"Criminals" is probably my favorite song from this album, but you can listen to the entire thing here, and it's all good. There's even a guest appearance from the lead singer of Stereolab.
Over the past couple weeks I've found that this song, and this whole album, makes incredible late night driving music. It's atmospheric enough to make the nighttime world interesting, but it's still got enough of a beat to be good for driving and to prevent any of the ambiance from being drowned out by road noise. It's slightly creepy, but in a cool way, similar to how empty streets at night are slightly creepy when they're illuminated by streetlights. But don't worry, Atlas Sound doesn't reach John Lithgow levels of creepiness.
So creepy...
Atlas Sound is the alias of Bradford Cox, a musician and producer who is associated with psychedelic indie band Deerhunter. His new album, Logos, came out pretty recently and it's pretty awesome.
On an unrelated note, there will be no awesome songs for the next couple weeks, as I'll be adventuring in the bogs of Ireland. If you want to hear about my adventures, check out Gaikokujin Blog.
A while ago, one of my friends burned for me,
among many other albums, a compilation of UK hip hop. Being a fan of
both hip hop and music from the UK, needless to say I was excited to
listen to it. When I did, I was… well, not disappointed, but very very
surprised. The music wasn't at all what I expected. It didn't sound
like hip hop to me. It sounded like… dancehall.
This little
incident of mine is just one example of the ways in which hip hop and
dancehall are connected not only to each other, but also to many other
types of music, as was illustrated fabulously in Wayne Marshall's piece
on reggaeton. It is also an example of how perceptions of music are
formed by people who are outsiders to certain genres. Since I'm in no
way a part of any hip hop scene, especially UK hip hop, this experience
was eye-opening for me, since, despite how insignificant it may seem,
it really challenged my perceptions of music and genre.
As
Marshall illustrated, reggaeton came into being as a result of
influences from hip hop, reggae, and dancehall, among many other
musical forms. The example of reggaeton is just one illustration of how
hip hop and dancehall are related to each other. The exact relationship
between these two forms isn't a completely clear one, and theories
about this relationship have been controversial at times. One of the
most commonly posed theories is that New York hip hop was essentially
an American variation of the Jamaican dancehall tradition, where DJs
would spin versions of records that would be toasted over. The
similarities in form between dancehall and New York hip hop are
noticeable, and it is easy to see why this theory has been raised,
especially since DJ Kool Herc, one of the pioneers of hip hop, was
originally from Jamaica. However, Herc himself has denied the "hip hop
comes from toasting" theory, saying "Jamaican toasting? Naw, naw. No
connection there." Obviously, hip hop and dancehall have a complicated
relationship with each other.
Before I go further, I'll link a couple songs from this compilation.
As
one MC descibes the music of the compilation: "This is a UK thing, it's
hip hop and it's reggae and we do reggae - and those Americans don't
know about that." While you might think it would be my gut reaction to
get defensive about a statement like this, that MC is totally right.
I'm American, and I didn't understand that UK thing when I listened to
it. While I was aware of the connections between reggae, dancehall, and
hip hop when I listened to this compilation, I was still baffled by the
idea that songs so easily classifiable as dancehall or reggae, with
their distinct rhythms, could also be considered hip hop. It was a
direct acknowledgement of the connections between these forms, and it
took me by surprise.
Part of the reason these songs didn't
sound like what I expect hip hop to sound like is that they don't have
rhythms I associate with hip hop. Marshall illustrated very well how
certain rhythms are associated with certain genres, but that there is
lots of hybridity between those genres, and some artists consider
reggaeton, for example, to be a type of hip hop, even though it has its
own rhythm. So even though these songs have rhythms associated with
dancehall and reggae respectively, they are still lumped in with hip
hop, since often times the only thing separating these genres are the
rhythms. But that's not everything. Language also plays a very
important role.
This raises a somewhat harsh, but important
question: if all of these forms are interconnected, who am I to
determine what category a piece of music falls into? How does my
perspective as an American influence the way I hear music? And how does
language play a role in this?
This, I think, is where the vocals
come into play. I'm gonna throw out this theory I have for all of you
to read. It's not one that I stand by 100%, since I'm still kind of
working it out in my head, and some of it is just speculation, but I'd
like to see what you think of it. It has to do with how my perspective
as an American informs the way I hear music from other countries.
In
regard to the way I, and Americans in general, hear music from Jamaica
and the UK, vernacular language is one of the most important factors in
how Americans interpret music. As I noted in my last post about white
reggae bands (which caused some controversy when I posted it on my own
blog), in the music of the Police there is a strong association between
Jamaican patois and the sound of reggae that isn't actually there a lot
of the time. I think in general, a lot of American people have a strong
association in their minds between Jamaican patois and
reggae/dancehall. In the minds of many, the lines that separate reggae
and dancehall are very blurry, and while that's in some ways
legitimate, since there's obviously lots of hybridity, it's also
problematic in some ways, and, surprise surprise, there aren't any easy
answers. I mean, on one hand it's problematic to use only use the word
"reggae" in reference to roots reggae ("Be warned that a white person
saying they like “reggae” really means “reggae from 1965-1983." Under
no circumstances should you ever bring a white person to a dancehall
reggae concert, it will frighten them." – Stuff White People Like),
it's also problematic to use "reggae" as a blanket term for all
Jamaican music. I've heard people describe everything from the
Skatalites to Sean Paul as reggae, denying that they were listening to
ska/dancehall and insisting that ska didn't exist until the 90s/Sean
Paul's vocals are in patois, so it's totally reggae. That last point
about Sean Paul is kind of what brings it all back to the UK hip hop
compilation. In the ears of the listener, a lot of times what makes
something "reggae" or "dancehall" is the vocals, since people associate
Jamaican patois with music that they clearly identify as Jamaican.
Sting did this in the Police. The person who insisted that Sean Paul
plays reggae in the same way Bob Marley does wasn't familiar with the
term dancehall, so rather than describing Sean Paul as hip hop or rap,
he used the word reggae, since it referred to Jamaican music for him.
Even though the song he was listening to didn't have a reggae rhythm,
he heard Jamaican patois and classified the music as reggae. When I
listened to the UK hip hop compilation, I knew about other kinds of
Jamaican music, so when I heard the vocal presence of Jamaican
immigrants, I immediately thought dancehall, since I knew it didn't
have a reggae rhythm, but I still had the initial reaction of thinking
of it in terms of Jamaican music, because of what I heard in the
vocals. The fact that it was described as UK hip hop, but that I
labeled it differently, shows not only that hip hop, dancehall, and
reggae are related in many complicated ways, but also that listeners
have strong preconceptions about what music "should" sound like, and
that someone from America is likely to perceive music in a very
different way than someone from the UK.
