The second istallment of the 2006 Shmoo Poll Results. There was a tie for #16 so there is no #17.
Thanks to the blurb-writers.
[img][200:200]http://www.revolver.nu/bilder/album/the_strokes_first_impressions_of_earth.jpg[/img]
18. The Strokes - First Impressions of Earth
This guy has crack:
It's hard to believe in 2007, but there was a time when NYC was perceived as a violent, scary place, where rock & roll existed amongst the sewer rats in the dark alleys. There was even a time, rumor holds, when you could smoke inside. Now, however, there's a giant hole in the ground, but the repositioning of Manhattan to closely resemble the "New York, New York" casino in Vegas, and thus attract the family-oriented crowds to the tourist industry, is complete.
It's appropriate that the band most emblematic of the post-Gulliani version of the city, the Strokes, evokes the conflict embodied there. In the forefront is a petulant child coolly pretending that he's unaffected by NYC's inability to live up to his fantasies. Behind him lurk a handful of resigned adults, pulling off the sense of "cool" that comes closest to "resigned acquiescence". The band sounds like the carefully mannered decorum of a father who has truly given up on his life, deciding that he's finally going to wear whatever he wants because he truly DOES NOT CARE, and inevitably ending up in Old Navy and Gap staples. In an album of Joe Jackson covers, this conflict becomes an interesting aspect of the band. Julian pretends that he does not care about anything; the band pretends that they do. This tension sets the tone for a collection of relatively decent rock songs, but they never complete the boil over that they lead you to, almost as if they've lost all motivation, although the Strokes never had any. The result of both the city and her adopted poster children is an unsatisfying and unsettling conglomeration of giant pussies, a sad reminder of what might have been before youth was lost.
Radcliffe:
Goddamn, do I ever hate the Strokes. Here’s these tousle-haired, upper class young fuckers, each one more spoiled and better looking than the other, and not only did these fashionista shitheels have the audacity to put out a debut album that was good enough to trick everybody into liking it, but then they go ahead and insist on having a career instead of simply fading away into obscurity (as was clearly outlined in the fine print of their deal with the devil). And fuck it all, with
First Impressions Of Earth the Strokes have unapologetically shown up with album #3 – and they’re still clutching on to the snicker-worthy concept of being a rock band. I mean, what’s a rock band in 2006? We’ve all moved beyond such anachronisms, haven’t we? There isn’t even a shred of irony here. It’s as if the Strokes are just content to throw out a collection of solid songs. How can you take that kind of naivety seriously? Julian Casablancas actually sings, as best as he can (let's all guffaw here - didn’t Lou Reed prove that vocalists cannot eke out even a shred of immortality with only a New York honk? He didn’t? Oh, nevermind, then). Still. You get the point. This album tosses out vocal hooks and great melodies like they’re the cheap tricks that they are. And fourteen songs of it. What, do these oversexed moppets think they’re in the entertainment industry or something? Look, it’s one thing for Belle & Sebastian to feebly mimic T.Rex – that’s a bold stylistic leap forward – but SEVEN SYLLABLES OF “RAZORBLADE” SOUND LIKE “MANDY”, fer chrissakes. That can’t be tolerated. The indie nation didn’t spend its youth with its collective ear to the bedroom wall, listening to the soothingly muted strains of the Barry Manilow records that big sister played while clutching on to tear-stained hankies in order to prepare themselves for this creatively void retro throwback macho bullshit that the Strokes spew out. Where’s the harp? Where’s the meandering, playfully erudite song titles? Where’s the tempo-shifting suites and the loving tributes to Brian Wilson? Where’s the smirking appreciation of Skip Spence’s mental deterioration? Where’s the backing choir dressed in angel wings? Not here. This is just five dudes, cranking out their sound like it’s all that matters. Well, ha ha. The joke’s on them. Goddamn, do I ever hate the Strokes.
