The nerdier among us (which, OK, hand raised) may remember the months and years of waiting for The Dark Knight — and the viral campaign which helped fill the lonely hours at home, alone, laptop a-glow, wondering what Heath Ledger would look like as the Joker. It was worthwhile for a number of reasons: the gestation time of films is long enough for Octomom to pump out another litter; the mystery dovetailed perfectly with Batman’s own role as the world’s greatest detective, and its intelligence only (deservedly!) increased confidence in the prospects of the film itself.

Applying these same smoke screens to music, however, has been less effective. Read the rest of this entry »

Things that are missing from and/or embarrassing with Pitchfork’s review today of Elliott Smith’s Roman Candle and From a Basement on the Hill:

1) A single paragraph in this review is spent discussing Roman Candle. This graf somehow earns it a 7.8. The fact that the album, Smith’s solo debut and his most fumblingly lo-fi/experimental effort, has been remastered is mentioned only in passing; that New Moon‘s Larry Crane did the remastering is not discussed at all, nor is its first-time-ever vinyl release. One would think these might be talking points in a review of a reissue. (Did I mention that Roman Candle is my favorite album of all time? Oh, yeah.)

2) The rest of the review is spent discussing From a Basement, suddenly worthy of an 8.4 despite the fact that nothing about it has changed whatsoever since Pitchfork gave it a 7.2 in 2004. This is essentially a second printing. The new release isn’t remastered and contains no bonus tracks; there’s nothing new to say about it except for the self-evident, single-sentence fact that, yes, it’s a harrowing record made a bit easier to listen to a few years removed from Smith’s tragic death.

3) Basement is a raw, angry record rusted through with distorted guitars. So, to an extent, is Roman Candle. This is the thematic and sonic link between the two, and what makes them interesting career bookends. In case you were wondering. Smith also used to play in a alternative rock band called Heatmiser whose sound and influence should probably be mentioned here, but that would be complicated.

4) Judging by a search of his work for the site, Jayson Greene, the writer behind the piece, is primarily a hip-hop scribe who has reviewed such records as Wale’s The Mixtape About Nothing, the Game’s L.A.X., Nosaj Thing and Baby Charles for Pitchfork. He also openly trashes Smith’s Figure 8 for being too polished before calling out Roman Candle for not being polished enough. Clearly, this is a critic with demonstrable familiarity and expertise within the singer-songwriter genre and the proper understanding of the Smith back catalog.

5) Look, folks, I hate getting all Ripfork here and it’s not news that Pitchfork’s never liked Smith much (Ryan Schreiber himself gave Figure 8 a 6.9 in 2000), but for crying out loud, this is a Monday morning lead review — you’d think someone would bother actually reviewing the reissue treatment of the album that’s getting one, or (God forbid!) take the opportunity to delve into what’s probably Smith’s least-heard album some 16 years later.

If you, dear reader, take that opportunity for yourself, your reward will be one of the most fascinatingly arranged, evocatively written albums ever made. Or you could listen to a Wale mixtape about Seinfeld. The choice is yours.

Coachella 2006 / All photos by David Greenwald

A girl called me a sell-out on Facebook over the weekend for buying a Coachella ticket. Said girl has joined a Facebook group (what else?) devoted to petitioning the April festival until it releases single-day passes for this year’s dates. Was she joking? Isn’t selling out ironic now? I have no idea. But it did get me thinking about festivals – and why Los Angeles and Southern California don’t have the options they used to. Read the rest of this entry »

Watching the Grammys is like going to a dance party on the Titanic. That said, raging mindlessly against the mainstream is just as bad as following it – and since I was forced to watch the show, some brief thoughts: Read the rest of this entry »

Photo by David Greenwald

There will be a new Joanna Newsom album in 2010. Of this, it’s nearly impossible to have any doubt. Ys was released all the way back in 2006; live recordings of new material appeared as far back as “Esame” in September 2007; in March 2009, she played a reported sprawling two-and-a-half hour set of new material. Per Stereogum, W magazine reported that a new album has been recorded, while according to Vogue, she held recording sessions in Tokyo as late as August. (Jim O’Rourke, Ys mixer and genius-about-town, lives in Japan, and we can only hope that implies his involvement.)

And this week, she announced the first portion of a North American tour — nine dates, nothing to scoff at — following a full tour of New Zealand and Australia as well as some Japanese dates. In other words, she’s spending the first three months of the year touring, with the spring and summer wide open for a broader tour or festival dates (Coachella, perhaps?). For an album, no doubt, but one with no name or release date or official existence.

But why the secrecy? Read the rest of this entry »

A brief counterpoint to Simon Reynolds’ basically good Notes on the Noughties piece today, which is right about the effects but not the cause: He argues that the proliferation of good music — boosted by the cheapness of new recording technology — and cool-hunting blogs has diminished the possibility of consensus on new albums. Well, yes and no. Read the rest of this entry »

I’ll confess I’m often mystified by the songs that top the Billboard charts, but I think I have an explanation for the popularity of Owl City, the band with the current No. 1 song in the country. In a column for the UCLA Daily Bruin in April 2006 (prescience!) I wrote: Read the rest of this entry »

Here’s the thing, folks. John Mayer, Tweeter, Jennifer Aniston dater, paparazzi-chased funnyman, and today, journalist-ass-rape-threatener — should probably stop trying to convince America that he’s as sensitive as, say, his pal Taylor Swift. His public persona is completely at odds with the music he makes, which is ostensibly heartfelt singer-songwriter AAA radio fodder. To be successful as an artist (key word) in this genre, you need to create at least a veneer of realism; John doesn’t need to be Joni Mitchell here, but if you’re playing acoustic guitar and singing a sad song, you have to make us feel something.

“Who Says,” his most abhorrent effort yet, attempts to garner sympathy for a lifestyle which he clearly, flagrantly, enjoys in real life. When he sings, “Who says I can’t get stoned,” he might as well say, “Who says I can’t get young women to pay me money to pretend I’m sensitive for three minutes?” Or, “Who says I can’t have sex with Jennifer Aniston?” Nobody, John! Nobody is telling you this — except probably Jen. At least Adam Duritz seemed seriously depressed about dating her back in the day. Which brings us to this: Does John Mayer, self-satisfied smart-ass, honestly believe he’s making art here? Or is it all an elaborate, extremely profitable ruse? I wonder if he even knows anymore.