Mixtape: July 2006

What America Means to Us:
The Modern Pea Pod's July 2006 Mixtape

Let's face it. If today's flag-waving, self-appointed protectors of American values and principles were to select one group of pop culture writers to represent all that is good about our fair nation, the Modern Pea Pod wouldn't be it. There are bisexuals in our midst, as well as Jews, atheists, socialists, English majors, and one clear product of a miscegenous union. Hell, a few of us have even partaken of the Demon Weed, thus making us law-breakers and hippies. As for me, I read Naked Lunch in high school; my chances of becoming a respected citizen and a patriot are pretty much next to nothing.

But the thing is, just because those "Freedom Nazis" don't like us doesn't mean that we don't like America. And we do. Granted, we might not always like what America does. We might disapprove of some of its choices, or choose not to get involved in its more dubious hobbies. And sometimes, the feeling's mutual; it was much too polite to say so in person, but I heard through the grapevine that America was deeply offended by our May mixtape. See, a relationship with America is a little like any other relationship: off and on, sometimes one-sided, occasionally even abusive. But no matter what happens, deep down, we're always there for each other, and the month of July is traditionally the time when we as a nation recognize that fact. So whether you're on America's good side right now or in the doghouse - did it catch you reading Naked Lunch again? - take some time out, like we did, and think about what America means to you. At the very least, you've got to admit, it's great to live in a country where you can post a vandalized picture of the president with "Faggot" written across his forehead and not get thrown in the gulag. Yes, this First Amendment thing is pretty fuckin' awesome.

God Bless America,
Zach Hoskins
The Man Who Taught His Asshole to Talk

Side A

0:05 - Patrick Juvet: "I Love America" (5:45)
What better way to kick off our musical celebration of the United States than with Patrick Juvet's 'I Love America'...a musical celebration of the United States? And while those words might be setting off alarm bells in you music snobs' heads, fear not, says Jon Cameron. Not all pop patriotism is 'Living in America' or 'God Bless the U.S.A.': "People all over the world love the USA. Kids in the Middle East laugh at episodes of The Simpsons while Japanese teenagers ape the latest American couture; but more than anybody, Americans love America. And in the music business, one of the easiest ways to make a hit song is to tap that well of patriotism, the one that makes your neighbors spring for all of those American flag doormats and pinwheels in their yard (or, on a darker note, Toby Keith albums). So I guess it makes sense that Juvet's "I Love America" was such a hit: number one on the pop charts in 15 countries, including the good ol' USA itself, of course. Juvet, a Swiss man turned German model turned Parisian disco sensation, managed to turn the land of opportunity toward his own opportunity to score a megahit before his career imploded on drugs and sex in the early '80s. Which is, after all, a pretty American thing to do."
(Available on Soulseek)

5:50 - The Mothers of Invention: "Hungry Freaks, Daddy" (3:28)
But for every blissful celebration of America, there's another song out there that speaks of frustration with the American Dream; a transmission from the 'left-behinds of the Great Society.' Zach Hoskins introduces one such song, by one of the most (in)famous 'freaks' in pop culture history: "Before Frank Zappa became a distinguished modern composer, a jazzbo, a maker of dick jokes, a political firebrand, and all of the other various guises his thirty-year career supported, he was first and foremost a very brilliant - and very angry - satirist. And while without a doubt his greatest achievement in the satire field was 1968's We're Only In It for the Money, it's 'Hungry Freaks, Daddy' (the first track off his Mothers of Invention's first album) that set the tone for the rest of the decade. It's a song, as Freak Out! was an album, about the encroachment of outcasts, noncomformists and long-haired, dirty 'freaks' on our precious bourgeois American values, and it's delicious, with a nose-thumbing kazoo hook no self-conscious folkie would have ever had the balls to play. Zappa might have gotten more sophisticated - and, dare I say it, more respectable - since these chaotic late-'60s formative years. But in my mind, at least, he never got better."
(Available on Freak Out!)

9:18 - Gary Glitter: "Rock 'n Roll, Pt. 2" (3:01)
Sometime in the 20th century, a curious thing happened. Europe, formerly the center of all art and culture for the Western world, began to lose ground in terms of cultural dominance; and America, which had functioned on predominantly received European ideas since its days as a British colony, transformed itself into the world's chief exporter of arts and entertainment. Overseas audiences became enthralled with glitzy Hollywood films, American fashions - and, most of all, the thrilling new sounds of rock'n'roll. But despite the United States' still-unchallenged status as global cultural superpower (for better or for worse), there are times when the international exchange goes both ways.

Megan Giddings recounts one such story: the story of a preteen Ted from Oxfordshire, England who falls in love with the sounds of Gene Vincent, Eddie Cochran and Elvis Presley...then, twenty years later, pens a nostalgic ode to those formative years in the glam rock style he pioneered, only for the instrumental flip-side to become a stadium hit in - you guessed it - the original home of rock'n'roll: "You know, there are many, many, many better Gary Glitter songs. I mean, just listen to 'Do You Wanna Touch Me' or 'Sidewalk Sinner' and you'll know exactly what I mean (though you should probably leave out the vastly disturbing 'What Your Mama Don't See, Your Mama Don't Know.') Still, 'Rock 'n Roll, Pt. 2' demonstrates the beauty of American poetic justice. While Glitter himself has become a symbol of shocking and disapproved sexual deviancy, you can still walk into almost every American sporting event and see some of the most renowned members of society skating, shooting baskets, and hitting a baseball to Glitter. America may not be the land of forgiveness, but it is still the land of opportunity."
(Available on Rock and Roll: Gary Glitter's Greatest Hits)

12:19 - James Brown: "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag, Pt. 1" (2:06)
Zach: "For a country that's only 230 years old this year, America boasts an unprecedented number of musical styles to call its own: everything from blues and jazz to rock, country, soul, punk, hip-hop and electronica. But it isn't often - punk, hip-hop and electronica aside - when one gets to hear a purely American form of music in the making, virtually as it happens. James Brown's 1965 hit 'Papa's Got a Brand New Bag' is one of those precious moments. It's clear from the opening blast of horns that this is different from 'Please, Please, Please,' from 'Think,' from virtually everything that had come before in Brown's already distinguished R&B career: this is a new kind of music in the making, a subtle infusion of jazz rhythm and groove into soulful grit, made all the more powerful by its simplicity. It may sound tentative in light of Mr. Dynamite's later work - songs like 'Get on the Good Foot' and 'Give It Up or Turnit a Loose' would move light years beyond the foundations established here - but 'Brand New Bag' will forever stand as a living document of the birth of Funk. 'Cold Sweat,' Bootsy Collins, P. Funk and a thousand hip-hop samples stood in the wings. A brand new bag, indeed."
(Available on 20 All-Time Greatest Hits!)

14:25 - Cyndi Lauper: "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" (3:50)
Aaron Kahn: "Unquestionably Cyndi Lauper's most famous song, 'Girls Just Want to Have Fun' also represents a lot about the mentality of our fine nation. It is a track praising all that is youthful and innocent. 'My father yells: "whatcha wanna do with your life?" / "Oh, daddy, dear / you know you're still number one / but girls just wanna have fun."' Much like her bold statement that 'everybody bops,' Lauper knows that this is a universal message, not one specifically related to young ladies. We don't want to think about what the future may or may not hold. That's depressing. Right now, all we want is to enjoy the glories of being young. All American kids feel like this at some point or another, and it's a sentiment reflected in our youth-obsessed mass media and pop culture. Today this is what there is, and tomorrow it will be something different, but let's not worry about that right now... let's go have some fuh-un."
(Available on She's So Unusual)

18:15 - Del tha Funkee Homosapien: "Del's Nightmare" (5:19)
Not all Americans, however, get to live quite the same charmed life as Ms. Lauper. It's a brutal reality of American history that the Land of Equality isn't quite as equal as it wants us to think, and Zach has chosen a track which serves as a particularly chilling reminder: "In a nation as haunted by the spectre of African American slavery as the United States, the question of racism will probably never truly be solved. Thus Del tha Funkee Homosapien's 'Del's Nightmare,' from his now out of print, online-only 1998 release Future Development, shocks even when, logically, it shouldn't. In unsparing, vitriolic language, Del opens the wounds of the black experience and shows how deep they remain, drawing troubling parallels between pre-Emancipation slavemasters and the modern-day whites in the halls of power, from the church to the recording industry. It's far from an easy listen; defensive types will probably even play the reverse-racism card upon hearing lyrics like, 'Now it's '96 and white people say, "Forget it / it's all in the past," and some even regret it / 'cause they think we'll set it / Now my mission's to get federal / so I can raise a black family without you devils.' But put yourself in the slaves' shoes for a moment, and maybe you'll understand where this rage comes from. After all, on the plantation fields, 'didn't nobody use the phrase, "It's all good" / Would you?'"
(Available on Soulseek)

