Dan Deacon's "Wet Wings" takes sample-based music to new heights

Dan Deacon - Broms

I just picked up electronic music artist Dan Deacon's newest album Bromst.  I'm still listening to the album, so I'll spare readers a full review, especially since it's already been done, several times. But there is one song on the album that Deacon gets so right that it cannot be ignored.

The song "Wet Wings" is based entirely around a sample of an acappella rendition of the traditional folk song "The Day is Past and Gone" sung by Jean Ritchie. Deacon stacks multiple layers of Ritchie's haunting vocal loop on top of one another until there is a full choir of voices interlocking and blending with one another in an overwhelming wash of sound. It is something like a modern day version of a tape loop piece by Steve Reich but infinitely more approachable. What works so well "Wet Wings" is the way that Deacon uses the Jean Ritchie sample as a jumping off point for his sonic explorations. Deacon is certainly not the first electronic musician to use samples of folk tunes in his music, but rarely are the samples such an integral part of the song as they are here. The difference between the way that Deacon samples folk music in "Wet Wings" and the way that someone like, say, Moby does on the album Play, is that Deacon is not just peppering the song with samples to make for a "spicier" sound. While Moby may have recontextualized folk songs by putting them on an electronica album, he uses them more as quotations than as true structural elements. In "Wet Wings," however, the sample is not just a sample, it is the entire foundation of the piece. Deacon uses Ritchie's voice like a musical instrument, not like a dusty relic to be trotted out for sonic effect. By doing so, he is able to create something entirely new and completely unrecognizable from its original form. By the time Deacon has added all the layers of voices, the lyrics are no longer discernible and all you hear is a wall of voices bleeding together in a way that sounds worlds apart from Ritchie's lone voice in the original recording. This is a totally different approach to sampling where the sample is an integral part of creating new music, and it is precisely what makes what Deacon has done so breathtaking.

Deacon is currently touring to support Bromst. Colorado residents can catch Dan in concert April 30th at the Bluebird Theater in Denver.

For more info: 

Dan Deacon's Myspace Page

Buy tickets to the show at Bluebird Theater

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Confessions of a Kanye Virgin

So, I've definitely been aware of Kanye West's solo career since at least College Dropout. He would have been hard to ignore. And of course, I've heard all of the major singles along the way. I think even most modern cave dwellers have been exposed to the near ubiquitous airplay of songs like "Gold Digger" or "Jesus Walks."

But until only last week when I picked up a copy of Graduation, I had never actually listened to any of his albums (go ahead, let out those gasps of astonishment and disgust). The truth is, anybody as heavily hyped as Kanye automatically makes me wary. Whether it is because of a fear of disappointment or my resentment of being told that somebody is the "savior" of an art form, I'm perennially late to jump on the bandwagon.

But even after listening to Graduation I still don't think I'm ready to drink the Kool-aid. Because no matter how consistently inspired Kanye's productions are, I still find it hard to ignore the elephant in the room: his lyrics. While there are definite flashes of brilliance, it's hard for me not to think that Kanye should have stayed in the production booth and left the rhyming to those more suited to it than him.

This isn't to say that Kanye West isn't talented, his production skills border on the sublime and when he produces songs by more talented MCs (prime examples are Mos Def and Talib Kweli)the results are astounding. But Kanye's own lyrical abilities often aren't enough to carry a song on their own and listeners are left with cringe inducing rhymes like:
So we gon' do everything that Kan like,
Heard they do anything for a Klondike,
Well, I'd do anything for a blonde dyke

And I know by now I should be used to rappers' full frontal assault on the English language and fully expect the kind of slang that causes grammar teachers to seize involuntarily, but a man has to draw the line somewhere. And, frankly, using the made up word "apologin'" is an offense to all things decent in language.

I was talking with a friend recently about my reservations about Kanye's music, and he told me that he enjoys it strictly in terms of sheer ego. For him, just to hear West's elephantine ego play itself out over the course of an entire album was entertainment enough. And I understand that viewpoint, if I didn't I wouldn't have a guilty pleasure for AC/DC. But for whatever reason when it comes to hip-hop, I'm pickier and less forgiving about lyrics. Perhaps I should just take my friends advice and just shut up and marvel at the absurdity of it all.

The Beef with Hip-hop

I used to think hip-hop wasn't music.

That's a strange thing to consider for a person who is now seriously contemplating a career as a "hip-hop scholar" (the fact that such a career path even exists is baffling to some, including myself).

My reasons weren't anything original, I hear the same things from people today. It doesn't have melody or harmony (even though it really does, sometimes in very interesting ways). It's poetry said to a beat, not music. But mostly, I think the younger me was just troubled by the bad hip-hop that of course is what gets the most airplay.

I shared my opinion on hip-hop with my friends in high school. Because I had smart friends, they disagreed with me. It became a common topic of conversation between my friend Dan and I. Dan was, and still is, a much smarter person than I, and he pretty much tore my argument apart. Though I never conceded the point to him, I'm very glad that he pushed the issue and planted the firsts seeds of doubt.

