For me, the Youth are simply the greatest band that has ever existed, a manifestation of perfection. It's not just the music, but on its own that would probably be enough: developing from their abrasive, no-wave-influenced early material and gradually reconciling their atonal noise assaults with a more conventional rock approach, they hit upon arguably their richest vein of form on the outstanding Daydream Nation (1988). After that, they flirted with the mainstream with sometimes compromised but always interesting results, and last decade, just when many had written them off as a spent force, the arrival of Jim O'Rourke galvanised them into creating some of the most amazing material of their career.
Aside from that, there's their vast, wide-ranging influence on the alternative scene; their use of underground artists' work on their album sleeves; their use of underground film-makers for their music videos; their voracious appetite for fanzine culture and their relentless promotion of pioneering new music; the awesome symmetry of their live performances (veering between freeform noise and thrilling, propulsive rock; Ranaldo and Moore taking off on separate tangents before locking back in; Shelley keeping everything in check)...I could go on but I'm trying to keep this concise.
#1 - 'Rain on Tin' (Murray Street, 2002)
Murray Street was a late-career album that carried a special resonance: for one, it was regarded as a return to form after the critically-savaged NYC Ghosts and Flowers. As well as that, it was named after the Manhattan studio, just a few blocks from the Twin Towers, where the band had been recording at the time of the 9/11 terrorist attacks (Jim O'Rourke was in the studio the day of the attacks, while an engine from one of the planes was later found on the roof). 'Rain on Tin' sounds appropriately elegiac. The moment around the 3-minute mark where the guitarists start stretching out is amazing, as are the melodic, interlinking lines that follow.
#2 - 'Unmade Bed' (Sonic Nurse, 2004)
Haunting, twilit late-period classic that echoes their earlier epic 'Diamond Sea', with a lyric that hints at an abusive relationship. The increasingly violent squall of guitars halfway through takes an already great song to another level.
#3 - 'Washing Machine' (Washing Machine, 1995)
Two and a half minutes of bratty sneering from Kim is the precursor to an absolutely irresistible groove that turns the tune on it's head. The band nail it and ride it for the next seven minutes, adding lashings of feedback and squall as they go.
#4 - 'JC' (Dirty, 1992)
A haunting, gut-wrenching tribute to Joe Cole, Henry Rollins' partner-in-crime and a good friend of the band who appeared with Kim in the video to 'My Friend Goo'. The Youth have a knack of writing tributes/laments that avoid schmaltz or sentimentality (see also 'Tunic (Song for Karen)' or '100%'). See also the Henry Rollins videos below for a spine-chilling account of the tragedy that claimed Cole's life.
#5 - 'I Love Her All the Time' (Bad Moon Rising, 1985)
The live version from brilliant documentary/tour-film The Year Punk Broke is the definitive one, Ranaldo and Moore injecting bursts of freeform noise and guitar improvisation into the slow, tense march of the song. Compelling viewing, actually probably the coolest live performance I've seen on film.
#6 - 'Schizophrenia' (Sister, 1987)
I'm robbing this from a YouTube user comment: "the open chords almost make you have an epiphany of clarity for the 5 seconds they transpire where everything in your life makes sense" - I think he meant opening chords, but otherwise, YES.
#7 - 'Stones' (Sonic Nurse, 2004)
Another example of why I think the Youth are at their best when they stretch out, and why O'Rourke was such a vital cog in their noughties incarnation. Blissful guitar lines on this one.
#8 - 'Teenage Riot' (Daydream Nation, 1988)
Still undeniable, still pretty much the signature Sonic Youth tune ('Kool Thing'? Fuck right off). Also known as 'J Mascis for President', or something to that effect. If you don't thrill to that moment at 1.25 where the sublime central riff
kicks in and Shelley counts in the song proper, there's no hope for you.
#9 - 'Sunday' (A Thousand Leaves, 1998)
I remember hearing this when I was a lot younger, digging it, then later in life getting into Sonic Youth and being delighted to realise it was one of theirs. Menacing, grungy, and featuring a fantastic noise eruption. And the video! Macauley Culkin resembling a young Thurston! God, what a band.
