Three Imaginary Girls - Geffen

Listen to The Cure's new album in Seattle a week early

Andrew Boe — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 16:03:14 +0000

This is your chance to hear the recording in its entirety almost one week in advance of the official release with a mention of complementary drinks and prizes. You can't really go wrong here.

The Cure to Release New Album and Single(s)

Andrew Boe — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 22:14:12 +0000

The new as-yet-untitled studio record is set to be released on September 13, 2008.

Weezer go red...

imaginary liz — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 17:30:25 +0000

With a lead off single titled, "Pork and Beans" (to be released on April 22) I've got to admit I'm a *little* nervous...

Meet The Eels: The Essential Eels, Vol.1 1996-2006; Useless Trinkets: B-Sides, Soundtracks, Rarities & Unreleased 1996-2007

Joseph Riippi — Sun, 27 Jan 2008 16:51:07 +0000

7.9

http://www.amazon.com/Meet-Eels-Essential-1996-2006-Vol/dp/B000Y2WAKM/wwwthreeimagi-20/

eels.jpg

For most of us, we only think about the Eels when we come across a dusty old copy of Electro-shock Blues, or if “Novocaine for the Soul” happens to come on the jukebox at some depressing fraternity reunion. But they do have a fiercely loyal following, allowing them to put out live acoustic-and-strings albums (Live at Town Hall, from 2006) and not be a drag to their record company’s end-of-year books.

Well, it seems that their label, Geffen Records, finally saw the market expansion opportunity they had with the Eels, and hence this gargantuan retrospective. For the newcomer, the two-disc Meet The Eels: The Essential Eels, Vol. 1 serves as a healthy introduction to what they’ve been doing for the last ten years. For the long-time fan, Useless Trinkets: B-Sides, Soundtracks, Rarities and Unreleased, which, well, the title says it all.

I admit I was excited to dive into so much material by a band I’d always liked but never particularly listened to. “Novocaine for the Soul” can affect a Pavlovian reflex that jars me back to 1996, and I do really like “I like birds” — but I have to say that, on the whole, I’ve been listening for a few weeks now and there’s not a lot on either of these albums that convinces me to convert to the church of “Mr. E’s Beautiful Blues.”

The tracks from Eels With Strings: Live at Town Hall stand apart as particularly interesting: the version of “Mr. E’s Beautiful Blues” from Useless Trinkets is quite lovely, the string section really putting on a show and playing the track instrumentally (but perhaps that says something about the original version of the song). And I don’t where I was when The Essential Eels’ “I’m Going To Stop Pretending I Didn’t Break Your Heart” came out, but that’s as good a lover’s lament as I’ve ever heard.

It’s the kitschy, campy aspect of a lot of their music that finally makes this so hard to get into. I mean, on their biggest hits — "Novocaine for the Soul," "I like birds," "Mr. E's..." — their strengths lie in that funniness, that enjoyable suspension of seriousness that bands like They Might Be Giants rely on. The problem here is that the Eels seem to want to be taken seriously. A person simply can’t take this much comedy-as-art in one dose. It’s a one-or-two-songs-at-a-time sort of thing. Unless, of course, that’s your thing to begin with.

Like I said earlier, the Eels command the respect of many — I’d compare their relationship to fans with the sort of relationship Ryan Adams has. Musically, Adams and the Eels couldn’t be more different: but like Ryan Adams, who has a strong following that believes he can do no wrong, for the true Eels fans, Meet The Eels is an unnecessary collection of songs they already have and know and love. It’s Useless Trinkets that’s pure gold — finally, all these tracks (many of which they probably have already, in some form or another) together in one simple collection. But for the bulk of music buyers out there, Eels are a “love or don’t-give-a-shit” band. You’re either drinking the Kool Aid or stepping past the people who do, not really paying attention to the catchy anthems they're wistfully whistling to each other.

For the true Eels fans, Meet The Eels is an unnecessary collection of songs they already have and know and love. It’s Useless Trinkets that’s pure gold — finally, all these tracks (many of which they probably have already, in some form or another) together in one simple collection.

"Mad Dog 20/20" by Teenage Fanclub

the sleepwalker — Mon, 10 Dec 2007 16:07:42 +0000

In 1994, David Geffen and cohorts dug some gems (or at least some shiny rocks) out of their collective trash bins to piece together a powerhouse compilation spanning across some of the label’s alt-rock giants including: Nirvana, Weezer, Sonic Youth, and Counting Crows. The leadoff track on this 14-song budget trash sampler was none other than Glasgow’s Teenage Fanclub.

