JAKE CLELAND

52 Albums: #42

It took a long time for me to make a concentrated effort to like My Bloody Valentine, because my initial impressions were “this sounds terrible.” So viscerally, in fact, that I became really apprehensive about the impending point at which I’d have to listen to them. And then I gave it the ol’ college try and it wasn’t so bad after all. 

At first I found it mostly tuneless and confusing. There are bits in here that remind me of Fucked Up (“Loomer”) and there are bits in here that remind me of the score from Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time (“Touched”). I have heard Loveless described as “the last truly innovative guitar album” and I have heard it described as “either something that only musicians can really appreciate, or it’s a case of style over substance.” Eventually though, I began to hear potential, just little hints that I might really get into this album. Similar to my experience with Is This Desire?, which I’ve since listened to more and fallen progressively more in love with PJ Harvey, Loveless is going to puzzle me for a little longer, into the new year. And that’s good, I’m glad. I’d hate to think that this list was disposable, just fodder for a bunch of awful blog posts and nothing more.

52 Albums: #41

With a little more time I might’ve used this as a springboard to talk about the “girl band” label, which The Breeders isn’t entirely, but with drummer Jim MacPherson relegated to the back of the stage in the shadow of Deal sisters Kim ‘n’ Kelley and Josephine Wiggs on bass, there are plenty less accurate misogynistic misnomers to give them. Alas.

The Breeders sprung from Pixies during a period of tension between Kim Deal and Black Francis, and the recording downtime that followed gave Deal the freedom to get a band together and cut an album, Pod, after the Doolittle tour commitments were complete. Last Splash, The Breeders’ second album, didn’t come until after the Pixies breakup in 1993. It’s interesting to think that Francis’s pride and ego in preventing Deal from contributing more to the Pixies’ songwriting might’ve also prevented them from being a really groundbreaking rock band as well as a very popular one, rather than just merely the latter.

Last Splash makes a compelling argument against Francis’s folly. Deal is a compelling lyricist, crafting lines like “I’ll be your whatever you want / The bong in this reggae song” in the pseudo-devotional “Cannonball” or “You’re the rod I’m the water / I’m just looking for the divine hammer” playing off the dual meaning of the word “divine” in “Divine Hammer”. Little things, admittedly, but they make all the difference.

52 Albums: #40

A lot of good shit came out of Melbourne in the 70s. From rocknrollers like Skyhooks, Chisel and Midnight Oil to punks like Radio Birdman and Boys Next Door, the foundations for an Australian identity in the global arena were being built on stages right across the city. When Models came into the picture, the 70s was giving way to the 80s and New Wave was taking over. That’s about as much history fluff as I can stand, I just think it’s important we take a minute to reflect on how excellent Melbourne was and is, except for a grim few years when soft-rock and indie-folk was everywhere. Thank god we’re over that.

So although I first heard Models when I was much younger because “Out Of Mind, Out Of Sight” was played on the radio incessantly such that it’s engraved into my childhood memories of pop music just like Sheryl Crow’s “All I Wanna Do” and Aussie Crawl’s “Beautiful People” (a better song to ignite my tendency to class warfare, I’ve never heard), it’s always good to go back and see who was what before breakthrough mainstream success. Models’ 1980 debut Alphabravocharlie etc etc is a little slice of dub-tinged New Wave devilry. Though the album has its share of political allegory, the best parts are the simple relationshippy songs like “Pull The Pin”, relating a breakup with a girl leagues out of vocalist Sean Kelly’s own to the pulling of a grenade pin - phallic imagery included - the final act before the impending explosion is flung as far away as humanly possible. Well-worn territory, yeah, but no matter how many ways songwriters tell that story I’ll never get sick of it.

