No excuses. I just haven't done it in a while.
That's not to say I haven't had anything to write about, because that's not true. I don't really go for the whole internet confessional/general dump of personal stuff on here, but I'm v. happy about the fact that Charlene and I got engaged. If you're of that persuasion, we'd like a set of shelves that fit in our cupboard, a winning lottery ticket and a kitten. Thanks.
Back on topic.
I said I'd write about the Lifter Puller reissues. I got hold of them a bit back, and they're really amazing, but I find it hard to say anything about them that I haven't previously said. Fact is that I owned (legally) the Soft Rock compilation and also (less legally) Fiestas + Fiascos and in those, you have just about everything you need. Their self-titled début LP is probably a place to start reviewing (or babbling like a stupid fanboy, you decide) and it's kind of not as good as their later stuff. If nothing else, it's a relief to say that instead of "it's not as good as their earlier stuff". Craig Finn's drawly vocals show little of the bitter rants and lament-filled witticisms that appear later in his lyrics, and the music leans ever so slightly towards far more stereotypical American indie, and not quite far enough towards the beautifully dystopic choppiness of their later works. The notable exception to this is the fantastic 'Star Wars Hips' and the slightly reminiscent of Sonic Youth 'Mission Veijo'. Better was to come. I'm listening to this album right now, and this reads like I'm being unfair - it's a GREAT album, but then so was Nirvana's Bleach, right?
Half Dead and Dynamite is a great name for an album, and for me this is were Lifter Puller really get going. Choppy and more bitter than bittersweet. 'Sherman City' contains my favourite rhyming couplet of all time (see previous post title), and 'Nassau Coliseum' is insidious and nasty and sounds like a hangover. As stated, I prefer this (and all their other releases) to their début and yet I can't think of that much to say about it.
The Entertainment and Arts mini-album came next, and much should be made of Tad Kubler's (later lead guitarist in The Hold Steady) taking over bass duties. Things started to growl at this point. From the 49 second opening blast of 'Plymouth Rock' to the 5-minute closer 'Let's Get Incredible', this is clearly the sound of a band hitting their collective stride. There's also a slower, creepier 'Star Wars Hips', which shows the band's new-found mastery of their sound - they don't have to go "up" to have more impact.
Fiestas + Fiascos. Definitely the end of something. Not only does fictional nightclub The Nice Nice burn down, but so does the Lifter Puller sound, in the best possible way. This completely brilliant record has their lightest, most accessible music, their choppiest, angriest stuff, and the weirdest bits. It also contains some bits of straight-up rock and roll that can't possibly have been a precursor to The Hold Steady, can they? If you only own one Lifter Puller release, please make it this one.
And that was that. There's the rarities compilation Slips Backwards which is also great. But yeah, a band that lived and died before I even heard of them. Someone once told Craig Finn that Lifter Puller was "the last band before the internet", and that's probably why they're probably way more popular now, thanks in no small measure to the continuing successes of The Hold Steady.
Speaking of whom, Heaven is Whenever is out on May 3rd. First time I've been excited about an album since Stay Positive. I'm off to see them in Manchester on June 26th. There is so much joy in what we do.
18.11.09
Everytime I see an eagle, it's a filthy fucking seagull
Pre-Hold Steady Band Lifter Puller Remembered With Reissue Series, Book
I'm editing this post because I didn't like the title it received after my lazy auto-add to Blogger.
Next month, Lifter Puller are re-releasing their entire discography with some rarities. I think it's only digital, which upsets me slightly, but my ownership of their music consists solely of Soft Rock and I had to download that (legally, I hasten to add).
For those who don't know, Lifter Puller is the band that Craig Finn and Tad Kubler were in before The Hold Steady. The straight-up rock of The Hold Steady is wonderful and accesible, but Lifter Puller's twitching indie nastiness is just addictive. The lyrics are exactly what you expect from Craig, but with a much darker, introspective edge. You sense that while his Hold Steady creations are largely fictional, Lifter Puller is all too real.
Enough gushing. I'll hopefully get hold of it as soon as it's available and post more here.
I'm editing this post because I didn't like the title it received after my lazy auto-add to Blogger.
Next month, Lifter Puller are re-releasing their entire discography with some rarities. I think it's only digital, which upsets me slightly, but my ownership of their music consists solely of Soft Rock and I had to download that (legally, I hasten to add).
For those who don't know, Lifter Puller is the band that Craig Finn and Tad Kubler were in before The Hold Steady. The straight-up rock of The Hold Steady is wonderful and accesible, but Lifter Puller's twitching indie nastiness is just addictive. The lyrics are exactly what you expect from Craig, but with a much darker, introspective edge. You sense that while his Hold Steady creations are largely fictional, Lifter Puller is all too real.
Enough gushing. I'll hopefully get hold of it as soon as it's available and post more here.
2.10.09
17.5.09
Journal For Plague Lovers
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.
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.
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.
27.4.09
Bob Dylan
I pretty much went to see Bob Dylan on Friday night.
Expect one scan gushing review sort of thing where I probably talk about some other stuff for the most part then gush a bit more at the end in the next few days.
'Sabout it. I've been well busy. Also watching a lot of Carnivàle. I got a promotion at work too.
Expect one scan gushing review sort of thing where I probably talk about some other stuff for the most part then gush a bit more at the end in the next few days.
'Sabout it. I've been well busy. Also watching a lot of Carnivàle. I got a promotion at work too.
5.4.09
In defence of the Manic Street Preachers
Talk about a love/hate relationship. Normally I try and skirt the issue by saying "well, The Holy Bible" was a great album (actually, much more than that; it was, in my considered opinion, the best British rock album of the 90s) and this usually lets me leave a conversation with my muso-cred intact.
