Beauty Queen Sister - Indigo Girls
1200 Curfews was the first Indigo Girls album I got, and this was the most recent, entering my collection about a year ago and almost as an afterthought. I’d received an offer of free music downloads from a site that does that sort of thing, and though I prefer to buy physical CDs wherever possible, I’m also not immune to the lure of free music. Unfortunately the site’s selection was very skewed toward contemporary pop artists that I have never found all that compelling. This was the only album they had by the Indigo Girls, probably because it’s their most recently released one.
And it’s a great one. Despite much of it not being very good running music, the whole of it ended up on my marathon running playlist a few months later, mostly on the strength of a few very persuasive favorite tracks. Mostly, though, it’s an album that gets me lost in thought, echoing the ideas and feelings that happened to be salient in my life at the time. Birthday Song never fails to get me feeling sentimental about a certain person, and Feed and Water the Horses reminds me of someone else entirely. Making Promises reminds me of myself, especially the looping refrain at the end:
I couldn’t keep myself
from making promises
I couldn’t keep myself
from making promises
I couldn’t keep
What strikes me most about this album is how consistently the duo has kept their distinct style over the decades of their career, developing yes but not losing their roots. This is never more evident than when they take on recent world political events in songs like War Rugs:
Young Egypt seized the moment
and brought that bastard down
you’ve got technology
and you’ve got archaeology
we treated you like punters
until you kicked the goal
now we’re claiming you for our team
‘cause what do we know?
Folk rock is still the voice of political dissent and protest, even after all these years.
From plain-as-day statements to beautifully mysterious poetry, the album ends with Yoke, a song I’ve listened to over and over and cannot for the life of me understand. Its words compell me as much as the haunting violin accompaniment, but continually elude my conscious comprehension. I hope that there never comes a time when I understand all the music I love. But that does not keep me from trying from time to time.
Next: Swamp Ophelia
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Monday, April 27, 2015
All My CDs, pt 59: 1200 Curfews
1200 Curfews - Indigo Girls
I have been anticipating this for many months: a month of reviewing another of my favorite bands, the Indigo Girls. Only three other artists dominate my collection as much as this folk rock duo; I reviewed Faith and the Muse's discography earlier this year, and will get to Alanis Morissette's and Vienna Teng's sometime in the near future. But unlike with those others, I have not even come close to collecting the Indigo Girls' full spread of albums. That's something I have been working on, and hope to accomplish. In the meantime, I'm positively giddy over the prospect of fully re-digesting what I've already got.
I'll begin with 1200 Curfews, a two-disk live album and the first I ever got. I was in my teens, and an older friend introduced me to Galileo, perhaps their best-known song about the astronomer and also Reincarnation, spiritual growth, and other cosmic mysteries. I downloaded the song, loved it, and then skipped down to my local record store and to see if they had it. This album was on their shelf, and seemed to have a lot of songs including Galileo, so I bought it, only realizing later that it was a live album.
I did not mind, though. As a wide-eyed youth looking for a place to start with a band that had been producing music for decades, I found it to be the perfect introduction. With songs from several previous albums as well as some covers not appearing anywhere else, it was a great way to explore the duo's repertoire from a unique angle. It also gave me an opportunity to imagine what it might be like to actually see one of their live concerts - an experience I sadly may never have.
It also taught me that, despite my previous experiences, live recordings aren't all bad. It turns out that Indigo Girls do not lose much of their appeal in a live recording, unlike other more modern bands that rely heavily on synthesized effects and sound editing. That's one of the great things about folk rock; when the basic elements of the genre can be easily boiled down to a vocalist and an acoustic guitar, it becomes very difficult to get hung up on the details of any single studio recording to the extent that no other version sounds "right."
In fact, with a few of the songs here, I've had the opposite feeling: I've gotten used to the live version, and once I heard the studio recording for the first time, it does not compare favorably. The clearest example of this is Chicken Man, which appears on the album Rites of Passage. The version on 1200 Curfews is wild and rambling, like the old highway the titular man occupies, while the studio version I eventually heard is shorter and more tame, and less joyful. Even the words differ. For instance, in the studio version:
He said it's a long road to be forgiven
And live:
He said oh no child, you got a long road
I said good, 'cause I need to be forgiven
I perceive a significant difference in the meanings of those lines, and I know which one I prefer.
