Per Sgt. D, “The best case scenario is that you are an Alphabeta: someone who the true outcasts, losers, and failures look up to.”

Finally, there is an official term for the level of cool to which this Original Hipster blog aspires.

metalsucks.net

To all you folks who will descend on Austin the day I’ll be leaving, I can only say…good luck, suckas. Wouldn’t wanna be ya, but if I were ya, here’s who I’d go see.

If you see only one band at SXSW, see this one.

The Black Angels

Black Cobra*

Black Tusk

Buxton

Carolyn Wonderland

Corrosion of Conformity*

The Cult

Dixie Witch

Eve 6

Fiona Apple

Girl in a Coma

Gossip

High on Fire

Holy Grail

Howlin’ Rain

Justin Townes Earle

Lo-Pan

Shiny Toy Guns

Skrillex

The Sword

Sxip Shirey

Suzanna Choffel

The Ting Tings

Trixie Whitley

YACHT

Zoroaster*

*If you see no other show, see this one: Zoroaster, A Storm of Light, Rwake, Saviours, Black Cobra, Corrosion of Conformity, Wednesday 3/14 7:30 p.m. Dirty Dog Bar. Do not miss Zoroaster.

Best Album

Born This Way – Lady GaGa

Best Metal Album

Generation Why? – Diamond Plate

Best Remastered Album

Aqualung – Jethro Tull

Best Soundtrack/Score

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo – Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross

Best Conversation Starter (And Most Under-Appreciated Album)

Lulu – Lou Reed & Metallica

Best Single

“Rollin’ in the Deep” – Adele (Oh, yes. I went there.)

Best Announcement

Black Sabbath reunion, Rick Rubin producing

Best Live Experience

Zoroaster, St. Vitus in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, 12/11/11

Best Once-in-a-Lifetime Experience

Nigel Tufnel Day, 11/11/11

Best Music Video

Tie: “Marry the Night”, “Edge of Glory” – Lady GaGa

Best Music-Related TV Show

Metal Evolution

Best Swag

Black Cobra (Been wearin’ the heck outta that hoodie!)

Best Music App

Spotify

Biggest Loss

Amy Winehouse

Best Personal Music Moment

20 minute phone conversation with Rob Halford for LA Weekly interview

1. Generation Why? – Diamond Plate

2. Invernal – Black Cobra

3. Lulu – Lou Reed and Metallica

4. Sasquanaut (Remixed & Remastered from 2009 release) – Lo-Pan

5. Gallows – Landmine Marathon

6. Set the Dial – Black Tusk

7. Jason…the Dragon – Weedeater

8. Welcome 2 My Nightmare – Alice Cooper

I’ve been reluctant to do this because it’s kind of like trying to defend, oh, I don’t know, the movie Glitter, or something. It’s essentially a losing battle because so many critics have already scoffed at it. But on the other hand, it’s a great challenge. I’m thinking of the 33 ½ series, in which in one installment Carl Wilson examines Celine Dion’s Let’s Talk About Love. The moral of that story is that of course there’s value to be found in almost any work of art (pop or otherwise) created in earnest by artists with talent, that popular songs are popular for a reason, and that even a dubious, condescending critic can end up teary-eyed in Las Vegas at what Kathy Griffin calls “Cirque du Celine”.

The case of Lulu is a bit different, however, in that, generally speaking, the parties responsible for its existence—Lou Reed and Metallica—are relatively respected by their peers, by their fans, and by music journalists. There will always be a few snide snickers over some of their more self-indulgent moments (Exhibit A: Metal Machine Music. Exhibit B: Some Kind of Monster.), but by and large, these guys are revered. They are not the butts of jokes in the way that Celine Dion has been—until now, that is. Consequently, the task of advocating in favor of an almost universally hated album by musicians who are otherwise well-regarded becomes all the more daunting due to the bar having been set so high by the artists’ prior bodies of work.

Nevertheless, armed with Carl R. Mueller’s translation of Frank Wedekind’s Earth Spirit and Pandora’s Box—the plays that are the source material for the Lulu album—and a cup of yesterdays’ coffee, reheated and flavored with immune-boosting Ensure (and I’m now officially coining the term “grandma latte”), I put this procrastination in personal narrative aside to attempt the impossible.