I even dug out the liner notes from my dusty CD pile to precisely relay the printed story that the song “Mad Dog 20/20” was banned from inclusion on 1993’s Thirteen because of the use of the word “fizzin’.” Allegedly, such language is banned in Scotland under the “Good Lyric Act of 1973.” I imagine this may be a smirky euphemism for “our song has terrible lyrics” so we decided not to include it on the record, but one should feel free to interpret the legend in any way desired.

Poetic or not, the brief 2:38 song rides a gentle California surf like a mopier, less precisely harmonic Beach Boys deep cut as it explores the ennui of youth and the substitution of budget potables for human contact and adventure. Although not a bad listen, it is definitely an off-track for the Big-Star enamored band.

I was first knocked over by Teenage Fanclub when I saw the video for “The Concept” (from Thirteen’s predecessor Bandwagonesque) on 120 Minutes one late night in 1991. While Teenage Fanclub may be, to most, a footnote in alternative-rock history, the selection of Bandwagonesque as SPIN Magazine’s album of the year in 1991 (surpassing Nirvana’s Nevermind, My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless, and REM’s Out of Time), in the same year that Rolling Stone gave the album a 2/5 rating, gave a clear indication of an impending industry radar split.

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Allegedly, such language is banned in Scotland under the “Good Lyric Act of 1973.”

Release the Stars

Erik Gonzalez — Fri, 07 Sep 2007 04:25:34 +0000

7.7

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000O78LH8/wwwthreeimagi-20/

rufus.jpg

It almost doesn’t seem right to judge Rufus Wainwright against the mainstream of modern rock. He’s not really like most of them at all. He’s more a “performer” than just a “musician.” I suppose on the modern rock family tree, his closest relatives might be Morrissey or David Bowie, but Rufus is even more theatrical than that pair. Release the Stars is not an album that can be easily compartmentalized into discrete songs and singles, instead it is an album in the truest sense, even in this age of the dying longplay artform. Much of the album is gorgeous and over-the-top, but that is why we love Rufus, isn’t it?

Rufus has evolved away from the singer-songwriter mold of his debut Poses into a full-blown cabaret singer, making his music into more than just a song but instead into a miniature drama set to music. He defies genrefication, which is a credit to his versatility and talent. And dammit, it's just fun to listen to the overblown majesty of a song like the opener “Do I Disappoint You,” where Rufus finds himself surrounded by choirs of children, huge orchestral swirls and well, pretty much every musical theatre trick this side of the kitchen sink. Although I told myself I was going to avoid the comparison, but “Going to A Town” is as close as you get to Rufus channeling pre-insanity Elton John (with a good dose of Moz-like anti-American sentiment). The song is beautiful and melancholy, you almost melt hearing Rufus call out "I’m so tired of America."

Alternately, Rufus takes on the sound of a 1940’s torch singer on “Nobody’s Off the Hook,” building like a Henry Mancini song that would make Sinatra uncomfortable ("Hanging with a homo and hairdresser" is not really the Chairman’s typical lyric). The same might be said for “Tulsa,” oddly inspired by Rufus meeting the lead singer of the Killers, is a complexly structured creation full of dueling strings and pianos – it is oddly playful and fun. “Sanssouci” has, for lack of a better comparison, a bit of a Barry Manilow feel, a little bit rock and a little bit tropical – honestly, it works out better than that description might imply. Of course, nothing can be more fun that Rufus trying on his 60’s soul singer shoes on the title track. The song is packed wall-to-wall with horns, slapped guitar, female choirs, and enough panache to make Otis blush.

So bits just don’t work. I had high expectations for “Tiergarten” because Neil Tennant from the Pet Shop Boys was supposed to be on it, but really, his contributions are barely noticeable – nothing like Robbie Williams jewel “No Regrets” with Tennant and Neil Hannon from the Divine Comedy. Instead, “Tiergarten” just feels tired, which is odd considering Tennant was the executive producer of the whole album. The musical theatre gets a little carried away, like on “Between my Legs,” the most Pet Shop Boys-like song on the album that actually directly quote the main theme from Phantom of the Opera - just a little too rich for my blood. Instead you really wish Rufus would stick with some of the more subdued splendor of “Not Ready to Love,” a quiet ballad full of steel guitar and hushed backing harmonies (this time you can really tell it's Mr. Tennant).

Release the Stars feels like Rufus Wainwright finally just letting himself be, well, himself. He really is an artist right now that has no peers, and befitting that characterization, Release the Stars is a true album that deserves to be listened to from start-to-finish, rather than disassembled by your iPod. It might not be a perfect album, but it has such a dramatic flair that it makes up for its shortcomings by being thoroughly entertaining.

