Who would have ever thought that self-righteousness would one day turn out to be right? That all those sanctimonious punk-rock pricks – we don’t need major labels to get our music out, maaannn – were actually smarter than the professionals the whole time?
Witness the collapsing corporate music biz today and it’s hard to argue that they weren’t. Every day the trade papers are filled with headlines about clueless Doug Morris types struggling to comprehend (and compensate for) the user-generated zeitgeist that was formed on their watch. Unable to understand why the kids don’t appreciate the pabulum being force-fed to them the way they used to, the major labels have shown how ill-equipped they are to streamline their business models to react to the cultural and technological changes of the past few years. Instead of right-sizing budgets and expectations, the major labels have turned both punitive (RIAA lawsuits) and more exploitative of their artists (“360” deals). They no longer need the strident anarcho-punk to call them evil and impotent: It’s common knowledge.
In this current scenario, D.I.Y. or Die, a film currently being offered in free weekly installments at Zune.net, seems very much like preaching to the choir. Listening to Lydia Lunch, Ian MacKaye, Richard Kern and an extended cast of the regular suspects go on about creative and financial independence may be somewhat inspiring, but it’s the definition of redundancy. Even MacKaye looks bored as he prattles on about the “parallel community” that his bands (Fugazi, Minor Threat) and business ventures (Dischord Records) have existed within. MacKaye’s been banging the pulpit for more than 20 years now, and he knows that the message has gone far beyond his small church and into the bigger consciousness. When Radiohead and Prince are on your team, you’re no longer the underdog.
To be sure, the many interviews that director Michael W. Dean gathered serve their purpose. Whether it’s comic artist Keith Knight or Craigslist founder Craig Newmark laughing off the clumsy corporate advances that were made on their creations, or J.G. Thirlwell (Foetus) calling bullshit on Napster and the concept of “free” music, Dean smartly defers to the stable of quotables he’s amassed.
Even listening to Jim Rose, J Mascis and Dave Brockie (of GWAR) acting as if they never cashed a major-label check is amusing in its own way, although it would have been nice to hear a little more detail on exactly why those scenarios didn’t work out. Brockie gives the literal middle finger to major labels, but glosses over the nuts-and-bolts of independent musicianship that could have made his platitudes more effective.
The fact remains that a not-insubstantial number of high-quality bands made their reputations on indie labels but sustained their careers with the help of majors: From Sonic Youth and Nirvana to the Flaming Lips, there’s an impressive history of bands large and small who made increasingly more provocative and interesting art with the assistance of corporate money. As Wayne Coyne once said to me, “What kind of freedom do I have if I don’t have any money?”
The financial aspects of the indie life that are dealt with in Dean’s film are pretty fair: Lydia Lunch talks about how she has to plan six months into the future to ensure she can pay her rent, while Jim Rose breaks down the basic inequity of 10-percenters who parasitically chip away at an artist’s wealth. And then, of course, there’s musician-engineer Steve Albini, who drops the grumpy science one always expects him to.
Had D.I.Y. or Die focused more on the practical tools needed to make a successful go of independent artistic life rather than the predictable sloganeering it too often falls back on, it would have been a more useful tool for aspiring artists. The subjects here have been complaining for years over the corruption of art by commerce, but increasingly every year, we’re seeing more cultural control being wrested from corporations and put back into the hands of artists.
So how is that best achieved? How is it that Ian MacKaye is living a comfortable – and ethical – life because of punk rock? How can a band enter a mutually beneficial arrangement with a label, whether it’s an indie or a major? How can a visual artist exist outside the gallery system? How does a writer feed his kids without scrambling for a publishing advance? As rousing as these tales intend to be, they’re also somewhat defeatist, as they still place the corporate culture-mongers in a power position that’s fun to spit at, but also takes a digital revolution to defeat. Ultimately, according to the film, only the most dedicated and ethically fastidious artists can hope to exist without some help, and the weaklings will sell out to the power structure.
Things just aren’t that black and white, however, and of all the people interviewed in D.I.Y. or Die, it shouldn’t be surprising that the most do-it-yourself motherfucker on the planet sets it as straight as it can be set. Mike Watt not only pioneered the modern D.I.Y. era with the Minutemen’s relentless tour/release/tour/release assault, but also released a few major-label albums and even played bass on a Kelly Clarkson record. According to Watt, preaching and proselytizing will only get you so far, and at the end of the day, it’s really about doing the right thing for your art. In his inimitable fashion, he says, “You get a kink in your neck looking down at people, and you get a kink in your neck looking up at people.”