23:34 - Kanye West: "Jesus Walks" (3:13)
It would be a mistake to attempt any summation of what America means without at least mentioning the massive resurgence of mainstream religion (read: Christianity) which has shaken our country over the last few years, sparking everything from the much-ballyhooed "Culture Wars" to one funky-ass Kanye West single. Megan addresses this phenomenon, and why we might just want Jesus to walk with us after all: "Maybe it would be easier to just choose a Christian rock song, but this track by Kanye West epitomizes the current American interest in spirituality. There's both a true national need for something higher (Thanks a lot, George! I've been a doubting Catholic for 21 years, and you've brought me closer to the church more than anyone else could), as well as a political need. It certainly seems as if politicians have recognized this heightened piousness in the American people, but they never seem to realize that perhaps it's because of their actions that a lot more Americans feel like they need something else. Anyway...let's just say that if things keep going the way they are, I'll be in the club too, throwing my hands in the air and yelling 'Jesus Walks' right along with Kanye."
(Available on The College Dropout)

26:47 - Lou Reed: "I'm So Free" (3:09)
Even more fundamentally, an all-American mixtape would be truly remiss without an ode to that most American, most nebulous of values: freedom. Zach makes a case for all Americans' right to freedom...even fuckin' faggot junkies like Lou Reed: "'Freedom' is one of those words that gets bandied around a lot in quasi-political discussions about America. But what does 'freedom' really mean? For many, it's freedom of (or from) religion. For others, it's the freedom to bear arms. And for Lou Reed circa 1972, it was the freedom to mainline heroin, wear Kabuki makeup, make out with David Bowie, and fall in love with transvestites named Rachel. As far as I'm concerned, those freedoms are just as important as any of the above...and, 'I'm So Free' has the added bonus of being a paean to independence that would make a room full of NRA members blush."
(Available on Transformer)

29:56 - Ted Nugent & The Amboy Dukes: "Great White Buffalo" (5:00)
Zach: "What's more American than a rock'n'roller who shoots guns, votes Republican and brings kids onstage to read the Pledge of Allegiance? Simple: a rock'n'roller who does all of those things, and writes songs about the persecution of the Native Americans and the endangerment of the American bison. Love him or hate him, the Motor City Madman was rapidly approaching his peak when he wrote 'Great White Buffalo' in 1974 - it still stands as one of his all-time greatest riffs, and it's not like there aren't plenty to choose from. Besides, now that the Nuge is better known for his conservative punditry than for his wango-tango guitar rock, this is probably the last time we'll ever get to hear him complain about white people."
(Available on Decades of Destruction)

34:56 - Baby Washington: "What Becomes of the Brokenhearted" (3:09)
Megan: "It seems to be an entirely American trait to be brokenhearted. A good deal of old movies show Americans mourning lost love while staring out of windows, lying on beds, writing wistful journal entries, or standing outside of an ex's house with a boombox. But there's this weird ideal that other countries are far less despondent than we are; Italians are constantly stabbing each other over a broken heart, the English have a stiff drink and a talent for sublimation, and of course, the French were just using you for money and cigarettes, you silly bitch. But America? We're pussies. We are the home of Bright Eyes, after all."
(Available on Atlantic Unearthed: Soul Sisters)

38:05 - Bob Dylan: "Bob Dylan's 115th Dream" (6:32)
Zach: "From his early days as an acoustic-toting folkie in the tradition of Woody Guthrie and Ramblin' Jack Elliott, Bob Dylan was one of those rarest of artists: a songwriter and interpreter who tapped directly into the mainline of the American experience, joining those hallowed ranks inhabited by the likes of Walt Whitman and Carl Sandburg, Muddy Waters and Blind Willie McTell. By the time of 1965's Bringing It All Back Home, however, he was coloring his folk art with more than a dash of modernist irony, and so 'Bob Dylan's 115th Dream' becomes a sort of surreal odyssey through the fun-house mirror image of America. Referencing everything from the Mayflower to Moby Dick, Dylan stumbles haplessly between confrontations with authority figures, the quintessential American outsider embodied as a sort of drug-addled version of Chaplin's put-upon Tramp. And when the nightmare is over, he runs into Christopher Columbus himself - a historical figure for whom he has only two words: 'Good Luck.'"
(Available on Bringing It All Back Home)

Final Runtime: 44:37

Side B

0:05 - Dropkick Murphys: "The New American Way" (3:32)
Even 30 years after the fact, debates still rage over whether punk rock originated in America, or across the Atlantic in the United Kingdom. Surely we all have our opinons; but what can't be denied is that, for a while at least, punk was the most effective means for our nation's youth to express another musical form which we may or may not have invented: the message song. Aaron gives us one of the more recent examples of American protest punk, via a 2001 track by the Dropkick Murphys: "A lot of us are turning around day after day and wondering what is happening to our country, and I think most of realize that the only hope for change is in the youth. Yet, as Boston Celt-Punk rockers point out in 'The New American Way,' the youth has been corrupted by the system, and put into a state of complacency. 'I know I'll win my battles,' sings vocalist Al Barr, 'But I'm afraid we'll lose the war.' Indeed, it seems that time is running out."
(Available on Sing Loud, Sing Proud)

3:37 - Fischerspooner: "Emerge" (4:48)
Megan: "Look at the vapidity of American culture at the moment: Queen Paris sits on her throne of tabloids and extensions, more people know about Tom Cruise's recent eccentricities than know that there were no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, and the phrase, 'I'm Rick James, Bitch!' has become a form of meaningful conversation. Hello America! And Fischerspooner's 'Emerge' captures that exact feeling. It's a catchy song which reminds all of us that we can just sit in the tediousness of our current existence; there is no need to be more than nothing anymore. In fact, the most acceptable thing you can be today, is nothing. Thanks a lot, Paris."
(Available on #1)

8:25 - Joni Mitchell: "Carey" (3:04)
David Koenig: "If America were a person, he would obviously be male, and he would carry an awesome cane. Joni Mitchell would fall under his charming spell, but she could never date him because he wouldn't know how to change his values in order to accommodate hers. Or maybe he wouldn't change his values for the simple reason that they are way better than Joni Mitchell's values. Joni would wonder. She would talk about him to her boyfriend, and the boyfriend would get jealous. She would never cheat with America, but she'd like to think that she could if she wanted to. She'd be wrong. America, you're a mean old daddy but you're out of sight."
(Available on Blue)

11:29 - The White Stripes: "The Hardest Button to Button" (3:32)
One of Jack White's many uneasy portraits of domestic life in the middle-of-the-road Midwest, the family with "a little place to fight now" depicted in "The Hardest Button to Button" is about as American as they come. But, says Megan, that's not the only reason why we've chosen this song to represent the USA: "The best reason to include this? Just listen to how Jack White says 'button.' If there is any other true, musical encapsulation of the Southeastern Michigan accent it's that 'button.' And if that doesn't say America to you, then go back to the East Coast, you snob."
(Available on Elephant)

15:01 - The Monks: "Monk Time" (2:46)
Zach: "Five guys - named Dave, Gary, Larry, Eddie and Roger - meet in the service, while stationed in Germany at the height of the Cold War. They start a band, and call themselves the Monks. They shave the tops of their heads, wear actual monk's robes onstage, and write primitive songs meant to go down rough and ready for American and German audiences alike. Dave plucks on an electric banjo, and Gary shouts things like 'We don't like the Army, what Army, who cares what Army!' and 'We don't like the atomic bomb!' Forget about pretenders to the throne like Grand Funk, Bob Seger and anybody who ever named themselves after a city or state; the Monks are an American Band. After all, not even Ted Nugent ever defended his country in the military."
(Available on Black Monk Time)

17:47 - Quintron: "Place Unknown" (3:33)
It's tough to talk about America without at least touching on the ideal of the frontier, the vision of Americans as restless, fearless explorers eager to exercize their manifest destiny. And, says Megan, what better way to explore the American wanderlust than with a kickass organ solo by New Orleans' Mr. Quintron?: "America used to be the New World. Even after Columbus landed, it wasn't really until Lewis and Clark started traveling around with that Sacagawea Bitch that anyone had a real, rational idea of what composed all of our vast wonderland. And, while Quintron's fascination with unknown places devolves into some blonde pussy and tits, his song still covers that bold American fascination with travel. He takes us to space, he takes us around the world, and hey, he totally shares that pussy with us. Remember, ask not what pussy your country can share with you, but what pussy you can share with your country."
(Available on Are You Ready for an Organ Solo?)

