Bruised as a cherry, ripe as a peach
Because of this end-of-summer music-release rush, with both CD game mixes and new albums galore, I'm continuing my series of music-related posts. Some time ago I wrote about the seventh album challenge, the principle by which formerly productive artists suddenly take long gaps between albums six and seven. Past victims have included Beck, They Might Be Giants, Sleater-Kinney, and Blur; a current perpetrator is Radiohead, who last put out an album in 2003, and recently hinted that their next one (once slated for fall 2007 after being slated for many seasons throughout 2006 and 2007) won't be out until next year. I vaguely remember the three-year gap between OK Computer and Kid A being considered kind of a big deal, but by the time a new record comes out it'll be almost five years since the far less difficult to follow Hail to the Thief. Unlucky number seven, I guess. FYI, the White Stripes just did album six. Watch out.
There are other album-related career markings; even if the album as a form of delivery is receding right now, there's so much history there (and it keeps accumulating, as no one has really stopped doing albums in favor of singles or EPs except, supposedly, Ash) that loads of probably-meaningless patterns emerge You can compile a lot of designated album milestones by reading a lot of rock reviews; there's the sophomore slump, of course (not exclusive to musicians); I've heard more than one reference to the archetypal "difficult third album" (though I'm pretty sure I've also read about the "difficult second album"); and there's always the "back to basics" album (often following the "difficult second/third album").
I like to think that some of the better artists escape these pitfalls, though there is sometimes a sense of comfort (or deranged honor) in those traditions (double live, hollah!). It's hard not to think about trajectories when Rilo Kiley and New Pornographers, two reasonably beloved indie-but-accessible bands who started their careers around the beginning of this decade, released fourth albums on the same day.
I think I've mentioned at some point that I see a lot of similarities in the career arcs of Rilo Kiley and the Hold Steady, despite their music being dramatically different. They both had an unusually strong debut (Takeoffs and Landings/Almost Killed Me) that clearly laid out who this band is and what they're about. They quickly followed those up with second albums expanding on and deepening the sound of their predecessors and that I consider to be masterworks (The Execution of All Thigns/Separation Sunday), and then continued with a more accessible third album that may not be quite as brilliant as the second but shows both growth from their original sound and newfound confidence in their strongest qualities, plus sold more copies (More Adventurous/Boys and Girls in America).
This is a more interesting track to me than the more typical huge first-album breakout/second-album more-of-the-same plus backlash/third-album experiment/fourth album "back to basics" arcs (which can easily skip or repeat several of those steps, too), because watching a band build its career is a lot more interesting than those on the fast-burn track (which I think -- deep down -- a lot of critics and fans may actually prefer). It's also hard to gauge what's supposed to happen next -- for the Hold Steady, who I hope return to the studio soon, or for Rilo Kiley even after they've emerged from a three-year follow-up process.
I guess what RK supposedly wants to happen next is some real radio play; Under the Blacklight is, superficially, more accessible and instantly catchy (as in simple and easy to remember) than their past work. But as some reviews have pointed out, this is actually a pretty strange album in a lot of ways, not just as it relates to their earlier work but in its delightfully idiosyncratic interpretation of what makes for a more accessible record. The more derisive reactions I've read have said that various songs sound like Destiny's Child or Gloria Estefan; the happier ones say Fleetwood Mac or Dusty Springfield, and that those four are all mentioned when talking about the same record should tell you what you need to know straight away.
A more precise and original comparison, made by the Pitchfork review (which seems so confused overall about what it thinks of the album that even the front-page blurb doesn't seem sure of whether the writer is saying yea or nay; it's one of the more positive five-point-something reviews I've read by them, which to me suggests the writer thinks RK is inherently dismissable), is that the title track sounds like "Aimee Mann writing a song for Mandy Moore." I can hear that; my first thought was that the vocal melody (if not the actual tone of Jenny's voice) sounds like mid-period Liz Phair, which amounts to something similar. The whole album is like that: familiar yet different, and strange on both counts.
