1. Make phone calls (Steve Jobs wants an extra $150 a pop for that fun feature.)
2. Transfer music without the help of illegal software.
3. Be left in the rain.
Which brings me to...
4. Play music, display images or turn on after being left in the rain.
Until my poor pod awakes from it's moisture-induced coma or I find the cash for another, The Hunt is on indefinite hiatus. Most of my music is still intact on hard drives here and there, but since the blog has "iPod" in the name I'll resist posting new reviews. Plus, my other blog makes money. Creative catharsis like this doesn't.
So, until then, play with your own fully-functioning iPods. I won't be bitter at all.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Acceptance
Band: Acceptance
Album I Own: A Santa Cause: It's a Punk Rock Christmas (2003 compilation)
Hunted Song: "So This Is Christmas"
Acceptance on Pandora
I've finally come across the first couple of single-song artists on my iPod. I considered skipping them, but to give a full idea of the range of music I have, I'll write briefly about them whenever they pop up.
And besides, if I didn't, I would have no way to discuss some of the fun and quirky compilation albums that I only listen to occasionally.
With that said, the Santa Cause disc (kind of a "punk goes yuletide" sort of thing) is an excellent collection of songs by a variety of artists, from the obscure ska band Stand Still (with the hilarious "I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Clause") to long-time goofballs Blink-182.
Unfortunately, Acceptance's ho-hum cover of "So This is Christmas" is a low point on the album. It's pretty standard acoustic fare from a pretty standard band.
The Seattle-based alt rock foursome formed in 1998 but is currently defunct, although drummer Nick Radovanovic posts the occasional unreleased song on their still functioning MySpace page. The most notable former member is guitarist Christian McAlhaney, who moved on to join the incredibly successful group Anberlin.
According to Acceptance's Wikipedia page (I know, I know, bad sourcing), they broke up because of lead singer Jason Riley's departure in the summer of 2006. A pseudo-poetic (and slightly backhanded) message from McAlhaney claims Riley gave up "the abnormal life of a gypsy rock musician" to take on "the yoke of the common man."
A word on Jason: If you like smooth, unabashed vocals, the song won't disappoint. His voice is surprinsigly strong--thankfully, he stays away from the embarrasing warbling and misguided creative license that plagues so many covers.
Admittedly, taking on a classic such as this set the band up for failure. Maybe that's why they felt the need to change the song name. The original John Lennon tune--"Merry Christmas (War is Over)"--is still the best rendition by far.
Acceptance opted not to include a chorus of children in the song's finale, but it makes little difference. When all is said and done, it's a faithful but dull cover of a (rightfully) untouchable song.
Note: There is, however, a cover that does deserve mention. Check out Thrice's version, titled "Merry Christmas, War is Over." It starts with the same predictable acoustic guitar, but Thrice is one of the few bands that has never put out a bad cover. The second verse is backed by rich organ chords that mesh well with singer Dustin Kensrue's vocals.
Album I Own: A Santa Cause: It's a Punk Rock Christmas (2003 compilation)
Hunted Song: "So This Is Christmas"
Acceptance on Pandora
I've finally come across the first couple of single-song artists on my iPod. I considered skipping them, but to give a full idea of the range of music I have, I'll write briefly about them whenever they pop up.
And besides, if I didn't, I would have no way to discuss some of the fun and quirky compilation albums that I only listen to occasionally.
With that said, the Santa Cause disc (kind of a "punk goes yuletide" sort of thing) is an excellent collection of songs by a variety of artists, from the obscure ska band Stand Still (with the hilarious "I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Clause") to long-time goofballs Blink-182.
Unfortunately, Acceptance's ho-hum cover of "So This is Christmas" is a low point on the album. It's pretty standard acoustic fare from a pretty standard band.
The Seattle-based alt rock foursome formed in 1998 but is currently defunct, although drummer Nick Radovanovic posts the occasional unreleased song on their still functioning MySpace page. The most notable former member is guitarist Christian McAlhaney, who moved on to join the incredibly successful group Anberlin.
According to Acceptance's Wikipedia page (I know, I know, bad sourcing), they broke up because of lead singer Jason Riley's departure in the summer of 2006. A pseudo-poetic (and slightly backhanded) message from McAlhaney claims Riley gave up "the abnormal life of a gypsy rock musician" to take on "the yoke of the common man."
A word on Jason: If you like smooth, unabashed vocals, the song won't disappoint. His voice is surprinsigly strong--thankfully, he stays away from the embarrasing warbling and misguided creative license that plagues so many covers.
Admittedly, taking on a classic such as this set the band up for failure. Maybe that's why they felt the need to change the song name. The original John Lennon tune--"Merry Christmas (War is Over)"--is still the best rendition by far.
Acceptance opted not to include a chorus of children in the song's finale, but it makes little difference. When all is said and done, it's a faithful but dull cover of a (rightfully) untouchable song.
Note: There is, however, a cover that does deserve mention. Check out Thrice's version, titled "Merry Christmas, War is Over." It starts with the same predictable acoustic guitar, but Thrice is one of the few bands that has never put out a bad cover. The second verse is backed by rich organ chords that mesh well with singer Dustin Kensrue's vocals.
Interestingly, Acceptance and Thrice both kept the flamenco-inspired fast picking that is in the original. However, Thrice does so with electric guitar as opposed to acoustic, giving it a noticable difference in sound and just the right amount of attitude.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
The Academy Is...