Here's a secret - were it not for the Manics, I probably wouldn't be the nerdy music fan I am today. While most people at school were all drawly Nirvana types (and don't get me wrong - Nirvana WERE the better band, by about three million miles), I idolised four Welsh boys in leopard-print and eyeliner. Everything had to be political, everything had to be a bit pretentious. I think they served me well - to analyse the Manics earlier lyrics was to set yourself a fairly spectacular reading list. My GCSE English original writing coursework was about how I discovered them, and it won me a NATE/TES award and pretty much made me realise that I know some words and how to write them down, occasionally.
Let's start with a few home truths:
With the exception of a few tracks, Generation Terrorists is a terrible, terrible double album (in vinyl terms). It should've been an EP. "You Love Us", "Motorcycle Emptiness" and a couple of others are cracking rock songs, but it suffers from a massive 80s/GN'R hangover. Programmed drums. Ugh.
Self-harm is totally not cool, and in no way a thing to imitate or admire. I wholeheartedly blame Richey Edwards for the fact that my paperclip collection is raided by some of the older, panda-eyed young ladies I teach.
They haven't made a truly great album since Everything Must Go, which was a wonderful piece of music. I dare any of you to deny the brilliance of "A Design For Life", if nothing else.
ONE phenomenal musician. Just one. James Dean Bradfield is a singer/guitarist extraordinaire. Sean Moore is an average drummer. The other two are/were borderline incompetants. I put Moore's idolisation down to the fact that most Manics fans don't listen to any other bands.
Nicky Wire is a cock. Simple as that. He's like the guy at a party who tells everyone "how much The Matrix made me get into philosophy". He's got a degree in political history. A 2(ii), don't you know?
But, for all their faults, they can and have been a fucking great rock band. I'm currently playing Gold Against The Soul and sporting a wry smile. Noah has fallen asleep to it; I use him as a barometer of taste - he likes Tom Waits and it makes him smile, whereas my own guitar playing usually makes him cry, so this is somewhere in the middle.
Back to The Holy Bible - I don't own many better records. Razor-sharp new-wave guitars, arrythmic drums, lyrics spat out far too quickly because they don't actually fit the songs and a genuine sense of despondancy. I mentioned yesterday that Johnny Cash knew his time was up when he recorded American IV: The Man Comes Around, and when you listen to this record, it is painfully obvious that Richey Edwards' mental state had deteriorated to the point of suicide. Even if I was not a fan of the band, I would own this record as a voyeur of human misery.
Anyway, despite the fact that they haven't made a truly great album in over a decade, they have a new one on the way, produced by Steve Albini and I'm a bit excited. Not holding out much hope though.
Expect a short blog consisting of "oh well, it's a bit shit" to appear here soon.
Here's a secret - were it not for the Manics, I probably wouldn't be the nerdy music fan I am today. While most people at school were all drawly Nirvana types (and don't get me wrong - Nirvana WERE the better band, by about three million miles), I idolised four Welsh boys in leopard-print and eyeliner. Everything had to be political, everything had to be a bit pretentious. I think they served me well - to analyse the Manics earlier lyrics was to set yourself a fairly spectacular reading list. My GCSE English original writing coursework was about how I discovered them, and it won me a NATE/TES award and pretty much made me realise that I know some words and how to write them down, occasionally.
Let's start with a few home truths:
With the exception of a few tracks, Generation Terrorists is a terrible, terrible double album (in vinyl terms). It should've been an EP. "You Love Us", "Motorcycle Emptiness" and a couple of others are cracking rock songs, but it suffers from a massive 80s/GN'R hangover. Programmed drums. Ugh.
Self-harm is totally not cool, and in no way a thing to imitate or admire. I wholeheartedly blame Richey Edwards for the fact that my paperclip collection is raided by some of the older, panda-eyed young ladies I teach.
They haven't made a truly great album since Everything Must Go, which was a wonderful piece of music. I dare any of you to deny the brilliance of "A Design For Life", if nothing else.
ONE phenomenal musician. Just one. James Dean Bradfield is a singer/guitarist extraordinaire. Sean Moore is an average drummer. The other two are/were borderline incompetants. I put Moore's idolisation down to the fact that most Manics fans don't listen to any other bands.
Nicky Wire is a cock. Simple as that. He's like the guy at a party who tells everyone "how much The Matrix made me get into philosophy". He's got a degree in political history. A 2(ii), don't you know?
But, for all their faults, they can and have been a fucking great rock band. I'm currently playing Gold Against The Soul and sporting a wry smile. Noah has fallen asleep to it; I use him as a barometer of taste - he likes Tom Waits and it makes him smile, whereas my own guitar playing usually makes him cry, so this is somewhere in the middle.
Back to The Holy Bible - I don't own many better records. Razor-sharp new-wave guitars, arrythmic drums, lyrics spat out far too quickly because they don't actually fit the songs and a genuine sense of despondancy. I mentioned yesterday that Johnny Cash knew his time was up when he recorded American IV: The Man Comes Around, and when you listen to this record, it is painfully obvious that Richey Edwards' mental state had deteriorated to the point of suicide. Even if I was not a fan of the band, I would own this record as a voyeur of human misery.
Anyway, despite the fact that they haven't made a truly great album in over a decade, they have a new one on the way, produced by Steve Albini and I'm a bit excited. Not holding out much hope though.
Expect a short blog consisting of "oh well, it's a bit shit" to appear here soon.
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