The Fix

If we at The Fix found ourselves at the proverbial dusty crossroads where the Devil spends his down time waiting for desperate souls willing to strike a deal, we would pass on the usual transaction of our eternal destiny handed over for the chance to play guitar like Eddie Van Halen. We don’t actually want to be one of those musical types who lay bare their souls, subjecting it to the scrutiny and criticism of desktop critics and embittered wannabes. No, we are the embittered wannabes, dutifully slinging criticism and casting aspersions. The Fix has prepped an offer for the Dark Lord to exchange twenty over-hyped, way-outstayed-their-fifteen-minutes, ego-infested poseurs for five of the genuine articles. We’re talking five vital artists driven into obscurity and artistic Siberias out of disgust with the music business and all the foul shit they would have had to eat to remain in the mix, or who have been held at bay by drugs, depression or jail. We are willing to trade at a rate of four to one.

We offer for sacrifice, in the Aztec sense of the term, these twenty cultural stains:

1. Coldplay
Following the trail blazed by Klaus Nomi, Yanni and John Tesh, this band is what happens when your only records are ELO and latter-career Elton John and you misheard the few good parts of those. Uh, Mr. Paltrow, we know you’re rich and you look like you were rich before you were famous so quit dressing like an updated Artful Dodger. God invented the electric guitar so we didn’t have to listen to stuffy Europhiles saw away on those hideous violins and cellos, but you have forsworn God’s plan for rock ‘n’ roll and now we cast you out. Away.

2. R.E.M.
Everyone so desperately wanted R.E.M. to make another good record that they went ahead and heralded this year’s Accelerate as a total return to form and bought up tickets for the tour. But like the last seventeen things Michael Stipe and company have released, it is a completely forgettable, tuneless mess, notable only for being slightly louder than the last album. Hardly cause for celebration, especially considering they remain the most self-important, humorless men in rock, who have been lapped in the creative department not only by one-time contemporaries like U2 but even disciples like Radiohead, Coldplay (see #1) and Snow Patrol. It’s time to put the blue eye shadow away and climb the pyramid.

3. Pearl Jam
We could have gone with the Eagles or the Doors, but what about the ‘90s answer to both? These puritanical pollyannas employed hippie business logic–“so, we can bust our asses on world tours, or, we can sit here doing nothing and blame Ticketmaster?”–while their mystic side quickly faded in turn for the same old rock records everybody in the ’70s had ditched by the ’80s. Their laissez-faire jock image resonated with millions of meat heads to the chagrin of those who had peaked back around the time punk broke. Vedder’s vocals–that throaty, steam-powered, full-body contorter known as the “yarl”–went on to inspire cum stains like Dave Matthews (see #10), Creed’s Scott Stapp, and that guy from Nickelback. Pearl Jam’s grand plan to grind shut the gears and restore order following Nirvana’s untimely demise worked like a charm. And by not contributing a single advancement to rock music, they effectively set our musical culture back two decades.

4. Green Day
The M. Night Shyamalans of pop music might have busted out of the gate, way the hell back when, brandishing enthusiastic re-takes on classic models, but what the fuck have they done for us lately? People now listen to the McPunk of Green Day out of drone habit. Growing more pretentious and sadly self-important by the year, it’s enough already with the political lecturing from a dude pushing forty who wears eyeliner and buys his rags at Hot Topic. We liked them better when they didn’t give a shit. Now, it’s our turn to not give a shit.

5. Kanye West
His artless flaunting of a primitive and novitiate distaste for whitey is just so quaint, and may be his only compelling characteristic. Touted in the lineage of Wu Tang and KRS-1 as an educator-rapper, this halting babbler of pop culture fixations has done nothing that holds a smidgen of value three weeks after its release. His ill-begotten sampling and foolhardy blasphemies of soul and R&B classics denotes a clear break between his reprehensible “school” and all that is decent in music. Iconoclastic punkers deconstructed horse shit false idols and struck back at heinous industry constructs that had gutted the musical landscape of its vitality; and there are plenty of sycophantic music critics who will credit West’s evil doings to artistic license and cultural idiosyncrasy, but his reckless layering of tuneless yammering predicated on random references to shit you can read off of billboards and see in movie ads over the top of Ray Charles and Otis Redding treasures is unforgivable. This poster child for ADD will soon fade from memory and hopefully all public record, but we would just as soon give his ass back now for somebody who will try and make the world a more musical place.

