Owen – The EP

OwenThe EP (Polyvinyl)

Twee. It’s an indy rock buzzword, usually applied to bands like Travis, or Belle & Sebastian. But what exactly does it mean? I found this definition in the dictionary:

twee {ital}

adj : Affectedly dainty or refined. Overly precious.

The two afore-mentioned bands are twee indeed, but they have an advantage over other, lesser twee rockers – they’re actually interesting and have more to say than what they’re feeling the day they wrote that song.

Not so with Owen. This is high-octane navel-gazing. The trouble is, we don’t find the singer’s heartfelt, sensitive warblings (over repititous, accoustical dronings) about his twee life very interesting or insightful because, being extremely twee, there’s no room for anything else. A sample of the lyrics:

“We’re two bicycles. Ridden, too tired to know which of us two was dumb enough to choose the other as a lover.” Zuh?

If you’re an achingly sensitive art student or aspiring twee rocker, this is for you (mp3). You’ll commiserate nicely with Owen over your painful, yearning existence. For the rest of us, I’d recommend Prefab Sprout, Lloyd Cole or Billie Holiday. In fact, I’d recommend almost anything else.

Talib Kweli – The Beautiful Struggle

Talib KweliThe Beautiful Struggle (Geffen)

It’s not easy being Talib Kweli. The Brooklyn wordsmith has toiled in the gap between critical praise and commercial success since he and Mos Def released Black Star in 1998. Together the two spearheaded a renaissance in hip-hop favoring substance over style—rappers who could spit as fast as lightning but didn’t say anything of meaning quickly found themselves obsolete.

2002’s solo LP Quality bubbled under the mainstream radar but fueled the word-of-mouth surrounding Kweli—the LP’s first single, the explosive “Get By” also saw the beginning of a partnership that would benefit two artists; the single helped break Kanye West as an uber-producer, and West’s subsequent rise to astronomical heights has kept Kweli’s momentum as “conscious rapper extraordinaire” going.

So it caught me off guard when Kweli remarks on his new LP’s title track, “They call me the political rapper / Even after I tell them I don’t fuck with politics / I don’t even follow it.” Truth is; Kweli has made a name for himself with his biting commentary on politics, sociology, the state of music, and the war being waged in America’s urban neighborhoods. For whatever reason, Kweli rejects this image of himself—perhaps part of the reason The Beautiful Struggle sounds so commercial. Kweli’s use of mainstream producers (West returns, with the Neptunes, Amadeus, etc.) makes Struggle fit perfectly within the confines of urban radio. Even DJ Hi-Tek, the man behind the lo-fi, jazzy sound of Black Star and Reflection Eternal returns with a more bombastic sound. And a slew of famous guests (Mary J. Blige, Faith Evans, Common, Anthony Hamilton) do nothing to distract anyone from Struggle‘s desire to go big.

On the surface, Struggle‘s sound would lend one to group Kweli in with the faceless, nameless group of bland MC’s on the mainstream market. Talib Kweli, however, has always been known for his brutally honest and literate lyrics, and his knack for working around the English language is a skill most rappers envy. The Beautiful Struggle is no different, a concept album about the state of America’s youth and how we will leave the Earth for them. “Going Hard” sets a high mark for the rest of the album to follow, commenting on the misplaced priorities of most rappers, “People ask me how we wearing diamonds / When there’s little kids in Sierra Leone losing arms for crying while they’re mining / Probably an orphan who’s mama died of AIDS / He built a coffin workin’ often but he’s never paid / Forever slaving in the world that’s forever cold / Becoming the man of the house at 11-years old.”

Like Sufjan Stevens’ Greetings From Michigan, Talib Kweli uses his position to speak on behalf of those who cannot find the voice for their own personal struggles. It’s this breadth of scope that unites us all, the premise that (as the liner notes read) “Life is beautiful. Life is a struggle. Life is a beautiful struggle” finds a common ground for us all—despite race, social and economic status, or location in the world; universally, we all have our struggles. Despite what they may be, we can all find inspiration in the words, “Fuck the harder way / We doin’ it the smarter way.”

Kanye’s return, “I Try” acts as a sequel to the explosive “Get By”, finding a common theme within both song’s pentatonic piano melodies and inspirational everyman mantras. “I Try” and “Around My Way,” the stirring, soulful tribute to Brooklyn (“All the corners filled with sorrow / All the streets are filled with pain / Around my way”) that follows form the album’s powerful centerpiece.

