Josh's Froz-T-Freez Internet Drive-Inn

Animal Collective: Merriweather Post Pavilion (Domino, 2009)

It should be good to share our favorite things
I’ll keep an open mind if you let me in
Don’t let your temper rise, don’t get a bitter face
Try not to judge me on my kind of taste
And don’t go changing clothes when they don’t like yours

This invitation and counsel comes from the closing verse of the song “Taste,” a squelching Beach Boys-meets-Main Street Electrical Light Parade stomp from Animal Collective’s latest opus, Merriweather Post Pavilion. If ever there was one album worth leaving your musical comfort zone for, an album worth spending some time getting acquainted with, allowing it to grow and reveal its many delights and rewards to you (even, and maybe especially, if you didn’t like it at first), this is the one.

Throughout their career as a band, Animal Collective has tapped into the joyful, scary sounds of childhood sonic exploration. By this I refer to the fun, meandering, genius songs that some four-year-olds make up on the spot, or the wild sounds you might hear an untrained five year old who has free reign at a piano pound out. In other words, these are the musical activities children feel free to do before they learn to do them the proper way, before they become self-conscious and embarrassed about such behavior, or before the keyboard cover is slammed down and they are dragged out of grandma’s living room to timeout. The members of Animal Collective either never moved past this stage or they found some magical way to revert to it. They are “playing” music, and as play it is imaginative, primal, experimental, fun, obnoxious, and, perhaps above all, mysterious.

I emphasize the mystery of their music because It is often nearly impossible to figure out what instruments, sounds, or playing methods you are hearing at any particular moment in an Animal Collective song.  In past efforts their lyrics were sometimes difficult to correctly decipher and included words placed together as much or more for their sound as for their meaning.  Again, this mystery and abstraction points back to that childlike propensity to “play,” their ignorance of many of the conventions of musicianship or their belligerent refusal to adhere to them. Over the course of their career they have developed their own idiosyncratic methods of creating music using their instruments, their computers and their voices, and this has made for several albums worthy of the listening ear of an open-minded music fan. However, with the songs on Merriweather they have clearly become masters of their self-made musical methods; this is their most accomplished and accessible album to date, in both songwriting and arrangement. Each song is fully formed, inhabiting its own lush and unique world.

Their instrumental mystery/mastery is in full play from the outset of the album with the song “In the Flowers.” Various abstract noises soon resolve themselves into a waltz rhythm featuring a triplet figure played on an instrument that, with each morphing note, sounds like it could be something different: Is it a harp? a harpsichord? a guitar? a treated piano? a synthesizer? After the second verse the song explodes into a beautiful cacophony of abstract sounds that give the effect of a full-on symphony orchestra: strings, brass, woodwinds, the whole package. I say “give the effect” because this “orchestration” is likewise of indeterminate instrumental origins. This wonderful noise blasts out over a thick electro-timpani beat and orchestral percussion. It simultaneously evokes a Tchaikovsky ballet movement and contemporary electronic dance music. Such musical references to dance make the lyrics and music entirely symbiotic, as the singer imagines dancing with the one he loves, from whom he is currently far removed.

Unabashed playfulness and lyrical mastery also abound in “Summertime Clothes,” which is at once a hugely weird summer jam, a perfectly written pop song, and a sort of “Good Vibrations” or “Singin’ in the Rain” for 2009. Sizzling, gurgling soda pop sounds and ambient street noise accompany euphoric singing that describes a hot summer nighttime walk through city streets:

It doesn’t really matter, I’ll go where you feel
Hunt for the breeze, get a midnight meal
I point in the windows, you point out the parks
Rip off your sleeves and I’ll ditch my socks
We’ll dance to the songs from the cars as they pass
Weave through the cardboard, smell that trash
Walking around in our summertime clothes,
Nowhere to go while our bodies glow
And we’ll greet the dawn in its morning blues
With purple yawn, you’ll be sleeping soon
And I want to walk around with you
And I want to walk around with you

To me, one of the most winning aspects of <em>Merriweather</em> is the fact that so much sonic playfulness and weirdness is coupled with lyrics firmly grounded in domestic life. These are not songs about random sex, drugs, violence, and rock n’ roll excess, nor are they political rants, trite love songs, or absurd fantasies, but rather songs about wanting to provide a decent home for your family (“My Girls”), songs about missing your spouse when traveling (“In the Flowers,” “Guys Eyes,”), songs about waking up early and getting your child ready for the day (‘Daily Routine”), and songs giving advice to a little brother (“Brother Sport”).  In these songs the mundane becomes magical and the banal goes wild.

