A while back there was rumor going around the music industry about a pop music fortune telling machine. Using computer analysis of things like tempo, chord structure and progression, this contraption could supposedly predict the success of any pop song. Apparently when the programmers played established hits (ex: “Girls Just Want To Have Fun,” “Benny And The Jets,” etc.) the computer ranked them as successes. When they played bombs (ex: anything by EMF after “Unbelievable”) the computer gave out failing grades. Record producers all across LA were popping bottles of Dom and toasting this new sure thing.
Personally, we don’t know what the big deal was. Conventional pop music has been sounding like it was produced by a big, soulless computer since at least 1994. Whether or not another computer gives its seal of approval is basically irrelevant. People who like sugary, vapid pop tunes are still going to go out and buy Hillary Duff albums. People who like well-crafted rock n roll songs that sound like they were written by humans are going to aim a little higher.
If you count yourself among the latter group, then have we got a band for you. They call themselves The Dig, which is a pretty appropriate name considering how hard it is to find info on them. (Try Googling “the dig.” The only web search more futile is for the rapper who goes by the name “Porn.”) These guys hail from New York and they share stomping grounds with the likes of Rich Girls and Spottiswoode & His Enemies. If you know anything about either of these groups you know this means rootsy, Americana infused pop rock, crafted with an organic intelligence that only a human could pull off. The Dig hits the sweet spots in all these genres, and they do so without the help of a computer.
In other words, music for people by people. Take that evil robots!
I once heard a crazy statistic about the difficulty of parking in San Francisco. It was something along the lines of there being five cars for every public parking space. In other words, parking is a huge bitch. Unless you have your own garage or can afford to pay $50 a day for parking, you’d better get your ass a Geo Metro or a Vespa or something else you can squeeze into that semi-legitimate half space between the bus stop and the loading zone.
A few years ago an old lady t-boned me at a stop sign and totaled my truck. I was forced to look for a new car and everybody kept reminding me about the parking situation, telling me I should get something practical. But flaunting conventional wisdom was kind of my m.o. back in those days, so I did the opposite: I bought a 1981 Cadillac Coupe De Ville with chrome rims, tinted windows, and a sub-woofer the size of a love seat. It was as long as three Geo Metros combined and got about 11 miles per gallon. But it was awesome. When I asked the guy who was selling it if it helped him get girls, he said, “Are you kidding? I just turn up the stereo and drive by the high school.”
One of my favorite things to do was to throw on a punk rock CD, put the system on blast, and drive over to Oakland for some BBQ. The car was so pimped out that people expected it to be driven by a guy wearing a fedora and a shark skin suit. When they saw a skinny white boy with a mohawk get out of the ride, they always stared. It was like they couldn’t connect the image in their head with what they were seeing. I was even profiled by the cops; I was pulled over three different times, but when I rolled down the window and they saw that I wasn’t a pimp, a thug or even a famous rapper, they’d just shake their heads and say “never mind.”
The car turned out to be a lemon and I eventually traded it for $600 cash and a digital 8-track recorder. But if I still had the Caddy, the band that I would have stuck in my stereo this week would be Tweak Bird. In fact, they might be the band that perfectly sums up the aesthetic I was going for: loud and aggressive, but with enough funk to make it nasty, and just weird enough to keep you guessing. Their new 7″ doesn’t come out until early next year, so you have enough time to go and get a record player installed in your car. That way you can listen to Tweak Bird while you drive around endlessly, looking to blow some minds - or just trying to find a parking spot.
At some point or another we’ve all seen an episode of the show “COPS.” Back in the days before reality TV programming ruled the airwaves, “COPS” was one of the few places you could get a voyeuristic glimpse into the lurid lives of speed freaks, wife beaters, and petty thieves - all from the comfort of your couch. However, it usually was just a glimpse, because most of the time the cop car with the camera in it showed up after the perp had already been cuffed and dragged out of the house. The bulk of the show consisted of interviews with patrol officers who used unnecessarily difficult (and often mispronounced) words to describe other cases they had worked on. “My fellow partner and me apprehended the suspected offender as he was exiting his vehicle in front of his place of residence.” As though these 8th grade vocabulary words would make the cop seem smarter/more righteous/less like a dick. Yeah right. I still remember that ticket your boys gave me for going 4 miles an hour over the speed limit back when I was delivering pizzas, just trying to make enough money to pay for college. Jerk.
So it would seem that all associations with the cops would be negative for us here at Tough Customer headquarters. And negative they would have remained if it weren’t for the Seattle band The Cops. Turns out when you capitalize the “T” and the “C” and add some loud guitars and irreverent lyrics, and remove the delusions of grandeur that come with being a keeper of the peace, you get a group of people you actually want to listen to. As evidence we submit a couple tracks from their new album “Free Electricity.” On these compositions of music the listener will recognize the alleged sounds of rocking out that reprobate youths are often found to be enjoying in western city-type locations. Yes officer, we understand. In other words, fuck the police, but The Cops are alright.
This is either the new hotness or old news, depending on where your head is at. White Flight is actually the work of one Justin Roelofs, who used to be in The Anniversary. His album came out a while ago and has already been reviewed by Pitchfork (”an overstuffed assortment of hip-hop beats, hippie poetry, and indie pop instrumentation.”). White Flight was even featured on NPR at some point this year and he/they have a page on Wikipedia. Oh well. We can’t always be the first to the feeding frenzy.
Anyhoo…apparently Justin swore off living in the United States and went down to South America to experiment with hallucinogenic drugs. Eventually the drugs wore off and he made his way back to Lawrence, KS (whattup Kansas!) where he recorded this album. That was last winter. Now, here we are at the onset of winter again and Roelofs has put out some bangin ‘ ass remixes of the White Flight album tracks. The original flavor is also good, so we included one of each for you. Settle in with some hot cocoa and your peace pipe and take a listen.
It is often said that you should never judge a book by its cover. But you know what? That shit is just not true. If you see a book cover with an oil painting of a pale maiden in 18th century dress, with a lovelorn look on her face, staring out across the English countryside…we promise you, that book sucks.
However, in the world of music a similar adage often proves to be true - namely that you should never judge the music by its maker. You can go to to Hot Topic and buy the “rock n roll look” right off the rack before you even take your first guitar lesson. As such, you should never write somebody off just because they don’t look like they spent last night shooting heroin into their eyeballs (a sign of true musical genius, btw).
Take, for example, LA electronic artist Nosaj Thing (née Jason Chung). He looks like he should be helping you with your physics homework. Heck, you might even let him date your sister. But Jason doesn’t have time for that. Know why? Because he’s too busy making face-melting electronica and remixing records for Health and Daedelus. It turns out that behind those shaggy bangs and mountains of computer parts lies one bad motherfucker. Judge not, lest ye be judged.
The coolest thing about Texas is the city of Austin, and one of the coolest things coming out of Austin right now is the band Brazos. Ironically, the first track here was created in less than cool circumstances. According to our friend Larry at Future Sounds, “Mrs. Virginia” was crafted in a tiny bedroom with no air conditioning. In the dead of summer. In Texas. That’s crazy because Texas is the hottest state in the union. Seriously, it’s probably 100 degrees in Texas right now. If we lived in Texas we’d probably need air conditioning in our underwear and sweet iced tea on an IV drip just to get out of bed in the morning. We certainly wouldn’t be recording sultry, mysterious rock songs that evoke thoughts of haunted bar rooms and adventures on the open road. But Brazos did, so I guess they’re a lot cooler than we are.
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