21:20 - Pete Seeger: "Solidarity Forever" (2:54)
In most visions of the essential American character, it's the bootstrap-pulling, Protestant work ethic-upholding, ruggedly individualistic archetype that wins out. But let's not forget that some of our country's worst calamities - like, say, the Great Depression - were overcome not by bootstraps, but by social reforms, fair employment, and yes, government aid. And surely, the common man's struggle for decent labor must be counted amongst the most catastrophic, perpetual battles in American history. Better Red than dead, says Aaron: "In this rendition of the classic union anthem, we listen as Seeger takes the tune of the Battle Hymn of the Republic and sets it to Ralph Chaplin's 1915 words praising the might of the oppressed and downtrodden. This is my America. It is a classic American theme, taken from the warmongering establishment (it is the 'Battle Hymn,' after all), and placed into the hands of the masses, who then use it as a means to speak out against the system that keeps them poor and weak. It is a cry against the rich ('It is we who plowed the prairies / built the cities where they trade!'), but also a proclamation that individually, the worker is nothing, and only together can they have a hope of creating a better nation ('Solidarity forever / for the Union makes us strong'). That is what patriotism should mean: making a better country from a system that is inherently flawed. 'We can bring to birth a new world from the ashes of the old.'"
(Available on If I Had a Hammer: Songs of Hope & Struggle)

24:14 - John Cougar Mellencamp: "Jack & Diane" (4:16)
Still, let's be honest with ourselves: if you were gonna ask the man on the street what America meant to him, it's highly unlikely that "dialectical materialism" would be the first words to cross his lips. Instead, most Americans prefer to consecrate their national heritage with the simple pleasures of life: things like hot dogs, apple pie, and John Cougar Mellencamp. Abby Stotz makes the case: "Just a little ditty about two American kids doin' the best they can, 'Jack & Diane' captures many of the great things about the Midwest, the geographic heart of America. With its references to sucking on the chili dogs outside the Tasty Freeze, and of course Jack being the football star, 'Jack & Diane' covers all that is good about the small town American ideal. Plus, the music is damned catchy. This chunk of modern Americana lives in all our musical memories, whether we'd like to admit it now or not."
(Available on American Fool)

28:30 - Talking Heads: "Don't Worry About the Government" (3:01)
It's one of the great paradoxes of the American idiom: we're a country, perhaps the first in recent history, formed in an act of dissent against our rulers; yet give us a wartime president or a widespread call for patriotism, and instantly we become the most pliable, naive and trusting folks you're ever likely to know. It's happened before and it will happen again; and now, Zach examines how a song written by a bug-eyed art student turned art punk thirty years ago can end up seeming almost prophetic: "When David Byrne first sang 'Don't Worry About the Government' in 1977, one had to wonder just how seriously he meant for us to take it. After all, Richard Nixon's post-Watergate disgrace and resignation was only three years old at that point; and the fast-paced dismissals of Gerald Ford and, not long afterwards, Jimmy Carter showed just how much the American people were worrying about the government. In 2006, however, the song is more relevant than ever. We're now two years into the second disastrous term by George W. Bush, and as a nation, we're still more concerned with praising the menial comforts of our homes and workplaces than rising up and letting our anger been heard; still blissfully ignorant of the world beyond our highway exits. And when Byrne beams that 'some civil servants are just like my loved ones,' it makes me think of the old line that W. was the candidate you'd 'rather have a beer with.' People, the war in Iraq is three years old. Can we please start worrying about the government now?"
(Available on Talking Heads: 77)

31:31 - Rogue Wave: "Are You on My Side" (4:18)
Perhaps, though, the reason why this nation seems so silent isn't because it doesn't want to speak. Perhaps it's just because our voices are too divided to truly be heard. Megan looks at the sad truth of America's current separation along political borders, with a little help from San Francisco's Zach Rogue: "Rogue Wave's 'Are You on My Side' captures the feeling of being caught in the middle of an argument. The lyrics are filled with non-sequiturs (the parts which are easy for the listener to immediately discern), leaving one with only the titular question: 'are you on my side?' The whole concept of the song is much what it feels like to be in America at the moment; no matter which side of the argument (liberal, conservative, and everything between and far away), it seems as if no one is telling the complete truth. And the citizens caught in between have no choice but to answer that other fateful question, 'Red or Blue?'"
(Available on Descended Like Vultures)

35:48 - Michael Jackson: "Man in the Mirror" (5:19)
But hey, don't despair! We're not going the way of the Roman Empire quite yet...and if we believe in ourselves, says David, it's a fate we might just be able to avoid entirely: "America's grand, blustery promise is not of a place where everyone is perfectly happy. It is of a place where your happiness depends largely on your contribution, as opposed to largely on chance. We are nowhere near that impossible dream, obviously, but that doesn't make the dream any less ingenious. And we are getting closer in the long term, god damn it. In this utopia, there would be a consistent relationship between the amount you shape yourself and the amount that the world around you responds. America may still ignore a lot of personal growth, but I like to think that we're doing pretty well. So if you want to be happy and you live in the States, then accept Michael Jackson as your role model and 'make that change!' I know, not very credible, but you can take the message seriously because MJ didn't actually write it. And even if you're unable to buy this kind of bright-eyed Ellis Isle talk, how patriotic is that key change at the end?"
(Available on Bad)

41:07 - KISS: "The Star Spangled Banner" (2:37)
Finally, we end our celebration - and chastisal - of everything American with a rendition of our National Anthem, by quite possibly the most American band ever: KISS! Take it away, Zach: "Aside from the obvious apple pie, there's probably nothing more quintessentially American than fireworks. And as anyone who's been to one of their concerts knows, KISS use a hell of a lot of fireworks. Besides that, they're also a band of hard-working immigrants - Gene Simmons came all the way from Israel, fer Chrissakes - who struggled their way to the top with nothing but a dream and a driving sense of entrepreneurship through rock'n'roll. So who better to send us off with the Star Spangled Banner itself, as arranged for two guitars, bass, drums...and yes, pyro? So everybody, put your hands on your hearts, remove your hats, and please rise for our National Anthem. LET'S ROCK!!!"
(Available on Alive III)

Final Runtime: 43:44

Total Runtime (Sides A & B): 88:21

Download the full-sized tape cover here.

Cursed Sleep (EP)

Bonnie "Prince" Billy
(Drag City)

I love EPs, even though there are so many reasons to hate them. EPs are generally overpriced CDs which contain only one good track. They rarely include rare songs that will never be released again (hellllllooooo box sets). A lot of recent EPs just seem to be remixes, too, and for the most part, I despise remixes of rock songs. Yet lately I've gotten two excellent EPs, which remind me of just how exciting a good EP can be. The first one was from Kanine Records' Professor Murder, and the second is the eerie night sounds of Bonnie "Prince" Billy's Cursed Sleep.

While the title track, "Cursed Sleep" - from the upcoming Then the Letting Go - is an aching melodic sojourn into the fog of an October night that should steal the entire disc, it's the day of the dead skeleton rattle of second song "The Signifying Wolf" which builds LP excitement for this reviewer. The instruments of "Wolf" capture and entrap a listener faster than a camp of bloodthirsty Aztecs, while Billy aches with more bravado than Indiana Jones could ever dream of...until his inevitable descent into howling animal madness. "The Signifying Wolf" alone is worth that $6.98. And while the languid desert of closer "God's Small Song" doesn't have quite the same fire, it is a much-needed moment of relaxation, where the listener can put away that six shooter full of premium silver bullets and try to get their hands to stop shaking.

The three tracks of Cursed Sleep make it necessary to scramble around, looking for a calendar to mark September 19th in musical notes and stars in anticipation for the release of Then the Letting Go. And if September 19th is too long of a wait, Bonnie "Prince" Billy will be playing Stormy Records in Dearborn on the 18th. Give this EP a listen, and just see if you don't make it to the show.

Official Site
Buy It on Amazon
See Also: What Bonnie "Prince Billy" should do with his Cursed Sleep.

Live: Comerica Tastefest

featuring Cat Power, the Demolition Doll Rods and others
At the New Center, Detroit - July 1, 2006

Generally speaking, I'm not much for the Fourth of July. There's the thorny issue of patriotism, for one, a pill I've found hard to swallow ever since my days as an 11-year-old Anglophile forced to recite the Pledge of Allegiance before class. More to the point, though, even the purest, simplest, most ideologically neutral aspects of Independence Day just don't appeal to me much. Fireworks are mildly amusing, but nothing to lose sleep over. Grilled hot dogs are food to tolerate, rather than enjoy. And all that sun makes me burn something awful. I guess I'm just not cut out for these summer holidays.

There's one Fourth of July tradition, however, which brightens even my long and lackluster holiday weekends, year after year. It's Detroit's Comerica Tastefest: five awesome days at the beginning of every July when the New Center ropes itself off and turns into a big, sweaty, gluttonous rock'n'roll carnival. And folks, I mean that in the best possible way. Some of my all-time best musical - and culinary - experiences will be forever associated with Tastefest; from those two days in 2003 when I fell in love with Wilco and had my eardrums assaulted by the Dirtbombs, to the following summer, which marked my first encounter with the truly bizarre Mod rapper (yes, you read that right) esQuire. It's reached the point where I can hardly imagine a Fourth of July weekend without Tastefest. And after this year - which just might have marked my best Fourth of July weekend in history - even if I could, I wouldn't want to.

