The forces that collided in 1989 around the release of Trent Reznor’s “Pretty Hate Machine” caused major shifts in several genres of modern music, and in the overall critical trajectory of alternative music. This record succeeded in tapping the rich underground traditions of industrial electronic music, and by combining it with strong melodic songwriting both catapulted the sub-genre to a larger audience, as well as brought a new sonic palette of inspiration to multiple artists from other genres. But this single debut album became a monument in the musical landscape not only because of its transformation of genres, but also as work of the auter – the masterwork of a single artist as opposed to a group or band effort. This single source creativity would go on to inspire further music as digital music and recording technology became more widely available to non-professional and, importantly, musicians not sponsored by the recording industry.
In context, “Pretty Hate Machine” wears its influences proudly on its sleeve. Its release in 1989 shows its clear sonic link to the industrial and electronic dance music of the time. The whirring mechanical rhythms, dark ambient synth fills and grinding white noise distorted guitars were lifted directly from the playbooks of underground dance groups like Ministry, Nitzer Ebb, and Front 242. But within 40 seconds of the first track, Head Like a Hole differentiates itself from its peers. The song builds predictably enough through whirring mechanical percussion loops and visceral vocal grunt/scream sounds reminiscent of the implied bodily violence of the electro-dance movement to a throbbing bass melody. But at the 40 second mark, the inhuman composition fades back in the mix for the entrance of the vocal. Unlike the vocals of typical industrial music where the human voice is either a percussive chant, or a distorted/over processed textural fill (Ministry’s Stigmata being the ultimate object lesson for this aesthetic), this vocal is something completely different: a lyric. And not only is it a lyric, but it’s composed in melodic rhyming couplets conceptually rooted in a single theme, all gathered together in a verse chorus framework. All this of course is a very convoluted way to say: popular songwriting structure.
Song by song “Pretty Hate Machine” proves again and again how the sonic palette of industrial music can be translated into popular songwriting. From the rock-anthem styling of Head like a Hole, to dark pop songs like Sin, to the rap driven Down In It to even haunting ballads like Something I Can Never Have, Reznor unflinchingly indulges the driving beats, harsh mechanical textures and distorted guitar noise of his influences. But instead of using these elements to dominate the song and bury the listener in the abstract isolationism and dehumanization that is the core of the industrial aesthetic, he uses them as independent instruments in arrangement to support the vocal. The lyric content itself then takes the next step of the transformation and anchors the dysfunctional / dystopian aesthetic of industrial music around the personal confusion, anxiety and tortured self-pity of the singer. In this, he succeeded to embody and personify the emotional and psychological alienation and dehumanization of modern life that the industrial movement sought to express in abstraction, by paradoxically giving that alienation a very human and emotionally identifiable persona.
The slow building popularity that built up around “Pretty Hate Machine” in 1989 became a fevered pitch which kept the album on the charts for two years, and became not only a commercial success for Reznor and his indie label TVT, but it sparked a new interest and new audience for industrial music. Though they were his initial inspiration, bands like Ministry, Nitzer Ebb, Einsturzende Neubauten and KMFDM rode the coat tails of “Pretty Hate Machine” to a new broader audience by taking lessons from Reznor’s new use of traditional songwriting. In turn, the sonic elements of the genre found their way into the songs of new generations of bands to follow who further explored the crossovers between techno, metal, and alternative genres – Filter, Marilyn Manson and Garbage to name only a few.
But the innovation of this album doesn’t stop at this crossroads of genres. The importance of the recording is best captured in an anecdote that embodies the emergence of Nine Inch Nails at the time of its release. When I was first introduced to Pretty Hate Machine by a friend in 1989 it was the classic word of mouth marketing that indie music was built upon in the late 80s. A friend asked me if I had heard this “new band called Nine Inch Nails”. When I said I hadn’t, my friend told me “Well it’s really not a band, it’s just this one guy, but he recorded this album playing all the instruments himself and recorded it at home on his Mac…” From here a myth was born. From my first listen and my own limited knowledge of new computer recording techniques, I could easily imagine Trent Reznor building samples and drum machine loops in a basement studio somewhere in Ohio, creating this dark brooding soundscape as a backdrop for his own tortured personal psyche. And the music holds up to this myth. Compared to the “wall of sound” noise-scapes of the industrial music of the time, this music seems pared down, almost simplistic. Yet it’s simple enough for the listener to hear isolated textures, sounds and rhythms that would otherwise be lost in the sonic onslaught of Reznor’s peers. Listening to “Pretty Hate Machine” for the first time in 1989 was in many ways akin to listening to a Velvet Underground album in the late sixties – it seemed suddenly attainable to grab a guitar, form a band and write some songs. But in this case it was the realization that you could hook some instruments up to your computer and start creating music. In effect, “Pretty Hate Machine” shattered the idea that industrial and electronic music was an experimental, rarified genre of music, and brought it to the level of immediacy that was characteristic of Rock and Roll.
Of course the myth of the auter in this case was not completely true. While Reznor wrote and recorded the demos for “Pretty Hate Machine” on his own, for the final recordings he paired up with renowned engineer/producer Flood for the studio recording. Flood undoubtedly deserves the credit for being able to boil down and isolate the samples and drum loops in the mix to allow this recording to walk a fine line between the overwhelming wall of sound passages, and the subtly textured flares and sequences that fill in the gaps between Reznor’s vocal and the more aggressive musical bursts. (If there’s any signature sound to Flood’s approach behind the mixing board this may be it!). But as remarkable as the production is this record, it’s most remarkable in the way it disappears behind the myth of the auter. Even today, part of this album’s appeal is it’s artifice as a “one man show”, a soundtrack to a highly personal journey of introspection and, importantly, a singular burst of creativity. With all heady notions of musical theory and historical genre stirring aside, it’s the hallmark of a great work of art that despite the circumstances of its creation, it inspires the listener to creativity of his or her own. As “Pretty Hate Machine” seemed to lay bare the process of connecting a computer to a guitar; of joining mechanical music to the human vocal; of a connection between the digital and the analogue in the pursuit of music – this album succeeded in sparking creativity in its listeners to not only understand the means of its creation (Greenbergian modernism at its core) but also to pick up an instrument and create for themselves.
Showing posts with label music history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music history. Show all posts
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Volume One: Sound Magic - Afro Celt Sound System
The 1996 release of “Volume One: Sound Magic” was a departure of sorts for Peter Gabriel’s Real World Records. A label built upon the very idea of departures in the most global sense, Real World is credited with the popularization of World Music to Western Markets and spreading the influence of artists and musical traditions seldom heard in the English Speaking world. Like the influence of the Silk Routes for Medieval Europe, Imported Japanese prints on 19th Century French Painting, or The Beatles trips to India, this exposure to “world music” has a huge impact on the history of music. But in Afro Celt Sound System, Real World published music that was not an ethnographic travelogue, but instead explored the new territory that the international exposure created in modern music.
The foundation of Afro Celt Sound Systems’ music is embedded in their name. The band started as a loose affiliation of musicians from both Irish/Celtic backgrounds and African musicians, brought together to experiment with modern electronic music and recording systems. Typical “world music” recordings sought to capture a “native” or “exotic” musical tradition of a non-western culture, with an almost ‘escapist’ or ‘colonial’ approach so that the enlightened listener could appreciate a culture beyond their normal reach. Afro Celt Sound System took the opposite approach, and brought the musical traditions out of their original context and explored their possibilities in the modern recording studio and in the context of modern music.
