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UNTITLED by Five Pointe O

With a maturity and finesse defying the fact that at the time of release, most members of Five Pointe O were not legally permitted to drink, vote or marry, ‘Untitled’ as an album begins with the brutal ‘Double X Minus’ (which in turn commences with the war-cry, “Chakaka-POW”), and then continues to sway between the gore-core intensity of ‘Freedom’ and ‘Breathe Machine’ to the pensive, contemplative poetry of ‘Purity .01’ and ‘Sympathetic Climate Control’. The individual musician-ship is largely riff-centric and integrated, as opposed to virtuosic, and fortunately nails the core of music of its ilk, the tightness of the sound. Add to that excellent production value and the album sounds like a perfectly executed audio-book, with each note and word perfectly articulated. 


Two things stand out, the subtlety, attention to detail and the restraint of the musicians in focusing on the sound of each song, and a lyrical flair for the surreal juxtaposed on the day-to-day, that is next to absent in modern metal. Sample these, “I kick back and watch the stars, they say, “This day will come, so please don’t be afraid!”” and “Fourteen years of broken ribs and broken dreams, but is he satisfied? His burden was chosen as the vessels broke in their eyes.” A spectacular effort of a unit, but short-lived, because Five Pointe O disbanded shortly after this sole full-length album release. It is almost tragic that the unit responsible for creating the masterpiece that is ‘Syndrome Down’ (“A gathered source of waves, of waves, of waves, we only sleep to pass away the days, but since this child is a man now, we’ll be away, away, away.”) no longer exists, but for the initiated, the immense re-listen value of ‘Untitled’ will suffice for a long, long time to come.

VALTARI by Sigur Rós

Ambient music is bi-elemental. The first, the sound is greater than the sum of its parts. The second, it pours around you to structure the atmosphere, as opposed to pierces through it. By these parameters, ‘Valtari’ is a thematic success, and then some. Further, I do appreciate the sincerity towards the ideal behind ‘Valtari’.

Here’s the kicker, though. ‘Valtari’ is stripped-down to a degree where it treads dangerously between ‘ambient’ and ‘score’, inasmuch it constitutes, at best a segment of the perception it seeks to cloud out. ‘Ég anda’ for instance, is replete with long-drawn whale-like noises, bowing rhythms, falsetto-ed expositions with an accompanying film detailing a comprehensive tutorial on the Heimlich maneuver (“Ég anda” roughly translates to “I breathe”). ‘Ekki Múkk’ has heavy baroque influences and is complemented by bass-heaviness and a soporific tone to the vocals that is gripping. In a similar vein,  ‘Rembihnutúr’ is reminiscent of chamber music from the romantic period punctuated with bass-depth and sparse, yet powerful drumming, with Jon Por Birgisson switching to lower-register vocals between verses.

On the other hand, ‘Valtari’ has the capacity to tend towards pretentious self-indulgence and disappointing anti-climaxes. ‘Fjögur Píanó’ and ‘Valtari’ both begin excellently, with a miasma of electronic, bowed guitars, ethereal, commanding patterns exhibiting a sense of direction and progress to end with an insufficient or absent crescendo. ‘Varúð’ is in essence, a boring, slowed-down, stripped-down Coldplay track, and that’s about all.

So, with ‘Valtari’, the approach is much more minimalistic, and the conspicuous sparseness of instrumentation is unquestionably a challenging template to work with. The fact that Jon Por Birgisson insists on treating his voice as an organic instrument to meld with songs instead of leading the direction for the rest of Sigur Rós compounds that challenge. Another thing, the language is Icelandic.

I believe the subtlety of ‘Valtari’ is too blatant, and the efficiency it imbibes, excessive. I listened to most of ‘Valtari’, with, and then without the respective accompanying films, and I am convinced that without, it is at best, pleasant, and at worst, pointless. Depriving their music of a core to work around has left Sigur Rós with only these accompaniments to fall back on. Without them, ‘Valtari’ seems aim-less, and with them, each track seems like score for the accompanying film, and heavily dependent upon the quality thereof.

