Off ya tree of souls

Avatar? More like...Shitatar! Oh my god! Somebody stop me! Where do I come up with this stuff? But really, I just couldn't resist a ranty panning of Jim Cameron's bloated half-billion dollar soap box epic of blue bombast. Maybe I'm just an elitist contrarian, unwittingly compelled to loathe all status quo-determined zeitgeists, but I was frankly gobsmacked by the dumb CGI sermonising of the prophet Cameron.

Sure, it's a visual spectacle to be matched- no qualms there, JC (heavens, even the initials are redolent with holier-than-thou-ness), you've certainly dazzled us with sweeping landscape/artillery porn. If this is solely the reason for it's immense popularity, then I will be at peace. But if cashed up bogans are genuinely flocking to this flick in their gas-guzzling foreign made four-wheel drives and walking out feeling like shrewd social commentators on Iraq and climate change then I will readily seppuku my innards in a heartbeat.

Just to clarify- if JC didn't quite beat you hard enough over the head with his subtle take on neo-imperialist land rape and jingoism- the greatest director who ever lived literally set out to 'educate' Americans, and the world (hmmyes, two different things, apparently), about the ill effects of invading and subsequently bombing the proverbial out of Iraq... what? There's negative ramifications of launching missiles at Baghdad schools and hospitals on a daily basis? Fuck, good thing Jim Cameron pointed that out to me via $500million of three-dimensional awesome! Mmm, where was I? Popcorn and mega-cola! If you want intelligent critique of war-mongering America, read some Chomsky or Pilger, don't go to the megaplex.

Not to mention his blatant use of the 'noble savage' plot device, really only a few rungs down from the 'magical negro' plot device on the latent racist plot device ladder. So we're all to fall in love with the Na'vi and their huntin', avian-enslavin', paganistic ways, right? Again, Western colonisation indeed led to abhorrent genocide and heartless assimilation of indigenous peoples the world over- most sentient beings are aware of this fact, and multiplex sci fi actioners are generally not ideal source material for this topic, so maybe avoid citing 'Cameron: 2009', along with Wiki brilliance, next time you're compiling a political science essay reference list.

Next- the cardboard cut-out gung ho meathead cowboy military stereotypes. Yes, sadly they do exist, and in large numbers, particularly in the US armed forces. But could JC have made it any more black and white- shite was I at a loss as to who the antagonists/protagonists were! Sooo...the shaven-headed, buff, gun-toting types who want nothing more than to cold-bloodedly and gleefully blow up some trees of souls and "savages", mostly for the sheer heck of it, partly to mine 'unobtainium' (I know- they really do call it that- outstanding, Cam!) are the baddies? Well I'll be a thanator's uncle! Could Colonel Whatshisname be more of a George W. Bush/poor man's Lieutenant Colonel Kilgore from Apocalypse Now caricature? ...Sorry, I'll try and curb the cynical rhetorical questions, they do become tiresome I suspect- but really? "...Fight terror with terror"? Come on Jim, make us think just wee bit. Maybe Colonel Shootemup had a difficult childhood, with an abusive father or something? He just wanted to be a classical pianist instead of going to military school. Maybe blowing up pagan god trees and blue aborigines was his only way of expressing that angst? Let's flesh out some of these characters, eh Jim.

What else- oh, of course, Worthington's stellar American accent!
I could extrapolate more, but I think that's enough ire. Essentially, it's dumb, overly idealistic people and aging hippies like Cameron who give the Left a bad name, with such unequivocal preachings through 'art'. There's countless films and songs that combine politics and art successfully and subtly, and the thought that Avatar could be referred to as something more than simply a gargantuan piece of well-styled summer cinema entertainment is rather dry retch-worthy.
Leave the humanist ideologue to intelligent people. And hail Eywa! Oh, gosh- it really is addictive! I take it all back, Jim!*
*I don't.

postmodernism, and why it should leave hardcore music alone.

Postmodernism is a wonderful thing. It made it acceptable for people to be weird and alternative back in the 60s, which made it easier for indie/arty/blogger types to be alternative now. It brought about things like pop art, which brought us both Andy Warhol silkscreens and the cover to Sonic Youth's Goo - both of which can be easily worn on a shirt to communicate one's obscene alternative...ness? (alternativity?)

Warhol et al showed the dissolution of boundaries that attended the postmodern movement. Not only high and low art, but also genre divisions came tumbling down. Suddenly you could 'appropriate' from some trashy sources and simultaneously create art and a statement on contemporary culture. What's not to love? Shit's easy, makes you look smart, and some of it was actually pretty cool.

Everyone with a BA knows the postmodernism was good because John Cage and Foucault already told them so. Fact: there's little that can make a cultural studies major renounce his (largely superficial) devotion to the postmodern movement.

The hardcore/electro genre blur is one of those rare things.