The result is musically remarkable in the similarities and complimentary relationship between two very diverse cultures. The juxtaposition of intricate Celtic melodies and the visceral rhythmic and percussive traditions of African music is not as contrasting as it seems on paper. When brought together, the two styles highlight what they have in common both at the formal musical level as well as the conceptual level. Where traditional Celtic music is known for harps, dulcimers and other intricate stringed instruments, the technique used to play these instruments relies on highly rhythmic, arpeggiated plucking, and hammering of strings over the more fluid strumming and bowing techniques of other stringed instruments in western music. On the African side of the equation, traditional African drums are not simple percussive chambers, but are augmented with various means to modulate the sound of the drum; the “talking drum” being the most obvious stereotype, but musically, it allows the African musical tradition to express melody through percussion, compared to a western tradition where percussion provides mainly rhythm. Brought together by on this record, these two traditions interweave in the context of a single song, exchanging musical “duties” throughout the song, and making the listener aware of the ability of both traditions to explore the same goals. The result is an intricate and tightly wound Celtic knot of melody unraveling to the dynamic visceral energy of African rhythm.
On top of this juxtaposition of styles, Afro Celt Sound System further elaborates their song writing with vocals in both Celtic and African languages, moving easily between soaring atmospheric melody and primal chant driven choruses. Yet somehow through the maze of mixing cultures on this record, the listener isn’t left with a muddy mess or pastiche of styles. The songs each embody a distinct melodic structure and are built upon their own universe of catchy hooks that prompt the listener to sing along despite the foreign style or language. Finally, to propel this experiment into the arena of modern music, they layer in elements of current electronica and techno music with additional sequenced digital effects and synthetic atmospheric treatments. Remarkably the fusion of these two “world music” styles is a perfect match thematically with the “trance” and ambient genres in modern techno, where intricately interwoven melodies and rhythms fuse to create “mood” explorations and heady “trance” states of musical experienced as opposed to the more narrative A-B-A-C-A-B song structure of traditional western music.
Hailed by many critics as a celebratory cross road of musical cultures, Afro Celt Sound System continues their career folding more and more cultural styles into their fundamental mix of African and Celtic traditions with great success. Their live shows now include Persian, Middle Eastern, Indian and European elements and musicians all coming together within a single framework that both celebrates their origin and propels them forward as a new genre: world fusion. While their style continues to evolve, it’s here in their first album where the door opened onto a new musical landscape. But what sets this achievement apart from the other moments in musical history where new genre’s have leapt forth, the diverse ethnic origins of musical tradition are not eclipsed by the performance, or sterilized in some utopian digital soundscape scrubbed of local, analogue, texture. Both in listening to this record, and completely reinforced with their live performance where the listener is confronted with the spectacle of the talent required to play all the different instruments which comprise this music, the music celebrates the uniqueness of each elements origins, and the beauty inherent in the instrument and sound itself. But most importantly, the music shatters the colonial patronizing label of “world music” and provides a map forward into a multi-national, multi-lingual, poly-phonic musical tradition. This is the sound of the whole world singing together, each in its own tongue, strummed on its own strings, and drummed on its own skins, but rising together for an exploration of the musical spirit that we all share.
The foundation of Afro Celt Sound Systems’ music is embedded in their name. The band started as a loose affiliation of musicians from both Irish/Celtic backgrounds and African musicians, brought together to experiment with modern electronic music and recording systems. Typical “world music” recordings sought to capture a “native” or “exotic” musical tradition of a non-western culture, with an almost ‘escapist’ or ‘colonial’ approach so that the enlightened listener could appreciate a culture beyond their normal reach. Afro Celt Sound System took the opposite approach, and brought the musical traditions out of their original context and explored their possibilities in the modern recording studio and in the context of modern music.
The result is musically remarkable in the similarities and complimentary relationship between two very diverse cultures. The juxtaposition of intricate Celtic melodies and the visceral rhythmic and percussive traditions of African music is not as contrasting as it seems on paper. When brought together, the two styles highlight what they have in common both at the formal musical level as well as the conceptual level. Where traditional Celtic music is known for harps, dulcimers and other intricate stringed instruments, the technique used to play these instruments relies on highly rhythmic, arpeggiated plucking, and hammering of strings over the more fluid strumming and bowing techniques of other stringed instruments in western music. On the African side of the equation, traditional African drums are not simple percussive chambers, but are augmented with various means to modulate the sound of the drum; the “talking drum” being the most obvious stereotype, but musically, it allows the African musical tradition to express melody through percussion, compared to a western tradition where percussion provides mainly rhythm. Brought together by on this record, these two traditions interweave in the context of a single song, exchanging musical “duties” throughout the song, and making the listener aware of the ability of both traditions to explore the same goals. The result is an intricate and tightly wound Celtic knot of melody unraveling to the dynamic visceral energy of African rhythm.
On top of this juxtaposition of styles, Afro Celt Sound System further elaborates their song writing with vocals in both Celtic and African languages, moving easily between soaring atmospheric melody and primal chant driven choruses. Yet somehow through the maze of mixing cultures on this record, the listener isn’t left with a muddy mess or pastiche of styles. The songs each embody a distinct melodic structure and are built upon their own universe of catchy hooks that prompt the listener to sing along despite the foreign style or language. Finally, to propel this experiment into the arena of modern music, they layer in elements of current electronica and techno music with additional sequenced digital effects and synthetic atmospheric treatments. Remarkably the fusion of these two “world music” styles is a perfect match thematically with the “trance” and ambient genres in modern techno, where intricately interwoven melodies and rhythms fuse to create “mood” explorations and heady “trance” states of musical experienced as opposed to the more narrative A-B-A-C-A-B song structure of traditional western music.
Hailed by many critics as a celebratory cross road of musical cultures, Afro Celt Sound System continues their career folding more and more cultural styles into their fundamental mix of African and Celtic traditions with great success. Their live shows now include Persian, Middle Eastern, Indian and European elements and musicians all coming together within a single framework that both celebrates their origin and propels them forward as a new genre: world fusion. While their style continues to evolve, it’s here in their first album where the door opened onto a new musical landscape. But what sets this achievement apart from the other moments in musical history where new genre’s have leapt forth, the diverse ethnic origins of musical tradition are not eclipsed by the performance, or sterilized in some utopian digital soundscape scrubbed of local, analogue, texture. Both in listening to this record, and completely reinforced with their live performance where the listener is confronted with the spectacle of the talent required to play all the different instruments which comprise this music, the music celebrates the uniqueness of each elements origins, and the beauty inherent in the instrument and sound itself. But most importantly, the music shatters the colonial patronizing label of “world music” and provides a map forward into a multi-national, multi-lingual, poly-phonic musical tradition. This is the sound of the whole world singing together, each in its own tongue, strummed on its own strings, and drummed on its own skins, but rising together for an exploration of the musical spirit that we all share.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Beatles ' 65 - The Beatles
By rights, this should be the first entry I wrote. Spoiler here, but this is the oldest record I plan on writing about. But it is also the most daunting entry to write. What more could possibly be said about The Beatles? And what could I, not even born for the entire first half of their career and an amateur fan/historian at best, intelligently say about The Beatles? I’ll skim over the majority of the historical stuff that’s mostly already been written, and focus on a few key elements that make this a landmark album when you look at it from the perspective of late century alternative music.
