SPINAL BAP’S TRACK-BY-TRACK REVIEW OF DAVID BOWIE’S THE NEXT DAY

 

Sometime last week Spinal Bap was invited to an exclusive playback of David Bowie’s new album The Next Day in a dank hovel in Soho decorated with browned photographs of pre-1989 East Germany. Sony’s PR staff were wearing sinister surgical masks and Hoggle from Labyrinth kept touching my leg. Here is a brief summary of what we heard:

 

The Next Day

A brash, confident opener on which the 66-year-old demonstrates that he’s back and he means business, and if not business, then at least something. Post-ska strum patterns provide the cadence around which tempestuous cymbals crash harder than cannon fire, autotuned sirens squeal like tortured seals, and the Thin White Duke reads out the final First Division Football League positions of the 1973-74 season in reverse order. Climaxes with a 26-minute trumpet solo played using a freshly-caught jellyfish as a makeshift mute.

 

Dirty Boys

A slower-tempo futuristic Afro-ballad with a quasi-Heideggerian twist. Resembles the second Tin Machine album re-recorded by an overly oppressive sixty-man kazoo choir.

 

The Stars (Are Out Tonight)

Oscar winner Anne Hathaway provides a tearfully intense, slightly mucus-ridden verse on this unashamedly operatic number partly inspired by pseudo-fascist Danish punks Iceage. Faster than ‘Young Americans’. Fluffier than ‘Thursday’s Child’.

 

Love is Lost

Jokey filler piece featuring ex-Walker Brothers singer Scott Walker making infantile fart sounds with his armpit. Unlikely to secure the Grammy.

 

Where Are We Now?

The location is modern Berlin. Bowie once knew the city but has not visited in years. Many of the streets have changed since the late ‘70s. Besides, back then Bowie was so high that all the roads throbbed orange and the Charlottenburg Palace resembled a giant effigy of the eagle from the Muppets with thousands of tiny almonds crawling out of his eyes. It’s the present day and Bowie’s satnav has broken. He didn’t think to bring a map. “Where are we now? / Where are we now?” he croons in vain to his unresponsive computerised compass. Possibly a commentary on mankind’s emasculating reliance on technology and consequent depletion of traditional survival instincts. Would be more effective if it didn’t sound like ‘Funny Little Fat Man’ off of Derek or whatever.

 

Carnal Fecophelia Due To Prolonged Exposure To Methane

Surprisingly rootsy cover of Cattle Decapitation’s deathgrind classic. Poignantly brutal.

 

If You Can See Me

Not entirely dissimilar to Erasure’s Vince Clarke boiling the disembodied carcass of Cream’s racist Clapton in a purple G-Funk tuba.

 

I’d Rather Be High

Iggy Pop makes a welcome return to the Bowie fold, providing characteristically ragged backing vocals. However, the grizzled Stooge now sings exclusively in French while looking like a cross between Jennifer Aniston’s rotting corpse and one of the Californian Raisins. Lou Reed was also invited to jam in the studio but was denied entry when he turned up with Lars Ulrich and a several tai chi instructors.

 

Boss Of Me

On which Bowie attempts, with moderate dividends, to replicate the sound of Dillinger Escape Plan kicking Danny Elfman’s cellist down the stairs of Jay-Z’s skyscraper. Ricky Gervais contributes to the ambience. He only plays xylophone but still manages to do it in an obnoxious, bullying way.

 

Dancing Out In Space

A mind-blowing, hair-raising, masterpiece vaguely reminiscent of the song widely considered to be Bowie’s greatest musical achievement. In some respects, it may even surpass ‘Everyone Says Hi’.

 

How Does the Grass Grow?

Starts thrillingly. An underlying ‘Jean Genie’ glam-tinged stomp joins a Low-esque sense of isolated melancholia accompanied by ambiguous, post-PC hints towards China Girl’s orientalist outlook. Goes downhill towards the end when the track becomes immersed in a Sunn O)))-tinged migraine-inducing bass drone while Bowie repeatedly howls the phrase “Fluoxymesterone sandwich” until he sounds like a demonic porcupine is trying to force its way out of his throat. Was Eno involved?

 

(You Will) Set The World On Fire

Epic. Bombastic. Heroic. Inspirational. Primal. Jaw-droppingly profound. Not a million miles from Andrew WK’s ‘Make Sex’.

 

You Feel So Lonely You Could Die

Awful. Just awful. The kind of unequivocally objectionable novelty record you’d think would be below Bowie. A horrible cross between ‘Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini’, ‘Is This The Way To Amarillo’, and ‘Spiegel im Spiegel’ by Arvo Pärt. B-side material at best.

