Ammettiamolo. É un periodo relativamente duro per l'indie. C'è chi da la colpa alla crisi, che i ragazzi escono dall'università e si mettono subito a sgobbare, non provano neanche a trasferirsi a Williamsburg e provare a sfondare. C'è chi dice che è un problema statistico–ma al di lá delle ragioni–i fatti ci indicano che abbiamo rallentato tutti. Se questa pausa, sarà positiva o negativa, catartica o rivoluzionaria lo sapremo solo in futuro.
The Pains of Being Pure At Heart, ancora ci credono e l'omonimo disco è confortante. Come un giorno di sole in inverno, non risolvono da soli la situazione, ma ti danno confidenza per andare avanti. Riscaldano le schiere di lo-fi pop-rockers che si erano dimenticati di spingere play dall'ultimo disco dei Saturday Looks Good To Me e che rispolveravano tutta la discografia dei Jesus and Mary Chain.
Insomma, forse un sorriso di sollievo.
Guarda "Everything With You"
lunedì 9 febbraio 2009
mercoledì 14 gennaio 2009
Blood Bank -EP

Bon Iver (pronunciato Bon Ivér, e non Bon Áiver come abbiamo sentito da tanti presunti anglofoni) è pura potenza. For Emma, For Ever Ago, è un disco disarmante, che nasconde le proprie intenzioni solo ai primi ascolti. Dietro c'è un'armatura di cemento armato, che difficilmente verrà intaccata. È un disco che rappresenta catarsi, ma anche costruzione e originalità creativa in tutto quello che è stato e non sarà mai più.
Blood Bank é un EP che precederá il prossimo disco. Continua la medesima esplorazione del potere di una canzone, per rievocare, tenere vicino qualcosa che si allontana. Per poi lasciarlo andare.
Ascolta: Blood Bank
giovedì 19 giugno 2008
martedì 17 giugno 2008
Shearwater -Rook-

Rook (Corvo) –Il nome scientifico del Corvo, Corvo frugilegus é composto dal sostantivo, frux, frugis f. = frutto e dal verbo legere = raccogliere. Etimologicamente, volesse farsi un parallelismo, non poteva esserci nome più adeguato per l'ultimo lavoro degli Shearwater. Un tempo considerati un side project dei membri degli Okkervil River, ora si scoprono crisalidi completamente indipendenti. Raccolgono i frutti di una penombra completamente immeritata, ed emergono forti della consapevolezza di chi fa musica per fare arte.
Rook è un lavoro solidissimo, sfaccettato come il precedente (e ugualmente stupendo) Palo Santo. La voce di Jonathan Meiburg è infatti maturata–semmai ce ne fosse stato bisogno–fino a poter coprire ogni piccolo spazio lasciato tra un battere e un levare. Ogni suono è pulito, senza però risultare troppo scintillante. Le atmosfere di Rook sono quelle di sempre. C'è un sentimento di ansia, di contemplazione e di serena rassegnazione.
C'è un cantare di storie oramai troppo buie per cercare di risolverle (Rooks), e amori andati per mai più tornare (The Hunter's Star). C'è il rumore del silenzio nelle pianure del Texas (South Col) e l'aggressività che sbiadisce con l'età (Century Eyes). Tutto riassume un disco bellissimo, compatto. Nitido e gravido di suono, inchiostro e carta.
Ascolta: Century Eyes
martedì 3 giugno 2008
Primavera Sound '08, a graphic essay on (12)


[Fuck Buttons; grande presenza di pubblico per il duo inglese, performance nella normalità, comunque impressionante per la varietá e quantitá di suoni che riescono a intermezzare e sovrapporre senza produrre dissonanze]



[El Guincho; da Tenerife la versione soleggiata degli Animal Collective, gioca in casa, e si vede: ogni canzone è una ovazione ogni canzone è una piccola rivelazione]
Primavera Sound '08, a graphic essay on (11)


[Man Man; oramai rivelazione non lo sono più, combinano tanto casino che si fa fatica a stargli dietro, eppure sono comunque compatti, e nel loro genere unici]

[Why?; Yoni Wolf ha plasmato il suo suono intorno all'asse Anticon, ovvero sulle più originali composizioni hip-hop della scena californiana. Poi un giorno ha deciso di ascoltare Stephen Malkmus–le sue canzoni, per quanto improbabile siano gli ingredienti, incantano e coinvolgono il pubblico del Primavera]
Primavera Sound '08, a graphic essay on (10)
Primavera Sound '08, a graphic essay on (9)
Primavera Sound '08, a graphic essay on (8)



