When I found you the sky had opened up

As I have finally laid my hands upon one of my most anticipated releases of 2009, Abe Vigoda's Reviver EP (the others being Thursday's Common Existence [which is a sprawling disappointment] and Manchester Orchestra's Mean Everything to Nothing), I am musically pacified. In the months leading up to the EP's release I have heard teetering (yet logically corresponding) reviews from chums and reviewers. Overall, the former deemed the EP a disappointment, as it wavers from Abe Vigoda's perfected lo-fi no-wave post-punk sound. Overall, the latter heralded the EP a great success, as it wavers from Abe Vigoda's perfected lo-fi no-wave post-punk sound. Seeing as I am generally less inclined to agree with reviewers (especially those of the Pitchfork assortment) I awaited the release of Reviver with a heavy heart, fearful of the mainstream-approved music that was sure to come. 

The EP certainly does sidestep Abe Vigoda's "classic" sound. In a move that critics label as "maturing," the EP certainly is less lo-fi than past releases. The vocals are quite a bit more audible and the production is obviously more detailed. I do not believe this to be a sign of maturity, rather popularity. Over the past six months, Abe Vigoda has garnered more media attention, toured frequently, and subsequently sold more albums. Thus, the band has more money at their disposal, some of which, I can only assume, has been spent on recording this EP. Moreover, as the band gets bigger and plays larger venues with better quality soundsystems (Circa, anyone?), the old lo-fi songs will not translate as well. For example, the last time I saw No Age was at Lee's Palace, a cavernous (though still relatively small) venue. Their music did not translate as well in the Lee's environment as it did at Horseshoe Tavern last summer, a cramped venue with a low stage and awful sound. By no means do I suggest that a band should alter its sound to meet the accompanying consequences of its level of popularity, but if No Age plans to play larger venues they may wish to clean up their sound a bit simply to translate better live. Abe Vigoda will not suffer from this problem if they continue on the track Reviver has set. 

Reviver EP

The shape of punk that came and went.

In "The shape of punk that never came" by United Nations, Geoff Rickly appears to air his frustration over an unfulfilled promise made by now-defunct post-hardcore innovators Refused and, more specifically, their vocalist/songwriter Dennis Lyxzén. Perhaps Rickly is simply lamenting over the breakup of one of his favourite bands. Refused's final album, 1998's The Shape of Punk to Come: A chemical bombination in 12 bursts is still considered by many (myself included) to be one the most influential and significant albums of the 20th Century. Importantly, as one looks further into Rickly's lyrics, the song is more than simply a bemoaning over Refused's demise. 

In the second verse, Rickly specifically calls out Lyxzén, "Dennis are you listening?/Is there something that I'm missing?/ Where is the passion?" Lyxzén's post-Refused career has been underwhelming to say the least. His two main bands, The (International) Noise Conspiracy and Invasionen (formerly The Lost Patrol Band), both greatly waver from the hardcore punch of Refused. The former is a pop-rock fiasco and the latter sounds like The Hives. Both are still replete with Lyxzén's leftist, counter-culturist, society is doomed lyrics. However, especially in regards to The (International) Noise Conspiracy (Invasionen's lyrics are exclusively in Swedish, so I'm not entirely sure what the fuck is going on), the sincerity, urgency, and, as Rickly mentions, passion is lacking. 

They told me that the classics never go out of style

But they do, they do

The opening line of The Shape of Punk to Come, aside from simply being an awesomely profound way to start an album, has a certain amount of resonance a decade later. To begin with, Refused ultimately sets up the album to be a new classic. The sentence essentially tells us to forget everything we thought we knew about music, to toss aside the so-called classics and give in to a new musical order. However, it also admits that one day, the album itself will need to be tossed aside if it is indeed to become a classic. Perhaps that time is now.

It appears that Rickly is trying to come to terms with this notion:

If all the classics go out of fashion

What will we do with all of the passion?

Refused certainly was a passionate band. However, as I have mentioned, this passion has not translated to post-Refused projects. So where does it go? Is it embedded in all of us when we listen to Refused, when we write our own songs that, even on a deep subconscious level, are influenced by Refused? 

To be rather blunt, Lyxzén has lost the passion. The last two (International) albums were produced by none other than Rick Rubin, the man responsible for such classics as Weezer's Red album and Make Believe, Linkin Park's Minutes to Midnight, Red Hot Chili Peppers' overly indulgent, unnecessarily long masterpiece Stadium Arcadium, and a bunch of other overproduced, non-threateningly mainstream albums. The pro-Marxist lyrics of Lyxzén lack a certain sincerity when recorded at Sunset Sound studio in Hollywood by a man who is paid in gold nuggets. 

