2003_08_01_archive

Wondering last night, as I looked through the sixteen new records I've

heard this year(1), whether I'll ever be overwhelmed by a record at

first listen like I was with Dots and Loops. Even Interpol last year,

which by year's end seemed so solidly my number one, took a little

while to grow on me.(2)

But in the fall of 1997, I put on the new Stereolab album in my dorm

room, lights dim, and everything clicked into place. The sing-song

melodies I liked on Emperor Tomato Ketchup were still around, but in

place of that album's detached motorik beat and funk affectations,

there were sweetly shuffling jazz rhythms and warm beds of sad

electronic sounds. It felt like a blanket. Or like it was all

underwater, the bass deep and prowling the ocean floor, the beats

gurgling, the strings like light shimmering in(3). I was mesmerized.

It's curious to hear from Stereolab fans who consider Dots and Loops

the band's first misstep, a weightless lounge record that doesn't hold

up to the krautrock-inspired energy of their earlier material. Not to

say Stereolab doesn't sometimes falter in this way: I could certainly

criticize Sound-Dust, the band's most recent album, for sounding

anemic in parts. But although I liked the minimalism of the acclaimed

Transient Random Noise-Bursts(4), which I'd bought that summer, Dots

and Loops perfected the band in my ears: perfected music period, I

sometimes thought.

And so I waited for buses in St. Louis, wearing my new corduroy coat,

singing fragments of songs caught in my head in the cold air. I

grumbled I couldn't go to the show (with Mouse on Mars) and was

jealous of the shiny concert tee that Summer brought back. I lit up

when the album was played at Blake's Diner and for the first time

counted the time signatures of each track, thrilling at the

variations. I played the drum-and-bassish "Parsec" at a party in my

suite, disappointed that people dancing couldn't move to the 5/4. When

Rachel at Blake's asked what it was, I stammered, "Only, like, my

favorite album of all time."

Josh thinks what makes Dots and Loops unique, even compared to its

successors, is that it uses beats in a way that's more akin to hip-hop

or electronic/dance styles than to rock or orchestral pop -- a matter,

basically, of how rhythms are integrated into the overall sound.(5)

This maybe explains why it works better as ambience than other

Stereolab records: it has a continuous hypnotic feel that surrounds

you nicely while reading or making tea. The instruments, as Josh

points out, don't always call attention to themselves as horns or

synths or whatever: they're "deployed as sounds."(6) And yet, unlike

many strictly electronic artists, the band is still writing catchy,

complex songs. This, for me, was the winning combination.

What I'm wondering, I guess, is whether I've gotten to a point where

I've heard enough music so that I'm no longer struck like that. Like

I've found the answer. I remember thinking in high school that a

really great music would mix jazz with rock in a way that didn't sound

like Blood, Sweat and Tears or Steely Dan. When I eventually

discovered Chicago post-rock, I loved it. But these days, what haven't

I already heard, in some form at least?

(1) An unusually high amount for me in August, though I've only

actually bought seven.

(2) I think I'm naturally suspicious of low male vocals. The first

time I saw the Aluminum Group, while working for Minty Fresh, John's

voice actually reminded me of the Barenaked Ladies; I hadn't yet

noticed its campiness.

(3) I like music that drags me under the surface somehow: DJ Shadow's

"Mashin' on the Motorway" interrupts a perfectly good head-nodding

record (The Private Press) with a nervous vocal track accented with

chaotic car horns. Let's take it back down, man.

(4) Especially "Jenny Ondioline," which I used to listen to while

shaving -- the opening 40 seconds of distortion I spent lathering my

face, and by the time the drums kicked in, my razor was ready to go.

(5) Since it's the only Stereolab album that Andi Toma (of Mouse on

Mars) has co-produced, it's tempting to credit him with this feel --

and yet I just looked at the liner notes and he only actually worked

on three tracks (and not necessarily the ones you'd expect).

(6) Currently listening to "The Flower Called Nowhere," and I realize