6. Sonic Youth
You had us at EVOL and you really should have fucking stopped when Kim started to look old. But then, do you even have a picture where she could pass for forty-five? Your A&R skills ‘plied to tap winners like Beastie Boys and Nirvana out of obscurity hardly makes up for the pretentious musical jack-off sessions and onerous multi-disciplinary European art exhibitions. Now we hear about a self-release of experimental instrumentals from an hour-long improvised show in Denmark from 2005. What the fuck did the Danish ever do to you? They make delicious pastries for chrissakes! 3 out of 4 Abu Ghraib prisoners chose to be the subject of an experiment in hooded sodomy rather than be subjected to one of your experimental EP’s in a cushy hotel room. Props for that Starbucks compilation, though; it shows you have the presence of mind to know your place, right next to Paul McCartney’s aural vomit (see #20). After innumerable offenses, your artistic licenses are hereby revoked.

7. Smashing Pumpkins
The same argument implicating Pearl Jam goes backward for Smashing Pumpkins, who were lucky enough to gain notice but stupid and egotistical enough to blow it on miserable excess and rehashings of the failed experiments of others. The balls on this Corgan guy. But he couldn’t even back ‘em up by at least making a show of eschewing the successes. And their handful of moments, aligned in a truly spaced, sun-dappled afternoon whomp of guitar resin, sink without trace into all of their puddle-deep platitudes. To think that these guys used the punk and indie rock networks to make such an obvious grab for fame and money constitutes unmitigated blasphemy, which is irrelevant of course to these soul sellers. Generations ahead are already forgetting you. The world is a vampire, Billy. May you go insane alone. Or at least go away.

8. Ryan Adams
Being prolific doesn’t necessarily mean being great and since he fell off the stage in London, breaking his wrist in January 2004, Adams has been anything but. He and his backing band the Cardinals released three albums of watery Grateful Dead style jams in 2005, before Adams joined up with Phil Lesh and hit the hacky-sack circuit. Next, he took to the Internet, using his website to release 18 albums worth of novelty music. He spent 2006 hoovering heroin, cocaine, booze and pills. His comeback efforts, Easy Tiger and the Follow The Lights EP, are so banal they make the Counting Crows sound like Pitchshifter. Lately, Adams has been blogging his adolescent poetry in an effort to win back his last girlfriend and denying he’s hooked up with tween has-been Mandy Moore, even though everyone knows he totally has.

9. Modest Mouse
In Conan O’Brien’s “Bizarro World” these guys are the dilution of the post-Slint/Shellac-lite school of indie malfeasance. Too cacophonous to dismiss as innocuous, this coagulation of feckless groupies-with-a-record-deal do not warrant extensive exposition. So, let’s dispense with the formalities. You guys go away and we won’t dispatch a Fuzz staff detail to hold down your “singer” for a round of Cleveland Steamers.

10. Dave Matthews Band
Talk about lyrically challenged. 1000 monkeys on 1000 typewriters for 1000 years would not churn out drivel as inane as DMB’s choicest moments. One more quarter-assed metaphor for getting high and/or boning and we might literally die. Plus, their milk-the-fans-of-every-last-penny scheme, with twice the live releases (12) as studio albums (6), requires a positively sociopathic combination of cheek, greed and laziness.

11. Usher
There are at least twenty-five of his ilk that should suffer this fate but he will suffice as the stand-in. We have to start somewhere with this abominable gaggle of pseudo-crooning pussy beggars. Chicks give this guy ass just so he’ll shut the fuck up about it. And that obviously doesn’t stop him from maintaining a running commentary during the bedroom activity. If he actually liked girls he would know that most of them aren’t all that interested in “making love,” they just wanna fuck, and without a bunch of bloated, observational banter while in the act. You’re getting a little nippy there lover boy; better put a shirt on and Usher your ass the fuck outta here.

