Author: Nathaniel FitzGerald

Record #411: The Killers – Hot Fuss (2004)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Thirteen years ago when this record was released, there’s no way anyone could have guessed how it would embed itself into the social consciousness…
Yet a decade and a half later, I still know every word (except to “Believe Me Natalie”). “Mr. Brightside” is still on the radio (and a great meme). And, this was one of the most anticipated vinyl reissues in recent memory. 

We all assumed this was little more than an indie rock album filled with catchy songs. And there are hundreds of those released a year, but we aren’t still talking about them. But there’s something about this record that won’t let go of you. The earworms, synth lines, funky-as-hell bass riffs, and disaffected post-punk vocals are a Trojan horse for some incredibly fun and heart-tugging tunes. “Smile like you mean it” isn’t exactly an original sentiment, but Brandon Flowers sings it with an earnestness that makes you want to cry. Then he hits you with this verse: “Someone is calling my name from the back of a restaurant / And someone is playing a game in the house that I grew up in / And someone will drive her around down the same streets that I did…”

The album isn’t always this intimate though. Much of it is wrapped in the same irony that their new wave and post punk progenitors utilized. After all, is there any earnest way to sing, “Don’t you put me on the backburner” or “I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier”? If there is, would you even want to mean those lyrics?

Much of the album’s power is in Brandon Flower’s ability to flip from a bleeding poet to a snarky comedian to whom nothing is sacred. But if it weren’t for the band’s ability to craft exciting rock and roll around it, it’d be for naught. The band riffs on New Order and Duran Duran as much as it does the Rolling Stones, and each with equal conviction.

It’s worth mentioning that when I first bought this CD, I was disappointed that all of the songs didn’t sound like “Somebody Told Me.” What a fool I was. 

Record #410: Kid Cudi – Man on the Moon: The End of Day (2009)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Hip hop has always been a chameleonic beast. It didn’t take long for hip hop to join hands with rock and roll, and it quickly made allies of heavy metal (don’t see also: the ubiquity of rap metal in the late 90s). Over the last fifteen years, hip hop has risen from an underground movement to the Lingua Franca of pop music.

So its should come as no surprise to anyone that hip hop would eventually cross the aisle to meld itself with indie rock…

And while Man on the Moon: End of Days might not always sound like indie rock, it borrows much of its slacker/stoner ethos and 4am introspection from that circle. Ratatat shows up on two tracks, one of which also features indie darlings MGMT. “Day N Night (Nightmare)” and “Pursuit of Happiness” are standbys on any college radio station. “Up, Up and Away” isn’t far from an OK Go anthem.

Even when the album leans more towards a pure hip hop, it’s musical center is far closer to 808s and Heartbreak than The Chronic (to the point that my wife thought this was Kanye from across the house). Most of the tracks are filled with a lush, synth-heavy atmospherics and deep, retro drum machines. Cudi doesn’t rap as often as he sings in an unassuming, nonchalant baritone. The one sore thumb is the Lady Gaga sampling “Make Her Say,” which is still enjoyable.

Oh—and did I forget to mention that this is a concept album? There are five acts, which are each introduced by a narrator. It’s a loose storyline: The Man on the Moon (who the narrator describes as the most introspective, revolutionary, and honest rapper of all time. Allow him his hubris) falls asleep and has to…battle through his dreams? I think? The acts are titled “The End of Day,” “Rise of the Night Terrors,” “Taking a Trip,” “Alive,” and “A New Beginning,” which gives a vague, but followable outline.  The tracks are organized more by theme than narrative, which keeps the concept from being too overbearing.

On the surface, it seems to take itself a little too seriously. After all, he doesn’t expect to us to believe that he’s the first rapper to express emotional vulnerability, does he? But it seems like most of it is played for irony. And if you can get past that, this is an excellent record from a young artist.

Record #409: Kenny Rogers – The Gambler (1978)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
I have to admit something.