 

Heat

Covering those classic Bowie themes of alienation and identity, ‘Heat’ closes the album in style with its brilliantly odd string arrangement. The track is let down, however, by Bowie shamelessly thieving lyrics from Azealia Banks’ hit ‘212’. Did he really think he could sing “I’m a rude b****, n****, what are you made up of / I’m-a eat your food up, boo” and get away with it?

 

Conclusion

 

An admirable addition to the Bowie canon, The Next Day doesn’t quite reach the dizzy heights of Never Let Me Down, but as a disorientating cocktail of meta-panoramic Romani beats and multi-sculptural bebop pleonasms, the record would certainly have Andy Warhol saying “hmm, kinda half neat”.

 

 

CATHOLIC CHURCH IN SHOCK AS MIKE CONNELLY QUITS WOLF EYES

The Roman Catholic Church was thrown into disarray this week when it emerged that Mike Connelly was leaving the legendary Michigan noise group Wolf Eyes.

Although it is unusual for somebody to relinquish such a distinguished post, Connelly’s move is not without precedent. In 2005, Aaron Dilloway stepped down as the band’s guitarist to relocate to Nepal, whereas original Wolf Eyes drummer Pope Gregory XII resigned in July 1415 in order to end the Western Schism that had divided the Catholic Church for nearly forty years (although he also cited “musical differences”).

Connelly has proven popular with traditional Catholics but his reign has not lacked controversy. His first Wolf Eyes appearance was on Human Animal, released in 2006 by the relatively mainstream label Sub Pop. The record polarized fans with its opening side of uncharacteristically restrained music. Other critics felt that Connelly failed to use his influential position as a prominent member of Wolf Eyes to properly address the ongoing Roman Catholic child-abuse scandal.

Connelly’s departure has proven particularly traumatic to the young and teenage girls who make up the bulk of Wolf Eyes’ fanbase. In the UK, the Samaritans have even set up a special hotline for distraught fans.

Writing on the band’s Facebook page, one anguished Catholic wrote: “I haven’t been this distressed since I found out that Robbie had left Take That. Or that Stephen Gately was gay. Or that Mariah Carey was black. I’ve been a Wolf Eyes superfan for years. I’ve got an original copy of the Throat Virus Alive CD-R and I first saw them perform back in 1999, supporting Backstreet Boys at the MEN Arena. I realise that Mike will still be touring and releasing music with his other projects like Hair Police and Failing Lights, but they simply don’t match the aural splendour of Wolf Eyes. I mean, they just sound like noise to me.”

The Catholic Church is expected to announce Connelly’s successor shortly, with many predicting the appointment of Cardinal “Crazy” Jim Baljo.

SPINAL BAP’S TRACK-BY-TRACK REVIEW OF MY BLOODY VALENTINE’S NEW ALBUM

 

She Found Now
Having collaborated with the likes of Primal Scream and Patti Smith, it’s clear that Kevin Shields has an unwavering desire to keep up with the times. It’s no surprise, then, to hear Nicki Minaj and M.I.A. on m b v’s joyous opening number. First performed at My Bloody Valentine’s half-time Super Bowl extravaganza, ‘She Found Now’ is an urgently contemporary disco number which proves that even in middle age Shields remains the incontestable queen of the dance floor.

Only Tomorrow
My Bloody Valentine have been working on this album for over a decade, and apparently this track took longer than any other to complete. Like many of us, Shields developed an appreciation of dubstep in the mid-noughties and consequently became obsessed with incorporating elements of this exciting new genre into his own band’s sound. After spending two years painstakingly mastering ‘Only Tomorrow’, the track was sent to Burial for remixing. Shields then added further instrumentation before sending the song to Skrillex, who obligingly re-remixed the track. Still unhappy with the results, Shields then spent eight months without sleep overdubbing the WOBWOBWOBs with some pleasantly meditative guitar washes. The result speaks for itself.

Who Sees You
During My Bloody Valentine’s hiatus, Shields sporadically toured with Glaswegian electro-rock heroes Primal Scream. Shields returned the gesture by asking ‘Scream frontman Bobby Gillespie to supply guest vocals for this jarringly anarchic cyber-punk anthem. For this track, the lyrical themes explored by Gillespie include: “Bombs bombs bombs... Suicide Sid got a date with the reaper... He’s like a death-wish junkie Jesus with a shotgun syringe... maaan... Hey! Come on! Come aaaaaaaaawwwwn!... Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Street fightin’ satisfaction! Alright!... Revolution needle / Revolution needle... Prostitute baby burning Cadillac zombies... thriftstore, sidewalk, aluminium bluuuuuuuuues...” Aluminium is pronounced the American way. The vocals were recorded in Gillespie’s home in Islington, N1. Kate Moss attended the recording session for no reason whatsoever.