(thanks for Tal via Maddy for the tip on these guys)

I didn't think it would be necessary for me to divulge the reasons why electro and hardcore shouldn't mix, but apparently some people didn't get the 'decent taste' memo. Attack! Attack! are amazing artists at the forefront of postmodern music. Look at how they seamlessly (read: not seamlessly) gloss over various styles in just one song, sometimes even playing multiple styles of music at the same time. "Why don't we play this monophonic synth preset over some distorted guitar?" Holy shit. Amazing. This superficial treatment of opposite musical styles is evidence of true originality and forward thinking. So forward, in fact, that it is in need of pulling back.

This level of genius doesn't just come from nowhere. No, it comes from compiling a whole bunch of different passages of other peoples music into a musical clusterfuck. It's almost like someone recorded a karaoke machine stroking out and accidentally combining a heap of bad covers. Or like the song-structure equivalent of 'exquisite corpse,' and everyone who participated was eleven years old.

I've known about Attack! Attack! and others like them for a while. My current wave of anger is motivated by a fear that this genre may infiltrate our pure Australian shores. Damn you internet for opening our secluded country up to crappy tweenage cultural imperialism. If only we could keep this shit locked on a boat in Indonesian waters...

Alas, here is an Australian band bring the techno-core closer to home - alarmingly singled out as a Triple J next crop artist last November. Admittedly it's not as extreme a treatment of the hardcore/electro fusion that I detest, but this is just the beginning. Soon, the the artistic inventiveness that saw fit to lazily tack on a trance-ish outro to that song with creep into the entire tune. And then there may even be some rapping. And we'll have our own shitty genre mash-up epidemic to deal with.

Help me make sure this doesn't happen. This is the worst thing to happen to music since nu-metal. Stop these forward-thinking musicians right now and pull them back into musical territory that's more stylistically comfortable.

Literal Lyrics: Make your own rules.

Literal lyrics is back! After a brief Christmas holiday in which it travelled to the ends of the earth in search of a good pavlova, it has returned victorious. Turns out a small coffee shop in western Ukraine really knows its New Zealand desserts.

This week we will be covering the first single from John Mayer's new album, 'Who Says'. In typical John Mayer fashion, he sounds just like a year 12 jock douchebag who bought a second hand guitar and takes it to every party because he knows like five chords and can totally bust out the first half of a bunch of Powderfinger songs and chicks dig that. Mr Mayer has totally nailed that market. Unfortunately, John is now 32 and hitting on 17 year olds is borderline illegal.

As such, it would appear Maybags (a smooth combination of "Mayer" and "douchebag" that rolls right off the tongue) has become a little jaded, probably after numerous attempts at failing to score with Jennifer Aniston, Hollywood's most damaged goods. Seriously John, I could bag that scalp if I wanted to, and I'm a poor, mostly talent-less Australian guy nearly 20 years her junior. You've got everything (well, not exactly everything, but money and fame are two good starts) and you managed to blow it.

So, Maybags has written what I can only describe is the apathetic anthem of the Naughties. Ladies and gentlemen, Who Says...

Who says I can't get stoned
Turn off the lights and the telephone
Me in my house alone
Who says I can't get stoned

Well, for starters John, the Government says that. They make these things called laws and the citizens of the country, who more often than not elect said Government (your country, as much as you desperately try to fuck it up, does this) must obey these laws. Now you may turn your nose up at this, but its these laws that keep people driving on the right side of the road, keep people from just waltzing into a shop and taking what they wanted, and stop angry members of the public from raping and murdering each other on a whim. They provide people with consequences, and help guide them in the right direction.

Laws aside though, the other thing that says you can't do that is our basic desire for sound mental health. If you sat alone in a darkened house and had no contact with the outside world, you would literally begin to go mad. And that's even if you weren't getting high all the time. Our brains crave social interaction. There are actually methods of psychological torture that involve locking people away from society for extended periods of time. It's called 'solitary confinement' and is regularly used in prisons to break the spirit of tough inmates.

Is that enough reason for you Maybags?

Who says I can't be free
From all of the things that I used to be
Rewrite my history
Who says I can't be free

You want a clean slate John, is that what you're getting at? You want everyone to forget all the terrible shit you've done? Or worse, all the cool shit you've done? Unfortunately Maybags, you are a worldwide celebrity, so the chances of everyone forgetting who you are and you being able to start over again are very slim. That would involve everyone else on the planet suffering a very specific kind of amnesia, in which we forgot just who you were but retained all other information. Plus there is the logistics of removing any trace of you from the internet and society at large. That's a pretty big ask Maybags, just so you can give being a different person a new try.

