Miss Piggy Lunchbox

I lost my innocence today
When I learned how to write this
- “Celebrate You”

It may be crazy to say about an album that only went gold and made very little impact outside of the hit song “Seether,” but this may be the album that wraps up 1994 better than any other.  Take the drop tunings of Seattle, the catchy chug of The Breeders, the breathy, sweet vocals of Juliana Hatfield and the disturbing lyrics of L7, throw in some Billy Corgan Chicago fuzz, put the Best Song ever (“Seether”) on top, and you’ve got this album.  There really may not be an album more representative of 1994’s zeitgeist than this.

What I take away from it more than anything else is how great the guitar solos are, which is surprising given how little emphasis the production puts on them, burying them down in the mix with the rhythm section.  Of course, it’s never really been cool for indie bands to be good at their instruments, but Nina Gordon and/or Louise Post can really play in a way that supports the songs and fall just short enough of virtuosic to maintain indie cred.  In “Forsythia” for example, the solo starts off with a simple scale that evolves into a headstrong argument with the harmony, a pattern carried even further into an all out screaming match in “25.”

One of the downsides of the band being so good at rawk is that the slow songs, even though well-executed, end up being an exercise in impatience.  “Fly” is gorgeous, but it’s really just something that makes me wait for “Number One Blind” and “Victrola.”  “Sleeping Where I Want” is good enough to have a place somewhere, just not on this album and certainly not at the end where it leaves an aftertaste of ennui not reflective of the enjoyment of the rest of the album.

1994 may have seen the cancellation of the World Series, but thankfully Veruca Salt’s reminded me of how good it sounded with its 50-minute summary, American Thighs.

Rating:

Best Song Ever: “Seether”
Mixers: “All Hail Me,” “Victrola”
Non-keepers: “Sleeping Where I Want”
Filed Between: Verdi (Otello) and Vincent & Mr. Green (Vincent & Mr. Green)

Well you heard about love givin’ sight to the blind
My baby’s lovin’ cause the sun to shine
- “Pride And Joy”

The blues have always been a bit of an enigma to me.  Give me a blues tune in isolation and I’m loving it.  But put a few blues songs back to back and I’m very quickly bored.  An entire genre built around the same three-chord, 12-bar progression?  It’s astounding the genre has so many performers and devotees.  Hasn’t it all been done?  What are they hearing that I’m not?  Is it like dog whistle music or something?

All of which becomes tribute to Stevie Ray Vaughan that I like this album as much as I do.  Much like with the blues, I’d never understood the passion surrounding Vaughan, all of which seemed to spontaneously arise when he died in a helicopter crash following a show in Wisconsin when I was in high school.  I’d never heard of him before, and yeah, his technical prowess was amazing, but it kind of felt like the eulogizing exceeded the oeuvre.  As you can tell, I was all ready to write a review along these lines until I gave this album a few listens.

As a music reviewer, I consider it my job to find descriptions for enjoyment (or not) of music. Sometimes, though, I just can’t do it.  Much like with the Janis Joplin review I punted on, I’m tempted to regurgitate the same platitudes everybody gives: filled with soul and feeling, master of his craft, etc.  All of it’s true, but you’ve got better things to do than read that about a 27-year-old album.  Suffice it to say that this is one of those rare works of art that manages to be a pinnacle of the genre’s achievement as well as an excellent introduction to the genre, accessible to the neophyte and appreciated by the connoisseur.  It is to guitar-oriented blues what Kind Of Blue is to mid-century jazz and what Appetite For Destruction is to heavy metal.

So why only four lunchboxes?  Specifically, because I think the shuffle in “Tell Me” is played, “Rude Mood” is too much (too fast and dizzying) and not enough (derivative, uninspiring melody) all at the same time, and “Pride And Joy” is a little too easy.  Generally, well, maybe it’s just because I just have some trouble with the genre’s limits.  But that’s on the genre (and me), not on SRV, who kills this, far exceeding my expectations of what was possible.

