PEARL JAM
Pearl Jam
J Records, 2006
Pearl Jam (The band)- Well what can I say? They are a bloody brilliant band (quite aptly put don’t you think?). Their mixture of grunge sound, classic rock roots, heartfelt lyrics and deep vocals all come together to form a concoction of pure musical excellence. They exploded onto the scene in 1991 with, in my opinion, the best album to be released in decades, the epic “Ten”. But fifteen years later it can be seen that with age, Pearl Jam, the band, are rusting. They are still an amazing band, better than most, but their latest album has confirmed the fears of the entire music listening world by making it certain that the heights of “Ten” will never again be reached by them.
Pearl Jam (The self titled album released in 2006)- To be fair, in isolation, this is quite a good album. I mean if Good Charlotte, Simple Plan or some such band were to release an album like this, I would count it as being an outstanding album. For Pearl Jam, however, it’s a whole different story. (My apologies to all Good Charlotte and Simple Plan fans, but it’s just that their music tastes like a Popsicle forcibly being shoved up someone’s ass.) Anyway, with our expectations of this great band, after listening to this album the words disappointing, overestimation and disenchantment come to mind. Through the years Pearl Jam’s sound has evolved from being very hard rock like, to something more sober. In this album they tried to recreate their hard rock sound and, unsurprisingly they weren’t able too. Why they tried to revisit those hard rock roots is beyond me. As a huge Pearl Jam fan, their new “sober” sound has grown on me and I was even looking forward to an evolved sober Pearl Jam record, instead what I got was a valiant but unsuccessful attempt by a great band to try and be something they were fifteen years ago.
We as Pearl Jam fans have become accustomed to every album of theirs having inventive and original guitar riffs. It pains me to say that their inspirational guitarist (Mike McReady) has dropped the ball on this one. The guitar riffs are ok but not nearly up to Pearl Jam quality, where songs like Comatose and Life Wasted in particular have quite basic guitar bridges.
It is also apparent that Pearl Jam are more of a personal band. By this I mean that their songs that deal with personal issues of the band members tend to be great, as the band can truly engage with the song. You can see this in their older songs such as Black, Yellow Ledbetter, Betterman, Indifference and so on. In this album Pearl Jam deal with political issues and as a result, the quality of those songs are insufficient as the band are clearly not engaging themselves with this political message as opposed to how they did when their songs were about personal issues. A testament to this belief is the fact that the most endearing and musically captivating song in this album is perhaps the only personal song- Comeback.
This album does have its bright spots; songs such as Comeback, Gone and Army Reserve are pretty good songs, Comeback being the pick of the lot. Another positive that Pearl Jam can take away from this album are its lyrics. Pearl Jam have always had good lyrics and this album is no different. Its nice to see that at least in song writing Pearl Jam are meeting the high standards set by themselves.
As pointed out by a fellow Pearl Jam fan I seem to have quite unjustly dealt with this album, therefore in conclusion I’d just like to repeat that Pearl Jam (the album) is only a disappointment and a failure when compared to other Pearl Jam records, and if you view it in comparison with the kind of records being released today it is far more superior. Lastly I’d just like to say that Pearl Jam are and always will be a great band not to mention one of my personal favorites.
-Tarun Singh
Po shfaqen postimet me emërtimin music. Shfaq të gjitha postimet
Po shfaqen postimet me emërtimin music. Shfaq të gjitha postimet
e premte, 15 qershor 2007
The Beatles Remixed
THE BEATLES
Love
Capitol, 2006
Yep, you guessed it- another teacher writes a review of an album made by some old fogies; in this case, two of them are even dead!
I have to say that I didn’t want to write a review but I spent days thinking of this and that, only to quickly discount what I’d spent days thinking about, and meanwhile, the clock was ticking down and the deadline coming closer and you know what I’m like about deadlines!!!
So, what to say about The Beatles? Everyone knows them, don’t they? I remember when I was about eleven and in some record store with my parents, flicking through the vinyl albums and gazing in awe at the pictures and a world I had never seen before. I found one album with no name and no title, just four dirty and unkempt men standing in front of some weird house (the “Hey Jude” album). I asked my mum why there was no name and title and she told me it was The Beatles and they were so famous that everyone knew who they were. I didn’t know them and I thought that odd.
That was years ago, a lifetime is flashing in front of my eyes and now to members of the band are dead (John Lennon and George Harrison) and yet they’re able to put out a new(ish) record. “How’s that possible?” I hear you say. Well, take one DJ who happens to be the son of George Martin, the legendary Beatles’ producer, and with your connections, get Michael Jackson who owns the songs to release them (no mean feat- ever wonder why no-one sings a Beatles’ tune on “American Idol”? - MJ usually won’t release the songs). Now, with your skills as a DJ, mix the fade-ins and fade-outs of various songs, reverse tracks, mix in different elements of other Beatles’ songs at crucial climaxes or even remove certain instruments from the track or move them into the foreground. At times incredible new music is created such as with the mostly unrecognizable “Glass Onion”, the mix of the vocals of “Within You, Without You” with the music of “Tomorrow Never Knows”, as well as “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite” which mixes in elements of “Nowhere Man”, “Blue Jay Way”, “I Want You (She’s so Heavy)” and “Helter Skelter”.