Some would argue that “Beatles ‘65” isn’t really a proper Beatles album at all, in that it is really a compilation of songs found on “Beatles for Sale” and “A Hard Day’s Night”. But it’s the inclusion of a single that otherwise falls through the cracks of The Beatles discography that makes this album truly remarkable. “I Feel Fine” was released after “Beatles for Sale” and shows up nowhere else. While the rest of the songs here are remarkable due to the part they play in the constantly evolving creative trajectory of the band, “I Feel Fine” is something altogether different, and the legacy of this one song is the foundation much of the history of modern music.
But first, let’s retread some of the critical opinions on this period for The Beatles. After the crush of Beatlemania and the non-stop performing/recording circuit they tread in ‘63-’64, “Beatles for Sale” was a departure in it’s introduction of melancholic themes to pop music. Where before it was all boy-girl romantic pop songs of their signature Merseybeat style (“I Wanna Hold Your Hand,” “She Love You” etc.), the opening three tracks of both “Beatles For Sale” and “Beatles ‘65” (“No Reply”, “I’m a Loser” and “Baby’s In Black”) show not only Lennon’s new found appreciation for Dylan and American Folk music, but also a thematic turn to depression, loss and self loathing. In hindsight, even the cover of “Everybody’s Trying to be My Baby” seems a cynical look back at Beatlemania where the sheer force of their popularity outweighed the music. But beyond self-pity, these new themes found a foothold in the Beatles creativity, as Lennon and McCartney realized that rock & roll had the ability to explore and express more than just the boy-meets-girl celebrations of their past repertoire or feel good sentiment of the Chuck Berry cover included here in “Rock & Roll Music.”
We take it for granted now, but looking back this is remarkable. The first Beatles records to enter my collection and personal musical history came from my sisters. They were teenagers during the whole Beatlemania period, and were completely bought in. I remember when my sister saw that I had taken over their old record collection and was listening to them on my own she said “That was the last record I really liked from them. After that, they just got so dark and strange…” A small anecdote, but it tells volumes about not only her musical tastes, but the change in popular music that The Beatles were responsible for. Subject matter changed from the Ed Sullivan Show and Sock Hop friendly fare, to something more personal and introspective.
But the real reason I champion this record is for one song. In the first four seconds of a song that clocks in at only 2:17, “I Feel Fine” does something no other song had done before it. Those first four seconds are arguably the first instance of recorded guitar feedback in popular music. The opening sound is the pop of electricity surging through an electric guitar before the first note is played, and the sound builds to the rattling surge of an untouched string catching and increasing its own amplified vibration from a speaker through the air. A phenomenon well known by anyone who’s ever picked up an amplified instrument, and largely recognized by most listeners of rock and roll. But whether they understand the physics behind it or not is not the issue, it’s the association that Feedback as a SOUND, as an element of rock and roll, signifies for listeners of modern music. The Beatles weren’t the first to make feedback, and I’m sure the true trainspotters out there can dig up other examples of recorded feedback prior to 1965. But what’s remarkable is how this particular four second squeal entered the popular discourse about music and the meaning it developed through that discourse. And in a broader sense, this feedback is significant as moment where Rock and Roll aligned itself with Modernism at large in Artistic Theory.
The recording and release of the song actually involves two levels of deception. Although the sound is unmistakably electric, it was actually played on an acoustic Gibson and purposely distorted through the amplifiers in the Studio. Then, after the song was released to critical questioning about leaving such a sloppy “mistake” on the recording (Parlaphone’s recording policies forbid leaving such elements on the finished recording) The Beatles insisted that the sound was recorded “accidentally” and “missed” in the editing process prior to release.
What an enormous amount of myth was created by this simple little lie! Think for a minute about the state of pop music at this time: shiny happy pop songs about meeting your girl at the dance, sung by polished groups that focused mainly on vocal melodies… Although Beatlemania had already started to corrupt this ideal with their brash use of guitars, and infamously messy “mop tops,” releasing this “messy” song pushed the corruption a step further. The Beatles were already renowned for their brash immediacy, and their effortlessly clever and energetic songwriting that seemed to rejoice in its own youthful naïveté over polished and refined pop songwriting of their peers (play the comparatively brash “She Loves You (Yeah Yeah Yeah)” alongside the contemporary hits from The Supremes, The Righteous Brothers or Petula Clark!). “I Feel Fine” took it this brashness to a new level by literally showcasing their indifference to polish and formality by allowing a “mistake” to be released.
As the song rose to #1, it brought that myth along for the ride. As everyone reveled in the pure joy of the song, they embraced the idea that what mattered was not the perfection of the music as a product, but the energy of the music and the creativity of the song. The subtext of the song, both from its mythological recording as well as the formalism of the song itself, is that its creativity that springs out raw sound. Just as the ringing circular guitar riff and catchy hook of a melodic chorus, is born out of the abstract distortion, the song celebrates the spontaneous energy and creative energy of four lads with guitars.
All this, from four seconds of feedback. But think now about what feedback means in modern music. When guitarists use feedback as a stylistic embellishment or as the majority of their sonic palette in modern music, they engage the very myth started by the Beatles in 1965: rebellious energy, indifference to technical polish, and the union of creativity and raw abstract sound. All of these meanings embodied and signified by the distorted guitar have direct correlates in the mythology of “I Feel Fine”.
Obviously, I could go on and on. But let me wrap this up by dialing this back to the bigger picture of Modernism. Since Baudelaire and Manet, and more notoriously in Clement Greenberg and Jackson Pollack, one of the undisputed definitions of Modern Art has been this: A work which captures on its surface, reference or representation of the process by which it was created. (the Art Historian in me is clamoring for footnotes here, but this is the information age – Google it yourself). In the first four seconds of “I Feel Fine” we have the audio equivalent of Jackson Pollack’s brush stroke splatter. Purposely embedded in the introduction of the song is the raw sound that is the basis of its production. The squeal of feedback is equal to a drip of raw paint. And the listener is forced to confront the comparison between this pure abstract sound and the highly structured melody embodied (represented) in the major chord riff that the entire song is built upon. For all the ink spilled about modern painting, the essence of the issue is embodied right there, in that fleeting four seconds. Just as Jackson Pollack and his Abstract Expressionist would be nowhere without the daubs and drips of the Impressionists, so too Neil Young and legions of guitar heroes would be nowhere without this record.
Some would argue that “Beatles ‘65” isn’t really a proper Beatles album at all, in that it is really a compilation of songs found on “Beatles for Sale” and “A Hard Day’s Night”. But it’s the inclusion of a single that otherwise falls through the cracks of The Beatles discography that makes this album truly remarkable. “I Feel Fine” was released after “Beatles for Sale” and shows up nowhere else. While the rest of the songs here are remarkable due to the part they play in the constantly evolving creative trajectory of the band, “I Feel Fine” is something altogether different, and the legacy of this one song is the foundation much of the history of modern music.