Rating:

Mixer: “Love Struck Baby”
Non-keeper: “Rude Mood”
Filed Between: The Vaselines (The Way Of The Vaselines—A Complete History) and Velocity Girl (¡Simpatico!)

Even if I try to understand
It won’t ever be the same
Is there any left for me?
- “Nickel Wound”

Texas Is The Reason, their name a reference to JFK assassination conspiracy theories, a theme that continues through the song titles on the album, is the last band in J-mez’ collection that was new to me, and it was a good one.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, this is why I slog through so much bad music, because you never know when you’ll find some unknown band you love.

The only full length ever released by the band, Do You Know Who You Are? was produced by J. Robbins of Jawbox and Burning Airlines fame, which explains its awesomeness but leaves as puzzling its worst quality: its anemic sound quality.  “Anemic” is the exact right word, as there’s no depth, no low end, no warmth.

The sonic style may have been a choice, as it fits the rough and straining voice of singer Garrett Klahn, whose vocal style is charming in the same way as that of a favorite high school band might be (I’m reminded of the fantastic early 90’s Mankato band My Friend Stu).  So the style may have been a choice, but as with A Man About A Horse (in fact, the bands and albums are very similar), it holds the product back.

The songs are amazing compositions expertly piecing together catchy and powerful riffs reminiscent of Sunny Day Real Estate’s Seven, but the sound just leaves me with the feeling of a once-loved project left to molder as the changes the band members went through after graduation made it impossible to keep in touch more than superficially.  In some ways it adds to the appeal, like I’m some omniscient being able to vicariously enjoy some fantastic teenage friendship through the art it left behind, making them my new favorite band.  But in another way it keeps it from attaining an extra half lunchbox.

Rating:

Mixers: “Johnny On The Spot,” “Back And To The Left”
Non-keeper: “Do you know who you are?”
Filed Between: Testament (The Ritual) and Therapy? (“Misery” cassette single)

Although I am older than I seem
At least I have some hopes and know to dream
…
You only have so long to live
So surround yourself with friends who can forgive

- “Heavier Than 3 Lbs.”

Remember that band in high school that was sooooo good you just couldn’t figure out why they weren’t huge?  That’s A Man About A Horse…except now they’re not sleeping with your girlfriend because they’re half your age.  On second thought, they’re probably still sleeping with your girlfriend.

The feel of this album is that of youthful exuberance so contagious you can’t help but look forward to everything before you in life.  If the world has produced this out of a set of kids, how can the upcoming generation of musicians, nay, artists, inventors, and statespeople, not completely change everything for the better?

That’s the sort of generational belief an album like this instills.  Every listen reveals some new point of excellence.  There are ten great songs, all with an inventive style that keeps things fresh and hooks that won’t leave you alone spread over 40 minutes of well-structured composition.  The lyrics are just as fantastic and varied.  You’d think that the “how do you talk to girls” song had been overdone, but vocalist Josh Castillo makes you think he’s the only guy who’s ever had trouble with the ladies on “Body Trembles.”  Then there’s the genius simultaneous punch to the gut, slap to the funny bone, and scratch to the head of “Purple Leaf”: “I have only one thing that I can truly give to you/If I could be so bold/It’s not my heart or some bullshit cliche line like that/It’s worth more than my heart/It’s a single purple leaf that grows beneath the Ponderosa tree.” The product really does belie the youth of its generators.

As good as it is, and it’s great, with 17 years between you and high school you can now start to hear maybe why these guys aren’t quite having money thrown at them just yet.  The sound is a little thin and unsatisfying, sometimes leaving a feeling of true greatness lying just out of reach.  Vocalist Josh Castillo’s voice is fine but he’s pushing his range here and can’t always get to where he wants to go.  I find that effect endearing and part of the whole contagious youthfulness thing, particularly on the amazing “Hopeless Bird,” but now I understand it’s not a recipe for general audience success.