This modern creationism is not the only highlight though, as the impact on the listener of various songs is subtly altered and enhanced. For instance, the relaxed beat contained in the mellow introduction to “Here Comes the Sun” tranquilly ushers you into the beachside world of the song before the familiar bombastic music takes you over and we’re back in the world that we know so well. I also found the different introduction to “Octopus’s Garden” particularly effective in that it appeared to appropriately slow the tune down thus emphasizing its nursery rhyme form.
Some of it works and some of it doesn’t. I found the jazzy intro to “Lady Madonna” weird to say the least and some of the cuts are awkward and clunky as well as repetitive (mix the end of one track with the start of another), but let’s move on to the real travesty of the CD. This is the unplugged version of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”. With this track you want the guitars to weep all over you- after all, that is what the song is about- but here there is a non-electric whimper taken from the demo of “Anthology” subsumed beneath George Martin’s syrupy strings of schmaltz that are the only new instruments on the CD. “While My Guitar Gently Tinkles in the Background” would be a more appropriate song title for this abomination.
This leaves only the incredible ending to mention.
It starts with studio talk (from “Anthology”) and an alternative acoustic beginning to “A Day in the Life” that subtly and intimately allows the song’s phenomenal music to sweep its caresses all over you. This is possibly my favourite track in terms of sing-along-ability (but then there’s “Hey Jude”) and- but ‘nuff said. I’m just caught up in the moment and listening to it. Woah! A segue into “Hey Jude” (that’s two of the greatest tracks mixed together) and I’m in heaven. The “na-na-na”s thankfully appear to start earlier than the original and seem to take you away with arms outstretched for a lot longer. At three minutes most of the instruments are wiped from the track for a brief shoomy moment before a funky bass undulates its way in and slowly the rhythm builds and swells, sweeping you along and tears well up in your eyes at the beauty and emotion of it all.
Where to go? We’ve hit the heights?
No.
Follow history and rekindle what went before and as “Hey Jude” fades, the bass sample that launched Primal Scream’s career and the whole history of Acid House begins. What follows may remind a lot of people of EMF or other big beat bands (we’re talking about The Beatles, right?) as the thumping drums of Sgt. Pepper” take control. End with “All You Need is Love” and the debt to the two summers of love is acknowledged.
History becomes contemporary. For a moment.
Check out:
Moby “Play”
Beck “Mellow Gold”, “Mutations” and “Midnite Vultures”
Primal Scream “Screamadelica”
for other cross-references.
-Richard Old
Love
Capitol, 2006
Yep, you guessed it- another teacher writes a review of an album made by some old fogies; in this case, two of them are even dead!
I have to say that I didn’t want to write a review but I spent days thinking of this and that, only to quickly discount what I’d spent days thinking about, and meanwhile, the clock was ticking down and the deadline coming closer and you know what I’m like about deadlines!!!
So, what to say about The Beatles? Everyone knows them, don’t they? I remember when I was about eleven and in some record store with my parents, flicking through the vinyl albums and gazing in awe at the pictures and a world I had never seen before. I found one album with no name and no title, just four dirty and unkempt men standing in front of some weird house (the “Hey Jude” album). I asked my mum why there was no name and title and she told me it was The Beatles and they were so famous that everyone knew who they were. I didn’t know them and I thought that odd.
That was years ago, a lifetime is flashing in front of my eyes and now to members of the band are dead (John Lennon and George Harrison) and yet they’re able to put out a new(ish) record. “How’s that possible?” I hear you say. Well, take one DJ who happens to be the son of George Martin, the legendary Beatles’ producer, and with your connections, get Michael Jackson who owns the songs to release them (no mean feat- ever wonder why no-one sings a Beatles’ tune on “American Idol”? - MJ usually won’t release the songs). Now, with your skills as a DJ, mix the fade-ins and fade-outs of various songs, reverse tracks, mix in different elements of other Beatles’ songs at crucial climaxes or even remove certain instruments from the track or move them into the foreground. At times incredible new music is created such as with the mostly unrecognizable “Glass Onion”, the mix of the vocals of “Within You, Without You” with the music of “Tomorrow Never Knows”, as well as “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite” which mixes in elements of “Nowhere Man”, “Blue Jay Way”, “I Want You (She’s so Heavy)” and “Helter Skelter”.
This modern creationism is not the only highlight though, as the impact on the listener of various songs is subtly altered and enhanced. For instance, the relaxed beat contained in the mellow introduction to “Here Comes the Sun” tranquilly ushers you into the beachside world of the song before the familiar bombastic music takes you over and we’re back in the world that we know so well. I also found the different introduction to “Octopus’s Garden” particularly effective in that it appeared to appropriately slow the tune down thus emphasizing its nursery rhyme form.