12. Cat Power
Hard to remember now, but there was a time when Chan Marshall was interesting. Her most awe-inspiring shows usually ended abruptly with her running off stage in a stream of tears. Her records offered a glimpse into the mind of an artist battling real demons. But a few years ago Cat Power cleaned up her act, became the face of Chanel and hit the road with a bunch of veteran studio musicians, effectively turning herself into the indie-rock Norah Jones. Compare 2000’s adventurous The Covers Record with this year’s Jukebox, another covers record that only manages to summon up the most pedestrian takes on songs by Bob Dylan, Hank Williams and James Brown. She approached each Jukebox song as if sleepwalking, like she did through her most recent tour, just a ghost of the volatile singer that once made our hearts race with meltdown classics like “What Would The Community Think” and “Moon Pix.” Enough.

13. Dinosaur Jr.
We could almost give J Mascis a pass based on the whole pity tip but he was remaking the same record over and over back when he was purportedly lucid. Offering him for sacrifice is not really fair since it amounts to more of an indictment of the endemic laziness of music fans than it does a denouncement of Mascis’ idiot-savant like pre-occupation with his 2-and-half chords. But then games with the Devil are hardly ever played fairly. Suckers play fair and suckers lose. Later J.

14. CocoRosie
The pu-pu platter of every weird thing that’s gone down in pop music since Kate Bush and the Residents, all rolled into one deplorable costume. CocoRosie have crammed so many disparate identities into their music it sounds like nothing at all, despite their desperate, clingy reaches into diabetic levels of gooey sap. It’s like watching a child’s doll collection try to rap–and poorly, we might add––serving as a pointed and prescient warning against raising your children without boundaries. If you see someone over 21 in your neighborhood who looks like these people, expect a rent increase soon. An eternity on roadside trash detail should be their fate. Nah, just go away.

15. Gnarls Barkley
Weren’t these guys calling themselves OutKast or Black Eyed Peas like last week? A publicist can post any bio they possess the gall to claim as legit, attempting to sell this construct as a human act, but GB are quite obviously a botched student multi-media project. Grade: F. Now delete those files from the school’s hard drive and don’t enroll in this class next semester.

16. Euro Techno Re-mixes
We are not aware of a concept more shamelessly odious than some boner calling himself something like “DJ Bart Simpson Blue Revolution Snapple” putting dance beats behind “My Heart Will Go On” or “Losing My Religion” and feeding them across language barriers to the oppressed. Mindless, yet archly commercial, we’re not sure pop music has ever sounded so despicable. May food riots plague your festivals until you flee for your very lives.

17. Morrissey
The very reason we have to put up with all this goddamn emo music nowadays. Were it not for Johnny Marr would we have ever even heard of this guy? Unredeemed save for his long gone collaboration with Marr and a scant few accidental comic moments (e.g., “I would go out tonight but I haven’t got a stitch to wear”), Morrissey has been pissing and moaning about God knows what all for twenty odd years. We’ve been force-fed eight albums of angst so melodramatic it wouldn’t be out of place in an 8th grade girls bathroom (nor likely would Morrissey be), so yeah, we’re starting to get a little sick of it. And by a little, we mean the sound of his voice makes us want to eat a pipe bomb.

18. Amy Winehouse
Crack. Yeah Amy, you like crack. All right, you really, really like crack. We all do. The shit’s popular for a reason. Could you just not let your videographer friends (and husband) follow you into the bathroom every time you smoke it? Or, how about you just drop the tabloid-ready antics altogether and focus all your time and energy on ripping off ’60s artists. Oh wait, then you’d be Lenny Kravitz. Forget it, Amy, just go with what you know. Promise you’ll stay hydrated, and for God’s sake get yourself some Bactine or something before all those open sores get infected. And as for you, Lenny, the only thing that’s saved you from a good cockpunching all these years is that your mother used to live next door to George Jefferson.

19. Madonna
Seems like a million years ago that Madonna was relevant. That’s because it was. She’s a million years old. And instead of aging gracefully she’s going for the marathon-runner-that’s-been-skinned-alive look. If not for her career-saving decision to re-hash an ABBA song, we’d be coming on 20 years since Madonna brought us something other than an utter embarrassment to anyone involved. Now she resorts to kissing girls (so edgy!) and dry humping Justin Timberlake (edgy! again!) to stay in the news. We get it, Madge. You’re cool. Now stop making out with the kids and scram.

