As the final song written and recorded by Joy Division's Ian Curtis, "Ceremony" carries a gloominess and portent that contrasts the song's decidedly upbeat tone (for a JD song, that is). A bit of history for the uninitiated... Two recordings exist of Curtis' swan song. The first is a rehearsal recording and can be found on the Heart and Soul compilation. The second appears on the compilation album Still and was recorded during the band's final concert at Birmingham University -- sixteen days before Curtis' suicide. He was 23.
After Curtis' death, as with so many bands abandoned by a gifted, ill-fated leader, Joy Division pressed on. They renamed themselves as New Order and rerecorded "Ceremony" twice (first with new vocalist Bernard Sumner, and later after guitarist Gillian Gilbert joined the group). As you can tell from Curtis' original recordings (after the jump), the lyrics are nearly inaudible, and Sumner had to put the rehearsal version through a graphic equalizer to determine what they were.
As a tribute to this storied, truly incredible song, I'm posting as many versions as I can get my hands on, including covers by Galaxie 500, Xiu Xiu, and -- awwww -- Radiohead.
Please be patient, as Imeem is sometimes slow loading... The first track is the rehearsal; the second is the live recording (it starts a few seconds into the song, but is the full version.)
Radiohead performing "Ceremony" on their Radiohead TV webcast, Nov. 9, 2007.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Wayback Whensday:
Joy Division's "Ceremony"
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Wayback Whensday:
The Velvet Underground - Live
The first time I heard The Velvet Underground I thought they sounded so cliché. At the time I didn't understand that they weren't the ripoff artists, but rather the countless bands that followed hoping to capture their distinctive sound.
Lately I've been on an old music kick, so forgive me. Here are some of my favorite songs from The Velvet Underground and Nico, performed live.
The video of "Venus in Furs" is only 1:17, but is still pretty damned cool.
Why doesn't anything today feel this important?
"Heroin"
"Femme Fatale"
"Venus in Furs"
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Wayback Whensday:
Don't Tell Anyone You Don't Own...
It's May of 1994. Kurt Cobian was only a month deceased. I'm in the Microfisch lab of my Junior High School library (1) researching for the year's final history paper, which, knowing me, was probably due the next day. My topic was the history of Rock & Roll, yet all I could bother to research was Kurt Cobain. You'll have to forgive me, after all, the man had only recently died, and Nirvana was one of my favorite bands at the time. As I was researching, I came across a magazine article - from what magazine I cannot remember anymore - that more or less named Beck as the Grunge poster boy now that Kurt had passed, pointing out how his hit song "Loser" had become an anthem for the slackers that worshiped Nirvana. I rolled my eyes. Loser is right, I thought, that no-talent ass-clown couldn't write a good song if his life depended on it. (2) What did I know? I was young and extremely naive. Besides, I was going off "Loser," and only "Loser." A few months later I stayed up late watching MTV and caught the video for "Pay No Mind" on 120 Minutes. I liked that song much more, and began to ease off my ire for Beck's music.
Needless to say, my expectations were not very high when I first saw the video for "Where It's At," Odelay's first single, on MTV in 1996. (3) While the song didn't do much for me at the time, a strange thought popped into my head, and I distinctly remember thinking to myself, I'll probably end up loving that song in a few weeks. How I could tell the song would eventually grow on me, I do not know. Perhaps it is because that was the age where, more than ever before, I was constantly opening my mind to new music. It was only a few weeks later that I first borrowed Daydream Nation from a friend, a moment that changed my life forever. Whatever the reason, I knew I would eventually wind up a fan of "Where It's At," and I was right. Two weeks of heavy MTV and Alternative Radio rotation later, I made my usual weekend trip to Best Buy (there were no real Ma and Pa record stores in the 'burbs) and bought Odelay.
