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You'd think a Brian Eno/John Cale collaboration would've ended up on the right side of the supergroup train(wreck)tracks. Yet their full-length collaboration Wrong Way Up is a dreadfully bland stab at pop that rightfully was not very popular. The '80s weren't really either of their decades, so I suppose they deserve a pass. On the bright side, it yielded this track, which hits the sweet spot of minimal beauty. It almost seems to float. A nice soft conclusion to a week that didn't really get out of neutral.
Attitude never goes out of style. Sonic Youth may be graybearded and tired ambassadors of NYC music, but their back catalog continues to reward. Charges of selling-out notwithstanding, big-label debut Goo album is a rocker of fine distinction. And Kim's smirking, teasing feminism never sounded so alluring as on this track.
You know when you get into conversations with people who are think they have the bounds of music pretty well figured out? You want to blow their minds, but the right bands never come to your own mind. Times like that, it's best to reach for some Sun City Girls. Not really to out-obscure anyone (a useless pursuit), but simply for illuminating purposes. And as much as anything to remind yourself that there is no end to the musical universe.
Apropos of that, I had Torch of the Mystics — probably SCG's most consistent album — on pretty heavy rotation last week. I was constantly floored by the scope of the creativity and affecting weirdness (and visions of an imaginary Indonesia, among other places). No tune could hope to represent, so here's a little 2'fer Tuesday sampler.
Something about vacationing with a mostly British cast of characters just puts an Anglo playlist in my head. Or maybe I'm just reaching for a segue to this heroic pop nugget, which refuses to be undone by terrible lyrics and silly outro vox.
Yesterday's post reminded me that most bands that have been pillars of my musical history have not made their way onto the 'blague (click the tag below for some special exceptions). It probably has something to do with an old, useless desire to not misrepresent an entire oeuvre with a single song, a wish for objective encapsulation. Which is contrary to the whole idea of this blog. Plus, in a very real sense, representation is always misrepresentation. Why worry about what you think you're leaving out?
So in the holiday spirit, here's a classic chestnut from a band that defies the idea of a summary that doesn't diminish. This one reminds me of a goofy crush from long ago. And it's got a cool theremin.
It's the dragging days of August. But I've got a very busy week lined up. Anyone else? Here's one to kick us all into action.
Something in the air is putting a mysterious fatigue on my bones. So here's one that's in tune with that slow down, foreshadowing a little bit of autumn. It's also one from the alternate adolescence files. The outro that kicks in at 4:35 makes me feel 14 years old again.
Something about November throws a shot of old time angst down my throat. It's not real angst, just some very close sensory approximations and a desire to hear songs that unabashedly tug on the threads. The feeling pleases me, though I'm not sure why. Someone put this on a mix tape for me in late 1991, more than half my life ago. There's a thought to make one a little angsty.
Another band named after a flying animal. Another jangly guitar song. This one is a little more somber, and good for beefing up your vintage indie bona fides. If there had been a video, it surely would've had regular rotation on 120 Minutes. Two consecutive songs that sound like R.E.M. Hmm. I wonder if this is my brain's way of telling me to put some of their stuff up here already.
Putting on a Cocteau Twins record at regular intervals will keep you from getting old. I don't know why, but it's true. Even if it won't do much for your tan. As always, I have no idea what Elizabeth Fraser is singing about, but I'm genuinely moved. Excuse me, I have to go disintegrate now.
You'd think a Brian Eno/John Cale collaboration would've ended up on the right side of the supergroup train(wreck)tracks. Yet their full-length collaboration Wrong Way Up is a dreadfully bland stab at pop that rightfully was not very popular. The '80s weren't really either of their decades, so I suppose they deserve a pass. On the bright side, it yielded this track, which hits the sweet spot of minimal beauty. It almost seems to float. A nice soft conclusion to a week that didn't really get out of neutral.
