(no subject)
Well, perhaps it will be a bi-decade tradition now. That's right, a new Tool album has been released, and it now time to revel in indie music mocking:
From Stylus:
"Even when the generals don’t bother to innovate, the army is faithful. Even when the generals’ ideas are bullshit, the army will fully consider their merits. How does the band marshal such sycophancy in their fans? Simple: By making them think those years away were spent actually improving the band’s craft.
It’s not true, of course. “Vicarious” is nothing more than “Stinkfist” revisited: on both cuts, Keenan essentially sings about schadenfreude and desensitization. The only difference is that “Vicarious” does so with juvenile imagination:
Stare like a junkie
Into the TV
Stare like a zombie
While the mother holds her child
Watches him die
Hands in the sky
Why oh why
Because I need to watch things die
From a distance
Deep. Carey, Jones, and Chancellor still use the same instrumental leitmotif where they syncopate according to Carey’s drum pattern for a while, Jones breaks off to do a solo, then they reform for another syncopation of a different pattern. Throw in some breaks here and there and you have a seven-minute metal glut causing multiple Mall Gawth hard-ons across the country. Age that song with five years of teases, false leaks, and Internet rumors, though? Those lines are damn near religious.
Such an aging process can even make songs that are literally empty into multitextual and complex creations. “Viginti Tres” (apparently just naming it “Twenty Three” doesn’t have the same ring to it) is the requisite touch of ambient wank one comes to expect from the band-it’s nothing but white noise distorted and amplified. Fans will tell you that you just don’t “get it,” just as in the 70s, King Crimson fans would have said the same about a five-minute recording of Robert Fripp pissing in a cup. Today they call it “Progressive,” which means they’re focusing on the artistic goal (“enlightenment,” “spirituality,” “smoking out”), not necessarily the means. But just because they tell you it’ll grow flowers doesn’t mean they’re not selling you shit. "
And from the disappointingly kinder Pitchfork, we do have an amusing comment on the opposite end of the spectrum:
"But hey, the next time you're sneering at someone in a Tool shirt, just remember how retarded you look walking down the street with the words "The Boy Least Likely To" or "Clap Your Hands Say Yeah" across your chest."
Do you remember the brilliance of Pitchfork's Lateralus review, from the perspective of a Gadzook's employee? I miss pitchfork's glory days.
From Stylus:
"Even when the generals don’t bother to innovate, the army is faithful. Even when the generals’ ideas are bullshit, the army will fully consider their merits. How does the band marshal such sycophancy in their fans? Simple: By making them think those years away were spent actually improving the band’s craft.
It’s not true, of course. “Vicarious” is nothing more than “Stinkfist” revisited: on both cuts, Keenan essentially sings about schadenfreude and desensitization. The only difference is that “Vicarious” does so with juvenile imagination:
Stare like a junkie
Into the TV
Stare like a zombie
While the mother holds her child
Watches him die
Hands in the sky
Why oh why
Because I need to watch things die
From a distance
Deep. Carey, Jones, and Chancellor still use the same instrumental leitmotif where they syncopate according to Carey’s drum pattern for a while, Jones breaks off to do a solo, then they reform for another syncopation of a different pattern. Throw in some breaks here and there and you have a seven-minute metal glut causing multiple Mall Gawth hard-ons across the country. Age that song with five years of teases, false leaks, and Internet rumors, though? Those lines are damn near religious.
Such an aging process can even make songs that are literally empty into multitextual and complex creations. “Viginti Tres” (apparently just naming it “Twenty Three” doesn’t have the same ring to it) is the requisite touch of ambient wank one comes to expect from the band-it’s nothing but white noise distorted and amplified. Fans will tell you that you just don’t “get it,” just as in the 70s, King Crimson fans would have said the same about a five-minute recording of Robert Fripp pissing in a cup. Today they call it “Progressive,” which means they’re focusing on the artistic goal (“enlightenment,” “spirituality,” “smoking out”), not necessarily the means. But just because they tell you it’ll grow flowers doesn’t mean they’re not selling you shit. "
And from the disappointingly kinder Pitchfork, we do have an amusing comment on the opposite end of the spectrum:
"But hey, the next time you're sneering at someone in a Tool shirt, just remember how retarded you look walking down the street with the words "The Boy Least Likely To" or "Clap Your Hands Say Yeah" across your chest."
Do you remember the brilliance of Pitchfork's Lateralus review, from the perspective of a Gadzook's employee? I miss pitchfork's glory days.