Record #192: George Harrison - Living in the Material World (1973) In the three years after their break up, it became obvious that none of the Beatles were going anywhere. John got over his weirdness and got back to rock music. Paul responded to the backlash of the homespun McCartney with the incredible Ram, then form Wings. Ringo released a country record (?!?). And after the releasing the sprawling deluge of All Things Must Pass and organizing and recording the massive humanitarian Concert for Bangladesh at the Behest of his mentor Ravi Shankar, George Harrison no longer had anything to prove. And so, released from needlessly rejected Beatles songs, George turns his eyes upward, creating one of the tenderest, most earnest spiritual albums in rock and roll history. Most often, he is lamenting ignorance (The Light that has Lighted the World), indifference (When the World comes ‘Round), and his place in the world (Be Here Now). When his voice enters in after the classic-George slide guitar riff of Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth), it is with a desperate, near cracking plea that matches the lyrics more perfectly than any voice has matched its words in the history of popular music. And throughout the record, his near-cracking voice looks heavenward and asks, “why is everyone blind to what I see so plainly?” And Paul-digging aside (Sue Me, Sue You Blues), he prays without preaching (exception: The Lord Loves the One who Loves the Lord). This is an album between himself and his Sweet Lord. It almost seems like an accident that it was recorded at all.

Record #192: George Harrison - Living in the Material World (1973)


In the three years after their break up, it became obvious that none of the Beatles were going anywhere. John got over his weirdness and got back to rock music. Paul responded to the backlash of the homespun McCartney with the incredible Ram, then form Wings. Ringo released a country record (?!?). And after the releasing the sprawling deluge of All Things Must Pass and organizing and recording the massive humanitarian Concert for Bangladesh at the Behest of his mentor Ravi Shankar, George Harrison no longer had anything to prove.

And so, released from needlessly rejected Beatles songs, George turns his eyes upward, creating one of the tenderest, most earnest spiritual albums in rock and roll history. Most often, he is lamenting ignorance (The Light that has Lighted the World), indifference (When the World comes ‘Round), and his place in the world (Be Here Now). When his voice enters in after the classic-George slide guitar riff of Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth), it is with a desperate, near cracking plea that matches the lyrics more perfectly than any voice has matched its words in the history of popular music. And throughout the record, his near-cracking voice looks heavenward and asks, “why is everyone blind to what I see so plainly?” And Paul-digging aside (Sue Me, Sue You Blues), he prays without preaching (exception: The Lord Loves the One who Loves the Lord). This is an album between himself and his Sweet Lord. It almost seems like an accident that it was recorded at all.

1 note

Spent today blowing up watermelons with rubberbands. Sometimes my job is okay

Spent today blowing up watermelons with rubberbands. Sometimes my job is okay

1 note

mrvtr: Photo by yuumac • Instagram Fugazi + skateboarding = rad

mrvtr:

Photo by yuumac • Instagram

Fugazi + skateboarding = rad

55 notes

humansofnewyork: “I’ve never used a cellphone or computer.” “They’re too mainstream.” -Hipster Grandpa

humansofnewyork:

“I’ve never used a cellphone or computer.”

“They’re too mainstream.” -Hipster Grandpa

1,482 notes

nprmusic: With so many distractions and different ways to hear songs, it’s getting to be pretty impossible to give full albums the attention they deserve. When was the last time you actually listened to one all the way through, without any interruptions? Photo: Corbis Someone tell me I’m not the only one who still listens to music albums at a time.

nprmusic:

With so many distractions and different ways to hear songs, it’s getting to be pretty impossible to give full albums the attention they deserve. When was the last time you actually listened to one all the way through, without any interruptions?

Photo: Corbis

Someone tell me I’m not the only one who still listens to music albums at a time.

