Music Review Extended Reviews of [Amazing Albums]

20 Features March 8,2005 THE RETRIEVER Ill-Legitimate Music Review extended reviews of [amazing albums] The Mars Volta Rowen Frazer Retriever Staff Writer For those die-hard At the Drive-In fans still among the crowds, hoping that Frances the Frances the Mute Mute might show a faint heartbeat of punk left in their style, I come bearing bad news. For those of you interested in an ill-balanced love-child of Led Zeppelin’s box set CD four and in stores now Chick Corea and Return to Forever’s: Where Have I Known You Before, my news will ren- Universal Records der you elated. The Volta’s new album is anything but punk, pulling the plug on their for- mer genre to have it flat-line on the doctor’s examination table. All you remaining ATDI fans Rating (out of 10) 8.7 should attend the funeral, and move on with your lives. So what genre is The Mars Volta? According to many, it’s progressive rock (prog-rock, e.g. Frank Zappa). Others believe that the 16th and 32nd note drums and atonal/parabolic guitar melodies suggest a math-rock association (e.g. Dream Theatre). Yet Guitarist Omar Rodriguez-Lopez argues in many interviews that they are trying to break ties to any one genre, and be all-eclectic (like many pretentious rock bands suggest of themselves). Lead singer and on-stage drug clown Cedric Bixler-Zavala sticks to his usual style of lyrical arrangement on Frances the Mute. Bixler- Zavala’s style is basically a compilation of random poly-syllabic SAT terms and stream-of-consciousness rants. Yet, like the first Volta album, there is supposedly a derivate behind the masked lyrical arbitrariness. Ex-keyboardist Jeremy Ward, who passed in 2003, found a diary once- upon-a-time which entailed a story of a boy searching for his biological parents. Some of the names in the diary were Cassandra Gemini, The Widow, Miranda and Vismund Cygnus. These then became some of the track titles for the album, and somehow Bixler-Zavala’s lyrics are sup- posed to deal with the content of the obscure diary. Here’s a clip from Cassandra Gemini: Movement 2, “She fell for the whispers/sister flooded deaf tears/that night tore a river/in her barren womb mirror/and his multiple sons with their mandible tongues/set crucified fires to petrified homes: let it burn.” From Vismund Cygnus, “Now this train don’t lie/an abortion that survived/a lineage of bastard mastication/all the severed proof/talons scratch my suit/these are the feathers that replace them.” If there is a message here, it’s clear to see that it isn’t readily-available for many. Overall, this is an album which received four out of five stars by Rolling Stone, features Flea and John Frusciante from RHCP, and contains super-charged hooks and vocal wails that make Axle Rose cover his ears. This album definitely takes an acquired taste, but is worthy of notoriety. If you can make it through the intermissions of white noise and electronic animal sounds and are still pay- ing attention when the band decides to kick back into motion, you will be pleased (and if not, I’ll please you). Chris Mewes Retriever Staff Writer The Arcade Fire With all the hype that’s surrounded this band of late, it can be difficult to discern if in fact they are the “real deal.” Many scenester cynics and over- Funeral pretentious critics, careful to avoid a college radio bandwagon, have in stores now slammed The Arcade Fire and their cavalcade of admirers (David Bowie, David Byrne, Pitchfork Media, NME, to name a few). If I have established Merge Records any credibility with my articles thus far (or any “street cred” as we used to say back in Queens, NY) as your humble purveyor of all things euphonious, Rating (out of 10) 9.4 then believe me when I rate The Arcade Fire among the very best bands today. The fact that they have become the darlings of many a music journalist is not surprising, based on the quality of their debut effort, but a little unexpected in light of their makeup as a band. An eight member ensemble from Montreal, including two violinists and a married couple at the center of the scrum, The Arcade Fire seem unlikely indie rock heroes. Perhaps this acclaim signals the dawn of a new age in indie rock, one where the founding ideals of the genre and music for music’s sake are again realized, and the only aesthetic is no aesthetic at all. Or am I just another pie-eyed fan, all too quick to hail this band as gods, and optimistically overstate the album’s importance? I remain objective in my view, as I have yet to call Funeral life-affirming as many have. However, I can understand that assessment. This is not an album to be approached from a distance or with any cynicism. One has to be open-minded, and allow themself to experience the honest emotion contained within this album, aptly titled as the years preceding its release were marked by the deaths of many close to the band. Few lyricists today can write as maturely and thoughtfully as Win Butler, without airs or pretension and without trying to be something they’re not. Comparisons are futile, especially for The Arcade Fire, who has the unique ability to sound like your favorite band without sounding like any other band. Their influences show through, such as The Pixies, Neutral Milk Hotel, Modest Mouse, et cetera, but do not nearly define them. Funeral is as emotionally charged as Jeff Buckley’s Grace while remaining fun and enjoyable. Grand orchestral numbers give way to dance grooves slicker than snot on a doorknob. The music press tends to fear that which they do not understand; that which they cannot easily categorize or cross-reference. The Arcade Fire’s defiance of indie rock norms, both personally and musically, makes them a lightning rod for scruti- ny as well as praise. However, a fair appraisal shows that a few critics in the minor- The Mars Volta photo courtesy of amazon.com; the Arcade Fire photo courtesy of cdnow.com.

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