May 12, 2006

Robert Boyd: Xanadu

Robert Boyd: Xanadu
On view at Participant, Inc. through May 14.

by Mikal Saint George

Apocalypse – though definitely not inevitable – does have an alarming number of proponents. They wear many costumes. Robes and turbans - sometimes even the blue of Nostradomasus’ now famous vision. Some are military uniforms displaying a kind of haute couture chic reminiscent of Mugler at his fabulous ’80s zenith. Most chillingly they are often Hugo Boss suits and more and more -- Levis in the suburbs. In Robert Boyd’s XANADU we are reminded that atrocity happens not with random acts of disorder but with the agreement of many and the willingness of not only the aggressor but to a weird degree- the victim. Savior is easy, almost cheap. But destruction is so much darned fun – not to mention profitable. Keep in mind death will most likely come on a dance floor.

Boyd’s video journey through time and history is a horrific Disney-esque thrill ride accompanied by an Ecstasy laden, cocktail dripping, zipless fuck disco beat. So many statements so little time! Pop culture has numbed us to the profanity that exists everywhere around us. Zealots we are reminded were actually a Jewish sect that chose to take their own lives rather than surrender their freedom to the Romans. This was most made famous in the 1981 TV mini series MASADA. God what a Heather Locklear vehicle!

Xanadu is something to watch because we too often sip Merlot while watching manufactured images of Gangsta finery praise bitches, hoes and pimps oblivious to the fact that our world is disintegrating around us. Olivia Newton John simply can’t be the soundtrack to our future!

On view at Participant, Inc. through May 14.

PARTICIPANT INC | 95 Rivington Street | NYC
www.participantinc.org

Posted by Trigger Magazine | Permalink | Comments (0)

May 10, 2006

New Releases: Built to Spill, The Flaming Lips

Built to Spill You In Reverse Warner Brothers	The Flaming Lips At War With the Mystics Warner Brothers

by Ross Whitsett

The creation of music with absolutely no boundaries and complete creative freedom from a major music label seems absurdly beyond comprehension. However, two of the most well known bands within the Indie Rock world are ironically on the corporate Warner Brother’s music label. Both Built To Spill and The Flaming Lips are the vanguard of a niche market, and there is some possibility for profit, the bands are given free range for their studio albums. Built To Spill, while at times light hearted, is primarily no nonsense, and just about the music; The Flaming Lips seem to bask in the glory of their oddity, and to be honest with you, have been letting their critical praise go to their head a bit too much.

Built To Spill has been going about it’s career much the way it has for years, touring every year in small to mid venues, and coming out with an album here or there. The Flaming Lips have been essentially the opposite; self-promoting anyway they can after years along the fringe. Now before I go any further I should say that I do not think that The Flaming Lips newer material is really that amazing, certainly not deserving the overwhelming praise they receive just about anywhere for their last two albums. I found the Soft Bulletin a boring, sentimental mess that sounded like they were attempting to recreate the Moody Blues album Days of Future Passed, we all know “Nights in White Satin” and I don’t care to hear it remade. Yoshimi Battles Pink Robots then hit in 2002, while it struck the listener right away with its impact, it grew bland after a while and now is only just ambient music; the only reason why it was so good right away is that the lead song, “Fight Test”, is a great single. Finally I saw them live that fall at the Roseland Ballroom—witnessing the bunny suits, balloons, flashing lights, and a total affirmation of life first hand I have to say: I wanted to puke. It was a self-indulgent stage show that was just about as edgy as a PBS kids puppet show and everyone there was sucked into it like the brainwashed kiddies watching Teletubbies.

This was the band that proclaimed, “I want my own planet, the human race I can’t stand it,” back in the ‘80s when they were just making simple and pure garage rock; now they were proclaiming how beautiful life could be? Why don’t they just sing about the glory of god while they are at it? Oh you don’t want to turn off your liberal hipster fan base? My disgruntled disappointment in the Lips move from their punk/space rock of their early career aside—amazingly their new album At War With the Mystics is none of the above. They utilize all they have done in their past and present, maybe front man Wayne Coyne actually listened to the earlier albums that got re-released in Finally, the Punk Rockers are Taking Acid, because the music is the better for it. Yes you may have heard the new album is no Yoshimi—this is true, it is deeper.

Ultimately these two albums are not strange new directions for either of these bands; it is the collected creation of their specific sounds to near perfection.

Starting off with a cutesy yeah, yeah, yeah chant distorting in your ear may be over the top, indulgent and definitely disjointing for the listener, but once you stop trying to listen to Mystics then you’ll start to notice it. You will want to listen to it and try to figure out all of its nuances. “Free Radicals,” a slow beat with Coyne’s falsetto, recalls a Prince track, not only from the singing but the stuttered guitar riffs. The guitars jangle over a flute on “The Sound of Failure”, recalling a track from Arthur Lee’s band, Love.

Sounds move left to right all album long, making it great for headphones listening. This begins the next track, “Cosmic Autumn Rebellion,” where Coyne states, “soon all things will die.” Much like Jarvis Cocker of Pulp, Coyne’s deepest moments are when he is most blatant and Mystics is no different than past albums, but here he preaches his confusion and frustration. The Lips can easily take you away, with Coyne’s high tenor, drifting noise, subtle drums and sometimes even Curtis Mayfield beats.

