume, was Frank Zappa’s anyway, but I’m too busy/lazy to check. And I’m certainly not talking about personal firsts. I could give a damn about the song you heard upon your first kiss, or the first song you turned to when you learned that mom got custody and it just pissed you off, blah, blah, blah. Doesn’t matter. But I’m not necessarily talking about the songs that, in any mood, you include in a list or play over and over.

I’m talking about the songs that make you respect music as an artform, but also derive a degree of pleasure from. That simultaneous quality of being, above all else, good and capable of bringing happiness to the sedated masses. But also the quality of being a well-crafted, obviously labored-over piece of artwork on behalf of both the principal songwriter and the performer(s) who bring it to life.

Without going into a terrible amount of detail, I believe I have a personal three. But before I post my own three, I want to hear from the fans out there: What are the three most influential pieces of music in your life that are not only good and fun to listen/dance to, but also make you really think about music as an art piece? Post your answers here, as well as your reasoning behind each choice. Hell, go into extreme detail, and list why it ranks above all others.

Not saying the following is numero uno, but it belongs in my top three.

“London, My Hometown”

“London, My Hometown” (Thanks to HorsteadKeynes.com)

In honor of the start of the 2012 London Olympic Games, I present to you the original theme song from Pirate Station Radio London (AKA: The Big L, Wonderful Radio London) called “London, My Hometown.”

Check out more from Horsteadkeynes.com/jingles for more pirate radio classics from Caroline and RNI.

It’s So Hot. . .

It looks like you got three beaks, Crow!

Lester Bangs in the Post-Indie Apocalypse

Like any other critic, you try to avoid reading other critics for fear of influence in opinion, but it’s important to get a diet of reading a wide variety of opinions in order to get a view of every perspective on an album or a song or a movie that you’ve never considered before. It’s why I think there ought to be a music website where there’s a roundtable review of every album, rather than a letter grade or collection of shiny bullshits conferred by just one person who works there, who then gets to have his individual opinion become the branded statement of the publication. Still, there are other critics, elders of state, who are considered mandatory reading to improve your writing skills and ideas on how to form essays, and it goes without saying that Lester Bangs is one of the vital essayists on the subject of rock and roll. Every so often, I go on jags where the only thing I ever want to read is his collection of essays, Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung, which was published posthumously.

In my most recent dip through the book (and I recommend it, of course), I’ve realized that there’s an element to music criticism that is perhaps overlooked by many critics nowadays, with the exception of the good folks over at A.V. Club, who take things with a more academic slant even when they’re at their most irreverent, is the concept of an artist’s image as representing a place and time. It’s a relatively simple consideration that’s perhaps lost to time due to the constraints of political correctness in criticism, as well as the fact that there is just so many new bands and current acts out there, that keeping track of what every artist says as they brand themselves seems to be an impossible task. And rarely do any of them get the spotlight shined upon them and questioned ‘what do you say about us?’ Sure, the big names of the dance-pop world often do — you could probably find countless essays and blogs on Lady Gaga as the product of the ‘be anything you want to be, and let no one else define you’ ethos of Generation Y, or Ke$ha being representative of the honesty of trashiness-by-way-of-reality television — but there’s not a lot being said about the bands who are producing what we may consider art. It’s a perspective that gives us the archetypes of ‘Dad Rock,’ Butt-rock,’ ‘Machismo-rock,’ etc., but those bands and their images say nothing of the society, because we know that’s how they market themselves. We know it’s calculated, because it’s designed to sell, unlike in the 70’s when David Bowie and Iggy Pop could dress how they did (or didn’t) and take chances with that sort of thing because no matter what it sold.

And perhaps in the wild west of indie world, it may be too much to try and say something of each individual band because in the wake of post-Punk, everyone is in a band that could give a damn about anything but producing an product bordering on art. It’s a nihilism that suggests that, finally, the dream of being a rock star has been homogenized and streamlined where you can simply label yourself as a dude who makes records for people to listen to as a profession.

And that’s the scary thing about the bands who still put in the effort of appearances nowadays is that it’s reduced to a gimmick that separates the curious from the mentally infirm who have no real taste but for the top whatever at any time. And it sort of speaks to the qualities I mentioned in my post about the White Stripes’ B-sides “Red Bowling Ball Ruth” and “Hand Springs” as representative of a brand of high-contrast Americana.

After the Jump: the clothes make the band.

2011: The Most Boring Year in Music.

Happy New Year, all. 2012 is going to be a real mystery.

A bunch of British guys playing American folk was the most exciting thing happening in music this year.

It doesn’t feel like 2011 was worth reviewing as a whole. Coming out and saying that immediately, without any kind of pretense or introduction, feels quite good. 2011 was a boring year for music, even the stuff I usually like. I’m not alone in this, and, on one hand, it feels good to be vindicated by other critics out there; on the other, it lends itself to a notion of desperation that something spectacular will happen in the coming year. It’s an easy criticism (any year, but this year especially) when criticizing mainstream rock and roll, which still attempts to replicate either the bigness of 80’s rock, or the intimate rebellion of 90’s alternative. But it’s another when it is prevalent among independent artists as well. For example, in today’s New York Times, music critic Jon Caramanica laments that it’s not relevant to declare rock as a genre dead, but to realize that both labels are wholly uninterested in investing in something revelatory, and that the genre is merely ‘spinning its wheels.’

But what I wonder is that while the preferred safety for labels to invest in bands that have marketable sounds and songs is obvious, what of the bands out there who intend on making such noise?

An even more boring year to come? More after the jump.

Maybe We’ll Just Stand Still: The End of CDs and the Slow Decline of Rock Radio

Even as the bedrock of every form of popular music, it’s popular to continue to wave the ‘rock is dead’ banner. Being so reflective and appreciative of it’s past, the music industry is confusingly self-congratulatory while also progressive in a quick, albeit, erratic way. Perhaps because the sounds that could identify closest with traditional rock and roll the most are also the ones that are not as easily accessible (read: ready to be packaged wholesale to a demographic rather than an audience full of people), it is very easy to cut away the attention given to those artists and their means of expression.

Pictured: The Past, Present, and Future

Reading back on that sentence, it seems that rock and roll, finally, is part of the pantheon of modern art. It is something that is crafted, honed in on, and appreciated by the educated and creative few who would appreciate the sort of albums generally judged best nowadays, in that they provoke thought. Still, the spirit of rebellion bursts through, and as rock artists continue to take on and speak out on the major issues of our day, just as they do since the 1960’s, it seems that the labels that represent them have no interest in helping them express themselves, especially as the criticism comes back to those very labels.

There were two very interesting stories recently, charting current trends in how we consume music. One story regarded the slow painful death of rock radio — particularly, the absolute lack of modern rock in even the largest markets, like New York City. This was featured in the latest Rolling Stone magazine, and reflected a conversation I had recently — a classic rock morning drive DJ, who works a small radio market.

The other story worth tracking  is the recent news, a rumor really, that the major labels will soon put a cease to producing compact discs.

If rock ain’t dead yet, it’s considering putting Doc Kevorkian on the speed dial.

More after the jump.