I’m Mad

Crazy good song. And the good news is, there’s some talk of The Dead Weather coming back together sometime this year. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Jack White says he’s got projects on top of projects laid out for 2013, including working with The Dead Weather and The Raconteurs again, plus solo stuff in the pipeline ready to go. Sounds like a lot of great goodies in store for us. I’ve been holding my breath for a new Dead Weather ever since the last one.

I Cut Like a Buffalo

This is a very artistic video, and it demonstrates why I think Jack White is a significant artist. As you can spot, it’s filled with a lot of Jack’s favorite fetishes. Hats, knives, weird taxidermy, film noir and red haired femmes fatales. All things we’ve come to recognize as figures in Jack White’s personal innervision. And now their part of ours. Which is exactly why Jack White is a profound artist. He’s done one of the main things artists are supposed to do; he’s taken the objects of private fixation and transmused them into a recognizable signature style, to the point where they’ve entered into our own fixations. The intensely personal becomes the universal, and back into the personal again, with cherished, sacramental images passed down from artist to viewer who becomes artist and passes them on again to the next. When it’s not done with talented enough hands it falls into mere imitation or plagiarism. But in the right ones it becomes a profound act of sharing. This why I believe that what occurs between the artist/musician and the audience is not an economic transaction of buying and consuming product, but an active relationship. It is also, I think, a relationship which though it feels one-sided, benefits both sides greatly. While the artist obviously gains economically, he or she also sacrifices in terms of losing the private aspect of themselves both literally and metaphorically. They give a way a part of themselves, through which we gain emotional fulfillment, possibly some kind of absolution. Again I have to bring up John Lennon, who was right to paint himself (though half-jokingly) as Christ figure, and which he indeed did become in an all-too flesh and blood manner. The idea that pop culture has surpassed religion in providing spiritual solace to the masses may sound presumptuous, but it gains elevation when I replace ‘pop culture’ with ‘art’. Thus, our exemplary Jack White has, in music and in visual media, gathered his collection of esoteric interests and brought them into the broader culture as art, wherein they have affected the minds and habits of impressionable fans, some of whom now go about sporting hats because they have seen Jack do so. That, I believe, is our modern contemporary holy communion.

I Can’t Hear You

I can’t speak for Alison Mosshart, but is sure sounds like this is what it sounds like when little girls have Mick Jagger as their role model. I’ve said a lot before about what a great frontman she is, and yeah, I’mma go there. I’m going to compare Alison Mosshart with Mick Jagger. (I think I’m already on record comparing her to Jim Morrison.) Because I honestly think she is that great. I’ve never seen The Rolling Stones, mind you. But I’ve seen Alison many times, and I’ve seen many, many frontmen and front-women great and small. I have never seen stage presence like hers. She doesn’t even look that striking in pictures, but when she’s on stage she is the sexiest woman alive. It normally would never have occurred to me to make comparisons between new band and old ones. It’s usually unfair to the younger ones, and you know, oranges and apples. But listening to The Dead Weather back-to-back with The Rolling Stones makes me hear a connection. This is what happens when white people get on the right side of the devil so they can play the blues.

Hustle and Cuss

More Dead Weather records soon please Jack. I’m a little sad I didn’t get to see Jack White play his gig at ACL (he was overlapping Neil Young.) The last time I saw The Dead Weather was in 2010. I did see Alison do her thing with the Kills a couple of times since then, and that tides me over. Neither is it that I didn’t like Jack’s solo album. I just want another Dead Weather. The thing about being a Jack-for-all-seasons and starting great new projects all the time is that the old projects get neglected and don’t have the chance to fully develop. The White Stripes stuck it out a good long time, produced a handsome body of work, and enjoyed a full career arc from gritty and ambitious amateurs to well-oiled hit machine to eventual retirement. I don’t see any of the other projects getting such a long run. The Raconteurs are all but forgotten, and The Dead Weather’s been put on the back burner. It would be nice to see Jack give something his full attention for a steady period and see what develops. I suppose it’s hard to do that when you’re forming supergroups with people who have their own projects to go tend to. So maybe start a new band with people who aren’t already in other bands? Or really give it a good go with the solo career thing. Isn’t there some wise saying about too many pots on the stove, or did I just make that up?