[Voxtrot; loro ce la mettono tutta, riff a ricordare quel sottobosco anni '90 e un'attitudine Morrissey brillante e sostenuta. Purtroppo il tecnico del suono decide di mangiarsi una tortilla o forse era un ennesimo fan degli Slayer. Risultato: per loro è stato un gran concerto, per il pubblico si sentiva solo la chitarra. Peccato]
Primavera Sound '08, a graphic essay on (6)

[Public Enemy; serve una nazione di millioni per fermarli]

[Portishead; più che il solito disco (di cui, personalmente, non ne capiamo il successo), lo spettacolo erano le mille lucine che riflettevano luce, mille braccia alzate per immortalare un momento ne fanno un altro per chi spia da sopra]

[Tarda serata; L'incredibile architettura del Fòrum di Barcellona ti lascia l'opzione di stare seduto e ascoltare]
primavera Sound '08, a graphic essay on (5)


[British Sea Power; Insieme un'idea di grandezza e di decadenza, si presentano vestiti da marinaretti abituati sia ai bar di porto, che ai circoli Ufficiali della marina, non smentiscono un suono sempre limpido. L'alfabeto delle bandiere comunica la lettera W, che non a caso è anche chiamata Whiskey.]
[Health; continued...]
primavera Sound '08, a graphic essay on (4)
Primavera Sound '08, a graphic essay on (3)
Primavera Sound '08, a graphic essay on (2)
Primavera Sound '08, a graphic essay on
martedì 4 marzo 2008
John Vanderslice –la [2]–26/02/2008


C'è una linea sottile che separa gli artisti che ti fanno venire voglia di suonare, e quelli che vedi da lontano semplici e perfetti nell'eseguire la loro musica. John Vanderslice si muove come un professionista; serio riguardo alla sua arte e alle sue scadenze. Il suo live mantiene un distacco, comunque addolcito dalla sminuta folla. Senza frottole, nega l'encore ma scende con acustica, xylofono e tom. Suonano in piedi nel circolo di ritrovati boyscout seduti increduli. Tanto per ricordare a tutti da dove viene una canzone.
martedì 12 febbraio 2008
Ola Podrida –La [2]– 11/2/2008

Primo tour europeo e iberico per David Wingo, voce e mente dietro gli Ola Podrida. Wingo passeggia per una [2] al limite dell'imbarazzante...30-40 persone in silenzio, ma inizia a incantare ed inserirsi perfettamente nell'atmosfera apparendo sul palco quasi come un fantasma.
L'intensità live di un duo chitarra e batteria non si misura in decibel, ne in corde rotte; i due fanno presto ad adattarsi all'intimità del piccolo circolo, instaurando un rapporto; aprendosi al pubblico senza però allontanarsi da una presenza scenica seria e rispettosa (gruppi europei, please take note).
David Wingo musica pellicole e cortometraggi, e il feedback che ne riceve è evidente: canzoni come cornici che descrivono scene, spezzati, campi e controcampi. Iniziano leggermente nervosi, ma finiscono per mettere tutti a loro agio. Arpeggi che descrivono le linee bianche sotto le ruote (Instead) o simpatiche coincidenze in maggiore (Lost & Found) per finire con ballate amare (Jordanna, Cindy).
Finisce il concerto con un con un sorriso, un inchino e un invito: we're here. Pensandoci bene, suona come un bel riassunto del suono e della serata.



Photo credits © AdN
lunedì 21 gennaio 2008
Mi proiettai verso l'infinito, fidatevi, avevo le mie ragioni

“Cast myself towards infinity, trust me, I had my reasons”.
Con questa frase Dan Bejar, meglio conosciuto come Destroyer si descriveva nel suo ultimo lavoro, Destroyer's Rubies del 2006. In quell'album l'artista di Vancouver andava dalla scala maggiore alla lenta speranza, con cinismo, oscurità e a volte desolazione. Silenzio nelle parole e forse piccole rivelazioni. Per chi ascoltava e per chi scriveva, ovviamente.
Trouble in dreams è l'ottavo album, in uscita ufficialmente il 13 del Marzo venturo.
Rimangono i dubbi (l'amore vero si dispiace in informarvi che, ci sono certe cose che dovreste fare per interpretarlo sulle macchie dei muri).
La musica è forse la risposta, se mai una ne fosse richiesta. Archi, traccie all'incontrario e un fischiato. Tutto questo interfacciato con la struttura acustica/elettrica di chitarra che cottraddistingue tutta la sua musica. Avanti così.
Ascolta: Foam Hands
martedì 15 gennaio 2008
Saro (Pretty Saro)