52 Albums: #39

Jawbreaker, like that Rose McGowan movie. Sloppy, noisy, grimy guitars and a voice like a tracheotomy patient chewing on a cigarette. Yum yum yum, puff puff puff, snip snip snip. “Ashtrayyyyyyyyyyy.” Actually I guess the whole concept of his voice, if that’s what you want to call it, is in the band’s title, throat all gnarled like its had a giant ball of candy shoved inside causing it to cough and splutter exhaust fumes. Blake Schwarzenbach’s vocals are those of the rasping, vengeful and straight-up DEAD. I’ve got a thing for atonality because it’s like evidence of really really really trying, isn’t it? When you’re shit, you try harder to prove you’re not, excluding the maestros that turned being shit into an artform with shit-gaze (an obvious misnomer.) I think I was in eighth grade when I read a list called “100 Reasons Why Geeks Make Better Boyfriends” and one of the reasons had something to do with the lack of attention they’re paid making them harder working for approval. Really I think it just turns ‘em into bitter, aggressively woman-hating assholes for the most part, but there’s always hope. I have a friend, who has the sort of fervent adoration for bands that leads to them commanding their crowds to follow her on Twitter (like she could use more followers), who once told me that if I didn’t listen to “Boxcar” and love it then we couldn’t be friends. Emotional duress is the kind of environment in which critical thinking flourishes. Actually though, while I can see why she especially likes “Boxcar”, I prefer “Ache”, for similar reasons: romantic autobiography.

Wrote this relatively concise thing about The Libertines. Thanks for a great year, Hendrik.

oneweekoneband:

The Libertines - What Became of the Likely Lads?

Last track from “The Libertines” (2004)

I guess there are people who totally despise The Libertines for being NME darlings and because Pete Doherty is a dumb junkie prick and all that, but if anything that made me more sympathetic to the band. They were led by two frontmen with such fierce personalities that ended up being both toxic and, as one often follows the other, intoxicating to each other, and the result were some brutally honest songs. Imagine having to get on stage, night after night, in front of a crowd so sycophantically fervent in their adoration for you but also your partner who you fucking love/hate, and singing fairly explicitly into the microphone about the problems with your intense relationship, both sides getting equal time to air out grievances.

“What became of the likely lads? / What became of the dreams we had? / What became of forever? / Oh we’ll never know,” is utterly heartbreaking to hear, whether you’re a fan watching two people you love killing themselves on stage, or you’re the one singing into the mic, aware that you’re at least one half responsible for the destruction of the most significant thing you’ll ever experience in your life.

Neither of their follow-up projects were particularly auspicious: Dirty Pretty Things put out a pretty alright single in the shape of “Bang Bang You’re Dead” and Babyshambles is still kicking about, Doherty having had opiate inhibitors implanted in his body and subsequently replacing heroin with cocaine, but the most exciting thing either of them have done post-Libertines is play a gig as The Libertines at Reading and Leeds. It’s likely they’ll never reunite, not really, and the world has passed them by anyway, but they’ve left their legacy in the shape of a question, one more difficult to answer than a thousand red top front pages might have you believe.

— Jake Cleland

(Jake previously wrote for OWOB about The Hold Steady)

Anonymous asked: You're from Australia right? So why do you call it 'the mall'?

IT’S A GLOBAL SOCIETY BRO. YOU DON’T NEED TO RESTRICT YOURSELF TO THE MYOPIC STANDARDS OF THE ACADEMIC INSTITUTIONS YOU WERE IMPRISONED BY. SOI DISANTRA.

theremixbaby:

jakec:

Brokencyde - “Freaxxx”

When I hear people question the validity of a former emo dude taking over dubstep, I think about Brokencyde and consider THE WORLD very lucky that this isn’t the route Skrillex took instead.

I am posting this from my iPhone for the first time. ~~~~~

I actually love this song even though it isn’t very ‘good’ or whatever. I think the ethos behind crunkcore and filthy dubstep (can we retire the term brostep yet? It’s origins lie in introverted indie rockcrit types snarking on people who like bein a lil dumb for funsies) is very similar. Got love for anyone defending stuff critics hate because critic groupthink is foolish as hell even though my personal dubstep tastes are a bit purpler. But seriously this is the kind of car crash you can’t stop looking at songs. Also pink eyes from fucked up interviewed these guys once and it was sweet.

POSTED FROM IPHONE BITCHES

ETA: Not directed at Jake in any way, but I am continually perplexed by the idea that the quality of pop music has anything to do with the world being a better or worse place. Maybe I don’t love music enough :-/

I wasn’t taken aback by this response because I know “Got love for anyone defending stuff critics hate” is why we’re friends.

