Tool: ÆNIMA by Rolling Stone

I hate reviewing new music. Hate it.
As a musician who has seen my fair share of rough reviews, I know how it feels to hear (err- read, as in “This Has Been Written And Therefore It Is So“) someone talking mean about your baby.
The good ones? In one ear and out the other, honestly. But the bad ones… hurt a little. Add into it the fact that these days, when they’re bad, they’re not just bad - they’re BRUTAL.
Only you know what it took to make this album.
Only you know why you did what you did - and if you have any art to your stuff, you don’t go explaining every little step. Them’s the rules. Half the fun for me as a listener is finding my own meaning in songs; as an artist, the most excitement I get from music is hoping others catch what I’m putting out there. I like those dynamics, the risk is worth the reward. The price of that risk can be that no one gets anything you’ve done, or worse… compares it to something you can’t stand!
Only you know what the album - your new baby - means to you.
Logically, it would follow that only you know how it feels to be told, “DAMN! Your baby is ugly.”

I’d like you to keep that in mind from here on out as we put a slight twist on the term “Album Review” with what we call, simply:
Reviews… of Reviews.

Most of the time these babies will be of current albums that we think should get a little more attentive attention. We’ll do our best. Most of the time. That will be all well and good, but as I’ve stated before: I don’t believe that a review is even worth reading unless the person reviewing the album has had some time to experience that album beyond what I’m convinced is the usual regimen of today’s “music critic” - a cursory listen to something the “critic” gets in the mail scattered between reality television shows and too many hours on the XBOX360. I think the real soul of this idea will come from revisiting some of the albums that have stood the test of time after having originally been panned by the self-important fascist regime of Those Who Cannot Do.

With that in mind: Let us begin.
My first offering was in many ways the inspiration for this perspective on the traditional “album review.” Almost 15 years ago, Tool put an album out that changed not only my perception of where Rock music could go, but most of the Stavesacre boys’ perspective (No… what???) and that of an entire generation of Hard Rock music fans and musicians:
ÆNIMA

I’d been a fan of the band since the first E.P. because I felt they bore favorable comparisons to Quicksand. After I spent some time really studying the artwork of the Opiate E.P. I got kinda creeped out, immediately deciding Quicksand was more my speed. Then Undertow came out and I thought, “Hold on… this band is on something else,” Plus: they scared me, honestly. I’d met Danzig and was familiar with the whole Mysterious Rock Singer as Badass image. It was all the rage in the early 90’s: The Frightening Artist.
Where Danzig had all the Devil imagery in his songs - he’d taken the totally original Vaudevillian-meets-B-Horror-Movie cool of the Misfits and appeared to have convinced himself that he really was some kind of werewolf or something - but this band was talking about… other things. Things that were actually both disgusting and utterly disturbing - real things. I won’t go into detail, but suffice to say that some of the previously untapped metaphors utilized in songs called “Prison Sex” and “4º” left one feeling slightly light headed upon repeated listens.
After I saw that creepy little video for “Sober” - where Maynard appears as a blurry nightmare of an image for about 2 seconds - I remember thinking:
Maynard is far scarier than Glenn Danzig - like, I think he’d do something crazy if they got into a fight, like eat his liver or something.
And I wasn’t the only one.

By the time ÆNIMA dropped, Quicksand was history (along with what I’d mistakenly believed was the second wave of Punk Rock) and Danzig was about as scary as that kid from school who played Dungeons & Dragons. (Or World of Warcraft for those of you who have no idea what a 12 sided-die is.) I clearly remember hearing “Hooker With A Penis” for the first time in Jeff Bellew’s truck when the LP came out earlier than the CD - he put it to tape and we listened with our mouths open as about 5 minutes of pure Poetic Justice erupted from the speakers. (more on that later)
When the CD came out I stopped everything, got it home and went directly to my room. Even as an (almost) grown man in his mid-20’s, I didn’t want anyone interrupting me while I was listening to it - headphones on - from start to finish. I probably listened to nothing else for a solid month or two. There was just so much going on that you couldn’t just listen to the album, pick out the single and tire of it immediately. From the mix - layers and layers of power and melody - to the music - brutal, intricate, melodic, powerful, etc. In my mind it was the perfect Hard Rock album, my generation’s “important” Hard Rock album.

Then, the critics got hold of it.