It's been a long night in New York City
It's been a long night in Baton Rouge
I don't remember you looking any better
But then again I don't remember you

Now we begin to see some evidence of how you managed to fuck up the whole Jennifer Aniston thing. I'm going to assume you're talking to a women in those last two lines. Bad move. "I don't remember you looking any better" is basically saying, "You look pretty shit right now, I much prefer what you were wearing last night". And following that line up with "I don't remember you" is bound to make any woman you've met more than twice feel like shit. I mean, sure, you're famous, you meet a lot of attractive women, but that is no reason to act like a dick. Do what most men do and lie, make shit up. And the excuse "It's been a long night in New York/Baton Rouge" really isn't going to work. Firstly, pick just one city (preferably the one you are actually in) and then say you've had a long night. Simply pointing out that it is the Winter solstice is not a valid excuse.

Who says I can't get stoned
Call up a girl that I used to know
Fake love for an hour or so
Who says I can't get stoned

More stoned talk, we've covered this Maybags. As for the drunk dialling, while there are no hard and fast rules on such a thing, it is generally frowned upon in social circles. More so by the person you are tricking into thinking you like them, but also by their friends. It really is a dick move. And just doing it over the phone and only for an hour is really just a waste of everyone's time. If you're going to mess with her head, at least invite her around and sleep with her. At least if she hates you she'll have had a night of pleasure. I am also getting the feeling you did this to Janiston, which probably didn't help your chances with her at all. As a general rule, no one likes any sort of emotions to be faked, particularly not love. And considering you did this to a woman who had her heart publicly broken by Brad Pitt and then Angelina Jolie basically spent the next five years rubbing it in.

Who says I can't take time
Meet all the girls in the county line
Wait on fate to send a sign
Who says I can't take time

Are you trying to tell me that you want to meet and, I can only assume, fuck, every girl on the county line (which, for Australians, is basically all the women in a certain post code) and then wait for fate to tell you which one to maintain a relationship with? Possibly an even worse idea than your psychological torture plan, Maybags. Firstly, the health issues. You're going to have to wear a condom the size of a pair of trousers, and that's not even considering oral sex. Secondly, those types of things can't just be left to fate. There will be a certain number of women who will pursue you and you will have to deal with them, you can't just wait for a sign. Finally, good luck keeping the fact you're shagging every woman in a 100-mile radius a secret. Much like the drunk dialling thing, women don't like being lead on. And considering you've already demonstrated your inability to talk to women, I can't help but feel this plan is going to crash and burn.

It's been a long night in New York City
It's been a long night in Austin too
I don't remember you looking any better
But then again I don't remember you

Again with the bad compliments and even worse excuse. Perhaps try "I've never seen you looking this beautiful" next time.

Who says I can't get stoned
Plan a trip to Japan alone
Doesn't matter if I even go
Who says I can't get stoned

Finally, you have proposed something that isn't frowned upon by normal society. I mean, it is a little depressing that you want to go on a holiday alone, but the fact you want to get out of the house is good. Baby steps Maybags, baby steps. And you're right, you don't have to go if you don't want to. However, I would recommend not paying for it if you're unsure about whether you'll actually show up to the airport. Otherwise you could waste a fair bit of money. However, considering the fact that you're both rich and willing to buy copious amounts of marijuana, maybe a missed flight to Japan isn't such a big deal. Also, a word of advice, don't fly stoned or take any pot with you. I may be incorrect, but I think that thing is illegal. They've been pretty anal about plane travel for the past few years and you could find yourself in a bit of trouble if they found you out.

It's been a long night in New York City
It's been a long time since 22
I don't remember you looking any better
But then again I don't remember you

John, you're a quick learner. Finally a decent excuse for not remembering someone. You haven't seen them since you were 22. That's ten years. She'll understand if you say that. Again I would avoid the thinly veiled insult and instead try, "You look amazing, I didn't even recognise you, have you lost weight?"

Wasn't that a fun journey into the inner psyche of John Mayer? Turns out he's just as much of a douchebag as you thought he was. Daughters is a pretty song though.

And now, something less vaginally cleansing than Maybags...

Inaugural Post, Or How I Learnt to Stop Worrying and Love the Proverbial J's

Guten tag there, Nine Summertimers. I'm Alex, the conspicuously as-yet-until-these words-gracing-your-screen-unpublished third member your venerable trio of advisors to the Board of Cutting Pop Culture Dissection. My old drinking/charades buddy from our heady student politics days in Young FARC, Matt, kindly extended the olive branch to join he and Tom in knowing, wry social commentary, to which I gleefully replied, "nice olive branch! Kalamata? And I'd love to join the writing team!"

I hope your Yuletides have been gleeful and consumerist, like an awful Disney-or-similar madcap, hijink-fuelled Christmas caper stacked with insipid family values, starring some interchangeable ex-comedian who may or may not have once been funny, but one day had kids and thus turned to doing solely shitty wholesome family 'comedies'.