There is no time to detail my feelings on all these many tracks, but a few stand out as particularly significant to me. Ghost is a song that has come to personify my first experience of unrequited love, perhaps even more than any other that I listened to those months. Its words are so haunting that I am pulled quite unwillingly back to that tortured place, and yet still somehow enjoy the feeling:
And I feel it like a sickness how this love is killing me
I'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly
And dance the edge of sanity. I've never been this close
I'm in love with your ghost
World Falls stayed out of my conscious awareness for years, until suddenly its words and melody reared up from somewhere in my subconscious mind and demanded my attention. That song is pure mystic poetry, as are many others of my favorites.
Some of my favorites on this album are covers, though, such as Joni Mitchell’s River, Dylan’s Tangled Up in Blue, and especially Buffy St. Marie’s Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. The latter brings the anti-establishment rage of punk rock with into the completely rage-worthy subject matter of federal government’s treatment of Native American communities, felling some of the stereotypes of those communities in the process. It’s also awfully catchy and fun to sing along to.
Next: Beauty Queen Sister
I have been anticipating this for many months: a month of reviewing another of my favorite bands, the Indigo Girls. Only three other artists dominate my collection as much as this folk rock duo; I reviewed Faith and the Muse's discography earlier this year, and will get to Alanis Morissette's and Vienna Teng's sometime in the near future. But unlike with those others, I have not even come close to collecting the Indigo Girls' full spread of albums. That's something I have been working on, and hope to accomplish. In the meantime, I'm positively giddy over the prospect of fully re-digesting what I've already got.
I'll begin with 1200 Curfews, a two-disk live album and the first I ever got. I was in my teens, and an older friend introduced me to Galileo, perhaps their best-known song about the astronomer and also Reincarnation, spiritual growth, and other cosmic mysteries. I downloaded the song, loved it, and then skipped down to my local record store and to see if they had it. This album was on their shelf, and seemed to have a lot of songs including Galileo, so I bought it, only realizing later that it was a live album.
I did not mind, though. As a wide-eyed youth looking for a place to start with a band that had been producing music for decades, I found it to be the perfect introduction. With songs from several previous albums as well as some covers not appearing anywhere else, it was a great way to explore the duo's repertoire from a unique angle. It also gave me an opportunity to imagine what it might be like to actually see one of their live concerts - an experience I sadly may never have.
It also taught me that, despite my previous experiences, live recordings aren't all bad. It turns out that Indigo Girls do not lose much of their appeal in a live recording, unlike other more modern bands that rely heavily on synthesized effects and sound editing. That's one of the great things about folk rock; when the basic elements of the genre can be easily boiled down to a vocalist and an acoustic guitar, it becomes very difficult to get hung up on the details of any single studio recording to the extent that no other version sounds "right."
In fact, with a few of the songs here, I've had the opposite feeling: I've gotten used to the live version, and once I heard the studio recording for the first time, it does not compare favorably. The clearest example of this is Chicken Man, which appears on the album Rites of Passage. The version on 1200 Curfews is wild and rambling, like the old highway the titular man occupies, while the studio version I eventually heard is shorter and more tame, and less joyful. Even the words differ. For instance, in the studio version:
He said it's a long road to be forgiven
And live:
He said oh no child, you got a long road
I said good, 'cause I need to be forgiven
I perceive a significant difference in the meanings of those lines, and I know which one I prefer.
There is no time to detail my feelings on all these many tracks, but a few stand out as particularly significant to me. Ghost is a song that has come to personify my first experience of unrequited love, perhaps even more than any other that I listened to those months. Its words are so haunting that I am pulled quite unwillingly back to that tortured place, and yet still somehow enjoy the feeling:
And I feel it like a sickness how this love is killing me
I'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly
And dance the edge of sanity. I've never been this close
I'm in love with your ghost
World Falls stayed out of my conscious awareness for years, until suddenly its words and melody reared up from somewhere in my subconscious mind and demanded my attention. That song is pure mystic poetry, as are many others of my favorites.
Some of my favorites on this album are covers, though, such as Joni Mitchell’s River, Dylan’s Tangled Up in Blue, and especially Buffy St. Marie’s Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. The latter brings the anti-establishment rage of punk rock with into the completely rage-worthy subject matter of federal government’s treatment of Native American communities, felling some of the stereotypes of those communities in the process. It’s also awfully catchy and fun to sing along to.
Next: Beauty Queen Sister
Thursday, April 23, 2015
All My CDs, pt 58: The Planets
The Planets - Gustav Holst
The Planets is one of the best-known classical suites among non-classical fans. I remember getting a recording of it for myself because I was writing a science fiction story taking place in our fair solar system, and thought it might provide some good musical inspiration.
At first I found myself skipping most of the tracks except for Mars and Jupiter, the most iconic movements, but since then my appreciation has expanded. Now the only movements I like to skip are Venus and Neptune.