It’s still a little mind-boggling that these guys aren’t monster huge, though.  There’s clearly enough talent here to garner widespread appeal.  Camille Paglia has said that rock musicians are America’s greatest resource, and she’s probably right.  Technology has gone a long way toward more efficient development of those resources, but for the second time this year I find myself torn between elation at having discovered a true gem in a sea of mediocre music and cynicism at how hard it is for truly great bands to get their deserved spoils.

Rating:
  
Mixers: “Heavier Than 3 Lbs.,” “Hopeless Bird”
Keepers: everything else
Filed Between: Malfunkshun (Friendship Ring) and Marilyn Manson (Lunchbox)

I won’t make promises I know I cannot keep

- “Beautiful Girl”

Anything reminiscent of Pigs In Space has to be good.  Other than the name of the band, though, the only thing this recording has in common with that Muppets Show sketch is that it hearkens back to a 70’s subculture.  There’s a little sci-fi in here, but just enough to recall the spaced-out, swaggering riffs of this album’s targeted subculture flashback: British glam rock circa T. Rex.

Sometimes it’s hard to keep track of who’s singing on this disc.   While the Langdon brothers are the credited vocalists, they channel Mick Jagger on “Anonymous” and Axl Rose on the album’s highlight, “2nd Avenue,” and they do an amazing impression of Michael Stipe on “Almond Kisses.”  Wait, that actually is Michael Stipe…wow, that makes it even harder.

But that’s about the only thing that’s hard about this disc.  It struts right out of the speakers with its leather pants and flashpots from the get go, ripping off a soaring guitar solo here, adding chorused vocals there.  It’s all immediately in your face, completely unashamed of what it is.

Unfortunately it blows its wad a little early, like a 19-year-old boy pulling out every trick he knows on the first f**k.  It doesn’t make it any less good, its just that on the fifth go-around the thrill is a little bit gone, the promise slightly unfulfilled as you realize, oh yeah, I did get it all the first time or two…that was great.  This is an album you wish wouldn’t have called after that first encounter so you could have in your head how great a long-term relationship would have been instead of the disillusionment, albeit an enjoyable one, you’re now stuck with.

Rating:
  
Mixers: “Goodbye Violet Race,” “Mungo City,” “2nd Avenue,” “Carry On”
Non-keeper: “Skylark”
Filed Between: South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut soundtrack and Sparks vs. Faith No More (“This Town Ain’t Big Enough For The Both Of Us”)

Little things that just don’t matter
Still could get me mad as a hatter

- “Hot Shit”

Quasi either took a sharp left turn on this record, or I just wasn’t paying close attention before. In the past their lyrics seemed to lie firmly in fantasy, describing Seuss-like worlds where fluent animals in unlikely situations acted out impossible and nonsensical scenarios. There’s a little bit of that on Hot Shit!, but the lyrics are now much more strikingly and overtly political.

Released in 2003, the anti-war message is inescapable. Explicit insults are handed out to W and the administration in “White Devil’s Dream” and the 9/11 imagery of “Seven Years Gone” is unambiguous. Here, though, lyricist Sam Coomes still does let the esoteric creep in by assigning playground nicknames to members of the cabinet. “Seven Years Gone” also seems to foreshadow Bush’s political isolation at the end of his presidency by drawing a comparison between him and The Flying Dutchman, while  “Master & Dog” excoriates both parties as “the elephant wields the rod while the donkey throws you a bone/I’d rather have a bone than a beating I suppose,” in lyrics that are applicable at times when Democrats are in power, too. By the end of the song, Coomes goes the full kill-‘em-all, all-politicians-are-corrupt proletariat route and throws up his hands at the whole system: “Master is the country squire/And the housedogs lay by the fire/But it gets pretty hard for the dogs in the yard.” As much as I try to make lemonade out of our political system, it’s hard not to let these lyrics resonate as our squires let yard dogs without health care die every day…to take the analogy to its non-poetic ends.

Things changed far more for Quasi lyrically than they did musically onthis release. Take away the lyrics and this fits right in with their previous catalog. What Quasi does best they do even better here, namely mix dissonance and atonality into wonderfully crafted pop songs in a way that’s impossible not to notice but is also very appealing. I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend this band to anybody that liked catchy melodies and safe music, but they push the boundaries everywhere. They’re like the perfect introduction to experimental music.