Back then - a million years ago, when people still bought magazines - I used to check out what Rolling Stone and SPIN had to say about anything that I was into. They were the Authorities. I was stoked when a band I’d already known about was on the verge of success - it was like a nice big, “I Told Ya So.” ÆNIMA was great, all of my friends and I knew it was great, and we were looking to tell the world once again: “Told ya.”
I opened Rolling Stone Magazine and this is what I read:

Noise as purgative: Tool shove their iron-spike riffing and shock-therapy polemics right up the claustrophobic dead end of so-called alternative metal in the name of a greater metaphysical glory – something along the fuzzy lines of Jungian cyberoccultism. That’s all very admirable and even a bit impressive; anyone who tries to elevate heavy music above cock-rock clown time is to be encouraged. Still, the best parts of Ænima come when Tool just let the music rip and dip with the broiling, avant-metal ferocity of Led Zeppelin’s Presence. Also, let us call a moratorium on concept CDs that come with lightweight “Intermission” instrumental tracks. If you need to take a piss in the middle of the record, just hit the pause button.

Now… what this doesn’t show is the fact that it got 1 out of whatever they were giving - I honestly forget because I immediately dismissed anything this magazine had to say about hard music from the moment I read the last line of the review. It was such a slap in the face: You’re jocking artists like LIVE, BUSH, R.E.M., Hole and… SON VOLT(???) and you’ve just treated this album as self-indulgent Prog-Rock, or to be more specific “taking a piss”??? (Plus: Britishisms? Seriously?) Good grief, this Fricke guy strikes me as one of those dudes who talks like he’s in Oasis but lives in Ohio. (BTW: if you can find the SPIN magazine review of this very same album, you’ll find an even more brutal and dismissive splooge of snobbery) Hey millionaires! You suck!

Wouldn’t be the first time anyone has said that. Hmm, wonder why they jock Led Zeppelin all the time now? Whatever, different subject…

ÆNIMA was new. New, in an age of not much new; new, meaning fresh, original and (sometimes in this case, disturbing, but ultimately) NEW.
Songs like the aforementioned “Hooker…” were a new take on the relationship between band and fan - and the brutal extension of what really goes through the mind of someone who’s just had some ignorant little shit tell them they’d sold out; the title track was a Shane Lechler kick to the groin for any person who really believed that their skewed self-image were actually a thing of value. “Stinkfist” (or, more comfortably, “Track #1″) was social commentary on the way we as a society have become desensitized by over-stimulated media blitzing… I think. Okay, I hope; “Eulogy” was about as final a coffin nail on the Martyred Hero complex as one could imagine. Throughout the album, artwork to sound bites, there was dry, hard as nails gallows-humor to keep it moving: Images of California sinking into the sea as punishment for it’s sins by way of an album cover that could have come out of a CrackerJack box; tributes to the late Bill Hicks; and lyrics, lyrics, lyrics. From unusual metaphors to clever word plays (Album Title: ÆNIMA. Title track: ÆNEMA) this album goes to great lengths to give the listener something to figure out. And the melody? There’s a moment on the song “Jimmy” that shows you just how amazing this guy’s voice is - should shed some light on why someone like Tricky, another artist who was actually doing something new around that time, said, “I wish I had a voice like the guy of Tool.”
At that time, who in Hard Rock was writing at this depth? No one. Maybe… Trent Reznor? The lyrics at times were both revealing & vulnerable (”Jimmy,” “Third Eye”) and sarcastic social commentary (”Stinkfist,” title track, “Hooker”). Every once in a while just plain… batty. “46 & 2″ is still my favorite song off the album but I’ve never taken it too seriously - it’s just a great song. And that bass line…
That’s the other thing: No one out there was doing the musical calculus that these guys were. Rage Against the Machine had all kinds of spitfire and venom, and while musically they were superior to most every other “Hard Rock” band out there, Tool was doing bizarre time signatures and layered compositions that brought to mind less Led Zeppelin and more… Peter Gabriel? (I remember hearing the David Bottrill would be taking Sylvia Massy’s place on the album… not sure if he acted as engineer or more, but the difference in production between this and the first two releases was night and day.)

