Back to basics

Of all the music albums I own, I always come back to the likes of Nevermind, Siamese Dream, The Downward Spiral, Superunknown, and the rest of the early 90s alterna-groups that were ushered into the era by the massive commercial success of Nirvana's second album. Suddenly music that was supposed to be an alternative to the pop music that dominated the airwaves hijacked MTV and got 24/7 attention and substantial following from youth across the world; and that, ironically, 'alternative music' became the new pop.

Not since the Beatles had bands enjoyed mass popularity and support. It was not uncommon during the early 90s to tune in to MTV and see videos of guitar-based groups populating different programs of the iconic media giant. For every one featured pop artist like Seal, Mariah Carey, or Toni Braxton, ten bands were next. From the testosterone-heavy (Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots) to riot grrls (Hole, Babes In Toyland, L7) to college favorites (R.E.M, Pavement, 10,000 Maniacs) to buzz bands (Live, Dig, Cracker, Collective Soul), it was, for an impressionable little boy like me on the onset of puberty, perfect.

Perfect timing in a sense that rock music got into high gear when I was in that impressionable age. With the perpetual scowl of the 'go away leave me alone' phase of adolescence. The introspective lyrics and critical self-examination of the musicians that dominated that era profoundly affected a lot of my generation's outlook well beyond the school years. It was pop music that aimed to commune and communicate to its audience telling everyone they know how they feel despite the gloom-laden messages, instead of the prancing and preening about of pop musicians these days telling everyone how rich, how great and how deserving they are of people's undivided attention.

It was an era when concert-going was like a religious experience. Where people came not to be seen, but to feel and commune with like-minded misfits who exorcised their frustrations, alienation, and anger through the band who also felt, identified, and even looked like the audience. It's gone now. And in its place are pale, superficial imitations bludgeoned even deeper to obscurity by big-named "artists" who have very little in common with the people who idolize them.

But that's the thing about recordings. You can play them again over and over and relive what it was like to be in a certain era you were proud of. And maybe, if you're lucky, take new audience members for the ride and let them in that past-but-hardly-forgotten era when listening to music was exhilarating and gave the listener a sense of belonging.

Tomorrow we can drive around this town

For all its worth, The Gin Blossoms are still the same way I remembered them eons ago when I was still struggling with homework done in the middle of school halls and rest rooms. Not counting singer Robin Wilson’s obvious progression from a fresh-faced contender for the new alternative poster boy of the 90s to a scraggly-haired middle aged performer, guitarist Jesse Valenzuela’s weight, and absence of drummer Philip Rhodes, the music is pretty much what I expected to hear. Their appearance and lineup may have changed but the sound---despite the new singles from their latest album (No Chocolate Cake) pretty much sound the way you’d expect from something by the Gin Blossoms.


Whether the band will take that as an insult or a compliment is not relevant. Personally I like that they never deviated from what formula they used in crafting songs. There are just some bands that look and sound stupid (Chris Cornell’s “Part Of Me”, anyone?) when they tinker with the approach on how to create music. Gin Blossoms belongs to that category. Doing what they did best and snagging new fans out of evoking nostalgia from the old ones. The same catchy, hooky pop songs you wouldn’t mind humming to or hearing from the nearby coffee shop or PUV and tapping your hands along to the beat. Thank God the band has a good head on its shoulders and enough sense not to overstep their capabilities just so people would take them ‘seriously’ as “artists”. 

When I first heard about the news of the concert I surprised myself by not being too enthusiastic about it the way I’d probably had been when I was still in high school. I knew my high school version would kill just to see the concert. Two worn-out cassette copies of New Miserable Experience (1993) would attest to that. I was just a little apprehensive that they might not play a lot of their early materials because when I recently Googled the band I found they had a bunch of new albums after Congratulations I’m Sorry (1995), their second album and the last collection of tunes from the band I’m familiar with. I figured it’s okay if I missed the concert since they’ll probably promote the latest album anyway. And I’m only interested with the singles I knew.


Then the 18th came and I found myself with my wife in the middle of Araneta Coliseum yet again for a concert with another band that belongs to our generation (NIN: Wave Goodbye Tour last year.). 


The band launched into “Follow You Down” and the entire place turned into a massive karaoke sing along complete with the token howls and shrieks from the female fans. It was followed by other lesser known singles like “As Long As It Matters”, “Until I Fall Away” and a whole batch of new materials nobody knew because every time the band played them everyone kept quiet and sat down. I was waiting for the Douglas Hopkins-penned singles like “Hey Jealousy”, “Found Out About You”, “Lost Horizons” and “Pieces Of The Night”. Those were the songs I came for. As long as they played them, I couldn’t care less if they played a Linkin Park or April Boy single afterwards. And they did, with “Hey Jealousy” saved for the encore. 