A fine example is “Daily Routine,” which, with its cut-up organ flourishes, vocal harmonies, and fat hip-hop beats sounds like a Timbaland remix of Yes’ “Close to the Edge.” However, in contrast to the mysticism of Yes songs and the vulgarity of much of hip-hop, “Daily Routine” lyrically depicts the pedestrian events the title implies, “Make sure my kid’s got a jacket / And coat and shoes and hat. / Strap a stroller to my back / Bouncing along every crack.” The true genius comes in the second part of the song, all slow, echoing, reverb-drenched drone over which the lines “Just a sec more…in my bed / Hope my machine’s working right” are sung repeatedly, musically re-creating the feeling of wanting to hit the snooze button in the morning.

Despite the many details and colors of the music, it is the simple exuberance of many of these songs that keeps me listening to them over and over again. I love the counter-intuitive brilliance of closing the album with a song as enthusiastic, infectious, and stadium-ready as “Brother Sport.” I smile and marvel at the audacity of filling the hand-clapping pop anthem chorus of “My Girls” with the so not rock-n-roll lines, “I don’t mean to seem like I care about material things / (like a social stance) / I just want four walls and adobe slats for my girls / (Woooooooh!)” Taken together, the songs of this album set forth a refreshing view of life in which the hottest party is at home with the family, and nothing is more exciting than spending time with the ones you love. In my opinion it’s a mature perspective to express with such wild and childish sounds. Due to this album’s sonic inventiveness, its musical hyperactivity, its total lack of cynicism and negativity, and it’s all-around positive energy and joyousness, I can’t really imagine an album coming out any time this year that I will like more than this one. Ultimately this is why I feel this is the one album among so many that is worth the time of the not-usually-patient listener: the more you listen to it, the more it may make you happy.

I am starting to branch out into the role of a woodsman. I’ve logged a fair amount time in such efforts in the past week. Last Saturday I helped some neighbor friends chainsaw logs and pile them into trailers. This afternoon I came home from work and made the first real use of my newly acquired axe:

This Saturday will be more of the same wood activity, but this time it will be the entire ward/canyon, and there will be several mechanical splitters and lots of people to lift and chop stuff. Having grown up in the city, this is all an entirely new kind of work for me, and I savor the novelty of it and the sore muscles it brings. I’ve not yet quite mastered my chosen tool, but I’m having fun. I think I’ve finally found an exercise activity that I actually enjoy (at least for the next week or so).

In related news, our seasonal patio pond has finally receded to the point that I no longer have an excuse to refrain from mowing the lawn, nor from other yard and garden tasks. I guess I have my work cut out for me.

TV on the Radio: Dear Science(DGC/Interscope, 2008)

TV on the Radio showed up on the scene a few years ago with the startling soul/punk/industrial/doo wop Young Liars EP. Their second full length, the absurdly titled Return to Cookie Mountain, was a dense grower with multi-layered soundscapes; it eventually won out as my favorite album of 2006. With Dear Science, TVOTR have synthesized and put into practice all the knowledge gained from their prior experimentation. They have de-cluttered their mix, trading in some of the noise for an array of clean, polyphonic grooves and some more overt pop moves, even adding some great string arrangements to several songs. What results is a strong album in an evermore eclectic and satisfying fusion of styles that hardly anyone else dares to throw together: R&B, post-punk, hip-hop, indie, electronic, jazz, afro-funk, prog/art rock, and probably a load of other things I haven’t picked up on. They’ve spent the past few years sounding like absolutely no one else in rock, possibly because they sound like scattered fragments of everyone else, deconstructing everything from Radiohead to Usher to the Pixies. On this album they’re putting it all back together.

“Halfway Home,” the high energy album-opener, is also the track most in keeping with the expected TVOTR sound, if slightly more upbeat than usual. Syncopated drumming and heavily effected, chugging guitars create a drone background for some Beach Boys-styled “B-B-Ba-Ba-Boms,” over which lead vocalist Tunde Adebimpe croons with a voice that is not entirely unlike that of Nat King Cole.

