Go to:
- Ride the Tiger (1986)
- New Wave Hot Dogs (1987)
- President Yo La Tengo (1989)
- Fakebook (1990)
- May I Sing with Me (1992)
- Painful (1993)
- Shaker (1994)
- Electr-O-Pura (1995)
- Genius + Love = Yo La Tengo (1996)
- I Can Hear the Heart Beating As One (1997)
- And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out (2000)
- Danelectro EP (2000)
- The Sounds of the Sounds of Science (2002)
- Nuclear War EP (2002)
Ride the Tiger (1986)
6.5
The Cone of Silence / Big Sky / The Evil That Men Do / The Forest Green / The Pain of Pain / The Way Some People Die / The Empty Pool / Alrock’s Bells / Five Years / Screaming Dead Balloons / Living in the Country
The
debut of one of the most acclaimed underground rock acts of the 90’s
doesn’t sound like their later drone-epics very much, but those who
are familiar with the band’s output will certainly recognize the roots
of much of the later stuff. More jangly than during the next decade, this
early incarnation of the band sounds like a crossover between seminal 80’s
jangle-acts such as R.E.M. and The Feelies on the one hand, and their own
folkier self of the Fakebook-era (a collection of covers by bands
that influenced them, recorded in 1990). Dump (James McNew) wasn’t in
the band yet, and the bass duties were taken up by a guy called Mike Lewis
and – on three tracks – former Mission Of Burma bass player Clint
Conley, who also produced the album. Lead guitarist is Dave Schramm, who would
leave the band shortly after the release of this album (and who still fronts
the suitably named band The Schramms).
I don’t get why this album is so harshly dismissed by many YLT-fans, since it certainly has a charming batch of songs (and a few clunkers, I have to admit that), and even a few impressive tracks. The best of them all is probably the album opener “The Cone of Silence,” a deliciously jangly song, with a great guitar solo, courtesy of Schramm. Other fine tracks are a premature version of “The Evil That Men Do,” of which two versions would appear on their third album, President Yo La Tengo (1989).
Obviously very Velvet Underground-inspired, it’s a song that benefits from the great use of feedback and a rumbling bass that helps keeping things together. Schramm himself provides and sings the album’s two remaining good songs, “The Way Some People Die” and “Five Years.” Admittedly, Schramm isn’t much of a singer, but neither is Ira Kaplan, and he does turn in two infectious jangly pop songs, that reminded me a lot of the later dB’s stuff, or, more specifically, of Mavericks, the album Stamey and Holsapple released in 1991. As for the merely decent songs, “Screaming Dead Balloons” has a great use of dissonance, but never quite reaches the heights of “The Evil That Men Do” or subsequent efforts. Several other songs qualify as gentle folk-rock, especially “The Forest Green,” with its half-mumbled vocals, breathy backing vocals by Georgia Hubley (often considered the ‘current Moe Tucker’) and a guitar that weirdly reminds me of a well-known John Barry-theme; and “Alrock’s Bells,” which meanders along with more of those trademark Kaplan-vocals. Quite similar, when it comes to atmosphere, are the two subdued covers “Big Sky” (Ray Davies) and the instrumental “Living in the Country” (Pete Seeger). This leaves us with “The Pain of Pain” and “The Empty Pool” (written by someone called Weckerman, maybe The Feelies’ drummer?), both of which are quite boring, because they don’t seem to evolve into actual songs with distinctive melodies. In the latter’s case it’s not really a problem, considering the short length, but “The Pain of Pain” goes on for a long five and a half minute.
If you would have only heard Painful or And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out before this album, it may have sounded awkward, but as I said before, it does make sense in the light of the overall idea of Yo La Tengo’s output. The problem with this album is a certain lack of identity or inventiveness, which can be deadly in a genre like this, since there are more than enough bland clones around. However, the album’s best songs are already an indication that this band would be capable of creating entirely satisfying albums, albeit not in the direction they’d actually choose.
Note: New editions of the album add four bonus tracks: “The River of Water,” an early single recorded in 1985, with Dave Rick on bass, the b-side being a decent cover of Love’s “A House Is Not a Motel.” Finally, it also contains two live tracks: “Crispy Duck” and the Schramm-sung “Closing Time.”
New Wave Hot Dogs (1987)
7
Clunk / Did I Tell You / House Fall Down / Lewis / Lost in Bessemer / It’s Alright (the Way That You Live) / 3 Blocks from Groove Street / Let’s Compromise / Serpentine / A Shy Dog / No Water / The Story of Jazz
1987’s
self-produced New Wave Hot Dogs saw Yo La Tengo, the core of which
still consisted of Ira Kaplan (guitar, vocals) and Georgia Hubley (drums,
cover art), move (gradually) further into noisier territory. Prime jangler
Dave Schramm had left the band in the meantime, and Kaplan started to take
care of guitar duties, while the bass was handled by a guy called Stephan
Wichnewski, who also appeared on the next album, but then disappeared off
the face of the earth (or so it seems). Maybe Schramm’s departure led
Kaplan, who was now the only guitarist, to pursue a different, tougher style,
but the album still finds the band hesitating between jangly folk-rock and
dissonant guitar exercises, which would become their trademark from the next
album onwards. I once read an interview with Georgia Hubley in which she argued
that one should be a moron to love this album (some people know everything
about self-promotion, don’t they?), but the eternal optimist in me disagrees.
Ok, Hot Dogs still isn’t an impressive album (no, no jokes
about Hot Tuna’s Burgers here), but at least it shows some
creativity here and there, as the band is trying to escape its fairly anonymous
jangle-rock sound. The problem is still, though, that they haven’t reached
their end-destination yet, which results in a somewhat directionless album
that became its own worst enemy by appealing only to music freaks.