I do a radio show every Sunday from 8 to 9 East Coast Time, and this week I will be playing, among other things, Fuzz Pop by Yogurt-Pooh. Give it a listen.
Sorry, I couldn't embed it. And yes, the name of this band is Yogurt-Pooh. Don't laugh. And yes, the song you're listening to has a different title than the one I wrote above. That's because it's not the song I wanted you to hear.
I just found out the hard way that Yogurt-Pooh songs are really, really difficult to track down. The song "Fuzz Pop," which I originally wanted to be the Awesome Song of the Week, is nowhere to be found on the entire internet. So as a substitute, I'm posting a different Yogurt-Pooh song that is nowhere close to being their best song. My second choice Yogurt-Pooh song for this week was also impossible to find, and ususally I have very good googling skills.
So give "TV Movies Make Me Happy" a listen, but just know that the actual awesome song of the week is "Fuzz Pop." Now you can just sit there and try to imagine how good "Fuzz Pop" is. I hope that when you actually hear it you won't have overhyped it for yourself.
Just for some background information, Yogurt-Pooh is a J-Rock band, as you've probably already figured out. They write really good songs that are impossible to find.
Nobody, however, does it with more flash, more excess, and more outright quirkiness than the people who were actually there.
Two of the biggest, most ridiculous names of the Reagan Era (accompanied by some other guy) joined forces in the decidedly non-eighties year of 2004, to produce what would certainly be called a monstrosity at any other point in history. It' all here! Gary "in cars" Numan's (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ldyx3KHOFXw) eerie synth-pop whine, Afrika "party peeeeople" Bambaataa's (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_vLzsG2TCU) distorted, jam-starting invocations, an inexplicably dated rap by the aptly named MC Chatterbox, and, as a special surprise to those of you who endured the rapping, a verse from Blondie's Heart of Glass (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8CmhqoB1lNE). Oh yes.
I may have neglected to mention that there are also bitchin' analog synthesizer sounds and kinda ridiculous lyrics about alienation and a lower capital gains tax and television programs about oil millionaires and all that.
So put down that gram and put on your leg warmers and nonprescription frames! Mr. Gorbachev: tear up this floor.
I've brought up stories and commentary before about white people who consume reggae, a historically black musical genre (I totally fall under the category of white people who consume reggae). Now I'd like to complicate things a little by talking about white producers, rather than consumers, of reggae. In order to do this, I'd like to examine three (primarily) white bands that have played reggae, or at least reggae-influenced music: The Police, UB40, and The Aggrolites.
First, lets look at the Police. While I'll acknowledge that Stuart Copeland is an awesome drummer, Sting's fake Jamaican accent has always annoyed the shit out of me. Let's listen to an example:
While The Police were never really a reggae band by definition, the song "Walking on the Moon" is one of the best examples of the massive reggae-influence on their music, which can also be heard in Sting's vocals. For their first few albums, Sting put on a ridiculous fake Jamaican-style accent (he never really got it right), presumably to try and imitate the Jamaican Patois heard in many reggae songs. The thing that's always amazed me though is that Sting really really overcompensated. Let's listen to a song by Jimmy Cliff to compare:
Notice anything different? I've been in linguistics classes where we've examined Jamaican Patois, and one thing we've noticed is that Jimmy Cliff doesn't really use it in his songs. The same goes for a lot of other reggae singers. In the music of the Police, however, Sting makes a huge effort to put on a Jamaican accent. The other thing to note is that Sting phased out the fake accent later in his career, but by this point the Police were playing a lot of other stuff besides reggae-influenced-pop. Basically the point I'm trying to make is that in the reggae music of the Police, Sting used a fake Jamaican accent as a signifier of reggae, even though he really didn't need to, since Jimmy Cliff didn't, and he's one of the best reggae singers of all time.
So, to reference a question raised by scholar Terry Boyd in relation to hip hop, is the music of the Police an imitation of reggae, or is it influenced by reggae? Well, the answer is both. They're not mutually exclusive. I kind of think that to an extent one implies the other, and you'll noticed that I've already used both words in describing The Police. The point, however, is that, to an extent at least, the music of the Police WAS an imitation, since Sting pretty blatantly imitated Jamaican English, which he at least saw as a major signifier of reggae.
On to the next example: UB40. The two things that really really separates them from The Police are that
1. They were obviously a reggae band, and
2. They were an even more blatant imitation
I'm not even gonna try and defend their music, since it was almost 100% imitation, rather than influence. Seriously, they became famous just by covering reggae songs that were already hits in Jamaica. The album that made them famous, Labour of Love, is all covers. I've listened to every song on that album, and I've listened to the original versions of every song on that album, and in every case the original is better. Actually that's just a matter of opinion for me, but my point about UB40 is that they fall under the category of imitation rather than influence, since they made massive amounts of money by literally imitating reggae songs that had already been played by less successful people. And their lead singer, who was also white, also sang in a fake Jamaican accent. I would go so far as to call UB40 the Elvis of reggae.
Anyway, let's move on to my last example: The Aggrolites. They're even more noticeably different from the other two examples, because:
1. They're American
2. They're not as popular
3. They play a very different style of reggae
4. They don't put on ridiculous accents
The last point is reason enough to believe that the Aggrolites fall less under imitation and more under influence. But the other thing that makes the Aggrolites stand out for me is that, unlike The Police and UB40, who use fake Jamaican accents as a reggae signifier, The Aggrolites use something very different as a signifier: the skinhead image. Just to provide some background, the skinhead subculture originally emerged in England in the 1960s and was in no way affiliated with Neo-Nazis. While the original skinheads did exhibit racism towards Indian and Pakistani immigrants, they showed solidarity towards Jamaican immigrants, and were huge fans of reggae and ska. As a result, some reggae bands, most notably Syramip, began targeting their music towards skinheads, most obviously in the song "Skinhead Moonstomp."
Now listen to this song by the Aggrolites and compare it to the Jimmy Cliff song and the Syramip song:
This one is obviously more influenced by Syramip than Jimmy Cliff; the tempo is almost exactly the same, the production is just as minimal, and the vocals are shouted and chanted rather than sung. I've also seen The Aggrolites live, and they performed Skinhead Moonstomp. Basically, The Aggrolites choose to use the skinhead subculture as a reference point for the reggae that they play. This choice is still problematic, no question. But they're not pretending to be Jamaican. There are two factors at play in this. For one, by referencing skinheads the Aggrolites show a familiarity with the history of reggae. The Police and UB40 just put on fake accents as an obvious way of saying "This is reggae," but the Aggrolites choose instead to reference an aspect of reggae that people might not be as familiar with, showing their familiarity with the music. It should also be noted that while The Police and UB40 played music that had all the surface elements of reggae as a way to make money, the Aggrolites have played a different type of reggae and not been as successful. The second factor at play is that by referencing the skinhead subculture, it could be argued that The Aggrolites are acknowledging their status as outsiders of reggae. While not all of The Aggrolites are white, not all skinheads were white either, and by referencing skinheads rather than trying to sound Jamaican, the Aggrolites are acknowledging their status as consumers of reggae and not pretending to be the original producers of it. Both strategies are ways to claim authenticity, but the strategy the Aggrolites employ is one that acknowledges their outsider status.