A little more than two years ago, Ceeplus and DJ Jester hit the Rudyard’s stage with Pittsburgh’s Grand Buffet; clearly, it was a good night, as the three acts are teaming up again this week on the very same stage. Pennsylvania’s Jackson and Lord Grunge have been doing the DIY hip-hop thing as Grand Buffet for more than a decade now, and though they’re known for their jokes, you’d be ill-advised to sleep on their skills. In both rhyming, particularly freestyling, and production — don’t mock the CD player they rock; it’s packed with some well-crafted tracks — the image of haphazard funnymen they present belies both their hardworking ethos and extreme facility with hip-hop forms. With work completed on January’s King Vision, their first full-length album in nearly eight years, and coming off nearly two months on the road opening for Of Montreal (!), Grand Buffet is busy as usual; you’d do well to pay attention while you can still fit in the room.
Things I liked this year:
Maybe it’s because I wind up drinking too much when I go see them or maybe it’s because they play the best kind of punk rock – the straight-to-the-point, fists-in-the-air kind – but whatever the reason, the Attack warm my wrinkly old heart. The video they did for ‘Time to Collect’ is possibly the best video ever made.
“Incest, schmincest. There’s a reason I asked Bao Le-Huu to write for Orlando Weekly back when I was music editor: The guy is a great writer who cares about – and understands – the local scene. He also puts forth a valiant effort to spotlight said scene’s better components. The Bao Show, his semi-regular series of shows held at various venues, is Good Orlando Bands 101.
“My ‘retirement’ show – this little party I threw for myself upon leaving the Weekly – was, if I do say so myself, not too shabby. From the opening acoustic set (and comedy) of Bloom’s Devin Moore straight through the barnstorming closing by the Legendary JC’s (with great performances by the Attack, the Country Slashers and Matt Butcher in between) it was a hell of a Monday night at the Social.
“For the record, the first time I was exposed to garage pop band Tres Bien’s greatness was at the Back Booth, and not on America’s Next Great Band. For the record, they’re completely awesome.
“I got my review of Spacebar’s new album wrong, and this is my humble attempt at a mea culpa. Our Fight is the best pop record to come out of Orlando in 2007.
“Here are my 12 favorite local CDs of 2007, in alphabetical order:”
The edited version that appeared in Orlando Weekly did not include the below copy that was part of my original draft. I think it’s pretty easy to understand why.
The Ugly The Cutthroats I thought that, after seeing Generation play the Florida Music Festival oh-so-many years ago, I would never see a band approach a similar level of misguided awfulness. With the Cutthroats, I can say I’ve seen a band actually surpass it. While Generation was convinced they were the reincarnation of Pearl Jam, the Cutthroats seem to think they’re the Cult, when in fact, they’re closer to (in the words of a friend who witnessed the same amazing/awful show I did) Spinal Tap’s “Jazz Odyssey.” It’s not so much that these guys are terrible musicians – though they may well be – it’s just the all-out cluelessness of their approach. A drum solo in the Back Booth? Turning “The Immigrant Song” into a 15-minute jam? A none-too-sexy singer writhing around as if anyone in the crowd wants to squeeze his lemon? Selling bandanas? (OK, I bought three, but still.) Paleo-rock is usually aces in my book, but these guys put my Priestess-calibrated bullshit meter on high alert. Definitely worth seeing though, if only for the comedic value.
This part was also excised and did not appear in print. I’m not really sure why.
Asha Bhosle at UCF Arena The queen of Bollywood playback singers performed in Orlando. Needless to say, I was pretty excited. Even more exciting? This show helped me figure out that there’s a theater in town (Touchstar Southchase) that plays new Indian movies.
There’s a photo on the inside of Lagos by Bus that shows 13 of the group’s members backstage before an opening gig for Femi Kuti in Lagos. It is, needless to say, a prestigious show for the Afrobeat-oriented collective. More interesting, though, is how the white faces in the photo clearly outnumber the darker ones. While this writer has never been one to hold “global” music to some sort of litmus test of authenticity, this image is nonetheless striking, given the notions of cultural tourism it sparks. Looking like a group of ex-Peace Corps kids who got bitten by the Afrobeat bug, the many members of Aphrodesia — those 13 in the picture and nearly twice that many auxiliary players — should be applauded for defying the expectations their faces bring about. To be sure, the grooves on Lagos by Bus are far from authentic Afrobeat, and none of the songs here drive with the propulsive force of Fela’s work. But it’s that studied mellowness that makes Aphrodesia an interesting group. By tamping down the long-winded explosiveness associated with the style and focusing instead on a gentle sort of concision, the group manages a subtle funkiness that’s polished but spirited. Add to that the glaringly female-centric vibe of the band and Aphrodesia emerges as a pleasant, contemporary reflection of the Kalakuta Nation — one that may not be as revolutionary in timbre but is still invigorating on its own terms.