Like thousands of other albums, Hot Dog sets off with its greatest song, the Feelies-inspired “Clunk” that betrays Kaplan’s limited vocal reach (one more reason why they would be called ‘a modern Velvet Underground’), but that also has some raw guitar dissonance that combines the more abstract artiness of Sonic Youth with the more accessible style of their jangle-contemporaries. Other noteworthy tracks that rock with glee are the bouncy “Serpentine,” which, regardless of its brevity (1:54), is a good song with a few cool sonic details (the organ accents and the slightly growling bass that becomes steadily dirtier); and “A Shy Dog,” the more up-tempo track that follows it. Noisier than both songs is the album’s second (and final) impressive track, “House Fall Down,” the first of their songs that fearlessly explores the as yet un-touched domain of atonality and dissonance, and with success. Although those who have never been confronted with this style before (or those who just can’t get into it, like my mother), might complain about its ‘gratuitous character’ or its ‘on purpose-chaos,’ it’s a first instance of the band trying to work with sound textures that defy conventional classifications. Instead of just violating their guitars or making noise for its own sake, it is as if the band turns feedback into another instrument, a mini-sized wall of sound that adds an extra sonic dimension to the song (yes, I know this sounds ridiculous, but I think you know what I mean if you’re familiar with the band (right?)). Quite similar are “Let’s Compromise,’ which basically doesn’t have much to offer, as it’s just a short drone without much action; and the album closer “The Story of Jazz,” which isn’t about jazz at all, but does name-check Georgia and Steve Albini.
The remainder of the album consists of decent, but slightly unremarkable folk-rock (“Did I Tell You” and “Lewis,” on which dB’s front-man Chris Stamey plays guitar as well), and a handful of wistful songs that are less successful than the more rocking tracks, with the short, and charming, instrumental “Lost in Bessemer” as only exception. “It’s Alright (The Way That You Live)” is an unsurprising cover of The Velvet Underground, “3 Blocks from Groove Street” a gentle song about escapism, featuring trademark mumbled vocals by Kaplan, that somehow fails to escape its own boringness, and “No Water” doesn’t have much to remember it by, either. It’s fair to say that New Wave Hot Dogs is a decent transitional album that has some really good tracks (the album opener, “House Fall Down,” “Serpentine”), but also suffers a bit from plainness, because the album’s lesser songs are quite generic and unremarkable. But, like I said, it’s worth checking out, and available only on a CD-edition with the better next album. New Wave Hot Dogs gets a (low) 7 from me.
President Yo La Tengo (1989)
8
Barnaby, Hardly Working / Drug Test / The Evil That Men Do (Craig’s Version) / Orange Song / Alyda / The Evil That Men Do (Pablo’s version) / I Threw It All Away
Now
this is what I call an improvement! This long EP (or is it a short album?)
is not only the first truly satisfying Yo La Tengo album, but it’s also
the first instance of a band that has found its own niche and that dares to
explore new territory without restraint. Stephan Wichnewski plays bass on
3 songs, while Gene Holder, who also produced the album (and did a good job),
takes care of the bass on the remaining four tracks. But ultimately, guitars
is what this album is all about. The band explores the limits of what can
be done with a guitar, not just by turning up the volume as loud as possible,
but by applying new textures like on “Barbaby Hardly Working”
which isn’t about classic structures, but focuses on feedback-forced
trance instead. With the bare minimum of ideas, the band succeeds in creating
an oddly mesmerizing track that, despite the minimalist approach (just check
out Hubley’s drumming), reaches maximum effect. On other tracks, the
band is searching for the thin line between structure and chaos (the 10-minute
squall-fest “The Evil That Men Do”). In that respect, it’s
probably the first album that shows the band was more than just another Sonic
Youth or Velvet Underground-clone, and that it was capable of making its own
masterpieces (although it would take them a few more years to pull that off).
The hypnotic feedback of the opening track is followed by the more conventional “Drug Test,” which could’ve been a track on Ride the Tiger, as this song never leaves the domain of jangly folk-rock. The album’s other folky track, “Alyda,” on the other hand, would also fit on their next album, as it seems a gentle and acoustic take on some forgotten 50’s gems. Again, and like “Barnaby,” it’s a very simple track, but it benefits immensely from details such as Hubley’s breathy backing vocals and her ever minimal, but fitting, drumming. “Orange Song” was written by a band called Antietam (that I had never heard of before) and is a propulsive rocking track that’s quite fast (although mid-tempo can almost be considered ‘fast’ in YLT’s catalogue), but suffers from Kaplan yelled vocals, that are further proof of the fact that the more hypnotic music with mumbled vocals suits him better. The essential tracks on this release are of course the two versions of “The Evil That Men Do.” While the short one (2:37) is an enigmatic instrumental version, that seems to combine the tightness of the Ventures with the catchiness of 60’s soundtracks, it’s the long version (10:30), that attracts the most attention, as it’s one of their most relentlessly daring tracks, a freak-out of screeching feedback, dissonant squalls and plain noise, over a foundation of unusual but steady drumming, and rumbling bass. While it’s certainly an acquired taste (it shouldn’t be too hard to find a few dozen people right off the bat who hate this song), I definitely like this incarnation of Yo La Tengo, the one that doesn’t abide by rules, one that turns structure and conventions upside down, replacing it with a quest for a surrogate, and which leads them to near-chaos. That sounds pretty weird, doesn’t it, so let me recapitulate by saying that this is definitely an album/EP you should have if you’re into slightly cerebral guitar-oriented rock or Hoboken, NJ-based bands. It’s Yo La Tengo’s first album that sets this band apart from the legions of other bands, plus it’s available on one CD, together with the previous album (in fact, they’re no longer available separately).