16a. Junior Boys - So This Is Goodbye
Yail Bloor:
Its not that I dislike “Electronic” music, I just don’t listen to a lot of it. I’ll always have a certain soft spot for some artists, like Air, whose work I’ve enjoyed in the past, but on the by and large I consider most of the genre to be background music for lounges or dance clubs depending on the ferocity of the beats.
Which brings us to the Junior Boys
So This Is Goodbye, an asphalt slab of el-cheapo keyboard grooves, off-the-rack sound effects, and amateurish beats all layered with creepy, whispery vocals that seem to want to say something important, but are so light and devoid of meaning that they make the music seem heavy by comparison. My first reaction was that this must be the outtake music for Buffalo Bill’s “I’d fuck me” scene from Silence of the Lambs—creepy in an unsettling way.
I’m sure that there is a great deal of music of this genre that is quite good—I wish I could say that about
So This Is Goodbye, but it unfortunately falls well short of even background listenability.
splates:
This record is embarrasing. And great. The romantic soundtrack to a night spent alone, all black velvet and neon signs. They even cover Frank Sinatra, fitting as the album gives a similar feel to something like
In The Wee Small Hours. The album itself moves away from the 2-step influences of the first album towards a more synthy new wave feel of the Orchestral Manouevres in the Dark variety. Next time you're awake at 4 a.m., pop this one on.
16b. Thom Yorke - The Eraser
pumachik:
While we have all been anxiously awaiting for Radiohead to release their seventh album, Thom as been expressing his disillusionment with himself and the world on his laptop over glitchy, electronic beats and released his ‘surprise’ solo debut,
The Eraser. Many people have mixed feelings when it comes to
The Eraser because it consists of tighter structures in the songs that are centered on the vocals used as an instrument rather than the melodies, guitars and drums we love. But hey listen up – this is a solo album by Thom Yorke, not a Radiohead album right? Granted we get the sample of the piano riff from Jonny Greenwood in the title track, but then the album treks along into more glitches and focuses more on Yorke’s voice while the blips and bleeps are used as the background – not that that’s a bad thing. Goodness people, get over it. Surely enough, I may be biased because I’m a huge fanatic of all things Radiohead and electronic music, but I wasn’t looking for another
OK Computer or
Kid A, although you can hear traces of Kid A in certain elements of some of the songs, i.e.: “Black Swan” (in which Thom actually did use a library sample from the
Kid A sessions on this track). However, this album was meant for mood and melancholy. I do not recommend this album if you do not like electronic music or if you expect another Radiohead album, but for those willing to listen with open ears all judgment aside, it is a truly brilliant album.
Vanlandingham:
Perhaps the most random and interesting thing that I was able to find out about Thom Yorke's "The Eraser" is the fact that is was released startlingly close to 10 years to the day that Arnold Schwarzenegger's "Eraser" opened in US movie theatres (Jun 23, 2006: Jul 11, 2006). The comparison can go one step further than that: much like the Terminator, “The Eraser” finds Mr. Yorke in his coldest and most calculated moment. It's an electronic album: that’s a fact that nobody can take away from this set of songs. However, as an electronic album I’m not sure it fires on all cylinders. Even in their most experimental and progressive moments Radiohead songs still seems to pulse with a palpable sense of excitement. To me, that’s the one thing that this solo set of tracks is lacking. One area where the album does succeed however is in its vocals. Yorke doesn’t try to stretch or overdo his distinctive crooning style while the lyrics are for the most part straightforward and in that surprisingly refreshing. But in terms of praise, that’s about as far as I can go with this one. With its synthetic textures and beats, the songs just don’t feel like they have the energy they should. Maybe I just appreciate (or over appreciate) the dynamics that Radiohead brings to the table every time; I just think that this would come out a lot better if Yorke had stuck to a piano, acoustic guitar type approach for the album itself. I would be curious to take a cross sample of one hundred Radiohead fans and see if they regard this as a credible solo release or as just a stopgap for a seemingly overdue Radiohead album.