This record has been sitting on the shelf for years without me listening to it. My assumption was that I would only ever listen to it once, then get rid of it, so I might as well make that one listen the review.
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I was wrong about a couple things…

For starters, I expected Kenny Rogers’ music to be as boisterous and over-the-top as the man himself. I mean, no one expects the sort of guy who possesses both a perfectly manicured pure-white beard and a fried chicken franchise to have any concept of subtlety.

But that’s not the case. The record gets far more mileage out of tenderness and balladry than honky tonk. Rogers’ voice is surprisingly delicate—nowhere near the booming baritone you’d expect from looking at him.  There are a few rock songs thrown in the mix here—and one disco tune (“Hoodooin’ of Miss Fanny Deberry”), but most of the songs are surprisingly restrained. And Middle Of the Road though they may be, they are more enjoyable than not.

And while Kenny Rogers is a star within the country music industry, this album is surprisingly absent of country music cliches. Kenny’s voice is not encumbered by a thick, manufactured drawl like so many country singers. The instrumentation is closer to soft rock than a country band. Most songs are led by an acoustic guitar and electric piano, strangely absent of twanging guitars or lap steels. The liner notes even credit someone with an ARP synthesizer, though I can’t readily identify it in the mix. edit: oh, there it is in “Morgana Jones,” the sole Rogers composition, which even has a break for a jazz fusion guitar solo.

The album isn’t all pleasant surprises though. A few of these songs did not age well. Most notably “Makin’ Music for Money” in which Kenny grits his voice and does his version of a rock and roll man. And not necessarily well, at that. But for the most part, the record stands up surprisingly well. It might not get many repeated listens, but I’m not ejecting it from my shelf immediately. And in this case, that’s a win.

Record #408: Karen O. and the Kids – Where the Wild Things Are (2009)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Perhaps the most shamelessly hipstery piece of media of the 2000s was Spike Jonze’s film adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s beloved Where the Wild Things Are. It had all the signifiers of indie greatness: a vague, Sundance-ready plot, dreamlike visuals, and a soundtrack by indie queen Karen O. 

​So naturally, I friggin’ love this movie.

And much of the film’s youthful, blanket-like aesthetic was thanks to its soundtrack. Karen O. and the Kids (including her Yeah Yeah Yeahs-mate Nick Zinner and Deerhunter’s Bradford Cox, who cowrote many of the songs) traipse their way through everything from childlike exuberance (”All is Love,” “The Wild Rumpus”) to adolescent angst (”Capsize,” “Animal”). 

But what hits me the most is how perfectly the gentler tracks capture the alone-but-not-lonely feelings of my own youth. Moments spent exploring the woods or sorting through action figures or pilfering through my dad’s tools and hacking at random pieces of wood with a hatchet (I was not a very supervised child). Tracks like “Igloo,” “Hidaway,” and “Food is Still Hot” perfectly capture the solitude of youth that surrounds some of my favorite childhood memories.

​It’s also worth noting that “All is Love” was my wife and my recessional in our wedding, and that she bought me this record for our first Christmas together. So it’s not just childhood nostalgia that this record brings up.

Record #407: Joe Zawinul – Zawinul (1971)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
As I’ve mentioned in the last few reviews, I’ve been digging deep into Miles Davis’ electric period lately. And my deep, I don’t just mean that I’ve been giving In a Silent Way and Bitches Brew repeated listens—I’m also getting into what his sidemen in those albums were doing at the same time. 
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While John McLaughlin, Herbie Hancock, and Chick Corea have all been loudly celebrated, maybe the most influential voice in those sessions were that of Joe Zawinul. And while it’s easy for anyone to be forgotten in the twin shadows of Herbie and Chick, one listen to this album makes it obvious that Zawinul was running things from those shadows...
As Miles himself writes in the liner notes, Zawinul is an expansion of Joe and Miles’ experiments on In a Silent Way and Bitches Brew. And he is not exaggerating. This album has the same spacey atmospheres and frenzied energy as those albums. All that’s missing is Miles’ trumpet (even Wayne Shorter makes an appearance). 