(Loretta spellbinds, lack of country hair notwithstanding - photo by Zach Hoskins)

The musical portion of this particular Saturday afternoon began at Tastefest's Pure Detroit stage, with a set by Loretta Lucas & The Larkspurs. This was a band (or singer-songwriter, whatever) who I'd been meaning to check out since about 2004 or 2005; but as these things tend to go when you're busy and broke, I kept missing my chances. So I came into the set with some pretty specific expectations, fuelled by two years' worth of teasing references to sublime country balladry in the local press, and not least by the images Ms. Lucas' name suggested: naive as it might seem, I was picturing a lot of billowing dresses and big country hair, something like a certain other Loretta, or at least Tracee Miller of Blanche.

What I got instead could better be described as a Jenny Lewis who actually is the girl next door; warm, melancholy and lovely indie Americana, more "countrified" than genuinely "country," and delivered with a voice as pure and crystal clear as a mountain spring. Of course, the other association that popped into my head was a cooler Sheryl Crow, but that had more to do with Lucas' breezy rockers and slight build than with any ghastly concessions to MOR. The Larkspurs, featuring Detroit rock mainstay Eugene Strobe on guitar, were tight and tasteful, always taking the backseat to Loretta's smooth vocals - and that's as it should be, because more than anything it's the vocals that make this band. Maybe it's just my love for a good cover tune, but for me the greatest moments in Lucas' set came when she laid aside her songwriter's hat and became the spellbinding interpreter she is; her torchy version of Buffy Sainte-Marie's "Broke Down Girl" in particular left me breathless, and frankly left all of the original material in the dust.

None of which is to say that the originals weren't up to snuff - they were perfectly fine. It's just that the difference in songcraft between an up-and-comer like Lucas and a master like Sainte-Marie fell into sharp relief whenever the singer worked her magic on a borrowed tune. For whatever reason, the older songs just had that indefinable power which her self-penned numbers lacked; and if Loretta Lucas ever finds it in herself to write a song as great as "Broke Down Girl," then we will have something truly special on our hands. For now, though, the Larkspurs made for the perfect soundtrack for a drowsy Detroit afternoon, and that's plenty.

(Cat Power: she came to rock - photo by Megan Giddings)

After a somewhat listless, dehydrated walk along West Grand Boulevard - during which I took in entirely too little of Calvin Cooke's red-hot gospel pedal steel - it was on to the Main Stage, where I had been flabbergasted to discover Cat Power would be playing...with the Memphis Rhythm Band from January's The Greatest, no less! Like many music nerds with too much time on their hands, I'd been wondering how this performance would shape up: Cat Power isn't known for her stage presence, to say the least, and in fact is probably most renowned for storming offstage abruptly in fits which may or may not include tears. Not exactly a top contender for the main stage at an outdoor free festival, then.

Or at least, so you'd expect. Because in the end, it seems like the notoriously introverted singer-songwriter is having the last laugh, bounding onto the stage complete with 24-karat boxing glove bling to the ludicrous announcement of, "Now... Ladies and Gentlemen... The Greatest... Caaaaaaaat Poweeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!" Weirder still, she even seemed to be enjoying herself: looking tan and radiant (and, with her oversized sunglasses and fringe, a bit like a visitor from the pages of a 1965 Vogue), she essayed a few awkward dance moves, obviously geeked to be in front of a bunch of Southern soul masters. Not quite so geeked were the kids with haircuts in front of me, who leapt to their feet at the first sight of musicians on the stage only to sit down a few minutes later, obviously bored by the funky instrumental vamp which served as an introduction for Cat Power's sterling session band. It was their loss, because for my money these were the highlights of the show: while Ms. Marshall's stage mannerisms could be described as tentative at best - it felt like she was reaching for Diana Ross, only to come up with Gilda Radner as Patti Smith - her joy and enthusiasm was infectious, and her interplay with the band, right down to the backing singers, underlined the element of soulfulness in her music which isn't always obvious on, say, Moon Pix.

In fact, it wasn't until the music cooled off and the newly confident (and, according to her stage banter, sober) Cat Power reached for an acoustic guitar when I began to understand what the aforementioned kids in haircuts were going through. Admittedly, to me Cat Power is more of a mood than anything discrete, like songs or albums: I love the woman's voice, and like Loretta Lucas, when given a good cover (or, say, a whole album's worth) she can bring tears to your eyes. But ask me to name my favorite Cat Power song, and I'm drawing a blank. So there were no real highlights on my wish list as I sat there soaking up the music; I'd already heard all I needed to hear within the first five songs or so, just from the way Marshall's voice and the Memphis Rhythm Band's music lazily intertwined. In the end, I ducked out early and grabbed some dinner instead. I'm not sure if it's because Cat Power isn't cut out for outdoor concerts, or concerts in general, or whether, at least that day, I just wasn't cut out for Cat Power; but as beautiful as the music was, something about the show didn't succeed in holding my attention. Still, I can't say that I would pass up the chance to see her again - preferably in closer quarters, with air conditioning - and reservations aside, it was a real pleasure for me to hear in person one of the most gorgeous, moving, and, yes, soulful voices in music today.

(Margaret Doll Rod shows off her bikini wax - photo by Megan Giddings)

You might notice, in my description of these events, a theme of lethargy; looking back and writing about the shows I saw, it occurs to me that I felt almost half-asleep for at least the first two hours of Tastefest. There's a simple explanation for that: it was fucking hot, and all of that sitting and standing and walking in the July sun took its toll on me fast. My condition wasn't helped by the fact that every band I happened to see was of the lazy, wistful summer afternoon variety - certainly no one with the balls to rock me out of my heat-induced stupor. Until, that is, the Demolition Doll Rods took the Park Stage. This band, a mainstay in Detroit's dirty rock scene since way before I have any authority to talk about, has balls like you wouldn't believe, and in more ways than one: on the one hand, their shit-hot raunch 'n' roll is the most reasonable facsimile of classic Stooges you're ever likely to find on a modern concert stage, and on the other, they wear so little clothing that guitarist Danny Doll Rod's actual balls are pretty much clearly visible through his gold lame bikini briefs.

(Danny Doll Rod shows off his bikini wax - photo by Megan Giddings)

It was in the presence of the Doll Rods - and, I'll admit, a smoothie upwards of three feet in height - that what was intended to be a stopgap between dinner and the Main Stage headlining set by Ray Davies turned into a sweaty, revitalizing full-set stay. I told myself I'd leave after the first few songs, but by the time they finished opener "Get It On," let's face it, I was hooked; and by the time they kicked out "On the Way to School," from their recently-released album There is a Difference, my ass was shaking too much for me to care whether the ghost of Gram Fucking Parsons himself was playing across the street at the Main Stage. It's tough to pin down exactly what makes the Demolition Doll Rods so goddamn good; it certainly isn't their chops, which, despite the presence of comely and marginally more competent new drummer Tia, remain gloriously unwieldy. My best guess, I'm afraid, is going to be one of those nebulous explanations critics like to pull out of their ass whenever they're at a loss for rational words: it's their spirit, their soul.

Whether Margaret Doll Rod is gyrating wildly during the guitar solos, paying little heed either to her surroundings or to the physics which threaten to separate her top from her breasts, or delivering a ridiculously campy pro-sex sermon to introduce a cover of Richard & The Young Lions' "Open Up Your Door," or just linking arms with her bandmates to belt out a childish a capella version of "The Big Rock Candy Mountain," she fucking means it, and you can bet that the other Doll Rods do too. Their live show convinces even when it would look worst on paper - especially at those moments. And in the end, it's all just blissful, visceral movement and response. It's little wonder they deal so much in evangelical pastiche; if there's ever been a band to capture the out-of-body ecstasy of a religious experience, and transport it deliciously into the realm of secularism, sensuality and sin, the Demolition Doll Rods are it. And by god, I love 'em for it.

(Ko Ko Louise of the Hard Lessons - photo by Megan Giddings)

After the energizing - but exhausting - effect of the Doll Rods' set, I was torn. On the one hand, I had just seen a rock show which, while a bit on the short side, would have left me perfectly satisfied to just call it a day. But on the other hand, next up on the Park Stage were headliners the Hard Lessons...and if you've been reading this site for long enough, you should already know that I consider them to be pretty much the best live act around. So I stayed, in spite of a lengthy delay due to equipment failures, and I wasn't disappointed. Ko Ko and the Anvil took the stage first with the usual pulsing intro music, and then there was Augie, climbing the nearest available speaker stack and performing an impromptu sparkler dance before picking up his guitar and getting down to business.