At the time I could care less about sampling, genre crossing, Beck's hokey cowpoke attire, or the supposed importance of Odelay that established rock critics were already pelting the album with. I just knew I liked it, a lot. Now that I'm older, I can definitely see the Dust Brother's fingerprints all over this record. I notice the meticulous samples and scratches, the dusty, familiar popping from an old record, funk horns and percussion out the wazzoo. Secretly, I believe that without them, the Dust Brothers and their samples, Beck's follow up to Mellow Gold probably sounds exactly like Mellow Gold. So let's give Beck, or whoever was responsible, some credit for pairing them up. The Dust Brother's anything goes sampling strategy meshed perfectly with Beck's anything goes songwriting approach. Thus, Odelay was a child born of their love for all things rock, roll, funk, soul, country, folk, samples, loops, serious philosophical statements, jokes, samples, samples, samples, more samples, and that fucked-up dreadlocked dog on the album's cover.
Now almost 12 years old, Odelay still holds up rather well. The proof exists in 2004's disappointing Guero, which was also produced by the Dust Brothers. The Dust Brothers, thanks to broader and stricter copyright laws (4), are really just a shadow of their former selves, focusing on beats and slick production instead of fretting over which sample would fit perfectly at any particular moment. Not that it probably would have mattered, Beck too had changed. For once, it seemed like Beck had run out of ideas, so he ripped himself off, mostly looking back to Odelay in the process. (5) Lightning does not strike twice, they say, and Beck wound up looking like the older guy at the college party.
Honestly, who cares. Of course its a bummer that Beck albums don't hit my sweet spot like they used to, but the man certainly had a good run. I'll admit that the jury's still out on whether or not Odelay is even Beck's best album - that's like comparing apples to oranges to pears to, well, you get the idea - but here I am anyway declaring that if you don't own this album yet, you probably shouldn't go around telling anybody. Rather, you should do what I did so many years ago. Take your allowance to the record store (or Best Buy, or wherever you prefer to buy your music) this weekend and make Odelay your own.
(1) Remember, this is Kansas in 1994, we maybe had 3 computers in the whole school with internet capabilities. Maybe. And the Microfisch machines outnumbered them five to one.
(2) Office Space was still several years away, so I highly doubt I actually thought of the phrase "no-talent ass-clown," which is too bad, 'cause that would have been hilarious.
(3) Yep, I'm old enough to remember when MTV was actually one of the places where you would first hear a new song.
(4) Are the Rolling Stones to blame? Someone should ask Richard Ashcroft.
(5) Kudos to him for taking so long to get to that point though. Spoon's a great band and all, but they've basically made the same album how many times now?
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Wayback Whensday:
Return of the 90s Alt-Rock Stars
Sifting through the Spring 2008 album release schedule, I noticed something peculiar: an inordinate number of "old" bands have albums ready to unleash on the world. Of course I expect a certain amount of these career resuscitation attempts. There just seems to be a rash of them lately. Blind Melon? Presidents of the United States? Sister Hazel? Do we really need to traverse those paths again?
Perhaps even more distresssing is the fact that all those alt-rockers I obsessed over in my teens seemed to have congregated as if to say, remember us? Why don't you listen to us anymore? I read an intriguing column recently about cleaning out your Mp3 collection and starting anew, like a rebirth of the musical soul. In the spirit of this column, I figured I'd set aside my pretensions for a minute and check out some of these new releases from old bands.
For some reason, this feels like more of a confession than anything.
Any time my friends and I get into the old "Is it better to burn out or to fade away?" discussion, I think of R.E.M. By the Reveal era I was pretty bored with the band (which is, incidentally, the one and only tour on which I saw them live). My decision to "give up" on the band was only furthered by snippets here and there of lackluster singles. I adore the band's early catalog, which only makes the newer tripe that much harder to stomach.
After hearing first single "Supernatural Superserious," I doubt I'll be clamoring to hear the rest of the album, though I'm happy to report the band has remembered they can rock.
Maybe Modest Mouse and The National concur, which is why they plan to open for R.E.M.'s spring tour? (Note: Aside from a 6/6 Chicago date, we Midwesterners are out of luck.)
