OutKast OutKast Speakerboxxx/The Love Below (Arista/BMG) What we ...
What we love about OutKast is their schizophrenia. Are they down-South gangsta pimps, or sex-crazed, outer-space humanoids? Doesn't really matter, so long as they keep elevating hiphop to the next plateau. The formula of Big Boi's Cadillac pimp-daddy and Andre's intergalactic acid freak has produced the most creative hiphop albums to date. Only now does it seem as though the volatile paradox that is OutKast has begun to implode upon itself.
With the release of Speakerboxxx/The Love Below, OutKast may be coming to the end of their decade-long journey. Despite a claim that making music together was "too easy"?hence the solo projects?creative differences may very well be tearing them apart. As a double album, Speakerboxxx/The Love Below showcases Big Boi and Andre separately, in essence showing the direction in which they would want to take the group, had they complete creative control.
Big Boi's album is Speakerboxxx, and it's standard, gritty southern rap. This album was made for the streets, to be bumped in low-riding Cadillacs or in late-night clubs, with the tracks just about evenly split between rapid-fire drum hits and synthetic effects, and souring horns and gospel-like choruses. Which is to say, of course, that it's actually more than just a standard southern rap album?from both a production and lyrical standpoint, Speakerboxxx transcends the genre. Problem is, when compared to Big Boi's previous work this release falls short of expectations?and of his partner's contribution.
Andre's The Love Below is the better of the two discs. It is at times a soul album, at others a funk album, even at times a hiphop album, but mostly it's a "what-the-fuck-kind-of-drugs-has-Andre-been-doing?" album. Andre "Ice Cold" 3000 has been the true driving force behind OutKast for the past decade, and has completely abandoned hiphop conventions to do what too few artists have attempted: to leave rap behind and simply create music.
The Love Below is not flawless. At times it goes off the deep-end and becomes more insane than progressive. Just as Big Boi's album lacks Andre's creative influence, Dre's album lacks that voice of reason that can differentiate the creative from the flat-out weird.
As a team, OutKast are not two insuppressible talents. The secret is the chemistry?Big Boi's production and street credibility with Andre's imagination and mastery of lyrics, taken together, are unparalleled. With past albums Aquemini and Stankonia?and even before that?Andre elevated Big Boi to new levels of inventiveness, while Big Boi gave Andre the hiphop backing to drive his poetry.
Though triumphant on their own, these two artists need each other badly.
?Sean Griffin
Electronica. It's having a bit of a crisis, stylistically fractured (glitch/electro/spazz/micro/post-), floating free of the kind of socio-cultural undertow that underpins other scenes. Rather than pin themselves down with distinct imagery and discrete releases, lots of artists are washing out the market with endless minimally designed 12-inches, EPs and CDs with any micro-divisions within the genre?a nonsense that the artists themselves ignore.
Ghostly International of Detroit came to my notice as a result of their Disco Nouveau: Tangent 2002 series, a very handy survey of electroclash. The Idol Tryouts compilation is a label sampler, and they may be the first techno label of that city without historical connections to Detroit techno. I'd say straight away that I favor the idyllic sounds vastly over the other offerings here.
For example, Charles Manier's "At the Bottle" is a little "Electrocliche" (TM). Human League, ahoy! Vintage drum machines pock and chee. Also I didn't like Matthew (media darling) Dear's "Some New Depression," which wasn't atonal enough to be thrilling. I checked the cabinet but just don't have the drugs to make this work properly. Ditto Twine and Kero and James Cotton's "Help Me Think of One" spazzcore. Would these tracks work innna de dancehall? Nah, I'd be kipping in the bass-bin.
Nicer by far are the contributions by Ann Arbor's Midwest Product. These dudes smell of rock?they can't run from it, they don't want to run from it. "Laundry" floats on a synth-ated guitar riff (almost sounds like picking, almost like a sequencer), though at the spangly Pastels chorus it becomes clear which side of the tracks they hail from. Their "A Genuine Display" is a bit more curious, G-Funk squiggles in a pastoral setting. Kiln's "Ero" was grown on the same farm?this could be off Springsteen's "Nebraska" or a Stephen Stills' b-side. Not exactly a flattering comparison, but nearly. This kind of post-rockery is possibly more enticing when hailing from Germany.
The rock thing also contributes to my least favorite track of the LP, which I heard first last year: Dykehouse's "Map Ref. 41º N 93º W," a hatchet-job of a Wire cover version, anodyne where the original was gnarly.
