OM

Ex-Sleep riff-wraiths unfurl drum-and-bass songs of worship that roll like a brewing ocean. Upon hearing of this band's premise, I thought: "It will need guitar." Guess what: it don't. Al Cisneros' bass makes fat ribbons of riff that buzz and crawl with the best, THE BEST I SAY. Chris Hakius does the most with the least--check out his bass drumming on the end of "At Giza" from their album Conference of the Birds. That reminds me--these guys know how to name their albums: 

Conference of the Birds 

Gebel Barkal

Inerrant Rays of Infallible Sun (Blackship Shrinebuilder) 

Live in Jerusalem* 

Pilgrimage 

Variations on a Theme

If you think these songs are boring, you don't have ears as far as I'm concerned. When I hear them I can't stop seeing these musicians' barely luminous cat eyes beaming their dull green pools into my skull. Wow. Music to get lost in, to be sure. Sample their unitive knowledge of the godhead. 

*Yes, this album is a live concert recorded in Jerusalem. 

I Hate Fader (Sometimes)

Folks, I'm about to get a little ranty on yo' asses.

Fader Magazine has recently published a column in which two guys talk about the most boring things they can think of relating to Devendra Banhart. Rather than talking about his music or something he said or did, they have deemed it fit to assail the world with a jaw-droppingly mundane roundtable discussion "CONSIDERING DEVENDRA BANHART IN LATE 2008." 

OK, before I get into heavier stuff, apparently these guys don't really like Megapuss and think it is a joke or, as they put it, a "fuck you". That's insulting. Not just to Devendra, but to the world. When Neil Young made Trans, a purposely horrible science-fiction electronica album, solely because his record label didn't want him to, THAT was a fuck-you. I don't know, I just don't get it. Surfing has some AMAZING jams on it, and I think people are trying to make them more than what they are--jams. And what is wrong with letting them be the jams that they are?? It's an album about surfing!! Surfing = fun. Jams = fun. Why is The Fader anti-fun?? Why are jams a less-acceptable form of ass-kicking music?? THEY TOTALLY JAM! 

Moving on, these guys are totally and completely pretentious. We are all fans of Devendra, and he has some star quality to be sure. But come on, Fader. "Considering Devendra Banhart in Late 2008"?!? So lame. If you want to get all fucking academic about it, go back to school. Please spare the reading public your gross, desiccated journalistic fantasies of...well, I have no idea what. I have been trying to think about why music journalists do shit like this, and I simply cannot think of a single reason. WHY DO MAGAZINES WANT TO KILL MUSIC?

I'm exaggerating, of course. Fader sometimes has some great content and beautiful layouts and pictures, but this is retarded. I'd like to admit that there was a time when all I could do was await Devendra's next release, or the slightest bit of news or an interview. He gave recommendations for life-changing books and music, and I received a bit of an education from him. He inspired me to go for broke and make my own music. Suddenly I was clutching a copy of Working On Wings to Fly to my chest and muttering to myself about Andy Cabic's new haircut. Then...I started listening to other music. And while I stopped paying attention, Devendra continued to release great, great stuff and say things that are funny and really pretty wise. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's disgusting to endlessly speculate on the exploits of a mildly famous person--even if you love the music they create. 

That space could have been occupied by something we actually want to read. You have the right to publish what you want, Fader...but more Tiny Tim and Marc Bolan comparisons? George Clooney in Batman & Robin?? Bob Dylan?? Even if someone is the next Bob Dylan, you don't say it. It's kind of like how in baseball you don't say "no-hitter" while one is in progress--except in this case you don't say it EVER. Why? Because it doesn't matter. I suppose this is just further evidence of the boring state of most music writing today, with its endlessly stupefying parade of comparisons and comparisons and MORE damn comparisons. (Not that I don't make comparisons....) I suppose it's one of the major dilemmas in writing about music in general, really, and one that I struggle with a lot: what's the point of even doing it when you can just let the music stand on its own? Well, that's a debate for another time. Let's just say for now that some Fader writers are forgoing all nuance in their grappling with this issue and going the way of everyonefuckingelse.