But first, let’s retread some of the critical opinions on this period for The Beatles. After the crush of Beatlemania and the non-stop performing/recording circuit they tread in ‘63-’64, “Beatles for Sale” was a departure in it’s introduction of melancholic themes to pop music. Where before it was all boy-girl romantic pop songs of their signature Merseybeat style (“I Wanna Hold Your Hand,” “She Love You” etc.), the opening three tracks of both “Beatles For Sale” and “Beatles ‘65” (“No Reply”, “I’m a Loser” and “Baby’s In Black”) show not only Lennon’s new found appreciation for Dylan and American Folk music, but also a thematic turn to depression, loss and self loathing. In hindsight, even the cover of “Everybody’s Trying to be My Baby” seems a cynical look back at Beatlemania where the sheer force of their popularity outweighed the music. But beyond self-pity, these new themes found a foothold in the Beatles creativity, as Lennon and McCartney realized that rock & roll had the ability to explore and express more than just the boy-meets-girl celebrations of their past repertoire or feel good sentiment of the Chuck Berry cover included here in “Rock & Roll Music.”
We take it for granted now, but looking back this is remarkable. The first Beatles records to enter my collection and personal musical history came from my sisters. They were teenagers during the whole Beatlemania period, and were completely bought in. I remember when my sister saw that I had taken over their old record collection and was listening to them on my own she said “That was the last record I really liked from them. After that, they just got so dark and strange…” A small anecdote, but it tells volumes about not only her musical tastes, but the change in popular music that The Beatles were responsible for. Subject matter changed from the Ed Sullivan Show and Sock Hop friendly fare, to something more personal and introspective.
But the real reason I champion this record is for one song. In the first four seconds of a song that clocks in at only 2:17, “I Feel Fine” does something no other song had done before it. Those first four seconds are arguably the first instance of recorded guitar feedback in popular music. The opening sound is the pop of electricity surging through an electric guitar before the first note is played, and the sound builds to the rattling surge of an untouched string catching and increasing its own amplified vibration from a speaker through the air. A phenomenon well known by anyone who’s ever picked up an amplified instrument, and largely recognized by most listeners of rock and roll. But whether they understand the physics behind it or not is not the issue, it’s the association that Feedback as a SOUND, as an element of rock and roll, signifies for listeners of modern music. The Beatles weren’t the first to make feedback, and I’m sure the true trainspotters out there can dig up other examples of recorded feedback prior to 1965. But what’s remarkable is how this particular four second squeal entered the popular discourse about music and the meaning it developed through that discourse. And in a broader sense, this feedback is significant as moment where Rock and Roll aligned itself with Modernism at large in Artistic Theory.
The recording and release of the song actually involves two levels of deception. Although the sound is unmistakably electric, it was actually played on an acoustic Gibson and purposely distorted through the amplifiers in the Studio. Then, after the song was released to critical questioning about leaving such a sloppy “mistake” on the recording (Parlaphone’s recording policies forbid leaving such elements on the finished recording) The Beatles insisted that the sound was recorded “accidentally” and “missed” in the editing process prior to release.
What an enormous amount of myth was created by this simple little lie! Think for a minute about the state of pop music at this time: shiny happy pop songs about meeting your girl at the dance, sung by polished groups that focused mainly on vocal melodies… Although Beatlemania had already started to corrupt this ideal with their brash use of guitars, and infamously messy “mop tops,” releasing this “messy” song pushed the corruption a step further. The Beatles were already renowned for their brash immediacy, and their effortlessly clever and energetic songwriting that seemed to rejoice in its own youthful naïveté over polished and refined pop songwriting of their peers (play the comparatively brash “She Loves You (Yeah Yeah Yeah)” alongside the contemporary hits from The Supremes, The Righteous Brothers or Petula Clark!). “I Feel Fine” took it this brashness to a new level by literally showcasing their indifference to polish and formality by allowing a “mistake” to be released.
As the song rose to #1, it brought that myth along for the ride. As everyone reveled in the pure joy of the song, they embraced the idea that what mattered was not the perfection of the music as a product, but the energy of the music and the creativity of the song. The subtext of the song, both from its mythological recording as well as the formalism of the song itself, is that its creativity that springs out raw sound. Just as the ringing circular guitar riff and catchy hook of a melodic chorus, is born out of the abstract distortion, the song celebrates the spontaneous energy and creative energy of four lads with guitars.
All this, from four seconds of feedback. But think now about what feedback means in modern music. When guitarists use feedback as a stylistic embellishment or as the majority of their sonic palette in modern music, they engage the very myth started by the Beatles in 1965: rebellious energy, indifference to technical polish, and the union of creativity and raw abstract sound. All of these meanings embodied and signified by the distorted guitar have direct correlates in the mythology of “I Feel Fine”.
Obviously, I could go on and on. But let me wrap this up by dialing this back to the bigger picture of Modernism. Since Baudelaire and Manet, and more notoriously in Clement Greenberg and Jackson Pollack, one of the undisputed definitions of Modern Art has been this: A work which captures on its surface, reference or representation of the process by which it was created. (the Art Historian in me is clamoring for footnotes here, but this is the information age – Google it yourself). In the first four seconds of “I Feel Fine” we have the audio equivalent of Jackson Pollack’s brush stroke splatter. Purposely embedded in the introduction of the song is the raw sound that is the basis of its production. The squeal of feedback is equal to a drip of raw paint. And the listener is forced to confront the comparison between this pure abstract sound and the highly structured melody embodied (represented) in the major chord riff that the entire song is built upon. For all the ink spilled about modern painting, the essence of the issue is embodied right there, in that fleeting four seconds. Just as Jackson Pollack and his Abstract Expressionist would be nowhere without the daubs and drips of the Impressionists, so too Neil Young and legions of guitar heroes would be nowhere without this record.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Treasure - The Cocteau Twins
No history of “Alternative” music would be complete without The Cocteau Twins. Once their style became fully realized, their body of work became such a cohesive sound that it’s hard to pick a defining or landmark release. The adjectives typically assigned to their music - “ethereal,” “atmospheric,” “lush,” - have become so synonymous with their style, and that of their followers, that the words fail their descriptions and have become more opaque hallmarks of a stereotype than translucent explanation of a dense and highly unique musical style. Even more so, with the emergence of the “Shoegazer” aesthetic that followed them, the style flourished into more “accessible” expressions making the real foundations of the style even more opaque. So given the challenge, I’m picking 1984’s “Treasure” as The Cocteau Twins’ landmark album.
Take a moment to think about 1984. No matter which side of the pond you were on, there wasn’t much music around that sounded like this. Punk had transformed to “New Wave,” MTV had exploded into our lives, and with it brought us the “marketable concept” artist like Duran Duran, Madonna, Def Leppard. Music and image were wed like never before. The complaint of older music afficianados was that music videos were too obvious and too specific. Instead of music inspiring individualized interior movies of the listeners’ imagination, the role was reversed. The music was now subverted to the soundtrack of elaborately produced and styled mini-movies force fed to a generation. The impact of MTV and music videos on the history of modern music is certainly a separate and lengthy topic, but it sets the stage for understanding the Cocteau Twins.
Meanwhile, back in London, a guy named Ivo Watts-Russell had a little independent record label called 4AD. In the early eighties he had assembled a roster of artists that could only be described as ‘artsy’ or ‘ecclectic’. Bauhaus, The Wedding Present, The The - These were the misfits of the eighties, artists that had one foot in the rich tradition of british pop songwriting, but the other foot wandering far afield into experimental fields of dark atmosphere, strange emotional landscapes, experimental sound sculptures, and dark, now called “goth”, romantic narrative. The Cocteau Twins started their career in this pool of motley peers. It took a few albums to find their feet and truly establish their style, but it was clear from the start that part of their uniqueness was the vocals. Even in their debut album, with its grinding punk-ish songs, Elizabeth Fraser’s voice was pushed to the forefront of the mix where it dominated the guitar and weak drum machine with almost operatic, gymnastic bravado. It was clear in their earliest recordings that Fraser’s voice was capable of something more than the confines of the 3-4 minute pop-song. Within a single phrase or sometimes even word, her voice seemed to push the limit of the literal words and inflect them with an emotional energy that would push their meaning in new directions. But still mired in the seemingly purposely dark and obscure songwriting of that early eclectic style (encouraged at 4AD?), the Cocteaus failed to truly reach their potential.
