here! - Inflatable Ferret

Vol 3 No. 4 ///// Apr 2011
WHEN
SOMEONE
GREAT
IS GONE
LCD SOUNDSYSTEM'S
LAST HURRAH
INTERVIEW
WITH FRANZ
NICOLAY
REVIEWS
4 Way Street
The Strokes
Mountain Goats
PB&J
80 Minutes of Music
for a Rainy Day
LETTER
FROM
THE EDITOR
CONTENTS
Vol 3 No. 4 ///// Apr 2011
FEATURE
I HAD THE
OPPORTUNITY
to attend LCD Soundsystem's last
show at Madison Square Garden a
couple weeks ago with Kathryn. As
the place erupted during "You
Wanted a Hit" (my favorite song of
theirs), I realized that I was witnessing one of the rare music events of
my time. No, nothing life-changing,
no religious experience. Just a 20,000
seat historic stadium filled with excited fans watching one of the few
Garden-worthy bands left deliver
one last show in dazzling fashion.
The band later performed a smashing version of Harry Nilsson's epic
"Jump Into the Fire" and ended with
"New York, I Love You, But You're
Bringing Me Down."
But before I go too in-depth,
more on that later from one of IF's
new writers, Donald Borenstein. Our
second new writer, Ray Saada,
gives us a 40th anniversary review
of CSNY's legendary live album 4
Way Street as well as an interesting
interview with the well-spoken Hold
Steady member-turned solo performer, Franz Nicolay. Quin Slovek
interviewed Japanese filmmaker
Junko Kajino about her upcoming
documentary about the effects of radiation from nuclear plants on nearby organic farmers. We also have reviews and 80 minutes of music for the
rain. Don't know about you, but New
York is getting plenty of it. Thanks
for picking up the issue, and have a
great rest of April!
06
IF bids farewell to LCD Soundsystem,
discusses Misery Porn, talks with
Japanese film director Junko Kajino,
and grieves Nate Dogg's tragic death
REVIEWS
28
Reviews for Dodos, Mountain Goats,
and more, including a 4 Way Street 40th
anniversary review
INTERVIEW
Words with singer-songwriter
Franz Nicolay, formerly of
the Hold Steady
22
PLAYLIST
36
80 Minutes of Rainy Day Music to make
your wet April a little more bearable
james passarelli
02
03
OUR STAFF
ISSUE CONTRIBUTORS
Editor-in-Chief
Copy Editing
James Passarelli
Pat Passarelli
Ainsley Thedinger
Layout
Kathryn Freund
Featured Writers
Donald Borenstein
Katie Cook
James Emerson
Kevin Fitzgerald
Bryant Kitching
Doug Knickrehm
James Passarelli
Ray Saada
Quin Slovek
Ryan Waring
Web Design
Greg Ervanian
Rob Schellenberg
Photography
AP Photo/Kyodo News
Future Sounds
Jose Haro
Miles Kerr
New York Times
Will Okun
Estevan Oriol

We gladly welcome
any criticism or
suggestions. If you
have any ideas for
the magazine, or if
you would like to be
a part of it, please
contact us at: info@
inflatableferret.com.
CONTACT US
via Email
via Interweb
GENERAL INQUIRIES
[email protected]
WEBSITE
www.inflatableferret.com
TOM KUTILEK
[email protected]
HANS LARSEN
[email protected]
JAMES PASSARELLI
[email protected]
RYAN WARING
[email protected]
04
Copyright © 2011 Inflatable Ferret
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06FEATURE
"HEY, HEY, HEY,
...SMOKE WEED
EVERYDAY."
Almost any rap fan can tell you Nate
Dogg bellowed this classic line at
the end of “The Next Episode”. He
has been featured on over forty hit
singles throughout his career and
given us a timeless sound since the
early 90s. I almost cried when I found
out Nate Dogg died on March 15. This
was one of the first artists to die who
significantly impacted my 14 years of
consciously listening to music. He
laid hooks for some of the greatest
rap tracks ever with an irreplaceable
style. Who else can sing about murder, women, and weed with the same
funk and harmony as Nate?
Nate Dogg embodied the G Funk
era and helped form it, and the fourtime Grammy nominee’s role as the
go-to hook man during the West
Coast’s rise to rap prominence cannot
be filled or forgotten. Not to mention
that he was probably unwritten gangsta of the year at least three times. He
came up in the early 90’s with Snoop
Dogg, Dr. Dre, and Warren G, among
others, and blessed tracks on each of
their albums. Originally a church choir
singer, Nate formed a group with
Snoop and Warren G while they were
still in high school. Snoop Dogg said
they “built a brotherhood” through
music. He first found success on Dr.
Dre’s The Chronic in 1992, and in 1994
his epic song “Regulate” with Warren
G gave us one of the most cherished
rap narratives of all time.
Nate Dogg passed at the young
age of 41 due to health problems after suffering two strokes within a
year of each other in 2007 and 2008.
Complications from these left him
paralyzed on the left side of his body.
Remembering
6feature
NATE
DOGG
Words: Doug Knickrehm
Nate Dogg as photographed for Rime Magazine.
(Photo: Estevan Oriol)
Left: Snoop and Nate
Dogg, bein' straight
up bamfs.
Above: Original cover art
for Dre's The Chronic.
“ Who else
can sing
about murder,
women, and
weed with the
same funk
and harmony
as Nate?”
His career slowed dramatically due
to these issues, but his mark on hip
hop will be eternal. The funeral was
originally planned open to the public, but changed to 1,000 tickets for
fans. These 1,000 fans were joined by
Nate ’s friends and family, including
rappers The Game, Mack-10, and DJ
Quik. Snoop Dogg helped set up the
Nate Dogg Memorial Trust, with all
proceeds benefiting Nate’s family and
memorial expenses.
Ironically, Nate Dogg asked, “How
Long Will They Mourn Me?” on 2Pac’s
ode to his friend Kato. On the same
song, I think Big Syke said it best, “Every mother fuckin’ day homey”. RIP
Nate Dogg. IF
07
feature
HUMORLESS,
CONSTANT,
POUNDING:
HAPPINESS VIA
PESSIMISM
IN CINEMA
WORDS: James Emerson
IT HAS A
NAME NOW:
MISERY PORN.
8feature
Javier Bardem as Uxbal in Biutiful,
directed by Alejandro Gonzlez Irritu.
(Photo: Jose Haro)
Or, to quote The Guardian film critic Peter Bradshaw more accurately, “misery
porn-chic,” which is how he described
Alejandro González Iñárritu’s latest
work, Biutiful. It is a handy descriptor
for critics who wish to fault a movie for
being too dour or depressing, a phrase
that conveniently labels what they perceive to be excessive sadness in films
as tastelessly exploitative and mindlessly titillating.
09
feature
Melancholy movie
stills from Iñárritu's
Biutiful, featuring
Javier Bardem
wallowing in his
misery with co-star
Maricel Álvarez, and
the man Iñárritu
himself.
THE CRITIQUE
is common enough: Scott Tobias
of The A.V. Club decried Iñárritu’s
“miserablist formula;” the Mexican
filmmaker “just doesn’t know when
to stop” his “constant, humorless
pounding” of the protagonist. Of
The Social Network, David Edelstein
wrote, “My larger problem is that
Fincher's worldview is so sour and
curdled. There's no hint in the film of
a positive social network— only of a
world in which losing a few friends
is a small price to pay for becoming
a billionaire.”
10
feature
Putting aside Edelstein’s misreading of The Social Network (there
are positive social networks in it;
whatever price the characters pay, it
most certainly is not small; and Zuckerberg is never driven by a simple
desire for wealth), it should be asked
of him and the other enemies of excessive anomie: would a sweet and
fresh worldview be any truer to life?
Should there be a Fairness Doctrine
of Happiness in movies—for every
depiction of our existential loneliness in the universe, there must be at
least two uplifting affirmations of the
unalloyed joy of life and of sharing?
(“Okay, Mr. Fincher and Mr. Sorkin,
you’ve got the whole betrayal-andheartbreaking-failure-of-somethingonce-good aspect of relationships
down—now, how about showing
some characters who use Facebook
to mobilize their communities for
social justice?”) What these critics
really want film to be is propaganda
for an unrealistic and unfounded
optimism. There are to be no depictions of sadness without something
to cancel out that sadness; there are
to be no investigations into human
responses to adverse circumstances,
unless the response is pure, uplifting
resilience and hope; and, of course,
the cardinal law of cinema: we, the
viewers, must never be disturbed by
what we watch. We must never come
out of the theater dispirited. For filmmakers to allow that to occur would
be a betrayal of their obligation to
keep us contentedly happy and comfortably inspired.
The simple truth that these critics have forgotten is that sometimes
we are utterly defeated by life; sometimes we fall into the abyss and can
only dream of light, if even that. That
pain is global, if differentiated: addiction in West Virginia; murder,
rape, and unspeakable hatred in the
Democratic Republic of the Congo;
living with leukemia in Bukit Merah,
Malaysia, erstwhile home to a toxic
Mitsubishi refinery; the tsunami’s
devastation of Japan. (For a more
complete list of atrocities, refer to
any geographic coordinate on Earth).
These periods come and go, and exist more frequently and intensely
in some than in others. Why should
movies—or any art—not depict this
misery? Why should art not show
what is true: that life can sometimes
be really, really bad? If a film speaks
“ The simple truth
that these critics
have forgotten is
that sometimes
we are utterly
defeated by life ;
sometimes we
fall into the
abyss and can
only dream of
light, if even that.”
truthfully, to call it pornographic not
only does a disservice to the work but
indicates a startling disconnect with
reality on the part of the accuser.