Mars is really exciting for a piece that consists largely of repetitive cords tapping out an urgent rhythm. I've heard that the reason it's so pants-wettingly scary to listen to is that it was inspired by World War I, which was being fought when the suite was written. It may not have been the war to end all wars, but historians seem to universally agree that it changed warfare as we know it, radically and terrifyingly.
Mercury is a playful little ditty and infectiously joyful, but in terms of sheer Joviality it's far outshined by Jupiter, which somehow manages to sound grand and lighthearted at the same time, like a magnanimous and generous ruler of a wildly prosperous realm. Jupiter also manages to have more memorable melodies than the other movements, which are more atmospheric than anything else. (Ironic, considering Jupiter as a planet contains more literal atmosphere than any other in the system). At least one of those melodies has been set to words, a testament to its lyricality.
Saturn is apparently Holst's favorite, even after he lost interest in his own suite, but I'm unsure why. I can definitely see how effectively its stately rhythm suggests time's unstoppable march, both plodding and desperately urgent (its subtitle is "Bringer of Old Age"). But in terms of pleasure of listening, it's not nearly as grabbing as some of the other movements. Perhaps Holst and I are paying attention to different things.
My own personal favorite, at least today, might be Uranus. It has almost all the grandeur of Jupiter and even some of its playfulness, but with a sinister edge, like that of a capricious and vindictive ruler.
The Planets were intended to portray not an image of the planets' physical reality, nor of the gods they are named for, but of their significance as astrological archetypes. In that I can't help but think they're quite successful. Each movement takes a relatively simple principle or concept, personifies it, and then scales it up to titanic proportions. And is that not the very definition of an archetype? I'm very glad to have this in my collection.
Next: 1200 Curfews
The Planets is one of the best-known classical suites among non-classical fans. I remember getting a recording of it for myself because I was writing a science fiction story taking place in our fair solar system, and thought it might provide some good musical inspiration.
At first I found myself skipping most of the tracks except for Mars and Jupiter, the most iconic movements, but since then my appreciation has expanded. Now the only movements I like to skip are Venus and Neptune.
Mars is really exciting for a piece that consists largely of repetitive cords tapping out an urgent rhythm. I've heard that the reason it's so pants-wettingly scary to listen to is that it was inspired by World War I, which was being fought when the suite was written. It may not have been the war to end all wars, but historians seem to universally agree that it changed warfare as we know it, radically and terrifyingly.
Mercury is a playful little ditty and infectiously joyful, but in terms of sheer Joviality it's far outshined by Jupiter, which somehow manages to sound grand and lighthearted at the same time, like a magnanimous and generous ruler of a wildly prosperous realm. Jupiter also manages to have more memorable melodies than the other movements, which are more atmospheric than anything else. (Ironic, considering Jupiter as a planet contains more literal atmosphere than any other in the system). At least one of those melodies has been set to words, a testament to its lyricality.
Saturn is apparently Holst's favorite, even after he lost interest in his own suite, but I'm unsure why. I can definitely see how effectively its stately rhythm suggests time's unstoppable march, both plodding and desperately urgent (its subtitle is "Bringer of Old Age"). But in terms of pleasure of listening, it's not nearly as grabbing as some of the other movements. Perhaps Holst and I are paying attention to different things.
My own personal favorite, at least today, might be Uranus. It has almost all the grandeur of Jupiter and even some of its playfulness, but with a sinister edge, like that of a capricious and vindictive ruler.
The Planets were intended to portray not an image of the planets' physical reality, nor of the gods they are named for, but of their significance as astrological archetypes. In that I can't help but think they're quite successful. Each movement takes a relatively simple principle or concept, personifies it, and then scales it up to titanic proportions. And is that not the very definition of an archetype? I'm very glad to have this in my collection.
Next: 1200 Curfews
Monday, April 20, 2015
All My CDs, pt 57: Incongruent
Incongruent - Hank Green and the Perfect Strangers
Released last spring, Incongruent is Hank Green's latest and, as far as I can tell, best album by a wide margin. This may be partly due to experience honing his skills as a musician, or the fact that he chose to bring in some other musicians to pool their skills and form a band, The Perfect Strangers. I was already familiar with some of these other guys' work, especially Andrew Huang, but none of them are represented in my collection so far. I may one day decide to change that.