Some of it works and some of it doesn’t. I found the jazzy intro to “Lady Madonna” weird to say the least and some of the cuts are awkward and clunky as well as repetitive (mix the end of one track with the start of another), but let’s move on to the real travesty of the CD. This is the unplugged version of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”. With this track you want the guitars to weep all over you- after all, that is what the song is about- but here there is a non-electric whimper taken from the demo of “Anthology” subsumed beneath George Martin’s syrupy strings of schmaltz that are the only new instruments on the CD. “While My Guitar Gently Tinkles in the Background” would be a more appropriate song title for this abomination.
This leaves only the incredible ending to mention.
It starts with studio talk (from “Anthology”) and an alternative acoustic beginning to “A Day in the Life” that subtly and intimately allows the song’s phenomenal music to sweep its caresses all over you. This is possibly my favourite track in terms of sing-along-ability (but then there’s “Hey Jude”) and- but ‘nuff said. I’m just caught up in the moment and listening to it. Woah! A segue into “Hey Jude” (that’s two of the greatest tracks mixed together) and I’m in heaven. The “na-na-na”s thankfully appear to start earlier than the original and seem to take you away with arms outstretched for a lot longer. At three minutes most of the instruments are wiped from the track for a brief shoomy moment before a funky bass undulates its way in and slowly the rhythm builds and swells, sweeping you along and tears well up in your eyes at the beauty and emotion of it all.
Where to go? We’ve hit the heights?
No.
Follow history and rekindle what went before and as “Hey Jude” fades, the bass sample that launched Primal Scream’s career and the whole history of Acid House begins. What follows may remind a lot of people of EMF or other big beat bands (we’re talking about The Beatles, right?) as the thumping drums of Sgt. Pepper” take control. End with “All You Need is Love” and the debt to the two summers of love is acknowledged.
History becomes contemporary. For a moment.
Check out:
Moby “Play”
Beck “Mellow Gold”, “Mutations” and “Midnite Vultures”
Primal Scream “Screamadelica”
for other cross-references.
-Richard Old
In the Garage, I Belong
WEEZER
Weezer (the Blue Album)
Geffen, 1994
It is my certain opinion that the 1990s witnessed the closest thing to a golden generation in rock music since the pioneering era of 1965-75. In the 1990s “modern soul” and “R&B”, the evil descendants of the disco era and 1980s synth-pop, still ruled MTV and the unrepresentative rankings of the Billboard Hot 100. But this period also witnessed the rise of several new schools of rock, both radical (in the case of Nirvana and Pearl Jam, Sonic Youth and Pavement) and revivalist (Green Day and the subject of this piece, Weezer), all of which were rather unhelpfully grouped under the term “alternative rock”.
While my fellow reviewer has chosen to highlight how a recent Pearl Jam album pales in comparison to their early 90s work, I would like to return to 1995 and Weezer (known popularly as The Blue Album), the funny, melodic and endearing album that will surely be remembered as one of the finest rock/pop works of the decade.
Weezer is an album that shows impressive simplicity: Rivers Cuomo writes terrific melodies that are so immediate and hooks that are so catchy that he deserves to be held alongside such 70s power-pop writers as Alex Chilton (Big Star), Douglas Colvin and John Cummings (The Ramones) and Howard Devoto (Buzzcocks). The most obvious point of comparison is, however, Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day; as contemporaries and musical rivals they could be compared to Eddie Vedder and Kurt Cobain. Just like Vedder with Cobain, Cuomo is a better lyricist (not surprising from a Harvard College literature graduate), far superior tunesmith and a better guitarist as well (like Green Day, Weezer show an affection for the three-chord song but they have greater variety and complexity). And unlike Green Day (and indeed, nearly every band of the alt-rock era), they sing songs that reflect not the cynicism and antigovernment frustrations of a disillusioned American youth but songs that reflect their personal experiences. This is once again where they can be compared to Pearl Jam, and this is one of their greatest strengths.
The greatest thing about this album though is its consistency. There may be only ten songs, but there isn’t a bad one in the bunch. If forced to choose with a gun to my head, I’d say that the three singles (“Buddy Holly”, “Undone (The Sweater Song)” and “Say it Ain’t So”) stand out. But on repeated listens, “My Name is Jonas”, “In the Garage” and “Surf Wax America” are just as memorable and likable. “No One Else” has perhaps the album’s funniest lyric, about Rivers Cuomo in one of his jealous moods: fittingly he includes a song, “The World Has Turned and Left Me Here”, about the consequences of his jealousy. He shows the capacity to laugh at himself, and shares with us his most intimate thoughts and memories, sung not despairingly but lovingly. While the album did receive both critical and commercial success (included in Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 all-time greatest albums), it’s a great shame that it never became the iconic moment that Green Day’s Dookie did. It is a situation that reminds me once again of Nirvana and Pearl Jam, and is unfortunate testament to the underappreciation of the album that is the best value-for-money of any musical work of the 1990s.
