Radiohead

In my last Mast column, I commented that Radiohead was the best band making music today. Soon after I wrote that and read it in print, I thought that I should probably back that up. You can’t just say something like that with no plan of presenting evidence. My apologies.

The truth is, Radiohead does what no other artist—except maybe the Beatles—has done in rock music. They have reinvented themselves countless times yet remain immensely popular, brilliant and on the cutting edge with every record, with the exception of their mediocre debut, Pablo Honey. But hey, everyone needs a bit of time to mature. Even the Beatles.

Their sophomore release, The Bends stands as one of the best alternative rock albums of the 1990s. Songs like “Fake Plastic Trees” and “Black Star” contain a certain emotional power that makes contemporaries like Oasis and Weezer, look, well…silly. The band’s next offering, OK Computer is the album that many music critics thought would save rock ‘n’ roll. Today, alternative music is essentially divided into two eras: pre-OK Computer and post-OK Computer. Just about everything has been said about that 1997 album, so I won’t blather on. It’s a sonic experience that and contrary to what might be assumed from the record’s title, the album is much better than OK. It’s an inspiration.

The Oxford quintet’s next album was the one that Rolling Stone and Pitchfork (possibly the two most influential critical publications in existence) deemed the best of the last ten years. If OK Computer was supposed to save rock music, the follow-up, the year 2000’s Kid A, was the one that would turn the genre upside down. Filled with electronic sounds and other abstract experimentations, the band’s fourth release was one recorded amidst band turmoil but comes out sounding like a focused, revolutionary piece of art. From the spooky “Everything In It’s Right Place” all the way to the ethereal “Motion Picture Soundtrack”, the album Kid A sounds like post-modernism had its first child.

The next seven years saw the release of Amnesiac, Hail to the Thief and In Rainbows, three albums that made fellow British bands like Muse and Coldplay cry softly while continuing to crank out lesser works. I love certain songs by the aforementioned bands but competing with Radiohead is like playing one-on-one with LeBron James. It ain’t gonna happen.

Part of what makes Radiohead so remarkable is the fact that they reach a level of musical depth that is usually reserved for only the finest classical composers, far removed from the low-browness of—gasp!—pop music. Thom Yorke, Colin Greenwood, Jonny Greenwood, Phil Selway and Ed O’Brien combine to create music that hardly fits any genre, assuming that idyllic rock is not a recognizable term yet. There should be a new album released within the next year, though little information is known. If this decade is anything like the last two, Radiohead will rule the roost.

Also, on an unrelated note, check out my recent Belle and Sebastian review.

Atonality

I’m a few weeks away from completing my third and final semester of music history. They’ve gone in chronological order and this one is called “Music Since 1900.” As expected, we’re delving into some pretty weird music; that’s kind of what happened in the classical music world after the Romantic era. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this so-called avant-garde music. I’m talking specifically about composers like Schoenberg, Boulez, Cage, Berio, Varése and Babbitt. The term “avant-garde” comes from the French word “vanguard”, which means the front part of the army, or the soldiers who can see what’s ahead before the rest of the regiment. I’ve never been particularly drawn to experimental music though I have tried very hard. But it hasn’t been until recently that I think I can explain why my love affair with atonal music has never taken off.

Let me preface this by saying that I’m fascinated by these renegade artists, desperately trying to do what hasn’t been done before. That’s the true artistic sprit and I respect that. What I don’t particularly respect is the desire to abandon tonality all together. By the way, in case you weren’t sure, tonality/harmony is our basic system of how notes are put together. Scales, chords, the building blocks of music. Atonality means that there’s no clear hierarchy of pitches. You will hear many C pitches in the key of C, but in an atonal key you’ll probably hear as many Cs as you will F sharps. Here’s an analogy I have for the purely atonal composer:

Western harmony is like the English language—there are infinite possibilities of expression within its rules. It serves as a sort of contract between the reader and writer; I follow the basic conventions of spelling, grammar and syntax and you will try to understand these words. But say I’m bored with the English language and feel that everything’s been said before. Why not abandon the rules in search of a fierce, new method of artistic expression? Dae dgnolsi h cab naits abes nnaho j. That’s why. When you abandon the common practice, it’s very difficult to move the audience to feel anything other than confusion or boredom.