Pretty Saro è una storia, semplice e infinita. Pretty Saro è un riassunto; una teoria. È una dimostrazione di come la vita, l'amore e i suoi specchi perseverano in circoli, costanti, infiniti, eppure senza memoria. Pretty Saro è stata scritta chissà quanto tempo fa, da un europeo divenuto per forza di cose americano, da un popolo vecchio come il mondo che è risorto sotto nuovi cieli.
Ci sono ambientazioni del 1749, del 1849 e più recenti. Dopo revival folk anni '60 come Bert Jansch, Shirley Collins e Doc Watson ce la ripropone Sam Amidon, newyorkino del Vermont, già visto in formazioni neo-folk come gli Stars Like Fleas. L'interpretazione è giusta, Saro è lontana, l'Europa è dall'altra parte di un oceano invalicabile perfino con il pensiero. Tutto si reinterpreta. I costumi, le tradizioni i vecchi gesti del vecchio continente. Tutto è antico, tutto è nuovo, nulla è dimenticato.
I came to this country in eighteen forty-nine
I thought myself lucky for to be alive
And I looked all around me no one could i see
that i could compare with my Pretty Saro
I wish I was a poet —could write a fine hand
I'd write my love a letter that she might understand
I'll send it by the waters where the isles overflow
And think of pretty Saro wherever I go
It's not the long journey I'm dreading to go
Nor leaving of this country for the debts that I owe
There is but one thing that grieves me, troubles my mind
That's a-leaving pretty Saro, my true love, behind
_____________________________________________
Arrivai in questo paese nel 1849
e mi considerai fortunato ad essere vivo
mi guardai intorno, e non c'era nessuno
che potessi paragonare alla mia bella Saro
Vorrei essere un poeta –scrivere a bella calligrafia
Scriverei una lettera al mio amore, che le farebbe capire
La manderei per le acque, lì dove strabordano sulle isole
e penserei alla mia bella Saro, ovunque andrei.
non è il viaggio che mi fa paura
neanche lasciare questo paese per i debiti che ho
ma c'è una cosa che mi duole, che affligge la mia mente
ed é lasciare la bella Saro, il mio amore.
Trad. AdN
mercoledì 9 gennaio 2008
ATP vs. Noi