Much of the album is gorgeous and over-the-top, but that is why we love Rufus, isn’t it?

Myths of the Near Future

Erik Gonzalez — Mon, 23 Apr 2007 06:52:12 +0000

7.2

http://www.amazon.com/Myths-Near-Future-Klaxons/dp/B000MMLOJ2/

B000MMLOJ2.01._SCLZZZZZZZ_V44855232_SS500_.jpg

Based on my past track record of admiring British bands, I feel like I should feel more love for the Klaxons. This is especially true because of my checkered youth listening to -- nay, worshipping -- such British dance-rock bands as Jesus Jones, Pop Will Eat Itself, the Stone Roses (first album), Inspiral Carpets, Happy Mondays, Soup Dragons, EMF, Ned’s Atomic Dustbin and many other flash-in-the-pan bands. My love for them knew no bounds (heck, I have a script cover for Lysistrata signed by all the albums of Jesus Jones), yet somehow, the Klaxons leave me feeling empty, like a knockoff of the originals. That being said, there isn’t anything particularly bad about Myths of the Near Future; on the contrary, the album is a fun listen. It's full of energy and hooks but feels like it's missing its soul, like a vampire of Brit rock that never really lives up to the hype that the British Press have generated for the band.

One thing you have to give the Klaxons for is choosing an excellent name (though I suppose if you need to start a review praising the bands on its name choice you know you’re in trouble). Yet I am being overly disparaging towards Myths of the Near Future. Much of the album has a familiar sound to it, very upbeat and danceable, like its predecessors. The hallmark of bands like Jesus Jones and Pop Will Eat Itself was the mashing together of dance/electronic noise with a British punk mentality, as if you jammed 808 State and the Buzzcocks into the same act and really, the Klaxons are no different, except they have updated the sound for the 21st century. Instead of 808 State and the Buzzcocks, imagine late-90s Moby and Franz Ferdinand’s “Take Me On” fused at the hip into some sort of dance-rock monster.

The first few seconds of “Atlantis to Interzone” has an undeniable Everything is Wrong feel, right down to the kind of cheesy beat and sample that permeate the song -– and that might be its Achilles’ Heel, as it really does sound like a song from 1995. This tendency is also found in the bombastic “Four Horsemen of 2012,” a song you know you’ve heard before when you know you haven’t. The other big UK hit from the album, “Gravity’s Rainbow” (they do deserve props for the Thomas Pynchon reference), has a more modern Bloc Party sound that isn’t as anachronistic.

Luckily, they slow down the Wayback Machine for “Magick,” one of the standouts on Myths, as its rhythm is much more aggressive and vocals are more shouted than sang. The opening guitar line is twisted and distorted, mixed with the borderline frantic drumming and vocals of the verse. This suddenly breaks down into a controlled and surprisingly melodic chorus, offering a glimpse at what might be the promise the Klaxons offer. The other barnburner on Myths is “Totem on the Timeline,” filled with great examples of the non-sensical lyrics of the Klaxons: "At club 18-30 I met Julius Caesar, Lady Diana and Mother Theresa/Signs, you know I see them all the time/Time: Just a fraction of a sign." Yeah, um, okay. Nevertheless, the reckless abandon of the song is infectious.

It seems counterintuitive that a band that advertises itself as “nu-rave” might be at its best on a slow song. “Isle of Her” is a languid piece that is rich in vocal harmonies and a dark, sinister atmosphere that sets it apart from the rest of the dance-rock of the album. It almost borders on a Joy Division sort of appeal, but with a squeeze of a Pop Will Eat Itself tone; it's a high point of the album. Similarly, “Golden Skans” is a more laidback song, but instead it takes a page from the Blur playbook to mixed results, but it's a pop gem in any case.

Myths of the Near Future has some great moments that not only recall the glory days of British dance-rock, but also expand the sound in new directions. The question will be if the Klaxons are keep from sounding dating while sampling from the dance-rock/rave history of British music. Sometimes it's hard for me to sit back and listen to some of my favorites from the early 1990’s – honestly, British music from that era it just doesn’t age well, but it definitely was popular. So I expect that we’ll be seeing a lot more bands influenced by that scene. The Klaxons can now officially be the flag-bearer of that resurgence.

Myths of the Near Future has some great moments that not only recall the glory days of British dance-rock, but also expands the sound in new directions.

Takk

Joseph Riippi — Thu, 08 Sep 2005 07:00:00 +0000

8.8

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000AJJNPY/wwwthreeimagi-20

sigurros05sept.jpg

Takk is Icelandic for "thanks," as well as the message Sigur Ros flashes on screen at the end of each of their live shows when they come out to take a bow, like the cast at a theater. A nice choice as title of Sigur Ros' fourth full-length record, almost a message to their growing, devoted fan base.