Seven Mary Three - Day&NightDriving (2/5)
Remember these guys? There was a time I obsessed over their 1997 release Rock Crown. I still think about the closing track "Oven" sometimes: "This Kansas wheat won't break me / And another drink won't take me."
Of all the tracks I listened to on this little sojourn today, I'd say "Hammer & A Stone" has impressed me the most. Ultimately I'd say the band seems to be doing what they used to very, very, well here. If only that were enough for me.
Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid (3/17)
This technically isn't a 90s band, but they might as well be. I first heard Elbow in '02 when they opened for Pete Yorn, which is perhaps another conversation/confession altogether. I enjoyed Asleep in the Back quite a bit at the time, Cast of Thousands wasn't awful, and Backdrifter's reported that a couple tracks off Leaders of the Free World weren't too shabby. It's just with so much new music to collect and digest, why would I want to listen to something that I can at best call "not awful"?
Anyway, I just heard "Grounds for Divorce" on the band's Myspace. (Hey, isn't that a Wolf Parade song? I wonder what they're up to these days?) The track has an intriguing stomp-and-chant structure leading up to your classic Elbow croon-and-swoon moment. And repeat. And rock. And repeat. If it sounds like I'm not keeping an open mind here, I'm sorry. I just don't want to listen to this anymore.
Counting Crows - Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings (3/25)
This one should be good. Maybe this is just self-masochism, but here I am, about to discuss the Counting Crows on my beloved indie rock blog. You see there was a time when I had nearly a thousand CC tracks on my computer, including rarities and B-sides and countless live sessions. I can distinctly recall a boyfriend at the time snidely saying, "You know, there's more to music that the Counting Crows." Well, yeah. But I was a woman --or perhaps child -- obsessed.
I must say there was a spark when I first heard August and Everything After. Maybe Mr. Duritz tapped into my future love for folk, I don't know. I can't explain it away, other than the CC were undeniably a stepping stone in the evolution of my music taste -- along with Dave Matthews Band, Better Than Ezra, and a host of other 90s rockers. Believe it or not, at the time I thought the music I listened to was kind of "underground."
So here we are fifteen years after the release of August, and the Crows have a new album due out next month. The band has quite a few tracks up on its Myspace, which incidentally has had an incredible 7.7 million listens (looks like I'm not the only one guilty of a CC fetish). "You Can't Count On Me" and "1492" seemed to be trying way too hard and failed to stir much within me, though "Dreaming of Michelangelo" reminded me a bit of what I once loved about the band: intimate lyrics, stripped down acoustics. Again, this isn't what I would call mind blowing, but I could listen to the whole song, you know, without completely hating myself.
Nothing I heard today shattered my world as I know it, though I kinda feel like Rob from High Fidelity when he revisits all his old girlfriends. I had a chance to sort things out with some of my old favorite bands, to make sure there weren't any hard feelings, and perhaps more than anything, to say goodbye.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Wayback Whensday:
Nostalgic Music Videos!
Its been a while since I've done one of these, so to make up for some lost time I'm going to post not one, but three music videos I've been nostalgic for lately. Time to get the popcorn ready.
Genesis - "Land of Confusion" (1986?)
Released during the middle of Ronald Regan's second term, this video is a mishmash of social and political commentary, and not necessarily a bad one considering this is 1980s Genesis. I was a bit young when this video was first aired, so some of the references escapes me even now. However, one thing that is pretty clear is that the band is having a good time poking fun at the aging President's senility (it's okay to laugh, Regan was still alive then). Of course, the reason this video stuck out to me even as a child is because of the twisted looking puppets. Seriously. I mean, Phil Collins was already a mess to look at normally, but his puppet manifestation is like watching Pan's Labyrinth on some really bad acid. I'm pretty sure this video gave me nightmares as a kid, thankfully I don't have to sleep alone tonight.
