Everybody knows what this is, right? It's one of those goddamn Now That's What I Call Music compilations. The very first, in fact. These things originated over in the UK, and they're collections of all the really ultra-ubiquitous megahits that were clogging up the airwaves during a particular era. On October 27, 1998, the NOW people realized they could make a huge pile of (then valuable) American Dollars by starting a NOW series that plundered the US charts... and so they did.
Since then, the NOW comps have become part of our pop landscape. They arrive with almost seasonal regularity (three a year, in general) and we now find ourselves staring down the barrel of Now That's What I Call Music 40, which "drops" in November. It is a given that these things will gather up the current batch of chartbusters. It is a given that the comp will sell like gangbusters (no it's not, their sales have dropped precipitously now that even your Mee-Maw is stealing Foster The People MP3s off teh interwebs). And it is a given that I will NOT LISTEN TO IT.
Until now. Friends, it is time for me to gaze into the abyss. I have decided to challenge myself, so I might learn the truth about the rock candy heart that beats in the chest of American Pop. I have decided to listen to EVERY US NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL MUSIC COMPILATION EVER RELEASED. IN ORDER.
It is possible that I am making a terrible mistake.
Here we go.
Now the First, released (as I mentioned) in October of 1998.
The first track is "Together Again" by Janet Jackson. It sounds like the kind of music that plays when you are shopping for weapons in Final Fantasy 7. Considering the kind of audio torture I was expecting, this is really Not So Bad, but a quick glance at the run time makes me realise that I am in for a rough four minutes. After two minutes thirty I am ready to bail on this trifle, but I will hang in there because I AM A GODDAMN TROUPER. Sure enough, my grit is rewarded. There is a totally innocuous break and we are swiftly at the end of the song and on to...
"As Long As You Love Me" by The Backstreet Boys. Jesus Christ. This limp little number makes that Janet Jackson tune seem like Atari Teenage Riot. Hearing this makes me get why people swooned so hard over Justin Timberlake's "reinvention" of himself as a White Stevie Wonder (only not blind)/White Michael Jackson (only not a pedophile)/Tall Sex Dwarf (only... no, that one's pretty on the money). The acoustic guitar figure in the intro is particularly reprehensible, but by the end I'm begging to have it back, if only because it provided a break from the Wall Of Schmaltz.
When I saw that the next track ("The Way" by Fastball) was on this, I groaned. I remember this song boring my ass off while I watched 120 Minutes and prayed for Rocket From The Crypt videos (it was the fucking 90's, alright?). Now, I'm positively giddy because at least there will be actual guitars and actual drums on this jam. Fuck yeah! Hit me with the ROCK, Fastball!
Or not. Man, this song is annoying. The fake flamenco vibe? Annoying. The "eternal summer slacking" lyric? Annoying. And the fact that they're using some weird bassless compression effect for the first forty-five seconds so that they can just turn it OFF and act like it's some kick-ass dynamic shift? FUCKING ANNOYING. Also I am watching the video right now and the drummer needs to shave his fucking neck. One hit wonders? One hit too many, if you ask me. Screw these creeps.
I am REALLY in the mood to like something, which is probably why I'm not ready to shit all over Harvey Danger. "Flagpole Sitta" is up next, and it's sort of like punk made by creeps who think they're too smart for punk... which is like thinking yr too smart for Pro Wrestling, i.e. FUCK YOU. But at least the guitars are nice and high in the mix and the dude's voice is less awful than that fartsniffer from the Decemberists and at least this guy had the decency to get miserable and bitter once his fifteen minutes were up. Come back Harvey Danger, all is forgiven.
Just kidding, fuck off again.
Again, context is everything. Thus, I am DELIGHTED to be listening to "Say You'll Be There" by The Spice Girls right now. Fake Dr. Dre synth noises? Check! Lyrics about having "Far too Much Emotions"? Check! And a harmonica solo? Checkeroo! I am laughing and doing a sassy little dance in my chair that is pissing off the cat. As an added bonus, I am reminded that my pal Kell did a cover of this where he sang it like Lou Reed, so I have that going for me as well.
My bonhomie does not last, as K-Ci and JoJo (I know, right) are up next with "All My Life" and FUCK I AM ONLY A THIRD OF THE WAY THROUGH THIS. Boilerplate R&B ballad with predictably risible lyrics. I am so pissed that this is not R. Kelly.
I must be getting desperate, or drunk, or both. I can TELL that "Never Ever" by All Saints is shit, but I'm kinda feeling it. The lyrics are ludicrous ("I'll take a shower/I will scour"), but it's well executed quasi-soul, and the spoken intro is so awkward it could almost be The Shaggs. Which is a big help, obvs.
