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Merry Christmas to you all, and hopefully your 2009 will be even more spectacular than your 2008.
P.S. The next review will be out very soon … I’ve been on a week-long hiatus. I’ve had other things to do, you know.
And it’s very sad that I have to cite even this picture, but here it is:
Image credited to: http://www.talis.com/source/blog/http:/www.talis.com/source/blog/images/Christmas%20tree.jpg
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Image credited to: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/dd/808nheartbreakcover.jpg
Last year, Mr. West was on top of the world with the release of the splendid Graduation. Almost every single song on the album – chiefly the Daft Punk-sampling “Stronger” – took the musical world by storm, and for once in the commercialised world we live in today, there was good reason for that. And it’s not as if Graduation was Kanye’s crowning moment – his first two albums, The College Dropout and Late Registration had also been responsible for a good amount of hit singles, the attention of the masses, and West’s journey up to the pinnacle of hip-hop over the last half-decade. For once, in the midst of crowds who worship rubbish bands and in the midst of the most deplorable music that has seen the light of day in the last few decades, there seemed to be legions of fans who venerated decent music.
Had one been obliged to choose exactly one trait that defined Kanye’s music, it would be memorability; perhaps through endless loops and samples (one can look at Ray Charles and Daft Punk for example), perhaps through the trumpeting riffs of spectacular creations like “Touch the Sky”, perhaps through West’s own trademark charisma that leaks out of his rapping utterances, each of Kanye’s first three albums exhibited a pervasive unforgettability factor. Of course, West was not shallow enough to descend towards musical retardedness – but the catchiness is still there. A brief glance over Graduation does the trick: Daft Punk’s featuring on “Stronger” – a staccato piano riff laden with Chris Martin vocals on “Homecoming” – Steely Dan’s “Kid Charlemagne” wails on “Champion” – and even Kanye’s characteristic uhh’s on “Good Morning”, among so many other examples, just shows how Mr. West ensures that whatever he sends out to his listeners’ ears stays there.
Well, there are good news and bad news from Kanye in this respect. The good news is that 808s & Heartbreak still retains this memorability factor. The bad news is that despite this, Mr. West manages to sound dreadfully forgettable. The addictive beat, the riffs, the catchphrases – they are all there, but Kanye somehow left out the X-factor that magically brings the momentousness to life. Perhaps it’s because of all of the singing and the Auto-Tune; perhaps it’s because West sounds grimly despondent. As West’s mother Donde West tragically passed away last year, and as he called off his engagement to would-be fiancée Alexis Phifer, it would only be possible for Kanye to provide us with what would be his darkest solo album. He would contentedly wave goodbye to that buoyant, charismatic rapping, and instead, he would solemnly sing: “Welcome to Heartbreak.”
And there’s the Auto-Tune. Kanye was never a talented singer; but every song, especially the first single “Love Lockdown”, is embroidered with the effect that makes West’s voice sound so mechanical, so lifeless. Solemnity, thank God, does not rid of witticisms and lyrical cleverness, but the scripture that Kanye’s put on offer on 808s is as cringeworthy as that of any rubbish pop rock band out there. The imagery in “Welcome to Heartbreak” sounds awfully clichéd: “My godsister getting married by the lake / But I couldn’t figure out who I wanna take / Bad enough that I showed up late / I had to leave before they even cut the cake / Welcome to Heartbreak,” and the more-than-half-a-dozen “amazin’”s that he almost tiredly spits out in “Amazing” is earachingly obnoxious. Graduation saw Kanye beget a work where sophistication could seamlessly harmonise with simplicity. But the dangerously creaky ladder down to every musician’s supposed fear – musical retardedness – seems to be where Kanye’s headed with this piece of work.