NOT YOUR KIND OF PEOPLE by Garbage

‘Not Your Kind Of People’ is smug (an album that tries to alienate you into loving it, beginning with its name itself, seriously?). It is also over-produced and formulaic. Most significantly, keeping abreast of recent patterns, this album is not the radio-friendly pop-art rendition of goth/doom that we saw with ‘Beautiful Garbage’, but rather a thorough and comprehensive schooling of Lana Del Rey, who gets a lesson or twenty from Shirley Manson in melancholy droning and sex appeal in ‘Big Bright World’, among other songs off this record. Of course, the curse of Garbage, which is that the sheer force of personality of Shirley Manson obliterates all distinctiveness of the rest of its members (even Butch Vig), is also its saving grace, inasmuch it would be very, very difficult to dismiss any album with her as intolerable. 

‘Blood For Poppies’, for instance, is fairly easy on the ears with a decent motif relaying between the verses and as a ballad, features an interesting story of a man stationed behind enemy lines on a mission, which from the title, I gather would be in respect of narcotic trafficking. ‘I Hate Love’ is electro-emphasized, menacing and vivid, but very forgettable, if it weren’t for some wonderful verses, of the ilk of, “They lay all their dreams on you, they let you in and you start to believe yourself as a miracle. Unfurled, I was new and unfurled, innocent and open as any lamb and hoping for paradise”. 

However, if you survive the mindless, cheap digital thrills and fast-paced strums of ‘Automatic Systematic Habit’ and the allegedly gloomy piano section lacing the empathetic, synthetic soliloquy on hope and perseverance that is ‘Beloved Freak’, you might just look through to the rare moments of this record. ‘Battle In Me’, for one, is just a really neat song; edgy, power-chord-packed, the sort of song that brings about the urge to jump around inanely. This is closest to the Garbage we fell in love with, circa ‘Only Happy When It Rains’. 

The steal on this album is the trip-hop/Bristol-sound influenced ‘Sugar’, with its atmospheric phrases poured over the brazenly sexual cooing of that crimson-goddess-we-refer-to-as-Shirley-Manson, as she teases, “If I sound better or if I’ve come too late, please reconsider, I don’t need much on my plate, just give me some sugar”. It’s insufficient to make me cherish this record, of course, but it does serve to remind me of the bewitching dominion that woman-fronted alternative rock bands held in the last decade of the previous century.

OCEANIA by The Smashing Pumpkins

Billy Corgan seems to have found his space between sordid viciousness and dream-like mellow-ness. ‘Oceania’ is alternatingly haunting and raging. This may well be the most refined record to date released by The Smashing Pumpkins. Album-opener ‘Quasar’ is noisy, forceful and hard-hitting. In a similar vein, ‘Panopticon’ is a grungy, dirty mess with drums and guitars fighting for space which magically manages to remain up-beat. Again, ‘The Chimera’ is familiar, catchy and reminiscent of ‘Gish’-era The Smashing Pumpkins with wailing notes over heavy distorted punk-ness. On the other hand, ‘Wild-flower’ features strings-heavy riffage, almost-Gregorian choral backing and chiming piano chords over some lovely verses (“Wild-flower in the wilderness outside, take your chance with love and laughter and every word I write.”) that make this track memorable. 

However, the sophistication that The Smashing Pumpkins seems to have discovered sears through in their musings in the really, really remarkable pieces off this album that are ‘The Celestials’ with its acoustic chord progressions and orchestral swells poured over Corgan’s trade-mark belting, ‘Pinwheels’ with its spine-tingling embellishments and Pink Floyd-influenced melody and the uber-chic ‘Violet Rays’, which features a shimmering entrance of notes leading to an undistorted strumming passage that quickly culminates into a crunch-packed body, complementing Corgan’s wails with bags of melodic thunder. 

‘Glissandra’ is a smooth, tight, glimmering piece, but along with the plunging, synthesized ‘Pale Horse’ is one of the weak songs on this record. This record is odd, inasmuch it does not have the melodic consistency of ‘Adore’, nor the from-the-hip attack of ‘Siamese Dream’, which might let some down. What it does have is a fair amount of effort and thought devoted to production, arrangement and structuring. So, with Oceania, expect a clean-cut record, which does not work wonders but manages to keep The Smashing Pumpkins relevant.