(Augie gets down to business - photo by Megan Giddings)

The ensuing few songs (I only stayed for twenty minutes or so, having seen the Hard Lessons' set so many times I could basically perform it by rote in my own living room) roared to life out of Danny Doll Rod's borrowed amp, as thrilling and precision-perfect as Michigan audiences have come to expect. While my enthusiasm for the Hard Lessons' songwriting isn't always boundless - their recent reliance on ballads and what I like to call their "MySpace songs" is beginning to trouble me, truth be told - seeing them in person, mere feet away from the three-headed spitfire of energy, will make any doubt in the material just disappear in the face of near-peerless performance. There are plenty of local bands, in Detroit more so than most towns, but the Hard Lessons have Star Power; much of it concentrated around Augie, whose whirlwind stage antics, jagged-edged guitar heroics and curtain of black hair even call to mind a certain other Detroit rock star we could name.

It's a comparison worth making, simply because like it or not, there hasn't been a band with this much charisma and style in Detroit since Jackie White packed his peppermint-striped bags for Tennessee. And even the most dyed in the wool fans of grassroots homeliness have to admit, it's nice having at least a few rock stars around here for a change. The beauty of the Demolition Doll Rods, after all, is that they're just too wild, too uncensored, too frighteningly libidinous to really hit it big; they're an amazing rock'n'roll band, but the day they're seen on MTV between Fall Out Boy and Panic! At the Disco is a long time coming to say the least. But the Hard Lessons...who knows? I'll stop there, not being in the business of making career predictions; suffice to say that whether or not the Hard Lessons ever do make it big, their set at Tastefest certainly proved that they have what it takes.

In the end, I'm embarrassed to say, I walked away from Tastefest without hearing any more from Ray Davies but his closing renditions of "Lola" and "You Really Got Me" - which, I'm even more embarrassed to say, are probably the two songs I most wanted to hear from him anyway. Yes, that's right, I was less than a block away from the man who wrote "Waterloo Sunset," and I opted instead to watch some local bands do the same old thing I've seen them do a thousand times, from the Magic Stick to the Blind Pig to the East Quad Music Co-op. But the thing is, my favorite part of Comerica Tastefest has never been the big names. It's the exemplary way this event showcases homegrown talent, from the dozens of local restaurants hawking their wares to the local bands who pack the smaller stages night after night. So maybe I missed the frontman and founder of the Kinks, and one of the greatest pop songwriters of all time; fact is, skipping the Hard Lessons for him would have been a little like opting to see Hoagy Carmichael in 1964, instead of the Kinks in their prime. No disrespect to Ray (or Hoagy), but his time is past. The future of Detroit's music, from promising upstarts like Loretta Lucas to vintage standbys like the Doll Rods, beckons. And if I do say so myself, it tastes pretty damned good.

(That's all, folks! - photo by Megan Giddings)

Loretta & The Larkspurs
Cat Power
Demolition Doll Rods
The Hard Lessons
See Also: What About Dave?

To Find Me Gone

Vetiver
(DiCristina Stairbuilders)

The trouble with talking about a discrete movement in pop music is that there's only so much one can say; and more often than not, what one can say is probably a woeful generalization. Take, for example, Andy Cabic of Vetiver. Willfully nebulous though it may be, there's probably no current movement more discrete than the quote-unquote "freak folk" Cabic and his more famous friend, Devendra Banhart, have been slowly and steadily bringing to the indie limelight since 2002 or so. It can be traced to just two record labels (first Michael Gira's Young God Records, and now Cabic's and Banhart's own Gnomonsong imprint) and a small handful of musical influences: British folk, pre-glam Marc Bolan, the Incredible String Band. But while it would be easy enough to begin this review simply by rattling off Cabic's various indie folk credentials, or perhaps engaging in a side-by-side beard comparison with Devendra, that wouldn't give much of an idea about To Find Me Gone as an album, now would it?

So instead, I'll just say that To Find Me Gone - the second full-length by Vetiver, and the first since they became almost a household (or at least dorm room) name - is both exactly what you might expect from the movement of its origin, and a hell of a lot different. The acoustic, spidery instrumentation and Eastern textures of latter-day freak-folk albums like Cripple Crow and Feathers are all present and accounted for; in this case as early as opening track "Been So Long," which blooms from a simple pattern of tamboura drone, ethereal backing vocals and deliberate hand percussion like a time-lapsed flower. What's missing - or more neutrally, the area where Cabic makes his departure from form most felt - is the sprawling, communal feel of those aforementioned records and others. Freak-folk, in general, tends to put equal emphasis on both sides of the hyphen, breeding music which sounds casual, recreational, almost incidental in its creation. Tin Pan Alley, it ain't. But with his latest Vetiver release, Cabic is branching out into a new kind of songwriting, one which sounds at least as much at home in the studio as on the festival stage. In short, he's turning into a bit of a - gulp - professional.

Which, by the way, is not in the least meant as a slight. If Banhart will always have the edge on his frequent musical partner in terms of pure wild-eyed oddness, then Cabic is the McCartney to his Lennon in the best possible way: he inhabits the same musical space, sharing influences and backgrounds as well as the occasional chord-change trick, but his quirks are less thorny, more tempered, and ultimately, a lot more accessible. There's no Bolanesque mewling to be found on this disc (except that which is contributed by Devendra himself, on closing duet "Down at El Rio"); instead, Cabic's voice is as pleasing and smooth as Egyptian cotton, coming off like a blissed-out Elliott Smith on the hushed Americana prowl "You May Be Blue" and like a more mannered Ryan Adams on the gently cascading "I Know No Pardon." He even finds the time to contribute what could arguably be freak-folk's most potentially marketable single yet: a warm, playful, and just the slightest bit askew love song called "Idle Ties." And with its wispy vocals and lightly plucked banjo, "Red Light Girls" sounds a lot closer to that friendlier, prettier face of indie folk, Sufjan Stevens, than anything Gnomonsong has released yet...that is, until about the four-and-a-half minute mark, when the song explodes into a squall of fuzzed-out Lou Reed guitar noodling and double-time drums.

Indeed, it's at that precise moment when one realizes just how bizarre this album could have been; and maybe, just maybe, regrets that Cabic doesn't seem to share as much of Banhart's recklessly adventurous spirit as their constant associations suggest. As beautiful as To Find Me Gone can be - and, more often than not, it's transcendantly so - it can still look a little bland when stacked up against the strengths of its genre. After all, maybe there's more measurable musical songcraft in Vetiver's country rocking "Won't Be Me" than in Cripple Crow's Portuguese language oddity "Pensando Enti," but while the latter sparkles with otherworldly, eccentric beauty, the former's charms are as obvious and down-to-earth as its origins: namely American roots music, as filtered through the sun-kissed lens of California. Still, that's movement-based criticism for you; and if To Find Me Gone strikes you as both too polished to pass for freak-folk and not twangy enough to file under alt-country, then there's always the option of enjoying the record purely on its own merits. They exist, and they're radiant.

Official Site
Buy It on Amazon
See Also: a folk beard for the ages

Professor Murder EP

Professor Murder Rides the Subway
(Kanine)

Hey y'all, who else remembers Whirlwind Heat's Flamingo Honey EP (or mini-album, depending on whose word you take) from 2004? The record consisted of ten one-minute songs. There were some which you were relieved lasted for only a minute, some which made you shake your fist and yell at the clouds for just two more minutes, and some that probably made you think, "man, if only Liars had done this song instead." Well, for those of you who are thoroughly nodding and agreeing with this nostalgic trip down memory lane, then you'd best run to the record store and buy the debut EP by Professor Murder, Professor Murder Rides the Subway.

Professor Murder... is a dancefloor flurry that could inspire nuns to make rosaries out of minature cowbells, force that four-eyed accountant down the hall to electric slide, and inspire a groove session of beer bottles, trash cans, and subway tokens. The EP begins with the Pitchfork-adored "Champion," and while I make it a habit to roll my eyes at almost everything that unfortunate magazine snarks from on high (I like snarkiness a lot, but does anyone truly like hyper-literate snarkiness dealt from the lost temples of music snobbery? You tell me.), I have to agree with their take on the opening track, only without all of the requisite complaints. "Champion" is the indie dance floor track of 2006. Any club that fancies itself a hipster hangout will play Champion. And if not, they are pussies.

But wait, wait, wait, don't turn off Professor Murder just yet. Just listen to "Mountain," which begins to take the listener straight toward a dancefloor freak-out, but instead builds into a darlingly mindness chant. "Mountain" is the biggest tease of a song I've heard in a long time; we should be getting something loud and raucous, but instead they break us down with a robot voice from the school of Beck Hansen, and throw us for a loop with how damn melodic the whole shebang is. Yes, darlings, I did just say "shebang." And I should be as furious as a kid whose mother keeps promising ice cream with extra whipped cream for doing the chores after listening to "Mountain," yet Professor Murder's casual manipulation of the listener makes the record more exciting. I want to listen to them even more for denying my expectations.