20. The Beatles
The seminal blight on the history of rock-and-roll since their fey little asses came skipping out of whatever grotesquely verdant, throbbing and respiring pod spawned them back in Liverpool. Their second record, With the Beatles (1963), is rife with unabashed emasculations and mal-renderings of milestone R&B hits and signaled the beginning of a decade of serial brazen mockery, especially with their injustice to Barrett Strong’s “Money (That’s What I Want).” The Beatles were to rock-n-roll what Enron was to the working man. They were arrogant, elitist, dilettantes who–even though now diminished by half–just won’t go away. Well boys, the Devil’s here and he’s got a past due notice for what’s left of your hollow, wheezy souls. Once and for all, Go Away!

…and these five we want back, please:

Neutral Milk Hotel
Jeff Mangum clearly ascribes to the George Costanza philosophy of going out on a high note. Fuck protecting your legacy and throw us a bone here. We’re drowning in assholes. We’d trade some vital organs (in addition to the afore-mentioned) for just one EP.

Shuggie Otis
Could the impossibly precocious (age fifteen at the time) lead guitar player on father Johnny Otis’ raunchy blues classic Snatch and the Poontangs and author of “Strawberry Letter 23″ deliver us from this latter-times R&B desert?

Bitch Magnet
The name alone warrants a comeback, Soo Young. Let that nasty bass guitar show us who our daddy is. You, Shellac and My Bloody Valentine at All Tomorrow’s Parties? Just the thought makes us feel naughty. You’re the coolest dorky-looking post-punk rock songwriter since, well…forever. Your tension-and-release ferocity is sorely lacking in this age of kids with no sense of dynamics or restraint. Return to make ‘em all bow, keel and grovel.

Captain Beefheart
Duh.

Sly Stone
Double Duh.

With a salaciously named new album, the kooky Oxford kids Supergrass are back in all their mandolescent and porn star-worthy sideburned glory. After a few overlooked efforts–the enjoyable but ignored Life on Other Planets (2002) and the forgettable Road to Rouen (2005)–this freakalicious foursome have returned to their rebellious Should I Coco-era roots with Diamond Hoo Ha, a guffaw inducing title that pretty much sums up their sneaky yet cheeky sonic sense of humor. Armed with a heavy arsenal of vicious guitar licks and vocals that effortlessly flitter from Emotional Rescue-esque falsetto to a testosterone-heavy rock n’ roll growl Diamond Hoo Ha manages to be simultaneously light and playful as well as unmistakably solid.

Are these perennial teens finally showing signs of musical maturity? I’d have to say yes–and no. On past less-than-successful attempts to prove themselves as sonic sophisticators–like the even but uninspired Road to Rouen–Gaz and co. tried to move away from their creative comfort zone and sacrificed the exact thing that made them exciting in the first place: their ability to make fun, sexy music. The fun, the sex and the semi-slapstick sensibility is here on Diamond Hoo Ha, but it’s more disguised and better dressed. Think a glittery thong under an Armani suit.

The album commences with the glammed up hip shaker “Diamond Hoo Ha Man” with tambourine and maracas leading the rhythm, searing guitars and sexual allusions a-plenty. The sumptuous stomper “Whisky & Green Tea” embodies the visceral punkiness associated with Supergrass but with an urbane twist–thanks to an off-the-chain horn section, militant drums, a “wah-wah-ing” synth and thunderous guitars—that makes this James Bond-esque tale of interracial love and international travel a standout. After the first or fifteenth listen, it’s clear that Supergrass has gotten their signature rebellious mojo back with Diamond Hoo Ha–and it’s better late than never.

Thom Yorke isn’t happy about it, but this month his band’s former label is going to release a retrospective package in several formats called Radiohead: The Best Of. “It’s like when you move house: you don’t want to peer through the window and see what they’ve done with the wallpaper because it will only upset you,” Yorke said. But it’s not all bad news. The release gives us an opportunity to look back at some of the band’s video highpoints from the past 15 years.

Don’t have time to search out this week’s essential MP3s, streams and viral videos? That’s why we’re here.