We have to let it be known, for the record, that we were there when the Guitar Hero–as–bar-spectacle idea was hatched. It was at the second Floridas Dying Rock Fight last December; Damon Gentry got up on the Back Booth stage dressed like, in the words of Bao Le-Huu, “a gay Mork” and, well, played Guitar Hero. It’s one of the few things we remember from the night, because it was the ridiculous, retarded highlight of an already ridiculous, retarded night. Whether this till-the-keg-floats event rises to those heights is a doubtful proposition; it will more than likely resemble some sort of perverse hipster karaoke. But hey, it’s two days after Christmas. Whaddya want?
So, I made a three-disc collection of my 50 Favorite Songs of 2007 to hand out as Xmas gifts. I was going to make an Imeem playlist, but half the songs aren’t up there. So, go and make your own. And Merry Christmas.
Disc One:
1 “Is There A Ghost” – Band of Horses [Cease to Begin]
2 “Don’t Swim, Float” – Harry Manx & Kevin Breit [In Good We Trust]
3 “Dhoom Taana” – Abhijeet & Shreya Ghoshal [Om Shanti Om soundtrack]
4 “Jimmy” – M.I.A. [Kala]
5“Declare Independence” – Bjork [Volta]
6 “Woody Woodpecker” – Dan Deacon [Spiderman of the Rings]
7 “Crack Addicts in Love” – Baby Elephant [Turn My Teeth Up]
8 “Fake Angel Skin” – Summerbirds in the Cellar [Druids]
9 “Cherries in the Snow” – Elk City [New Believers]
10 “Black Sabbath” – Snares [Sabbath Dubs]
11 “Spaceship Broken – Need Parts” – Pelican [City of Echoes]
12 “Horn of the Unicorn” – History [Ghosts in the City]
13 “Mob Rule” – Robert Wyatt [Comicopera]
14 “Are You Leaving Me (demo)” – Aretha Franklin [Rare & Unreleased]
15 “Stop Your Crying” – Spiritualized [Live “Acoustic Mainlines,” Boston]
16 “Sun Dance” – Tomahawk [Anonymous]
17 “Tonite” – Spacebar [Our Fight]
Disc Two:
1 “Atlas” – Battles [Mirrored]
2 “Slither” – Anoushka Shankar & Karsh Kale [Breathing Underwater]
3 “Glassy” – Sona Family f/Hard Kaur [DJ Rekha’s Basement Bhangra]
4 “New Jack” – Justice [Cross]
5“Budos Rising” – The Budos Band [The Budos Band II]
6 “Almost Ready” – Dinosaur Jr. [Beyond]
7 “Thinktank” – Airiel [The Battle of Sealand]
8 “Stars” – Ulrich Schnauss [Goodbye]
9 “Coloring the Void” – M83 [Digital Shades, Vol. 1]
10 “The Life & Death of Aurora Montgomery” – Giddy Up Helicopter
11 “Gates of Chaos” – Raz Mesinai’s Badawi [Unit of Resistance]
12 “Gladius” – Oh No [Dr. No’s Oxperiment]
13 “Aaja Nachle” – Sunidhi Chauhan [Aaja Nachle soundtrack]
14 “My Little Japanese Cigarette Case” – Spoon [Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga]
15 “Middle Distance Runner” – Sea Wolf [Leaves in the River]
16 “Dark Dark Leaves” – The Sugar Oaks [Red Grapes in the City]
17 “Just What I Needed” – Heather Greene [Two Dollar Dress]
Disc Three:
1 “Satai Nova” – Voice of the Seven Woods [Voice of the Seven Woods]
2 “F.U.N.K.” – Prince [iTunes single]
3 “Sitar Ride” – Madlib [Beat Konducta in India]
4 “Bombay Deewana” – Hard Kaur [Supawoman]
5“Cash” – Sunidhi Chauhan [Cash soundtrack]
6 “Fractured Skies” – Parts and Labor [Mapmaker]
7 “Invertebrate” – Bela Karoli [Furnished Rooms]
8 “Getaway Car” – The Attack [demo]
9 “Stop Wasting My Time” – The Draft [Digital EP]
10 “City of Refuge” – Alvin Youngblood Hart [The Great Debaters soundtrack]
11 “I Can See A Lot of Light In You” – His Name Is Alive [Firefly Dragonfly]
12 “Boogie Drums Eldoradio Livemix” – Les Faux [Ethnique Electrique]
13 “Mast Kalander” – Rehan & Sajid Khan [Heyy Babyy soundtrack]
14 “Stone Fox” – The Country Slashers [Love, Lost & Found]
15 “So Low, So High” – Maps [We Can Create]
16 “Untitled Instrumental #3” – Sly & the Family Stone [There’s a Riot Goin’ On reissue]
All I have to do is think about this number and I start laughing. All of Farah Khan’s nod-and-wink goodness is wrapped up in this masterfully coreographed number, most perfectly at the 3:15 mark.
