Diving into this potentially disappointing second album from Mr Fiasco has been a revelatory experience.
After the first listen I was certain this review would be a rant about the tendency of hip hop artists to produce distancing, indulgent second albums chock full of tales about the pitfalls of being wealthy and famous (with the accompanying irony that such whining served also as bragging).
There are a load of tracks on here that superficially touch upon such topics, evoking memories of De La Soul and Eminem‘s mid-career output.
Further (digital) spins of the album, and much closer listening (plus a little secondary research) reveals the album to more complex than that. It is purportedly a ‘concept album’ about a character dealing with the trials of growing up on the street, embracing hip hop, and resisting the temptation to get all criminal on us (unlike Fiasco’s business partner).
Who know? It aint very obvious, begging the question whether it is really a successful exercise.
Irrespective, what is more apparent is that Fiasco has got adventurous in terms of structuring the music setting for his complex, captivating rhyming. It’s a little more R&B and less funk than I would like, but he is still a talent.
File under: Lupe Fonzie
I can’t remember a hip-hop release (especially by a non-pale-faced fellow) getting more attention and praise from indie-rock mags and alternative radio stations than this 2006 release, well certainly not since the halcyon days of Public Enemy and De La Soul.
Lupe’s backstory is part of the buzz – a politically aware, Muslim son of a Black Panther with a penchant for skateboarding. The music was the key driver, however. He spits out very rapid fire, articulate lyrics, laid out over string-heavy lush arrangements.
This debut effort hits the mark in the same way so many hip-hop freshmen releases seem to. Fiasco sounds different and fresh. He’s probably closest in style (to these undereducated ears) to Kanye West, but with faster rhymes and a more confrontational message. He tackles gangsta posturing head on and derides such behaviours as indicative of the limited options to young black youth.
Fiasco is very, very good at getting his message across and of penning cleverly ambiguous couplets and phrasings. Unfortunately he seems wedded to ridiculously fast beats rather than searching for a riff or other aural hook to get booties shaking. When he gets most creative, and finds a different angle (like the almost onomatopoeiac Kick, Push) it is worth getting excited:
File under: Kinda believe the hype
My musical love affairs do have an almost inevitable point where the adoration fades, the once delightful becomes infuriating, and my interests wanes.
This release from the Fauves was the last time I footed the bill for a romantic dinner with said four-piece. No more would we gaze longingly at each through the candle light (I think the whole Earth Hour thing last night has curdled my brain).
Perhaps the decline in adoration was inevitable, but I blame this album. It starts like another great night with the lads. Insert Your Life is another pearl, either a specific dig at astrology or a broader treatise on the challenge for artists attempting to speak to the broad human experience.
The encounter quickly becomes dull, repetitive and desperate however. Old clichés and lazy riffs are trotted out. Yo-Yo Craze sees the lads getting embarrassing in their attempts to stay fresh for the kiddies.
I can see some glimmers of hope here. The dirty talk and reminiscing for simpler times on Nairobi Nights grabbed my attention, as did the similarly backward-looking LA ’86.
Alas, it’s all too little too late for us. To quote the band (and G.Costanza) it’s not you it’s me…
File under: I’m inching away
It’s weird when an album from a decade ago coincides so directly with today’s headline.
This 2000 album from the Fauves includes a track Every TV Star Has A Dark Side… and then we hear that the bloke from ‘Hey Dad’ might have been adding an anguished exclamation mark to the show’s title with his young co-stars.
That is perhaps the only contemporary aspect of this recording. The band made a bizarre leap into the world of clunky keyboard backing, often sounding more like TISM or even Jesus Jones.
Behind the synths and riffs is the usual reliable, erudite and memorable songwriting. Indeed, this is perhaps the strongest set of tracks from the band in terms of lyrical content. Write What You Know, First Day on The Run, Going for my Blue Belt are all clever variations on the usual rock fare.
Alas, there is the stench of desperation behind the more single-like tracks on here, with excessive gimmick use. It’s a shame, as the Give Up Your Day Job and Medium Pacer would work better unadorned, while Celebrate the Failure was the perfect lead-in track to the impending Sydney Olympics opening ceremony: click here for the very cool clip.
File under: Don’t avoid eye contact
Earlier this month I caught two performances by the reunited US 90s indie icons Pavement.
Immersed as I am now in The Fauves back catalogue, I have been comparing the fortunes of the two bands.
Pavement were received with justified adulation at both shows, and their albums are widely available and showered in praise. The songs therein tread a neat line between obtuse, sarcastic and overly verbose on one hand, and ridiculously infectious on the other.
The Fauves share Pavement’s musical ying and yang balancing act, although with less angular noodly tendencies and a bit more straight ahead rock. But, you pretty much can’t buy their back catalogue from anywhere other than the band themselves, and this millenium’s youth couldn’t discern them from Adam.
It really is a travesty. This album, for example,content is flush with clever and catchy content: comic-book self-improvement (The Charles Atlas Way), Costanza philosophy (Don’t Give Me The It’s Not You It’s Me), a trucking song (Long Load), and a treatise on the merits of Jon Bon Jovi (Campfire King of Course).
And where Pavement mocked the stadium rock of the Stone Temple Pilots et al, The Fauves have a more loving view of Australia’s rock festival history:
File under: Praise thee for your fly ways
My earliest memories of The Fauves was of a band with a predilection for wrapping themselves in clingwrap and for on-stage nudity (but I may be confusing them with some other Melbourne-based band of the early-90s).
The band then got somehow less marginal and arty, and more radio-friendly. The breakout singles where on this release.
Singing tunes about the joys of masturbation (Self Abuser), drinking (Tying on One), and dogs (Dogs are the Best People) was bound to tickle the fancy of our national ‘youth broadcaster’.
Thankfully the tracks in question are clever, rocking and bear up under many, many listens.
These guys are students of the rock form, delivering mid-paced indie-rock built around plenty of riffs, and wordy but erudite lyrics.
Thematically this album is all about the joys of youth, and in particular male teenagerdom (and perhaps the arrested development of one’s 20s). So it’s skateboards, boxing, talking crap about music (Understanding Kyuss, Everybody’s getting a 3 piece together) and the aforementioned odes to recreation. It’s never quite clear whether the band might just be taking the piss out of male foibles, but, irrespective it’s a solid collection of very Australian, very 1990s, very fun tracks. Here’s the one I could find a clip for:
File under: Very luxuriating (if you don’t think about where the bubbles come from)