by Brandon Goei | November 8th, 2011
Would you buy a car from this man? What about life insurance? Snake oil?
All seem viable options with a suit and smile like those. That greasy salesman on the cover is Jim Heath, otherwise known as the Reverend Horton Heat, whose album Smoke ‘Em If You Got ‘Em, combines the things that the psychobilly genre blends best: genuine skill and craftsmanship & a twisted sense of humor.
In terms of showcasing their prowess, this album’s star track, the genre-defining “Psychobilly Freakout“, takes the cake. But the rest of this album is littered with amazingly high-quality instrumental tracks the strange twist on “Apache” that is “Marijuana” to the blazing intro track “Bullet”, which tones down the “freakout” level just slightly, to let through a little more of the songwriting. Heath’s intermittent wail in the latter falls perfectly in place during the song’s breaks. This is the part of the band’s pitch where a “random” member of the audience offers their unsolicited testimonials.
“Bad Reputation” catches the band at an early moment where their true sleaze level boils up to the surface, above all the guitar solos and technical expertise. The track itself is a decent, catchy tune, about a topic that isn’t uncommon to contemporary music: ill-fated love. Of course, the Reverend’s got his punchline, and it’s a fairly raunchy one. About a minute and a half through the song, you hear him say (extra clearly), “You’re the kind of girl I’d like to eat.” It’s a line that takes you by surprise the first time you’re listening, and one that sets the tone for later, even more irreverent tracks like “Big Dwarf Rodeo” and “Eat Steak”.
I’ve narrowed it down to either the plaid or the smile. The placket is tacky (and even more tacky that it matches the ribbon of his tie), but it’s not sleazy as much as it’s just out of fashion. The yellow background is a little tasteless, but not enough to discredit anyone. The hair is a bit greasy, but not even close to the sopping-wet comb-overs I’ve seen before.
Now, the plaid suit jacket — that’s like putting wallpaper on the outside of your house instead of the inside. And the smile is perfect for the record. It’s hard to listen through any of the tracks from this album without imagining the good Reverend constantly smirking out of the corners of his mouth.
Artist: Reverend Horton Heat
Album: Smoke ‘Em If You Got ‘Em
Year: 1990
Tracklist & Review (Allmusic)
For more album art reviews, visit Probably Just Hungry.
by Brandon Goei | November 1st, 2011
Yes, the cover is minimal, but upon first sight, it’s really creepy more than anything else. Completely drowned in contrast until the only thing left is a couple of thick lines and a stencil cut-out of a small child, staring exceptionally… blankly. The image is something that gives me flashbacks to the second or third time I saw the Shining. Not the first time, where I was gripping the sleeves of my shirt, simultaneously frozen in sheer panic and attempting to dry the sweat on my palms. But rather, the times after that, when I knew was I was getting into as those twin girls popped up, and the groin-grabbingly terrifying panic attack was replaced with a much less intense, but still unsettling knot in the pit of my stomach.
The Crystal Stilts have been releasing plenty of new, straightforward, 1960s-inspired jangle pop, and the hooks have only been getting clearer and more bombastic. Those songs aren’t the ones represented here, on their self-titled debut EP. These are the tracks that leave much more to the imagination by more or less standing still in a drone-y, trance-y sort of way. It’s genuinely strange the way these songs keep you strapped in while getting your mind to wander, all amidst the shimmer of plate reverb.
“Bright Night Nursery” finds the band at its most immediate-sounding. This is the shortest track on the record, and is indicative of the band working at a quick pacing between song elements. Because of that, it’s also one of the cleanest cut tracks on the EP, providing a more articulated vocal delivery and distinct dynamics. The real payoff ends up being in how ephemeral the track is, blazing by and leaving only a slight trace in the back of your head.
As the last track on the record, “Converging in the Quiet” is a driving, pulsating mantra at the bottom of a stone-lined well. It jumps alive and swirls instantly into a reverbed oblivion, barely changing and always adding to the sound. Still, there’s something empty about the delivery that allows for a kind of detachment from the whole thing. There’s a touch of whirring white space somewhere between the incessant tom-toms and the whiplash guitar strumming.