So to return to that question again, do the Aggrolites imitate reggae, or are they influenced by it? Again, the answer is both. The two aren't mutually exclusive, and I think it's almost impossible for them to be entirely separate. But since, by referencing skinheads rather than just putting on fake accents, the Aggrolites have engaged with the history of reggae and also acknowledged their status as outsiders in reggae, I'd say they fall more under the category of influence.
This week's awesome song was picked by Andrei Kopelevich, a member of the experimental music group Intense Whispers and a DJ for UC Berkeley's radio station.
Sensoria closes their 1984 album "Micro-Phonies" and was probably the closest they ever came to a hit. The single version marks a striking attempt at what would later be called a mash-up, consisting of bits from both "Sensoria" and their other song "Do Right" spliced together. This single, and the attendant album, mark the closest the group came to commercial success, and it's not hard to see why. It's got everything! Cheezeball handclaps, cryptic and memorable vocal samples, rubbery synth basses, trippy electric guitar bits for that crossover touch, and, yeah, kinda inane dance music lyrics. The music video's opening crane shot would later be imitated by later Sheffield group Pulp in their video for "Do You Remember The First Time" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PeOlzEXsZA) (that is to say if the whole thing is not just a coincidence, but come on!). The surprising longevity of an experimental group's self-conscious decision to sell out can be witnessed in the fact that the Bloody Beetroots, Italian electro-house darlings signed to the tres hip Dim Mak label, remixed Sensoria in 2008. (with help from something or someone called "the SirBilly Experience") And they even had the keen sense to throw in audio clips from my favorite Kurt Russell movie! Enjoy. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlC1t6VtZIE).
"Every generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it." – George Orwell
"Although American rap music has been used as a vehicle for the creation of novel indigenous musical styles (in South Africa), it has come under heavy criticism from the older generation of South African musicians, some of whom have dismissed indigenous rap as hopelessly imitative of the worst excesses of American culture…. South African jazz musician Hugh Masekela complained that 'our children walk with a hip hop walk and they think they are Americans….' Ironically, the jazz music Masekela… pioneered owed an equal debt to American jazz artists as kwaito does to American rap. Furthermore, Black jazz musicians of the 1950s were subject to similar criticisms by the cultural elite." – Zine Magubane, "Globalization and Gangster Rap."
"The Arabic hip hop genre has faced strong resistance from various cultural forces. Abbas, who traces the development of this genre across the Arab world, argues that this resistance was not necessarily the result of musical evaluation, but rather a natural reaction to anything that sounds western as well as the response of people who feel directly implicated and threatened by hip hop's criticism of their way of life." – Usama Kahf, "Arabic Hip Hop"
"Those interested in black music and black politics should check out studies on the racial uplift ideology literature of the late 19th Century through 1950s, which reveals, among other things, “New Negro” discomfort with black folk culture (demonstrative church music, blues, jazz, narratives depicting uneducated black folk.). This literature features recurring questions such as “How does popular black art affect the moral training of black children?” and “How will this art make us look to white people?” If you replace all of the “negro”s with “black”s or “African American”s,” you’d swear that these things were written today." – Gordon Gartrelle "The Problem With These Rap Critics Today"
"No question. Rap is the repetition of the minstrel show." – Wynton Marsalis
I know I'm just listing quotes, but that's because the quotes speak for themselves.
If you can't tell already, the aim of this post is to examine some of the most prominent criticisms of rap music. In some ways, these quotes contradict the points that I made in my earlier post about de-politicization. In that post, I discussed how white cultural critics have often criticized black musical forms because of their political aspects. But, as I noted, white critics have never been the only ones to criticize new black (or) political musical forms. As you can see, South African jazz musicians have criticized South African rap, Arabic hip hop has faced criticism in local communities, and Wynton Marsalis, a prominent black jazz musician, has been an incredibly vocal critic of hip hop.
What really amazes me is how almost universal these criticisms are. It seems that no matter what context hip hop is created in, there are always vocal critics of it who attack it using countless different arguments. A lot of these criticisms are valid; lots of feminist thinkers, for example, have rightly noted that a lot of hip hop contains deeply misogynist lyrics. But I think the key phrase in statements like this that makes them valid is "a lot of hip hop." The problem I have with criticisms such those of Marsalis is that they are sweeping generalizations that don't allow any room for exceptions. To label an entire musical form as "the repetition of the minstrel show" is a deeply problematic easy way out. Plus, a lot of these criticisms seem to be representative of an unwillingness to accept new musical forms.
One common thread that seems to lie behind all these criticisms of rap is a desire to hold on to tradition. This ties in to Kahf's quote about how many people "feel directly implicated and threatened by hip hop's criticism of their way of life." This argument can even be applied to my discussion of musical de-politicization (sorry to reference myself, but I do think it's relevant). The fact that lots of white cultural critics have criticized political black musical forms can easily be read as a desire to hold on to a tradition of power, since these critics feel threatened by hip hop. The critics discussed in the pieces by Magubane and Kahf can also be seen as feeling threatened by other political aspects of hip hop. Globalization is a powerful force, and the United States are one of the most influential countries globally; I observed this first hand while traveling this summer. While hip hop can be used in local communities as a tool of resistance, it still has ties to America, since it is historically an American musical form. This is another way in which people probably feel threatened by hip hop; American media can be seen in lots of different countries, and people who have this media imposed on them may understandably reject American musical forms that can even be used subversively. We can even read Wynton Marsalis's criticism as being a reaction to the threat that Jazz has faced from hip hop, which is a far more popular genre among young people today.
I'd like to discuss Marsalis's statement a little bit more, and why I feel it is so deeply problematic. Lots of people have proposed the "hip hop is minstrelsy" argument before, but some people, such as Jeffrey Ogbar, author of the book Hip-Hop Revolution: The Culture and Politics of Rap, have taken a better approach to it. The problem I have with Marsalis's argument as opposed to Ogbar's is that while Marsalis condemns the entire form of hip hop, Ogbar makes a clear distinction between hip hop he sees as being a reprisal of the minstrel show, and hip hop that he views otherwise. In addition, he also provides historical context on both minstrelsy and hip hop. I don't have a problem with criticizing hip hop, as long as you don't dismiss the entire form, and as long as you back up your ideas without making sweeping claims.
