“How can I rely on my heart if I break it with my own two hands?”
This is truly one of the best sad love songs that’s come along in a long time. Alison Mosshart does a lot wild yowling; it’s kind of her thing as a singer. I mean that in the best possible sense, of course. Onstage, she is like a lightning rod of pure energy. There’s something primal and cathartic in her performances, both with The Kills and The Dead Weather. So it’s somewhat surprising when she gets subdued, and even more surprising – nay, shocking – that she can deliver the same emotional impact standing stock still singing a ballad. This song is so different from the usual amped-up Alison we’re used to, and it shows that she’s not simply a very agile performer – she’s also a singer of great power, with the ability to be painfully raw and heartbreaking. It’s also a hint of potential future side projects, should she ever tire of being a rocker. A move towards more torch ballads, a roots-country album, the standards – it’s all possible.
I can’t speak for Alison Mosshart, but is sure sounds like this is what it sounds like when little girls have Mick Jagger as their role model. I’ve said a lot before about what a great frontman she is, and yeah, I’mma go there. I’m going to compare Alison Mosshart with Mick Jagger. (I think I’m already on record comparing her to Jim Morrison.) Because I honestly think she is that great. I’ve never seen The Rolling Stones, mind you. But I’ve seen Alison many times, and I’ve seen many, many frontmen and front-women great and small. I have never seen stage presence like hers. She doesn’t even look that striking in pictures, but when she’s on stage she is the sexiest woman alive. It normally would never have occurred to me to make comparisons between new band and old ones. It’s usually unfair to the younger ones, and you know, oranges and apples. But listening to The Dead Weather back-to-back with The Rolling Stones makes me hear a connection. This is what happens when white people get on the right side of the devil so they can play the blues.
I’ve been listening to The Kills a lot lately. Well, not just lately but for probably like a year. Their music makes me feel liberated. I have a lot of heroes, from many walks of music, and they all have their special place. Alison Mosshart is my hero for this time in my life. There’s something in her voice that relates to exactly how I feel right now. It’s hard to put into words. I like Alison because she’s not angry or sad, or a pretty-princess, or any kind of cheap female stereotype. She’s full of energy and emotion, and confidence. And what I really like is how, in her songs, she addresses her lover as a worthy opponent, a sparring partner. No ‘baby please come home’. Cause she’s a fucking modern woman who wants what she wants and isn’t shy about it. It makes me so happy that there’s more and more women in music today who are operating outside the traditional virgin/whore dichotomy. That mentality still dominates, unfortunately, but we’re beginning to realize how obsolete and stone-age it is. I was just thinking the other day about how I couldn’t think of very many literary heroines who were neither damsels in distress to be rescued or sinful seductresses to be punished. Or in movies or in music, either. But there’s a deep thirst for stand-up strong female role models. Hollywood is completely assbackwards as usual, and will probably write off the success of female-powered hits like The Hunger Games and GwtDT as weird random flukes, but music operates with more freedom and an ear to ground, Zeitgeist-wise. It’s big news if a movie with a female lead gets the greenlight, but in music, girls have been playing beside the boys for years now, and it’s become standard, as it should. Which is why I’ve come to believe that movies are an inferior art medium, at least as far as reflecting actual society. Because it takes the participation of hundreds of people working with millions of dollars to make a movie, it’s a risky investment, and the business is controlled by the same bunch old men as 50 years ago. Of course creativity and honest expression are going to get the backseat. On the other hand, anyone can make music and share it for nearly zero money. Music is where you find real personalities, real self-expression, and the real pulse of what’s going on in people’s minds, artists being themselves without focus groups telling them how to look and what to say. The awfulness of the Top 40 might make you feel depressed about the state of music, but it’s an illusion. Just outside those bought-and-paid-for airwaves is an ocean of independent artists who use the free technology of the internet to find audiences who appreciate them. I may not like all of them, but I’m glad they’re out there.
