Author: Jason

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #72: CHEYENNE

Guided by Voices
“Cheyenne” b/w “Visit This Place”
2002, The Fading Captain Series

“Cheyenne” is a song that only Robert Pollard would write. In the world of 2002, at least. That’s why it’s my favorite of the four Universal Truths and Cycles 7″ singles.

That said, it’s not any kind of left turn.

It’s made up of familiar pieces. It works on classic pop song machinery perfected long before Guided by Voices existed. “Cheyenne” is a product of the 1960s and of wearing out needles spinning piles of records by The Beatles and The Bee Gees (60s-era albums such as Idea and Odessa) and The Who over years and years.

It’s not the parts of “Cheyenne” that are so unique; no, it’s the way that they’re handled.

It’s like an artist’s line. You see an illustration and you instantly know who drew it. Only one person makes curves and crosshatches like that.

“Cheyenne” is about the mix of total pop with a curious dash of Pollard’s art-rock influences.

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Thoughts on Short Stories: Charles Beaumont’s “Black Country” (1955)

“Black Country” is one of those stories that I pull out when I just want to enjoy words at their most direct. The clean, crisp stuff that grabs you right away. Relentless movement can clear a lot of garbage out of your head.

Also, pretty much every time I read it, I buy some jazz CDs afterward. 

“Black Country” is a jazz story and Charles Beaumont is all hopped up on it. His prose darts this way and that. There’s ferocious energy to it, a luminous joy even, as it deals with difficult people.

Our narrator is a drummer in a jazz combo, which is perfect. His words are blunt, but always musical. He sees everything. He’s always there, keeping time, driving the rhythm. The people in this story never have heart-to-heart conversations–at least not in words. They communicate with music and, thanks to this guy, we don’t miss a thing.

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #71: BACK TO THE LAKE

Guided by Voices
“Back to the Lake” b/w “Dig Through My Window”
2002, The Fading Captain Series

The least controversial music news of 2002 was that Guided by Voices were back on Matador Records.

Everyone who cared was happy about it. Everyone knew that it was better this way. The prospect of a more free and spontaneous approach from the band was a welcome thing. The world needed a Guided by Voices who were under no pressure to achieve heavy radio rotation next to Puddle of Mudd.

The hits didn’t happen, but they got through the TVT era without becoming sellout jerks, which counts as a victory to me. Dignity was intact. Inspiration was running at a high. The band seemed to hardly take a breath between labels as they got to work on what I consider one of the very best albums to carry the Guided by Voices name, Universal Truths and Cycles.

But we can’t talk about that yet.

First we have to get into the whopping FOUR 7″ singles of preview tracks, released on The Fading Captain Series, because, hey, maybe the best way to hype an album is to make a big show of confidence like that rather than… whatever the hell TVT did.

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Philip Jose Farmer’s TO YOUR SCATTERED BODIES GO

Philip Jose Farmer
To Your Scattered Bodies Go
1971, G.P. Putnam’s Sons/ Berkley Medallion

I love Philip Jose Farmer’s imaginative, often daring, outright scandalous short stories (see “My Sister’s Brother” and “Riders of the Purple Wage”), but I’ve never gotten around to reading his popular Riverworld series of novels.

The name put me off, I think. I hate the river. There are creatures in it. I’m sick of the river. Do I want to go to a riverworld? No, I don’t.

Also, does Riverworld have anything to do with Riverdance? I hope not.

But as the pile of unread books around me expands so perhaps will my tastes, so I decided to check out Riverworld finally and this first book in the series turned out to be a perfect read for my current state of mind as a middle-aged man who worries about death all day.

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Frank Black-O-Rama! #8: THE JOHN PEEL SESSION

Frank Black & Teenage Fanclub
The John Peel Session
1995, Strange Fruit

It’s a 1960s rock ‘n’ roll dance party! This fast and loud 4-song EP bridges the gap between screamin’ Frank Black and screamin’ Freddy Cannon. It burns up the dragstrip. It rips into old school sounds that Black tastefully hinted at in past moments such as his “Duke of Earl” cover for the 1993 Hello Recording Club EP and his own starry ballad “Sir Rockaby” from Teenager of the Year. It’s rough and wired with no synthesizers or UFOs anywhere.