I'll also add that the issue of holding on to tradition vs. accepting globalized music is a really complicated one, and I'm not trying to make it seem like the people who criticize hip hop in a global setting are wrong, since I really don't know enough about the specific contexts. I'm just pointing out that a lot of criticisms of hip hop come out of the same desire to hold on to tradition.
My goal for this series is to introduce people to a lot of new bands, so I was hesitant about posting a Grandaddy song this week, since I've already featured them here. But this song is just too awesome to pass up. This was the song that got me through my all-nighter on Monday. Every time I felt too stressed, or like I wanted to go to sleep, I just listened to this silly song and watched a bunch of animals dancing, and then I was ready to work again.
It's very rare that something this simple is this amazing. The song only consists of three chords and one verse, and it's so repetitive, but that's just what makes it so catchy and infectious. And it's such a happy song. I know I've been posting some more depressing stuff, but I guess this shows you that I'm not a completely morbid guy. This song just makes me want to walk up the side of a mountain, and then probably walk down the other side of the mountain. Truly awesome.
In her piece "Black Bodies/Yellow Masks," Deborah Elizabeth Whaley identifies four different Orientalist images that are commonly found in popular culture:
"(1) the sexualized, yet virginal Japanese geisha; (2) the South Asian Indo-chic; (3) the Chinese kung fu warrior; and (4) the use of Asian languages as an iconographic fashion statement detached from specificity of meaning and etymological usage."
While these images are important to recognize in popular culture, I also think that Whaley's list comes dangerously close to equating Japan with femininity and China with masculinity. That's why I want to concentrate on #3 in this post, specifically because "the Chinese kung fu warrior" definitely has a Japanese counterpart: the Samurai.
Many people have noted the Orientalist aestheics in the music and imagery of the Wu-Tang Clan. When looking at Whaley's list, it's obvious that the primary image used by the Wu-Tang Clan is #3. This is one reason why I'm using the image of the samurai as a parallel to the "kung fu warrior." The RZA, a member of the Wu-Tang Clan, has composed the score for two movies that I must admit I'm fond of, but that I also must admit show very orientalist images of samurai: Afro Samurai and Ghost Dog. These movies are also good reference points for discussing the same relationships between African American culture and Asian culture that Whaley discussed in her piece.
For this post, I'm going to specifically focus on Ghost Dog, since I've seen it way more times. This movie features Forrest Whitaker (one of a few famous alums of my high school), as a hit man whose entire personal philosophy is based on Hagakure, an 18th century book by Yamamoto Tsunetomo that outlines the code of the samurai. The one thing I will say in the film's defense is that it's based on an actual book, and it would've been way easier for the writers to just make stuff up. Still, the fact that the movie derives almost all of its imagery from this book is problematic. While Whaley is very positive about the use of Asian imagery in African American art, and while the issue is undoubtedly a very complex one, images like these can still be used to produce an essentiallized image of Asia.
It's nothing new for images of samurai to be used in Orientalist ways. Much like the belly dancing discussed in Susaina Maira's piece entitled "Belly Dancing: Arab-Face, Orientalist Feminism, and U.S. Empire," representations of a "samurai code" can be a way to profess an interest in Japan while avoiding discussions of contemporary issues that Japanese people actually face. I spent last semester in Japan, and the only time I was ever involved in a discussion that had anything to do with samurai philosophy was in an art history course, and even then it was only as a small part of one class. But there are still American songs, films, and people that base all their knowledge of Japan on romanticized ideas of the samurai.
I'm reminded of a scene in a movie I just watched called "Kamome Shokudo," which is about three Japanese women who work in a Japanese restaurant in Finland. In the movie, there is a young male Finnish character named Tommi who starts coming to the restaurant because, like many young white males including myself, he has an interest in Japanese culture. In almost every scene that this character is in, he is wearing a shirt that has some representation of Japanese culture, most of which are from contemporary Japanese popular culture (this description might sound eerily familiar for people who know me). Most of the time, the women who work in the restaurant either make some friendly comment about his shirt or don't make a comment about it at all. The only scene in which any of the women have a noticeably different reaction to one of his shirts is when he is wearing one that has the kanji for "samurai spirit" on it. In the beginning of the movie, he wears a shirt with a Japanese cartoon character, and one of the women in the restaurant is able to relate to it. But the woman who comments on the "samurai spirit" shirt is portrayed as being unable to relate to it. I think these scenes are pretty good representations for a number of reasons. Tommi's character is not really portrayed as being Orientalist, and his shirts display a wide range of Japanese cultural artifacts. But the only shirt he wears that is portrayed as being Orientalist is the one that conveys a dated, romanticized notion that doesn't have as much relevance in contemporary Japanese society. This also ties in to #4 on Whaley's list: " the use of Asian languages as an iconographic fashion statement detached from specificity of meaning and etymological usage."
One more thing that I'll comment on is the fact that Chinese and Japanese cultures can be (sometimes inadvertently) portrayed as interchangeable in popular culture. I'm not going to get into this in too much detail, but I do find it interesting that the RZA, a producer who derives much of his aesthetics from Chinese popular culture, did the score for two movies that derive much of their imagery from Japanese culture. This is just one reason why I think that the image of the samurai can be viewed as a counterpart to "the Chinese kung fu warrior."
This week's awesome song is "Just A Thought" by Gnarls Barkley
(It was so hard for me to choose which image of Gnarls Barkley to post, since there are so many good ones.)
You're definitely familiar with Gnarls Barkley already. If you were alive during the summer of 2006, you constantly heard their hit single "Crazy." Now, that song is awesome. But you've heard it before. My goal is to show you stuff you might not have heard before.
As with previous songs I've done, this one is really depressing. But it still has a great melody and beat. There's not really a whole lot more for me to say.
In case you've never listened to the radio or watched TV, I'll just tell you that Gnarls Barkley is the collaboration of rapper Cee-Lo and producer Danger Mouse. They had that one hit "Crazy" and a few other popular songs, but my guess is that, while both of their albums are good, the colossal success of that one song will probably make them destined to be "1 hit wonders." Not that that's a bad thing. Gnarls Barkley is really just a side project for both artists, so having even just one hit is an accomplishment.