The pop song “Mr. Ambulance Driver” slowly creeps in among sirens and slow keyboards. It picks up with a beat as the singing starts and then it goes full on with a ‘70s television show guitar riff and the words, “help is on the way, but I’m not a real survivor.” Much like Radiohead’s “Knives Out” it has a subtle driving tone, ultimately fading with oohs and ahhs and more echoes.

Influences abound on both these records, especially classic rock from the 1970s. Like Neil Young and Crazy Horse Built to Spill’s You In Reverse is littered with the sound of blatant epic guitar; pleading and frank, that lend more potency to the reflective mood already inspired by Doug Martsch’s lyrics.

Always one for the rock riff pop song with a heavy edge, “Conventional Wisdom” is not ashamed to fuse the grandiose with a jam like that of Dinosaur Jr. or even the Grateful Dead. In this song, as in others, Built To Spill gives us fluid musical tangents—it’s what they do during a live show and it’s pure pleasure to hear them bring that to the studio. It’s polished and this is it so much better because the crisp clean sound of every guitar note makes each listening moment poignant.

Though while Built to Spill can deliver spiraling guitar rock, The Flaming Lips attempt the grandiose with an orchestral dirge on, “Pompeii Am Götterdämmerung.” Repeating the phrase, “all my senses,” as they push you against a wall of sound reminiscent of Pink Floyd’s earlier albums like Saucerful Full of Secrets; but for all the orchestral fanfare the song is just over four minutes.

You in Reverse is easily the stronger album, with the flawless guitars of Built To Spill it is an exhilarating rock production that teems with burgeoning want and realistic poignant viewpoints of the world—like on the first track, “Goin’ Against Your Mind,” Martsch croons, “I’ve heard what it takes to be a man and I never cared much for that,” before we are assaulted by a guitar sound that is aggressive and startling. However At War With The Mystics, while it is difficult at times and sometimes evokes the sounds of Steely Dan surprisingly enough, especially when Coyne singing at his normal tone repeatedly sounds like Donald Fagan and all the poppy moments of Mystics bring to mind “Black Friday” or “Ricki Don’t Lose That Number,” with the easy listening beats and low-key guitar; it still is littered with such details when songs stop and start with mood music, random chimes, laugh tracks, and just a wide range of sound effects.

Production value has definitely been a preoccupation of The Flaming Lips for a while, especially since their sound experimentation album, Zaireeka. This new album is the first time they have mixed that idea with their cynical viewpoint of the past. While You in Reverse gives us the feel of the Built To Spills’ live performance captured in the studio—urgent, soothing, strong, thoughtful art that rings afterward in your ears and makes you remember that you should try to do something in life but that it’s okay to take your time.

Posted by Trigger Magazine | Permalink | Comments (0)

May 5, 2006

Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Roseland Ballroom
May 2, 2006
by Terry Roethlein

Before Karen O started singing “Gold Lion,” the current Yeah Yeah Yeahs single, on May 2 at Roseland, she rearranged her red and purple Christian Joy getup so that a piece of glittery fabric hung over her face like a Muslim hijab. Only a minute later though, and her face reemerged. The newly mature Karen O seems a lot less playful.

Two years ago this refreshingly reckless, positive pixie opening for Devo in Central Park showed up on stage in the rain, grinning like a four-year-old smeared in Mommy’s lipstick, twisting her rain poncho into knots, and throwing herself into her stage work with the fervor of a jihadist. At the first of two New York shows supporting the new album, “Show Your Bones,” there was a lot less artful draping of costumes, no dousing with beer backwash, and certainly no more stage dives. According to interviews, she is tired of the drinking injuries and is now much more serious about being the one responsible for shaping the band’s newly cleaned up, potent band of dance/punk. It shows. Backed by the very gifted guitarist Nick Zinner, ballsy drummer Brian Chase, and an extra touring guitar, the band pounded out most of the songs from the heavier, slightly psychedelic current effort in just over an hour—no muss, no fuss.

Opening with the muscular licks and ringing car alarms of “Phenomena,” the Yeahs grabbed the audience with their most anthemic stadium rocker to date and continued to draw blood with “Black Tongue” and its classic epithet, “Boy you’re just a stupid bitch and girl you’re just a no-good dick!” The crunched out “Honeybear,” arguably the best song on the new album, featured trippy breaks and a galloping chorus that had the singer gamely writhing on the floor by song’s end, urging someone in a small town to “Run away!” The charming “Mysteries” sounded, oddly enough, like a tribute to that other New York band (boy models, used to be the shit, rhymes with “jokes”) until it eventually broke down into disarray and mournful screams about “stress!” The new wave shimmer of “Cheated Hearts,” a sweetly sincere paean to missed opportunities, was perfectly punctured by the chorus, “I think that I’m bigger than the sound,” perhaps a nod to the singer’s new attitude.

Slowing down for three ballads, Brian Chase broached the spotlight on the rhythmic “Turn Into” and an acoustic, slightly cloying, rendition of the old favorite, “Maps” was the first encore. A bit too drippy for its own good, the stripped-down tones of “Warrior” had Ms. O mooning over the mic with the line, “Men, they like me cuz I’m a warrior.” Just when it seemed the mood of serious introspection threatened to put a damper on things, the band went out with a bang, ending the show with “Tick,” a hilarious freakout from the older “Fever to Tell,” about impatiently watching and waiting while someone else gets dressed. This nugget showcased the best of the Yeahs’ asskicking, distortion-heavy sound, and the most memorable of the singer’s pissed off, bawdy lyrics, as she screamed into the mic, “You look like shit!” I miss the old Karen.

Posted by Trigger Magazine | Permalink | Comments (0)