| Refused---The Shape Of Punk To Come | Quasi---Field Studies |
| Chevelle---Point # 1 | David Bowie ----Hours |
---Reviewed by Catherine Lee
My punk
pedigree isn't pure enough to judge whether the Refused CD really is
The Shape of Punk of Come, it is enough to hear that there is a future of
an alive, fluid genre that wakes up our dormant vitriol. You really should
read the manifesto and lyrics while spinning this CD. Refused mixes Marxism,
Feuerbach, Ornette Coleman, and a voice that screams for our salvation.
Solid guitar hooks, meaty bass (including jazz stand-up), and masterfully
placed pieces of sampling give each song a life that swoops between our
sadness, stupor, and rage. These songs don't just rock, they excoriate the
listener to feel & live beyond the proffered consumer fetishism of our "global
economy". New Noise (also the amazing video) asks "Can I scream?" which he answers immediately. This is punk, hardcore- whatever- but it's firmly positioned as a political protest song, "It's here for us to admire if we can afford the beauty of it." Liberation Frequency has a hollow childish voice asking for the airwaves back (Gang of Four-ish) which build through Dennis' question/chorus, serving as the radio listeners' alter ego to express rage at the crap considered radio worthy. The immature voice grows stronger until you're whipped up by the power of a voice that screams, "We don't just want airtime, we want all of the time all of the time." Protest Song '68 is guitar hooky enough that if played in a crowd of societal exclaves a real revolution could start in the streets. Tannhauser/Derive is an individual's life span - packed into 8 minutes: anguished violin, stark sampling, spoken word, and real screams for an un-mediated life, "Disoriented but alive".
I use this CD like caffeine in the morning just to hear Refused pose the question, "What if art was a Real Threat ?"
RIYL: Big Black, Rage Against the Machine, Gang of Four, Refused {Songs to Fan the Flame of Discontent}
New Noise MP3 and music video
Amazon download Summerholidays VS. Punkroutine
Refused site
---Reviewed by B.C. Heathcliff
Pete Loeffler, the star guitarist, singer, and lyrics author of this trio
of brothers (Sam and Joe) from Chicago has seen some life in his 22 years
if we can judge by his lyrics. Thematically, many songs remind me of juvenile
traumas that have a painful repetition. After our first breakup did we stop
counting the hurts on some romantic tally sheet? Probably not, each hurt
got tallied for each separate relationship. For Point #1, that's
the question - keep a tally of pain? Or find healing in the touch of another?
Or what about stupid mistakes that we said "Never again" but happen
again ? These things repeat and repeat in our (and others) lives. There
is pain and empathy in Chevelle's songs for the repetitive actions that
cause remorse and regret layered with anger at that demon who questions
self-worth. All of the songs are good, but Open, Mia (great
claymation video), Skeptic and Dos are songs that could become
personal anthems. Loeffler's lyrics go beyond the surface , and build scenarios
with multi-threaded voices and emotions, delivered in layers of contrast
with the music itself. There is a synergy between the instruments that's
electrified power. It sounds as if each instrument is leading the others
and within each song progression: the chase tightens between them until
they're all squeezed together - all leading and all chasing, but perfectly
complimentary in their rapid interplay. Hard guitar, a bass you can feel,
and thumping drums make you rock on your knees and feet - the thrash feelings
are driven by Loeffler's breaks into vocal loudness that beseech for an
understanding of what he won't do, sees others forced to do, and what he
will do after his rage has been poured out. Chevelle's live show is the
kind that makes you gasp to your neighbor, "These guys are amazing."
Steve Albini produced an album that captures most of the heat Chevelle generates
on stage, tough as it may be. Comparisons to Tool and Helmet are inevitable
but these guys are a welcome new entry in our rock library. Don't give up
on great new rock yet, 'cause Chevelle is here with thoughtful lyrics, pounding
music, and the right chorus howls for you to sing with. ---Reviewed by John Kane
Quasi's special gift is their remarkable ability to fuse world weary cynicism
with songs of the utmost beauty. Much of their charm comes from singer Ben
Coomes' aching yet smooth voice which manages to make the most bitter lyrics
sound appealing. And the lyrics are very sharp and very bitter---"I'm
not going to give it up for free anymore / And I don't really care if you
label me a whore","Better to be a has-been / Then to be a never-was",
"You worship the future like it's some kind of saint / But it's just
like the past with a new coat of paint". By the way, all that's just
from the first song, there's thirteen more dark and lovely songs filled
with great lines. Theme of the album, and unlike most albums it does have
a theme, is the impossibility of being truly free. Whether he's trying to
get the devil to buy his soul to pay his rent or forget his lover's face,
Coomes and his ex-wife (and Sleater-Kinney drummer) Janet Weiss never go
for the easy answers. It doesn't ever get depressing though, and that's
largely thanks to the pleasant and catchy music which is extremely rich
and dense considering it's made by just two people. It's difficult not to
wonder how much a factor Coomes' and Weiss' divorce plays in Quasi's bitter
music, but hopefully they do know that together they are crafting some of
the best music in the indie rock world. ---Reviewed by Peter Rossi
While we
are trashing Rock Stars who have outlived their ability to emote, to inspire,
to create, let's not forget to chuck David Bowie's latest recording "Hours"
into the pop music debris box as well. This 47-minute "collection of songs
and sentiments" just begs the question: Why was this album made? Was David
Bowie contractually bound? "Hours" opens with a scorching (pleeez!) little
pop enema quaintly titled "Thursday's Child," which makes me want to incarcerate
all Rock Stars who waste our time singing about their favorite days of the
week. In "What's Really Happening," Bowie promises us "Now it's time to
say goodbye...to face the lie, that we'd never cry." Wow. Special note,
however, for the Jesus Lizardesque guitar work on "New Angels of Promise."
As I fidgeted around waiting for the last "epic" to conclude, I realized
the reason for this album: schlep the Bowie anthology. The 15 or so photographs
of the artist leave the listener caught between images of David Bowie as
Spaceman, as Jim Carroll, as Hugh Grant. The consumer is dared to collect
all the "Legendary Music." It was a melancholy moment when I accepted that
the singer who got inside my prepubescent mind and soul with albums like
"Diamond Dogs," and "Young Americans" can only move me in the worst way
now.