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About Me Name: Location: Brooklyn, NY The MP3s available here are for sampling purposes. Please support the artists by buying their albums and going to their shows. If you are the artist or label rep and don't want an MP3 featured, let me know. Links will otherwise stay live for about two weeks before they vanish into the ether. Archives. If you'd like to send music, art, writing or promo material for consideration, email me at nerdlitteratyahoodotcom.
This site is designed in Firefox and may not look optimal in other browsers. You can get Firefox. On My Headphones On My Screen On My Shelf. By Reading the front-page headlines is starting to become more like the obituaries. Fifty-three dead in a Pakistan bombing, tens of thousands of Chinese children poisoned by tainted milk, American and global markets teetering on the brink, intermittent dispatches from largely forgotten wars.
It's a pretty rough time, and the national mood is growing darker than ever. Yet as difficult as it'll be to pull through some of the crises we face, there's another task that's nearly as daunting: producing art that effectively speaks to the times. Political music is fraught with pitfalls, resulting in songs that end up artless, didactic, simplistic or uninspiring.
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And for every successful attempt at smart protest we get-I'm thinking of Sleater-Kinney's 'Combat Rock' or El-P's 'Dear Sirs' for example-there've been dozens of really dumb ones (even after you discount Toby Keith and will.i.am entirely). It's also notable that, in a decade where political music should be having a huge impact on pop culture, the main reverberations have come from off-the-cuff comments by Kanye West and the Dixie Chicks. That's a pretty pathetic legacy. Still, one bright spot among all that gloom has been The Bug's 'Angry.' It's the summer single that should've caught on big, dominating radio and clubs as a late-double-zeroes anthem. It gives our collective frustration a powerful voice-that of Brixton reggae veteran Tippa Irie-but even more impressively, it manages to sound almost.
'So many things that get me angry/and so many things that get me mad,/so many things that get me angry,/and I gotta say!' The chorus declares over a booming bassline. It doesn't just make you want to storm the streets, but also work off your aggression on the dancefloor. Interestingly, the very same lyrics, 'When I think about Bush and I think about Blair, how my people livin' in fear,' would sound excruciating coming from most other singers.
Without that cool jungle beat and Tippa Irie's dancehall patois, 'Angry' would lose most of its power. But much like hip-hop's takes on inner-city life, reggae has a rich legacy of making protest music a popular (and populist) art form. By fusing contemporary woes with a future-tilting reggae, The Bug can register his points without losing his cool.
And in uncertain times like these, we need just that kind of real, honest music, speaking not only to us but for us. MP3: from London Zoo posted by Charlie at Monday, September 22, 2008.
From I miss letters. My address scrawled out on the envelope. The twenty-three-cent stamp voided with grill marks. The folded looseleaf and lines of blue script.
Chatty paragraphs from pen pals or long-distance girlfriends updating me on their lives. I's dotted with stars; the vague scents of foreign places. I don't remember the last time I've received a letter, and I don't remember the last time I've written one. It seems like a relic of a bygone century now, a time when we'd condense months of information and thoughts and emotions into a few pages. A time when my mailbox contained more than wedding invitations and Netflix envelopes. I miss missing people too. Sure, I have cross-country friends I'd love to see more than biannually, but there's no deep sense of loss.
Between cellphones, email, Skype, Gchat, Facebook wall postings, Twitter, and oh yeah, Blogger, it's almost harder to detach yourself than to keep in touch. We're all within reach, with every banal thought and bowel movement ripe for mention.
With communication becoming so immediate, we've lost the chance for our thoughts to stew. We've lost the poetry of distance. However, that poetry's at the heart of Samamidon's 'Saro,' a gentle reworking of an old folk ballad. Set in 1849, the song is narrated by an immigrant who had to leave his wife behind. Like singer Sam Amidon's delivery, the lyrics are spare but deeply stirring: 'Tis not this long journey that grieves me for to go/ Nor the country that I'm leaving, nor the debts that I owe./ There's one thing that grieves me and bears on my mind/ That's leaving my darling pretty Saro behind.'
