Destroyer Of The Void (Blitzen Trapper, 2010)
(June 8, 2010)
Review:
This summer, I wrote off Destroyer of the Void for sounding too much like a throwback to seventies rock, but I dropped the ball on this one: beyond the obvious comparisons, it has a strong instrumental foundation, creative lyrical sense, and adds up to a strong album.
Top Two Tracks:
“Below the Hurricane” & “Love and Hate”
By Chris Moore:
RATING: 4 / 5 stars
In this age of increasing separation between genres, particularly alternative (i.e. music comprised of basic rock instruments) and experimental/indie (i.e. that relying on dance beats, synthesized instruments, and other technology), the Scissor Sisters are one of the few acts cutting through all those distinctions without compromising their sound.
On the one hand, Night Work is hard-core dance music, drawing largely from instruments that require programming. One look at their attire would be enough to mistakenly situate this band in the heart of the eighties. With names like Jake Shears, Ana Matronic, Babydaddy (who handles the aforementioned programming), and Del Marquis, it might be difficult to take the Scissor Sisters as anything more than a fun, even a novelty, act.
However, this would be a misguided reaction. It would be folly to minimize their craft, weaving in strong rock components — like Marquis’ guitars — and complex harmonies as they do. There are moments of pure rock bliss, electric solos being delivered over a bed of other accompaniments, drums being layered in at all the right moments, and additional sounds like strings — synthesized though they may be — accenting the arrangements in all the right places.
This is what is perhaps most impressive about Night Work: it is an exceedingly busy album, with little opportunity for the listener to become bored with the instrumentation or the vocal deliveries, and yet I would hesitate to label it as overproduced. If anything, the Scissor Sisters have embraced this set of instruments and aren’t afraid to fill their tracks to the brim with all manner of sounds.
Night Work cover (Scissor Sisters, 2010)
This is certainly the band’s most overtly sexual album, a release characterized by provocative phrasings, erotic voice-overs, and carnal beats. It’s difficult to interpret such lines as “grabbing apples” or doing it “in front of my parents” otherwise, and, with titles like “Skintight” and “Sex and Violence,” it doesn’t seem as though we are being invited to read such lyricism at a deeper level.
There is something to be said for such openness. At first, I wasn’t sure how to take this album. I certainly enjoyed it from the first listen onward, but I wasn’t sure if these were provocative songs or songs that simply went for the “shock” factor. After multiple returns to this record, I find it difficult to view it as anything other than a brilliant collection of songs. The tracks are smartly arranged, and the shift from “Night Work” (track one) to “Night Life” (the penultimate track) can be read in a number of ways, not least of which as a study of the seamier side of human nature.
Lyrically sharp — “opiate utopia,” “I had a dream we were holding on / And tomorrow has become today,” “Sex and violence / Never let you see them / Hand in hand / And one is just the other / The softest touch is / Deeper than the ocean” — and thematically tight, Night Work is an impressive third effort, making good on all the promise of their debut and all the progression of Ta-Dah!
So, chalk this one up to the “don’t judge a book by its cover” cliche. If a man grabbing his tight-adorned backside was enough to dissuade you from giving this one a listen, take this as a warning not to miss out on one of the strongest albums of the year. It sounds modern and yet retro, intelligent and yet sensual, poppy yet with a strong basis in basic rock.
There aren’t many things like this, so run out and have a listen.
By Chris Moore:
How many times do you suppose Bob Dylan has performed “Like A Rolling Stone” in his career?
I’d be willing to bet it stretches well into the four digit range.
Fortunately, there’s this great site that — thanks to internet records — has broken down his tour stats for the past decade, 2000-2009. Thus, I can say with some certainty that he has performed “Like A Rolling Stone” live in concert 781 times in the first decade of the new millennium alone.
This is what it’s all come to: there is an abundance — some would say an over-abundance, and I would agree — of text available on Bob Dylan’s life and music. These sources include everything from so-called “official” music sources such as Rolling Stone magazine to independent blogs (I am, of course, inclined to argue that the latter does include some excellent sites…). The writers range from fans who write for the sake of fandom to that ever-broadening cast of self-proclaimed Dylanologists brandishing claims to varying degrees of expertise.
All this shuffle over a man who continues to write, perform, and (recently) record music at an extraordinary pace begs one essential question:
Where do my experiences, thoughts, and opinions fit into the ever-growing, ever-changing mix?
The honest answer will find you nearer to “they don’t” and “leave it to the professionals, kid” than any of us modern-day bloggers, Twitterers, and Facebookers really want to consider, so I trudge forward with my words.