FINAL RATING: C+
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Image credited to: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/3/3e/Black_ice_red.jpg
To be honest, I did not know quite how to approach this album. Of all of the works we have examined so far, believe it or not, Black Ice is the most fundamental, most uncompromising, and most clichéd. And while AC/DC’s brand of music is not (for the most part) poor, no other rock n’ roll act seems to worship rock n’ roll as much as this 35-year-old band. Indeed, they’ve kept all of the rudimentaries – or rather, nothing but the rudimentaries – of the genre, and that means no concept albums, no ballads, no synthesisers, no choirs, no orchestras – nothing but the foursome of vocals, guitar, bass, and drums that constitutes the undoubted core of any rock band. AC/DC was able to wean out fourteen albums of constant hard-rock tirades about politics, women, drugs, booze, fights, money, and basically nothing else.
So, seeing that I did not quite realise how to approach an album that, by a critic’s usual standards, should merit a D for all of its perpetual lack of innovation and lyrical guile, I examined the approaches of others. Rolling Stone’s Brian Hiatt assigned AC/DC three-and-a-half stars, and here was the justification: “… Black Ice is their best argument in years – maybe decades – that evolution is for suckers … [but] The album feels longer than its 55 minutes, thanks to a stretch of throwaway rockers … But … These guys are true believers, fighting a war no one told them ended long ago.” (Hiatt) Alexis Petridis of The Guardian allocated a slightly more paltry three stars, stating: “Black Ice clearly isn’t a record particularly interested in what the layman thinks: if you’ve sold 200m albums worldwide, you don’t really need to go around touting for new clients.” (Petridis) The opinion doesn’t stray too far from a seemingly more-or-less ubiquitous notion: Australia’s most successful rock band feels no need at all to evolve or to undergo any directional change. They don’t need to ever move out of their comfort zone – and such a zone manifests the aforementioned rudimentaries of rock n’ roll that defined the entirety of the nature of AC/DC.
And although distinguishing between AC/DC albums and differentiating them as “good” and “bad” is like needlessly splitting hairs, there seems to be a consensus that Highway to Hell and Back in Black, two paradigms of rock n’ roll, illustrate their peak sound; and the thing is, there are parts of Black Ice that boast the same kind of obdurate appeal that illumined these albums. “Rock ‘n Roll Train” enjoys the swagger of a long-lost AC/DC masterpiece with a catchy riff, Brian Johnson’s usual grit, another one of Angus Young’s economical solos, and the routine tongue-lashing lyrics about a “runaway train” and a childhood “fantasy” upon an unspecified “her”. Horny lyrics often do not mix well with modern representations of the female gender, but as the aforementioned Hiatt noted, the Australian quintet are “fighting a war no one told them ended long ago.” It is almost as though they live delusional lives as performers, motivated by ideals that were popular decades ago; but when AC/DC brings such ideals to the stage, it is almost as though we are also teleported to the other world they dwell within. When hip-hop stars pen clichéd puns about girls and sex, they are demolished by critics everywhere; when AC/DC does the same, the same critics hail them as a respectable rock band – or at least, they don’t really give a damn.
And so, even with songs like “Big Jack” and “She Likes Rock ‘n Roll”, with songs that sound the same all the time, with songs that talk about the same stuff, AC/DC can pride themselves, having made a solid album by their former standards. “Stormy May Day” is especially AC/DC-like in structure, its rather untested slide-guitar riff notwithstanding; however, it is still a strong song that will ensure that the band’s legions upon legions of fans will be satisfied with. For once, for an incredibly rare moment in the analysis of music, superificiality becomes a virtue and innovation, a vice; and AC/DC may count themselves extremely lucky for just that.