Set against Nico Muhly's sweeping strings and our knowledge that this couple may never reunite, 'Saro' strikes a raw nerve. It makes me want to find a girl that beautiful, or feel a loss that vast. Most of all, it makes me want to write letters until my hand cramps and my heart is light. MP3: 'Saro' - Samamidon from All Is Well. Also: posted by Charlie at Tuesday, September 09, 2008.
Tricky's Knowle West Boy isn't Maxinquaye or Pre-Millennium Tension. But I think it should get a decently good reception, because it's also not Vulnerable or Blowback. No, it lands somewhere between those poles, alternating between old genius and more recent embarrassment. On this new album, Tricky is most successful at reviving the dread and alienation that made his debut such a classic. Where he stumbles more are the songs themselves, which try to evoke but can't really compete with his earlier work. Still, there's one glaring exception among the lot, 'Past Mistake,' which sounds as good as anything he's done. One of its key features is that it's not sung by Tricky, but his surrogate and ex-girlfriend Lubna.
The obvious callback is 'Makes Me Wanna Die,' featuring his former lover Martina Topley-Bird. On both tracks, Tricky relegates himself to background whispers and murmurs. That puts the focus on the beautiful and aching vocals, while still adding the gruffer texture of his baritone below.
Because Lubna is French-Moroccan, there's also a sexy, beguiling lilt in her delivery. When she sings of 'lying eyes,' it sounds more like 'lion eyes.'
When she coos about 'my love for you,' it sounds like a somewhat foreign concept. The song, which is all about doomed devotion, has its autobiographical elements. As Tricky reveals on, 'It's funny. Me and Lubna wrote 'Past Mistake' when we were just turning from good to bad. One day much later we were in bed listening to it and we realised that it was about us going horribly wrong.' Even without knowing that, you can hear the apprehension and unease in the spooky accompaniment.
The drums clap down like deadlines, the eerie strings sound like elevator music in a deserted hospital. The more and more Lubna insists of 'my love for you,' the more valedictory it grows. Even Tricky starts to sound uncharacteristically affected, as if realizing this 'Past Mistake' can make up for some of his others. MP3: 'Past Mistake' - Tricky from Knowle West Boy posted by Charlie at Monday, September 08, 2008. By 'Sort of like a dream. No, better,' Air France sang earlier this year on 'Collapsing At Your Doorstep.' I don't know what subject they had in mind, but it should've been Blue Sky Black Death's fourth album Late Night Cinema.
This set of gauzy dreamscapes effortlessly drifts between the waking and unconscious, a glyercine-drip of moving moments and indelible ephemera. Though BSBD's members, Kingston and Young God, have a background in hip-hop production, their new work goes far beyond genre parameters. Late Night Cinema is the Deadringer follow-up RJD2 would've written at midnight in a perfect world; it's Moby's Play chopped and screwed or an agoraphobic's Endtroducing. Late Night Cinema is also an album in the way fewer and fewer LPs are these days, meaning that some out-of-context samples or cursory listens won't do it justice.
It's a work that needs your full attention, atmospheric enough for ambient listening but deserving of the foreground. It needs time to fully seep into your circulatory system, steeping deeply in a) the cool autumn air, b) a cumulus cloud of weed, or c) the woozy black-blue stretch of hours before daybreak.
Nonetheless, a few tracks do stand out as especially revelatory, hovering in some lovely median between heartache and memory. 'Lord of Our Vice' is a love song that truly evokes love's messy abstractions. As a plaintive singer insists, 'I'll always love you,' she also can't help but add, 'And nobody. The song's strength lies in those ellipses, that hint of the ineffable hovering over every word. What she's trying to say is left up to us to decode (And nobody else/ And nobody can change that/ And yet nobody/ And nobody knows), giving it a potent open-endedness.
Other dispossessed voices also drift in and out of the mix, haunting the beat and howling in sympathy. It's a track fraught with passion and sorrow, celebrating a love complicated enough to merit the term.
