TDR Music Review: Your Post-Punk Primer

By Bradford Frese | Tuesday, October 15, 2002

Sparta: Wiretap Scars

Three-fourths of Sparta cut their teeth in the El Paso post-punk quintet At the Drive-In. Not surprisingly, ATDI's blend of punk energy, tribal rhythms, slashing guitars, and fragments of code for lyrics is the closest point of reference for a discussion of the Sparta sound. A number of the songs on Wiretap Scars sound like they were written for ATDI, and Jim Ward's vocals are essentially a toned-down version of ATDI frontman Cedric Bixler's punk-rock bark.

Even so, the band is evidently trying—desperately—to avoid comparisons to ATDI. Several songs are tinged with elements of grunge and melodic pop. 'MYE,' for example, is a great piece of anthemic rock. A menacing guitar line and vocal melody weave through verses, until a brief silence gives way to a barking chorus.

Nevertheless, as hard as these guys try not to sound like ATDI, they succeed only in sounding like a bland and sanitized incarnation of it. It's the second half of the album, however, that holds the greatest rewards; there, Sparta begins, tentatively, to find itself. 'Cataract' is moody and dreamy, with soaring guitar lines and distorted peaks, but it ultimately sounds tense and nervy. 'Red Alibi' blends dissonance and off-kilter rhythms in what is possibly the most original track on the album; the piano-driven melody of 'Echodyne Harmonic' would sound like Coldplay or Radiohead if it weren't for the angular, dueling guitars.

At the same time, the entire recording lacks a lot of the energy, surprise and grit that made At the Drive-In fun to listen to. The performance is far too precise and practical, and the entire recording, even the distorted guitar, is too polished to have much sonic impact. Tony Hajjar's technically proficient tribal drumming surfaces occasionally, but most of the time he keeps his playing (forgive the pun) spartan. After a while, it sounds merely perfunctory. This release will most likely disappoint a great number of At the Drive-In fans. But the band's intensity which, at times, shines through, should give hope for the future.

Interpol: Turn On the Bright Lights

To Interpol's credit: while the entirety of the music press wants to compare them to post-punk icons Joy Division, few can place the band's other major influences and fewer still are willing to accuse the band of direct imitation. Interpol's take on new wave is equal parts propulsion and restraint, energy and catharsis, homage and deconstruction.

Songs like 'PDA' mix a propulsive, heavy beat with ringing, stabbing guitars, thick bass, and the occasional keyboard, to create tracks that are both dark and danceable. Though the guitar, bass, and drum lines are simple, the songs sound incredibly mature. 'NYC' shows the band at their most atmospheric, using understated and reverb-drenched guitar lines to frame Paul Banks's reflection on his home. 'The subway is a portal / the pavements are a mess / I know you've supported me for a long time / but somehow I'm not impressed,' he croons in a smooth baritone, until his voice bursts with anguish in the bridge.

The entire album manages to exude this sort of seasoned simplicity and sincerity. Paul Banks tortured voice compliments his morose lyrics perfectly, and when he reaches his upper registers, his vocals are colored with honest anguish and desperation. Considering how simple the instrumentation and production are, particularly by today's standards, Interpol's depth is formidable, with deep currents of regret, loss, and frustration lying beneath clanging guitars and thudding bass. This is one of the year's best debuts. The record is depressing — in fact, it's hardly any fun at all. But expecting fun from Interpol is akin to bemoaning the lack of Oreos at a five-star restaurant: why complain, when there's so much more to feast on?

Low: Trust

Low wasn't the pioneer of slowcore, but it was among its first settlers. The band's mid-90s albums took the dreamy, drowsy pop of Galaxie 500 and the Red House Painters and stripped it down to reverberating guitar, bass, high hat, and snare. On Trust, the band attempts to step outside of their self-imposed restraints, to incorporate a host of new sounds.

Occasionally, this succeeds superbly. The fuzzed-out pop of 'Canada' includes a delicious call-and-response hook. 'I Am the Lamb' is a spooky dirge with expansive, almost processional drums; minor vocal harmonies back Alan Sparhawk's cry: 'I am the lamb / I am the dead man.' 'Point of Disgust' is a simple, piano-driven ballad, featuring a muted string section and beautiful vocals from Mimi Parker.

On the other hand, too many of Trust's songs are overlong and somewhat boring. Several songs stretch past the seven minute mark, and the album is over an hour long. It definitely doesn't help that a great deal of the tension that makes Low spellbinding — rather than boring — is missing from this album. Too many of the songs spend far too much time bogged down in barely audible noodling and drones.

Tchad Blake's production (Pearl Jam, Soul Coughing) also suffocates otherwise gorgeous songs with echoing drums that recall 80s monster ballads; there are inexplicable clicks and thuds that add nothing of value to the songs. Nevertheless, Low's songwriting is excellent; all of the songs have beautiful melodies and spiritual lyrics that move at a glacial pace. Sparhawk and Parker's vocal harmonizing is as enchanting as any male-female duo in the history of rock. Trust is something that fans of Low, and of slowcore in general, will probably enjoy. But it must be said that newcomers to either would be better served to check out the band's previous releases.

Flaming Lips: Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots

Over their long and bizarre history, the Flaming Lips have scored a single modern rock hit ('She Don't Use Jelly'), appeared on Beverly Hills 90210, released an album (Zaireeka) on four CDs meant to be played simultaneously, and, most recently, managed to record a fresh batch of psychedelic pop. On the surface, Yoshimi is yet another example of the Lips' playful weirdness—a concept album about martial arts-savvy Japanese girls fighting evil salmon-colored robots.

In the rousing opener, 'Fight Test,' the band flaunts fine-tuned pop sensibilities. The song has a catchy hook and wonderful, wistful lyrics (delivered by Wayne Coyne's high-pitched, wavering voice) that present the listener with a call to arms. It's a terrific opening track that snags the listener and draws him into the album.

A bit later, however, the concept threatens to bog down the album. In the two part epic 'Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots,' part one is filled with goofy lyrics, neither humorous nor enjoyable; part two, the battle itself, is an instrumental — a cross between video game music and porn groove, replete with buzzing synths and female shrieks.

Fortunately, the Lips ditch the concept. This leaves plenty of room for explorations, lyrically and sonically, of the broader terrain of life and death. Frontman Wayne Coyne offers musings on death and love ('Ego Tripping At The Gates of Hell'), the nature of human emotion ('One More Robot/Sympathy 2001'), and the significance of human life ('In The Morning of the Magicians'). Dave Fridmann (Mogwai, Mercury Rev, Luna) lends his production skills, loading songs with huge drums, swelling synthesizers, electronic beats, and orchestral flourishes—to the point where the record wanders off into the sonic realm of Pink Floyd.

The songs, however, are beautiful and quirky enough to stand on their own, with melodies, hooks, and lyrics that strike both heart and mind. Yoshimi is an impressive addition to the Flaming Lips' discography.

TDR Music Review: Your Post-Punk Primer

Article Tools

Related Articles