Piss Angel
A faithful cover of Pig Destroyer’s uncompromising grindcore classic. Startlingly guttural vocal turn from Bilinda Butcher.

If I Am
Ah, the nervously anticipated Chris Brown duet. Should this woman-beater be forgiven? Should Brown have shown more remorse? Should Kevin Shields have him back? Should we care? Moral qualms aside, a pleasant enough melody but Kevin overdoes it with the autotune.

New You
Ah, the nervously anticipated Lance Armstrong duet. Should this massive drug cheater be forgiven? Should Armstrong have shown more remorse? Should Kevin Shields have him back? Should we care? Moral qualms aside, a pleasant enough melody but Armstrong’s overly vigorous employment of the percussive modified handlebar bell suggests he might still be doping.

In Another Way
Finally betraying their age, My Bloody Valentine’s ‘In Another Way’ seems a little too stuck in the past. With such an inventive, unrelenting flow, Kendrick Lamar’s verse is indisputably fresh. Unfortunately, the guest chorus belted out by an unruly Heather Small is soooooo 1993.

Nothing Is
A bit of a Creation Records reunion this one. ‘Nothing Is’ features a special extended MBV line-up including the blokes from Teenage Fanclub, a couple of Boo Radleys, the drummer from Ride, Kevin Rowland (in ladies’ knickers), Alan McGee (hyperbolically grunting), and Liam Gallagher of The Beady Eyes. They don’t really gel.

Wonder 2
Semi-acoustic Hawaiian ukulele number with soft brass accompaniment. Unfortunately, the lack of feedback means you can actually hear Kevin and Bilinda’s weak, weak voices.

Conclusion

m b v is pretty similar to the band’s previous releases only with greater emphasis on post-rhythmic quasi-industrial caucasian ragga.

JESUS CHRIST COMPARES SELF TO CHRIS BROWN

 

Having already secured cultural infamy through such acts as befriending lepers, demanding a prostitute wash his feet (without even paying for her services), and staging elaborate public exorcisms, Jesus of Nazareth has caused further controversy this week by comparing himself to the much-loved singer Chris Brown.

Following an altercation with Satan over a parking space in West Hollywood, Jesus posted a picture of the R&B superstar on the internet with the rambling caption:

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way as you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?    Haters be haters, you feel me?”

Satan tweeted that the incident may have a detrimental effect on his performance at this month’s Grammys.

This is not the first time Jesus has divulged his God complex. He has previously likened himself to Bono (NME Godlike Genius Award winner 2001), Noel Gallagher (NME Godlike Genius Award 2012), John Lennon (NME Ultimate Musical Icon 2012), and Jonah son of Amittai (NME Best Dressed Solo Artist c. 760 BC).

To the bafflement of many, Christ’s continued indiscretions have failed to significantly diminish his popularity and he maintains a large following. The bulk of his support is said to come from pre-pubescent and teenage girls, undereducated people from poorer backgrounds, the mentally ill, and certain prominent members of the Afro-American community.

Jesus is currently working on his next studio parable, the follow-up to last year’s The Rich Fool.

STARS REACT TO YEAH YEAH YEAHS' ALBUM COVER

The cover of Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ forthcoming album Mosquito has provoked some extreme reactions among fans. We asked a selection of today’s biggest stars for their own response to the artwork...


No way mate. I’m not havin’ it. Looks like Peter Crouch tackling Weetabix Rooney with a jar of fuckin’ flubber.
Liam Gallagher

Totes amazeballs! It is well sick and proper random. It like literally blew my mind, you know? It literally melted my face off, you feelin’ me? I’m well gonna use it as my new screensaver. Massive lols! xxx
Brian Sewell

Fuckin’ freaky, man. Reminds me of that time I woke up to see a fuckin’ six foot fuckin’ psychedelic bug thing trying to bite Dom Joly’s arse off. Few years later I cleaned myself up and went on I’m a Celebrity.
Shaun Ryder

Oh boy! Jeez! I mean, when I first saw it my eyes popped out on their stalks about three feet in front of my face and my brain began spinning at a million miles an hour and my jaw dropped open like a cartoon dog looking at a massive bone and then I just stared and stared and stared at it until the image was burned onto my retinas enabling me to close my eyes and continue to stare at it some more. Intense, man, intense. Another quadruple espresso, anyone?
Henry Rollins

ohmygoditisamaaaaazingiloveititmakesmewanttojumpupanddownanddocartwheelsandstuffand
justlikeyouknowrunaroundscreamingandseeinghowloudicanshoutbeforeiamsickandthenaccidentally
weemyselforsomethingweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeweeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
John from Jedward

