If you’ve been anxiously anticipating a release from Metric and happened to stumble upon Emily Haine’s first solo album, “Knives Don’t Have Your Back,” you should probably pretend this album doesn’t exist. Truth be told, “Knives Don’t Have Your Back” is far from an extension of Metric. This does not mean in anyway that it’s not an exceptional album with great vocal and acoustic experimentation on Emily’s behalf, but this is not a Metric album. For being partly responsible for the indie-rock sensation of Metric, this musical experiment has the potential to either turn die-hard Metric fans away or appeal to them in a completely different way. Her painful stories and hidden emotions come out in this oddly appealing album, but with the omission of her band, she comes off as strangely vulnerable. She’s up on the stage with nothing but her piano.

Don’t expect boredom, I don’t see this album working out any other way than this. I guess I may be at an advantage (or perhaps a disadvantage) because I didn’t buy this album as a Metric fan. I just bought it. The thing is, with such poignant lyrics emanating through the core of every song, the absence of a band really makes these songs all the more intense and full-bodied. It’s the difference between listening to a woman spill over onto piano keys as opposed to watching her rock out with her boys. It adds a bit of vulnerability. It’s personal, uncomfortably personal, and Haines is really allowing herself to be vulnerable.

Haines takes full advantage of the solo spotlight, crafting words that reveal her painful self-awareness. I found a great quote from Under the Radar: “I really don’t relate to the female singer-songwriter, you’re all precious and everyone has to hush while you go over the shadows of your emotions. I’ve always hated that.” It becomes almost impossible to not be “hush” in the midst of her emotional nudity. Emily tells stories about her father’s sudden death, the turmoil of life on the road, and the currently aimless fight for women’s rights– that make Knives’ come off as an extended excerpt from her long, sleepless nights.

Knives starkly puts Emily’s weakness on display. She stops being rock & roll for 45.6 minutes. I should mention the final track on the album. “Winning”, she offers the album’s prettiest elegy and takes on the role of comforting superior: “What’s bad?/ We’ll fix it/ What’s wrong?/ We’ll make it alright/ It’s gone/ We’ll find it/ Takes so long/ We’ve got time, all the time.” The brief reprieve from grim existentialism is defensive but almost tangible; a deep, demanding struggle. But while often difficult to listen to, Knives is an entirely inclusive prescription. As a solemn meditation on modern depression, it’s packed with loss but never quite loses.

Listen to tracks at EmilyHaines.com

I imagine that personal testimonies to the soul stirring performances of the Arcade Fire must begin and end with believers shouting “Amen”. Unfortunately I have never seen these guys live, but due to unknown karma cycles (probably), I have been listening to their latest/not-yet-released album “Neon Bible” for the past couple weeks.

If you were listening to KSCR last night, you would have heard a preview on Tim’s show. I adore this album.

As for upcoming live CA performances–the band is playing Coachella (of course) April 28th, in San Diego two days before on April 26th, and at Berkeley’s Greek Theater June 1st and 2nd.

Here’s the list of tracks, I won’t ruin your listening experience by reviewing this CD now, just go out and buy it. There are some sweet deals online and you will probably spend more money on something much less worthy between now and the time that you read a witty review anyway.

1. Black Mirror

2. Keep the Car Running

3. Neon Bible

4. Intervention

5. Black Wave/Bad Vibrations

6. Ocean of Noise

7. The Well and the Lighthouse

8. (Antichrist Television Blues)

9. Windowsill

10. No Cars Go

11. My Body Is a Cage

number 2 is my favorite song


Pre-order almost anywhere online (I suggest the deluxe edition that comes with two flip books)


neonbible.com

FYI: Album title is also the name of a book by the late John Kennedy Toole (author of “A Confederacy of Dunces”) and some film made in 1995 . . . thanks imdb.com.

Did you know that Timbaland sampled/stole/regurgitated an electronic instrumental track from a Finnish musician? Did you know that the track is a friggin’ lo-fi masterpiece, much along the lines of what 8-Bit Operators does so masterfully? Read up and download “Acid Jazzed Evening” at the MP3 collecting blog Idolator.

I generally wouldn’t consider myself an ‘arty’ person, being unable to sketch out any figure even vaguely resembling any object that belongs in the physical realm of reality. And I am most definitely incapable of distinguishing a Raphael from a Picasso, much less a Dali from a Magritte. So imagine my consternation when I learned that I had to visit an art exhibit at LACMA with my class, attendance absolutely compulsory.

I proceeded to take everything that happened on Thursday as a sign from the gods that I should feign fatal illness–even sudden death and swift resurrection, if need be–in order to avoid that dreaded trip. A broken nail, a wrong order of coffee at Trojan Grounds, our ride that refused to shift into reverse gear… believe me, I tried.

But I ended up at LACMA with my classmates anyway, along with throngs of other college students. (LACMA held a College Night on February 8, which offered free entrance to all college students from 8-10 pm along with a reception in their central court. Free food!) Large motifs of pipes and a man in a bowler hat greeted us everywhere, and before I knew it, I was slapped with a “See it at LACMA!” sticker and ushered into a room.

I’d been curious to find out what, if anything, lay behind that ubiquitous pipe and its enigmatic tagline, “This is not a pipe.” What could it possibly mean? That the picture of a pipe, which clearly appeared to be a regular tobacco pipe, was not representative of a pipe? That it was a tobacco pipe, but not a plumber’s pipe? That it wasn’t a pipe, just because the artist labeled it so? Was it making a statement about meaning, labeling, impression, visualization… what was it about?

As it turned out, the answer surprised–no, delighted–me, and sent tingly sensations down my spine! Who’d have thought that I, the biggest art-moron on earth, would have found something of such intense interest in an art museum? The picture of a pipe is not a pipe, precisely because it is a picture of a pipe. It is nothing more than a visual representation of the object itself.

