"Indie Grown-Ups"

[bböp]

Obviously I don't agree with most of this writer's sentiments, and it's not really anything we haven't heard before, but I guess it's at least something worth discussing...

 

From New York magazine:

 

Indie Grown-Ups

Are Wilco and Feist our adult contemporary music?

By Nitsuh Abebe

Published Oct 23, 2011

 

Months before the release of Wilco’s latest record, The Whole Love, front man Jeff Tweedy told Spin the album might turn out a bit obnoxious and irreverent, at least compared with the band’s other work. Of course, he also figured that as soon as the record was out, there’d be “somebody sitting in a basement at their computer with the word ‘meh’ already typed up,” waiting to write it off. The finished product certainly doesn’t sound cramped; it ranges around from sunny Americana to pop-rock fundamentals, and it’s bookended by two long tracks you might describe as experiments. But it’s the kind of record a lot of fans praise not by pointing out powerful songs or grand ideas but by spotlighting the musicians themselves—some imaginative, molten-metal guitar leads from Nels Cline here, some nimble and inventive drumming from Glenn Kotche there. It turns out that Tweedy and his basement “meh”-sayers are both right: Wilco has packed some first-rate musicianship into an album that feels a bit like sitting on a Chicago back deck watching a particularly uneventful baseball game.

 

A similar reception might be in store for the Canadian singer-songwriter Leslie Feist and her new album, Metals. Four years ago, a sly pop song called “1234” wound up propelling her out of indie circles and further into the mainstream than she might have imagined—the kind of mainstream that involves Grammy performances. The problem: For a while, countless descriptions of her music revolved around coffee shops and dinner parties or cast her as a maker of middlebrow background listening, of NPR Muzak. The career change was big enough that the artist stepped away from music for a few years—and when she returned, it was to hole up in a cliffside studio in Big Sur and make Metals, a record that politely ignores whatever commercial or marketing expectations anyone might have had regarding her. Metals sounds natural, like brambles, stone, and thunder; it’s almost obsessively interested in the sounds of wood knocked, metal plucked, and bodies moving in a large, open room. Now and then, it gets genuinely heavy, ramping up to a commotion like a storm passing over; and unlike Wilco’s latest, it stirs at somewhat more pungent emotions. (Wilco always seems like something you’d listen to in company; Feist is good at making you feel like you’re the only one hearing her.) But as much as it may ignore the bigger audiences it could be courting, Metals is still a singer-songwriter record, with gusty singsong melodies about finding clarity by the oceanside delivered over cozy acoustic arrangements—which is to say, there is plenty of “meh” in the world for it, too.

 

Perhaps that dismissive reaction strikes you as snobby or elitist. Then again, perhaps you have precisely the same feelings about, say, Mylo Xyloto, this week’s album release from Coldplay, a band much of the mainstream public has agreed to think of as boring pap; at times it seems like their pivotal role in our culture is to give even the most casual listener one solid chance to be snobby about music. And perhaps you wouldn’t feel particularly elitist about that opinion; only correct.

 

If I were to claim that records like Metals and The Whole Love—or recent albums by Neko Case, Bon Iver, Stephen Malkmus, perhaps even Radiohead—represented some kind of norm or mainstream in American music, you might wrinkle your nose a bit. These acts don’t sell nearly the number of records that Beyoncé or Taylor Swift or Coldplay do, and we have the habit of thinking of them as independent acts (and, by extension, underdogs). But if there is a consensus about what counts as respectable, adult music in 2011, these acts are surely a part of it: While more people consider pop music inherently silly than enjoy it, few assaults are leveled at the seriousness or artistic value of this stuff. It’s tasteful and subtle and brings a few newish ideas to the middle of the road; it adheres to a classic sense of what rock and American music are, but approaches it from artful enough directions to not seem entirely fusty; a certain type of teenager and a certain type of parent might agree on it. If this sounds close to the definition of what was once considered “adult contemporary,” well, that’s precisely the territory bands like Wilco have spent the past decade colonizing, often entirely by accident. One good indicator of this norm’s normalness? The main criticism you hear about this kind of record—even outweighing references to Starbucks and/or the bourgeoisie—is that it is just too dull to even bother producing any more complex indictment of it. These acts, intentionally or not, have won; they’ve taken a lower-sales, lower-budget version of the type of trip Sting once took, from a post-punk upstart to an adult staple.