I have nothing against hope. I
don’t dislike happiness. (On the contrary, I am a big fan of both.) Nor do
I think that a depressing movie is
necessarily a good movie. But surely
art must be able to encompass those
times when hope is absent and happiness is an alien concept, those
stretches when life is “humorless”
and “constant” in its “pounding” of
us (and Iñárritu isn’t around to blame
for it). And surely, if we wish to secure hope and happiness, we must
acknowledge our condition, warts
and all. Indeed, at their best, downbeat movies can serve a vital, lifeaffirming purpose: they spur us to be
better. If a work of art is both truthful
and depressing, our reaction should
not be one of hostility towards it, but
a resolution to live more consciously,
ethically, and beautifully.
IF
11
feature
DOCUMENTING
THE DISASTER
Words with Director Junko Kajino Before
She Heads to the Devastated Regions of
Northeastern Japan to Document the
Effects of Radiation on Local Organic Farms
WORDS: Quin Slovek
ON MONDAY
April 11, the Japanese government expanded the evacuation zone around the damaged
Fukushima-Daiichi nuclear power plant from
20 kilometers (12 miles) to 30 km (18 miles) in
response to dangerously high radiation levels
in the towns, villages and farms surrounding
the official evacuation zone.
According to Japanese Prime Minister
Naoto Kan this extension of the evacuated
zone may displace an additional 130,000 people. Yet, just as people are pouring out of Fukushima the Chicago-based, Japanese-born
filmmaker Junko Kajino is heading in, armed
with nothing but a camera and an incredible
degree of empathy for the displaced people of
Northern Japan, especially for the farmers.
In her first documentary, set to begin filming early next month, Junko Kajino is going
to visit the evacuation zone for around a year
to research the question, “Where is the Japanese people’s food going to come from?”
To get answers, Miss Kajino is headed near
the epicenter of a crisis that has already displaced more than 70,000 Japanese citizens
and, among other things, threatens the very
future of the nation’s food supply.
“Historically all the nuclear disaster
sites have been abandoned,” said Kajino,
“But in Japan we cannot afford to abandon
even a tiny bit of land . . . I have to be there
to capture how they find the way to sustain
their land.”
13
Photo: AP Photo/Kyodo News
feature
“ It was a very
fast decision to do
this documentary.
As always, when
we find the story
or subject it is a
very instinctual
decision.”
BORN ON A LARGE FARM
in Nagano Prefecture, Kajino lost
her father to leukemia when she
was seven, most likely related to
pesticide exposure in his youth.
Since then she has idealized the
organic “small” farmers of nearby
Ibaraki, Miyagi and Fukushima Prefectures and, prior to the nuclear
disaster, intended to make a feature film set in the region based
on stories and memories of her eccentric father, whom people said
had once visited the atomic testing
grounds in New Mexico. Like her
father, Kajino has divided her life
(and her films) between Japan and
the United States, eventually settling in Chicago with her husband
and collaborator, Ed M. Koziarski.
After studying film and video at
Wright State University in Dayton,
Ohio and Columbia College in Chicago she and Koziarski produced a
short called Homesick Blues (2005)
about a young Japanese girl trying to make it as a blues singer.
Homesick Blues, which Kajino still
plans to make into a feature, won
the IFP/Chicago Flyover Zone Film
14
feature
Festival and a Panavision New
Filmmakers Grant.
Their next film, the featurelength The First Breath of Tengan
Rei (2009) was another JapaneseAmerican co-production shot in Okinawa and Chicago. A revenge story
centered on the rape of a Japanese
woman by American serviceman
stationed in Okinawa, Tengan Rei,
showed that Kajino was not afraid to
address touchy topical issues such
as the ongoing U.S. military presence
in Japan. Kajino, who has been regularly exchanging emails with farmers
around the affected areas, is as stoic
about her project’s inherent health
risks as she is humble about its aim.
“I will just be there to document
their progress and deliver this in
film form to as many people as possible,” said Kajino.
The following is the Inflatable
Ferret’s complete interview with
Junko Kajino on Japanese farming,
the Fukushima-Daiichi disaster and
the uncertain future of both filmmaking and food growing in a beleaguered post-disaster Japan.
Inflatable Ferret: Tell me about the
documentary project you’re about to
embark on.
Junko Kajino: The documentary we
are going to make is about the organic farms in Fukushima, Ibaraki
and Miyagi in Northern Japan where
they are facing the fear of long-term
damages by radiation from the Fukushima nuclear plant. These regions of Northern Japan were really
famous for organic farms. They were
places that had been supplying food
for Japan, especially rice.
The unique aspect of these areas
is that they are so focused on an organic way of living, growing plants
and raising animals. Right now a lot
of farmers are facing their health
risks and losing their land, which they
have been cultivating organically.
IF: Did you grow up near any of
these areas that are now affected by
the radiation damage?
JK: My father was a big farmer in
Nagano, which is a bit west of these
provinces. He was not an organic
farmer—he loved pesticides for
plants and antibiotics for animals,
and he passed away when I was seven years old by leukemia.
We were in the process of making a fiction movie about my childhood with cows, with my crazy big
dreamer dad and sword fighting,
which I learned [for the film]…but
then this disaster happened in Japan. This movie had to be postponed,
but somehow something lead me to
the organic farmers in Fukushima
very quickly. It was a very fast decision to do this documentary. As always, when we find the story or subject it is a very instinctual decision.
IF: How did your father’s death affect how you felt about certain farming practices like heavy pesticide
use? Do you see parallels between
the health risks he took and the sort
of health risks being experienced
by farmers on the fringes of the affected areas?
JK: When my father passed away, we
were not told he had leukemia. That
was the way it was in Japan back
then—"do not talk about cancer." But
15
feature
Photo: Will Okun
we experienced the terrifying effects
of the leukemia that my father was
going through at that time.
My father practiced agriculture in the U.S., going around all
these big farmers in the West U.S.
back in the 70s. He learned how to
operate huge amounts of land and
make a big profit. When he died,
my family said that it was because
he was in the U.S. and he had visited the atomic bomb test site [at
White Sands, New Mexico]. I know
this was a crazy idea, but my family needed to have an answer for
his sudden death. We kind of knew
he might have died from the way he
was doing big farming in the tiny
countryside farms of Japan. Maybe
in my mind, his death, leukemia, and
the atomic bomb test site started to
connect to each other slowly. It had
a strong influence on me for while
until I found out more about his intensive use of pesticide and antibiotics. I often wished that my father
was an organic farmer. I had strong
longing for a small organic farm operated by an entire family (most of
the organic farmers I will follow in
Fukushima are run by one family).
Also, I had these strong fears and
nightmares related to leukemia and
facing nuclear-related-accidents.
Now the disaster from the Fukushima plant is threatening a lot
of these organic farmers who have
been working really hard to produce
organic vegetables and keep their
land as natural as possible. It is their
choice to go organic, which is really
hard to do, but it is not their choice to
face this radiation threat. I can think
that my father's death was kind of inevitable now, but the situation in Fukushima is not, and it should not be. I
want to be there with them.
IF: What kind of preparation went
into this project? I understand you
plan to be there for a year.
16
feature
JK: When I started to research and
exchange many messages [with locals] to find out what is happening
in farms in these areas, I was struck
by their amazing attitudes towards
their soil and water. They are not
complainers or escapists. They are
trying to cure radiation-contaminated soil by doing organic agricul-
ture. They believe in their land and
water. They continuously plant their
rice and vegetables organically and
raise animals in a respectful way,
with free range and natural food.
Now the farmers are trying to find
out how to cure damaged land in
their organic way. This is what I want
to document and follow to capture
the hope and recovery.
The farmers I have been contacting are in Fukushima and Ibaraki, which are 30 to 50 miles from the
Fukushima plant. They are also helping me to contact the farmers a bit
closer to the nuclear plant. When I
get there, they will guide me there
[closer to the irradiated zone] to
interview the farmers struggling in
really tough radiation problems in
their soil.
IF: To your knowledge what are conditions like now for the farmers who
live and work close to the Fukushima plant?
JK: The conditions in Fukushima are
really difficult to describe because
nobody has really examined yet. I
know the area of around ten to twenty miles from the nuclear plant is
completely empty. The farmers right
outside of these restricted areas are
facing big decisions: whether they
should plant vegetable and rice this
year nor not. But without it, how they
can live? Where is the Japanese people’s food going to be coming from?
At the same time, a lot of organic farmers are researching what
they need to plant to reduce radiation, and they are uniting and working together without any help from
the government.
As far as I know, the vegetables
they are shipping to their customers right now were all grown before
the disaster. The customers trust
the farmers’ judgment and order
the previously harvested vegetables
from them. However, the vegetables
they are going to plant and grow
from now on might have radiation,
depending on the land and how they
treat the land. That is the part that
we have to follow and capture how
they find the solutions.
One farmer e-mailed me last
night and told me that their land has
been tested and that it might have
very high radiation—he cannot
sleep. I know he will not abandon
the land—he’ll try to do the best he
can to find a way of reducing the radiation from the soil and grow the
food again.
IF: What kind of crew do you have,
and how have you approached the
issue of the health risks inherent to
this project?
JK: The crew will only be myself and
my partner, Ed Koziarski (co-director
of The First Breath of Tengan Rei and
Homesick Blues). It is because nobody wants to go there.
Of course, if somebody could
help to document the farmers with
me, that would be great, but that
might be difficult. As for health risks,
I am fully aware of it might cause
some problems while I am there, but
the farmers have been there too. I am
not there yet, but one of the farmers
is making an introduction video to in-
troduce his family and situation. This
will be up on the website, which we
are preparing very soon. Also, I get emails everyday from another farmer
who fears losing his family’s land.
They are very scared about how much
their land will be damaged, but not
their own health, as they are only caring for their land, water and plants.
The situation in Fukushima cannot be predicted; every land and
every human response toward disasters like this is different. But one
thing that is true is that we need food
to eat. They [the organic farmers of
Northern Japan] are working toward
growing the food once again without
giving up.
IF: How do you think the film community in Japan, aside from documentaries, will respond to this disaster? In your opinion when, and
more importantly how, will directors
be able to deal with the earthquake
or nuclear situation as a subject?
JK: I’ve heard a lot of directors say,
“There should be no movie-making
in Japan for a long time.”
They are devastated, but not only
that—it’s just really hard to find resources in Japan right now. If people
do not even have safe water to drink,
how can they find resources to make
movies? But as always, filmmakers
will find the way of expressing their
perspective toward these catastrophes, and I think that they have to.
The Japanese have been known to
be passive toward issues and problems, but if we do not express a
certain viewpoint that only we have
experienced, who will? That is something I tried in my previous film, The
First Breath of Tengan Rei.
Japanese people tend to be quiet
in the face of adversity. Yet as far as
I can tell from my correspondences
with a lot of artists and media people in Japan, this might change. The
weight of the subject is good for any
artist, and we should not hold back.
We have to push forward with our
own perspectives.
IF
Left: Houses swallowed
by tsunami waves
burn in Sendai, Miyagi
Prefecture (state) after
Japan was struck by a
strong earthquake off its
northeastern coast Friday,
March 11, 2011.
Above: The area affected
in Japan by earthquakes
and tsunami damage.
(AP Photo/Kyodo News,
New York Times)
17
feature
WHEN
SOMEONE
GREAT
IS
GONE
JAMES MURPHY
& CO CALL IT
QUITS AFTER
JUST A HALF DECADE
OF DANCEABLE BLISS
Words: Donald Borenstein
JAMES
MURPHY
has never been one to do
things in the most traditional manner. His sinuous
trajectory to success is so
well-documented that it has
practically reached mythical
status—he turned down a job
writing for Seinfeld to pursue
a flailing music career in his
twenties, bouncing around
as a musician and producer,
only to have indie-rock stardom stumble into his lap at
the age of 33 with the unlikeliest of indie-rock hits: “Losing
my Edge”, a dance-punk anthem making fun of the very
hipsters who embraced the
song so readily.
19
feature
“ He was a
down to earth,
likeable, and
relatable dude
in an artistic
field whose
artists seem to
pride themselves
on unyielding
pretension
and elitism.”
INDEED,
Murphy and his
LCD Soundsystem moniker seemed
the unlikeliest of success stories;
its very existence seemed to exist in
direct contradiction to the prototypical makeup of a hot new act. He was
(at the time of LCD’s start) an aging
thirty-something in an industry that
obsessed itself about youth and the
hot new thing. He wore his incomprehensibly large pool of influences on
his sleeve in an industry that prides
itself on faux-originality. He was a
down to earth, likeable, and relatable
dude in an artistic field whose artists
seem to pride themselves on unyielding pretension and elitism. And, most
remarkably, he made dance music
whose primary audience was a group
of kids who usually postured themselves so as to pretend they didn’t
like dancing. On paper, this does not
seem like the formula for the most
critically lauded and consistently
brilliant band of the past decade.
Yet here was LCD Soundsystem on
March 29th, performing on stage to a
sold-out crowd at Terminal 5, the second of five three-hour concerts over
a six-night period that comprised the
band’s extravagant farewell to its legion of fervent fans.
There was no line stretching
out the door at 5:45, as some had
predicted after how quickly all the
shows sold out (including the notorious fiasco with the Madison Square
Garden finale, which was originally
planned as the only farewell show),
but a decent number of fans were
showing up quite early and staking
out their spots by the barrier in front
of the stage as early as 6:00. Indeed,
by the time 80’s dance/post-disco
outfit Liquid Liquid took the stage
at around 8:00, the floor was already
packed, which seemed to make the
discounted $1 water bottles and $3
drinks sold up to that point feel like
a cruel taunt. Any concerns about
space or time spent waiting were
quickly dispelled, though, as Liquid
Liquid’s short but high-energy set
got the crowd moving, and as the
20
feature
stagehands prepared the equipment
for Murphy & Co., the crowd buzzed
with excitement.
As the band slowly trickled out
one by one and began to play the
intro to “Dance Yrself Clean”, the
dazzling opening track off last year’s
This is Happening, the anticipation
reached a fever pitch. When Murphy
finally meandered onto the stage in a
white suit and black shirt, the crowd
let out a roar as the weathered frontman casually mumbled along through
the song’s first few lines, building
up the intensity. When the track finally reached its killer break about
three minutes in, the crowd on the
floor erupted into a singular, gigantic
mosh pit. The uncontrollable energy
from both the band and the crowd did
not let up for more than a second for
the rest of the first hour-long set, as
the band powered through an all-star
selection of some of their biggest
hits, including “Drunk Girls”, “Time
to Get Away,” “Get Innocuous,” “Daft
Punk is Playing at My House,” and
rarely-played gem “Too Much Love”
(off their 2005 self-titled debut),
among others. He closed the set with
the crowd favorite “All My Friends,”
and after the band went off stage for
a brief break, returned for the next
near extended set.
The next set primarily consisted
of selections from Murphy’s instrumental 2006 release 45:33, featuring at
one point a crowd-pleasing cameo by
comedian and rapper Reggie Watts.
This second set was purposefully a
James Murphy performing
at Terminal 5 on
May 20, 2010.
little more relaxed than the first and
third, presumably to keep the audience from passing out, yet the crowd
still danced gleefully through the entire set. At one point, the band broke
into the titular track from Sound of
Silver, backed by a men’s chorus (as
was also the case on “Get Innocuous”) to spectacular effect.
After one additional brief break,
the band returned for an incredible
final set, which somehow managed
to further ramp up the band and the
audience’s already astounding intensity. The crowd erupted into a frenzy
with "Us v. Them," the energy not
letting up for a moment during rarity “Freak out/Starry Eyes”. The true
highlight of the show, however, came
with the five song stretch of “North
American Scum”, “You Wanted A
Hit”, “Tribulations”, “Movement”,
and “Yeah”; during the first and
fourth song in this span, the crowd
became so gloriously raucous in the
depths of the pit that it felt closer to a
punk show than anything else (I landed on the ground a number of times).
The crowd was starting to show that
it had been dancing for the past two
and a half hours, though, and so in
a feel good moment that all bands
could learn from, Murphy tossed his
water bottles into the audience to be
passed around dehydrated concertgoers. The Security team at Terminal
5 soon followed suit with a brigade of
guards carrying water bottles around
the barrier, much to the relief of those
who had been in the same spot since
6pm. Murphy “closed” the set on three
of his best works; the heartbreaking
(but danceable!) “Someone Great”
started to feel incredibly poignant
upon realizing that LCD was about to
come to an end, but the audience was
soon too swept up in the snarky joy
of “Losing my Edge” to care, closing
out with This is Happening’s powerful
finale “Home”.
Of course, everyone in the audience knew there was only one song
to properly end the show, and when
the band returned to the stage with
significantly more guitarists than
before, everyone was joyous yet unsurprised, to the point where at first
it almost seemed like people would
not clap loudly enough to bring them
back out for an encore, simply instead
just expecting them to return to the
stage. After a stunning rendition of
“All I Want”, Murphy serenaded a
longing crowd with his ballad for the
old New York that hasn’t existed in a
post-Giuliani world, “New York I Love
You, But You’re Bringing Me Down”.
It was a transcendent moment, as
it was apparent that everyone in the
audience was basking in the raw joy
and energy of the moment, yet at the
same time beginning to feel a little
disheartened that this incredible
show was finally coming to an end,
and soon along with it the illustrious
career of one of the definitive acts of
the new millennium.
In the end, one would be hard
pressed to think of a more fitting end
to LCD Soundsystem. In an industry
where far too many bands burn out
into a meek and bitter conclusion,
Murphy went out in a blaze of absurdist glory, leaving everything he
has on the table for as many fans as
he can possibly reach, in a triumphant
conclusion that is so fitting for the
greatest everyman in the indie music
scene. Murphy may be calling it quits,
but he certainly hasn’t lost his edge,
and his brilliant exit ensures that in
the hearts and minds of his fans, he
never will.
IF
21
feature
22INTERVIEW
PUNK
TROUBADOR
Singer-songwriter Multi-Instrumentalist
FRANZ NICOLAY Talks to IF
About Cabaret, Busking, Learning
New Instruments, and the
Freedom of Producing
INTERVIEW: Ray Saada
FANS OF
Brooklyn-based anthem rockers The Hold
Steady will remember the announcement
last January that Franz Nicolay, the band’s
keyboardist and most recognizable member, was leaving the band to pursue his
broader musical interests. He has since
released a solo EP and two well-received
full-length albums, most recently October
2010’s Luck and Courage on Team Science
Records, called “a master class in instrumentation, arrangements and poetic musings” by themusiccritic.co.uk. Also known
for his past tenure with punk cabaret band
The World/Inferno Friendship Society,
Nicolay continues to be active with AntiSocial Music, a diverse non-profit new-
music collective of New York composers
and performers founded by Nicolay in 2001,
and has been tapped to produce albums
for The Debutante Hour and Pearl and the
Beard. Nicolay now plays hundreds of gigs
a year across the United States and Europe and puts on a performance that audiences are not likely to forget. Armed with
a guitar, a banjo, an accordion, tap shoes,
sharp jokes, epic stories, and easily one of
the most impressive moustaches around,
Nicolay pulls out every trick in the book
to get people listening. With a career that
blends punk rock attitude and vaudeville
theatrics, Nicolay is thriving in his role as
vagabond punk-minstrel.
Photo: Miles Kerr
“ This aspect that
sometimes gets forgotten,
especially in quote-unquote
"indie rock," is that the
bottom line is that you're
in show business, and
your job every night is
to convince a bunch of
strangers not to walk
out of the room.”
Inflatable Ferret: When you left the
Hold Steady you seemed to feel a
bit pigeonholed. So now that you've
been able to get to your broader interests, do you feel more fulfilled
with what you're doing now?
Franz Nicolay: I do, this is what I was
more or less working toward—to be
able to be able to have a broad portfolio of projects that are still sustainable so I can sort of create my own
schedule. It wasn't the music [with
The Hold Steady] so much that was
an issue, I just didn't see where it was
going to go. I didn't want that to be
the next fifteen years of my life. But
I am very proud of those records and
the touring that we did.
IF: A lot of your work straddles punk
rock and traditions of cabaret and
klezmer. What do you think it is about
these music forms that allows them
to fuse as well as they do?
FN: Well, I think there's an aspect in
the carnivalesque, which is I guess
an academic name for the tradition of
addressing the sort of absurdity and
futility of life by way of joke and artifice and construct. I think punk rock
and some of carnivale and circus and
cabaret all really share outlandish
costumes, outlandish attitudes, but
in the service of saying something
really emotionally true about how it
feels to be alive.
Part and parcel of all those styles
are these classic songwriting traditions, the Tin Pan Alley tradition,
the AABA song structure. It comes
from music hall and Steven Foster up
through Gershwin and Cole Porter to
Tom Waits. That's a really important
tradition for me.
IF: You're really becoming known for
your vaudeville-influenced performance style. Do you think the appeal
of that style is timeless or is there
something about it that particularly
works for right now?
24
interview
FN: I do think it's timeless. This aspect that sometimes gets forgotten,
especially in quote-unquote "indie
rock," is that the bottom line is that
you're in show business, and your job
every night is to convince a bunch
of strangers not to walk out of the
room. That's easier to do in some
ways if you're a big loud band, and
it becomes way more of a challenge
if you're a solo performer, especially
coming in the singer-songwriter tradition. A lot of people are just like,
"ugh, singer-songwriter," you know?
Because it asks a lot of you emotionally as an audience member to pay
attention to a singer-songwriter, especially if you don't know their songs,
you're unlikely to put in that work. So
what I've noticed by watching people
like Jonathan Richman [The Modern Lovers], Billy Bragg, Mark Eitzel
[American Music Club], and John
Darnielle of the Mountain Goats, is
that a really effective way to deal with
that is to give them a little sugar with
their medicine. If you're going to have
a song with a lot of emotional content
in it, leaven that downward gravity
with some good feeling in between.
Tell some stories, make a joke. What
ties this all together with what I was
Franz Nicolay looking
stylish and Chaplin-esque.
(Photo: Miles Kerr)
saying
about vaudeville artifice is that that
sort of real showbiz stuff can be consistent with honesty and emotional
truth. I think that's sometimes a controversial opinion, but there's a long
history to show that that's the case.
music, there
seems to be a
much greater emphasis on
the importance of playing live to support your material. Do you think your
vaudeville-troubadour performance
style is giving you an upper hand in
that respect?
IF: Do you get different reactions
playing in Europe than in the US
given your more European-sounding
influences?
FN: Well, it's essential. I mean, I
don't have the luxury of not putting on
a good show, because there are only
two ways that I make money functionally. It's from playing live shows and
from selling merchandise at the live
shows. Selling records on iTunes or
on Interpunk.com or mail order sites
or anything like that, I don't see any
money from that. So I have really
instant feedback every night on the
road, which is: how many people
came, and did they buy any merch?
And since I depend so much on what
strangers think of me, I don't have the
luxury of not putting on a good show.
I think that for a long time there
were only two models for a life in music. The troubadour model was that
you'd go from town to town and play
your songs and hope that you'd get
FN: It really goes over well in England—that's my strongest place. My
impression by and large is that, especially in the live show, a lot of what
I do is so lyric-based that it's more
effective in places where they're native English-speaking. But I do want
to see how it goes over in France, I've
really not spent a lot of time there.
And what I'm doing now has so much
coming from the world of people like
Jacques Brel and Charles Aznavour
that it might translate really well.
IF: Now that the Internet is making
it so much harder to sell recorded
fed and have a place
to stay and not get
run out of town
by the wild dogs.
And the patronage model was
the one where
you'd find a rich
duke or royal who
would
sponsor
your life, basically, and then they
owned you and you
would write music
for them. And then
for a hundred year
window there was this
model of the recording
artist, basically contemporaneous with the 20th century,
where all of a sudden you had
this third option and make the
physical objects, these fetish objects, and have them essentially go
out and do the work for you, and have
that be your living. And that window
appears to have closed, and so we're
now back to the two original models.
The troubadour where you go on the
road and play 250 to 300 shows a year,
or the patronage model where you
work for a film orTV company or an ad
agency, some sort of corporate entity.
IF: You're a longtime lover of busking. Was that an early influence on
your troubadour approach?
FN: It's certainly a similar strategy.
Busking in a way is easier because
people are passing by so quickly that
you're really only going to have their
attention for less than five minutes.
In some ways, you only have to have
three knock 'em dead songs if you're
busking, especially if you're doing it
in the subway, which is what I did a
lot, because they're going to get on a
train and you play your three number
one songs again. You can make pretty
good money. On good nights I would
make twenty bucks an hour, which
is more than I was making at my job
making burritos at the time.
25
interview
Franz Nicolay performing
in Brooklyn at The Echo
on March 23, 2011
with David Dondero,
and O'Death.
IF: Got any good busking stories?
(Photo: Future Sounds)
FN: One of the times I went busking
is how I met the woman that is now
my wife, sort of in a roundabout way.
I was busking on the L train, and
a friend of mine came by—she's a
viola player—and she said, "I'm going to this klezmer party. You should
pack up and come with." A friend of
ours put on a monthly kelzmer party
in his apartment in Bushwick. So I
said, "Alright, I've been here three
hours, I've made enough money." So
I packed up and went to this party
where I met her, and seven years later
I had a wife.
IF: What do you like about producing another artist that you like or
that's different from working on
your own music?
FN: Well, my favorite thing in the
world is working with people. I
don't actually in my heart of hearts
prefer to do things by myself—it's
just more convenient sometimes. I
think I'm at my best when I'm collaborating and arranging. At this
point in my career, I've made a lot
of records, and I've been doing this
for a while. And especially with
bands that are a little newer or a
little less experienced, I can bring
a lot to the table in terms
of making the
process
IF: How does working with a greater
collective of musicians like AntiSocial Music compare to working in
a steady band or even just solo? Are
there particular advantages/disadvantages?
FN: My experience with ASM has
been really similar to my experience
with the World/Inferno Friendship
Society in a way, which is that both
of them are radically decentralized
collectives, which allows for a great
deal of useful and creative input, because everyone involved are really
strong musicians that have strong
ideas. The flipside is that it takes an
awfully long time to get things done,
and ultimately, sort of ironically for
that sort of anarchist collectivist
ideal, is that one thing I've learned
that's also somewhat effected my political views, is that the easiest way to
get things done is just to do it yourself, make a sort of imperial decision
about things.
IF: You've said you like being able to
"walk into a studio with a giant bag
of tricks." Do you have a philosophy
behind your multi-instrumentalist
discipline?
26
interview
FN: There are two sides to it. One
side is that I'm not a virtuoso on any
one instrument, but that was part of
the decision-making process. I knew
I was never going to be the best piano
player in New York, but I knew that
there would be a niche if I could be a
handy man. Partially it was a professional decision in terms of my own
utility as a session guy and sideman
as good a banjo player, so I can
let myself get away with writing
simpler things, which is useful because I can keep myself from outsmarting myself. I can rediscover
the idea that G to C is a great thing
for a folk song!
that I would be more likely to get the
job if I could handle a bunch of roles.
But also, for my own records, there's
an economic decision. The more stuff
I can do myself, the fewer people I
have to call in and give a hundred
bucks to do it.
With new instruments you learn
the general principals of music making rather than the specific techniques. It frees your mind, it makes
your mind less provincial about music. There are certain phrases and
certain ways of playing that are really specific to each instrument, and
the more wide-ranging your grammar
can be, the more tools you have to express what you're trying to say.
The other thing I find about picking up new instruments is that as a
writer, I rediscover things, because
each instrument speaks in a different way. It's a lot like if you know several different languages, and every
language has its peculiar grammar
and peculiar idioms, so there are
certain phrases that are function-
ally untranslatable or that
express something in a
slightly different emotional shade than another language.
That's one of
the reasons I bring
three instruments
on the road. All
of them contain
within them all the
same chords, but if
I play a song that
I wrote on accordion on guitar it's
not going to be as
effective of a song.
Whereas there are
certain things that
I'll write on—for
example, banjo—
that are perfectly
reasonable things
to write, but I
would never write
them on accordion
because I'm not
“ With new instruments
you learn the general
principals of music
making rather than the
specific techniques.
It frees your mind, it
makes your mind less
provincial about music.”
smoother so there's not quite such a
learning curve for bands that are on
their first or second record. Also, just
because I have a really broad palate
of sound colors in my head and at
my fingertips, and I have a group of
players that I'm confident in and I've
been playing with long enough where
I know so-and-so's really good at this
kind of sound, etcetera. So I have a lot
of tools that can be really useful for a
band making a record. And I have an
outside perspective, which is handy.
There's an element of trust from their
part that has to come into play, but
I've got a broad enough track record
that people know what I'm capable of.
IF: How did you hook up with Pearl
and the Beard? What attracted you
to them?
FN: I met [PatB singer/cellist] Emily
Hope Price several years ago through
Emily Brodski, a longtime friend of
mine, and a songwriter. The three of
us drove up to do a bill in Upstate
New York. It was about an eight-hour
drive, so I got to know Emily [Hope
Price] pretty well. And I liked her
music, so I went to see Pearl and the
Beard, and it just blew me away,
particularly the vocal harmonies
and dexterity. And I got their
record, God Bless Your Weary
Soul Amanda Richardson,
it was one of my favorite
records that year, I just
couldn't stop listening to it. And so I just
started getting to
know them as a fan.
I pitched it to them. I
was like, “I love your
band. I love these
new songs. I really
think I can help you
guys. Let me know
what you think.” Emily
approached me about
producing her track on
the EP they did last year.
We did that basically
in my bedroom. I wrote a
string quartet arrangement
and recorded her uke and vocal, and I guess that was a good
experience for her, and she expressed that to the rest of the band,
and we went for it.
IF: How are you able to negotiate
what of theirs to draw out and emphasize and what of yours as producer to
put into it?
FN: I think the good thing is that
they're all really strong willed, and
I'm really strong willed. I said to them
at the beginning, "I'm going to have a
lot of ideas. If left to my own devices
I'll just go ahead and do them, so I'll
need pushback from you if you don't
agree with them." The good thing
about their personalities and their vision is that they're such strong musicians, and they're so secure in the
sound they have that they were able
to define, "This is what our band is
about, and this isn't what our band is
about," and we could make decisions
based on that. With everybody I work
with, I always sort of push a little farther than I think I'm going to get away
with, and I recognize that. So I think
in the end what we get is something a
little beyond what they had imagined,
but also a little less than I could do,
on purpose. But it's so easy when the
raw materials are there already. The
songs are great. They're fantastic
singers. A lot of it was just a logistics thing, getting some other players in there to fill out the sound and
fill out the shadings. There was one
song we sort of worked together on
the writing for, "Sweetness". I think
when we started the project they only
had maybe eight songs, and I knew
we needed a couple more. So they
came in with some bits and pieces
and some sketches, and we sort of
worked them together a bit in preproduction and a little in the studio.
IF: What's coming up next for you?
FN: I'm mostly touring this year because Luck and Courage just came
out in the fall. I'm going back to England when this tour wraps up. I'm going to be opening for Frank Turner for
a month. Then hopefully I'm going to
go to Europe. I'm in the process of
writing the next set of songs. I've got
about five of them ready to go, and
about four of them I'm playing on this
tour. So I would say by fall I would be
ready to record again.
IF
27
interview
REVIEWS
Celebrating Its
40th Anniversary
4 Way Street
Crosby, Stills & Nash
(Atlantic Records)
This month marks the 40th anniversary of the release of 4 Way Street
(1971), the third and arguably last
album of Crosby, Stills, Nash and
(sometimes) Young's early "golden
era"…so to speak. The first threealbum sequence of Crosby, Stills &
Nash (1969), Déjà Vu (1970), and 4
Way Street is inarguably the best
work that came out of rock's first
real supergroup. That said, those album sessions and tours set the rock
'n' roll standard for ego clashing as
much as for vocal dexterity and style
variety. For the most part the harmony in the band stopped at the vocals.
The infamous legends of drug-fuelled backstage fighting leading up
to and on the 1970 tour during which
4 Way Street was recorded would forever be associated with the band.
It's a wonder that despite hardly being able to sit in a dressing room together, the tour would produce some
of CSNY's best moments.
The original trio had come together accidentally at a party at
Cass Elliot's house in California in
the summer of '68. David Crosby and
Stephen Stills arrived together, at
the time getting stoned and jamming
on the sailboat Crosby bought with
his settlement from getting kicked
out of the Byrds. They played a song
Stills never got to use with Buffalo Springfield before they had disbanded that year, called "You Don't
Have To Cry," in two-part harmony.
Graham Nash was at the party with
his girlfriend Joni Mitchell and his
band, British invaders The Hollies.
As Crosby and Stills finished, Nash
approached and asked them to play it
again, and when they did, Nash added the third vocal part, perfectly, on
28
the spot. It was apparently followed
by a long silence, aside perhaps
from the sound of ham falling to the
ground from Mama Cass's mouth
as her jaw—and everyone else's—
dropped. They had literally stumbled
drunk and high into the richest vocal
blend to arrive on the scene since
The Beatles and The Beach Boys.
Nash quit The Hollies, and the accidental trio set off to figure out what
to do with their newfound chemistry.
The new sound was so enchanting, nobody stopped to think, "Wait…
what's going to happen when three
cocky guys with talent and egos bigger than their old bands could handle…start a band?" From the beginning, the making of their debut was
a battle royale for creative decisions.
With Crosby freaking out on acid
and ranting much of the time, control freak Stills opted to play nearly
every instrument part but drums,
with Nash grouching along. Crosby,
Stills & Nash was a huge breakout
success, and the trio was suddenly
responsible for live performances,
which would require extra help. To re-
cord Déjà Vu, the addition of Stills's
fellow Buffalo Springfield alum Neil
Young, on a break from his new band,
the perfectly imperfect Crazy Horse,
only raised the stakes both for the
musical quality and personal friction,
as a few old Springfield skeletons
were pulled out of the closet.
With the pressure on after the
success of the first two albums,
CSNY faced the task of regularly
performing complex, vocally demanding songs—without killing each
other. Initially this didn't go well; the
performances on the trio's first tour
were shaky and tense at best.
Reality would set in for the group
once 4 Way Street was in the making. By the time they recorded the
album on their 1970 tour, the Beatles
had broken up, a secluded Dylan
was sporadically releasing dishonest garbage, and Brian Wilson had
completely lost his mind. Jimi & Janis would be dead before the album
hit stores the next year. The weight
of the Woodstock generation now
rested pretty squarely between the
shoulders of the Rolling Stones, of
course, and you guessed it, CSNY.
Learning from the practical errors
and technical blunders of their first
round of gigs, they really had no
choice but to buckle down and hone
their sound.
In the post-Beatlemania music
business of the sixties, we started
to see a trend of artists looking to
distance themselves from the identity of their musical projects, if only
to preserve what anonymity they
could. Sgt. Pepper was first conceived as McCartney's escapist fantasy of a make-believe frontband to
absorb the Beatles' overwhelming
limelight. Duane Allman and Eric
Clapton fused their first names to
create "Derek", the fictional leader
of the Dominos, which Clapton has
retrospectively acknowledged as a
fake band they had assumed to hide
from their respective Allman Brothers Band and Yardbirds/Cream/Blind
Faith fame. Our new friends, however, went in the opposite direction.
The burns from their prior bands
still fresh, the three (and later, four)
collaborators agreed to record and
perform under their real names to
prevent the group from ever being
able to go on without any one of them
(as the Hollies and the Byrds had). It
also ensured that their songs would
be independently credited, avoiding
the legal hang-ups of the Lennon/
McCartney royalty arrangements.
CSN's record contract with Atlantic
was unprecedented, guaranteeing
creative independence of the equal
members of the band. It was a cohesive supergroup, but also a loose
collective.
It is this collective approach that
allows 4 Way Street to wind through
style after style. Between the four
solid songwriters, we get a mix of
folk ballads like the haunting "Lee
Shore", one of the best of Crosby's
myriad sailing/sea songs; memorable pop hooks such as Nash's "Teach
Your Children"; protest songs, most
notably "Ohio," Young's dedication
to the victims of the shootings at
Kent State, originally released as a
rushed single within a month of the
tragedy, appearing here for the first
time on an LP; and a few unbelievably long and heavy jams (Stills'
"Carry On" and Young's "Southern
Man" each break thirteen minutes).
The lineup shifts constantly between solo songs, impeccable Crosby-Nash duets, and fully harmonized
jams with the full group.
Along with CSN(Y) hits, they
also perform an assortment of songs
from their respective solo debuts
and memorable revivals of songs
from their former groups. Crosby
gives a rare acoustic rendition of
"Triad", a controversial song about
his polyamorous relationship, which
had been rejected by the Birds and
subsequently offered to Jefferson
Airplane. Neil Young fans will appreciate "Cowgirl in the Sand"
and "Don't Let It Bring You Down",
his first live solo acoustic performances to be released. CSNY also
tackle "On The Way Home", written
by Young but originally sung in Buffalo Springfield by Richie Furay. This
acoustic version is finally sung by
Young, with Stills on lead guitar and
Crosby and Nash adding harmonies
that will give you chills. A telling video of their performance of the song
at the Fillmore East shows all four of
them (especially Young) so excited
by how it sounds that they don't even
wait to finish the song before they
start celebrating. "Far out, man"
gets tossed around between laughs.
They hardly come off as egos at all,
let alone genius-maniacs on the
brink of implosion. Surely they made
it work by diving into some songs
together, and staying the hell out of
each other's way on others.
The group finally reached their
breaking point after the 1970 tour.
They wouldn't tour together again
until 1974 and wouldn't release another record until CSN in 1977. Decades were wasted by egos and drug
addictions, and despite their efforts
the band never really pulled it together again. 4 Way Street captures
Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young in rare
form. Any earlier and they wouldn't
have been able to keep up with themselves; any later was too late to keep
all of them in the same room. The
summer of 1970 in all its mayhem was
as good as it would get.
“ The lineup
shifts constantly
between
solo songs,
impeccable
Crosby-Nash
duets, and fully
harmonized
jams with the
full group.”
ray saada
29
reviews
“ After five
Angles
The Strokes
(RCA Records)
30
reviews
January, 2006: Martha Stewart had
just been released from prison, rumors about something called an
“iPhone” were beginning to circulate,
Dick Cheney had just shot a guy, and
the Strokes released their previous
album, First Impressions of Earth.
Looking back on it now, it’s hard to say
which was worse: the Vice President
shooting someone, or the bloated,
uninspired First Impressions. Kidding
aside, it’s not at all surprising that the
group decided to temporarily disband
after subsequent touring ended. They
sounded and looked tired of each other, musically and personally. Finally,
after five years of solo projects and
much-needed time apart, the longawaited fourth Strokes LP, Angles,
sees the light of day. So after such a
long wait, what exactly is Angles? Is
it a triumphant return to form by the
guys who set New York City and the
world on fire a decade ago? (God,
has it really been that long?) Or is it
a last gasp from a soon-to-be nostalgic act that have fallen victim to one
too many cliché rock star arguments?
For better of for worse, it’s a little bit
of both.
Angles opens on a relatively high
note with the reggae-tinged “Machu
Pichu.” The song matures the group’s
sound in a way that First Impressions
of Earth should have. The devilishly
simple riff and tight production show
definite growth, but you don’t have to
listen hard to hear hints of the “fuck
you” attitude we all fell in love with.
The 80s-influenced “Two Kinds of
Happiness” sounds like a Cars cover
at first only to blow up into a dense
and boisterous chorus that borders
on U2-ish. Single “Under Cover of
Darkness” is the most back-to-basics
track on the whole album, and, despite
its mild over-production, it manages
to achieve a bouncy charm in the vein
of old hits like “Someday.” But as is
the case with most of Angles, there is
a disconnect somewhere deep within
all the instrumentation. The tracks
sound clunky and disorganized when
heard together as an album, making Angles as a whole come across
as sloppy and disingenuous. This is
perhaps epitomized by Julian Casablancas’s admission in pre-release
interviews that he recorded most of
the vocals by himself, then sent them
to his band mates via email for them
to put together on their own. This distance and lack of interest is evident
throughout Angles and is bane even to
the album’s stronger tracks.
Yet the Strokes’ obvious disinterest with one another is easier to
overlook when they are at least able
to deliver musically the way they do
throughout most of the first half of Angles (not the case on drum-machine
driven “You’re So Right”). The song
is merely the first of many screeching halts that plague Angles and make
you question what exactly the group
was going for. The electronic pulses
that drive the song and Casablancas’s
monotone vocals leave an artificial and
boring taste in one’s mouth, managing
to sound about one step away from
auto-tune. Luckily, the Nick Valensi
penned “Taken For A Fool” swoops in
to save the day as Angles’ best track.
A Gorillaz-sounding bassline rumbles
below a classic Strokes two-guitar
attack. “I don’t need anybody with
me right now, Monday/Tuesday is my
weekend,” Casablancas coolly sings
in the chorus with a careless bravado
we haven’t heard in far too long. Angles offers far too few of these flashes
of greatness before awkwardly transi-
years of solo
projects and
much-needed
time apart,
the longawaited
Angles
sees the
light of day.”
tioning to hopelessly mediocre tracks
like the synth-heavy “Games.” But in
the dark and brooding “Metabolism,”
the most unforgivable track, the band
sounds more unlike themselves than
ever before.
In the end, Angles’ lack of cohesion and disjointedness prohibit it
from making the jump from “good”
to “great.” There are surely great
moments, but the group’s larger dysfunctions are far too blatant. To many,
Angles might sound like the death
knell for the Strokes as we know
them, and it very well might be. They
still know how to craft a great song;
they’re no longer the gritty New York
City punks that released Is This It,
but rather Upper East Side millionaires with families and mortgages. In
an interview with Pitchfork, guitarist
Nick Valensi claimed that the making
of Angles was “Awful…just awful. I
won't do the next album we make like
this.” Which raises the question: if
the magic is all gone, is another album even worth making?
bryant kitching
“ This year’s
No Color
No Color
The Dodos
(Frenchkiss)
The Dodos are back with a new album, the fourth in five years and a
vast improvement from 2009’s Time
to Die. The foreboding album title
and its final track of the same name
adequately describe the sound of the
record—lifeless, especially in comparison to the band’s previous album
Visiter. Percussionist Logan Kroeber’s forceful, driving rim clicks that
gave Visiter its liveliness were gone,
replaced by new band member Keyton
Snyder’s long droning vibraphone. For
Time To Die, The Dodos recruited producer Phil Ek to sweeten their sound
and presented a more melodic bent—
and while these might seem like positive attributes, they exhibited the loss
of the Dodos’ old and much preferable raw sound.
This year’s No Color sees then to
return to the rackety folk music that
won over ardent fans of Visiter. Gone
are Snyder and Ek and the sugar with
which the two imbued Time to Die,
replaced by heavy percussion, and
Meric Long’s shouted refrains. No
Color is no fluff stuff, as its title implies. Its movement is not melodious
and drifting like its predecessor, but
rather forceful and brisk. The whole
album seems to accelerate downhill,
driven by the gravity of Kroeber’s
powerful drums. The percussive element of the album comes to its pinnacle in “Sleep,” a song that opens
with Long’s quick and syncopated
guitar pickings, backed by a heavy
bass drum beat. The up-tempo opening is soon joined by the voices of
both Long and guest star Neko Case.
Case provides vocals on a number of
the songs on the album but no more
clearly or beautifully than on this
tune. Long’s and Case’s harmonies
quickly transform into a repeated
chant, “I cannot sleep. I cannot think.
I cannot dream.” With each repetition,
their voices grow louder and clearer,
communicating the lyrical complaint
with audible frustration.
Despite its urgency, No Color
does retain some of Time to Die’s
cool and refined melodies. The album
opens with “Black Night,” which unlike its name feels colorful. Long’s
voice ranges from its low, droning regular register to a sweet, high-pitched
refrain. The album then rolls right into
“Going Under,” which contains beautiful guitar picking from Long and a
seamless time signature transition
from 3/4 to 4/4.
Though No Color starts strongly
with “Black Night,” “Going Under,”
and “Sleep,” the album slows a bit
with weaker songs such as “Don’t
Try and Hide It,” which wastes Case’s
talents with an uninspired refrain that
relies on shouting to communicate
its lackluster message. The album
picks up from its sluggish middle with
“Hunting Season." The track opens
up with a vibraphone intro succeeded
by a loud bass drum and the addition
of electric guitar. The looped refrain,
“You’ll take care of me, I’ll take care of
You’ll take care of me…” enhance the
refreshing mix.
No Color ends on a song far more
encouraging than its last album’s
“Time To Die.” Kroeber’s frenetic
drumming in “Don’t Stop” is quick
and constant, and the song’s long lyrical pinings are playfully interwoven
with sharp electric-guitar riffs. I can’t
help but obey the title and restart the
song just as it ends. It marks the Dodos’ triumphant return to the virtuosity of albums previous to Time to Die.
sees then to
return to the
rackety folk
music that
won over
ardent fans
of Visiter.”
kevin fitzgerald
31
reviews
All Eternals
Deck
“ In fact,
What Did You
Expect From
The Vaccines?
The Mountain Goats
(Merge Records)
The Vaccines
(Columbia)
32
reviews
A lot of people don’t like the Mountain Goats’ pop progression, but
it seems to have been inevitable. I
admire John Darnielle for accepting
it and going with the flow, if only because I admire just about everything
the guy does. If I share anything similar to IF’s Ryan Waring’s professed
“erotomaniacal” affinity for Lykke
Li, it is for the California-born nasal
nightingale. How does that phrase
go? “No homo?”
A decade after Darnielle’s major turning point, it seems that we
should have given the “old vs. new”
complaints years ago. But it wasn’t
until seeing the Mountain Goats play
at WNYC’s downtown Greene Space
for John Schaefer’s NPR show
Soundcheck that I fully came to grips
with the Goats’ new identity myself.
And man, I should not have attended
that show. Because if there was any
doubt in my mind that I could give
an unbiased review before the show,
that possibility is now forever gone.
The deadly contagion that is Darnielle’s wit, in collusion with his piercing performance facial contortions
and untrammeled physical emotion,
had me on my proverbial knees. Darnielle didn’t steal the show—he was
the show, but I couldn’t help but notice just how comfortable his band
(bassist Peter Hughes and Superchunk drummer Jon Wurster) seemed
behind him. After twenty minutes,
three songs, and a staggered Q&A, I
was convinced that All Eternals Deck
is a certified one-piece renaissance.
This isn’t true, of course. All Eternals Deck is just another success on
the Goats’ near flawless transcript,
probably as good a place in their
catalogue to start as it is to finish.
It abandons all traditional minimal-
ism—neither cassette-tape minimalism nor instrumental mic minimalism (the kind featured on 2006’s Get
Lonely, that intensely focused on
every intentional and unintentional
sound modest electric guitar) is
present here. This new type of minimalism, rearing its head throughout
the record, features scattered and
sparse, but varied instruments, more
like chamber music than any previous work. The most orchestral (and
drumless) piece, “Outer Scorpion
Squadron,” is just two a charming
two and a half minutes—a smart
move on Darnielle’s part, as he gives
us just a taste of where the strings
might take us.