It's time for me to reference Coilhouse again. Specifically, a blog post they did a while back in which they coined a term I fell in love with: "Legofication." According to Coilhouse, legofication refers to the way in which pop songs have started being stacked up against each other in mash-ups, just like legos. It refers to the fact that right now it is common for pop songs to not be viewed as complete wholes, but as pieces that can be put together to make something cooler. I love this idea so much that I'd like to apply it to not just pop music, but pop culture in general.
Originally, I was planning to write a lengthy post about the postmodern aspects of music games like Guitar Hero, DJ Hero, and Rock Band, but then I realized that I didn't have enough time/will-power/intellect to do that, and that it would be way too boring/pretentious. So instead I'm doing a much simpler version of that original idea by specifically focusing on one of the newest music games, Lego Rock Band. I think it's entirely appropriate that a game so heavily constructed around legofication uses legos themselves as part of these pop culture building blocks.
In the Coilhouse piece about legofication, they mention how songs are basically starting to be used as building blocks for mash-ups. I'd like to extend this idea, arguing that in the case of Lego Rock Band pop culture icons are being used as building blocks. While Legos themselves are literally building blocks, the entire lego franchise can definitely be viewed as a pop culture icon as well. This pop culture icon is one building block in the construction of Lego Rock Band; so are the images of Blur, David Bowie, Iggy Pop and Queen. (I have to say I'm impressed with the Lego rendering of Bowie, since they actually gave him two different eye colors.) Bands and singers that are obviously viewed as entire wholes are again being used as building blocks in a larger pop-culture artifact, in a slightly different way from how Coilhouse discusses this idea. These pop-culture entities are rendered using the style of another pop culture entity, and then put inside a third pop culture entity, namely the Rock Band series. It's one thing to make Lego renderings of famous musicians. It's another thing to put images of famous musicians in a video game. And it's another thing to put Legos inside a video game. These have all been done before. But Lego Rock Band is simply taking Legofication to entirely new levels (although this does remind me of the Lego Star Wars and Lego Indiana Jones series).
One question I've been wondering is whether or not anyone actually expects Lego Rock Band to be good. While people might be excited about their favorite musicians appearing together in a video game, too much legofication might not be a good thing. I'm reminded of The Good, The Bad, and The Queen, a supergroup featuring Damon Albarn of Blur, Paul Simonon of the Clash, the guitarist from The Verve (I don't remember his name), and Tony Allen, Fela Kuti's drummer. To top off this list of talent, their album was produced by Dangermouse. And it was really disappointing. Sure the album is fairly good, but considering all the names that went into it, it could've been way better. Now, I don't have high hopes for Lego Rock Band, and I'm sure a lot of people feel the same way as me. The only point that I'm trying to make is that in a lot of cases, Legofication could possibly lead to huge disappointment.
Another question that people have raised about Lego Rock Band is whether or not you'll be able to have Blur play songs by Queen, or whether David Bowie will be able to sing Iggy Pop songs. People have raised this question because there was a lot of controversy over the appearances of Johnny Cash and Kurt Cobain in Guitar Hero 5. In that game, both musicians were able to play songs by other artists, and lots of people had intense reactions to that, since they felt it was disrespectful to the musicians. Now, personally, I think having Kurt Cobain play songs by other artists sounds awesome. But I'm not here to argue about whether or not the inclusion of that feature was a good thing. The point that I do want to make, that comes from the post I was originally planning on writing, is that this feature is one of the most postmodern aspects of these games. One defining element of postmodernism as a movement is pastiche, which throws different cultural artifacts together and either strips them of their meaning or gives them new meaning. (If you think about it, legofication is really just another way of describing pastiche.) Having Johnny Cash playing "Smells Like Teen Spirit" is without a doubt a form of pastiche that dramatically changes the meanings of the cultural artifacts involved. Which is why people got so upset over this.
We can see postmodernism, pastiche, and legofication in DJ Hero as well, a music game that revolves around mash-ups. Again, in this example we essentially have two pastiches put together: the game involves musicians being represented in a video game, and these musicians play songs made up of other songs. In this case, pop songs that have already been legofied are put into another pop culture artifact for further legofication.
Now, I'm not arguing whether or not these games are good. I personally enjoyed Guitar Hero II, and I've also enjoyed playing Rock Band at parties, but I was really disappointed by Guitar Hero III, and I haven't had much interest in these types of games otherwise, although I've read a lot about them on video game and music blogs. But from my experience with these types of games, they are perfect examples of the legofication of popular culture.
I'd like to continue and elaborate on some of the points I made in my piece about canonization.
In Kevin Phinney's piece "Souled American" there was a quote that really caught my attention:
"African Americans are more interested in discovering the Next Big Thing than in riding a fad past its relevance to daily life. Certainly there's no reason for black Americans to romanticize their experience here. This country hasn't provided any good old days for people of color."
Phinney then went on to discuss how white people "perceive black derived culture as threatening their status quo," and compared "white music" to "an old lamp," referring to its sentimentality and nostalgia. While I do think this is a bit of an over-generalization, I also think there is some truth to it. To understand why, it is important to discuss the ways in which black musical forms have political origins.
Many, many historically black musical forms have been political in some way. Rap is an obvious example, and it's also very easy to hear political sentiment expressed in reggae, soul, and even largely instrumental musical forms like jazz. And in all of the musical forms listed above, race plays a hugely important role in the musical politics. From Louis Armstong's "Black and Blue" to Curtis Mayfield's "Don't Worry (If There's a Hell Below)" to The Abbyssinians' "Black Man's Strain" to Public Enemy's "Fight The Power," countless black musicians have used music as a way to challenge racism and oppression. And these musicians have often received incredibly harsh criticism for doing so.
Many articles about pop music discuss the initial reaction of many white people to black musical forms. Nick Bromell, in his piece "The Blues and the Veil," discussed the negative reaction to early rock music, and Phinney does as well, in addition to discussing the reactions many whites have had to rap music. Many white cultural critics have dismissed rock as well as rap in the name of "morals," condemning these musical forms as being too sexual and immoral. It is completely possible to read these criticisms as being reflective of stereotypes that equate blackness with sexuality, and while I definitely think that argument is true, I also don't think it's the only factor involved. I would like to argue that these negative, racist responses are also a reaction to the political aspects of these musical forms, whether they are explicit or implicit.
I'd like to go back to the Phinney quote about how white people can "perceive black derived culture as threatening their status quo." Both rock and rap have threatened the status quo of white political power. With rap it's easy to see why; many of the most popular and influential rap songs have lyrics that are directly, explicitly critical of white hegemony. While the lyrics of early rock songs were in no way as explicitly political, there was still a political aspect to the popularity of rock music. Like jazz before it, rock was an originally black musical form that became popular among white people, which in itself threatened the white status quo (even though white people combated this by elevating Elvis to his popularity). It makes sense that the conservative (and sometimes liberal) white people who criticize(d) these musical forms would do so as a reaction to their threatened status quo, even if they used other reasons to justify their criticism. To phrase it differently, many of the white cultural critics who condemn black musical forms are afraid of the popularity of these forms and want to hold on to their power.