Finally in 1984, they recorded “Treasure”. It’s hard to pinpoint what changed. Undoubtedly the change of bassists was part of the shift that moved them away from the more aggressively rhythm driven arrangements to the more relaxed space that gave Robin Guthrie the space to expand his approach to guitar and effects. Perhaps too, their concurrent collaboration with label mates Dif Juz taught them to let go of the more traditional expectations of the pop song for their more ‘ethereal’ sound. Whatever the reason, the result was a landmark album that would inspire a legion of followers, not to mention establish a style that would resonate in the halls of 4AD for years to come. (* I have to take a moment to note that Watts-Russell’s guidance has born similar fruit at 4AD where he’s simultaneously encouraged their stylistic development, as well as gave them the artistic freedom to deviate from the norm. Perhaps one of these entries needs to be about Landmark record labels and Producers, for surely they are as important to the history of modern music!)
Musically, the change was not so much a change of elements as it was a change in approach. The trio continued its framework of sequenced percussion, bass, and echo/effect-laden guitar work as the back ground for Fraser’s unique voice. But instead of trying to wrap that framework around pre-conceived and externally defined songwriting standards (i.e. the pop-radio and MTV marketing machine), it’s as if they closed the studio door, and let the framework itself determine the shape of the songs. The bass no longer sought to drive the composition, the guitars no longer were driven to find a hook, and most notably of all, Fraser’s voice freed itself from language. Stripped of the constraints of literal meanings or connotations the vocal now simply conveyed emotion, and in doing so released Fraser’s full range. What previously sounded forced and operatic, now leaped from angelic tones to earthy and primal growls, to dynamic swells and overdubbed layers of self-harmonies. Its almost as if her vocal styling took a page from Guthrie’s guitar style book where he was no longer concerned with using the guitar as a guitar per se, but instead let the instrument’s inherent physical attributes (open string harmonics), and the manipulations of electronic effects (distortion, echos and sustains) create music based more on pure sound than on the rigid expectations of genre.
And song by song, the tracks on “Treasure” exhibit a wide drift through genres that is easily overlooked as the listener is swamped in the wash of sound that unifies the entire album. Where songs like “Ivo” or “Lorelei” showcase dramatic surges in dynamic tension alternating between the heavenly ether and a more earthly sonic blast, “Beatrix” takes inspiration from almost medieval arpeggio plucking, and “Pandora” builds its atmosphere on a jazz influenced, syncopated rhythm. But listener isn’t left feeling like you just listened to a pastiche of styles. The wash of pure sound from both the guitar and the vocal almost bleaches out the connotations of the genres the songs engage. And while the songs are full of melodic hooks and textural fills that fix the attention, the abstractness of the song leaves the listener with only an emotional impression instead of a literal definition. The songs establish themselves at a balance point where they exhibit strong formal presence with a definite dramatic arch in songwriting, yet the abstract application of their instrumentation and voice, allow the song to disappear into the very ether they seemed to suggest. It’s as if each song is a dream from which you awake with a profound feeling, but only a fleeting memory of why you felt it.
With “Treasure”, and the albums that followed, anyone would be hard pressed to say what a Cocteau Twins song is about. I remember a joke in college: “Have you heard that new Cocteau Twins song?” to which you would answer, “I’m not sure, how does it go?” You were left with yodeling and singing to each other in baby talk that couldn’t even approximate the melody or words. Contrast that with what you would say to describe the music of their contemporaries in “The Dawn of MTV”. How do you say what a Duran Duran song is about? Its easy - you have a video to imprint your consciousness with a narrative. The importance of “Treasure” was how it broke with the mainstream of music that was become so dominated by overt messages, and ultimately marketing, and set out in a direction that championed pure sound, and the autonomy of songwriting freed from everything but the drive to express emotion and mood.
Take a moment to think about 1984. No matter which side of the pond you were on, there wasn’t much music around that sounded like this. Punk had transformed to “New Wave,” MTV had exploded into our lives, and with it brought us the “marketable concept” artist like Duran Duran, Madonna, Def Leppard. Music and image were wed like never before. The complaint of older music afficianados was that music videos were too obvious and too specific. Instead of music inspiring individualized interior movies of the listeners’ imagination, the role was reversed. The music was now subverted to the soundtrack of elaborately produced and styled mini-movies force fed to a generation. The impact of MTV and music videos on the history of modern music is certainly a separate and lengthy topic, but it sets the stage for understanding the Cocteau Twins.
Meanwhile, back in London, a guy named Ivo Watts-Russell had a little independent record label called 4AD. In the early eighties he had assembled a roster of artists that could only be described as ‘artsy’ or ‘ecclectic’. Bauhaus, The Wedding Present, The The - These were the misfits of the eighties, artists that had one foot in the rich tradition of british pop songwriting, but the other foot wandering far afield into experimental fields of dark atmosphere, strange emotional landscapes, experimental sound sculptures, and dark, now called “goth”, romantic narrative. The Cocteau Twins started their career in this pool of motley peers. It took a few albums to find their feet and truly establish their style, but it was clear from the start that part of their uniqueness was the vocals. Even in their debut album, with its grinding punk-ish songs, Elizabeth Fraser’s voice was pushed to the forefront of the mix where it dominated the guitar and weak drum machine with almost operatic, gymnastic bravado. It was clear in their earliest recordings that Fraser’s voice was capable of something more than the confines of the 3-4 minute pop-song. Within a single phrase or sometimes even word, her voice seemed to push the limit of the literal words and inflect them with an emotional energy that would push their meaning in new directions. But still mired in the seemingly purposely dark and obscure songwriting of that early eclectic style (encouraged at 4AD?), the Cocteaus failed to truly reach their potential.
Finally in 1984, they recorded “Treasure”. It’s hard to pinpoint what changed. Undoubtedly the change of bassists was part of the shift that moved them away from the more aggressively rhythm driven arrangements to the more relaxed space that gave Robin Guthrie the space to expand his approach to guitar and effects. Perhaps too, their concurrent collaboration with label mates Dif Juz taught them to let go of the more traditional expectations of the pop song for their more ‘ethereal’ sound. Whatever the reason, the result was a landmark album that would inspire a legion of followers, not to mention establish a style that would resonate in the halls of 4AD for years to come. (* I have to take a moment to note that Watts-Russell’s guidance has born similar fruit at 4AD where he’s simultaneously encouraged their stylistic development, as well as gave them the artistic freedom to deviate from the norm. Perhaps one of these entries needs to be about Landmark record labels and Producers, for surely they are as important to the history of modern music!)