Hang You From the Heavens

I know how that feels. Sometimes I just want to grab you and grapple you straight to the devil. And I would go now into my spiel, but I think everyone’s heard it before, all about The Dead Weather and desire, music and lust, Jack and Alison and the last great bastion of rock gods and goddesses, and how my life was saved by rock’n'roll. Yeah rock’n'roll. I think what I feel about rock’n'roll in my life is akin to what Christians feel about Jesus. Saving your life, day in and day out. That’s also one of my pet theories. At some point, sometime, just as John Lennon said, Jesus got surpassed by pop stars. Music, movies, pop culture, those things are bigger than Jesus. They’ve taken the place of religion in filling that yearning hole in people’s souls. They’ve taken the awe and worship. They teach us how to live. They bless us and save our souls.

Gasoline

“I don’t want a sweetheart, Sweetheart/I want a machine“

If there’s any arguments whether  rock’n'roll is less alive, relevant or iconic today, let them be ended. It’s not any less anything. I did think, at a low point, that there wasn’t any blood left pumping in pop music. Then I discovered Jack White. I pretty much decided he was the second coming when I heard The White Stripes, and I haven’t been wrong. There aren’t any more White Stripes, sadly and there’s no word on if there’s any more Dead Weather coming either. We need another Dead Weather, like we need a machine. Jack has more than met his match in Alison Mosshart. She can match him in singing and writing, screaming her guts and sex appeal. She’s an animal with a fire inside.  Just watch the brilliant black and white, flashing, thrashing Third Man performance below. Every Dead Weather song is a personal anthem. I feel them all.

Best of 2010

So it’s time again to take stock of the year past and take in some of the highlights. 2010 was a very good year. It was the first year in a long, long time that I could afford to buy food at Central Market instead of Wal-Mart. I could purchase lingerie at Victoria’s Secret instead of Wal-Mart. I did my holiday shopping at real boutiques instead of Wal-Mart. You get the general idea here, I think. In short, I earned a living wage, went to a lot of shows, ate a lot of food, drank a lot of wine, traveled, dated intensively, learned a lot and generally enjoyed a high caliber quality of life.

Highlights include in no particular order… getting thrown out of an English Beat show for, um, I don’t remember what, but probably fighting. Not getting thrown out of an encore English Beat show. Making out with a cute stranger at a Valentine’s Day Nouvelle Vague show. Having a Dead Weather roadie tell me my outfit is “very Karen O.” Getting dumped for the second time in my life and not crying about it. Many instances of drinking myself into a rolling blackout. Free wiener-on-a-stick at ACL courtesy of my parent company. Groping M.I.A.’s ass at ACL. Getting to see the full Cremaster Cycle on the big screen courtesy of the now defunct Dobie Cinemas. Going overseas, including a flyover glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. Meeting family members I didn’t know existed. Seeing A Night At The Opera, and also seeing a night at the opera. Getting certain bad influences out of my life once and for all. Getting my first tattoo, courtesy of the lovely and gracious Dresden Dolls. Completing my self-appointed Year of Living (for lack of a better term) SATCily. Seeing the old one out in, not exactly style, but definitely with a sense of achievement. I just can’t wait to fall right into my next big mistake.

