Everyone likes a nice retroactive Friday Find, and I am ready to start legislating more music that you should listen to now that I've finally bought a car and can stop doing research and negotiations all the time! Today I highlight a band out of central England that some of you may be familiar with: Cornershop.
Cornershop is the brainchild of Tjinder Singh—British and of Indian descent, which greatly influences Cornershop's music. Named after a reference to the stereotype in Britain that Indians and Asians owned streetcorner shops, Singh and his shifting lineup of musicians create a sound that perfectly combines the best of Eastern and Western music with seamless fusion, leaning heavily on British indie, pop, and dance from the mid-90's. Their breakout album, 1997's When I Was Born for the 7th Time, featured an eclectic mix of turntables, synthesizers, samplers, guitars, and traditional Indian instruments like the sitar, dholaki, or tambura.
If the name sounds vaguely familiar to anyone, it is probably because Cornershop scored a major hit off their previously mentioned album, thanks to Norman Cook's (aka Fatboy Slim) remix of their song "Brimful of Asha," a tribute to music (especially that of Asha Bhosle) in Indian film. The remix was very subtle, but its increased dance tendency and name recognition propelled it to the top of British and US charts. Here's the music video for the remix, which is terribly 90's and quite frankly kind of embarrassing:
Anyway, the real find—and track that I want to share—is off of their criminally underrated 2002 album Handcream for a Generation. "Spectral Mornings" is the pinnacle of their music, in my mind. It's a 14-minute opus that begins with some Indian singing and evolves into a sprawling psych jam of sitar and guitar mastery (Noel Gallagher of Oasis lends a hand for the guitar portion). I have no clue what this song is about and I could really care less!
Apparently, Cornershop are expected to release their 6th album, Cornering the Market some time in 2009, so keep an eye out, since 7 years between albums seems to suit them just fine.
I'm going to keep it short on this Tuesday, since I'm running out of time and my brain still hurts from the last post, so I'd like to (probably) introduce you to a San Francisco Bay area quartet which may be the best band with an intentional typo in its name, Wooden Shjips.
Wooden Shjips - Dos [Holy Mountain, 2009]
There isn't entirely a lot to say about this group's second album proper-- and that isn't necessarily a detraction. Wooden Shjips take a modern day stoner rock approach to the heyday of Krautrock by way of Can and Neu!, with a liberal dose of late 60's psychedelia along the lines of The Doors and The Velvet Underground. Now, that is a lot of great bands to be compared to in one sentence, and by no means is Wooden Shjips even close to any of them.
Here is how an average Wooden Shjips song from Dos goes: jam on a looped riff, heavy in bass, organ, and crunchy guitar with a little tinge of blues. Then, sing some mumbled, barely decipherable lyrics for a minute or two, followed by a return to the main loop for two to eight minutes of the most distorted, delayed, and reverbed guitar solo possible.
But if everything is so predictable and repetitive, why do I find myself enjoying it so much? For one thing, guitarist Ripley Johnson's solo work is amazing. And it has to be-- with the bass and organ looping for four to eleven minutes (you have to give props to whichever of them recorded tambourine for 11 minutes straight), the vocals and guitar solos are what really make any distinction between tracks. The guitar work tends to favor noise over melody, which doesn't really matter since the band is looping a one- or two-chord short riff anyway, and for the most part, I feel like this is what keeps me interested in Wooden Shjips. That and 60's psych nostalgia.
Feeling adventurous? Down by the Sea (off Dos) 10:53 Or maybe more concise... We Ask You to Ride (off 2007's Wooden Shjips) 4:53 Hear and learn more @ their myspace
On Friday, a Swedish court ruled against the founders of The Pirate Bay, a torrent host site, finding them guilty of copyright infringement through their site's facilitation of pirating movies, games, and music. The current sentence is 1 year in jail for each of the 4 founders, and a fine of $3.6 million, though an appeal is expected.
So, what does this mean for the world of music? Certainly, it's nothing new that file sharing websites have been attacked and shut down by courts (anyone fondly remember Napster and Kazaa? Yeah, I don't either). I'd guess that of anyone reading this, maybe 10% have used The Pirate Bay to download an album or a song, so is there any reason to lose sleep over this decision? Not really. So, I'd like to examine a more interesting polemic opened up by this decision: the value of music as an art form.
My desire to write on this subject was piqued while reading this post by one of my favorite bloggers, Momus, and the discussion that followed in its comments section. The overall question is this: What is more important-- cultural value or monetary value, and, how will musicians/artists adapt new technologies to help them make a living?
Let's tackle the latter question, since it is undoubtedly easier to discuss. In the scary world of "the internet," record labels are looking all the more useless. Bands and musicians are increasingly able to create and distribute their work on their own, get noticed by internet-based critics and promoters, and book their own shows (granted, the internet hasn't necessarily made the booking manager obsolete). Momus opines that we will see a shift of moving the payday from the record store to the concert venue. Essentially, what we may see are musicians that create an income largely through ticket sales, merchandising, and advertising. In this sense, it becomes more valuable to allow your music to reach as many ears as possible, through widespread, free distribution (it's not really realistic to claim the Radiohead "pay what you like" experiment as an applicable model that could work for every upstart indie band).
