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Any lingering doubts that puking and diarrhea noises might effectively forestall maturity were allayed by the crinkled noses and pursed lips they've elicited from arbiters of creativity at Billboard and Cokemachine-glow alike. Except to report tediously that he sounds bored and complain ad infinitum that he's obsessed with the love of his life (plus, right, the beats are no good, details later), how else to objectify the cycle of disinterest inevitably inspired by the mainstreaming of 8 Mile? Me, I say good riddance to his rock dreams, so much vainer than his mosh dreams, and note that said noises are hard to listen to, which is a compliment. Funny, catchy, clever, and irreverent past his allotted time, he can't make records this good forever--no one else has. But I also note that the mostly unreviewed three tracks on the bonus disc keep on pushing--"We as Americans" is a high point. That's rare. A
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>>130552174
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The two opera selections signify one thing, and it's not that those voice lessons have finally paid off. It's that more even than Randy Newman or Tom Waits (or Sting), this likable Manhattan progressive conceives himself as a performer of artsongs. As a writer of same he has his moments. Somebody somewhere could do justice to the absurdly abject "Glad" or the smarmily rationalized "Empire" or "She Only Sleeps," the love tribute of a sex worker's boyfriend. Byrne cannot. His voice devoid of Newman-Waits grit, his eclecticism even and controlled where theirs bristles with jokes, oddity, and gusto, how does he expect to connect with anyone but other likable progressives, and rather detached and inscrutable ones at that? The guy's been championing the ordinary since More Songs About Buildings and Food. But he makes such a point of approaching it from the outside you have to wonder whether as far as he's concerned that isn't just more exoticism, which for him is the only thing that comes naturally. C+
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I know it's hard to get a grip on, kids, but people keep getting older. They don't just reach some inconceivable benchmark--50 or, God, 60--and stop, Old in some absolute sense. The bones, the joints, the genitals, the juices, the delivery systems, and eventually the mind continue to break down, at an unpredictable pace in unpredictable ways. Leonard Cohen has had No Voice since he began recording at 33. But he has more No Voice today, at 70, than he did on Ten New Songs, at 67--the tenderness in his husky whisper of 2001, tenderness the way steak is tender, has dried up in his whispered husk of 2004, rendering his traditional dependence on the female backups who love him more grotesque. Nor does noblesse oblige underlie all the adaptations and settings--Lord Byron, Patti Page, a Quebecois folk song, various dead Canadian poets, himself. Rather they reflect the same diminished inspiration that makes you wonder whether his 9/11 song is enigmatic or merely inconclusive. Not only do I like the guy, I'm Old enough to identify with him. But I doubt I'll ever be Old enough to identify with this. On her deathbed, my 96-year-old mother-in-law was still relying on Willie Nelson's Stardust. That's more like it. B
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>>130553030
>>130552951
Both of these guys are the personification of Reddit.
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First you notice that the opener really is kinda gorgeous, with its twin-xylophone-echoed piano flourish and all. Then you isolate Win Butler's sob and fantasize about throttling the twit, an immature impulse unmitigated by the lyrics, which are histrionic even for a guy who's just lost a grandparent (or whoever). But if you keep at it till the next song, which tells the story of his runaway older brother getting bitten by a vampire, you begin to admire his resilience--he's retained a sense of the ridiculous, which is more than you can say of most young twits who sing about losing a grandparent (or whoever). And that's how the album goes--too fond of drama, but aware of its small place in the big world, and usually beautiful. N.B.: if you're considering Montreal, which is certainly my favorite Canadian place, the ex-Texans and -Haitian here want to make clear that it's horribly cold. A-
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>>130553030
The "The Tennessee Waltz" performance was from the Montreaux Jazz Festival '76. Obviously he didn't sound like that anymore by 2004 lol. It does refute the claim that he wasn't able to sing in his prime, though.