Unfortunately, Struggle lacks “Lonely People,” Kweli’s commentary on the shallowness of America’s young party crowd. The song, which couldn’t be included because of problems getting clearance to use the song’s foundation, a sample of The Beatles’ “Eleanor Rigby,” instead can be found on The Beautiful Mixtape, which Kweli released earlier in the year. Surely, “Lonely People” would have been a welcome replacement for songs like “We Got the Beat,” yet this is no fault of Kweli’s. The album’s constant delays, with the legal battle to clear “Lonely People” and early demo’s being leaked and bootlegged on vinyl around the country have hurt Kweli’s momentum. But Struggle arises stronger because of these troubles, which give the album’s permeating sense of hope more substance. It also assures that Kweli will actually get the commercial recognition the underground has always afforded him.

Jay-Z once rhymed, “If skills sold truth be told / I’d probably be / Lyrically Talib Kweli.” With Kanye West now the hottest thing going, and Jadakiss’ “Why?” flying on the sense of cynicism among American youth, the time couldn’t be better for Talib Kweli to take his rightful place as Greatest MC on Earth. When today’s future evolves into tomorrow’s present, today’s youth would be best served to listen to Kweli and approach life with his refreshing sense of knowledge, hope, and desire to right society’s wrongs.

Record Reviews are Worthless

Keep music evilWe at Glorious Noise try to be open minded. We like to think of ourselves as music fans first. But in the three and half years GLONO has been around, we have barely touched on Metal as a genre. That’s a shame and to remedy the situation, we are proud to introduce a new contributor, D. Alan Nash.

“In our youth we still venerate and despise without the art of nuance…”—Nietzsche

Ten years ago I heard a friend, on a mountain-top of Sativa, say “Rockin’ with Dokken!” And the humorous thing for those of us involved is that he really meant it. Now, ten days ago, I heard the very same friend denounce this same group. Was he more right either of these times?

Continue reading Record Reviews are Worthless

Bound Stems – Levity

Bound Stems – Levity EP

Like the indie rock equivalent of Fruit Stripe gum, on their Levity EP Chicago’s Bound Stems throw out three quirky, kinetic tunes that burst with enough flavor to send you reeling for a few minutes, though falling away all too quickly. It leaves you wishing you had more, but accepting that too much of a good thing might not be that great. Whether the Bound Stems can’t scrape together enough scratch to put together a proper full length or if they harbor some sort of an EP fetish, their fervent passion proves that less can indeed be more.

You can download the Levity EP from the Bound Stems’ website.

Fiery Furnaces – Blueberry Boat

Fiery FurnacesBlueberry Boat (Rough Trade)

The Fiery Furnaces, loved by critics and the fashionista, are well placed to slot into cult-band status. And for sheer effort alone, they deserve the credit. Songs start, stop, advance, retreat, rise up, sink down and it’s like having the contents of an orchestra thrown at you in a variety of time signatures. Blueberry Boat opener “Quay Cur” is a case in point: it’s like Squarepusher-meets-Joan Baez-meets-Long John Silver-meets-Dr Seuss; it has a duration of ten minutes and to call it meandering would be offensive to long and winding roads everywhere. It also lacks the most important aspect of any long and winding road, a destination. “Blueberry Boat” is a drunken sea-shanty channeled through hurdy-gurdy’s, honky-tonk and Rick Wakeman’s cape, sung by your primary school teacher, there may be a good song in “Chris Michaels” (mp3) but it never escapes (actually there might be several good songs in “Chris Michaels” but none of them get out) and the equally confused “Chief Inspector Blancheflower” starts with Matthew Friedberger muttering over one of those pre-programmed demos you get on electronic keyboards and then becomes not unlike the episode of “Friends” where Ross discovers his “sound.” Of course it doesn’t stay that way for long, but despite the fact it’s relatively pleasant when Eleanor Friedberger takes over vocally, you’re still laughing at the intro.

When they play it straighter things improve: the impassioned “My Dog Was Lost But Now He’s Found” is strangely touching. About ¾ of “Mason City” with its patty cake beat and sing-song vocal is interestingly folksy, but then it just launches into squelchy electronic noises and nonsensical spoken word interludes. And therein lies the rub. The Furnace’s tiny attention span means any time you are actually start to like a given song, they yank the carpet out from under your feet, careering off in some other direction.

I can’t see the point of this album. More importantly, I can’t see when or where you’d want to play Blueberry Boat. If you want to impress a music journalist, namedrop The Fiery Furnaces. If you need an example of a genre-busting, modern day “rock-opera” for use in a dissertation lamenting the lack of creativity in current music, use Blueberry Boat. If you want a good Fiery Furnaces album that doesn’t feel so much like hard work, get Gallowsbird’s Bark.

Rock and roll can change your life.