Trent Reznor As Everyone

The likeness-spotting part of my brain is very well-developed. Like, yesterday, I just stopped in the middle of the corridor and yelled, “This carpet stain looks like a BUNNY!” and the stranger behind me stared where I was pointing and said, “Actually, yeah, it does!”

I’m always the first person to point out when people look like other people, and about half the time nobody agrees, and the other half, everyone agrees. I mean, everyone knows that Trent Reznor looks like Professor Snape, but I also think Reznor looks like Kraven in the movie Underworld.

Thanks to a link from Emmers to a blog on Tumblr, I’m starting to see him everywhere …

Continue reading

Genres: What are they good for anyway?

So, yesterday’s post on genre got me thinking: why do we bother trying to define music anyway? You might as well ask why we bother to review music.

Here’s the thing: I forget exactly how many albums are released each year, but I think the number is something like 20,000. That’s an impossible number of albums to listen to – even paid music reviewers only hear up to about five albums a week (that’s 260 albums per year), because that’s realistically all you can hear and form any sort of judgement over. Assuming the reviewer listens to the album twice before writing down their thoughts, that’s 10-15 hours’ active listening per week, which is actually quite a lot, since those thoughts then have to be written down and communicated – and almost everyone writing about music is fitting it around a full time job.

Few reviewers are professional critics. Most of the music reviews you will read will be in the form of “omg dis da shiiiii”-type scrawlings on Facebook et al. The last music review you probably heard was your best friend raving about some cool album over lunch. Do they count as reviews? In a definite sense, yeah – because they’re fulfilling the role of gatekeeper, drawing your attention to the dozen or so albums out of that 20,000 that you’re actually going to like. (I’m actually pretty glad I don’t hear 260 albums a year any more, because hearing 240 bloody awful albums per year is soul-destroying.)

When we get that little nugget of joy, though, well, then we can’t help ourselves. When you’re experiencing real passion for something, it’s almost impossible to shut up about it. I was thinking yesterday how much I need to get certain people on instant messenger because I don’t have anyone to wibble away about Foetus with and I’m undoubtedly boring the pants off my other friends about it. The only way past that is to try to reel them in too, and the only way to persuade them even to listen to it is to describe it in terms they’ll understand. Even these days, when you can embed a YouTube link so people don’t even have to bother to click off the page, most people won’t bother to watch it because that’s taking up their precious time and they don’t want to be bored senseless for three minutes by music they hate. Tell me in 10 words or less why I should click on this link.

Most music is pretty easy to describe. Oasis? Three-chord pub rock Beatles-lite without a fraction of the skill or innovation. The White Stripes? Simplistic country-influenced garage-punk blues rock with no bass. Blur? To The Kinks as Oasis are to The Beatles, only with actual talent. What about genre, then? Well, that’s a shorthand way of saying sounds-like, though it doesn’t have to be exact. Someone tells you that The Sex Pistols are punk, and then tells you that The Buzzcocks are also punk, you can have a fair idea of what the latter sound like, even if you haven’t heard them: it’s like speeded up rock’n’roll with off-key, shouty vocals over simplistic song structures with little in the way of demonstrated musicianship. Much as the Manic Street Preachers played the punk card, like The Clash, they were just too darned good to really fit the bill.

.

.

Continue reading

Flashback: Rapido

Hey, I actually found the actual four-minute NIN interview from Rapido in 1990. The clip changed my life – got me into a whole new genre – but it changed my friend Mike’s life more; he was at that concert and lost a kidney! Swears it “didn’t just drop out of (his) pocket” …

.

.

Note: when screened on BBC2, the voice-over was dubbed into English.

Albums that actually changed my life

Unknown David Bowie compilation
First heard: Age 3

I must have been about three. Lying in the back of the car, half-asleep, listening to Ziggy-era Bowie through the back speakers. I particularly remember Aladdin Sane and Starman, and I think those are the ones that have shaped me musically the most. The other bands I was exposed to at the time were Queen and Abba, so ever since, the music I have loved has been a combination of clever minor-key concept album noodling, punchy rock hooks and hard, funky disco. Not much of a surprise I became a NIN fan, then.

Pink Floyd – The Wall
First heard: Age 10

I liked a lot of cool music as a kid, along with some truly terrible music, but until the age of 10, everything I loved was informed by what my parents or sister were listening to. Then my sister played me Pink Floyd’s Wall album, and something just clicked. I dimly recalled Another Brick In The Wall Part 2, which had been the Christmas number one when I was three. Hearing the album in its entirety, though, shed a very different light on the track. It had mystified me – still does – why the song had been so popular, with its puerile shouty “we don’t need no education” refrain, but put into the context of preceding track The Happiest Days of Our Lives (the song doesn’t really work without it), it suddenly revealed a new concept to me: angst.

It seems funny to me now to think of myself as a child, debating the meanings of Syd Barrett songs with my rebellious best friend, Jym. We were absolutely obsessed – making our own Floyd-themed t-shirts, picking up sheet music to learn it on the piano, and just lying out in the sun in his back garden listening to Relics and Meddle. Jym would take mushrooms and smoke pot, but I could enter an altered state just meditating on the music. He got expelled from school a year or two later. I never saw him again.

Continue reading