The significance and relevance of Refused has tickled my psyche as of late because of a newfound interest in United Nations's lyrics and the fact that I recently stumbled upon Refused's posthumous final release, The New Noise Theology EP. Upon listening to the EP, despite thoroughly enjoying the two "new" tracks on it, the music itself does in fact sound dated. It calls back to an era when anything labelled "punk" had four chords and whiny lyrics and cock-rocking nu-metal dominated the airwaves. The Shape of Punk to Come is indeed a classic, but it has gone out of style. The passion has been passed on to new bands who challenge the musical aesthetic, bands like Thursday and United Nations. However, as I'm sure Rickly is all too aware of, soon enough they will go out of style as well. 

Refused - New Noise Theology EP

Contempt: Gourmet hamburgers

There are now 287 gourmet burger restaurants in Toronto. Personally, I draw the line at 250. I cannot fathom how many $15 hamburgers the business owners in this city plan to sell. Yes, there is a high dependency on meat (especially of the miscellaneous ground assortment....mmm, mashed up cow ears) in North America and the Toronto intelligentsia can only eat organic mashed up ears, lips, and intestines, but come on. Soon enough the sloppily constructed, miscellaneous ingredients laden $5 hamburger will be extinct. 

As of this very precise moment, Toronto has the following gourmet burger joints: Lick's, Hero Burger, Gourmet Burger Company, Groucho's, South Street Burger Company, Craft Burger, Apache Burger, and Burger Shoppe (serving ye olde $15 hamburgers, using ye olde local organic practices). At least five of the aforementioned restaurants have multiple locations. I just want a greasy hamburger, made from terrifying ingredients that I will never learn of, made by a mysterious, mild-mannered, steel spatula wielding person dressed in white. Stop the madness!

God is a DH

With a sinking economy, a shrinking sphere of international influence, a black president, failing military campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan, soon to be extinct car companies, and a Blink-182 reunion, The United States of America.com is in the midst of dark times. Further darkening these times is the recent steroids scandal in America's past-time(.com), baseball. The league's highest paid player, Alex Rodriguez (a good ol' Protestant descendant of the Founding Fathers), has admitted to using steroids during the first two years of the insanely massive contract ($252 million over 10 years...think about that...) he signed in 2001. 

Many will argue that this is yet another black eye for professional baseball, which has struggled to maintain fan support since the strike-shortened season in 1994. Some of the game's biggest players have apparently taken steroids: Mark McGuire, Sammy Sosa, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, and now Rodriguez. However, in Rodgriguez's case, I think the media has been a little misguided in demonizing him. 

Seeing as America.com has entered a new era, I think it is time to re-conceptualize the American Dream. If we follow Rodriguez's model, the new Dream is pretty clear: get a shit-ton of money, then do whatever the fuck you want. Fuck fairness in sports. Fuck well-rounded competition, hard work, and earning your awards. Fuck the Geneva Conventions. Fuck protecting the innocent and poor. Fuck feeding the hungry. Fuck Afghanistan and Iraq and whether or not their citizens actually want a democracy, an America.com junior. Fuck Africa. Fuck Muslims. Fuck healthcare. Fuck all those (mostly black) people who lost their homes and lives in New Orleans. America.com can do whatever it wants because it has a shit-ton of money----oh shit, right, um, America loves all of God's children and is dedicated to spreading peace and freedom in the world. 

Contempt: Canada Goose Down Parkas

I cannot hold those bulbous Canada Goose down parkas in anything other then contempt. Everyone who wears one has that look of self-satisfaction, that aggrandized sense of warmth, that holier-than-thou trickle of sweat down their sides as they boil while walking down Bloor Street West and take up the amount of space 2.5 people wearing normal winter coats would fill. The coats themselves are so puffy that people wearing them look like they have Down's Syndrome. Haha. Down Coat. Down's Syndrome. I will say they have Down Syndrome, so as to not insult anyone with Down's Syndrome by associating them with those fucking parkas. 

Overconfident, not-quite-fashionable people eat these coats up. And by "eat" I mean wear. People like George Strombolopolus or however you spell his octosyllabic last name. I can only assume that "Strombo" dons a black Canada Goose down parka, complete with fur-trim hood, as he takes the arctic stroll from the studio of his critically-acclaimed, award-winning, edgy program through the underground parking lot of the CBC to his h2 hummer. The other necessary elements are all in place: he deals with the issues, he asks the tough questions, he wears a studded belt, he has not one but TWO pierced ears (and a pierced nose...and, I would assume, at least one pierced nipple), he has many tight fitting graphic t-shirts, he uses enough gel in his hair to kill a small family of possums, he speaks in a gruff, everyman voice and doesn't properly emphasize when one sentence ends and the next begins, he has sponsorship from Budweiser or some other bro-beer brand (say that five times fast...if Strombo did so it would come out as "Brebererbadnadjejei"), and damnit, he is just too real. Therefore, Strombo wears a Canada Goose down parka.