Their last two records, Agaetis Byrjun and ( ) brought the band to a level of international celebrity best characterized by the fact that their celebrity is found in repeated appearances on NPR's "All things Considered" and on Cameron Crowe and Wes Anderson film soundtracks. If there were an O.C. for people who hate the O.C. on the grounds that it's destroying popular culture by giving bands like Modest Mouse and Spoon a sinfully large listening base, Sigur Ros would undoubtedly play that simulacrum's local coffee house (and give them a sinfully large listening base as well).

Enigmatic, singing in a language defined as an amalgam of Icelandic, English and high-pitched OOOing and AWWing, (dubbed by the band as "Hopelandic"), Sigur Ros is aptly characterized as more a type of classical music or opera or new-jazz rather than "rock" or, even, "indie-prog-math-stargazer rock." Their live performances leave audiences either paralyzed with emotion or with a desire to take a nap, but nevertheless numb and affected.

Takk strays from where their previous records took them — ( ) was a sweepingly untitled powerballad of Hopelandicisms and guitars, while Agaetis Byrjun was much more subtle and dark. Takk finds the band experimenting with shorter songs (think 5 or 6 minutes vs. the previous 8 - 10), an abundance of strings and horns, and sharper, more defined melodies.

Singles "Glosoli" and "Saeglopur" announced this departure early on this summer. While the band hasn't lost anything "Sigur Ros" about themselves, they have pushed themselves into a new place. "Glosoli" is easily one of the most beautiful songs of the year, a six-and-a-quarter minute crescendo of strings, keys and guitars. And before the full record's release, "Saeglopur" seemed the poppiest, most melodic thing the band has done to date. (Although this description, now, has to be given to album track "Hoppipolla").

Both of the "poppier" songs are built around catchy piano riffs that make you tap a foot as much as any Tullycraft song. And like a lot of Sigur Ros, they explode into cymbals and diamonds at the end.

Not to be forgotten, there are long, ominous tracks on Takk as good as anything else the band has put out to date. The record is, overall, exactly what has come to be expected from Sigur Ros — a sweeping, beautiful collection of music to conjure the Icelandic landscape in watercolor and poetry.

Guero

Joseph Riippi — Wed, 01 Jun 2005 07:00:00 +0000

7.2

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0007SL1LW/wwwthreeimagi-20

guero05may.jpg

For the record, I prefer "Gwhere-oh" as opposed to "Where-oh." According to the second track on Beck's newest record, the pronunciation is actually closer to the latter.

Guero, (pronounced however you'd like; most people know what record you're talking about), is most aptly described as a single-disc box set. As a prolific, dynamic songwriter who has matured and changed over time with each of his records, broad expectations of "What is he going to do next?" accompanied the release of Guero.

The result is what you'd expect: A record you'll love if you're a diehard Beck fan, and a record you'll wave off if you aren't.

Beck has gone from the crazy eccentricities of his breakout single "Loser" to mind-bending dance rock on Odelay, to the Radiohead-tinged intimacy on Sea Change. And on Guero, Beck compiles elements of seemingly each of his past seven records. Standout tracks on the record parallel whatever the listener's favorite Beck album is — huge Sea Change fans will find themselves drawn to the track "Girl" for the similarities between it and the Sea Change track "Sunday Sun." Only after thinking "Girl" might be the best track on the record will they realize Nigel Godrich (production wizard of Radiohead and Sea Change fame) had a hand in the mixing process. And indeed "Girl" is a fantastic track; but then again, I thought Sea Change may have been the best record of 2002.

The first track off Guero is "E-Pro," a little taste for the Odelay fan in us all. The catchy guitar riff, the semi-danceability: it's so very familiar. Oh, oh, wait…here comes another Odelay-esque moment in "Black Tambourine" a few tracks later. And then of course the single "Hell Yes" is eerily familiar to Beck circa 1996.

Come to think of it, "Black Tambourine" could have been on Mutations too.

Guero might not be the next step in Beck's long walk down the road of musical maturation, but it's a nice little side-step shuffle dance before he moves on to whatever else he has up his sleeve.

In any case, Guero, however you choose to pronounce it, is a good record. It's enjoyable, it's fun, it's Beck as an unfinished Rubik's cube, with all colors showing on all sides.

As a prolific, dynamic songwriter who has matured and changed over time with each of his records, broad expectations of "What is he going to do next?" accompanied the release of Guero.