J's topfive - version three point o

Music is an overwhelming thing. Some, sadly, don’t know this. Others experience it only tangentially, when at concerts, they let go. There are those on the other end of the spectrum, who have chosen music as a path, a practice, and have become so immersed in it, she has turned into routine. And then there’s us, those that live somewhere in the middle, lost between the mere observant and the advanced practitioner. We have an interesting advantage: we listen to each note with the complete and longing attention of someone who’s come across something sacred and doesn’t know when, if ever, he’ll find such beauty again. Arpeggios fill us with nostalgia, tension and dissonance pierce our hearts, drum breaks take us over the edge with energy and abandon, and the right progression can make us love, ache, stand in awe, with bated breath, and get a glimpse of the meaning of life. This may sound exaggerated to many, and all I can say is, I’m sorry that they’ll never know.

It is in that spirit that I bring you tonight’s top five. Numbers 5, 4 and 2 in this issue are part of three amazing rock albums, the kind where all the songs are consistent and consistently good. Actually, picking which song to critique from each of them required some thought, but I encourage you to dive right into the entire work; hands down, it’s worth it.

Coming in at number 5 is Ivoryline’s All you ever hear, from their 2008 debut, There came a lion. These Texans sound incredibly young, fun-loving and a teensy wee bit cocky, with a zesty brand of music that toes the line between rock and pop. In this topfive wonder, as well as in the rest of the album, the vocals hold the role of preponderance, and Jeremy Gray’s are solid and alive. He handles poppy-er elements with mastery – oohs and aahs fitting in there like a glove. Plus, he gets great support from the spot-on backing vocals. The guitars are also quite accomplished: even if there are no solos, there’s a lot of counterpoints and interlocking riffs, that provide for harmonic wealth and freshness as well as ample ground to show off. And, the drums are damn cool. Wes Hart pounds like crazy, in a wild barrage of drumbeats, fast and full breaks, and creative accents that make the song breathe rhythmically. In the verses, he even throws in those disco-y, open-close hi-hat strokes, for good measure, a telltale sign of the outfit’s pop signature. Lyrically, the song touches on political and social commentary, one of the two tracks in the cd that do that. Gray sings, “Your apathy says blame me for this,” and even if the context is light, Ivoryline’s unapologetically jovial sound gives renovated expression to the age old message of wake up and smell the coffee. A little bit breezier than my usual fare, they could border on guilty pleasure, but, in the end, there’s nothing wrong with a little breeze from time to time. A small disclaimer: although they appear cataloged as a Christian rock band in some places, to my relief, only one of the songs in the album makes reference to an openly religious theme.

In the same family of up-and-coming rock acts, Scary Kids Scaring Kids are probably the brooding brother. From their eponymous 2007 sophomore effort (another amazing record), number four is The Deep End, an intense and urgent cry for caution regarding depression. Tyson Stevens’ vocals are powerful and deeply moving, with a tinge of angst and desperation. He controls the vibrato and wields his screams deftly, squeezing them out at the right moments, to exacerbate the tension, emotively enhancing his Gothic lyrics. The guitars sound at times like a modern incarnation of Iron Maiden; just check out the running harmonies on the intro and choruses. They mix seamlessly with the keyboards during the delicate verses, and then get metallic in the interlude right before the second chorus. In the meantime, sitting at the foundation of it all is James Etheridge, hammering the unyielding backbeat that carries the track as if on wild horses. Noteworthy is his footwork on the kick, which fills a lot of the space in between snare hits, further adding to the song’s sturdy basement. This little musicbox ditty, rocks all over the place, with the right balance of brawn and softness, of sadness and anger, proper of a Byronic Hero.

Now, sometimes, something divine brings two artists together, and us mortals get to marvel over marvels. Such a hand surely brought Robert Fripp, ground-breaking guitarist in the legendary prog band King Crimson, to collaborate, record and tour with gifted singer songwriter David Sylvian. The result is a meteor shower: although short-lived (they only recorded a full-length studio cd, and a shorter, live album) it is made with stuff of heaven. Today’s number three, and odd-one-out, is just that, a little slice of heaven. The title track of 1994 Damage, she runs at four and a half minutes, and is a gorgeous little keyboard, stick and guitar poem: all subtlety. Sylvian’s vibrant, deep baritone slips, velvet, through melancholy lyrics that are just as stirring as the melody. Its enigmatic nature is mirrored by the short soloing runs of Trey Gunn's Chapman stick, and the insinuated overtones of Fripp’s guitar. The rest of their collaboration certainly is a gala of virtuosity and atmosphere, but on Damage, everything is whispered, barely audible to the ear, maybe, but the heart hears it all, loud and clear.