Fakebook (1990)
8.5
Can’t Forget / Griselda / Here Comes My Baby / Barnaby, Hardly Working / Yellow Sarong / You Tore Me Down / Emulsified / Speeding Motorcycle / Tried So Hard / The Summer / Oklahoma, U.S.A. / What Comes Next / The One to Cry / Andalucia / Did I Tell You / What Can I Say
Talk
about unpredictability! After 3 albums, that had been increasingly louder
and less conventional, Yo La Tengo suddenly came up with a mostly acoustic
album containing 11 covers and only five own songs. This created quite some
suspicion, because they had finally found their own style on the previous
album, and their judgement hadn’t always seemed that trustworthy. Their
cover of Lou Reed’s “It’s Alright” (from New Wave
Hot Dogs), for instance, was rather disappointing, but even before that,
they had perhaps overestimated themselves a bit by covering Love’s “A
House Is Not a Motel.” Among the cover material on this collection are
some obvious choices and critic’s favourites, such as Gene Clark (“Tried
So Hard” from the Flying Burrito Bros’ title-less third album),
John Cale (1919’s “Andalucia”) and The Flamin’
Groovies (“You Tore Me Down” from Shake Some Action). However,
the album also contains some less obvious cuts, some of which are pretty obscure.
At least, I had never heard of The Escorts, The Scene Is Now, or Rex
Garvin and the Mighty Cravers before. Some of the others were familiar, though,
like charming outsider Daniel Johnston and roots-pop combo par excellence
NRBQ. Of the five YLT-originals, 2 songs had already appeared on previous
albums, “Barnaby” on President Yo La Tengo and “Did
I Tell You” on New Wave Hot Dogs.
Overall, the album sounds folky, with lots of acoustic guitar, double bass, and muted drums, but there are also some nice instances of steel guitar (taken care of by Dave Schramm), organ, and fiddle (on “The One to Cry”). As for the songs: they do show some variation. Some are introspective and gentle, while others are more playful and bouncy. “Griselda,” for instance, is a track that’s guaranteed to bring you in a good mood in a split second. The equally infectious “Here Comes My Baby” that follows it, is a song that perhaps eclipses the original by Cat Stevens. Other examples are the goofy “Emulsified,” which somehow succeeds in combining 50’s R&B and bubblegum pop (those girlish backing vocals are hilarious), and has Kaplan fearlessly giving his all; and the ultra-short party track “The One to Cry.” Other songs are reminiscent of the folky jangle-rock of The Byrds: Gene Clark’s “Tried So Hard” for obvious reasons, and “Yellow Sarong” because of its 60’s guitar sound and the excellent harmonies of Kaplan/Hubley. The song is also one of the first instances where Hubley does lead vocals, sounding like a less-detached Nico. An absolute album highlight is their cover of The Flamin’ Groovies “You Tore Me Down,” which is of an almost unparalleled beauty because of the great vocal delivery of both Hubley and Kaplan (and it was already a fabulous song to start with, of course) and the effective musicianship that’s definitely vintage-YLT, but that also shows respect to the original. Also Kaplan’s “What Comes Next” has a sound that reminds of the psychedelic side of The Byrds (think Notorious Byrds Brothers). The other tracks are a bit different, whether it is the deliciously country-tinged (blame it on the steel guitar) album opener “Can’t Forget,” the minimalist Daniel Johnston-gem “Speeding Motorcycle” (one of the loveliest tracks on the entire album), or the Hubley-sung country-pop (like a less affected version of Patsy Cline) of “What Can I Say.”
I could mention all the remaining songs as well (like their version of “Andalucia” and “Oklahoma”, or their excellent re-workings of earlier tracks “Barnaby” and “Did I Tell You), but that’s not really necessary, as Fakebook is an immensely consistent album, that despite the variety of the covers, sounds as one coherent and convincing whole. Several other ‘alternative’ artists (Mark Lanegan with I’ll Take Care of You (1999) or The Walkabouts’ Satisfied Mind (1993, which also covered songs by Gene Clark and John Cale) come to mind) followed YLT’s example by making semi-acoustic cover albums, but few delivered it with as much style, creativity and joyful conviction as Yo La Tengo. Fakebook is an a-typical YLT-album, but at the same time also a proof of the fact that this band never cared about expectations, and did what they were good at: doing their own thing. Therefore, you could also see it as a typical Tengo album, of course.
May I Sing with Me (1992)
7
Detouring America with Horns / Upside-down / Mushroom Cloud of Hiss / Swing for Life / Five-Cornered Drone (Crispy Duck) / Some Kinda Fatigue / Always Something / 86-Second Blowout / Out the Window / Sleeping Pill / Satellite
Chapter
5 of the continuing saga of Yo La Tengo has the band returning to their late
‘80’s noisy preferences. One change that needs to be mentioned
though is that right before this album the core duo of Kaplan-Hubley was joined
by Dump, still their bassman (and a remarkable solo artist as well), who provides
the band with a steady and driving foundation. Sonically, May I Sing with
Me comes off as a crossover between Prez Yo La Tengo and the
folkier debut, even though it’s regarded as one of their noisiest albums.
The prime argument for this statement is probably the nine-minute squealfest
of “Mushroom Cloud of Hiss,” that at first sounds like a noisy
but palatable feedback-driven track, but when the noise takes over for a full
three minutes during the second half, it turns the song into an overly indulgent
slab of noise that’s very likely to annoy anyone within listening range.
