Onward, digital
warriors:
In the wake of an accountant's report saying the company
may not be solvent, Internet music site CDNow's stock
collapsed last week.
And while
I'm bitching: We've received a rash of whiny, anonymous
letters here at the Scandal Sheet lately. Of course, taking
flack from gutless knaves comes with the job, but I can't
resist: If you want to write a little essay about how dumb
we are, cool; if you don't have the stugots to sign your
name, keep it in your Hello Kitty daybook where it belongs.
What made better listening this week? The bleating chorus
of cyber lovers protesting last week's column on Napster.com
(I suggested that music itself is more important than fancy
new music technology--heresy!)? Or the new Common
album, a masterpiece of jazz flow, pimped-out propulsion and
hip-hop grit called Like Water for Chocolate
(MCA)? Tough call indeed.
The Chicago MC's LP is a fine example of what's in danger
of being lost in the MP3 gold rush. Like Water for Chocolate
is an album, a long-form work with its own internal
logic, a consistent pulse set to a rugged Midwestern meter
and a set of touchstones it returns to again and again.
While you might get a taste in a four-minute downloaded
burst, you'd never sense the full 78 minutes' tidal ebb
and flow.
And yeah, I know, you can download whole albums now, and
the process gets faster all the time. The fact is, though,
that the ability to snatch songs off the 'Net will likely
push pop back to the singles-focused approach of the '50s
and early '60s. It's already happening, and you could argue
that music videos have driven this very shift for 20 years.
It's not a bad thing, necessarily. A lot of '60s bands--The
Who is an obvious example--were better when singles
were the only game in town than in later album-oriented
incarnations. As is often noted by MP3 proponents, plenty
of one-hit wonders are only good for three-minute hits.
No point in buying their worthless albums, and now you don't
have to.
But Like Water for Chocolate, which recalls Sly
Stone's street funk, Public Enemy's riot-of-consciousness
attack and Gil Scott-Heron's ghetto bohemian jazz,
reminds you that an album can slap you awake with a lot
more deliberate force than a pop single can. Little things
like that can be easy to forget in heady days of new models,
shifting paradigms, exponential change and whatnot.
Also in this week's mail:
And then there's Henry Rollins. The music industry,
like God Himself, giveth and then taketh way, and the Rollins
Band's Get Some Go Again (Dreamworks)
brought me straight down to earth off Common's high. Give
Rollins credit--in spite of sharply limited talents, he's
turned himself into a brand name, mostly through raw work
ethic and force of will. Still, anyone who's been paying
attention has his schtick down by now: He's a tough guy
with a tough brain and a lot of problems and insights on
this messed-up world, etc. This time around, he stocks his
band with competent Sabbathoids, and they do a fine rendition
of that ass-kickin' ol' rock 'n' roll, dude, but it's hard
to see where Rollins™ goes from here.
Those who want a straight shot of the, ah, hot rock would
do better to look closer to home. Sleater-Kinney,
post-Riot grrl destroyers claimed on some sort of time-share
arrangement by both Portland and Olympia, score for the
home team with All Hands on the Bad One (Kill
Rock Stars). When your last album prompted straight-faced
big-time rock critics to brand you "the best band in the
world," an encore must be daunting. A few clunky tracks
aside, though, S-K delivers with ever-adrenalized guitars,
quasi-operatic vocals and bristling drive.
Sarah Dougher provides a more measured, melancholic
take on Northwest-style girl power with The Walls
Ablaze (Mr. Lady). Local lady Dougher's fine songwriting
doesn't pack the kick of Sleater-Kinney, but she knows how
to use her bassy voice and shambolic indie-folk style. Most
importantly, she doesn't let a decidedly lo-fi sound sink
into tossed-off preciousness, a misstep that sinks Out
West, a new four-song EP by Cadallaca, Dougher's
side project with S-K wailer Corin Tucker (Kill Rock
Stars).
Finally, a pair of albums by radically different bands
document that grubby, outmoded phenomenon known as "live"
music. BR5-49 gives one of the most affirming live
shows around; the quintet's half-campy hillbilly music,
delivered with fab skill and sweet earnestness, draws contingents
of punks, hicks, grandmas, drunk uncles and rockabilly kids.
The band's albums have never been all that compelling, though,
so the concert disc Coast to Coast (Arista)
serves them well.
Likewise, House of Large Sizes slipped through the
cracks of the mid-'90s alt upheaval. They have managed to
claim a cult following, though, with their long tours and
raucous shows. Idiots Out Wandering Around
(What Are Records?) reveals a band trying desperately to
sweat out its demons, making sure its fans freak out real
good in the process. They mash songs together, belt their
throats raw and let every quirk of their off-kilter sound
shine. It's refreshing, really.
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Willamette Week | originally
published April 5,
2000
|
