Going along with Yank's idea (I think it was Yanks), here are some album reviews from today's Times.
July 1, 2003
Heartbreaks in Off-Kilter Grooves
By KELEFA SANNEH
Can you imagine anything less appealing than a punk subgenre ruled by boys who whine about girls? The style is sometimes described as "emo" (although no one likes the term), and although it's easy to ridicule the bands for their reliance on ringing guitar riffs and cry-me-a-river lyrics, right now it's also hard to name a more vital rock 'n' roll movement.
Déja Entendu
Brand New
What happened to Brand New?
In 2001 the band, which is based on Long Island, released "Your Favorite Weapon," a sharp but straightforward collection of breakup songs. Now the group has returned with "Déja Entendu" (Triple Crown/Razor & Tie), an extraordinary album full of riddles and rallying cries and contagious choruses. Jesse Lacey, the singer and songwriter, is starting to figure out what he's capable of, and his best songs are as good as any you'll hear all year.
Like many emo songwriters, Mr. Lacey has noticed a connection between self-pity and its opposite, and he makes the connection explicit on "Okay I Believe You, but My Tommy Gun Don't," a love story with a plot twist. It turns out the bitter ex-boyfriend is also a rock star, which means that each complaint (he tells his ex, "I hope you come down with something they can't diagnose") gives him another reason to boast: "And these are the words you wish you wrote down/This is the way you wish your voice sounds/Handsome and smart/Oh, my tongue's the only muscle in my body that works harder than my heart."
In another song, "The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot," Mr. Lacey repeats himself, turning farce into tragedy. It starts with hyperbole: "If it makes you less sad, I will die by your hand," he sings, and there's a note of derision in his voice. Then he revises the line by toning it down, and derision turns to sorrow: "And if it makes you less sad, we'll start talking again."
The mood is anxious and occasionally sinister (one song describes a not-exactly-consensual sexual encounter), and the band heightens the effect by holding back: sometimes Mr. Lacey is accompanied only by the rhythm section and sometimes only by a strummed guitar. Then inevitably the full-throttle choruses arrive, and Mr. Lacey doesn't sound so lonely anymore. You can imagine the sound of thousands of fans singing along.
The only thing wrong with "Déja Entendu" is that it feels a little unfinished: the album is hardly 45 minutes long, and the energy and inventiveness flag slightly in the second half. But it ends well, with an acoustic ballad called "Play Crack the Sky," about two lovers drowning at sea. It's yet another extravagant metaphor for heartbreak, but the lyrics are too pointed to be merely sentimental. Straining to reach the notes, Mr. Lacey hits upon a striking final simile: "You know that you are not alone/Need you like water in my lungs."
Are We Really Happy With Who We Are Right Now?
Moneen
Brand New is on tour with Moneen, a promising Canadian emo band that extends and interrupts its energetic songs with precise instrumental passages that are sometimes more eloquent than the lyrics.
Moneen's new album, "Are We Really Happy With Who We Are Right Now?" (Vagrant/TVT), starts with a sforzando guitar line, and a tuneful roar: "You said you want it/You said you need it/What you don't know is I know/That you can't get it." After a few minutes, the tumult gives way to an array of soft, glimmering notes, then a series of stabs from the rhythm section, then the song lurches back to life.
The songs aren't always sturdy enough to support this digressive approach, but the band's dual commitment to anthems and experiments makes for engrossing listening. A eulogy called "How to Live With the Thought That Sometimes Life Ends" climaxes with an unfinished plea. The singer wails, "I can't say good. . . . ," and then he stops, and all that's left is the low, sickly rumble of electric guitars.
De-loused in the Comatorium
The Mars Volta
You'll find many of these same elements â?? plaintive vocals, heroic guitar riffs, choppy rhythms â?? in the music of the Mars Volta, but the end result isn't nearly comprehensible enough to be called emo.
The band is known (and sometimes derided) for live sets that often sound like so much screaming nonsense, but its debut album, "De-loused in the Comatorium" (GSL/Universal), is a delight, full of weird melodies and off-kilter grooves.
The Mars Volta is led by Omar A. Rodriguez-Lopez, the singer and songwriter who also led the chaotic punk band At the Drive-In. His yelping â?? by turns ferocious and delicate â?? holds together restless songs that scramble 35 years of progressive rock, from Yes to Tool.
There's a master narrative, something about a friend in a coma: it's serious, as they say. But knowing the full story doesn't necessarily mean you'll enjoy the disc's longest song, "Cicatriz ESP," which is so spacey and so jammy that you half expect Michael Jordan and Bugs Bunny to show up. Once the hourlong album is finished, you may feel not only delighted but exhausted, too, wondering when (or if) you'll ever have the stamina to do it again.
