Django Django (2012)

     django django is a new psychedelic quartet out of Edinburgh, Scotland. They released their debut album in January after three years of hype and waiting. It's an upbeat electronic sound with great harmony, a modern rendition of the Beach Boys, fused with modern minimalism you find in many Scottish indie bands. The band name, I like to think, is supposed to be similar in sound to "jingle jingle," just like they have a song called "wor" about "war." It captures what these guys are about, namely, music. Repetition. Sonic creativity.
     Listen to these guys. I don't know if they have more than a single album in them... but it doesn't really matter. This one's a goodie in itself. Together the thirteen tracks clock in at just under 50 minutes. If you're feeling simultaneously chill and ready to dance (and who doesn't?) give it a spin.
     If you have Spotify you can listen to the whole album at your leisure by selecting one of the tracks here and opening the relevant link. Additionally the three music videos for this album are linked below.
     Lyrics: Go here. Currently only four songs are covered but more are sure to be added over time.

     "Hail bop" has a dreamy feel and talks about the experience of creating art as gloriously surreal. This marks a strong opening to the album.
     "Default" challenges the artistic norm and condemns those who believe they hold the keys, who stop listening to other voices not working in the same vein. This is their strongest music/video combo.
     "Firewater" is extremely catchy and I love the natural imagery in tandem with this almost hallucinogenic experience of alcoholic camaraderie. I wish I could catch all the lyrics. The line "look what we've become" seems somewhat bittersweet. A subtle critique of a civilization drummed up on booze? It fits the bill, considering where they're from.
     "Waveforms" No idea what it's about (music, maybe?) but, sound-wise, a strong track. 
    "Zumm Zumm" verges on techno and doesn't really do it for me. Echoes, pops, and the ever-present koochie keyboarded and snared beat. Bleh.
     "Hand of man" is the first acoustic track of the album. Short, simple, a song of friendship and mutual respect.
     "Love's dart" returns to the standard electronic sound but now joined to a strong acoustic element.
     "Wor" i.e. war. The western twang of the hook, the thrilling drum beats, the fast-moving and war-like drive to this song -- it works.
     "Storm" Love it. It's a about someone who can't decide what she wants or how she wants it.
     "Life's a beach" I love the slowly percolating complexity this track achieves -- and then suddenly releases as if it were nothing.
     "Skies over Cairo" now adds an Arabic flavor to what is by now a signature sound. Along with "introduction" it's the only track unmarred by words.
     "Silver rays" The final track closes the album with a smooth dance and pronounces an intimate goodbye to fans.

Rage against the music industry: Grammy report

     "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." -Rhett Butler, Gone with the Wind
     Ok, maybe that's not as true as it once was. Nearly 40 million tuned in to watch the Grammy Awards this year, the second most-viewed in its fifty-four year run, and 50% higher than in 2011.
     More important than viewer volume are significant and long-overdue changes that will take effect in 2013. Last year music executive Steve Stoute became the unofficial Voice of Reason when he paid $40,000 to run a full-page open letter in the New York Times, addressed to NARAS (the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, i.e. The Academy) and its president, Neil Portnow. In it he complained that the Grammy Awards, in an attempt to be a popular show, has lost touch with popular culture and has failed to correct strong prejudices against cultural shifts in art form.
     The Academy responded and is now on track to make amends. Fewer categories. A cleaner and fairer voting process. Still, it's irritating that alternative music is recognized in all of one award, and most other categories get at least four. Ironically there's more innovation here and more independent albums released in this genre than any other. About half the music reviews on Metacritic would only be eligible for this one award, besides the general awards.
     Recording Academy President/CEO Neil Portnow says that the Grammy award is chosen by fellow music professionals (not fans) and is thus highly regarded. He also says that half of the entries last year were independently produced, and that there's a lot of talent in that field. Then why are they reluctant to give more of these artists more of the actual awards? Shouldn't the ratio of entries to genre-specific awards be somewhat consistent from genre to genre? Portnow says it's complicated. I believe that much.
     Here's what the powers-that-be did think was spicy-hot. Adele won Record of the year, Album of the year, Song of the year, Best pop solo performance, Best pop album, and Best short form music video. Everything she was nominated for, she won. Stoute, tweeting live from the show, was happy with the result, but felt that hip hop was not getting the same respect as pop. I'll agree to that, and extend the bias to other genres, too. High production value, right?

 