The album opened up options for Hard Rock music in general - people saw that art didn’t have to be sacrificed in order to have force. (although, again: Jane’s kinda already started that ball rolling…) Essentially, ÆNIMA gave Hard Rock fans and musicians an option to be more than just meatheads.
No one told me these things… they’re just the conclusions I’ve drawn after years of listening to these songs, drawing them in and working out the artistic interpretations that were available to me. The point is… to say this album merely “elevated c#@%-rock” is a gross understatement. The album has depth that only the truly devoted listener knows is there - to pan this disc as an average Hard Rock album that simply needs to let the band do its thing is just… seriously incomplete in it’s evaluation of the album in question. There is power, imagery - some disturbing, some simply poignant - here that the “cursory” listen will not allow a full appreciation of.

This might just be what happens when you review something as a job - you’re over it, you give it a quick once over and move on. Maybe it’s what happens when a Jazz guy has to review a Rock album.
Or maybe it’s just what happens when someone who has never done this, is given a job telling those who have done this… how to do this.

“Those who can’t do teach. Those who can’t teach, teach gym.”
— Woody Allen

Where Have You Gone, Lester Bangs?

Did you see the Movie Almost Famous? Do you remember watching it and thinking, “Why isn’t music that fun anymore?”
It’s a legitimate question. Music itself is still music, so what’s the deal?
Well, the problem with the music ain’t just the music, folks.
Sure, the making-music industry is currently residing in the ICU on 24-hour life support, but what about the making-music-interesting industry? There may be no more huge deals sitting on desks in corner offices held by old, string-pulling Monopoly Men, waiting to drop such deals in the laps of any Next Big Things, but certainly there is no shortage of music being made. It can’t all be bad, can it? There has to be at least something to look forward to, right? The industry of those who are supposed to point us in that direction, of directing the flow of the next wave, should be jamming right now.
There’s good music out there waiting to be made part of our lives, but one crucial part of that process has gone bye-bye:
The Rock Writer.
We may ask where today’s Led Zeppelins or Beatles are (Hey, I’d settle for a new Nirvana at this point…) but what about this generation’s great “Documenteurs”? What about the people who bring the music home and help us find a way to fully embrace it?
What would the late Lester Bangs (portrayed by perennial badass Philip Seymour Hoffman in the aforementioned Almost Famous) be saying these days?
How would, “Lester Bangs on what American Idol means to the Music Industry” shake out?
Lester Bangs on The Jonas Brothers?
Bored actors with Pop Music vanity projects?
The commercialization of Punk Rock?
Creed?
(Here’s a great audio file posted at BoingBoing… listen and judge for yourself.)
As a lover and maker of music, I’m really afraid The Rock Writer isn’t missing - that character might just be… dead. Checked out with Mr. Bangs in 1982.
Or maybe today’s culture just doesn’t have time for that person anymore. Maybe The Rock Writer represents too much of an investment of attention, wisdom… intelligence? Or… is it something else?
Don’t get me wrong - there are plenty of people talking about music. Google “Music Blog” and you’ll find 230 million hits. Lots of folks out there saying lots of things - and loudly. Very authoritative. Very right. Just ask ‘em.

230. Million. That’s a lot of opinions being put forth as the Authority.
In my humble opinion, the Rock Editorial, with all of its informed opinion and critique - and more importantly, respect - has basically vanished off the face of the planet and been replaced by hundreds of millions of wannabes. One minute we had writers who studied the art of journalism and who were (hopefully) at some point challenged to think with a little objectivity, the next minute we had “anyone can do this.”
Oh, yeah!
So the question is really: What are all these 230 million people saying? Is anyone saying anything new or relevant or… are they just pushing more - lots more - of the same old thing? What is being said out there that will make music a better experience for anyone?
Or is anything being said at all?

“Talkin’ loud and sayin’ nothing.”
-James Brown

It really seems to me that we’ve gone from having a few voices that the masses could relate to, to a mass of voices, each with a few people who could “kind of/sort of/well, I don’t know, I guess” relate to.
Look back. Try and draw from the well of wisdom your old man tried to fill with good morals and work ethic: When something requires an art, a gift, a talent - do more or less people end up doing it? Can anyone do anything? Are we smarter today than we were 40 years ago? Does quantity win out over quality because we think we know everything now? Hmm. I don’t know - I think the information superhighway is shaping up to look a lot less like a progressive attack on the future and more like the 405 South on Friday around 5pm. Or maybe just a digital version of the Tower of Babel.
*insert play on words; cut to this picture:

annnnnnd… cue rimshot*

It’s like some sick, double-twist of irony - “be careful what you wish for” in full effect. Because bands don’t need labels to make albums anymore, there’s a glut of music being constantly produced; because anyone can write anything about anyone and scrawl it on the global toilet wall, we’ve got a glut of critics all trying to be the first to say something shocking - shocking, but catchy - something “Bathroom Wall” worthy.