By the way, did you notice that if you read that backwards, it spells “Johann Sebastian Bach is long dead”? Yeah, probably not. Just like you probably couldn’t tell that a piece by Pierre Boulez is organized meticulously in total serialism with no dynamic, rhythm or pitch repeating until you’ve heard all the other eleven possibilities he’s decided to use.

As a dedicated music student, I have always hoped that I would become fully acceptant of avant-garde and appreciate it like all the sophisticated scholars seem to do. Maybe I will when I’m older. But right now, I see completely abandoning tonality as a fruitless effort. After hearing music from soon after we’re born, our ears have learned to associate certain combinations of notes in certain ways, much like words. Thinking of music as a science, trying to make new discoveries through formulas is nothing but exclusive, which is the exact opposite of what music’s purpose has been since the first note was sounded back in the caveman days. Inclusivity is pretty much the most important word in my understanding of the art form.

Another significant word in the above paragraph is “completely.” Completely abandoning tonality is something I’m against but temporarily abandoning it is entirely different. In this circumstance, it becomes an effect. Like how “Revolution 9” shows that the Beatles were aware of the world around them without entirely throwing everything in their past out the window. Or how a particularly crunchy chord in a Sonic Youth song represents a sort of angst-ridden dissonance. I think atonality should be one of the tools on an artists belt, much like a writer can occasionally use unconventional methods to portray a certain attitude when he/she is REALLY F$&%ing craaaaazzzzzzzyyyyyyyyyy and kneeds to gett that aCroSs!

I absolutely love learning about other musicians’ understanding of what music is supposed to be. In a lot of ways, it’s like studying various theologies, forcing you to start challenging your own deep-rooted beliefs. Some twentith century composers have certainly done that for me but this is where I stand now regarding purely atonal music. I realize every composer is different so this is an overarching generalization. Still, I’m pretty confident with these opinions at the moment. Make me change my mind.

The Finest of Indie Today

This October, I attended one of the greatest concerts I’ve ever witnessed. It was at the Moore Theater in Seattle, and it featured Grizzly Bear. It was one of those, “I saw the future of rock and roll and its name is (blank)” moments like critic Jon Landau had after a Bruce Springsteen concert nearly thirty years ago. From the moment the Brooklyn quartet kicked off its set with “Southern Point”, the opening track on their recent album, Veckatimest, I was mesmerized. Even after spending hours listening to their two most recent albums, hearing new live arrangements of the group’s unique brand of neo-psychedellia was like discovering the songs all over again. Breathtaking, exhilarating, jaw-dropping, any word that could describe the sight of the most perfect sunrise over the most majestic mountain range.

But that hour and a half of ecstasy wasn’t even all that was great about that evening. Opening for Grizzly Bear was The Morning Benders, a band from Berkeley, California whose four members look like they may still be in high school. Despite their young appearance, the group’s music is mature beyond their years, filled with three part harmonies and reverberant guitars that seem to draw on classic and modern influences such as the Beach Boys and My Morning Jacket. Having hardly heard of the group and not expecting much from an opener, this was a more than pleasant surprise to begin the evening.

This isn’t about one concert experience however; this is about a lineage that started at the top. The greatest band of our generation is Radiohead. Many may disagree with that statement; that’s fine. Just one columnist’s opinion that is very unlikely to change. Grizzly Bear opened for that royal five headed genius machine in the summer of 2008, with prodigious Radiohead lead guitarist Jonny Greenwood taking a rare turn at the mic between songs to dub Grizzly Bear as his favorite band, stunning the New Yorkers, as they themselves are heavily influenced by Radiohead. As Grizzly Bear’s fame grew, the band chose two disciples of their own to tour with them at different times: the aforementioned Morning Benders and Beach House.

Beach House consists of Baltimore duo Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally, and while I am yet to see them live (a Seattle concert in April sold out before I could purchase tickets), their recorded sound just melts away at your soul. Instead of the echoing guitars of The Morning Benders, Beach House is driven by intimate organs, synthesizers and lush vocals courtesy of the French chanteuse Legrand, whose deep alto is reminiscent of the late Nico. While The Morning Benders songs are soaked in bouncy youthful buoyancy, Beach House’ music is dense and flowing, as if the soundtrack to a dream.