The best track is outputmessage's "Bernard's Song," a masterpiece, in fact, and on a constant loop here this autumn. Reminiscent of Plaid at their most sublime and a real tear-jerker, proving conclusively that electronica, while in a bit of a mess, is still capable of producing exquisite wonders.
?Matthew Ingram
It's not an uncommon disclaimer to see around, but in this case it may explain a lot?from little things, like the font on the CD cover, to the fact that there are no Star Trek images anywhere in the package, to the choice of musical selections. That last one especially.
I'm not a big Star Trek fan, never have been, but looking at the track listing on this two-disc set, I began wondering who, exactly, this was aimed at. Across 24 tracks, there are musical cues from what appears to be every Star Trek movie to date and every Star Trek tv series?even a franchised video game. You'd think (or I would anyway) that most of your hardcore fans would have all this stuff already?especially since most of the selections seem to be themes and end titles. But who knows? Maybe it's aimed at those more convenience-minded trekkies.
Listening to it, however, only makes things more confusing. It opens, of course, with the original show's theme, performed, as all the tracks here are, by the Prague Philharmonic. William Shatner's intonation "Space?the final frontier?" has been stripped away, but apart from that, the orchestra does a fine job, as always. Then it's on to Jerry Goldsmith's rousing score from Star Trek: The Motion Picture, a classic in its own right. Then it's on to the other 22 cuts.
Over the years, a number of renowned composers have written music for the Star Trek films, from Goldsmith to James Horner to Leonard Rosenman. But it's that Goldsmith score, with only the tiniest of variations, that's been carried through most of the sequels and spin-off series?which means you get to hear it again and again and again over these two discs. What's the fun of that?
That, together with the disclaimer, hints that there were some serious copyright issues at stake (in short: Silva has a long standing deal with Goldsmith, and so pretty much only got the rights to the music he contributed to the series?i.e., that one theme). Which, in the end, makes you wonder?why would someone go to all the trouble to put out a set like this if it was clear from the start they wouldn't be able to do it right?
?Jim Knipfel
The Darkness is the Frankenstein's monster of hair metal revival: bad pieces messily stitched together, with spandex jumpsuits, crappy lyrics and painfully oversung falsettos. The Darkness is Jackyl on crack, a nightmare popping up just when everyone thought rock 'n' roll couldn't get much worse. You thought the Hives and the Strokes and the Vines (and?and?and?) were the bottom of the barrel? At least those bands are, on some level, semi-believable.
The Darkness is ridiculous, which is the only reason their records are selling. I hope they're a joke?a Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle meets Spinal Tap routine. If not, then I am officially a generation away from understanding them.
Musically, their debut album, Permission to Land, isn't that bad. But it's not that good either. It's just your basic cookie-cutter rock 'n' roll; nothing stands out as impressive. A couple of songs ("Black Shuck" and "Givin' Up") try to rock hard, but it's nothing you haven't heard before?and heard better?from Iron Maiden or Judas Priest.
Lyrically the album is a mess, and the vocals by Justin Hawkins help the Darkness achieve a level of annoyance unreachable even by the likes of Britney Spears. "Friday Night" may be one of the worst songs I've ever heard and stands as a perfect example of how badly this band sucks: "Monday cycling/Tuesday gymnastics/dancing on a Friday night? I got ping-pong on Wednesday/needlework on Thursday/dancing on a Friday night." Then again, at least by the end of the song they admit how cheesy they are: "God the way she moves me/To write bad poetry." Some might argue that these lyrics are an example of the band's sense of humor. Others would say it's proof that they don't have one.
The Darkness is a confusing phenomenon in the making. They are loved as intensely as they are hated, with those who have heard Permission to Land either appalled or obsessed. They inspire ridiculously passionate debates at parties, in offices, in record stores. My roommates, for example, fall to the loving side?completely obsessed?and swear the Darkness is the best thing since Nelson. And like most newly converted disciples, they believe that I will grow to love them, that my resistance comes from a bitter hate toward all new music.
I will admit that the Darkness has crawled under my skin, but not in the same way as my roommates. To them, Permission to Land is a full-body massage with happy ending; to me, it's a painful physical therapy session. To them the Darkness is a pair of silk pajamas; to me they are a reoccurring skin rash.
Within this debate is where the Darkness truly shines. Good thing, because it sure isn't with the music.
?Laura Hibit