MIRANDA FISHER
MIRANDA FISHER
1-800-BAND - Diver Blue 12” (Almost Ready)
Huh. Okay, so this is a power pop record. But probably not the kind
you’re thinking of -- 1-800-BAND sounds, very specifically, like the kind
of faceless, short-lived power pop group that seems to have flourished
between the years of 1979 and 1982. “Diver Blue” is both the best
song on this record and the one that plays up that anachronistic sound
the most. If you stuck it in the middle of a volume of Power Pearls or
Teenline, whoever was listening wouldn’t bat an eye. I realize this kind
of proclamation is both overused and exaggerated -- including by myself
-- but let me be clear: this record literally sounds (and looks) like it came
out in 1980. Complete with the keyboards that border on overkill, the
questionable production. It’s an unusual aesthetic to go for, but three of
the four songs on here are quite good -- especially the aforementioned
title track -- and while I could do without “Many Happy Returns,” I
suppose it adds to the period effect. If it’s a sound that interests you, this
is certainly worth picking up.
A Man Called Destruction: The Life and Music of Alex Chilton, From Box
Tops to Big Star to Backdoor Man By Holly George-Warren
The most important thing to know going into Holly George-Warren’s new
Alex Chilton biography is that it’s intended for fans. Specifically for Alex
Chilton fans. If it seems as though that statement should be obvious,
then let me explain further: if you are a person who enjoyed the recent Big
Star doc Nothing Can Hurt Me -- as opposed to a person who shut it off
in disgust after the first ten minutes, as happened when the Rubberneck
editorial team attempted to watch it -- I do not think you will enjoy this
book. It contains very little in the way of alt-rock celebrities waxing
pseudo-prosaic about their Big Star fondness. And if you are a person
like the ones who sat in front of me when I saw Chilton play in 2009 and
spent the whole time grousing about how he “barely played any Big Star
songs!” then you’re likely to be disappointed as well. This is not a book
about Big Star. This is a book about Alex Chilton.
Adam Widener - Vesuvio NIghts
This album is...fine. It is fine. He’s got his retro-mod-meets-power-pop
thing going on, and it’s all very pleasant. Unfortunately, it’s just not
memorable. He’s obviously aiming for something in the mold of Bare
Wires -- of which he, along with seemingly everyone else in the Bay Area,
was once a member -- but that band’s success really rested on its vocals
and its sense of urgency, Widener just isn’t up to snuff in either category.
Instead, I have the strong urge to describe this record as “quirky.” Look,
Adam Widener seems like a nice guy, and this record isn’t bad by any
means, so if you’re looking to spread your money around, there are worse
ways to go. But if you don’t, you won’t find yourself lying awake at night,
ruminating on what might have been.
For fans of Alex Chilton -- as everyone reading this should be -- this
book is absolutely essential. It details Chilton’s life with startling detail
and as much clarity as could be reasonably hoped for. What emerges is
a portrait of a brilliant but complicated man. George-Warren goes deep;
no matter how much you think you know about Chilton, you’ll find some
new astounding story here. Big Star gets its due, to be certain, but so
do the Box Tops, the later, lounge singer material, and Chilton’s most
fascinating era, his seeming musical breakdown that began with Big
Star’s third album and carried through the early eighties. A Man Called
Destruction reveals a psychological breakdown that matches the music
of this period, but also makes it clear that, no matter the negative critical
reaction to Like Flies on Sherbert and its ilk, Chilton’s musical choices at
that time were intentional, deliberate, and exciting.
Atlantic Thrills - LP (Almost Ready)
The “Day at the Beach” 7” was perfectly pleasant and all, but Atlantic
Thrills’ debut is a huge step up. It’s far dirtier-sounding than the single,
which ends up working out a lot better for them. Hey, enough time has
passed since 2008/9 that we’re allowed to compare bands to the Black
Lips again, right? Well, this album sounds like the Atlantic Thrills
decided to make a follow-up to Let It Bloom, ten years later. Not that the
two albums sound exactly the same, but this record’s got a similar mix
of distinct genres, all run through a sloppy, high-energy garage filter.
Atlantic Thrills could easily stand next to the Jacuzzi Boys or the Box
Elders or whoever, yet they manage not to sound dated. This is very well
done. This band was also the biggest surprise of SXSW for me -- I didn’t
think they’d