While "Pedigree" - with its whopping 22-second running length - as well as "Cameron's New Color (Pt. 3)" and "Free Stress Test" aren't as completely exciting as "Champion" or "Mountain," they are still immensely catchy and invigorating songs. It's like going back to the good old days of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, when all of the EPs were blowing people's minds and they were the trendiest kids on the block. Professor Murder deserves all of that critical acclaim as well (and hopefully, for once, they'll be able to dodge the inevitable indie tsunami of backlash); they've made an EP which dives deep into some of the trendiest sounds of the beginning of this decade and comes up with a treasure chest full of diamond cowbells. Welcome to the surface, Professor Murder. Long may you rock.

Official Site
Buy It on Amazon
See Also: Professor Murder's cousin on his mother's side.

WWI

White Whale
(Merge)

I have compiled a list of several prerequisites for nautical-themed rock. Number one: it should either sound like the ocean, the shore, the wind, or the creaks of a boat. This is hard to do without getting all spiritual and New Age, but it's still a requisite. Two: it should be able to catch the mood of pirates. While Johnny Depp is currently the king of pirates, one of my housemates put it correctly when he referred to Tom Waits as "pirate rock." But I'm going to one-up him and refer to Tom Waits as the King of Pirate Rock. Long may he and Mr. Depp reign. Three: the songs could deal with a compelling nautical theme. Split Enz's "Six Months in a Leaky Boat" is so good simply because it does capture that wild childish urge to escape from all troubles and just head to the open, shimmering sea. And number four: the song is explicitly about drinking rum and having a parrot sit on your shoulder. Yo-ho-ho.

So, does the clearly nautically inclined White Whale fit into my requirements of "Nautical or Pirate Rock?" No. But is that an unfortunate thing? Not really. The lyrics are there. The name is there. But at the same time, never should a band be pigeonholed into such a singular genre. Really, does the world need another Decemberists? Helllllllllll no. And so, the White Whale have more in common with what would happen if some of the members of the Arcade Fire were thrown onto a desolate rowboat. Their music rings with the echoes of shadows, wind, and grit as they battle both the metaphysical waves of loneliness and the true madness of the sea.

Granted, it's nowhere near as emotionally compelling as the aforementioned Arcade Fire's stunning Funeral. But before ye abandon all hope (sorry, I couldn't resist at least one line of pirate talk), listen to "I Love Lovely Chinese Girl." A song which should be utterly trite, with its Disney-fied idea of Eastern music at the beginning, somehow rises above my initial eye roll to become an interesting tale of love broiled within a slow-moving dirge. I'm not going to say it's not stereotypical at all, but the song is arranged in such a way as to minimize a good deal of the annoyance I should be feeling. Trust me, though, while "I Love Lovely Chinese Girl" is good, it's nowhere near the Dump-like beauty (indie group, not landfill) of the gentle "Fidget and Fudge." "Fidget and Fudge" is a piece of musical stained glass; it shines darkly and gleams darkly beneath its layers of gloss and swirls of shimmer. And if you won't believe me on that, then fine. Go for the best track on the album, closer "One Prayer," which pulls, swirls, and pummels a listener into giving White Whale the chance they so greatly deserve. And yes, that is a foghorn you are hearing underneath that indie rock.

So go to the store, put on your captain's hat, shine your boots, and bring a heart ready to slowly crack and wilt like leaves hitting the end of September. Like the sea, WWI is an album of constant change...one which will either wrap the listener into a wild love affair, or repel them with the force of a fifty-foot squid.

Chosen as a Blogcritics Editors' Pick for July 26-August 1, 2006

Official Site
Buy It on Amazon
See Also: Mmm... Thanks a lot, White Whale!

Wu-Tang Clan DVD

The Legend of the Wu-Tang: The Videos
(BMG Heritage)

It's a good time to be a music video fan with a DVD player. Seems like every time I look around, there's a new video compilation to snatch, and for kids like me who have an ample amount of grainy little MPEGs on their computers, usually encoded by god knows who and probably obtained from a junk server of dubious legality, it's nice to upgrade. The present is also a wise time to release a DVD of definitive Wu-Tang Clan videos: ODB's death has put the cap on the Clan's lineup, RZA just wrote a bestselling book about "the philosophy of the Clan" or some nonsense, and the Wu Wear clothing line is decreasing rapidly in popularity. Strike while the iron is hot, or at least while the market exists, anyway.

But even pushing those things aside, the Wu-Tang Clan videos are worth being released of their own merit: they're fun, quirky, important, and above all else, very entertaining. These videos did, after all, catch the public's attention and contributed heavily to the Clan's booming popularity back in the early '90s. And if you see them as an extension of the members' imaginations, as snapshots of where they were at any particular point in their careers, then watching them is an even more crucial step in fully scoping the Clan's artistic ethos.

The videos are presented in chronological order, and are probably best watched that way: Wu-Tang's four albums have fairly representative videos, and plenty of them. 14 videos for four LPs is a pretty hefty number, after all. Meanwhile, the individual videos themselves stretch in appeal from gritty street scenes to warped, imaginative fantasy scenarios. We're talking about the rap group who refer to themselves as "the killer bees" and reference shlocky kung fu flicks, after all: the imagination of the Clan is a skewed one. The last music video disc I reviewed was the Sugarcubes' video set, which had some pretty weird stuff crammed into its grooves as well. But the Wu-Tang clan might have an edge on them with the bizarre happenings in these videos. A violin gets thrown down a stairwell and explodes. The Wu-Tang Clan goes back in time. A swarm of killer bees attacks downtown New York. You get the picture.

Legend of the Wu-Tang begins with the fairly low-budget street epics of 36 Chambers, the Wu's debut album. These are pretty standard, although the huge posse element of the music, and thus the videos, was pretty unheard of in 1993. The shift from this dark grit to the overblown indulgence of 1997's Wu-Tang Forever is by far the steepest transition on display here. The Clan goes from grainy, burnt-out facades in the projects to montages of the members rapping for huge crowds of white kids and sitting around in furs, while archetypal video-girls make eyes at them in posh limos. Luckily, this only lasts for a couple of videos, until "Triumph," the third single from Forever, kickstarts the group's tastes for bizarre kids-on-a-playground scenarios and special effects on a budget. It was even directed by action/comedy somebody Brett Ratner (Rush Hour, X-Men: The Last Stand, and perhaps most strangely, producer of shlocky 2005 slasher Santa's Slay. Seriously, look it up.)

The most entertaining video on the disc, and certainly my favorite, might be "Gravel Pit." This inspired video's premise is that the Clan step into a time traveling elevator and go back into the Stone Age, where they encounter dinosaurs, flash prehistoric bling...and fight ninjas. Think The Flintstones meets King Hu meets Jurassic Park. It's the second in a sort of trilogy of music videos from the 2000 album The W, the first part being a trip back to the flashy, break-dancing '80s, and the end being a sort of thugged-out club montage.

On the technical side, this DVD's image quality could probably be a little better; still, it's decent. Those early videos were grainy to begin with, but I'm usually expecting a little more detail out of my DVD transfers. The extras are somewhat lackluster, but ample. You get a documentary from '94, half of which is rather uninteresting live footage of an early concert, the other bits being members of the Clan talking about their craft. The alternative edit of the "Method Man" video isn't essential stuff, but it's alright, and the last video to feature ODB, Masta Killa's "Old Man," is a nice bonus. In addition, the "Careful" video was an Internet exclusive until now, and the videos are mostly unedited, so that's always a plus.

I have to say that I'm kind of depressed that there will be no more Wu-Tang Clan albums in the future - plenty of side project stuff, I'm sure, but the quality tends to decrease for most of those. These videos, if anything, will show you how great the Wu were back in their heyday, and how they mostly kept true to their musical roots - and, perhaps more importantly, to their imaginations.

Official Site
Buy It on Amazon
See Also: Wu-Tang threads ain't nothin' to fuck with.

Interview: Mick Collins

During his hour-long conversation with the Modern Pea Pod, Mick Collins brought up the weather. And who could blame him? We're boring people. But when he mentioned Michigan's infamously volatile atmosphere, something about his choice of words was telling. "I like the constant change," Collins said. And at least mentally, my reply was, "No shit." After all, if anyone knows about "constant change," it's Collins: the man whose prodigious gifts when it comes to side project juggling are as well-known as his bands' lightning-fast lineup changes; who practically midwifed the entity known as Detroit garage with his legendary late '80s band the Gories before leaving the fledgling scene in the dust, forging forward with one loud'n'dirty art-punk experiment after another while producing albums by everyone from the Demolition Doll Rods to the Black Godfather himself, Andre Williams.

His most famous musical achievement yet, and probably his most fully-formed, ended up being the Dirtbombs: a band whose rise to cult fame, ironically enough, came at the same time as the new generation of Motor City bands for whom the Gories had been a crucial inspiration. Cynics, then, might say that Mick Collins owes his post-2001 status to Jack White...but if you ask me, the reverse is true. In any case, it was my distinct pleasure to sit down for an interview with Mick Collins, presented here in its entirety - minus the weather chat, anyway.

Modern Pea Pod: So my first question is just out of personal interest: when is the next Dirtbombs record going to come out?