The album's title continues Hank Green's happy pattern of not naming albums after songs. For that I will always love him. And as that title implies, he here fully embraces his complete lack of consistency either in style or subject matter. It seems to directly refer to the lines in Marilyn Hanson that confront the nonexistent barriers between genres:
Dancing to Hanson
And Marilyn Manson
And I know that that doesn't make even a little bit of sense
That was the point
That beautiful incongruence
We didn't fit
And we didn't care
I was excited to learn that Incongruent would be coming out shortly before my first marathon, because I already knew that Hank Green makes excellent running music, and I knew I wanted the new album on my playlist for that run. As it happened, all its songs are fast-paced and jaunty enough to enliven any jog, save for one, Video Game Books. I could not have been more fortunate.
Even the sillier songs on the album seem better-executed than many of the older songs, and none of them feel particularly dated to me, except for the full English-translated cover of Gangnam Style, which is nonetheless forgivable for its relentless catchiness. (I never really caught the original, but I hear it spread like a virulent disease a few years ago, and everyone is now immune to its charms.) Since it is a dance song, it is naturally also an excellent running song. Even sillier is Mother Pheasant Plucker, a song which has no swear words but almost certainly will if you attempt to sing it as rapidly as Hank does.
That said, the album does not shy away from swearing in general, as in I Love Science, which both joyfully and somewhat defensively extols the wonders of modern technology. The Universe is Weird is similar, but is less focused on defending science against skeptics than on expressing awe and amazement at its more mind-blowing discoveries. Listening to this song, it is easy to believe the adage that the larger the island of knowledge, the longer the coastline of wonder.
Most of the album also expresses joyful appreciation for things like comfortable clothes, ponies, hugging while screaming, and of course Harry Potter. Hank Green's musical career arguably began when he made a video of Accio Deathly Hallows on the eve of the last book's release, and a souped-up version of that song appears here complete with an appropriately incongruent reggae-style digression.
The mood turns dark for a few songs, Undigested Lump and I'd Rather, which are both scathing tirades against some unnamed foe. I can name a few people who come to mind when these wrathful pieces play. But in spite of such spite, I found Incongruent to be one of the most indomitably joyful albums in my collection. Even the angry songs are enthusiastic and revel in the unique pleasure of a crushing and creative insult.
I'm glad that I got to review this album now, because it's getting me psyched up: the Perfect Strangers, along with Driftless Pony Club, are touring, and I'm going to see them play... today. Having done this review, I'm all the more excited for the opportunity.
Next: The Planets
Released last spring, Incongruent is Hank Green's latest and, as far as I can tell, best album by a wide margin. This may be partly due to experience honing his skills as a musician, or the fact that he chose to bring in some other musicians to pool their skills and form a band, The Perfect Strangers. I was already familiar with some of these other guys' work, especially Andrew Huang, but none of them are represented in my collection so far. I may one day decide to change that.
The album's title continues Hank Green's happy pattern of not naming albums after songs. For that I will always love him. And as that title implies, he here fully embraces his complete lack of consistency either in style or subject matter. It seems to directly refer to the lines in Marilyn Hanson that confront the nonexistent barriers between genres:
Dancing to Hanson
And Marilyn Manson
And I know that that doesn't make even a little bit of sense
That was the point
That beautiful incongruence
We didn't fit
And we didn't care
I was excited to learn that Incongruent would be coming out shortly before my first marathon, because I already knew that Hank Green makes excellent running music, and I knew I wanted the new album on my playlist for that run. As it happened, all its songs are fast-paced and jaunty enough to enliven any jog, save for one, Video Game Books. I could not have been more fortunate.
Even the sillier songs on the album seem better-executed than many of the older songs, and none of them feel particularly dated to me, except for the full English-translated cover of Gangnam Style, which is nonetheless forgivable for its relentless catchiness. (I never really caught the original, but I hear it spread like a virulent disease a few years ago, and everyone is now immune to its charms.) Since it is a dance song, it is naturally also an excellent running song. Even sillier is Mother Pheasant Plucker, a song which has no swear words but almost certainly will if you attempt to sing it as rapidly as Hank does.
That said, the album does not shy away from swearing in general, as in I Love Science, which both joyfully and somewhat defensively extols the wonders of modern technology. The Universe is Weird is similar, but is less focused on defending science against skeptics than on expressing awe and amazement at its more mind-blowing discoveries. Listening to this song, it is easy to believe the adage that the larger the island of knowledge, the longer the coastline of wonder.
Most of the album also expresses joyful appreciation for things like comfortable clothes, ponies, hugging while screaming, and of course Harry Potter. Hank Green's musical career arguably began when he made a video of Accio Deathly Hallows on the eve of the last book's release, and a souped-up version of that song appears here complete with an appropriately incongruent reggae-style digression.
