The death of Michael Jackson earlier today is bound to bring out strong reactions in folks. I've heard plenty of jokes today. (The best one: I'm grading these Responsible Liquor Service tests we have the servers at our restaurant taking, and my fellow manager, Jimbo, asks about the results. Pretty much everyone is passing, I tell him. "You know who else passed? Michael Jackson." Ok, you had to be there.) Somewhere around 1985 or so, Michael's life began to become a freakshow, and he was clearly ill-equipped to handle it, and eventually devolved into an almost Howard Hughes-like state of insanity. Yeah, I said "insanity"; I think there'll be little doubt when Jacko's life is dissected in future years that the last two decades of his life were a spiral into deep psychosis that sure seemed a lot like schizophrenia.
So yeah. Jokes. Outrage expressed by thirtysomething males on message boards about the "dead child molester" (this outrage coming, by the way, from a community that has little trouble with counting down the days until the 18th birthdays of the Olsen twins and Emma Watson). I've even seen one galactically clueless nitwit express the idea that Jackson and The Jackson 5 were on a musical par with Donny Osmond. I mean, I can understand if Jackson's music isn't your thing, but most grown adults eventually develop critical thinking that underscores that personal taste is not universal taste, and a recognition of empirical elements of quality. I suppose though that it is easy to look back through the last 20 years at the freakshow of Michael Jackson's life and lose sight of what the whole big deal about him was in the first place.
The thing is, though, you look at Jackson's career as a member of TJ5 and right through his early solo work, and you've got one of the most monstrously, astonishingly talented artists of the modern recorded era--hell, there are few albums in the past 30 years that sound as immediate and winning as Off The Wall. Some will look at Neverland Ranch, sexual abuse acquittals, and the endless creepiness of his physical appearance and say "I don't get it." To me, that's like looking at Fat Elvis in a gold lame cape sweating through a set at Caesar's Palace in 1975 and wondering where the rock and roll greatness is.
The greatness came earlier. But greatness it was, and for all the crazy self-induced nonsense that marked MJ's descent into madness, there's a reason he was the King Of Pop. Rest in peace.
Got news from Rob Morton on Monday that over the weekend an artist whose work I've praised here on the blog passed away. Jeff Hanson was only 31 years old, and apparently died after taking a bad fall to a concrete floor in his new apartment. His music was sweet and beautiful, reminiscent of the late Elliott Smith (my old friend Darren from the Euclid Records days said of Hanson: "He was like the Elliott Smith you didn't feel compelled to worry about." If only...) but with a little less of the edge of lurking psychosis that fueled the sharpness of Smith's music.
As incredible a talent as Jeff was, and as haunting as his voice was, what was even cooler was that the guy was a genuinely nice fellow. He wrote me an email or two over the years, and he and I threw down a couple of beers at a live show a year or so ago and he was also one of the funniest guys I've met in the industry. Like, really funny, in an effortless way. When I saw him play it was during football season and the Packers were making a nice run in Favre's last season and he was mostly interested in *that*; guy loved The Pack. He was way too young to have left us, and while I guess we should be thankful for the wonderful body of work he left, I can't help but think that he'd have continued to evolve as an artist and eventually find a much wider audience...and I feel very sad for the opportunity lost.
I'm getting tired of inscribing names into the Pop Narcotic Marble Index. Y'all take care of yourselves. Please?
Have I mentioned yet just how wonderful the debut album by The Leisure Society is? Well, it is. I hope you've got some disposable income, because if you don't already own a copy of it, I'm about to sell you one.
These two clips made me smile a lot today when I really needed to do that.
Tragic news from Illinois courtesy Jim DeRogatis tonight:
Jay Bennett passed away in his sleep last night, no cause determined as yet.
I haven't the words to put to this loss, but I will say that if you only thought of Jay as "one of the guys in Wilco", you gravely underestimated his importance to that band. Bennett was a genius in the studio and at arranging songs, and was a rather formidable talent in his own right--anyone who's heard his post-Wilco solo stuff...or listened to a Titanic Love Affair disc...or seen him playing guitar alongside folks like Tommy Keene....well, they can tell you the real depth of this loss.
Jeff Tweedy has sold quite a few more records as a member of Wilco than his former bandmate Jay Farrar--who maybe came out of Uncle Tupelo with more native talent--ever has as Son Volt. A big part of the reason for that is that Tweedy has never been shy about surrounding himself with equal talents (Wilco bassist John Stirratt gave up a career fronting his own band to join Wilco 15 years ago to join Wilco, for instance) to push him to higher levels and develop his own abilities. Farrar never had a musical genius and competitor and aide-de-camp and challenger and like Bennett in his band.
Huge condolences to those reading this blog who knew him very well. I'm very sad.