The time was May 1994. Teenager of the Year was brand new. Black was in Europe doing promotional stuff. Like the Pixies several times before, he got invited to record a set for John Peel at the BBC, which is always cool, BUT… he didn’t have a band. He would soon have a band for the upcoming tour, but at the moment, no hay banda.

So he asked Scottish guitar pop heroes Teenage Fanclub to back him up. They said yes and everyone got together to bang out four exclusive tracks fueled by classic influences. It was a performance worth savoring enough that Peel’s own label Strange Fruit put it out on disc the following year.

The first thing you notice about it: NO Teenager of the Year songs. Not even any of the B-sides. What you get instead are two covers and two Black originals that hadn’t yet appeared anywhere else.

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #70: SOME OF THE MAGIC SYRUP WAS PRESERVED

Acid Ranch
Some of the Magic Syrup Was Preserved
2002, The Fading Captain Series

No one else in rock makes more colorful use of their unreleased archives than Robert Pollard, but then most musicians don’t share his collage artist sensibility.

The vastness of it all–thousands of songs on decades’ worth of tapes–helps, too. Throw in a powerful nostalgia for his own past, the hard-earned independence that allows him to put out whatever he wants and a segment of his audience who are always up for a trip, no matter how strange, through Pollard’s famous suitcase full of old cassettes and you get Some of the Magic Syrup Was Preserved.

The conventional way to release an album like this, a double LP of lo-fi cries in the night from two decades previous, is to present it as a row of tagged and bagged corpses. Cold specimens to study for your advanced degree in Pollardology. Call it something like Guided by Voices: The Early 1980s Tapes for a straightforward approach. Or, more wisely, maybe call it Robert Pollard, Jim Pollard, and Mitch Mitchell: Archival Basement Improvisations to temper expectations for the ragged ride ahead.

It should sound useful and not confusing, right?

WRONG, Pollard says here. That shit’s boring. Art doesn’t have to be useful–what is it, a spatula?–and it’s okay if it’s confusing. His eye and ear for presentation—enigmatic sleeve art, crazy track-lists, impeccable song sequencing–won’t let him treat his old tapes like museum pieces. No, he has to put a unique band name on them. Build a mystique around them. Make a living thing out of them. Otherwise, why bother?

Enter Acid Ranch, where Pollard gives body and breath to a strange early phase of his music circa 1981-82.

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Frank Black-O-Rama! #7: TEENAGER OF THE YEAR

Frank Black
Teenager of the Year
1994, Elektra/4AD

I have a weakness for “overstuffed suitcase” albums. I love long, unwieldy track-lists. Lots of songs, lots of moods, lots of mixed reviews from the critics.

Albums that have thirty-seven tracks on ’em for no special reason other than that’s what happened. Somebody tipped over the toybox, made a big mess, and decided that the room looked better that way.

My favorites sound almost like accidents. They aren’t conceptual rock operas. There’s no grand, four-sided double album vision (many of them aren’t even double albums). No, they overflow because that’s how the wind was blowing and the artist is okay with looking crazy. It’s okay to look crazy in rock ‘n’ roll. In fact, I’d recommend it.

Frank Black has looked crazy before. He continues to look crazy here, starting with the cover photo.

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Things I Will Keep #22: THE TOMS

The Toms
The Toms
1979, Black Sheep Records
Reissue: 2005, Not Lame Recordings

Over the decades, the genre that my proctologist and I like to call power pop has acquired all sorts of geeky baggage. It’s associated with music for nerds and sad sacks. It’s catchy hooks and ringing guitars for the terminally uncool.

