Hilltop Hoods have matured something shocking. It began in 2006 with The Hard Road, an album that underscored the standard Hilltop hedonism with genuine ideological passions, and this was stylistically emphasised the following year, when the group rereleased the album with remixed symphonic orchestral backing. Their ambition, however, is only crystallized with 2009’s State of the Art, which is a record altogether more comfortable with its own seriousness than The Hard Road is, and yet a good deal more serious than A Matter of Time or The Calling. State of the Art feels like the real deal, where the prior four releases were varyingly insufficient drafts (no pun intended, although it’s worth noting that the album, particularly “Last Confession”, is very Drapht-esque).

In fact, Hilltop Hoods have achieved an artistic status that puts them squarely between Drapht and Bliss n Eso – they share the former’s personalized, vaguely spiritual, maudlin contemplation and the latter’s larger-than-life, self-aggrandizing, double-MC theatricality. What nonetheless makes them a unique Australian hip-hop experience is the integrity and cohesion they lend to these two elements. State of the Art represents a mastering of duplicitous tone – celebratory and furious, silly and serious, introspective and anthemic. And if I tend to focus on nuances like this rather than lyrical intricacy, exciting musicality and lavish production, it’s only because Hilltop have always been technically infallible. The subtle character changes and tonal sophistication on State of the Art, however, are new, and they’re very interesting.

For starters, MC Pressure has calmed down. We’ve already seen some of the potential benefits of this on The Hard Road, where he humbly sat out of ”An Audience with the Devil” and let MC Suffa tell the epic tale of conversing with the Prince of Darkness. The song is a moving high point of the album. This is not to say that Pressure’s performative presence is wholly bad… but prior to State of the Art, there is an aggressive neediness to his serious efforts and an unnerving meanness to his comic that simply seems to have mellowed and balanced with this release. He has achieved humility and a perspective on things.

Perhaps this is most greatly reflected by “Parade of the Dead”. The song, for reasons that will become clear, is very dear to those of us at Wonderbread. It is an acerbic electronic whirlwind that facilitates the story of two characters trapped in an Adelaide Zombie apocalypse. Naturally, the premise begs to be played for comedy, but today Hilltop Hoods are smarter than that. Pressure’s verse in this song is the delightful highlight, waxing lyrical with a number of classic zombie conventions and breathing poetry into them. His gunshot bow lays the perfect stage for the socially conscientious chorus lament, “They built my city on top of a grave/and now the dead run the street like a rotting parade.” Here, Pressure’s integration of serious ambition and silly comedy is infectious; it brings the best out of DJ Debris and Suffa in the interest of a single stylistic vision. “Parade of the Dead” is probably the most cinematic Australian hip-hop song I’ve ever heard.

Still, it must be conceded that the album’s centrepiece is its final track, “Fifty in Five”, which dazzles purely on the merits of its beautiful construction, both lyrical and musical. For specifics, you need consult the album itself, because I can’t bring myself to dissect it, but the song is an exemplary text for the universal anger of our age, and it has more conviction, persuasion and relevance than anything else the group have ever done.

Meanwhile, of course, the Hilltop hedonism I mentioned is still alive and well. It finds the occasional bit of substance to adhere to, such as the pride of “Still Standing” or the sheer punchiness of “Chris Farley”, but we can catch it exposed and adolescent in “Super Official”, “The Light You Burned” and the staggeringly misogynistic “She’s So Ugly”. For many, I’m sure it’s this very uncouth sensibility that keeps Hilltop at an arm’s length: for fans, it’s an unnegotiable part of the package. And, it must be said that with all its distaste, “She’s So Ugly” is a gorgeous piece of hip-hop. Like Birth of a Nation (1915), it’s to be admired… even though it’s going to Hell.

But gosh darn it, isn’t that almost a summation of all good hip-hop – to be admired, even though it’s going to Hell? The good thing about State of the Art is that it reveals minds that know this – Suffa and Pressure are men who consistently categorize themselves as Damned. They, like the great pioneers of rap, recognize that there is almost no greater artistic commodity than the view of a soul who is only going down. Simultaneously, they recognize that there is a wide and diverse world of entertainment at the fingertips of such souls. State of the Art is a great start. I don’t think they’re the least bit done. You can pick up State of the Art from Amazon.com, or wherever good music resides.

I’m happy to introduce you to a new contributor of ours, Tristan Watson. Poet, writer and academic, Tristan is a marvelous cultural authority from whom we can all stand to benefit. His first article for us is just a quickie, a review of post-metal prog-band Isis‘ new album, Wavering Radiant. I hope you enjoy both the music and the article, I certainly do.

-Morgan

Since hearing their second LP Panopticon I have followed Isis intently; eager for their next release and rapt at the prospect of their tour Down Under. Now, I don’t know when they’ll hit our admittedly distant shores again; their fourth major release, however (Wavering Radiant) has enough within to sate most admirers of Isis, be they antipodean or otherwise. It is heavy, angry, emotionally stirring on so many levels; it takes me away, much like the weather when you let it, much like life when you are living it. Seven songs, clocking in at over 50 minutes, it is again epic in their unwavering dedication to the exploration of the question of what a song is as much as the question of what is to be human in this lifetime.