...just a brief, pre-bedtime thought on music I've heard the last 6 weeks:
--new High Strung --new Leisure Society --new Outrageous Cherry --new Hard Lessons (what the hell is going on in Detroit???) --new Green Day --Dark Night Of The Soul project (Sparklehorse fanboy here) --new music from Steve Ucherek's (the late and lamented Living Blue) new band, Village --issue/re-issue of the Pretty Things/Phillippe DeBarge collaboration --The Faraway Places new record (I had it cranked today and was thinking that it was the best-sounding guitar record I'd heard this year) --new Office album
Honestly, I can't remember a better 6 week run in my personal music history than all this stuff. One great record chases another out of my iPod or CD player at alarming speeds. If Dragoon gets around to getting their years-in-the-making debut out soon, my cup will have truly overspilled itself.
For now, my eyes hurt. I need to write something about The Hard Lessons, and probably Outrageous Cherry soon, but I'll get to them later or sooner.
...got word today from the folks behind the folks who are the folks in The High Strung about the "Monday-Wednesday-Friday" project. On those three days, the band will post a new song not available on any record. They mention that sometimes the song will be a live recording, or an alternate take, but most of the time it'll be a brand new song no one (outside of, presumably, the band itself) has heard before.
Cool!
They're also blogging, adding awesome photos and all kinds of stuff like that. Here's the blog, and you're welcome:
I hereby promise to not ever refer to Derek Berks as "David" ever again, too. The High Strung are what a Wes Anderson movie would be if it was a rock band, and I mean that in the most praiseworthy way possible.
2009 is shaping up to be the best year for new music (for me anyway) since 2006 or so. Too much great music, too little time! Still, there's a record out now that has simply chucked every other record off my playlist, and it occupies my senses. When you're hearing songs from a record in your dreams, waking up with them running through your mind, and generally just totally possessed by these songs...well, something's up.
Before I get to the record and band here, I want to put them in a larger context. I want to talk about something I call "Muttfactor". Back when Creem was still semi-readable, they did a story on the Replacements and referred to them as the most lovable mutts playing rock and roll--and it's always the mutts who have the real staying power over the purebreds; mutts never let you down, and they're wise, wise, wise beyond their years, and so gloriously easy to love and embrace and cheer for.
My 1990's-era Mutt band was the glorious (and now seemingly quietly defunct) Liquor Giants. With the LG's--like the 'Mats--you'd get nothing fancy, just great rock and roll played straight from the heart. If the band seemed to be playing up their own self-deprecating goofy-ness a bit, one spin through an album revealed a depth and heaviness that few other artists could challenge. I miss the Liquor Giants, dammit.
But now I've got a new mutt band to hold on to and never let go of. They're an unlikely group of guys who are clearly dorks in the most affectionate method of applying that term. They're called The High Strung--which is a GREAT name for a band--and I first heard of them on the basis of their wonderful debut album These Are Good Times. That first record was shambolic, messy, lo-fi, loud, and even occasionally obnoxious. It was wonderful. It sounded like the very teen rebel spirit of rock distilled into pure essence and poured into a compact disc. Songs of ragged genius like "Wretched Boy" or "Show A Sign Of Life" (with the memorable chorus of "Come on Loretta/Lemme put my free hand up yer sweater") come along rarely in rock, and plenty of bands would kill to get one of those; that those are just two of about a dozen ripping rock anthems on that debut is a small miracle. Have a taste:
Yeah, right? "Wretched Boy" is right there with "Can't Explain", "Teenage Kicks", "I Wanna Be Sedated" and any other teen anthem you'd care to bring up.
After that debut, The High Strung went from being a 4-piece to being a 3-piece. They had some trouble getting their follow-up out (I remember at the time it was listed as "released"--but then wasn't available for order) before ending up on the artist-friendly Park The Van label. They recorded a third album that came out about a year ago. I've gotta come clean now: I listened to the second album, Moxie Bravo, exactly twice before walking away in disappointment. I listened to their third album, Get The Guests a little more, but still kind of wondered: what happened to the noisy, funny, geeky brats who put out These Are Good Times?
I guess I'm too young to have been around when Replacements fans picked up Let It Be or Hootenanny and shook their heads in confusion, wondering what had become of the band who recorded Sorry Ma, but I think I went through the same sort of thing with The High Strung. See, they weren't interested in painting themselves into a musical corner; they're too creative for that. So when they began to develop a more fully-rounded sound, began to bring to the fore the pop creativity that is clearly under the rough-hewn surface of the debut, I sort of missed that.
The High Strung weren't sitting around waiting for me or anyone else to catch up to them. No, these guys were out touring. I mean really touring. I mean playing more gigs in a year than any band I've ever heard tell of. They became literary celebrities of a sort by playing libraries to promote libraries as cool places for younger adults to hang out at. Now I know what you're thinking "Oh yeah! Like that band that re-enacts Harry Potter stuff!" No, not like that. You go see the High Strung play at a library and you're gonna see them play a show just like they'd play at a bar (ok, maybe with their onstage banter a little more age-appropriate), as loud and freeform as they'd play a basement dive. They know kids aren't stupid--play down to them and the library remains uncool. Kick out the jams, though and that's something else entirely. Here they are at the Des Plaines Public Library:
Stuff like that couldn't possibly be any more endearing, right? There's more to The High Strung legend though. See, for nearly 2 years they were most likely what you'd describe as "homeless", since every day in that span was spent either playing a gig somewhere, or traveling in their beatup van to get to somewhere to play another gig. Through little towns in Oklahoma and Idaho, The High Strung would play tiny shows in towns that never really got to see a real live (and very talented) rock and roll band come through. They put up over 300,000 miles on their first van, and then--realizing it was on its last legs--took the plunge and bought a new one. But what of the old van? It was a legend in its own right, a veritable bulletin board where fans were allowed to spraypaint whatever on the sides, the band's only home for a few years of road life. Seems as if the band hit on total inspiration: they drove it to Cleveland and then up the massive set of concrete steps that lead to the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame
leaving it at the front doors with a plaque that read as follows:
"This is a 1988 Chevy G30 used by The High Strung. Although the odometer reads 18,621 miles, it is actually 318,621 miles. The spray painting was done by various people all over the country but never by anyone in the van. The van contains countless notes, photos and song ideas inspired by those met along the way."
