Whiskeytown: Pneumonia

Pneumonia
Whiskeytown
Lost Highway

There is no doubt that Ryan Adams is one talented fellow. 1997’s Stranger’s Almanac still stands as the best southern release since R.E.M.’s Murmur, with its combination of driving rock and strangled emotion. Whiskeytown, and Ryan, in particular, stumbled around for years after that, and this final release is from a band that no longer exists. Adams has a solo record out on Bloodshot, and Caitlin Cary, violinist and the only other longtime Whiskeytown member, released a great if short solo record last year. So fans of the band are left with a few records, memories of live shows that ran the gamut from incendiary to horrid (when Ryan was in his cups, most likely) and now, Pneumonia.

The nearest analogy for this record I can muster is this: Ever have relationships that started out great, and set new records for sexual frenzy? Then as time went on, the spark went away and the sex was just� okay? Remember how totally unpleasing it was? Well, if Stranger’s Almanac represents the four-hour porno audition version of Whiskeytown, then Pneumonia is the “oh yeah, it’s Wednesday,” dial it in, boring sex of a dead relationship type. Adams has stated recently that one of the reasons he disbanded Whiskeytown was to pursue “quieter” music. If he gets any quieter than this disc, the boy is gonna be dead. This is a dull record. All the music (with one really bad exception, noted below) sounds the same, a rather pale imitation of mid-period Dylan. Very subdued and sedate from a man who has in the past been able to make your heart cry and ears ache at the same time.

Radiohead: Amnesiac

Amnesiac
Radiohead
Capitol

Recorded in the same time period as its predecessor, Kid A, Radiohead’s fifth release, Amnesiac, follows in a similar vein of aural experimentation. The only difference this time out is that we have had a period of time to adjust to the “new” Radiohead, a band who has forsaken the mantle of guitar gods bestowed upon them with such albums as The Bends and OK Computer. Also, Amnesiac is more accessible due to the album’s more personal nature and (somewhat) more straightforward songwriting. The result is a brilliant combination of sounds and statements that is so compelling in spots that a listener suspends belief.

This is not to say that the album is flawless. One of the tracks, “Morning Bell/Amnesiac,” is a reworked version of the same song from the last album, and while it’s a swell song, why include it again? Also, Thom Yorke’s (and one would have to imagine, the rest of Radiohead’s) fascination with electronica on such cuts as “Hunting Bears” and “Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors” makes those tracks little more than bridges between stronger songs, and tends to drag the pace of the record down. But when it shines, on such songs as “Knives Out” (a number that sounds more like The Bends-era Radiohead) or the majestic “Pyramid Song,” the band proves themselves near masters of pop art. I defy anyone to listen to the careening “I Might Be Wrong,” with its pogoing guitar and snap drums, and not turn up the volume. “You and Whose Army” and the closing “Life in a Glasshouse” sound a bit like a three way collaboration between Radiohead, a woozy Tom Waits, and the backing of Andrew Bird.

Alejandro Escovedo: A Man Under the Influence

A Man Under the Influence
Alejandro Escovedo
Bloodshot

In all the conversations I’ve had with Alejandro Escovedo over the years, from his days in The Nuns to The True Believers, and more recently, after his “Artist of the Decade” award from No Depression magazine, I’m always struck by his candor, wit, and honesty. He listens well, speaks with passion, and never tries to bully you into anything.

Only thing is, I’ve never spoken to Alejandro Escovedo. But such is the power of his music, the strength of his vision, and his raw, pulsing heart that he displays in each word and strum, it’s these things that make me feel as if he and I are old friends, talking quietly over beers. Or in the case of a song like “Castanets,” getting a little rowdy with something harder, watching his girl walk away.