***

Introduction: Rubrics

A work inspired by/derived from a preexisting work should be evaluated both on how it interprets the source material and on its own merit. These two rubrics should be applied separately because either aspect of a work can be carried off successfully or ineffectively without affecting the other. That is to say, a work can honor the source material while being itself a miserable piece of crap (Exhibit C: most Frank Wildhorn musicals); conversely, it can be inconsistent with the source material and still be strong in its own right (Exhibit D: the Garbo film Camille).

Reviewing Lulu positively based solely on the former rubric—whether the record rings true to its source—is the easier position to defend. It’s a matter of drawing comparisons. Reviewing Lulu positively based on the latter rubric—whether the record triumphs as an autonomous work of art—is more difficult, as it’s hard not to be swayed by one’s opinion developed via the previous measure. But we’ll begin with the first rubric and then forget about it temporarily when we attempt the second.

1. Portraying the Plays

Lulu, the character of Wedekind’s creation, is ingeniously drawn; she is both victim and villain. Her unapologetic enjoyment of sex is out of place in the mid-1890s, and it overwhelms her male partners—all three of her husbands die after marrying her. She will not be made a whore (as proposed by the Marquis Casti-Piani, who attempts to blackmail her and sell her to a brothel), but she eventually resorts to prostitution of her own volition when she and her ailing third husband have no other source of income. (Wedekind brings judgment on this, Lulu’s ultimate compromise of her sovereignty, through Jack the Ripper, who is perhaps the only inevitable Grim Reaper of a deus ex machina worthy of ending Lulu’s life.) That Lulu’s very nature, in contrast with her beauty, incites ambivalence in all who encounter her, including the plays’ audiences, is a literary feat—to create a character that inspires both loathing and sympathy—and, remarkably, it is not unlike listeners’ polarized responses to Lulu the album.

The Lyrics

On Songs for Drella and The Blue Mask, Reed writes from the point of view of fictionalized posthumous personalities based on actual people (Andy Warhol and Delmore Schwartz, respectively), often constructing an internal monologue of speculative psychology. For The Raven, Reed takes liberties with Edgar Allen Poe’s stories with prose that alternates between verbatim Poe and deviations into Reed’s own exploration of the characters’ psyches. Similarly, for Lulu, Reed adopts the role of narrator, and, more frequently, the voice of Lulu and of the supporting characters whose lives she destroys; his lyrics also reference plot points in non-linear succession.

In “Frustration”, Reed seems to channel the thoughts of Dr. Ludwig Schön, the middle-aged Svengali character who rescued Lulu as a child from the streets of Berlin and raised her as a pet project—molding her into a performer and an insatiable lover—rather than as a daughter. The lyrics,

I want so much to hurt you
Marry me
I want you as my wife

capture Schön’s conflicted feelings over the nature of his and Lulu’s relationship, which is fraught with mutually unrequited lust and resentment. The tension between them climaxes in Act III of Earth Spirit, wherein Lulu verbally torments Schön to the brink of despair, finally persuading him to call off his engagement to the virginal Adelaide and to marry Lulu instead. Schön confesses to Lulu, “I have never in my life cursed anyone as deeply as I curse you”, and Reed’s lyrics mirror this sentiment.

The final track, “Junior Dad”, alludes to Schön’s son, Alwa, who becomes Lulu’s lover after she kills his father. Reed’s lyrics,

The greatest disappointment
Age withered him and changed him
Into junior dad

depict Alwa’s declining physical condition at the end of Pandora’s Box. He has assumed his father’s role—that of Lulu’s husband—but she is dissatisfied with him. Lulu regrets having shot Schön, saying to Alwa, “I see you lying there, and I want to cut off my hands for committing such a crime against reason!” Indeed, in Lulu’s life, Alwa has proven to be “the greatest disappointment”.