It’s not that it’s clumsy, if anything this band became the reigning
kings of noise textures later on, but simply put it’s just a merciless
attack on your ears. There’s another extended guitar workout, “Sleeping
Pill,” but because it’s much quieter and soothing, it creates
a hypnotic effect that makes it live up to its title.
As for the rest of the songs, they seem to hesitate between the dream-pop that would become their trademark for a few albums and some that are more conventional, exploring the outer edges of pop/rock. “Upside-down,” for instance, finds the trio in a shamelessly accessible pop-mode, with a swift pace, delicious melodies and Hubley’s lovely backing vocals, while “Out the Window” actually rocks, courtesy of one mean guitar riff and Hubley’s most explosive performance yet (quite remarkable for a drummer who usually – not unlike Moe Tucker – lifts minimalism up to an art form). It also features some piercing guitar antics by Kaplan, but here they don’t become aggravating in the slightest. The title of the up-tempo “Some Kinda Fatigue” made me remember The Dream Syndicate’s early track “Some Kinda Itch,” and suddenly it also dawned upon me (so maybe this is an intended reference?) that YLT’s sound on this album is very reminiscent of that band in certain places. “Some Kinda Fatigue,” but especially “86-Second Blowout” rush ahead with exactly the bare, jagged guitar sounds of Wynn and Precoda in the glorious The Day of Wine and Roses-heyday, during which their Velvet Underground-fixation and flirting with dissonance and feedback could be considered proto-YLT guitar rock. The remainder of the album is usually a quieter affair: the excellent “Detouring America with Horns” updates the band’s fascination with the jangly late ‘60’s-rock of The Velvet Underground and The Kinks. Like many of YLT’s songs, it’s carefully built-up, with a long intro by Kaplan, and then it takes off (we’re already halfway the song by then) into a nice groove. Similarly murmuring are “Swing for Life” and “Five-Cornered Drone,” but whereas the former never transcends the realm of mediocrity, the latter evolves into a spellbinding delight. Regrettably, the band doesn’t succeed in turning all the songs into winners. Despite Hubley’s wonderful vocals (man, I can spend an entire day listening to her), “Always Something” stays frustratingly bland and a proof of the fact that the band would get much better at this later on. Still, May I Sing with Me offers a few good songs that suggested the band had it in them to construct a terrific album one day – although I must confess that if I’d heard this one when it came out, I probably wouldn’t have expected them to come up with an album as baffling as Painful.
Painful (1993)
9.5
Big Day Coming / From a Motel 6 / Double Dare / Superstar Watcher / Nowhere Near / Sudden Organ / A Worrying Thing / I Was the Fool Beside You for Too Long / The Whole of the Law / Big Day Coming / I Heard You Looking
While
my girlfriend
usually refers to this album as the one that’s “easy to fall asleep
to,” it’s also an album I’m telling you to buy now, today,
immediately, instantly and without delay, even if it means you have to smash
the porcelain pig on the mantelpiece. To call it an improvement over May
I Sing with Me would be a travesty like saying AC/DC sometimes referred
to hanky panky. It’s also the album where the band finally
seems to settle for an own unique approach. Granted, they’d always been
fairly recognisable, but whereas former albums seemed to hesitate between
folksy retro-rock à la The Velvet Underground or feedback-driven noise-rock
à la, uh, The Velvet Underground (and Sonic Youth, and maybe you could
also add My Bloody Valentine - still a major influence), this album captures
their blend of dreamy soundscapes and noise textures perfectly, it’s
where they finally succeeded in distilling their own inimitable brand of rock.
On the one hand, this means that rigid structures and instantly recognisable
hooks are seemingly disbanded (you wouldn’t call the first version of
“Big Day Coming” ‘a “You Really Got Me”
for the nineties’, I can assure you), while layers of sound enter
and leave the picture, but not without having created this eerily combination
of a spacey and pleasant atmosphere.
On the other hand, the band’s tendency for incorporating nearly abrasive elements is still intact as well (the second – noisy – version of “Big Day Coming” shows the other side of Yo La Tengo’s coin). It’s not very easy to describe the bulk of the album, as the majority of the songs situate themselves into a wasteland between hypnotic mood pieces and densely layered rave-ups (a minority – certainly because the repetitive drum patterns never allow the songs to explode with aggression). During “From a Motel 6,” for instance, the band plays its trump card par excellence: Georgia Hubley’s breathy vocals. While they’re already agreeable ear-candy by themselves, bass player James McNew provides the song with this huge, warm bass pattern, over which Kaplan experiments with guitar sounds, sometimes of the twinkling kind, sometimes suddenly coming up with the grating noise of an industrial drill. Similarly thick is the organ-dominated “Sudden Organ,” that’s basically a near-five minute mantra propelled by Hubley’s simple toms. If stuff like this could be dissected properly, the outcome would probably be that nothing much is going on, but the pay-off comes in all these little modifications and those vocals that are mixed way in the background. Instead of his sometimes irritating yelling, Kaplan has settled for a much nicer kind of talking-singing that blends in well with Hubley’s vocals (for example during the masterful cover of The Only Ones’ “The Whole of the Law,” a track that’s sweeter than you thought could be possible). It goes to show that limited vocalists can go a long way, while the music – sparse percussion, tingling guitars – provide the perfect backdrop. Also visiting folksy territory is the Kinks-like “A Worrying Thing” that paves the way for the slowly grinding repetition of “I Was the Fool Beside You for Too Long.” Starting off with a meditative, muted intro of about a minute, it’s again McNew’s bass melody that takes centre stage, while sheets of noise and minimal percussion (shakers!) are added and subtracted.