To summarize the year in the bluntest way possible: January and February were awful; March and April were alright; May, June and July were amazing; August and September were torture; October was ok, November was boring and December was good. That all the highlights of 2011 were sex, drugs and rock’n’roll is either great or humiliating, depending on what view you take on such things. I didn’t achieve jackshit, but I wasn’t trying to either, and I got some of what I wanted, though not nearly enough. Just like the year before. I saw an amazing line-up of concerts: Robyn, Diamond Rings, Gogol Bordello, Brownout, Love Inks, Bobby Birdman, YACHT, The Kills, The Decemberists, Liza Minnelli, Lucinda Williams, EMA, CSS, Morrissey. There were some sad moments; saying goodbye to Elizabeth Taylor, Amy Winehouse, Clarence Clemons and Cesaria Evora. Also upsetting, Jack White’s triple whammy of betrayal; breaking up the White Stripes, divorcing Karen Elson and associating himself with ICP. He’s got some major making-up to do. In the end, the uneventful nature of 2011 should be taken as a good thing. Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt, almost.
1) In music, Lady Gaga has been the guiding light of the year. I’ve had to swallow my elitist tendencies (that’s ok, they were unattractive anyway) and admit that I’ve fallen in love with Gaga and her messianic gospel of self-love. Her boundless enthusiasm for all things theatrical – be it haute couture, lengthy videos, half-crazed TV interviews, opulent arena shows, or those inescapably memorable hit singles – is a blinding blast of sincerity in an ocean of staged, wooden, pre-scripted and impersonal ‘stars’ who have nothing to present of themselves besides their glossy backsides. All of which would be null and void if it weren’t for the most vital thing: she can sing circles around nearly every one of her peers and many of her elders too. Her songs might be lyrically incoherent but that doesn’t stop them from delivering, with the cutting efficiency that only a pop song can have, her message of paws-up! empowerment. Which would be intolerably cheesy, except that she believes it so hard, and that makes us believe it back. Therefore, Born This Way, album of the year.
2) Proceeding in no established order, then. Recent years have shown a heartening trend of artists growing gracefully older, making great work from a mature perspective, and proving that if you’re never too old to rock’n’roll if you’re too young too die. One example was the comeback of Lucinda Williams, who finally made her album of happy woman blues. She’s still preoccupied by past loves who wronged her, haunted by old friends who died, and concerned with the regular hardships of life, but age (and presumably, married contentment) has taken the edge off. The very title, Blessed, hints at her contemplative attitude this time around. I think it’s her best since World Without Tears, only without tears.
3) The Kills have made their best album yet. Blood Pressures is their most professional sounding record, which is no detriment. They don’t rock any less hard for having learned to use the studio to better advantage. The album is dark and mesmerizing, like Alison Mosshart’s persona. She’s become a leading light for me, a new rock icon who deserves to be remembered as one of the great frontmen. She and Jamie Hince have great chemistry together but how far will the duo go, I don’t know. But I’m certain that someday Mosshart will be subject of many ‘I saw her when’ tributes.
4) SuperHeavy definitely takes the cake for best surprise of the year. Just when it seemed that Mick Jagger would only get off his pile of money to marshal another greatest-hits tour for the Rolling Stones to amass more money, here he comes with something entirely fresh and off-the-wall. Jagger’s choice of super group was seemingly random, but turned out to be impeccable. With the help of Dave Stewart, Damian Marley, A.R. Rahman and Joss Stone, Mick gets to indulge his taste for the exotic, combining flavors of Bollywood, Kingston, rap, funk, soul, and the blues-based rock’n’roll he helped invent. It could’ve been weird, it could’ve been self-indulgent, it could’ve not worked at all, but it work it does, and how. I can’t stop being delighted to get such a treat.
5) Again with older people rocking out like there’s no tomorrow. Tom Waits is another veteran who suddenly found his creative spark burning brighter than ever. Waits has never really had a slump in his career, he’s been consistently himself for decades, staying in character and undistracted by passing fads or the winds of fashion. Though he’s never let us down, it feels like he’s upped his game. Bad As Me stands out for sheer relish and for that has brought on a bout of critical and commercial success. The old devil has grown in stature from fringe-dwelling eccentric to a figure of such coolness he can not only write a song sending up The Rolling Stones, he can then compel a certain Mr. Richards to come play on it.