The third track “Pumping Blood” depicts the character Lulu’s grisly murder by Jack the Ripper:

“Oh Jack I beseech you”
Supreme violation
Blood in the foyer
The bathroom
The tearoom
The kitchen, with her knives splayed

In Pandora’s Box, this scene is the last of the play:

(Sweat drips from JACK’s hair. His hands are bloody. He pants as though his lungs were bursting and stares with bulging eyes at the ground. LULU, trembling, grabs the bottle, breaks it against the table, and rushes at JACK with the broken end. With his right foot he hurtles LULU onto her back, then lifts her from the floor.)

LULU: No, no!—Mercy—Murderer!—Police!—Police!

JACK: Shut up! You’re not getting away this time!

This is the most obvious parallel between the lyrics and the plays’ dialogue. Reed’s best lyric of the album also appears in “Pumping Blood”, when he observes, “In the end it was an ordinary heart.” Lulu’s heart, fickle and never fully given to the lovers who longed to have it, succumbs at last to a serial killer’s blade.

In short, lyrically, the album is rich with moments that embody the plays’ moods, action, and characters.

The Music

Part two of the question of whether Lulu does justice to the plays has to do with whether Metallica and Reed have composed a score that suits its theatrical inspiration. Again, the answer is yes.

Lulu herself is a collection of contractions, and so are the tones of the plays. They are at once cold, coarse, yet sensual. In keeping with the Expressionist trends of his day, Wedekind shows no mercy toward his characters, whose lives devolve into suicide, prostitution, murder. Even so, he allows them moments of twisted beauty, such as the love scene between Lulu and Alwa after she has shot his father. Alwa, a playwright, muses, “In my case, sensuality and creativity go hand in hand.” He adds, “Which means I could either exploit you creatively or love you.” His inner conflict is consistent with the plays’ most dominant theme—that of turmoil caused by repressed sexual aggression.

Likewise, Lulu reveals a somewhat suppressed Metallica. Whiplash speed, complex song structures, and showy soloing typical of their work are sparse here. Instead, they adopt a slower, more deliberate, doom-driven sound, in which rage brims beneath the surface rather than boiling over. Given what we know Metallica to be capable of, this music represents a subdued intensity.

Reed is a forceful musical personality, and it’s fair to say that his is really the prevailing voice in these songs, as their relative simplicity and unhurried pace is more characteristic of his work than of Metallica’s. To put it bluntly, it feels as though Reed has made Metallica his bitch. Appropriately, this recalls the perverse prelude of Earth Spirit, when an animal trainer presents Lulu to the audience as a ringmaster would a circus sideshow act:

Man will fight beast in a narrow cage:
One swings his whip with high disdain,
The other roars and with murderous rage
Leaps at his trainer’s throat—but in vain.
Cleverness first, then strength wins the day;
Beast rears high; man falls low.
But at its master’s steely gaze,
Beast backs down, pretends to play,
Affirming thus his master’s sway.

In the scene, Lulu is depicted as a willing submissive. (Schön later suggests that Lulu’s ravenous libido can only be tamed by a whip.) If Metallica have bent over for Reed, they have done so either willingly or because Reed’s strength of influence left them no choice.

The stylistic clash of Reed vs. Metallica—of abstract, droning distortion vs. dexterous precision; of measured delivery vs. frenetic velocity (e.g., “Mistress Dread”)—serves well the oppositional energies of the subject matter. The same is true of the songs’ repetitive musical statements (e.g., “The View”), as Wedekind’s characters are motivated by sexual urges. (Is not sex in essence an act of repetition?)

2. The Album on Its Own

Lulu is not a Metallica album. All those seeking a Metallica album will be disappointed. Neither is Lulu a Lou Reed album. It is a Lou Reed and Metallica album.

Consider:

(Queen + Paul Rogers) ≠ Queen ~ (Lou Reed + Metallica) ≠ Metallica ≠ Lou Reed

It’s not entirely fair to evaluate Lulu by Metallica standards or by Lou Reed standards because the record claims to be neither of those things individually. Rather, it claims to be the sum of those things. Disparaging “Loutallica” for not sounding like Metallica is almost as absurd as criticizing the quantity 3 for not being more like the quantity 2. Three contains 2, but it’s not exactly 2.*

Emotionally, Lulu’s most stunning qualities are its darkness, its brutal honesty, and its rage. (“This has so much rage it’s thrilling,” Reed told The Guardian in October.)