Under the Blacklight is probably the most eclectic thing they've ever recorded, and maybe also their weakest album, but only by default. Sometimes it sounds like they've skimped on the lyrics, repeating titular phrases rather than writing a second or third verse, but the Jenny Lewis writing style -- bemused, wearily playful -- is there, just a little bit less mopey and introspective this time around. I also feel bad that it sounds like some of the actual band -- the drummer especially -- gets lost in all of the synthing around with different styles. I feel extra bad because the songs on which they're downplayed are often excellent: "Silver Lining," the brassy "15" (in which the rhythm section is somewhat displaced by horns and a Theremin), and the disco-ish "Breakin' Up" (in which the usual boy backing vocals are displayed by lady backup singers). I even like the blatantly synthetic "Give a Little Love" for Jenny's sad, sweet singing.
In that sense, it's very much a Rilo Kiley record in that all of their albums synthesize a variety of semi-disparate styles: there are varying elements of folk, country, new wave, and typical indie rock, in varying ratios, throughout the first three. Under the Blacklights just adds disco and lite electronica into the mix (and, OK, some ill-advised salsa with "Dejalo," which is the only really weak track of the bunch).
(If you want a taste of this album with visual accompaniment, you can look at the less-scandalous-than-"The Moneymaker" video for "Silver Lining" here, and can I add how much I love bands with adorable intra-band sexual tension? I mean, I can pretty much just sit there and watch Jack and Meg White do nothing and be completely happy about it. Same thing with Jenny and Blake, especially in a video where they inexplicably pretend to get married.)
The New Pornographers pretty much achieved power-pop bliss with Twin Cinema, and as a recent SPIN article pointed out, power pop has rarely been all that popular, so there's no need to try to make Challengers more accessible still. The New Pornographers are wildly popular for an indie band but in no danger of breaking through into Top 40. Their attempt at what-next is less exciting than Blacklight; in the past day and a half, I've listened to the latter about twice as much, probably because I know what to expect out of the New Pornographers by this point. There will be obtuse lyrics, group singalongs, and three songs by Dan Bejar.
Challengers fulfills those requirements without any pure knockouts. There are no songs as immediately exciting as "Mass Romantic," "Letter from an Occupant," "Miss Teen Wordpower," "Use It," or even the slower-building "The Bleeding Heart Show" (though several songs are definitely in that "Bleeding Heart" vein); what's most immediately striking about Challengers is how even-handed it is. Electric Version wears me out a little when I listen all the way through, and even Twin Cinema flags a bit by the last few songs. Challengers moves slower, but never burns itself out. Whether this represents a smoothing out of edges towards an eventual dullness (higher lows but also lower highs?), I'm not sure. But the lack of towering peaks means that the sweeter, slower songs towards the end, like "Go Places" (written by A.C. Newman's for his wife, but sung by Neko Case!) and "Adventures in Solitude," stand out more than whatever ended Twin Cinema or Mass Romantic; I don't even know. After a few spins, it's obvious that Challengers is another familiar album "type" -- the most consistent/least thrilling combo. If you're really digging for more classic New Pornographers singles (or would-be singles), "All the Old Showstoppers," the title track, and "Mutiny, I Promise You" get there eventually.
After listening to both of these fourth albums, the artists' next (or next-next) steps don't seem any clearer; both of the new directions are interesting and welcome, but I don't see either the restless Rilo Kiley or the more specialized New Pornographers deciding to do another set of fractured funk or power-folk for their next thing -- well, maybe the New Pornos will stick in mellow territory for awhile, I don't know. Complicating matters is that members of both bands spend a significant number of time on their own: Jenny Lewis had just as much success, if not more, with her solo album last year; Blake, de facto second-in-command, had a good side album last year, too with The Elected (which many of the fangirls now actually prefer, of course). The New Pornographers are (despite apparent claims to the contrary) an all-out supergroup; Dan Bejar is in Destroyer and Neko Case has an NPR level of fame in her solo career (which predates the New Pornos by several years, at least in terms of actually releasing records). Even Newman had a solo record a few years ago, though it sounds like most of his energies are now concentrated on doing New Pornographers albums more or less full-time.
