I was watching the colossal cult classic ‘Head’ starring the Monkees on Turner Classic Movies the other night, and found myself getting in one of my typical mega-funks over the current state of what passes for culture nowadays. Around the time ‘Head’ was made, the Monkees popularity had nosedived over the fact that they didn’t play their own instruments and the revelation that they’d essentially been a concept borne from the noggin of director Bob Rafelson in order to cash in on some that rock’n’roll action that the kids seemed to be digging so well.

Despite their pre-fabricated origins, the Monkees were pretty damned great. They were charming, bright, funny, and they could sing their asses off. They became an instant smash with TV audiences and sold millions of records. Funny thing was, they became dissatisfied with being forced to record other people’s songs and the cartoonish image that Rafelson and the network machinery had carefully constructed for them. Ultimately they rebelled against these constraints, and things began to fall apart. When it was finally leaked to the public that they were in fact merely a concept and not a ‘real band’ their fate was sealed.

As a response to all of this, they made ‘Head’; an abstract, trippy commentary on the nature of conceptual reality and their struggle to be taken seriously as real artists while fighting to break free of their scripted identities. Written by Bob Rafelson and a then unknown Jack Nicholson, ‘Head’ is filled with amazing music and strange surrealistic vignettes which utilized war imagery as metaphor for the crass commercialism of the day while cleverly busting through the 4^th wall time and again – nearly a decade before Woody Allen was praised for it in ‘Annie Hall’. It’s a fantastic film, and it was the final nail in their coffin.

Unfortunately, they wound up totally alienating their core TV audience, and failed to pick up any of the ‘artsier’ crowd they were hoping to convert.

All I could think about while watching ‘Head’ was how something like it could never happen today. Could you imagine some pre-fabricated tweeny-bopper ‘band’ like One Direction rebelling against the constraints of their machinery and releasing a subversive art-house movie in order to smash their well-constructed and lucrative image to smithereens in the hope that they’d be taken seriously as artists? Sure, you often see transitioning tartlets like Miley Cyrus and Selena Gomez sex it up  in order to garner an older audience, but that’s about sex…not art.

Thing is, craven machinations are something to be celebrated nowadays. No one gives a rat’s ass whether or not One Direction knows how to play their instruments, or whether they write or even sing their songs. Their meticulously crafted image is taken at face value and their commercial success is lauded. Try making a nasty remark about them – or any well-known celebrity of their ilk – on Twitter and the most likely response you’d receive from their fans would be something along the lines of, “You’re just a hater because they’re so popular and they sell so many albums, and you’re just a big fat loser and you’ll never be as rich and fabulous as they are.”

Pretty much guarantee you’ll never hear anything about art.

This leads to the question, “Where has the art gone in our art?”

Sad to say it’s nowhere to be found. Today’s starry-eyed tweeners aspire to become scripted. They dream to someday become unreal. They’d sell their souls to sell their souls.

Fortunately for me however, there’s more than enough art in the archives to keep me fortified until I croak. As long as there are stations like Turner Classic Movies for fogies like me, the sad state of what passes for culture nowadays will have absolutely no effect on me. I’ll just hunker down in my societal fallout shelter, with my vinyl records, old movies and a bottle of scotch, and keep the faintest glimmer of hope curling and dancing in the recesses of my mind that perhaps someday the paradigm will shift once again, and free will might once again rule the world.

Band:

Reviewing albums can be a tiresome, wearying experience (see No Doubt review), however every once in a while you get a nice surprise and Billie Joe and the boys have delivered one in spades.

The last decade has probably been the most successful period for the band, what with the musical and the multi-platinum American Idiot album and all, which is ironic considering the music they were making was not particularly Green Day-sy, for lack of a better adjective. I always respected Armstrong’s decision to stretch himself out musically and politically, but it just never hit me on a gut level.

Thusly, I was reticent to hear what their latest offering sounded like, and I can say unequivocally that UNO! (the first of a TRIPLE album set to be released separately) is a true return to their Dookie form. From beginning to end they never let up with some of the purest, hard driving power pop that I’ve heard since.. well Dookie.

First and foremost, this is the best sounding album Green Day has released. Instead of going for any bells and whistles production-wise, they smartly spared it way down, leaving only the elements that made them great in the first place. Instrumentally, the band is on fire; the guitar cuts through like a straight razor, with Armstrong finally allowing himself to play a more than competent lead guitar throughout. Tré Cool, and Mike Dirnt have also stepped it up a notch putting in the best performance of their career. The rhythm section is everything that I ever wanted to hear from them but felt they never quite pulled off… Cool’s snare punches through every song with an energy that seems impossible for someone approaching 40, and Dirnt’s bass tone sounds renewed; looping and pulsing in perfect syncoptation with the kick.