CIRITH UNGOL

I love Lord of the Rings. Not sure why...there are probably many reasons. Yeah, the movies were pretty good, but anyone who has seen them without reading the books is seriously missing out. (But let's not get into that.) 

Moving on, I've been reading Decibel Magazine's blog a lot recently (see link to your right), and it's really a great one. Excellent writing, a lot of widely varying tastes communicating with each other, great photos and recommendations, and awesome sense of humor. Just as an example, as of right now their latest post is titled: "The  Top 5 Enemies of the Revolution in Latin America Living in the United States." (NOTE: I've just been shocked to realize that this list includes Devendra Banhart...not sure how people can hate on this guy, but whatever. Maybe someone is a lil' jealous. Real mature, Jeff.) I've been discovering gem after gem on their blog, and that's just in the last few days. So, in addition to hearing the term "Invisible Oranges" for the first time (this is absolutely genius...search for it on the blog itself, I can't go into it here), one of those gems is the band CIRITH UNGOL. 

Yes, this band is named after the pass through the Ephel Duath mountains above Minas Morgul, refuge of the King of the Dead, and is the only land route into the realm of Mordor. Honestly, the Deciblog didn't even have to say anything else--the band's name alone got me so excited that I downloaded it approximately five minutes after getting home from work. 

I was right to be excited. Since I very actually worship the first four albums of Black Sabbath in a legitimately religious way, Cirith Ungol's album King of the Dead (1986) is currently blowing my mind all over my face, as my friend Walter says. The Deciblog featured it as their No. 4 Great Albums You Have Never Heard--definitely a list worth checking out. I'm talking about weirdly awesome vocals, fuzzed out wooly mammoth riffs, and DAMN but this record has some serious face-melters scattered throughout. They also do a metal version of Bach's Tocata in D Minor, THE MOST METAL FUGUE OF ALL!!! I'm talking about the entire piece here, not just the beginning, and it sounds amazing on a guitar that sounds like an angry beehive. 

I compared this band earlier to Black Sabbath, but it was not meant to equate them at all. Cirith Ungol are one of those bands where another kickass band's influence is clear, but not overbearing. The aforementioned album also contains a LIVE TRACK that reveals that the band owes almost as much to the Clash in generating their sound as they do to Iommi, Ward, Osbourne and Butler. This band is doing something truly original and obliterative with the Sabbath's legacy, which is really just awesome beyond words. Just wait 'til the upward spiraling solo in the song "Cirith Ungol" carries you closer and closer to Mount Doom. You'll see what I mean. 

It's Officially Fucking Cold Out

But Slayer keeps me warm. 

PAUL & LINDA MCCARTNEY - "RAM"

I understand. I used to be 16 years old and ripping up my clothes and cutting out chunks of my hair for a new trim. I used to hate on the Beatles, and Pink Floyd, and the Grateful Dead, and all of this—as I then thought—sissy music from the 60’s. GUITAR SOLOS ARE FOR FASCISTS!

But you must, as you grow, come to accept and love the guitar solo! It is the natural course of things. Then again, I am extremely biased. I worship at the altar of George Harrison, Tony Iommi, Jimmy Page, Angus Young and J Mascis. At the altar of Ringo Starr, Bill Ward, John Bonham, Jerry Garcia, and Steven Drozd! Nonetheless, I’ve enjoyed the change from the old me to the new me. It felt like I was broadening my horizons, and there was certainly a lot of great stuff I was missing.

I’ve been getting completely re-obsessed by the Beatles again lately, and that is clearly the source of all of this. And that happens a lot—I listen to weird new stuff for a few months, and then for a month or two I listen to nothing but my Dad’s records. (These usually coincide with periods of underemployment.) WHAT’S MY POINT? Jeez, I forgot.