Either way, I hope you got some gems. One of my appreciatiatively bestowed gifts was none other than Triple J's Hottest 100 of All Time, that much celebrated behemoth of a poll they trot out every so oft, with invariably unchanged results from previous outings. I like the CD, despite criminally little (read: no) Smiths, criminally little female artists (consisting, vocally, solely of Cocteau Twin Elizabeth Fraser's guest vox on Massive Attack's 'Teardrop' and Kim Deal's backing wails on Pixies' 'Where Is My Mind?') and criminally little explanation as to what process was employed to whittle the initial hundred down to thirty six- in fact, how do these sexy kingmakers at the J's get away with such murder year in year out with the annual contemporary 100's, in having the gall to include the crucial '100' in the disc title. Sure we're all so unquestioningly complicit to it now, but someone really should have held them accountable at very first compilation, and suggested: "why not 'Hottest Bits of the Previously Announced Hottest 100 (Culling Process for Featured Cohort Omitted)'?"

Still, I have to love Triple J. Even if they do make it difficult at times. Such as mediocre hip hop, flogging 'Sex On Fire' ad nauseum throughout '08, and the aforementioned ambiguity of track selection/omission on compilations.

The Hottest 36 of All Time, is a polarising affair, and was always going to be. And it did seem as though the Association of Cynical and Sometimes Angry Men Who Were Teens in the Early-Mid '90s rallied their membership base in an unprecedented voting spree.

Apart from this fact it does remain a comprehensive collection of alt hits of decades past. When listening to the countdown attentively earlier in the year, it was quite clear once it got inside the top ten that 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' would probably top the poll, a bit of a disappointment considering those back-of-neck hairs don't quite stick up as tinglingly as when hearing it for the first few spins in one's adolescence, and it's not even the band's best work.

Highlights include: RATM's anthem for boisterous angry men who don't understand the actual sharp political diatribe of the song, 'Killing in the Name', the ill-fated yet still mystical and legendary Stone Roses' 'Fools Gold', New Order's 'Blue Monday', it's throbbing bassline easily one of the most pinched bits of music since the Bo Diddley beat (even Rhianna's had a crack), Jarvis Cocker oozing wit and shrewd socio-cultural observation on Pulp's 'Common People', Bowie's 'Life on Mars?'- not my pick of his catalogue, but anything by the greatest man ever in any professional field suits me dandily, the aforementioned 'Where Is My Mind?' of Pixies fame, who arguably influenced every '90s artist who appeared on Triple J, The Shins' wistful signature 'New Slang', You Am I's seminal 'Berlin Chair'- I don't care if you don't much care for Rogers' exuberance, they made an inarguable contribution to '90s Oz indie and were channeling the retro gods in a much more inspired and original way then Jet ever would or will. By Christ! I mentioned Jet in text! I swore never to do such crime- I am indeed allergic to the band, you see. Well then, before the harrowing convulsions set in, I'd best wrap this up.

In all, a good listen, but could have been much better. Oh and the incredible The Cure are another big highlight with the heartstring-tugging catchiness of 'Close To Me'. In fact I could go on with the highlights for, golly, at least a couple more tracks! I say go purchase it if you don't already own most of the songs, liked the '90s, or are a misogynist.

krudd's ultimate summer mixtape, vol. 1

So here's probably the best mixtape you're going to hear all summer - it's scientifically proven to improve your summer by 87% and comes straight from the decks of the Hon. kRudd. In the PM's words:

"This mix is meant to evoke all the feelings of summer. From the breezy, chillaxed mornings, through to afternoon storms and partying with yr bros at nite [sic], this is is where it's at. Throw in a bit of 'what-the-fuck-parliament-doesn't-sit-until-Feb' and you've got the right combination of songs to enjoy in due season - and that season is now: summer!'

Hard to argue with that. I've listened to it myself and can assure you that 87% is a more conservative figure than the ETI - this is the balls.

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD THE MIX

Shit is epic - 90+ minutes of sweet tunes. Tracklist after the jump.

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Tell me something I don't know.

 There is no doubt that music has a unique effect on the human brain. As William Congreve once wrote (and is commonly misquoted) "Music has charms to soothe a savage breast." Neurologist Oliver Sacks has written an entire book, 'Musicophilia', about music and the fascinating influence it can have people, particularly when modern medicine has failed.

He writes stories of an Alzheimer's sufferer who is unable to string a coherent sentence together, however when asked to sing, he returns to his former self in a dazzling display of raw emotion and lucidity. Tourette's sufferers have their incessant ticks calmed by playing the piano, patients who are incapable of remembering anything longer than 7 seconds, except for intricate musical compositions.

Indeed, any music listener can vouch for their favourite album or song being able to lift them out of a bad mood. Emo music has thrived on the fact that angst-ridden teenagers find an escape from their emotional existence (whether real or imagined). Couples have "their song" that reminds them of when they first met, groups of friends have a tune that stirs memories of a particularly wild night or epic holiday.

