The Last Drop

Faithless, No Roots - Tis the season for sharing great music. Thus, in honor of my good friend Matt, I had to listen to his favorite group. It doesn’t hurt that I happen to enjoy Faithless as well. Not a tough sell and not a tough listen. Their consistent aesthetic of reflectionary (yeah, that’s a word) dance music is intriguing and generally pleasant to listen to. No Roots finds a comfortable middle ground between politics and relationships that gently leans left while accommodating all listeners. Oh yeah, Dido is on this one too. So everyone will listen. Personally, the non-Dido music has always held my affection for Faithless. Don’t get me wrong – Dido has a place and time. Lord knows we all need breathy female singers with wanton need seeping from their vocal chords (I think I just heard another Ipod commercial counting off in the distance…). I just prefer the straight up buddhist ramblings. It’s soothing in a revolutionary way. Even though No Roots isn’t their latest effort it is still a relevant landmark in their collection and well worth the listen.

The Notwist, Neon Golden – I am so blessed to have a poor memory. In the early days of my music expansion, I frequented the most lovely record shop in all of Atlanta (as voted by innumerable Atlanta journals). Occasionally, a sense of “missed opportunity” would fall over me and I would buy a stack of CDs to make up for lost listens in the past month. This would be a great opportunity for Mr. Olson to vouch for me in a comment somewhere… Since I was buying by the stack, I often listened to an album just once to decide whether I liked it. The Notwist fell into this camp and sadly I abused them with only one listen and a fatal no go. That is until last Sunday when I exercised my “this is why I carry all of my music with me at all times” rule and scrolled to an album title I couldn’t remember. Turns out I was too young to appreciate fine music. Something about fermentation and oak barrels that I couldn’t quite grasp until now. The album is beautiful. Really. I was a bit shocked and saddened that I hadn’t liked it on first listen. I think I’m falling for strings this winter. Or maybe grand orchestration. Winter does allow for more complex listening since I’m hiding from brutal winds. Weather withstanding, this album is a solid mix of strings, synths and brooding lyrics that pop, crack, whinny, and sing in all the right places. It’s surprisingly lighthearted as well. Which may be the secret ingredient – strings that aren’t too self important. Seeing as Patrick Wolf is playing this weekend, I may extend him this tip.

The Pharcyde, Bizarre Ride II the Pharcyde - I have no idea what came over me to listen to this album. It’s been overcast, rainy and generally nasty – typical British weather. I usually go to hibernate and take solace in fall music to warm me up. Medium to slow tempos with an air of seriousness and melancholy. Listening to the Pharcyde’s first album is burst of Californian smog-filled sunshine (sans the wildfires) that is almost too bright for my ears. Almost. The period in early ’90s hip hop that melded jazz and soul with witty insights (De La Soul, Digable Planets, A Tribe Called Quest, etc.) seems so fresh sounding now. A lot of hip hop production now is so slick and precise that the overall point of hip hop – a unique perspective through witty and often catchy flows – gets lost. Thank you 50 cent. Bizarre Ride exemplifies the beauty of this genre while adding a heavy dose of silly to the equation. Three guys messing around and telling “Yo Mama” jokes never sounded so good. “Passing Me By” was the lone radio hit, but the album is riddled with songs that are catchy yet poignant. It also doesn’t hurt that The Pharcyde has some of the most distinct voices in hip hop – instead of the uber-aggressive flows of most South Central L.A. residents, Pharcyde utilizes a more everyman sound with a slight bent towards nasally whines. It all adds to this energy of possibility – three guys that are smarter than they let on rapping about whatever pleases them. Which pleases me. The Pharcyde – more satisfying than chicken noodle soup or hot chocolate on a rainy day. And a lot less calories.

Patrick Wolf, The Magic Position – I first heard of Mr. Wolf via Amy Winehouse. He opened for her at The Varsity last March. At the time, I wasn’t very impressed – he came dressed in a boy scout shirt and lederhosen. I’m all for artful expression, but he seemed more focused on the physical interpretation of his music vs. actually making music. His set was rather short, a bit dramatic (as only a boyscout in lederhosen can be) and the only standout track was (aptly) “The Magic Position”. Now living in London and being thoroughly overpowered by the stature of The Libertines in British pop music, I felt too self conscious to not give Patrick a second chance. Listening to the full album gives the songs much more shape and helps explain the eccentric exterior.

Patrick enjoys creating miniature symphonies about love, blending strings, horns and stiff electronic rhythms. Furthermore, his voice adds to the theater of each song, raising the stakes to semi-epic proportions. Ah, what love and heartache will bring out of you?! For Patrick, even the happy songs have a hint of sadness. Which actually sounds good. “Magic Position” and “(Let’s Go) Get Lost” succeed because the theme is happy but the sound is bittersweet. It adds a bit of a realist edge to his dramatic tendencies. His sad songs work too, but easily can shift into exaggeration with overindulgent lyrics and too many strings. Patrick is at his best when he cuts out all of the added instrumentation and simply sings with the piano. “Augustine” typifies his ability to simplify and sing touching lyrics. I wish there was more of this on The Magic Position, but the album is enjoyable as is. I just need to be in the mood for arm chair operas.

Cam’ron, Purple Haze – In my continuing trend of being behind on critically acclaimed hip hop, I delve back even further. 2005′s Purple Haze is Cam’ron’s supposed farewell opus on Roc-a-fella records, prior to Jay Z’s hostile takeover (oh Damon Dash, what are you up to these days) and subsequent exclusion of the Diplomat Set. Could Harlem survive? Was Brooklyn poised and strong enough to hold the hip hop crown? Based off of Purple Haze, uptown has still got it.