-Keshava Guha
Weezer (the Blue Album)
Geffen, 1994
It is my certain opinion that the 1990s witnessed the closest thing to a golden generation in rock music since the pioneering era of 1965-75. In the 1990s “modern soul” and “R&B”, the evil descendants of the disco era and 1980s synth-pop, still ruled MTV and the unrepresentative rankings of the Billboard Hot 100. But this period also witnessed the rise of several new schools of rock, both radical (in the case of Nirvana and Pearl Jam, Sonic Youth and Pavement) and revivalist (Green Day and the subject of this piece, Weezer), all of which were rather unhelpfully grouped under the term “alternative rock”.
While my fellow reviewer has chosen to highlight how a recent Pearl Jam album pales in comparison to their early 90s work, I would like to return to 1995 and Weezer (known popularly as The Blue Album), the funny, melodic and endearing album that will surely be remembered as one of the finest rock/pop works of the decade.
Weezer is an album that shows impressive simplicity: Rivers Cuomo writes terrific melodies that are so immediate and hooks that are so catchy that he deserves to be held alongside such 70s power-pop writers as Alex Chilton (Big Star), Douglas Colvin and John Cummings (The Ramones) and Howard Devoto (Buzzcocks). The most obvious point of comparison is, however, Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day; as contemporaries and musical rivals they could be compared to Eddie Vedder and Kurt Cobain. Just like Vedder with Cobain, Cuomo is a better lyricist (not surprising from a Harvard College literature graduate), far superior tunesmith and a better guitarist as well (like Green Day, Weezer show an affection for the three-chord song but they have greater variety and complexity). And unlike Green Day (and indeed, nearly every band of the alt-rock era), they sing songs that reflect not the cynicism and antigovernment frustrations of a disillusioned American youth but songs that reflect their personal experiences. This is once again where they can be compared to Pearl Jam, and this is one of their greatest strengths.
The greatest thing about this album though is its consistency. There may be only ten songs, but there isn’t a bad one in the bunch. If forced to choose with a gun to my head, I’d say that the three singles (“Buddy Holly”, “Undone (The Sweater Song)” and “Say it Ain’t So”) stand out. But on repeated listens, “My Name is Jonas”, “In the Garage” and “Surf Wax America” are just as memorable and likable. “No One Else” has perhaps the album’s funniest lyric, about Rivers Cuomo in one of his jealous moods: fittingly he includes a song, “The World Has Turned and Left Me Here”, about the consequences of his jealousy. He shows the capacity to laugh at himself, and shares with us his most intimate thoughts and memories, sung not despairingly but lovingly. While the album did receive both critical and commercial success (included in Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 all-time greatest albums), it’s a great shame that it never became the iconic moment that Green Day’s Dookie did. It is a situation that reminds me once again of Nirvana and Pearl Jam, and is unfortunate testament to the underappreciation of the album that is the best value-for-money of any musical work of the 1990s.
-Keshava Guha
e enjte, 14 qershor 2007
Where Have All the Flowers Gone?
MUSIC: Everyone's personal turtle shell. A damp, dark little world where we let our vulnerability ooze out and ride on the back of a voice, of any voice of the millions of floundering bands out there. The perfect withdrawal is discovered in the pain of some lyric or the other, one that seems to echo your own thoughts with suspicious accuracy. It is this emotion that we relish to live in the shadow of, relieved that there is someone out there who actually "gets it", right? To lean on the reassurance that there always will be a line to mirror your exact state of "blahness". To be able to identify a particular avatar of yourself in a particular song at a particular moment, to be able to define the nothingness you feel suspended in. In other words, to recede into someone else's copy-written turtle shell.
Lyrics are something we are all naturally inclined towards, as they are something we can relate to. Empathy is not a preference but a necessity, possibly something we seek in frustration from friends and family and yet find in music, a beautiful utupian asylum. Is it shameful that we are so dependent on this understanding from a stranger, from a voice completely detached from ourselves? Not only are song lyrics something we lap comfort from, but seem to flaunt everywhere- whether it be online nicknames, entwined in back-of-a-book, product-of-boredom graffiti, scribbles tattooed on skin, or exploding out of our smirking lips. A string of words not only to prove your degree of worldliness and artistic calling, but the perfect disguise for your mood at that instant. Anyone should be able to discern the fact that this only serves to ridicule any creativity which may reside within you, as it's a clear indication that we are so foolishly incapable of conjuring impressive, raise-your-eyebrow phrases ourselves, that we must resort to what has already been created.
How many times have you been genuinely struck by a MSN nickname and discovered that it wasn't stolen from a song or poem, or any other work of art? Even if we did have the capabilities to come up with something more ground shaking than borrowed ideas, it seems slightly too embarrassing to post and expose your own tangled mind. A bit too open and daring, especially in a world that goes by "Oh it sounds familiar, it must be from..." So we all conveniently hide in the shell of those who are used to being victims of ambiguity or some manifestation of pain. Right? We become accustomed to being asked "Hey, where's your nick from?" and testing our own memories to recognize songs fragmented into Instant Messenger nicknames.
