It’s not really about music per se, but what the hell: I get my Ebert on, blurbing perhaps too densely about Brick and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang for a Flak rental recommendations feature.

I like the noir life. I like to boogie.

Shudder to Think “Gang Of $” “Ballad Of Maxwell Demon”
I’ve been on a Shudder to Think tear lately, so wanted to share a little taste. They were one of the few bands from the indie scene that actually got better when they switched over to a major label, going from Dischord to the Sony Empire–although it seemed to do them little good. My earliest memory of Shudder to Think was as a band pushed hard, and quickly discarded, by Los Angeles’ powerhouse alt-rock station, KROQ.

There’s evidence out on the Interweb that some folks consider 1994’s Pony Express Record–now out of print in the States–to be a sort of epochal yet forgotten release, but “IRL” I don’t think I’ve met anyone else who cares. It remains one of my favorite records of the 90s.

“Gang Of $,” off that saidsame album, shows off their collage of the popular and the sub-popular: tribal, kick-heavy drumming by Adam Wade; taut, pulsating bass work from Stuart Hill to keep everything rocking; turn-on-a-dime song structures that nod to the prog; Nathan Larson’s short attention span lead squiggles and stadium-sized windmills throwing off sparks of grandeur equal parts glam and postpunk; winks and pleas, swoons and smiles, sass for miles from singer Craig Wedren, all Freddie Mercury gone punk, I mean, soul.

So it’s big rock, groovy, unquestionably off–even the lyrics are a tug of war between some kind of surrealistic urban tuff and a real, earnest need.

In 1998 the Shudder crew was tapped to do their best Bowie in the service of Todd Haynes’ glam cinema opus Velvet Goldmine, as film scoring became more of a main gig for both Wedren and Larson. They responded with a pair of titanically catchy slices of alien pop, “Hot One” darker and “Ballad Of Maxwell Demon” light.

That opening riff feels all-time great, Larson’s epic harmony guitars climbing up and down the scale. The idea of pitch-shifted backing vox sounds awful, but the execution of them on this song sounds right-on. Wedren’s vocal performance splits the difference between subtle and ridiculous–he’s feeling every line 100%, even though it’s all spaceships, ladytrons and solar love.

Urgent and key: the sexy sass (again) of “the slap on my ass by a lipstick-kissed elbow glove.” Basically, everything’s clicking, and the answer is “effervescence.”

Pony Express Record at Amazon. (and at iTunes.)
Velvet Goldmine soundtrack at Newbury Comics. (and at iTunes.)

The other night, just as I was nodding off to sleep, my mind was filled with a vision.

This vision was of a young Billy Joel perched precariously atop a minaret, singing “Scenes From An Italian Restaurant” but pausing at the end of each verse to flail his arms, just barely maintaining his balance. In the midst of Messr. Joel’s struggle, he’s overtaken by a pack of flying wolves.

It went something like this:

(more…)

Buffalo Tom “Taillights Fade”

I mentioned Buffalo Tom in passing recently, and today wanted to fulfill the promise of reminding y’all that they were awesome.

Initially dissed as “Dinosaur Jr. Jr.” (J. Mascis produced their first disc, which I don’t have), these Boston alt rockers had really found their voice by their third platter, 1992’s Let Me Come Over.

The distortion was still there, but the songwriting suggested something a little more heartland, a distillation of Paul Westerberg’s tender moments that mostly ditched the boozy self-destructive streak for pure heatbreak restrained by some hint of stoicism. They became a great folk-rock band that knew how to deploy the weapons of their era.

“Taillights Fade” is my favorite Buf-Tom jam, and it might be everybody else’s. After all, it’s kinda their grand majestic power ballad moment. It’s a bit of a slow-burner, but gets some momentum out of the soft-verse-loud-chorus thing (like I said, weapons of their era).

They do make a nod toward aforementioned boozy self-destruction, the confession “lost my life in cheap wine,” and even wink at their critics to the tune of “I feel like a dinosaur.” “Taillights Fade” was prominent on my pity party soundtrack in college, but at this remove I’m feeling more comfort. Maybe it’s the well-structured, tuneful treatment of ragged emotion. Maybe it’s just that if you’ve still got the strength to sing, then yr not all the way gone.

Let Me Come Over at Newbury Comics. (and at iTunes.)

Freedom Cruise “Sensational Gravity Boy”
Cradle Robbers “Sotto Voce”

Call it nostalgia or I dunno what, but I’ve been going back lately to the pleasant sounds of the Red Hot + Bothered compilation, part of the Red Hot Organization’s series raising money for the fight against AIDS.

This 1995 release was subtitled “The Indie Rock Guide to Dating,” which implies awkwardness and maybe a total catastrophe; instead, we got a neat set of pop songs from various underground-ish luminaries highlighted by a bunch of team-ups.

The pole position went to Freedom Cruise, a one-off conjoining of lo-fi luminaries Guided by Voices and alternative rock stars the Breeders.

For “Sensational Gravity Boy,” Kim Deal somehow ended up behind the drum set in an all-but-buried performance, but it’s kind of wonderful to hear a Bob Pollard song, in all its shambling, classic rock derived, pyschedelic word-shuffling glory, augmented by the cool tones of the Deal sisters’ backing vocals.

I find it a bit weird, but my favorite thing about this song is that processed guitar burbling out of the left channel. Pretty sure I hear at least a phaser and chorus on there, but there’s probably more; I wouldn’t be surprised if the guitar had been modified to shoot bubbles or something. It’s a tone of whimsy and possibility to me so it’s kind of perfect for a nonsense song about a boy who could fly.

Elsewhere on the comp, Lois Maffeo of the band Lois and Spinane Rebecca Gates, leading lights of the Northwest-to-D.C. indie pop scene (if you will), joined forces as the Cradle Robbers. On “Sotto Voce,” a Maffeo composition, they actually nailed the disc’s minor goal of showing off the sexy sounds of underground music geek culture.

The song’s quiet and simple, two soft voices, some sawed wood, mellow keboards. Quite apropos, actually, for tackling the subject of whispers in the night. But the Robbers have stuffed it so full with a messy range of emotion and experience–togetherness, disillusion, antagonism, playfulness, lust, faith–that it comes on sort of epic. Then, just when you think it’s over, they slay you with a wordless refrain.

Red Hot + Bothered at Newbury Comics.