To elaborate and dispel any suspicions that I might dislike Brokencyde because it’s cool to do so, almost everything about them is annoying to me. They have ugly top deck haircuts and, at the risk of seeming curmudgeonly, look like the sort of kids that would make it difficult to get in and out of the mall as quickly as possible, which is a problem for me because I try to be there for as little time as possible. The screaming is, bizarrely, the only part of this that I really like, and I have almost no time for raspy screaming. At least it’s some sign of passionate expression in contrast to the other guy’s morose quasi-LMFAO club rapping. Actually in terms of visual aesthetic, LMFAO is not a bad comparison, except where Red and Sky are like Flatley-status dancers and have a good sense of self-humour, nobody in Brokencyde demonstrates any remotely attractive qualities. Mad respect for the DIY ethos, but like kindergarteners and science projects, sometimes it’s just better to ask for help lest you end up with a fucking disaster.

As for the quality of pop music being linked to the world being a good place, I think a surplus of entertainment makes a tangible impact on quality of living. I mean, you like this song so that’s fine, but if the radio played more bands like Brokencyde I’d consider my overall life experience to be a lot less enjoyable. There’s more to unpack here, like how artistic output/pop music is effected by national or global economy, which seems like a pretty good link between quality of pop music and the world’s ‘goodness’, but I’ll leave it to someone smarter. Actually though I only wrote that I “consider THE WORLD lucky” because originally I wrote “myself” and it seemed too self-centered. I don’t know how to blog.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
A Plus D

—Gucci Gucci Girl Power (Kreayshawn vs. Toni Basil vs. Le Tigre vs. The Ting Tings vs. The Trashwomen vs. The Go-Go’s)

A Plus D - “Gucci Gucci Girl Power (Kreayshawn vs. Toni Basil vs. Le Tigre vs. The Ting Tings vs. The Trashwomen vs. The Go-Go’s)”

I’m unapologetically in favour of mashups and even MORE in favour of the ostensible death of culture that they probably signify. I am not joking when I say that we should burn everything down and start again, though to be clear I do mean it in a metaphorical sense, please don’t actually light things on fire. HOWEVER, were you to burn something in effigy, a likeness of me and Skrillex high-fiving while doing kickflips over a shark tank, for example, I’d appreciate you scoring your expression of anger with this song.

perpetua:

Skrillex
“Rock N’ Roll (Will Take You to the Mountain)”

If this song had been released as a single by Daft Punk, it would’ve ended up at the top of most every critic poll in existence. You know it’s true. So just give in, because this is awesome.

Perpetua jumps on board the “correcting an imbalance” train, thus earning himself a beer on me. Don’t you want one too?

(Source: youtube.com)

Closing Songs I Didn’t Write About for a Feature About Closing Songs and the Very Good Reasons for Not Doing So.

Marnie Stern - “Patterns of a Diamond Ceiling”
Although an incredible song, I’m not sure I could say anything about it that the song doesn’t already say for itself. If you haven’t heard it, it’s essentially a visualisation exercise in which Stern narrates a grand vision while shaping the images with her renowned and inventive guitar playing. “Patterns of a Diamond Ceiling” isn’t exactly meditative - well, for a little while it is - but it does evoke certain visuals more powerfully than I’ve ever experienced from a song before.

Silver Jews - “Pretty Eyes”
Woulda done it in memory of a girl.

Sleigh Bells - “Treats”
Maybe the reason “Treats” sounds so good to me now is because I rarely got to it while I was listening to that album. Treats brings back memories of riding between houses in the evening, the sun not yet set but casting some pretty colours over the bay just down the hill, waiting to get my drink on. Thing is, my hometown crew don’t live that far away and a round trip only took me to “Crown on the Ground”. The eponymous track itself, while sounding charmingly evocative of Love Spit Love’s cover of “How Soon Is Now?”, lacks that personal connection. 