324 notes

George Harrison - Hear Me Lord

From All Things Must Pass

Record #191: George Harrison - All Things Must Pass (1970) The Beatles were over. McCartney had made a press release announcing it, followed a week later by his first solo record, which was derided as a disappointing, half-baked affair. The magic was over. The good days were all behind us. And while the Fab Four may all still be releasing music, nothing they made could have topped what they did together. But for George Harrison, the dam had burst. After ten years of being hidden by the colossus of Lennon/McCartney, he releases a triple album consisting of eighteen new songs (two written or cowritten by his new best friend Bob Dylan) and a full disc of jammy, in-studio noodling, totaling one hour and forty five minutes in length (fifteen minutes longer than the White Album, which was the work of four people). Most of the songs had been rejected by the Two Headed Beast in Harrison’s previous life as the Quiet Beatle, including the peerless, monstrous Let It Down, which, according to legend, was rejected by Lennon because he couldn’t figure out how to play the chords. As a side note, Let It Down is my favorite solo-Beatles song of all time. But accumulated across the years and set side by side, it’s overwhelming just how great these songs are. Isn’t it a Pity (version one) strums hypnotically, foreseeing The Flaming Lips’ Yoshimi days. I’d Have You Anytime is as tender a love song as George ever wrote. My Sweet Lord is simply wonderful, lawsuit aside. Apple Scruff is a bouncy folk number that is a British accent away from sounding like an outtake from In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. The album is so huge that there are songs on here I don’t remember ever hearing before, and each one is magnificent. And as if the songs weren’t enough, take a look at the credits page. Eric Clapton on guitar. Ringo on drums. Billy Preston on keyboards. Klaus Voorman on bass (those last two would later join John for Plastic Ono Band that December). Ginger Baker on drums when Ringo wasn’t. Gary Wright on pianos. PHIL COLLINS providing extra percussion. And the ever-controversial Phil Spectre behind the board, adding his go-to Wall of Sound technique. Hate him for Let It Be, but his treatments here spot on, aiding George’s trances and furies alike, despite Harrison’s dismissive “too much echo” years later.  And so, in the face of the dissolution of the Greatest Band on Earth, George smashes the Quiet Beatle mask and reveals his true self in all of its exuberant, experimental, exceptional glory. And into the dust of the Beatles’ breakup, he offers up this monolith, this huge, peaceful reminder that All Things Must Pass.

Record #191: George Harrison - All Things Must Pass (1970)


The Beatles were over. McCartney had made a press release announcing it, followed a week later by his first solo record, which was derided as a disappointing, half-baked affair. The magic was over. The good days were all behind us. And while the Fab Four may all still be releasing music, nothing they made could have topped what they did together.

But for George Harrison, the dam had burst. After ten years of being hidden by the colossus of Lennon/McCartney, he releases a triple album consisting of eighteen new songs (two written or cowritten by his new best friend Bob Dylan) and a full disc of jammy, in-studio noodling, totaling one hour and forty five minutes in length (fifteen minutes longer than the White Album, which was the work of four people). Most of the songs had been rejected by the Two Headed Beast in Harrison’s previous life as the Quiet Beatle, including the peerless, monstrous Let It Down, which, according to legend, was rejected by Lennon because he couldn’t figure out how to play the chords. As a side note, Let It Down is my favorite solo-Beatles song of all time. But accumulated across the years and set side by side, it’s overwhelming just how great these songs are. Isn’t it a Pity (version one) strums hypnotically, foreseeing The Flaming Lips’ Yoshimi days. I’d Have You Anytime is as tender a love song as George ever wrote. My Sweet Lord is simply wonderful, lawsuit aside. Apple Scruff is a bouncy folk number that is a British accent away from sounding like an outtake from In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. The album is so huge that there are songs on here I don’t remember ever hearing before, and each one is magnificent.

And as if the songs weren’t enough, take a look at the credits page. Eric Clapton on guitar. Ringo on drums. Billy Preston on keyboards. Klaus Voorman on bass (those last two would later join John for Plastic Ono Band that December). Ginger Baker on drums when Ringo wasn’t. Gary Wright on pianos. PHIL COLLINS providing extra percussion. And the ever-controversial Phil Spectre behind the board, adding his go-to Wall of Sound technique. Hate him for Let It Be, but his treatments here spot on, aiding George’s trances and furies alike, despite Harrison’s dismissive “too much echo” years later. 

