Disco Biscuits
They Missed The Perfume
(Megaforce Records)
by Brian Hamman
The band is winning the praise of jam band enthusiasts, but they have someone called DJ num chuck. They have someone called DJ num chuck. A deejay. They have a deejay. Still, they appear on lists containing such jam band icons as Phish, moe., and Bela Fleck.
Something is wrong.
Or something is changing. The Disco Biscuits have combined two already reactionary, already progressive, and already cult-ish musical cultures to create their own improvisational blend of jungle, dance, jam, groove, and other forms of music that few people have heard of, and fewer have heard. Oh, and they rank Phillip Glass and other classical composers among their major influences. Call them a mutt of the musical world.
But call them a good doggie. In fact, a damn good doggie. By combining virtually every musical genre known to recording studios, the Disco Biscuits have created an album that reflects their many layers. Tracks on the CD literally evolve into songs. They start with nothing, find a melody (or two or seven), pick up a beat, change beats, swap beats, (beats), find beats, lose beats, lose melodies, jam, improvise, leave a rhythm, find lyrics, repeat lyrics, repeat lyrics, and then retreat back into a seamless segue into the next track. Give the doggie a biscuit.
Call them performers. The Disco Biscuits epitomize the jam band and deejay mentality. They do not plan, they react. They do not perfect, they feel. Listening to the six tracks on They missed the Perfume points to their obvious spontaneous talent. At times, lengthy guitar solos and complex beat matching struggle to stay confined within the limits of a studio CD.
But something should be said about this studio. The Biscuits recorded the album in a functional electrical equipment factory in Pennsylvania.
But don’t be fooled by their electronic dependency. The Disco Biscuits – named by a screaming (and perhaps intoxicated) fan during a concert – are equally comfortable with a randomly and rapidly confused series of unrelated beats ( something like the paragraphs in this review) or a more groovy, flowing melody that changes minimally with each permutation and challenges the audience to follow the subtleties of their music.
Yes, listening to the Biscuits takes skill. It requires an investment. Sure, you could sit and listen while reading your favorite Dickens novel (the one with the cities, and the guillotine, and the dude at the bank), and you would be able to concentrate on the paragraphs while the music mellows you out to the point where you fall asleep at about page twelve. Or, you can actively listen and really feel the guitar begin to take off on its own path, or forget again, and again, and then again when the beat shifts in the middle of track two or three or four or one.
This CD is a must for anyone who has gone to a Phish concert, but loathes anything electronic, or anyone who has wondered why hippies show up at raves. The Biscuits unite two worlds of foundationally improvisational music – spinning and jam – into a style that truly flows.
You pay for one CD, get six tracks (about ten songs), some cool cover art, and an introduction to at least fifteen musical styles you’ve never heard of. Not a bad deal.
****
Ani Difranco
Reckoning/revelling
(Righteous Babe Records)
by Justine McBride
“I feel you make love to me slightly / every time you let a little laugh slip too soon / and the moment passes over us so lightly / it feels like sand blowing over a dune.”
Ani Difranco has grown up. She is no longer simply a “girl with a guitar” who stole the hearts of music fans everywhere with her angst-filled lyrics and quirky stage presence. With the release of her latest album Reckoning/Revelling, a double album set with over two hours of music, it is easy to see that Ms. Difranco has arrived as a true independent icon.
Some may lament the obvious evolution that Ani’s music has gone through; she is no longer the single, angry, young adult dealing with the businesses of love, relationships, politics, and the confusion of coming of age in our racist, sexist and capitalist society. Don’t fret: Reckoning/Revelling is no less critical and astutely aware of the various problems that plague our society. But Ani is most definitely married, older, and less inclined to sing about heartbreak and lost chances, the topics that stole the hearts of fans years ago. Ani Difranco has produced 13 solo albums under her own label, Righteous Babe Records. She is considered by many to be one of the defining and revolutionary voices in our time – comparable to the likes of Bruce Springsteen.
The first half of the album, Revelling, combines bluesy and fast-paced sounds throughout its 13 tracks. “Heart Break Even” sounds the most like Difranco’s earlier sound, fast and confusing only to those who haven’t had their hearts splattered all over the dirty ground. There is a unique inclusion of two strictly musical pieces, harvest and beautiful night, both of which are unexpected but weave nicely into the overall feeling of the album.
Ani explained the double album to Billboard last month: “It was going to be Reckoning. I think of the image of the girl reckoning with herself and the sort of macrocosm of a society reckoning with itself at the end of the century. Then there was the idea of reveling even within that struggle.”
Reckoning, the softer and quieter of the two disks, starts with your next bold move with the opening lines, “coming of age during the plague of Regan and Bush watching capitalism gun down democracy it had this funny effect on me I guess.” The eighth track, “Grey,” seems to be, perhaps, a clue to how Ani is feeling as a hard-won success story. Most of us can relate, though, even though we aren’t all indie-icons: “What kind of paradise am I looking for? I’ve got everything but still I want more maybe some tiny shiny key will wash up on the shore.”
Listening to both of the disks, like her previous albums, takes some concentration. None of the songs on Reckoning/Revelling call for immediate sing-alongs a la the Indigo Girls. Ani is combining a melage of musical styles and energies to create the sound that is, and always was, completely her own.