The tracks are masterful composed and deftly played. Especially the two longer tracks, “Doctor Honoris Causa” (From the liner notes: ”Dedicated to Herbie Hancock for his Honorary Doctorate at Grinnell University in Des Moines, Iowa”) and “Double Image” (”A concept of what man thinks he is as opposed to what he really is”). “Doctor Honoris Causa” is a patient work of ambience that unfolds through a slow modal pattern with a steady, gentle drum pattern, gaining momentum as it goes. “Double Image” is a frenetic Bitches Brew style free-for-all that would make it onto Live-Evil. Both tracks are equally effective, showcasing the duality of man Joe was talking about.

Between these two ten-minute-plus tracks are two shorter pieces. Joe’s own version of his composition “In a Silent Way” (what did I tell you? Mastermind. Also, “Impressions of Joe Zawinul’s as a shepherd boy in Austria”) and “His Last Journey” (”A tone poem reminiscent of his grandfather’s funeral on a cold winter day in an Austrian mountain village”). Each are warm, transcendent ballads that ride the line between tunes and soundscapes—years before anyone would throw around the term “soundscape.”

As if the four tunes before weren’t already abstract enough, the closer “Arrival in New York” takes it even further. It’s just shy of two minutes of tape loops and manipulated recordings meant to mimic the sound of traffic and foghorns, described in the liner notes as “Joe Zawinul’s first impression of New York when he arrived here as a boy on a ship from France.”
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And while Joe’s contributions to Miles’ work would be enough to warrant any jazz fan’s attention, it’s important to note that Joe is also the mastermind behind the fusion group Weather Report, who also released their debut in the same year. Not bad for a shepherd boy from Austria.

Record #406: Chick Corea – Return to Forever (1972)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Just yesterday, I mentioned that I’ve spent the last few weeks looking into what Miles Davis’ cohorts were up to during his fantastic electric period. While Herbie Hancock was busy launching jazz into space, his best friend Chic Corea was tethering it to the earth.

In the liner notes of this album, Chick says that Return to Forever (which was the group that performed this album, despite it being credit to Chick alone) was born out of a desire to reconnect his jazz explorations with the heart of emotional songwriting. He had gotten a bit lost in his own head, and wanted to put his soul back into music.
And for the most part, this hits that mark. Chick plays a Fender Rhodes throughout the session, without much effects trickery. There’s no shortage of experimental jazz weirdness, but there’s also a fair amount of Latin flair. Oh, and a pop song.

The opener, “Return to Forever” is an incredible, moody twelve-minute piece of space jazz with wordless vocals and a deep samba groove. “Crystal Silence” is an In a Silent Way-esque piece of ambience that finds Chick’s Rhodes accompanied only by Joe Ferrell’s woodwinds. “What Game Shall we Play Today?” is a delightful pop tune that sounds like could be on Sesame Street (note: that is not an insult!).

The closer, “Some Time Ago/La Fiesta” takes up the entirety of side B and manages to revisit every track before it. It opens with an obtuse, ambient section where bassist Stanley Clarke finally gets his day in the sun. It then transitions into a Latin-tinged pop song featuring Flora Purim’s enchanting vocals. After her verses, it becomes a much more aggressive flamenco inspired jam, that ends up nowhere near the place it began.
At times, it runs the risk of sounding dated, or even a little cheesy.

But it somehow transcends the signifiers of its era and manages to become truly timeless. While his contemporaries were getting lost in space or hitching their wagon’s to funk’s swagger, Corea took the road less traveled and made an album that is truly special.

