'Quixote7 boasts originality; Hotwire just faux hard-rock
By Ryan Nyburg
Freelance Reporter
Another day, another round-up of
recent music. The life of a music critic
is a grand one, no doubt about it.
First up is the latest from Psychedel
ic Breakfast, entitled "Bona Fide."
There is really only one thing that
needs to be said
about this al- ~~
bum: It con- CD
tains a four- reviews
minute drum _
solo. Unless
you are a drummer or are actually
watching the drummer play, drum so
los are pointless. I've only found a few
in my life that have held my interest
longer than it takes to hit the fast for
ward button, and the one in "Bona
Fide" is not one of them.
Apart from that, the album is a
rather bland mix of studio and live
tracks from a band that seems to sore
ly miss the 1970s. Fhey cover the All
man Brothers Band, play endless jams
and generally come off as an above
average bar band. Ihe chops are there,
but the creativity is not, and the al
bum contains nothing that bands like
Phish and the String Cheese Incident
haven't done better.
Next up is the latest from Ethan
Daniel Davidson, "Don Quixote de
Suburbia." A folk rocker who writes
original, socially conscious lyrics
while avoiding Dylanesque cliches?
Be still my beating heart. It has been
too long since I've heard a new singer
songwriter with this kind of lyrical tal
ent, so it's difficult to keep in mind
that the album is far from perfect.
The biggest problem is the lack of
conciseness, as many of the songs
stretch on long after the ideas — and
the listener's patience — have run out.
To top it off, many of the tracks feel
like filler materia! rather than well
constructed songs. But Davis is a dis
tinct talent, and will probably be
someone to watch. He'll be playing at
Sam Bond’s Garage tonight at 9 p.m.
For those of you who prefer a song
writer with a sweet tooth, there is the
sugary pop of Warren Zanes. I lis new
album, "Memory Girls," is chalk full
of innocuous pop melodies and
hooks, yet is a little deeper and more
thoughtful than most of the songwrit
ers in this vein.
Zanes' lyricism is what saves the
day from pure sugar rush overload.
Many of the songs are darker than
their light melodies and gentle
crooning would suggest. "Did You
Recognize My Love?" for example,
sounds as if it should be sung in
French by some bitter Parisian with
a cigarette clamped firmly between
his lips. While Zanes' touch is often
a little too light for his own good,
his album is still great stuff for fans
of Burt Bacharach or the ballads of
Elvis Costello.
But who needs interesting lyrics,
well-crafted arrangements and interest
ing, distinct songwriting personalities
when you have 1 lotwire's debut album
'The Routine"? Why do these cookie
cutter "hard rock" acts keep pouring
onto my desk? Did I commit some
kind of dreadful sin in a former life?
1 lotwire comes from the same sub
urban Los Angeles area that brought
us Incubus and Linkin Park. I say we
find this neighborhood and keep
something like this from happening
again. The ant-like conformity of sub
urbia must infect bands coming from
these places, because so many of them
seem to use the same vocal tactics
(scream, croon, scream), the same
lyrical content ("I'm miserable, life
sucks, you suck, I love you") and the
same riffs (watered down Korn or
pumped up Black Flag).
The hell of it is the album really
isn't bad. It's just boring, repetitive
and unoriginal. The music has been
wiped clean with great production
values, leaving it weak and gutless.
Okay, maybe it is bad, but it doesn't
get under my skin like a bad case of
scabies, unlike a certain Christian
Suburban Los Angeles rockers Hotwire released their first album June 3.
Courtesy
rock band I could mention.
Hotwire will, without a doubt, be
successful. At least for while. But they
won't last, and for that I am grateful.
Ryan Nyburg is a freelance reporter
for the Emerald.
Guster
continued from page 9
charged rhythm and expertly layered
melodies. "Come Downstairs and
Say 1 lello," the album's longest track
at 5:16 — and arguably its finest —
casually swims around in slow guitar
riffs for three minutes and ramps up
to a propulsive, summery medley of
woodwind riffs, rapid-fire bongo
work and earnestly emotive vocals.
Sitting neatly between new wave
and late-nineties radio rock,
"Homecoming King" could have
easily appeared on a Goo Goo
Dolls record, save some of the syn
thesizer work a la the Cure's "Close
to You." The short-but-sweet "Ra
mona" borders on the simplistic —
but enjoyably so — and boasts
some of the album's most intimate
lyrics: "When I was younger and
thought of myself / I never dreamed
I'd become like this / A snap of your
fingers, an end to the arguments /
Anything for you, love."
"Jesus on the Radio" takes up just
137 seconds of the album's 49 min
utes, but nonetheless proves to be one
of the best pieces on the record. The
bluesy song, driven by a banjo and a
jew's-harp, was written in an hour be
fore a sound check at a Guster show.
For help writing and performing
the last listed track, "I HopeTomor
row is Like Today," Guster brought
aboard pop-rocker Ben Kweller,
who recorded the infectious single
"Wasted and Ready" among others
on last year's excellent release "Sha
Sha." The simple ballad, based on
piano and guitar, simmers more
with Kweller's style than with
Guster's, but the song slips perfectly
in the penultimate slot.
"Two at a Time," the syrupy (un
listed) coda, is a simple Noah's Ark
homily that doses the album nearly
perfectly in a bath of strings and
synth pop effects.
Guster — which is playing a free
show in Portland's Pioneer Square
July 17 at 11 a m. — kept fans wait
ing for a long time, but "Keep It To
gether" proves that the band spent
the interim well.
Contact the copy chief
at traviswillse@dailyemerald.coni.
Montry
continued from page 9
his face. From every teen boy's fanta
sy "Genie in a Bottle" — ready to
emerge at any moment with inno
cent sexual desire — to the diiiirty
girl, Aguilera gets paid millions to
flounce around MTV stages in butt
floss, gyrating her hips and feeling
herself up in rooms of half-naked
men. Oh, you rebel you.
Well, no matter. You're all well into
your 14th minute o' fame, and when
you crash I will cackle with glee. Until
then, you can find me locked tightly
in my room, remembering the old
glory days — my glory days — of
grunge, filled with icons of a time
when music meant something be
yond a dollar sign and a BMW.
When I'm feeling down, I crack
open my old CD case and blast Nir
vana, from Bleach to Unplugged. I sing
along to Blind Melon — heroin-in
duced lyricism about bad fathers and
"No Rain." For me, grunge was about
taking every stupid thing in the world
and throwing it back in society's face.
It was long hair, flannel shirts and
screaming into the microphone. It was
pure and brutally honest and it wasn't
a marketing tool for aging ad reps.
A spirit like that will never die. So
in my world, pop is dead. Sorry kids.
Contact the managing editor
at janmontry@dailyemerald.com.
His opinions do not necessarily
represent those of the Emerald.
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