Band: The Academy Is...
Albums I Own: Almost Here (2005)
Hunted Album: Almost Here
The Academy Is... on Pandora
Where would the world be without emo-rific PPPDs?
Short for Panty Pleasing Panty Dropping, PPPDs (pronounced Triple PD) are bands made for girls by guys who sound like girls, dress like girls, play like girls and, as much as I hate to admit it, probably have sex with a lot of girls. They are epitomized today by bands that don't even try and hide their questionable sexuality with clever names (Boys Like Girls, anyone?).
(D)evolution suggests they share common genes with The Beatles and '90s boy bands and are the indie predecessors to Disney's current generation of guitar-fueled teeny-bop superstars.
The Academy Is... was one of the very first PPPD powerhouses. I still remember "Checkmarks", the Chicago quintet's first single, blasting from the house sound system during the set change at nearly every local show. That song dominated emo airplay for nearly six months straight.
Just last month the band (vocalist/frontman/heartthrob William Beckett, bassist Adam Siska, guitarist Mike Carden and a cadre of drummers and second guitarists) celebrated the fifth anniversary of Almost Here's (2005) release with a sold-out show at the Metro in downtown Chicago. Granted, I haven't heard much from the group in a while, but for an emo band to pull in the crowds (let alone still function) after five years is impressive.
Today, even with two additional albums under their belts, The Academy Is... have been surpassed by other, more prolific groups bearing the Fueled By Ramen moniker, most notably Paramore.
The label has a long legacy of being a springboard for quality pop bands, with alumni such as Jimmy Eat World and Fall Out Boy moving on to bigger and better things. It's no surprise that by sticking with a mid-level label for their entire lifespan, The Academy Is... have seen their popularity wane over five long years.
The Album
But in the mid-'00s, at the height of the Almost Here craze, they were the band to see, be and beat. No one could touch them, not even perennial emo kingpins Taking Back Sunday (who, I should add, have only recently began recording again after a four year hiatus).
Since I tend to get long-winded, I'll make this post short and sweet. In a way, I'll be mirroring Beckett himself, who moans and muses about two-week relationships with what the main review on iTunes calls a "velvety" voice.
Speaking of lyrics: I think the thing that separates borderline emo bands from the elites is simply how interesting they can get with wordplay. What sets postmodern lyricism apart from early Britpop-esque optimism is irony. To Beckett's credit, he manages to hit on both, although sometimes he doesn't realize it.
Examples: On "Slow Down," the king of the PPPDs asks and answers his own question: "Hollywood hills and suburban thrills/Hey you, who are you kidding?/I'm not like them. I won't buy in." Maybe he didn't plan on middle-class white kids listening to his music, but there's not much effort to embrace a different market.
Later, he goes on to warn, "I'm not sayin' that I'm not breakin' hearts tonight, girl." A double whammy of wordplay and irony! At least this time he planned on both.
On the fifth track, an ode to making it big titled "Black Mamba," he goes into all-out unconscious irony on our asses: "Oh, Mr. Magazine/I never wrote one single thing for you/Or your so-called music scene/You both mean shit to me." Enough said.
At least his straightforward lyrics are better than the garbled poetry many emo bands try to write. For the most part, Beckett writes in second person to directly address some invisible audience: a doctor on "The Phrase That Pays," the target of a less-than-modest hookup on "Checkmarks."
This style choice is smart; it makes every line more personal and fresh, even after multiple listens, like a silky-throated best friend.
I think, though, that I've been too quick to judge. It's Beckett's job to be charismatic and throw in enough pseudo-cool imagery and catchy melodies to make people dance. Otherwise, it wouldn't be emo. It wouldn't even be pop.
But I can't forgive him for repetition. He seems to have some strange preoccupation with the idea of being upside down (or downside up). Listen to the album one time through and you'll know what I mean.
So, you might be asking--why no rant on musicality? What about the fun off-beat syncopation during the first verse on "Season?" What about the surprisingly harsh chorus and end to "Checkmarks?"
I won't sugar coat it. I didn't listen to the whole album. I heard it--because my headphones were in--but I never actually listened. It went in one end and out the other, an endless stream of intro/verse/chorus/repeat. If what I say seems biased, well, it is. The Academy Is... just is not my cup of tea.
The truth is, PPPDs work both ways--not only do they help panties drop for the band members, they also help everyone who plays their music. When you're driving to a show with that special girl in your car, she wants to find something that gets her body moving (and so do you).
PPPDs (and Almost Here) have one purpose for most of the people in the world: to keep girls entertained--long, long into the night. Its a beautiful thing.
Albums I Own: Almost Here (2005)
Hunted Album: Almost Here
The Academy Is... on Pandora
Where would the world be without emo-rific PPPDs?
Short for Panty Pleasing Panty Dropping, PPPDs (pronounced Triple PD) are bands made for girls by guys who sound like girls, dress like girls, play like girls and, as much as I hate to admit it, probably have sex with a lot of girls. They are epitomized today by bands that don't even try and hide their questionable sexuality with clever names (Boys Like Girls, anyone?).
(D)evolution suggests they share common genes with The Beatles and '90s boy bands and are the indie predecessors to Disney's current generation of guitar-fueled teeny-bop superstars.