Mick Collins: Not this year. This year it's gonna be all singles - we've got to get an LP's worth of singles out before August. (laughs) Because they've gotta be recorded and out before we do any actual shows. These days it's so easy to get music that recordings are put out to support the tour, rather than the other way around, the way it used to be. With peer-to-peer and everything, music is so easy to hear, so a record is just another piece of merch. But yeah, this year it's all singles, maybe an EP...I'm not planning on doing another LP until next year.

MPP: The Dirtbombs have always put out a lot of singles. Now I know you guys are all collectors; does that have anything to do with all the 7" releases, is it like an incentive for people who collect vinyl?

MC: I think it actually has a lot more to do with my having a short attention span. I probably buy more LPs than I do singles, but when it comes to listening to new bands, I have an attention span of about 30 minutes. It doesn't matter how good it is; after 30 minutes, I'm like, "I'm done." (laughs) And our singles come out in different countries all over the world; the latest batch has records from Canada, Spain, Brazil and Serbia. And the singles on our first comp [2005's If You Don't Already Have a Look], one of them came out in an edition of 300. So there was a point when no one person could own every Dirtbombs single...and if you did, I'd probably be a little scared. (laughs)

Anyway, we're all big record collectors, sure, but the rest of aren't like the super freak Ben [Blackwell] is. [laughs] He's not buying a 45 for $10 because of the music; his 45s are getting to the point where it's like, that's just collector scum stuff, why even bother?

MPP: So what about these new records? Are we talking covers or originals?

MC: Like every time, it's gonna be a little bit of both. I don't know what cover songs we're doing just yet...but the five songs I've been working on are all originals. I know we're gonna do "Sherlock Holmes" by Sparks for an In the Red single. We jokingly talked about covering that song for years, and now that In the Red is putting out the new album by Sparks, I thought that would be the perfect opportunity. So we're doing "Sherlock Holmes" and "Nothing to Do," but nobody knows how to play "Nothing to Do" yet! It's a pretty tough song.

(The Dirtbombs, 2001 model: ready for the limelight.)

MPP: Now, one thing that's always in the back of my mind about the Dirtbombs is it was never really meant to be your main thing. You've always juggled a ton of side projects, and this one was maybe even less major than some others. So what changed, how did this band become the focus?

MC: Well, we got famous in England and we had to keep touring. I had to put my other projects on the back burner for a while; suddenly we had to take time off from everything else. That's one reason why we're not touring much this year, because we've all got other stuff going on. We just want to cut some singles and concentrate on the rest of our lives.

MPP: Would you say the Dirtbombs became "full-time" around the time of Ultraglide in Black?

MC: Yeah. They picked up on Ultraglide along with every other record by a Detroit band in 2001, so we all trooped out there and went. And we've been touring pretty much constantly ever since. We actually had a tour that started on October 17, 2003 and ended October 24, 2004...more than a year! We went to Europe twice during that time. We don't tour like that anymore. Or at least, I don't tour like that anymore.

MPP: And the other thing about the Dirtbombs, at least according to your liner notes on the single records, is that you've got a definite end for the band in mind. Is this something you're serious about?

MC: Oh, absolutely. It always was finite; it's just that nobody ever paid attention when I said it. I've always said, the Dirtbombs have a beginning, middle and end. It doesn't matter how famous or not famous we are before we reach this thing - at some point, I'm gonna be there, and I'm gonna be done with this idea, this concept, this way of making music.

MPP: What's the concept?

MC: [pauses] Well, I don't really have an answer ready, because I don't think anybody's ever asked me that before. Basically, it's just to see how many different kinds of music I could make with that lineup: two drummers, a bass, a fuzz pedal and a guitar. I made a list of the stuff to do with it, and that's what I've been going by since 1992. We got sidetracked once, actually; I moved things around. Ultraglide was supposed to be the fourth album, not the second one, but there was a song I wanted to cover so bad that I had to finish it before anybody else did. On an artistic level, personally, I think it was a bad move. But I did it, and it's done.

MPP: So the Dirtbombs is like Star Wars?

MC: [laughs] I'm getting that more than I used to, now that people realize I was being really serious about it. Now people are astonished. Basically I think they thought I was making it up. I mean most bands are not done like that, most are just guys who get together and jam into existence. I actually have a spec sheet that I made in June of 1992, and I think that's what offends people more than anything else. [laughs] It's like going for ISO certification or something - that's pretty much the only thing I haven't done.

But no, nothing about the Dirtbombs was natural or organic, the whole thing was contrived from the beginning. And especially in Europe, people want to talk about how natural it is, how much soul...the Dirtbombs are the fakest band in existence! The shows are good, the music is good, but it's a sculpture, just like a living one; it's artwork like anything else, and it's highly conceptual. I mean, Ben is the only actual rock'n'roller in the band - the rest of us are all like jazzbos and classical people! [laughs]

("The fakest band in existence": 2006's Dirtbombs mock nature.)

MPP: How far are you into this list, then? Is there more territory to cover? Should we start to worry?

MC: Oh, there's more territory - quite a bit, actually. I mean how many different types of hyphenated rock are there? When I first started thinking about it, I was like, "this is probably way too much work, I'm gonna narrow this down just to things I like." But that's probably the overall statement of the band, this whole business of hyphenated rock. It's like, how did we reach this point? People who don't listen to electronic dance music don't realize that there are like 30 different kinds: I mean, progressive house, deep house... And it's the same thing with rock - if you don't listen to it, you have no idea. I'm just taking the mickey, just poking fun at this whole idea of hyphenated rock.

MPP: As a critic, I can say that the Dirtbombs are one of the hardest bands to describe without essentializing them or reducing them to a caricature in any way.

MC: [laughs] Well, I've gotta make it interesting for you, too! You're not the first person who's complained to me about that. When I started, that was the thing, I wanted a band that was as hard to describe as anything else. I mean, how do you describe a band that has two drummers, two basses and a guitar? And they sort of play rock, but sort of...don't? It's like, [mock indignation] "This isn't a rock thing at all! It's a conceptualn art thing like Henry Cow! I hate these people! The new Dirtbombs record sucks!" [laughs]

MPP: But the only problem is that you guys came to the forefront right at the time of a readily identifiable genre in Detroit, which was garage rock.

MC: Yeah, that's the thing that fuckin' sticks in my craw. We came along right at that time, and Ultraglide happened to be the record we put out. So one thing led to another, and suddenly we were a garage band. I'm sure there are a ton of my railings about that online already...it's been a big pain in the ass, frankly. People would come see us, and we'd be onstage sounding like Slade or something, and they'd go away mad. Rather than feeling like the hype and the press had lied to them, they felt like we'd lied to them. That pissed me off, man. And we weren't the only ones, we were just the only ones who decided we weren't going to take it. Everybody else was just happy to be getting work!

(Can garage rock do this? Live Dirtbombs, 2002 - photo by What a Way to Die)

MPP: How have the years since the big garage explosion changed things, then? Do you feel like it's better for the Dirtbombs or even for Detroit to have the spotlight off for a while?

MC: Basically, now that the spotlight is off, we're still doing what we've been doing for the last 25 years. People looking or not looking doesn't change the way we do bands here - I mean, we've been here before. Suddenly having the spotlight turned on what we do naturally in Detroit is not new; you can pretty much be sure it's going to be happening every five, ten years. So it doesn't matter. We'll still be going to the same clubs with the same people. Or more importantly, going to the same clubs to see the same people. And there's always gonna be people who want to do soul music in Detroit.

MPP: That's actually something that surprises me...you almost expect there to be more of a soul revival going on in Detroit.

MC: Well, if you want to do soul music, then everybody right away forces you to sing modern R&B. You can't play classic soul the way you can play classic rock. That just hasn't happened in black music yet. I, for one, would love it. That would be something I'd be happy to do - I mean, I wouldn't make it my own thing, but...

MPP: Why do you think that is, that black music isn't looked back at the same way as white music?

MC: I just think we can't be convinced that our past is worth anything. It's pretty much what happened to rock'n'roll...most people don't know rock was a black art form, originally. But there was a moment when punk rock could have swept the inner cities, and it didn't happen because of hip-hop. It just came down to the fact that a turntable costs $60 and a guitar costs $300, and that was that. But there was a time when I was a kid, at least in Detroit, when everyone in the neighborhood had a punk rock band with three or four black kids. Then in '82 or '83, hip-hop swept Detroit and that was the end. So I always say, I'm not the only black guy in a punk rock band in Detroit, I'm just the only one who's still there after 20-odd years. [laughs]

(Collins and Jerome Gray: the Voltaire Brothers, 2003 - photo courtesy Fanatic)

MPP: You've already done a few sort of tributes to classic black music on your own, though; first with Ultraglide in Black and then with the Voltaire Brothers album [I Sing the Booty Electric] in 2003, which is one of my favorite projects of yours. Are there any plans to do a second Voltaire Brothers record?