Not exactly the formula for greatness, is it?

I think there are people out there who still take it seriously, but I think they get buried - right along with the good bands - under the millions of talking fingers that are tap-tap-tapping all over the internet. Maybe those people would be the target of Bangs’ wit today, who knows?
One thing is for sure: his passion would translate through whatever he was writing, because he was an artist, and those guys get noticed. (Eventually. Usually. Maybe.)
Ah, notoriety. Last - but certainly not least - those people who were good at writing about bands and Rock music used to get noticed. They even got paid to do it. Sometimes, they got to see parts of the music world previously reserved for the bands and those closely associated with them. Those writers - great communicators by nature - would then bring those experiences to the masses. They would be face to face with the bands, accountable for reporting what they saw.
If a writer was capable of doing a good job communicating those experiences, well.. the sky was the limit. If said writer was capable of uncovering some uncomfortable truth among all the readily offered information, well… that’s the way it goes when you’re dealing with a legitimate writer. He’s gonna tell the truth - painful or complimentary, regardless. But… if that writer misrepresented the bands or did them harm… he’d have to answer for it. Chances are he’d see the band (or at least a manager) again - we’re still talking about a pretty small community.
Funny how that changes things - when you have to see the person you wrote about face to face and stand by the words you’ve spoken.
This relationship was positive for those who were respectful and talented - but a big, fat negative for those who wrote things they shouldn’t have. Not so sure that same relationship is even possible with the nameless, faceless 230 million. It’s gone from an intimate and “small town” relationship to… anarchy.
Which brings me to the last issue that’s been chapping my buns. The lowest common denominator:
The Anonymous.
AKA: “Nameless Music Critic w/ Website, Comfy Chair, and Penchant for Snarky Commentary.”
AKA: “Hack.”

I think a total stranger named John Gabriel said it best with this handy diagram:

Where once there was an informed, intelligent and responsible literary artist trying to write something great, now there’s some sullen little turd who’s idea of “accomplishment” is to talk shit on people who actually accomplish things. Hacks.
Oh, Lester Bangs… where have you gone???

Now, if you’re sitting here reading this and thinking to yourself, “OMG. Another too-sensitive musician who can’t take criticism” and so forth, then let me stop you right there. While it would be somewhat childish, it would be accurate to throw the same logic back into the face of any Blah-gger spouting such nonsense (”Takes one to know one”) - but I’d like to look at it from a different angle:
I got the record that proves you’re wrong.
(Plus, when you’re born with yellow teeth, blue eyes and borderline red hair so the kids at school call you “Rainbow”- criticism is no stranger. What were we talking about? Oh yeah…)
Look, when you’ve been playing music for 20 years, chances are you’ve had some criticism that was tough to swallow. It happens. But I say that after 20 years of Rock and Roll, me still doing what I love = I can take whatever criticism comes my way and you can come up with a new excuse as to why your “internet zine” is such a downer.
You, Anonymous Blogger, would know this if… you had ever done anything yourself. I’m going out on a limb and betting… you haven’t. It’s fine. You’ll be fine. Just know that art is art - you can fake it only as long as you’re certain no one notices.
I’ve taken my share of “new” journalism. It can be painful. For 2 years of blood, sweat and tears, my band Stavesacre worked on what we felt was the definitive Stavesacre album, How to Live with a Curse. We were so excited when it was finally to released. Even Bellew, who wasn’t even in the band at the time said it was exactly that: The album we’d been trying to write since we started. The label we were on paid a guy to promote it, so he started sending it to all of his “contacts” on the web, and we started getting reviews like this, from an “online magazine” called Exoduster, in our inboxes:

Stavesacre
How to Live with a Curse
Abacus Recordings
Grade: C+/C
Miraculously, as you How to Live with a Curse progresses through its twelve songs, it just gets worse and worse. As the latest release in this Orange County-based band’s ten year career, Stavesacre are at their best with post-hardcore sounds a la a weak Quicksand…and at their worst with some type of pompous, man-rock Wind-up Records train wreck. Consistent with the opening sentence, the best songs on How to Live are early on, say the first song “A Reason to Believe,” but as soon as the slower moments of the follower “It’s Beautiful (Once You’re Out There)” you can see the forecoming doom. It is just down hill from there. The best part of the promo I have is that the songs are split up into 30 seconds tracks in order to prevent you from ripping it to your computer; an action that seems unlikely in any event. If someone would actually want to rip How to Live with a Curse, they should just be summarily executed.