The Academy Is... was one of the very first PPPD powerhouses. I still remember "Checkmarks", the Chicago quintet's first single, blasting from the house sound system during the set change at nearly every local show. That song dominated emo airplay for nearly six months straight.
Just last month the band (vocalist/frontman/heartthrob William Beckett, bassist Adam Siska, guitarist Mike Carden and a cadre of drummers and second guitarists) celebrated the fifth anniversary of Almost Here's (2005) release with a sold-out show at the Metro in downtown Chicago. Granted, I haven't heard much from the group in a while, but for an emo band to pull in the crowds (let alone still function) after five years is impressive.
Today, even with two additional albums under their belts, The Academy Is... have been surpassed by other, more prolific groups bearing the Fueled By Ramen moniker, most notably Paramore.
The label has a long legacy of being a springboard for quality pop bands, with alumni such as Jimmy Eat World and Fall Out Boy moving on to bigger and better things. It's no surprise that by sticking with a mid-level label for their entire lifespan, The Academy Is... have seen their popularity wane over five long years.
The Album
But in the mid-'00s, at the height of the Almost Here craze, they were the band to see, be and beat. No one could touch them, not even perennial emo kingpins Taking Back Sunday (who, I should add, have only recently began recording again after a four year hiatus).
Since I tend to get long-winded, I'll make this post short and sweet. In a way, I'll be mirroring Beckett himself, who moans and muses about two-week relationships with what the main review on iTunes calls a "velvety" voice.
Speaking of lyrics: I think the thing that separates borderline emo bands from the elites is simply how interesting they can get with wordplay. What sets postmodern lyricism apart from early Britpop-esque optimism is irony. To Beckett's credit, he manages to hit on both, although sometimes he doesn't realize it.
Examples: On "Slow Down," the king of the PPPDs asks and answers his own question: "Hollywood hills and suburban thrills/Hey you, who are you kidding?/I'm not like them. I won't buy in." Maybe he didn't plan on middle-class white kids listening to his music, but there's not much effort to embrace a different market.
Later, he goes on to warn, "I'm not sayin' that I'm not breakin' hearts tonight, girl." A double whammy of wordplay and irony! At least this time he planned on both.
On the fifth track, an ode to making it big titled "Black Mamba," he goes into all-out unconscious irony on our asses: "Oh, Mr. Magazine/I never wrote one single thing for you/Or your so-called music scene/You both mean shit to me." Enough said.
At least his straightforward lyrics are better than the garbled poetry many emo bands try to write. For the most part, Beckett writes in second person to directly address some invisible audience: a doctor on "The Phrase That Pays," the target of a less-than-modest hookup on "Checkmarks."
This style choice is smart; it makes every line more personal and fresh, even after multiple listens, like a silky-throated best friend.
I think, though, that I've been too quick to judge. It's Beckett's job to be charismatic and throw in enough pseudo-cool imagery and catchy melodies to make people dance. Otherwise, it wouldn't be emo. It wouldn't even be pop.
But I can't forgive him for repetition. He seems to have some strange preoccupation with the idea of being upside down (or downside up). Listen to the album one time through and you'll know what I mean.
So, you might be asking--why no rant on musicality? What about the fun off-beat syncopation during the first verse on "Season?" What about the surprisingly harsh chorus and end to "Checkmarks?"
I won't sugar coat it. I didn't listen to the whole album. I heard it--because my headphones were in--but I never actually listened. It went in one end and out the other, an endless stream of intro/verse/chorus/repeat. If what I say seems biased, well, it is. The Academy Is... just is not my cup of tea.
The truth is, PPPDs work both ways--not only do they help panties drop for the band members, they also help everyone who plays their music. When you're driving to a show with that special girl in your car, she wants to find something that gets her body moving (and so do you).
PPPDs (and Almost Here) have one purpose for most of the people in the world: to keep girls entertained--long, long into the night. Its a beautiful thing.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Acacia Strain
Band: The Acacia Strain
Albums I Own: Continent (2008)
Hunted Album: Continent
The Acacia Strain on Pandora
I couldn't have planned the timing of this review any better. The Acacia Strain, the four person metal/deathcore group from sleepy Chicopee, Mass., released their fifth album, The Most Known Unknown, less than a month ago on Feb. 9.
Like their previous four albums, the disc was released by metal specialists Prosthetic Records, the current home to All That Remains and Through the Eyes of the Dead. The label was also the launch pad for Lamb of God before they became the Hot Topic-ized face of more "brutal" metal.
The Acacia Strain is one of those bands that has been around for a while (since 2002) but only recently made a name for themselves with a host of headlining shows alongside metalcore heavyweights such as August Burns Red and Parkway Drive, as well as a spot on the now- defunct Sounds of the Underground tour in 2007.
Continent (2008) was proclaimed by lead singer Vince Bennett in a press package as "definitely darker than anything we've done in the past. It's more proper, if that's even possible."
Unfortunately, this is one of those albums I got at some random point, from some random friend, but never listened to. Given that Continent was the band's most recent effort until three weeks ago, I figure it'll give me a good sense of who they are--and maybe why I should give their newest album a listen.
The Album
I'll admit, the criteria I use to judge metal are pretty fickle. Most of the time I can't even articulate the exact reasons I enjoy one group over another. The Acacia Strain is one of those bands that for some vague reason rubs me the wrong way.