they also attached the following note:
"Dear Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, We believe rock and roll can make man heroic, make man Superman, can make giants out of the audience and artists alike … The High Strung’s donation to you is a wild multicolored beast of a vehicle that, despite its age and demand placed upon it, carried us to 500 shows across America without asking us to cancel one. Oh, yeah, and don’t you worry about any potential towing costs, the keys are in the ignition."
"We believe rock and roll can make man heroic..." Jeez. They should've put that under glass and carved it into the very steel and glass of the Hall Of Fame building--and those words should be displayed at any bar, club, auditorium, music studio, or record store on the planet. Hell yeah.
So yeah at this point, if you're not a fan of at least the idea of The High Strung, if not the band and their music itself, there's something seriously wrong with you. Get out, heathen.
For the rest of you, please do yourselves a favor and check out that new High Strung album I've been meaning to write about for this entire blog post and am finally getting around to doing. The album is called Ode To The Inverse Of The Dude, and for production they've come full circle now, enlisting David Newfeld, hot producer du jour (Los Campesinos!, Broken Social Scene, Super Furry Animals among others). The album is gorgeous and lovely, with only a few peeks at the band's more raucous side. Instead, guitarist/vocalist Josh Malerman has written some of his most personal material here ("I Got Your Back" and "Rope" are stunners and should-be cuddlecore classics). They take a stab at good old fashioned soul music on "Out Of Character" and "Guilt Is How I'm Built", and then deliver the incredible, all-over-the-map sort-of instrumental "House Party" to finish off the record. With nary a song going over 3:30 in length, this small miracle joy of a record speeds by without ever being breakneck, and by the time "House Party" is over you'll be instantly nostalgic for spinning the whole thing again. Not only is Malerman fully on his game here with the songwriting, but the rhythm section of Chad Stocker and Derek Berk demonstrate why they may be the best bass and drum duo you've never heard of by keeping everything moving at snappy pace that manages to be unhurried when its supposed to be. (Stocker is simply a bass guitar god; if you dig the bass, meet your new favorite bassist.) The other neat trick this record turned for me: I'm re-visiting those 2nd and 3rd albums I'd dismissed before, listening to them in an entirely new light and totally, totally falling in love with them too now. Crazy, right? No one is supposed to take 2 years to "get" a record.
What Ode To The Inverse Of The Dude really is is a triumph of feeling and heart over anything else. You can feel the emotion and sweat and tears and joy that went into recording this amazing disc. They poured it all out here, and you can hear that. The High Strung are rapidly becoming my favorite band; they're the mutts of rock, waiting for you to dismiss them as silly or ugly or inconsequential, and then able to spring a song like "Anyone" or "Real Stone" on you to confound every expectation you had of them. They make the heart glad and the world a better place for them being in it and making music.
Here, let's have some damn music from the new disc:
...and so is one of the very best records of the year. The album (pictured above) is called Mecca, and it is by a once-Chicago-now-suburban-Detroit band called Office. In just a second I'll tell you how you can get it for free without having to don an eye-patch and put a parrot on your shoulder; Office main-man Scott Masson wants you to have it for free, y'see.
At any rate, let me first mention that if you're a fan of tuneful music that is willing to take some chances and follow a melody line down blind alleys and make unexpected twists and turns (think Loud Family/Game Theory, or New Pornographers, or XTC) then I'm thinking you're going to love Office. Masson writes wonderfully interesting songs that go all over the place without ever wandering blindly (ok, maybe "Trainwreck DJs" needed an editor). He can arrest you with an immediate hook (as on the double-entendred "Enter Me/Exit You"), or build one slowly and then deliver the goods in a glorious chorus ("Ridiculous Plans").
There's some "you don't really want to see how sausages and laws are made" gruesome details to the tortured (and eventually free to the public) release of Mecca, but I'm not particularly interested in them (suffice to say that my fanboy-ism of Mitch Easter and Scott Miller should tell you all you need to know about the folly of joining a "learn the songs" band and expecting to someday wield input over important things like artistic and personnel decisions). What I am interested in is how wonderful this lovely, brilliant record sounds.
Enough of my yakkin' as Marty DiBergi would say. Let's get you to the Mecca download page, which can be found right here:
