A belated merry Christmas to everyone out there! It’s Boxing Day here in Canada, a day where a great many people venture out into mall madness to take advantage of the ‘sales’. If you are one these (or if you aren’t), I share the following for your consideration:
Rob Gordon: I will now sell five copies of “The Three EPs” by The Beta Band. Dick: Go for it.
[Rob plays the record] Customer: Who is this? Rob Gordon: The Beta Band. Customer: It’s good. Rob Gordon: I know.
The above exchange constitutes the breakdown of what is one of my favourite scenes in film history. And I’m reasonably sure that I’m not the only music geek that went out immediately after seeing “High fidelity” in the cinemas to also get a copy of The Beta Band’s “The three EPs”. (I’m talking about those of us that didn’t already have it in our collections, of course.) Yet try as I might, I was never, outside of a few tunes, ever able to get into the group. Unbelievably, I had better luck with The Aliens, the band made up of former Beta Band members, Gordon Anderson, John Maclean, and Robin Jones, and then, when former frontman Steve Mason released “Boys outside”, his first solo work put out under his real name, I was completely enamoured.
Just one of those things, I guess.
Some music writers have said that the album, “Boys outside”, sounds like The Beta Band replayed through a magical, adult alternative filter and I suppose that makes sense. It and its title track, which I love to pieces, feels infinitely more mature. It bears the weight of Mason’s financial and general life struggles, as well as his battles with depression. The bleak black austerity of the cover is certainly a reflection of all this, as is the often claustrophobic production.
“Boys outside“ is lilting guitars and breathtaking washes. It is Mason singing his pain, despair, and hope in a voice that was often overlooked in discussions about his old band’s worth. It is heartrending at its quiet moments and glorious at its apexes. It’s one of those songs I slip on when I want to be reminded of beauty in world.
And perhaps this post won’t sell five copies of Steve Mason’s “Boys outside” but maybe one or two. And I’d be happy with that.
For the rest of the Best tunes of 2010 list, click here.
Back in the spring, my wife and I made the trek out to Montreal to see Slowdive play there. We’ve done this sparingly over the years that we have lived in Ottawa, probably too sparingly, but when we do hit up the bigger city for a show, we plan to stay a night or two and make a weekend of it. (We learned the hard way after driving home exhausted in the early hours after a James show in 2008.) I was super excited when I saw that Slowdive had added a show in Montreal to their tour and it actually wasn’t too difficult to convince my wife, even though she had never heard the band, given that we hadn’t had a weekend away in a few months.
I, myself, was relatively new to Slowdive because I didn’t take to them when they were around during shoegaze’s first wave in the early 90s. It took getting into Mojave 3 first (Neil Halstead’s and Rachel Goswell’s second band) for me to really appreciate them. Then, when Slowdive, following successful tours by other shoegaze luminaries, Lush, Swervedriver, and Ride, announced their intention to reunite for some shows, I was super intrigued to see them live. Of course, I had given this new album a few cursory listens beforehand but I didn’t actually buy it until I got a copy on vinyl at the show. I probably don’t need to tell you how great the concert was, even Victoria really enjoyed it, her listening to them with completely fresh ears. What surprised me most, though, was the variety of age groups in the audience. I was expecting it to be mostly 40 year olds, like I saw at the Ride reunion show I caught two years prior. And maybe they were there to see the opening act, Japanese Breakfast, but I’d like to think that the songs on “Slowdive” were getting radio play and appealing to the younger set.
As I good as the other new releases have been by the aforementioned Lush, Swervedriver, and Ride, Slowdive’s new self-titled album is easily the best of the bunch. It shows none of the dust or rust that might have accumulated in the 22 years since their last release. Neither does it feel like they are just revisiting glory days or tarnishing the reverence bestowed upon them by adding subpar material to their catalogue. The eight songs on this album are as good as anything they’ve ever released. And by keeping it to eight songs, it feels like they’ve left no room for filler. Each song is a beautifully ethereal and magnificent composition. They float on a layer just above our heads, the twin vocals of Halstead and Goswell hermetically entwined, alien and angelic.
I’d love to present all eight songs to you for consideration but like the other albums in this top five, I’m going to limit my picks for you to three. Enjoy.
“No longer making time”: This was perhaps the last of the tracks on the album to hook me and yet, hook me it did. The beat and the bass line is slow and unassuming, setting the stage for the first verse where Halstead’s murmuring vocals do a little dance with the reverb drenched but soft lead guitars. All that serenity falls by the wayside at the chorus. The guitars take on some heft and sizzling effects, Goswell joins in with backing vocals, and everything gets loud and just this side of too much… too much… But then, the ecstasy passes.
“Sugar for the pill”: This track is all about the recurring guitar line that starts the track, climbing creepily and slithering easily back down your spine, and continues to hypnotize, even as the heavy bass joins in. There is so much reverb in this song, you’d think the band had locked you into some new age echo chamber and stood outside taunting, dangling the key gleefully. Not that you’d want to escape if you could. You’d just close your eyes and let yourself melt into the bright coloured mists, ignoring the slowing of your heart beat and deepening of your breaths, and the general feeling of vibration.
“Star roving”: And lastly, we have the real rocker of the album. The drums jump, waves and walls of guitars thunder and tear, and even Halstead has a bit of edge to his delivery. Of course, that could just be the effects pedal that everything seems to be run through, making everything so damned raw. I could totally see this one filling the dance floor of any alternative club back in the early to mid nineties. Hundreds of sweat soaked kids swaying and tilting to the distortion, alcohol coursing wildly through their bloodstreams. Would this be happening in the clubs today? I’d like to think it is but would be curious to know for sure. It certainly held the lot of us enthralled when I saw them live. Such a lovely beast indeed.
For the rest of the albums in this list, check out my Best Albums page here.
It may not seem like a long time in the grand scheme of things but in this age of musical mass consumption and disposal, it feels almost the equivalent of a decade or more. And that’s how long we’ve had to wait since the last The National record for new material. It was interminable. Bordering on indefinite hiatus. Luckily for us, they made our wait worth the while.
I got into The National with 2007’s “The boxer” and to my ears, the Cincinnati five-piece have, with each successive album, built upon their last, creating new worlds with their music while remaining recognizable and true to their sound. And with “Sleep well beast”, now their seventh record and third since “The boxer”, the critics are falling over themselves yet again with how experimental this record is and how the band has reinvented themselves… again.
I’m not sure about the reinvention bit but it is a fantastic record. It is dark and ambient and rich with layers of sound and Matt Berninger’s baritone. It was this last that was the cause for many early comparisons to Joy Division but I don’t think that anyone would go there now. This music is warmer and livelier, despite its inherent sombre tone, not at all like the claustrophobia imbued in early post-punk. “Sleep well beast” is an album for noise cancelling ear phones set at high volume, like much of The National’s work, and it’s also the sound of the band pushing themselves to the limits on every track.
Okay. Enough of my fan boy blatherings. Have a listen to my three picks for you and let me know what you think.
“Carin at the liquor store”: The piano work at the beginning suggests a conversation walked in upon halfway through, a song that has always been there but only just discovered now. The reverb melts in at some point in the song, putting Berninger out on some higher plane, while he sings about his wife, Carin, and finding the body of a long dead writer in the same breath. A love song unlike one I’ve ever heard. And yet, oh so beautiful.
“The system only dreams in total darkness”: Maybe it’s the title or maybe the lyrical themes but this tune feels like Pink Floyd at the height of their powers, listening to it, though, you might call me crazy. It’s got a jaunty beat, Matt Berninger’s rich vocals, and is nowhere near as long a tune as Floyd would have it. Still, “The system” is a dark machine with plenty of intricate inner workings that make it go and only become apparent with close observation. Great pop song too.
“Day I die”: Track two is killer. A manic beat and an ecstatic guitar scream that pushes things even further and faster than I’m sure they are meant to be. The vocals, too, are in a rush, as if Berninger has to get the message across in the limited time he has. But this is a National song, so the message is somewhat blurred by the imagery and the stream of consciousness delivery. If I had to guess, though, I’d say it has more to do with living than dying, and living without hesitation or regret. So don’t delay, get up and dance with The National. You won’t regret it.
For the rest of the albums in this list, check out my Best Albums page here.
My (life in) music lists 