6) More of oldsers doin’ it like it’s new. Paul Simon was never given to childishness anyway. Come-ons, double entendres, party anthems, glorification of drugs and cars, none of those things were ever his thing. He’s written some great love songs, which all are somehow tinged with mournfulness, as if every love was already heavy with regret. On So Beautiful Or So What he’s right on track with the formula he mastered with Graceland, a combination of African and Latin beats, equal parts blues, piano pop and gospel, and a view of the world as a place of sadness and beauty, redeemed by love. And of course, a little humor at his own expense, as in The Afterlife, where he’s an ordinary schlub trying to get into heaven and finding that it’s a bureaucracy, and the girls still don’t like him.
7) I know I’m the only person on the planet to say this, but I really liked Lulu, Lou Reed‘s collaboration with Metallica. The record got blisteringly bad reviews across the board. It topped many a critic’s worst list. Clearly not one of those critics was a Lou Reed scholar. They all complained that it’s too weird and doesn’t sound like regular Metallica. No one saw it in context of Reed’s career or noticed the many references to and parallels with Berlin. Admittedly, I can’t recommend it for everyone, but for lifelong followers of Lou Reed, it’s a must. It’s hard to listen to, yes, but it’s not the first time Lou Reed has been hard to listen to. There have been many moments in his career that I find unlistenable. For example, Lulu is considerably less painful for me than The Blue Mask. Reed continues to be a challenging, uncompromising experimenter. I had misgivings about such a strange mash-up, but found myself getting thoroughly drawn in by Reed’s storytelling, his powerful lines, and his wrenching delivery.
8) This year I fell for Florence. The first Florence + The Machine was good, but Ceremonials was epic. Florence Welch has come into her own on this one. She knows the power of a big emotional climax, and provides climax after climax, every song a cresting wave. I can only describe the music as opulent. A minimalist she is not. There’s layers of tumbling sound, everything and the kitchen sink it sounds like, but expertly marshaled for maximum effect. And of course, the style, the look the personality. Red hair!
9) Speaking of epic and convoluted, the Decemberists were just those things on their 2009 album The Hazards of Love. That album was a musically and lyrically dense concept album. Now, on The King Is Dead, they’ve taken the opposite track, making it stripped down and folksy. Though I love the highly ambitious and complex concept album, the simplicity of songs for their own sake is its own charm too. It looks like this might be their last album in the foreseeable future, so enjoy it thoroughly. It’s sad that the most literate and intelligent band going has gone on hiatus. Perhaps Colin Meloy has an as yet untapped future as a novelist, and music was just a youthful pursuit, or perhaps they’ll make it back together after a restful year or two. Either way, not a bad note to bow out on.
10) Amid all these heavy hitters there’s room for something more out of the blue. The five-man duo YACHT combines high-energy electro-pop with an endearingly earnest New Age sensibility. Led by the androgynous Claire L Evans, they’re at one spiritual, cerebral and fun to dance to. Shangri-La takes as its topic dual visions of utopia and dystopia. But to call it a concept album would be reaching. YACHT has their worldview and iconography, but they’re still more interested in playing fun music than drawing out big ideas. If Evans isn’t a star now, she certainly deserves to become one soon. She’s got the stage presence of a guru, with the laying-on of hands for her following of devout fans.
Aaannnddd, more Kills. They’re a great odd/perfect duo. Alison Mosshart is the essence of modern-day rock star charisma. Jamie Hince looks like something that lives underneath a rock. They’re around to buck you up and remind you, after a hard day of other people’s bad taste, that there’s still rock’n’roll being played with passion and integrity. Not to even get me started on Alison’s grrrl-power bona-fides. She can fucking out-front Jack White. She makes Kate Moss look like a lame-o. She sings like an angry, horny tiger. She has really good taste in boots, too.
If I knew that show was playing I would have gone. Though I don’t do SXSW. That festival is for the press and out-of-town hipster douchebags. But, damn, if I knew I could’ve seen The Kills, man. Though I did see them at a later date, and I’ve seen Alison Mosshart front The Dead Weather twice. If you’re a big concert-goer, put Mosshart on your bucket list of people to see before you kick it. I go to a ton of concert, and it’s very rare for me to be let down by a performance – I usually enjoy every kind of show and everyone has something to offer, from the professionalism of Liza Minnelli to the sweaty chaos of Gogol Bordello. There are many kinds of stage presence. The Decemberists aren’t visually stimulating or charismatic, but their musicianship is impeccable and they have an easygoing rapport with the audience. M.I.A. doesn’t sing so much as sing along to her own recordings, but makes up for it in energy, dancing and stage diving fearlessly. Then there’s the few who own the stage with shamanistic intensity. Alison Mosshart is one of those, who has to be seen to be believed. She doesn’t look extraordinary in posed photographs, but on stage it’s a different story. She reminds me of things I’ve read about Jim Morrison, who believed himself a shaman channeling spirits, and the rock show a ritual of purification. Lots of people can get up and play, but some really are shamans who channel primal energy. You have to see it, it’s true.