Both tracks are also amazingly repetitive, which identifies another important aspect of the best garage revival acts today: find a groove and stick to it. It may sound crazy, but that sort of holding pattern helps this and other songs on the record, giving an oddly free range of motion to the instruments as they ring out. This is the thesis to music as a simple joy in life, especially when that joy is articulated in the strange contrast between dynamics and standing still.
Artist: Crystal Stilts
Album: Crystal Stilts
Year: 2008
Tracklist (Allmusic)
Review (Pitchfork)
For more album art reviews, visit Probably Just Hungry.
by Brandon Goei | October 25th, 2011
I know what you’re thinking. It’s impossible not to think it – it’s right there in her teased-out hair, her lack of a neck, the blue lightsaber in one ear and out the other. And the name – oh God, the name. But this album… actually isn’t that bad.
No, really.
Ok, it has its drawbacks. But it wears its heart on its sleeve admirably and in a nicely understated way. Most of what you need to know is all there when you first look at the cover. Face large and centered with hairspray halo, this album is all about Bonnie Tyler. There’s a blue streak running right across the front, but it breaks just in time to leave Bonnie’s face unscathed. Even the color and alignment prove that it’s only there to give a futuristic neon allusion to her eyes. The title sits on top of her head like a diamond tiara, and the “floating head” aspect hints at an Wizard-of-Oz-like superiority (via ‘the man behind the curtain’). This is an album about the grandiose excess of the ego – it’s a child of the 80s.
Another thing that draws me into this album is its incredible ability to unfurl worlds. Ok, not in a literal sense, but still in a pretty impressive way. Researching this album uncovers surprisingly high reviews and high sales. Then you see names like Paul Shaffer and Max Weinberg, who respectively played organ and drums on the album. Now, the album has ties with late-night TV and Bruce Springsteen.
To go through what follows:
- Rick Derringer, the album’s guitarist, penned “Hang On Sloopy” in the 60s, played with Weird Al Yankovic in the 80s, and now tours with Ringo Starr.
- Larry Fast (synths) was a part of Peter Gabriel’s ensemble from 1976-86, contributed music to the score of Carl Sagan’s Cosmos, and his work was the basis for an entire Commodore 64 video game score.
- Steve Jordan (session drummer) has toured with Keith Richards, Eric Clapton, and John Mayer.
- Jimmy Maelen (percussion) has worked with Roxy Music, James Taylor, Barry Manilow, Alice Cooper, John Lennon, and more.
- Holly Sherwood (who is credited with ‘vocal wail’) was a child Broadway star, working with Irving Berlin, Richard Rodgers, Leonard Bernstein, and Andrew Lloyd Webber.
But the connection that trumps them all is Jim Steinman, whose style is synonymous with Meat Loaf’s records. Steinman specializes in mini-epics, and the two tracks he pens illustrate this sweeping, sprawling Wagnerian rock. That arena aesthetic apparently translates well into other realms, as he is also known for writing songs for Air Supply, The Sisters of Mercy, Boyzone, Barry Manilow, and Celine Dion. He also wrote lyrics for Andrew Lloyd Webber’s show “Whistle Down the Wind” as well as the music, lyrics, and book for “Tanz der Vampire”, a comedy-horror musical adapted from a Roman Polanski film about vampire hunters.
You can’t make this stuff up.
The music, for better or for worse, is not as eclectic as its performers, but primarily focuses on channeling worlds through one body: Bonnie Tyler’s. The singles are absolutely bombastic and won’t leave your memory without a fight. Most of the songs can be categorized as filler material, but even the filler serves to promote the artist, instead of simply fill space. The distinction? Covers and mimicry. In a good way, I promise.
