crystal castles - crystal castles

Recent years have seen the proliferation of electronic music with infinite sub-genres delineated and hyper-categorization that confuses even the most informed electro fan. In many instances, it’s not worth the time to develop an interest in any band because in a few weeks, they’ll soon be eclipsed by another wave of music, offering slightly varying aesthetics, but ultimately indecipherable from its electro-dance peers. Crystal Castles’ latest self-titled release would get lost in the endless sea of dance music where it not for two things: their frenetic use of arcade-like noise and the occasionally dark, punk roots underscoring their otherwise carefree aesthetic.
All the tracks—even those with little resemblance to dance music—are linked to one another by their heavy use of digital Nintendo beats. “Alice Practice” opens with plinking electronic noises while electronic squalls and abrupt vocal institute violence on the listener, while the song’s fuzzed out backdrop sounds like turned up ambient noise from an arcade. “Air wars” layers unintelligible lyrics over dance beats in a way that suggests the multi-dimensional audio activity of a night at the club. The song is perhaps the most smartly layered and well-constructed track on the album. “XxcxuzMe” sounds like a video game on the fritz, all its audio components violently clashing in perfect cacophony. Though “Crimewave,--“ a remix of a song originally by LA noise band Health—boasts some gimmicky qualities like robotofication of vocals and pseudo dj techniques, it’s also one of the group’s most organically danceable tracks.
Crystal Castle’s approach is exciting for its innovation, but the band has a long way to go before they achieve a fluid sound. With too many competing sonics and frequently abrasive unmelodic vocals a lot of the punk-inspired songs lack any kind of melody or hook to ground the listener. And some of the more traditional dance tracks, like, “Vanished” and “Knights,” are great dance tracks but ultimately unorginal. With a debut album of sixteen songs, it’s hard to maintain solidity throughout. Hopefully Crystal Castles can sharpen their focus and build on the more innovative and distinctive elements of their sound because without them, they’re just another face in an endless crowd of electro-dance fodder.

Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks - Real Emotional Trash

I must confess I have a conditioned aversion to jam bands. When I was eighteen I hung out with a group of hippie musicians. They were effusively warm and carefree and shared the same kind of disdain for mainstream America I was beginning to fashion. But they never really went anywhere and their lack of steady work left them constantly asking my friends and me for money to buy gas and cigarettes. I soon went on my way, recognizing that though nice people they were not really appropriate role models for where I saw my life going.
Given my deep-rooted aversion to jam bands, I was extremely disconcerted to learn that Real Emotional Trash, the latest album by Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks, has several tracks that surpass the six minute mark and is filled with aimless, lengthy solos. Despite my reservations, this open-endedness seems a natural progression for Pavement front man Malkmus. Most of Pavement’s work was desultory and rhythmically loose; its focus grew from the conspicuous force of the band’s anti-mainstream philosophy. Now that rock music is less vested in culture wars—and Malkmus at 41 and his band mates are older—it makes sense that Malkmus’s music would drift toward the lazy meanderings of 70s rock and progressive rock.
Most of Real Emotional Trash’s songs—notably “Hopscotch Willie” and “Wicked Wanda”--are anchored by delightful rhythmic tensions: the abrupt force of the drums vies for control over looping 70s style guitar while Malkmus’s sputtering, staccato vocals further jumble any lingering rhythmic stability. Unfortunately these songs are frequently addended by long, drifting guitar solos which diminish the petulant energy of earlier song parts. The Jicks diverge from this formula with mixed results. “Baltimore’s” gritty, meandering rhythm lacks the vitality of Pavement’s class struggles but its solo seques into a jaunty rock pace that actually breathes life into tired 70s guitar riffs. “Gardenia” is the album’s worst song even without a solo, melding Thin Lizzy riffs with inane, starry-eyed pop. “Real Emotional Trash” and “Cold Son” trade in the rhythmic intricacy for sedate but more emotionally charged melodies. The title track showcases increasing emotive sensitivity from Malkmus, who lengthens his traditional tapered delivery and reaches for high notes with newfound earnestness. Its solo transforms it from an introspective, desultory narrative into a delightful Grateful Dead-esque romp. “Cold Son” ends in under four minutes with the unintelligible shouts and cacophonous collision of instruments common in many Pavement tracks.
Real Emotional Trash is a mixed bag and will try the patience of many an indie rocker. Its most vital parts are too short and its tepid aspects often languish too long. Without the anchor of a dominant philosophy, Malkmus is in danger of losing focus and vitality. Without a purpose to structure his ramblings he will never recreate the dynamism which made Pavement so important.

clinic - do it

With their fifth album, Do It, Clinic return to their Internal Wrangler roots, revisiting the experimental psych-rock that made them famous. Do It offers a strange counterpoint to their breakthrough LP, both more traditional and more unexpected. Most of the songs ascribe to straightforward psych rock aesthetics, and when more adventurous choices are made, they manifest in strange places, like rock and roll ballads and folk-pop tracks. At times the unconventional strategy injects depth into otherwise insipid tracks--opener “Memories” is an example—,and in other instances it gives songs a choppy, uneasy feel when simplicity would have been more appropriate—and compelling. Clinic has a knack for old-fashioned rock, but it's their more experimental ideas that keep me coming back. The album’s lo-fi production provides an excellent backdrop for jangly garage numbers like “The Witch” and “Shopping Bag,” which along with "Coda," provide some much needed fervor to an otherwise lukewarm delivery.

“Memories” starts off the album with fuzzed out guitar riffs and glockenspiel, which soon gives way to an organ-based folk-pop verse. Each bridge revisits the opening riff in different variations, jazzing up an otherwise boring song. The song successfully meshes its disparate pieces, but feels a bit sluggish for an album opener. “Tomorrow,” makes this aesthetic a bit more interesting, its loose strung guitar clanking along muffled, nasal vocals. Ringing rhythm guitar chords and mystical horns give the song a psychedelic feel. Single “The Witch” expertly posits catchy psych-rock, it’s shuffling drums, steady, throbbing bass lines, and jangling guitar issuing the perfect mix of danceable rhythms and eccentricity. “Shopping Bag” is the album’s best song, injecting a manic intensity and vitality into its aesthetic. It opens with a squall of screeching woodwinds and metallic guitar, and a brilliant cacophony closes each of its taut, pulsating guitar verses. “Corpus Christi” and “High Coin” have interesting meandering verses with flourishes of sitar-like guitar, but never really go anywhere. Sadly, the album saves its most experimental work for its ending, a song with an adventurous spirit so rich it could surely have livened up the rest of the album. “Coda” opens with a waltzing staccato organ while strange harp flourishes and whirring sounds circle in and out. A jagged guitar solo impales the middle of song, with a haze of distorted church bells bringing "Coda's" strange chaos to a close.

Despite a few adventurous moments, Do It ultimately feels like a diluted version of Internal Wrangler, aesthetically compelling but lacking the vitality and dynamism of the band's best work.