Tonic and "If You Could Only See" next. I will admit that when the guitars kick in I almost give this a pass. I'm a sucker like that. But then the fake-metal part starts, and the contrast between the ultra-sappy chorus and the "intense" verse makes me think these dudes probably love 'em some domestic violence. The song is also a full minute too long. I don't understand AT ALL why this was a hit. Must have been an "alternative" hangover from earlier in the decade.
Oh, man, really? I gotta listen to "MmmBop" by Hanson? I couldn't smash myself in the face with a brick or maybe listen to the Spin Doctors instead? Fuck. Did the record scratches on this jam presage the entire second act of Sugar Ray's career (the band, not the boxer)? Discuss. Also, how weird is it that one of these kids is now in a band with Bun E. Carlos from Cheap Trick?
"Zoot Suit Riot"? OH FUCKING COME ON. Okay, this is The Cherry Poppin' Daddies, and whenever I hear this I think about the drummer for the glam-punk band I was in back in Tacoma. Dude was heavy into the swing scene and we used to give him a grip of shit about it. I think his smooth-smoothie act got him laid a couple of times, but liking the Cherry Poppin' Daddies is only like one step above Roofies on the "Shameful Shit You Do To Get Laid" scale. Other than that he was a great guy, and I'm sure he never raped anybody.
I have never heard "Shorty (You Keep Playin' With My Mind)" before, nor have I ever heard of Imajin, but that's who I'm listening to now. Not awful. Yes, it's R&B, but the beat is kinda hard and... FUCKING KEITH MURRAY! YES! Actual rap by an actual rapper! And he's quoting Prince? This is totally acceptable. Thank god for rap cameos.
"Anytime" by Brian McKnight is next and it's an R&B slow jam. As a white middle-class punk rocker I am totally unequipped to discuss this. All I can do is try to pay attention and wait for...
"Barbie Girl". Aqua. Fuck. Yes. Remember what I said about thinking yr too smart for punk and wrestling? Well, don't go thinking yr too smart for AQUA, because you are NOT. Hyper-moronic techno bubblegum. The only way this could be better is if it were Shampoo, but they didn't have any hits in the States cos Americans are BORING.
Boof. "Karma Police" by Radiohead provides one of the most abrupt and savage comedowns in history. What fucking sadist put these two songs back to back? I can't really hang with this level of pretension anymore (the piano fills, the strings) which is why Radiohead and I parted company shortly after this album. Still, this is some high-grade misery from back when these dudes actually wrote songs.
Everclear next, with "I Will Buy You A New Life". It's pretty much the same song they always play... mid-tempo post-grunge schmaltz that resolutely refuses to rock and guitars that go "nur-nur-nur-nurnur-NUR-NUR". It's pretty crazy how dull this band (and this song) are/were.
God, I'm in the home stretch but things ain't getting any easier. Lenny Kravitz is doing "Fly Away" and I would literally rather listen to ANYTHING ELSE on this compilation than this. Yes, even the Zoot Suit one. This jam has it all... most boring music, most inane lyrics... pure tedium. It's "Rock and Roll" for first-year sociology students who just realized that the Rolling Stones are kind of sexist.
And, the last jam... "Sex And Candy" by Marcy Playground. Creepy creep alt-rock from a dude with "So much time to think about [him]self". Thank Jahweh these jerks never got another hit.
Well, that was painful. Clearly All Saints, The Spice Girls, and the sainted Aqua were the most talented artists of 1998. And now, to wash away the nightmares... Australia's Useless Children with their best song ever! It's "People Come, People Go" off their 2009 EP and it sounds like if the Birthday Party added a girl singer and were signed to AmRep. In other words, it's fucking PERFECT.
Smart guys like Jon Spencer know about a thing called semiotics. Without paddling out past my intellectual depth, it is the system of "signifiers" that exist within almost every aspect of culture. If, for example, a man in a Western is wearing a white hat, we understand that he is Our Hero, not because it is explicitly stated, but because the white hat is a signifier conveying purity (among other things). Pop Music is of course no exception, and the semiotics of Pop function as an invisible language that separates a fluent speaker like Lady Gaga from the awkward pidgin of someone like Rebecca Black.
When I found the album pictured above on the shelves of the Public Library, my hands started to shake.
"Jesus Christ," I muttered. "What, semiotically speaking, the fuck?" (My spell-check program is trying to tell me that "semiotically" is not a word. Silly bastard must not have gone to a good college.)