#10 - 'Candle' (Daydream Nation, 1988)
I've always loved the video to this one, the band playing in some dingy basement, surrounded by graffiti'd walls, swirling camera-work reflecting the thrilling music, Thurston singing "Wind is whipping through my stupid mop"... It's a video that seems to represent a golden era gone by, where alternative bands retained an air of mystery and effortless cool, where a late-night viewing on MTV opened you up to a world of underground culture, but where you had to make the effort to discover it.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
Primavera Sound 2010: a review
On the occasion of its 10th anniversary, Primavera Sound has well and truly cemented its position as one of the finest music festivals in the world – there’s no need for quirky side-attractions in Barcelona’s Parc Del Forum: instead, it’s all about the music, and this year’s line-up was a venerable who’s-who of cutting-edge alternative music, as well as an opportunity to see some returning heroes.
This correspondent begins the long weekend at the Pitchfork stage, where Sic Alps are getting off to a decidedly less-than-impressive start: the music seems like plodding, undistinguished garage-rock to these ears; that’s until halfway through, when all of a sudden the guitarist starts unleashing malicious waves of feedback, and the tunes benefit immensely – Sic Alps should stick with the scuzz, it becomes them. Surfer Blood are next up on the same stage. Their unpretentious brand of surf/slacker-rock has resulted in one of the better guitar albums of 2010, and the songs translate well live, in particular ‘Harmonix’ and ‘Floating Vibes’. ‘Swim’ gets the loudest reception, although it’s still a little too bombastic to convince the sceptic in me.
One band who make bombast go a long way are Titus Andronicus. Their set on the Pitchfork stage provides the first true highlight of the weekend, with their raucous, Pogues-y punk-rock brewing up a perfect storm: the mosh-pit at stage-front is a melee of triumphant fist-pumping. Lead singer Patrick Stickles turns out to be one of the more ubiquitous faces of the weekend, being spotted all over the festival, and indeed it later transpires he’s staying in the same hostel as us.
Broken Social Scene’s set on the Ray-Ban stage turns out to be one of the disappointments of the weekend: I’m a massive fan of the band, but the substandard quality of their latest album was a concern, and it’s new material that the band are concentrating on here. ‘World Sick’ is a pandering, pointlessly stretched-out song, and it sets the tone: it’s strange how the same band who created the defiantly anti-commercial masterpiece that was their self-titled 2005 album have so willingly resorted to cheap, bland arena-rock. Even much-loved classics like ‘Stars and Sons’ and ‘KC Accidental’ and the onstage appearances of Owen Pallett and Spiral Stairs can’t save this one.
It’s over to the Main Stage then for arguably the biggest draw of the festival: reformed indie-rock heroes Pavement. When they visited Dublin’s Tripod a few weeks back, many people commented on the laconic, seemingly disinterested body language of mainman Stephen Malkmus, so it’s great to see him bounding gleefully across stage as the crowd roar their welcome. When the band launch into a wonderful ‘Cut Your Hair’, it’s not far short of being one of the most perfect festival moments this scribe has experienced: everyone is going for it, whether it’s on stage or in the thronged crowd. Malkmus remains hyper throughout the two-hour-plus set, swinging his guitar around, playing it behind his head and throwing all kinds of shapes, while Bob Nastanovich and co are as pumped-up as ever. BSS’s Kevin Drew returns the favour by taking the stage for a rousing ‘Kennel District’, while the classics just keep on coming: ‘Stereo’, ‘Shady Lane’, ‘Trigger Cut’, ’Silence Kit’...it’s all so ecstatic and nigh-on perfect it’s almost exhausting.
Friday begins in the Auditorium, a massive indoor theatre outside the Main Arena. Owen Pallett plays a rapturously-received set which, despite a pretty early start, pulls in a considerable crowd. Pallett is a fascinating live musician, utilising loops over which he wields his violin like a rock instrument, his songs ebbing and flowing even more so than on record. He’s joined by guitarist/percussionist Thomas Gill, who helps to flesh out the sound. ‘Lewis Takes Action’ and the slowly, ominously building ‘Keep the Dog Quiet’ stand out, while Pallett throws one of the curveballs of the festival with a playful version of Caribou’s ‘Odessa’. A standing ovation persuades him to return for an apparently unscripted encore of ‘The CN Tower Belongs to the Dead’.
