Author: Jason

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #50: DAYTON, OHIO-19 SOMETHING AND 5

Guided by Voices
Dayton, Ohio-19 Something and 5
2000, The Fading Captain Series

On paper, this modest 7″ is one weird little insect of a record.

Then you listen to it and it’s still weird. And murky. And sad. The previous Fading Captain Series release, Speak Kindly of Your Volunteer Fire Department, was warm and celebratory (for the most part) while this one is cold and defeated. The flowers are dead. The trees are bare. There’s no sun in the gray sky. Even good memories hurt.

This is a uniquely personal item in Pollard’s body of work. He’s written many personal songs, but this is a rare record devoted entirely to handing you a bucket full of fresh blood.

The quick description: The A-side is a recent live recording of a sleeper GBV gem; on the B-side are three songs that Pollard recorded all by his lonesome with only a guitar and a 4-track.

There’s something going on here, though. This record makes a statement. There’s meat on the bone.

Let’s break it down.

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #49: HOLD ON HOPE EP

Guided by Voices
Hold on Hope EP
2000, TVT Records

Back in the video store days, if you wanted to rent sleazy B-movies you had to pull the tape or DVD off a shelf and take it to a cashier, who then got a good look at exactly the kind of creep who rents Erotic Gladiator or Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers—and that kind of creep was ME.

Today, I’m old and wouldn’t give a damn, but back then I was young and fragile and hideously self-conscious (especially if a girl was working the counter). I also wasn’t very bright and I somehow felt less embarassed if I mixed a “respectable” movie or two in with the garbage that I really wanted to see.

So, on an average night at the video store, I might go up to the counter with Bikini Slave Girls II and a movie like Gandhi. 

Looking back, I’m not sure what statement I was making with this. Maybe the cashier would think that I was really there to rent Gandhi, but Bikini Slave Girls II just happened to tumble off the shelf and land in my hands?

“What’s this? Bikini Slave Girls II? How did this get here? What a strange turn of events! You know what, though? I’ll be a madcap and rent it anyway! Please, seriously, go to no trouble to restock. I don’t want to be a problem here. It’s not your fault that this movie accidentally fell down on me. This building clearly needs foundation work. Bikini Slave Girls II. Fine. I’ll watch it. Maybe it will have some interesting mise-en-scene. Here’s my $6 and please don’t think that I’m a weird pervert.”

I was hoping to make up for the embarassing thing with something that’s not embarassing.

And that’s EXACTLY how GBV give us “Hold on Hope” on this record.

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Frank Black-O-Rama! #3: DOOLITTLE

Pixies
Doolittle
1989, 4AD/Elektra

I can’t listen to Doolittle anymore. I don’t hate it, but I’m finished with it.

There was a time when I loved it. There was a time when it was everything to me. It was my first Pixies album and right away, I thought that it was as good as music got. After my very first listen, I had a new favorite band (“Sorry, Beatles, you’re now #2”). No music had ever punched me in the face like that before. No music had ever screamed at me like that before. It was raw blunt force trauma with catchy hooks. The songs were jagged and jittery. They were quick little things that sliced through space and time like razors. And they were all so good and instantly infectious, not to mention darkly funny. They were stuck in my head all day, a constant source of energy and inspiration.

And now I’m done with it. Have been for at least fifteen years. I think I used it all up.

I was 19 and a total dork in 1995 when I bought Doolittle at a used CD store and Black Francis was 23 when he made it. A whole lot of life was waiting to happen to both of us. Over time, I think both he and I would relate less and less to this album’s shrieking young smartass, however brilliant he was, and move on to other things.

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #48: PLUGS FOR THE PROGRAM

Guided by Voices
Plugs for the Program
1999, TVT Records

If I ran the music industry, there would have been a big, fancy 20th anniversary Do the Collapse reissue in 2019. Two discs. three discs. Whatever it takes to get in all of the B-sides and stray songs and BBC recordings and demos and anything else good from the time that may be laying around unloved somewhere. A live set. A couple of 2,000-word essays in the liner notes. Stickers, balloons. Whatever trinkets usually come with these sort of things would be in there. We’d do it up big. It would be the kind of thing that you spend all day going through.

Because Do the Collapse has major reputation problems these days. When people on the social media beehives talk about it, they often begin by saying “I know that everyone else on planet Earth hates this album, but I guess that I’m a crazy lunatic because I like it!”.

I’ve seen this several times. It’s a cliche by now.

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #47: SPEAK KINDLY OF YOUR VOLUNTEER FIRE DEPARTMENT

Robert Pollard with Doug Gillard
Speak Kindly of Your Volunteer Fire Department
1999, The Fading Captain Series

At the heart of Robert Pollard’s crazy body of work is just a guy writing about his life and the world around him.

A real writer writes about his or her own life. The things that they see and experience and think about. It can be buried under the surface. It doesn’t have to be “Dear Diary” confessional bullshit. You can write about Space Wizards from the 9th Dimension and it can still be about your life in a way.

Even a Space Wizard from the 9th Dimension might have a few personal problems to talk about.

