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mindrat · 1 year

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"Ed is not the only popstar to have gone from fawningly thanking reviewers for exposure in the earlier stages of their career to writing them off once they no longer need them, without a moment's thought for those debutantes who might actually still do. They are effectively pulling the ladder up behind them as if wishing to emulate Conservative Party policy on every social issue."

Good point but it's also slightly charitable to reviewers - you'll see publications like tQ review up-and-coming or underground artists (which is why they're so great) but the big guns like Pitchfork and Rolling Stone, or those at large news outlets, don't really do that.

The latter outlets seem to overwhelmingly publish positive reviews - there's maybe one ambivalent review in the first two pages of the Rolling Stone review page - for large artists, so you don't really get a feel for what you might actually like.

Pitchfork at least will sometimes have interesting analysis of the context of the music (even if that often means they don't much get around to the music itself), but most reviews are only worth reading if you disagree with them, because ragebait is fun.

That makes it even more annoying to hear pop stars whinge about reviews - it's true that Pitchfork hasn't given Ed Sheeran great reviews (and I don't listen to him, so I can't comment on their validity, even if they're fun to read), but most of the critical response to his work is positive, and Lizzo flipped out over a 6 from Pitchfork, which is technically better than average!

All of this is to say that reviewing big artists is only really useful if there's interesting social commentary or the reviews can actually help you make a decision as to whether to give the record a listen. Most fail at both counts, but pop artists should be pleased with this, because coverage is overwhelmingly positive.

Even tQ rarely gives negative reviews, though that's more because they review underground artists that they actually like - getting a review is inherently a sign that you're worth reviewing, and there's only two reasons that might be the case - you're either popular or good, and underground artists certainly aren't the former.

#ed balls #music #the music review industrial complex has had disastrous consequences for humankind as we know it!#Lizzo #the quietus #criticism

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freakingoutthesquares · 1 year

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(via Russell Senior reads from 'Freak Out The Squares')

#the quietus #russell senior #pulp #autobiography #freak out the squares

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lizzygrantarchives · 13 years

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The Quietus, October 4, 2011

Even though her song ‘Video Games’ emerged a couple of months back, Lana Del Rey has already experienced equal parts adulation and suspicion. Here, John Calvert speaks to her about David Lynch, New York and the ghosts that hide behind her ‘white picket-fenced cheer’.

She talks like a dairy queen, like Britney Spears, like a cheerleader. 24 years old and exuding the hardy effervescence unique to healthy American girls, there is nothing in Del Rey’s manner that connects the voice at the end of the line to ‘Video Games’, the YouTube smash hit carried by a purring vocal performance so rich you can feel almost feel David Lynch’s velvet carpeting under your fingers.

That is until I hit playback on my telephone’s dictaphone. Slowly all the years of a weary, haunted youth spent in backwoods New York State unravel from under her bubbly facade, like furtive murmurings on the other side of a door. As per the many doomed chanteuses and dead movie idols she invokes in her cinematic music, it seems Del Rey is a good actress. In true Lynch fashion, beneath her white picket-fenced cheer hide the writhing earthworms that plague her heavy heart.

With increasing frequency, naysayers are testing the walls of Del Ray’s persona, in particular questioning exactly who should be credited for her perfectly realised Valley of the Dolls aesthetic. Amidst universal praise for ‘Video Games’, she’s nevertheless faced the incredulity of everyone from high profile bloggers to broadsheet columnists to disgruntled indie stars (Amy Klein of Titus Andronicus threw her oar in), some of whom are convinced she’s a kohl-eyed marketing ploy and as fake as those eyelash extensions. So in a delicious twist of dramatic irony, it’s precisely Del Rey’s persona – the artifice – that forms her only barrier of defence against the media’s worst advances.

Its a lie, however, to tell the truth. Because it seems her story up to now, if largely less glamorous, isn’t so different to that of the Marilyn Monroes or the Judy Garlands, or indeed Lynch’s own tragic starlet in Mulholland Drive. The story goes: smalltown girl moves to the big city, falls into dark waters, becomes forever imprisoned in the house of mirrors that is the media’s oppressive gaze.

Enter frame the Quietus, at hand to shoot the close-up she may or may not be ready for.

Have you always had a dark side, Lana?

When I was younger I felt lonely… In terms of my thought processes. I had the constant feeling that I thought differently to everyone around me. So, I suppose I felt lonely for a home. I didn’t know where I wanted to be, but I knew I wasn’t there yet. I think that this loneliness set a dark undertone for things to come.

Are you a David Lynch fan?

Yeah. When I was a kid playing in bars in Lake Placid, after every show somebody would come up to me and be like ‘You must be a David Lynch fan!’. At the time I wasn’t up on ‘all things cool’, but I looked into Lynch and quickly became a fan. Although I think the themes he explores are a step further into the extreme than I’m prepared to go.