FINAL RATING: B+
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Image credited to: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/e/e7/Prospektsmarch_small.jpg
Viva la Vida, Part II, is basically what Prospekt’s March can be referred to as: the EP manifests much of the LP’s inventiveness and technique with which Chris Martin and company can pride themselves. Of course, much of that is a given; it would be preposterous (and Coldplay idiotic) had the band reverted back to their X&Y selves with this EP. “Glass of Water” is especially commendable and easily betters many of the songs on the LP itself, while “Life in Technicolor ii” provides a likeable sequel to its original counterpart in Viva. However, there is a reason Viva is an LP and Prospekt is an EP – that is, there are certain pieces in Prospekt that render Coldplay their always-imperfect selves. “Prospekt’s March / Poppyfields” hearkens back to the sleep-inducing foursome who embarassed themselves in X&Y, while “Lost+” provides testament that yet another rock band has done terrible injustice upon their own beloved genre through collaborating with Jay-Z. All in all, Prospekt is not quite the perfect album, it being an EP notwithstanding, but still merits applause for a few meritable creations within a genre Coldplay can be proud of inventing.
FINAL RATING: B
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Image credited to: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/9/99/Queen_The_Cosmos_Rocks_Album_Cover.jpg
In retrospect, 2008 seems to be a year of comebacks in the rock industry. Chinese Democracy, Death Magnetic, Black Ice (which I will indeed get around to at some point in the future), Accelerate, Modern Guilt among countless others all hit the shelves in what was the most profitable year for sales and publicity of the genre for some time. It comes as a significant surprise, then, that one specific comeback, devised by who forged, in their prime, definitely one of the most spectacular bands upon the planet, was buried into the ground, completely forgotten.
Such an album is, of course, the 2008 release of The Cosmos Rocks.
Queen at their height were one of the most respectable bands in existence. Brian May, John Deacon, Roger Taylor, and not least the brilliant Freddie Mercury formed in many ways the most flamboyant, perfect quartet in the music industry. Sheer Heart Attack, 1974. A Night at the Opera, 1975. “We Will Rock You” and “We Are the Champions.” Live Aid, 1985. And such manifest the mere periphery of Queen’s accomplishments. Millions and millions around the world still chant Mercury’s name, seventeen years after his tragic defeat to AIDS. His outrageously powerful live shows, his remarkable voice, and his great talents as a lyricist are three good reasons to why he can aptly be named the single greatest frontman who ever lived.
And such a great frontman, such a significant, rudimentary portion of the regal quartet, is what is missing from The Cosmos Rocks. Paul Rodgers is a momentous frontman of his own right, and his influence tellingly showed in live performances of, yes, Queen’s material. Not Queen + Paul Rodgers‘ material, but Queen’s material. When he forcefully jams his bluesy howl into the mix, all of Queen + Paul Rodgers’ new creations seem a childish jab at mundane rock n’ roll, a trade the Mercury-led Queen seemed completely unaware of. Perhaps Mercury and company had set the bar much too high for the newly begotten trio to emulate them.
And perhaps Queen + Paul Rodgers does not even attempt to imitate the legendary foursome at all. However, such doesn’t matter when the music at hand is clichéd, lyrically weak, and lacks all of the merits that made Queen so brilliant – not least elegance and sophistication. Brian May and Roger Taylor’s vain ventures into playing hard rock to suit Rodgers’ vocals in “C-lebrity”, compounded with painstakingly horrific libretto like, “I want to be / a face on T.V. / then you can see / I’m a C-lebrity,” renders their second single one critical debacle. Their first single, the Taylor-led “Say It’s Not True”, sees the trio attempt the polar opposite, but again fail miserably with Taylor’s over-produced vocals and Rodgers’ powerful howls that clash questionably against the lyrics’ despondency. Indeed, the only song that seems to exhibit any sort of rhetoric sophistication – “Time to Shine” – sounds grossly Rush-esque. Queen + Paul Rodgers seemed so promising a band through their live performances of Queen’s former material. But when the holy grails of rock n’ roll gone by are replaced by this sort of unremarkable junk that seem not to have materialised from the minds of three venerate rock legends, but rather from the dingy square boxes of a slightly sophisticated pop punk band, such promise seems to have been greatly misinformed.
FINAL RATING: C