Cosa si può dire di un festival che si è rinnovato di anno in anno fino ad affermarsi come evento internazionale dove tutti vogliono partecipare, sia come artisti, che curatori, giornalisti o semplicemente come spettatori.
Quest'anno dopo una oscura Christmas Edition curata dai Portishead (mai stati in simpatia a dire il vero), la versione primaverile verrà curata dallo staff Pitchfork...già annunciati Ween, Sebadoh, Pissed Jeans, Man Man, Apse, Of Montreal...c'è da aspettarsi un sold-out molto presto visto che la line-up si allunga ogni giorno...
AdN, e qualche Calamaro Nero saranno presenti...uomini avvisati, mezzi salvati...
D'altra parte però come se non bastasse, l'edizione successiva sarà curata dai Texani Explosions in the Sky...parte della squadra questa volta saranno Broken Social Scene, Iron & Wine, Dinosaur Jr., ...Trail of Dead
che fate? restate a casa?
giovedì 3 gennaio 2008
El Guincho –llach el nom, bona la música
Come ci poteva sfuggire questa novità catalana...nell'immenso (e freddo) pentolone barcellonese, si trovano delle gemme degnissime di nota...se vi era piaciuto Person Pitch, di Panda Bear e le fluide idromeliche melodie di Strawberry Jam, correte a comprarvi il disco El Guincho (costa €7.5, meno delle 2h di elettricità necessarie a scaricarlo).
Pensate a una passeggiata virtuale per un mappamondo di suoni, tra ritmi brasileggianti, calypso, e rumba. ma poi remixate tutto con l'esempio melodico-psychedelico dei migliori Animal Collective, aggiungete un nome schifoso ed ecco a voi uno dei migliori album europei. Alegranza, ha spessore, caratura artistica e non è un mero esercizio di stile.
Ascolta: Palmitos Park
mercoledì 2 gennaio 2008
2 0 0 8
Buon anno. We're back. Di nuovo.
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
And you, you knew the hands of the devil
And you, kept us awake with wolf teeth
Sharing different heartbeats
In one night
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
And you, you knew the hands of the devil
And you, kept us awake with wolf teeth
Sharing different heartbeats
In one night
venerdì 26 ottobre 2007
Elementare, Watson.
Vi proponiamo un'analisi accuratissima e oggettiva del [penoso e preoccupante] stato in cui versa la musica inglese. Come a dire...non siamo gli unici a dirlo...
da Pitchforkmedia.com
Thu: 10-25-07
Column: Poptimist #9
English Settlement
Column by Tom Ewing | Digg this article | Add to del.icio.us
Back in the Summer, the NME embarked on a campaign. It announced its intention to right a great musical wrong-- the failure of the Sex Pistols' "God Save the Queen" to make it to #1 in the UK singles charts, 30 years ago. The establishment, according to rumour reported as fact, kept the Pistols off the top back then, and finagled another week for Rod Stewart so as not to embarrass Her Majesty.
Well, maybe the establishment did that, and maybe it didn't. It's enough that the story is credible at all, a great bit of punk mythmaking, and you might have thought the NME would have left a good tale well alone. Instead a range of worthies-- a Foo Fighter, a Beastie Boy, Slash-- were trundled out to talk sincerely about how important the Pistols had been. And indeed they were important, so important that quite a lot of people have already got their album and don't need to pay 99p to download an old song off it. As the week of reckoning drew near, the NME changed its tune-- now the campaign was "to get the Sex Pistols back into the Top 40". Even this proved to be too much as "God Save the Queen" made a sheepish appearance at #42. Injustice had clearly prevailed.
Had the NME succeeded, what might it have meant? I think we can assume the monarchy would have ridden out the storm. But a 30-year-old punk record at #1 would have sent a message about the NME's influence, and more importantly would have served as a pretty brutal rebuke to the rest of pop, the new singles it was supplanting. Punk's meaning in British pop, the Big Fact about it, is that it scorched the earth and cleared the decks. To generalise wildly, for an American audience punk stands for something creative-- an independent ethos and a DIY spirit. It does stand for those things in Britain as well but also contains a destructive spirit, a declaration of Year Zero against what had gone before, no matter its quality: "No Elvis, Beatles, and the Rolling Stones in 1977".
And this is why the NME's campaign was always going to lack resonance. Without the annihilating potential of punk the Pistols not reaching #1 is a simple quirk of chartology and hardly motivating. Britain's music fans don't want their earth scorched at the moment, thank you very much. And the NME doesn't honestly want to scorch it, because even if it can't place an old record where it wants in the charts, in general terms the NME has won.
A few weeks ago a friend pointed me towards the aggregated music interest lists on Facebook-- essentially a survey of which genres and acts members are putting in the music section of their profiles, organised by region. The top five acts listed by Londoners, for example, are the Killers, Snow Patrol, Razorlight, Muse, and Oasis. And actually, these are also the top five acts in 12 of the 16 other UK regions, with two more swapping Oasis for the Kooks.
Facebook stats are interesting because-- unlike a social network like last.fm, which specifically attracts music fans-- they also capture the music tastes of people who aren't that into music: In an era where sales charts don't tell you much, Facebook is a good way of defining the "mainstream" for younger listeners. Of course it's not perfect-- it's skewed towards students and ex-students-- but these aren't insignificant results. What do they tell us? At best they suggest that the British university experience is fairly homogenised across the country. At worst-- and more seriously if you're not a British student-- they hint that the regional scenes and differences which have been a motor of British pop since Merseybeat have smoothed over.
