MellowDrone

Before this band (Billy Corgan) took a majestic swandive down the rundles of pomp and megalomania, rebanding with schoolage neophytes and becoming a complete embarrassment to their former glory, a little record called Siamese Dream humbly hit the Billboard charts at number ten in the summer of 1993.  Propelled by the spirited single “Today,” a song played so many times it sounds about as fresh as a pile of raw sewage (yet occasionally conjures some feeling of a youthful naivety of the future), Siamese would go on to sell over six million copies worldwide.

But none of this really matters.  I never got into this band until I was in my teens, way beyond their prime, so I can really only comment on how they got me through the doomsayer psychology and self-esteem fluctuations of high school/freshman year of college.  Which is to say, a fucking lot.  It didn’t help that “Cherub Rock” was the song I played on that video game Rock Band with the first guy I developed true, unrefined feelings for (I on “guitar,” he on vocals) before an eventual, acrimonious parting of ways (in which I was told never to call him again).  Or that the sweeping violins of “Disarm” were what calmed me in the restless nights of recurring depression and allergic reactions. 

Siamese Dream is the soundtrack to my last days of youth, and my first of my adulthood.  Its moments conjure midnight drives in the middle of summer, rainy walks from class to my old dorm (especially those lush opening chords of “Mayonaise”), and more importantly, a childish hope that life is endless, full of belly laughs and butterflies.  Without that hope, young adult life would be nothing but a playground in ruins.  Great stuff.

- DW

Bedevil me for blasphemy, but I don’t think this album is as good as critics laud it to be.  That’s not to say it isn’t great, because it is, but Depeche Mode have never been by number one favorite band (that spot goes to…well, I’m not particularly sure at the moment…) - perhaps closer to my no. 5 or no. 6. - so I approach their music from a different angle than someone with the plant on the above cover tattooed to their asscheek.

Violator is more or less the definitive DM record and one of the best-selling records of 1990, and has more or less lived on vicariously through its singles, “Personal Jesus” and “Enjoy the Silence,” which - I assume - still receive radio play, and have been covered by countless acts of inferior quality ad nauseum (though the Tori Amos cover of “Silence” may be worth seeking out for shock value).

In my review for New Order’s Technique, I mentioned the importance of an album having strong singles, and unlike that one, Violator has them in spades.  From the plodding basslines that cut through “Personal Jesus” to the dancing Motown-sax synths that drive “Policy of Truth” (a song I imagine playing through my next hangover), the singles are easily the cream of the crop.  And I could write an entire review for “Enjoy the Silence” - easily one of the best things to come out of the 1990s - which for some reason has always struck me as the cover of Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby getting sucked through an audio processor.

The rest of Violator walks a line between gushy-sentimental (“Blue Dress”) and forgettable (“Clean”), which basically means its best moments can be found remastered on The Singles 86>98.  The undeniable sexiness of Dave Gahan merits a listen, but it’s a pretty A-minusy affair overall. 

- DW

New Order have the unfortunate distinction of being passed off as primarily a singles band.  The fact that their biggest singles - Blue Monday, True Faith and Ceremony - were never properly released on full-length LPs doesn’t do much to disprove this reputation.  Add that to the fact that they would ultimately be eclipsed in popularity by The Cure and Depeche Mode (and even their predecessor, Joy Division, in certain circles), and you’d be forgiven for losing them in the sea of the hundred-something other British New Wave bands from the early eighties.

Which is a shame, because this album is quite good. Technique, released at the end of the decade and shuffled in with the other movements that were transpiring at the time - the birth of grunge and a mainstream flirtation with house and dance - didn’t churn out any major singles, but it is a better-than-solid and more-than-competent melange of synthpop, alt-rock and acid house that is simultaneously rooted in its time and yet fresh to the ears of 2012.

Perhaps its lesser popularity (compared to Power, Corruption & Lies or Low-Life) is due to a decidedly poor choice of singles.  “Round & Round,” while driven by a frenetic synthesizer and chilled refrain, is perhaps more notable for its accompanying video than anything else, and “Run” doesn’t fare much better.  “Fine Time,” an acid house number and a groovy excursion on its own, is far too different from the remainder of the band’s catalogue to do them any commercial justice. 

Fortunately, the non-commercially released tracks are the true nucleus of Technique.  I speak particularly of “Vanishing Point,” a dancefloor anthem backed by an eerie synth, and “Mr. Disco,” a groovy number lamenting the story of a jilted lover.  Guitar-oriented tracks, like “Love Less” and “All the Way” (though suspiciously derivative of The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven”) serve as a break from the synthetic pulse of the aforementioned tracks.  Overall, a commendable take on genre-bending, and an excellent closer for the decade.

- DW

sadpizza:

So Tired by Slowdive

so tired, suicide is gone yeah
but it’s alright

(via sadpizza-deactivated20121018)