Newsgroup: it.arti.musica.rock
Titolo: Clem Snide - You're favorite music

Gran bel disco, inspiegabilmente bocciato da Pitchfork. Bah...
"Your Favorite Music is nothing more than a bad joke; one your favorite
neighborhood hipsters pretend to get, for fear of being ostracized by
whatever indie-centric social milieu their lives depend on. If you're an
outcast like me, you don't mind admitting these songs aren't even as
childishly amusing as your roommate's new architecturally-unsound haircut.
You really wonder, then, how a band this dreadful can be deemed to possess
such genius, and gain such a following. Then again, consider how we ended up
with Jim "Ernest" Varney as our president. The Age of Idiocy is upon us,
folks. We've got 'ol figurehead Dubya, his band of faux-Christian lunatics,
and pseudo-musicians like Clem Snide all on the same path to world
domination, fooling the easily-duped masses every step of the way. Big
time".
(rating: 2.1)
--
La vita umana è breve, ma io vorrei vivere per sempre.
Yukio Mishima

 Gran bel disco, inspiegabilmente bocciato da Pitchfork. Bah...
Io però ne parlai bene alcuni mesi fa... ;-) Ed ora gli riconfermo un buon
7,5...
--
Morris Lord of the Wolves
"Densamente spopolata è la felicità"
Pick of the day:
PAPA M - Whatever, mortal (Domino, 2001)

Clem Snide
The Ghost of Fashion
[spinART]
Rating: 7.0
I have this theory about how music criticism is supposed to work.
Critics listen and write, readers read and consider. Over time, a
regular reader of a publication finds a commonality of opinion with
one or two reviewers; their notions of what's good or bad converge
more often than the other hacks. Trust is formed-- they bond. It's
interactive and symbiotic. We're the parasites; you're the hosts.
Those of you who buy into the idea of the officially sanctioned
Pitchfork opinion (or a uniform opinion of any publication) are
missing the point. For the most part, editors are too busy to be
worrying about homogeneity of judgment.
Which is what allows me to disagree so significantly with my colleague
Mr. Sandlin who reviewed Clem Snide's previous offering to the world,
Your Favorite Music, last year. Did Clem Snide really go from putting
out a 2.1 album to a 7.0? Of course not. Issues of the relevance of
numerical ratings aside, all this demonstrates is that there's a
spectrum of taste operating here. Individuals, with biases and
preferences. I'd have rated Your Favorite Music higher; Michael would
(I'd wager) come up shorter on The Ghost of Fashion. Somewhere in
between lies the truth. Just ask Kurosawa.
On their third full-length, Clem Snide gracefully box step between the
cynicism and genuine wonder they stumbled over before. Approaching
this music with a cynical ear exaggerates that aspect, and the music
becomes insufferable. Come at it too naively, and you'll miss the
occasional evil lines smuggled into the songs. A musical tightrope.
The Ghost of Fashion is a perfect example of getting out of a
listening experience what you invest in it.
Clem Snide show signs that they've matured beyond aiming for nothing
more ambitious than a clever pun, and that they're no longer satisfied
with the predictable song construct. Instead, their new goal is to
just make good music. They no longer beg to be the center of
attention; they just are. Plenty of changes are apparent even on the
first listen. The music sacrifices a bit of the band's old country
leanings for more traditional indie pop. Eef Barzelay's muppety vocals
seem less smarmy and more heartfelt. The musicianship is more
accomplished, and overall, the songs sound less contrived and more
spontaneous.
Like the band, these songs evolve. They go somewhere. "Don't Be Afraid
of your Anger" metamorphs from its swaying dirge intro to an
Acuff/Rose ramble. "Moment in the Sun" ends in a "Baba O'Riley" frenzy
after beginning with a cornfed Southern rock mid-tempo jangle.
Elsewhere, "Long Lost Twin" provides perfect fiesta music for a warm
summer evening on the patio, under the string lights. Mariachi horns
contribute the appropriate touch of sadness needed to buoy lyrics that
pine, "The sea of taillights that we all must swim/ Tonight I feel
like Elvis longing for his long lost twin/ Clean up the mess that Eve
and Adam got us in." But the best evidence of the band's rapid,
time-lapse development is found in the hymnal "The Curse of Great
Beauty." The song provides an unexpected goosebump moment on the disc,
before blending into the chimy, organic doodling that begins the waltz
"Joan Jett of Arc."
Musically-sound but an eye-roller lyrically, the string of puns in
"Joan Jett" triggers a series of misfires, beginning with the next
track, the aimless, indulgent and poorly-constructed "The Junky Jews."
Through the peaceful, but barely-there "Ancient Chinese Secret Blues,"
and the brief throwaway track, "The Ballad of Unzer Charlie," the last
quarter of the album feels like a cheap Wal-Mart mountain bike
slipping out of gear when pedaled too hard, and they lose the momentum
they'd clearly worked hard to build up.
However, "No One's More Happy than You" closes things on a positive
note. The song-vignette begins with a majestic blurt of horns and
Eef's best mimicry of Stipe at his drawliest. "A beautiful Hackensack
night/ Two teenagers kiss and hold tight/ The satellite swimming
above/ Is sending a message of love." You'll never convince me that
Camper Van Beethoven's similar "Life is Grand" is secretly mocking me,
and I don't accept that Barzelay's sentiment here is anything but
sincere.
In the end, with the flaws weighed against gems on the balances that
are this reviewer's ears, The Ghost of Fashion represents only a few
steps up the ladder for Barzelay and Snide, not an escalator ascent to
the top. But at least they're climbing. They're definitely climbing.
-John Dark