One other obvious, but interesting, thing about the Facebook stats-- these are all rock bands, and all rock bands who built a UK fanbase partly through being championed by the NME. They don't all sound the same, and I'm sure there are striking differences between fans of Oasis and the Killers, or Muse and Razorlight. But in broad terms their popularity shows that the NMENME.
But hold on-- it's not just the NME who endorses this stuff, is it? The rest of the British music press do, and so largely do the newspapers. And radio certainly does-- both commercial radio and Radio 1, Britain's publically financed pop music channel. In fact I don't think, as a listener, I can remember a time of such consensus among the traditional tastemakers in British pop.
It seems to me that the marketing of music in Britain has aligned itself neatly along a classic "diffusion of innovation curve"-- as defined by the communication theorist Everett Rogers back in the early 1960s to describe how successful technologies spread through society. An innovation is first picked up among a minority of innovators with a high degree of involvement in a product category, and probably industry contacts. Early adopters are next: consumers with an interest in innovation and a desire to be "first" in their peer group with something new. The bulk of consumers-- almost three-quarters-- fall into the early majority and late majority categories, leaving a minority of "laggards" who arrive at the innovation very late.
"Innovation" may seem a strange word to apply to Razorlight but the model roughly applies to British rock. The music press online and off caters to the early adopters, Radio 1 the early majority, and commercial radio the late majority-- at which point diffusion is advanced enough that the early adopters have moved on to something else and the NME can be rude about Oasis if it likes. Unlike most new technologies, new rock bands can zip through the diffusion curve very fast, especially as the basic qualities of the product don't change a great deal.
Hasn't it always been like this, though? I would say no: For one thing the NME used to be a great deal poorer at focusing on its target market, but the really important bit of the consensus jigsaw is BBC Radio 1.
Since we're talking the language of business, a word of advice: If you're ever unfortunate enough to find yourself in an office undergoing "business change," get hold of a copy of Simon Garfield's The Nation's Favourite. Published in 1999, it's an oral history detailing the savage reshaping of Radio 1 in the mid-90s, and it's the best guide I know to the backstabbing, politics, and ego meltdown that accompanies a business "reinventing" itself. It's also the book that tells you most about British pop music from the 90s to now.
Briefly, Radio 1's dilemma was that it had a colossal audience but no means of justifying itself as a public service to a government eager to make broadcasting cuts. In 1993, a new head was appointed, during whose reign half the DJs lost their jobs and half the listeners vanished. The station's focus shifted permanently from entertaining a whole nation to bringing new music to its youth, and Garfield's book tracks this move. A position paper, prepared for the BBC by management consultants, is quoted: "Cracking this [credibility] issue will guarantee our future success. Listeners must feel they are listening to the most credible station in the UK."
Listeners probably don't feel this, but it hardly matters: As soon as that became the intention, the ecosystem of UK music changed for good. In order to become credible, Radio 1 became a link in the diffusion chain between the NME (and other niche tastemakers, like pirate radio) and commercial stations. Previously the chain was broken: Credibility and Radio 1 had sat in wary opposition, with the national station as much goad as goal to independent and niche musicians (who in turn probably communicated more across genre with one another). Now it's a clearly marked step to success.
It's easy to understand why the NME and Radio 1 have changed in the way they have: the former has a business to run, the latter has to avoid looking like it does. Whether you feel this is a bad state of affairs or not depends on whether you like the music the UK is currently producing or promoting. A good litmus test might be the compilation album, Established 1967, which celebrates the 40th anniversary of Radio 1 by getting a bunch of today's acts to cover songs from throughout the station's history. The Facebook big five don't contribute but the second tier of newly mainstream acts who fill out those regional charts-- Kasabian, the Kooks, the Stereophonics, the View-- do, and produce dogged, spark-free versions. It's competent, mostly, but hardly exciting.
The diffusion chain from niche to mainstream is keeping a turnover of new acts coming (helped immensely by the marketing fillip the Internet has given bands and PRs). Not all of them make it all the way along the curve, but a career path exists allowing a band to get quickly from early adopters to late majority rapidlty and with blessed credibility intact. In place of manufactured pop, we in Britain have managerial rock-- solid bands who like the right music and tick the right boxes, safe pairs of plectrum-carrying hands. Will the consensus be broken? Does anybody really want it to be? Thirty years on from punk, music in the UK has reached a settlement, with most aesthetic questions presumed answered, like Francis Fukuyama's end of history applied to pop. Though when you think about it, what does "end of history" mean but "no future"?
