Category: rock and roll

Radiohead have fired a shot across the bow of the record industry by making their upcoming record, “In Rainbows” available for download for any price that the consumer chooses. “No really, it’s up to you,” the band’s website reassures the fan who is unsure how much to pay for the download. The band’s use of the honor system has produced a cottage industry of articles predicting the End Of The Record Industry As We Know It (EOTRIAWKI) or confessing how much one paid for the download.

Apparently, one third of listeners paid nothing for the download. If the RIAA had their way, these people would be sued for $220,000. But, on average, fans have paid about $8 for a download that – like all records – could be had for free. Me, I paid one pound, 45 pence – about three American dollars. It’s more than I’ve ever paid for Radiohead’s music (a telltale sign of EOTRIAWKI). Perhaps I’ve been too turned off by their hype as the band that will kill guitars and rock-n-roll, but my entire Radiohead collection consisted of an illegal download of the song, “Karma Police” until now.

Lost in the hubbub is the fact that “In Rainbows” is a terrific record. The usually ponderous ballads featuring Thom Yorke’s wailing sound haunting and mesmerizing spaced out in between propulsive rockers like “Bodysnatchers” and “Jigsaw Falling Into Place.” Knowing this in advance, I’d have gladly paid eight dollars for the joy of owning the record.

Like some strange comet that irregularly circles our solar system, two great bands graced our record stores with the rare appearance of new records. The Mekons are perhaps my favorite band. I’ve written about them extensively here and in other places. An original summer of ’77 punk band – contemporaries of the Gang of Four – our comrades from Leeds released a string of good-on-paper singles and LPs, broke up, reunited to play benefit concerts for the striking miners, kick-started the alternative country scene with a trio of indie-released records, recorded some pretty terrific rock-n-roll anthems, got signed and dropped from more records labels than the Sex Pistols, been the shoulda-been, coulda-been, woulda-been saviors of rock music and then scattered across the globe to get on with their personal lives.

With the band spread across both hemispheres, from Hong Kong to London, New York to Chicago and San Francisco, and most members keeping busy with their own solo projects, “Natural,” their first record of new music in five years, sounds less like a rock album than an art project. Propelled by incessant chanting, the mesmerizing “Zeroes and Ones” is the hit of the record, a wonderful juxtaposition of English folk music and the digital world. The infectious refrains of “Dickie, Chalkie and Nobby” and “Give Me Wine or Money” stand out and would be welcome additions to the usual Mekons live set list. Thematically organized around the natural world (or, at least, a 19th century understanding of it), this mostly-acoustic record is not without its moments of catchy song-craft, but overall is a subdued and mostly forgettable affair.

Also returning after a five year hiatus (and rumored break-up) is Imperial Teen. Their new disc, “The Hair The TV The Baby & The Band,” is full of the breezy pop hooks and male-female harmonies that make their long silence between albums so regrettable. “Finger-lickin’ gum-smackin’ sass-talkin you know what” is how Will Schwartz describes the object of his admiration on the sexy “Sweet Potato,” but he could just as easily be describing his band (and may well be). The record’s a perfect summer treat.

In 1976, Lester Bangs greeted the Rolling Stones minor album Black and Blue with a sense ironic relief. “They really don’t matter or stand for anything, ” he wrote, “which is certainly lucky for both them and us. I mean, it was a heavy weight to carry for all concerned. This is the first meaningless Stones album, and thank god!” Slightly less witheringly (but only just so), The Onion’s Noel Murray writes of Spoon’s latest long player, “For those who thought Spoon’s one-two punch of Girls Can Tell and Kill The Moonlight marked the group as a contender for the ‘Best American Band Of The ’00s’ label, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga may be a disappointment.

It’s not as bad as all that. But it doesn’t sound like the Next Great Statement from a band that has been making instant classics since 1999’s Series of Sneaks. But, now that I think about it, none of Spoon’s records have ever grabbed me on the first listen. Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga was on its fifth spin on my HiFi while I was writing and deleting much of what was going to be this review. It’s a lot better than all that.