The total adds up to more than the sum of the separate parts, that’s undeniable. There’s also the short atmospheric ditty “Superstar Watcher” and the lovely “Nowhere Near” that evokes a universe entirely its own, but ultimately it’s the album closer that tops this one off for me, even though it’s an instrumental. I guess that a simpler song is hard to find: you basically have your guitar motive that’s introduced, joined by bass and drums, pushed into increasingly extremer/intenser/noisier territory, until the wailing wall of screeching feedback and distortion threatens to collapse into sheer noise, and then, the motive (that never really was lost) re-enters the picture and leads the whole to its logical conclusion that closes the circle. I realize now that I’m typing these words that my limited language skills cannot adequately express the superior quality of this song (or maybe I’m just not smart enough to word what my sensory organs are telling me), but let it suffice it’s the kind of 7-minute track you’d put 13 times on a 90-minute tape. It’s the culmination of an approach the band had nearly perfected when it came up with it, and would use, modulate and refine during the next decade. Painful isn’t about teen angst, striking anthems or kicking out the jams with your three basic retro-rock chords. It confronts the listener with an entirely different world, where it’s great to hang around if you’re willing to make an effort and forget about your usual preconceived notions of what a rock album should attempt to be. A classic of ‘90’s rock, nothing less.
Shaker (1994)
7.5
Shaker / For Shame of Doing Wrong / What She Wants
Yo
La Tengo’s catalogue is a collector’s dream and a casual fan’s
nightmare. During the past fifteen years, they’ve released about a dozen
albums, a dozen EP’s, and a string of singles. While the hardcore fans
who’ve been following the band since its humble beginnings probably
succeeded in tracking down most of these, it’s quite a difficult task
to get hold of them years after the facts. Since I’ve only discovered
the band in the late-nineties (yes, I’ve been the fool behind the times
for too long), I only managed to get my hands on a few of them and this one
was sent to me by an American YLT-admirer willing to put me out of my misery.
Anyway, Shaker followed hot on the heels of the marvellous Painful,
on which these three tracks would’ve fitted comfortably. Allegedly,
the title track was already used in Hal Hartley’s Amateur:
repetitive and with metallic-jangly guitars, it would sound like The Dream
Syndicate’s take on early Velvet Underground, if it weren’t for
Dump’s extremely fuzzy bass and Kaplan’s creepy ghost-house vocals
(“Come on down, nothing to do”). “What She Wants,”
on the other hand, is dominated by Kaplan’s acoustic guitar and half-mumbled
vocals (what his vocals have been since Painful). It’s the
remaining track that steals the show, though: an interpretation of Richard
Thompson’s “For Shame of Doing Wrong” (a highlight on the
third Richard & Linda Thompson (another great couple in the music biz)
album, Pour Down Like Silver). Sung by Georgia Hubley, who’s
accompanied by minimal organ sounds, occasional slide guitar and Kaplan’s
vocals, it’s a beautifully minimal take on a terrific song about loss
and regret. Shaker is hardly essential and probably quite hard to
locate, but fans/admirers of the band shouldn’t hesitate when they’re
suddenly face to face with it.
Electr-O-Pura (1995)
7.5
Decora / Flying Lesson (Hot Chicken #1) / The Hour Grows Late / Tom Courtenay / False Ending / Pablo and Andrea / Paul Is Dead / False Alarm / The Ballad of the Red Buckets / Don’t Say a Word (Hot Chicken #2) / (Straight Down to the) Bitter End / My Heart’s Reflection / Attack on Love / Blue Line Swinger
I
postponed acquiring this release for quite a while, because I used to think
it was a compilation that was significantly less essential than their albums.
I was wrong in several ways: firstly, it’s just a regular album, a follow-up
to Painful. The often weird comments/descriptions on the back-cover
- from which I deducted it was a mishmash of outtakes, demos, B-sides, etc
-, like “A rehearsal” (“Decora”) or “Patterns
of sound are my bag right now” (“Blue Line Swinger”), are
fake, and the song lengths are incorrect as well. If it weren’t for
a few lesser tracks that needlessly stretch the album’s length to nearly
one hour, the album would’ve been nearly as good as Painful. It’s
not as cohesive as that masterstroke, and also separately the majority of
the songs are slightly less extraordinary, but there are several instances
that confirm they were becoming one of the best current bands. Unsurprisingly,
several of the best tracks contain vocals by the ever-striking Georgia Hubley.
Even without her vocals, the classic YLT-groove of album opener “Decora”
– basically a drum & bass-drone over which Kaplan experiments with
guitar textures – would’ve been an album highlight, but she lends
the track a seductiveness that makes it so much nicer. If anything, she’s
indie rock’s own irresistible mermaid.