But where does nostalgia fit in to this discussion? Phinney also discussed how there has been a historical pattern of black people innovating a musical form and white people profiting off of it. While many black musical forms have had political origins, these forms have often lost their explicitly political meaning in the eyes of white America when they have been appropriated and turned mainstream. When music challenges whiteness it is obviously hard for white people to listen to it, and many white people have intense reactions to it. But when it is appropriated, transformed, and marketed to a new audience, it loses much of its political potency. Jazz and rock were originally condemned by the mainstream media, but are now part of it. And this is where I feel nostalgia plays a role.
Many people who have condemned rap music have also referenced the "good old days" of jazz or rock, completely unaware of their hypocrisy. I'd like to argue that the reason many white people are fixated on the "good old days" has everything to do with power. When rap started to come under fire from the mainstream media, rock and jazz had already been de-politicized. The "good old days" were referenced because there was a desire to hold on to music that had less political power than it used to, and less political power than more contemporary musical forms that had not been de-politicized. Again, we can see history repeat itself. When looking at music from a historical perspective, we can see a pattern that goes something like this:
Innovative and sometimes explicitly political black music becomes popular
A lot of white people condemn this new music (although white people are not always the only ones who do so)
This music is appropriated, commercialized, and de-politicized by other white people (as in the case of Elvis or Clapton)
Said music becomes mainstream
A new form of music appears, and the process repeats itself, with people lamenting the waning popularity of the music that used to be political and hated
To quote Stuart Hall, "This year's radical symbol or slogan will be neutralised into next year's fashion; the year after, it will be the object of a profound cultural nostalgia." You could also add "then it will be referenced in opposition to a new radical form."
When I was in my senior year of high school, one of my favorite things to do after school was to take the bus to Tower Records and go shopping for new music. As I've said before, I loved Tower because, although it was a chain, it was one of those places where music fans congregated to judge each other. There was always a sense of hostility in the air, and a constant feeling that you had to be ready to defend your purchases, but that was what I loved about it. It was a place where you could debate and hear different perspectives, even if they were expressed rudely.
One of my most memorable experiences there happened when I bought The Holy Bible by the Manic Street Preachers. First of all, its album art is very... interesting, so I was a little nervous about showing it to the guy at the counter. When he picked it up to scan it he took a good long look at it, and all he said was "I liked the book better."
Ever since then, I have loved that album. It's one of my favorites of all time, not only because the songs are incredible, but also because it has one of the most interesting back-stories of any album ever. MSP consisted of four musicians, one of whom, a guitarist, was named Richey Edwards. Richey always displayed signs of mental instability, such as when he mutilated his arm during an interview. His grand philosophy involved making a spectacularly good album and following it with a spectacularly good tour, and then disappearing from the public eye forever.
The band released two albums and an EP before working on The Holy Bible. At that time, Richey suffered from severe anorexia and depression and was confined to a mental hospital, where he wrote most of the lyrics for the album. Because of this, The Holy Bible is what I like to call an unintentional concept album; it was a window into the mind of Richey. The album received enourmous praise from critics who were also terrified of it, and Richey came with the band on tour. Towards the end of the tour, Richey checked out of his hotel and was never seen again.
The Holy Bible is, to put it lightly, a deeply disturbing album. But you can't tell that if you just listen to it passively. The band's lead singer, James Dean Bradfield, wrote all of the music, which is much more pop-friendly than the lyrics. (I also think that the songwriting process of this album was really cool, since it was the opposite of what most bands do - the guitarist wrote the lyrics and the singer wrote the music.) The Holy Bible is one of those albums that sneaks up on you. The first time you listen to it, you'll probably think "this is a nice album." The second time, certain lyrics such as "I don't know what I'm scared of, or what I even enjoy," "I wanna be so skinny that I rot from view," and "I am an architect, they call me a butcher" will jump out at you, and by the third time you listen to the album you will be petrified with fear and depression. The Holy Bible is like a good Hitchcock movie; it scares you, but you still appreciate it and enjoy it.
Anyway, after that album the band acquired a poppier sound and a more positive outlook and released Everything Must Go, a solid but fairly straightforward album. Since then most of their material has been pretty boring, but they just released a new album called Journal for Plague Lovers that was hyped up to be the next Holy Bible, complete with lost Richey lyrics.
One look at the album cover and it's obvious that this album was at least an attempt to re-create The Holy Bible. The album cover's font is even the same. But did this album succeed at re-creating The Holy Bible? That's what I aim to answer in this album review.
Let's look at the first song on the album, "Peeled Apples." The first thing you'll notice (if you're familiar with The Holy Bible) is that the opening bassline is insanely reminiscent of the opening bassline to "Archives of Pain." We're only 5 seconds into the album and it already sounds similar to The Holy Bible. To answer whether or not this is a "classic" MSP song, let's look at the following checklist:
Does the song have a jagged-yet-hooky guitar riff? Check
Is the production minimal? Check
Reference to Noam Chomsky? Check
So far, this looks like a solid MSP album.
On to the next song. This one is immediately noticeably different from "Peeled Apples." Namely, it's obviously supposed to be the really poppy single. But what's that lyric? Something about a married man fucking a Catholic? Yeah, this is definitely still Holy Bible-style Manics.
As for the rest of the album, the one thing I will say in it's favor is that it has WAY more variety than The Holy Bible. Probably the biggest complaint I've heard about that album is that it gets really, really samey and kinda boring towards the end. I don't think that can be said as much about Journal. "This Joke Sport Severed," with it's strummed acoustic guitar and string arrangements, sounds like stuff from Everything Must Go, while "Marlon JD," with it's electronic drums, doesn't even sound like any Manics song I've ever heard before. Basically, you won't get bored while listening to this album.
I do have one minor complaint, though, and I'll phrase it as a question: where are all the quotes? On The Holy Bible almost every song either started or ended with a quote that had something to do with the song's lyrical content. For example, "Yes," a song about prostitution, opened with a quote from a documentary about prostitiution; likewise, "4st7lb," which was about anorexia, had a quote from an anorexic person, "If White America Told The Truth..." had a quote about Ronald Reagen, and "Faster," which was probably the climax and the most nihilistic song of the album, had an insanely memorable quote from 1984. But there are no quotes to be found on Journal! What happened? Sure, the quotes on The Holy Bible were a little pretentious and gimmicky, but they really tied together all the songs on the album and made it more cohesive. Still, that's just a minor complaint.