I have heard in the last five years of those who denounce and decry as egocentric bands whose songs might average eight minutes in length and push out to over ten as egocentric, but Isis are able to retain cogency in their explorations without falling into such a trap; time’s passing is irrelevant, creating as they are an experience for the listener, rather than trying to consciously wow us, which is their brilliance: their ability to move you whilst being so impressive on a purely musical level. Hall of the Dead opens the album, smacking you across the face and setting the tone for the rest of the LP – the rhythm section is unrelenting, beautiful and calculated, whilst their three guitars swirl and loop within the equations created by the drums and bass. Producer Joe Barresi, who has worked with artists such as Kyuss, Queens of the Stone Age, The Jesus Lizard, Tomahawk and Tool, has masterfully captured and enhanced the sound and personality of Isis and their music. Unlike previous releases, Wavering Radiant has a thematic feel conjured not through the lyrics but the music – their lyrics and vocals have always played second fiddle, but here they are more present, though still punctuation rather than substance. Ghost Key and 20 Minutes/40 Years, specifically, are two other highlights, amidst what is an unerringly exceptional metal release. You can purchase Isis’ Wavering Radiant from Amazon.com.

Some time ago I promised you good people and The Herd that I would review their stunning album Summerland. That was about ten months ago. I’m sorry. I got distracted with uni and other writing projects and, after a while, I felt the moment had passed and it was too late. This morning, however, I was like ‘No, Dammit! That album is still awesome and the people must be told!’ So here it is. The Herd’s Summerland. Better late than never.

The Herd: 2020

Right off the bat we can hear that any of my previous complaints about the Herd’s music and production have been rebuked with extreme prejudice. The opening track, 2020, makes the perfect statement to new and old fans of The Herd. The lush production and amazing performance of the band produce a lyrical and melodic slap in the face, expertly designed to shake the listener out of complacency. Ozi Batla and Urthboy are, as always, stunning in their ability to produce simultaneously moving and entertaining lyrics, while Jane Tyrell continues to belt out the catchiest, most soulful original hooks in Australian Hip Hop. The manner in which the three play off one another is masterfully seamless. In every respect, 2020 encapsulates everything that is great about The Herd. It also firmly establishes one of the central lyrical themes of the album (and that of all of The Herd’s albums), Australian politics and socio-cultural criticism. The title itself is pun relating to both the notion of 20/20 vision and the 2020 summit called by Australian Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd in 2007. This song alone touches on such topical issues as Afghanistan, Iraq, the AWB scandal and the change in government from the incumbent conservative, John Howard, to (relative) political newcomer, Kevin Rudd. Which brings us neatly to the album (and band’s) emblematic anthem, The King is Dead.

The Herd: The King is Dead

In their previous releases, The Herd made their political affiliations pretty clear. In fact, roughly 80% of the content of their previous albums was concerned with condemning the presence and policies of the Australian Liberal government of the time. Howard was, for The Herd and the political left-wing in Australia, public enemy number one. It should be no surprise that, when Howard was defeated after four terms as Prime Minister, The Herd would produce this celebration of the end of a dark era in Australian politics. The chorus is, as is the whole album, the most overjoyed and happy thing that the group has ever produced.

We danced like new years eve
We danced from relief
Everything must change, nothing stays the same

It will be hard for those outside of Australia to appreciate all of the cultural and political references in this song and, indeed, in Australian Hip Hop in general. It is, however, no worse than the American cultural and political references we have to decode when listening to Nas or Dr. Dre. Those interested in a full synopsis of the election which resulted in this song (and album) can find it in the links above, to the John Howard and Kevin Rudd wiki pages. There is much, however, that doesn’t relate to the political landscape of Australia in this album. The greatest and strongest quality of The Herd is their social conscience.

The Herd: Black and Blue

I wanted to end the review with an examination of Black and Blue. The group has an amazing ability to tap into the plight of those who are forgotten, marginalized and mistreated by mainstream society. In the past they have produced offerings such as 77%, The Plunderers, a striking cover of Redgum’s I Was Only 19 and Under Pressure; each offered a plainly sympathetic view on an ignored section of society. While other examples of this kind of song exist on Summerland, Black and Blue is the finest example. Exploring the failures of the education system on children with special educational needs (such as those with autism or Asperger’s syndrome) and the social and mental degeneration which results from such a failure is painfully yet elegantly expressed in the chorus of the song:

I don’t wanna go today,
I don’t care for the punishment you’re teaching me
Your methods are not reaching me
I’ll disappear
This place is gone for me

Even for those who did not experience such educational abandonment, the song is loaded with the pathos of an ignored or otherwise wronged teenager. Once more, the instrumentation, production and vocals are immaculate and completely appropriate to their subject matter. This song, along with the whole album, marks a musical maturation for The Herd and confirms them as Australian Hip Hop royalty. Copies are available on Amazon.com, or as MP3s (US$0.99 a track!) for those who like what they hear above.

Obsessed as it so openly is with the “grey” space between worlds, sub-cultures and people, it seems overly fitting that The Grey Space, the debut release from Elefant Traks-backed Sydney-side duo Horrorshow, should happen to be both the very definition of a out-of-left-field, “indie gem” release that fuels its exploits with a combination of sheer hi-octane musical moxy, a vision verging concurrently on the deeply personal and the joyously irreverent, and that raw, devil-may-care spirit peculiar to those with nothing to lose, while being simultaneously an LP possessing of such deft polish and a meticulous eye for detail as one might otherwise have only come to expect from a well-established and tour-honed act.