Now, musicwise…What a good year! So many great records streaming in! In fact, there’s been so many good ones that I won’t limit myself to just ten. Because there’s more than ten albums I’ve been listening to this year. There was a disappointment or two, sure. The Knife put out a virtually unlistenable opera based on the works of Charles Darwin. Vampire Weekend is still insufferable. Matt & Kim aren’t as great as everyone says they are. Broken Bells literally made me fall asleep standing up (not that their album was bad or anything). And as usual, the top forty was an orgy of the bland, the talentless and the downright terrible. But on the bright side, I’ve found so much to love. Here’s the ones I couldn’t stop playing…

1. Sea of Cowards – The Dead Weather
2. Here Lies Love  - David Byrne & Fatboy Slim
3. The Ghost Who Walks – Karen Elson
4. This Is Happening – LCD Soundsystem
5. Treats – Sleigh Bells
6. Trans-Continental Hustle – Gogol Bordello
7. /\/\/\Y/\ – M.I.A.
8. Olympia – Bryan Ferry
9. Congratulations – MGMT
10. Body Talk – Robyn
11. Soldier of Love – Sade
12. Endlessly – Duffy
13. I Learned The Hard Way – Sharon Jones &The Dap-Kings

If you’ve been reading for any amount of time, my feelings about Jack White must be known to you. I think the man is a god-put-on-earth. He can do no wrong. He has vision. He makes me want to find my demon. Plus, he’s a really nice guy. The first Dead Weather album was pretty great (it was on my list last year) but it was just an appetizer. It’s a feast of dirty, sexy, crazy energy. The collaboration between Jack and the incredible Alison Mosshart has fully blossomed at last. The difference is that unlike the other Jack projects, this one is dripping with female energy. Isn’t it tiresome that it’s always the boys who’re getting their rocks off? Not anymore.

Leave it to David Byrne to do something completely random and make it so brilliant it starts to make sense. A collaboration between the polyglot Byrne and master DJ Fatboy Slim was sure to yield interesting results. Byrne reached into his bag of ideas and out comes a two-disc concept album rescuing Imelda Marcos from the joke-bins of history. If anyone remembered her at all, it was as a symbol of vulgar consumption in the face of poverty – she owns thousands of shoes. Thousands! Whatever her crimes, Mrs. Marcos is still a person; an aspiring singer and beauty queen who married into wealth and power, felt shame about her poor education and less-than-lavish upbringing, endured exile and her husband’s infidelities and found a late-life political career of her own. All this and more you’ll learn, all complete with Fatboy beats, Byrne’s dry wit, and perfomances from an A-list parade of singers. I’ve heard that Marcos herself gave the project her blessing and even wanted a chance to sing something.

I’ve admired Karen Elson’s modeling career since circa 1997 – that’s more than a decade, centuries in model years. I loved her look, her fiery red hair, her porcelain whiteness, her eyebrow shaving boldness. When she started to talk about going into music I wanted to see her succeed. Then she scored a real coup in her personal life – you know of what I am speaking – and it looked like the music dreams would be shelved forever. After all, nobody wants to be seen as the talentless spouse riding her man’s coat-tails towards her own ambitions. But guess what! She finally made a record and it’s incredible any way you slice it and she is incredibly talented. Her voice is as beautiful as her visage, and her songs are beautiful too. Songs she wrote, literally, in the closet. Where any number of  model-slash-whatevers have fallen flat on their face, Karen nailed it. Besides being a great singer, she has her own distinct sound, a kind of goth-folk with strains of Nashville and maybe just a hint of whatever planet Tom Waits is broadcasting from.

Ok, this is something I downloaded on a whim because the buzz on it was so good. (I think some reviewer evoked the mythical Berlin Trilogy founding fathers as influences.) And guess what! The buzz was all true. I love to dance and I love dance music and I love electronica and great beats and blippy sound effects and all that. But it’s hard to know where the good stuff is. Because so much dance/electronic music is utter rubbish. It’s what the old folks say; any idiot with a keyboard can cue up a beat,  add some pings to it and a loop of someone chanting nonsense, and there’s your big dance single. I’ve tried randomly downloading electronica that I’d been told was good and just thinking “this is a brainless waste of gigabytes”. For example, the much hyped Deadmau5 record I found simply mind-numbing.  So here’s something with brains you can dance to. And even harder to find on the dance floor, it’s got heart. Starring James Murphy, a doughy aging hipster smart enough to know he’s doughy and aging, and to write an album about it.