The album in question is by Tiffany. Lest one forget her pedigree, the album cover helpfully explains "I think we're alone now '80s Hits and more" (capitalization and punctuation unchanged). It features a mildly unflattering picture of 1980's era Tiffany in front of what appear to be a series of arcing pastel foam swim toys. The back cover features more swim toys and three balloons. It also, predictably, lists what songs are on the album, as well as the logo of the record label responsible for this semiotic Dagwood.
I think we're alone now - 80's Hits and more was released by Cleopatra Records. Cleopatra, for those of you who are not compelled to know such things, was originally a goth-industrial label, putting out releases by the likes of Psychic TV and Leaether Strip (yes, that's how it was spelled). The latter had a song called "Go Fuck Your Ass Off", if that gives you an idea of what we're dealing with here.
The semiotic plot thickened.
The album was released in 2007, and features re-recorded versions of three of Tiffany's big chart hits (one of which was itself a cover of a Beatles song) as well as nine other covers, most of which are temporally centered in the '80's. Most. Not all.
The re-recordings range from the faithfully pedestrian ("Voices Carry", "Forever Young", "Call Me") to the more outlandish (and satisfying, if you've got a mind like mine). The new version of "I Think We're Alone Now" bears strong tonal similarities to the first Nine Inch Nails album (no shit, the beat is a fairly beefy synth throb and the guitars are much more intense than anything on a Tiffany album has a right to be) and perhaps goes some way to explaining what the ass this thing is doing on Cleopatra (the massive turf-out of the world economy explains the rest... Cleopatra seems to have abandoned its roots and become an all-purpose reissue factory, which probably pays much better than putting out Leaether Strip albums ever did). "The Beat Goes On" turns the Sonny & Cher chestnut into a Big Audio Dynamite-esque slice of chirpily awkward sample madness. Oh, and then there's a Smiths cover.
"Panic (Hang The DJ)", aside from getting the title wrong (the original version did not add a parenthetical) is reworked as a sensuous, sinewy techno dancefloor behemoth. This, given that the lyrics were intended as a venomous condemnation of England's then-burgeoning Rave Culture, is perhaps more than just a bit ironic.
To sum up: 1980's diva joins forces with a former goth-industrial label to release an album of covers (in some cases COVERS OF COVERS) remade to sound like music from the 1990's (or, occasionally, like music from LATER in the '80's). Said Diva, an American, manages to completely invert the message of an iconic song by a likewise iconic English band. Her cover of Sonny and Cher's ode to the eternal qualities of Pop (itself NOT from the '80's) is rendered in a style that is (amazingly) both futurist and anachronistically retro. The cover art features a picture of her from the past that is LESS FLATTERING than what she currently looks like, and seems to have been made either with an early generation of photoshop or particularly inexpensive mall photo booth.
I hope it doesn't seem like I'm making fun of this album, because I'm not. I love it. The insane variety of semiotic signals it sends out give it a depth and richness that most artists are purely incapable of creating. If Tiffany had made a concept album about the vagaries of fame, it would not be able to convey these same ideas with one half the freshness, charm, and fun of I think we're alone now - '80s Hits and more. Tiffany's distance from the Pop Zeitgeist gives her covers the quality of translations... by approaching them with a semiotic gloss that differs not just from the original conceptions but from the current set of acceptable pop signifiers, she manages to reveal hidden depths in the material and in herself.
Here's my favorites, so you can play along at home.
Postscript - Tiffany is currently working on a Country Album. My cup runneth over.
More noisy garage punk amazingness, this time from Australian's own The UV Race. We're talking a COMPLETE mess here, as in glorious. Atonal, shuddering squalls of bratty, sneering pop disgust. Huggy Bear on quaaludes. Art rock that sounds like it's being made with (or by) Actual Rocks. This is pop music that makes a point of Not Giving A Fuck about pop music... or Punk Rock so giddy and youthful it simply cannot manage to look/act cool for even a second (except for smirking dude on the right side of the photo, but, y'know... guitar players. What can you do?).
Still not sold (what's WRONG with you)? Okay, here's a fast one and a slow one off the Knife Fight EP. "Frustration" (the slow one) does the same trick as "Boredom" by the Buzzcocks, both embodying and transcending its subject matter, albeit in a much more fuzzed-out, detuned Baby Sonic Youth way. "I Hate You" (the fast one, duh) clatters along on pantomime contempt, until all the noise drops away at the one minute mark to reveal the sax bleats that have been subliminally giving the song its hook. FUCK, I wish I'd thought of doing that.