Yay!
Irony: We’re still punishing the world with our horrible music, Exoduster.com is an empty link to nowhere. The thing is… the label only needs to read about 5 of those bad boys before they start moving on to another project, and so… another album, bites the dust. Happens every day. Every day.
Now, as far as I’m concerned, go on and say whatever you want to about me. I’m old, mean and I just don’t care anymore. Plus, clearly nothing you say can stop me (hah! SHAZAAM!), so at least I get to put my crap out there for you rat-types to gnaw on - maybe you should thank me. I would ask in return though, that if you have something to say, you show me the respect of a conversation so we can talk about how terrible my latest whatever is, person to person. Who knows, maybe - just maybe - you missed something. I’ll help you find it.

And hey, don’t worry - every groundbreaking band in the past has been universally received with open arms so, pile it on. I’m sure they’ll rise above and be stronger for it - be sure to ask ‘em.

At the end of the day it’s supposed to be about the music. I think we’re missing more than the Led Zeppelin of our times - we’re missing our Lester Bangs. We need someone to write about the music - bring it home. Make it part of our lives - not just sit there and slash and burn everything that comes across his desktop.
How many Anonymous Critics will the universe take in trade for one more of him?

Video Game Website Names “10 Best Punk Singers”

IGN - Synonymous with Animé Hair, Video Game tips and… PUNK ROCK?

So… I’m trying to understand why someone would do this, much less do this from the platform of a website that teaches nerds how to cheat on video games and breaks stories about “that one girl in her underwear.” PunkNews (since we basically don’t do any reporting of our own, ’cause… why?) has informed us that IGN (I have no idea what it stands for, but I’m sure it’s wacky and zzzpelled with lotzz of Z’z & X’z! ZOMG! PWNED!) has finally settled an age old debate. Now, thanks to this bastion of Punk Rock ethos, we have a list of the Top 10 Punk Singers!

IGN has published another top list, this one featuring the “10 Great Punk Singers.” The list includes David Vanian from The Damned, Joey Ramone from The Ramones, Greg Graffin from Bad Religion, Henry Rollins of Black Flag, Chad Price of ALL, H.R. from Bad Brains, Blake Schwarzenbach of Jawbreaker, John “Johnny Rotten” Lydon of Sex Pistols, Ari Katz of Lifetime and Glenn Danzig of The Misfits.

The list curiously omits some seemingly obvious choices though, like Joe Strummer, Jello Biafra and is bound to be a little controversial. Still the set includes the list of musicians as well as video performances from each and is worth checking out.

You can check out the list here.

While I respect the attempt, this is a lot like asking a woman when her baby is due. Why would you do it? Joe Strummer, Jello, Ian MacKaye, Shawn Stern, Mike Ness, Fat Mike and so forth… I mean… what? You’re asking people to hate you. This is not an article about Punk Singers, it’s an invitation to contribute to some poor bastard’s self-loathing. C’mon now.

Dear Premiere Magazine: Please Stop Helping

Premiere Magazine says, “Punk’s Not Dead: The 20 Punkest Films”

The burning question on the minds of pretty much everyone, “What determines the ‘Punkness’ of a film?” has apparently been solved by Premiere magazine. Who could have called that? They aren’t sharing the formula (maybe this), just the results. And because we love you, we’re passing it on:

Desperately Seeking Susan.

Dogs In Space.

Roadkill. (Canadian. Don’t worry, none of us have heard of it either.)

And yes, Hackers. 

These films were so Punk Rock, that they pushed Another State of Mind and American Hardcore (maybe they haven’t heard of it) out of the picture - not to mention Romper Stomper or American History X. If Angelina Jolie in Body Glove gear is Punk, then what do we do with The Wanderers, The Warriors or the Road Warrior? If you could put Dogs In Space vs. Some Kind of Wonderful on a scale that determines Punk Weight, which one would be heavier? I think that’s a valid question.

Tell you this much: My money’s on The Feral Kid in a boomerang fight with Aiden Quinn all day, any day. 

Thoughts? 

P.S. J.D. vs. Mark Hunter would be satisfying on many, many levels.