But for all of music's good, it has committed unto me a heinous crime. Its great power can be used for both good and evil. This is made evident through it's ability to get a horrible pop loop stuck in your head for hours, days, even weeks at time, coming and going as it pleases. My problem? It has created a false memory.

Not just a little false memory mind you, an entire semester of memories. The album "Let's Bottle Bohemia" by The Thrills crafted, over a matter of weeks, the following memory:

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remember the titans: then and now...

I went to an all-boy private secondary school, and as anyone who attended such an establishment for any even insignificant period of time can testify, two things are pretty much held up as the pinnacle of male adolescence – sport, and masculine bonding (through sport). Thus, when teacher’s were trying to kill time after exams were finished or an ethics assignment was on the horizon, it made sense that they’d repeatedly reach for one movie several times a semester – Remember the Titans.

This is a movie about the first inter-racial football team in some region/“conference” in (mid-west?) ‘50s America. The football team is a microcosm of the town, which is a microcosm of broader America, and through their success as people and sportsman, teach others that black people are the same as white people but slightly more athletic and sassier. Like every fifteen-year-old male at the time, I loved this movie. It was the kind of movie that could make you cry (on the inside), and simultaneously making it acceptable to cry (on the inside) because a) it’s a movie about brotherhood, and b) everyone else in the class was similarly crying (on the inside).

It was about high school boys overcoming adversity and basically saving the planet just by playing sport. It’s the dream that every male at that school secretly had – that their physical prowess would put an end to the world’s problems and then the team would all be BFFs. I literally saw this movie over fifteen times during high school, which is more than three times a year. Furthermore, I discovered that I actually own two copies of it on DVD. This was a movie that I would forever identify with that period of my life, a shiny compact disc that would carry the glorified nostalgia of my high school days.

I watched this movie again recently and realised it was pretty shit.

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Literal Lyrics: Self-esteem issues.

Time for another dose of literal lyrics. Under the microscope this time is an Australian lady by the name of Vanessa Amorosi. Now Vanny (we're friends and she lets me call her that) has been around for quite a while, beginning her musical career in 1998 with the dance anthem "Absolutely Everybody". This song did indeed annoy absolutely everybody with its repetitive pop loops. Then then disappeared off the face of the earth, only to be reborn with the following track. Lucky us.

The song is basically a, "You are beautiful no matter what anyone says, you are strong, just keep fighting!" anthem to all the ugly teenage girls who listen to Vanny. Too harsh too soon? We'll see.

We open on an empty stage. Vanny enters with her guitar. She begins to sing in a heartfelt manner.

I spend my life
Trying to do things right

Better than trying to do things wrong I suppose. That can end badly. So far, nothing new though.

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twitter review: a sunny day in glasglow - 'ashes grammar'

...in which we succinctly review albums via our twitter account.

A Sunny Day in Glasgow - Ashes Grammar:

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Follow nine summertime on twitter.

Literal Lyrics: guns kill people.

Hey there nine summertime readers. I'm Tom. I write this nonsense. I've been asked by Matt to contribute, and since I learnt how to share back in preschool, I was happy to help out. I hear he wants to turn this blog into a critical discourse on the state of modern music. Boring.

This is a series called 'Literal Lyrics'. Basically, I find the lyrics of a shitty pop song that is dominating the ARIA charts and I dissect them for the benefit of the listeners at home. It helps uncover the true meaning of these auto-tuned monstrosities. I plan to do it on a weekly basis.

This week's song is 'Russian Roulette' by Rihanna. Don't get me wrong, I think she's great. But only at dancing and singing. And getting punched in the face by her boyfriend. OH NO YOU DIDN'T! The song opens with some basic instructions on how to live.

Take a breath, take it deep
Calm yourself, he says to me
If you play, you play for keeps

Rihanna, you're hanging with the right crowd. These people have their head on right. Breathing, calmness, playing for keeps. Good on you girl.

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in rememberance: kings of leon

I’d heard others lament the transgression of previously-great bands into mainstream mediocrity and the consciousness of the cultural bankrupt long before I’d experienced that grief myself. From Daft Punk’s ‘Human After All’ to Wilco’s ‘A Ghost is Born,’ from Massive Attack, Pavement, Air, Beastie Boys, The Verve – all are artist’s that have damn near broken people’s hearts with their decreasing vitality and relevance. That’s just a selection of them. Try talking to someone who loved Muse ten years ago about the now Big Day Out-headlining band.

This is a chance to reflect. This is an obituary for the integrity and awesomeness behind a band once close to my heart. A chance to remember the good times so readily obscured by the more recent and more publicised shite. Stand up, Kings of Leon.