Four of the best albums of the last several years are related by a common thread of having shared a concert stage. In Rainbows by Radiohead, Veckatimest by Grizzly Bear, Teen Dream by Beach House and Big Echo by The Morning Benders are all proof that rock music is as artful now as it ever has been, with no signs of slowing down. I can only wait patiently for the next descendant to be discovered.

Ch ch ch changes

This week, I decided to change my major. Instead of a Bachelor of Music in Composition, I’ve decided to do a Bachelor of Musical Arts degree. About eleven months ago, I was going through the exact opposite switch. In thirteen months, I’ll graduate. There’s a reason for this flip-flopping though.

You probably know that I’m sort of a big fan of music. Just a bit. But this fanaticism has two sides. First off, I love to create new music. Nothing gives me more pleasure than finishing something and hearing it in its final form, be it a song or a piece. And then there’s the musicological side. That’s the one that reads Wikipedia articles when I should be doing homework. Or actually pays attention in music history class when everyone else is bored out of his/her mind.

This dichotomy doesn’t seem like it should be a problem; in fact, it seems like an ideal situation. One loves the craft and the craftsmen before you. Voila! Master composer right? After declaring BMA my freshman year, I decided that I should devote myself to composing and changed at the beginning of this year to BM. Then I proceeded to do almost no composing this year and thought maybe that was a sign that I shouldn’t do this. I can’t really explain why, but composing became stressful which is the opposite of what it should be. Perhaps because it became an obligation. I thought, hey, I don’t want my senior year to be even more stressful so maybe I shouldn’t do this. Not to mention that the alternative could be very attractive.

The way the Bachelor of Musical Arts degree works is that for your senior capstone project, you do something that involves music and a cognate field, or a minor, which in my case it English writing. To me, this translates into music criticism, something I consider myself decent at, probably even better than composing. This may change, but right now, it looks like I’ll be doing an in-depth look at rock criticism and how and why it has played a role in the development of the genre. I may also be looking at different styles of writing but right now this is quite embryonic.

I still plan on making music like always. Just because I’m no longer majoring in composition doesn’t mean I won’t keep producing music. I just never really found myself gelling with the idea of being a serious composer of modern classical music. Maybe someday I will. A bachelor’s degree certainly doesn’t map out the rest of my life. But for now, I feel more passionate about criticism so that’s where I’m going here at PLU.

Here on Page 43, expect an upsurge. If I’m going to really dig into criticism, this will go up on the priority list. I plan to read a lot, listen a lot, write a lot. It’s what I want to do anyway. Now that it’s my area of study, why not go all out? I haven’t written any big huge manifestos in a while. It shall be fun.

*Chris Ferguson knew the last subheading, "Born Under Punches" by Talking Heads. Who's got the next one?

1992-94

As promised, here is the next edition of my series. Seems like the early nineties was a great time for depressed singer/songwriters. I like the Olympics, even though they’re over, so I’ve decided to keep the format.

1992-1994

Gold Medal: Grace by Jeff Buckley

The first time I heard this album, I remember totally exhausted by the end. The sheer emotion just takes a toll but in a good way. This is not background music; this is power in sound. In the only complete album in Jeff Buckley’s lifetime, the man went all out. His remarkable range as a singer, arranger and songwriter is put on full display with all the confidence in the world. For example, “Corpus Christi Carol (For Roy)” preceded the song “Eternal Life” on the second half of the album, going from angelic to grungy in a heartbeat. Jeff Buckley’s name always comes up when I think about the most raw talent in a rock musician. Every one knows “Hallelujah” but the title track is what brings down the house for me. Desert island material.