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Things I Will Keep #20: BUD POWELL, Broadcast Performances 1953, Vol. 1

Bud Powell
Broadcast Performances 1953, Vol. 1
1973, ESP-Disk

Even at my advanced age, I still feel that someday I will be into jazz. Someday I’ll be a guy who references Miles Davis and knows what the fuck he’s talking about. Someday I’ll have strong opinions about alto saxophone players. Someday I’ll put on a jazz record and follow the notes like each one is a hundred dollar bill blowing by in the wind. Someday I’ll hear the emotion in these sounds that dart through the air faster than summer wasps. Someday it’s all gonna hit me.

Until then, I just “like” jazz. I like it when it twinkles in the background. I’m your regular dilletante, a total bird-brain and a complete fuckface. I enjoy jazz, but I’m not conversant in it. I’m like a guy who has a picture of the Eiffel Tower hanging in his living room, but hasn’t spent more than a day or two in Paris.

Someday, though…

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Frank Black-O-Rama! #2: SURFER ROSA

Pixies
Surfer Rosa
1988, 4AD/Elektra

Surfer Rosa is one of those great albums that a band makes once and then never makes again.

That’s not an insult to the other Pixies LPs, all of which I like. The later albums may even have better songs overall, but this one is uniquely apocalyptic. Every crazed and ridiculous (and infectious) song on it feels like one piece of an atomic bomb. Once it’s all put together–BOOM!

They can never do what they did here again. You shouldn’t expect it from them. They will never be this age again. It will never be 1988 again. Their ideas will never seem this strange again. They will never again have the energy of a band who don’t know if they have a future so they’re using up everything they’ve got right now.

At the very least, an upstart band who are capable of could-be/should-be hits such as “Gigantic” and “Where is My Mind?” will almost always try, in time, to make records that are at least a liiiittle bit more slick and shiny than their first. They’re clearly ambitious. They’re not dedicated to being noisy scum-rockers. They’re going to evolve.

Hey, it’s only a sell-out if it sucks.

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #46: TEENAGE FBI

Guided by Voices
“Teenage FBI” b/w “Fly Into Ashes” and “Tropical Robots”
1999, Creation Records

I’m the last person who should give advice about how to promote anything. This site’s view statistics are evidence of that. I couldn’t sell cocaine to Fleetwood Mac in 1975. 

I’m the opposite of a good salesman; I’m the dumbfuck who gets convinced to buy stupid shit.  

So maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about when I say that I don’t get why TVT Records didn’t pick ONE song on Do the Collapse and then pound their money hammer on that. They didn’t choose a single champion horse. They never figured out which new GBV song smelled most like teen spirit in 1999.

The album gave them two obvious singles that were groomed for radio. There was “Hold on Hope” if they wanted to go ballad and there was “Teenage FBI” if they wanted to go bubblegum catchy. WHICH TO CHOOSE?

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #45: DO THE COLLAPSE

Guided by Voices
Do the Collapse
1999, TVT Records

Mainstream American rock radio in 1999 was the shittiest thing ever. It was the frat party of your dullest nightmares. There were no “artists”, just warm and breathing piles of tattoos. It was the land of Lit and Smash Mouth and Korn. Bad facial hair was everywhere. Whiny singers. The worst production ever. Nothing sounds like human hands made it. Guitars and drums have such little personality that they come off like they’re on a programmed loop (and they probably were). The singers sound electronically pitch-corrected (and they probably were). And all of this nonsense is turned up WAY too loud and compressed to death.

There were few real songwriters there anymore. Bombast was all they had.

It was bad bad bad, is what I’m trying to say. It was terrible. It was awful.

You’re probably still wondering how bad it was.

It was so bad that when The Strokes debuted two years later, people actually thought that they were GOOD.

How anyone thought that Guided by Voices stood a chance at fitting in among that crowd, I’m not sure, but from Robert Pollard’s perspective, I think he needed to at least TRY.

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Frank Black-O-Rama! #1: Introduction and COME ON PILGRIM

I still call him Frank Black.

Maybe you call him Black Francis, the stage name under which he made his most famous music. It was the name he began his career with, then changed, and then later assumed again.

Maybe you’re one of those weirdos who call him by his real name, Charles. I’ve seen people do this. It’s fine if you know him personally, but kinda creepy if you don’t. Just sayin’.

Whatever name you use, you know who I’m talking about. The Pixies guy. Aloof. Likes to cultivate an air of mystery. Never looks like he’s happy to see you, not that you can tell since he often hides his eyes behind a swanky pair of shades. Sings about surrealism and UFOs, space girls and the apocalypse, Ray Bradbury and Pong, Los Angeles and lost love.

Blessed with a loud and versatile voice, he can scream a door off its hinges, but he almost never speaks to the audience when he performs. Over time, the ol’ waistline expanded and he went bald, but he wore it well and it only enhanced his status as an unconventional rock icon. If your songs are good, you don’t need to be a pin-up. If your songs are really, really fuckin’ good, whatever you look like becomes cool.

Cool is not a thing to which you conform; it’s a thing that you create.

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