I bought Youth and Young Manhood while in Sydney for my uncle’s wedding without having heard so much as single note from it beforehand. I was at that point in my mid-teenage years where, devoid of an older brother and a dad that kept abreast of new music (and back when Myspace was actually used by high schoolers and not bands), I would readily hand over my monies with an adolescent, explorative excitement based on the thirty seconds I heard at listening stations (back when people still bought CDs), or the cover art, or one good review I read in some largely irrelevant publication. I genuinely miss that practice, especially the lack of expectations I had for every release and thus the greater frequency with which I was pleasantly surprised; the complete lack of aesthetic criteria or credibility concerns that now colour almost all my consumption. It was the product of a musical naivety I wish I still had. It made every release something of a mystery and almost everything (including – briefly – Jet) sound quite fresh.

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stuff i've been listening to

Bibio - 'Bones and Skulls'

This track is off Bibio's latest - and THIRD - album released on Warp in 2009. In fairness though, while billed as an album, The Apple and the Tooth is basically an EP and a handful of remixes packaged together. It's still cool if not a slight let down after the fantastic Ambivalence Avenue in June.
Apple doesn't come any closer to marrying the "two Bibios" presented on earlier albums - the glitchy, electronic Bibio, and the singer-songwriter Bibio. They remain quite distinct, though the latter is better represented on this release.
'Bones and Skulls' is a simple guitar track with a catchy, drifting vocal melody. It's a long way from Neil Young , with plenty of background noise and effected sounds filling out the empty space around the clattering percussion and crusty beats. It's the whimsical, vocodered bridge pulled straight from an Air track that really makes it soar.

The Radio Dept. - ' Pulling Our Weight'

One of the biggest regrets after my Euro trip this year was that I never made it to Sweden. I saw Sweden from the Danish shoreline, but never actually made it over there due to time and monetary constraints. This year alone, Sweden has brought us personal favs Fever Ray (album of the year) and The Mary Onettes (to be featured on an upcoming mixtape) amongst many others.
The Radio Dept. were the toast of indie music earlier this decade, with two great EPs and then a pretty good LP released in quick succession, plus no less than three tracks featured on Sofia Coppola's ultra-hip Marie Antoinette soundtrack.
This is an old song of theirs and is on both the aformentioned soundtrack and the Pulling Our Weight EP. The vocals have that dream-like quality that only continental Europeans seem capable of producing, and it's more than just the accent, the low-cut filter, the double-tracking and the reverb. It's what makes even the most fuzzed out Radio Dept. songs sound blissful; it's what draws the comparisons to other 'dream pop' bands. The bass takes the lead on this track. Its melodic line weaves throughout the track, and the one-bar-short phrase that opens the main riff seals the deal.

The Cure - 'Purple Haze' (Hendrix Cover)

Apparently this was put together for a 1993 Hendrix tribute album. I don't own said album because I find Hendrix/Zeppelin et al fairly soporific. I do, however, own The Cure's four-disc, 70-track long b-sides and rarities compilation Join the Dots. Organised chronologically, 'Purple Haze' is buried in the middle of the 3rd disc and is probably the last worthwhile track hearing on the very patchy last two discs. This shouldn't surprise anyone really since The Cure's a-sides at this point were nothing short of terrible ('Mint Car' anyone?)
The best thing about this track is that is displays the creativity that was then lacking in their own work. Robert Smith needs to find and hold onto whatever inspired him to turn air-guitar standard 'Purple Haze' into a hip hop-inspired, drugged-out ballad. It's also the most gothic sounding thing they'd put out that decade until '99s ridiculously hyper-goth Bloodflowers.
The Cure are one of my top three favourite bands ever, and if I were going to recommend any track they released in the '90s then it would be this one. Unusual, since it's a cover, but it shows what's great about The Cure better than their own material - it's eerie, oppressive, and inventive. It doesn't touch their first four albums mind you, but very little out there does.

what do you do with a...

“What do you do with a BA in English?” So goes the opening line in a song from Avenue Q. It’s a great musical because it makes puppets swear (giggle), and is also peppered with harsh truths like that one (you just don’t get that in Cats). I always knew my BA in English wasn’t worth much, but you never expect to hear it from a Jim Hensen creation (or close enough approximation) and being laughed at by a large who probably all have that degree or similar.

There is one difference between my situation and the one outlined in the aforementioned song. Ok, two: the first is that Gary Coleman is not my landlord, and the second is that my life doesn’t suck. I get work and it keeps me afloat, but it’s doing little to wipe away my debts from a recent Euro trip. It’s also hard to look busy when you work from your bedroom –and thus to anyone not physically standing in your room and observing you, working and watching Twin Peaks are practically the same activity.