I could excuse my ignorance by saying that I hadn't yet heard of John Cage or any of the other major composers of the "real music" tradition who challenged everything we thought we knew about what constituted music. I was not yet operating under the "humanly organized sound" definition of music that seems to be the norm now (and which still isn't perhaps entirely adequate).

But I won't make any such excuses except to say that I hadn't heard any hip-hop that I thought was of any merit (and frankly, I think growing up white in South Dakota didn't make it any easier for me to appreciate hip-hop either).

I'm not entirely sure when I first started liking hip-hop, probably sometime in college. But I do remember quite vividly the first time a hip-hop song completely floored me. Of all things it was a musical guest appearance on "Chappelle's Show." Mos Def and Talib Kweli were performing as Blackstar. They did a song called "What Beef Is," a track they never commercially released. I remember just being completely blown away by it. It was the first time I understood how powerful hip-hop could be and what a sublime experience a truly great hip-hop performance is. The song had all the in-your-face vitriol that first drew me to punk some five years earlier.

I would say it was probably that experience that first made me really pay attention to hip-hop, to seek out hip-hop that was better than what I could hear on the radio. Of course, what I discovered is that there was so much great music to listen to that I am embarrassed now to think that I ever questioned it at all.

And that's why I cringe whenever I hear somebody say that they like any music except "country and rap." I'd venture to guess that most people who say that haven't sought out anything in either of those two genres beyond what makes top forty radio. I'm not going to pull out the "all the good hip-hop is underground" cliche because it's every bit as wrong as it is tired. It's just that the point of top forty radio is that you aren't expected to actually listen to the music. And that's where I think that people go wrong with hip-hop. They don't actually pay attention to what's going on in the music, they just sort of ignore it and tune in when all the naughty words and misogyny kick in. If people did pay attention, and if they sought out the kind of hip-hop that's intelligent, thoughtful, clever or poignant, they'd be surprised.

I know that not everybody is going to fall in love with hip-hop the way I did. We all have our personal hang ups about music, and some people will never really be able to get into hip-hop. I completely understand, I feel the same way about jam bands. But I do think that just about anybody could find a hip-hop song or artist that they could appreciate on some level if they gave it half a chance.

I could start name dropping here, start a laundry list of all the socially conscious MC's that I love, but the list is too long and people need to discover these things on their own. I'll just say that hip-hop can be extremely powerful. I am constantly reminded of just how powerful it is every time I hear a verse that makes me think, gets me angry or brings a tear to my eye. And if it can do that for me, a white kid with absolutely no idea what life on the streets is like, then I think it can do it for anybody who is willing to sit down and listen for even a moment.

The Band I Hate to Love

Seeing Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist a couple weeks ago made me remember my conflicted relationship with the band Vampire Weekend (for those of you who aren't total scenesters or don't ever read Pitchfork, Vampire Weekend contributed a song to the movie soundtrack). Vampire Weekend are for me one of those rare bands that you can't quite bring yourself to hate even though you know full well you should.

And, let's be straight here, there are plenty of reasons for me not to like this band. To begin with, there is the unabashedly pretentious ivy league image (the members of the band got together while in school at Columbia, dress for the most part like trust fund babies and have a nasty habit of name dropping in their lyrics). I won't pull a Sarah Palin and go so far as to call them elitist, but they pull off snob chic extremely well, seemingly without the slightest whiff of irony. To be blunt, they seem like total assholes.

Next, there's the sound. Vampire Weekend aren't about to win any awards for originality. Their entire debut album sounds like a shameless ripoff of Paul Simon's Graceland album, which itself was a ripoff of every Afro-pop record ever.

And yet, when I bought Vampire Weekend last Spring, it stayed in my car's cd player for close to a month. Something about its saccharine drenched sweetness appeals to some hidden part of my psyche. I cannot fully explain it.

Sure, it's catchy. And there is the occasional wit to be found in lyrics like "first the windows, then it's to the walls/ Lil' Jon, he always tells the truth." Yet none of that can seem to override my conscious desire to hate their music.

And that to me, is what makes it all so infuriating. Every inch of my being wants this music to be bad, and the fact that I like it just makes me sick. There are fewer things more frustrating than seeing someone you want to fall on their face succeed. It's like watching the bully who beat you up on the playground get into a better school than you and then get elected president. No matter how much you hate them, and how much of an asshole they may be, you can't ignore it when they do something worthwhile.

The Agony of Laffitte

Spoon
"The Agony of Laffitte"/"Laffitte Don't Fail me Now."

For a brief period of time in the 90's, indie rock had its moment in the spotlight. Bands like Nirvana had proven that the right underground music act could flirt with legitimate mainstream success. Major label's were quick to gobble up bands they were convinced would be the "next big thing." The problem was, not every band can write a Nevermind.

