Friday, August 3, 2007
Post-rock is one of the most contentious terms to emerge in the music scene in recent history. Musicians and critics alike still utter the term in quotation marks, preceding it with “dare I say” and “so-called” or suffixing it with “whatever that is”.
The earliest bands to be assigned the label rejected it vehemently, and nowadays there’s still an air of elitism and disdain for it from the emerging acts and from other areas of the music industry. In fact, there's so much confusion about this particular genre, it's worth asking, what the fuck is “post-rock” anyway?
Mac Nguyen is a senior writer for The Silent Ballet, an online publication covering the global instrumental music scene.
The term “post-rock” was coined by a British music journalist named Simon Reynolds who used it to describe the delicate, unconventional use of rock instrumentation to develop vast, enveloping soundscapes on Hex, an album released in 1994 by British experimentalists Bark Psychosis. The critique conceived not just a term, but a notion that largely revised the traditional utilisation of rock instrumentation. Glasgow’s Mogwai, one of the first “post-rock” bands, were spawn by the progressive, convention-defying mentality, and not surprisingly reacted strongly to the idea that they could possibly be pigeonholed by this label—something they, as non-traditionalists, were trying to avoid from the very outset. It was largely an ego thing, fuelled by the desire to be as unique and different and as difficult to define as possible, that way ensuring their isolation from anything else, especially that which resembled popular music.
Bands that emerged around the early stages of post-rock in the mid to late nineties sounded nothing alike, so it was somewhat bizarre that they could be referenced collectively by this one term. Montreal’s Godspeed You! Black Emperor were gloomy and highly textured, the aforementioned Mogwai tense and volatile, and Chicago’s Tortoise endowed with a jazzier, experimental edge. Recent and comparatively popular post-rock bands have expanded the scope of the genre further: Austin’s Explosions in the Sky employ Mogwai’s guitar-driven quiet-loud method of playing but emphasise the emotional dynamics through multiple layers of melody, while Reykjavik, Iceland’s Sigur Rós prefer an expansive and orchestral approach.
The fact that each band sounded worlds apart from the next says something about the term’s analogously unconventional application. It wasn’t about the stylistic factor; there was something else that united these bands: they were all essentially deconstructing the traditional form of rock and rock instrumentation and reapplying it to forms more closely resembling minimalist and classical composition. Post-rock has been said to be the conduit between the artistry of classical and the accessibility of rock. It was almost like using rock against itself, against the popular music doctrine.
The one other significant and defining facet was that bands assigned the post-rock label were generally instrumental, another characteristic that would further remove it from the grasps of convention. Lyrical exclusion wasn’t entirely a conscious decision for the most part, nor was it necessarily a coincidence. The minimalist and experimental compositional styles, which consisted of drawn out lengths (we’re talking ten to 20 minutes) to the point where some pieces were more considered “movements”, meant that an instrumental dominance seemed only natural. A point commonly stressed is that post-rock is not strictly instrumental, in that vocals can still be present, but not necessarily at the vanguard. Sigur Rós are the group arguably most notable for their instrumentalised vocals, as are Mogwai whose vocals are usually drowned in reverb.
Recent movements in post-rock have again slowly shifted the genre away from these initial defining characteristics. Bands are now writing pieces of shorter and more accessible length, and the drone-driven vocal presence is transforming back to proper lyrically-driven singing. The original breaking of rock convention has suddenly reverted back to rock convention, so how does it remain post-rock? The stylistic similarities have somewhat become the defining element now, contrary to the past. Testament to the genre’s refusal to adopt convention is its preference to turn back to conventional composition rather than allow trends in the genre itself to form new conventions.
As convoluted as fuck as that explanation is, this is not a result of any control over the term by musicians and critics, but more so the lack of. Its immaturity is a major cause for its nebulous nature. Even now, most people don’t really know what post-rock is exactly, this writer included. Two things I can say with a modest degree of certainty are that the genre is resultant of a common philosophical approach to music, rather than technical or aesthetics, and that it is definitely witnessing growth, not just in scope but geographically. Post-rock is growing in popularity amongst musicians, critics and listeners throughout all parts of the world. Even the cultural derivations of post-rock by region are evident: North America and the UK oversee a substantial rock influence, while the rest of Europe seems partial to electronica. Australia draws heavily on all aspects, and Melbourne especially is on the verge of an inundation of talented post-rock acts which draw their inspiration on a global scale. For the genre, it really is only just the beginning.
We Are The Night | The Chemical Brothers
Astralwerks | 19th June
Review by Jigantor
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Sounds like … The Chemical Brothers. If you don't know what the Chemical Brothers sound like, you need to stop redecorating your rock.
The Chemical Brothers are huge. Even if you don't like electronica and don't know your big beat from your trip-hop, you know the Chemical Brothers. You may know them because you took too much E and collapsed at Big Day Out. You may know them and claim they're 'too mainstream' because you're a self-respecting raver. You may know them because they were the token electronic track on the Triple J Hottest 100 album you bought in year ten. Point is, you know them.