Even more adrift and existential is 'My Work Will Be Done.' It's probably the purest summation of the album's intentions, and certainly the most affecting. The singer from 'Lord of Our Vice' is now asking, 'All of the people, where are they coming from?' As a soulful man keeps replying, 'You were dreaming.' It's a strange and impressionistic conversation, with an internal logic well-suited for a David Lynch sequence.
Musically, the key attractions are the majestic strings and manic drum programming, which meld together with a similar grace. There's also a guitar section saturated with reverb, further underscoring how Late Night Cinema sounds like one of the sweetest dreams you've ever had. MP3: 'Lord of Our Vice' - Blue Sky Black Death from Late Night Cinema. MP3: 'My Work Will Be Done' - Blue Sky Black Death from Late Night Cinema posted by Charlie at Wednesday, August 27, 2008. Sometimes, you need night songs. Lullabies gentle enough to ease you into sleep, or seductive enough to strike a different tone. Mark Lanegan and Isobel Campbell's second collection together, Sunday at Devil Dirt, is steeped in just such nighttime moods-lassitude, ache and more than a little libido.
With their contrasting vocal styles, the singers ably embody all those competing desires. Lanegan, formerly of grunge asterisks Screaming Trees, sounds like a grizzled trucker coming home from a marathon drive.
Campbell, once of Belle & Sebastian, opts for breathy and lusty, purring like a perfume ad. It's sandpaper against silk, the darkness nestling up against daybreak. As the title suggests, the album flirts with Biblical themes, but it's at its best when it sticks to more secular flesh. On one of its highlights, 'Come On Over (Turn Me On),' the duo melds together to lovely effect. 'Is it any wonder/ Is it any wonder/ I lay awake all night,' they sing at their most needful. Between Lanegan's growl and Campbell's sigh, they really convey how deep their stirrings are, how hungrily they're awaiting their lovers' arrivals.
They further build the mood with a slinky jazz-lounge piano and a sinister guitar caterwauling at the margins. It's another sharply drawn contrast that reveals how well opposites attract, and that every night's a gateway to many inviting possibilities. MP3: 'Come On Over (Turn Me On)' - Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan from Sunday At Devil Dirt posted by Charlie at Friday, August 15, 2008. By Violent times call for violent measures. And Venetian Snares, with its free-form carnage and propulsive energy, certainly fits that bill.
From Aaron Funk's new album title, Detrimentalist, to the genre he's a leading figure in, breakcore, the focus is firmly on destruction over deconstruction. In his crosshairs, furied electronics detonate the line between song and noise. His hyperactive beats batter around meanly and dizzily like punchdrunk moshers. Pushing further and faster than peers like Aphex Twin and Autechre, this is music driven by pure unchecked id. It's coke-fueled binge, temper tantrum, and aerial assault all messily mashed together. Of course, that's pretty much been Funk's M.O. Throughout his prolific decade-long career.
(So far, he's managed to release fifteen EPs and, with Detrimentalist, a staggering seventeen full-length albums.) What separates this new work is his heavier reliance on vocal inserts and a restraint in indulging his more annoying experimental tendencies. Both those factors help make the music just a little more palatable, giving the breakneck abstraction a hint of shape. It also helps that the samples he's picked this time are uniformly cool, from KRS-One's dis track 'Phucked' in 'Gentleman' to the Massive Attack-esque dub joint in 'Eurocore MVP.' Two of the album's best songs, 'Gentleman' and 'Eurocore MVP' also splice fun stylistic flourishes into the relentless snarl. And even better, they aggressively reinforce the album's themes of anarchy and anomie. 'Gentlemen, I'm here 'cause I fucked.,' a heavily accented voice declares. 'Somebody jump in my computer server and take the information out.'
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Here, it's as much a smackdown of musical hacks as computer hacks, a declaration of war against Venetian Snares' pale imitators. In the latter song, against a minefield of explosive spikes, a mad rapper barks, 'Which motherfucker wanna see my dogs die?' As his voice rises to a grotesque pitch, it's clear the senseless bloodshed's just getting started. MP3: 'Gentleman' - Venetian Snares from Detrimentalist.
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MP3: 'Eurocore MVP' - Venetian Snares from Detrimentalist posted by Charlie.