da Pitchforkmedia.com
Column: Poptimist #9
English Settlement
Column by Tom Ewing | Digg this article | Add to del.icio.us
Back in the Summer, the NME embarked on a campaign. It announced its intention to right a great musical wrong-- the failure of the Sex Pistols' "God Save the Queen" to make it to #1 in the UK singles charts, 30 years ago. The establishment, according to rumour reported as fact, kept the Pistols off the top back then, and finagled another week for Rod Stewart so as not to embarrass Her Majesty.
Well, maybe the establishment did that, and maybe it didn't. It's enough that the story is credible at all, a great bit of punk mythmaking, and you might have thought the NME would have left a good tale well alone. Instead a range of worthies-- a Foo Fighter, a Beastie Boy, Slash-- were trundled out to talk sincerely about how important the Pistols had been. And indeed they were important, so important that quite a lot of people have already got their album and don't need to pay 99p to download an old song off it. As the week of reckoning drew near, the NME changed its tune-- now the campaign was "to get the Sex Pistols back into the Top 40". Even this proved to be too much as "God Save the Queen" made a sheepish appearance at #42. Injustice had clearly prevailed.
Had the NME succeeded, what might it have meant? I think we can assume the monarchy would have ridden out the storm. But a 30-year-old punk record at #1 would have sent a message about the NME's influence, and more importantly would have served as a pretty brutal rebuke to the rest of pop, the new singles it was supplanting. Punk's meaning in British pop, the Big Fact about it, is that it scorched the earth and cleared the decks. To generalise wildly, for an American audience punk stands for something creative-- an independent ethos and a DIY spirit. It does stand for those things in Britain as well but also contains a destructive spirit, a declaration of Year Zero against what had gone before, no matter its quality: "No Elvis, Beatles, and the Rolling Stones in 1977".
And this is why the NME's campaign was always going to lack resonance. Without the annihilating potential of punk the Pistols not reaching #1 is a simple quirk of chartology and hardly motivating. Britain's music fans don't want their earth scorched at the moment, thank you very much. And the NME doesn't honestly want to scorch it, because even if it can't place an old record where it wants in the charts, in general terms the NME has won.
A few weeks ago a friend pointed me towards the aggregated music interest lists on Facebook-- essentially a survey of which genres and acts members are putting in the music section of their profiles, organised by region. The top five acts listed by Londoners, for example, are the Killers, Snow Patrol, Razorlight, Muse, and Oasis. And actually, these are also the top five acts in 12 of the 16 other UK regions, with two more swapping Oasis for the Kooks.
Facebook stats are interesting because-- unlike a social network like last.fm, which specifically attracts music fans-- they also capture the music tastes of people who aren't that into music: In an era where sales charts don't tell you much, Facebook is a good way of defining the "mainstream" for younger listeners. Of course it's not perfect-- it's skewed towards students and ex-students-- but these aren't insignificant results. What do they tell us? At best they suggest that the British university experience is fairly homogenised across the country. At worst-- and more seriously if you're not a British student-- they hint that the regional scenes and differences which have been a motor of British pop since Merseybeat have smoothed over.
One other obvious, but interesting, thing about the Facebook stats-- these are all rock bands, and all rock bands who built a UK fanbase partly through being championed by the NME. They don't all sound the same, and I'm sure there are striking differences between fans of Oasis and the Killers, or Muse and Razorlight. But in broad terms their popularity shows that the NMENME.
But hold on-- it's not just the NME who endorses this stuff, is it? The rest of the British music press do, and so largely do the newspapers. And radio certainly does-- both commercial radio and Radio 1, Britain's publically financed pop music channel. In fact I don't think, as a listener, I can remember a time of such consensus among the traditional tastemakers in British pop.
It seems to me that the marketing of music in Britain has aligned itself neatly along a classic "diffusion of innovation curve"-- as defined by the communication theorist Everett Rogers back in the early 1960s to describe how successful technologies spread through society. An innovation is first picked up among a minority of innovators with a high degree of involvement in a product category, and probably industry contacts. Early adopters are next: consumers with an interest in innovation and a desire to be "first" in their peer group with something new. The bulk of consumers-- almost three-quarters-- fall into the early majority and late majority categories, leaving a minority of "laggards" who arrive at the innovation very late.