Horrorshow: Uplift

In a year that saw the release of Bliss ‘n’ Eso’s monolithic Flying Colours, The Herd’s razorblade-laced production bonanza Summerland, Astronomy Class and their full-flavoured, reggae-rich inauguration Exit Strategy, Muph + Plutonic’s And Then Tomorrow Came, Downsyde’s All City, Drapht’s Brothers Grimm, TZU’s Computer Love, Pure Product’s Eviction Notice, Sydney-side compatriots Spit Syndicate’s Towards the Light and The Tongue’s Shock and Awe, The Grey Space is ably capable of trading evenly matched musical and lyrical blows with any of the aforementioned luminaries. Purposefully lacking in the bombast, antics and nigh-glossolalia of B’n'E, vocalist/lyricist Solo instead projects at every level what is, for my money, one of the most sincere portraits of an artist in love with the nature of his work and the turning of his world ever laid to tape, perhaps best captured on the heart-stoppingly charming and mind-bendingly catchy “All Summer Long”. In search of a comparison, it may be fair to suggest he channels Urthboy at his most romantic and his least embittered, even if his sentiment lies perhaps somewhere else, somewhere closer to the momentary and slightly wretched wistfulness of The Tongue (for comparison, sample “That Word”, a highlight from Shock and Awe, an otherwise largely unsympathetic album predicated on The Tongue’s fairly one-note self-imaginings as a roustabout and understated raconteur).

Horrorshow: Put it to Your Head

Producer Adit oversees the installation of incomparably tasteful and surprisingly (nay, refreshingly) prominent bass lines reminiscent of the work of Marcus Miller into feature pieces like “Put It To Your Head”, What’s Going On-era brass arrangements into the undeniably playful “The Headline”, and a searing, funk-laden electric guitar that solos over “Note to Self (No. 81)” and that wouldn’t sound at all out of place on a hot slab of classic Isley Brothers wax. That he is a relative newcomer to the scene is made even more remarkable by the fact that, at his best, Adit can cut a soul track to challenge any in the game, up to and including the work of Plutonic Lab on Muph + Plutonic’s seminal 2004 release, Hunger Pains (”Paracetamol”, for instance, equally notable for its featuring Muph in a moment of rare and bemusingly sincere modesty). As a pair, they’re certified dynamite: the brighter Adit’s flair for sumptuous production burns, the more self-effacing Solo becomes, documenting (with naught but intricate rhymes and an easy, nigh-laconic drawl to his name) a world of sad-eyed girls and ancient-eyed adolescents, vague regrets and small pleasures.

Horrorshow: All Summer Long

Moving with commendable efficiency and yet without undue haste, Solo covers everything from the glamour and the soul-sucking drain of the endless party circuit (”The Party Life”) to nostalgic recollections of a misspent delinquent youth (”Uplift”, “Waiting For The 5.04″, [another "train" song in the Aussie hip-hop canon, and one that compares favourably with The Hilltop Hoods' "Station to Station" and Seth Sentry's "Train Catcher"]) and the ramblings of a depressive (”Celapram”), and between meaty, unabashedly vital verses even finds time for jazzy interludes to make True Live proud (”Days Past”) and a little freeform spoken-word poetry (”Dire Straits Pt. 1″). Though I’m naturally averse to making such a declaration, I can’t manage to get around the simple fact that, from end to end, The Grey Space is that rarest of things: an album, complete in every sense of the word and almost Brutalist in its construction, such is the clinically brilliant and uncompromising nature of its track listing, the quality of which is sufficient to make one wonder wherefore art the B-sides?

The Grey Space: a new and devastating salvo loosed from the ever-swelling and increasingly variegated arsenal of an Australian hip-hop scene that has finally and resolutely come of age. Everything that Eminem is to readily courted controversy, introspection on the vaunted nature of celebrity and meta-textual examinations of the fabric of West Coast hip hop or that Bliss ‘n’ Eso and The Hilltop Hoods are to spirited celebrations of the ties that bind the inebriated antipodean brotherhood of man, Horrorshow is to the tumult of exuberant and irrepressible youth. If you like what you hear, we strongly urge you pick up a copy from Amazon or download it as MP3s for only US$0.99 a track and support some world class Australian Hip Hop.

Track Listing:

1. Uplift

2. Waiting For The 5.04

3. Choose None (feat. Just Enuf)

4. The Party Life (feat. Nick Lupi)

5. Days Past

6. Dire Straits Pt. 1

7. Celapram

8. All Summer Long

9. Put It To Your Head (feat. Fame)

10. No Rides Left.

11. The Headline

12. Note to Self (No. 81)

I had read only a few reviews of the latest Dylan release, “Bootleg series 8: Tell Tale Signs”, before becoming fatigued and mildly irritated. Oh, they all say the same things, these music journalists, and they recite them over and over. Dylan is described as a ‘curmudgeon’, he is said be to ‘obsessed with his own mortality’ and exploring ‘darker and darker themes in his music’ and so on. What has Bob Dylan done to deserve such critics? I might agree that 1997’s “Time out of mind” and 1989’s “Oh Mercy” contained lyrics which could be said to contain a certain bitterness and cynicism – but I might have said the same about ‘Highway 61 Revisisted’ or a dozen other Dylan albums. If anything, his two most recent albums – “Modern Times” and “Love and Theft” - contain some of the most freewheeling and – yes – even fun music of his entire career. This is, after all, the man who on “Modern Times” sings,

I got the porkchops, she got the pie
She ain’t no angel and neither am I

More eros than thanatos there, to merely continue the theme so many journalists love.