Adebimpe is not the only vocal force, however, the band having been blessed with not one but two gifted vocalists and lyricists. Kyp Malone contrasts Adebimpe’s smoothness with a slightly more idiosyncratic, soulful vocal style. Check out his voice on “Golden Age,” the album’s celebratory “lead single” which sounds like it could have been unearthed from Michael Jackson’s long-lost collaboration with David Bowie and Brian Eno. The classic groove is clearly meant to get everyone on the dance floor, but the lyrics here have as much in common with the language of hymnody and the biblical psalms as they do with “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough,”

Move your body
You’ve got all you need
And your arms in the air stir a sea of stars
And, oh, here it comes and it’s not so far
All light beings
Come on now make haste
Clap your hands
If you feel you’re in the right place
Thunder all surrounding
Feel it quake with the joy resounding
Palm to the palm you can feel it pounding
Never give it up you can feel it mounting
Oh it’s gonna drop gonna fill your cup
Oh it’s gonna drop gonna fill your cup
The age of miracles
The age of sound
Well there’s a golden age coming round, coming round, coming round

This simultaneous subversion and fusion of mainstream pop musical styles with spiritual (or in other cases political, poetic, and scientific) language to create curious and stunning lyrics recurs on many tracks. Production-wise, “Stork & Owl” sounds almost like something Timbaland could have brought to Justin Timberlake, but instead of the stereotypical lover man lyrics one expects from such a track, a close listening reveals more of a meditation on death and the challenges and chances of life, with lyrics like,

Death’s a door that love walks through
In and out, in and out
Back and forth, back and forth

Turn from the fear of the storms that might be
Oh, let it free, that caged on fire thing
Oh, hold its hands, it’ll feel like lightening
Oh, in your arms, safe from the storms.

A couple more favorite tracks I would be remiss not to comment on specifically:

• the absolutely vicious afro-funk groove of “Red Dress,” with its equally vicious and self-eviscerating lyrics which once again mix the biblical, the popular, the political, and the sociological.
• the souled-up In Rainbows-ish tracks “Love Dog” and “Shout Me Out,” which follow directly on its heels,

and

• album closer “Lover’s Day,” an absolutely ecstatic and occasionally explicit love song set to a fife-and-drum New Orleans march, complete with a multitude of both live and sampled woodwinds and horns.

Each song on the album is rock solid, fully formed and fully inhabiting its own sonic world. Quite a feat for an album of such diverse sounds. The heterogeneous sounds have made it easy for me to get caught up in repeated listens, as it’s hard to get bored with all the variation. And yet, despite the differences, the tracks seem to beg to be listened to one after another, as sequenced. They gain resonance by their juxtaposition. Taken as a whole, I feel the album partakes of a bit of that freshly canonical/instant classic feel most recently exemplified by In Rainbows.

Recommended for anyone who likes smart, adventurous funk/soul/rock music, and anyone who’s ever wanted to somehow listen to Kanye West and U2 at the exactly same time (am I the only one?)

By the way, you can listen to any or all of the tracks on this album for free just by clicking on the little triangle play buttons in the box at the top of this article. Streamed courtesy of the excellent lala.com music site.

I should also note that the only reason that this review is included in my best winter albums of 2008-2009 series is that I listened to it a whole lot this past winter.

Early yesterday morning as I looked out our window to peak at the morning weather, I realized that I half-expected and half-WANTED to see everything covered in snow, rather than the few rain puddles that greeted me. Looking at the situation “objectively,” I recognize that this is sickness and madness, but nonetheless it is a true feeling. We need one more good snowstorm to wrap up everything, right? Right? I’ve enjoyed the warmer spring weather of the past week, but I guess there is part of me that is just not ready to say goodbye to snow yet. And since I live in the mountains of Utah, I have the privilege of a long, drawn-out farewell. Some of the stuff is still slumping in the shadows of the north face just a block up the street from me. But that’s just not the same as the fat, fresh snowflakes floating around and piling up on everything.

Well, today I got my snow. Sort of. It’s not sticking to anything, and half the time it is masquerading as rain, but there have been moments of genuine snow today in Vivian Park. The pictures above document this phenomenon.  Right now there are little flecks darting about, but the ground is practically dry.  I guess I won’t get snowplows today (although they were forced to visit Vivian Park, and even that pleasant valley city of Orem, one night just two weeks ago). And there is the consolation that someone built us a snowman in the park just last week.

Perhaps the real reason I am reluctant to say goodbye to the snow is because I never finished publishing my increasingly irrelevant Spring Run-Off / Winter 08-09 Recap here at the Froz-T-Freez. It’s my vain hope that as long as there is still the occasional snowstorm, such content cannot be rendered entirely obsolete.

Also, if it stops snowing and raining all the time, I will have no excuse but to start doing yard work. The receding snowpack revealed all sorts of rocks, branches, debris and garbage on our lawn and driveways that need to be gathered up, swept and thrown away, and the lawn is already overdue for its first cutting. I’m also feeling the hurt now for not planting some new bushes and perennials last fall, but I’m trying not to dwell on that oversight.