Although it’s vaguely more varied than Painful, the bulk of Electr-O-Pura is taken up by trance-y drones, most of which are good: “Flying Lesson” is as close as they ever got to Sonic Youth’s more accessible stuff (both vocals and guitar are very reminiscent of that band’s “Disappearer”), the organ-fueled “The Ballad of Red Buckets” actually sounds like a Painful-outtake and the noisy “(Straight Down to the) Bitter End” is simply among their loveliest songs ever. Like no other song, it makes the appeal of the band graspable: once you’re used to the distorted guitar sounds and the primal rhythms, you’ll often notice there lurks an impossibly sweet melody beneath the surface. This combination of dreamy pop and wilfully abrasive instrumentation – or spacey pop in a noisy coat - sometimes makes for a frustrating attempt to make sense of the apparent cacophony of sounds, but the pay-off can be rewarding. Sometimes, the band is not that oblique about its methods, though, since “Tom Courtenay” may be one of their most unapologetically accessible songs ever. Heck, if it weren’t for their semi-obscurity, it would’ve been a classic of modern pop in the meantime. Further highlights are the extended album closer “Blue Line Swinger,” (a stunningly effective epic of 9 minutes that, like their crucial “I Heard You Looking” on Painful, takes it time to built up to one mind-blowing climax with the main difference that this time around, you get Hubley’s veiled vocals as an extra bonus) and finally also the three “ballads” on the album: like “A Worrying Thing” and “The Whole of the Law” on Painful, the muted jangle of “Pablo and Andrea,” basically a bare-boned folksy song with country-ish accents, refers to the band’s earlier output, when traditional inspiration sources were more decisive than experiments with sounds and drones. Similarly, the shimmering “The Hour Grows Late” and “Don’t Say a Word (Hot Chicken #2)” are the soothing desserts after the noisy bursts that precede them. Based on these songs, the release would’ve been highly recommended, but like I suggested before, it’s a bit marred by a handful unnecessary tracks: both “False Ending” and “False Alarm” are propelled by organ bursts and insistently repetitive rhythms, but whereas the former one’s only bearable because of its length (not even a minute), the 327 seconds of the latter get quite tedious after a while. Also “Paul Is Dead” and the stretched “My Heart’s Reflection” are more pleasant than substantial, but at least they’re not superfluous like the wilfully chaotic squealfest of “Attack on Love” (that’s luckily only 1:51). If it were distilled to a 40-minute album, Electr-O-Pura would rank among the band’s very best efforts – and it does contain a few songs that should be on a future best of-compilation (“Tom Courtenay,” “Bitter End” and the album opener and closer) – but as it is now, it’s occasionally a frustrating listen. Eventually, they’d get better at camouflaging their extended album lengths, but shorter albums usually make for more consistent listening sessions.
Genius + Love = Yo La Tengo (1996)
5 (6.5 + 4)
Evanescent Psychic Pez Drop / Demons / Fog Over Frisco / Too Late / Hanky Panky Nohow / Something to Do / Ultra-Powerful Short Wave Radio Picks up Music from Venus / Up to You / Somebody’s Baby / Walking Away from You / Artificial Heart / Cast a Shadow / I’m Set Free / Barnaby, Hardly Working / Some Kinda Fatigue / Speeding Motorcycle // Nutricia / Her Grandmother’s Gift / From a Motel 6 #2 / Gooseneck Problem / Surfin’ with the Shah / Ecstasy Blues / Too Much, Pt. 1 / Blitzkrieg Bop / One Self: Fish Girl / Enough / Drum Solo / From a Motel 6 #1 / Too Much, Pt. 2 / Sunsquashed
Genius
+ Love collects a bunch of B-sides, outtakes and other assorted stuff
recorded between 1988 and 1995 that never made it onto the regular studio
albums. To get one thing straight from the start: it’s perfectly clear
why most of this material was never used and, by consequence, it’s
rather self-indulgent that it was packaged in a 2-CD (one with vocals, one
instrumental). But hey, God knows Yo La Tengo-fans are usually well-off yups
with too much money on their hands. Anyway, the first disc is by far the most
interesting one and also contains the best selections. Surprisingly, none
of the several hypno-drones are among them, as they all settle for
a groove that’s basically not that charming. “Evanescent Psychic
Pez Drop,” “Hanky Panky Nohow” (a John Cale-song) and “Up
to You” are nice when you hear them, but I don’t acquaint ‘nice’
with ‘interesting’ of ‘successful.’ The more conventionally
melodic songs are the winners here: there’s “Fog over Frisco,”
which boasts a comfortable atmosphere, there’s the pop ditty “Something
to Do,” and their reworking of Jackson Browne’s “Somebody’s
Baby,” which is the best song on the entire release, by far. There are
several cuts that could’ve been included on one of their early albums,
but they’d very likely to get “filler”-status: the noisy
“Artificial Heart” sounds like a tuneless Feelies-cover, the hectic
“Too Late” never really transcends the “feedback freak-out”-category
and “Walking Away” is, like some other ones, just too slight.
There’s a unique bonus in the guise of a collaboration with Daniel Johnston,
who phones in the vocals to his own “Speeding Motorcycle,” but
I’d rather hear a actual collaboration between the two. If the first
disc is a frustrating compilation of quite underdeveloped tracks and a few
enjoyable ones, the second – instrumental – disc is much more
of a letdown. Even though so many of Yo La Tengo’s works rely on the
textures of guitar drones, it’s obvious from these cuts that the minimalist
vocals are often essential to their sound, as most of these songs sound like
half-finished demos. Again, tracks like “Nutricia” and “From
a Motel 6” (from Painful) are nice, but forgettable. The kitschy
lounge version of the Ramones’ “Blitzkrieg Bop” is quite
funny and so is the pots & kettles-folk of “Surfin’
with the Shah,” but the remainder is average at best: “Ecstasy
Blues” is a directionless feedback-fest, “Her Grandmother’s
Gift” a dull drone and the 26-minute “Sunsquashed”
a chore to endure, certainly when the drums no longer keep a rhythm going
during the second half. All this makes Genius + Love the weakest
Yo La Tengo-release by far and one of the few times they weren’t the
best self-editors around. But hey, you were warned. This ain’t good
enough for me to spend my valuable time on, so with the loads of
albums I have that are still waiting to get a second or third spin, it’s
very unlikely that I’ll play it again during the next few years…
But if you’re a hardcore YLT-fan, you probably won’t agree anyway
and tell the world it’s easily as inspiring as the regular albums. Good
for you!
