Brockett Blog

The soundtrack to any of life’s events is one born of fortune: songs written and performed in the past relating in some fortuitous way to the events of the present. Moods captured in recordings reflect a reality that exists for the listener but not the artist.

Remembrances of Sept. 11, 2001 inevitably will touch upon the world of pop culture and how that world changed, and music certainly played a part in finding ways to represent feelings that those of us outside the immediately affected struggled to express. Two songs immediately come to mind, and they show how our memories can compress and extend time to fit our needs. The first – Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water” – became associated with the tragedy for both being played and not being played. The song showed up on an advisory list created by Clear Channel as a song to avoid broadcasting on the radio. The decision made as much sense in the moment as it does now, especially when compared to some of the obvious plane crash and apocalyptic songs also on the list. This became abundantly clear on television Sept. 21, when a fundraising telethon called “America: A Tribute to Heroes” featured Paul Simon performing the 30-year-old song and giving it a new context.

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The signs of fall are everywhere, even if that doesn’t include the sunny, warm Illinois afternoons. Google decorates its simple gateway page with a lonely leaf and the New York Mets edge ever so closer to giving their collective fanbase a coronary.

The Onion’s AV Club marks the occasion of Sept. 22, the first full day of fall, by listing “25 Sad Songs for Changing Seasons.” And, truthfully, many of the songs have graced my sad-sack CD player at one time or another. But let’s blow this out one more time, in honor of the season that has come and gone:

The Hives included this song on the iTunes album purchase of its latest release, the “Black and White Album.” It features the band in all its goofy glory, and works quite well for the manic eyes affixed to Cartoon Network programming (from which this video originates). At certain points lead singer Pelle Almqvist barely can spit out the kid-empathizing vocals in time, but that just adds to the charm. By the end, the band’s just trying to have one more good time before sweaters ruin everything.

Editor’s note: This story originally was published April 12, 2007.

Clean up behind the ears of rock’s best dirty songs? You might as well rip the stripes off the flag. But on Kings of Leon’s third album, the band — made up of three brothers and a cousin from Tennessee — eschews some of first two album’s fuzzy uptempo jams for more contemplative tales from On the Road, U.S.A. The resulting Because of the Times showcases the band’s songwriting strengths and visits the further reaches of their southern rock/country/blues sound. Here are five of the album’s best moments:

“True Love Way” - Ten of the 13 songs feature the pronoun “she,” which should give you some indication of the band’s muse of choice. Part of the fun in Kings of Leon’s songs comes from deciphering Caleb Followill’s distinctive wail. A line like “Girl you’re wanted like a wanted man/With your smart mouth and your killer hair” sounds sufficiently MySpace-quote worthy, but it’s not what the CD-booklet lists. Swap in “hand” for “hair,” and there’s a different meaning entirely, bracketed among catchy “Oh oh oh” background vocals that need no Rosetta Stone.

“Ragoo” – With a guitar line that almost sounds like a jam band noodling, it only serves as the intro to a jaunty little song about being “caught with my pants down.” Despite some of the previous album’s winking subject matter, I think this one’s just about a lie (which could be worse, when you think about it). The coda about running barefoot through the stream just sounds made for an excellent concert song.

“Knocked Up” – Fans of album construction will note that the band’s longest song leads off the set. In this case, it works for two reasons: 1) The song doesn’t feel like seven minutes and 2) the mix of small-moment tones and train track rhythms gives a good indication of what Times is all about. The guitar breakdowns that pepper the song sound particularly surprising in this arrangement.

“Fans” – Just about any band referenced in Almost Famous probably wrote a song like this, contemplating the relationship between band and fans. The Kings do particularly well across the pond, and so the lyrical shout-out to England seems particularly grateful. Besides soundtrack consultants and commercial production outfits, the Brits seem to dig the band’s slice of Americana even more than the Kings’ fellow citizens.

“Arizona” - A band that gives voice to all of love’s masochists out there closes the album with a late-night remembrance of the fool’s path to the wrong woman’s heart. Caleb Followill’s voice breaks in all the right places, and the album ends with another great line: “She must be plum crazy/I kind of think I like her/Kind of think I do.”

Editor’s note: This review originally was published April 26, 2006.

