mercoledì 23 febbraio 2011
The Music "Music"
Mamma mia che testone a suo tempo avevano fatto questi The Music. Pretenziosi già dal nome i ragazzi. Li descrivevano come la versione dance dei Led Zeppelin...mio dio e potrebbe esistere qualcosa di peggio? No.
Il disco non mi piace, anche se devo dire ha avuto un buon seguito anche qui in Italia.
Se non erro il gruppo ha fatto anche altri due dischi...ma il dramma iniziò qui! (2002 Virgin)
The Music, the much-touted quartet of schoolmates from Kippax, Leeds, signal their self-titled debut album's intentions straight from the off. Opener "The Dance", with its psych-rock swirl intro, a Beatlesque "yeah yeah yeah", and then a crashing, impatient chaos of guitars, drums and dubby effects, with Robert Harvey howling Robert Plant-ishly about "angels", is a ridiculous blast of unrestrained noise. The Music are not about subtlety or coffee-table good taste.
The Music gives a sideways nod to baggy beats and the Stone Roses' Second Coming, but is mainly a wild, almost desperate mix of Led Zeppelin blues-metal histrionics, and the stadium end of 1980s alt-rock, particularly the Chameleons, the Cult and U2.
The lyrics are little more than excuses for Harvey to howl and wail, but the constant twin-guitar invention of Harvey and Adam Nutter, taking in everything from bluesy riffs through funky wah-wah to Edge-ish atmospherics, keep you endlessly guessing and enthralled by their sheer recklessness.
Put simply, it's a breath of fresh air to hear a British "indie" band who are so unafraid to rock, so blatantly uninterested in choirboy self-pity, and so almost comically in thrall to chest-beating Big Rawk. (Garry Mulholland - http://www.amazon.co.uk/)
If nothing else, The Music make a great first impression. Putting their disc in and cranking the volume, I was knocked down by the hard rock: the best production money can buy turned their electric guitars into blurry flames, and shot the singer's Robert Plant wails right through the ceiling.
My furniture bounced, doors shook in their frames, the cat humped the dog. Then I played it on headphones and it sounded like shit. What gives?
This barely-legal Leeds quartet sounds more exciting than many recent British exports. For all the ways they're derivative-- owing to the hard rock of Led Zeppelin, the Stone Roses and The Verve, and oddly even ZZ Top's Eliminator-- The Music also show signs of a style to call their own.
The problem is they just can't flush out a solid album yet: not unlike their recent US tourmates The Vines, The Music's debut sounds overproduced and underdeveloped.
Which isn't to say they're just another industry product.
What record label would let a band go out there with a name as fuck-you stupid as The Music; not only is it ridiculous, it makes them impossible to find on the web and the butt of any number of easy jokes.
But The Music might get away with it, because when they're on, they're gargantuan: Robert Harvey has all the lung capacity of his arena-rock idols, with a whiny twinge and enough of an accent to make it his own.
He can do the banshee wails and the blood-drenched yelps, as evidenced on the ululations during the chorus of "The People". Alex Nutter wires his guitar through every gizmo the label could give him, and though it sometimes saps the sexual energy, it also makes his axe more thunderous.
"Take the Long Road and Walk It" churns and roils before the band slowly unfurls "Human" and "Too High"; the latter track is their epic, and they expertly pace it from the ethereal opening sheen to a scorching crescendo ushered by bleating vocals.
We already knew they could rock-- the title track from their first EP, You Might as Well Try to Fuck Me, rubs Nutter's raunchy guitar against those squeeze-my-lemon beltings in a no-nonsense, badass single that's certainly earned a place on some future Nuggets box set.
The change-up is how The Music flirt with becoming a dance band on this debut full-length.
Not just anyone can pull off the rock/dance mix that's so popular nowadays, and as expected, the record has its misfires-- particularly the thudding beat on the second half of the abysmally named "Disco" (remember, that title came from a band called The Music).
But then there's "Float", which is a complete blast: Harvey pulls off the switch from stage-dominating rock singer to party-starting MC, and we discover how Phil Jordan's sharp, crisp drums suit the crossbred electronica.
Harvey's cries drive an invisible rave that jumps higher and higher, almost smearing into sheer white noise before they cut it off.
After "Float", however, comes the bloat: The Music creep up to the hour-long mark-- breaking that seal with the U.S. bonus tracks-- which gives you far too much time to evaluate these guys.
Under the ruckus, they aren't great songwriters. For example, their most stripped-down tune, "Turn Out the Light", is the worst power-ballad Diane Warren never wrote for Aerosmith. Harvey's take on the chorus is catchy, but the melodramatic guitar riff is cliched from the first note.
Even when they have nothing to say, they keep on screaming as one emptily smoldering guitar solo bleeds into another.
At some point, your temples become battered by recycled melodies and silly lyrics, which teeter between nu-druid ramblings and Successories uplift about "hope" and "dreams," and you just pray for it all to fucking stop, already.
More than Zeppelin, The Music resemble latter-day Rush, where technical achievement sterilizes sweat and fretboard filth-- but even Rush knew how to pace the technological tricks they employed.
In short, the Music either need to grow into their overwrought arrangements, or write more than three catchy pop songs. (Chris Dahlen - http://pitchfork.com/)
- Take the long road and walk it
- Truth is no words
- Turn out the light
- Too high