 

In other words: “Meh?” This isn’t just knee-jerk meanness. It’s more like the response that turned seventies listeners into punks—growing bored and skeptical about tasteful rock and roll (not unlike Wilco’s), thoughtful singer-songwriters (not unlike Feist), and idea-driven progressive music (not unlike, say, Radiohead’s). Music fans still spend plenty of time making subtle distinctions between the acts they find challenging and the acts they fear might be lapsing into Coldplay’s realm, but the music world is now fragmented enough that we have the luxury of ignoring things we don’t like, rather than rebelling against them—which is why you’ll see more people shrugging and “meh”-ing over this stuff than yelling and spitting. Still, that vague sense of dissatisfaction can lead listeners in new directions. One great sign about new independent rock bands, over the past few years, has been a noticeable uptick in the number whose names are vulgar jokes, or deliberately inappropriate—in other words, mission statements that tasteful professionalism and the approval of sober-minded adults are not among their interests—and who play music that’s abrasive or adventurous enough to match. (It’s been awhile since my listening ran through so many acts like Death Grips, Pissed Jeans, Fucked Up, and Child Abuse.) Respectability, for the moment, looks like something that might be worth avoiding.

 

This is not, of course, the seventies. Our tasteful professionals aren’t saps shoved down our throats by giant record labels; our sophisticated rock bands aren’t pompous millionaires with silly ideas. (They’re bashful millionaires with sensible ideas, like finding global warming worrisome.) Neither is this the nineties: Acts like Wilco and Feist aren’t slick, pandering constructions. For the most part, they’re independent musicians who’ve scrapped their way to an audience. It’s only recently that major labels have figured out how to groom and market acts for this space—the nook that serves all the purposes of middlebrow adult-contemporary listening, and some of the purposes of indie music, at the same time. That’s one of several reasons music-lovers haven’t gotten too punkishly unreasonable about a band like Wilco pouring out inoffensively pleasant music—another being that there are always a billion other things to listen to. But the great “meh” remains in circulation, and Tweedy’s right that no amount of subtle, well-crafted twists on his format will entirely dispel it.

[tinnitus photography]

Meh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the guy's a decent writer (i like this line, even though i think it's pretty pointless - " (Wilco always seems like something you’d listen to in company; Feist is good at making you feel like you’re the only one hearing her.") but does he really think that records from Wilco, Malkmus and Neko Case are really that dull? I think _MIddle Cyclone_ is a tremendous record, one full of depth, both lyrically and musically. The post-Pavement Malkmus records are certainly worth comparing against Pavement's output.

 

I'm not sure what sort of record he thinks these people should be making, 20 or so years into their careers.I mean, I like Pissed Jeans and Fucked Up as well, but that's not really what the other bands are aiming for.

[Sweet Papa Crimbo]

Other than the obvious fact that he had column inches to fill, what is the point of this article?

[Oil Can Boyd]

Meh.

[Sweet Papa Crimbo]

Hell...I thought this was from the New Yorker...it's from New York Magazine. Indie journalism.

Double Meh.

[choo-choo-charlie]

Middle Cyclone is so far from boring.

[theashtraysays]

Seemed like a long-winded trip to nowhere, really. But I guess that an article that talks about the mediocrity-ness of music would not be all that interesting by definition. Kinda like holding up the word 'meh' into one of those infinity mirrors.

[bböp]

I think this was my favorite line: "One great sign about new independent rock bands, over the past few years, has been a noticeable uptick in the number whose names are vulgar jokes, or deliberately inappropriate..."

 

I mean, can you really take seriously anyone who judges music based on a band's name?

 

Anyway, I thought it was worth posting the article because I'm sure there are plenty of people who think this way. I admire the attitude and ideas of bands like Fucked Up as much as the next person, but when it comes to music, I guess I admire musicianship and singing and the ability to craft lyrics and melodies more. Not to suggest Fucked Up lacks musicianship--like I said, I dig them as well--but for me, the fact that there are so many more bands and people making music these days has resulted in a lot of people who probably shouldn't be. If that makes any sense.

 

Ultimately, I guess I just find it funny how people who can actually play instruments and sing well, etc., are considered dull.

[augurus]

Most of Wilco's catalogue traverse mid-tempo rock. Even Tweedy proudly declares it in several concerts. What the writer is saying is that Feist and Wilco don't bring extremes to the forefront. It's not like Feist nor Wilco made a metal or disco album titled Wilco II: Electric Boogaloo. We have yet to see Wilco stray so far away from rock or country. They are firmly in place. They're somewhat mid-tempo and approachable. If anything, this article is trying to dispel the "meh" and "dull" tags from this mid-tempo country.