Tell Tale Signs does not sound to me like the work of an old man with little time left in this world anymore than Dylan’s first self titled album does, an album which contains such high spirited tunes as “In my time of dying”, “Fixing to die” and “See that my grave is kept clean”. Songs of this variety have been an ever present part of Dylan’s career, and are a vital part of the folk song catalogue that he continues to borrow from to this day. So we shall disregard what the vast majority of music journalists say – I rarely read them anyway. What can I tell you, then, about Tell Tale Signs? I might start by mentioning that it is a three CD collection of alternate takes and unreleased material spanning the years 1989 to the present. It might also be worth mentioning that it is another remarkable release from Dylan, who continues to surprise critics and admirers alike with the quality of the material he chooses not to include on his albums. Perhaps the highlight of the set is a previously unreleased song, and without doubt an instant classic, “Red River Shore”. The sentiment is a timeless one; evidently the singer still longs for the girl he once knew long ago – she must have made quite an impression.

Well I sat by her side and for a while I tried
To make that girl my wife
She gave me her best advice and she said
Go home and lead a quiet life
Well I been to the East and I been to the West
And I been out where the black winds roar
Somehow though I never did get that far
With the girl from the Red River shore

There isn’t any great experimentation on “Red River Shore”, either musically or lyrically; the words and the tune are in perfect keeping with folk tradition, anachronistic though it may seem. But of course Dylan isn’t trying to do anything particularly new, he’s merely trying to perfect the art he’s spent his whole life working on. We expect novelty, even require it in our artists, but in “Red River Shore”, if Dylan has created a song just like every other folk song of its kind he has, more than that, created a summation of all those preceding folk songs. Novelty is something, evidently, that Bob Dylan is no longer interested in. On “Tell Tale Signs” Dylan is just doing what he’s always done, and he’s still succeeding, brilliantly.

Jandek – Ready for the house

In 1978 the first chapter of one of the most unusual – perhaps the most unusual – stories in popular music began. It was the year Jandek released ‘Ready for the house’.

Jandek’s music is, in a strange way, incredibly difficult to characterise, sounding, as it does, quite unlike anything else. The musical techniques on Ready for the House, however, can certainly be easily described; Jandek is playing an acoustic guitar, turned – not randomly, as some have suggested – but to produce an open, atonal chord. This same chord, the only chord played on eight of the albums nine tracks, is sometimes strummed, sometimes picked; played over and over again in a simple rhythm or, othertimes, played almost at random intervals. Over this is sung, whispered and wailed some of the most astonishingly weird and depressing blues lyrics ever put on record.

But this description can’t quite explain what Jandek really sounds like. I wonder now if this particular album is really the proper topic for a blog entitled “Pleasant Fluff”. Ready for the house is many things, but pleasant it is not. It is the sound of lower-middle-class suburbia at three in the morning: a car horn, a bird’s last languid cry; the remote, shimmering echo of a dog’s bark, and in the distance, a disturbing unidentifiable sound – like metal grinding upon metal.

Or perhaps it is the sound of one of those lazy Sundays, when the golden sunlight falls upon a dimly lit room in the afternoon, and you stand by the window, peeking through the blinds – which you have not yet bothered to open- while next door your neighbours and their friends enjoy a barbecue, to which you were, once again, not invited.

George Morison.

My sincerest apologies to The Herd for my comments about them below. I have just listened to their latest album Summerland and retract what I said about them never quite reaching their potential. Rest assured, a review of Summerland is be up here, expounding its awesomeness!

I have noticed, since my review of Bliss n Eso’s Flying Colours album, that alot of people seem to be reaching our page by searching for Aussie Hip Hop and that there seems to be some demand for writing about it. So, I’ve decided to follow up with another of my favorite Skip-hop albums of the last couple of years. Settle in and get ready for some smooth, sunny, reggae and dub influenced hip-hop. Welcome to Astronomy Class:

Astronomy Class: A Bright Tomorrow

That’s the stuff. You really can’t praise these guys enough, but I’m going to try. The group is made up producers\DJs Sir Robbo and Chasm, MC Ozi Batla and the astoundingly talented bass player, John Maddox. I’ve never heard such a layered, organic hip-hop album. Sir Robbo and Chasm’s perfectly constructed tracks bleed seamlessly into the lyrical and melodic wizardry of Ozi Batla while Maddox’s thumping bass lines tie everything together. When I listen to this album I continually marvel that what I’m hearing is not a huge live band but the hard work of a handful of astronomically talented individuals (pun absolutely intended, Martin).

I’ve been a fan of the previous work of all the members of Astronomy Class but I’ve never been nearly as obsessed with any of it as I am with Exit Strategy. Together, the group is more than the sum of thier parts. Ozi Batla is famously the politically outspoken frontman of The Herd. I’ve loved Batla’s message in his work with The Herd but just can’t get past the fact that I find much of the production and music on the album to be pretty boring. I’ve always lamented the tragedy that, as a live band (with nine members, no less), they have the potential and freedom to move into some interesting experimental areas but don’t. There are some outstanding exceptions to this (77%, Unpredictable, We Can’t Hear You and I Was Only 19 are all great examples of what Hip Hop can be) but by and large I was disappointed that Batla didn’t have an appropriately awesome platform (or soap-box) to broadcast his lyrical wonders atop of. This is not to say that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy The Herd, I just never felt they reached their potential. It is interesting then that it would take intensive work with producers like Chasm and Sir Robbo to create the progressive and exuberant Hip-Hop album that Batla needed to truly shine.