The Australian band Karnivool falls somewhere between Tool and System of a Down: not as serious or psychedelic as Maynard and co., and certainly not as spastic as the Armenian quartet from L.A., these five guys out of Perth, Down Under, bring their own brand of complexity that juxtaposes time signatures and establishes mouth-watering polyrhythms in the intertwining parts that combine the different instruments. In 2005, they released their remarkable full-length debut Themata, where they work wonders within the song format; so much so, I had the hardest time deciding which song to feature. You see, although, as a band, all its members bring key elements to the mix, the driving essence behind Karnivool is the amazing rhythmic interaction between the drums and guitars, and really, there are two songs that showcase their tight relationship fully. Hence, I decided to comment on both. My favorite track in the cd, and initial gut reaction for number two this issue, is Cote. It was the first song to catch my ear: it surprised me, and I love it when that happens. What did it, initially, were the drums. Get through the intro, which is polyrhythm sparked by a constant drumbeat and lopsided guitar strums against it, and you reach the first verse: wait a minute, did I hear that right? There is a peculiar beat at work here. Steve Judd’s drumming may not be as flashy as some of the other skinmen in this topfive selection –if by “flashy” we mean a lot of fast-paced breaks and stuff– but he creates an intricate rhythmic universe for the track to develop, showing off his “limb independence,” as he effortlessly colors through the structure (a measure of 8, two of 7, and another one of 8). The strings deserve a special note here as they add a varied assortment sound-textures: there are sweet, delay-infused butterfly swarms that show up unexpected, and the bassline in the verse, up on the higher register, is also delicate and poignant.

So, if Cote highlights Judd’s chops, with its odd and challenging changes, Shutterspeed puts the guitars in the forefront. Much more straightforward in terms of time –a solid 6/8 throughout – it is again what they do within the beat that is so inspiring: they break it up, spin in out, and bring it right back. Andrew Goddard, lead guitarist and composer, wrote all the tracks on the cd, and his work on this ditty is hard to miss. The main riff is just impeccable, with accents in unexpected places, gyrating at its own pace, over that steady 6. It is four lines (4 bars each), all related, but all with their tasty variations, complex and yet gracefully flowing in their staccato, a little hail storm of sorts. Thrown against Judd’s inflections, the composition comes to life, a fantastic vehicle for Ian Kenny’s soaring vocals (just like Cote), which are the right balance of energy and lament. Two key moments: the guitar solo, short and sweet, is unusual and ingenious; and, coming in at minute 2:50, Kenny’s capitalizing vocal line, which runs consistent with the song’s six-beat, just sums it all up, and brings the song to a spectacular denouement: driving, precise and passionate.

It really seems like there was a lot of questioning around tonight’s selection: another thing I was hesitant about was today’s number one; so, I decided to go jogging. I keep my music on shuffle so that my player can surprise me as I trot along dirt roads and pavement. Albums I’ve only recently acquired thus get mixed in with the older stuff in my library, and I slowly become familiar with new music. Well, one of these new albums (to me at least) is Omar Rodríguez-López’s latest solo effort, Calibration (2008) –for those of you unaware, Rodríguez is the guitar-shredder and overall mastermind in The Mars Volta. To be honest, I haven’t yet given myself the chance to dive full-on into it. In my defense, albums like his require extra time and attention, of which I’ve had short supply lately; plus, I kinda enjoy letting the universe show me the way. So, as I ran, my player belted out Las Lagrimas de Arakuine, the cd’s closing masterpiece, and I was hypnotized, mesmerized: “this is number one.” The track’s skeleton is quite simple, really – 4 bars of 6/8, 4 chords, actually 3, as the first one repeats itself on the second bar – and yet, it goes on for over eleven minutes. The thing is, this instrumental is the quintessential example of a sonic landscape: guitars, bass, violins and a plethora of electronic cracks and chirps, bells and whistles, mingle and dance in and out of each other, like rock and roll animals in a sound garden of hills, groves, copses and valleys. There are rivers in there, raindrops and, even dolphins and whales that emerge from the depths. And in the midst of this lushness, the most notorious aspect is that Rodríguez-López gives the drums the role of lead storyteller, with complete freedom, and what Thomas Pridgen does is nothing short of spectacular. To call it virtuosity is an understatement. The guy just throws everything in the book onto the track; an eleven-minute drum solo is what it is: meticulous, incredibly tasteful and full of resources. Just a little example: there is fierce yet elastic accuracy in the interplay between kickdrum and snare, as they slice the beat up in complex little rhythms – anyone who has ever sat at the set knows that’s no small feat. The rest of the band flows throughout, painting the landscape, as the Lagrimas... breathes, builds up, and releases – in fact, there are other solos in there: there is a yummy fretless bass in the mix, soaring just above the basic bassline still humming in the background, and there’s also the endless flow of Omar’s guitar, although kept down a constantly changing series of textures, as he goes through his extensive array of effects pedals. However, those solos are buried under Pridgen’s pounding flurries, creating only passages and accents in the sonic canvas. The track has a “head,” a repeating motif, and it is a gorgeous, sweeping phrase of interlinking lines by guitars, violins and keyboards, that shows up unexpected, almost out of the blue, every so often, as the piece develops. The theme gets a little more complex and longer each time, as it incorporates more instruments, and by the third and last time around, as the drums fade away into silence, the strings finally get the spotlight, if only for a couple of seconds, before they too dissolve into the chord progression for one last go-around. It’s a magnificent pool to dive into: a trance, which is a recurring concept in Rodríguez-López’s music.

Thanks again, for visiting, and taking the time to read. As usual, I hope you enjoy it. I want to thank my brother, “Dano, El Capitano” Kuehn, for the musical nourishment he periodically bestows upon me. Motivated? Write a comment, suggest new music.