If you can put it down to one scene, which Lynch moment do you return to most for inspiration when writing? I envisage something like the Mulholland Drive theatre sequence, crossed with the home video of a dead Laura Palmer dancing with Donna on the hill.

Have you ever seen Fire Walk With Me and the scenes where Laura Palmer is in the bar with the lumberjacks, sort of dancing and getting crazy? Well, it’s that frightening sensation of being out of control that really sticks in my mind.

Some of the music in your chosen field of expertise suggests love has more to do with obsession than companionship. For example ‘The End Of The World’ by Skeeter Davis has a creepy What Ever Happened To Baby Jane quality about it. And then there’s your line from ‘Video Games’: ‘It’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you / Everything I do’. Does this idea resonate with you?

I really love that [Davis] song, actually. And yeah, that idea resonates with me. Growing up I was always prone to obsession, partly because of the way I am, but partly because after feeling so lonely for such a long time, when I found someone or something that I liked, I felt helplessly drawn to it. I suppose that accounts for some of the creepiness in my music.

Like a fatal attraction?

Yeah. After I was sent away to school when I was 15, I had to start life on my own. So I began looking for that ‘someone’ to hang on to. And if it so happened that I found him, then there have been occasions in the past where I’ve been overtaken by my feelings. But with some of the bad things that come with love, there’s also a lot of good… For example that connection… which I struggle to have with most people. So although there’s a dark side to love, there’s also something really hopeful.

You moved to New York City at age 18. Were you at all inspired by New York’s noirish undertones?

Yeah. The way I experienced New York, for a long time after I moved, was alone and at night, walking the streets. I mean, there are thousands of streets in New York and I know them all. I’d go down to the tip of Manhattan, or even down to Coney Island, then travel all the way back up. Because I come from a place that, geographically, isn’t that stimulating. But New York’s architecture alone is enough to inspire a whole album. In fact, that’s what happened at first – my early stuff was mostly just interpretations of landscapes.

Do you feel yourself change when ‘in character’?

‘Lana’ and ‘Lizzy’ are the same person. I wish I could escape into some alter-ego, just so I could feel more comfortable onstage, but I feel the same as Lana as I do Lizzy.

How was it working with David Kahne [The Strokes, Regina Spector, Paul McCartney] on your debut? He has a background in replicating bygone eras.

It was validating when David asked to work with me, only a day after he got my demo. He has known as a producer with a lot integrity and who had an interest in making music that wasn’t just pop.

In terms of instruction, what was Kahne’s input?

He had a lot of things he wanted done. For example, he was interested in a more traditional vocal style and I wasn’t. He’s also a real scientist, so he had a very particular plan. The album ended up somewhere in between what he wanted and what I wanted.

There’s a theory that the archetype you portray plays to male sexual fantasies?

In the video for ‘Video Games’, I was trying to look smart and well turned-out, rather than ‘sexy’. Of course I wanted to look good, but ‘smart’ was the primary focus.

What inspired ‘Video Games’?

A boy. I think we came together because we were both outsiders. It was perfect. But I think with that contentment also comes sadness. There was something heavenly about that life – we’d go to work and he’d play his video games – but also it was maybe too regular. At the time I was becoming disillusioned with being a singer and was very happy to settle with a boyfriend who I loved, but in the end we both lost sight of our dreams. Maybe there’s something not-so-special about domestic life.

A popular American blog recently published a supposed exposé on you, with accusations of inauthenticity. Do you feel like you’ve had your eyes opened? [At the beginning of the interview tQ apologises in advance for ‘going on a bit’. Lizzy/Lana’s telling response is ‘Better a bore than an assassin…’]

I dunno. If I say anything they’ll just publish something like [speaks like an anchorman reading the headlines] ‘Lana Del Ray Gets Her Feelings Hurt!’. It just seemed that with that one article, they were particularly cruel. Not in a playground/indie/mean way, but in a personal vendetta sort of way. They really made it their mission to destroy me. I’m not a confrontational person, so if that’s going to be my life from here on, I’d honestly rather not sing or have a career.

In an interview with Pitchfork you said that people have offered you opportunities in exchange for sleeping with them. Is this true? At the corporate level?

[Laughs, then becomes tongue-tied]

I mean… uh… uh… I mean things get a little crazy, I guess.

Um… There are some situations when you kind of know.

… I mean, it’s sort of a loaded question.

It’s common knowledge that The Pretenders’ Chrissie Hynde was, by her own admittance, hopelessly drawn to the bad boys – damaged and dark men. Would that be the case with Lizzy?

Yeah, in the past that has been the case. I think with so-called ‘creative’ people, their particular strain of genius can cause the pendulum to swing too far – into self-destruction and what you could call ‘madness’, which is something I can relate to. So, yes, I was once attracted to that. But that was then. Now I’m looking for something more simple.