And so, in the face of the dissolution of the Greatest Band on Earth, George smashes the Quiet Beatle mask and reveals his true self in all of its exuberant, experimental, exceptional glory. And into the dust of the Beatles’ breakup, he offers up this monolith, this huge, peaceful reminder that All Things Must Pass.

5 notes

brain-food:

The Post-Punk / New Wave Super Friends
by Butcher Billy x prints x tshirts

1,221 notes

Record #190: Deerhunter - Monomania (2013) As I have mentioned before, Cryptograms is my favorite Deerhunter record. Its more ambient passages are absolutely transcendent in a way that so many shoegaze/dreampop bands fail to emulate better. But, as I have mourned, as Bradford Cox & Co. continue making music, they slip further and further away from the glistening haze they crafted so masterfully and more towards direct pop rock. 2010’s Halcyon Digest was a psych-pop loveletter to motown and the Beatles that dealt mostly in (relatively) straightforward pop gently processed by vintage reverb units and tape delays. Their newest release, Monomania, continues their journey out of the fog. And as much as I’d like another Cryptograms, Deerhunter makes it really difficult to be disappointed by what they’re doing now. Without exaggeration, this is Deerhunter’s most aggressive release. Instead of his gentle croon, Cox often wails full-voiced. There are more distorted guitars here than any of their other records combined (not counting the self-titled debut that the band has practically disowned)—the title track begins and ends with a squalor of feedback. It’s not surprising, however, given the album’s label “File under Nocturnal Garage” and Bradford Cox’s recent interviews about what punk really is (and a song titled “Punk (La Vie Anterieure),” which isn’t very punk, actually). Let’s not be one-sided though—there are a few softer songs mixed in, like Pundt’s The Missing (his only song here), the gentle pop sway of Sleepwalking, and the acoustic Nitebike. But it is a little surprising that even with Pundt’s touring guitarist in Deerhunter now, the group sounds the least like Lotus Plaza than they ever have. On the other hand, Parallax, Cox’s most recent record as Atlas Sound, sounds a bit like a prequel to Monomania, forming the closest solo project/full band relationship of anything in the Deerhunter, etc. canon.  But when the music is this good, who cares if one of the two frontmen is doing all the fronting? And who cares if they’re bellowing Bohemian Rhapsody quotes over distorted guitars instead of whispering over fully-cranked reverb pedals? So what if they’re chunking big chords instead of losing themselves in hypnotic jam sections? And who cares what punk is or is not? Just put the record on the table and hit play.

Record #190: Deerhunter - Monomania (2013)


As I have mentioned before, Cryptograms is my favorite Deerhunter record. Its more ambient passages are absolutely transcendent in a way that so many shoegaze/dreampop bands fail to emulate better. But, as I have mourned, as Bradford Cox & Co. continue making music, they slip further and further away from the glistening haze they crafted so masterfully and more towards direct pop rock. 2010’s Halcyon Digest was a psych-pop loveletter to motown and the Beatles that dealt mostly in (relatively) straightforward pop gently processed by vintage reverb units and tape delays. Their newest release, Monomania, continues their journey out of the fog. And as much as I’d like another Cryptograms, Deerhunter makes it really difficult to be disappointed by what they’re doing now.

Without exaggeration, this is Deerhunter’s most aggressive release. Instead of his gentle croon, Cox often wails full-voiced. There are more distorted guitars here than any of their other records combined (not counting the self-titled debut that the band has practically disowned)—the title track begins and ends with a squalor of feedback. It’s not surprising, however, given the album’s label “File under Nocturnal Garage” and Bradford Cox’s recent interviews about what punk really is (and a song titled “Punk (La Vie Anterieure),” which isn’t very punk, actually). Let’s not be one-sided though—there are a few softer songs mixed in, like Pundt’s The Missing (his only song here), the gentle pop sway of Sleepwalking, and the acoustic Nitebike. But it is a little surprising that even with Pundt’s touring guitarist in Deerhunter now, the group sounds the least like Lotus Plaza than they ever have. On the other hand, Parallax, Cox’s most recent record as Atlas Sound, sounds a bit like a prequel to Monomania, forming the closest solo project/full band relationship of anything in the Deerhunter, etc. canon. 