And… …? So where’s the punchline in that, I hear you asking. But that’s exactly what Plato said about art, that it’s an imitation of reality! And Aristotle! And Kant! And there was even an exhibit of Foucault’s paper on Magritte’s pipe! Do you sense how excited the philosophy-geek in me is! Viewing an art exhibit could actually be an intellectual experience for me, instead of the stumbling-about-in-the-dark-like-an-ignoramus that I’d anticipated!

For the rest of you who’re interested in the very art of it, however, here’s a brief overview. The exhibition features not only Magritte’s works, but those of other modern artists that have been influenced by, or referenced his works. The layout is pretty cool as well, as the works by other artists (such as Martin Kippenberger, Andy Warhol, Vija Celmins, etc.) are interspersed among Magritte’s, so you can visualize their similarities with the pieces placed side-by-side.

The exhibition also follows Magritte through his various changes in artistic style and content, ranging from his Surrealist works, which saw him juxtaposing random and often contradictory elements that defied the conventions of reality, to his later method of meshing together less-random objects in an attempt to highlight the relationship between them. He also explored the relationship between seemingly conflicting words and images, challenged traditional ideas of “good” painting during his vache period, and questioned social influences on the subject of individualism and identity.

No, it wasn’t too bad after all, was it? In fact, it was even worth that half a minute of indignity when three of us had to hop out of the backseat to push the car out of the driveway of a parking structure, with the rest of the world watching and judging us for the stupid college kids that we were.

Lessons learnt:

1. Don’t fear the unknown! Plunge headlong into the unknown!
2. Figure out how to drive stick before venturing out into the menacing streets of LA in your friend’s car.

Caught the irony/contradiction? Good.

(Sidenote:
eighth blackbird played at the Leo S. Bing Theater on Jan 31. If you’re interested in finding out how music can, too, be Surrealist, check it out at their website!)

Magritte and Contemporary Art
The Treachery of Images
Los Angeles County Museum of Art
November 19 - March 4

As revealed to me at Cdbaby.com, Yosef’s story is an epic journey through the shadows of middle-life drudgery. Yosef had lost it all in 2001. His home, his family: it all went down the drain in a flash. He doesn’t elaborate as to how he lost it all, or what “all” meant (did his wife pass away? did she dump him?), but we’re told that he succumbed to alcoholism afterwards.

One day, as he was driving down an unnamed freeway and feeling morbidly depressed, his eyes went out suddenly. It was as if someone reached into Yosef’s brain and flicked a lightswitch off. And there he was, driving down Highway 666 without the slightest notion of direction. After cruising unharmed for a miraculous three minutes, despair sank its teeth into Yosef and he called out to a higher being for salvation. And wouldn’t you know it, he inexplicably regained his eyesight and pulled into the nearest 7-11. You can interpret this in many ways. But for Yosef, it meant he needed to pull his shit together and write an album titled Magistic Soul (apparently, it also meant he had to buy a King Arthur ensemble from the Dollar Store).

I read Yosef’s story and thought it was the strangest thing because the same thing happened to me…except in reverse. My story began with Magistic Soul. I popped it into my CD player while driving through the neighborhood. Two songs in, I went blind. Somehow I managed to get home, but when I got there I found that my wife and children had left me.

Ok, I feel bad for putting the guy down like this. Yosef is actually a decent musician. He practically “[wrote] and arranged” the entire album himself, plus he’s pretty deft on classical guitar. I’m not sure where his roots are grounded but the old fashioned stuff is actually enjoyable. It’s when he starts “modernizing” himself, with porno-basslines and Phil Collins-inspired lyrics, that he becomes that wedding singer everyone feels embarrassed for.

I originally thought that End of the Week was a “best of” compilation because the songs were written over a 15 year span (as indicated on the back of the CD). But after some thinking, I realized that it just meant Pat took 15 years to write this album. Sure, there’s a whopping 21 tracks. But then again, they’re usually less than 2 minutes long and sound as if they were recorded in a bathroom with a hand-me-down guitar and a Yamaha keyboard. Plus the lyrics are sparse and repetitious. I think Fritchey fans are feeling let down, even more so than the Guns N’ Roses followers who are waiting 10 years just to find out how shitty Chinese Democracy is. And what’s with the album cover? Pat explains himself on Myspace: “i had to duck or bumped my head on the end of the week.” Sure Pat, sure.

Pat falls in love:
Bossa Nova Girl

Bob: Oh man, I’m soooo wasted!
Dick: Me too! I’m totally shitfaced. And I can’t believe you scored tickets to the Bowie concert.
Bob: Shit! Yeah! This concert fucking rocks!
Dick: Actually I don’t really listen to Bowie. I just know he’s like…important or something.
Bob: Yeah! He did that song “Under Pressure” with Vanilla Ice. That song rocks.
Dick: He did? Wow, he is so talented. I wish I’m as talented as he is. I wanna be up on stage right now, with all the babes throwing their panties at me.
Bob: I know! Hey, maybe there is a way you can be on stage…sorta.
Dick: How so?
Bob: Like, maybe you can run up on stage. And when you do, remember to throw the devil horns, cause then people will know you rock.
Dick: Nah man, I’m way too drunk to run up there.
Bob: Well, why don’t you…I know, why don’t you throw something up on stage. And when people see you doing it, they’ll be like “Wow, Dick is a badass.”
Dick: What a fucking great idea! But what should I throw?
Bob: Uhh, what about your pants?
Dick: No way man, I paid freaking $100 for these at Hollister. They cost an extra $20 cause they have holes at the knees.
Bob: Well then, what do you have?
Dick: Uhh, I got this lollipop in my pocket.
Bob: Perfect!

The Skinny