Where do we go from here?
Or: What the heck comes after post-rock?
Perhaps the biggest caveat in the realm of rock criticism (besides its relative ineffectiveness – how many times have you tossed out a record you like because some journo muso didn’t?) is the constant movement of the mainstream press towards placing each and every artist into a narrowly defined genre. Of the more recent musical categories created by the likes of Spin magazine, the mammoth umbrella of "post-rock" (within which one can find examples of obtuse space-rock, harder-edged thrash and a long line of artists who don’t seem to fit in elsewhere) seems the most unspecified and pointless of the bunch. Besides, once post-rock is over, what the heck comes next?
There are few overt similarities between the following artists – but enough to keep each of them somehow tied into the post-rock phenomenon.
For Immortality Lessons, prog revivalists Cul De Sac broke through their own self-imposed dislike of live recordings – the liner notes by founder Glenn Jones even proclaim: "unless they’re by Sam Cooke or Otis Redding, I hate live albums." Self-classified as "evening ragas – music for after dark," Cul De Sac’s instrumental odysseys meander through the joint territories of Can and Neu!, with the odd dash of early Yes sneaking in. As live albums go, Immortality Lessons is auspicious in its pointed embrace of missed notes and mistaken key changes – "Flying Music From Faust" is particularly improved thanks to the "wrong" bass part.
During Damo Suzuki’s recent search for a backing band for his new material, Cul De Sac were his fitting final selection. Since the breakup of his legendary Can, there are few others Suzuki could have selected that live up to his previous cohorts as suitably, and with as much talent, as Cul De Sac.
Hand-picked to open Suzuki’s recent Toronto show, The Creeping Nobodies also subscribe to a European esthetic built out of a group love of the best in post-punk (another pesky genre classification), most noticeably Wire and The Fall. On their debut EP, I-X-U, the year-old Nobodies sound like they’ve been playing together for decades – "Fight The Good Fight" and ‘State" are like lost moments straight out of the late-'70s no-wave vault, while "Creep-In" and its lengthy counterpart "The Long Creep-Out" display the group’s skill with tightly defined instrumental passages and moments of free-form noise. In a relatively dry year for Canadian music, The Creeping Nobodies jump out from the middle of nowhere with one of the best home grown discs in recent memory.
Calgary’s spastic screamo kids The Corta Vita follow-up their self-pressed debut full-length with the whip-quick Communication Is Nothing Without Feedback. The formula is simple: "Emo Steve-o" Glasgow and friends make a tightly-wound hardcore "art-rock" racket while Tyson Allan screams his head off. It’s not exactly an enjoyable listen – but considering songs like "Choking Under Last Year’s Dead" and "If You Were Drowning I’d Stick A Fucking Hose In Your Mouth," it’s not really meant to be. Bonus points for the surprisingly solid production (the placement of the vocals way in the back works particularly well), and for titling the opening track "I’d Explain It To You But There Is A Lot Of Math Involved" (it works as grand comedy). Personally, I’d love to watch the future reaction of TCV’s grandkids as they listen to grandpa’s early 20s on tape. "Hold me Grandma… I’m scared."
Up until now Jim O’Rourke and David Grubbs, long time cohorts in Gastr Del Sol, were certainly the most unlikely sources for straight-ahead rock records. Quick on the heels of O’Rourke’s ’70s AM radio guitar-candy extravaganza, Insignificance, Grubbs steps out with Rickets & Scurvy – his first recording based around a full electric band. Featuring Noel Akchote on guitar, John McEntire on drums, Matmos on electronics and lyrical assistance from The Ice Storm novelist Rick Moody, Rickets & Scurvy rests comfortably next to the best of The Sea and Cake. While Grubbs’s experimental excesses are still in place (the relatively formless "Precipice" and "Crevasse" very nearly bring the record to a dead stop), the record is best at its most simple. Built on a Plush-like hotel-lounge piano meander, the dreamy "Kentucky Karaoke" charmingly closes the album with "Here’s a prediction/ When you have stories to tell/ You will tell them."
Of Montreal’s mighty Constellation stable of artists (including Godspeed, You Black Emperor!, Fly Pan Am, A Silver Mt. Zion and others), the guitar-driven Do Make Say Think prove themselves the most consistent with their third album, & Yet & Yet. Built up layer by layer, & Yet & Yet’s repetitive passages gel together into stately mantras, proving that it’s often the simplest melodies that make the biggest impression. Much like 2000’s Goodbye Enemy Airship The Landlord Is Dead, this record works any way you want it to. Whether adding character to the background or revealing hidden secrets during late-night headphone explorations, Do Make Say Think remains one of the few instrumental jam bands with true personality. |