“Total Eclipse of the Heart”
“Tears”
“Total Eclipse of the Heart”. Such is the stuff that made the 80s the current-day meme that it is. A 7-minute Steinman epic that blurs the line between dramatic and kitschy. With the call-and-response/male-female vocal interplay, it’s like a melodramatic conversation in outer space, especially with the “space cannon” sound effects that start in at about 3:08.
The second track is a good example of the 70s & 80s mashup strategy the rest of the tracks use. In “Tears” you can hear shades of Nazareth’s “Love Hurts” alongside raspy Rod Stewart-like vocals, and to top it off, there’s a guitar solo that sounds like it was lifted straight out of a Bryan Adams track.
As for the rest of the album, there are examples of Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff”, UB40′s “Red Red Wine”, Eric Carmen’s “Hungry Eyes”, and something that fits somewhere between Grand Funk’s and Kylie Minogue’s versions of “Locomotion”. It’s actually quite amazing, especially when you realize that some of these “lifted” sounds were actually written and recorded months or years before those arrangements existed.
All of these sounds fit rather nicely into the artwork as well, as I mentioned before, in a very understated way. In a fairly effective manner, this record speaks on behalf of the ego (and the social network) of Bonnie Tyler, both of which are seemingly large. What better way to embody that than with a huge, disembodied head?
Artist: Bonnie Tyler
Album: Faster Than the Speed of Night
Year: 1983
Tracklist & Review (Allmusic)
For more album art reviews, visit Probably Just Hungry.
by Brandon Goei | October 18th, 2011
I have to admit that for the first few months I had this album, I listened to it almost non-stop, front-to-back and held it as a cherished selection of my music library, and that only after years of having it did I realize how bizarre the album art was. Two people, posed in perfect symmetry, with a table setting that’s equal parts candlelit dinner, birthday party, and seance.
I suppose it isn’t something that’s readily apparent when you consider the feel of the album — maybe that’s why it passed right over my head for a long time. The album as a whole has a woozy, spiritual vibe that’s bolstered by its thrift store synths and reverb-drenched vocals.
More than anything else, though, Beach House’s Devotion is an album of memories — something that everyone today seems to be cashing in on. Nostalgia is a powerful force in our world today and many of those who have caught on to the game are quick to exploit it. Devotion, however, is one of those rare sincere moments in the history of modern nostalgia where nothing sounds derivative or appropiated, but it all still sounds familiar, warm, and comforting.
[audio:Beach House - Gila.mp3]
[audio:Beach House - Turtle Island.mp3]
If there is a major flaw to this album, though, it’s because of that familiarity. “Gila” and “Turtle Island” represent the two ends of the shallow spectrum covered in this album. The former is a joyful, driving pop song, built on synth organ warbles and fueled by a fierce and potent combination of guitar and vocal hooks. Other songs in this camp are little gems speckling the tracklist like “Holy Dances” and “Heart of Chambers”. The chord progression on this track in particular is enough to send shivers down the spine of any aspiring songwriter, and the interplay between vocals and guitar wring every last drop of use from the song structure. You can practically hear the vintage video footage dripping from the speakers as the trembling church organ backs up the lead guitar lines.
“Turtle Island” serves as a foil for the slow-motion hooks of the rest of the album — it sets up a mood and builds on it until the swirl of tremolo and reverb illustrate a certain amount of tension. The first few seconds of “Turtle Island” actually exemplify this idea, as a single note crescendoes into nothing except the start of the first verse. Even then, the verse is nothing like that of “Gila”, where each note fit perfectly into a master plan — the verses of “Turtle Island” circle around each other, as do the guitar parts and the drum machine thwacks. Dirge-like and moody, this is the seance portion of the album.
I’m in a unique position, I guess, after having had two different versions of this album art in my head (one that I glazed over and one I actually reflected on), but if anything, that’s sort of a credit to this feel of this album. After all this time, it’s the tone of the music and the tone of the artwork that fits so well together, even with the presence of poppy dirges and a strange birthday seance.