In the past the band has tended to separate these two elements, leaving an abrasive song here and a song from The Beatles’ lost tapes there. On this disc, though, it’s all put together perfectly. Every song is the perfect mix of everything Quasi does and the album itself is crafted without flaw, with each song being the perfect one to follow the one it does, resulting in what might be the most palatable middle finger to consonance of all time.

Rating:

Mixers: “Seven Years Gone,” “Drunken Tears,” “Mama Tried,” “No One,” “Good Times”
Keepers: everything else
Filed Between: Quasi’s The Sword Of God and Queen (The Platinum Collection)

I can’t get that sound out of my head
I can’t even figure out what’s making it

- “I Would Hurt A Fly”

When we last heard from Built To Spill in this little corner of the Web, we reviewed the band’s There’s Nothing Wrong With Love and said that band leader Doug Martsch needed to more fully embrace the catchy melodies he had a such a knack for writing. Of course, I was saying this fifteen years after the album’s release, so it should be no surprise, even if musicians did give my criticism the considered weight it deserves, that twelve years ago Martsch went in completely the opposite direction for that album’s follow-up, Perfect From Now On.

In the end, it’s probably a good thing, as this is a significantly superior effort. It helps that Martsch improved a different strength mentioned in that review, his guitar playing. Turn it up, because this is an album best listened to at high volumes, where, at the climaxes of many of these tracks, you can let his three guitar lines wash over you and, just when you’ve had enough, feel the sweet relief of a moaning cello, soothing you just enough to prepare you for the next onslaught of Martsch’s six-string wall of sound. This is one of those albums that’s best to listen to drunk, when your ears aren’t working so well. By increasing the volume and altering your perception, it’s like you can hear a different sonic intent.

This is a disc of well-connected moments, and the more you listen, the more moments you hear, the more vividly you hear the previously heard moments, and the more well-connected they all become. From the vivid evocation of eternity in the opening track to the pumping grooves at the end of the seductive builds on “I Would Hurt A Fly,” “Stop The Show,” and “Velvet Waltz,” with the middle song’s dismissive take down of music critics, to some of the best drumming I’ve every heard on “Kicked It In The Sun,” where “we’re special…in ways our mothers appreciate,” to the glorious battle between the harmonic progression of the band and the stubbornly static guitar of the final track, this album intrigues at first and seems to change and surprise with every listen thereafter.

To get a sense of just one of those moments, here is said evocation of the afterlife from “Randy Describes Eternity.” Imagine these lyrics bleeding out slowly at a measured, determined pace:

Every thousand yearsThis metal sphere
Ten times the size of Jupiter
Flies just past the Earth
You climb on your roof
And take a swipe at it
With a single feather
And you do it once every thousand years
Until you’ve worn it down to the size of a pea
Yeah, I’d say that’s a long time
But it’s only half a blink in the place we’re going to be.

What a sense of scale: thousand years, ten times the size of Jupiter, single feature, pea, half a blink. The content isn’t all of it, either, as the anxiety-filled, rocking (in the chair sense) arrangement followed by the narrator’s insistence on achieving nirvana though mistake-free living adds even greater gravitas to the situation, bringing me back vividly to dogmatic and illogical but well-intentioned Sunday mornings of my youth.

This album still has some of the problems of There’s Nothing Wrong With Love. It’s definitely got a same-key problem, which is likely because Martsch’s vocal range is about 90% of an octave. Certain hooks still come back once or twice two often, and all but pretty much the last track features the same structure. They all start mewly and slow, feature a big build somewhere in the second or third minute, then rock it out until the end with an optional breakdown in the middle…all just to repeat again on the next track. It’s a great formula, but it’s formulaic, y’know what I’m saying? Still, those weakenesses are far less glaring here than they were on the previously reviewed album. There’s Nothing Wrong With Love was very good. This is great.