****
The Old 97’s
Satellite Rides
(Elektra Records)
by Vasant Ramamurthy
`Tis a funny line we’ve got between pop and country nowadays. Ask the average John/Jane Doe on the street to name some country acts, and it’s a good bet he or she names something like Shania Twain or Leann Rimes-never mind that the dreadful duo are as close to country as Marilyn Manson is to lounge music. And as a result of this grossly misinformed prejudice, the proud history of the entire genre tends to get the shaft-and that includes everyone from Hank Williams on down.
Still, there has been, for a while now, a fairly ill-defined line between the outlaw-ridden dark side of country and lots of other genres, let alone the shiny, happy world of pop. Drawing upon an oft-repeated rock critic refrain, we can argue that Gram Parsons was the one who split apart a somewhat rigid genre by melding it with rock, soul, pop, and created something called “alt-country.” The point here is that recent Parsons devotees like Uncle Tupelo and Lucinda Williams arguably drew upon a wider range of influences than anyone before them (note the former covering British cult favorites the Soft Boys and the latter tackling the late folkie Nick Drake’s “Which Will”).
Case in point: two of the nineties’ most celebrated alt-country artists, Wilco and the Old 97’s, can hardly be termed as such anymore. Surprisingly, the last few years have seen the pair walk virtually in lock step, at least until now. Wilco’s Summerteeth, released in 1999, began a gradual move away from country towards pastoral `60s-influenced pop, while the Old 97’s Fight Songs took a similar path later that year, though not as dramatically. Not coincidentally, the commercial appeal of both bands grew steadily, even including stops on the previously closed doors of late night television (see, that darn country thing always gets in the way). While the highly anticipated next Wilco album is due in a few months, the boys from Dallas have gotten the jump this time around with their fifth record, Satellite Rides.
As expected, the album is almost a twang-less affair, with the boys often opting for sharp British Invasion-inspired pop. Still, the boundless energy and raucous drive of country, combined with the shining harmonies of lead singer Rhett Miller and bassist Murry Hammond, fuel the lead single “King of All the World” and “Rollerskate Skinny,” among others. In a move sure to please the old-time diehard fans, the band reaches into its bag of tricks and pulls out one rollicking country stomper entitled “Am I Too Late.” Miller’s sometimes woeful, sometimes charming heart-on-sleeve lyrics manifest themselves in quieter, pretty ballads like “Question” and “Weightless”, and, well.a line from “Rollerskate Skinny”-“I believe in love but it don’t believe in me”-just about sums up everything quite nicely.
Often, striking stylistic shifts only lead to commercial and critical suicide (Metallica, anyone?). But, honestly, it never much mattered that the Old 97’s played country-rock. The playful melodies and heartfelt lyrics that built their present fan base have remained intact from one incarnation to another, thus ensuring this band’s endearing quality in the future.
***
The Living End
Roll On
(Reprise Records)
by Molly Sutter
Back in the day, when I was a poor, unenlightened high school senior, The Living End’s “Prisoner of Society” blasted one day out of my car speakers. Caught by its loud, raucous tone and its damn-you-all lyrics, it became my high school theme song. “Prisoner of Society” is featured on the Aussie band’s new release Roll On as a live single and, as the last track, is pure icing on the cake. The Living End, while not the greatest punk band in the world, produced quite an album in Roll On.
Formerly known as a rockabilly group, The Living End are certifiable stars in their native Australia. With their new album which incorporates ska, blues, and yet more raucousness into their genre, The Living End hope to make a splash outside of Aussie territory. With this album and their incessant touring, they might just make it.
Most of Roll On consists of pure punk mayhem, from the opening maniacal yells of “One, two, three, four!” on the opening track, to the squealing guitars and pounding drums. The titles also scream irrationality-among them jewels like “Riot on Broadway,” “Revolution Regained,” and “Killing the Right.” While some songs such as “Broadway” sing of destruction with a gleeful air, some songs hit deeper chords as in “Revolution Regained,” a powerful song about the East Timor invasion. These socially aware rockers also penned tunes about working class life in Melbourne and Australia’s immigration debate.
But don’t worry, this socially conscious side of The Living End doesn’t stop them from rocking out. Guitar solos that sound almost painful to perform in their dexterity are present on probably every song, along with some very powerful drumming, especially on “Don’t Shut the Gate.” Chris Cheney’s vocals are satisfying in both his ability to scream and stay on key simultaneously. Cheney and upright bassist (also very cool, no?) Scott Owen harmonizes and also yells quite well, a skill that isn’t as easy to pull off as one might think. The angry lyrics and “Hey hey heys” of “Read All About It” both propel the song as well as express the disgust at society’s idolatry of criminals.
The best track, besides “Prisoner of Society,” would have to be another indignant song titled “Blood on Your Hands.” Growling, “When news becomes gossip / And the hounds begin to bleed / The rich man’s inspiration / Becomes the beggar’s greed,” Cheney’s vocals lead up to a great ending with the two vocalists plus drummer Travis Demsey yelling, “We’re all sinners after all.” The song actually starts out with a tropical beat, which quickly segues into a punk sound by the chorus. The ease of mixing genres of music is yet another great feature of this album.
I can’t finish up this review without commenting on the funniest and bawdiest song on the album, a loud bar anthem titled “Uncle Harry.” This tune is perfect for one of those times you’re lounging around, drinking Foster’s, and desiring a song with one hundred of your closest friends. Although the goofy refrain of “Uncle Harry pissing in the bath / Whoa, pissing in the bath,” amuses, this story of a relative suffering from loss of mental ability is touching as well. It’s a song to make one cry as well as laugh. The album is full of slight poignant touches placed between shouts and squeals, making Roll On an album that may solidify The Living End’s ventures outside Australia.
***1/2