You also told Pitchfork that God has saved your life a million times, which strikes me as in opposition to your music. Because, in films based in small town America, religion is frequently a patriarchal, repressive and evil presence, with the archetype you portray acting as a force in subverting it.

I think there’s a division of organised religion similar to what you’ve described. But where I’m concerned, my understanding of God has come from my own personal experiences… because I was in trouble so many times in New York that if you were me, you would believe in God too. When things get bad enough, your only resort is to lie in bed and start praying. I dunno about congregating once a week in a church and all that, but when I heard there is a divine power you can call on, I did. I suppose my approach to religion is like my approach to music – I take what I want and leave the rest.

What kind of ‘trouble’?

Any and all. When I was in New York I had nowhere to live, and I was trying to find a way to be a musician… Just trying to survive, which is fucking hard by the way. So I got myself into a lot of situations I didn’t plan on. [Pauses] I think what I was going for was something beautiful, but I kinda got myself into trouble along the way. Sorry, that’s pretty vague.

But you live in London now?

No, not yet. I’ve been in London for most of the last two years, but I’ll book three months there then go home to New York for three weeks. However, when I’m not working I go see my friends in Glasgow, so I spend my time there when I want to have fun. I’m in Glasgow right now.

Any encounters with [notorious angry drink enjoyed especially in Celtic territories] Buckfast? I like the image of you stabbing someone in a car park.

[Laughs] No, I’m a good girl. I leave the drinking to the boys these days.

Do you feel that the ‘Femme Fatale’ archetype still has the power to tap into ‘male sexual anxieties’ or challenge a patriarchal society?

If I’m honest, no. Not as much as it used to. In the 50s it was a new premise, a new form of female power. I think that these days, plain old intellectualism is a more powerful force than the idea of the femme fatale.

Why is it, do you feel, that so much of ‘Golden Age’ pop placed love, and laterally eroticism, in such close proximity with notions of death? In particular the music of Roy Orbison.

I suppose because, sometimes, love feels like a life or death situation. I mean, losing true love is pretty much as bad as it gets, other than actually dying or losing good health. Most people know that. Most people can relate. As Davis says, it’s like the end of the world.

Originally published on thequietus.com with the headline Original Sin: An Interview With Lana Del Rey.

#2011 #The Quietus #John Calvert

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sinceileftyoublog · 2 months

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Bill Ryder-Jones Interview: Defiant, Not Defeated

Photo by Marieke Macklon

BY JORDAN MAINZER

On Bill Ryder-Jones' most personal and heart-wrenching record yet, the first voice you hear is not his own. In fact, it's not even clear whose voice it is: It's a ghostly sample of somebody repeatedly cooing "baby." Though Tropicália fans might recognize the sound as a washy sample of Gal Costa's song "Baby", the effect is disorienting, especially as Ryder-Jones introduces you into the world of Iechyd Da (Domino)--which means "good health" in Welsh--and its balance of broad hope and tangible pain.

Ryder-Jones has never been one to shy away from his struggles. He left The Coral temporarily in 2005 and permanently in 2008 due to suffering from panic attacks, sharing his story in a short film about mental health in the music industry. In an interview with The Quietus from earlier this year, he revealed long-running suffering from addiction and mental illness, ranging from alcohol and prescription drug abuse to agoraphobia exacerbated by COVID lockdown. At the time of that interview's publication last month, Ryder-Jones was, thankfully, doing better. But it's also a disservice to the contextually provocatively titled Iechyd Da to call it an album "about" Ryder-Jones' inner battles. Though many of the songs reference specific points in his journey towards conquering fears and demons, it's an album namely about surrounding yourself with love.

That the first voice we hear on Iechyd Da is Costa's only foreshadows what we hear on the rest of the record. There's singer-songwriter Michael Head (who Ryder-Jones has produced) reading a passage from Ulysses on "...And The Sea...". A chorus of children, who Ryder-Jones worked with extensively on the record, provide contrasting, innately buoyant timbres to his weary croak. On "This Can't Go On", a song representing one of Ryder-Jones' rock bottoms, he finds solace in Echo & The Bunnymen's "The Killing Moon", further references The Stooges, and samples strings from a 1978 disco track. The swaying, romantic "If Tomorrow Starts Without Me"--which gets its title from a line a sex worker reads in Eurotrash--is akin to It's A Wonderful Life, though it's not clear who's the hopeless one and who's the angel. "If the monsters call you names, then I'm with you," Ryder-Jones sings, "I've had monsters play games with me too." Perhaps best of all are the people he addresses by name in song, like Jase on the jangly "I Hold Something In My Hand", and the titular Anthony on "Thankfully For Anthony". Inspired by a real-life experience where a concerned friend took a sick Ryder-Jones to the hospital after receiving a cryptic text message from him, the latter song covers the moment Ryder-Jones thought he might die to when he overcame. Hearing him sing, "I'm thinking this might just be it" is as heartbreaking as it is inspiring to hear him sing, "I felt love." Atop xylophone and strings, it's as life-affirming as anything Spiritualized have ever released.