I like both albums, especially RK's; I just don't leave them with the sense that a transition has been made or an apex has been reached. If they have, it might be a less cooperative kind: if Under the Blacklight isn't the major crossover Warners or the band wants, maybe Jenny and Blake will retreat back into solo careers; if A.C. Newman wants to do regular New Pornographers records, maybe Bejar or Case will just drop out or scale back their involvement. For hints, I look again to history and oh, snap: the Dismemberment Plan broke up after album four. Not (as far as I can tell) out of any real acrimony or crisis, but almost as if as an answer to "what next?" All this extra data suggests that after a certain point and below a certain level of legendary status, a rocker's career is always in some kind of flux.
There are other album-related career markings; even if the album as a form of delivery is receding right now, there's so much history there (and it keeps accumulating, as no one has really stopped doing albums in favor of singles or EPs except, supposedly, Ash) that loads of probably-meaningless patterns emerge You can compile a lot of designated album milestones by reading a lot of rock reviews; there's the sophomore slump, of course (not exclusive to musicians); I've heard more than one reference to the archetypal "difficult third album" (though I'm pretty sure I've also read about the "difficult second album"); and there's always the "back to basics" album (often following the "difficult second/third album").
I like to think that some of the better artists escape these pitfalls, though there is sometimes a sense of comfort (or deranged honor) in those traditions (double live, hollah!). It's hard not to think about trajectories when Rilo Kiley and New Pornographers, two reasonably beloved indie-but-accessible bands who started their careers around the beginning of this decade, released fourth albums on the same day.
I think I've mentioned at some point that I see a lot of similarities in the career arcs of Rilo Kiley and the Hold Steady, despite their music being dramatically different. They both had an unusually strong debut (Takeoffs and Landings/Almost Killed Me) that clearly laid out who this band is and what they're about. They quickly followed those up with second albums expanding on and deepening the sound of their predecessors and that I consider to be masterworks (The Execution of All Thigns/Separation Sunday), and then continued with a more accessible third album that may not be quite as brilliant as the second but shows both growth from their original sound and newfound confidence in their strongest qualities, plus sold more copies (More Adventurous/Boys and Girls in America).
This is a more interesting track to me than the more typical huge first-album breakout/second-album more-of-the-same plus backlash/third-album experiment/fourth album "back to basics" arcs (which can easily skip or repeat several of those steps, too), because watching a band build its career is a lot more interesting than those on the fast-burn track (which I think -- deep down -- a lot of critics and fans may actually prefer). It's also hard to gauge what's supposed to happen next -- for the Hold Steady, who I hope return to the studio soon, or for Rilo Kiley even after they've emerged from a three-year follow-up process.
I guess what RK supposedly wants to happen next is some real radio play; Under the Blacklight is, superficially, more accessible and instantly catchy (as in simple and easy to remember) than their past work. But as some reviews have pointed out, this is actually a pretty strange album in a lot of ways, not just as it relates to their earlier work but in its delightfully idiosyncratic interpretation of what makes for a more accessible record. The more derisive reactions I've read have said that various songs sound like Destiny's Child or Gloria Estefan; the happier ones say Fleetwood Mac or Dusty Springfield, and that those four are all mentioned when talking about the same record should tell you what you need to know straight away.
A more precise and original comparison, made by the Pitchfork review (which seems so confused overall about what it thinks of the album that even the front-page blurb doesn't seem sure of whether the writer is saying yea or nay; it's one of the more positive five-point-something reviews I've read by them, which to me suggests the writer thinks RK is inherently dismissable), is that the title track sounds like "Aimee Mann writing a song for Mandy Moore." I can hear that; my first thought was that the vocal melody (if not the actual tone of Jenny's voice) sounds like mid-period Liz Phair, which amounts to something similar. The whole album is like that: familiar yet different, and strange on both counts.
Under the Blacklight is probably the most eclectic thing they've ever recorded, and maybe also their weakest album, but only by default. Sometimes it sounds like they've skimped on the lyrics, repeating titular phrases rather than writing a second or third verse, but the Jenny Lewis writing style -- bemused, wearily playful -- is there, just a little bit less mopey and introspective this time around. I also feel bad that it sounds like some of the actual band -- the drummer especially -- gets lost in all of the synthing around with different styles. I feel extra bad because the songs on which they're downplayed are often excellent: "Silver Lining," the brassy "15" (in which the rhythm section is somewhat displaced by horns and a Theremin), and the disco-ish "Breakin' Up" (in which the usual boy backing vocals are displayed by lady backup singers). I even like the blatantly synthetic "Give a Little Love" for Jenny's sad, sweet singing.