"Innovation" may seem a strange word to apply to Razorlight but the model roughly applies to British rock. The music press online and off caters to the early adopters, Radio 1 the early majority, and commercial radio the late majority-- at which point diffusion is advanced enough that the early adopters have moved on to something else and the NME can be rude about Oasis if it likes. Unlike most new technologies, new rock bands can zip through the diffusion curve very fast, especially as the basic qualities of the product don't change a great deal.
Hasn't it always been like this, though? I would say no: For one thing the NME used to be a great deal poorer at focusing on its target market, but the really important bit of the consensus jigsaw is BBC Radio 1.
Since we're talking the language of business, a word of advice: If you're ever unfortunate enough to find yourself in an office undergoing "business change," get hold of a copy of Simon Garfield's The Nation's Favourite. Published in 1999, it's an oral history detailing the savage reshaping of Radio 1 in the mid-90s, and it's the best guide I know to the backstabbing, politics, and ego meltdown that accompanies a business "reinventing" itself. It's also the book that tells you most about British pop music from the 90s to now.
Briefly, Radio 1's dilemma was that it had a colossal audience but no means of justifying itself as a public service to a government eager to make broadcasting cuts. In 1993, a new head was appointed, during whose reign half the DJs lost their jobs and half the listeners vanished. The station's focus shifted permanently from entertaining a whole nation to bringing new music to its youth, and Garfield's book tracks this move. A position paper, prepared for the BBC by management consultants, is quoted: "Cracking this [credibility] issue will guarantee our future success. Listeners must feel they are listening to the most credible station in the UK."
Listeners probably don't feel this, but it hardly matters: As soon as that became the intention, the ecosystem of UK music changed for good. In order to become credible, Radio 1 became a link in the diffusion chain between the NME (and other niche tastemakers, like pirate radio) and commercial stations. Previously the chain was broken: Credibility and Radio 1 had sat in wary opposition, with the national station as much goad as goal to independent and niche musicians (who in turn probably communicated more across genre with one another). Now it's a clearly marked step to success.
It's easy to understand why the NME and Radio 1 have changed in the way they have: the former has a business to run, the latter has to avoid looking like it does. Whether you feel this is a bad state of affairs or not depends on whether you like the music the UK is currently producing or promoting. A good litmus test might be the compilation album, Established 1967, which celebrates the 40th anniversary of Radio 1 by getting a bunch of today's acts to cover songs from throughout the station's history. The Facebook big five don't contribute but the second tier of newly mainstream acts who fill out those regional charts-- Kasabian, the Kooks, the Stereophonics, the View-- do, and produce dogged, spark-free versions. It's competent, mostly, but hardly exciting.
The diffusion chain from niche to mainstream is keeping a turnover of new acts coming (helped immensely by the marketing fillip the Internet has given bands and PRs). Not all of them make it all the way along the curve, but a career path exists allowing a band to get quickly from early adopters to late majority rapidlty and with blessed credibility intact. In place of manufactured pop, we in Britain have managerial rock-- solid bands who like the right music and tick the right boxes, safe pairs of plectrum-carrying hands. Will the consensus be broken? Does anybody really want it to be? Thirty years on from punk, music in the UK has reached a settlement, with most aesthetic questions presumed answered, like Francis Fukuyama's end of history applied to pop. Though when you think about it, what does "end of history" mean but "no future"?
mercoledì 17 ottobre 2007
Menomena
La [2] si conferma sempre di piú la sala con occhio piú accorto in fatto di musica. Di scena questa volta i Menomena piú Craig Thompson, artista visuale. Mentre i primi mettono in musica dinamiche ininterrotte che fluiscono dalle tastiere / xylofono fino a una batteria decisa, a volte persino con qualche macchia di Deerhoof.
I pezzi con il sassofono baritono sono quelli che riescono meglio facendo vibrare l'aria tutt'attorno.
Come se cercassse di spiegare tutte le note, e far vedere cos'ha in testa Craig Thompson disegna a china come un forsennato, senza mai sbagliare un tratto. Alla fine straccia tutto e lo lascia al pubblico.
I pezzi con il sassofono baritono sono quelli che riescono meglio facendo vibrare l'aria tutt'attorno.
Come se cercassse di spiegare tutte le note, e far vedere cos'ha in testa Craig Thompson disegna a china come un forsennato, senza mai sbagliare un tratto. Alla fine straccia tutto e lo lascia al pubblico.
mercoledì 5 settembre 2007
If You Happen To Read This

È facile sbagliare a settembre. Si è abituati alla facilitá di ogni cosa propria dell'estate, siamo piú lenti piú accondiscendenti, forse piú tolleranti. Quindi forse ci sbagliamo con questo Fionn Regan, disco apparso e subito osannato, soprattutto dall'odiata e vacua critica musicale britannica. Molti paragoni a Damien Rice, ma a parte il fatto che suonano la chitarra e che sono irlandesi, non vedo molte somiglianze.
Un po' di Jeff Buckley, una malinconia tipica dell'emerald isle, ma soprattutto schiettezza e semplicitá. Le parole giuste dove servono, altrove accordi e linee di piano.
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