This is not to say the instrumentals on Continent aren't brash, brutal and beligerent. The guitars are permanently tuned a step and a half down, adding plenty of distorted rumble to Daniel Laskiewicz chords on "JFC."
In the same vein as Emmure, every song is comprised of back-to-back breakdowns with the occasional solo thrown in for good measure. Unlike some, I enjoy this formula: each guitar build or drum break gives you just enough time to catch your breath, and I'm sure at live shows the pit is formidable.
But the fact remains that The Acacia Strain is pretty standard metal. Drummer Kevin Boutot is spot-on with mechanical double-bass and china hits in "Seaward," and the rapid recklessness of "Dr. Doom" is punctuated by a measured and technical solo.
With the huge variety of acts out there (Prosthetic alone has a lineup of 29), it's getting harder and harder for mid-level bands to set themselves apart. It's understandable why the album begins with "Skynet," as it's the most balanced track. The middle section has some long, chorus-laden notes in the upper register set over rhythm guitar that were unexpected yet welcomed.
The more I think about it, my biggest issue with Continent (and The Acacia Strain in general) is the vocals. Blame it on my penchant for more melodic metal, but I enjoy a little singing with my throat thrashing.
It's a tough line to define, and a good chunk of my friends can't hear (and don't care about) the difference between baby-in-a-blender-esque yelling and deeper, more traditional screams. I believe there's a time and place for both, and with the right band, a scream can become a trademark.
But to be honest, Bennett's vocals are too deep and gutteral, almost to the point that they're monotone. There's simply nothing special about them.
As with any vocals, screams are supposed to help keep place and add another level of musicality to a song. With Bennett's deep growls, everything mushes together so that the album becomes a 38-minute-long series of breakdowns, measured only by the 2-second interlude between tracks.
Aside from that, The Acacia Strain lacks the fancy fingerplay and musical layers of bands such as Misery Signals. They are also exponentially less fun than many of their contemporaries. I've never been a fan of traditional metal, with themes of death, Satanic imagery and calls for total annihilation.
Bennett says the whole album was based on the concept of nihilism. Aside from a momentary lapse into goofiness on the otherwise disturbing "Balboa Towers" ("Leave the trash where the trash belongs/Baby, you'd look good in a dumpster") the lyrics are uniformly dark, centered on dreams of apocalypse and murder.
But this isn't enough to make the album completely damnable. As I mentioned, the instrumentals are tight and there were enough surprises to keep my attention. Maybe it's no accident that the band spiked in popularity after a set of high-profile tours. I feel as if they are the type of metal band that has to be experienced and heard.
If I happen to see them in concert, which I might, I just have one request: don't sacrifice a child or anything on stage. This isn't Norway.
Albums I Own: Continent (2008)
Hunted Album: Continent
The Acacia Strain on Pandora
I couldn't have planned the timing of this review any better. The Acacia Strain, the four person metal/deathcore group from sleepy Chicopee, Mass., released their fifth album, The Most Known Unknown, less than a month ago on Feb. 9.
Like their previous four albums, the disc was released by metal specialists Prosthetic Records, the current home to All That Remains and Through the Eyes of the Dead. The label was also the launch pad for Lamb of God before they became the Hot Topic-ized face of more "brutal" metal.
The Acacia Strain is one of those bands that has been around for a while (since 2002) but only recently made a name for themselves with a host of headlining shows alongside metalcore heavyweights such as August Burns Red and Parkway Drive, as well as a spot on the now- defunct Sounds of the Underground tour in 2007.
Continent (2008) was proclaimed by lead singer Vince Bennett in a press package as "definitely darker than anything we've done in the past. It's more proper, if that's even possible."
Unfortunately, this is one of those albums I got at some random point, from some random friend, but never listened to. Given that Continent was the band's most recent effort until three weeks ago, I figure it'll give me a good sense of who they are--and maybe why I should give their newest album a listen.
The Album
I'll admit, the criteria I use to judge metal are pretty fickle. Most of the time I can't even articulate the exact reasons I enjoy one group over another. The Acacia Strain is one of those bands that for some vague reason rubs me the wrong way.
This is not to say the instrumentals on Continent aren't brash, brutal and beligerent. The guitars are permanently tuned a step and a half down, adding plenty of distorted rumble to Daniel Laskiewicz chords on "JFC."
In the same vein as Emmure, every song is comprised of back-to-back breakdowns with the occasional solo thrown in for good measure. Unlike some, I enjoy this formula: each guitar build or drum break gives you just enough time to catch your breath, and I'm sure at live shows the pit is formidable.
But the fact remains that The Acacia Strain is pretty standard metal. Drummer Kevin Boutot is spot-on with mechanical double-bass and china hits in "Seaward," and the rapid recklessness of "Dr. Doom" is punctuated by a measured and technical solo.
With the huge variety of acts out there (Prosthetic alone has a lineup of 29), it's getting harder and harder for mid-level bands to set themselves apart. It's understandable why the album begins with "Skynet," as it's the most balanced track. The middle section has some long, chorus-laden notes in the upper register set over rhythm guitar that were unexpected yet welcomed.
The more I think about it, my biggest issue with Continent (and The Acacia Strain in general) is the vocals. Blame it on my penchant for more melodic metal, but I enjoy a little singing with my throat thrashing.
It's a tough line to define, and a good chunk of my friends can't hear (and don't care about) the difference between baby-in-a-blender-esque yelling and deeper, more traditional screams. I believe there's a time and place for both, and with the right band, a scream can become a trademark.