Blur - "Coffee & TV"
You know you're watching a good music video when the song itself becomes secondary to what's happening on the screen. I'm not sure if I can think of a better example of this than the video for "Coffee & TV." One of the rare Blur videos in which Damon Albarn isn't the focus, the story instead revolves around an animated milk carton, dubbed by fanatics as Milky, as he searches far and wide for the missing Graham Coxon (which in hindsight is an eerie foreshadow to his eventual departure from Blur). Both hilarious and heartwarming, director Nick Goldsmith (one half of the directing/production duo Hammer & Tongs) solidified himself as a creative visionary, thus paving the way to other high profile music video gigs (R.E.M., Beck, and most recently, Vampire Weekend), not to mention feature films (The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, the upcoming Son of Rambow). I like this video so much I plan on dressing up as Milky for Halloween someday.
Nirvana - "In Bloom"
"In Bloom" was never one of Nirvana's most popular songs or videos, but it was always a hit with me. In fact, it was probably the first track on Nevermind that I was able to get into on my own terms, whereas "Smells Like Teen Spirit" I pretty much acquiesced myself into liking after hearing repeatedly on MTV and the local radio. The video is notable for its early use editing a current performance in with older footage, in this case an old spoofing the Ed Sullivan show and the classic episodes in which the Beatles performed. If this seems a bit familiar, its probably because this very same concept would be used to an even greater effect a few years later, with the Spike Jonze directed clip for Weezer's "Buddy Holly." Compare, contrast, watch, listen, and enjoy.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Wayback Whensday:
Old Kids on the Block?
Remember when a group of teenage bad boys called New Kids on the Block were all the rage? I must have been slow on the draw when it came to "those" feelings; while my friends were showing Barbie a good time with their Donnie dolls (you know who you are), I was pretending to breastfeed plastic baby dolls. Boys were icky, and that included Jordan, Joey, Donnie, Dannie, and Jon.
Aren't these guys responsible for the wave of boy bands to follow: Backstreet Boys, 98 Degrees, N 'Sync, etc.? Thankfully the trend seems to be dying out, but not for long. Just this week the New Kids on the Block announced their impending return to the music world. And just in case you were wondering, yes, they have a new single. I'm sure it's poised to melt the hearts of all us late-twenty-somethings.
If you head over to the band's website, you'll be asked the question, "Are You Ready?" I don't know, ladies, are we?
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Wayback Whensday:
Obsession With a Man Named Dave
While a friend is teaching in Japan, I've agreed to house his worldly possessions in my basement. One night digging through my old clothes and Christmas decorations I caught eyes with a gigantuan CD case atop his neatly stacked boxes. Being the absolute music freak that I am, I could not resist. Looking at someone's CD collection can be like looking into their soul. It can paint a picture of a person past and present, of the transition from who they were five or ten years ago to who they are today. So I peeked.
And this is what I found. Not your typical hodge podge of junk with a few gems here and there, but rather an entire collection of Dave Matthews Band bootlegs. We're talking hundreds here. Anyone who's ever had a thing for Dave knows the band has put out a ridiculous number of live albums. Beyond that, my friend had acquired countless other live performances, burned on individual CDRs and labeled in neat black Sharpie.
This discovery was not at all surprising, as I know several one-time Dave fans, myself included. In fact, an obsession with Dave seems to be one of those steps music lovers go through on that journey from mainstream music to more experimental fare. Thus I started thinking about my relationship with the Dave Matthews Band.
There are plenty of Dave stories I could tell. From listening to Under the Table and Dreaming with the pothea
ds in the dorm room next to mine (it was the soundtrack to my first year in college), to the countless concerts, to the ultimate disappointment of the Lillywhite Sessions being re-recorded and ruined, to the band's ultimate loss of creative spirit. Even now I get the avid Dave fan in my office, a first-time college student caught up in an immense back catalog that seems to speak only to them.
