Okay. I said I'd say something about the new Manic Street Preachers album when I got hold of it. I was fully expecting to have to post "it's a bit shit". It isn't. It's just kind of boring. Really fucking boring. It has nothing to offer that isn't already covered by about another fifteen albums in my CD collection to which I don't listen.
I was really excited about the Steve Albini production factor. I'm an unashamed fan of his work - Shellac are awesome, and my two favourite albums he's done from behind the desk are F-Minus' Wake Up Screaming and Gogol Bordello's Gypsy Punks: Underdog World Strike. Both fantastic records, although I'll admit that the former is a little bit on the ear-bothering side of things.
It doesn't sound like a Steve Albini record. It sounds like the Manics said, "Hey (boyos), let's make a really gritty record. Let's make a record that sounds like it's full of anger. Let's make a record that sounds like we don't care about production value and we're all about the music (man)." In short, it sounds like a real fuckin' rock and roll record, made by your dad.
So I've pretty much just listened to some Howlin' Wolf instead. Maybe I should just give up on the Manics making a record as awesome as the one they made 15 years ago and stop pretending they have any contemporary relevance left to give.
Ho hum.
17.5.09
3.5.09
Dylan. (Also some other music).
First of all, an apology is due to Bob Dylan. I went to see him over a week ago, and all he's received is a cursory few lines in my previous post. I know he's disappointed, so here's a proper appraisal.
I think we all know that Dylan's voice is shot to pieces. Recent albums, Modern Times in particular, show it can be barely more than a whisper. Smoking's bad, aye? Anyway, Dylan tours, it's £35 a ticket less than Tom Waits, and my dad's paying. Awesome. Sheffield Arena, here we come.
A note on arena gigs: just bloody don't. Were it not Dylan, I would not have been at such a soulless cavern of a place. The is something completely horrible about watching some idiot in Topman slacks buy fries and a Coca Cola so huge that, were he to take it home with him in his car, he'd need a child booster in which to accommodate it (notwithstanding the fact that the queue to get off the car park was so massive that he'd have pissed said slacks several times over before he made it out), and then take his seat to watch possibly the definitive counterculture icon of the last 50 years. Knocked me sick.
Anyway, neck at a near-90 degree angle, I sit down (insert sad face here) to watch Bob Dylan. I'm excited. He's a few minutes late out (gig is scheduled to run from half seven till half nine). Hmmm. Awful intro begins, "The subculture icon of the sixties, drug-addled in the seventies..." or words to that effect. And then, completely unassuming, a band dressed in grey suits ambles on stage - where's Dylan? Music starts. I'm reliably informed the song is called "Cats In The Well" (Under A Red Sky - early 90s, absolutely awesome song). Dylan's on organ?
And his voice. It's not that bad. It's more like a high-pitched Tom Waits. His band, however, are fantastic. This is LOUD. Not just "loud for Dylan", but really loud. Louder than The Bad Seeds. Almost as loud as ... And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of The Dead. Dylan's organ playing is spot on. The lead guitarist is really ripping it up. The drummer is one of the best I've ever heard, period.
Then it happens - "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue". This is why I'm here - never mind political importance. Never mind quite how many of my favourite artists just wouldn't exist without Dylan, HIS songs are awesome. If watching Tom Waits (note to self: three mentions of Waits in one blog about someone else is restraining order material) was as close as I'll ever get to (re)finding Jesus, then this was an audience with the big beardy bastard himself.
It carries on - he blends music that is five years old (see - "The Levee's Gonna Break"/"Thunder On The Mountain") with music that is forty years old and it seems like the whole horrendous 80s gospel incident never happened. We get "Highway 61", we get "Like A Rolling Stone", we get a completely unbelievable rendition of "All Along The Watchtower", and my only complaint is that he ignores Blonde On Blonde in its entirety. But then, he also ignored Desire, and Blood On The Tracks. You have to consider that Bob Dylan has recorded 33 studio albums (I think), and with the exception of about ten, they're either pretty damn good or just about perfect.
Enough gushing. Here's a listening list for you:
Oh Mercy
Modern Times
Under A Red Sky
Time Out Of Mind
In no particular order. That's my recommendation of Dylan's output over the last 20 years or so. If you don't think it's as good as his 60s work, then you're wrong. Objectively so. Alternatively, you could acquire the most recent of his The Bootleg Series, being Volume 8: Tell-Tale Signs. Perfection.
Listen to Bob Dylan. And not just his old stuff.
I think we all know that Dylan's voice is shot to pieces. Recent albums, Modern Times in particular, show it can be barely more than a whisper. Smoking's bad, aye? Anyway, Dylan tours, it's £35 a ticket less than Tom Waits, and my dad's paying. Awesome. Sheffield Arena, here we come.
A note on arena gigs: just bloody don't. Were it not Dylan, I would not have been at such a soulless cavern of a place. The is something completely horrible about watching some idiot in Topman slacks buy fries and a Coca Cola so huge that, were he to take it home with him in his car, he'd need a child booster in which to accommodate it (notwithstanding the fact that the queue to get off the car park was so massive that he'd have pissed said slacks several times over before he made it out), and then take his seat to watch possibly the definitive counterculture icon of the last 50 years. Knocked me sick.
Anyway, neck at a near-90 degree angle, I sit down (insert sad face here) to watch Bob Dylan. I'm excited. He's a few minutes late out (gig is scheduled to run from half seven till half nine). Hmmm. Awful intro begins, "The subculture icon of the sixties, drug-addled in the seventies..." or words to that effect. And then, completely unassuming, a band dressed in grey suits ambles on stage - where's Dylan? Music starts. I'm reliably informed the song is called "Cats In The Well" (Under A Red Sky - early 90s, absolutely awesome song). Dylan's on organ?
And his voice. It's not that bad. It's more like a high-pitched Tom Waits. His band, however, are fantastic. This is LOUD. Not just "loud for Dylan", but really loud. Louder than The Bad Seeds. Almost as loud as ... And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of The Dead. Dylan's organ playing is spot on. The lead guitarist is really ripping it up. The drummer is one of the best I've ever heard, period.
Then it happens - "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue". This is why I'm here - never mind political importance. Never mind quite how many of my favourite artists just wouldn't exist without Dylan, HIS songs are awesome. If watching Tom Waits (note to self: three mentions of Waits in one blog about someone else is restraining order material) was as close as I'll ever get to (re)finding Jesus, then this was an audience with the big beardy bastard himself.
It carries on - he blends music that is five years old (see - "The Levee's Gonna Break"/"Thunder On The Mountain") with music that is forty years old and it seems like the whole horrendous 80s gospel incident never happened. We get "Highway 61", we get "Like A Rolling Stone", we get a completely unbelievable rendition of "All Along The Watchtower", and my only complaint is that he ignores Blonde On Blonde in its entirety. But then, he also ignored Desire, and Blood On The Tracks. You have to consider that Bob Dylan has recorded 33 studio albums (I think), and with the exception of about ten, they're either pretty damn good or just about perfect.
Enough gushing. Here's a listening list for you:
Oh Mercy
Modern Times
Under A Red Sky
Time Out Of Mind
In no particular order. That's my recommendation of Dylan's output over the last 20 years or so. If you don't think it's as good as his 60s work, then you're wrong. Objectively so. Alternatively, you could acquire the most recent of his The Bootleg Series, being Volume 8: Tell-Tale Signs. Perfection.
Listen to Bob Dylan. And not just his old stuff.
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