Ever hear the phrase ‘totally gay for’? I’m totally gay for Alison Mosshart. She’s just the ultimate cool chick and represents a new liberated perspective of– Oh, look, drag queens! And Alison dressed as a boy. Sexy. Sexy song. I’ll admit I thought the earlier Kills stuff was kind of hit or miss. They had the energy and the image, but the songs weren’t that impressive. But they’ve gotten better and where before they were only getting one or two songs that stuck, their latest was almost solid with keepers. I think even artists with a dirty garage rat image benefit from a little polish. Not the polishing that evaporates all traces of human personality and gets a ticket to ride the radiowaves, but the polish that comes from years of playing together, developing a strong rapport, and learning how to use the studio to advantage. Having the resources to get in a good studio and the experience to know what to do there isn’t selling out. It’s mastering your art.
Oh, and a belated happy birthday to Alison Mosshart and happy Thanksgiving to everbody else.
“I don’t want a sweetheart, Sweetheart/I want a machine”
If there’s any arguments whether rock’n’roll is less alive, relevant or iconic today, let them be ended. It’s not any less anything. I did think, at a low point, that there wasn’t any blood left pumping in pop music. Then I discovered Jack White. I pretty much decided he was the second coming when I heard The White Stripes, and I haven’t been wrong. There aren’t any more White Stripes, sadly and there’s no word on if there’s any more Dead Weather coming either. We need another Dead Weather, like we need a machine. Jack has more than met his match in Alison Mosshart. She can match him in singing and writing, screaming her guts and sex appeal. She’s an animal with a fire inside. Just watch the brilliant black and white, flashing, thrashing Third Man performance below. Every Dead Weather song is a personal anthem. I feel them all.
Ever have those days when you wish you were half the badass Alison Mosshart is? Yeah, me too. Nor do I know anything about her. Don’t need to. She does all the self-expression she needs to through her music. She’s not looking for personal attention, and that’s something to admire. Be an artist, don’t be an attention whore. Keep your personal shit to yourself, if you can’t use it for artistic purposes. Mosshart keeps her life private, but she gives so much when she’s performing. Jamie Hince, on the other hand, has entered the world of high-caliber celebrity, through his marriage to tabloid magnet Kate Moss. Either he finds that lifestyle appealing or he loves her enough to make a personal space sacrifice. No question Kate has a fantasy of herself as some kind of latter-day Anita Pallenburg. Unlike some of her previous conquests, Hince seems like a functional enough guy, and I’m rooting for ’em.
I got lucky and saw The Kills earlier this week. I didn’t find out about their show until a couple of weeks before, wanted to get a ticket, couldn’t, and almost ended up not going. But I thought I’d take a chance, so I went up to La Zona Rosa anyway. Even at a sold-out show there’s always someone with an extra ticket to sell. There wasn’t this time, but I hung around outside the door for while and eventually the door guys took pity and just waved me in. Which left me with twenty bucks to spend on alcohol! The downside was that I couldn’t get anywhere near the front. I could barely see. I hardly got any good pictures, partly because I was far away and couldn’t see, and partly because the harsh backlighting of the stage wasn’t conducive to good picture taking. Then my batteries died anyway. Doesn’t matter too much, I suppose. I’ve already got photographs of Alison Mosshart from previous engagements. Unlike some folks, she doesn’t change her persona much between bands. She’s still dressed in black and got her hair in her face. Still moves like an electric snake. They played hard and made a lot of noise for two people and a guitar (and a backing track), but I’m disappointed they skipped my two favorite songs, Cat Claw and Nail In My Coffin.
Lady Garfunkel's Song of the Day 