Three phrases that should be kept out of music journalism.... anything-LADEN, GUITAR DRIVEN, and MELODIC VOCALS.
They are industry buzz phrases that major labels and expensive boutique PR firms use in their press releases to describe their bands and they have come to mean nothing.
When I see those phrases in music reviews, it makes me never want to hear the music being described. It makes me wonder if the writer actually grasps, embraces or understands the music being written about. I know that when I hear an industry person using them, they rarely know what they are talking about.
The same thing goes for the phrase "South By" in reference to SXSW. I have never heard a band, writer, blogger, or music fan ever use "South By" when talking about the festival. It's not too hard to say South-By-South-West. The only people to use "South By" are clueless industry tools.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Interesting SXSW article from the Boston Phoenix
Rogue wave
The allure of the music industry may be long gone, but SXSW can still attract the underground to its edges
AUSTIN, TEXAS — James Hetfield sort of missed the point last Friday at Austin's South by Southwest music conference when — between yarling classics during Metallica's "surprise" set at Stubb's Barbeque — he launched into banter: "Yah, hello! We are a young band from Norway. Yah, we would like to get signed!" (Oh, James. What a ham! Now shut the fuck up and play "Master" already.)
Unsurprisingly, Mr. Hetfield's understanding of SXSW (more colloquially and douchily known as "South-by") is as oddly off as his band's presence here. Ten years ago, SXSW was widely accepted as the ultimate opportunity for baby bands and A&R representatives to make goo-goo eyes at each other until a hastily drafted record contract could be signed and the mutual process of fucking each other over could be commenced. These days, there are a lot more of the former than the latter — and younger, wiser bands simply don't bat their eyelashes at the majors like they used to.
What is actually a "conference" — complete with pricey badges, keynote speakers, and complimentary tote bags heavy with promotional swag — has steadily melted into a straight-up "festival." Even as the Austin Convention Center stuffs its function rooms with panels that unwittingly detail the desperate scramble within the music industry ("A&R 3.0," "Should Artists Be Paid for Radio Airplay?" and "Bloggers Are Now in Charge"), the red meat (or pulled pork) of South-by has increasingly shifted to its unofficial domains: day parties, BBQs, shows on bridges and boats, in bookstores and parking lots, or virtually anywhere that has electricity and foot traffic.
Despite an increasing level of hipster-borne grousing over SXSW being not much more than a vomitous swirl of industry shitbags, self-appointed tastemakers, and Twittering shutterbug nincompoops (guilty!), the slow crawl of the conference's raison d'être toward these badge-less, unsanctioned territories is actually good news: the experience of SXSW has become less about the industry rescuing bands from the underground, and more about rescuing the underground from the industry. If the frontier mentality displayed by some of this year's most eagerly queued-for bands is any indication, indie music is primed for a wave of serious radness.
Without making a tract out of this (or resorting to oversimplifications like "Hip-Hop in the Age of Obama" — an actual panel), let's just suppose that, if the past 10 years have found us desperately seeking order, control, and familiarity in the midst of grim cultural conditions, our new paradigm — with its emblems of hope and copacetic illusion — has the underground hungry for chaos, disruption, and newness.
Precision-preened image (see: the Strokes, SXSW Class of '01) has been ousted in favor of pure spectacle (like Israeli garage-torchers Monotonix, whose Ami Shalev splayed his hairy ass while surfing his band's own kick drum across thousands of fans at Waterloo Park). Cutesy innocuous hookage (see: Peter Bjorn & John, Class of '07 — roundly booed this year) gave way to atonal kicks and explosive noise (from the likes of Montreal's AIDS Wolf or LA's HEALTH). And highly iffy hype-pop (see: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!, Class of '06) fell pretty-face-first to limit-testing party bands with actual talent, like the Mae Shi and King Khan.
It's as though all of that precious security we've demanded from our music is being hastily dismantled: Dave Longstreth's guitar work at the Dirty Projectors NPR showcase was simultaneously feral and refined, erudite yet aphasic; the note-less scratchings of Michachu and the Shapes glimmered with an unmistakable pop sheen; and the ritualistic hoedown dealt out by the innumerable membership of Georgia's Dark Meat made their leaf blower stuffed with confetti seem right at home alongside their trombones and banjos.
Who knows? This explosion of the exploded could simply be the product of an unconscious defense mechanism: the underground's immune system protecting itself from the normals by any means necessary. Then again, rock music may finally be bust — good thing for us it sounds better busted.
Michael Brodeur
The allure of the music industry may be long gone, but SXSW can still attract the underground to its edges
AUSTIN, TEXAS — James Hetfield sort of missed the point last Friday at Austin's South by Southwest music conference when — between yarling classics during Metallica's "surprise" set at Stubb's Barbeque — he launched into banter: "Yah, hello! We are a young band from Norway. Yah, we would like to get signed!" (Oh, James. What a ham! Now shut the fuck up and play "Master" already.)