For a few minutes it felt like it was the summer of 1993 again, somewhere in an old town with a big looming water tank standing before the mountains.

Palo

I've been browsing through some Eraserheads tracks in Youtube and I just realized something.

"Para Sa Masa" off Sticker Happy (1997) might not be that harmless after all. Not because it has an insidious, subliminal message telling you to recite "Natas" eighteen times or shoot up large quantities of narcotics hidden in the seeming tribute to the masses that paranoid fundamentalists wold have no difficulty in spotting (if some of them can declare Return Of The Jedi as anti-Christian, it would be a breeze doing that to a record with a naked woman in the cover). Nothing as controversial as those.

It is not harmless because in my opinion, that song is a pointed critique to the group of people it appears to glorify. In most parts the song is more hurt than actually reprimanding, as what these lines, as I understand them, say:

"naaalala nyo pa ba/binigyan namin kayo ng ligaya..."

And then veers toward this direction:

"ilang taon na rin ang lumipas/mga kulay ng mundo ay kumupas/marami na rin ang mga pagbabago/di maiiwasan pagkat tayo ay tao lamang..."

And this caps it all:

"mapapatawad mo ba ako/kung hindi ko sinunod ang gusto mo..."

That last line may have been brought on by the lukewarm reception the band got for songs that were way out of their usual fare. In other words, "fans" did not like it when their favorite band went over its head and decide to do experiments with their sound. As I recall the album's predecessor (Fruitcake) sold well, but did not sell great as their previous releases. It was totally different from the rest--all English songs, even had a book with it--and none of the daily college/juvenile shenanigans the band's most popular songs became well known for.

And finally:

"pinilit kong iahon ka/ngunit ayaw mo namang sumama..."

And:

"huwag mo hayaang ganito/bigyan ang sarili ng respeto..."

I am no Lit major but those lines might as well say they'd given up trying to elevate the average person's taste by giving them something different. Of course that smacks of arrogance and downright condescension on the band's part and I may also be mistaken since that's how I interpret it, but even if that was indeed their sentiments, then so be it. As long as that was how they felt during that time, then fine. Phoniness is worse. The band went on to record two more excellent albums (Natin99--is their best in my opinion) that were sadly overlooked by most of their fans until their eventual dissolution in the early part of the century.

But everyone got one hell of a spanking with that song.

Album Art

In a previous entry (Happy Anti-Valentine's Day) I waxed poetic on the pleasures of acquiring and listening to music the old-fashioned way. Of course in today's digital landscape, actually owning a physical piece of musical recording - be it via cds, cassette or vinyl - would warrant a dazed and quizzical look from today's brain-dead generation (and people of my age bracket or older trying hard to be in today's loop). At best you'd get an honest query as to why you'd go through such pains of scouring the metropolis and back while shelving out horrendous amounts of money for something you can get--sorry, download-- for free. You might as well ask collectors why they'd pay astronomical amounts that's enough to alleviate our international debt for a piece of painting when they can just buy a reproduction that costs less than the frame it will be mounted on. And this stance has nothing to do with piracy either. I support piracy. But when it comes to music, I prefer to have the real thing complete with the liner notes and personnel involved in the album's creation. More importantly, because it preserves the artwork that goes with the music: From the way the inlay sleeves were folded, to the entire layout (specially when lyrics are reprinted) as well as the band/musician information. Some torrent downloads come with a jpeg file of the album covers and inlay sleeves but nothing beats the real thing.

And there's just something about buying something and not knowing what to expect out of it, and the anticipation of going home, strapping your headphones and listening to it while marveling at the creativity (or not) of the music, package and the cover. When the music and album artwork jived, I could listen to the entire thing for weeks. Especially if it was a favorite artist who did something totally new, and surprisingly good output.

Rolling Stone magazine published its own list of 100 GREATEST ALBUM COVERS OF ALL TIME a few years ago. I'm going to do a list of my own that is strictly confined to my own collection mostly composed of cassette tapes I started buying when I was in high school and a smattering of cds (that are mostly upgraded versions of my albums on tape that warped).

In no particular order:
ERASERHEADS/CIRCUS - The 'Heads exemplified everything that has to do with living out your college life in perpetual cool. The wit, humor and intelligence of the compositions went well with the grit and simplicity of the cover and layout. Listening to the record and reading the booklet somehow made you feel you were in a dormitory drinking your guts out while singing to a medley done by your guitar-toting buddy.