Back to the former question, what value does music have in our collective culture vs. how much money we are willing to pay for it? The idea behind purchasing a CD is to pay money to an artist (and label) that has produced music. In most cases, big label albums have big label budgets to make, and there is an expectation that the cost should be recouped. After the cost has been recouped, both parties then begin to profit. But is an artist who is successful commercially, necessarily valuable culturally? Of course not. So why then, is there a need to perpetually reward musicians for each unit sold from a one-time album creation? A comment on Momus' post points out that we don't pay each and every time we look at a painting. Just because music as a medium has lent itself to distribution through vinyl records, 8-tracks, cassettes, compact discs, should we all have to pay for the privilege to experience it?
So, here we are back to the central idea, also suggested by The Pirate Bay suit-- should music be free? I am hopeful that the world of music will come to a point where it can be. This is not to say I want all musicians to be poor, I just believe in the shift proposed by Momus-- for example, I feel much better spending $10 to see a concert than I do spending $10 to buy an album. Am I not supporting the musician properly because I choose to buy a concert ticket rather than an album? If I had to guess, I would think that a band playing a show for 200 people at $10 per ticket would make much more money than having 200 people go buy their CD at Best Buy.
As much as I love browsing local record stores (just picked up some limited 7" on Record Store Day), I have to assume that down the road they will become a thing of the past (the premise of an upcoming documentary, I Need That Record! showing at the Boston Independent Film Festival). I am just hopeful that this will be due to a shifting model of a band/musician's ability to market themselves, and not the triumph of big box stores and record labels.
Apologies for the sparseness here lately-- I've been trying to buy a car which is a headache and a half. Let's focus on something that won't give you a headache. (Nice segue, huh?)
The Decemberists - The Hazards of Love [Capitol, 2009]
So, I was aiming to get this out a week or two ago, since the album just launched on March 24 and I wanted to weigh in as this promised to be one of the most interesting and polarized releases of 2009 so far. There are fans old and new that either love it or hate it. Pitchfork bashed it on national television. Blogs have run the full gamut from "masterpiece" to "a nice idea that fell flat."
And well, I expected nothing less. When hearing about the album a few months ago, frontman Colin Meloy revealed that it was going to be a rock opera full of prog metal (essential for any rock opera) while incorporating The Decemberists' folk/sea shanty signature sound. I was intrigued, but skeptical. In 2006, The Crane Wife was released to much ballyhoo, but I was overall displeased with it, since it sort of walked a line between proggy, epic narratives and simple, catchy folk sing-a-longs. What I wanted was an album full of one or the other (since I had enjoyed their past efforts very much, and was intrigued what an epic album would bring).
Needless to say, The Hazards of Love is all kinds of epic. The opening track (discounting the Prelude) "The Hazards of Love 1" instantly brings to mind the folk-jazz guitar and bass interplay of the best 60's folk in the style of Pentangle or Fairport Convention. I had long doubted The Decemberists actual roots in folk, but as of this album, I am a believer. Of course, as soon as the track concludes, distorted guitars crunch in true 80's metal fashion. This may seem disorienting, but somehow Meloy et al. managed to pull off the 180-degree switch effortlessly.
This is the setup of the musical interplay throughout the album. With a surprisingly concise plot (once you have the aid of the lyrics sheet), the music shifts in the standard operatic/musical mode of recurring themes and reprises to accentuate moods, characters, and events. Meloy goes so far as to recruit two female vocalists to further flesh out the sound of the "opera." Becky Stark (of Lavender Diamond) lends her sweet voice as Margaret, the lover of Meloy's character William. The show-stealer on the album however, is most certainly Shara Worden (of My Brightest Diamond) in the role of the Queen, whose perfect 80's metal wails send chills down the spine. Where the album truly succeeds is in its pairing of music with emotion as the plot develops (the details of which I'll spare in the interest of seeming sane). The closing track where the lovers drown together (oops, spoiler) is truly a beautiful and moving piece of music, and Meloy and The Decemberists' ability to draw out so much emotion through a stunning amalgam of music styles is really what makes this album a success.
If you're looking to hear something totally different and feeling a little adventurous stylistically, this is definitely the album of 2009 to pick thusfar. While I think this album NEEDS to be heard as a whole, in the interests of not being shut down, I'll just share my top picks. Contact me if you want the whole shebang:
Catch The Decemberists live in Boston June 9 at the BOA Pavilion (with Robyn Hitchcock-- this show will be awesome), or next weekend April 24th at Amherst College (I'll be there!)
The Audiobahn thinks that while it's nice to be in-the-know with all the newest buzz bands, it's equally important to look back at where music has been, because hey, maybe you missed something really great.
Updated (generally) once a week with new music and retrospective finds.