Ultimately, Iechyd Da is an aspirational record, not a mere biographical one. The connotatively positive words may sometimes adopt past tense, like, "Oh how I loved you," on "A Bad Wind Blows In My Heart pt. 3", the next entry in the series started on the 2013 album of the same name. [Among everything else, Ryder-Jones went through a bad breakup during lockdown.] But for every nostalgic or wistful aspect on the album, there's something positive and realistic. Closer "Nos Da", which means "good night" in Welsh, warbles to a gorgeous imperfection, its synths and strings off-kilter. And on melodramatic strummer "It's Today Again", Ryder-Jones sings, "There's something great about life," perhaps the ethos of the entire album. Notably, he doesn't sing, "Life is great," which would be a statement as absurd as it is corny. But he admits that, among all ups and downs, with a worn sense of perspective, there are things to be thankful for. A cynic might disagree. With Iechyd Da, Bill Ryder-Jones demonstrates his humanism.

Earlier this month, I asked Ryder-Jones a few questions about the album over email. Read his responses below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: With Iechyd Da, you wanted to make a more hopeful record. What about it do you think is hopeful?

Bill Ryder-Jones: I feel like the music in places is more hopeful and promising of hope than music I've made in the past. It's hard to put into words what I think makes music sound hopeful. I guess if nothing else, the music doesn't sound defeated--maybe [it sounds] even defiant.

SILY: Some of your lyrics are confessional, but they're not quite like you're reading somebody's diary. What's the importance of keeping some of your more personal stories on the vague side? How do you decide when to share certain details, like the names of songs you were listening to during a difficult time, or the names of people?

BRJ: I think that's something I have a natural taste for. I don't think I'm conscious of how direct the lyrics are. More often than not, the first verse will dictate where the song is going, so I tend to just go with it.

SILY: From characters on previous albums to older song titles ["A Bad Wind Blows In My Heart pt. 3"], you reference your previous work quite a bit on Iechyd Da. Do your records work in concert with one another?

BRJ: No, not really. Maybe they do; I'm not sure. The others weren't designed for that reason in the way Iechyd Da was. It was a deliberate attempt to draw a link between this album and A Bad Wind Blows in My Heart. I feel they sit really sweetly together.

SILY: What inherent qualities do you think the sound of children singing has? When they sing lines like, "I just don't see myself getting past this one," do the words carry a different meaning?

BRJ: Yeah, I think there's something inherently beautiful in the sound of children singing. It's so, so sweet and powerful. The idea that you can have them sound that way whilst saying a few things that are possibly beyond their understanding I think is a good idea.

SILY: You've mentioned that Iechyd Da is your most produced record. What about the specific albums you produced in the past five years gave you the confidence to make your own record more produced?

BRJ: Well, confidence isn't the word I would use. In fact, music is one of the few things I feel confident in. The decision to make an album sound like this one was mainly down to wanting to push myself and make music that truly made me happy, but of course, working with artists will influence you in myriad ways. Certainly...Michael Head [and the Red Elastic Band's Dear Scott] and Saint Saviour['s In The Seams] were important for me in terms of scope and ambition.

SILY: The instrumentation on the final song, "Nos Da", is warbly and a bit hazy. Is it supposed to reflect memory or nostalgia?

BRJ: It was originally written as a lullaby for my friend's daughter, Luna. I remembered it by chance when I was finishing the album. The warble I think I added to bookend the album, hoping it sounded similar to the sample of Gal Costa['s "Baby"].

SILY: How do you find playing live some of the songs that reference more difficult times in your life? Are you able to get into an appropriate headspace?

BRJ: I'm fine with that. I'm mainly trying to remember lyrics and not have a panic attack. I detach from things quite easily, if I'm honest.

SILY: How does the tale of Ulysses and the Michael Head-featuring track "…And The Sea…" fit within the narrative of Iechyd Da?

BRJ: I guess in the way that I thought, "I can do whatever I want," and I wanted to have this strange piece in the album as a respite from my voice. I listen to much more performance music these days as opposed to purely melodic music. I think it came from there.

SILY: How would you describe your treatment of the Gal Costa sample at the beginning of “I Know That It’s Like This (Baby)”? And the chatter on "Nothing To Be Done"?

BRJ: The sample is Gal Costa singing "Baby" but recorded to give the effect that it's playing in the background in the room I was in rather than crisply. The chatter, I think, is probably just bits of audio from the kids when they were talking mid-recording.

SILY: Are you a fan of Eurotrash?

BRJ: Ha, I haven't seen it in years.

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