Knowing about Bollywood certainly increases the enjoyment level of this film, but at the same time, it also functions as a sort of crash course.
As a member of rising U.K. desi hip-hop crew the Sona Family, MC Hard Kaur made major waves with her turn on “Glassy,” a club-banging bhangra anthem devoted to the pleasures of getting paralytically fucked up. While nothing on Supawoman rises to the heights of that transcendent track, the album nonetheless shows a strong and quirky artist prepared to push diaspora hip-hop out of its comfort zone. When HK weighs in with club-friendly cuts like “Sexy Boy” and the dancehall-flavored title track, the results are blisteringly effective; they display far more allegiance to hip-hop than to any notion of what South Asian music should sound like, all while employing dhol-heavy beats and occasional Hindi rhymes that mark her as a resolutely desi performer. Any shortcomings on the album are more than made up for on the album’s undeniable highlight, “Bombay Deewana.” Over an appropriately crazy, Bollywood-flavored backing track, Hard Kaur deftly rhymes about the city’s gangsta party scene; it’s tight and fun, rooted in home culture but streaked with a contemporary, urban-global reality – sort of like Hard Kaur herself.
After more than 30 years as a reggae musician, Cocoa Tea should be either a cutting-edge groundbreaker or a torchbearer for easy-does-it standards. As Biological Warfare disappointingly makes clear, he’s neither. The dancehall vibe he’s worked with for most of his career has seen him occasionally flirting with progressive electronic sounds that threaten to push the genre forward. Similarly, his lyrics have had moments of daring, even controversial inspiration. Here, however, the listener is confronted with a nearly 50-year-old reggae artist somnolently delivering well-worn themes atop even more well-worn rhythms. Plasticky beats that, unbelievably, were played by live musicians, plinky keyboard lines, and by-the-book arrangements do little to light a fire under Biological Warfare. The lyrics tread through the garden of Babylon, Africa, and Hailie Selassie as if Cocoa thinks he’s the first to yelp “sons of Jah” in a song. Tucked into the end of the album, though, is “Rise Up,” a slinky groove punctuated by weirdo electronic touches and accompanied by a well-crafted, nearly poetic set of lyrics. In that one moment, the disappointment of what was, to that point, an innocuous-enough reggae record, is made that much clearer. If Cocoa Tea is capable of delivering songs of this caliber, why doesn’t the rest of the album rise up to that level? It’s a question the aging musician may want to ask of himself before heading to the studio next time. Reggae has seldom been a genre praised for its variety or inventiveness, and Biological Warfare sadly makes those stereotypes seem true.
All Natural Lemon & Lime Flavors was a well-regarded but horribly monikered group that unabashedly reveled in their shoegazing influences. The swooning miasma of sound they created during their half-decade run garnered them something of a following among diehard dreampop fans. Ex-ANL&LF member Merc applies the sonic philosophies of his former group to his current project, Ifwhen. By stripping away the poppier elements and indulging in a more purely psychedelic experience, he’s emerged with a record that’s far more challenging and engaging than anything he did before. With mixing assistance from Oktopus (of hip-hop duo Dälek), Merc’s singular vision of swirling, assaultive womb-rock has come to fruition. Hooks are present, but often muddled into the noisy, atmospheric stew just like the glistening guitars, throbbing bass and synthetic programming touches. Most of the songs here are fragmentary, expanded by repetition into bombastic near-epics; they often don’t have much to say, but what they do say is said beautifully.