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Not only does she sing in a fey little voice and fingerpick a damn harp, she hangs out with the wrong crowd--hippie folkies, basically. So snub her on principle if you like, but note this quatrain (yes, quatrain): "And the signifieds butt heads with the signifiers/and we all fall down slack-jawed to marvel at words/while across the sky sheet the impossible birds/in a steady illiterate movement homewards." Sorry, folks, that's s-m-a-r-t whether you like its drift or not, and there's plenty more where it came from. Right, she's chronically whimsical--the final song adduces dragons. But her whimsy is genuinely funny, and though the melodies fade on the second half, which damages the poetry, there at the end of the faintest one comes the wise warning: "Never get so attached to a poem/you forget truth that lacks lyricism." So I won't. A-
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The reason these Aussies neither saved Capitol Records nor rock-and-roll isn't in their duff follow-up, it was in their duff debut. Led by a spoiled brat who can't sing the lyrics he can't write and of negligible musical interest outside the stray hook or two, they parlay the business's conceptual bankruptcy by showing that all you need is to trash a couple of coat rooms to a tune some A&R cornball can hum and you're sure to be seen as the next big thing. C
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This new Modest Mouse album is pretty good? Sure, it sounds a bit more poppy than their previous output at times, but it doesn't lose depth. While I still prefer the previous albums, it's not by a huge margin.
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Her celebrity on steroids and her voice in shreds, a drug-abusing unfit mother charms, fucks, or buffalos her way into some old-fashioned major-label money, commits commercial compromise on demand, and delivers an album as invigorating in its contempt for rock professionalism as Neil Young's Tonight's the Night. If the little girls barely know who she is, good--a lifestyle irresponsibly seductive in a powerful person like Keith Richards is only pitiably misguided in this has-been waiting to happen. But she's right about one thing. The world does owe her a living. A-
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Holy fucking shit. Green Day have somehow peaked this late into their career
>>130553412
Lived the mtv songs, better than their last album but still mediocre its gonna take something seriously good for this band to be remmebered in 20 years
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Unlike young Hilary Duff, 23-year-old Clarkson feels the responsibilities of stardom, which demand melodramatic overkill. The doctors give her stronger pills than, say, Clay Aiken--the prefab kissoff of "Walk Away," the new wave heartbreak of "Since U Been Gone," "Because of You" may just describe an occurrence, here's the verb "implode," and "There's no light at the end of the tunnel/Just a bridge that I gotta burn" could hold up its end of a bargain. None of these survives Clarkson's larger-than-life ambitions or compressed-to-oppress production regimen. But she may have a heart, and it may end up in the right place. B-
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For the record, and records must be kept, the vilest thing on Fox News' Music Row takeover doesn't come from Lee Greenwood. Lee Greenwood is just the beginning. It's by a onetime Bob Dylan fiddler: Charlie Daniels's rockin', racist "This Ain't No Rag It's a Flag" ("And we don't wear it on our heads"), its climax a child lisping the Pledge of Allegiance while a band of braggarts chants "U.S.A., U.S.A., U.S.A., U.S.A." Runner-up is the Warren Brothers' dim, toadying, putatively nonpartisan "Hey Mr. President," which tosses "those guys in the House and the Senate" out on their nitpicking asses and reflects how hard it must be to tell a mother her soldier son has died as if our CEO does it all the time. Educational: Dusty Drake's deeply felt plane-going-down "One Last Time" versus Lonestar's militantly sentimental "I'm Already There," where some damn country singer calls home from his hotel room. Honestly conflicted: Hank Williams Jr.'s "America Will Survive," the rare post-9/11 country song that knows New York is more than the ex-towers and the Statue of Liberty. "Big business" dis: Blackhawk's "Days of America." Sign of hope: token female Martina McBride's involuntary manslaughter of "God Bless America." C-
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>>130554218
Hey now, Bob, if NOFX can release The War On Errorism then the other side gets to voice their hot takes too, amirite? Red Team vs Blue Team is pretty dum and you're clearly old enough to know better.