 

What that means: go read it again.

[Scott Gyrrr]

One mans meh is another mans woo!

[Sir Stewart]

What that means: go read it again.

If this were grade school, the whole class would slowly go, "ooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"

[MountainGerbil]

Most of Wilco's catalogue traverse mid-tempo rock. Even Tweedy proudly declares it in several concerts. What the writer is saying is that Feist and Wilco don't bring extremes to the forefront. It's not like Feist nor Wilco made a metal or disco album titled Wilco II: Electric Boogaloo. We have yet to see Wilco stray so far away from rock or country. They are firmly in place. They're somewhat mid-tempo and approachable. If anything, this article is trying to dispel the "meh" and "dull" tags from this mid-tempo country.

 

What that means: go read it again.

 

I disagree. The author equates Wilco and Feist's music with the established "meh" music of the 1970s, which led dissatisfied youths to embark on the Punk movement. He uses the names of new bands (the Pissed Jeans, etc) as a sign that there are signs of dissatisfaction with the "contemporary" music of today. However, because the music scene is so diverse and fragmented right now, people that would have upended the current "meh" music of Wilco and Feist in days gonebye can just ignore it and it will continue to exist.

 

This is not a complimentary piece on Wilco. Nor is it outright anti-Wilco. It's just agreeing that Wilco is "meh".

[newbornghost]

These days, if something doesn't smack you in the face, it's 'meh.'

 

If I might use the world of beer as an analogy: This is why hipsters only like hoppy beers, and more and more don't have the patience to appreciate the subtleties of lagers, pilsners, saisons, etc.

 

I like hoppy beers, St. Vincent, dubstep, etc, but I also want to celebrate songcraft and beercraft for the honed arts they are.

 

I can't imagine anyone giving TWL a 'meh' after 5 serious listens. But who can spare the time when tripped out on streaming the latest hipness? Given time, TWL will go down as a classic. Same with the latest from Feist and Neko Case. Great songwriters like these are never dime a dozen.

 

And the whole 70's rock to punk reaction analogy just doesn't work. Sorry, Nitsuh.

 

(glad i got that off my chest)

[augurus]

I disagree. The author equates Wilco and Feist's music with the established "meh" music of the 1970s, which led dissatisfied youths to embark on the Punk movement. He uses the names of new bands (the Pissed Jeans, etc) as a sign that there are signs of dissatisfaction with the "contemporary" music of today. However, because the music scene is so diverse and fragmented right now, people that would have upended the current "meh" music of Wilco and Feist in days gonebye can just ignore it and it will continue to exist.

 

This is not a complimentary piece on Wilco. Nor is it outright anti-Wilco. It's just agreeing that Wilco is "meh".

 

But the great “meh” remains in circulation, and Tweedy’s right that no amount of subtle, well-crafted twists on his format will entirely dispel it.

 

Yeah, I can't read. Nevermind. I'm totally wrong. In fact, that sentence means absolutely nothing. My mistake.

[MountainGerbil]

Well, it's a silly article anyway because it starts with the following premise:

But it’s the kind of record a lot of fans praise not by pointing out powerful songs or grand ideas but by spotlighting the musicians themselves—some imaginative, molten-metal guitar leads from Nels Cline here, some nimble and inventive drumming from Glenn Kotche there. It turns out that Tweedy and his basement “meh”-sayers are both right: Wilco has packed some first-rate musicianship into an album that feels a bit like sitting on a Chicago back deck watching a particularly uneventful baseball game.

 

And, well, where does this premise come from? It's a straw man: fans of Wilco don't really like the songs on the album, they only like the musicianship! See, the songs must be dull! People are complacent! This must end!

 

That's pure conjecture. I've not heard such a claim. Wilco is not Phish; "The Whole Love" is not "Billy Breathes." The focus is still on the songwriting (note that he dismisses the ones that most people here talk about, "The Art of Almost" and "One Sunday Morning..." as "ones you might describe as experiments" and then just ignores them because they contradict his stance that the songs are ordinary and dull).

 

And then there's this:

 

One good indicator of this norm’s normalness? The main criticism you hear about this kind of record—even outweighing references to Starbucks and/or the bourgeoisie—is that it is just too dull to even bother producing any more complex indictment of it.