If my calculations are correct (and you clicked on it) you should be mid-way through Bright Tomorrow, so let’s talk about that for a while. This is one of the sunniest songs I’ve ever heard. From the get-go this is an anthem for the underpaid and under-stimulated (but basically optimistic) youth. Batla recounts the experiences of the teenage summer perfectly. Menial job, check. Quietly confident apathetic swagger, check. The sweet distraction of music and video games, check. This is a song that everyone should be able to relate to. It’s one of those musical moments which perfectly articulates an almost universal human experience. Who hasn’t wasted a teenage summer with casual work and video games? Again, however, it is not merely Batla’s wit and lyricism which floats the song, but the supernatural synergy which occurs with the music that accompanies him. Motown hooks, reggae guitars and video game audio samples form a complex tapestry of sound which has much laying beneath the surface, waiting to discovered by the intrepid listener. There is, however, more to this album than catchy hooks and witty lines.

Astronomy Class: Rewind the Tape

Thankyou for flying Astronomy Class, your friendly skies

Despite popularity and growing support from radio stations like Triple J, the major labels are refusing to invest in the talent which is coming up in this country. This means that it falls to those groups who recieve any level of success within the Australian Hip Hop scene to support unsigned acts and the scene in general. Rewind the tape is a great nod to the masses of people working to create a hip-hop scene in Australia who are receiving no support from the music industry. Best of all, Astronomy Class put their money where their mouths are by giving unsigned MCs lotek and BVA significant track time to display their talents. This good will extends through the entire album with guests appearing on nearly every track. This makes listening to Exit Strategy like looking at a snapshot of the state of hip-hop talent in this country and around the world. It isn’t enough, however, to merely give these underground artists track time. Batla, BVA and lotek’s lyrics meditate on the plight of the indie hip-hop scene:

The steel platters turn, it’s the latest real ditty, cunts don’t listen to the words, and that’s the real pity

These are the words of a cerebral, talented music scene that wants a break. Anyone who’s been involved in any kind of independent music has stared despairingly at music videos, burst into tears listening to commercial radio and lamented the fact that pre-fabricated ‘entertainment’ gets the lion’s share of publicity and distribution. Batla’s despairing plea for people to actually listen to what he’s saying is tragically justified. If most people held lyrical content and deeper meaning paramount to thier enjoyment of music then songs like this wouldn’t have reached number one on the charts. It’s not as simple as what people like, however, but music industry as a whole. As Batla points out:

The paradigm is cleberity status, while making dope music is all that really matters

We’re faced with an industry who have placed the image and commodification of a star above the qulaity of the songwriting. For an industry that deals entirely in songs and music this is a major problem. Surely the musicality and talent of the group or individual should come before the posters and reconstructive surgery. This riling against the illogical and baffling world in which we live forms the topical backbone of Exit Strategy, all the while placing it in front of some of the catchiest music you’re likely to hear. That’s right, folks, they’ve it all. You can have both great music and a great message at the same time. People have been doing it for a some time. To cap this review off, I’d like to leave you with Batla’s plea for civility, Nuthin’ Nice:

Astronomy Class: Nuthin’ Nice

What can I say, it was a lovely day, just a shame some cats don’t let their love display

I don’t know about you, but I often wonder why people just can’t be nice to each other. In fact, fuck nice, I’d settle for civility. As a result I find this song to be somewhat cathartic, having myself been glared at by a shopkeeper or copping attitude from a bouncer. It’s an alienating feeling and, as only he could, Batla sums it up succinctly and skillfully with “scrutiny is new to me in my community”. It’s another example of the humble, poignant and thoroughly human tone the whole album. If you want something that will satisfy your heart and your head then Exit Strategy is for you. Pick it up from Amazon.com and show some love for our favourite dub-flavoured, rich-rollin’ throwbacks to a bygone era.

You can find a copy at Elefant Traks official website or on iTunes.

“And wherever you’ve gone

and wherever we might go,

it don’t seem fair… today just disappeared.

Your light’s reflected now, reflected from afar.

We were but stones: your light made us stars.”

- Pearl Jam, Light Years

No, that quote is not from Ten. It came a number of years later, after Pearl Jam had miraculously survived the pathetic and traumatic death of Grunge, which floundered and crashed to the dirt in the wake of Cobain’s suicide like a monster severed from its head. It’s a nice stanza, though; nice because it shows a thoughtfulness and appreciation outside of self effacement; because it suggests that the group never intented to drive Grunge into the ground and then give up and go home; because it stands testament to the virtuosity and integrity Pearl Jam brought to the game in the early nineties, exploding with Ten as a launch pad for whatever organic path was waiting for them beyond it. Unlike almost any other seminal album of the Grunge era (even Soundgarden’s phenomenal portrait of pain, Superunknown) Ten wasn’t a dead end. It was a beginning.

The album opens with a contemplative quagmire of bass, percussion and electronic sounds. This instrumental forms a primordial motif that bookends the album (and returns at the album’s midpoint, Jeremy) and gives the album a primal, ethereal quality. In his 1991 Rolling Stone review, David Fricke comments that the album “hurtles into the mystic at warp speed” and when we listen to the qualities of the album’s opening track, Once, we can see why.