So any new release from them is exciting. It's news. It's number one on the UK charts. Unfortunately, it's almost invariably disappointing. See, the Brothers create undeniably brilliant, compelling tracks. But since Surrender, they have created disjointed, underwhelming albums, which are always less than the sum of their parts. Who remembers anything except 'Galvanise' off Push The Button? Nonetheless, there's some killer tracks on this album: 'All Rights Reversed', featuring the Klaxons, is 4:33 of genius, 'Do It Again' is the obligatory infectious radio-friendly track, and the title track is utterly engrossing.
As a whole though, the album leaves you feeling somehow empty. Closing track 'The Pills Won't Help You Now' is a radical change in tempo from the rest of the album, and a wonderful track on its own, but rather than closing out the release it feels like an afterthought. 'The Salmon Dance' is an irritating Sesame Street novelty track that stops any mood or sense of continuity from building. Like their last few releases, this provides plenty of fodder for your best-of-the-Brothers iPod playlist. Just don't expect a unified listening experience.
7 out of 10
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Release The Stars | Rufus Wainwright
Geffen Records | 15th May
Review by Yoshua Wakeham
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Geffen Records
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Sounds like … a soaring synthesis of country, big band, opera and Jeff Buckley.
‘I’m tired of writing elegies through boredom,’ Rufus Wainwright explains on ‘Sanssouci’, his voice hovering somewhere between Bernard Fanning and Matt Bellamy. ‘I’m tired of writing elegies in general.’ Perhaps that’s why Release the Stars is one of the brightest and most joyous albums of 2007.
I hadn’t listened to Wainwright before this album, and confess I was expecting something more indie – acoustic guitar, piano, melancholy, and little else. Instead, I was surprised by the lush, exuberant collection of songs, with nearly every track orchestrally underpinned. Whether it’s the horns on ‘Slideshow’ or the fantastic string canoodling on the awesome ‘Tulsa’, the orchestra adds genuine character to a set which occasionally veers towards boring.
Even when this tedium threatens though (‘Nobody’s Off the Hook’, ‘Rules and Regulations’, ‘Leaving for Paris No. 2’), every song manages to somehow kick off its earthly bonds and fly upwards into heavenly melodic reaches, if sometimes only fleetingly. These songs are not to be contained, and Wainwright goes with them, travelling breezily into the stratosphere and then back down again.
Wainwright’s cup of tunes seriously runneth over. Songs like ‘Between My Legs’ and the outstanding single ‘Going to a Town’ are positively brimming with beautiful harmonies and possess an appealing unhurriedness. Wainwright practically channels Jeff Buckley on ‘Not Ready to Love’, a smoky, faux-country ballad, and comes close to an alternative anthem with closer ‘Release the Stars’.
The only real weakness of the album is an intermittent tendency to repeat itself – but it’s hard to fault the album on that when there’s just so much to love. Release the Stars is food for the soul – and a nearly flawless piece of über-pop.
9 out of 10
Places Like This | Architecture In Helsinki
Polyvinyl Records | 5th June
Review by Tom Fairman
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Polyvinyl Records
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Sounds like … a slightly-sexualised High-5
A Mess+Noise reviewer once described listening to Sarah Blasko’s music like “sucking on candy while thinking about diabetes.” In that case, listening to Architecture in Helsinki, the iconic Melbourne-based Indie group, is like sucking on candy while thinking about sugar.
This ultra-sweet aesthetic has been a common theme for the band. 2000’s ‘Finger’s Crossed’ sampled a garbling baby on the track ‘The Owl’s Go’, and 2004’s ‘In Case We Die’ featured ‘Maybe You Can Owe Me’, a primary-school love ballad for a pair of innocent, naïve schoolmates whose sleep-depriving attraction to one another was mixed equally with fear.
On Places Like This, they seem to be aiming for more maturity. Let’s call it the ‘early-high-school’ phase of their career. It’s that time of your life where you’re no longer afraid to dance, yet you have no real idea where those moves may lead you. A good example is ‘Hold Music’ - while at times reminiscent of a saucy R’n’B anthem, it ends up sounding something like a slightly-sexualised High-5. The sweet naivety of the ‘techture in ‘sinki pervades despite their desire to grow up, and with a record as enjoyable as this, you can’t really hold their saccharin sound against them.
Sadly, the album as a whole doesn’t have the stamina to make an indelible impression on your music collection. That said, opener ‘Red Turned White’ may, in some respects, be the most redeeming and impressive song on the album. The song evolves from a disjointed drum beat and seemingly out of key vocals before slowly, like an image coming into focus, twisting into a realised track you can damn well shake your booty to. From chaos to disco in 2:46 - How can one complain?
7 out of 10
Lies For The Liars | The Used
Reprise | 22nd May
Review by Tom Fairman
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Reprise Records
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Sounds like … masturbation
In my heady days as a young punk-rocker in the obligatory shitty band, my bandmates and I would often indulge a joke together – the “nu-emo-breakdown”. You know how it goes – the songs pacing along, all concentrated teenage angst, and then bam, it’s bridge time kids. The drumbeat is chopped in half, the guitars burst their bounds, a violin or some string arrangement comes out of fucking nowhere, and before you know it, you’re screaming your heart out at the crescendo of the music and accordingly your emotional investment. Game, Set, Match.