A Sunny Day in Glasgow’s set on the Pitchfork stage starts off magically: ‘Failures’ and ‘Shy’ make for a stunningly gorgeous opening one-two. Put it down to a hangover or fatigue, but the attention starts to drift towards the middle of the set, and some of their more ethereal tunes are a bit lost in this environment, but overall it’s pretty impressive stuff.
From there it’s back to the Auditorium, where Low are performing their 2005 album The Great Destroyer. It’s one of their more underappreciated albums, and this amazing performance only rams home that point: from the ominous drones of opening tune ‘Monkey’ to a hushed version of ‘California’, and from the controlled ferocity of ‘Everybody’s Song’ to an epic ‘Broadway’, it’s alternately beautiful and intense – truly, a privilege to witness.
From there we move swiftly back to the Pitchfork stage to catch lo-fi psych-rockers Ganglians: their opening trio of tunes is sterling stuff (‘Hair’, ‘Blood on the Sand’ and a churning ‘Never Mind’), while bare-footed lead singer Ryan Grubbs is oddly reminiscent of Liars’ Angus Andrew. They play plenty of new material too, including the impressive ‘My House’ and another tune that sounds like the heaviest and fastest thing they’ve done yet.
Here We Go Magic are another band playing plenty of new material. Much of it sounds more direct and less loop-based than before, although recent single ‘Collector’ has that familiar hypnotic, layered sound. Material from last year’s self-titled LP is left to the end: ‘Only Pieces’ and ‘Fangela’ bring an otherworldly, spiritual atmosphere to the fray: seeing everyone swaying along, almost entranced, to the latter is a sight to behold.
Vancouver two-piece Japandroids are easily the loudest act this correspondent witnesses all festival, and their no-nonsense ‘we didn’t come all this way to fuck around’ approach galvanises an already ecstatic crowd. ‘Rockers East Vancouver’ and ‘Racer X’ bring the noise in fine style, while a superb one-two of ‘Sovereignty’ (apt lyric: “It’s raining in Vancouver/ but I don’t give a fuck/ ‘Cos I’m far from home tonight”) and ‘Young Hearts Spark Fire’ is a fine way to finish the set.
Yet another highlight from the Pitchfork stage is provided by Cold Cave. Moody and no-nonsense, the band barely utter a word all set, but the music does the talking, an exhilarating mix of New Order-influenced electro, sleek synth-lines and gothy atmosphere: tunes like ‘Youth and Lust’ and ‘Life Magazine’ provoke air-punching and uninhibited dancing in equal measure, while they have their own little MBV-style noise section towards the end of their set. Fantastic stuff.
On to Saturday, and Real Estate get the ball running with a mellow, highly enjoyable set that’s just the perfect tonic for the time of day that’s in it. ‘Basement’ is like a cooling balm to the senses, while final tune ‘Beach Comber’ breezes its way towards that delightful breakdown and infectious riff that closes the song out. Atlas Sound is less impressive, with Bradford Cox’s guitar-and-harmonica set up not really the best representation of his talents. Funnily enough, all four members of Real Estate are watching the set right in front of us.
Saturday is generally pretty anti-climactic: Florence and the Machine tries gamely on the Main Stage, but the sound is muddy, and all her theatrical flourishes can’t mask the sense that she’s been playing these songs for a very long time and it’s starting to show. Grizzly Bear’s set on the Ray-Ban Stage, meanwhile, seems to be a case of wrong band, wrong stage: the amphitheatre-like set up , framed by the sea, is picturesque, but their intricate arrangements seem to float away into the evening air; even ‘Two Weeks’ sounds strangley subdued.
It’s No Age who provide just the tonic with a set of highly-charged scuzz-rock at the ever-reliable Pitchfork stage: their numbers bolstered to three members, at times the vocals are so low in the mix that you struggle to make them out, but in the mosh-pit no-one seems to mind; ‘Eraser’, ‘Teen Creeps’ and ‘’Every Artist Needs a Tragedy’ are delivered furiously and received gleefully.
The rest of the night is spent sampling bits and pieces here and there: Liquid Liquid’s echoing, groove-based post-punk on the ATP Stage; Ben Frost’s fascinatingly abrasive electronics (also at ATP); and HEALTH’s tribalistic noise assaults on the Vice Stage. Spoilt for choice as ever: such is the quality of this festival, and no doubt the Irish contingent will increase even further next year. Roll on 2011.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
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