Where's all the creativity really gone? Seeking refuge in a lyric is a disappointment to all of us who do try to pursue our artistic talents. Yet look at this at another level. You're in a particular mood, one that you have the talent to identify and do not require a song to do so for you. You spin yourself in a certain thread of thought, a thought you are convinced is unique to you, a thought that is surely your own invention, something that identifies yourself in a group of people who would rather identify themselves with a certain brand. And yet, as you plug into your iPod for some inspiration to keep your cocoon weaving, you stumble upon a lyric which doesn't wash itself away like the others, a line that adheres to your thought rather too closely. And instantly, the music goes flying and you seethe: how the hell could someone have come up with that already?! The idea belonged to ME, it's my personal possession. To hear someone else mumble those very words is an insult to the self, is it not? It's funny how most of us feel a fear to peek out of the shell of an artist, relieved to live off their empathy and lyrics. The few, who dare not to, end up having their original ideas stolen from possession only too quickly, depriving them of what they have taken, proudly, to be their highly personal identity.
-Amrita Mishra
Lyrics are something we are all naturally inclined towards, as they are something we can relate to. Empathy is not a preference but a necessity, possibly something we seek in frustration from friends and family and yet find in music, a beautiful utupian asylum. Is it shameful that we are so dependent on this understanding from a stranger, from a voice completely detached from ourselves? Not only are song lyrics something we lap comfort from, but seem to flaunt everywhere- whether it be online nicknames, entwined in back-of-a-book, product-of-boredom graffiti, scribbles tattooed on skin, or exploding out of our smirking lips. A string of words not only to prove your degree of worldliness and artistic calling, but the perfect disguise for your mood at that instant. Anyone should be able to discern the fact that this only serves to ridicule any creativity which may reside within you, as it's a clear indication that we are so foolishly incapable of conjuring impressive, raise-your-eyebrow phrases ourselves, that we must resort to what has already been created.
How many times have you been genuinely struck by a MSN nickname and discovered that it wasn't stolen from a song or poem, or any other work of art? Even if we did have the capabilities to come up with something more ground shaking than borrowed ideas, it seems slightly too embarrassing to post and expose your own tangled mind. A bit too open and daring, especially in a world that goes by "Oh it sounds familiar, it must be from..." So we all conveniently hide in the shell of those who are used to being victims of ambiguity or some manifestation of pain. Right? We become accustomed to being asked "Hey, where's your nick from?" and testing our own memories to recognize songs fragmented into Instant Messenger nicknames.
Where's all the creativity really gone? Seeking refuge in a lyric is a disappointment to all of us who do try to pursue our artistic talents. Yet look at this at another level. You're in a particular mood, one that you have the talent to identify and do not require a song to do so for you. You spin yourself in a certain thread of thought, a thought you are convinced is unique to you, a thought that is surely your own invention, something that identifies yourself in a group of people who would rather identify themselves with a certain brand. And yet, as you plug into your iPod for some inspiration to keep your cocoon weaving, you stumble upon a lyric which doesn't wash itself away like the others, a line that adheres to your thought rather too closely. And instantly, the music goes flying and you seethe: how the hell could someone have come up with that already?! The idea belonged to ME, it's my personal possession. To hear someone else mumble those very words is an insult to the self, is it not? It's funny how most of us feel a fear to peek out of the shell of an artist, relieved to live off their empathy and lyrics. The few, who dare not to, end up having their original ideas stolen from possession only too quickly, depriving them of what they have taken, proudly, to be their highly personal identity.
-Amrita Mishra
What's Your Favourite Song?
A wonderful new invention enables us to read our “chat logs”, that to the average and somewhat uninterested MSN user are simply records of chat sessions we had with people online since the feature was installed. I guess in a way rereading anything from the past; diaries, blogs, scrappy notes, letters, e-mails, is always… surprising. Surprising, why? To know how much you’ve changed. Living with yourself everyday, it’s hard to notice subtle changes. You don’t really realize when you grow an inch (except when it means procuring some nasty head bumps if you’re unlucky) but you do know the difference between being as high as your daddy’s knee (or if you’re like me and have this cool selective memory, you probably won’t remember anything from that period except for traumatizing events such as being stranded in a big and scary airport) and being tall enough to hug him without him having to stoop. I repeat: it’s the subtle changes we miss. Sometimes we forget entire events in our lives, and sometimes just moments. Sometimes, what should be an entire summer vacation worth of memories, just consists of the smell of a tree, the taste of an orange bar, and the colour of that faded t-shirt of his you hated. Very often, there are entire blanks we find hard to recollect, I think, on purpose, for the sheer mortification of it all. Words from the past help fill up these blanks, even if sometimes, you wished they didn’t.
Digging out old emails, I actually saw myself writing “thx 4 evrythin, I luv u 2” and signing off with nothing short of “Avantika: basically the greatest”. I hate that font! Well, at least I do now. And that’s the least of it. Need I explain? I also remember one rainy Saturday night when a really good friend introduced me to his “crush” (who is now also, a really good friend) and I vividly remember our conversation. Her nickname was a shocking collection of symbols and leet and now she cringes whenever I bring it up. So much has changed from that one evening. Heart-breaks, exams, friendships ruined, new ones made, grades, graduation even! And no one tripped in their saris (well, tripping on Church Street doesn’t count because graduation was over by then!) We’ve gone from snotty little brats telling on each other to big grown up brats stealing fire extinguishers.