But when the music is this good, who cares if one of the two frontmen is doing all the fronting? And who cares if they’re bellowing Bohemian Rhapsody quotes over distorted guitars instead of whispering over fully-cranked reverb pedals? So what if they’re chunking big chords instead of losing themselves in hypnotic jam sections? And who cares what punk is or is not? Just put the record on the table and hit play.

Record #189: Genesis - Invisible Touch (1986) The very first thing you notice about Invisible Touch is just how poppy it is. Which isn’t too surprising—the two records before it had some great pop numbers with prog flares thrown in to keep things interesting, like Abacab’s great No Reply At All or the Home by the Sea suite from Genesis, reflective of what groups like The Police and Talk Talk were doing around the same time on Ghost in the Machine and The Colour of Spring (which are both masterpieces). Around the same time, Phil Collins was fostering what would become one of the most successful solo careers of all time, eventually reaching the level of musicians name dropped on 30 Rock (Tracy: I’m making you a mixtape. Do you like Phil Collins? Jack: I have two ears and a heart, don’t I?). And until Invisible Touch, Genesis and Collins’ solo material had enough of a separation between the two to tell the records apart, but the line seems to blur here. Well, except for the fact that it’s not quite as good as either Collins’ heartfelt synthpop or Genesis’ masterful art rock (despite what Patrick Bateman says). There are spurts of greatness here and there, like the proggy midsection of Tonight, Tonight, Tonight. But unfortunately, most of the album sounds like Land of Confusion,a hooky radio-rock song that comes off as beneath their ability—especially with the poorly produced bridge that violently jerks you out of the groove the synthesized bass drums (note: being freed from that groove is not a bad thing). In Too Deep fails to emote as effectively as Collins’ solo ballads, achieving new levels of 80s cheese pop if nothing else. Despite sounding terribly dated, much of the album comes off as either uninspired or obnoxious, which is not a hat that Genesis wears very well. Where the two records before this keep drawing me back, this one is repelling me away.

Record #189: Genesis - Invisible Touch (1986)


The very first thing you notice about Invisible Touch is just how poppy it is. Which isn’t too surprising—the two records before it had some great pop numbers with prog flares thrown in to keep things interesting, like Abacab’s great No Reply At All or the Home by the Sea suite from Genesis, reflective of what groups like The Police and Talk Talk were doing around the same time on Ghost in the Machine and The Colour of Spring (which are both masterpieces). Around the same time, Phil Collins was fostering what would become one of the most successful solo careers of all time, eventually reaching the level of musicians name dropped on 30 Rock (Tracy: I’m making you a mixtape. Do you like Phil Collins? Jack: I have two ears and a heart, don’t I?). And until Invisible Touch, Genesis and Collins’ solo material had enough of a separation between the two to tell the records apart, but the line seems to blur here.

Well, except for the fact that it’s not quite as good as either Collins’ heartfelt synthpop or Genesis’ masterful art rock (despite what Patrick Bateman says). There are spurts of greatness here and there, like the proggy midsection of Tonight, Tonight, Tonight. But unfortunately, most of the album sounds like Land of Confusion,a hooky radio-rock song that comes off as beneath their ability—especially with the poorly produced bridge that violently jerks you out of the groove the synthesized bass drums (note: being freed from that groove is not a bad thing). In Too Deep fails to emote as effectively as Collins’ solo ballads, achieving new levels of 80s cheese pop if nothing else. Despite sounding terribly dated, much of the album comes off as either uninspired or obnoxious, which is not a hat that Genesis wears very well. Where the two records before this keep drawing me back, this one is repelling me away.