Web MasterLou Reed
Raven
Warner Brothers
Lou Reed’s new CD. Yeah. What is this?
by Christine Whitney
David Bowie is there. Willem Dafoe and Amanda Plummer are there too. These are only a smattering of the big names that collaborated with Lou Reed in his latest, and perhaps most emotional project, Raven. “Emotional” does not presume to say “good.” Reed’s highly experimental homage to Edgar Allen Poe is the musical equivalent of an eyebrow-scorching explosion in the high school chemistry lab. In a bad way. The noble aim of the album, an abridged version of the 2-disc set “POEtry,” is to “bring [Poe] to life through words and music, text and dance.” The result, however, is a disgrace to both Poe and Reed, as well as any unfortunate listeners expecting either Velvet Underground-caliber compositions or a quality multimedia Poe adaptation.
The concept of the project is an admirable one. Reed creates an album inspired by his love for the poet, using predominantly montages of Poe’s poetry and his own music and emulation. Such insurgent lyrics surface in songs like “The Bed,” where he wails “This is the place her children were conceived/…and she cut her wrists one fateful night/…and I said oh-oh-oh-oh-oh what a feeling” demonstrate both Reed’s conviction and his inability to make it work. “I became enamored of Poe,” Reed writes in the album jacket, “I surged toward [the opportunity to make this album] like a Rottweiler chasing a bloody bone.” “I reel with happiness at the existence of this CD…This is a record made of love,” he publicly testifies.
Regardless of what it’s made of, there is nothing loveable about the album. Do not be deceived by the redo of one “Transformer” hit that rears its head in “The Raven.” This ill-fated specimen takes the form of a tormented novo-operetta rendition of “Perfect Day,” a bastardization of this favorite Reed song sure to nauseate even the most loyal of fans. Other tracks include the a-cappella female duet “Balloon,” a highly sexed and highly irritating number performed by Kate and Anna McGarrigle, and “Broadway Song” a cabaret jingle with cheesy Broadway pizzazz (“I’d like to sing you a Broadway Song/ I hope that you’ll all sing along”). The styles of music incorporated, from jazz to doo-wop to lounge tunes fail to mesh with lugubrious readings of such Poe greats as “The Raven,” and fail to produce any listenable sound.
At any rate, the 60-year-old Reed is well past his prime. Promotional pictures portray him in an unbuttoned Asian floral-patterned cowboy shirt, chest hair spilling out. On the back of the CD booklet, Reed, decked out in a flowing robe, arms spread, pierces the ground with Excalibur. Image aside, Reed’s experiment is a veritable disaster. Save everyone’s dignity, just say no.
Bottom Line:
“Regardless of what it’s made of, there is nothing loveable about the album.”
Grade: F-
Interpol
Turn on the Bright Lights
Matador
Interpol battles fine lines
by Matt Simonton
There are many fine lines in the music industry, such as those between “catchy” and “overproduced,” “impressive guitar work” and “pointless noodling,” and “influenced by” and “derivative of.” For most critics, the main point of contention for Interpol’s 2002 release Turn On The Bright Lights has been that last category. According to many, Interpol successfully fuses the sounds of post-punk bands like Joy Division and Mission of Burma but cannot stand by itself. The impressive influences are there, but the band fails to make the music its own. Simple comparison, however, doesn’t make for a good assessment of such an excellent effort. Interpol has created a post-punk record that excels in its own right.
Just to get things out of the way, yes, singer Paul Banks’s voice does bear a striking resemblance to the depressing wail of Joy Division frontman Ian Curtis, but shades of David Byrne appear in his monotonous, informal tone as well. Sonically, however, Interpol piles on more guitar work and production values than the stripped down Joy Division ever attempted. The album’s opener, “Untitled,” begins with a jangly, echoing guitar line that is soon accentuated by the booming drums and driving bass that inhabit the entire record. The beautiful “NYC,” whose refrain provides the album’s title, is similarly awash with reverb and lush production. At other times, though, Interpol tightens things up considerably, yielding the punchy, start-stop rhythms of “Obstacle 1” and “Say Hello To The Angels,” with the latter sounding a bit like fellow New Yorkers The Strokes’ single “Last Night,” only darker. The band also experiments with extended codas, bringing tracks like “Stella Was A Diver And She Was Always Down” and “The New” past the six minute mark.
Banks’s lyrics certainly don’t make for a very upbeat ride, but, coupled with the fiery playing, they often create a truly harrowing atmosphere. In “Obstacle 1,” for example, he laments, “It’s different now that I’m poor and aging/ I’ll never see this face again/ and you’ll go stabbing yourself in the neck.” “Obstacle 2” brings us even closer to Banks’s inner turmoil with lines like “I’ll stand by all this drinking if it helps me through these days (take my love in these small doses).” Other songs rely on only one or two lines of verse, filling in the space with the band’s dark, guitar rock sound.
Now that the band’s finer musical points are out on the table, their influences are worth mentioning. They’ve definitely borrowed an idea or two from earlier New York groups like Television, but there is a strong British sound in their music as well: 80s bands like the Chameleons and Echo and the Bunnymen undoubtedly left their mark on the young Yankee lads of Interpol. In any case, their fresh spin on the music of the past is more than enough to earn them their own prestige. I spoke earlier about the many fine lines in music; there is one more worth mentioning – that between “good” and “great.” With Turn On The Bright Lights, Interpol have firmly planted themselves in the latter class.
Bottom Line:
“Interpol has created a post-punk record that excels in its own right.”
Grade: A-