And music has evolved so much with us, every step of the way. I think the summing up of what I am trying to say rests in one simple question, or rather in its answer:
What’s your favourite song?
If I could be so Ms. Abbreviationist as to say, most FAQ ever! It could be a tricky question, one used to judge you absolutely. Dare mention a song like, “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman” and face the large possibility of being stared at with pity, revulsion and in most cases, scorn. Mention an R&B hit and the rock idealists will spit at your feet and wander off muttering rants about the degradation of music after the likes of 50 cent hit the charts. Mention a Fall Out Boy single and again, be ready to be classified as a wannabe-punk-rocker who, once again, has terrible taste in music, and therefore, is an intellectually challenged being. But I am (as usual) being pessimistic and not getting to the point.
While examining the question of a favourite song simply, it is typical to assume that that choice, the one selection, would be an utter reflection on one’s music taste. So, now, if I tell you that my number one favourite song is “Angels” by Robbie Williams (and here I kid you not), I can already hear your brains whizzing away (that does generate interesting imagery), type casting me as another of the pop loving, Mariah Carey worshipping sort. Not the same girl who crusades for Ryan Adams and screeches at people who prefer Bethany Joy Lenz and Tyler Hilton’s poppy boy-bandish version of “When The Stars Go Blue”.
So what is it that decides your favourite song? A memory, is my answer. Alright, maybe sometimes it is the best of the genre you like the most, so, for instance, “Aces High” might be a metal head’s favourite song. But sometimes, how can one explain a hard-core punk fan sheepishly claiming that “Baby… One More Time” is his/her all-time favourite song?
I’ve seen the answers evolve from Backstreet boys’ songs (when a certain group of boys – who’d vehemently deny this – threw their jackets on an audience of screaming girls as they crooned “I don’t care who you are – as long as you love me” during a Western Music concert) to Britney Spears’ tracks, Guns and Roses’ songs (when everyone was going through the initial rock phase), Blink 182 were big too, right? And so on and so forth. The answers keep changing. But the memories stay preserved.
But try to deny the fact that if “Oops I did it again” came on the radio you’d start bopping your head and singing along with that silly pop princess and you’ll find you can’t! Even if now, as a fully self-actualized person (Carl Jung spinning in his grave?) you’ve found “yourself” and can’t identify with the person you were earlier, you can’t forget him/her. I spent an entire glorious afternoon listening to the big hits of the 90s (Backstreet Boys, Boyz II Men, Bon Jovi, etc) and the memories uprooted were well worth the abuse my ears took (well, I do like BBB… but…)!
A song is nothing but an auditory stimulus which triggers of feelings experienced during a certain period in your life. So what is your favourite song? A silly song like “In the Shadows” which you and your friend played on loop and danced to an entire night? (Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never done that!) The first song you learnt to play on your guitar? The song your mom used to sing to you when you were a baby? (Yes, Yellow Submarine will be forever imprinted in my memory bank thanks to her) The first cover your band did or, your boy friend’s favourite song?
It’s a complicated question and a trip (if I may be so clichéd to say) down memory lane. The other day, for example, my iTunes played “Only Hope” by Switchfoot and I was flooded with memories from the summer of 2005 when I was going through my Langdon Carter phase. Nostalgia’s a good thing. Memories are better. If not to cry over, to laugh at. To see how much we’ve changed. Signposts, if you will. And songs mark these signposts! Every step, every phase. You may HATE Boyzone now, and burn that poster you have of those pretty boys, but you can’t deny that part of your past, and therefore you may as well save that poster. If anything, it can be used to educate your kids against the evils of boy-bands.
-Avantika Agarwal
Digging out old emails, I actually saw myself writing “thx 4 evrythin, I luv u 2” and signing off with nothing short of “Avantika: basically the greatest”. I hate that font! Well, at least I do now. And that’s the least of it. Need I explain? I also remember one rainy Saturday night when a really good friend introduced me to his “crush” (who is now also, a really good friend) and I vividly remember our conversation. Her nickname was a shocking collection of symbols and leet and now she cringes whenever I bring it up. So much has changed from that one evening. Heart-breaks, exams, friendships ruined, new ones made, grades, graduation even! And no one tripped in their saris (well, tripping on Church Street doesn’t count because graduation was over by then!) We’ve gone from snotty little brats telling on each other to big grown up brats stealing fire extinguishers.
And music has evolved so much with us, every step of the way. I think the summing up of what I am trying to say rests in one simple question, or rather in its answer:
What’s your favourite song?