Has “Enter Sandman” prompted you to sigh, “Exit, Sandman”? When the fans demand, “I Wanna Rock,” are you less than willing to comply? Fear not, baseball relievers and professional wrestlers. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs have the entrance song for you. And though members of these boys-only clubs might be reluctant to have a female singer lead their personal soundtrack, the band manages to get all kinds of juices flowing — no matter the hormonal specifics.

The song’s called “Phenomena,” and it appears on the band’s second full-length album Show Your Bones. Fortunately, for those of us reluctant to make the leap from single to album, this isn’t an outlier. Each song crackles with a classic rock energy that showcases the infinite possibilities of basic musical weaponry and a charismatic, talented singer.

Lead singer Karen O suffers through near-constant comparisons to The Pretenders’ Chrissy Hynde, but that’s more a statement on the limited list of comparables for dark-haired frontwomen. Still, just try ignoring the predecessor on a song like “Cheated Hearts,” with Karen O’s vocals keeping little flirtations with early New Wave keyboards, Blink 182 simplicity and guitar freak-outs in check.

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs (also consisting of drummer Brian Chase and guitarist/keyboardist Nick Zinner) build on the momentum from 2003′s “Maps” and “Y Control” by giving each song its own distinctive personality. A hard-strummer like first single “Gold Lion” and the relentlessly uptempo “Mysteries” coexist by figuring out how to be songs that aren’t just “songs that probably sound better live than on album.” The production keeps things crisp and clear, with a confidence that there’s more to experience on the tour. And such decisions make the lyrics’ sly (and sometimes obtuse) references all the more appealing.

This all comes together on “Phenomena.” As the crowd cheers your introduction, the guitars rev up the cheers to a frenzied pitch — so loud that it’s just not worth it to contemplate Karen O when she sings “Don’t fall asleep with motor on, she’ll make you sweat in the water.” At this point, the only one who can hear the words is your opponent, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs confidence has become yours.

Grade: A-minus

Editor’s note: This review originally was published Feb. 24, 2006.

How do we measure cool? A laid back guy who moves seamlessly from riding waves to singing songs, picking up throngs of female fans in the process – that’s cool. But being able to keep your artistic integrity with an album that espouses on the virtues of sharing? As OutKast might answer, that’s ice cold.

Jack Johnson manages such a feat with the Curious George soundtrack. Critics have called the film a true children’s film in that it appeals to the recess set. The album holds broader appeal, showcasing a natural aspect of Johnson’s guitar-strumming earnestness more universal than juvenile.

Somewhat ironically, the album’s finest moment features one of the “friends,” Matt Costa. “Lullaby” masquerades as a song for a son or daughter left behind, but could equally apply to any loved ones separated by life’s commitments. Costa’s sweet, sad voice serves as a nice counterpoint to Johnson’s deeper, smoother vocals.

A beachside ethos permeates Johnson’s strongest singles (“Flake” and “The Horizon Has Been Defeated”), and the album’s leadoff track, “Upside Down,” features a similar sand-between-the-toes state of being. An introductory island drum beat sounds like the “Sympathy for the Devil” intro on holiday, and the tempo never gets too fast to land softly at the end.

Many of the songs put Johnson as narrator in the shoes (if monkeys wore shoes, that is) of the curious protagonist in question. You’re not going to find songs espousing on the virtues of bananas, but rather slight themes of loneliness tucked inside tales like “People Watching.” The child-like sense of wonder reaches its peak with “We’re Going to Be Friends,” a cover of the White Stripes tune that appeared on the Napoleon Dynamite soundtrack but still might have lived an undiscovered jewel’s life. Johnson strips away any ironic meaning from Jack White singing the vocals to emphasize the song’s clear-eyed sentiment. It’s very cool, and that type of cool plays to all ages.

Grade: B-plus

Editor’s note: This review originally was published Jan. 6, 2006.

Some albums perfectly capture the late-night concert experience, while others show promise that seeing the band live might be the best medium. Morningwood’s debut self-titled album falls into the latter, promising boundless energy and delivering hints of a fun-loving band ripping through the dirtier alleyways of Rock and Roll Boulevard.

The band finds its lifeblood in lead singer Chantal Claret, a frontwoman in all senses of the term. Videos for the band’s first two singles single out her full features to prominent effect, breaking out multiple gyrations that would make Steven Tyler golfclap. As songwriter and singer, she alternates a punky, low growl with a sugary faux-sweetness. The latter that falls somewhere between come-ons from a skanky barcrawler dressed as a schoolgirl and a girlfriend trying to get out of trouble.