I must confess that in a peculiarly befuddling way I admire the provocative tone of post-structural impudence. It’s managed to achieve an intriguing sense of unconventionality, even within the idiosyncratic, informal context of the genre it purports to inhabit. It’s almost like Salvador Dali trying to organise a Roman orgy for Jeff Koons’ birthday party in Jake and Dinos Chapman’s dustbin. It’s such a terrible pity that we can’t transport the canvas back in time to discover how Charles Baudelaire might have felt about such a vibrant piece. Now that would be positively enlightening.
Edward from Jedward

010011100110111101110100001000000110110101111001001000000110001101110
1010111000000100000011011110110011000100000011101000110010101100001
Ralf Hütter (Kraftwerk)

It’s pretty bad-ass, there’s no denying that, but what kind of message is it trying to send to impressionable young women? It’d be better if it was a picture of my naked, famished body with distant, pouting face and dead, dead eyes.
Rihanna

Eeeeeew! Gross! I can’t even look at it. It’s giving me goose-bumps all over. Put it away! Put it away, pleeeeeeease! It’s disgusting. Thanks a bunch Yeah Yeah Yeahs, I’m going to have nightmares for weeks.
Alex Webster (Cannibal Corpse)

Not bad, but there’s a bit too much going on for me. I’d have preferred a grainy black and white photograph of an abandoned shed. And what kind of title is Mosquito? They should’ve called it something catchy like Huzzah! Une élégie pour la mort de télégraphique X7E$#clic0///
Mike Moya (Godspeed You! Black Emperor)

Dude, why didn’t they put an erect cock on it? Or at the very least a big old pair of titties? Punk rock, man, punk rock.
Death Grips

OMG it’s fully monged. Is it based on a sketch of Warwick Davis that Karl Pilkington drew in crayon on the back of a napkin during a hilarious exotic holiday? Bloody love those guys. One’s small and the other pretends to be retarded. Fucking genius. ALL YOU HATERZ ARE JUST JEALOUS OF MY SUCCESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ricky Gervais

Well, we had done so many takes of ‘Helter Skelter’ that Ringo, the poor fellow, was really starting to suffer. So by the time we reached the eighteenth take or thereabouts, he’d had just about enough of the whole palaver and was absolutely dying for a mug of warm Ribena. All of a sudden, he stood up behind his kit, hurled his drumsticks across the room, and shouted “I’ve got blisters all down my thumbs” or something along those lines. We caught the outburst on tape, of course, and it seemed to fit the mood of the track quite aptly, so we included it in the final mix. What was the question again?
George Martin

Yeah... um... kinda... I dunno... I mean, cool insect, I suppose... I like purple, anyway... so... um...
J Mascis

THE SPECTACULAR ADVENTURES OF STARS OF THE LID: Episode 4 'Discography'

SPINAL BAP'S TOP ALBUMS OF 2012

Bruce Banner Del Rey - Born to Dye
This time last year you couldn’t move without hearing Banner Del Rey’s massively successful reimagining of Gary Jules’ massively successful reimagining of Tears for Fears’ ‘Mad World’. Yet the triumph of ‘Video Games’ created a monster, as in the face of unprecedented media attention and intense public fascination cracks soon appeared in Del Rey’s comatose-cool exterior. The pressure became too much during a BBC filming when Del Rey finally snapped, exploded into a violent anti-social rage, covered her body in green pigment and tore Jools Holland’s face off. The popular television icon, known for his musical talents, love of old-fashioned big-band era swing tunes and dithering presenting style, was just 84 years old. As a consequence, Bruce Banner Del Rey’s follow-up single Ripped Blue Jeans squeezed into the UK Singles Chart at Number 32.

The Weeknd at Bernie’s - Trilogy
Abel Tesfaye’s promising career was thrown into doubt when the owner of his recording studio suddenly keeled over and died. Unwilling to let this minor setback stand in the way of success, Tesfaye failed to inform the authorities, choosing instead to carry on as usual by sticking a pair of sunglasses on the studio owner’s face and propping him up on the sofa. This hilarious Edgar Allan Poe-meets-‘80s Yuppie Comedy dilemma led Tesfaye towards the dark, morally-troubled sound of The Weeknd’s unsettling take on R&B. If only the likes of R. Kelly or Michael Jackson had been forced to conceal similarly sinister aspects of their private lives, they might have been inspired to create material of substance instead of such generically insipid chart barf.