WHAT WE SAW FROM THE CHEAP SEATS by Regina Spektor

Regina Spektor has received a lot of acclaim and attention for her unconventional-yet-delightful lyrics, but to the active listener, it is her undeniable technical proficiency on the piano and intimidating compositions that stand out. The queen of baroque-pop/anti-folk produces a complete success of an album with ‘What We Saw From The Cheap Seats’. Even for one as unpredictable as her, the album shocks-and-awes its way through twists and embellishments that would put symphony conductors to shame. The fact that what pieces together bars and bars of arpeggiated minor chords and ballad-like expositions is random gibberish-like morsels of insight and chimes and beat-boxing and cheers (on ‘Oh Marcello’) should turn me off, but God help me, it sounds wonderful, like infant prodigies and idiot savants playing with sound. 


On this record, you have your traditional anti-folk ballads like ‘Patron Saint’ replete with interesting breaks and arrangements of the ilk of John Mayer and lyrics like “Beyond the window-pane lies her patron saint, broken and lame and absolutely insane for learning that true love exists”, and saccharine romantic odes like ‘The Party’ (“You’re like a party somebody threw me, you taste like birthday, you look like new year.”), but you also have Regina Spektor breaking down every accepted formula of modern music and foraying into the random. So, on ‘Small Town Moon’, you have rapid descents down the progression in the middle of verses, cheering hoots and a full-band featuring on the refrain. Regina Spektor clearly has fun on this song. ‘Ballad Of A Politician’ is a dirge, a rant of ominous chords, with a drastic loud-soft dynamic which showcases her ability to evoke urgency and greed where others barely manage love and anger. 


Amidst the circus surfaces ‘Firewood’, a song about survival, a reminder that underneath the projected, almost stupid innocence of Regina Spektor, is a deep, almost tragic mind, capable of coining lines like, “Everyone knows that it’s going to hurt, but at least we’ll get hurt trying”. All in all, it is an intelligent, quirky record with ample shifts and experimentation to interest you, over a solid foundation of well-crafted music. However, what is endearing about Regina Spektor’s music is how much of herself she pours into her music. 


At times that self is painfully pretentious, but most of it is downright adorable, so when I say words cannot express how high I place this record and this woman, I do not mean my expansive vocabulary does not contain the words; I mean apposite words do not exist in any language. So I recommend that you listen to her. Listen to this record. At the absolute least, listen to the reggae-influenced ‘Don’t Leave Me (Ne Me Quitte Pas)’ with its bouncing bass-line, calypso-like melody and that ear-worm of a refrain, “Ne me quitte pas, mon cher, ne me quitte pas!” to consider a unique perspective on streets, love and cities.

THE PATH OF TOTALITY by Korn

"I want to trail-blaze. I want to change things. I want to do things we're not supposed to do. I want to create art that's different and not conform to what's going on. We didn't make a dubstep album. We made a Korn album" says Jonathan Davis, referring to ‘The Path of Totality’, the latest offering from nu-metal pioneers, Korn. 

I did not quite know what to make of ‘The Path of Totality’ when I first heard it. Insane phrases dotted terrible songs, making me want to praise the song in entirety, while some songs, which every sensibility I possess advised me to condemn, were just too catchy. However, one undeniable truth (contradicted by thousands of comments on fora world-wide) is that Jonathan Davis was right about this being a Korn album. No amount of dubstep/brostep/drum-and-bass production/blender noises can suppress the Korn-iness (look, you try writing a review on them without a single pun and then we’ll talk) of their music. The trouble is, it is not enough to form the centrality of ‘The Path of Totality’, and each collaborator drags their music into a different direction, with some that fail to impress as much as some others melt your face. Skrillex does his best to plug in his trademark mega-hardcore wobbliness and manic flash-bang, but is dampened by the monotonous melody on ‘Get Up’, and the sheer silliness of ‘Narcisstic Cannibal’, which sounds closer to hair-metal than anything else. ‘Chaos Lives In Everything’, however, is an excellent instance of how the fusion can take on a mind of its own, and promptly lose it. The song practically smells of mosh-pits and nose-bleeds. 