This might be the authentic sound of now. Or not. I believe they’re calling it ‘noise pop’. That’s not a terribly appealing name, but I guess the point is to scare off the oldsters. To me Sleigh Bells sound so fresh. Alexis Krauss has a lovely voice, and the ‘ah ah ah’s and ‘oh oh oh’s she emits in every song are straight from some long-lost girl group from the pre-Fab sixties. The lovely’s hidden underneath a storm of feedback, so you may not notice it at first. However it makes a balance – lovely vs loud, sugary vs dirty. Beauty and noise.

Gogol Bordello are looking to go widespread. Hence a record sleeve of Eugene Hutz looking almost presentable and production courtesy of Rick Rubin. They sound professional for the first time, and it’s good. Their earlier albums, brilliantly alive though they are, didn’t have the highest production values. Also, they suffered from energy overkill, or rather they didn’t suffer but some listeners might have. This is their most accessible record, but don’t say they’ve sold out. (Or maybe they have – Eugene is on speaking terms with Madonna. If that’s not selling out I don’t know what is.) You can still shake a leg to it, or more likely your booty. This time around there’s more room for Eugene’s thoughtfuller side. He’s always had thoughts, sure, but sometimes they got a little lost underneath all the PARTY! If you thought the more lyrical songs where the highlights of Super Taranta! you’ll appreciate how much more autobiographical and open-hearted Eugene’s songwriting has become. Or maybe it’s always been that way but everybody was too drunk to notice.

Alright, M.I.A. was never for everybody to begin with. So it’s not big shock when nothing on her new album was as easily accessible as Paper Planes or Boyz some armchair judges decided she wasn’t cool anymore. No, she’s still cool. Maybe she’s cooler than ever because she more interested in pursuing her interests than being fun or accessible. Yeah, the album is built on noise, and there’s liberal dollops of weird autotune, and cryptic lyrics as usual. The lady holds true to her convictions, whatever they are. And really, it’s almost admirable – it’s her most high profile, hotly anticipated release yet, and still it sounds like she threw it together in a basement with a box of tapes.

The new Bryan Ferry album sounds exactly like a Bryan Ferry album. That’s kind of the point.

Again, not so much with the big hit singles ready for chart domination. But a more sophisticated moving on up the ladder. I was a bit leery of MGMT at first – they have been such hipster darlings and what’s cool isn’t cool. But hey, guess what! They’ve only gotten smarter, and more melodic with relative age. And anyone who writes a rapturous ode to Brian Eno (Brian Eno) gets mega super bonus cool points. Apropos of god knows what, but the more I listen to this album the more I suspect these boys may have, at some point listened to the works of the Brothers Mael. I don’t know why I think that…

It’s been a long cold winter since the last Lady Gaga record came out and you’re needing something to fill the void. You need some dancefloor crazy, euphoric, slightly guilty pure sugary rush of pop music. See, bubblegum doesn’t have to suck. Sometimes the purest sugary fluff is just what the doctor ordered. As far as fluffy pop songs go, too, Robyn’s are surprisingly thoughtful, at least sometimes. How many times have you heard the words ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ while grinding it out on the floor? That’s what I thought.

The new Sade album sounds just like…a new Sade album. Not unlike Ferry, Sade has found the sound that works and she’s polished and perfected it over the years. So what if every Sade album sounds the same. There aren’t that many of them to go around. Her eponymous band works like a smooth operating machine, the lady’s voice still sounds like sex and honey, and she hasn’t aged a day. She’s still writing inscrutable love songs. Still showing the young girls how it’s done.