Pearl Jam: Once

It’s like a burgeoning consciousness awakening at the bottom of a swamp. It slowly begins to rise to the surface, gradually gaining momentum before exploding to the surface and causing the surrounding swamp gas to ignite with its meteoric fury. In a 1993 interview lead singer, Eddie Vedder, revealed that Once formed the middle piece in a musical triptych, composed of Alive, Once and, the B-Side to Jeremy, Footsteps. Together they tell the story of a young man whose father dies. The boy is physically identical to his father and his mother, presumably mad with grief, begins to make sexual advances on the boy. The boy, with his dead father and oedipal relationship with his mother, grows up into a disturbed young serial killer. Finally he is caught, executed and goes out with a litany of curses against the world that wronged him. If you think this is grim subject matter, then you’re on to something, but this is all par for the course for Vedder.

Vedder’s truest talent, besides his animalistic vocality, is his ability to translate the strange and depraved stories (mostly fictional at that) that he tells with his lyrics into solid and infallible chunks of trans personal human truth. Why Go is about a teenage girl sent by her own mother to be locked up in a mental institution, presumably for being “too real”. Maybe Vedder needs these specific social gripes to get him to his magic place, but the bottom line is that when I listen to Why Go, all I hear are the base emotions behind it: anger, pain, displacement, loss. I can’t relate to no crazy girl – but I can relate to these things. Although maybe I’m giving the guy with the mic too much credit: if music is the language of the soul, isn’t it more likely that it’s Gossard, McCready, Ament and Krusen who are speaking these themes to me? Pounding out pain in the beat of the bass, shredding my senses like so many fretboards? Food for thought.

In an SBS special on albums that changed the world, a lackey for Madonna or some such declared that Grunge “didn’t do much for music”. What he was referring to is one of those delightful reversible arguments that can be used powerfully by both the yea and naysayers – it’s incredibly sad and dark. The negative take on this, the one that techno boy here was probably on board with, is that it depresses you. What they won’t tell you in the Spice Girl Appreciation Society is that depressing music, if done right, can positively inspire. It can make you feel less alone. It can sweep you up in its arms of doom and get you singing the gospel of the damned. Black people have every right in the world to feel furious and depressed; blues and hip hop can’t speak to us pasties like it can to them. Grunge was the anthem of the unrighteous disillusioned; Ten was our rainbow flag.

Pearl Jam: Jeremy

Jeremy is a perfect example of what it is that makes Ten special as well as Vedder’s ability to cut through the abstract of our societal traumas. It is an intersection of Vedder’s casually powerful lyrics, grim subject matter, sprawling sing-a-long melodies and the band’s intense, layered musicality. This is not only a quintessentially 1990’s or Grunge song, it is a quintessentially American song and an American song perfect for the time of its release. While the Columbine shootings at the end of the decade have become the iconic American School shooting event of the 1990’s, there was a particular climate in middle America during the 1990’s which resulted in a range of school shootings. Vedder touches on many of the things that were cited as contributing factors to the occurrences of the Columbine and other school shootings, years later. Apathetic parents, bullies and a disturbed mind left unattended are Vedder’s checklist for how such a tragedy could occur.

We are introduced to Jeremy as he is drawing a picture of himself atop a mountain, with all the trappings of an adorable children’s painting: a “lemon yellow sun” and Jeremy with his “arms raised in a V”. It is only revealed in the last line of the verse that beneath Jeremy (standing in a victory stance), at the bottom of the mountain, “Dead lay in pools of maroon”. So, in effect, we’re introduced to Jeremy as he’s drawing a picture of himself, towering above the mutilated corpses of his enemies. This would surely be of concern to most parents but, as Vedder points out in the bridge, “Daddy didn’t give attention/To the fact that mommy didn’t care”. This is promptly followed by the surprisingly reflective perception of one of Jeremy’s bullies:

Clearly I remember
Picking on the boy
Seemed a harmless little fuck
But we unleashed a lion
Gnashed his teeth
And bit the recess lady’s breast

This articulates perfectly the capability of bullies to never understand just how bad bullying is. The bully generally ignores Jeremy, except when he sees an opportunity to exploit him for entertainment. He is, at best, a fond memory of an entertaining moment when “that weird kid went crazy”. The flippant tone suggests little more than bemusement at the “harmless little fuck” who “bit the recess lady’s breast”. Conspicuously absent are the adults in this situation. We only hear about Jeremy’s parents as a distant, uncaring presence and there are no teachers or school staff, aside from the afore mentioned recess lady. This is a picture of a kid who, despite giving the world plenty of warnings, isn’t heard. This absence of adults and societal apathy is rammed home in the video clip for the song, in which everyone but jeremy is completely static and unmoving. It is this that makes the choice of singing “Jeremy spoke in class today” in the chorus (as opposed to “Jeremy blew his head off in class”) all the more powerful. Jeremy has been ignored all his life and the only statement he can make that people will listen to is one that he makes with a gun. This lyrical style, steeped in sublimation and symbolism, is a defining characteristic the album. Vedder has an ability to convey a sense of powerless pain and desperation which, when it combines with Gossard’s compositions, perfectly reflects the feeling of impotent rage which plagues everyone at some point in their life. The feeling that something is desperately wrong , there is nothing you can do about it and nobody seems to care. Which brings us squarely to Black, the emotional and, arguably, musical centrepiece of the album.