Titus Andronicus - “The Battle of Hampton Roads”
A fourteen-minute opus with crescendos in all the right places to make it the perfect closer to Titus Andronicus’s saga-esque The Monitor that I’ve listened to on many train rides, not even attempting to stop myself becoming visibly, viscerally elated when the guitars crash in and begin to build following the contemplative drums as Patrick Stickles chants “Please don’t ever leave.” Too contemporary. 

Bruce Springsteen - “Jungleland”
Couldn’t do it justice. 

The Thermals - “You Changed My Life”
Arguably woulda done it in memory of a girl, a different one though, but it could’ve been excusable given how well the track functions in the album. Personal Life was really an album-y album, my favorite kind. I’m sure I’m not unique in preferring some narrative thread to unspool over a loose collection of tracks, and even though Personal Life isn’t really a concept album, the progression of tracks covers each step in the timeline of a relationship with devastating precision. This was actually the frontrunner for a while because I think it was a really overlooked album, but ultimately, what with all the Los Campesinos! listening this year, I thought it’d be more interesting to write about something other than girls, a trope I’ve accepted I’ll never escape but from which I don’t mind occasionally vacationing.

Rock ‘n’ Roll Tedium

On New Year’s Eve last year two of my friends were hanging out on a couch with Tinie Tempah and when I stumbled into this scene I decided it was more important than whatever they were talking about to ask him if he thought Simon Amstell was a very sexy man, because he’d been on Never Mind the Buzzcocks sort of recently. Eventually, after not even giving me a straight answer if you can believe, he got up and left. Later on I realised that the episode he was on was guest-hosted by Mark Ronson, not Simon Amstell.

I’m going back to Pyramid Rock this year. No Tinie Tempah I’m afraid so I’ll just have to settle for asking what Gotye thinks of Adam Hills.

Burn It Down and Start Again: Jake Cleland Comes Down the Mountain to Bring Fire and Brimstone and the Definitive Defence of Skrillex to the Revolting World of Dance Music.

You know, I feel a sense of Messianic resignation in writing this. For what seems like lifetimes I’ve watched the discussion go back (and back and back and back, but rarely forward) about Skrillex to the point where I want to defend him on contrarian instinct alone. I don’t much care for the way some of you pick your punching bags so thoughtlessly - we had this issue with Lana Del Rey as well, if you’ll recall - and there comes a point where some of you deserve to be hit back. For the duration of this little epistle, I’d like you to take the immense leap of faith and trust the veracity of things Skrillex has said. I’m afraid I can’t do you any enlightening if you decide that every time he’s ever said anything to another human being, he’s been reading from a script devised by his managers.

So let’s start by laying this out in as unbiased, analytical terms as possible: Skrillex aka Sonny John Moore is a dubstep musician from Los Angeles, who originally put out a commercially unsuccessful album under the name Sonny. Some time after that he allegedly had lip injections (though this is just speculation that’s been repeated so often that it became truth by consensus, it’s apparently false) and changed his name to Skrillex. As Skrillex, he released a single and a b-side (“Scary Monsters And Nice Sprites”/”Kill EVERYBODY”) and set them to videos incorporating analog nostalgia, which some found grating. A shitstorm ensued of which the focus is mainly on his authenticity but also gender politics via the interpretation of his lyrics. And everybody was, for the most part, wrong.

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[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Skrillex

—Kill Everybody

Skrillex - “Kill Everybody”

Michelle, who ranks among my top 5 Chicagoans of all time, has a recurring tag, “correcting an imbalance,” which she brings out when she sees someone objectifying a woman on her dashboard. I have decided to adopt that tag in defence of dubstep musician Skrillex. From now on I’ll be posting something Skrillex-related whenever* I see some dumb, thoughtless joke that uses Sonny Moore as a punchline, so that one day maybe the perpetrator will listen to Skrillex with beginner’s ears and have an epiphany that despite how totally fucking cool it is to hate dubstep, his songs are empirically good sometimes. The war against disingenuous distaste continues.

* expect this to be lazily enforced.

“A ‘D’, huh? I’ll give you a D, for DEAD,” Harry Osborn says, clutching an obscured piece of paper with a large, red ‘D’ at the top, in a scene from the Green Goblin spin-off movie written and directed by James Franco.