Velvet Crush: Rock Concert

Rock Concert
Velvet Crush
Action Musik

With the present whereabouts of Velvet Crush for the most part unknown, any new product with their imprint on it is good news. Recorded in Chicago during the tour for Teenage Symphonies to God, this 1995 show captures the Crush with extra guitarist Tommy Keene, and rock it does. In fact, perhaps a bit too much, to tell the truth. The band seems intent on guitar overkill, and with drummer Rik Menck propelling them, some of the subtle moments of such songs as “Time Wraps Around You” are lost, which is a shame. The lack of any harmony vocals is off-putting as well, since in the studio, Menck and Paul Chastain create truly memorable vocal moments. Still, song by song, Velvet Crush is (was? Will be? Who knows?) one of the better exponents of power pop in the last 20 years, and any chance to hear them is certainly welcome.

Originally published Ink 19, 2001

Guided By Voices: Isolation Drills

Isolation Drills
Guided By Voices
TVT

Dylan had Self Portrait, The Stones Satanic Majesties. It seems inevitable that once you practice your craft for as long as Robert Pollard and Guided By Voices have, you are gonna hit a lull in the level of your output. Isolation Drills is that record.

Although much grousing was heard from the faithful about the last release, the Ric Ocasek-produced Do The Collapse, that album was actually quite enjoyable, in a big rock, nifty made for radio keyboard sorta way. It added some classic tunes to the GBV cannon — “Teenage FBI” and “Surgical Focus,” to name a few. Plus the band got some much-needed recognition in the mainstream press, which should keep the wolf from the door for awhile. It was a busy year for things Pollard. Numerous solo releases, EPs, and touring kept the former Dayton, Ohio schoolteacher occupied.

It’s Just Not Right

It’s Just Not Right

Dammit, something isn’t right. When I got the news that Joey Ramone had died, it hit me more than most rock star roadcrash stories. Because Joey wasn’t your average rock star. The Ramones were such a part of the soundtrack of my youth that it feels almost as if I’ve lost a family member. Anyone who ever saw them will remember Joey’s stance — the one leg forward, hair in his face, like he was singing into a hurricane — and anyone who was a teenager in the late ’70s has a warm spot in their musical heart for the band that played an entire concert in 30 minutes — and played about 20 songs in that time.

The first time I saw the Ramones was on a bill with Black Sabbath and Van Halen on Halloween night at the Omni (a since demolished barn of a place) in Atlanta. The Ramones were never an arena act. Their basic style of music worked far better in a smaller, smoky club where the force of Johnny’s guitar would part your hair, and the bass would make your beer jump on the bar. But putting them on a bill with metal bands was even dumber. But they soldiered on, troopers that they were — hell, they were from New York City for crying out loud. A bunch of drunken southerners couldn’t slow them down. All around the arena that night you could little pockets of people dancing to “Blitzkrieg Bop” and “I Wanna Be Sedated.” We knew.

Luna: Live!

Live!
Luna
Arena Rock Recording Company

Of all the thousands of people who purchased the first Velvet Underground album and formed a band (as the quote goes), Dean Wareham has probably gotten more life out of the experience than anyone short of perhaps Tom Verlaine and Television. From his previous group Galaxie 500 to this latest release from Luna, Wareham has mastered the art of quiet intensity and understands the meshing of guitars better than almost anyone out there.

Never raising his voice above a conversational level — his between song banter is louder than his vocals –Wareham and Luna play music that is engaging without being overbearing, and live, the interplay between Wareham and guitarist Sean Eden is a sonic pleasure. The 14 cuts (12 with original bassist Justin Harwood, two with Britta Phillips of Atlanta’s Ultrababyfat) draw heavily on Luna’s acknowledged benchmark, 1995’s Penthouse, and they even travel back to the Galaxie days with “4th of July.”

Luna is not one of those bands that will blow your socks off, but the more you listen to their music, the deeper the experience becomes. One hopes that they soon find a label to call home — having come and gone from three in three albums — and settle in and make more records like Penthouse and this very pleasing live document.