I think what you can gather from the last two paragraphs is that while The Holy Bible was meant to be a grand statement taken as a whole, Journal For Plague Lovers is more like a simple collection of songs. Which isn't a bad thing. If anything, it makes the album a little more unpredictable and exciting. And believe me, all that nihilism and despair from The Holy Bible is still there. Journal For Plague Lovers was meant to be the spiritual successor to The Holy Bible, and that's definitely what it is. While it isn't The Holy Bible, it sounds more like that album than any other Manics album. It is easily my second favorite Manics album. So if you prefer the scary depressing Manics to the happy pop-friendly Manics, you'll definitely like their new album.
Alright, I'm finally back on schedule. So you know what that means: it's time for
AWESOME SONG OF THE WEEK!!!
This week's awesome song is the wonderfully titled "Reggae From The Ghetto" by John Holt:
Now I know some of you out there might not like reggae because you think it all sounds the same (whichitdoesn't), but if you listen to this song and don't like it... I'll leave it up to you to fill in this part.
John Holt is without a doubt one of the most underrated reggae singers out there. His voice is superb, and he has some other incredible reggae songs ("Ali Baba" is another personal favorite of mine, and it really deserves its own week). Most of his songs are as hooky as this one, and he has experimented with a lot of different styles of reggae as well (because there are different styles of reggae), working with lots of different producers as well as collaborating with other artists, such as U-Roy. Basically, John Holt is awesome. You can find a lot of his stuff on Trojan Records box sets, and there are a few best-ofs as well, which would be good purchases, since a lot of his songs were released as singles.
Hope you enjoyed this week's awesome song. Stay alert for some more posts about music coming up.
Sup everyone! I was really busy last week, and then I was gone for the weekend, so here's a belated
AWESOME SONG OF THE WEEK!!!
For this week's awesome song, I have to link to the youtube video, since the visuals complement the song so well:
There's one word that really comes to mind when listening to this song: trippy. I love this song because it's fucking trippy.
The really cool thing about it though is that it was made entirely using sound clips from Alice in Wonderland. The main melody is especially cool, since it's made of Alice's speech, but there aren't any complete words in it. It's just melodic gibberish, which is actually a really cool use of the human voice.
I have to thank my friend Dan for showing me this song. The person who made it has a lot of similar videos on youtube of electronic music made of clips from children's movies. Listen to them all. My other favorite is the Harry Potter one.
"You may think you’re the punkest sonofabitch in the state, but you’ve probably never even seen a real punk in the wild."
-Field Guide To North American Hipsters
When I was in 9th grade, like many other kids my age, I considered myself to be a punk rocker, even though, looking back, I knew next to nothing about punk at the time. I followed the path that a lot of my friends took, listening to blink-182 while I was in middle school until I heard the Ramones and immediately rejected "pop-punk" in favor of "real" punk rock (even though the Ramones' music is basically just 50s bubblegum pop with distorted guitars, and even though I never really gave up listening to Green Day). I remember one time I was on the bus and an older punk kid saw the Ramones shirt I was wearing and asked me "Do you even know who the Ramones are?" I said something along the lines of "Yeah, they're a punk rock band." Not satisfied with my response, still continuing to size me up, he asked me "What's your favorite song by them?" I immediately named some random Ramones song (I don't remember which one), and, seeing that I wasn't completely full of shit, he left me alone. Right afterwards, one of my friends whispered to me "Dude, he thought you were a poseur."
For its entire history, punk has always had a fixation on the "authentic," and I can't even count the number of discussions I've had where people have debated whether or not a band is "real" punk rock. Scholar Allan Moore noted this in his article "Authenticity as Authentication," saying, "In its direct opposition to the growth of disco, [punk] was read as an authentic expression." Moore barely begins to scratch the surface of this idea in his article, so I would like to examine it a bit further, using arguments about "authenticity" that Moore makes elsewhere in his piece.
First of all, Moore notes that "authentic" music is defined "by its ability to articulate for its listeners a place of belonging, in opposition to mere entertainment or those belonging to hegemonic groupings." While this quote comes from much later in the article than his quote about punk, I feel that the two quotes basically go hand in hand. We've all heard the punk rock narrative before: a teenager feels rejected by mainstream society, but discovers punk and soon finds an accepting community. I admit that as an angsty teenager I thought of myself as living out this narrative, even though I'm incredibly privileged, and even though I've never been anything more than a peripheral member of the punk community at my school or in my city. But the fact is that punk is viewed as a "place of belonging" by many people; that's why one of the main criticisms of punk is that the "non-conformist" punk movement is in many ways insanely conformist. In relation to Moore's comment about "mere entertainment" or "hegemonic groupings," I've also been in lots of discussions where I've condemned people who shop at Hot Topic or listen to Good Charlotte, because they're not part of the punk community and don't actually care about punk rock, they just listen to it for "mere entertainment" and belong to "hegemonic groupings." By condemning "inauthentic" punk rock, punks authenticate their lifestyle and separate "real" punks who belong to the community from poseurs who appropriate the style.
Moore also mentions how music is often viewed as "authentic" if it is "essential" to a specific subculture. This quote also directly applies to punk rock, which is a musical form that both grew out of and created an enormous subculture. This is one reason why people are attracted to punk in the first place: listening to punk allows people to become part of a subculture. This again relates to the idea of "authentic" music conveying a sense of belonging. And if we are to argue that "authentic" music is essential to a subculture, then punk may be one of the most "authentic" forms of music around. The word "punk" refers not only to a type of music, but also to a type of identity.
In addition, Moore argues that music viewed as "authentic" conveys "private but common desires," feelings that are personal to people, but that are also common. Again, the sense of alienation that is expressed in punk is without a doubt a "private but common" feeling, which, along and in conjunction with the previous two factors, allows punk to be referred to as "authentic" music.
Is this why there is a difference between "real" punk and "pop punk?" If we are to use Moore's arguments, pop punk is not viewed as being "in opposition to mere entertainment" or especially "hegemonic groupings;" it is not as "essential" to a specific subculture if it is produced by major labels and marketed to people outside of a subculture; and although it does convey "private but common desires," this may not be enough to make up for the other two factors, if we are to talk about perceived authenticity in these terms. This factor could also be why most pop punk bands are still given a little credibility, and are still allowed to be called "punk," even though it's with a prefix.
When viewing punk rock through Moore's arguments about "authenticity," it can be made clearer why some punk bands are viewed as "authentic" and other bands are not. This is one factor that draws so many people to punk, and one reason why people get into arguments about what is "real" punk.