Silver Medal: Roman Candle by Elliott Smith

Like Buckley, Elliott Smith’s music is dangerous. Listening to his music can just turn me to Jell-O so I have to be careful. If I’m not in the mood for Jello-O, no Elliott. But the second late songwriter on this list works in a totally different way than the first. While Buckley uses epic arrangements, on this, his first album, Smith hardly uses anything more than his voice and an acoustic guitar. Not to mention, half the songs are nameless! But like just about everything he touched, the songs on this album are golden. One hardly even notices the poor recording quality or the lack of variety is instrumentation. Each one is a captivating work of art. I just shake my jealous head.

Bronze Medal: Automatic For The People by REM

The most commercially successful album by the great Athenians, AFTP just has the right combination of craftsmanship and classic REM “we don’t give a shit” mentality. It’s pristinely produced, with the help of former Zeppelin bassist John Paul Jones, and has a more accessible vibe than any of REM’s past work—“Man On The Moon” and “Everybody Hurts” have found themselves on more mix tapes than just about any other songs by this band, save “Losing My Religion.” Still, songs like “Ignoreland” and “Star Me Kitten” show that these boys, led by Michael Stipe, are the same horny rebels that they’ve always been.

Next up, 2002.

Also check out my recent Big Star tribute here.

*Last week's subheading was from Electric Light Orchestra's "Rockaria."

1982-1984

I've decided to devote each each month to a particular era in time and pick my favorite music from that time. It sounds random and nerdy (both true) but it makes the decision easier when I don't know what to listen to.

Here's February, a fierce competition between albums released in 1982 and 1984:

Gold Medal: Murmur by REM

This was not a difficult choice. I've written a review on this album but I'll try to summarize. This album sounds totally fresh every time I listen. Every guitar hook, snare back beat, bass meandering and vocal snarl fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Every song is crafted perfectly. They're catchy but not remotely cliche—something very difficult to pull off consistently. REM would continue to have a great career but their debut will always be their best effort.

Silver Medal: War by U2

Popularity has turned U2 into a sort of an institutional ego. With their extravagant stages at concerts and songs that try to change the world with every chord, it's hard for me to dish out many compliments. For that reason, I often forget how great War is. As a bunch of twenty-somethings, this quartet made one of the great albums of the 1980s with their third album. Not only are the songs genuinely powerful and honest, there is a sound on this album quite unlike anything released before or after. I'd call it a post-punk with a twist of chamber pop and gospel. Not to mention, the recurring thread of protest and activism never sounded so desperate.

Bronze Medal: Thriller by Michael Jackson

For being the best selling album of all time, I finally acquired this much later than I should have. But now I fully understand the hype. Sure, it is about as a poppy as they come but is that really a bad thing? This record is a testament to the collaboration of a great performer, great producer and perfect timing. Michael and Quincy Jones sculpted an album that really can't possibly be improved. The execution of these, the most danceable songs ever recorded, is perfect. It's a huge part of our culture for good reason. But it's not on the podium for being the soundtrack to a generation. It's here because it's a fantastic album.

Coming soon, 1992 through 1994.

Radio Goo Goo, Radio Ga Ga

This song totally brings me back to freshman year of high school for some reason.

Some of you might already know this but…drum roll please…I am now a disc jockey! Every Saturday from 7-8 pm, I will host a show (no name yet) on the PLU student radio station, KCCR. I’d thought about doing this for several months but eventually decided it was adding on to my already very full plate. Then I made a guest appearance on my friend Alex’s show and had so much fun, I decided to sign up for one of my own even if I don’t really have time for it. I’m stoked though. It’s yet another way to get my very strong musical opinions out to the world! Muahahaha!

I’ve decided to choose the songs for my show based on a theme for that given week. I live doing for this kind of stuff. Maybe it will be days of the week (“Stormy Monday”, “Tuesday’s Dead”, “Wednesday Morning, 3 am” etc.) or women’s names (“Celia”, “Michelle”, “Emily” etc.) or colors (“Paint It Black”, “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road”, “The Angels Want to Wear My Red Shoes” etc.).

For the first week, I think I’m going to choose a bunch of songs that are the first on their respective albums. I don’t want to say why or what I’ll be choosing; you need incentive to listen. Let’s just say there will be some hits and some esotericism.

So you should all clear your schedules on Saturday night and listen!!

*And Chris Ferguson wins the prize for Bowie's "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide" as last week's subheading.