The usual hallmarks of a Spoon record – tense rising action punctuated by the occasional raveup, and a minimalist style that emphasizes the silence in between the musical notes – are largely missing. What we have instead is an album by a band in transition. Building upon “I Turn My Camera On,” half the songs on this record – “Don’t You Evah,” “Rhythm & Soul,” “My Little Japanese Cigarette Case” and “Finer Feelings” – ride a similar icy cold R&B groove. These songs are pure Sex – perverse, sweaty, disaffected Sex. The triumph of groove and feeling over song craft perhaps marks Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga as Spoon’s Black and Blue. Would Lester Bangs hear the end of Spoon’s trailblazing period in this disc?

Like no band that I can think of, Spoon was completely made by a single piece of rock criticism, Camden Joy’s millennial summing up of the 90’s varied Next Big Things and how they all ultimately came up short of reinventing rock and roll. Joy, of course, pinned her hopes on Spoon after Elektra dumped them and their power pop record, Series of Sneaks. Who could have predicted the left turn that was the minimalism of Girls Can Tell? Perhaps Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga is the beginning of a similar stylistic change, Spoon’s own “plastic soul” period. Or, perhaps, having failed to reinvent and save rock n roll, Spoon has settled down to put out good records that make the pretty girls dance and swoon.

David McReynolds laments the now-obvious gap in his record collection, and asks where is a good place to start with James Brown. And, since he also laments the lack of consideration of arts and culture in our little corner of the the movement, and I need an excuse to get my nose out of health care policy textbooks, I’m wrtiting to recommend “JB40.”

Ordinarily, I agree with that old “Kids in the Hall” joke that “Greatest hits are for housewives and little girls,” but Brown’s career is so expansive and encompasses so many distinct periods that no regular album could serve as a proper introduction. In fact, I just had this conversation with Alan Amalgamated last Friday, and if I were superstitious I would think that I cursed James Brown to die two days later. I’m a “jinxy motherfucker,” Alan says.

To avoid the crap that passes for radio, Alan and I make mixtapes for each other on our carpools out to lawnguyland. My inclusion of “Say It Loud” (yes, I may be as pale as a corpse, but that song is awesome and I do sing along, “I’m Black and I’m proud.”) inspired Alan to posit that the two most influential drummers of the modern era were John Bonham and the guy that drummed for James Brown. He’s the drummer, so he’s qualified to speak about Bonham (I find Zeppelin too wonky and boring), but the sad truth is that the unnamed, unknown drummer for James Brown, whose work is sampled in so many hip hop songs, was at least two different guys. Brown rather famously fired his crack soul band in the late 1960’s for striking for better treatment from their bandleader.

The tight, tight, tight band of “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag,” “Night Train” and “I Got You (I Feel Good)” were conditioned by the stern Godfather of Soul’s fining them for any missed beat or bum note. When they demanded that this practice stop, they were summarily fired by JB. His cocky young bassist, Bootsie Collins, promised to put together a new band for his bandleader. The result was a looser, funkier sound. By simply changing bands, James Brown invented a new genre of music: funk. He is a towering influence over popular music, and (this is how I “cursed” him) I wondered on Friday, “What the hell happened to James Brown?”

This man invented new genres on the fly. He famously rented out the Apollo and other venues for weeks at a time, hired his own staff and promotors and sold his own tickets in order to prevent his art and business from being exploited. He appealed for calm after Martin Luther King’s assassination. He sang chillingly about the destruction that “King Heroin” wrought in the ghettoes. One day folks were “colored,” then he put out the record “Say It Loud” and suddenly folks were Black and Proud. How did he allow himself to become a walking punchline in his later years? The drug addiction. The mugshots, police chases and jail time. The spouse abuse. “Living in America.”

Perhaps now that he has mercifully passed on, younger generations can finally embrace what was cool, proud and noble about him, much as Johnny Cash and Ray Charles experienced career resurgence in death (but please spare us the Hollywood movie).

It turns out that “JB40” is out of print. I’m sure there will soon be dozens of collections, anthologies and rehashes put out to capitalize on Brown’s death. Some may be good, some will certainly be cheap and poorly chosen. Do yourself a favor and look in the used racks for a copy of “JB40” if you want a satisfying overview of James Brown’s entire, fascinating career.