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>>130554246
>Hey now, Bob, if NOFX can release The War On Errorism then the other side gets to voice their hot takes too, amirite? Red Team vs Blue Team is pretty dum and you're clearly old enough to know better.
he should but i remember a column from this period where he was like "voting for Nader last time was dum, third parties are just throwing your vote away. we gotta reluctantly vote for Kerry no matter what." so yes he actually that dum.
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If you're wondering what this concept album means, don't labor over the lyric booklet. As Billie Joe knows even if he doesn't come out and say it--he doesn't come out and say lots of obvious stuff--this is a visual culture. So examine the cover. That red grenade in the upraised fist? It's also a heart--a bleeding heart. Which he heaves as if it'll explode, only it won't, because he doesn't have what it takes to pull the pin. The emotional travails of two clueless punks--one passive, one aggressive, both projections of the auteur--stand in for the sociopolitical content that the vague references to Bush, Schwarzenegger, and war (not any special war, just war) are thought to indicate. There's no economics, no race, hardly any compassion. Joe name-checks America as if his hometown of Berkeley was in the middle of it, then name-checks Jesus as if he's never met anyone who's attended church. And to lend his maunderings rock grandeur, he ties them together with devices that sunk under their own weight back when the Who invented them. Sole rhetorical coup: makes being called a "faggot" something to aspire to, which in this terrible time it is. C+
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>>130554549
>sold out
Literally who is saying this? They've always made catchy music and never had an agenda about being underground. What are you even talking about? If anything, Green Day sold out forever ago. No one but fucking geeks care about that shit either way.
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Hidden smack in the middle of each of these two nine-track CDs are two forgettable songs, leaving 16 of 18 that are memorable melodically, lyrically, or both, which would be an accomplishment for Randy Newman himself. Not counting Stephin Merritt, no other under-40 approaches McKay's gift for cabaret. The worst you can say is that her satire is shallow--dissing yuppies in the '00s is the precise terminological equivalent of dissing hippies in the '80s. But "Work Song" (bosses), "Inner Peace" (New Ageism), "It's a Pose" ("God you went to Oxford/Head still in your boxers") feel something like classic, and personal notes like the fond "Manhattan Avenue" and the fonder "Dog Song" suggest that soon her egomania will yield emotional complexities worthy of her talent. A-
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What is the fuss about his contradictions? The main difference between him and most hip hop journalists is his money. They'd buy the Benz--so would I, Volvos don't last as long--and probably the gold too. They'd say anything to get laid. They accept the economic rationale of dealing and dig music of dubious moral value. Yet at the same time they do their bit for racial righteousness and know full well how much they need the "single black female addicted to retail." On Easter Sunday, some of them even believe in Jesus Christ. But none of them are as clever or as funny as Kanye West, and these days I'm not so sure about Eminem either. West came up as a beatmaster, but his Alicia Keys and Talib Kweli hits are pretty bland, and neither his voice nor his flow could lead anyone into sin. So he'd better conceptualize, and he does. Not only does he create a unique role model, that role model is dangerous--his arguments against education are as market-targeted as other rappers' arguments for thug life. Don't do what he says, kids, and don't do what he does, because you can't. Just stay in school. Really. I mean it. A
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They'd rather be Coleman Hawkins, but their long-term consistency recalls less august precedents--say the Shoes, fashioning perfect pop album after perfect pop album in Zion, Illinois. Difference is, the Shoes kept it up for what seemed an ungodly long time and still got bitter and old in the span it took these citizens of world bohemia to absorb Jim O'Rourke and continue the mature phase that began with Experimental Jet Set in 1994, just after they were a fixture and somewhat after they realized they'd never be stars. This unusually songful set is well up among their late good ones, its dissonances a lingua franca deployed less atmospherically than has been their recent practice. I like the lyric about the New Hampshire boys who live for Johnny Winter even if he's a no-show. Our heroes are so much more reliable than that. They can be Coleman Hawkins if they want. A-
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The intro, where he refuses to start until he's done chuckling over the failure of his baby boy to pronounce "soul machine," sums up a guy neither as humble nor as special as he thinks. Half God's gift to hip-hop, half man of the people, he never quite puts all his good tracks together or across. These include trademarked Timbaland and Ludacris collabs, love song and friend song and antigangsta rave, the one at the beginning where he wishes he "could write one song to right all wrongs" (which who wouldn't?) and the one at the end where he swears he'll "die trying" to do just that (which he won't). B+
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>>130554307
>I'm playing Vice City and the radio music there is better than the stuff playing on the radio today, what gives?