Although said work is writing-based, I’d have probably gotten this work regardless of whether I had that BA in English or not. That said, I loved my BA and would do it again if I had the chance. But that routine and relative lack of expectation from my undergraduate days has since been stripped away and violated. I’ve never been one to stress about money or occupation before, but debts need a-paying. Also, my partner in crime/self-pity is now a straight and semi-productive member of society whose achievements at her job somehow eclipse the time I spend on Hype Machine and Facebook. I know, right?

I didn’t adopt all of the below steps, but if I ever scale back my freelancing stuff and get desperate then I will likely be turning to suppress the impotent guilt that will likely arrive shortly thereafter.

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stuff i've been listening to.

The Beta Band - 'Squares'
This is a song off this now-defunct band's second studio album Hot Shots II released in 2001. What's notable about this song - and something you'll realise pretty quickly if you listen - is that it shares a chorus with a later, well-known Lupe Fiasco song. Both are based around a prominent sample from I Monster's 'Daydream in Blue,' only The Beta Band's sample is slightly more abridged and features their distinct brogue on top.

I like Lupe Fiasco's track, but this is much better. While the idea of pop music drawing from hip hop in the mid-to-late nineties was hardly revolutionary, a bunch of English squares (no pun intended) somehow managed to sound so original by doing just that. Sampling old soul tracks, using crusty hip hop beats, playfully cutting up their librarian-esque vocals - it all works so well when it probably shouldn't. Maybe it's exciting because the band could have so easily rested on their laurels and churned out more acoustic songs like 'Dry The Rain' - first song on their debut EP and a fantastic song no less - but they went much further than that. They were diverse, adventurous and quite geeky. Sometimes they go almost too far; the sampled string break in 'It's Not Too Beautiful' is surprising the first few times, but eventually feels like the aural equivalent of sea-sickness.

I've been thrashing the Beta Band's 'best of' this last fortnight and this is probably my favourite song on there.

Foals - 'Big Big Love (Fig. 2)'
This song is hardly old but whatever, the album leaked Feb 08 - which is long enough ago to warrant its inclusion here. The opening (not the bit with sticks but the bit with the delayed guitar) sounds "like water" according to Maddy, which is a great description. The distorted, low-cut drums and synth that come in soon thereafter are deceptively simple and maintain a feeling of floating throughout the verses. The chorus is all double-tracked shouts and yet somehow sounds nearly as weightless, and then the song is brought by down to earth by high-fret antics in the bridge/outro.

This album was was produced by Dave Sitek (aka the man of the decade) and is way too underrated. Too many reviews said that the album needed more upbeat ska-type singles like 'Cassius' and 'Balloons.' While those songs are good, the best stuff on Antidotes is easily the more atmospheric, loop-based compositions (see: 'Red Sock Pugie,' 'Tron (Is A Good Film), 'Electric Bloom'). People complain about Sitek's production (the band themselves rejected his final mix) because it's not transparent - it draws attention to it's knob twiddling ways and incidentally pulls focus from the songs. But that what I love about it, and any band or listener looking for slick, live-sounding jams should stay away from Sitek. His production makes me want to spend hours trying stuff out on Logic, and the song 'Big Big Love (Fig. 2)' makes me want to grab my guitar and delay pedals and go for it.

in defense of animal collective (at my own risk...)

I remember a time when it was cool to like Animal Collective. I remember that time mainly because it only three years ago.

I was among the many fans that thought Feels was a great album from an innovative band. Then a whole bunch of new blogs and blog readers decided they also loved Animal Collective, and held them up as the band of the decade and the pinnacle of experimentation in indie music. And then it became cool to hate on Animal Collective. So many of those who formerly championed Avey Tare, Panda Bear, Geologist and Deakin moved on to championing Fuck Buttons and Health - until such time that they too become the toast of alternative media and thus must be discarded in an equally open and critically-hostile manner.

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hipster partay mixtape

I put together a bit of a mixtape because it seemed like a fun thing to do. This isn't a compilation of my favourite songs ever or anything. No. This is a collection of songs that I would play if tonight I were getting loose and DJing to a crowd consisting entirely of myself.

It's pretty fun and not "high brow" hipster material (see: 'Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell'), though it may possibly include the obligatory AnCo jam ('Grass'). Also some cool remixes and my favourite mash-up ever alongside just generally catchy stuff. It's one file with fades - not exactly "mixed" (ie. beat matched), but still worth putting on if you're doing pre-drinks tonight (especially if you to be/want to be me). This is what Brisbanites affectionately call a "Ric's Mix," in reference to the indie-iPod-shuffle style of DJing featured at the eponymous still-best-despite-all-the-Motown-upstairs-on-Saturday-nights club/bar in Brisbane.

Download the mix (at 128kbps) along with the above cover art and tracklist here.

Enjoy.