But to be honest, my first real experience with Dave occurred when I was fifteen, and DMB released its third album, Crash. In past years I had seen the video for "What Would You Say?" on MTV and thought the song was OK, but like many inferior singles this was not enough to make me buy Under the Table. (I also had the song on an MTV Buzz Bin CD, which I used to think was so edgy.)
I had barely batted an eye at DMB. Then in 96', along came the single "Crash Into Me." This song, both lyrically and musically, stirred something within me. Perhaps it was because I was fifteen and experiencing all those accompanying feelings. But here was a band saying such dirty things set to such beautiful music -- and on the radio! I remember waiting up for the Top 10 at 10 on my local alternative radio station and hitting record on my cassette player, cursing the announcer babbling over the song's opening seconds, perhaps knowing how many times I'd hear that babble repeated as I listened and listened and listened to that tape.
Eventually I purchased the album, and from there my obsession with Dave took hold. I've talked a lot recently about how the music I listen to now is so much "better" than the music I listened to as a teenager, but I have nothing against the Dave Matthews Band (except maybe that their endless live albums are an attempt to leech as much money as possible from rabid fans, or the fact that they seem to pander more and more to adult contemporary tastes...) I can still remember a time when I could spend all day under the table and dreaming, and I thank DMB for accompanying myself and other music fans on the paths to what is ultimately "our" music.
And James, please forgive me for my pilfering.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Wayback Whensday!
What's this, another new feature? Yep. If you haven't guessed by now, we're starting to run a daily feature every weekday in addition to the random nonsense we'd post anyway, because as fun as reporting new singles and tours can be, nothing gets our collective motors going quite like making mixtapes, top 5's lists, and reminiscing about the days of yore, which is the whole purpose of this new column. Each week we'll take turns waxing about a concert we went to, an album we loved, a shirt we bought, a kiss shared over Sigur Ros, anything, so long as it was in the past. Wayback Whensday is also where you'll find our ongoing Don't Tell Anyone You Don't Own... column, which we'll do once each month.
For now, read on as I recall some of the highlights of my first Interpol concert, which occurred almost 5 years ago exactly.
I first heard about Interpol in the summer of 2002, thanks to a CMJ article that was actually written about the Strokes and the resurgence of intelligent (ahem...), yet simple rock music. For the life of me, I can't remember any other bands that wound up being compared to the Strokes in that article, though I'm certain I listened to all of them at some point in time. The only one that would eventually matter to me, however, was Interpol.
Not long after reading the article, I downloaded my first Interpol song, "Obstacle 1." I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I was nonplussed after my initial listen. I should note, however, that thanks to the CMJ article I had expected more of a Strokes-y sound instead of the jarring guitar interplay and the imagery of a person repeatedly stabbing their neck, slicing the jugular vein and dying a horrible, bloody death. Throw in the fact that Paul Banks sounds perfectly cool, and not "hip" cool, but calm, collected, about the whole thing, and you can probably understand why it took some time before I was finally able to "get" it. In the meantime, I stuck with old favorites like Coldplay, Queens of the Stone Age, and Zwan, all bands that represented a certain era of my life, the end of my teens to be exact, and satisfied me perfectly up until that point, but bands that I no longer listen to. Honestly, I think Interpol is the reason why. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Coldplay or QOTSA (Zwan might be a different story), but the introduction of Interpol in my life, and especially that first concert, was simultaneously a giant period, a turning of the page, and the first sentence of the new chapter in my life. It probably sounds dramatic, over exaggerated, but I swear it's true.