The mood turns dark for a few songs, Undigested Lump and I'd Rather, which are both scathing tirades against some unnamed foe. I can name a few people who come to mind when these wrathful pieces play. But in spite of such spite, I found Incongruent to be one of the most indomitably joyful albums in my collection. Even the angry songs are enthusiastic and revel in the unique pleasure of a crushing and creative insult.
I'm glad that I got to review this album now, because it's getting me psyched up: the Perfect Strangers, along with Driftless Pony Club, are touring, and I'm going to see them play... today. Having done this review, I'm all the more excited for the opportunity.
Next: The Planets
Thursday, April 16, 2015
All My CDs, pt 56: This Machine Pwns N00bs
This Machine Pwns N00bs - Hank Green
Many of my observations about Ellen Hardcastle also apply to this album: the pop culture references, the odes to scientific facts of all kinds, the frenetic pace and energy of all but the slowest songs. This Machine Pwns N00bs is even more of a mixed bag in terms of content and quality. Its seems that Hank Green was still an amateur when recording this album, and hadn't yet discovered his true vocal range; at times he attempts notes so high they make my own vocal cords ache in sympathy. And the sound quality on some of the recordings is less than pristine.
As far as content is concerned, it contains some of the most immature and the most profound songs in all of Hank Green's repertoire, and a greater density of inside jokes that can only be understood by longtime followers of the Vlogbrothers channel. The very first song is a rap whose lyrics were all inspired by the vlog's semiofficial slogan ("DFTBA"), and the second to last is an unabashed celebration of all idiosyncrasies peculiar to its fandom.
Several of the songs are just plain silly, like A Song for all the Vegetables that Look Like Penises ("Cucumber zucchini squash and sometimes even radishes!") and Mules are So Half-Ass ("I forgot how to throw a boomerang, but then it came back to me / it's just like riding a bike, or playing with your wii"). These songs will worm their way addictively into your consciousness and stay there, and I'm not sure I mind. This even applies to Jesus Gets Nothing for Christmas, which is one of the better Christmas songs I've heard despite its patent absurdity.
Some of the sillier songs are well-meant but just don't hit the mark with me. Demolition Derby, for instance; I can tell it's meant as an ironic appreciation for that distinctly lowbrow entertainment form, but I just think the songs ring truer when they're expressing sincere excitement about things. But some of the more sincere songs in this album have a distinctly pensive air. Even the two songs about Harry Potter - usually a happy subject for fans - are real downers. Dead Boy's Girlfriend describes one of the more depressing love triangles found in the series, and This Isn't Hogwarts contrasts the fantastical magic school to the drab and uninspiring milieu that is many of our under-funded and bully-ridden schools.
And those aren't even the darkest lyrics here. In my opinion, that honor goes to A Song About an Anglerfish, which is a combined science and philosophy lesson. It describes the Anglerfish's dreary and isolated existence, and concludes "You can't hate the night / if you've lived your whole life without light / and you can't hate the dish / if you've only ever eaten fish / and you can't feel alone / if it's all you've ever known". This is actually the concept behind the hedonic treadmill: experiences are only pleasant or painful as compared to what you're used to. This has profound implications for the pursuit of happiness, so it is not a trivial matter, and far from silly. It's one of my very favorite songs for how beautifully it expresses an idea I feel strongly about.
A couple of the other more serious (but still fun) songs make it onto my favorites list. Ulcerative Colitis uses humor and a despicably-appropriate brass baseline to lampoon the state of the US healthcare system before the ACA. And It All Makes Sense in the End, like Adult Female, is another love song with a clever intellectual twist.
Overall the album has definite flaws, but is very dear to my heart nonetheless.
Next: Incongruent
Many of my observations about Ellen Hardcastle also apply to this album: the pop culture references, the odes to scientific facts of all kinds, the frenetic pace and energy of all but the slowest songs. This Machine Pwns N00bs is even more of a mixed bag in terms of content and quality. Its seems that Hank Green was still an amateur when recording this album, and hadn't yet discovered his true vocal range; at times he attempts notes so high they make my own vocal cords ache in sympathy. And the sound quality on some of the recordings is less than pristine.
As far as content is concerned, it contains some of the most immature and the most profound songs in all of Hank Green's repertoire, and a greater density of inside jokes that can only be understood by longtime followers of the Vlogbrothers channel. The very first song is a rap whose lyrics were all inspired by the vlog's semiofficial slogan ("DFTBA"), and the second to last is an unabashed celebration of all idiosyncrasies peculiar to its fandom.
