Coverology: judge these records by their covers

Hurley

Hands All Over

I could spend time listening to and then commenting on the cultural significance of and/or the musical contributions of two new albums by bands I've come to absolutely loathe. I really could. But why bother? What's the point? Much has already been written elsewhere (I assume, because I haven't bothered reading any of it, to be honest) about Weezer's Hurley and Maroon 5's Hands All Over.

No sense in adding to the public outcry, the weeping and wailing these records must have caused all across the country.  There's nothing to gain in subjecting myself to all the layers of gut-wrenching putridness -- the cliched phrases and recycled riffs. I get the spins just thinking about it all...

No need to listen to the records. Just look at them!  Both have covers that encapsulate in detail the depth of  tacky godawful-ness just beneath the surface. Maybe people don't pay much attention to these things, but if you think about it, both bands have created beacons of badness with these so-called artworks. These records don't just hurt to hear, they're tough to look at.

Shredding majestically with Superchunk (again)

Superchunk today.

Several things are striking about the new Superchunk album, Majesty Shredding, the seminal indie band's first in nine years, their 9th in 20 years together (no, they never broke up the band).

First, this record will remind those of us in our 30s (and 40s, too), who came-of age to this sound, just how good that sound is. In the early '90s, guitar-driven bands could fill every cubic inch  of aural space with walls of glorious fuzz tones, crashing drums and anthemic choruses. 

From pioneering indie/alt rock bands like Sonic Youth and the Pixies to later acts from Pavement to the Afghan Whigs, rock bands were loud and more. They were a jangled and chaotic yet lovely loud. The loud mess was elevated to an art form. Superchunk blasts right into Majesty Shredding like its 1992 all over again. It's a sound we've lost in the last 10 years of bands that have slimmed and simplified in many ways.

Interpol: Pace is the Trick

Ten years ago, dozens of so-called "garage" rockers and "post-punkers" in black and skinny jeans exploded onto a moribund rock scene. Reviewers breathlessly proclaimed all of them to be saviors of rock.

One such critical favorite was Interpol of New York City. The dour and dapper quartet were never as well known as fellow Manhattanites the Strokes, but their dark and danceable debut Turn On The Bright Lights topped a lot of year-end polls, not to mention placed the band high on a lot of best-of-the-decade retrospectives.

Although it was critically lauded, Bright Lights heaped the band in with a lot of other acts featuring brooding dudes who approached rock with stark guitar lines and late '70s inspired rhythms. It also set a high bar by which the band is incessantly measured. Many bands from that time who worked in the same  oeuvre -- from the Strokes to The Killers -- fizzled out by the end of the aughts as freaky folkers from Brooklyn had left post punk in the dust.

Ray LaMontagne loses the magic touch

I really loved the first two albums by Ray LaMontange: Trouble and Till The Sun Turns Black. Unlike so much that passes for "folk" these days -- someone stroking an acoustic guitar, the kind of stuff you can find in every neighborhood coffee shop and pub in the world -- there was more to LaMontagne, a man who had quit his sneaker factory job in Maine to become a singer/songwriter while in his 30s.

First, the guy has a pretty incredible voice. It's almost hollow and raspy yet big and melodic. Unlike other "folkies," LaMontagne knows how to sing with a certain, for lack of a better term, soul. In early LaMontagne there is an awful lot of the same kind of gutsy singing that made early Van Morrison records -- Astral Weeks, Moondance, Tupelo Honey, etc. so great. You know the singer believes every word.

But a great singing voice is not always enough.  LaMontagne was paired with producer Ethan Johns for his first three records and Johns, who has done great by artists ranging from Ryan Adams (Heartbreaker, Gold)  to Kings of Leon (Youth and Young Manhood, Aha Shake Heartbreak and Because of the Times),  knew how LaMontagne's songs should be recorded. Under Johns' direction, LaMontagne was recorded alone, just guitar and vocals, when it best suited the song (see the remarkable "Burn" from Trouble) or he'd back him with strings when it seemed the right thing to do (The title track on my favorite of LaMontagne's albums, Till the Sun Turns Black). On both albums, the backing was often minimal: drums, bass maybe a bit of extra guitar.