Monday, December 2, 2013
Summer vacation
Monday, November 25, 2013
My album review
Album reviews
The Marshall Mathers LP 2 is the kind of sequel that gets people shouting at the screen in disbelief before their seats are warmed up. The first song, "Bad Guy," is seven white-knuckled minutes of psycho-rap insanity in which Stan's little brother comes back to chop Slim Shady into Slim Jims, tossing him into the trunk and driving around Detroit – listening to The Marshall Mathers LP, of course. "How's this for publicity stunt? This should be fun/Last album now, 'cause after this you'll be officially done," Em raps, playing his own killer.
Eminem could use a publicity stunt, and The Marshall Mathers LP 2 is just what the therapist ordered. During the 13 years since The Marshall Mathers LP, he's never lost his acrobat-gremlin skills on the mic. But some subsequent albums felt hermetic, perverting rage into rock-star griping on 2004's Encore, horror-show shock tactics on 2009's Relapse and 12-step purging on 2010's Recovery. The Marshall Mathers LP 2 is about reclaiming a certain freewheeling buoyancy, about pissing off the world from a more open, less cynical place; he even says sorry to his mom on "Headlights," where he's joined by Nate Ruess of fun.
Nostalgia is everywhere. Em surrounds himself in allusions to classic hip-hop, like the Beastie Boys samples producer Rick Rubin laces together on "Berzerk." It's telling that the only guest MC is Kendrick Lamar on "Love Game," probably because his slippery syllable-juggling owes a lot to Eminem.
Yet Em's former obsession – his own media image – has been replaced with a 41-year-old's cranky concerns. He's still a solipsistic cretin, but in a more general, everyday sort of way. He raps about how he can't figure out how to download Luda on his computer and waves the Nineties-geek flag with references to Jeffrey Dahmer and the Unabomber. He's playing his best character: the demon spawn of Trailer Hell, America, hitting middle age with his middle finger up his nose while he cleans off the Kool-Aid his kids spilled on the couch.
Much of the album hews to the stark beats and melodies he loves rapping over. But the tracks that lean on classic rock are loopy and hilarious. "Rhyme or Reason" brilliantly flips a sample of the Zombies' "Time of the Season"; when the song asks, "Who's your daddy," Em answers, "I don't have one/My mother reproduced like a Komodo dragon." "So Far . . ." shows some love for a Rust Belt homey by rhyming over Joe Walsh's "Life's Been Good": "Jed Clampett, Fred Sanford, welfare mentality helps to/Keep me grounded, that's why I never take full advantage of wealth/I managed to dwell within these perimeters/Still cramming the shelves full of Hamburger Helper/I can't even help it, this is the hand I was dealt to."
MM LP 2 fits in well in the year of Yeezus and Magna Carta . . . Holy Grail, records by aging geniuses trying to figure out what the hell to do with their dad-ass selves. (It's like hip-hop is the new Wilco or something.) Since Em has always been a mess, he'll probably still be able to give us pause when he's rhyming about retirement ventures through dentures and cleaning out the colostomy bag he wears up inside his saggy drawers. MM LP 3, 2026. Let's do this.
Katy Perry's 2010 album, Teenage Dream, was such a massive blockbuster that we've had to wait three years for the follow-up where she reveals the multifaceted artist behind the fun pop sheen. And Prism is as prismatic as all get-out: There's the Blakean feline of "Roar," the trap-rap interlocutor of "Dark Horse" (featuring Juicy J of Three 6 Mafia), the jet-set gal pal of "International Smile." On "Ghost," she lances the boil on her soul that is Russell Brand. On "This Is How We Do," she's a liberated weekday warrior, going from all-night parties with the boys to "Japaneezy" nail appointments to kamikaze Mariah karaoke. It's amazing she was able to cram all this Katy onto one album.
Some of Teenage Dream's sunny effervescence remains intact here ("Time to bring out the big balloons," she promises on the lush disco shwanger "Birthday"). But Perry and her longtime collaborators Dr. Luke and Max Martin often go for a darker, moodier intimacy à la high-end Swedish divas Robyn and Lykke Li. Songs like "Legendary Lovers" and "Unconditionally" set stark revelations to torrential Euro splendor. Perry has always done a great job of letting us know she's in on the joke of pop stardom. Sadly, she doesn't always bring that same sense of humor and self-awareness to the joke of pop-star introspection. The album's raft of ripe-lotus ballads is larded with Alanis-ian poesy she can't pull off: "I thank my sister for keeping my head above the water/When the truth was like swallowing sand," she sings on "By the Grace of God." A California girl should know that there are better things to do at the beach.
"From Here to the Moon and Back," the pledge of eternal devotion (with Dolly Parton) that opens Willie Nelson's conceptual collection of duets with women, has major wedding-dance potential. But several of the pairings that follow lament unions that couldn't work. Nelson's partners, sometimes updating songs he cut years ago, span the country spectrum from folk to pop. Weepers and waltzes prevail, but standouts push beyond that: Shelby Lynne's Western swing, Alison Krauss' dark Latin tinge, Wynonna Judd's husky honky-tonk blues, Mavis Staples' Bill Withers soul cover. And Nelson holds his unmistakable own throughout, like no other 80-year-old could.
Rateing: 3/5
This was social media in Great Britain in 1963, during the first flash flood of Beatlemania: George Harrison singing "Do You Want to Know a Secret" for Deanne and Jenny in Bedford;Paul McCartney belting "The Hippy Hippy Shake" for a student at the bassist's old grammar school in Liverpool; Ringo Starr stumbling over names on a request card from Yorkshire. That year, the Beatles ran riot over the BBC, even landing a weekly radio series of studio performances, dedications and wisecracks, Pop Go the Beatles – a vigorous innocence and outreach that propels this second culling of the group's Beeb work. The Beatles are enjoying the speed and lunacy of stardom here: tugging their roots forward in Little Richard's"Lucille" and a sparkling cover of Buddy Holly's "Words of Love" a year before they cut it for a record; going deep into their Cavern-era song bag for Chuck Berry's "I'm Talking About You" and Carl Perkins'"Glad All Over." The mounting hysteria of concerts seeps into "Misery," taped at a BBC theater in March 1963; the live audience can barely contain its screams in the middle. You also hear the distance growing: "It's amazing that you can hear us as we're in America now," Lennon cracks in a pretaped chat in early '64. There would be no more dedications to schoolgirls in Liverpool. The Beatles now belonged to the world.
Rateing: 4/5
Seven years after he placed on American Idol, Chris Daughtry and his band are opening up their would-be grunge to more nuance: folk instruments and synths, smoother high notes tempering Daughtry's bellow, "boom-b'boom" vocal-bass hook lightening the gender war in "Battleships." The sound on Baptized somehow links U2 to Rascal Flatts, adding Springsteenstances in "Wild Heart." More unexpectedly, there's also a banjo shuffle where Daughtry chooses Van Halen over Van Hagar, catalogs some of his other heroes and wonders who wrote Hole's songs. "Long Live Rock & Roll," it's called – a defense, perhaps, against anybody claiming guys like him helped kill it.
Rateing: 2.5/5
Rateing: 5/5