Oh, that’s right—it’s an amazing album.

Here is an egregiously overlooked album that might make some Lennon enthusiasts rethink Johnny-Boy’s position in the Beatles pantheon… Every song a gem on Paul’s second solo record. While he has made room for other musicians (Paul played all the instruments on his first, McCartney), including Linda McCartney, with whom he shares the artist credits, this record is a showcase of one of the greatest songwriters of all time. Never really got on board with Wings? Hated Memory Almost Full? WHO CARES?? This man gets a big fucking pass on everything he did after being in the Beatles and making Ram. Put this one on and you’ll forget all the other crap you have against Paul McCartney.

One of my favorite aspects of the McCartney mystique is his silliness, and this album doesn’t disappoint as far as that is concerned. In the song “3 Legs”, Paul sings

My dog he got three legs,

Your dog he got none.

In addition, it’s a really great dusty, ramshackle blues-down with buckets of reverb slathered on to great effect. For more silliness, see the close-up photo of two beetles having sex on the album’s back cover. Inside the gatefold are numerous images of Paul doing funny dances, making weird faces, and rocking out. Say what you will about him, Paul is my kind of guy.

Where McCartney started to hint at the power and rockingness of Paul’s solo self, Ram’s big beautiful Beatles arrangements attain a sad and goofy life of their own that really show off.  This is one of those albums that make 1971 one of the most magikal years in music. Big ups to Greg Campaneelay for smashing me between the eyes with this beauty. 

ELECTRIC WIZARD - COME MY FANATICS........

An earth-shaking pack of evil motorcycles!  Quiet drums drowned out by arcing geysers of bright black magma! One of the heaviest albums of the 90's...AND PERCHANCE OF ALL TIME! 

ANGELS OF LIGHT - NEW MOTHER

            For some reason I see both Michael Gira (Swans, the Angels of Light, Young God Records) and Wayne Coyne (The Flaming Lips) as giant, floating, bodyless heads, perhaps rising from the Pacific ocean during a Hawaiian sunset. Their music seems to tap into cosmic forces, and when we describe their music as sweeping, we mean literally that—as if they come with giant brooms and sweep away all the shit that distracts us from living beautiful lives.
            Right now I am listening to New Mother by The Angels of Light. It is the first Angels of Light album, which I can only describe as a vibrating purple and Kelly green animal who has learned English and murmurs intimately to you about its regrets, departures, havings, losings, openings, and friends. It is clutter-free, devastating, opening, centering, cycling, de-punishing. In short, it can be a gorgeous medicinal infidel for you in this mundane black hole of a city that we live in. It is for me.
            There is a dark gem at its center called "The Man With The Silver Tongue", and it is fucking incredible:

The man with
the silver tongue
is cutting off
my silver tongue

Etc. This is definitely one of the more disturbing songs on the album, and that is probably because it is about one of Gira's favorite visual artists, Rudolf Schwartzkogler. Go ahead and Google him. Discomfort is definitely a part of this album's experience.
            BUT: songs like "Praise Your Name" and "Forever Yours" are emission nebulae, devotional songs, swelling with love and honest emotion. Angels of Light is not concerned with total demented gore and carnage, and Gira isn't interested in thrills alone; he is obviously an enormously gifted poet. Two of my favorite lyrics ever are on this album. The first is in the song "Angels of Light", a beautiful song that beats with a feeling of ascension:

you're not free now, you're not innocent,
but you're transparent, and you're right

The other is in the song "The Garden Hides the Jewel", about Marcel Duchamp's last work of art:

Pink dolphin lips accept the shape and shine with liquid innocence

All right, I can't say any more about this album. It's truly beautiful, but take heed of the photo that decorates this album's cover. It appears to be the mouth of some kind of cave, totally grown over with emerald-green vegetation. If you look closely, you'll see it's upside down. It's calling to you. Don't worry about coming back.