     Let's look specifically at rock. The Foo Fighters were nominated for six and won five. Wasting Light wasn't a bad album, but it certainly wasn't the greatest alternative / rock / non-pop achievement of 2011. On the Metacritics poll it ranked 19th. That's a big disconnect, people.
     On the other hand, I'm glad Bon Iver was honored as the best up-and-coming artist and won Best alternative music album. I'm glad Mumford & Sons were honored with nominations for both Album of the tear and Song of the tear. I'm glad Alisson Krauss won Best bluegrass album and I'm glad South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone won Best musical theater album for The Book of Mormon. All this is evidence that NARAS is cleaning up its act.
     But if I was ready to give a damn about the Grammy Awards, I'd still be disappointed in the great talent that was barely mentioned or ignored entirely. El Camino by the Black Keys. Let England Shake by PJ Harvey. St. Vincent's Strange Mercy. Not a single nomination for any of them - yet ranked #3, #5 and #8, respectively, in Metacritic's User Poll for the best overall music albums of 2011. Pitchfork's user 2011 lists aren't much different: St Vincent is 6th, PJ Harvey is 8th, Black Keys (oddly) comes in at 29th. And I'm sure if I was more familiar with the year's music, many more discrepancies like these would readily present themselves. Let me predict that St. Vincent might soon rank among the likes of Lady Gaga and Adele in terms of fame and acclaim.
     Not even mentioning other albums I personally loved but failed to garner the same widespread acclaim (such as TV on the Radio's Nine Types of Light, Yuck's debut eponymous, Mother Mother's Eureka), why is there an ongoing disconnect between the Grammy Awards and the peasant audiophile?
     Interestingly, a similar distance exists between film lovers and the Academy Awards - but in this case it's manageable. The same Metacritic poll cited earlier shows that out of the top twenty films of 2011, three were snubbed - Melancholia at #8, 50/50 at #10, and Source Code at #19. Well, since most award categories are limited to five nominations, a few could be easily missed. (Coincidentally, two of the three are Sci-fi thrillers. Prejudice?) But more significantly, there are fewer Oscars to award (only 24!), there are very few genre-specific categories, and none of the top five popular picks were snubbed. As opposed to two (or 40%!). Are the fans really so misguided?
     To clarify, we're not talking about music and film of greatest "critical acclaim." Rotten Tomatoes lists the top 100 movies of the year according to professional movie-reviewers. Most of them I've never heard of, much less seen. And only a handful received nominations. I think that's fine. There are many films that don't make a box office showing or are released in very few theaters. There are oodles of great documentaries and short films most people will never watch. That's a different issue. I'd never expect these televised award ceremonies to cater to the artistic elite. I would just expect a greater agreement between critical acclaim and popular opinion. Production value be damned (in a perfect world).
     And we're all aware that neither ceremony picks nominees and winners based on a clear and objective rubric. You gotta pay your respects, yo. If Radiohead packaged their own vomit in vinyl and plastic, it'd still get a nomination somewhere. On the other hand, the Oscars are no less political. Think Spielberg and Transformers - neither it (3 nominations) nor War Horse (six nominations) even broke Metacritics' top 20.
     Perhaps the shortcomings of the Grammy Awards can be explained numerically. After all, 35,000-40,000 albums, EPs and singles are released each year, but less than 1,000 new films are shown in theaters. The playing field is so much bigger, so a lot of greatness is missed almost of necessity.
    Whatever the reason for its existence, the disconnect between the audiophile and the music industry continues to exist, and consequently most music nerds continue to snub the ceremony, if for no other reason than to exact some vengeance on the institution that first snubbed a highly significant and personally favored artist.
     That's life.
     Some forgiveness might be at hand, were NARAS to create a category to honor innovation and experimentation. Even if the final product didn't have the same glossy finish as so many radio-ready Pop and R&B singles, at least the monied community would be supporting the advancement of its own art form. After all, art by its very nature is constantly evolving. Sadly, when an institution throws all its accolades at traditional forms, money follows fame, and evolution is slowed, if not stopped. And if the powers-that-be don't give a shit about that, then why should anyone with half a brain tune in anyway?
     I think that's why I didn't. Maybe next year.

"Vein of Stars" (2009)

Maybe there isn't a vein of stars calling out my name
No glow from above our heads
Nothing there to see you down on your knees

Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven
Off in the future, maybe there ain't no heaven
There's just you and me and
Maybe that's as well
And if there ain't no heaven
Maybe there ain't no hell

     Halfway through the Flaming Lips' album At War With The Mystics, a sweet, solemn hymn plays, for many, the most profound because of its simplicity. Here, there is no war with any mystic, but only a calm acceptance of the tragic death of the mystic within. Post-war, you might say.
     Coyne's slight echo makes the speaker appear to inhabit a big, empty space, as if the whole of the starry night sky was open, cloudless, windless, and he, with his eyes raised to the so-called heavens. The voice goes out in search of a response, but only hears a haunting silence, with only thoughts and perhaps fears to fill the void.
    After each verse, an eerie guitar sings its own melody. It's as if it attempts to climb from earth to heaven but each time cannot complete the ascent, and stumbles back down to a mournful chord somewhat closer to the ground than had been hoped.
     This beautifully sympathetic poem reflects on the loss of the supernatural dimension, a peculiar characteristic of the secular age. Do we have a better deal, now that we consider the universe to be characterized by so much emptiness, without a great eye looking down on us?
     Is it enough to merely have other people "calling out my name" rather than same magisterial infinite?
     We lose that Great Gig in the sky, Coyne reflects, but at the same time, the ultimate chaotic evil is also demythologized. The world is blander. There's less to gain and less to risk. We stay on our knees, but no Higher Power applauds or rewards our efforts.
     I like the ambiguity of stanza 2's opening line. Since I'm in my 20s I interpret it as an allusion to the years during which we begin our intellectual adulthood and begin to openly and calmly question the assumptions we held to so tightly in our youth. Perhaps Coyne experienced something akin to my own biography -- another late bloomer.
     Do yourself a favor and don't listen to this song by itself the first time. Like most of the Lips' work, the context of the album makes each component many times more meaningful.

Vincent Van Gogh, "Starry Night over the Rhone"