(Clarification: the name of this mixtape - 'i want to party (party)' - references a Philadelphia Grand Jury song. So as not to be accused of misleading anyone, I'll now point out that that song is NOT included here since I didn't have my new PGJ album near me at the time. Suffice it to say it would've been included and may indeed pop on a future mixtape).

problems with indie films, pt. 1

Since the 1950s and the birth of 'counter culture' as we know it, the mainstream has continually absorbed the signifiers associated with various movements until said signifiers become widely disseminated and steadily lose the cultural purchase they once possessed. It happened to punk (see: Supre shirts with safety pins, Ramones shirts on sale at K-Mart), it happened to hip hop, it happened to grunge - it's a cycle that endlessly repeats itself.

The same is true of the signifiers and tropes of indie movies. The impetus behind this post has been two movies I've seen in the last fortnight, both of which are ostensibly banal Hollywood genre movies that tried to decorate unimaginative characters and plots with indie songs and images in a superficial attempt to connect with/conflate themselves with a demographic that A) enjoys basking in their own reproduced codes, and B) shuns cultural product made from mainstream media outlets/isn't championed by blogs (this is an important caveat, since 'Where The Wild Things Are' is a movie from a major studio that still excites the indie kids).

I would have to identify myself as part of the indie crowd. I love the fact that it's incredibly codified - music and image have always been connected and to say that visual and musical aesthetics should be totally disengaged is rubbish. Style is important and exciting. It obviously goes too far at times, but this has been the folly of the subculture since way back. While I mention above that us indie kids love recognising and reproducing our stylistic codes, nothing annoys us more than when those codes are adopted by outsiders for commercial reasons.

This brings us to 500 Days of Summer, and Whip It.

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mixing failure

So I just finished mixing one of the Ticky-Tak songs we'll be uploading tomorrow. It's an epic song, it took a long time to mix, and I was pretty happy with it...

And then I realised I hadn't even recorded the bass yet, let alone mixed it. And now I'm sad.

I know - how meticulous a craftsman, how skilled and attentive a musician must I be to finish this work of art only to later realise that one of the main elements of a popular music song was missing? The obvious answer is: not a very good one. But this answer is wrong; I am slightly above average, and in my defense this song has upward of 60 tracks hovering around (an indicator of my penchant for excess more than anything else). Still, this is quite the (isolated, not-reflective-of-me-as-a-whole) failure on my part - and more than that, has meant that I've literally pissed my entire day thus far against the wall.

I'm currently thinking that the track will be uploaded sans bass tomorrow, and the bass can then be an extra surprise in a few weeks. If nothing else it gives us another excuse to drum up some future anticipation/hype - marketing 101, guys. Or, in other words, it's laziness repackaged as a cunning attention-grabbing ploy amongst our handful of fans.

I'm about to go work on my Lost Valentinos review for The Vine before I continue mixing. I have a dream that one day I'll be able to pay someone to mix our stuff. Hopefully that day arrives before I strike my computer down and/or go deaf.

Also, the 'ghost organ' I referred to on Ticky-Tak's blog is still yet to be located. The mystery van is on its way.

aural exhaustion (+ normal exhaustion)

I've spent the last few hours with my Senheisser headphones on attempting to mix a few of my band's tracks, since I may have publicly promised to have them online by Friday. Not that anyone will be too devastated if I fail, it's more of a motivational technique designed to snap me out of idling perfectionism. And I wonder why I'm steadily going deaf...

Anyway, I've been sat here since six, slowly growing to hate my own tunes as cymbals, kick drums and all other array of sounds steadily disappear from the mix. Right now, all I'm hearing is a tambourine - which, jaunty as it is, is still largely unhelpful since a solitary tambourine hardly maketh a song. I'm told not to mix through headphones, but this way those fortunate enough to be near me escape the repetitive sonic battery. I know, I'm a martyr right?

My actual body is also fairly exhausted. I played squash for the first time since I got back from Europe today - turns out Europe and Boot Camp aren't the same thing.

Some rad things also happened today, like this rad, Cure-referencing track magically landing in my SoundCloud inbox. You should check it out. I love my SoundCloud account, it's like some sort of glorious, intangible stocking that fills up like it's Xmas every day. (And by 'my' SoundCloud account I mean 'whothehell.net's' SoundCloud account). I also did some work on Rahool's traitorous MySpace page; I'd like to have had the fortitude not to condone her back-stabbing side-project ways but I'm enjoying Photoshop way too much at the moment to pass it up. It's fairly basic, but you'd be surprised how easily I can be impressed with my own limited abilities. Money doesn't buy happiness, extremely small expectations do.

Having enjoyed this brief respite, I'm going to return to my tambourine solo of a song. I'll let you know when it's up, or you could just check Ticky-Tak's blog yourself.

(Yes, we are called Ticky-Tak. We literally drew it out of a hat after certain members of the band deemed 'Pink Tight Raptors' too lame).