I’ve decided I do quite like the new, marginally modernized Duffy. She’s strayed across the street from her regular crystal ball evocation of sixties Stax girl-group-iness, adding exciting elements like faster tempos. So maybe Endlessly isn’t the glossy beast the first album was, but it’s ok, it’s still fun. I’m waiting with baited breath for some Disney executive to have a Eureka moment and ask Duffy to voice some singing cartoon frog princess. She’s got a cartoony voice, does she not? She even looks a bit like a sassy cartoon kitty. You know what would be cool? A Duffy musical cartoon series. She’d definitely be a kitty, and it would be set in the swinging sixties and she’d ride a Vespa, and sing and solve crimes.

Sharon Jones is keeping old-school r’n'b music alive. Not that dumb crap they file under r’n'b nowadays. None of them ‘guest raps’ here.  If the best part of your song is a sample from someone else’s song, that’s cheating. None of that here. No drum machines, either. Absolutely none of that damn auto-tune. Real musicians don’t need those props. Sharon and the Dap-Kings belong at the top of the top of the pops, real soul music should be topping the forty, but the world isn’t fair like that, and that’s what Sharon Jones is talking about.

The Difference Between Us

One day I’m happy and healthy/Next I ain’t doing so well

I love the words of this song! They speak to me. Let’s stop and raise a glass to Alison Mosshart for being such a riveting figure. She’s a natural frontman. She brings something – something on fire – that Meg White just never had. What appeals to me strongly and speaks to me loudly from the Sea of Cowards is the unapologetic presence of desire. It’s female desire and it’s what’s in short supply (at least in a recognizable form). I’ve always been unhappy with the way women singers express desire. It’s usually in a weepy baby-come-back way. Which can be true to life. But it’s equally true that if we could throw our men against the wall, we so would. The impression Alison gives that she’s ready to throw Jack White into a wall is delightful. “Just let me do what I need to.” Lust is scary, of course, and it’s a matter for books and books to discuss how society has conspired to neuter the terrifying spectre of female sexuality, yada yada yada. Truth remains; female sexuality is terrifying, and speaking only of a small corner of culture, there’s basically two safe ways of showing it. Either neutered and declawed in the form of weepy ballads with high walls and absolutely no sex, or in cartoonish parody by soulless ciphers in Jessica Rabbit drag. Isn’t it fun to see a woman on stage who drips sexuality, neither weepy or trampy?

Die By The Drop

I think it’s official now and no one will argue; Jack White is the man of the century. (Thus far!) The Dead Weather are the band of the year. Yeah, the first album was good, but now I’m really impressed. I think they might even be better than The Raconteurs. What’s surprising is that this go-round Jack isn’t even the focal point.  I think the second record is very much Alison’s record. She’s come into her own with a strong voice. There’s a dramatic effect throughout as she and Jack balance each other vocally, and in terms of personality too. It feels like lyrically and in attitude the songs are more female this time, more of her self shining through. On the first one it felt ill-defined somehow, but now it’s like they’ve established their dynamic as a band. Logic dictates that should there be a third outing it will be even better. Here’s hoping for that. Jack does have his hands full with running the Third Man empire. He’s been hinting at a reunion with Meg for more White Stripes goodness, so that’s exciting. It’s just generally exciting to have Jack around.

Related Articles

• The White Stripes Set To End Hiatus, Begin Recording Soon (beatcrave.com)

Blue Blood Blues

These photos are by Me, from the two times I saw the Dead Weather. Both times fabulous, need I say. They did, last month, put out their second album, even better than the first. Horehound was good, but it sounded a bit chaotic to me. It felt that most of the tracks were more of the “we were having fun jamming in the studio and here’s what it sounds like” kind of song, and not so many  were the “we’re pulling together something really good here” kind of song. On Sea Of Cowards all the songs are that second kind. There’s more coherence throughout and the band sounds tighter. Think of the first one as a getting to know each other project. Now they all know each other a little bit better and they’ve gotten more comfortable playing together. Stronger songs follow stronger bonds.