Artist: Beach House
Album: Devotion
Year: 2008
Tracklist & Review (Allmusic)
For more album art reviews, visit Probably Just Hungry.
by Brandon Goei | October 4th, 2011
Free jazz is a lot like abstract expressionism — streaming, raw and unintelligible. Listening to Ornette Coleman is like listening to an untranslatable language, much like seeing the work of Jackson Pollack is like looking at pictures of consciousness. Instead of the traditional dynamic (you look at and decode it) those two artists’ works flip everything around — it points at something inside you.
Person Pitch is nothing like that. At first, it seems that Panda Bear (Noah Lennox) is attempting something similar with blaring samples and jumbled melodies, but this album is more like the playful collage that decorates its cover — an exercise in joyful distraction. Listening to the work is like flipping through magazines, noting only the bright blurs and glossy textures. Agnes Montgomery, the artist whose work graces the cover, specializes in collages and undoubtedly knows the sheer joy harnessed in the cut-and-paste technique. Her work and Lennox’s soundscapes bounce from clipping to clipping until the whole mess gets absorbed into your head in an oddly catchy and unified way.
Starting off as one of the more subdued numbers, “Take Pills” instantly takes a loop of seemingly worthless tape noise and turns it into a rhythm. As things are added, including Lennox’s very Brian Wilson-esque vocals, layers start to pile on until it all comes together as a singular sweeping statement. The most interesting portion of the song occurs during the transition between the slow and quick halves. More samples and a quicker pace lend a propulsive rhythm that breaks through with a gurgling water effect.
“Bros” is probably the most well-known of the tracks on this album, if anything because of the length — Lennox keeps this jam going for 12 1/2 minutes with several different movements and sections. At the 7 1/2 minute mark, when all the layers have been established, the song enters a more exploratory phase. You can hear the looped guitar strums, a cheap drumset, percussive clicks and clacks in the background, voices from assorted peoples and Lennox’s own vocals cut and looped into unintelligible yelps. Eventually, a horn emerges with a new riff and everything seems to layer on that melody. Even in this short excerpt, the amount of layering that is apparent (and simultaneously subtle) is astounding.
As an album/artwork combo, I have to confess that Person Pitch is one of my favorites. Just as I revisit this album from time to time and uncover more hidden treats, so do I look again at Montgomery’s collage and find something new to appreciate about its hodge podge of bizarre characters. As fractured works of beauty, these two work exceptionally in tandem.
Artist: Panda Bear
Album: Person Pitch
Year: 2007
Tracklist & Review (Allmusic)
For more album art reviews, visit Probably Just Hungry.
by Brandon Goei | September 27th, 2011
It’s the start of fall and my semester is packed. On the road to fulfillment, I’m sure. Optimistic bullshit aside, I’m fucking busy. Combine that with free refills at the cafe downstairs and you get this: short & choppy, black & white, and loud — very loud.
This is where the Descendents’ Milo Goes to College comes in handy. Quick, brutal punk songs, meant for the straightforward and single-minded. Expressionless, bespectacled, crisp — more words to describe the odd nature of this album (and my current mood). 15 songs in 23 minutes. Get it done and move on with it.
43 seconds. It may seem brief, but it’s enough to grant a nice little burst of raw energy. What’s nice about “I Wanna Be A Bear” is its ability to compress a full song into that tiny little package with little to no loss of depth. You can even pull neat little quotes from its verses like, “You’ll get old and have a wrinkled ass!” Cheeky.
Conversely, “Catalina” shows the band’s ability to still use complex elements in a relatively small timeframe. Well, kind of small. They use more than twice the time than “I Wanna Be A Bear,” clocking in at 1:48 — practically cheating. Anyone could put spoken word, narratives, social commentary and four or five distinct song sections within 2 minutes. … Right?
And that’s really it. There’s not much left to expound on — it’s just a solid, straight-ahead punk album. It might be a little less angry than its peers, but it sneers just as much — from behind black font on a white field. Sometimes it’s the most understated things that work the best.
Artist: Descendents
Album: Milo Goes To College
Year: 1982
Tracklist & Review (Allmusic)
For more album art reviews, visit Probably Just Hungry.
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