Knife Fight has two more amazing songs on it, and is still probably available at yr local Punk Rock Emporium. The real news, however, is that th' Race have just put out a full-length called Homo which is SUBSTANTIALLY BETTER than the EP. Which you'd better believe took some goddamn doing. Go grab it so's it can dominate any top ten lists you plan on making this year.
Here are Tyvek. They represent that elusive "Hope For The Future" thing that us Jaded Rock Creeps are all the time chasing. They are that rarest of all creatures, a Garage Punk band that actually has two ideas to rub together (did I seriously just write that? Christ, what a prick. We're in a goddamn Garage Golden Age, there's so much rad shit going on! There's amazing stuff coming out by Black Time and The UV Race and Human Eye and Hygiene and TV Ghost and).
So what's the deal? Well, Tyvek have done two albums so far, both great. The first (self-titled) one is "shambolic" in that it sounds like the Velvets and Swell Maps but tougher, and catchier, and very noisy and wasted. There's lots of meandering atonal interludes between songs, which would be kind of a pain in the ass if the catchy "proper song" parts weren't SUPER compelling. Which they are, obvs. The second album is called Nothing Fits and it's on In The Red Records, who seem determined to sign at least seventy-five percent of the Bands That I Like, so that's an early Christmas Tip for you goofs. Nothing Fits is a goddamn BEAST of an album. It's like the first album, but boiled down into a thick paste. All the noisy bits have been stuffed INTO the songs, and all the tunes and energy and wit are ultra-concentrated. Are Tyvek still "experimental"? Yes, but only if said experiment can be completed within the confines of a minute-and-a-half punk barnstormer. Fucking amazing.
This is how you do it, kids. Smart, but not pretentious. Tough, but not neanderthal. And changing styles from album to album without losing yr identity is one HELL of a good look. I'm super excited for the next album.
Here's four Tyvek songs for you: "Burning Building" (the hands down best song on the first album), "Frustration Rock" (one of a gang of contenders for second place on the debut, beating out its pals because of some sharp lyrics and some mid-song counting, which I am a sucker for), "Underwater 1" (my favorite off Nothing Fits), and "Potato" (also off Nothing, and yes it really is about cooking potatoes. Mostly.). All four are total rockers. What kind of joint do you think I'm running here?
It seems like only yesterday (it WAS yesterday, is why) that I was walking around "the office" bitching about how much I hate it when hip-hop acts perform with live bands. Well. Clearly, an exception must be made.
These guys are Death Grips. The drummer is the dude from Hella. They're probably my favorite thing as of Right Now (1:38 PST, July 17 2011) and they can Do No Wrong. You should probs hurry over to their website, which hosts a ton of amazing videos and a free download of their mixtape, Exmilitary.
What will you be getting? Oh, I'm so glad you asked.
You'll be getting scorched earth lyricism ("Secret order, elitist horde of creeping fire, seizing power, riders of the lupus hour") that still manages to be uplifting and energizing (in a bleak, desperately fucked way). You'll be getting totally dusted beats and giant walls of avant-noise. And you'll be getting some SERIOUSLY intense performances... like Wu-Tang Clan turned up five notches or M.O.P. turned down two. Some lesser scribe said Exmilitary was like getting yelled at by a hobo for forty-five minutes, and I think that was supposed to be some kind of insult. Whatever, square.
This is a rich, deep album. Despite the overall theme of tooth-grinding intensity, there's a surprising amount of tonal variation in the songs. Sure, it's mostly neck-snapping Break Shit Music, but Death Grips also tackle moments of existential contemplation, wild joy, and even bravery and dignity. Also, these dudes (and lady) are exactly the kind of Pop Music Obsessives I want making beats. Sampling Black Flag and The Doors and The Crazy World of Arthur Brown? Building a whole song out of Link Wray's "Rumble"? Fuck yes please and thank you.
If you think you can live without an album that references both EPMD and The Minutemen, you are clearly the Greatest Fool In The World, and I can do nothing for you. The only sane response to Exmilitary is to send Death Grips all yr money and begin holding yr breath for the proper album release. I want a West Coast tour ASAP.
Full disclosure: it is entirely possible that the back of my head features fairly prominently in the above video. While I understand that giving a glowing write-up to my pals in Rib Cages could be seen by some as a shameless fame-grab, I assure you that it is nothing of the sort. Yes, the back of my head BADLY wants to be famous. No, that is not my motivation for writing this piece.
