Ah, sweet, sweet Trenchfork, you get something so right, but yet you forsake any hint of having cujones with your 6.0 rating of the dismissable Cansei De Ser Sexy album. Your rating doubles what the album deserves. Kow-towing to CDSS’s considerable bloghype will not engender editorial respect. Be an individual. A secular inhumanist, if you will. Operate in a vacuum, or within a Derridean purity (although that can lead to vigilantism). This album is the opposite of Schrodinger’s cat – nothing’s actually in the box, but when you open it, you see something because you opened it.
Time to list.
I’m currently unsure whether tracks from TV on the Radio’s Return to Cookie Mountain (Disney reference? Sesame reference?) in their finished state improve upon the leaked ‘unmastered’ tracks. I don’t dislike the new version of “Province,’ with Bowie needlessly on vocals, but simply like the unmastered version more. Maybe they’re better in concert now; a show I caught at Southpaw a few years ago was interesting but wobbly and sometimes poorly executed. They have the right idea, but they struggle getting it right. Most of this new one gets it right.
New leaked tracks from the Dears’ forthcoming Gang of Losers please me much better than their overproduced debut collection, which grew off me within a month of hearing it. These tracks breathe. Still mopey Brit-rock, but as well done as it can be done this side of Supergrass.
Very baited breath for The Air Force, the new Xiu Xiu. Everything I’ve heard demolishes the forgettable La Foret from last year. He’s writing some real pop songs.
And the Hidden Cameras have done the indelible thing again with this track from their dammit-wait-til-Sept-in-the-US release Awoo:
Apologies to whomever or wherever I got these tracks. Do you even know?
So what’s to stop loving?
Brightblack Morning Light: Soft rock. I never liked Bread, and neither should you or anyone else. Air Supply on junk, this one. Galaxie 500 was more exciting.
Oneida’s new one is going limp on me. We had such a fun time together til now. Sigh. Nothing lasts.
The more I hear of the new Junior Boys, the more I grow suspicious. First, “Count Souvenirs” wholelsale lifts the melody to Depeche Commode’s (hat-tip to Mr. Tapeworm) “Strangelove,” and then “First Time” closely evokes Peter Gabriel’s “Lay Your hands On Me.” Innovation-well gone dry, Boys? I’m reminded of a too-famous poet once writing something like ‘immature poets imitate, mature poets steal.’ “In the Morning” starts off nice, but that’s all it does. A song without a chorus is not a song. It’s a broken umbrella.
And dear much-liked record labels that email J Frank some links to free mp3s: Please don’t stop sending them, but please check to see if said links work. Thanks.
Crazy Ass Update from the Unintentional T-Shirt Files: As of this afternoon, he who goes to Court wearing a t-shirt stating I’m Richie Rich, Bitch will shortly thereafter find himself un-rich and most definitely, in time, someone’s bitch.