‘My Wall’ and ‘Illuminati’ with Excision and Downlink are plain boring. Enough said. The deal-maker collaboration on this album is with Noisia, though, and that convinces me that as a concept, ‘The Path of Totality’ succeeds. Where ‘Bleeding Out’ with Feed Me feels like a collage of keyboards, volume swells and down-tuned guitars, ‘Burn The Obedient’ with its ultra-squeals, accentuates the melodic heaviness and crooning rasps of Davis, through eerie ‘la-la-la’ passages to guttural chants. ‘Kill Mercy Within’ and ‘Let’s Go’ feature similar harmonic-laden riffage, enjoyable refrains and a heady mix of the nod and bang. ‘Way Too Far’ with 12^th Planet on the other hand, is one of the heaviest tracks on the album with very little contribution in terms of electronic production. 

There is a real fear of fusion for the sake of it, but there is also something to be said for the overwhelming desire for experimentation. Agreeably, Korn's brand of aggressive whining and sub-heavy bass lines would seem like a suitable foundation for Skrillex, Noisia and their likes to dabble on, but an an idea and its expression are two distinct things in life and in law. All in all, while the idea itself is interesting, when the ‘wub-wub-wub’ fades out, what remains is a poorly executed mash-up of an album, which although disappointing, promises a paved way to what may be the future of nu-metal.

FREAK PUKE by The Melvins

The Melvins are arguably one of the most important bands of our times, having re-invented modern music and influenced artistes as much as Charlie Parker did before them with jazz. I was really, really curious as to how ‘Freak Puke’ would turn out, considering King Buzzo is now pushing fifty. How much originality does one have left at that age? After witnessing the psychotic self-indulgence of Lou Reed (and to a lesser extent, the bane of Gurgaon, Metallica) on ‘Lulu’, one struggles with the concept of an artistic re-birth that seems more like a cry for help from a washed-up has-been. Fortunately, The Melvins straddle integrity and experimentation with the easy grace of the creative that we call eccentric. Ominous stand-up bass lines, hypnotic drum patterns commence on ‘Mr. Rip-Off’, and set the tone for the rest of the album. ‘Holy Barbarians’ is on the same page, with experimental sounds popping up between chilling melodies and long-drawn phrases. Once you reach ‘A Growing Disgust’, though, you realize exactly how much more is happening. One free beer at any establishment in my city of residence to anyone finding me a groove in a deeper pocket than this. Pure sludge, catchy guitar lines and Syd Barrett-influenced vocals make this song a regular feature on any smoking must-listen list. ‘Leon Versus The Revolution’ has Iommian riffs, heavily modulated vocals and a suitably chilling ambience. But the touchstone of the album is the ridiculous amount of experimentation on songs like ‘Baby Won’t You Weird Me Out’ that combines free-flowing jazz with unbelievably heavy progressions and some really scenic bass-breaks. ‘Inner Ear Rupture’, I could wager my life on, is a distended mockery of the posturing and swagger of ‘Eruption’ by Van Halen, except on a stand-up bass. If you worried about ever finding music weird enough to make you think, but melodic enough to make you move, search no more. If the above seems a little daunting, just listen to the interesting take of The Melvins on ‘Let Me Roll It’ by Paul McCartney and The Wings on this album for a preview.