Coldplay “Violet Hill”
For those hoping that bringing Brian Eno into the studio and giving their forthcoming album a ridiculous title like Viva La Vida of Death and All His Friends would signal that Coldplay was about to pull a Radiohead and start making records that sounded like fax machines, this freebie single might be a bit of a disappointment. For everyone else, it’s exactly what you wanted–an epic, mid-tempo piano ballad with Chris Martin beautifully spouting off his usual nonsense over the top. Cheers.
MP3: “Violet Hill”

(via Butter Team)

Dizzee Rascal “Where’s Da G’s”
Apart from the part where he goes, “Liar, liar, pants on fire!,” what we don’t know what this veteran British rapper is going on about on this track from his belatedly released new album, Maths + English. All we know is that it’s probably the closest thing we’re ever going to get to a hip-hop Cylon.
MP3: “Where’s Da G’s”
(via Daily Rind)

Les Savy Fav “Sweat Descends”
After allegedly killing it at Coachella his year, bloated, bald, bearded and shirtless Les Savy Fav frontman Tim Harrington is ready to destroy your iPod with this raucous old school sounding punk joint from the group’s latest, After the Balls Drop. The Replacements would be proud.
MP3: “Sweat Descends”
(via Les Savy Fav)

Newton Faulkner “Dream Catch Me”
Thanks to that idiot on “American Idol,” sensitive singer-songwriters with dreadlocks are all the rage this season. Too bad there’s only one with an actual album out. Still, we’ve got to admit, Newton Faulkner’s first single from his debut album, Hand Built By Robots, is pretty damn good. Crowded House-esque, even.
MP3: “Dream Catch Me”
(via Columbia Records)

South “Better Things”
Don’t count these Brit-pop also-rans out just yet. From its fifth album, You Are Here, the trio returns with a pretty, straightforward ballad for some very complicated times.
MP3: “Better Things”
(via Bluhammock Music)

We’ve already seen her simulating sex with a robot, getting eaten by a giant bear, and dreamily floating above an auto repair shop. Now Bjork is giving fans a chance to see her in 3D with the video for her latest single, “Wanderlust”.

Available in its full multidimensional DVD splendor on the downbeat Volta track’s remix-heavy single package, the mixed media clip that features Bjork wading through a Himalayan river with a yak on her back was directed by Encyclopedia Pictura and makes its full-length online debut March 31 on Yahoo. But why wait to have your mind blown? You can get a sneak preview now thanks to YouTube–or you can just look at that pretty picture next to these words.

Bob Mould has his entire discography memorized. When summoned, he can recite the title of every album he’s put out with Hüsker Dü, noise-pop trio Sugar and as a solo artist in precise chronological order. “That’s how I keep track of my life,” he says. “If it weren’t for those things I would have no idea what I’d done.” The trick is even more impressive when you consider that the punk icon started doing this in 1979, releasing roughly an album a year once Hüsker Dü got off the ground before taking a much deserved soul-searching break in the late ’90s. Not that he was off on an island sipping Mai Tai’s–Mould immersed himself in New York City’s club culture, took a detour into electronic music and moonlighted as a scriptwriter for World Championship Wrestling. Now back on the road with the spiky District Line, we asked Mould to talk us through the records that meant the most to him.

Hüsker Dü Zen Arcade (1984)
Mould: “That was a double-album in an era when economy was the rule. The Minutemen were quick to fall behind and then other people started to stretch out. That was a turning point for us. People took the band seriously at that point.”

Hüsker Dü Flip Your Wig (1985)
Mould: “I’m skipping over New Day Rising because this was the last really fun record to make in that bad setting. We had been working with Spot (engineer) but it was time to see what we could do ourselves. Grant Hart and I took control of the project. It was a great pop record and it was the last fun time I had in the band.”

Bob Mould Workbook (1989)
Mould: “After all the Hüsker Dü stuff, to come out with a record that was all acoustic based, that was important to me. I spent a lot of time trying to grow as a songwriter.”

Sugar Copper Blue (1992) and Beaster EP (1993)
Mould: “Those two were recorded at the same time. That might be my favorite period of all time. That record means more to my fans than anything else I’ve done. That’s the one where I hit my stride as a songwriter, just writing one good pop song after another. It was right after Nirvana exploded and the stars lined up. Even MTV was behind us. That record sold well over half-a-million copies. I did well.”