“Make yourself at home, and take off your clothes/ We’ll get naked and see where it goes…,” she coos on “Take Off Your Clothes.”

Both versions of Claret appear on “Jetsetter,” a song that would feel like endless posturing if not for the unique arrangement and the persistent guitar riff and drumming. Morningwood fills out with some experienced hands, with former Wallflower Pedro Yanowitz on bass and former Spacehog member Richard Steel on guitar. And the band rips through its set, quick enough so that the audience can’t stop and think, “This song kinda sounds like …”

But the songwriting gives away this band’s best stage. “Nth Degree,” the purest pop song on the album, allows the band to goofily spell its name as the lead-in to the verses. Claret’s vocal swings (and the helpful hand of some double-tracking) match the changes in the tempos, always placed in the background just far enough to reveal lyrics that are closer to double entendres than Lil’ Kim tributes. With Gwen Stefani leaving No Doubt to sell a billion CDs on her own, maybe Morningwood can fill the void as a sexually charged female-led rock band comfortable in putting on a varied and entertaining show.

Grade: B

Editor’s note: This review originally was published Nov. 22, 2005. The album most likely will be remembered by history as one of the “rootkit” albums that won’t allow users to rip the content to their iPods.

It’s hard to look at the new Neil Diamond without giggling — like trying to talk about normal things after seeing a friend drunk for the first time. You want to look through the liner notes and read how he made the album, but Will Ferrell keeps repeating in your head “This next song is all about my love for hardcore, barely legal pornography …”

And so Ferrell’s Saturday Night Live farcical impression makes a greater present-day cultural impression than the singer-songwriter himself. All this makes Diamond’s 12 Songs such an interesting, absorbing slice of life outside the “life begets parody” windstream. It’s a performer reminding everyone that good songs rise above all, even when complacency with “Sweet Caroline” royalties seems like an easy way to go.

Much like his albums with Johnny Cash, producer Rick Rubin sought out Diamond to talk music and play to the guy’s strengths. Rubin’s ear does nothing to deny his Svengali reputation here, as the album features a pureness in approach. Unlike the cover songs that played on Cash’s world-weariness, Diamond’s songwriting reveals a voice and energy without waver.

On “Hell Yeah,” a potential self-centered embarrassment turns into an anthem worth smiling about — and not in an irony-laced way — because Diamond won’t let it be a joke. The man behind some of The Monkees’ finest work shows he still knows how to work a single on “Delirious Love.” An infused guitar strum and colorful similes brim with a passion that knows no age limit. A bonus track version adds former Beach Boy Brian Wilson to fill in some of the gaps, and the song bounds even higher.

Anyone with a guitar and a dream knows it’s not easy to write a song. Even pop’s greatest songwriters can put out an extended string of lamentable albums that recall wells run dry. The imagery might be right up Diamond’s alley but the sentiment isn’t — 12 Songs proves that, and without a snicker.

Grade: A-minus

Editor’s note: This review originally was published Oct. 28, 2005.

Bits and pieces from the journey found in listening to the Elizabethtown soundtrack, organized like a mix CD but meandering like a road trip without GPS …

Writer/director Cameron Crowe knows music. He’s known it since he was a kid interviewing ’70s-era rock stars for Rolling Stone. So when he puts a song on his soundtrack, you know it’s there for both aesthetic and creative reasons. But not every artist needs such confirmation of worth. Even so, is there a more underrated American musician than Tom Petty? He contributes two songs to the soundtrack: 1987’s “It’ll All Work Out” and “Square One.” On the first, he takes a stock melody from a Chinese buffet and infuses a soft, sad lament on being the guy before The Guy. And on the latter, he picks up his late-career habits of acoustic strumming, seemingly to the first rays of the rising sun. Nearly 30 years after his debut Heartbreakers album, Petty has added to his immense contribution of quality songwriting. A relic from the past like “It’ll All Work Out” only highlights this.

Crowe’s movies keep reminding us that Elton John wasn’t just “Bennie and the Jets” schmaltz. “My Father’s Gun” should be abhorrent, with its Civil War conceit, but that southern, bayou charm … he captures it more succinctly than any England showboat should.