I officially became the proud owner of Turn on the Bright Lights on New Year's Eve in 2002. A friend of mine took me CD shopping as a late Christmas present, and because I had heard Interpol were coming to Kansas City, I decided to pick up the album and give the whole thing a listen. As the next couple of weeks passed, I listened to the album a few times, and while the catchier numbers finally started to sink in with me, I was still having a hard time absorbing the whole thing. But if I was starting to come around, my girlfriend at the time was another story. She thought it was boring, and when I offered to buy her a ticket to the show, she thought I was crazy to even suggest the idea (I should not that a month or so later, she finally saw the light too - I guess this album's a grower also?) Desperate for some company at the show, I called my best friend Adam, who is more into punk rock than arty New York post-post-punk, and pleaded my case to him that he should go. Thankfully, Adam likes live music more than life itself, and he accepted my offer. The day before the show I was also able to recruit a co-worker named Jason, who was the only morning employee at Panera Bread that I could talk music with. On a cold, January night, the three of us hit the icy roads to Kansas City.
We arrived at the Madrid Theater extremely early, which meant we had to sit through a couple of openers. On the plus side, however, we were able to score an excellent spot very close to the stage and with a nice view. The first band was a local one called the People. This band would later become the Golden Republic, one of Kansas City's flagship bands until they broke up last year. After the People was Calla, who I thoroughly enjoyed at the time, even going as far as to buy their CD at the show, along with an Interpol shirt that I would lose 20 minutes later in the Madrid Theater bathroom (Femme Fatale, the wonderful friend that she is, replaced the shirt several years later for my birthday).
Next up was Interpol, who took the stage to some polite fanfare and quickly started into "Untitled." It was clear from the start this was a band that wasn't going to wow you with any fancy tricks, and instead let the performance speak for itself. This can backfire if you have an off night, but lucky for us the band sounded great. After "Untitled" settled down, I was expecting "Obstacle 1" to start as it does on the album, instead the band opted for "Roland," a solid choice if you ask me because it maintained the momentum that the fans were surely expecting and saved a great song like "Obstacle 1" for later (just before the encore, in fact, which was the perfect place for it).
After "Roland," I remember someone from the balcony yelling "Stellllllaaaaa!" I have since grown accustomed to hearing this, it seems to be a favorite among the contingent of Kansas City Interpol fans, but I'll admit it struck me as odd back then. I mean, of course they were going to play "Stella," they were going to play all of Bright Lights. It was the only album they had! Two songs later, as they started to play "Stella," I chuckled, and wondered what the guy would request next. Then the song got rolling, and I could see why that man was so keen on hearing the song. That's when it hit me, I still hadn't digested all of Bright Lights yet, and here I was at their concert, and there they were playing one of their best songs, and I was fairly oblivious as to what was transpiring. I focused in on the song, the band shifted gears and chords, "She broke away / broke away" sang Paul Banks. She may have broken away, I thought, but they're pulling me back in. As the song drifted on, with Paul Banks muttering "she was my catatonic sex toy / love joy diver," repeating "right on" and "oh yeah," it started to sink in. Finally, I was "getting" this band.
With my brain finally willing to accept these songs, and because the songs were much louder in concert, I was able to dissect some of the nuances to Interpol's sound. What hit me almost immediately at this point was the tight rhythm section, especially Carlos D, who is practically a symphony all to himself on the bass. Hearing him and Sam Fogarino play on "Hands Away," a song I had never paid full attention to until that night, was stunning and fascinating, as it was like watching the curtain slowly pull open, revealing the men behind Interpol's rich sound.
I also took notice to how most of the songs end somewhere completely different from where they start, a trick that Interpol has pretty much abandoned with each passing album. This was especially evident in during the night's encore, where they played "The New," which also happens to be my candidate for Interpol's best song. Just thinking of the chiming guitars that began the segue from the song's first half to the next, then Paul's waling on his Rickenbacker's B-string, detuning it down and back up again, I get chills all over again.
The night ended with an inspired rendition of "Obstacle 2;" Paul's soaring voice still echoing in my head. As the house lights came up, I exhaled for what felt like the first time in an hour. I was exasperated, and completely surprised by just how much the show had affected me in such a short amount of time. I should be fair, though, Paul Banks warned me way back at the start of the show that a "Surprise sometimes / will come around." He wasn't even fucking kidding.
[mp3]Interpol - "Obstacle 1"