EL CAMINO by The Black Keys

Over a decade of existence, seven studio albums and a creeping acquisition of cult status for this two-piece garage-rock unit and I paid no mind until I heard of their intended collaboration with Doctor John. For this limited audience of one, initiation has always been through endorsement. Ergo, Pink derived her legitimacy from the fawning of Aerosmith, John Mayer from the preaching of Eric Clapton. As with them, I lent an ear to The Black Keys much later than I should have, and as with them, I stand impressed. ‘El Camino’, much like ‘For Your Love’ by The Yardbirds and the ‘The Rolling Stones’ by The Rolling Stones, sounds exactly like what it was meant to, a white discovery of the blues. The influence, of course, is derivative, because the palette of ‘El Camino’ extends to all of American music (which arguably, is a hopped-up variant of the blues), rather than the blues itself, and the final product is washed with a pop sensibility (the indubitable touch of co-producer Brian Burton, also known as Danger Mouse) without which the record might not have been as memorable as it is. Record-opener ‘Lonely Boy’ begins with that lovely analogue-distorted tone half-way between a drawl and a growl that segues into a chord progression sourced from the 1960-1970 era, complete with up-strokes synchronizing with the snare. The lyrics are minimal and visceral, but just listen to the anthemic refrain, “Oh, oh, oh, I’ve got a love who keeps me waiting”; this track was meant to be a crowd-chanter, and it works. There is a reason why people don’t sing along at concerts by Tool. The song is also perfect for the long drive home after a fight with a lover. Actually, it’s perfect driving music in any situation. Singer Dan Auberach has a voice with an adolescence belying his thirty-three years, and lyrics that emphasize on parity with the melody, as opposed to poetic appeal. ‘Dead And Gone’ has a pounding rhythm with plenty of chanting interspersed with rhyming lyrics (which I have always been partial to). The absence of detailing keeps the context broad enough for young women, lawyers and ex-convicts relate to and identify with, which could either be a brilliant or a tragic aspect. There is an unmistakable off-handed tribute to ‘Stairway To Heaven’ in ‘Little Black Submarines’, with an extended acoustic-guitar-and-vocal beginning that breaks, pauses and melds with a power-chord laden chord progression for the remainder of the song. ‘Stop Stop’ is another strong contender, with its eerie melody that sediments over a faster-paced beat. The clear winner, however is ‘Gold On The Ceiling’, with its swinging beats, backing vocals on the refrain and the tension between the haunting verses and the loud, hard bridge. This song, you cannot miss for love or money. There is something to be said for the arrogant nonchalance responsible for the lines, “They wanna’ get my gold on the ceiling, I ain’t blind, just a matter of time before you steal it, it’s alright, ain’t no guard in my house.” On the other hand, ‘Money Maker’, ‘Sister’, ‘Nova Baby’ and the remaining tracks on this album, whilst extending the tone of ‘El Camino’, do not leave an imprint and are forgettable, indistinguishable. The problem is, as with the entire rock-and-roll revival brigade, that we, the audience are jaded, and it takes a lot for us to remember individual pieces of music as opposed to the sound of an artiste. The warm familiarity of ‘El Camino’ is pleasing, but blunt. This is not the kind of music one would dare call, “interesting”, but, it is also the kind of music one would most likely listen to with the last cigarette of the day.

CIRCUITAL by My Morning Jacket

My Morning Jacket has managed to carve out a distinctive, recognizable and likable sound for itself, which is no mean feat. When I heard ‘Evil Urges’ for the first time, I was taken aback by the hold they seemed to have on groove, and I had that hateful feeling you get when you’re convinced a band you love has peaked. ‘Circuital’ proved me wrong. The record derives its name from the fact that the recording was done with My Morning Jacket playing together in a circle, but the heavy-handed reference to the groove was definite. Eerie, falsetto-driven vocals, the sort of low-end production that passes off for raw and an off-beat take on the traditional verse-refrain-verse formula packaged with shockingly tacky art-work make this a sleeper success to be cherished. The title song, ‘Circuital’ is a wave of staccato plucking, with a wistful melody peppered with up-beat acoustic strumming between verses. Think ‘The Killing Moon’ by Echo and the Bunnymen. In fact, the entire album sounds like an alternative sound-track to ‘Donnie Darko’, with the innocence-meets-disaster-contrast being evoked beautifully in ‘Victory Dance’, which resembles what a collaboration between Simon and Garfunkel and Type O Negative would sound like. ‘Wonderful (The Way I Feel)’ is your token finger-picked ballad with an overlay of strings. It also reflects their biggest strength. Sincere lyrics, that sound child-like, not childish. Lines like “Like a tropical forest, like a cop on the beat, when all is in order, you get lost in the heat” are difficult to find, and even more difficult to forget. ‘You Wanna’ Freak Out’ showcases an ascending chord progression and lyrics like a nursery rhyme, which offers the opportunity to let go, gently coaxing, never rushing, much like ‘Slow, Slow Tune’ which is now the first track on my rainy-day-love list. My favorite song on the record, of course, is the much-acclaimed ‘Holdin’ On to Black Metal’, which has phenomenal arrangement. School-girl choral backing vocals, horns and wah-pedals fight to be heard, and amidst the clamor comes out a eulogy to black metal. It is a sentiment I frequently ponder upon, and to find it resonating half the world away is a delight. The beauty of records like ‘Circuital’ is that even the weaker songs are so simply by comparison and criticism is largely academic. For instance, ‘The Day Is Coming’ grows on you, but it just is not ‘Holdin On To Black Metal’, and it lacks the urgency in its tone that the lyrics demand. Of course, with Jim James, that could entirely be on purpose.