LIVE/THROWING COPPER - To be honest, my primary reason for buying Live's sophomore hit was because of the cover art. I heard 'Selling the drama' before, and it was a decent tune. But the painting by Peter Howson called 'Sisters Of Mercy' had a mysterious and slightly frightening aura about it that went so well with the spiritualistic leanings of the band's music. I even had the cassette case left around the stereo as it looks ominous and cool along with my father's jazz collection.

MEGADETH/RUST IN PEACE - Ed Repka was a mainstay in the Megadeth fold (even outlasting some band members), doing cover arts for earlier albums but 1990's Rust In Peace was the most arresting. Not only is the album a lean, towering piece of thrash perfection, but the cover art depicting alien conspiracies and people that look suspiciously like Gorbachev and George Bush watching beloved mascot Vic Rattlehead do a demonstration on alien life form deserves a comic book series of its own. Stare at the cover during 'Hangar 18'.

SMASHING PUMPKINS/SIAMESE DREAM - The orange toned photograph of the twin sisters, coupled with Billy Corgan's lyrical images about nostalgia really hits home. This is the reason why I always look back at the 90s as perpetual summers lighted in the late golden afternoon sun.

GUNS N' ROSES/USE YOUR ILLUSION I&II - One of the most ambitious projects in hard rock history. Impeccable layouts and generous inclusion of lyrics and band photos and personnel as well.

NINE INCH NAILS/PRETTY HATE MACHINE - Simple and elegant inlay card. Also features the debut of the NIN symbol designed by Trent Reznor and Gary Talpas. An additional treat would be the inclusion of "ideas and sounds" Reznor utilized while recording his landmark debut.

THE POLICE/GHOST IN THE MACHINE - Up to this album the band mostly utilized their own photos in their album covers alternating who gets to be in the middle (they're a power trio after all) per album. For this release, we get a simple black background and three digital Chinese (or Japanese) characters with the band's faces signifying their approach to their new synth-heavy compositions.

GARBAGE - Not only is the cover striking, but I was actually hellbent on buying the album because I read Butch Vig--who produced Nirvana's Nevermind and Smashing Pumpkins' Siamese Dream--will be drumming for the band. I couldn't care less had the album art were done by people with the aesthetic sensibilities of pirated DVD peddlers here in the Philippines. That the cover was beautiful was a pleasant surprise and only added to my appreciation of the band and its music.

SOUL ASYLUM/GRAVE DANCERS UNION - While Soul Asylum had already been relegated to relative obscurity after their 90s heyday, their 1992 album was by far one of the best albums with an equally memorable cover as well.

BLIND MELON - The Bee Girl does it for me. One of the coolest album covers there is.

Anything

Just to write/share something...


Real Genius - I have been watching this movie repeatedly these days because of my son's fondness for the Comsat Angels's "I'm Falling" during one of the sequences of the movie that used the entire duration of the song. He practically uses it as a lullaby at bedtime. Fine by me. At least it's not "Nobody" by the Wonder Girls.

Green Tea - Probably the only reason why my weight has not approached pachyderm proportions despite my disregard for diet and exercise.


Movie Scores - Today's contemporary music scene makes one wish for a Groundhog Day scenario set during the early 90s. In the absence of good pop/rock music, movie scores are the way to go.


Chuck Taylors - RIP. The coolness element will be sorely missed.


Elow Poh! - Makes you wonder if the speaker is extremely courteous or just someone with an uncontrollable compulsion to commit atrocities with their lame attempts at cuteness. Imagine a grown "man" with lips the size of Mt. Kanlaon doing this to a person young enough to be his son. Exactly.


Young People Who Think Avatar Is James Cameron's Opus - There are a lot of pirated copies of ALIENS and The Terminator Series and The Abyss. In the words of Henri Ducard, "Always mind your surroundings." Or if that's too much, Google is here for a reason.


Pan De Manila - Because the Ortigas land area is already saturated with 7-11 and Mini-Stop shops per square inch. Thank you for opening a branch near the office.


Reading - A lot of good books left unread because of this inanity. Okay I'm off.

