When my wife and I started dating, we went through that phase every new couple goes through where you share mix CDs back and forth.
One of the mixes that she gave me included “Brand New Key,” a bouncing, Honky-Tonking raucous track led by Melanie’s powerful voice and a mischievous innuendo (the key is a…you know).
I found this record in a dollar bin years ago, and haven’t listened to it until now. And with that single as my only preview, I’m a bit surprised.
I’m a big fan of dream pop and shoegaze. Bands like Beach House, Cocteau Twins, Slowdive, and My Bloody Valentine.
And as I’ve read more about the pioneers of those genres, I am always, always surprised to see Mazzy Star on that list.
With Antenna, Cave In reached the absolute apex of their brand of heavy alternative. Seeing no point in trying to remake a nearly perfect album, they shifted gears once again—this time going back into a heavier direction.
Of all of the chameleonic reinventions across the history of recorded music, few groups were as mercurial as Cave In.
And while Antenna might not be the biggest left turn they’ve ever taken, it’s certainly the furthest end of their creative spectrum, leaning heavier on space rock and alternative than ever before. But there’s still plenty of metal heaviness to give these songs some real heft. Continue reading
After metalcore mavens Cave In released the spaced out, alternative metal masterpiece Jupiter, much of their fanbase was alienated—even as critics lauded them.
Anyone hoping that Jupiter was a one off was even more disappointed by Tides of Tomorrow, a six-song EP that features some of the group’s most melodic output.
In all of my examinations of the nerdiest aspects of music critique, I have never found a band with a more convoluted creative arc than Cave In.
I was first exposed to the group a few years ago when I picked up White Silence in a lot of records that I bought to flip. It was an angular, abrasive piece of experimental metalcore that I was not into at all. I dismissed them as a band I just wasn’t into, and that was that.
Then a few weeks ago, a friend recommended Antenna, their major label breakthrough that blended alternative metal and space rock to make something that my friend described as “Deftones meets Sunny Day Real Estate.” After hearing the contrast, I delved deep into their discography to try to figure out what exactly happened.
After ten albums of the sexiest R&B mankind has ever known, Marvin Gaye’s world fell apart.
His longtime writing partner passed away from cancer. His wife left him. He was caught between the IRS on one side and a stifling record deal with Motown Records on the other. He was troubled over his brother fighting in Vietnam, ande was fighting his own losing battle against his cocaine addiction.
He was a rising star internationally, but he felt like a fraud. After a night pondering over a handgun in his hotel room, he decided it was time for a change. He grew a beard, pierced his ear, and found religion.
Then he dropped What’s Going On, a masterful and poignant protest album.
A few months ago, I realized that I had somehow never intentionally listened to indie rock legends Dinosaur Jr.
I was familiar with their legacy, of course. I had heard the name thrown around by most of my favorite bands as an influence. I knew J. Mascis’ reputation as a guitar icon. But I never spent any time with them myself.
That revelation was the impetus to a deep dive into their discography, and a purchase of their classic second album, You’re Living All Over Me. And now, the Dinosaur Jr. section of my record collection grows with the addition of their third, Bug. Continue reading
After the perfect one-two punch of De-Loused in the Comatorium and Frances the Mute, the Mars Volta faltered a bit. Amputechture and The Bedlam in Goliath tried to recapture much of the free-form wildness that made the first two records so great, but they were a little bit too untethered from the earth (vinyl copies are north of a hundred dollars, so that might be the sour grapes talking).
In the dust of the bloated, over-ambitious Bedlam, the group shifted gears and made Octahedron, which they described as an “unplugged” record—and in my opinion, the best record since Frances.
When the Mars Volta rose out of the ashes of At the Drive-In, many fans and critics were disappointed in the noodly, indulgent psych soundscapes of De-Loused in the Comatorium.
But when it came time to record its follow up, they paid those complaints no mind. Instead, Frances the Mute leans even harder into all of De-Loused’s idiosyncrasies in an even more ambitious record of prog jams and noise rock.