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Record #405: Herbie Hancock – Sextant (1973)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
As much as I love Miles Davis’ electric period (especially In a Silent Way and Bitches Brew) it’s taken me until the last couple weeks to realize that everyone else in the room with Miles on those records was also making some really out-there music around the same timeframe…
Maybe the most out-there of Miles’ collaborators during this time was the already-legendary Herbie Hancock. Herbie was a pillar in the jazz scene years before Miles invited him into his band. He had proven himself as a master composer (”Maiden Voyage” is a standard for any high school jazz group) and a virtuoso on the piano. But when instrument makers started to expand upon the basic format of the piano itself, Herbie was keen to jump on board. He was an early adopter of the Fender Rhodes, the synthesizer, and tape delay.
While you can hear his love for electric pianos on his work with Miles, his fascination with the boundless possibilities of synthesizers came to a head during his Mwandishi period. While all three of these records (Mwandishi and Crossings being the other two) saw Herbie and Co. pioneering digital landscapes with sheer animalistic delight, that ethos reached its pinnacle on Sextant.
The album opens with “Rain Dance,” a nine minute track that is almost as synth driven as a Kraftwerk tune. Drums are almost absent as the group lets a synthesizer take over on rhythm duties. It’s followed by “Hidden Shadows,” which I swear is a rearrangement of a tune from Miles Davis’ Live-Evil, but I can’t identify it. But it jaunts along with a wicked sounding voodoo funk that Herbie tries to defeat with the only acoustic piano on the record (spoiler alert: he does not defeat the voodoo).
Side B is a single twenty track (not unusual during this period) called “Hornets.” It’s a funky, spaced-out jam that sounds exactly like the cover looks. The band plays in an absolutely tribalistic abandon that sounds exactly how the cover looks. Herbie warps the settings on his tape delay. Bennie Maupin plays a friggin’ kazoo. Buster Williams runs his bass groove through every possible permutation. Billy Hart does all he can on the drums to keep the band from flying off into space. But for all of his effort, he fails: the song still ends up as the theme song for a rave on Mars.
While Herbie would go on to out-funk all the funk guys on Head Hunters, his Mwandishi period produced my undisputed favorite albums in his catalogue. And this record, even more untethered to traditional conventions of jazz, is as good as he gets.

Record #404: John McLaughlin – Extrapolation (1969)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
In the late 1960s, Miles Davis was at a crossroads.

His last few albums, Nefertiti, Miles in the Sky, and Filles de Kilimanjaro, found the jazz icon pushing desperately against the conventions of his industry. Nefertiti played with the roles of the traditional jazz combo. Miles in the Sky and Filles saw his rhythm section (including the legend in his own right, Herbie Hancock) moving towards electric instruments. 
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While writing the masterpiece In a Silent Way, Miles wanted to do something truly revolutionary (spoiler alert: he succeeded)…
As the legends are told, the night before one of the recording sessions, drummer Tony Williams introduced Miles to newcomer John McLaughlin, an electric guitarist. Miles was so impressed that he invited McLaughlin to the studio the next day. Over the next several years, McLaughlin would become a fixture in Miles’ band. There’s even a song on Bitches Brew named after him. 

But it wasn’t just Miles’ group. John McLaughlin would become a ubiquitous presence in the jazz fusion scene of the 1970s, playing with Larry Coryell, Stanley Clarke, rock giants Jack Bruce and Santana, and leading the power house fusion group Mahavishnu Orchestra. 

And judging by this, his debut album, it’s easy to see why he would become such a giant in the scene. This isn’t nearly as out there as most of what he’d go on to make. Save for his electric guitar, this album is played by a traditional jazz combo—upright bass, saxophone, and drums. There are moments that sound reminiscent of a pre-free Coltrane. 

Until he comes tearing down his fretboard. His playing is mostly tied to conventional jazz technique, especially on the twin lines he plays with the bari sax. But every once in a while, some rock and roll sneaks in. Some of his parts (”Argen’s Bag” in particular) foreshadow some of the more cerebral post rock acts like Tortoise or Collections of Colonies of Bees. 

Often, debut albums from pioneers are little more than a curiosity. They offer glimpses of the genius that is to come, but are still too tied to convention to be satisfying. And in jazz, even the best sidemen have put out mediocre albums as band leaders. But Extrapolation is neither of those. This is a debut befitting his legend. 

Record #403: Kanye West – My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy(2010)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
After a particularly bombastic year of outbursts, Twitter rants, and Grammy interruptions, the world was unsure what a new Kanye record would sound like. His previous album broke a streak of undisputed bangers with an aggressively noncommercial, yet singular focused album. 
Many people said he’d gone off the deep end. His career was on an unrecoverable downward slope. He was a whirlwind of madness, tantrums, and frenzy. His name became a punchline.
Into this mess, Kanye dropped My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. If ever there was a question of Kanye’s skills as a musician, he answers them all here.
MBDTF sees Kanye at top form. His skills as MC, producer, and curator are on top display. 