RIP NIN : Enter Trent Reznor

A few minutes that felt like hours after Pupil finished their set I had this sudden panic attack that perhaps Trent Reznor and Co. had bailed out of the entire proceedings without so much as a "fuck off" to their fans who waited for NIN to come to the Philippines with probably more enthusiasm than the second coming of the almighty himself. The thing about rock stars (Reznor wouild cringe at this description) is that their unpredictability is also what makes their music so compelling in the first place. I'm a big fan but i doubt if I'll be able to forgive him had he pulled that kind of stunt. I mean 1k isn't something I can pick anytime from a tree after all. Even the hairy bearded guy who sat in front of us (me, my wife, and my sister-in law) who gave the impressioin of a calm composed individual shattered all preconceived notions when he yelled "TAMA NA YANG ILAW!!! GO NAAAA!!!!" So much for first impressions. I just reminded myself how big a perfectionist Reznor is. From the countless interviews I've read about the guy, they never fail to highlight the man's obsession about meticulousness. That Reznor never fails to accomplish something once he puts his mind into it. One interview with a former employer when was still a handyman for a recording studio put it more simply: "When that guy waxed the floor, it looked great." So I just waited for the strobe lights to be tweaked a little more. Better safe than sorry.

Then the lights dimmed and the crowd gave a collective howl of anticipation; and just as the strobe lights behind the stage blared at full blast along with the first bars of "Somewhat Damaged", the dark lord of industrial marched toward the mic and grabbed it with both hands like he was gonna strangle it, and loomed toward the lucky audience members in front with the more expensive tickets. He may have aged, but the vitriol in his performance has all the menace and swagger of a rock behemoth that gives contemporary moron 'rock' stars half his age a run for their money as far as performing with brass balls and musical innovation is concerned.

We were seated in upper box b, so the view wasn't that spectacular. Good thing they were selling those handy cardboard binoculars for only P50 a piece so we got to see the band a little more clearly. Reznor's look nowadays is a far cry from the long-haired and lanky alternative-era doomsayer who popularized songs about self-destruction, unsavory sexual practices and suicide; even penning one of the most recognizable choruses in pop culture history courtesy of "Closer", off 1994's The Downward Spiral. That song, incidentally, may also be NIN's most popular as well. I assume it is, because when the opening beats for that song came on, the audience just went crazy. The man who performed last Wednesday was buffed and sporting a close cropped hair and looking every bit like a man in his mid-40s might look. If you didn't know the guy you'd probably assume he's the band manager instead of the singer. But when he screamed "Too fucked up to care anymore!!!", you'd agree that no manager in this planet can do that with as much conviction as he did.

What followed was a set that was simultaneously loud, brutal but soft, and even gentle and pristine in some parts. The stun-volume favorites were there: Gave Up, March Of The Pigs, Wish and Head Like A Hole. But in my opinion the most arresting bits were the less-than famous ambient/instrumental tracks taken off the little known 1999 release The Fragile. Notably the ocean-filled imagery of La Mer. That was certainly enough to give everyone pause, specially first-timers who probably thought thrashing and abrasive music are only things the band knew how to do. And the lighting that Mr Morose was complaining about earlier added to the atmosphere of every song (I think he came around it at the end; he was utterly stunned.). It had the same loud-soft dynamics that the band continously hammered the audience with. They even performed covers of David Bowie and Joy Division. With the latter also featured in the OST of The Crow way back in '94. They ended the set with 'Hurt'. A perfect epilogue to a historic tour that I'm sure won't happen again. In that regard all who watched it were very lucky.

NIN belongs to my generation, and I am proud because of it.

Before/After

Trent Reznor never fails to fascinate me. The two videos below prove the theory of evolution better than any egghead's biological lab rat.

Option 30


Nine Inch Nails

Pink ribbon scars, that never forget

Summer 1993, in dreams…

It's always around April, mid-afternoon, somewhere around 4 or 5. The time of the day when everything's in golden hues and the landscape is colored brown filled with occasional patches of green and the royal blue sky is clear and slowly giving in to dusk’s red light. The streets are filled with young mothers, nannies and little kids, engaged in their own animated games and conversations. Among them is your sister who just started her academic life as a kindergarten student, playing with her friends Mandie and Honey. 


You’re inside the house listening all day to the radio. Enjoying alternative tunes and feeling like a real sophisticated adult for appreciating something that’s supposed to be an ‘alternative’ to the ‘stupid’ posturing of pop, not knowing it’s the same movement perpetuated by the very same entities who gave you the pop music you abhor with passion. 


You wander outside and go west towards the direction of the huge water tank, and the breeze is cool and dusty and smells of dried grass, hay, an unknown but familiar sweet-smelling blossom, and the slightest hint of dried cow dung. 


Walking past the Ematas and the Eusebios, you find yourself at the end of the cement road in the middle of a large field that used to have been rice paddies up until the late 80s but are now just barren soil used to grow assorted crops like squash, watermelons and a wide variety of weeds. 


You take a deep breath as you stare at the setting sun just beyond the huge tank looming in the opposite side. 