Musically, the change was not so much a change of elements as it was a change in approach. The trio continued its framework of sequenced percussion, bass, and echo/effect-laden guitar work as the back ground for Fraser’s unique voice. But instead of trying to wrap that framework around pre-conceived and externally defined songwriting standards (i.e. the pop-radio and MTV marketing machine), it’s as if they closed the studio door, and let the framework itself determine the shape of the songs. The bass no longer sought to drive the composition, the guitars no longer were driven to find a hook, and most notably of all, Fraser’s voice freed itself from language. Stripped of the constraints of literal meanings or connotations the vocal now simply conveyed emotion, and in doing so released Fraser’s full range. What previously sounded forced and operatic, now leaped from angelic tones to earthy and primal growls, to dynamic swells and overdubbed layers of self-harmonies. Its almost as if her vocal styling took a page from Guthrie’s guitar style book where he was no longer concerned with using the guitar as a guitar per se, but instead let the instrument’s inherent physical attributes (open string harmonics), and the manipulations of electronic effects (distortion, echos and sustains) create music based more on pure sound than on the rigid expectations of genre.
And song by song, the tracks on “Treasure” exhibit a wide drift through genres that is easily overlooked as the listener is swamped in the wash of sound that unifies the entire album. Where songs like “Ivo” or “Lorelei” showcase dramatic surges in dynamic tension alternating between the heavenly ether and a more earthly sonic blast, “Beatrix” takes inspiration from almost medieval arpeggio plucking, and “Pandora” builds its atmosphere on a jazz influenced, syncopated rhythm. But listener isn’t left feeling like you just listened to a pastiche of styles. The wash of pure sound from both the guitar and the vocal almost bleaches out the connotations of the genres the songs engage. And while the songs are full of melodic hooks and textural fills that fix the attention, the abstractness of the song leaves the listener with only an emotional impression instead of a literal definition. The songs establish themselves at a balance point where they exhibit strong formal presence with a definite dramatic arch in songwriting, yet the abstract application of their instrumentation and voice, allow the song to disappear into the very ether they seemed to suggest. It’s as if each song is a dream from which you awake with a profound feeling, but only a fleeting memory of why you felt it.
With “Treasure”, and the albums that followed, anyone would be hard pressed to say what a Cocteau Twins song is about. I remember a joke in college: “Have you heard that new Cocteau Twins song?” to which you would answer, “I’m not sure, how does it go?” You were left with yodeling and singing to each other in baby talk that couldn’t even approximate the melody or words. Contrast that with what you would say to describe the music of their contemporaries in “The Dawn of MTV”. How do you say what a Duran Duran song is about? Its easy - you have a video to imprint your consciousness with a narrative. The importance of “Treasure” was how it broke with the mainstream of music that was become so dominated by overt messages, and ultimately marketing, and set out in a direction that championed pure sound, and the autonomy of songwriting freed from everything but the drive to express emotion and mood.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Exit Planet Dust - The Chemical Brothers
“Exit Planet Dust” in 1995 heralded the birth of “Big Beat Techno.” A subgenre of electronica/dance music characterized by it broad, almost bombastic and “in your face” hook laden high energy music. All pigeon hole labeling aside, this album successfully bridged the gap between dance/techno/house/electronica and the rock/pop/indie audience effectively bringing techno and dance music to the masses in a way that never happened before.
First coming together in the “Madchester” era of the British Rave scene, Tom & Ed began their career as The Dust Brothers (in homage to the producers of another landmark album, “Paul’s Boutique”) performing in the rabid club scene and progressing on to remixes for more established indie and alternative artists like Primal Scream, The Charlatans and The Prodigy. In these early days, they inadvertently tapped into what would become their signature sound; a meeting between house influenced psychedelic techno and hook heavy indie pop/rock. At the time, their DJ and remixing style hit a perfect niche in the market. The salad days of the infamous Hacienda nightclub were transitioning away from the indie dance band days epitomized by New Order, through the short lived style of “baggy”, and now into the psychedelic-techno laden music of characterized by Paul Oakenfeld and his crew. But instead of hard-grinding of the gears away from the formalities of songwriting and diving headfirst into the abstractions of pure house, The Chemical Brothers proved you could do both. They brought trippy electronic effects and high energy, polyrhythmic techno flair to high profile bands with already established signature sounds, hooks and cult’s of personality. The result was artists you knew from the radio now in a style with new infectious and irresistible dance energy.
Giving up The Dust Brothers moniker for legal reasons, and taking on The Chemical Brothers name, they took the next leap of creativity with a gesture that moved them the famous DJ category, to Artists in the Own Right. Quite a jump. Music critics and fans alike were long divided and firmly entrenched in their camps. You either liked techno, or you liked rock. There was no middle ground. A few DJs had made the leap to “Artists in Their Own Right”, but none had done so and successfully bridged the two genres. Even their previously name-checked idols The Beastie Boys, despite their creativity, seemed to be only able to live in one world at a time as they moved from style to style in their successive albums. But the manifesto was clear in the opening sample of Exit Planet Dust: “the Brothers’ gonna work it out.”
But enough music history, what about the music? What is it about the music on this record that’s so special? Technically, there’s little new to be found here. Indeed from the opening sample, to the following sounds and beats that get folded into “Leave Home” The Chemicals seem to be purposefully retro, foregoing the synthetic sounds and textures of modern techno for old school funk guitar and sonically fat “real drum” percussion loops. Like the metaphoric cover photo of the album with its late 70s imagery, within the first 2 minutes of the first song, you are aware that this is not a typical techno album, but instead music that is built upon the relics of a different age, a different style. Now you could belabor the point that this return/recycling and reinventing of a fetishized past is an artistic move based in whatever post-modernist theory you embrace, but music here kind of insists that you shut your brain off in lieu of a more visceral response. Throughout the rest of the album, the Ed and Tom continue to resurrect old samples from funk, rock, and indie sources in a sort of Proustian pastiche that simultaneously resonates with the listener as both a historian of music, as well as a love of pure raw sound in two ways: in the selection of the sample itself as well as the more digital effect treatment they apply to the sample as they update it. This is really the root of The Chemical Brother’s treatment of samples that falls into two basic categories on this record: Selection and Treatment.
First and foremost is the selection of the sample. Instead of following the methods of the dominant DJ scene of hoarding an esoteric record collection of obscure beats and hermetically sealed creativity loops of records made by DJs for DJs, they followed the “Paul’s Boutique” method of selecting samples that were both recognizable to a large audience, and focusing on the singular, bombastic and sometimes dominant HOOK of a song. Where the House DJ selected samples based on their intricacy and cleverness when juxtaposed against other samples and rhythms, the Samples here are based on their ability to stand alone; and ultimately how remarkable they are as pure sound isolated from the context of their source. The listener can almost imagine Tom and Ed in their bedrooms sifting through each other’s record collection and picking out “the coolest parts” of their favorite songs. Not only a stylistic innovation, this approach of building a techno song around building blocks gleaned from recognizable and explicitly rock/indie sources actually brought a new audience together, as listeners who favored British Indie bands over techno, no had a touch stone in the abstract audio soup of house music – the recognizable sample.