The album is bookended by two questions: “Can we get much higher?” “Who will survive in America?” The album runs through ego that would make Narcissus blush. And while Narcissus is regaining his composure, Ye turns around and turns to the viewer to display the depths of his depression. It’s littered with lines that land like a suckerpunch. “’How’s Ye doin’?’ I’m surviving. / I was drinking earlier, now I’m driving.” Ouch.

This is an bleak and honest an album as Blood on the Tracks by Bob Dylan, cleverly disguised as a club-ready banger. And his sonic palette is top notch. After the stark minimalism of 808s and Heartbreak, MBDTF is sonically excessive. There are soul horns, lush choirs, a King Crimson sample, a bit of rock and roll, and, famously, a Bon Iver remix. From ballads to bangers, Mr. West hits every box here. 
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Despite its commercial friendliness, MBDTF is a challenging and rewarding listen. Despite being only thirteen tracks, this album almost hits seventy minutes in length. None of these songs are rushed. Even the bangers reach the five minute mark. “Runaway,” the first single (released via a short film, remember) breaks nine minutes. It’s a clear message that though West is a master of pop structures and textures, he is by no means bound to pop’s limitations. 

And if that isn’t Kanye West, I don’t know what is. He is the paragon of pop superficiality and celebrity excess, yet he is also an artist of the highest caliber. And between the youthful exuberance of his early albums and the defiantly non-commercial later works, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy remains his best work.

Record #402: Coheed and Cambria – Good Apollo, I’m Burning Star IV, Volume One: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness(2005)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
I have an odd relationship with this album…
In the spring of 2005, I had a moment where I felt like God wanted me to get rid of all my “nonchristian” music. I drove around dark country streets on the outskirts of my suburb flipping through my CD wallet and throwing discs out the window. Not a very good night for the environment, I know.
That fall, I started at a Christian college, and despite the wealth of secular music available around me (note: not a very conservative college), I had no desire for any of it. Then, the press for this album started coming out. As I’ve mentioned before, Coheed and Cambria was one of my favorite bands in high school. And while I had been satisfied to ignore them during the months prior, the idea of new Coheed made me have second thoughts.
And brother, I prayed about that mess. I asked God about it, and after a few weeks of prayer, and one week of fasting from any music (brother, it was a hard week), I felt like I had the freedom to make my own choice. 
The following week, I let myself listen to The Mars Volta, and during the opening moments of Deloused in the Comatorium, the presence of God fell heavy on my dorm room. And in that moment, I realized that the line between the sacred and the secular was bullshit, and that God could be found anywhere.
That moment has informed almost all of my listening habits, and much of my personal worldview. And it was this album that spurned me to look beyond my self-imposed confines.

That being said, I haven’t actually spent much time with this album. I think the first time I listened through the entire time was just a few days ago (I never had the patience for the Wishing Well suite). 
Don’t get me wrong: I absolutely love this record. The triple punch of Always & Never, Welcome Home, and Ten Speed (of God’s Blood and Burial) is absolutely perfect. And the album doesn’t really slope off after that. The entire disc (even Wishing Well, as I know now) is a masterpiece. Like In Keeping Secrets, this album finds Claudio & Co. churning out track after track of their hook-laden progressive metal. 
Read that again. I swear it’s not an oxymoron.
Usually, progressive metal concept albums about comic books written by the lead singer aren’t this catchy. Tunes like “The Suffering” and “Once Upon Your Dead Body” are straight up pop-rock master strokes. “Welcome Home” recaptures the spirit of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir,” and doesn’t leave wanting. Ballads like “Always & Never” and “Welcome Home” were pulled straight of some hair metalist’s notebook. If this album isn’t as good as In Keeping Secrets, it’s just a notch below. Good Apollo is certainly mixed better though.
And so while I’ve never taken the time to properly get to know this album, I’m looking forward to it. Like a kid in high school that I never really talked to but I just knew was super cool, only to build a close friendship with them later in life. That happens, right?