As it turns out, I am asking the snow to cover up quite a few things, and not just mud and garbage. I’m not ready to come out of hibernation. I’m not ready for the change. I’m hoping to finish up two long overdue record reviews early this week, so that we can get on with the work of the present time. This is the Froz-T-Freez after all, so an obsession with all things frigid should not come as too much of a surprise. Nonetheless, nostalgia is just one of the items on the menu here; it’s not intended to be our specialty.

Today we found ourselves needing to make an excursion to the the south side of Provo, and, desiring some food on our way there, we took the initiative and finally visited Sammy’s, just off Center Street on 100 West in downtown Provo. Before reaching Provo we were almost sucked into the Five Guys fever that is sweeping Orem and the rest of the Wasatch Front, but luckily for me Gin was strong in the cause of trying the place in Provo, and so we stuck through our hunger until we arrived at Sammy’s.

Walk in and the place feels immediately comfortable. The staff is super friendly. The customers seem to be regulars. Seating is at bar stools around a counter, behind which they ask you what toppings you want on your sandwich and finish putting it together right in front of you while you sit there.

An endearing Provo detail is the wall display for “Supernal Scripture Totes,” apparently handcrafted for $15 each. (I know my wife will roll her eyes that I call this a Provo detail, but where else but in our Mormon college town are you going to see something like this?)

Sammy’s has a great, simple menu. Everything is fresh and made from scratch. For entrees, they mainly feature hamburgers and chicken breast sandwiches, with pretty much anything that you could ever want on a hamburger available for toppings: grilled onions and mushrooms, homemade guacamole, pineapple and teriyaki sauce, bacon or pastrami (that ubiquitous Utah hamburger topping), several types of cheese, and of course the usual lettuce tomato ketchup mustard mayo type toppings. (I neglected to check whether beets were available as a condiment, but there’s always next time.) I tried Sammy’s Masterpiece, a burger with provolone cheese, grilled onions and mushrooms, guacamole, bacon, barbecue sauce, lettuce and tomato. At $5.99 it was a little pricey when compared to many local burger joints, but it was absolutely delicious. The abundance of excellent toppings puts it over the edge. In addition to the burger, what really hit the spot were the sweet potato fries, which come with one of the best renditions of fry sauce I have ever tasted. The picture below depicts Gin’s burger, which didn’t have as many goopy toppings on it as mine (already half-eaten by that point). Those fries are incredible.

Perhaps best of all are their real homemade pie shakes. Yes, you read that right. They have a case full of various flavors of pies, and for $4.00 they cut off a slice and blend it with soft serve ice cream for one of the best shakes you will ever taste. I know this sounds kind of weird; I certainly had my doubts, but at the waitress’ recommendation of the banana cream, Gin and I shared a split coconut/banana cream pie shake, and it was far better than I imagined it even possibly could be. This was another item eaten too quickly for a photo; you can see what was left of ours in the picture above, behind the burger plate.

Sammy’s has been in business for almost a year, and it is an absolute prize of an establishment, a quality place oozing with local character. They have tried to make a hip burger joint and college hangout spot, and in my opinion they have totally succeeded. Only one complaint: there was no music playing?! Come on guys, at a place like this you’ve got to kick out the jams.

My mouth is red from having just stretched to consume that giant burger.

Sammy’s has a blogspot blog of some sort. I haven’t explored in too much detail, but here’s the linkage: http://www.sammyscafe.blogspot.com

Sammy’s
27 North 100 West
Provo, UT 84601
801-805-9208

Mailing in our taxes today. That’s right, I still kick it old-school with the IRS. I love filling out forms.

P.S. This is also my excuse for not having anything new written and posted — I spent most of the day yesterday preparing said taxes, and earlier this week I was working 9-11 hour days. The prior post, a reprise of a little thing I wrote for our wedding one year ago, I had programmed to automatically post itself on the morning of our anniversary. Anyway, I will get to finishing up my favorite winter album reviews and posting some more pictures muy pronto. Thanks for watching.

We met at an art exhibit. We met in the comment section of my blog. We met in a snowstorm in a cottage in the mountains. We met at a symphony concert, sitting next to each other. We met at Family Home Evening and commiserated because we both hated Family Home Evening. We met at the library and traded poems. We met in the Provo temple. We met in empty parking lots and Mexican restaurants and our parents’ houses. We met at a movie theater where we were both making fun of the movie. We met at IKEA, buying bookshelves. We met at an art supply store. We met at a little Chinese place by the hospital. We met on the yellow BART line between San Francisco and Lafayette. We met hiking on a trail in Millcreek Canyon on the last nice autumn day before winter.  We met to shovel snow under the full moon.  We met because we both liked a painting by Brian Kershisnik.