Songwise, the album is packed front to back with tuneful, concise numbers with nary a dead spot… There are no fast forward songs here, from the blistering opener, ‘Nuclear Family’, that sports a killer solo and melodic middle eight to the uplifting ‘Carpe Diem’ to the romantic, Knacks-y “Sweet 16″ to the positively anthemic closer (and first single) “Oh Love”, which I didn’t even like when I first heard it, but in the context of the other songs it’s absolutely perfect.

All this makes Billie Joe Armstrong’s recent personal struggles even more sad and upsetting, and the humiliation they suffered by having their performance cut off and his subsequent breakdown over it all the more infuriating.

Here’s hoping he gets better soon, cause this is an album I’d love to see them take to the road.

A modern classic.

Band:

After listening to “Push and Shove”, No Doubt’s first album in nearly 14 years,  I really just want to say “Shit Sandwich” and be done with it… but that would be too easy.

Never a big fan,  even in their heyday, I did like them well enough to understand what great a pop band they were at the time.  It wasn’t hard to get the bubbly charisma of their glamorous, yet whimsical front person and they played well constructed, unique songs with vigor and precision.

The key word there is SONGS.  No Doubt had a string of iconic and different melodies during their 90s run, that are now woven into that era’s tapestry along with Nirvana, Pearl Jam and uh, I dunno, Boyz II Men.

If you think about it, they’re really the only massively successful band of their kind; a bubble gum pop group that made you dance with heavy guitar riffing, thumping bass and a rocking beat.

Although their major label debut “Tragic Kingdom” was the apex of their career with out and out classics like “Don’t Speak” and “I’m Just a Girl”, the two subsequent albums were interesting in their own way as well, with stand out tunes like the funkalicious “Hella Good” off “Rock Steady” and the yearning “Simple Kind of Life” off of “Return of Saturn”… I only bring this up to mention that listening to these old recordings now in comparison, glaringly highlights this latest release’s flaws even more depressingly.

And what are these flaws?

Well, basically it comes down to the fact that they haven’t produced anything 14 years, and when you’re gone for that long, most of the time you should stay gone.

For what we have here is the pop equivalent of “Chinese Democracy”; a derivative, overwrought, tuneless mess.

It just sounds like it’s been fiddled with to death, the classic effect of overproduction and that’s always a recipe for disaster.

You can tell they were on top of every note, feeling the weight of the world to come up with something great after all these years, desperately piling effect after effect on each track, thinking they were creating genius, but instead, ending up with a joyless morass.  It’s this lack of joy, which was such a key element to their success, that sinks “Push and Shove” and buries it at the bottom of the ocean.

For some reason, instead of returning to their upbeat energetic sound, they decided to go with a more “mature” tone, and sing about being in committed relationships and the struggles within, in other words, “I’m Just a Girl” grew up to star in a Lifetime Movie and who the hell wants to here that.  Most egregious in all this is Gwen Stefani is totally MIA in spirit and personality; sounding like she needs a long nap for most of the album.

Songwise, there are none, No ‘No Doubt’ songs anyway. The Middle-East tinged opening number “Settle Down” sounds like something off the Sex and City 2 soundtrack, and that’s the BEST track on the album. The rest of the collection ranges from bad Madonna outtakes to tired dance floor crapola, sung by a dispassionate Stefani.

I didn’t want to not like this. I had hopes… after all they’re my generation and they represent a part of my youth in some small way.  But I can’t prop this up and justify its myriad weaknesses. Moreover, I have neither the inclination nor the energy to knock it any further, it’s just that bad.

Band:

Ben Folds Five haven’t seemed to have lost a step in the THIRTEEN years since their last release, “The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner”.

Their latest offering (since reuniting in 2011) is a rich mix of lounge rock, 70s piano man pop, late 60s Beach Boys shlock (that’s a good thing) and more than a pinch of 90s cynicism bolstered by dense harmonies and uniformly masterful playing throughout. In other words, it’s Ben Folds Five, and for their long suffering fans hungering over a decade for a new album, it’s a gift.

My main observation is that Ben Folds’ songs have finally caught up to his age.  At last the heavy lyrics and mature musical themes sound like their coming from the right guy.  This gives the material a far weightier and believable feel.  In other words, their vintage has hit its peak… so to speak.

On first few listens, there are no obvious singles in the vein of their 90s alt hit, “Brick”.  That doesn’t mean its devoid of solid tracks.  On the contrary, this collection of tunes as a whole is far more cohesive than their entire catalog, which always struck me as more than little inconsistent.

Highlights include: the melancholic turned blistering opener “Erase Me”, that sees the band zig zag from smoky jazz to Brechtian bombast; the lovely ballad, “Sky High” that sounds like something off a unreleased Jackson Browne album recorded in 1979;  and especially the wistful, “On Being Frank”, which is sung from the perspective of a former roadie for Frank Sinatra.  This one in particular packs a punch with a gorgeous string arrangement and nifty little piano solo.

Definitely a must listen.

Soundgarden’s first album in 16 years is set to drop November 13th and judging from the trailer, the boys sound like they’ve been listening to a lot of Radiohead.