But to be honest, Bennett's vocals are too deep and gutteral, almost to the point that they're monotone. There's simply nothing special about them.
As with any vocals, screams are supposed to help keep place and add another level of musicality to a song. With Bennett's deep growls, everything mushes together so that the album becomes a 38-minute-long series of breakdowns, measured only by the 2-second interlude between tracks.
Aside from that, The Acacia Strain lacks the fancy fingerplay and musical layers of bands such as Misery Signals. They are also exponentially less fun than many of their contemporaries. I've never been a fan of traditional metal, with themes of death, Satanic imagery and calls for total annihilation.
Bennett says the whole album was based on the concept of nihilism. Aside from a momentary lapse into goofiness on the otherwise disturbing "Balboa Towers" ("Leave the trash where the trash belongs/Baby, you'd look good in a dumpster") the lyrics are uniformly dark, centered on dreams of apocalypse and murder.
But this isn't enough to make the album completely damnable. As I mentioned, the instrumentals are tight and there were enough surprises to keep my attention. Maybe it's no accident that the band spiked in popularity after a set of high-profile tours. I feel as if they are the type of metal band that has to be experienced and heard.
If I happen to see them in concert, which I might, I just have one request: don't sacrifice a child or anything on stage. This isn't Norway.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
AC/DC
Band: AC/DC
Albums I Own: Highway to Hell (incomplete, 1979), Back In Black (incomplete, 1980)
Hunted Album: Back In Black
AC/DC on Pandora
It doesn't get much better than filthy, grungy, distorted, drunk-as-shit rock 'n' roll. It's the brand of music AC/DC practically invented and has proceeded to infect the world with for over 35 years.
In that time, the Aussie foursome has released over 15 albums, weathered a lead singer's death (Bon Scott in 1980), been inducted in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and seen their iconic logo plastered on everything from t-shirts to leather thongs--all on the strength of guitarist Angus Young's dirty-assed, shorts-and-tie-clad fingerplay.
One caveat to this "album:" it's not an album at all, at least in the form I own. I only have five songs from Back In Black (including the title track and oft-heard "Hell's Bells" and "Shoot to Thrill") and only the namesake from Highway To Hell.
I hate having incomplete albums, and I hate setting out to discover a "complete" collection of music only to find out over half the tracks are missing. So all I ask is some forgiveness for the lack of depth in this post. Believe me when I say it pisses me off to no end.
The Album
Back In Black is a beast from a different time. Who knows how it would fare in the digital age (where people are strongly opposed to actually buying music), but history begs the question: What about this album was so incredible that it went platinum 22 times over?
Unlike most of what emerges from their amps, the answer is clear: The Brothers Young know how to play rock guitar.
Of the songs I have, three are immediately recognizable, even before the singing begins. Personally, I'm the type of person who enjoys instrumentals first, vocals second. My girlfriend is the opposite: give her any song (literally) and she'll sing along, but once the chorus is over, it's on to something new.
I feel that Angus and Malcolm are the yin to my girlfriend's yang. Sure, current singer Brian Johnson has ruined his vocal chords perfecting his working-class cat scream, but does anyone really know all the words to "Back In Black?" Not hardly, but every 10-year-old who picks up a guitar hopes to someday play the opening riff.
But enough of the same old shit. As incomplete as it is, this is an album, not a single, no matter how classic the title track has become. I want to focus on two lesser-know songs, one that goes beyond AC/DC's more popular hard rock roots and one that is the epitome of them.
Albums I Own: Highway to Hell (incomplete, 1979), Back In Black (incomplete, 1980)
Hunted Album: Back In Black
AC/DC on Pandora
It doesn't get much better than filthy, grungy, distorted, drunk-as-shit rock 'n' roll. It's the brand of music AC/DC practically invented and has proceeded to infect the world with for over 35 years.
In that time, the Aussie foursome has released over 15 albums, weathered a lead singer's death (Bon Scott in 1980), been inducted in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and seen their iconic logo plastered on everything from t-shirts to leather thongs--all on the strength of guitarist Angus Young's dirty-assed, shorts-and-tie-clad fingerplay.
One caveat to this "album:" it's not an album at all, at least in the form I own. I only have five songs from Back In Black (including the title track and oft-heard "Hell's Bells" and "Shoot to Thrill") and only the namesake from Highway To Hell.
I hate having incomplete albums, and I hate setting out to discover a "complete" collection of music only to find out over half the tracks are missing. So all I ask is some forgiveness for the lack of depth in this post. Believe me when I say it pisses me off to no end.
The Album
Back In Black is a beast from a different time. Who knows how it would fare in the digital age (where people are strongly opposed to actually buying music), but history begs the question: What about this album was so incredible that it went platinum 22 times over?
Unlike most of what emerges from their amps, the answer is clear: The Brothers Young know how to play rock guitar.
Of the songs I have, three are immediately recognizable, even before the singing begins. Personally, I'm the type of person who enjoys instrumentals first, vocals second. My girlfriend is the opposite: give her any song (literally) and she'll sing along, but once the chorus is over, it's on to something new.
I feel that Angus and Malcolm are the yin to my girlfriend's yang. Sure, current singer Brian Johnson has ruined his vocal chords perfecting his working-class cat scream, but does anyone really know all the words to "Back In Black?" Not hardly, but every 10-year-old who picks up a guitar hopes to someday play the opening riff.