Given my previous reaction towards coke infused hip hop, I was expecting very little from Cam’ron. Furthermore, his pension for flashy colored clothing spoke towards a potential model of image over substance that was fast making me yawn. Yet, during my midday amble around Hoxton, I found myself happily bouncing to the brightness of the beats and charmed by his word play. Less grime and dark dealings, more playful and light insight. Even the blatant misogyny had me saying, “Cam, you so crazy! ” A key to this winning formula is the well timed, but sparse use of guest performers. Most rappers that belong to a crew use their albums as a base platform to sell their crew vs. creating a cohesive sound (50 Cent, Nelly, T.I., etc.). And the crew is NEVER as good as the lead artist (ex Wu Tang) leaving you saddled with a few good songs and a bunch full of no names that sound like no names. Much of this leads to the issue of people illegally downloading to save time and money on the diluted album. But I digress. Cam’ron has every reason to promote the hell out of the Diplomat Set (namely 22 reasons), but keeps the collaborations few, far between, and tight. Much care was taken into finding the best verses for each guest appearance and editing them to ensure a cohesive sound. The song featuring Kanye relegates Mr. West to the chorus only and it works. Very well. I can easily listen to the album on repeat because I don’t have to sift through the myriad of nonsense generally associated with contemporary hip hop albums. There are a few skits (he did give you 22 tracks), but I find them charming if not generally amusing.

It is a shame that Purple Haze fell into so much promotional trouble to stunt it’s sales growth. Given the premium production quality and broad appeal, this should have been his best selling record to date. Instead, it has fallen through the cracks and even I must wait 2 years post release to get a taste.

N.E.R.D., In Search Of… – Ahhh…2002 era Pharell. Remember when we all thought that a hip hop producer could actually have potential in exploring a different genre? He even had an Asian kid (who turned out to be the mastermind) to add some validation to his rock n roll loving street cred. There was also another black guy, but he didn’t really add anything but dead weight. Anyway, we all were a little intrigued with what he could come up with since he had such “diverse influences” and wanted to share that love affair with the world. Sadly, how did a mixture of Steely Dan, AC/DC and Coltrane turn into 1 synth effect, girls with big booties, and your local crack dealer. Doesn’t seem like he ventured too far from his bread and butter. He even managed to make the Clipse sound weak. Sadness. For some reason, I think I wouldn’t have minded this album if Chad had been more of influence. Skateboard P is just too repetitive and frankly non-adventurous. He had all of the space and time to create a legitimate album yet settled for dated guitar-tinged producer rap. Where’s Puffy when you need him?

The National, Alligator - I really wanted to hate this album. As with most ultra-hyped indie artists that create enough buzz to deafen their audience, I am always suspicious of group mentality. If enough people love you and tell all their friends to love you, is it really love or just peer pressure? I try not to succumb to peer pressure (thank you D.A.R.E) unless it is truly worthwhile. While I see the merits of this album and The National as a whole, I’m still not sold on their vast appeal and worship. At first, I was just surprised that I didn’t hate their sound off the bat. It’s a lot quieter than I imagined (they did name it Alligator) and the punch lies heavily in their lyrics than in the music. There are a few moments of musical intensity that remind me a lot of Arcade Fire (“Abel” comes to mind), but much of what their sound relies on is brooding, nonchalance juxtaposed to dense (in a good way) lyrics. ” Daughters of the Soho Riots” proved my favorite track in that the music and lyrics were equally matched. However, the vast majority of the album fell into a dead space of “eh” since the blanket stoicism of the lead vocals never grabbed me. This seems to be a growing trend with contemporary indie musicians – lyrics shall overcome all. Sometimes, I just wish people would actually sing. I also struggled with the rock with strings format. Although it is not overused and adds to the overall feel of moodiness, it’s just not my thing. Cellos are now necessary in any rock band with “feeling”. Again, I just don’t buy it. I can’t say that this is a poor album, but I can’t give it the blind praise that everyone else has.

2 days ago, I found 8 Gigs of music on my computer that I had never listened to after downloading. I’ve been known to get caught up in multitasking when downloading, but this was a bit extreme. At any rate, I am taking a dedicated approach to listening to all of these albums and hopefully finding some gems

Stockpile, Editors:

Editors, The Backroom and Cuttings Bonus CD – I was really hoping to start the massive listening parade with a strong entry. Sadly, the Editors were no such help. It was one bad song after another for a seemingly endless album (I mistakenly listened to The Backroom and the bonus CD Cuttings back to back). Granted, this was their first full length release back in 2005. I would usually give some forgiveness based on youthful inexperience, but the mistakes were too glaring to overlook. Every chorus was one select phrase from the trite and un-inventive verse repeated ad nauseum in a mock Interpol emo parody. I guess the real genius behind this work is that they could apply this formula 17 times and not get bored – aloof, sparse lead guitar, bland drumming, flat singing sung loudly to make up for skill, set against repetitive lyrics. In “Bullets”, lead singer Thomas Smith repeats, “You don’t need this disease/You don’t” 8 times to make up the chorus. 4 times. Even 50 cent knew to call it quits after getting shot 9 times. Once. By the end of the CD, I had to put on old Jamiroquai just to lift my spirits. Even though the Editors have a new release available, this may be the last time I give the Editors my time.