If I could be so Ms. Abbreviationist as to say, most FAQ ever! It could be a tricky question, one used to judge you absolutely. Dare mention a song like, “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman” and face the large possibility of being stared at with pity, revulsion and in most cases, scorn. Mention an R&B hit and the rock idealists will spit at your feet and wander off muttering rants about the degradation of music after the likes of 50 cent hit the charts. Mention a Fall Out Boy single and again, be ready to be classified as a wannabe-punk-rocker who, once again, has terrible taste in music, and therefore, is an intellectually challenged being. But I am (as usual) being pessimistic and not getting to the point.
While examining the question of a favourite song simply, it is typical to assume that that choice, the one selection, would be an utter reflection on one’s music taste. So, now, if I tell you that my number one favourite song is “Angels” by Robbie Williams (and here I kid you not), I can already hear your brains whizzing away (that does generate interesting imagery), type casting me as another of the pop loving, Mariah Carey worshipping sort. Not the same girl who crusades for Ryan Adams and screeches at people who prefer Bethany Joy Lenz and Tyler Hilton’s poppy boy-bandish version of “When The Stars Go Blue”.
So what is it that decides your favourite song? A memory, is my answer. Alright, maybe sometimes it is the best of the genre you like the most, so, for instance, “Aces High” might be a metal head’s favourite song. But sometimes, how can one explain a hard-core punk fan sheepishly claiming that “Baby… One More Time” is his/her all-time favourite song?
I’ve seen the answers evolve from Backstreet boys’ songs (when a certain group of boys – who’d vehemently deny this – threw their jackets on an audience of screaming girls as they crooned “I don’t care who you are – as long as you love me” during a Western Music concert) to Britney Spears’ tracks, Guns and Roses’ songs (when everyone was going through the initial rock phase), Blink 182 were big too, right? And so on and so forth. The answers keep changing. But the memories stay preserved.
But try to deny the fact that if “Oops I did it again” came on the radio you’d start bopping your head and singing along with that silly pop princess and you’ll find you can’t! Even if now, as a fully self-actualized person (Carl Jung spinning in his grave?) you’ve found “yourself” and can’t identify with the person you were earlier, you can’t forget him/her. I spent an entire glorious afternoon listening to the big hits of the 90s (Backstreet Boys, Boyz II Men, Bon Jovi, etc) and the memories uprooted were well worth the abuse my ears took (well, I do like BBB… but…)!
A song is nothing but an auditory stimulus which triggers of feelings experienced during a certain period in your life. So what is your favourite song? A silly song like “In the Shadows” which you and your friend played on loop and danced to an entire night? (Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never done that!) The first song you learnt to play on your guitar? The song your mom used to sing to you when you were a baby? (Yes, Yellow Submarine will be forever imprinted in my memory bank thanks to her) The first cover your band did or, your boy friend’s favourite song?
It’s a complicated question and a trip (if I may be so clichéd to say) down memory lane. The other day, for example, my iTunes played “Only Hope” by Switchfoot and I was flooded with memories from the summer of 2005 when I was going through my Langdon Carter phase. Nostalgia’s a good thing. Memories are better. If not to cry over, to laugh at. To see how much we’ve changed. Signposts, if you will. And songs mark these signposts! Every step, every phase. You may HATE Boyzone now, and burn that poster you have of those pretty boys, but you can’t deny that part of your past, and therefore you may as well save that poster. If anything, it can be used to educate your kids against the evils of boy-bands.
-Avantika Agarwal
Album Review: Living With War
NEIL YOUNG
Living With War
Reprise, 2006
A lot of the sixties rockers have survived. Big-time. Survivors of the first order. Paul and Ringo are still around. So are the Rolling Stones. Once the best damn rock 'n roll band in the world and the bad boys of rock they are now more befitting of the title of the oldest rockers on the touring circuit. Dylan is kicking turf in local baseball stadiums on his never ending world tour. Paul Simon harmonizing. The Who are now just two. Like Led Zep. And Neil Young rolls on, regardless.
Neil Young. Gone are the Buffalo Springfield days. And the days of CSNY. S and Y. Gone too those days when Neil Young played with Crazy Horse. Now it is just Neil Young. Even the thirtieth aniversary show for Dylan's back pages and Pearl Jam have been left behind.
But Neil Young still rocks - if you don't believe me listen to Living With War for proof - thre's something very comforting about the album - "I know it's only rock 'n roll but I like it" - it's because it sounds like it's straight out of the sixties but without the urgency of that time to create classics - so the songs end up sounding mellow and soft but the guitar is still rough, the drums still pound, the melody is still there, the bass booms and the lead is predictaby simple. and best of all the lyrics are as protest and folksy as they should be. It's like going down memory lane and reliving the good ole days when the system was something that we all believed we could beat.
It's not a surprise that the album along with Springsteen's tribute to Seeger should have had much success. They're riding the wave of nostalgia.
I have to quote but there are too many memorable lines to choose from. The titles themselves speak loudly. After the Garden. Living with War. The Restless Consumer. Shock and Awe. Families. Let's Impeach the President. Flags of Freedom. Looking for a Leader. Roger and Out. America the Beautiful - yes, the hymn. And yes again, the titles tell us the whole story.
