Modern Guilt, For You & Me

Well, since I'm about to disappear for several months I wanted to pop in to give a brief recap of two discs that have been getting solid playback on the 'Pod of late. First up is Beck's latest, Modern Guilt, his tenth full-length (and if THAT doesn't make you feel old, fair readers, for those of us who remember his big label debut in '94 with the "Loser" wave, I don't know what will) produced with the red-hot Danger Mouse. What results is an album that brings the best out of both parties while continuing their recent explorations and creative growth.

Front and center are Beck's dreary, mush-mouthed mumble and Mouse's quirky (and irresistible) percussion -- two of their respective signatures -- while Beck continues to move away from his nonsense lyrics of old, delivering a bleaker batch of meditations that's more in line with the drained sentiments of Sea Change than the hipster doofus of Guero or The Information. Mouse echoes these efforts as he continues to flesh out his marriage of driving beats and sweeping orchestration, delving deeper into the 60's-era sound he first experimented with in the Beatles--Jay-Z mashup, The Gray Album, and continued in this year's Gnarls Barkley effort, The Odd Couple. And the album shines as a result. Both parties seem to have realized that oddity with no emotion yields a far more perishable product -- pure pop confection, like aural cotton candy; more volume than actual substance -- and instead sought to resonate in the listener's heart and mind.

What's left behind is a batch of extremely strong songs -- the fuzzed out strut of "Soul of a Man," the go-go pop of "Gamma Ray," the psychedelic-twinged opener "Orphans," and the driving rock of "Profanity Prayers." All sound like little slices of 60's heaven, depending on the particular vantage point, and that breadth makes a far more lasting impact upon repeated listening. Overall, though, nothing packs a bigger punch than the album's closer, the slow-burning gem "Volcano," which is the perfect realization of everything mentioned above -- the shuffling beat and emotional sweep, the kicked-to-the-curb lyrics and delivery, the little idiosyncratic flourishes. It's hands down the best thing on the album and an appropriate reflection of everything that preceded it -- solid, from head to toe. Check it out here:





The other CD of note is The Walkmen's latest, You & Me, another smoldering classic from this band of DC-cum-NY misfits. Following close on the heels of 2006's A Hundred Miles Off, there's really not much to quibble with here. (Or there, for that matter.) It's chock full of everything you expect from the guys -- murky, middle of the ocean organs and echoey guitars, dreary, despondent lyrics, all juxtaposed with Hamilton Leithauser's saintly, ethereal voice, a voice so heavenly it could raise the dead and make them give thanks for disturbing their eternal sleep. There's no panicked experimentation or need to raze everything in order to justify their credibility, just confident, defiant execution from beginning to end.

From the stately "Donde Esta la Playa" to the shambling "If Only It Were True," you're grabbed from the outset and know exactly where you're heading from the album's first line -- "It's back to the bad old days..." What lies in between is a mix of beautifully moody music that improves with every listen -- the building power of "On the Water" and "Postcards from Tiny Islands," the 4-in-the-morning weariness of "Red Moon" and "Long Time Ahead of Us." The album is pure smoldering brilliance, epitomized by this track midway through, "Canadian Girl," which encapsulates everything said above. Try to resist its siren song, if you will.




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And since I'm leaving for awhile, we'll close with two tunes from Sunshine Radio that give an update on its owner's mood lately. First up is this track from the aforementioned Walkmen gem, A Hundred Miles Off, which effectively sums up my feelings of work these days. Pretty self-explanatory. Suffice it to say it's been getting HEAVY play in the rotation this week...




Second is a track from my beloved Mates of State that serves as a little FU to those around me who continually assume I'm more like the song's subject than someone with a valid explanation for my disdain for things right now. Be it towards work, my "home" life, or being stuck in DC in general, the initial assumption people seem to have is that I'm being unreasonable -- a rash, impetuous baby -- rather than someone rationally responding to events. But what do I know, they're probably right. Actions don't seem to matter much around here, and neither does how you treat people -- it's all about the here and now and how you can spin things.

Past events are irrelevant, as are patterns of behavior and performance. What matters is the immediate present. That way everyone is equal and there are no previous or future considerations to get bogged down in. Fool (or fuck) me once, no big deal because you've never done it before and would never do it again, right? Wipe the slate clean and move on. Next time it happens, it's the exact same -- first time's a freebie, but don't let it happen again. And so on. 1 + 1 = 1 Whatever. I'm the asshole, and we're all the same. I get it...