Originally published Ink 19, 2001

Jeff Beck The Tabernacle, Atlanta, GA March 5, 2001

Jeff Beck
The Tabernacle, Atlanta, GA March 5, 2001

It is one of my serious regrets that I was unfortunately born years too late. If I had been a youth in the ’40s and ’50s, I would have camped out in New York City and seen Charlie Parker, Miles, and the rest create Bebop. But alas, that was not to be. Although I did get to see Miles in his later, shiny jumpsuit period (on a show with Sun Ra!), it wasn’t the same Miles that created new musical forms at the drop of a hat. To be able to see someone who is a master at their instrument, ala Parker, Coltrane, or Miles has been a fervent desire that I had long accepted as being unreachable.

Until I saw Jeff Beck.

If anyone on this planet is doing ANYTHING as well as Jeff Beck is playing guitar, I wanna watch them. Because for 90 minutes, Beck literally reshaped the way a guitar is perceived. His last two releases, this year’s You Had It Coming and 1999’s Who Else! have featured Beck atop an electronica setting, a genre that generally leaves me cold, but in his hands, bristles with energy and passion. Opening with the lead cut from his current release, the aptly named “Earthquake,” within an instant Jeff caused the jaws of the guitarists in the crowd to drop, simply by playing what those of us who had listened to the album had assumed was a keyboard part. Nope, it was guitar. The evening continued in such a manner, with every song allowing Beck and his crème Strat to make a musical statement so precise and electrifying that after a few songs, all you could do was grin a stupid grin at the sheer skill he possesses.

Goodbye Minor Life Form

Goodbye Minor Life Form

Everything you know — or think you know — about the world is the product of the last 1000 years. Printing, electricity, the internal combustion engine, computers, et al have been created in a tiny sliver of the life of this planet. Long before we developed our frontal lobes and grew smart enough to get in out of the damn rain, this planet supported a fully functioning system of life. Then along came man. For thousands of years, the Earth barely noticed his presence — he lived, he ate some bugs, and when the big clock ticked its final tock, he fell over wherever he was, and died. In a few moments, perhaps another creature came by and ate up all his good parts, and the cycle of life continued on. And this process worked quite well, up until the very recent past, when one species got the big head and started screwing with the program. By disregarding nearly every evolutionary concept in place up until his arrival, man has blundered about with the foolish notion that he alone exists above the laws of nature. Every great advance that man has made has carried the potential for harm, and in almost every case, man has made sure that he exploited his surroundings, and in doing so, maximized the chance that something bad would happen. But generally, our planet has been strong enough to withstand and tolerate most of mans foolishness, and it will continue forever to do so, because it makes the rules. It’s man who steadfastly refuses to READ THE DAMN MANUAL and display the sense of common earthworm, a creature that ain’t much to look at, but does have enough gumption to stay away from predators and to establish a residence in a place that will sustain him. Nope, man has divined himself brighter than the lowly earthworm and in his infinite wisdom spurned the lush comfort of a hole in the earth surrounded by nutrients, instead convincing himself that the barren rock of the sidewalk and roadway is actually the finer place to stake a claim.

Tonio K. and 16 Tons of Monkeys

Live
Tonio K. and 16 Tons of Monkeys
Gadfly Records, INC

Gotta love a record that starts off with a cut entitled “I Handle Snakes”. Now, if you’re a lifelong Tonio K fan, it will come as no surprise. But if your particular trailer park ain’t wired for the K, then stop all your nonsense and pick this up. Seriously, Tonio K is an American natural wonder, and scant few listeners know his magic, which he’s been churning out since Life in the Foodchain way back in 1978. Of course he did compose “Love Is” that everybody covered in the ‘80’s, but that don’t count. Or matter. What does matter is the world than Tonio comments on- once considered fantastical, now commonplace- is a weird and belligerent arena, but he stands astride it, spitting venom all the while, chopping down the phony and profane with such songs as “Snakes”, “What a Way To Live” and others. Backed by a hotshot band including former Double Trouble organist Reese Wynans, Tonio sounds surly and tough on this 1992 show, which is sadly about the closest any of us will ever get to seeing the man in person. Hell, he’s almost reason enough to move to Texas. Almost.

Originally published Amplifier, 2001