In keeping with a movie that demands suspending belief long enough to believe Orlando Bloom could hang with a freewheelin’ Kentucky family for more than three hours, the soundtrack snugly fits in a new track by Lindsay Buckingham (Fleetwood Mac) called “Shut Us Down.” And, believe it or not, it’s an album highlight, a whispered ditty that teems with the energy of a road trip that could use a stretching of the legs.

The best part of Ryan Adams’ “Come Pick Me Up?” The fact that in his list of laments, he lists “steal all my records” before “screw all my friends.”

Road trip planner: Mixing the old (The Hombres) with the new (My Morning Jacket)? Check. Capturing the idea of country travel with plenty of acoustic guitar? Check. Songs that hold up both on their own and as connections to movie scenes? Check. Another indispensable soundtrack from your most famous music-loving friend? Let’s roll.

Grade: A-minus

Editor’s note: This review originally was published Sept. 29, 2005.

So here we have an album that mixes and matches both death and summer, a time when we hope nothing dies, except maybe the farmer’s concerns about drought. Hmmm … what to make of this? Well, let’s take a step back.

Death Cab for Cutie makes songs that end up on a disproportionate number of mix tapes. The melodies are pretty, the tempos vary and Ben Gibbard’s lyrics — idealistic, lamenting and always with an eye to the past — seek out the complicated crevices of relationships and gives them symbolism. Sometimes, that means writing a song called, “Your Heart is an Empty Room.” That comes with the territory, and to make up for it, a U2-esque chime of the guitar still makes it catchy as all get-out.

The band’s previous album, Transatlanticism, might realistically be considered the band’s songwriting apex. Small moments gained meaning amid the context of a long-distance relationship slowly fading. The momentum continued with a Gibbard side project, The Postal Service, where icily beautiful techno sounds brought the lyrics even closer to the forefront, and contributed to a great date album for people who grow tired of the Jack Johnson options.
Back to Plans. Any pressure from being an O.C. character’s fav manifests itself in further exploration of those crevices. Less tangible feelings of fear, regret and love are compared to a leaky faucet, crooked teeth and the tanned skin of summer (great for anyone looking for an aural alternative for aloe, if nothing else). All this comes across with minimum distortion, like New Order’s early singles in the way you can hear almost every guitar string vibrate.

With almost an album’s worth of songs about old lovers, maybe it was inevitable for death to make such a grand appearance on Plans. “I Will Follow You Into the Dark” imagines an afterlife where both heaven and hell post “no vacancy” signs. “What Sarah Said” matches a grieving piano with spot-on description of life in the hospital waiting room. And then there’s a kind of death in “Brothers on a Hotel Bed,” of memories never to be relived. The themes aren’t as strong this time around, but the feelings are just as earnest. Death Cab for Cutie still manages to make the journeys to such earnestness sound interesting.

Grade: B

Editor’s note: This review originally was published May 27, 2005.

The unlikely relationships that make up the Gorillaz collective have made the soundtrack to a hip-hop zombie movie (Dawn of the Dizz-ead?) not yet made. If it’s anything like the songs on Demon Days, even the big screen might not be able to handle its uniquely creative energy.

The Gorillaz, this time retaining Blur singer Damon Albarn and welcoming Danger Mouse behind the board, already work with the conceit that their group consists of the cartoon characters 2D, Murdoc, Noodle and Russel Hobbs. The success propelled by the first album’s “Clint Eastwood” allows the group another clean slate to combine hip-hop beats, dread-tinged grooves and enough odd guests to make one wonder how these people ever meet.

On first single “Feel Good Inc.,” a great bass line keeps time before the manic rapping of De La Soul makes like a zombie and goes straight for the brain. Like their first album’s most famous track, the song’s tempo and tone is an anomaly, just one direction of many on the 15 tracks. This variety must be thrilling for Albarn, whose popular leash continues to shorten with his “day band,” Blur, even as their albums continue to succeed artistically.

The singer’s world-weary wail fits perfectly with Danger Mouse (the infamous mixer of The Beatles and Jay Z a million downloads ago), who picks up right where Dan the Automator left off. “Every Planet We Reach is Dead” takes on the aura of some sinister ’70s crime syndicate, aided by a piano solo from someone who should know, Ike Turner.

Somehow, Turner’s presence is upstaged, and it takes Dennis Hopper issuing a spoken word reading about souls and monkeys to do it (“Fire Coming From the Monkey’s Head.”) Damn those zombies, they just don’t stop. Thank goodness.

Grade: B-plus