Personally, I was never a big Soundgarden fan, although I do appreciate their substantial contribution to the grunge music era. I just hope their upcoming lp doesn’t fall as flat as other recent releases from bands of that era – namely Pearl Jam and the aforementioned Radiohead.

If I were to place Cornell and gang in the hiearchy of notable 90s bands, I’d put them directly above Alice In Chains and right below Stone Temple Pilots. A perfectly quaffable brew of powerful – if not histrionic – vocals and adequately muscular musicality. I await their new release with more than a modicum of enthusiasm.

Lana Del Rey seems to have rebounded from her critically panned album quite nicely, recently scoring a high profile gig with H&M as well as being named GQ UK’s woman of the year. How this bobblehead has managed to extend her 15 minutes is well beyond me, but I must admit I’m impressed with her management.

Her new commercial for the bargain-priced hipster clothier tips a cap to David Lynch, as it features a lethargic Del Ray crooning ‘Blue Velvet’ and an angry midget thrown in for good measure. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a big admirer of the master director, but referencing ‘Twin Peaks’ to appear artsy is more than a tad out of touch. The expiration date’s way long past due as far as the weirdness factor is concerned. Besides, watching an episode of ‘Here Comes Honey Boo Boo’ is far more surreal and exponentially more disturbing.

What is it with this Del Rey chick anyway? Is she a singer, a model a wannabe actress? I suppose these distinctions no longer matter nowadays. For the time being she’s achieved her goal – fame…fame at all costs for little Lizzy Grant.

Physically she reminds me of a young Karen Black. She’s got that same cross-eyed, dazed and confused look about her. Of course Black actually had some acting ability; Del Rey just seems to be another dead trout hurled upon the bow of our social consciousness by a rich daddy and a savvy management team.

I suppose the fact that she’s not a completely insufferable Kardashian level cipher makes her a veritable artiste by today’s standards.

Artist:

Well it seems as if The Killers haven’t given up on their Springsteen by way of Mike and the Mechanics phase, but that’s not exactly a bad thing, if you’re a fan of the triumphant rockin’ of the late 80s.

Lyrically, they cover the same ground as they have in their last few outings;   paeans to better days, old romances, etc… Occasionally they’ll hit upon a clever line like “Don’t want your picture on my cell phone I want you here with me” in the power ballad ‘Here With Me’.

Musically, the tunes are slight; bolstered by their trademark overbearing synths.  The overall effect is a not unpleasant collection of songs that make for decent background noise.

They’re a band who’s stuck in reverse, pedal to the metal, spinning their wheels stylistically speaking, but at least they own it.

…and that album cover is well… Killer.

Artist:

Brooklyn’s own Grizzly Bear could’ve easily buckled under the pressure of having to follow-up the popular and critically lauded 2009 hit “Veckatimest”.

I wouldn’t have held it against them, so many other bands have, so why not them? Refreshingly, however, they have risen to the occasion and delivered an album that builds on their successful formula and in most ways betters it.

Daniel Rossen still sounds like the New York version of Thom Yorke, and the music still lives in the same atmosphere of graceful sonics that has propelled them to acclaim, but the tunes are now more cohesive.  It’s a tighter sound, helped by more muscular and focused drumming this outing.

From the explosive Zeppelin-esque opener, “Sleeping Ute”, with its icy synth jabs punching their way through raucous garage band grandiosity, to the epic “Sun in Your Eyes”; a masterpiece of jazzy piano and 80s cool, this is the sound of a band at the top of its game, and you don’t want to miss it.

All great groups have one of these in their catalog, so I guess the Grizzlies have graduated to greatness.

Seems pretty apparent that crap star Nicki Minaj has recently downsized her famous mudflaps, possibly due to her brand new appointment as American Idol’s latest judge. I can’t believe it…I simply can’t believe it…

…that friggin’ show’s still on?

Media Take Out’s got some compelling before and after shots of the muppet haired warbler’s derriere and it’s obvious that she’s sucked out whatever flubbertywudget she’d had injected into her rump. The before shot looks like she’s wearing 10 pairs of adult diapers on under her tights and now, she’s just got an average sized plumpy dumper.

Why she felt it necessary to inflate her back side to the size of a medium sized garbage truck is beyond me in the first place. I mean, I know ginormous, juicy, bootay is a proclivity of the brothas, but still when your boom boom has so much mass that it acquires gravitational pull…well…it’s a tad too much in my humble opinion.

Jeez, I gotta say this twit irritates me to no end.  Her ‘wacky’ accents and calculatedly ‘risque’ lyrics make me wanna take a brown dump in her green hair. Now, she’ll be foisted on the public consciousness tenfold, with her new stint on Idol.  Woe is me. Apparently I’m not the only one who despises the girl, it’s being widely reported that Mariah Carey shares my distaste for her as well. 

Hmm… maybe I’ll actually tune in this season to check out the diva-astic tension.