"I'll meet you 10:45 on the Broadway Canal/In a disco radical transglobal/comanja cooking up the original mixtura/s ulitzy do ulitzy the brilliant bassura/Mama---Diaspora!!!"
The above lyrics are taken from the song "Dogs Were Barking" by Gogol Bordello, and the multiplicity of languages in them, as well as the reference to "a disco radical transglobal," accurately reflects the incredibly diverse influences on that band. Perhaps because the chorus of this song prominently features the word "diaspora," I was completely unable to get my mind off of Gogol Bordello while reading about diaspora and immigrant communities this week. But there's definitely more to it than that: Gogol Bordello is a band that can easily be brought up in discussions about many topics, such as transnationalism, sonic communities, and masculinity, just to name a few.
To give some background information, Gogol Bordello is a band frequently labeled as "Gypsy punk," although that classification barely begins to describe their sound or identity; their music is a mixture of folk, punk, EDM, and reggae; their lyrics are sung in English, Spanish, and multiple Eastern European languages; and the band contains musicians from Ukraine, Russia, Israel, Ethiopia, the United States, Scotland, and Ecuador, three of whom have Roma, Chinese, and Japanese ancestry, respectively. If we are to talk about music that crosses and contests ideas of nationhood, then Gogol Bordello must be brought up. Not only does their sound and membership reflect international hybridity, but many of their songs deal directly with issues of immigration and diaspora, as their primary songwriter, Eugene Hutz, is a Ukranian descendent of the Roma people who emigrated to the United States after spending seven years in Eastern European refugee camps.
The arguments that scholar George Lipsitz applies to the Fugees in his article "Crossing Over: The Hidden Histor of Diaspora" can in some ways also be applied to Gogol Bordello, since both groups have songwriters whose immigrant identity influences and informs their music. Hutz has written songs that reference refugee camps ("Oh No"), differences and connections between generations ("My Strange Uncles From Abroad"), and immigrant communities ("Immigrant Punk," "Underdog World Strike," and lots of other songs). These songs are all drawn from Hutz's own experiences, as he came from an oppressed ethnic group in Europe and immigrated to the United States as a refugee. While many of these songs are specific to Hutz's experience, many of them also deal with larger immigrant communities, as many of the other musicians in Gogol Bordello are first or second generation immigrants. The ways in which Gogol Bordello incorporate their influences and constantly changing identities into their music and lyrics is similar to the way in which Lipsitz describes the music of the Fugees. While both groups create very different music and have very different identities, one similarity between them is the way in which their music is influenced by their respective cultures, both in their countries of origin and in the United States as immigrants. Gogol Bordello's Eastern European folk music influence represents the countries where many of its band members are from, and the lyrics of many Gogol Bordello songs are about the experiences of immigrants in the United States. In a similar way, the Fugees cover of "No Woman No Cry" from their album The Score is a tribute to the Caribbean music that influenced the group, while the lyrics of many of their songs reflect the problems that Caribbean immigrants face in the United States.
As scholar Gayatri Gopinath notes, however, in reference to South Asian music in England, many songs that reflect an immigrant experience specifically reflect the experiences of immigrant men, and this argument could also be applied to Gogol Bordello. While there are women in the band, they do take a background role to some of the other musicians. I've seen Gogol Bordello live twice, and I remember distinctly that the first time I saw them the two women in the band didn't come onstage until about halfway through the show, and they played a very different role from the men. While the men in the band were wearing street clothes (except maybe for Hutz, who was wearing some pretty crazy fashion, although I think he wears really crazy fashion all the time), the women were wearing matching tight revealing clothing. And while the men in the band were, again, except for Hutz, largely just standing there and playing their instruments, the women were dancing around and making a huge spectacle. In addition, if you go on Gogol Bordello's wikipedia page, you'll see that the two women in the band are listed as "dancers," while none of the men are. Basically, you can interpret this however you want, I'm just pointing out that the women in Gogol Bordello play a very different, largely more physical role from most of the men in the band.
I say "most," because their role in the band's live shows is actually very similar to Hutz's. During the shows, Hutz plays the guitar and sings, but like the women (who also play percussion), Hutz also does crazy stuff onstage (my favorite part of the show was when he crowdsurfed on top of a bass drum). While the two women in Gogol Bordello are largely there to put on a show, so is Hutz. Quite frankly, all of the other musicians in the band are better than Hutz. So while the gender distinctions in Gogol Bordello's live shows aren't completely clear-cut, we still have the issue that Hutz is largely the face of Gogol Bordello. He writes and sings all of the songs and is the center of the band's shows. As a result, the lyrics of many Gogol Bordello songs do specifically reflect male immigrant experiences ("60 Revolutions" is the first song I can think of that is definitely from a male perspective). While the diversity of the musicians in Gogol Bordello does reflect the fact that many Gogol Bordello songs are about the experiences of people in diasporas, we still have the fact that Gogol Bordello's primary songwriter is a man, and all of the men in Gogol Bordello are considered to be just musicians, while the two women in the band are given the status of dancers.
This blog post is really long, and I'm kind of rambling at this point. I really don't have any huge central argument, but I just wanted to point out that that there are many parallels between Gogol Bordello's Eastern European diasporic music and the Caribbean and South Asian diasporic music that Lipsitz and Gopinath discussed, both in terms of musical and lyrical influence and representation, and in terms of gender issues.
Below are videos of some of the songs mentioned above:
For this week's awesome song I have prepared a wonderful psychedelic pop classic for you.
I absolutely love songs that sound really happy but actually have really depressing lyrics. This is one of them. While the bouncy pop melody will make anyone happy, once they listen to the lyrics they'll realize that this song is about someone who's lover is in jail. Sorry if I ruined your happiness.
But you should still be happy, because this song is still awesome. The melody is so catchy, the bassline is so mellow, the drums are so crisp, and the semi-chorus ("Feeeeeeels sooooooo goooooood you're coming hooooooooooome sooooooooooon") is about as epic as 5 seconds of music can possibly be.
You might be thinking it's a little hypocritical of me to be posting a 60s psychedelic song this week after shitting all over classic rock last week, but the Zombies were never part of the canon. They made a fucking great album called Odessey and Oracle (the misspelling isn't intentional, the album cover designer just spelled it wrong by accident and it stuck) which was ignored by pretty much everyone, but had one hit single called "Time of the Season" which you've heard in every movie about hippies. However, the band put so much effort into making this album and had so many disputes over it that when the album went nowhere, they called it quits. It's a shame that this album went nowhere and the band broke up, because Odessey and Oracle is even better than some Beatles albums. And come on, how fucking awesome is that album cover? Really fucking awesome.
So there's your awesome song of the week. Hope you're feeling awesome now.