I Can Hear the Heart Beating As One (1997)
9
Return to Hot Chicken / Moby Octopad / Sugarcube / Damage / Deeper Into Movies / Shadows / Stockholm Syndrome / Autumn Sweater / Little Honda / Green Arrow / One PM Again / The Lie and How We Told It / Center of Gravity / Spec Bebop / We're an American Band / My Little Corner of the World
It
seems that at this point in their career, nothing could go wrong for Yo La
Tengo. 1995's Painful was their first masterpiece and a classic in
modern rock, 1996 had them release the 2-CD hodgepodge of Genius + Love
= Yo La Tengo ànd appear in the biopic Warhol starring as The Velvet
Underground, which was quite an inside joke (and maybe someday Rock Dick
#2 Fred 'My career in shitty porn is secured' Durst gets to play Rock
Dick #1, Lars Ulrich! Imagine it! Bad-ass cinema!). I Can Hear the
Heart Beating as One is by many considered to be the apex of their recording
career so far, and there's certainly a case to be built for that, as it should
be seen as the band's mission statement, displaying what they were all about
(though considerably less noisy than we were used to) while coming up with
a seemingly endless series of great ideas, wrapped up in several songs that
still rank among their very best work. Basically, you could say that if you
loved Painful, you'll love this one as well, as they both have a great
flow to them. I Can Hear the Heart… might actually be the more diverse
of the two. Even though it sounds very cohesive, it switches back and forth
between almost-conventional pop ditties (opener "Return to Hot Chicken," "One
PM Again"' with its vague C&W-touch and the surprisingly straightforward "My
Little Corner of the World"), hypno-rock (the fantastic noise-fest of "Deeper
Into Movies," the oddly funky "Autumn Sweater" and personal favorite "Moby
Octopad," which copped its cyclical bass-line from The Velvet Underground's
"European Son" and slows it down) and drone-rock ("Damage," "Green Arrow").
The presence of "Spec Bebop" disrupts the album's pace somewhat, by going
on for almost eleven long minutes, but it can't detract from the fact that
the band was delivering a peak performance. As usual, there are also several
melodic gems hidden between the sheets of feedback and distortion, as is proven
by "Sugarcube" (which would've fit perfectly on Painful), the silly
calypso of "Center of Gravity," the mellow cool ballad "Shadows" with
its trumpet-part and, finally, the painfully touching low-key pop of "Stockholm
Syndrome," which is sung by James McNew, the motherfucker with the high voice.
That's basically all I have to say about I Can Hear the Heart Beating As
One. There are only so many ways to describe a band's sound if they remain
faithful to it, and that's exactly what Yo La Tengo did: repeat the wonderful
formula of Painful, while adding some refreshing details here and there.
The album's length might become on obstacle, as it runs well over an hour,
but between "Return to Hot Chicken" and "My Little Corner of the World," there's
a goldmine to be explored, and some of the best indie rock of the 90s
to boot. I can hear you run to the record store.
And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out (2000)
8.5
Everyday / Our Way to Fall / Saturday / Let's Save Tony Orlando's House / Last Days of Disco / The Crying of Lot G / You Can Have It All / Tears Are in Your Eyes / Cherry Chapstick / From Black to Blue / Madeline / Tired Hippo / Night Falls on Hoboken
…and
then they turned inwards and created the quietest, most soothing and beautiful
album of their career. The previous few releases were already increasingly
less concerned with the noisy escapades that were so abundantly present on
their earlier albums and preferred a more drone-oriented course instead, an
approach that's taken to almost an extreme on And Then Nothing…. Distortion
and feedback are resized to smaller doses and more and more, the band has
settled for hypnotic texture-exploring. With the lone exception of old-fashioned
skronk & squall-fest "Cherry Chapstick," the band's ninth full-length
exclusively focuses on introvert styles and sounds, merging their guitar tapestries
with almost ambient soundscapes of understated musicianship. Instead of primitive
drumming and fuzzy riffs, the focus lies entirely on muffled percussion (occasionally
programmed), often whispered vocals and little sonic details that never cause
any excitement. By consequence, this is probably not an ideal album to get
acquainted with the band, nor is it the one to play when you're having friend
over and wanna get the party started. I've put it to the test several times
and it works best late at night, when you're alone doing nothing in particular,
or driving a car (even though that statement could be applied to several of
their albums). As they grow older and more respected - they're no Sonic Youth
when it comes to credibility, but they're getting close - Yo La Tengo seem
to feel more and more at ease with their idiosyncratic direction, so much
even that they almost created a new genre in the process, an aural treat that
provided the missing link between dream-pop, hazy trance-rock and ambient.
You have to be in the mood for a trip that comes dangerously close to 80 minutes
in length, but sometimes this kind of stuff is exactly what I crave.
I can't be the only one.