Rating:

Mixers: “Stop The Show,” “Untrustable/Part 2 (About Someone Else)”
Keepers: everything else
Filed Between: There’s Nothing Wrong With Love and Bulgarian Women’s Choir (Tour ’93 – Melody Rhythm & Harmony)

Is there anything I could do
That someone doesn’t do for you?

- “Coast To Coast”

This is a tough album to review, as it’s the one Smith was working on at the time of his tragic death. His former producer finished it off with the help of his former girlfriend and bassist (that’s one person), and it was released almost exactly one year after he died. A darkness encompassed it for a while, but after listening enough to get past that pall I was rewarded with yet another fantastic set of songs.

Figure 8, this album’s predecessor, got more attention, and kind of served as Smith’s breakthrough, but listening through the four albums of his I now have, Figure 8 is a bit of a lull on the way from where he was on XO to where he was here. Here he has the more varied instrumentation and huge sonic sledgehammers (“Don’t Go Down,” “Strung Out Again,” and “King’s Crossing” alls feature giant guitar waves socking you in the gut) of Figure 8 combined perfectly with the heart-wrenching falsetto of XO.

While a great album, this album still falls just short of the stratosphere reserved for higher ratings, in part because, like Figure 8, it takes a bit of a nosedive for about the last third, with “Little One” being a complete throwaway, “A Passing Feeling” featuring a too-strident piano, and “The Last Hour” making you work too hard to find its delicate melody inside of its sniveling exterior. Still, this doesn’t end all bad, as “Shooting Star,” which I’m pretty sure is about a girl I dated in college, carries the entire second half:

Going up some stream
To fuck some trophy boy…
When it was me
I was momentarily proud
Drunk on dreams
…
No one gets off with you very long
‘Cause you don’t feel bad when you lie
…
Your love is sad, shooting star

The lesson here, clearly, is don’t f**k with Smith’s heart, as he’ll immortalize your evil in song. There’s plenty more amazing in the lyrics, like “Coast To Coast,” where the entire song is spent with a tough facade about how he’ll forget everything only to beg back in at the end, or “Twilight,” where he turns down a potential new love to stay with his current baby because, among other practical reasons, “If I went with you/I’d disappoint you, too.” He nails the short-form answer as well, with fantastic succint metaphors like a girl who was “cracked as The Liberty Bell” or his “heavy metal mouth.”

I’ve given all three of Smith’s albums reviewed on this blog four lunchboxes, and I’d probably give the same rating to XO, too, if I were to review that one. In some ways that’s not fair, but I’ve listened to them all again and stand by my ratings. Smith’s an elite songwriter with an amazing amount of emotion in his voice that carries his incredible melodies perfectly. He makes my guts weep…but there’s always a handful of songs on an album that keep it from my highest ratings. That said, if I were to rank the four I have, this one would probably be at the top, though Either/Or would be awfully close behind if not tied. Figure 8, while a very good album, would be my least favorite…too much weakness. There’s a very clear line between the top two and bottom two. This is a high four lunchboxes.

Rating:

Mixers: “Coast To Coast,” “Don’t Go Down,” “King’s Crossing,” “Twilight,” “Shooting Star”
Non-keepers: “Ostrich & Chirping,” “Little One”
Filed Between: Smith’s Figure 8 and The Smiths (Singles)

Typical me, I started something and now I’m not so sure…

– “I Started Something I Can’t Finish”

Turns out I really like the Smiths, which is a surprise, especially considering there’s not a single member of this band named Smith, which was a huge f**king disappointment.  Anyway, I think it’s because even though the songs are all about being sad and lonely, lead singer Morrissey doesn’t spend much time being hesitant about it: he’s sad and lonely and wants to feel you up and he’s going to make sure you are aware of that, even if it means he’s going to have to perform the musical equivalent of following you around and breathily whispering his problems into your ear.  Or maybe it’s because the band just writes great songs.

It’s late and this is a greatest hits album, so without further ado….

“Hand In Glove” – this is my second-least favorite song on here, and if there’s a track where Morrissey is all timid about being gay, sad, and lonely, it’s this one.  At points it sounds like he’s forgotten they’re recording a song.