Song after song pounds and drives its way into our ears - sounding similar to one another but still enjoyable.
Neil Young pays an expected tribute to Bob Dylan in Flags of Freedom. Echoes of "chimes of freedom flashing", naturally.
"Sister has her headphones on
She hears the music blasting
She sees her brother marching by
Their bond is everlasting
Listening to Bob Dylan singing in 1963
Watching the flags of freedom flying
She sees the president speaking
On the flat screen TV
In the window of the old appliance store
She turns to see her brother again
But he's already walking past
The flags of freedom flying
Can't you see the flags of freedom?
What colour are they now?
Do you think that you believe in yours
More than they do theirs somehow?
These must be the flags of freedom flyin' "
Followed by - you guessed it - the harmonica.
Not much one can add to that - except perhaps to remember what the reference was about - Martin Luther King and his dream - Dylan and Joan Baez singing, me thinking: "where have all the flowers gone?" - "how green was my valley?" - "oh when will they ever learn? - oh when will they ever learn?*"
It doesn't matter any longer so long as the protests songs keep ringin' - and I can't think of one song on this album I don't like though none of them really stand out - which is pretty impressive for such an old codger - old is sure wise, at any rate. He knows how to keep it simple. Hearken, ye young stupids who are imitators of ye oulde rock 'n' roll gods...
like the chimes of freedom flashin'
like the flags of freedom flyin'
after all, the cause is dead but it's not forgotten.
And yeah, to end - it's not a great album, you say, "but I lahk it."
* Dylan and Baez didn't sing this song or quote that novel but the performance was in that spirit and so the present writer has taken the liberty of doing a little Imagineering here.
-AV Koshy
Living With War
Reprise, 2006
A lot of the sixties rockers have survived. Big-time. Survivors of the first order. Paul and Ringo are still around. So are the Rolling Stones. Once the best damn rock 'n roll band in the world and the bad boys of rock they are now more befitting of the title of the oldest rockers on the touring circuit. Dylan is kicking turf in local baseball stadiums on his never ending world tour. Paul Simon harmonizing. The Who are now just two. Like Led Zep. And Neil Young rolls on, regardless.
Neil Young. Gone are the Buffalo Springfield days. And the days of CSNY. S and Y. Gone too those days when Neil Young played with Crazy Horse. Now it is just Neil Young. Even the thirtieth aniversary show for Dylan's back pages and Pearl Jam have been left behind.
But Neil Young still rocks - if you don't believe me listen to Living With War for proof - thre's something very comforting about the album - "I know it's only rock 'n roll but I like it" - it's because it sounds like it's straight out of the sixties but without the urgency of that time to create classics - so the songs end up sounding mellow and soft but the guitar is still rough, the drums still pound, the melody is still there, the bass booms and the lead is predictaby simple. and best of all the lyrics are as protest and folksy as they should be. It's like going down memory lane and reliving the good ole days when the system was something that we all believed we could beat.
It's not a surprise that the album along with Springsteen's tribute to Seeger should have had much success. They're riding the wave of nostalgia.
I have to quote but there are too many memorable lines to choose from. The titles themselves speak loudly. After the Garden. Living with War. The Restless Consumer. Shock and Awe. Families. Let's Impeach the President. Flags of Freedom. Looking for a Leader. Roger and Out. America the Beautiful - yes, the hymn. And yes again, the titles tell us the whole story.
Song after song pounds and drives its way into our ears - sounding similar to one another but still enjoyable.
Neil Young pays an expected tribute to Bob Dylan in Flags of Freedom. Echoes of "chimes of freedom flashing", naturally.
"Sister has her headphones on
She hears the music blasting
She sees her brother marching by
Their bond is everlasting
Listening to Bob Dylan singing in 1963
Watching the flags of freedom flying
She sees the president speaking
On the flat screen TV
In the window of the old appliance store
She turns to see her brother again
But he's already walking past
The flags of freedom flying
Can't you see the flags of freedom?
What colour are they now?
Do you think that you believe in yours
More than they do theirs somehow?
These must be the flags of freedom flyin' "
Followed by - you guessed it - the harmonica.
Not much one can add to that - except perhaps to remember what the reference was about - Martin Luther King and his dream - Dylan and Joan Baez singing, me thinking: "where have all the flowers gone?" - "how green was my valley?" - "oh when will they ever learn? - oh when will they ever learn?*"
It doesn't matter any longer so long as the protests songs keep ringin' - and I can't think of one song on this album I don't like though none of them really stand out - which is pretty impressive for such an old codger - old is sure wise, at any rate. He knows how to keep it simple. Hearken, ye young stupids who are imitators of ye oulde rock 'n' roll gods...
like the chimes of freedom flashin'
like the flags of freedom flyin'
after all, the cause is dead but it's not forgotten.
And yeah, to end - it's not a great album, you say, "but I lahk it."
* Dylan and Baez didn't sing this song or quote that novel but the performance was in that spirit and so the present writer has taken the liberty of doing a little Imagineering here.
-AV Koshy
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