I have been a Dylan fan since 2000, my sophomore year in high school and the first time in my life when I discovered the cathartic power of putting pen to paper. Through studying Dylan and others, I soon found that there is a distinct separation between those who write purely for therapeutic release and/or self-aggrandizement and those who are willing to explore the roots and work to not only improve their writing but also to imbue it with significant thought and emotion.
Every year that I’ve seen Dylan (and I’ve seen him once a year for ten years), I’ve had this conviction reaffirmed.
Some shows are better than others, and frankly, I enjoyed last year’s July concert at New Britain Stadium more than last night’s (11/27/2010) MGM Grand Theatre performance in Mashantucket, CT. Last summer, his songs were more rock-tinged than I’d heard them in several years, marked by George Recile’s thunderous drums.
For my money, there’s no better Dylan.
Last night, I rediscovered a Dylan embracing his country and blues roots, fronted once again by Charlie Sexton, a lead guitarist who should be considered by Dylan fans and critics with similar, if not the same, respect as earlier notables like Bloomfield and Robertson, if only for the revival of energy that he helped to foster in the band during his brief tenure (think: “Things Have Changed,” Love & Theft, and the Masked and Anonymous project).
The guitar work was arguably the highlight of the evening, Sexton and Dylan’s body language hinting at revisiting the onstage soloing duels they acted out during their concerts in 2002. Dylan himself seemed less restrained than usual during the set, moving not only from keyboard to guitar but also confining himself to vocal and harmonica duties on several songs. When he picked up the guitar, his hands strayed up and down the fretboard as per usual, but he also took on a couple of standout solos.
On the whole, the band produced strong six-string work with the acoustic guitar featured prominently at times, as well as the banjo and, more typically, lap steel.
The pinnacle of their prowess came with the best version of “Love Sick” I’ve heard, dancing with dissonance along the taut wire characteristic of this Time Out of Mind alum.
The set list itself was predictable to a degree if you’ve been paying any attention to recent sets — “Thunder on the Mountain” and “Jolene” being two of the sure bets — and yet Dylan continues to infuse an air of improvisation, choosing two Nashville Skyline tracks, the ever-enigmatic and enticing “Visions of Johanna,” and taking down the tempo for a heartrending take on “The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll.” The visual aspect of this show was the most ambitious of any I’ve seen, combining a fantastic array of background images, video projected on the screen, and all around a shifting shadow motif; it was understated and not likely to win any awards for stage design, but added excellent visual accompaniment to the music.
While the fan in me desires purely to express the unadulterated joy of the evening, an emotion I truly and predominantly felt, it should be noted that several performances suffered from the same staccato near-drone that has characterized periods of Dylan’s live career since the seventies (see: “Shelter from the Storm” from 1979’s Live at Budokan). Vocally, he shifted in and out of his comfort zone, crooning at one moment and crackling apart at the next.
And yet, for me, these aspects were overshadowed by the strength of the instrumental work, as much as by the indescribable respect and joy I found in the realization that this energetic, multi-layered concert comes at the tail end of Dylan’s fifth decade of live performances.
Phenomenal.
There’s no other word for a man who can strut onstage and sing “Like A Rolling Stone” for the 102nd time this year with as much passion and grit as he did forty-something years ago when he sang to unsettled audiences.
It’s a different sort of passion and grit, some of which can be heard quite literally in the gravel of his voice, but it’s the same rush of adrenaline that noticeably passes over the crowd when the lights come up on the “How does it feeeeel?” of the chorus.
Click HERE to view the set list!
By Chris Moore:
It is far too easy to sit down the day after a concert experience and glorify the memory of the past night.
What follows is, to the best of my ability, devoid of exaggeration.
Band of Horses opened the night with a solid forty-five minute set. I enjoyed listening to their songs; it was all Band-style rock and vocals, if a little less rough-shod than Robertson, Helm, and company would have preferred. Ben Bridwell and his band sufficiently caught my interest for their new album, Infinite Arms, which will be released this coming Tuesday.
This all being acknowledged, they are no Pearl Jam.
The majority of ticket-holders apparently agreed, as more than three quarters of the seats went unfilled until about ten minutes before the headliners came onstage. By the time Matt Cameron, Jeff Ament, Stone Gossard, Mike McCready, and Eddie Vedder took the stage, nearly every seat in the house was filled, including the majority of seats to the side of and behind the stage.
And when a band can fill seats with people willing to stare at their backs for most of the concert, that’s saying something.
Even from my vantage point at Vedder’s nine o’clock high up in the second to last row of the XL (nee Civic) Center in Hartford, CT, the show was a phenomenal experience, although it didn’t begin that way. For some reason, the sound was softer and muddier than it should have been for the first several songs.