Instead, I write to address an imbalance that has been giving me the fits lately. To wit: if the media is to be believed, my city's (Portland, Oregon) music scene is full of fucking WIMPS. The Decemberists. The Shins. Stephen "Pencil Neck" Malkmus. Modest FUCKING Mouse. This is to say nothing of the legions of soundalikes (And And And, my Pavement records and I are looking at YOU), folk-rock candyasses (Shaky Hands, you PUSSIES) and out-and-out ABOMINATIONS (Sallie Ford And The Sound Outside).
But! This perception is FALSE, I tell you! Rock and/or Roll live and breathe in Portland, despite what those demented scribblers of the Music Press would have you believe. Rock (and/or) Roll of the sort embodied by RIB CAGES.
What we're dealing with here is yr basic garage-rock with a few crucial innovations. One! The guitar (played by "Nation") is an electric twelve-string, so every chord is turned into a blizzard of noise and chaos. Two! The rhythm section ("K-SE" and the more reasonably-named "Josh") play like they are fucking POSSESSED, with the end result that Three! the tempos never dip below "blistering". Which, for those of you who remember this earlier lesson, goes a hell of a long way to making your band "awesome."
My gift to you today is the only Rib Cages 7-inch that made it out before the band's (temporary?) dissolution (if any of my readers are in the Chicago Metro area, please tell K-SE to get his ass back here so his band can start demolishing clubs again). Four songs. Seven minutes (not even). Flawless victory. You should buy a copy from 'em so yr not a total deadbeat.
In related news, The Best Show on WFMU recently played "Lock Horns" from this very 7-inch. I think this is the best thing that has ever happened to anyone I know, ever, and YES that includes your stupid marriage/kid/promotion/Nobel Prize. This is the goddamn Best Show we're talking about. Congrats, boys. I'm super jealous.
Picture it: Olympia, 1998. The Make-Up are in town to do their post-situationist Fake Soul puppet show and I am the kind of guy who WILL NOT MISS THAT PUPPET SHOW. There is an opening act, because that is how These Things Go. The opening act is (somewhat unfortunately) called The Starlite Desperation. They are a shamelessly recidivist blues-inflected rock band. They have a singer named Dante who has really high cheekbones and wears his silk shirt with the top three buttons unbuttoned. They rock effortlessly and don't give a fart about politics. While Ian from the Make-Up disguises his sexual come-ons with a massive dose of Critical Theory, The Starlite Desperation opt for sped-up Gun Club riffs and a whole lot of strutting and pouting. It is not a very good disguise. Olympia Washington realizes that The Starlite Desperation are trying to fuck her. Olympia Washington is displeased. In the extreme.
I, fool that I am, love the shit out of The Starlite Desperation. I dance Right Up Front By The Stage. I Give It Up. And then I wonder why none of the vagina-having population of Olympia will talk to me. Perhaps I have an incomplete understanding of Critical Theory.
So, here we are in 2011, and is anybody still listening to their Make-Up albums anymore? I think not. Instead, please give this highlight reel from The Starlite Desperation a try. Included are two jams each from their first two albums (Show You What A Baby Won't and Go Kill Mice) and the Hot For Preacher seven inch. While it's totally inspiring and politically awesome that most punk bands just formed yesterday and can barely hold their instruments AS A MATTER OF PRINCIPLE, th' Desperation sure make a valid case for Knowing How To Fucking Play. Witness the effortless drum/guitar dialogue on "What I Want" and the EPIC (eight minutes plus) "Go Kill Mice". Dig how quickly "New Year's Bathroom Magic" goes from pretentious amateurism to manic perfection (hint: 52 seconds). Consider that "Messed Up Head" was released by the same label that dumped The Locust on an unsuspecting public, and marvel at how much better The Starlite Desperation have aged than their wimp-violence candy-ass sci-fi meth head contemporaries.
And. Then. Bask in the utter perfection that is the Hot For Preacher seven inch. Produced by the legendary (ex-Gun Club, Ex-Bad Seed) Kid Congo Powers, this is one of the finest Rock Singles Of. All. Time. Subliminal screams. Echo and swagger. Vocal hysteria. Feedback. And, at two minutes twelve, some of the BIGGEST GODDAMN GUITARS it will ever be your pleasure to meet.
And the b-side ain't too shabby, either.
So. Blues-rock. Without irony. Overt sexuality. Again, without irony. We used to call this rock n' roll, and we used to not think so goddamn much.
Well, that was painful. Clearly All Saints, The Spice Girls, and the sainted Aqua were the most talented artists of 1998. And now, to wash away the nightmares... Australia's Useless Children with their best song ever! It's "People Come, People Go" off their 2009 EP and it sounds like if the Birthday Party added a girl singer and were signed to AmRep. In other words, it's fucking PERFECT.