Most of the record is full and
frothy pop, dappled with sound effects and production glimmer taken
nearly to the extreme. “Birth of Serpents” is a classic upbeat track,
complete with an after-verse “hep!”
“Estate Sale Sign” is dynamic and
relentless, perhaps the greatest evidence of metal magnate Erik Rutan’s
handiwork as a guest star on the
album. “Beautiful Gas Mask” overuses, almost dilutes, the same bassfilled build-up that made “Psalms
40:2” one of the best songs of 2010,
but it recovers with a staid melody
and sporadic mysterious, offbeat
reverberating claps. “For Charles
Bronson,” the ode to the American
great, uses rare synth and a most
un-Mountain Goats sounding guitar.
And no review can go without mentioning the excellent barbershop harmonizing on “High Hawk Season,”
perhaps as unlike the band as we
have ever seen them.
As always, lyrically, it’s hard to
find a fault; Darnielle is on or near
the top of his game in every nook.
“Stockshots, stupid stockshots from
the Pamona wall/set up like unloved
icons gathering dust up on the wall.
From films no one remembers they
call down silently/but I remember
when their names were dear to you
and me,” an emotionally wrought
Darnielle half-screams on “Estate
Sale Sign.” The moving, and particularly disturbing, “The Autopsy
Garland,” condemns a class of upper
echelon scum: “Fat, rich men love
their twelve year olds/deco cufflinks
and cognac by the glass…you don’t
wanna see these guys without their
masks on.” I don’t know if Darnielle
caught a glimpse of the Google Map
pinning every location mentioned in
Mountain Goats lyrics, but the place
names keep on coming—from his
beloved Iowa cornfields, to the Olduvai Gorge in Tanzania, to the Bronx’s
very own Van Cortland Park.
“Damn
These
Vampires,”
wrapped in a guise of weightless
piano and cheerful guitars, turns out
to be one of the band’s most powerful songs to date (if that’s even fair
to say, given the sheer volume of
touching songs they have). Darnielle
cleverly quips, “Feast like pagans—
never get enough. Sleep like dead
men. Wake up like dead men.” And by
the time he utters the words “deep in
my arteries,” his poison has already
left your right ventricle. If All Eternals
Deck isn’t the Goats’ most substantive album, it might well be the one
that most gets under your skin.
james passarelli
Oh, how the British press loves hype.
The well-documented, less than impressive output from the rock community in recent years has left NME
editors clamoring for any sign of a
band to break the pattern of crappy
pop music that has dominated the
charts. Much like the Strokes in 2001,
the Vaccines seem like a prime candidate to reinvigorate a supposedly
dying genre. First and foremost, let’s
get this out of the way: despite whatever “saviors of rock” nonsense has
been getting thrown around across
the pond lately, the Vaccines are not
the Strokes, nor are they even the
Arctic Monkeys. But just because
an album is not in the company of
industry-shaping classics like Is
This It doesn’t mean that it can’t be
worth repeated listens, and then
some. In fact, the almost mockingly
titled What Did You Expect From The
Vaccines? is probably the most fun
I’ve had listening to a rock album in
years (sorry Kings of Leon fans).
The album’s lead track, “Wreckin’ Bar (Ra Ra Ra)” announces the
Vaccines’ arrival in about eighty seconds of music that would make Joey
Ramone jealous. It immediately announces the formula for a Vaccines
song: short, fast, and catchy. Frontman Justin Young pulls off the nerdy
romantic look with flying colors, and
his lyrics give new legs to songs
that might otherwise get old quickly.
In the standout “If You Wanna,” he
sings, “Well, I don't wanna see you
with another guy, but the fact is that
I may/ that's what all the friends I
do not like as much as you say.” The
track powers along with an explosive
chorus and an urgency that comes
apart at the seams; it’s sure to
translate to some fine pogoing dur-
ing live performances. Elsewhere,
the group races through tracks like
“Nørgaard,” a song about a prudish
17-year-old girl, as if they couldn’t be
over fast enough. The Vaccines keep
it simple and don’t mess with overproduction or studio gimmicks. What
Did You Expect From The Vaccines?
doesn’t ask much of your ears, but
gives a lot in return.
The closest they come to the
Strokes is on “A Lack of Understanding,” where the chorus (in
which Young lazily chants, “I’ve got
too much time on my hand, but you
don’t understand”) sounds directly
out of the Julian Casablancas handbook. But where the Strokes sounded (and looked) too cool for school,
the Vaccines have a less arrogant air
about them. You can tell that they’re
not trying to be the biggest band in
the world or make a multi-platinum
album, and that in itself is refreshing. Listening to What Did You Expect
From The Vaccines?, one doesn’t get
visions of parties at Upper East Side
lofts or alcohol-fueled nights in dirty
clubs, but instead painfully relatable awkward interactions with exgirlfriends (“Post Break-Up Sex”)
or the daunting prospect of growing
up (“Wetsuit”). It has been a while
since we’ve heard teenage anthems
this sharp and fun loving.
In just over thirty-five minutes,
the Vaccines prove that sometimes
a good album is just a good album
even if it doesn’t change the world,
or even the music industry. Is What
Did You Expect From The Vaccines?
derivative? Absolutely. And if rock
n’ roll does in fact need saving, this
is not going to be the album to do
the job. But compared to most of the
processed, packaged, and disingen-
the almost
mockingly
titled What
Did You
Expect From
The Vaccines?
is probably the
most fun I’ve
had listening
to a rock
album in
years (sorry
Kings of
Leon fans).”
uous pop that gets hoisted up the
charts these days, the Vaccines are
a breath of fresh air.
bryant kitching
33
reviews
“ As a
Oneirology
CunninLynguists
(QN5/APOS Music)
34
reviews
Do you capitalize the “L” in Cunninlynguists? I’ve always wondered.
Regardless, the Kentucky trio has
been one of the steadier names in rap
over the last decade, if also the most
scandalous. The forty-month gap
between 2007’s Dirty Acres and this
year’s Oneirology marked the longest
between two CunninLynguist studio
albums, though 2009’s Strange Journey
mixtapes quenched our thirst. This
new one is a concept album, and if its
title (the study of dreams) didn’t tip
you off, look no further than the album
cover by Dutch artist Lois van Baarle
(a stylized animation of a sleeping
female figure draped in endlessly
flowing sheets and monstrous arms
approaching from outside the frame).
Or the prologue, which samples the
opening line from Notorious B.I.G.’s
“Juicy,” “It was all a-“ and cuts off the
word—you guessed it, “dream.” Or,
lastly, the three tracks with the word
“Dream” in the title.
As a concept album, Oneirology
comes on far too forcefully—I might
go so far as to call it an utter failure.
(The Lynguists’ 2005 magnum opus,
A Piece of Strange, is probably better
suited for the role of a dream album.)
But as just an album, it is well worth
the price, despite its failure to gain
acclaim (or even a simple review)
from major music publications, like
most of their previous products. Kno’s
production is as pristine as ever, and
we hear his voice for the first time
since 2002’s Southernunderground,
which is a pleasant surprise.
The album takes a while to reach
sixty, hobbled by a dry prologue (“Predormitum”) and “Darkness (Dream
On),” the first proper track, which
begins with lead MC Deacon the Villain’s flat line, “Searching for answers
is like searching for Atlantis” and features an out-of-place vocal cameo by
Anna Wise. Despite its promising
introductory beat, the song becomes
forgetful in a hurry. Oneirology should
have started with “Hard as They
Come (Act I),” a driving, three-verse
cautionary tale told from the perspective of three killers: Natti as liquor
(“Send shots to your liver, I deliver you
death/You can barter your tomorrow
but a martyr you’re left”), Kno as HIV
(“’Cause the truth is, I’m on America’s dick/Uncle Sam fucks the poor,
and it’s makin’ ‘em sick/Now their
life’s in a tube, a downward spiral/
Giving new meaning to going viral”),
and the Honorable Frederick Gibbs as
cocaine (“It’s gon’ be cool, I know I got
you crazy subdued/Ever since the 80s,
I played your whole community for a
fool”). Anchored by long, grinding
guitar riffs and fantastic backup vocals, it’s the scariest personification
since Hexxus, the smog monster from
FernGully. Next up is “Murder (Act II)”
featuring a timely verse from a skillful
Big K.R.I.T. and a truly interplanetary
synth riff, followed by the solid “My
Habit (I Haven’t Changed).”
After these three top-tier tracks,
the Lynguists fail to match their previous consistency, most of the time
remaining stone-faced. It has all
the usual hilarious references, from
Horatio Cane to Son of the Beach, but
never do they reach the clown status
on display in Southernunderground.
Even the goofy lines in “Get Ignorant”
have a grave undertone, but what else
would you expect from such socially
conscious MCs? Still, “Get Ignorant”
seems forced, and the delightful
samples on “Stars Shine Brightest
(In the Darkness of the Night)” aren’t
enough to override Rick Warren’s
concept
album,
Oneirology
comes
on far too
forcefully.”
tired vocals and the song’s trite astronomy references in one of the rare
lyrical disappointments of the CunninLynguists catalogue.
Label mate Tonedeff and Tunji
and B.J. The Chicago Kid pull their
weight on “Enemies with Benefits”
and “Dreams” respectively. But Kno
utters the album’s best line near
the end of the album in the soothing
“Embers”: “I see a burning bush, I
feel like I’m Moses/Burn so much
kush, I feel like Amosis.” Lacking the
rookie rawness of Will Rap for Food,
the punch line attitude of Southernundeground, the flowing perfection
of A Piece of Strange, and the subdued gloss of Dirty Acres, Oneirology
might be their worst record to date.
