Heard Here

Built to Spill
Ancient Melodies of the Future

“Something is wrong / Something invisible is gone,” sings Built to Spill’s Doug Martsch in their latest release, Ancient Melodies of the Future, perhaps unknowingly providing an astute characterization of the album’s feel. In terms of a classic Built to Spill album, Ancient Melodies has all the key ingredients: Martsch’s trademark crisp and poppy guitars, his sweet, whiny vocals and the driving rhythm that makes the slightly more eccentric listener break into spirited air-drum riffs — but something is definitely missing. It’s almost as if Martsch has lost interest, as if he is simply going through the motions, in a state of limbo, not really getting all that much worse than his past masterpieces, but really not going anywhere new. There is a sense of apathy and nonchalance that permeates the entire album, most prevalent in track two, “The Host,” in which Martsch sings “They never feel / They don’t even seem real / They never try / So why should I?” the almost desperate melancholy that we’ve only heard in his past romantic lamentations.
One can only assume that Martsch has reached a stagnant point in his creative career, due in part to the band’s decision to sign a contract with Warner Bros. (a contract that ends with this album). It is not out of the question that the band is simply pumping out one last forced effort and will then break away from the major label restraints to which they perhaps originally felt immune. Or perhaps our affable young rockers are just not all that young anymore, feeling the desire to follow in the footsteps of many other of our aging indie pop icons to break away from the wild days of their youth in pursuit of more mature solo endeavors.
Ancient Melodies lacks everything that the avid Built to Spill fan has come to expect. It doesn’t have the lovely, childish charm of 1994’s There’s Nothing Wrong With Love, nor does it reach the clean-cut level of 1999’s accessible yet outstandingly complete Keep it Like a Secret. What we’re left with is a work of mediocrity. By no means is this album bad; it’s just suffocated and lazy. Many of the songs drag on repetitively without the traditional Built to Spill kick that we know and love, despite the fact that the songs are much shorter than is customary for the band — most clocking in at under four minutes as opposed to the six-plus minutes of sweet guitar licks to which we are accustomed. But regardless of the disappointing air of this record as a whole, this is still Built to Spill, and what’s mediocre for them is still above average for most. The album has its ups and downs, some songs peering through the apathetic din with optimistic glimpses of what we want to hear, some making us feel as though it wouldn’t be the end of the world for the band to finish their current tour and regroup, a sentiment that has been expressed by Martsch in several recent interviews. Ancient Melodies of the Future ends on a great note. “The Weather,” leaves us with one of Built to Spill’s best acoustic ballads as well as a shred of hope that the band might still bounce back, reclaiming their spot in our hearts as the charmingly awkward and lovably earnest boys from Boise that they are.
-Natasha Uspensky

Tori Amos
Strange Little Girls

Tori Amos’s new album, Strange Little Girls, has balls. There is no other way to describe her most recent musical endeavor — a cover album that explores male-penned songs from a previously unsung female perspective. Trading her characteristic girl sadness for songs loaded with macho images, Amos walks an edgy line of bad girl meets angry mother. This is her first album in which faeries aren’t mentioned in the liner notes, and it seems clear that she’s in a new league with Strange Little Girls. The overall result is both daring and poetic.
The most powerful song on the album, and the one that everyone’s talking about, is “’97 Bonnie & Clyde,” Amos’ version of the Eminem song which pissed people off the whole world round. The original combines a characteristically snide sounding Eminem with a groovy tempo, spinning an extremely un-groovy tale of a man who murders his ex-wife and disposes of her with little daughter in tow. Although it has been questioned whether or not Eminem is truly a proponent of violence against women, Amos knees him pretty hard with this song and the result is a feminist’s delight. The groovy tempo has been replaced by creepy “I’m running after you with a machete” violin screeches, and the song has been slowed so that the listener can no longer escape the power of the lyrics. The song is sung with a fury only a new mother could claim, and I’m left agreeing with the critics on this one.
The rest of the album is largely a success. Amos’ version of The Velvet Underground’s “New Age” does what Amos does best: nails that feeling of lusty love sadness into four minutes of angsty beauty. Neil Young’s folksy “Heart of Gold” is morphed into a Zeppelin throwback, complete with Amos’ notorious orgasmic wailing. The wispy sadness of Tom Waits’ “Time” becomes even more heartbreaking when accompanied by Amos’s emotive singing. There are, however, some letdowns. Amos’ melodramatic version of Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy the Silence” feels more like a Tori parody than a thoughtful reinterpretation of an ’80s classic. And The Stranglers’ “Strange Little Girls” sounds a bit like the opening theme for an after-school special.
While the critics have attempted to pigeonhole this album as a woman’s take on masculinity, Strange Little Girls is far more complex than this simplification allows. Genderbending her way through such themes as aging, male homosexuality and homicidal ex-husbands, Amos’ revamps provoke more questions than they answer. An added bonus is the CD’s liner notes in which Amos poses as the physical embodiment of each song’s narrator. The portraits arise like thirteen Amos tarots from a pack, each one inscribed with a cryptic statement such as “Actually the Gestapo picked her up.” The images reinforce Amos’ power over these songs while reminding the listener that these are, in fact, her personal interpretations of other people’s work.

-Sarah Hull

Fugazi
The Argument

While 1998’s End Hits found Fugazi wavering somewhat cautiously between ambient bass-heavy dub and their original noise-pop formula on The Argument they have all but abandoned much of what made them so beguiling back in 1989. I am, of course, referring to when the monumental platter 13 Songs dropped into the lap of every expectant Minor Threat fan. Okay, so in 1989 I was a tad more preoccupied with long division and the Chicago Cubs than with the latest punk offerings from D.C. Musically, I was making the highly cerebral transition from my parents’ Peter, Paul, and Mary records to M.C. Hammer. Regardless, through an endless amount of careful research, I have discovered Fugazi’s initial explosion onto the independent music scene had a revolutionary effect, spawning multitudes of devoted fans and an irritating army of vile emo-core emulators. But no moshing please.
On The Argument, those old-school lyrical polemics and stilted melodies still occasionally emerge from the familiar buzz and clatter of abused guitars. The bass and drums are still deep, subtle and fluid. From time to time, Ian Mackaye still deigns to bellow like a cross between Fozzy Bear and an enraged Homer Simpson. Indeed, the new blend of groove-oriented math rock, distorted new wave riffs and odd Lennon-esque vocals makes for a handful of surprisingly decent tunes containing moments of genuine brilliance. For example, the angular guitar interplay on “Cashout” is precise yet powerfully dynamic, recalling some of television’s more minimalistic efforts.
Unfortunately, The Argument is considerably more ambitious than it is consistent. I did find myself regularly baffled by the increasingly predictable progressions and the band’s current insistence on combining seemingly incongruous parts into a song. Most importantly, this album simply did not quite kick enough ass. Why aren’t the amps turned to eleven at all times? Where’s that intelligent focused rage we all know and love? Who’s gonna rend it if Fugazi doesn’t? Sadly, I think something nefarious is afoot. Indeed, I got the impression that Fugazi has been using paper, not just for scrawling righteous diatribes against the ills of society, but for rolling doobies. Big ones.

-Andrew Simmons