Pearl Jam: Black

This is the miserable break-up song. While many have written about the anguish of loosing a lover none have articulated the pain and wretchedness of the experience like Vedder has in this song. For this man, the woman he lost was central to his existence. She presented a cosmic gravity which provided him with a stability which he could find nowhere else. This is first illustrated when he says “All five horizons revolved around her soul/As the earth to the sun”, placing her at the centre of his universe, with him as a mere planetary body revolving around her. The metaphor of her as his “sun” is a persistent contrast to the world of black void that he now inhabits. This is very much a song about standing bitterly bewildered as you begin to pick up the pieces of your broken life. Vedder manages to convey the the cornucopia of negative emotion that one experiences when someone you love leaves you. He oscillates between bitter and defensive when he says “all I taught her was everything” but almost immediately begins to despair at “how quick the sun can drop away”. There is a genuine, heartfelt anguish that cannot be ignored in this song. The haunting motif in the chorus of a disintegrating life turning black is one which is hard to be unaffected by. Of special note is the second chorus in which his “bitter hands cradle broken glass/of what was everything”. The memories of his life with this woman have shattered in such a way that any contact with them is excruciating, as if he were holding a shattered glass. The tragedy is, no matter how much it hurts, he can’t let go. Ultimately, the song reaches a crescendo in which he pleads:

I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life,
I know you’ll be a sun in somebody else’s sky, but why
Why, why can’t it be, why can’t it be mine?

This is the distilled desperation of the dumped. She broke his heart, his world is destroyed and all he wants to know is why? Despite everything that happened, his love for her is so monumental that the only thing that can undo the hurt is the impossibility of getting her back (which no doubt compounds the hurt considerably). Beyond this incredibly sad and beautiful plea there is nothing else to say. The final minute and a half of the song’s vocals are a keening melody of nothing words, a cathartic expulsion of pain and regret.

Ten’s parting words are, very wisely, gentle and wistful. That’s not too say they’re not powerful: I’m sure the argument could be made that they’re some of the most powerful on the record. They comprise a lyrical letter to Vedder’s father, or the father of a character Vedder has created, and they are given to us in the aptly titled last track Release. The song is the most understated of them all (a trend that would be continued on the group’s follow up album Vs and its last track Indifference) and the beauty part is that the lack of bells and whistles lets you see just how fucking perfect these musicians are for each other. They mill and swirl around Vedder’s exposed and broken heart, threatening at several points to explode but always pulling back at the last moment (most of this is achieved through feedback control, but to put it into technical terms sullies it). The lyrical content is unusually introspective, even for Vedder, in that there’s no external force at work at all, no hitchhiker about to get fucked up, no mothers trying to seduce their sons, no bullying or rape or breakups. There’s just sadness… and at long and longing last, an expressed want for that sadness to end. “I’ll hold the pain,” enunciates Vedder, making very sure we hear him because this is the important part. “Release me.” Grunge was a good ride while it lasted, but here in its microcosmic record, we see the ending before Kurt Cobain ever did: no one can hold onto hurt this huge forever. Sooner or later, everyone needs release.

Now, go and listen to the album.

If you don’t have it, you can obtain a copy here.

]]> http://www.pleasantfluff.com/2008/09/02/pearl-jams-ten-morgan-and-bailey-give-tribute/feed/ 0 http://www.pleasantfluff.com/2008/08/12/peter-bjorn-and-john-writers-block/ http://www.pleasantfluff.com/2008/08/12/peter-bjorn-and-john-writers-block/#comments Tue, 12 Aug 2008 08:51:43 +0000 Morgan http://pleasantfluff.wordpress.com/?p=153

It seems to me that the Swedes have a particular musical sensibility that shines through no matter the what they do. Lately I’ve noticed alot of bands originating in Sweden, of a variety of genres, who are world class examples of their particular brand of music. Many still conjure the image of ABBA when the words “Sweden” and “music” appear together and this is unfortuneate (sorry ABBA fans) because there is alot more to the Swedish music scene that world should be paying attention to. Shining examples of every genre insidiously await your attention, from the catchy hooks of Snook to the alternatingly brutal and melodic stylings of Opeth and Meshuggah, the Swedes have it covered. Now, I can hear the naysayers saying:

“Nay! The Swedes do not have it covered, actually, Mr. Bread! What about those of us who don’t want to learn Swedish or want something more melodic than the towering behemoth of rage that is Swedish metal?”

I say unto you, meet Peter, Bjorn and John:

Pop! That’s right, pop! Swedish pop. Remember that, ABBA fans? It’s back and it wants to invade your system like a blood-born parasite. Writer’s Block is is a sublime collection of infectious melodies and qualtiy songwriting. The lyrics have an elegant and subversive nature, lying just beneath the surface of the enchanting music, waiting for you to discover them. A prime example of this is Let’s call it off:

Peter, Bjorn and John: Let’s call it off

A casual listen to this song reveals a lively, upbeat surf tune, complete with the dulcet tones of a watery lead guitar and vocal harmonies that would force Brian Wilson to admit just how redundant he is. All in all, a lovely, little singalong tune. Most will note the dichotomy between the tone of the music and the title. The music would indicate a somewhat carefree attitude, perhaps best expressed on a sunny day as one makes one’s way to the beach. But the title is a neat indicator of the subversive lyrics that lie beneath the surface. This boppy, little pop tune is a breakup song. The frankness of the lyrics convey an apathetic, almost callous attitude towards what is clearly a defunct relationship:

did you agree we should let it be
and did you agree
it’s a must
let’s call the whole thing off