I had a nightmarish vision of having to listen to thousands of half-drunken Pearl Jam fans sing the hits while one of the greatest rock bands of all time labored away below me, in my vision but outside my hearing. For the first four songs or so, this fear was realized as I had to struggle to hear Vedder’s baritone amidst shouting fans who clearly knew the words every bit as well as he did — and wanted to lend their vocals. Even McCready and Gossard’s guitar work was buried, only Ament’s bass and Cameron’s stellar drumming standing out clearly the entire evening. In between songs, Vedder sounded like he was speaking into a drive-thru speaker in a foreign language.
Then, like someone flipped a switch, Vedder’s voice suddenly came through loud and clear and the instruments all fell into place into the mix. From this point on, the concert was pure energy and utter perfection.
This was a concert to compete with the best concert experiences of my lifetime (and admittedly limited experience). There was all the instrumental prowess of Bob Dylan’s band with an ability to translate studio tracks to live performances that rivals — and perhaps surpasses — that of bands like America and Wilco. The set list was among the most well-balanced I’ve seen, up there with Brian Wilson’s recent concerts which regularly and beautifully draw from throughout his storied career. My only complaint concerning the set list — and I am most certainly going to be alone on this one — is its dismissal of Binaural (2000) and Riot Act (2002), which boast some of my favorite tracks in their catalog.
In the course of more than two hours of pure rock fury, the band played the first seven tracks of last year’s Backspacer, folding these new songs into their repetoire like they’ve been playing them for a decade. I’m at a loss to name just one that stood out — I think “Got Some” first because I love it, but “The Fixer” was heart-pounding, catchy madness, and by the time “Johnny Guitar” rolled out, it was like Vedder and company had been unleashed. In the first encore, they played a breath-taking version of the ninth track, “Speed of Sound,” noting that they hadn’t really played it before, at least not to their liking. Gossard’s acoustic work was just right, and I can honestly assert that this was better than the album version.
This is not to say that the veteran Pearl Jam fans went unappeased, as Ten (1991), Vs. (1993), and Vitalogy (1994) were all well-represented. Hits like “Even Flow,” “Alive,” and “Jeremy” were received as full-audience sing-a-longs, and I was pleasantly surprised to hear my favorite deep track on Ten, “Porch,” in all its angry glory. “Daughter” and, less predictably, “Dissident” were played, but it wasn’t until their transcendent take on “Indifference” that I was blown away. This was their second to last performance of the evening, with the lights up and the audience clapping for the entire song. I’m proud to say I was one of the few that didn’t taper off in the middle, and even though I questioned if I was supposed to stop and my arms were screaming for me to relax, I wouldn’t have for the world.
Although Vitalogy is among my least favorite albums in the Pearl Jam catalog, it certainly has some of the best material they have ever released. When they kicked off “Corduroy,” the crowd responded with the same sort of energetic approval I’ve rarely seen, the same as when Dylan finally reaches for a harmonica these days. I was again pleasantly surprised to hear them roll into my favorite Vitalogy deep track, “Satan’s Bed.” There’s something poignant about the in-your-face defiance of typical American indicators of success and image in this song, heard most clearly in the vocals and instrumental stop on the line “I’ll never suck Satan’s dick.” Before “Nothingman,” Vedder dedicated the song to a young couple holding hands that he had seen on a street corner before the show, noting how profound that sort of affection is, as though it’s all they need in the world for all their days to come. He referred to “Nothingman” as a cautionary tale to those who would forgo or forget the importance of love.
Another of my favorites, Yield (1998) alum “Do the Evolution,” was played, but it was admittedly overshadowed by their beautiful delivery of “Low Light,” one of my girlfriend Nicole’s favorites (her night was complete, as she had been hoping for “Johnny Guitar” and this one).
The night all wrapped up with a second encore closing cover of Dylan’s “All Along the Watchtower” a la Hendrix, a song and an arrangement that Dylan uses often in his own encores to this day.
The music was brilliantly performed, the energy in the filled-to-capacity XL Center was unsurpassed, and even from the nosebleeds, it was clear that this was a concert that I will always remember as one of the best I’ve ever seen. That I almost considered saving the money and not going to see Pearl Jam is beyond embarrassing; two decades later, they are one of the most impressive live bands going, most likely due the the fact that they are truly a band. As much as Vedder’s personality and stage presence drives their image, each member of the band contributes to the writing of the songs and has an integral part of their sound.
As if to remind us of the fact that he prefers to share the spotlight, Vedder rode out the instrumental portion of “Porch” by using the reflection from his electric guitar, held above his head, to shine a beacon on each and every portion of the stadium, momentarily blinding each fan with brilliance — a literal gesture, and a fitting metaphor for the evening.