Several of the songs are just plain silly, like A Song for all the Vegetables that Look Like Penises ("Cucumber zucchini squash and sometimes even radishes!") and Mules are So Half-Ass ("I forgot how to throw a boomerang, but then it came back to me / it's just like riding a bike, or playing with your wii"). These songs will worm their way addictively into your consciousness and stay there, and I'm not sure I mind. This even applies to Jesus Gets Nothing for Christmas, which is one of the better Christmas songs I've heard despite its patent absurdity.
Some of the sillier songs are well-meant but just don't hit the mark with me. Demolition Derby, for instance; I can tell it's meant as an ironic appreciation for that distinctly lowbrow entertainment form, but I just think the songs ring truer when they're expressing sincere excitement about things. But some of the more sincere songs in this album have a distinctly pensive air. Even the two songs about Harry Potter - usually a happy subject for fans - are real downers. Dead Boy's Girlfriend describes one of the more depressing love triangles found in the series, and This Isn't Hogwarts contrasts the fantastical magic school to the drab and uninspiring milieu that is many of our under-funded and bully-ridden schools.
And those aren't even the darkest lyrics here. In my opinion, that honor goes to A Song About an Anglerfish, which is a combined science and philosophy lesson. It describes the Anglerfish's dreary and isolated existence, and concludes "You can't hate the night / if you've lived your whole life without light / and you can't hate the dish / if you've only ever eaten fish / and you can't feel alone / if it's all you've ever known". This is actually the concept behind the hedonic treadmill: experiences are only pleasant or painful as compared to what you're used to. This has profound implications for the pursuit of happiness, so it is not a trivial matter, and far from silly. It's one of my very favorite songs for how beautifully it expresses an idea I feel strongly about.
A couple of the other more serious (but still fun) songs make it onto my favorites list. Ulcerative Colitis uses humor and a despicably-appropriate brass baseline to lampoon the state of the US healthcare system before the ACA. And It All Makes Sense in the End, like Adult Female, is another love song with a clever intellectual twist.
Overall the album has definite flaws, but is very dear to my heart nonetheless.
Next: Incongruent
Friday, April 03, 2015
All My CDs, pt 54: Bleed Like Me
Bleed Like Me - Garbage
This was one of just a few albums I've bought and then never listened to, but the others were casual purchases and I'd simply gotten distracted. The situation with this one was a bit more complicated. It was summer of 2012, just after I'd ended a two-year relationship with my first fiance. Bleed Like Me was part of his CD collection, and I'd been meaning to borrow it from him. When it seemed too late for that, I bought it instead, but found that actually listening was beyond my psychological comfort zone. I forgot about it until a week ago, when I realized it was next in line to be reviewed. I took a deep breath and put it on.
My immediate impression was that Bleed Like Me is an album I want on my playlist for my next long-distance race (a half-marathon, this fall). Like Fall Out Boy’s album Save Rock and Roll, it has all the hallmarks of excellent running music: good strong beats, a spunky attitude, and very few lulls in the action. It has already helped me quite a bit now that outdoor running season is underway. The second track even has a title and refrain that urges "Run Baby Run," and is one of the better running songs on the album. (I have found that songs that mention or are about running or racing usually make great running songs. The only exception I've found is Born to Die by Lana Del Rey.)
Garbage exists in a stylistic range somewhere between hard rock and metal on the musical hardness scale. Although most of its members are male, the lead singer is female, and many of the songs have a distinct feminist (not always feminine) agenda. My personal favorite of the moment is Sex Is Not The Enemy, which fiercely defends a sex-positive attitude. There is no way that song would be half as powerful if sung by a man. Most of the harder rock and metal bands in my collection are all-male, and I’m not sure how accurately that represents the outside world, but it encouraged a subtle gender divide in the way I think about music. Garbage challenges that division, and I couldn’t be happier about it. I need to hear more female voices that aren’t soft, sweet, or refined.
If I have one complaint it's that, like Driftless Pony Club, the lyrics are interesting and well-written, but the way they’re sung or the sound mixing makes them slightly harder to decipher without reading along. But it’s a minor drawback, as the songs are invariably enjoyable whether I am contemplating their meanings or not.
I’ve already compared Garbage to two other bands in my collection, and interestingly, it doesn’t stop there. Moreso than with any other band I’ve reviewed so far, I hear similarities to ones I’ve reviewed in the past. Certain passages and riffs remind me of Course of Empire and Fear Factory. The song Metal Heart even reminds me of Evanescence’s more sophisticated moments. Maybe Garbage coincidentally represents a synthesis of elements I enjoy from other rock and metal bands. Or maybe reviewing almost half my collection already has made me especially mindful of the range of styles it contains, priming me to see connections more readily. Either way, it’s clear that Garbage is a band that I should have started listening to a long time ago.