In that sense, it's very much a Rilo Kiley record in that all of their albums synthesize a variety of semi-disparate styles: there are varying elements of folk, country, new wave, and typical indie rock, in varying ratios, throughout the first three. Under the Blacklights just adds disco and lite electronica into the mix (and, OK, some ill-advised salsa with "Dejalo," which is the only really weak track of the bunch).
(If you want a taste of this album with visual accompaniment, you can look at the less-scandalous-than-"The Moneymaker" video for "Silver Lining" here, and can I add how much I love bands with adorable intra-band sexual tension? I mean, I can pretty much just sit there and watch Jack and Meg White do nothing and be completely happy about it. Same thing with Jenny and Blake, especially in a video where they inexplicably pretend to get married.)
The New Pornographers pretty much achieved power-pop bliss with Twin Cinema, and as a recent SPIN article pointed out, power pop has rarely been all that popular, so there's no need to try to make Challengers more accessible still. The New Pornographers are wildly popular for an indie band but in no danger of breaking through into Top 40. Their attempt at what-next is less exciting than Blacklight; in the past day and a half, I've listened to the latter about twice as much, probably because I know what to expect out of the New Pornographers by this point. There will be obtuse lyrics, group singalongs, and three songs by Dan Bejar.
Challengers fulfills those requirements without any pure knockouts. There are no songs as immediately exciting as "Mass Romantic," "Letter from an Occupant," "Miss Teen Wordpower," "Use It," or even the slower-building "The Bleeding Heart Show" (though several songs are definitely in that "Bleeding Heart" vein); what's most immediately striking about Challengers is how even-handed it is. Electric Version wears me out a little when I listen all the way through, and even Twin Cinema flags a bit by the last few songs. Challengers moves slower, but never burns itself out. Whether this represents a smoothing out of edges towards an eventual dullness (higher lows but also lower highs?), I'm not sure. But the lack of towering peaks means that the sweeter, slower songs towards the end, like "Go Places" (written by A.C. Newman's for his wife, but sung by Neko Case!) and "Adventures in Solitude," stand out more than whatever ended Twin Cinema or Mass Romantic; I don't even know. After a few spins, it's obvious that Challengers is another familiar album "type" -- the most consistent/least thrilling combo. If you're really digging for more classic New Pornographers singles (or would-be singles), "All the Old Showstoppers," the title track, and "Mutiny, I Promise You" get there eventually.
After listening to both of these fourth albums, the artists' next (or next-next) steps don't seem any clearer; both of the new directions are interesting and welcome, but I don't see either the restless Rilo Kiley or the more specialized New Pornographers deciding to do another set of fractured funk or power-folk for their next thing -- well, maybe the New Pornos will stick in mellow territory for awhile, I don't know. Complicating matters is that members of both bands spend a significant number of time on their own: Jenny Lewis had just as much success, if not more, with her solo album last year; Blake, de facto second-in-command, had a good side album last year, too with The Elected (which many of the fangirls now actually prefer, of course). The New Pornographers are (despite apparent claims to the contrary) an all-out supergroup; Dan Bejar is in Destroyer and Neko Case has an NPR level of fame in her solo career (which predates the New Pornos by several years, at least in terms of actually releasing records). Even Newman had a solo record a few years ago, though it sounds like most of his energies are now concentrated on doing New Pornographers albums more or less full-time.
I like both albums, especially RK's; I just don't leave them with the sense that a transition has been made or an apex has been reached. If they have, it might be a less cooperative kind: if Under the Blacklight isn't the major crossover Warners or the band wants, maybe Jenny and Blake will retreat back into solo careers; if A.C. Newman wants to do regular New Pornographers records, maybe Bejar or Case will just drop out or scale back their involvement. For hints, I look again to history and oh, snap: the Dismemberment Plan broke up after album four. Not (as far as I can tell) out of any real acrimony or crisis, but almost as if as an answer to "what next?" All this extra data suggests that after a certain point and below a certain level of legendary status, a rocker's career is always in some kind of flux.