I kind of had a hard time deciding between this song, San Francisco, and No Destruction. I went with this one because it features a few different styles. These guys are basically ’60s revival, but where the Brian Jonestown Massacre are doing the Stones, Foxygen is heavy into the Kinks and Donovan. They’re a couple of guys based in L.A., and if you’re in the right mood, their stuff is really good. Though it’s kind of hard to tell whether they’re sincere or maybe a bit affected.
They’re playing Pitchfork this year, and because I thought the lineup on the whole kind of sucked, it served as a good motivator to listen to bands on my radar that I hadn’t yet made time for. As a result, they’ve become one of my new musical obsessions. I’ll probably post another one of those on Wednesday.
Sugary-spun shuffling psychedelia. I always post songs from this album (The Stone Roses) with the admonishment that this is one of the nastiest albums that you don’t ever think is that nasty because the sound is so lazy hazy summery drug Sunday. This is one of the most obviously nasty of the bunch. King Monkey spreads the hate with a matter-of-fact-smirk on his face. Think this is the Bad Acid at Woodstock:The Next Generation with Ian Brown, lead singer, as the Jean Luc Picard of Manchester hippie pub club drug thug.
Haunting spaced out drug rock elegy. The recording isn’t too bad on this version. Takes about 2.5 minutes to get started, but what I find totally unastounding is that there are some choads that just kind of chat the whole time. You know, the people that have an infinite amount of bar time and an infinite amount of shows that they see, and they go to bars on show night to just drink at the bar and blabber during some totally awesome song. From their latest, In the Future.
Something about hippies playing blues with an otherworldly voiced lead singer is the ne pas ultra of creepy yet awesome. Extra creepy bonus points: the lead singer looks like ultra creepy dude I worked with one time named Francis, who kept a little black book in his back pocket to note instances where the world slighted him. I kind of thought of that book as his murder list.
Does it make me a bad person if I know someone that owns the actually karaoke disc for this song (not just the video, which is in the form of a karaoke video)? Does it make me an even worse person if I’m the one that bought it? Sometimes you needs some “woos” and “ooh ooh oohs.” Seriously, eat it if you are not down with the derivative and awesome stylings of the Dandy Warhols. Marginally not safe for work- the clip is unedited, and I think I saw someone’s doodle!
I didn’t realize these guys had a new one coming out. First two albums were driving fuzzy droney attacks, a la Jesus and Mary Chain+Love and Rockets via a Dandy Warhols psych wall of sound. Last one was a stripped down affair that I kind of skipped. This one is supposedly more straight forward and plugged in. This song is OK, but for some reason I am a little bit excited for the album. I assume Seitz will give us a report.
So I am kind of on a spacy, psychedelic, stonery, retro kick. Sue me. The Black Mountain self-titled is great. This song is OK, but not even close to the best, there are more interesting, diverse tracks on the album. My current fave is the spookier druggy Neu! amalgam “No Hit.” The most interesting part of the albums are certain touches that seem un-sinister turned druggy and sinister, such as hand claps and tasteful female backing vocals. The main dude in this band is also responsible for the band Pink Mountaintops, a folkier, countrier, equally druggy, retro, and awesome as Black Mountain. Check out “Plastic Man, You’re the Devil” on the previously linked myspace page.
Sometimes you just gotta go with it. The song that most predicts “Stairway to Heaven” and every other electrified rock cheese ballad to infinity. This is not to say that it isn’t awesome. What are you going to do? How can we be immeasurably cooler than you all the time?
I know this is a repee, but somebody finally posted some animation vid of a Ministry live version of this Al Jourgensen side project, and. and nothing. Time to rock dog it with a riff that sounds like molten bagpipes shooting shrapnel indiscriminately.
Got no religion, don’t need no friends
Got all I want and I don’t need to pretend
Don’t try to reach me, cause I’d tear up your mind
I’ve seen the future and I’ve left it behind
I will admit that i know this song via its deliciously emotionally manipulative use in a TV show Tuesday night. I have not heard the Kinks original and this seemingly pleasant mope-a-dope English band has their moments, but none of their songs sound quite like this. This is one of those songs that works better for a scene in a movie or a show if you haven’t heard it previously than say some ubiquitous instaflavor track that out of touch directors turn to, such as Peter Gabriel almost anything, although some Security tracks and other old stuff will always be good. “See My Friends” fits in a certain meloncholic niche filled with slowly burning, constrained meditative indie rock “jams”. Not content to do the soft-loud-soft histrionics, instead it opts for atmosphere and a build into a tightly wound extended instrumetal outro. I can’t call it a jam, in fact the end sounds like a very organic Stereolab (non-cocktail) layered with the vaguest of noodling. I hear little bits of Television and maybe more than a little “The End” by The Doors (mostly in the cymbals and the space around the song). All that and it is a Kinks song. I have to say I am obsessed with this song. Recently I had been obsessed with “The Funeral” by Band of Horses. I never know where these obsessions come from, and I am always wondering when the song will cease to haunt me, or when I will stop wanting to listen to it a couple of times in a row. In this case, Band of Horses was put to bed by the new song. I think it could easily be adapted to the inevitable scene of the serial killer with the news clippings or the crackling of a phonograph.
The James Gang- these dudes were Freedom Rock before Freedom Rock even existed.
This song goes out to Twisty Faster, spinster aunt extraordinaire of patriarchy blaming fame at I Blame the Patriarchy. Twisty would clearly fathom the meaning of such a dedication, however for the rest of us, a little back story. Twisty has deigned to comment here one time more than this humble blog would ever deserve, that is to say once. She commented on a particular Friday Pooper Shooter where our computer lavished us with a particular Jethro Tull ditty “Minstrel in the Gallery” and Twisty mentioned an anecdote involving herb, dorm rooms and certain hippie-ish behavior.
Twisty now has a sitch that is attempting to abrogate her patriarchy blaming ability, which appears to be fueled by delicious tacos. We would like to deidicate to her this lost oh so jammy gem from Joe Walsh and the James Gang. Now, we realize that there is nothing more patriarchy than someone that has anything to do with the Eagles, but I would like the point out the length of this song (7:00) and the “mind-altering” guitar solo that incorporates Ravel’s Bolero (which led to the song being unavailable in the Bolero version for many years). Also, the drummer seems to be thumping on the skins like he’s wearing nothing but a marijuana leaf necklace, and Mr. Bass guy comes in like he’s smoking a pipe with stars in his eyes and then it gets all trippy. Since the chemo is undelightfully knocking Twisty on her delightfully snow white bottom, we were going to recommend this song and some medicinal Mary Jane. Alas, in our delay of implemeting Dedication Week here at Song of the Day/Three Bulls!, we find that she is happily returned to full vim and obstreperousness by seemingly similar sage advice. Rock on, TF!