The Used’s new album makes clever use of this cunning emotional technique on tracks 1 through to 11 (for those playing along at home, ‘Earthquake’ employs it at precisely 0:36). It’s ashamedly easy to get caught up, similar to lingering a little too long on a Today/Tonight report. And the usual gothic themes are there – death, weakness (‘The Bird & The Worm’), death, religious indifference (‘The Ripper’), death, and of course, don’t forget the triumphant, acoustic-love-ballad sometime around track 9 (‘Find A Way’).
This music is designed to elicit emotional catharsis. There’s nothing wrong with that, but the manner of The Used is that it’s self-indulgent, repetitive and superficially addictive– a bit like masturbation. Sure, you’re blown away by the sheer pleasure of the mastering. You think you’re convinced of its sincerity after wave upon wave of intense sound, accentuated by Bert’s lead vocal screaming. But, there is no subtlety in the work, no hint of intelligence that even My Chemical Romance’s The Black Parade demonstrated, and there is no further reward on repeated listens. The depth and sincerity hinted at by the lyrical content and album art, upon closer inspection, is just like mascara - the shadows merely being painted on.
3 out of 10
Era Vulgaris | Queens Of The Stone Age
Interscope | 9th June
Review by Yoshua Wakeham
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Interscope Records
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Sounds like … industrial, deep-fried, desert lightning.
The Queens of the Stone Age underwent a somewhat seismic band reshuffle following the departure of band co-founder Nick Oliveri, so it’s understandable that 2005’s ‘Lullabies to Paralyze’ was creatively stagnant. It was business as usual for the sometime kings of hard rock, an overrated pastiche of mostly forgettable songs. What a pleasant surprise, then, to find the Queens innovating their arses off and all but reinventing themselves on their fifth studio record.
There’s a little of something for everyone on Era Vulgaris, whether it’s the balls-out headache-inducing thrash of first single ‘Sick, Sick, Sick’ or the laidback croon of Desert Sessions redo ‘Make It Wit Chu’. There’s more of lead singer Josh Homme than ever (honestly, try and pick up Julian Casablancas on ‘Sick, Sick, Sick’ or Mark Lanegan on ‘River in the Road’), but it still doesn't feel dictatorial, or at least no more so than any previous QOTSA effort. Homme has always been the creative engine of the band, and on Vulgaris he oils his joints and works like never before. The album is littered with creative highpoints, from riveting opener ‘Turnin’ on the Screw’, through ‘I’m Designer’ and the desert-rock gem ‘Into the Hollow’. It loses itself a bit with the one-two punch of the overcooked ‘Misfit Love’ and extremely aptly-named ‘Battery Acid’, but rights itself with ‘Make It Wit Chu’ and the sublime, brain-frying ‘3’s & 7’s’.
Era Vulgaris benefits from being distinctly leaner than the bloated Lullabies or even 2002’s Songs for the Deaf. Only the enjoyable but bizarre ‘Run, Pig, Run’ really feels self-indulgent; everything else has its place, and feels about the right length. The album ripples, flexes, shows off a bit, and then it’s over – it’s almost like QOTSA have undergone the ‘Buff Zone’ treatment. Absolutely recommended to any fan of blistering, brilliant hard rock.
8 out of 10
Carry On | Chris Cornell
Interscope | 5th June
Review by Jigantor
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Interscope Records
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Sounds like … Jeff Buckley after a really bad night.
Chris Cornell has an incredible voice. It’s full of longing and pain, like a beautiful, innocent child corrupted by booze and cigarettes and one night stands, now left with only a sense of stolen potential. He has been recorded at A above high C, but all the time he is cracking and howling and ragged edges. It is a beautiful voice, beautiful but poisoned. It is, I say again, incredible. And utterly compelling.
But listening to this album, I had a flashback to Audioslave's eponymous debut: a record of immense potential with moments of genius, but overwhelmingly unsatisfying. Songs which showed such potential for power and intensity dissolving into a mishmash of forgettable choruses and ill-conceived lyrics.
Carry On suffers from exactly the same problem. Take the example of the first single 'No Such Thing'. It begins with suitably rawk guitars, segues into a soft, tense verse, gradually builds to a killer bridge and you're waiting, you're gagging for the killer blow - but suddenly there's this stupid, shouty chorus that could have been written by two year ten dropkicks whose fondest hope is to one day feature on Russ Kellett's Melbourne. And that's one of the better songs.
The sole standout exception is, bizarrely, a cover of Michael Jackson's 'Billie Jean'. It is everything this album should have been – so tender, powerful and raw that you can almost taste his pain. Perhaps Cornell's real problem is that he needs a decent songwriter. His voice is so incredible, listening to it trapped in such a pathetic, lacklustre cage makes this one of the most frustrating releases of the year. Somebody, please, let him shine.
6 out of 10