But enough of the same old shit. As incomplete as it is, this is an album, not a single, no matter how classic the title track has become. I want to focus on two lesser-know songs, one that goes beyond AC/DC's more popular hard rock roots and one that is the epitome of them.
One of my new favorite songs is the bluesy ode to the bottom of a brandy glass, "Have a Drink on Me." Like most of what AC/DC produces, the opening guitar line is contagious. Its mix of long, lazy chords and a slurred melody is the sound of drunkenness.
The solo isn't anything particularly extraordinary, but Angus works the string bends and pulls out some moody deviations on the main riff. It almost makes me forget that Johnson is singing "I'm dizzy, drunk and fightin'/On tequila white lightnin'/My glass is getting shorter/On whiskey, ice and water." Sounds like a fun night out to me.
Even though a blues tune sits a bit strangely on an album with songs like "Hell's Bells," its a nice change of pace. If you're new to AC/DC, you might wonder why a '70s pre-metal band is bothering with the blues. But give it some time to mellow out, and just like good whiskey (which I'm sure the band wasn't drinking when they wrote the song) its more satisfying because of it.
The next song is a bit more traditional AC/DC--plenty of shortened power chords, driving bass, simple pre-choruses, a solid solo. But the best part of "What Do You Do for Money Honey," and the reason you will come back, is the chorus.
I love rock because it just makes you want to grow your hair out, put on your best Mick Jagger snarl and scream along with every oversized line. The chorus is exactly that way, full of gang yells punctuated by power chords and cymbal crashes. Never mind that it's just yelling the song title verbatim--it gets the point across to every gold-digging, fame-chasing party girl while also giving them a reason to dance around the jukebox. That's talent.
After listening to the album a few times, a went through and tried to find a weak point. Honestly, there weren't many. Every riff is catchy, every solo is tight and most of the lyrics aren't half bad. I know it seems like I'm picking on Johnson, but really, his appeal isn't as a wordsmith. The band wouldn't be the same, however, without his signature mewl and low-lying berret.
And what about those lyrics to "Back In Black?" Well, there's not much to them, but maybe that's part of Johnson's genius. He makes the word black work triple overtime, but somehow, it just fits.
If the soundtrack of life included even half the tracks from Back In Black, the world would be a much more enjoyable (if not exponentially more raucous) place. Which is something I'm not necessarily opposed to. The band continues to spit out albums today, with the latest, Black Ice LP, selling 800,000 units during its first week in 2008.
Bottom line: what little portion of the record I did have, I loved. I understand the modern AC/DC is a bonadfide money-making machine, but I think it's time to buy the rest of the album. Besides, with a band full of 50-somethings, someone has to pay their medical bills. I see it as supporting rock itself.Monday, February 15, 2010
A.F.I.
Artist: A.F.I.
Albums I Own: All Hallows EP (1999), The Art of Drowning (2000), Sing the Sorrow (2003), A.F.I. (Greatest Hits--Nitro years, 2004), December Underground (2006)
Hunted Album: Sing the Sorrow
A.F.I on Pandora
Since the primary aim of The Hunt is to discover music I might have forgotten about, starting with this album might not quite fit my mission. I listened this CD to death when it first came out and occasionally return to it.
However, I've never considered why I enjoy it so much. The Art of Drowning (2000) was my personal introduction to A.F.I., and it still holds a special place in my punk rock heart. It was the first time the group experimented with hooky choruses and vocals, but it only paved the way for what was to come. Sing the Sorrow is the album that secured regular radio rotation and put the band on the collective pop music map.
A Bit of History
A.F.I. spent 13 years as the flagship group for indie punk label Nitro Records, during which time they released five full-length albums and one EP.
In 2004, Sing the Sorrow became the California quintet's major label debut with Interscope Records (home to 50 Cent and Guns N' Roses) and quickly went platinum. They have since released two additional albums--Decemberunderground in 2006 and Crash Love in 2009--both of which left me (and many others) less than satisfied.
The Album
As their first release with Interscope, the band hadn't yet caved to the whims of producers and mainstream music blah-ness. The album maintains the manic punk sound of early releases, while benefiting from more polished vocals, a clear musical direction and fleshed-out instrumentals.
Sing the Sorrow also defined a clear structure the band used ineffectively in subsequent albums. But here, it seems fresh and careful rather than worn out. The album begins with a short prelude, "Miseria Cantare--The Beginning," that is heavy on strings, drum effects and layered vocals. Not quite punk menace, but it works.
To bring the album full circle, there is also an extended epilogue, "...But Home Is Nowhere," a 15-minute conglomerate of three songs:
The first is one of the finest songs on the disc--direct, powerful and badass. Never have lead singer Davey Havok's screams sounded so at home. The second (and longest) part is an ethereal collection of spoken verse, given by a child, a young man and an elderly man, respectively, set over simple piano. The final section sounds similar to the acoustic piece "The Leaving Song," but because it utilizes the full band, it feels more moody and robust.
Like a film, Sing the Sorrow is meant to be enjoyed from start to finish--no skipping around, no fast forward. That was the major advantage of the Interscope move: it resulted in a whole product, not just a collection of singles, and it's one reason why I believe the album is so great.