going through this thread, i realized that there's hardly any album posted here that i really want to listen to whereas if we did thread about any year in the 60s i'd listen to just about everything posted
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Accepting help is a great virtue in the dying, and Charles goes out like a lion by surrendering control. The duet partners mean less than the producers--Concord's John Burk augmented by Billy Joel hand Phil Ramone. Their good taste can't stifle Charles, but it can protect him from his own weaknesses, which ever since he got into publishing have included songwriters who owe him points. Instead Charles picks songs for posterity, and even James Taylor's "Sweet Potato Pie" sounds like a standard. But it's crucial that Taylor eases the master's vocal burden, as do Van Morrison, Gladys Knight, and Bonnie Raitt--and Norah Jones, Diana Krall, and Natalie Cole, who's a good half of why this "Fever" is up near Peggy Lee's and Little Willie John's. Elton John and Michael McDonald, on the other hand, end up where Charles often did in his fifties, so set on proving their physical prowess that meaning gets away from them. And Willie Nelson reminds us that past a certain age even the shrewdest singer can't cut it on the wrong day. This is why it's good Charles owned the studio. He got do-overs, and he took them. A-
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>>130555073
>And Willie Nelson reminds us that past a certain age even the shrewdest singer can't cut it on the wrong day
I don't think there's anything wrong with Willie's voice on this track, he sounds pretty much the same as he always did. Ray sounds a bit diminished, yes. I find the orchestral backing more bothersome than the singing.
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His productivity isn't exuberance, it's greed; his PG rating isn't scruples, it's cowardice. Happy People only gets steppin' when it flaunts his wealth, only achieves consciousness on a closing diptych that observes, "We're so quick to say God bless America/But take away 'In God We Trust'/Tell me what the hell is wrong with us?" Nice segue, Mr. Accused, right into the gross God-pop of U Saved Me, which points out that if you believe in God you'll earn a law degree and play for the Bulls, reflects humbly on divine forgiveness as it pertains to R. Kelly, and goes out on an anti-war hymn that shouts out to many African nations. Blatant consumerist fantasy-mongering from the tunes on down, and I believe that somewhere there's a court that'll convict him for it. D+
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Maybe the Allmans supported Bush too, though I bet not; maybe that fox Ronnie Van Zant would have turned into Charlie Daniels, though he would have nuanced it. But Daniels is Donald Fagen up against the backup-singer cheerleading and golden-oldies smarm of Johnny Van Zant, and where the Allmans replaced their mythic front line with Warren Haynes and Derek Trucks, who jam at least as tight and hot, Gary Rossington didn't anchor that peachy a guitar section to begin with. A few of the post-Ronnie songs are surprisingly decent--"Red, White and Blue," for instance, is about Johnny's neck, hair, and collar. But you know what else it's about, and in case you don't he has four or five ways to rub it in, including thanks to God for the lovely Nashville night. Not Memphis, not Jacksonville--Nashville. C+
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The subject of a painstakingly hedged 2003 John Seabrook profile in The New Yorker, she's a teenage Whitney-Celine-Mariah wannabe who's more fun than Hilary Duff and less fun than Ashlee Simpson. Two and a half years and several million bucks in the marketing, her debut album failed to chart after its modest dance hit skyrocketed all the way to 99 on the Billboard Hot 100. In principle, this is an ideal time for an American idol who is both French and--ooh la la--Jewish. But her flop feels like a victory nonetheless. C
