(no subject)
Text from the beginning of my review of The Lonesome Crowded West, from my Modest Mouse paper.
" The opening guitar riff of The Lonesome Crowded West's first track, “Teeth Like God's Shoeshine,” is jarring. The song that follows is a continuation of this introductory assault upon the ears. Brock's vocals are rasped and often yelled, mirroring the desperation which he feels. He is trapped between the “top of the ocean” and “the bottom of the sky,” and the discordant guitar and rapid drumbeats which follow are musical manifestations of his futile fight to escape. At 1:21, the song suddenly turns around. Brock's singing becomes, if not mellifluous, at least less harsh, and he employs more than four repeated notes in each lyrical line (as was the case earlier in the song). The bass takes prominence and the drums relax into a quieter, less pounding beat. Brock's lyrics quietly explore the benefits of “bottling one's conscience,” and pledging allegiance to commercial culture. At 1:50, the song slows further. The guitar returns to prominence, picking out single notes to compliment the dull drone of the bass and the gradually swelling military drumbeats. Brock's vocals grow in strength as he describes the awakening of the sedated person addressed in the previous part of the song to the transience of material objects and the guilt of not-knowing the right- or wrong-ness of one's actions under the influence of the previously described mode of materialistic thought.
" The opening guitar riff of The Lonesome Crowded West's first track, “Teeth Like God's Shoeshine,” is jarring. The song that follows is a continuation of this introductory assault upon the ears. Brock's vocals are rasped and often yelled, mirroring the desperation which he feels. He is trapped between the “top of the ocean” and “the bottom of the sky,” and the discordant guitar and rapid drumbeats which follow are musical manifestations of his futile fight to escape. At 1:21, the song suddenly turns around. Brock's singing becomes, if not mellifluous, at least less harsh, and he employs more than four repeated notes in each lyrical line (as was the case earlier in the song). The bass takes prominence and the drums relax into a quieter, less pounding beat. Brock's lyrics quietly explore the benefits of “bottling one's conscience,” and pledging allegiance to commercial culture. At 1:50, the song slows further. The guitar returns to prominence, picking out single notes to compliment the dull drone of the bass and the gradually swelling military drumbeats. Brock's vocals grow in strength as he describes the awakening of the sedated person addressed in the previous part of the song to the transience of material objects and the guilt of not-knowing the right- or wrong-ness of one's actions under the influence of the previously described mode of materialistic thought.