Next: Ellen Hardcastle
This was one of just a few albums I've bought and then never listened to, but the others were casual purchases and I'd simply gotten distracted. The situation with this one was a bit more complicated. It was summer of 2012, just after I'd ended a two-year relationship with my first fiance. Bleed Like Me was part of his CD collection, and I'd been meaning to borrow it from him. When it seemed too late for that, I bought it instead, but found that actually listening was beyond my psychological comfort zone. I forgot about it until a week ago, when I realized it was next in line to be reviewed. I took a deep breath and put it on.
My immediate impression was that Bleed Like Me is an album I want on my playlist for my next long-distance race (a half-marathon, this fall). Like Fall Out Boy’s album Save Rock and Roll, it has all the hallmarks of excellent running music: good strong beats, a spunky attitude, and very few lulls in the action. It has already helped me quite a bit now that outdoor running season is underway. The second track even has a title and refrain that urges "Run Baby Run," and is one of the better running songs on the album. (I have found that songs that mention or are about running or racing usually make great running songs. The only exception I've found is Born to Die by Lana Del Rey.)
Garbage exists in a stylistic range somewhere between hard rock and metal on the musical hardness scale. Although most of its members are male, the lead singer is female, and many of the songs have a distinct feminist (not always feminine) agenda. My personal favorite of the moment is Sex Is Not The Enemy, which fiercely defends a sex-positive attitude. There is no way that song would be half as powerful if sung by a man. Most of the harder rock and metal bands in my collection are all-male, and I’m not sure how accurately that represents the outside world, but it encouraged a subtle gender divide in the way I think about music. Garbage challenges that division, and I couldn’t be happier about it. I need to hear more female voices that aren’t soft, sweet, or refined.
If I have one complaint it's that, like Driftless Pony Club, the lyrics are interesting and well-written, but the way they’re sung or the sound mixing makes them slightly harder to decipher without reading along. But it’s a minor drawback, as the songs are invariably enjoyable whether I am contemplating their meanings or not.
I’ve already compared Garbage to two other bands in my collection, and interestingly, it doesn’t stop there. Moreso than with any other band I’ve reviewed so far, I hear similarities to ones I’ve reviewed in the past. Certain passages and riffs remind me of Course of Empire and Fear Factory. The song Metal Heart even reminds me of Evanescence’s more sophisticated moments. Maybe Garbage coincidentally represents a synthesis of elements I enjoy from other rock and metal bands. Or maybe reviewing almost half my collection already has made me especially mindful of the range of styles it contains, priming me to see connections more readily. Either way, it’s clear that Garbage is a band that I should have started listening to a long time ago.
Next: Ellen Hardcastle
All My CDs, pt 55: Ellen Hardcastle
Ellen Hardcastle - Hank Green
Back when I reviewed Still Got Legs, I warned you I have others in my collection that I mainly own because I'm a fan of something else. The next three albums qualify, since I first became familiar with Hank Green through Vlogbrothers, the youtube channel he runs with his brother and my favorite author John Green. But I do genuinely enjoy most of his songs.
This album has a confusing cover. The musician's name is Hank Green. The portrait on the front is of a man named Phineas Gage. And the title is the name of a fan, unrelated to the album's cover or any of its content. But despite the unrelatedness of the album title to anything relevant, I can't help but find it refreshing. I'm sick of albums named after songs, yet it seems rare to the point of near-nonexistence that an album is not. Not only is this unoriginal, it makes review-writing awkward, since I end up saying "the title track" more times than I would prefer. If an album is not named after a song, it is often named after the band, which is equally awkward; more often than not it ends up simply being called their "self-titled album." I wonder what would happen if a band named one album after themselves, and named another "Self-titled Album." What would reviewers do then?
I digress. And so, too, does Ellen Hardcastle, much of the time. Hank Green's musical career is not trivial (he's made four albums so far), but it's overshadowed by his parallel careers as a vlogger, entrepreneur, community organizer, educator, and activist. His music seems to exist mainly as an extension and expression of these other interests and identities. As a result his songs are usually quite niche, refering to inside jokes from online communities, dated popculture references, or oddities of science. An example of the latter is Phineas Gage, the man pictured on the cover and whose story is expounded in one song. Another example is track one, Strange Charm, which catchily summarizes the science of quarks.
