The Automatik

If we are to believe the dictum that there is no rest for the wicked, I suppose it’s fitting that JG Thirlwell, a.k.a. Foetus, is one of the most industrious forces in the universe.

In addition to scoring the music for The Venture Bros., his various commissioned performances, audio installations, DJ gigs, and alter egos/side projects, he’s managed to release yet another album as Foetus. Read more

In a 1997 interview, Sloan’s Chris Murphy jokingly apprised each member of the band:

It kind of becomes like, Andrew is the brooding one, Patrick is the metalhead-slash-sensitive guy, I’m the wall-to-wall bridges guy with no choruses, and Jay’s the cute, heart-wrenching, adorable one.

Although they’ve never succumbed to these stereotypes, Sloan’s last two albums have stumbled in an attempt to evolve and come to terms with the debt owed to their influences, as well as the indie rock crowd that made them unlikely heroes. It’s been easy to see where they were coming from, but figuring out where they were headed was a challenge.

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In The Red Records, 2006

A metaphor is a breath of fresh air
A turn-on, an aphrodisiac
- Sparks, “Metaphor”

Of all the bands that I consider perennial favourites, Sparks hold the remarkable (and unequalled) position of The Band Who I Most Enjoy Liking. An essay I read recently, written around the time of Sparks’ last album (Lil’ Beethoven) encapsulates just what it is that is so steadfastly appealing about them: they are one of the most joyous bands ever.
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Independiente, 2005

It’s hard to believe that the first Suede album was released more than a decade ago. Brilliance, bickering, band members quitting, being forced to tack on “London” to the name, and singer Brett Anderson dyeing his hair blond ensued throughout their reign, so it’s perhaps harder to believe that a band that received overwhelming amounts of UK press hype went down a few years ago with barely a whisper.
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2006, V2 Records

It’s been an exciting few years for The Meligrove Band.
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2.27.05

Hi,

I feel sort of weird writing this, since I never even met you. And what should I say? That like thousands of others, I listened to your music for comfort when I felt like shit, like when yet another relationship failed miserably? That I knew it was the only thing that could make me feel better?
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New Door Records, 2004

In May of 2004, Q Magazine printed a “Cash For Questions” column featuring Tears For Fears. Despite the magazine’s editorial flourishes, it was clear that members Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith aren’t exactly friends. When asked which of them is the best singer, each one unequivocally responded, “I am.” Orzabal went on to defend his past pretentiousness by saying that they are now “both humorous and pretentious, pretentious and middle aged. We’re both 42, after all.”

“But I look younger,” interrupts Smith. “Cunt,” retorts Orzabal.

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Epic Records, 2004

Eighties nostalgia is practically a cottage industry now. Eighty percent of it is revisionist crap. Then there’s Duran Duran. Let me confess, I was a teenaged Duranie and except for a brief spell of cooler-than-thou shame, I never stopped being a fan.
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Attack Records, 2004

Morrissey is as anachronistic as a quill pen in an Internet cafe. Who else would have the guts to include the line “and spit upon the name Oliver Cromwell” in his latest album’s first single? Who else would sing the line with a vocal flourish normally reserved for sentiments heralding Oscar Wilde? It’s catchy all right, but nothing compared to “The First of the Gang to Die,” which has that trademark Moz chorus, ridiculously loveable guitar, lyrics about smooth criminals, and falsetto ad libbing. It’s like “The Last of the Famous International Playboys” updated for his male Latino fan base.
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Virgin Records America, 2004

It would be impossible to attempt to write a review of Courtney Love’s new album without having, even in the back of one’s mind, at least a few preconceived notions. After all, we’ve all seen or heard several years’ worth of crazy stories about her antics. I’ve always been a tremendous Courtney supporter, even when she did things that defied logic. But I wanted to leave out a lot of the personal drama when listening to this album.

It wasn’t easy. America’s Sweetheart is no Celebrity Skin. It’s not the Fleetwood Mac-esque elegy to the dangerous beauty of Southern California. But it’s not the punk rock feminism of the Riot Grrls, either. The music is studio pristine and at times so glossy you can see your own reflection in it. Then there’s Love’s voice.

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