Bob Mould Body of Song (2005)
Mould: “I was really happy with it. My stock was down after the electronic stuff. People were confused and didn’t know where I was heading. To head back into a more traditional songwriting style, that was a good turnaround for me. It’s a guitar record that’s embellished with electronics when needed. It got everybody back on track.”

Don’t have time to search out this week’s essential MP3s, streams and viral videos? That’s why we’re here.

Death Cab For Cutie “I Will Possess Your Heart”
The first single from Death Cab For Cutie’s forthcoming album, Narrow Stairs, clocks in at nearly nine minutes and sounds far more frightening than anything the band has done before.
(Sixeyes)

The Breeders “Bang On”
Next month the Breeders return with another Steve Albini produced gem, Mountain Battles. The second track is stark, fuzzy and features the Deal sisters harmonizing over lopsided club beats, “I love no one/ No one loves me.” Genius.
(Stereogum)

The Stooges “Ray of Light (Live at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 2008 Induction Ceremony)”
Even though The Stooges have yet to earn a plaque on the wall, Iggy and his old band mates were more than happy to pay tribute to the decidedly un-rock and roll Madonna at this year’s induction ceremony. It’s as shirtless and surreal as you might expect.
(YouTube)

Dave Grohl and Will Ferrell “Leather and Lace”
Not the first two names that come to mind when casting the Don Henley and Stevie Nicks story, the Foo Fighters’ frontman and the “SNL” alum nearly make it through this tender cover without completely cracking each other up. The best part is that this expletive laced performance was for a benefit concert for kids.
(YouTube)

The Kooks “Young Folks”
To get fully psyched for the second album by the young British rockers, immerse yourself in this satisfyingly messy cover of Peter Bjorn and John’s ubiquitous hit with guest vocals by Canadian singer Simon Wilcox.
(I Am Fuel, You Are Friends)

Portishead “Silence”
How does the first new Portishead song in 11 years sound? A bit like scanning the radio dial in South America while watching a chase scene in one of the more recent James Bond movies. Dark and scary.
(I Am Fuel, You Are Friends)

The Ting Tings “Great DJ”
An excellent shouty electro-pop track from hyperactive Brit boy-girl duo made even better with this sleek club makeover courtesy of Mr. Harris. “The drums, the drums, the drums. . .”
(Check The Availability)

R.E.M. “I’m Gonna DJ”
The second leaked track from R.E.M.’s Accelerate hits even harder than the first, with Michael Stipe once again alluding to past glories: “I’m gonna DJ at the end of the world.” And he’ll feel fine.
(The Swill Merchant)

The Rolling Stones “You Can’t Always Get What You Want (Soulwax Remix)”
An incredible reworking of the Stones classic that surgically removes the original rhythm section and replaces it with some seriously messed up robot rock. It sounds like a mistake, but only in a good way.
(Digital Eargasm)

It’s no surprise that I Nine’s debut EP rocks so hard. Yours would too, if you grew up in a town of less than 20,000 people. Now based in Atlanta, the band formed in the tiny town of Orangeburg, SC. Having grown up in a tiny town myself, I instantly felt connected to the level of emotion and desperation driving the serious rocking out that characterizes The EP.

While the driving force behind this band is undoubtedly the vocals, it’s the cello that surprises so many of the arrangements. Many rock bands have been adding cellists to their line-ups in hopes of stretching in new directions, and the result too often sounds contrived. Here, the cellist, Bryan Gibson, also happens to be the band’s chief guitarist. He approaches the instrument in much the same way as his guitar: mostly for rhythm and ornamentation, rather than trying to be the band’s backbone. On “Change Nothing,” the cello seems to be there for no reason other than to increase the song’s stature as the emotion builds. Indeed, sometimes another instrumental layer has to be added in order to not leave singer Carmen Kreigan’s huge, heavy vocals hanging.

Though I Nine could rather comfortably occupy that area of contemporary pop where women with big, powerful voices choose to sing scathing heartbreak rock songs (think Kelly Clarkson’s My December, Pink’s more recent albums, or anything by Avril Lavigne), Keigans’ high-powered vocals are often backed by much more ambitious instrumental arrangements (“Beckon”). The result is a style spectrum ranging from contemporary country to punk to southern rock–often within one song. It’s only a shame a longer effort isn’t yet available.