Spoon were one of the bands swept up in the madness. In 1998 they were signed to Elektra by a man named Ron Laffitte. The members of Spoon were smart enough to be wary of the deal, knowing what could happen to up and coming artists signed to major record labels if things didn't go right. But Laffitte reassured the band that they wouldn't simply be forgotten by Elektra. He promised them that their new record A Series of Sneaks would get the promotional funding it so desperately needed to stay alive in a mainstream market.

The money, of course, never came. Unsurprisingly, the record sales didn't live up to Elektra's expectations, Lafitte was fired and Spoon was dropped from the label a mere three months after A Series of Sneaks was released. The band responded by releasing the single "The Agony of Laffitte" and its b-side "Laffitte Don't Fail me Now" on Saddle Creek records. The record took aim at both Laffitte and Elektra CEO Sylvia Rhone.

What's great about the single is not that it's an indictment of the music industry, nor that it's a record about the perils of being on a major label, that's been done before by bands full of vitriol (see the Clash's "Capital Radio" EP or "Complete Control"). What's great about Spoon's tale of woe is how non specific they made it sound. Despite the fact that both Laffitte and Rhone are mentioned by name, there's only the slightest of hints as to what is being lamented. A casual listening to either track without any background knowledge would lead you to believe that lines like "and keep telling yourself there's more to you than her/
but you're no better than Sylvia" are about the betrayal of a lover, not a Chief Executive Officer. In fact, the only reason I know the story behind these two songs at all is because I came across an old Village Voice article by Camden Joy called "Total Systems Failure." The article, like anything Joy has ever written, is well worth reading.

What Spoon manage to pull off on "The Agony of Laffitte" is nothing short of amazing. The musical equivalent to a punch in the gut so convincing that even Laffitte and Rhone would be embarrassed were they ever to hear it. All this done with nary a "fuck you" uttered, at least not verbally. But the feeling of betrayal and anger is all there in the lead singer's voice, a sentiment not screamed or even growled, but hissed, almost whispered.

It's like I knew two of you man
the one before and after we shook hands.

But the act of betrayal is never described, there's no need for it to be rehashed. The accused know exactly where they stand. All that remains is for Spoon to ask the pointed question:

All that I, I want to know
Are you ever honest with anyone?
And I say, no no
Are you honest with anyone?
How does it feel to go home
And not be honest with anyone?

What results is an emotionally wrought gut check for anyone who hears it. Its simply one of the most damning songs of betrayal ever put on wax.

Beck - Modern Guilt

Beck
Modern Guilt

I've had a few weeks now to digest the new Danger Mouse produced Beck album, and after letting things ruminate a bit I think the album has grown on me. The standard boilerplate response to any new Beck album usually states something to effect that it is unique and innovative but pales in comparison to earlier efforts like Odelay or Mellow Gold.

Well I'm here to call bullshit on that nonsense. As blasphemous as it might sound (I promise to tear up my hipster club card as soon as I finish writing this) I honestly believe that Beck has been matured greatly over the years since Odelay and has become a better songwriter. This is not to say that I think any of his last three albums are necessarily superior to his early work, Beck's "mature songwriter" hat didn't fit him overnight, but it seems clear to me that he has come more into his own now than he had when "Loser" first hit on MTV.

What made Odelay and Mellow Gold so popular was not mature and thoughtful songwriting but a highly developed sense of the absurd and novel. Here was a nerdy white scientologist rapping over delta blues beats with the kind of cockeyed exuberance only a younger Beck could possibly pull off. The novelty of it all could not be denied and it was all very catchy to boot (I still know nearly every ridiculous line of "Loser" by heart). But simply by virtue of his fast growing popularity, Beck knew that he couldn't possibly write five or ten more albums worth of "Where It's At" caliber radio hits and stay relevant.

So the mature songwriter Beck killed the younger funnier Beck, but what he brought with him was a more fully developed sense of melody. Nowhere is this more clear than the haunting "Chemtrails" from the new album. The high breathy vocals display the best thought out melodic arc Beck has ever written. Just like with the previous two albums Guero and the Information, nothing here rocks as hard as a track from the canonized Beck albums. Instead, Beck opts to intersperse soft flowing melodies with driving funk and hip-hop beats. He also seems to have learned from Guero and the Information that if all the slow songs were at the end of the album, the album would seem to drag on and be too front-heavy. Modern Guilt instead alternates between slower and faster songs and seems to end quite quickly.

It's impossible to overlook the amazing production by Danger Mouse. The midas touch of the brilliant producer is in top form here with his trademark dreamy echoes and soul/r&b flourishes. The more I hear from Danger Mouse, the more excited I get to hear who he chooses to work with next. Perhaps Beck and Danger Mouse on the same album is more star power than one could possibly hope for, but I still can't help but imagine the awesomeness that would be a Danger Mouse / Jack White collaboration.

If only we could be so lucky.