'I've been living in a movie scene, puking
American dreams..'
Menni's 2011 -
Music
If you're a misogynist, stay
away, browse off and surf on. This is one oestrogen driven environment,
macho bullshit is definitely out. Nevertheless, from a male point of view,
every now and then I need some
Killing Joke.
I've been listening to John Frusciante (his 2009 album The Empyrean
continues to impress), James McMurtry, Vincent Gallo, Pink Floyd and Logh
quite a lot. In the meantime I added eighties darkwave staples
Opposition and Pink Turns Blue to my favorite bands ever. Continuous
further deep examination of that most underrated decade in music history
swallowed most of my time, so there's an enormous load of 2011 albums to
catch up with. A recent stroll along connoisseur lists has already
resulted in quite a queue. At this very moment 'instrumental rock band'
Grails is pleasing my ears, their album Deep Politics sounds awesome so
far. Anyway, there's not much sense in making a top ten, but Dame Kate
Bush has made it easy: sort-of-comeback 50 Words for Snow is the instant
best album of the year. For dreamers, for the hopeless, left in the cold.
'everything's a little bit weird now..'
As for best song of the year, I
don't know anything about charts anymore and the best track on an album is
usually not the single, so this would only result in a pretentious
summary, incomplete even. But two tunes deserve special mention. Skrillex
- loathed by assholes, loved by weirdos - pushed dubstep towards
mainstream with the most exciting track of the year called First of the Year
(Equinox). It's also nominated for best
video,
if only because it's one of the very few I actually saw. On the other side
of the brain, candy sweetness prevailed. Amidst all the awful talent shows
and charity hypocrisy on tv, the stepmother of gay entertainment
surprised. You don't watch the Eurovision Song Contest for musical
reasons, the annual experience is an outerbody circus. Estonia finished
24th of 25 participants, but somehow this girl Getter Jaani stole my heart
and a three month addiction to her
Rockefeller Street.
Dwight Arrington
Myers is dead. You know, that friendly big black dude better known
as Heavy D, who wondered what to do with it,
now that we found love. He closed the era of innocent rap, which
quickly turned to naughty and criminal in the mid nineties, when
gangstas hijacked the music style. Also not small and definitely not
white was the coolest sax player ever, Springsteen's awesome wingman
Clarence Clemons. Another solid memory for anyone who grew up in the
eighties: Nick Ashford did not live to be 70 either. And let's not
forget Gil Scott-Heron, it seems like God had himself a bit of a
coloured theme year. White guys Gerry Rafferty and Gary Moore passed
away as well, stuck in the middle they still got the blues. Dutch
blues/rock pioneers Harry Muskee (Cuby, from Blizzards fame) and Andy Tielman
are no longer with us.
Biggest shock news of the year of course was that
Lee Pockriss, writer of Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini,
had died. Oh, and Amy Winehouse.
Disaster struck twice. In August,
well known Belgian Pukkelpop festival was hit by an incredible thunderstorm,
causing stages to shake and tents to collapse, killing five people. Skunk
Anansie was playing at the time. Just one week earlier in the US, after Sara
Bareilles had performed, the Indiana State Fair had endured a similar fate. Here
the main stage actually collapsed, seven people died. In this day and age, even
the biggest tragedy can be watched online, quite often even live as it happens.
It feeds a just and necessary discussion on morality, censorship and of course,
madness. Several months later the only appropriate response still seems to be
total silence.
YouTube is like a woman: it sucks. And you can't live with it, can't live
without it, everybody uses it. Better capture those videos, save the images for
personal use, because in the end they'll always disappear. Haven't even
mentioned the prostitution yet, those innocent and extremely entertaining
commercials whoring the whole site. There are alternatives for those in need of
moving images, especially the live version: online
open mikes are definitely
worth checking out, you can click on virtual thumbs up, thereby giving the real
artist extra time for an encore. And if no one is performing live, there's an
endless supply of archived shows, by people who don't earn shit with it.
Earlier this year, just to try something different and be provocative, I tuned
into the empty world of webcam chat. Without showing myself that is, I'm very
fond of my privacy. Basically what you end up with is a whole lot of teenagers
talking seriously offensive, if it
weren't all so overwhelmingly superficial. Bring in the musicians. First time I
randomly observed Bay Area chick Elleen LeLaine she fell asleep during
transmisssion. I honestly don't understand why pervs decide to leave the room at
that point. If you are looking for intimacy, holy fuck, it won't get any more relaxing
than this, the entire waking up process was laid bare as well (without
any nudity, mind you, bless Stickam for being very strict on this). Anyway,
turns out she's one hell of a guitar player and singer.
You never know when her broadcast starts and what songs she will play, if any.
Sometimes she's on four five minutes, sometimes she's on for five hours. Sweet
and raw, unaware of the career opportunities. If I were a producer, I'd offer
her a contract right away. If only to make a b-sides boxset called
bedroom
bootlegs.
'who run the world? girls!'
Unattended mouthwatering
concerts of the year involved The Cure yet again, performing a second
trilogy but only in Sydney, London, Los Angeles en New York. If one of
those had been visited, all competition would have been squashed. Nothing
wrong with priorities: next spring's already
legendary trip to California is not particularly cheap, finishing with a
shameless hotel package for the Coachella festival. One month from now
we'll know the complete lineup and of course, rumours are all over the
internet. On forums it becomes all the more clear how male dominated the music world
is: headliners could include Björk, No Doubt, perhaps even Lady
Gaga, but definitely not more than one woman, also because a three night
festival of course also needs one cool black act. The one
Glastonbury 2011 gig that will be reminded for a long, long time however,
which one was it? Not overkilled
Coldplay, not even U2. No, the crown went to R&B diva Beyoncé, the first
woman ever to close the giant festival.