That being said, there are plenty of classic moments peppered throughout. The second track, "The Leaving Song, Pt. 2," begins with the best guitar hook on the album, and the music video hints at the changes the band was undergoing (tuxedo-clad band members set against a rioting, Molotov cocktail-wielding crowd).
Despite my hatred of most electro-music, the drum breakdown after the first chorus on "Death of Seasons" deserves multiple repeats, and "This Celluloid Dream" features distorted vocals and a catchy palm-muted chorus.
However, my favorite moment is pure, unadultered rock: guitarist Jade Puget's solo on "Dancing Through December." In a different vein than Dragonforce-esque solos-as-songs and technical masters such as Kirk Hammett, it is punk personified: messy, fast and satisfying, without any holier-than-thou showboating. In a little under 15 seconds, Puget manages to create not only a great solo, but a catchy one--no easy feat. I can hum it by memory.
There are only two major downsides to this album, both of which explain why the band has fallen from punk rock (and even popular) grace. First, the lyrics are borderline emo. On "The Great Disappointment," one of the weakest tracks (ironic title much?), Havok sings: "Hope was wasted away/Faith was wasted away/I was wasted away."
This could explain why A.F.I.'s fan base saw a large exodus after the release of Sing the Sorrow. Like pissed off caffeine junkies who can't even wait for the water to boil before getting the shakes, the punk faithful never gave the album time to percolate. After all, what happened to songs like "I Wanna Get a Mohawk?" A.F.I.'s angst was no longer fun; it was depressing.
But the second major problem was enough to eventually ruin the band for me as well. This album works because it finds a balance between the bands' punk roots and mainstream "wall of sound" producing. Unfortunately, with Decemberunderground, the band practically abandoned punk altogether and opted for electro-dance-pop. Think Panic! At the Disco (with the !), except A.F.I. had years of street cred at stake.
Bottom line, Sing the Sorrow was a historic album for the boys from Ukiah. For most of the punk faithful, it was the first bad (read: corporate) album by a previously great (read: indie) band. For me, however, it is still my favorite record by the group, and one of the most balanced punk albums I've ever heard.
All awful puns with their name aside (A.F.I. is short for "A Fire Inside"), I hope the band can put a fire under their collective asses and produce another album like this one.
Albums I Own: All Hallows EP (1999), The Art of Drowning (2000), Sing the Sorrow (2003), A.F.I. (Greatest Hits--Nitro years, 2004), December Underground (2006)
Hunted Album: Sing the Sorrow
A.F.I on Pandora
Since the primary aim of The Hunt is to discover music I might have forgotten about, starting with this album might not quite fit my mission. I listened this CD to death when it first came out and occasionally return to it.
However, I've never considered why I enjoy it so much. The Art of Drowning (2000) was my personal introduction to A.F.I., and it still holds a special place in my punk rock heart. It was the first time the group experimented with hooky choruses and vocals, but it only paved the way for what was to come. Sing the Sorrow is the album that secured regular radio rotation and put the band on the collective pop music map.
A Bit of History
A.F.I. spent 13 years as the flagship group for indie punk label Nitro Records, during which time they released five full-length albums and one EP.
In 2004, Sing the Sorrow became the California quintet's major label debut with Interscope Records (home to 50 Cent and Guns N' Roses) and quickly went platinum. They have since released two additional albums--Decemberunderground in 2006 and Crash Love in 2009--both of which left me (and many others) less than satisfied.
The Album
As their first release with Interscope, the band hadn't yet caved to the whims of producers and mainstream music blah-ness. The album maintains the manic punk sound of early releases, while benefiting from more polished vocals, a clear musical direction and fleshed-out instrumentals.
Sing the Sorrow also defined a clear structure the band used ineffectively in subsequent albums. But here, it seems fresh and careful rather than worn out. The album begins with a short prelude, "Miseria Cantare--The Beginning," that is heavy on strings, drum effects and layered vocals. Not quite punk menace, but it works.
To bring the album full circle, there is also an extended epilogue, "...But Home Is Nowhere," a 15-minute conglomerate of three songs:
The first is one of the finest songs on the disc--direct, powerful and badass. Never have lead singer Davey Havok's screams sounded so at home. The second (and longest) part is an ethereal collection of spoken verse, given by a child, a young man and an elderly man, respectively, set over simple piano. The final section sounds similar to the acoustic piece "The Leaving Song," but because it utilizes the full band, it feels more moody and robust.
Like a film, Sing the Sorrow is meant to be enjoyed from start to finish--no skipping around, no fast forward. That was the major advantage of the Interscope move: it resulted in a whole product, not just a collection of singles, and it's one reason why I believe the album is so great.
That being said, there are plenty of classic moments peppered throughout. The second track, "The Leaving Song, Pt. 2," begins with the best guitar hook on the album, and the music video hints at the changes the band was undergoing (tuxedo-clad band members set against a rioting, Molotov cocktail-wielding crowd).
Despite my hatred of most electro-music, the drum breakdown after the first chorus on "Death of Seasons" deserves multiple repeats, and "This Celluloid Dream" features distorted vocals and a catchy palm-muted chorus.
However, my favorite moment is pure, unadultered rock: guitarist Jade Puget's solo on "Dancing Through December." In a different vein than Dragonforce-esque solos-as-songs and technical masters such as Kirk Hammett, it is punk personified: messy, fast and satisfying, without any holier-than-thou showboating. In a little under 15 seconds, Puget manages to create not only a great solo, but a catchy one--no easy feat. I can hum it by memory.