Part of this is simply because power pop bands always went for the regular Joe look. Smiling guys in jeans and T-shirts. Suits with skinny ties are as wild as it gets. There’s nothing wrong with that, but on the surface these bands tend to look more dorky every decade.

Another part of it is because most young people don’t know what the hell power pop is. If you’re under 35 and have even heard the term, I’m impressed. It’s usually thrown around by crumbling music nerds like me, who still compare most guitar pop to Big Star and The Raspberries. The best power pop is timeless like all good music, but it’s a genre that all but requires you to reach for 50-year-old references.

The result of this is that power pop became the domain of outsiders, dweebs and old people and THAT’S OKAY (speaking as an outsider, a dweeb and an old person).

However, it didn’t used to be like that. If you listen to the vintage stuff made by ambitious young men and can imagine yourself back in 1979 (whether you were there or not), it becomes clear that power pop was a reflection of the dating scene. It was horned-up and virile.  Its influences were The Beatles, The Beach Boys and talking to pretty girls.

Maybe it was far from innovative, but it had something to say, even if it was just “let’s go out on a date”, which counts.

It’s something that I can’t stop thinking about when I listen to this power pop punch-in-the-face by The Toms, an album that I would call definitive.

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #69: CALLING ZERO

Go Back Snowball
Calling Zero
2002, The Fading Captain Series

I was born in 1976, which puts me at the perfect age to have been an insufferable indie rock dork in the 90s.

When I wasn’t in rock clubs with my arms folded, I was getting into serious discussions about whether or not Sonic Youth still “matter” and other fascinating topics (zzzzzzzzz…) like that. I also constantly needed to flex my music “knowledge”. All that I did was spend a little too much time at the record store, but I acted like I’d walked on the goddamn moon. I was a ball of insecurities and I had no good reason to be arrogant about anything, so I filled that vacant space with my super-awesome music opinions. I thought that I had shocking and unique views. Now I’m cool and I have something to say. 

Why couldn’t I just be a human being? Why did I have something to prove all of the time?

Eh, youth. The only thing that I miss about it is being able to eat a whole pizza and not feel like shit for the rest of the day.

I’m not saying that everyone who was into indie rock at the time shared my malfunctions. I’m also not putting down the music itself. 90s indie rock was a good thing that revealed possibilities and expanded horizons. People had great times with that music.

Some of it even holds up, though there’s so much that I can’t listen to anymore without recalling what a Cringe Machine I was. It was a full-time job for me back then.  It kept me so occupied that I didn’t have any time to get into Superchunk.

Maybe I just haven’t heard the right songs. Maybe I haven’t given enough time to what I have heard. Maybe it’s because Superchunk never, to my battered memory, played North Texas during the peak of my live show-going (1996 to 2000), Maybe I’m a giant idiot (always and forever a possibility).

And this is how I approach this lovely record by Go Back Snowball, an album that follows Life Starts Here like spring follows winter.

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THE PRISONER #7: Many Happy Returns

(1967; director: Patrick McGoohan under the name Joseph Serf)

This dark-hearted episode pulls off a trick that few TV shows or movies ever manage to do with a straight face. The Prisoner as a whole is like that, but this installment really goes for the gold.

Here’s what it does: Through the sheer power of its otherworldliness, “Many Happy Returns” absorbs you in a scenario that makes no rational sense.

I’m not talking about mere “suspension of disbelief”. That’s the agreement between you and the creators that you’ll buy into the idea of, say, Batman for the sake of the ride.

No, I’m talking about a story that lays some HUGE whoppers on ya. A story that depends on telling you that 2 + 2 = 8. A story that makes leaps in logic that would make Edward D. Wood Jr. say “Wait, hold up, you can’t do that.”

In lesser works, overpaid writers and directors will try to sneak some bullshit past you, but you–yes, you–spot it because you’re not as dumb as they hope you are. At best, you laugh at it. At worst, you feel cheated.

When it’s effective though, it’s like you got slipped some good acid and you really don’t care anymore about how time and space and gravity work.

The Prisoner does that to you.

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