Pure magic, even
if the music is not and will never be a personal favorite. Thinking
outside the box is what makes it more worthwile than all standard rock
bands put together.
Concert of the year,
supposed to be, was Mick Moss (a.k.a.
Antimatter), in the tiny
shitty little town of Helmond. We travelled all the way there, only to
have most of the evening ruined by beer drinking, crap babbling assholes.
See a pattern? Go to a 'male concert' and there's a big chance men will
fuck it up for you. In recent years I've seen it happen with The National
and 65daysofstatic, can't remember any lovely lady suffering the same
fate, although it helps if you make your way all the way up to front row.
For instance, eighties heroine Neneh Cherry suddenly showed up at another
previously unknown venue, Tommy Hilfiger's People's Place. The audience
was so-so (middle aged housewives with their beer belly husbands on one
side, black adolescents busy with their gadgets on the other), but
touching the stage it turned into fine sentiment, way
too
short. First giggie way back in January was an ever so great Caitlin
Rose, joking her way through a bunch of cute modern country songs in cosy
Bitterzoet. The other seen before please come again one, Jenny Lewis
brought her boyfriend Johnathan Rice to Paradiso. They closed their set
with wine and great rendition of her
Silver Lining. If concerts like these miss out on a spot in the top
10, it's simply uncalled for to label this a 'light' year, even if the
number of carefully selected events was relatively low. No festivals were
attended, the last time that rarity occurred was ten years ago. Sizewise,
no above average halls were seen from the inside, even the count for the
large hall in Paradiso remained at zero. Strange fact of the year: I seem
to mostly go see girls with guitars, while I'm a guy who doesn't consider
that particular instrument (guitar, not girl) to be his favorite. Peculiar
string theory, is this development based on misandry, perhaps even misanthropy?
Who knows, I certainly tend towards the latter! Which doesn't mean I can't
enjoy life, so here are the best ten days of the year:
10. Joan Baez
(Frits Philips Muziekgebouw,
Eindhoven, 13 April)
You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I couldn't think of a
better way to celebrate my mother's birthday than with an invitation to
see the voice of her generation together, the complete package: travel,
dinner included. It was a musical history lesson at its very best, with
many echoes of Dylan and other legends she all knows or has known very
personally. Somehow an Imagine singalong turned into the best feeling in
the world, idealism isn't what it used to be. Feeling old and loving it,
that's the spirit.
9. Wild Beasts
(Melkweg oude zaal, Amsterdam, 7 November)
7. Devon Sproule
(Paradiso kleine zaal, Amsterdam, 13 November)
Crowd went wild for William Elliot Whitmore, I didn't even know this
(awesome) banjo man, apparently he was the main attraction and afterwards
Devon had to settle for the scraps. The lovely couple standing to my right
turned out to be her former nanny/aunt plus spouse, who delivered
cute anecdotes about diapers and kindly recommended a US road trip. The
audience obviously enjoyed the music and ample opportunity to chat with
her, we all receivedS her new album for free digitally. Light country, from
the
Old Virginia Block, never felt this at home.
However.
Technically the most memorable concert of 2011 happened in 2010. I was
very fortunate
to discover this beyond perfect pop queen before popularity took
off and really small venues were a thing of the past. I've predicted
superstardom before, only to be proven wrong.
Marina Lambrini Diamandis is dominating my playlist right now. And
it's quite surprising, didn't see this
second wave coming. Sure, The Family Jewels was in the books as one of the
most catchy albums of the new decade and seeing her live was a blast.
Things turned silent for a while, then the first tracks of her upcoming
second album started leaking, without exception incredibly intoxicating.
And BOOM, there it was, total addiction.
I've always loved intelligent yet playful people who create shameless pop
music but aren't afraid to turn it into the unpolished version with the
snap of a finger, especially live. Marina and the Diamonds has a hell of a
voice, but often just prefers to have loads of fun. She seems to transform
or, as critics like to call it, re-invent herself constantly, but the
fundaments are so very much the same whatever she does and she's acting
her ass off. Most peculiar and fresh thing about mentioned debut album was
was quite a lack of love songs, main themes included absent fathers,
deranged hermits and a whole lot of self doubt in this wacky world. Guess
what, the love is on its way and first signs are amazing. Welsh/Greek
Marina is the one that should unite 'mainstream' and 'alternative' in a
leap of mankind, of course she won't in the end, but her Entertaining
Escapism is full of the awkward kind of Life that should be Real. Marina
already played Coachella last year, but I'm sure looking forward to
blasting
Radioactive over Death Valley, cruising Sunset
Boulevard with
Hollywood in my ears, feeling
Seventeen again and seeing illusionary monkees in Sequoia trees while
wandering off
Mowgli's Road. I want to be cuckoo too!
However.
Technically the most memorable concert of 2011 happened in 2010. I was
very fortunate
to discover this beyond perfect pop queen before popularity took
off and really small venues were a thing of the past. I've predicted
superstardom before, only to be proven wrong.