There are only two major downsides to this album, both of which explain why the band has fallen from punk rock (and even popular) grace. First, the lyrics are borderline emo. On "The Great Disappointment," one of the weakest tracks (ironic title much?), Havok sings: "Hope was wasted away/Faith was wasted away/I was wasted away."
This could explain why A.F.I.'s fan base saw a large exodus after the release of Sing the Sorrow. Like pissed off caffeine junkies who can't even wait for the water to boil before getting the shakes, the punk faithful never gave the album time to percolate. After all, what happened to songs like "I Wanna Get a Mohawk?" A.F.I.'s angst was no longer fun; it was depressing.
But the second major problem was enough to eventually ruin the band for me as well. This album works because it finds a balance between the bands' punk roots and mainstream "wall of sound" producing. Unfortunately, with Decemberunderground, the band practically abandoned punk altogether and opted for electro-dance-pop. Think Panic! At the Disco (with the !), except A.F.I. had years of street cred at stake.
Bottom line, Sing the Sorrow was a historic album for the boys from Ukiah. For most of the punk faithful, it was the first bad (read: corporate) album by a previously great (read: indie) band. For me, however, it is still my favorite record by the group, and one of the most balanced punk albums I've ever heard.
All awful puns with their name aside (A.F.I. is short for "A Fire Inside"), I hope the band can put a fire under their collective asses and produce another album like this one.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
The Plan
I think I've fallen out of love with music. Blame it on digitization, Napster, auto-tune, the 1,000 songs I've never heard (or only heard once) on my iTunes, file sharing, downloading or the general musical rut I've been in lately. But like an alcoholic going through the 12 steps, I'll start by admitting I have a problem.
I've become disconnected from my personal music collection. It's lost and forgotten in a jungle of bits and bytes, and instead of searching in the dark corners of my iPod's hard disk, I stick close to the beaten path and same old albums. Out of the nearly 4,000 individual songs on my pod, I only regularly listen to about 400 of them. But not anymore.
To aide my musical memory, I'll approach this journey like the animal it is. I plan to go through every individual artist on my iPod, in alphabetical order, and listen to at least one or two albums from each--start to finish, no skipping the filler songs.
To make things easier on myself, I won't count collaborations as their own separate thing, but group them with a primary artist (I don't have much rap, but it would take forever to get through every song "featuring" someone).
From there, I hope to uncover some dusty sonic soundscapes that have slipped my memory, or maybe even a few that never made it in there to begin with.
But more than that, I hope to explore some of the bygone bands from my past and open the door to a more varied, enriched musical future. As an alum of the early to mid-2000s Denver hardcore/metalcore scene, my musical tastes tend to fall in line with that same genre.
However, there are more than a few curveballs in my collection (Frank Sinatra and Ashley Simpson come to mind) and, after all, isn't this whole thing about getting away from the familiar?
Of course, since I'm writing for the entire world to see, my process is democratic. All music is created equal; it just takes time and attention to decide what stays or goes, but on an objective level there is no inherently "bad" music. It's one of the basic tenets of this experiment. I want to inform others as much as myself about how I listen to and appreciate music, and vice versa. Any suggestions, questions, insights, rantings and insults are welcome--and probably well-deserved.
But more importantly, I would love to ignite the spark of discovery in someone else. If you feel as I do and want to reacquaint yourself with your entire music library, take my experiment and make it your own. The only thing I ask is to share with me your personal experience using the "iPod A to Z" technique. If you're down, then so am I.
Let's go hunting.
I've become disconnected from my personal music collection. It's lost and forgotten in a jungle of bits and bytes, and instead of searching in the dark corners of my iPod's hard disk, I stick close to the beaten path and same old albums. Out of the nearly 4,000 individual songs on my pod, I only regularly listen to about 400 of them. But not anymore.
To aide my musical memory, I'll approach this journey like the animal it is. I plan to go through every individual artist on my iPod, in alphabetical order, and listen to at least one or two albums from each--start to finish, no skipping the filler songs.
To make things easier on myself, I won't count collaborations as their own separate thing, but group them with a primary artist (I don't have much rap, but it would take forever to get through every song "featuring" someone).
From there, I hope to uncover some dusty sonic soundscapes that have slipped my memory, or maybe even a few that never made it in there to begin with.
But more than that, I hope to explore some of the bygone bands from my past and open the door to a more varied, enriched musical future. As an alum of the early to mid-2000s Denver hardcore/metalcore scene, my musical tastes tend to fall in line with that same genre.
However, there are more than a few curveballs in my collection (Frank Sinatra and Ashley Simpson come to mind) and, after all, isn't this whole thing about getting away from the familiar?
Of course, since I'm writing for the entire world to see, my process is democratic. All music is created equal; it just takes time and attention to decide what stays or goes, but on an objective level there is no inherently "bad" music. It's one of the basic tenets of this experiment. I want to inform others as much as myself about how I listen to and appreciate music, and vice versa. Any suggestions, questions, insights, rantings and insults are welcome--and probably well-deserved.
But more importantly, I would love to ignite the spark of discovery in someone else. If you feel as I do and want to reacquaint yourself with your entire music library, take my experiment and make it your own. The only thing I ask is to share with me your personal experience using the "iPod A to Z" technique. If you're down, then so am I.
Let's go hunting.
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