Seth MacFarlane - Music is Better than Words

Rihanna - Unapologetic
Unfortunately, the music on this record was overshadowed by the controversy over its duet featuring the cupboard door that Rihanna accidentally walked into back in 2009. The album’s lyrics were also interpreted as addressing Rihanna’s ongoing dysfunctional relationship with the cupboard door she accidentally walked into. Many have condemned the cupboard door, believing that Rihanna should strictly and permanently disassociate herself from the door and that consumers should boycott the door’s solo records. Others have expressed concern that while the seemingly unforgivable cupboard door that Rihanna walked into continues to be the target of hostile condemnation, white cupboard doors that have been involved in similar incidents (Sean Connery, Charlie Sheen, Geoffrey Boycott) have not attracted the same sustained levels of public and press disdain.

Lame Impata - Groanerism
If you’re a broadsheet music critic who thinks that The xx are the spookiest band you’ve ever heard, white boys with long hair are in some way exotic, and The Rolling Stones are still worth writing about, you might describe this album as ‘psychedelic’. If you’ve actually spent any proportion of your life listening to psychedelic music recorded by anyone else in the past forty years, it might seem a little... tame.

Bat for Lashes - The Haunted Man
2012 saw Natasha Khan drop the hipster headdresses, and all other clothes for that matter. When Lana Del Rey poses naked in GQ it reeks of seedy, misogynistic exploitation but when Khan does it on the front of her album cover it’s a forceful image of female empowerment. In fact, this image of female empowerment was so forceful that most listeners immediately forgot what the actual music was like. “LAAAAAURAAAA / SUPERSTAAAAR / LAAAAAAURAAAA / SUPERSTAAAAAR” or something.

Pat Cower - Sun
On which Chan Marshall overcame adversity to peddle more cheese than Bradley Wiggins on a cheddar BMX.

Swans - The Lazier
“Well guys, this is gonna be the best goddam motherf***ing double album this degenerate, stinking goddam Earth ever f***ing witnessed.”
“It sure is Michael, we’ve really hit our stride, I mean... hold up, did you say double album?”
“You heard goddam right there, son.”
“But Michael...”
“SIR.”
“What?”
“Call me sir. I’d prefer it if you called me sir. Keep you in your place, you goddam worm.”
“Sorry sir. I mean, the idea of a double album sounds great. It’s just that, you know, we’ve not got a lot of studio time left and it looks to me like we’ve only got eleven songs. I’m not sure that’s really enough for a double album.”
“You goddam pigshit asshole. Do I have to think of everything? Only eleven songs? Big f***ing deal. Just drag three or four songs out to the twenty or thirty minute mark and hey c***ing presto, we got ourselves a goddam f***ing double album and I can go put my feet up and you can go suck a f***ing chicken dick.”
“Sure sir, sounds great. Erm... how?”
“HOW? HOW!? Jesus, you’re even c***ing dumber than I thought. It’s f***ing easier than getting your **** ****ed at a goddam nympho whorehouse, you insect. You pick a chord at the beginning, the middle, or the end of the song. You play that chord. Then you play it again. Then you play it again. Then you play it and again and again and again, like six hundred times or whatever, and you’ve gone and got yourself a goddam awe-inspiring Swans epic right there, lapped up by greedy fans and insatiable critics alike.”
“Sure Mr Gira...”
“SIR.”
“Sure sir, it’s just we’ve already done that on at least two tracks. Is there any other way we could...”
“Chimes.”
“Pardon?”
“You got goddam horseshit in your ears, kid? Chimes. F***ing chimes. Stick in a f***ing extended, repetitive f***ing chimes bit. It’ll sound like a f***ing evil church or something. God, I hate established religion. Have I mentioned that I hate established religion? I goddam hate all established systems of f***ing religion.”
“What about all established systems of Swans songs?”
“Do you want this amplifier shoved so far up your ass I can power my Gibson by punching you in the face, you goddam sticking piece of buffalo spunk?”
“No sir. Sorry sir. One other thing, now that you’re our only vocalist, are you at all worried that the album might be a little samey? I mean your monotonously authoritative baritone is great and all but it can get a little tedious without the balancing femininity of Jarboe, and over the course of not just a single album but a whole double album...”
“F*** off. We’ll stick Karen O and that f***ing Mormon couple off Low on it. And Jarboe. Get me Jarboe.”
“Yes sir!”
“And some bagpipes.”
“Pardon?”