“How Soon Is Now?” – If you know one song by The Smiths, this is it.  “I’m lonely and I need to be loved/Just like everybody else does.”  I always thought this was Depeche Mode or somebody like that.  This song has that signature guitar wail…have any rappers used that?  They should.  More bands should cover this.  Huge and awesome.

“Shakespeare’s Sister” – Whoa whoa whoa.  Stop.  STOP!  This is awful, and an awful lot of awful.  This is like the day the band tried coffee or something.  Easily the worst song here.

“That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore” – The narrator of this track is telling his friends that their jokes about people less fortunate than them aren’t funny, which hits close to home because if you ever say something like “grammar nazi” to describe somebody who’s persnickety about grammar or “recycling nazi” to describe somebody who is vigilant about recycling around me I will definitely point out the inappropriateness of using the word “nazi” in that context for the way it diminishes the true horrors of the Nazis.  This is a mediocre track until the “…and now it’s happening in mine” part, at which point the album ratchets it up to 4.5-lunchbox levels right up through the second-to-last track.  If “Hand In Glove,” “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now,” and “Shakespeare’s Sister” weren’t on here, or maybe even if two of them weren’t, this would probably be a 4.5-lunchbox album.

“Shoplifters Of The World” – I love this guit solo…it’s damned near glam rock.  T. Rex lives!

“Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me” – A perfect example of how Morrisey and The Smiths get their whiny, sad reputation: “Last night I dreamt/That somebody loved me/No hope – no harm/Just another false alarm.”  I can’t argue with the fact that these lyrics are blatantly dark, but let’s not forget that these songs are at least as good as the lyrics are depressing.

“There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” – As a lousy song at the end of this album, this serves to be the thing that that one-night stand said right after the mind-blowing orgasm that served to make her a one-night stand.  Oh this hurts here.

Rating:

Mixers: “William, It Was Really Nothing,” “How Soon Is Now?,” “Bigmouth Strikes Again,” “Panic,” “Girlfriend In A Coma”
Non-keepers: “Hand In Glove,” “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now,” “Shakespeare’s Sister,” “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out”
Filed Between: Elliott Smith (Figure 8) and Sneaker Pimps (cassette single “Tesko Suicide (LP Edit)” b/w “Post-Modern Sleaze”)

It’s hard to imagine how The Cutters could have followed up Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! any better than this. Consider that they were working with the impossible task of following up a near perfect album, the type of album that changes your outlook on life, the universe, and everything every time you listen to it. Following up an album as good as their first one is a recipe for disaster, a near certaintly that the next release will be at least disappointing if not a colossal failure. This follow-up, though, which was to be the band’s swan song, while not as good as their debut, boldly moves away from the sound of the original and still manages to be fresh, punchy, and catchy.

Here the band has left behind the sunny, poppy, transcendent bounciness of their first album to pursue a grittier, tougher, but most of all faster aesthetic. The songwriting chops are stil in prime form but the band really starts to grow into a sound that can be called punk. The drums push everything along at breakneck speeds, leaving the vocalist racing to keep up, with lines unfinished as she gasps for air to get ready for the next line. Guitar solos are jackrabbit, just-pound-out-the-notes exercises in brute efficiency. If Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! was the first two months of the flirting, seduction, and validation a newfound love, In The Valley Of Enchantment is the first attempt at a breakup, complete with yelling, crying, and throwing s**t at your head…all while being a huge turn-on that eventually ends in fantastic break-up sex that will prove to be the sole reason you stay together for the next two years.

This album is not as accessible as its predecessor, but it’s still far from esoteric. It gets better with every listen, though, and displays a greater maturity by not containing a single non-keeper (Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! had two). I pointed this out before, but it bears repeating: this band’s entire collection is available for free download in mp3 format. Do yourself a favor and get on it.

Rating:

Mixers: “(Back In The) 20th Century,” “Type A Girl,” “Postcards,” “Cigarette City”
Non-keepers: none
Filed Between: Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! and Cutting Through – Columbia Hard Music sampler