Sometimes their own guest stars
even show them up. But the back seat
of the CunninLynguists’ discography
would be shotgun for a number of
able artists, and Oneirology is more
than enough to keep me anxiously
awaiting their next release.
james passarelli
Gimme Some
Peter Bjorn and John
(StarTime International)
Peter Bjorn & John will forever be
known as the band that had that
whistling song. On every commercial,
in every store, Victoria Bergsman’s
insanely cute vocals and that simple
whistling chorus was heard and liked
by all ages. The happy single, “Young
Folks,” was probably thought to be
the band’s only worthwhile contribution, but anyone who could make it
past the catchy tune found a great indie pop album in 2006’s Writer’s Block.
After 2009’s darker Living Thing, fans
will be happy to hear the latest poprock release Gimme Some.
Starting the album off is “Tomorrow Has To Wait” with distant vocals
and a heavy bass drum beat. The
lyrics aren’t what hold the song together, but the consistent bass drum
makes it worth it. Upping the energy
with slide riffs is track number two,
“Dig a Little Deeper.” Proclamatic
“oh oh!”s lead into singer/guitarist
Peter Moren’s positive motivation to
keep trying to be a better artist.
In the downbeat “Down Like Me”
Moren moves closer to the microphone and channels Stephin Merrit
of Magnetic Fields for the self depre-
Belong
The Pains of
Being Pure at Heart
(Slumberland)
Belong, the second album from
Brooklyn indie pop heartbreakers
Pains of Being Pure At Heart, has its
ups and downs—just like a teenage
romance. Having been produced by
Flood whose previous works include
Depeche Mode, The Jesus and Mary
Chain, Sigur Ros, and PJ Harvey,
this album should have some greatness under its one-word name and
10-song playlist, right?
Unfortunately, Flood’s reputation of tight guitar hooks and strong
harmonizing doesn’t show much on
this album. The production is much
louder than their debut, Young Adult
Friction. But it seems like loudness
is just a distraction for what little is
going on in the tracks. Sure, synth,
handclaps, and breathy vocals can
be appealing, but there are bands out
there that do it better (i.e. M83).
The title track “Belong” has anthem-like attributes, with a strong
introduction and catchy bass. The
chorus is done right, with multiple
vocals that easily fade out into the
guitar and verse. The sound is a little
cating verses and bass heavy chorus.
However, this sad song of the album
still fits in accordingly with the others—it most definitely isn’t the odd
ball of the group.
“Eyes” takes over as one of the
lead tracks. Handclaps and joyous
echo vocals, but no one is anticipating whistling in this pop hit. Close
runner up is second to last track
“Lies.” The song proves that PB&J
know good pop and how to construct
it well. Nothing is left in wanting, and
guitar solo and drum beat work together to make a song can’t help but
be put on repeat.
There is little to gripe about on
Gimme Some. If anything, the order
could be shuffled around to have a
better flow. But even that doesn’t
distract from the album. A solid
pop punk rock album is exactly what
Peter Bjorn & John put out for the
masses—maybe this time without the
commercial advertising.
katie cook
reminiscent of My Bloody Valentine,
but the hammer doesn’t quite connect with the nail. Whether or not
that was their intent is unclear.
Other songs that stand out on
the album are “Heart in Your Heartbreak” and “Strange.” “Heart in Your
Heartbreak” is just too catchy to ignore. “Strange” delves more into the
shoegaze sound that they seem to be
trying to perfect.
Not as rambunctious as their debut, Belong reveals an apparent attempt by Pains of Being Pure at Heart
to grow up, trying to find their sound
in a sea of indie synth pop groups.
Nowhere near the best of 2011, the
album would fit as background music
to a simple night on the fire escape
with a six-pack of tall boy PBRs.
Belong will have its way with you
upon first listen, but after the third
or fourth date every song blends together and leaves disappointment in
the pit of your stomach. Not a longterm relationship with this one.
katie cook
35
reviews
80 MUSIC
MINUTES
OF
IF
2011
For a
Rainy Day
WERE A
DOLLAR,
you'd be down
to seventy-five
cents, most likely
having spent a quarter
in a gumball machine.
Right. Three months of this
fresh year have flown by, and
you only have a gumball to show
for it. Was that included in your New
Years Resolution drawing? Sorry if I'm
coming across rather harshly. I'm having
butter withdrawals (resolutions kill me)
and I thought the winter worst was over,
but in the words of Annie Lennox, "Here
come's the rain again." It's April, which
means two things: taxes and rain.
DROWN YOUR SORROWS
OUT
IN
MUSIC,
PEOPLE.
1 7:10
THE DOORS – “Riders on the Storm”
Yes, the length makes our job
incredibly easier. But is there
anyway we really could’ve omitted
the quintessential “rain” song? This
song made created this playlist.
2 6:08
LED ZEPPELIN – “Fool in the Rain”
Another classic. And call me crazy,
but perhaps John Bonham’s best
performance. Bonzo himself makes it
rain on them hoes at 3:42.
3 3:15
LOUDON WAINWRIGHT I I I – “Grey in L.A.”
LWIII is a playlist-maker’s dream.
With hundreds of songs both silly
and solemn, he has covered most
subjects known to man. This one is
off his 2007 album Strange Weirdos,
the soundtrack to Knocked Up. In it,
Wainwright shows his appreciation
for the rare gloomy Los Angeles day.
4 4:55
PEOPLE UNDER THE STAIRS –
“Acid Raindrops”
When the stress hits your brain on
a rainy April morning, start up this
P.U.T.S. jam to put your mind at ease.
36
SONIC YOUTH –
“Rain King”
Kim Gordon and Steve Shelley:
forerunner to the divine rhythm
section of Primus? “Rain King”
exhibits an uncanny similarity. But
those dizzying guitar tunings are
what really pushed this Daydream
Nation song onto this playlist.
8 2:43
6 2:56
9 4:21
7 2:47
THE MYNABIRDS – “LA Rain”
They say it never rains in Southern
California. As a resident, trust me
when I say “they” (aka Wainwright)
aren’t always right. We may get
eleven months of sunshine, but after
being spoiled for that long I’d rather
spend my January anywhere else.
15
GORILLAZ – “Cloud of Unknowing”
For our playlist-compiling purposes, Plastic Beach closer “Cloud of
Unknowing” evokes a less poetic
looming rain cloud. It’s unimaginative, but it fits the theme.
2:39
CCR –
“Have You Ever
Seen the Rain”
Another no
brainer. Let
Forgerty and co’s
classic be the soundtrack to your
mud fight. And take nothing else
from the 2005 The Longest Yard
remake.
12 3:52
5 4:39
TOM WAITS – “Rain Dogs”
What would the Banjo Kazooie
soundtrack have been without the
undeniable influence of Tom Waits?
Even if it’s only raining half as hard as
cats and dogs, that’s enough for me.
11 3:05
TRAFFIC –
“Coloured Rain”
You almost can’t go wrong
with Traffic, coloured rain or not.
LIARS –
“Dumb in the Rain”
Just about every Liars track
seems to invoke a thunderstorm.
Unsurprisingly, “The Dumb in the
Rain” is no exception. Let’s hope
you’re not with stupid this time.
10 3:01
MODEST MOUSE – “It Always Rains on A Picnic”
Does any picnic ever go as planned?
Better rain than ants or dog piss
sandwiches. You wouldn’t ever try
to catch the other two with your
tongue, I hope.
LES CLAYPOOL
AND THE HOLY MACHEREL –
“Precipitation”
I wanted to have Colonel Claypool
himself do this write up, but like a
cloud in the desert, he would not
participate.
13
2:41
ISLANDS – “Vapours”
The title track off indie pop group
Islands’ 2009 release is the perfect
song to play once the puddle jumping
starts getting old.
14 2:50
THE TALLEST MAN ON EARTH –
“Into the Stream”
Nobody today can fuse sober realism
with romantic pastoral imagery like
Kristian Matsson can. Some days are
bound to bring cold, hard rain. “Into
the Stream” can provide quite the
pick-me-up.
16
4:59
PASSION PIT –
“Swimming in the Flood”
Listen to this song as you cross your
fingers hoping the city sewer system
pulls through.
17
5:39
TALKING HEADS –
“(Nothing But) Flowers”
You know the old adage about postApril rainstorm flora. They bring
May flowers. And on this satirical
Talking Heads track, David Byrnes
sarcastically rues that the Pizza Hut
down the street will be overrun with
them, too.
19 2:17
OUTLAW CON BANDANA –
“Rainy Season”
The string-heavy “Rainy Season,”
off the band’s latest full-length,
Faeries and Rewards, tells the story
of a down-and-out man who asks,
“Does the rainy season got a reason
for chasin’ me around the ground?”
20 8:44
THE ALLMAN BROTHERS BAND –
“Stormy Monday”
Wait out the weather with this
smooth T-Bone Walker track, laid out
by the Brothers on their epic 1971 live
album At Fillmore East.
21
3:15
CUNNUNLYNGUISTS – “Rain”
“I can’t even cry—my tears been dry.
That’s why it’s thunderin’ hard out
tonight,” sings Mr. SOS on one of the
Lynguists’ most poignant songs.
22
5:20
PETE SEEGER –
“A Hard Rain's A Gonna Fall”
The song has been covered
thousands of times, but no one does
it better than Petey Seegs.
18 4:18
YO LA TENGO – “Little Eyes”
The perfect song for when you have a
lot on your mind and the pitter-patter
on the window isn’t the only thing
keeping you up late at night.
james passarelli
ryan waring
37
playlist