The Datsuns – The Datsuns (V2)
I loved metal when I was a wee lad. One of my all-time faves was Judas Priest. Who could resist the screeching guitars and wail of Rob Halford? In college I got heavy into garage rock. All the shit that bands like the Hives and White Stripes are copping today? I dug that back in the 90s, man. Well, those two great tastes taste great together in the Datsuns. Dig it.
Quick: What do Madonna, Ozzy, Alice Cooper, Pantera, The Who (original lineup), Rob Zombie, AC/DC, Kiss, and Britney Spears have in common?
Chances are, the answer that you’ll reach, undoubtedly fanciful, will not be right. If it is right, then it may seem odd that you’re reading this website.
Eminem won the best-song Oscar for “Lose Yourself,” the dramatic anthem from his film 8 Mile. It was the only nominated song not to be performed during the ceremony, but Em’s decision to skip the show saved the Oscar people, since they were shitting their pants over “Lose Yourself”‘s liberal use of profanity. Indeed, the track was a different animal than its fellow nominees. Rounding out the category was the more-boring-than-Paul Simon-himself ballad “Father and Daughter,” (Wild Thornberrys); U2’s “Hands That Built America” (Gangs of New York); “Burn It Blue” (Frida); and “I Move On” (Chicago).
Barbra Streisand was charged with presenting the award. With the room on an emotional high (horse) from Adrien Brody’s ass-kicking of Caine, Cage, and Nicholson in the Best Actor category, Streisand spoke graciously of the awe-inspiring breadth of art, and how proud everyone should be for the opportunity to make it. She spoke of music, and its true power to speak as one artist’s voice while inspiring or angering, helping or saddening millions of others.
She then bugged out her eyes and made an exasperated face when Eminem won for “Lose Yourself.” Wow, nice sincerity, Babs. Why don’t you go home and put James Brolin’s old balls back on your chin?
JTL
Watch the videos for Uncle Tupelo songs, Chickamauga and The Long Cut.
50 Cent – Get Rich or Die Tryin’ (Interscope)
I’m probably not the best person to review this album since I haven’t really listened to hip hop since around 1994. And even then, I was very focused in my choices; basically, I liked stuff that evolved out of Ruthless Records. Ice Cube was the coolest member of NWA, and I followed everything he did. One of my favorite rap albums of all time is I Wish My Brother George Was Here by Cube’s suburban cousin, Del tha Funkee Homosapien. Sometime after that, I stopped caring. Sure, I’d occasionally pick up a new album—the Outkast, the Roots, Jay-Z—but none of them made much of an impression.
I have come to realize that there are certain things I do not like in hip hop. I hate synth strings. Not just in hip hop, but it all music. Synth strings are terrible. I also hate double-tracked vocals. I like to imagine that all rapping is freestyled, so double-tracked vocals spoil that fantasy for me. Plus I think it just sounds stupid in rap. And I fucking hate singing. Why do you have to sing some stupid little chorus? It’s fine if it’s women singing, but there’s nothing worse than a rapper trying to sing. Always sounds like Warren G to me.
So those are my biases, right out there in the open. That said, every single track on Get Rich or Die Tryin’ breaks all three of my rules. Every song has synth strings, double-tracked vocals, and awful singing. If you don’t care about those things, you might like it. But I don’t.
The other thing that ruins this album is 50 Cent’s voice. Remember Bushwick Bill from the Geto Boys? The one-eyed dwarf with a thing for grain alcohol? Remember how he didn’t really rap, he just sort of whined like a little retard? Well 50 Cent sort of sounds like him. It’s distracting. If he’s so tough that he can take a bullet in the face at point-blank range, then why does he sound so whiney? And maybe it’s just me but when rappers try to sing, they sound like pussies.
And I’m not even going to get into the lyrical content. I’ll leave that to Chuck D who writes of being “amazed at the selling power of black death and the masters who pimp it. […] The case of the white exec hiring and doing business with the negro so he can create, recreate, cultivate, endorse then sell n—-s doin ‘niggativity’ has never been more apparent.” Preach it, Chuck.
Despite all that, there are some nice moments on Get Rich or Die Tryin’. I like the part in “Patiently Waiting” that goes, “If you’re thinking I’m a fucking fall off, you’re so wrong,” and Eminem’s rap in that song sounds great. “P.I.M.P.” features a loop of a Trinidadian steel drum that immediately gets stuck in your head. The other interesting beat on the album is in “Poor Lil Rich,” which is driven by a slithery worm of a lo-tech synth line that sounds straight outta Atari 2600. “Wanksta” and “In Da Club” are both danceable singles that are sure to keep everybody shaking their ass throughout 2003. And in a few years those songs will be looked back on with the same nostalgic fondness that we now feel for “Hammer Time.”
Much of the finest poetry written today is published by small presses and seen by no more than a few hundred readers. That American poetry has historically found the sources of its greatest strengths in the self-published (Whitman, Charles Reznikoff) and the obscurely published (early Pound, early Williams, Olson) is an old story.
—Paul Auster
Is the situation that Auster describes any different for music? No. But what’s certainly dissimilar about the situation is that there is no poetry “industry” per se, as there is a giant music industry. Outside of, say, Hallmark poesy or Oprah shilling the papery pennings of Maya Angelou, poets pretty much spend their time toiling in relative obscurity vis-à-vis the rest of the writing world (including those who write third-class postage copy and blogger websites). The bolder may show up on stages for a slam. Unquestionably, there are more “poets” per capita than any other category of artist—or at least there are people of people who perceive themselves as such. Be that as it may, those who may really matter probably fall below the perceptions of even people who are interested in the genre.
Elvis in Concert – includes photos, mp3s, and a jumpsuit index!
Pitchfork talks to Cat Power.
Everclear has returned with a new set of tuneful pragmatism entitled Slow Motion Daydream. No new tale to tell here — Art Alexakis’ songs have always been immediately recognizable, momentarily hummable, and ultimately forgettable. However… On a recent road trip, after Q106.5’s kick-ass ZZ Top classic rock block made way for the Pro Tool’d synthesis of Nirvana and Candlebox (Nirvandleba?) that is Seether’s “Fine Again,” I hit scan, eventually landing in the midst of a yammering modern rock DJ’s back announcement. He was giving props out to a new song from Everclear called “Volvo Driving Soccer Mom.” I cataloged the information in my head (Everclear/new song/impossibly stupid name/I still hate “I Will Buy You A New Life”), and scanned until I caught the tail end of Kiss’ “Beth.” But a funny thing happened a few minutes later. I heard “Volvo Driving Soccer Mom” on a different station. It was recognizable, and it was hummable. But ultimately, I wanted to forget because it hit too close to home.
The current contretemps associated with the possibility of ½ of the band formerly known as “The Doors” reappearing as “The Doors”—when, perhaps, they ought to be retitled something like “The Dutch Doors,” indicating their partialness—was brought to mind when I was reading a piece in the March 13, 2003, issue of The Wall Street Journal. Specifically, I thought of the Lizard King, the incident from many, many years ago (the Early Middle Age of Rock, as it were), when he reportedly released his lizard while on stage during a performance in Florida. Naturally, the authorities became involved and led him away in cuffs. Some people interpreted this response as still another instance of “The Man” clamping down on the spirit of rock and roll. We had—and I suspect that the present tense of that verb holds, as well—no idea what “clamping down” means. In fact, in many other places on the planet, there might have been some actual clamps applied to his equipment prior to its (i.e., the equipment’s) removal.
