Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros – Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
If you love: A) Cheesy call-and-answer background vocals, B) Lyrics that make Bono seem like The Bard, C) Lanky, sweaty, bearded men and D) Neo-psychedelic folk stripped of its social conscience, then I suggest you purchase Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros’ new self-titled LP.
Now, don’t get me wrong; I sing along to “Home” whenever it comes on the radio, and I feel that the group’s debut Up From Below had moments of pure hippie-pop genius. But the band’s latest, despite the occasional glimmer of hope, is a saccharine and ultimately meaningless throwaway.
Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros squanders the promise of the group’s debut full-length and its passable follow-up, Here. Ebert’s lyrics are unimaginative at best, and cringe-worthy at worst; I nominate “If I were free / I’d run into battles / With flowers and hugs” from “If I Were Free” as the most egregious offender, but I admit that the title is hotly contested.
His vocals recall the whiskey-soaked snarl of Janis Joplin and the fragile warble of Devendra Banhart, and to his credit, he genuinely sounds like he’s having fun making this music. But his singing ability is dwarfed by occasional co-vocalist Jade Castrinos, whose Southern twang is twice as endearing — and half as artificial — as Ebert’s Kentucky-fried wail.
The instrumentals aren’t much better: the lazy Afrobeat of song “In the Lion” sounds like an outtake from The Lion King’s soundtrack, and the swooning strings and gospel-style from “Life is hard” refrain dwarf the track’s lofty aspirations. “Come celebrate / Life is hard,” Ebert and Castrinos chant, but it’s hard to take them seriously.
Whether they’re making some veiled ironic statement or they genuinely believe in the transformative potential of Flower Power, Edward Sharpe and his merry pranksters’ newest LP is everything the band’s myriad influences are not: unimaginative, cheesy and just plain boring.
Speedy Oritz – Major Arcana
On first listen, Major Arcana could easily be mistaken for a Best of the 90s compilation CD. Massachusetts noise-rock quartet Speedy Ortiz are cheerfully anachronistic, borrowing cues from flannel-clad rockers like Pavement, Dinosaur Jr. and Sonic Youth while lead singer and guitarist Sadie Dupuis channels Liz Phair and Corin Tucker.
Her lyrics read like passages from 11th grade poetry classes; her backing band sounds like one of the countless acts that used to play at The Bronze, the nightclub from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Of course, I loved every minute of it.
Greater than the sum of its instantly recognizable parts, Major Arcana is an immensely enjoyable debut LP. Dupuis’ acidic sneer and sure-footed conviction help to keep her lyrics on the right side of the Awesome / Cheesy spectrum, while guitarist Matt Robidoux and bassist Darl Ferm’s caustic, prickly interplay keep the album’s ten razor-sharp tracks at arm’s length from pop simplicity.
Most of Dupuis’ lyrics are witty, acerbic takedowns of failed relationships and false friends. Though her frequent Stephen Malkmus comparisons — another sardonic indie-rock wordsmith — are well-deserved, her singing voice is much more tuneful.
Her surprising chops benefit the album’s more muted moments, such as “No Below,” which sees Dupuis reliving high-school trauma: “I didn’t know you when I broke my knee / Spent the summer on crutches, and everybody teased.”
Major Arcana does suffer from an over-arching sense of sameness: most of the tracks follow a similar structure, and more than a few devolve into messy noise jams that begin to grate by “MKVI,” the album’s discordant seven-minute closer.
Still, Speedy Ortiz have released one of the best indie-rock debuts in recent memory, an unashamedly awesome ode to the pioneers of years past, injected with just the right amount of modern rock bravado.
Throwback: The Notorious B.I.G. – Ready to Die
Ready to Die is as bloated and hedonistic as its creator, but those who’ve grown up listening to The Notorious B.I.G. know that’s the point. Whether he’s selling drugs or busting rhymes, Christopher Wallace is not interested in small doses.
While Ready to Die is about three tracks longer than it needs to be — and each hip-hop fan will choose to cut a different three — it’s still undoubtedly one of the strongest works the medium has ever seen.
Biggie’s persona remains ambiguous 25 years after his death, and his debut LP might be the main reason: he’s as hypocritical as emcees come.
On “Me & My Bitch,” his girlfriend is his partner in crime, doing time for conspiracy and bagging marijuana with him on dates; yet on “Friend of Mine,” he dismisses the opposite sex as untrustworthy and fickle. On the brilliant “Things Done Changed,” he longs for the carefree camaraderie of yesteryear; “Ready to Die” and “Gimme the Loot,” on the other hand, are among hip-hop’s most threatening calls to arms.
Somehow, the diametrically opposed aspects of Ready to Die are united by the rapper’s legendary flow and clever, often hilarious wordplay. Wallace reportedly excelled in English before dropping out of high school, and his talent for words is never more apparent than on singles “Juicy” and “Big Poppa.”
But the greatest success of Ready to Die is its range: over the album’s 17-song span, Biggie explores the entire emotional spectrum of his drug dealer turned hip-hop star lifestyle. One day, it’s all champagne, sex, and celebration; the next, it’s jealousy, violence and, ultimately, suicide.
That Biggie was able to make one of the first flat-out emotional hip-hop records without losing any of his well-earned street cred is a small miracle. Ready to Die may be inconsistent, dated, and more than a little misogynistic; still, despite its flaws, it stands as one of the best and most ambitious records of its time.