Unsurprisingly, Mr. Hetfield's understanding of SXSW (more colloquially and douchily known as "South-by") is as oddly off as his band's presence here. Ten years ago, SXSW was widely accepted as the ultimate opportunity for baby bands and A&R representatives to make goo-goo eyes at each other until a hastily drafted record contract could be signed and the mutual process of fucking each other over could be commenced. These days, there are a lot more of the former than the latter — and younger, wiser bands simply don't bat their eyelashes at the majors like they used to.
What is actually a "conference" — complete with pricey badges, keynote speakers, and complimentary tote bags heavy with promotional swag — has steadily melted into a straight-up "festival." Even as the Austin Convention Center stuffs its function rooms with panels that unwittingly detail the desperate scramble within the music industry ("A&R 3.0," "Should Artists Be Paid for Radio Airplay?" and "Bloggers Are Now in Charge"), the red meat (or pulled pork) of South-by has increasingly shifted to its unofficial domains: day parties, BBQs, shows on bridges and boats, in bookstores and parking lots, or virtually anywhere that has electricity and foot traffic.
Despite an increasing level of hipster-borne grousing over SXSW being not much more than a vomitous swirl of industry shitbags, self-appointed tastemakers, and Twittering shutterbug nincompoops (guilty!), the slow crawl of the conference's raison d'être toward these badge-less, unsanctioned territories is actually good news: the experience of SXSW has become less about the industry rescuing bands from the underground, and more about rescuing the underground from the industry. If the frontier mentality displayed by some of this year's most eagerly queued-for bands is any indication, indie music is primed for a wave of serious radness.
Without making a tract out of this (or resorting to oversimplifications like "Hip-Hop in the Age of Obama" — an actual panel), let's just suppose that, if the past 10 years have found us desperately seeking order, control, and familiarity in the midst of grim cultural conditions, our new paradigm — with its emblems of hope and copacetic illusion — has the underground hungry for chaos, disruption, and newness.
Precision-preened image (see: the Strokes, SXSW Class of '01) has been ousted in favor of pure spectacle (like Israeli garage-torchers Monotonix, whose Ami Shalev splayed his hairy ass while surfing his band's own kick drum across thousands of fans at Waterloo Park). Cutesy innocuous hookage (see: Peter Bjorn & John, Class of '07 — roundly booed this year) gave way to atonal kicks and explosive noise (from the likes of Montreal's AIDS Wolf or LA's HEALTH). And highly iffy hype-pop (see: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!, Class of '06) fell pretty-face-first to limit-testing party bands with actual talent, like the Mae Shi and King Khan.
It's as though all of that precious security we've demanded from our music is being hastily dismantled: Dave Longstreth's guitar work at the Dirty Projectors NPR showcase was simultaneously feral and refined, erudite yet aphasic; the note-less scratchings of Michachu and the Shapes glimmered with an unmistakable pop sheen; and the ritualistic hoedown dealt out by the innumerable membership of Georgia's Dark Meat made their leaf blower stuffed with confetti seem right at home alongside their trombones and banjos.
Who knows? This explosion of the exploded could simply be the product of an unconscious defense mechanism: the underground's immune system protecting itself from the normals by any means necessary. Then again, rock music may finally be bust — good thing for us it sounds better busted.
Michael Brodeur
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Secrets of the City (Minneapolis) - Stereo Total!
MUSIC
Stereo Total
If you're immersed in popular culture, there's a good chance you've already heard the music of French/German pop duo, Stereo Total. Not to be confused with UK electronica band, Stereolab - although there are similarities - Stereo Total produces low-fi electro-pop, at times campy, always catchy, with quirky, multi-lingual lyrics fronted by the pair Francoise Cactus and Brezel Göring. The label is Kill Rock Stars, which Stereo Total shares with bands like Bikini Kill and Deer Hoof. But Stereo Total's sound is at the core of the experimental "punk" vibe the label is known for. Don't miss this energetic, European "tour de electro force" duo as they jam out tonight at The Entry with special guests Leslie & The Ly's, the comedy hip-hop band hailing from Iowa. -Juleana Enright
8 p.m., The Entry, 701 1st Ave. N., Minneapolis, 18+, $15
Monday, March 23, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
AIDS Wolf in Billboard Magazine
10 Acts To Watch At SXSW
March 19, 2009 - Indies
By Michael Ayers, Mariel Concepcion, Cortney Harding and Lara Marsman
Some of the artists who descend on Texas for this year's South By Southwest (SXSW) festival will soon step up to greater success. Here are 10 who will get some attention.
AIDS Wolf
When people apply the label "noise rock" to Montreal band AIDS Wolf, they're not using it as shorthand for "music that sounds a little odd." AIDS Wolf is loud, abrasive and has been compared to the sound of a 10-car pileup. But underneath the layers of deafening feedback and Chloe Lum's howls are surprisingly complicated chord progressions and even hints of melody. Influenced by everyone from Captain Beefheart to French avant-garde artists to the Cramps, AIDS Wolf seems to have little regard for popular music and instead focuses on pushing boundaries. It's not for the faint of heart, but if indie-pop is beginning to grate, AIDS Wolf is a fantastic and cathartic alternative.
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