As far as this guy’s concerned, it’s a foregone conclusion. This relationship’s dead and the other participant has no choice but to concede it. To make matters worse, it is revealed in the second verse that the composer of this little ditty isn’t particularly interested in analysing why the relationship’s over or if there’s any way to make it work:

I don’t want to know why we couldn’t do more
Some things are better to leave unexplored

Ultimately, though, the appeal of this album is the amazing songwriting chemistry that occurs when these three men walk into a studio. Each song is immediately appealing but becomes increasingly catchy with each listen. You would be forgiven for writing off this as a simple pop album at first, but with each successive listen it becomes harder and harder to walk away. Most pop leaves me bitter, jaded and pondering just where the music industry went wrong, but Peter, Bjorn and John give me a sense of hope. I leave you to ponder the fourth track of the album, Amsterdam. The mechanical precision with which the drum beat drives this song along interacts brilliantly with the driving drone of the vocals and, when I listen to it in the morning, it stays with me all day.

Peter, Bjorn and John: Amsterdam

Those interested can obtain a copy of Writer’s Block from thier Official Site.

Australian Hip Hop has had a troubled existence. In its earliest inceptions it seemed little more than a bunch of white Australian tools pretending to be black gangsta rappers and there’s a good reason why it seemed that way; they were. In the last few years, however, there have been a number of evolutions in the genre that have resulted in a more interesting experience. Australian rappers had dispensed with the American accent and began rapping about what they knew about, as opposed to blunts, 40s and bitches we began hearing about commodores, springas and chicks (so basically still cars, weed and women but from a bogan perspective). There was another school of Australian Hip Hop that began to emerge, however, which focused on political issues. And so by the early 2000s Australia basically had its answers to NWA and Public Enemy. In the hedonistic West Coast corner we had the Hilltop Hoods spouting rhymes about getting drunk and laid and in the civil rights East Coast corner we had The Herd with lyrical epics about ingrained racism and the Australian political scene.

This presented me with a problem. I loved the production and wit of the Hilltop Hoods but got sick of them rapping about the same thing in every song. There were a couple of exceptions on their album, The Hard Road, but often they were fairly poorly executed and quickly reverted to the usual display of ego and dazzling puns. Conversely, I loved the message The Herd were putting out and agreed entirely with what they were saying but loathed their production. The music was dull and repetitive with a few notable exceptions. I craved Australian Hip Hop that could be meaningful, musical and entertaining all at once. You can imagine my delight when I heard this:

Bliss n Eso: The Sea is Rising

Catchy hook? Check.

Lush production? Check.

A combination of lyrics and music that make my heart want to explode? Check.

This is legitimate Hip Hop. It shows us what the genre is capable of and puts the half-arsed efforts of hundreds of pretenders to shame. It makes you want to sing, dance and weep with its breadth and beauty. It asks legitimate questions of the society we’ve built for ourselves and it asks them in line after line of what can only be described as poetry:

why are they refusing to listen
why are these troops on a mission
why are they shooting these victims over their view on religion
why do we all search for love like we got cupids addiction
why with politicians you can’t tell the truth from the fiction
why do we pollute where were living
why are these youth put at risk
why is this fool on dominion kept us consumed in this prison

I don’t want them to look back when the future was written
and know we killed ourselves with nuclear vision and stupid decisions
Shit I’d rather an asteroid due for collision then know the planet got fucked by the human condition

All of this adorned with strings, backing vocals and an addictive but unobtrusive drum beat. As if this wasn’t enough, unlike many Hip Hop singles (and many singles in general) when you begin to explore the rest of the album there is no shortage of A-Grade material.  Eye of the Storm, Bullet and a Target and Destiny Lane are all equally delightful. Since I bought this album two months ago I have listened to it every day, all the way through. When I leave the house, I take out my portable music device, find something and begin to listen. Nine times out of ten I find myself switching to Bliss n Eso after one or two tracks because nothing else cuts it.

To make matters worse (or better, depending on your point of view) Bliss n Eso released an exclusive Australian release with a bonus disk. Most bonus disks tend to be a collection of second rate material that didn’t make it to the album for a reason. Not so here. The bonus disk stands up as a complete EP of its own which I always listen to before listening to the album proper because the opening track of the bonus disk, The Dark Tower is a better opener than the one that appears on the main album. Have a listen and marvel:

Bliss n Eso: The Dark Tower

The perceptive amongst you will note the extensive use of the Dexter soundtrack. The deep, foreboding and creeping tone of the piece explodes into the strutting rap of MC Eso and sets the tone for the album like nothing else can. To make matters worse (or better, depending on whether you obtained the bonus disk) this bonus disk contains an alternate, acoustic take of the single Bullet and a Target which not only should have made it to the album but should have been the first single. This is by far my favorite Bliss n Eso song and the fact that its been relegated to a bonus disk is indicative of the talent of this group. I leave you with this track and sincerely hope you consider getting yourself a copy of this wonderful album.

Bliss n Eso: Bullet and a Target (Acoustic Version)

You can get yourself a copy of Bliss n Eso’s Flying Colours at JB Hi-Fi Online and Bigpond Music.