A sense of tranquility flows over you and a feeling of relief that you survived the first year of high school with just a few bumps and bruises. You go over your game plan for the next school year to show everyone how serious you really are with studying. And you're filled with intense pride at the thought of what you can accomplish in the coming years while in school. 


Until your little sister suddenly yells from afar to break you out of an almost drunken stupor; ordered no doubt by your mother to have you summoned for a little housework. You sigh and use your walking stick to poke a paleolithic-looking creature resting in the crevice of a large cement drainage. It won't budge. 


You glance at the receding rays of the sun one last time and head home.

A long time ago...in a geek convention far far away

I consider myself a true Star Wars fan.

Although I'm not a total dweeb who flaunts his geekdom by flooding the house with anything from C-3PO and R2-D2 lunchboxes to those uber-expensive 'realistic' lightsaber toys and whine and moan at what George Lucas did to my beloved series by butchering what was left of it. Nor will you find me in forums arguing with other hardcore fans as to why Jar-Jar Binks's presence in Episode 1 isn't all that putrid; or why Han Solo, and not Boba Fett, is the coolest character to have come out of that universe. I look at it the way I look at other films I admire. Just a movie, and not a blueprint on how to live your own life. I'm constantly amazed at the passion some fans show every time I come across anything on the net that is remotely attached to the series. You'd even read arguments that give an impression that if the two debaters see each other in person, they'll go after each other's throats with extreme prejudice. Fascinating really, considering what they're arguing about to the point of threatening old testament-style wrath to each other is only the figment of one man's imagination. 

A typical scholarly debate on a certain topic:

JediMasterKen: COUNT DOOKU CAN'T BEAT DARTH MAUL EVEN IF HE MASTERED MAKASHI (FORM II) TO THE HIGHEST DEGREE. MAUL HAS MORE EXTENSIVE KNOWLEDGE OF OTHER SITH MARTIAL ARTS LIKE JAR-KAI. NOT TO MENTION HE'S ALSO YOUNGER AND MORE AGGRESSIVE.

Darth Bored: I DISAGREE. MAKASHI REQUIRES INTENSE CONCENTRATION AND FOCUSED ATTUNEMENT TO THE FORCE. NOT TO MENTION HE WAS ALREADY A FORMIDABLE JEDI LIGHTSABER DUELIST BEFORE HE WAS EVEN A SITH LORD. DARTH SIDIOUS DID NOT EVEN BOTHER TO TEACH HIM ADVANCED LIGHTSABER TECHNIQUES BECAUSE HE ALREADY KNEW TYRANUS(DOOKU) WAS ONE OF THE UNIVERSE'S BEST SWORDSMAN. HE WAS SO GOOD HE DIDN'T EVEN NEED TO RELY ON THE FORCE WHEN HE ENGAGED IN LIGHTSABER COMBAT. REMEMBER MAUL LOST TO AN APPRENTICE (OBI-WAN).

I don't think I need to show where this conversation leads to. Arguments like these can be compared to a religious or political debate. It's an argument with no end. Nobody wants to back down. And when all logic, fact, and reason fails, everyone resorts to personal attacks.

But what really amazes me about it is where the hell did these people get that kind of information? Fanficition maybe, but to speak about it like it was as real as describing how the flushing mechanism in the toilet bowl works is a bit unnerving. I'm sure it wasn't discussed in the movie, and I was also pretty sure that Maul could kick Dooku's ass based from what I saw, but upon seeing the other guy's very enlightening exposition, I was impressed. 

Do people like these really take the movie THAT seriously? Although you'd also hear these kind of heated arguments from LOTR or D&D fans, it is not as attention-grabbing because you know the so-called facts they throw at each other were taken from books and novels. What separates Star Wars though, is that it was a movie before some materials of it were adapted in book form (most are children's storybooks and novelization of the series), and that the movies didn't even cover half of what the two geniuses above are arguing about.

I have complaints about the movies myself--especially Lucas's take on pumping a vat full of steroids in the original trilogy (IV-VI) and dubbed them "Special Editions". Not only were the "upgraded" scenes useless, but totally looked artificial and only alienated scores of fans and myself from the original feel and nostalgia of the classics. What made the original movies classics were their imperfection. Other than that, the newer installments were not bad. 

The problem with movies like these is that every fan feels like he can do a better job than the people who created it. Some people felt like they died just because the author/director did not take the film the way they wanted it to go. Take it a little more higher in the obsessive scale and you'd have a person not unlike the Stephen King villain in 'Misery'. It's either that, or the 40-Year Old Virgin.