MC: Yes, there are. We started pre-production already, and I actually think we might get around to recording it in January. It's unlikely that we'll be able to do anything but write the songs until then, though, because Jerome [Gray], the other Voltaire Brother, works a 9-5, and he can't really get away to tour the way I can. We've had offers to do live shows across the US and Europe; we always say we'd love to, but we can't.

Also, the musical focus is on old-style '70s heavy funk bands, which always had really elaborate stage shows like P-Funk or something. So what would probably happen before an actual tour is a video, like a 30-minute movie starring the Voltaire Brothers. Unless, of course, Jerome decides he's sick of his job, in which case we're hitting the road. [laughs]

MPP: Is there anything else going on?

MC: I have a couple different things - there's a techno 12" coming out, that should be out this summer. It's just sort of been languishing, because the guy who runs the label has been out on tour. I'm probably doing another one of those this year, too. Other than that, I'm just doing some solo recordings, and also I've got another band called Man Ray Man Ray. Hopefully we'll be getting a recording and some shows done, too.

MPP: I always ask people who dabble in a lot of different projects what the difference is from one to the other, and usually they just say it's because there are different people involved or something like that. But you strike me as a person who definitely has some reasons to distinguish between one band and another.

MC: Oh, yeah. The difference really is that they're all different types of music. The Dirtbombs play rock, but others are a lot less rock. Man Ray Man Ray is still rock, but less rock than the Dirtbombs. And the Voltaire Brothers are a funk band, obviously. Years and years ago, I thought that if I was gonna play different music, rather than try to shoehorn different styles into the same project, why not just do another band?

(The Dirtbombs: survivors)

MPP: Back to the Dirtbombs, it seems like you guys have gotten fairly famous without really even trying. Why do you think that is?

MC: It's just because we've been at it since 1992. By pure dint of surviving, we've developed a following. It's not much to do with anything else except that we've been around forever; the records don't sell anywhere near the numbers you would need to sell out the places we sell out. We've just been doing it for so long.

Recently I read about some band who didn't even have a record - Jimmy Eat World or something, or Hawthorne Heights - who just hit the road and stayed there. And that's what we did. People went to see us, went home and told all their friends. So for every one person who came the first time, there's three the second time. There's a lot less pressure to succeed when all you're doing is playing shows, and from what I've heard, our live show is apparently quite good. I mean, it's the kind that people go home and tell all their friends about. We played Denver on our last tour; we'd played there two or three times before, and gotten kind of average crowds. But last time the place was packed. It was because the seven or eight people who came out the time before managed to tell all their friends. And in France, we've played there for the last five years and never had good attendance; suddenly, last time, you would have thought we were the Rolling Stones. I was like, what happened in the intervening time?

MPP: The Dirtbombs are sort of unique among the recent wave of Detroit bands in that there's never really been a backlash against them...do you think this kind of natural growth has to do with that?

MC: Right. Word of mouth is the best possible way a band can get their following. When you're not being talked about by the press every week, people don't get burned out about you. Actually, probably the only real thing about the Dirtbombs is the fact that our fans love us. [laughs] And we're pretty thrilled to have them, too.

MPP: Next, it seems like it wouldn't really be a Dirtbombs interview without mentioning the infamous lineup changes. But the band's been pretty stable for the last few years.

MC: Yeah, Troy [Gregory]'s still playing bass and Ko [Shih] is still on fuzz. This lineup's going on its third year, actually, which is a record for the Dirtbombs.

(Two of these Dirtbombs will be gone in about five minutes...can you guess which ones?)

MPP: At the same time, when Jim Diamond left, he'd been in the band for longer than pretty much everybody but you. Did that take some adjusting?

MPP: Actually, because Diamond talked so much on stage, I think it actually tightened up our live set. He didn't really like to play; he liked to play a song and stand there and talk, play a song and have a cigarette, play a song and have a beer... Now we just play songs. [laughs]

But the lineup changes, most of it has stayed true to my ideas I've had since the start. The actual changes have been minor. There have been more and less talented people in the band, but overall the changes have been small, almost cosmetic, really.

MPP: And just to end on what's probably another familiar note: how about that bubblegum pop album? Is it still coming?

MC: Yeah. It's next, actually.

MPP: Covers? Originals?

MC: Originals, mostly. I'm sure if I find something that would make a really good bubblegum song, I'd do it.

MPP: This is just always the project I've wanted to come out, ever since I'd heard of it. Just hearing a bubblegum song with the Dirtbombs fuzz.

MC: Yeah, I mean, there are bubblegum songs with fuzz bass. I'm trying to think of one off the top of my head...maybe "You Are the One" by the Sugar Bears. But there were four Archies LPs, so I can't imagine they made it through four without cutting a fuzz track. I'm actually surprised when I hear it, though, how good the Archies actually were. Some of those songs have been covered by recent rock bands! There's one that I really wanted to do with the Dirtbombs, actually, called "Feelin' So Good." But somebody else got to it first.

Mick Collins will be playing with the Dirtbombs in Ann Arbor tomorrow night, at the Blind Pig. Support by the Lee Marvin Computer Arm and the Terrible Twos; cover is $10, doors are at 9 pm, show is for 18 and up. For ticket info, check the Blind Pig website.

Official Site (The Dirtbombs)
Buy If You Don't Already Have a Look on Amazon
See Also: another Mick I'd like to see this Mick collaborate with.

Miles Davis Quintet Box

The Legendary Prestige Quintet Sessions
The Miles Davis Quintet
(Prestige)

By 1955, Miles Davis had been recording on the Prestige label for four years. But as his career began to gain momentum, getting a group together was an inevitable career decision. The Miles Davis Quintet consisted of Paul Chambers on bass, John Coltrane on tenor, Red Garland on the keys, Philly Joe Jones on the sticks and Miles on the trumpet. With this group, Miles had more than a steady performance group; he had a vehicle. In the space of about a year, the quintet recorded five full-length LPs...and that was just for Prestige. This was one of the busiest and most headlong periods for Miles Davis.

Let me first say that the music collected in The Legendary Prestige Sessions box set is infallible. The albums that these sessions spawned - namely The New Miles Davis Quintet, as well as the legendary 1956 quadriptych Relaxin', Steamin', Workin' and Cookin' - are among the finest I've heard in Miles' catalogue: the kind of songs that move you in a way only Jazz music can. Sure, it's not perfect, but it didn't have to be; Prestige wanted it hard and quick, and they got it that way. Far removed from Columbia's relaxed, multiple session approach to album recording, or even the future extremes of Mingus' perfectionism and sophisticated techniques, the quintet recorded straight, with no retakes.

In fact, since these sessions were so quick and dirty, there are no alternate takes or unreleased numbers here; in that sense, the box set might seem perfunctory. What we have here is the music which comprised the original records on three CDs, plus one fourth disc exclusive to the box: it features radio and television broadcasts, as well as transcriptions of Miles' solos comprised of remastered live broadcasts. The quality on this bonus disc is a little poor, but listenable. You'll notice, as well, that I said "the music which comprised the original records," not "the original records." That's because these are the sessions, in exact chronological order; you can actually hear the quintet get tighter and tighter as they go along. For those who want to hear the records as released, however, the booklet does give you extensive information, so it wouldn?Äôt be hard to piece the tracks into original album order. These discs are also ostensibly remastered, although I'm no audiophile to have the last word on that; I'm sure some effort was put toward the reconstruction of those round, hissing live recordings that make up disc four, in any case.

So I guess the big question is, is it worth it? If you already have all of the original Prestige albums and they're still in good shape, probably not. The book is gorgeous, of course, with its glossy pictures of the legendary trumpeter's face and its essay by jazz critic Bob Blumenthal, but informed jazz hounds will already know most of what the liners have to say. The extra disc is really great, too, and having transcriptions of the solos is a good bonus, though I don't think anyone but the biggest collectors (or perhaps just interested trumpet players) would be interested in a $60 set just for that.

Still, for someone new to this era of Miles, or who hasn't heard any of these recordings at all, buying this set is definitely worth it. There's something about a box set that puts the music into history definitively. And this particular music? "Its legacy," writes Blumenthal, "remains one of the most satisfying chapters in the history of recorded jazz." After listening to this set, I don't think many are bound to disagree.

Official Site
Buy It on Amazon
See Also: more about the Miles Davis Quintet

Amarilla

The Vibration
(Sink and Stove)

You can't find a female anywhere who hasn't dreamed of being in her own band. Almost every girl I know wanted to be the singer or lead guitarist, and belt it out with a "who gives a shit" attitude. They would write songs about scumbag boys or that bitch in geometry class, and wow the crowd with the explosive energy and talent that few females have been able to master. Personally, I'd always fantasize about wearing fierce heels and fishnets, with crazy-ass rock girl hair, and playing my guitar or drums or tambourine like a mofo. The entire crowd would be agape with wonder at my utter badass-ness. When I think about those