One of the main reasons why I blog is to get the opportunity to write headlines involving the phrase “Free Sunset Rubdown.” Because nothing says “indie rock” more than vaguely creepy band names that may or may not involve a happy ending. (See also Man Man and The Strokes).
But really. Let’s talk Random Spirit Lover for a second. It’s really really good. Maybe unbelievably great. I’m not sure yet. I still have some listening to do. Like all Spencer Krug albums, it’s not the sort of thing you can really digest in one sitting. His records play like collections of short stories sharing a few stark themes. And they aren’t page turners either. He makes the sort of music that demands patience, something that seems antithetical to the sugar-rush grab bag of the digital age.
Thanks to Gorilla Vs. Bear, I became aware of the fact that Jagjaguwar is currently offering up a free MP3 from Random Spirit Lover, the ridiculously titled, “Up on Your Leopard, Upon the End of Your Feral Days.” It’s not my favorite song from the record, but then again you’d be hard pressed to find anything even remotely poppy on it, so it must have been impossible to try to pick out what the “single” is. The album doesn’t come out until October 9th. I’ll have the full review when it finally drops. In the meantime, enjoy your Sunset Rubdown. It’s certainly not for everyone, but if you’re at all into Krug’s previous work, I can promise you a happy ending, free of charge.
So I really was resisting the urge to make some sort of inane punny headline for this Aug. 23 event that I’m co-promoting. Then I realized that the event in question is called Now Blog This V. 2.0! Yeah, I know.
But name difficulties aside, this event is going to be the best party/concert/blog clusterfuck in the history of party/concert/blog clusterfucks. Of course, you’re probably asking yourself what makes this night more special than any other night? No, there will be no Matzah (I presume), instead we will be treated to performances from some of the best unleavened bands in the city of Los Angeles.
The bottom line is you have no excuse not to come. If nothing else for the opportunity to enact some sort of pernicious scheme that could single-handedly wipe out 97 percent of LA’s music bloggers in one fall swoop. Rumor has it, good times will be had by all.
1967 was 40 years ago, but judging from the way Rolling Stone deified it this anniversary Summer, you’d think it occurred during the Renaissance. You know the tired spiel. “LSD! Hippies! The Beatles! Vietnam! The Monkees! We changed the world, man….One Toke at a Time” Right? Wrong. The myth that hippies changed the world is like the Tibetan myth of the Yeti. Both were very created by people that were very very high.
But for all the stoned hippie blather and contrived mythology, 1967 did produce some great music: The Doors’ first record, Younger than Yesterday, Surrealistic Pillow, The Velvet Underground & Nico, The Grateful Dead, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, Are You Experienced, Something Else by the Kinks, Disraeli Gears, Forever Changes, The Who Sell Out, and yeah, that Pepper Club Band thing. It almost makes you want to be an ex-hippy with a graying ponytail, an “organic foods,” fixation, an “eco-friendly” business approach and the nickname Munchie (or Seth).
Dan Snaith, the mastermind behind Caribou does not seem like a hippie. He has short hair, a Mathematics PhD and he’s from Canada. Canada doesn’t have hippies they have elk (and probably caribou). But sonically, Snaith updates the sound of ‘67, creating songs as blindingly bright as the album cover’s yellow tulips, producing nine lush tracks, ideal for the sun-scorched summer.
Do These Caribou Know How to Party or What?
Unlike most psychedelic rock, a palpable sadness permeates Andorra, in a way that reminds me of Forever Changes in its sense of loss and uncertainty. Andorra is a break-up record, a stumble through a tragic world filled with clouds of swirling rainbow smoke. A love-lorn Snaith devotes half the songs to girls with matronly names like, “Melody Day,” “Sandi,”"Desiree” and “Irene.” The latter song being largely an instrumental with a few lyrics that describe the peril of dating a woman with an unattractive name like Irene. (The B-Side, “Gertrude.” is even more brutal.”)
Like Milk of Human Kindness and Up in Flames (recorded under the Manitoba moniker), Andorra is drugged, disoriented and ultimately dazzling. While it may not fully stack up against the best stuff made 40 years ago, it’s certainly close. And even if it doesn’t receive instant canonization (because it’s not part of “the revolution, man,”) it remains a powerful and beautiful work of art. The ideal soundtrack for the thinking man’s stoner after he’s just lost his woman (or his bong).
So Kevin Murphy, the esteemed raconteur behind So Much Silence has allowed me to take part in his “I Used to Love H.E.R,” series, mainly because I promised to call him an “esteemed raconteur” in print if he’d let me write an entry. Of course, it was all an elaborate ruse. Blogs don’t count as “in print.” Hell, blogs don’t really even count as “writing.” [Insert philosophical debate about the utility of blogging here].
Anyhow, I’m honored to be included in a series that includes upstanding individuals like Jamie Radford, Douglas Martin, and Enrique Iglesias (Dude LOVES Kool G Rap). My entry concerns one of best records ever made: The Genius’ Liquid Swords. It also involves Mark Morrison’s “Return of the Mack.” Yes, that “Return of the Mack.”
From the people who brought you the best video of the year, Marco Polo’s “Nostalgia.” Hezakiah’s apparently a new artist on Rawkus. I haven’t heard the full-length, but I have to say I’m definitely feeling the single. I’m also feeling the fact that it’s a hip-hop song with R&B hook sung by Bilal, apparently snapping Akon’s Ripken-esque streak of appearing on every single hip-hop song made over the last two years. Smack that? Yeah, smack whoever allowed that happen.
One of the main reasons why I blog is to get the opportunity to write headlines involving the phrase “Free Sunset Rubdown.” Because nothing says “indie rock” more than vaguely creepy band names that may or may not involve a happy ending. (See also Man Man and The Strokes).