 

Uh...I'm not aware of any critique of "The Whole Love", aside from the author's own, that claims the album is "too dull to bother with."

 

This is a classic case of a guy writing with an angle already in mind, and twisting the facts to make his case. He offers no support (how hard would it be to cite some actual fan comments on the lack of interesting songs, or actual record reviews citing the album as chronically dull?). For people who don't like Wilco, and my guess is that this guy doesn't, it's speaking to the choir.

 

That's all.

 

"They're old!" or "You like them? You must be old!" are the most cliche critiques of music ever. This is just a gussied up version of the latter.

[smells like flowers]

"They're old!" or "You like them? You must be old!" are the most cliche critiques of music ever. This is just a gussied up version of the latter.

I think the author is bored with being an adult. You know, it sucks that you gotta go to work and pay bills, take the kids to soccer/ballet, can't do any fun drugs any more. Perhaps s/he needs to drink a few beers (hoppy or not) and go see a live Wilco show! The shit ain't boring!

[sonicshoulder]

I think the author is bored with being an adult. You know, it sucks that you gotta go to work and pay bills, take the kids to soccer/ballet, can't do any fun drugs any more. Perhaps s/he needs to drink a few beers (hoppy or not) and go see a live Wilco show! The shit ain't boring!

 

Word.

[Sweet Papa Crimbo]

It is an interesting relic of gonzo journalism that every 'writer' feels the need to inject themselves as a part of the story.

 

There is a really fun bruhaha in a free SEattle Paper over a writer's 'review' of a solo Ryan Adams show.

[MountainGerbil]

It is an interesting relic of gonzo journalism that every 'writer' feels the need to inject themselves as a part of the story.

 

 

That's a good point. It's like everyone that read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and became a journalist assumes that the key to writing like Hunter S. Thompson is to talk about your own experience. In fact, the key to writing like Hunter S. Thompson is be a really observant and insightful writer.

 

IMO, Bill Simmons is the worst offender.

[tinnitus photography]

Simmons is funny. he gets a pass from me.

[choo-choo-charlie]

It is an interesting relic of gonzo journalism that every 'writer' feels the need to inject themselves as a part of the story.

 

There is a really fun bruhaha in a free SEattle Paper over a writer's 'review' of a solo Ryan Adams show.

 

What's up with Ryan?

[Sweet Papa Crimbo]

What's up with Ryan?

 

It wasn't about Ryan or any poor behavior oh his part...it was about a bratty, self important reporter.

 

Ryan was playing a gig at the Benaroya Hall and this reporter/reviewer/blogger wrote a really obnoxious story about her experiences.

 

Shows up late for this intimate, solo gig; makes a small ruckus getting to seat; proceeds to tap out her review on her blackberry; gets annoyed when the people around her ask her to put the blackberry away; borrows a plane ticekt and pen from her 'date' to take notes; talks to her date and gets further annoyed when she is shushed...this was the gist of her 'review'. Complaints about how people at a show might actually want to hear the hear the music instead of her tapping on a blackberry or talking to her friend.

She walked out of the show early and mentioned NOT ONE WORD about Adams' performance.

 

The comments section on this review were hilarious.

 

Would post a link...but I can't remember where I found it.

[choo-choo-charlie]

It wasn't about Ryan or any poor behavior oh his part...it was about a bratty, self important reporter.

 

Ryan was playing a gig at the Benaroya Hall and this reporter/reviewer/blogger wrote a really obnoxious story about her experiences.

 

Shows up late for this intimate, solo gig; makes a small ruckus getting to seat; proceeds to tap out her review on her blackberry; gets annoyed when the people around her ask her to put the blackberry away; borrows a plane ticekt and pen from her 'date' to take notes; talks to her date and gets further annoyed when she is shushed...this was the gist of her 'review'. Complaints about how people at a show might actually want to hear the hear the music instead of her tapping on a blackberry or talking to her friend.

She walked out of the show early and mentioned NOT ONE WORD about Adams' performance.

 

The comments section on this review were hilarious.

 

Would post a link...but I can't remember where I found it.

 

That's incredible. Need to find that.

[choo-choo-charlie]

Here we go:

http://blogs.seattleweekly.com/reverb/2011/10/ryan_adams_could_do_no_wrong_a.php

[Sweet Papa Crimbo]

Here we go:

http://blogs.seattle..._no_wrong_a.php

 

YOU are the man