Of second but equal importance to a Chemical Brothers’ sample is the treatment, or the effect processing they apply to the source material. Often grabbing a snippet of a hook that was in the middle of its musical phrase, they isolated the elements of the hook into a more abstract sonic flourish, forcing the listener to hear the thick analogue and poly-tonal qualities of guitar based samples. Then sequencing the sample itself into a tightly rhythmic loop they push that sonic flourish to the limit between hook and texture. Taking a cue from the sonic indulgence of the so called “shoegazer” movement (and even sampling them directly) the samples themselves form a wall of sound which on one level embody a driving energetic and visceral rhythm, while simultaneously carrying a sonic richness that rewards close listening. It’s not until this framework is established in the song that The Chemical Brothers add in the more traditional techniques of the DJ genre utilizing digital effects and sequencers to layer in atmospheric effects and more traditional techno/dance motifs. The innovation here allows the songs on Exit Planet Dust to sound very analogue and rich in texture, while still using the crisp exacting digital techniques of modern electronica. For example the slow pan of the bucket flange over the tightly wound funk guitar sample of “Chemical Beats” takes away the harsh repetitive edge of the sample itself and allows the listener to wallow in the pure sound. Furthermore, the slow filter pan application to their sample repertoire helped to blend the old school analogue sample sound with the slick new 303, and modern sequencer driven elements of the compositions.
Finally, The Chemical Brothers bring to Exit Planet Dust the element that had for so long been truly lacking in electronic/techno music: Songwriting. Raised on the indie band standards of the 80s and 90s, Tom and Ed didn’t forget their roots – these songs have structure. Unlike the long sonic arc’s of a Paul Oakenfeld album or a typical house groove where one song is often indistinguishable from the next in a DJs set, the songs of Exit Planet Dust seem to have a verse/chorus/bridge structure similar to pop and rock. Indeed tracks such as “Life Is Sweet” or “Alive Alone” go so far as to even employ vocals and true songwriting (anathema to the faceless manifesto of modern techno). Yet, these songs don’t need vocals to feel like cohesively structured songs. The dynamics of compositional choices made as they weave samples and rhythms together follow the familiar “8-bar blues” format of traditional rock songwriting where the dynamic grouping of samples, melodies, rhythms follow predictable groupings within the meter of the songs. Take as an example again “Leave Home”: the samples that comprise the main groove of the song are introduced in successive groupings of 4, after each repetition of 4; the next sample is introduced, and so on, until the main groove is established. They let this main groove ride in the center of the composition on another multiple of 4, before breaking it entirely in a dynamic counterpoint introducing the next section of the song. This is a major departure from the slow sonic progressions of traditional house where sounds and textures gradually transform themselves over an interminably long stretch of rhythm, where the only major dynamic change is the infamous “drop the base” move: removing either the high end or low end of a groove for a period to highlight an intricacy of the remaining textures, only to then experience the rush of the return of the main beat to the groove a few bars later.
This is not to say The Chemical Brothers don’t indulge in stereotypical DJ moves. The album is full of them. But the dynamic shifts, filter pans and space age sound effects are less the foundation of the song, as they are the flourish and ornament over a song framework based on a very different approach
Ultimately, Exit Planet Dust is a landmark album because it exists as that juncture between genres. It is that point where the house/techno genre embraces pop and rock. It does so without sacrificing the energy and aesthetic of electronic music, but still satisfies the ear of an audience that demands more structured musical genre. And like all great landmarks, it inspired a legion of followers, popular radio play, and even commercial appropriation where the sound itself became symbolic of an energetic atmosphere and became and The Chemical Brothers themselves became sampled as the signature sound of Budweiser commercials in 2007.
First coming together in the “Madchester” era of the British Rave scene, Tom & Ed began their career as The Dust Brothers (in homage to the producers of another landmark album, “Paul’s Boutique”) performing in the rabid club scene and progressing on to remixes for more established indie and alternative artists like Primal Scream, The Charlatans and The Prodigy. In these early days, they inadvertently tapped into what would become their signature sound; a meeting between house influenced psychedelic techno and hook heavy indie pop/rock. At the time, their DJ and remixing style hit a perfect niche in the market. The salad days of the infamous Hacienda nightclub were transitioning away from the indie dance band days epitomized by New Order, through the short lived style of “baggy”, and now into the psychedelic-techno laden music of characterized by Paul Oakenfeld and his crew. But instead of hard-grinding of the gears away from the formalities of songwriting and diving headfirst into the abstractions of pure house, The Chemical Brothers proved you could do both. They brought trippy electronic effects and high energy, polyrhythmic techno flair to high profile bands with already established signature sounds, hooks and cult’s of personality. The result was artists you knew from the radio now in a style with new infectious and irresistible dance energy.
Giving up The Dust Brothers moniker for legal reasons, and taking on The Chemical Brothers name, they took the next leap of creativity with a gesture that moved them the famous DJ category, to Artists in the Own Right. Quite a jump. Music critics and fans alike were long divided and firmly entrenched in their camps. You either liked techno, or you liked rock. There was no middle ground. A few DJs had made the leap to “Artists in Their Own Right”, but none had done so and successfully bridged the two genres. Even their previously name-checked idols The Beastie Boys, despite their creativity, seemed to be only able to live in one world at a time as they moved from style to style in their successive albums. But the manifesto was clear in the opening sample of Exit Planet Dust: “the Brothers’ gonna work it out.”
But enough music history, what about the music? What is it about the music on this record that’s so special? Technically, there’s little new to be found here. Indeed from the opening sample, to the following sounds and beats that get folded into “Leave Home” The Chemicals seem to be purposefully retro, foregoing the synthetic sounds and textures of modern techno for old school funk guitar and sonically fat “real drum” percussion loops. Like the metaphoric cover photo of the album with its late 70s imagery, within the first 2 minutes of the first song, you are aware that this is not a typical techno album, but instead music that is built upon the relics of a different age, a different style. Now you could belabor the point that this return/recycling and reinventing of a fetishized past is an artistic move based in whatever post-modernist theory you embrace, but music here kind of insists that you shut your brain off in lieu of a more visceral response. Throughout the rest of the album, the Ed and Tom continue to resurrect old samples from funk, rock, and indie sources in a sort of Proustian pastiche that simultaneously resonates with the listener as both a historian of music, as well as a love of pure raw sound in two ways: in the selection of the sample itself as well as the more digital effect treatment they apply to the sample as they update it. This is really the root of The Chemical Brother’s treatment of samples that falls into two basic categories on this record: Selection and Treatment.
First and foremost is the selection of the sample. Instead of following the methods of the dominant DJ scene of hoarding an esoteric record collection of obscure beats and hermetically sealed creativity loops of records made by DJs for DJs, they followed the “Paul’s Boutique” method of selecting samples that were both recognizable to a large audience, and focusing on the singular, bombastic and sometimes dominant HOOK of a song. Where the House DJ selected samples based on their intricacy and cleverness when juxtaposed against other samples and rhythms, the Samples here are based on their ability to stand alone; and ultimately how remarkable they are as pure sound isolated from the context of their source. The listener can almost imagine Tom and Ed in their bedrooms sifting through each other’s record collection and picking out “the coolest parts” of their favorite songs. Not only a stylistic innovation, this approach of building a techno song around building blocks gleaned from recognizable and explicitly rock/indie sources actually brought a new audience together, as listeners who favored British Indie bands over techno, no had a touch stone in the abstract audio soup of house music – the recognizable sample.
