War on Radio

So I agreed to go with my father to see Phish at Red Rocks Ampitheatre on either their Saturday or Sunday show. I figured I’d dragged him to enough concerts I wanted to see that I should go to one he wanted to see!

Now, he’d been unable to get pre-sale tickets as they’d sold out too fast. So I agreed to get on Ticketmaster’s website at noon today and order the general sale tickets as soon as they were available. Well, predictably, they all sold out within ten minutes.

So, what the fuck is up with this? For instance, you could buy REM’s tickets well after they were released to general sale. Snow Patrol and such too. Granted, they don’t have the cult following of Phish, but in looking around, what’s going on is that people are buying these tickets well in advance with no intention of using them themselves. In fact, they’re buying them and then reselling them on Ebay for, literally, $1000.

I don’t understand it, really. As much as I hate hippies, for some reason I thought they’d have their act together when selling tickets and making sure that people who were actually wanting to attend got tickets. This blog that I’ve never heard of that covers local Denver news makes a good point. Nine Inch Nails makes a pretty decent effort to protect their fans from getting deprived of tickets because of some douchebag who got lucky in the Ticketmaster queue. Every time something weird comes up in the music industry, I see Trent Reznor and NIN doing something revolutionary. And as much as I can’t stand their music, at least they’re cracking down on people who are just buying tickets to resell and scam other people.

Anyway, like I said, I always had some respect for hippies because for some reason I associated them a bit with punk rock’s DIY ethic. But what I’ve suddenly hit upon is that hippies are sort of like AIG-style capitalists, whereas a lot of punk is more like DIY capitalism, with its ability to sell hundreds of thousands of cassettes and CDs without signing to a major label or selling merchandise. You get the feeling that it suddenly makes sense why Ann Coulter is a Dead Head.

Yeah, yeah, sweeping generalizations suck. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel like Phish are sort of like “sellouts” for some reason, despite my hatred of the word. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but this whole ridiculous ticket situation with Phish is just such a joke.

I remember, back when The Decemberists signed to Capitol, wondering what would happen if Colin Meloy and his mates were fully allowed to let loose with the resources and clout major label status might offer them. Theatricality’s been part of their M.O. since day one; it seemed only a matter of time before the band bubbled over and delivered something completely over-the-top. The Crane Wife seemed to be toeing those waters with its 12-minute suites and Floyd-influenced riffing, but this time out, it’s the genuine article. The Hazards of Love is a full-blown fairy-tale prog-rock opera, as bombastic and groovy as it is insane and pretentious, making it either the best record the band’s yet done or their most egregious and annoying.

The story behind the thing is almost exactly what you’d expect it might be: a pair of star-crossed lovers run into trouble when his “Queen of the Taiga” mother hires a despicable criminal to kidnap the blushing bride. There are odes to child-murder, descriptions of drowning, people who change in to deer, revenge from beyond the grave, declarations of undying love, all of which wrapped up in language that makes copious use of flowery, old-timey diction (”Here her plans were vexed,” “To abduct and abuse and to render her rift and defiled,” “I was wedded and it whetted my thirst,” &c.)–I.E. this is Colin Meloy, through and through.

The overall effect is something of a double-edged-sword. On the one hand, some of the best Decemberists songs are those that are the most reigned-in lyrically (see: “Red Right Ankle” from Her Majesty or “Of Angels and Angles” from Picaresque) and nothing here approaches that kind of power. Instead, the heavy stylization is somewhat distancing–it’s an interesting story if you’re into that kind of thing, and something like “The Rake’s Song” is genuinely a bit disturbing, but nothing about it is especially relatable. On the other hand, the lyrics glue the record together nicely–Meloy’s a clever, literate storyteller and each song helps move the record forward, making none of the seventeen tracks seem extraneous. This has the consequence of making the album kind of an entirely love-it-or-hate-it affair, but in all honesty, that was probably going to be the case anyway.

The lyrics, however, are not where the album truly shines and not what ultimately won me over to it. Right from the funereal “Prelude”–which wouldn’t sound out of place on a death metal album–it becomes clear that the band has injected their post-Fairport Convention style folk-rock with a dose of muscle. A great example of this comes in the call-response of “The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid,” which finds the character of William (sung by Meloy) bargaining with his mother the Queen (given voice by My Brightest Diamond’s Shara Worden). His lines are meekly intoned in his nasal, faux-British accent over a halting harpsichord. The song then washes into a howling middle section before she retorts in a voice that sounds like it could knock over a house, accompanied by a glam-metal guitar riff that ranks among the most badass things the group has ever committed to tape.

Much of the album crashes and stomps more fiercely than usual. “The Queen’s Rebuke / The Crossing” lumbers along like a massive, distorted beast; “The Rake’s Song” delivers on a chaotic, noisy rhythm section and so on. Even the quieter moments like the lovely “The Hazards of Love 2 (Wager All)” and syrupy “Isn’t It a Lovely Night” have an underlying tension to them, and that’s what makes the album work. Buried under all the indulgence is a nervy energy that keeps pushing the thing forward and that keeps it from bogging down completely in itself.

Ms. Worden isn’t the only guest of note, by the way–elsewhere, Lavender Diamond’s Becky Stark gives the character of Margaret an etherial sexiness, especially on “Won’t Want For Love (Margaret in the Taiga).” My Morning Jacket’s Jim James also adds his spooky howl to a few tracks and the legendary Robyn Hitchcock gives the instrumental interlude a beautifully ghostly presence.

Overall, the record comes across like the work of a band evolving and pushing the limits of what they can do as musicians and what they can get away with as artists. It’s very easy to see where the record could be a bit… well, much and if you’re predisposed to dislike the group, it seems pretty unlikely that this one’s going to convert you. But for fans who liked the steps the band has taken across their first four albums, this fifth stands as an accomplished, interesting and adventurous work that meets or surpasses expectations.

+/-
+ Heavier, more groovy sound
+ Unifying concept keeps things interesting
+ Shared vocal duties gives some variety
- Indulgent, long, a little pretentious

Key Tracks:
“The Hazards of Love 1 (The Prettiest Whistles Won’t Wrestle the Thistles Undone)”
“The Wanting Comes In Waves/Repaid”
“The Rake’s Song”

Final Grade: B+

Daniel Higgs is the legendary frontman of the genius, brilliant, awesome, amazing, fantastic, gorgeous, poetic punk band Lungfish. He now has a solo career.

Let’s just say he answers his first question this way:

Music can be defined as True or False, with authority, as it is perceived into the psycho-spiritual-architectonic construct, that is, the unique orientation and vantage of the listener (the musician is a listener). True music may behave as though False — False music may behave as though True. And True music may become False, False becomes True. I can say more another time.

Bro, if I knew what the fuck that meant, I’d be working for NASA right now. Or maybe at least have a GED.

Anyway, the interview can be found here and is worth reading.