"Minimalism" is the key word here, and the band's economical use of sounds is ear-catching from opener "Everyday" onwards. A hum, a recurring pattern of beats and buzzing sounds that have you wonder how they were made. On top of that the whispered harmonies of Kaplan/Hubley, lyrics about nothing spectacular and the occasional brief guitar line and you're there. Drone Deluxe. Even though the band ensures there's diversity, the songs all function as chapters to the same covering story in which everyday ponderings and fond memories ("Our Way to Fall" is one of the best songs about the confusion of falling in love you'll ever hear) go hand in hand with smart cultural references (Pynchon's Crying of Lot 49 etc). Occasionally, the band opts for a slightly brighter pace, for instance with the organ-drenched rumble of "Let's Save Tony Orlando's House" (featuring Hubley's girlishly sweet vocals) or "You Can Have It All," a goofy but irresistible, bare-boned interpretation of a song by Harry Wayne Casey (who was a member of KC & the Sunshine Band!) in which Kaplan and Dump replace guitar with "pa-pa-dams" to great effect. You could say that the album's nearly flawless up 'til the sensual ballad "Tears Are in Your Eyes," then the pace and peace is suddenly disrupted by the average dissonant rocker "Cherry Chapstick." The final few songs rarely reach the heights of the first half yet retain the tranquillizing effect. Most striking is probably the extended and appropriately-titled "Night Falls on Hoboken": basically a four minute-song with a thirteen-minute fade-out. And Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out probably didn't win the band many new fans, but those who were already acquainted with the band's previous albums undoubtedly appreciated their insistence of working within a certain style and mood. The album's not entirely without flaws (not surprising taking the length into account), yet it's immensely rewarding, addictive and deserving to be counted among their most fully-realized works. The perfect antidote to that nerve-wrecking Christmas pap we've been tortured with the past few weeks. (Dec. 26th, 2005)
Danelectro EP (2000)
6
Danelectro 3 / Danelectro 2 / Danelectro 1 (Remix) / Danelectro 3 (Remix) / Danelectro 1 / Danelectro 2 (Remix)
Released
hot on the heels of their pastoral near-masterpiece And Then Nothing Turned
Itself Inside-Out, the six song EP Danelectro (named after a brand
of guitars and pedals) is a bit more modest by offering a mere three instrumental
songs as well as three remixes by outsiders who had no previous relation to
the band whatsoever. Unfortunately - and predictably - the remixes aren't
always particularly exciting. The problem, however, is not that the artists
aren't capable enough or that they don't understand the charm of Yo Ta Tengo,
it's just that they don't have much to work with in the first place. The three
tracks (the first one was recorded in their practice room, the others sound
like outtakes or rough ideas for their previous album) are barely even "songs",
they're more like sketches, tentative creations more dependent on mood than
actual structure or stack of ideas. "Danelectro 1," in particular, is basically
nothing more than a simple, pulsating bass line with some spacey guitar effects
on top of it, as well as a clean guitar adding a few noir-ish notes
once in a while. The remix by Q-Unique almost turns it into a minimalist hip
hop track, complete with tedious scratching at the beginning and unimaginative
beats. By result, it's alarmingly short on ideas, whereas the original was
a charming ditty. Number 2 & 3 are a bit more fleshed-out (at least they're
longer than 75 seconds): #2 employs the same bass figure but actually creates
something of a trance, with acoustic and electric guitars that turn it into
an aural version of a gently rolling wave; #3 is pushed forward by enjoyably
rumbling cardboard percussion and similar guitar textures. The remixes, on
the other hand, are vastly different from each other. Kit Clayton's mix of
the third one almost takes it into avant-garde realms, by gradually dismantling
it while letting hiss and a-rhythmic beats take over, yet it's the extended
mix of the second track (by Nobukazu Takemura) that reaches the most pleasing
results. It also starts with disorienting elements (static, samples, beats),
but then it suddenly turns outward, dribbling and drabbling, adding layers
of vibes and dripping beats, almost becoming a kind of mini symphony until
it transforms into a bleeping drone. It's a fine ending, yet not enough to
turn the EP into a pleasing overall success. As is the case with most remix
efforts, this one is strictly for the fans. (Dec. 27th, 2006)
The Sounds of the Sounds of Science (2002)
7
Sea Urchins / Hyas and Stenorhynchus / Shrimp Stories / How Some Jellyfish Are Born / Liquid Crystals / The Love Life of the Octopus / Acera or the Witches' Dance / The Sea Horse
Nuclear War EP (2002)
7
Nuclear War (Version 1) / Nuclear War (Version 2) / Nuclear War (Version 3) / Nuclear War (Version 4)
It's
a motherfucker, don't you know?
Talking about nuclear war
It's a motherfucker, don't you know?
If they push that button, your ass got to go
Exactly twenty years after it was first released, Yo La Tengo save Sun Ra's "Nuclear War" from total obscurity by offering four different versions of the protest song. Come to think of it, "different" may be stretching things a bit, as these four extended versions (ranging from 6 to 15 minutes) all share the same set of lyrics (some of it delivered in a call & response-style) and rhythmic pulse. The first version is the bare-boned one, as McNew raps the lyrics about a nuclear threat over a rumbling flood of jazzy percussion. While a deadpan or ecstatic delivery of "If they push that button, your ass got to go" is already pretty hilarious by itself coming from this band, the second version is actually much more poignant with its added drone (it could be a guitar, it could be a didgeridoo) and choir of kids, who are obviously delighted to yell "It's a motherfucker! Your ass got to go!" at the top of their lungs The next version, running over 15 minutes, is the most interesting and probably most faithful to the original, as it adds piano and wailing trumpet and saxophone solos that constantly threaten to dissolve into chaos. After this statement, the last version - a remix of the second one by hip hop deconstructionist Mike Ladd - seems a bit of an afterthought, but the fact that it never becomes tedious proves the intention wasn't that silly after all. If anything, Yo La Tengo prove they have the guts to turn an unlikely experiment into something original, funny and relevant. Something that works. The EP is not one you'll find yourself playing that often, but it's a bad-ass testament to YLT's renegade status and something you shouldn't or can't expect from, say, Chris Martin, who undoubtedly has more significant things on his mind. Nifty! (Feb. 7th, 2006)