Of second but equal importance to a Chemical Brothers’ sample is the treatment, or the effect processing they apply to the source material. Often grabbing a snippet of a hook that was in the middle of its musical phrase, they isolated the elements of the hook into a more abstract sonic flourish, forcing the listener to hear the thick analogue and poly-tonal qualities of guitar based samples. Then sequencing the sample itself into a tightly rhythmic loop they push that sonic flourish to the limit between hook and texture. Taking a cue from the sonic indulgence of the so called “shoegazer” movement (and even sampling them directly) the samples themselves form a wall of sound which on one level embody a driving energetic and visceral rhythm, while simultaneously carrying a sonic richness that rewards close listening. It’s not until this framework is established in the song that The Chemical Brothers add in the more traditional techniques of the DJ genre utilizing digital effects and sequencers to layer in atmospheric effects and more traditional techno/dance motifs. The innovation here allows the songs on Exit Planet Dust to sound very analogue and rich in texture, while still using the crisp exacting digital techniques of modern electronica. For example the slow pan of the bucket flange over the tightly wound funk guitar sample of “Chemical Beats” takes away the harsh repetitive edge of the sample itself and allows the listener to wallow in the pure sound. Furthermore, the slow filter pan application to their sample repertoire helped to blend the old school analogue sample sound with the slick new 303, and modern sequencer driven elements of the compositions.
Finally, The Chemical Brothers bring to Exit Planet Dust the element that had for so long been truly lacking in electronic/techno music: Songwriting. Raised on the indie band standards of the 80s and 90s, Tom and Ed didn’t forget their roots – these songs have structure. Unlike the long sonic arc’s of a Paul Oakenfeld album or a typical house groove where one song is often indistinguishable from the next in a DJs set, the songs of Exit Planet Dust seem to have a verse/chorus/bridge structure similar to pop and rock. Indeed tracks such as “Life Is Sweet” or “Alive Alone” go so far as to even employ vocals and true songwriting (anathema to the faceless manifesto of modern techno). Yet, these songs don’t need vocals to feel like cohesively structured songs. The dynamics of compositional choices made as they weave samples and rhythms together follow the familiar “8-bar blues” format of traditional rock songwriting where the dynamic grouping of samples, melodies, rhythms follow predictable groupings within the meter of the songs. Take as an example again “Leave Home”: the samples that comprise the main groove of the song are introduced in successive groupings of 4, after each repetition of 4; the next sample is introduced, and so on, until the main groove is established. They let this main groove ride in the center of the composition on another multiple of 4, before breaking it entirely in a dynamic counterpoint introducing the next section of the song. This is a major departure from the slow sonic progressions of traditional house where sounds and textures gradually transform themselves over an interminably long stretch of rhythm, where the only major dynamic change is the infamous “drop the base” move: removing either the high end or low end of a groove for a period to highlight an intricacy of the remaining textures, only to then experience the rush of the return of the main beat to the groove a few bars later.
This is not to say The Chemical Brothers don’t indulge in stereotypical DJ moves. The album is full of them. But the dynamic shifts, filter pans and space age sound effects are less the foundation of the song, as they are the flourish and ornament over a song framework based on a very different approach
Ultimately, Exit Planet Dust is a landmark album because it exists as that juncture between genres. It is that point where the house/techno genre embraces pop and rock. It does so without sacrificing the energy and aesthetic of electronic music, but still satisfies the ear of an audience that demands more structured musical genre. And like all great landmarks, it inspired a legion of followers, popular radio play, and even commercial appropriation where the sound itself became symbolic of an energetic atmosphere and became and The Chemical Brothers themselves became sampled as the signature sound of Budweiser commercials in 2007.
Monday, November 5, 2007
RE-RELEASED
This past week I picked up a copy of Sonic Youth's re-release of Daydream Nation. Nicely repackaged as a two disc gate fold in a vellum sleeve. Nicely reminiscent of the vinyl era of rock n rolll now returned as a nostalgic fetish, I might add. It's chock full of un-released material specially packaged and priced for discerning music enthusiasts such as myself...
Anyway, as I leafed through the expanded booklet full of pithy liner notes from obscure yet highly credentialed critics I was struck with conflicting emotions. First, I felt the reassuring glow, no doubt intended from the disc's producers, that because of this purchase and my longstanding appreciation of Sonic Youth, that I was somehow part of some cultural elite; some post-rock literati; some post-punk purveyor of musical genius... Quickly on the heels of that feeling was the sting of ironic realisation that I was holding a Sonic Youth record in my hands, and all that self-important ego noodling was at the core of what they were rallying against...
But brushing aside this irony as the inherent dichotomy of modern art, I settled into the realization that I was now part of a new demographic for the music industry. The underground, alterntative, cult, indie, groundbreaking bands of my youth were now crossing that threshhold into... what shall we call it... Classic Rock? No, that doesn't really fit. Maturity? I don't know... much like the music at the time, the labels don't fit. But Sonic Youth is now propped up alongside Pavement, The Pixies, even The Orb as bands to be "re-released", "re-mastered", "re-packaged" and "re-discovered"... What does all this mean... I guess it means that I'm getting old.
And for the most part, I'm OK with that. But as I looked through the CD collection and realized how many of the bands I've loved are now being "re-released," I realized that it is actually more than just the nostalgic glow of my own aging process. And it's more than the slick marketing ploys of the dinosaur that is the record industry making it's last grabs to pull itself out of the tar pits... There's actually important work going on here. I am from a generation who's musical history and legacy could easily be lost.
In my time, I saw music go from the demise of the Top 40, through New Wave, to Alternative, to Post Rock and Electronica. I've raced to record stores on Tuesday mornings to buy the new releases. I've logged on to download them (for free and for a price) to my computer. I've discovered new bands through "tape chains", fanzines, indie labels and record shops, email forums, web sites... I've listened to this music on bedroom stereos, car stereos, "boom boxes", MTV, Marshall Stacks and iPods. There's a unique trajectory that music has taken in my lifetime and so far, I've not seen anyone trace it. This trajectory was not only technology driven, but the music itself has followed a transgressive spiral driving itself further and further from "main stream" and away from the critical imperative to pigeon hole, as bands and the music itself evolved stylistically. So much so, that now when a band like Sonic Youth is re-released as a "Landmark Album", most of the people I know scratch their heads and go "Sonic WHO?".
So there I stood, contemplating all this in front of my CD collection as Lee Renaldo asked over an answering maching a thousand miles away and 20 years ago "...did you find your shit?", captured in re-mastered, re-packaged and re-released version of "Providence". And I came up with this idea for a blog. Most folks that come into my house and see the CD collection have no clue what half of it is... Inevitably, I get the same questions "where did you ever hear of these bands?!" I can never really explain it all. I usually brush it off with a joke "I get transmissions from the mothership telling me what to buy." But in reality, I've got some explaining to do. When I go through my CD collection, it's FULL of Landmark albums. Not just because that was playing at my prom, or when someone broke my heart, or some other life event. I'm talking about albums that changed the course of the History of Music.
Is that pretentious enough for you?
It may be. But none the less, that's what I'm here to do. Explain WHY all this music I've spent so much of my life with is IMPORTANT. It remains to be seen how disciplined I am with all this. I'm sure there will be digressions and personal asides, but I'll try to avoid wasting your precious reading time telling you an album is great just because "I like it". And it remains to be seen how faithfull I am in adding to this blog... I'm a busy guy, and frankly there are days where I would rather listen to the music than write about it. But this opening post is the manifesto. Let's see if Joe can make it through his collection and offer up reviews, commentary, critical theory and philosphical noodling to the void in a consistent way to make some History of the DIS/RE/Integration of Music into a narrative that somehow make's sense. And in doing so, maybe I create my own "re-release" for all this music.
By the way, please leave comments and let me know if you agree, disagree, or even if you just want to throw cybertomatos at my measly little corner of the internet... it's more interesting that way.
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