Of the songs inspired by pop culture, it's unfortunate that they often end up sounding dated and inane. Songs like Farmville, A Bad Day on Chat Roulette, and Worst News of 2009 seem almost designed to evoke this effect, and though they're catchy and enjoyable. Farmville is especially prone to getting stuck in my head, and I'm not sure why, since I never played the game that inspired it.
But What Would Captain Picard Do and This is Not Harry Potter somehow do not seem to fall into the same category as these other popcultural songs. Maybe it's because they're about older works of media whose popularity and relevance has a proven longevity. Star Trek: The Next Generation and Harry Potter have both inspired multiple generations with profound themes and lessons, and that's what those songs are about, not the fleeting and shallow interest of faddish games and celebrity gossip.
Some of my favorite Hank Green songs, however, are just about normal human experiences as seen through his particularly intellectual perspective. Adult Female is one of those - a love song, and a very simple one at that, which also criticizes the common cliches of pop love songs (such as infantilizing nicknames like "baby").
Adult Female is a slow song, but most of Hank Green's music is very fast-paced and jaunty, with lyrics delivered at near-superhuman rapidity. This makes it uniquely helpful in any running playlist, and indeed, many of my best runs have been to songs like Fermi Paradox, which is almost dizzyingly frenetic. Plus on long runs I sometimes find myself pondering the mystery of whether life exists outside of Earth, among other pressing questions. But the best running song on the album is Shake a Booty, the "dance song with a good message", demonstrating another principle I have discovered: dance songs are usually good running songs.
Next: This Machine Pwns Noobs.
Back when I reviewed Still Got Legs, I warned you I have others in my collection that I mainly own because I'm a fan of something else. The next three albums qualify, since I first became familiar with Hank Green through Vlogbrothers, the youtube channel he runs with his brother and my favorite author John Green. But I do genuinely enjoy most of his songs.
This album has a confusing cover. The musician's name is Hank Green. The portrait on the front is of a man named Phineas Gage. And the title is the name of a fan, unrelated to the album's cover or any of its content. But despite the unrelatedness of the album title to anything relevant, I can't help but find it refreshing. I'm sick of albums named after songs, yet it seems rare to the point of near-nonexistence that an album is not. Not only is this unoriginal, it makes review-writing awkward, since I end up saying "the title track" more times than I would prefer. If an album is not named after a song, it is often named after the band, which is equally awkward; more often than not it ends up simply being called their "self-titled album." I wonder what would happen if a band named one album after themselves, and named another "Self-titled Album." What would reviewers do then?
I digress. And so, too, does Ellen Hardcastle, much of the time. Hank Green's musical career is not trivial (he's made four albums so far), but it's overshadowed by his parallel careers as a vlogger, entrepreneur, community organizer, educator, and activist. His music seems to exist mainly as an extension and expression of these other interests and identities. As a result his songs are usually quite niche, refering to inside jokes from online communities, dated popculture references, or oddities of science. An example of the latter is Phineas Gage, the man pictured on the cover and whose story is expounded in one song. Another example is track one, Strange Charm, which catchily summarizes the science of quarks.
Of the songs inspired by pop culture, it's unfortunate that they often end up sounding dated and inane. Songs like Farmville, A Bad Day on Chat Roulette, and Worst News of 2009 seem almost designed to evoke this effect, and though they're catchy and enjoyable. Farmville is especially prone to getting stuck in my head, and I'm not sure why, since I never played the game that inspired it.
But What Would Captain Picard Do and This is Not Harry Potter somehow do not seem to fall into the same category as these other popcultural songs. Maybe it's because they're about older works of media whose popularity and relevance has a proven longevity. Star Trek: The Next Generation and Harry Potter have both inspired multiple generations with profound themes and lessons, and that's what those songs are about, not the fleeting and shallow interest of faddish games and celebrity gossip.
Some of my favorite Hank Green songs, however, are just about normal human experiences as seen through his particularly intellectual perspective. Adult Female is one of those - a love song, and a very simple one at that, which also criticizes the common cliches of pop love songs (such as infantilizing nicknames like "baby").
Adult Female is a slow song, but most of Hank Green's music is very fast-paced and jaunty, with lyrics delivered at near-superhuman rapidity. This makes it uniquely helpful in any running playlist, and indeed, many of my best runs have been to songs like Fermi Paradox, which is almost dizzyingly frenetic. Plus on long runs I sometimes find myself pondering the mystery of whether life exists outside of Earth, among other pressing questions. But the best running song on the album is Shake a Booty, the "dance song with a good message", demonstrating another principle I have discovered: dance songs are usually good running songs.
Next: This Machine Pwns Noobs.
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