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Like a thousand hit bands before them, they've seen the great big world and feel wiser, and like a thousand hit bands before them, they've forgotten the wisdom--strike that, the knowledge--that made them a hit to begin with. Beyond some rich-and-famous irony, not a single suburban detail soils an hour of good intentions. And you know the music overreaches too. C+
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The musical parsimony, cultural insularity, moral certitude, and histrionic affectations of these lo-fi artier-than-thous promise indie ideologues whole lifetimes of egoistic irrelevance. "Why should I care if you get killed?" Jamie Stewart asks a "stupid" "jock" Iraq G.I. he makes sure remains out of earshot. He gets closer to the title sex object: "Cremate me after you come on my lips honey boy." But somehow one doubts things will end so exquisitely. C
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>>130559195
>Branigan fell off a ladder while hanging a flower pot off the roof of her New York home in June 2001 and sustained a blow to the head. She passed away in her sleep on August 26, 2004 of an apparent stroke after complaining of headaches for a few weeks, but did not seek any medical attention for them. The media reported Branigan's age at her death as 47, however her record label had cut a few years off her age and gave a 1957 birthdate to obfuscate the fact that she was 30 when she broke on the charts with "Gloria" in 1982.
>A few years later, a Swedish superfan did some digging and confirmed that Branigan graduated high school in 1970 and thus her real birth date of 1952 rather than '57.
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>>130559941
Don Cornell, 50s buttcrooner. This record about sums him up.
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>>130556435
>>130558940
Imagine being this retarded. Blink 182 is the superior band in every way. Better musicians. Better songwriting. Their albums have aged like wine because they didn't feel the need to seethe over politics that no one gave a shit about the very next year. Green Day post American Idiot is some of the corniest, cringiest dog shit music to ever be out out into the world. Hope you both get a clue one day because this is a Blink board.
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>>130552174
Moz has still got it boys. Save this post as The Smiths are for sure getting back together by the end of the decade.
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>>130552174
IM CUMMING OUT OF MY (chastity) CAGE!
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>>130554089
>>130554359
Green Day interviews on a cool show called fuse daily download that was on a channel called fuse tv
https://youtu.be/EOkaBmz4-U8?si=VY_7lCR1VNAq46-R
https://youtu.be/oaWzZf-pbwc?si=3LuvhYjM6cwepGT2
https://youtu.be/s8qD6AbM5Eo?si=59rXFwMFCZYXe8fi
https://youtu.be/xr9dq0lBxEQ?si=MCnOPh9__1_gUjAH
https://youtu.be/eoHTzePcFwc?si=9cVNivXCFguKldo_
Also one of breaking Benjamin from around then
https://youtu.be/qYREbhGNHj0?si=pzenwi6RHJzNoijs
And Kelly Clarkson https://youtu.be/7GxfDdDr_UU?si=hAj40NgMoNMVebIf
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>>130553166
"Nanananana swift boats swift boats swift boats!"
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Its double-CD sprawl is ambitious not hubristic, imposing not indigestible--squeezes onto a C-90. There's devil and Jesus-killer obscurity up front, electoral asininity later, but in general Nas finally seems comfortable with his (black) humanity. He's responsible, thoughtful, and compassionate, never mealymouthed, so that his political misprisions and retrospective sex boasts function like Eminem's latest sound effects--they keep him incorrect. If this means "Prescott Bush funded Hitler" is ignored on the op-ed page, Nas is barred from that realm anyway, and the information certainly does his faithful more good than, for instance, the distracting fantasy that Prescott's heir planned 9/11. The shout-outs to Bojangles Robinson, Stokely Carmichael, Redd Foxx, Fela, and Miriam Makeba are right on time. And when he and his pops get together on a blues, Muddy Waters is in the house. A-