Musically, it’s refreshing to hear Metallica playing outside their own box. For all the technical complexity and the expansion of the boundaries of metal that Metallica have accomplished in their career, there’s never been an album where they pushed as drastically beyond their safety zone as they do on Lulu. They seem to aspire to be more than—or at least other than—Metallica. And, with Reed at the helm (his lyrics were written prior to the studio sessions), the group becomes a collective charged by, rather than hindered by, the dissonance in and disparity of musical styles for which it’s been unduly criticized.

In other words, it is the NOT-Metallica and the NOT-Lou Reed qualities that make the album great. It is this otherness, heretofore unheard from Metallica or Reed separately, that comprises Loutallica (for lack of a better term). And it is this creation of a new entity with its own sound that renders the album worthy of praise.

Now, whether or not you like that sound is a different matter. Likeability has no bearing on the sound’s uniqueness and experimental courage, which are the measures of success I’ve chosen for evaluating the work independently of the source material. Is the album aesthetically pleasing? That depends on the ears listening. Lulu is like a Rothko painting. It expresses what the artist set out to express; whether or not you enjoy looking at it or listening to it is irrelevant to its purpose.

To return to Wedekind, “Art should be self-evident.”

In Conclusion

One of the chief aims of Expressionism in German theatre was to challenge established societal norms. If Lulu is denigrated for being something other than what we’re accustomed to hearing, it is at least upholding one artistic value of the era in which its theatrical inspiration was born.

Id unleashed is not a pretty thing; in the Wedekind plays, Lulu’s beauty is only external. From within her spring primal impulses with no conscience, and in her wake lies only death.

And if that’s not metal, I don’t know what is.

***

*If, in some obscure academic corner of the universe, 3 is exactly 2, I ask anyone who resides there to please pardon my error.

Here’s the explanatory video, in which AFP confesses she doesn’t know what the fuck they’ll be doing in the show, but that, even if they’re not coming to your city, you should still give them your money.

Within hours of the start of this campaign, the highest donation option of $500 had been capped. This means that the max amount of fans possible paid $500 for a ticket to the show (whatever it turns out to be), a grab bag of merch, and an “intimate” meet-and-greet with Amanda and Neil. The ironic thing is that you can usually meet Amanda after any of her shows. For free. One can only assume that meeting Neil Gaiman is more expensive. But $500? Really?

Here’s the kicker: the project is already 475% funded; it has 22 days to go; and people are STILL DONATING. It’s like this cult of followers can’t stop themselves from giving, even when the “tour” has been funded four times over.

What peeves me the most is that Amanda’s songwriting has been less than her best since about 2006. Yes, Virginia was the last strong album she wrote. No, Virginia was essentially a bunch of B-sides. WKAP was an incoherent collection mostly of self-indulgent ballads with an online fantasy game accompanying it and a commemorative coffee table book made collaboratively with none other than Neil Himself. (So it came as no surprise when AFP and Neil announced they were dating around 2009.) Now they’re married, and apparently they believe that their simultaneous presence onstage is worth anywhere from $30-$500. My question is, where is the music to back up this ticket price? Is Radiohead on ukulele worth that? Is a live album in Australia worth that–or is it just a way to avoid going into the studio?

It seems like Amanda has realized that she can sell anything on the Internet and that people will buy it–four or five times over; so quality no longer matters. She can announce a show on the beach while her husband eats a banana, and people will give her $95,000. She doesn’t have to write good songs anymore. (Maybe Neil won’t have to write books anymore.) They make more money standing on the beach than most people make in two years. This is not art. This is a musician-turned-megalomaniac e-personality run amok. It’s crowdsourcing at its worst, flippantly inviting people to pay for concerts that probably won’t come to their city or for an opportunity backstage that thousands of people have previously gotten for free.

I was a huge fan of The Dresden Dolls. They worked hard, toured incessantly, and made great music. And I never had to pay more than $40 to hear it. Granted, I may have Roadrunner Records to thank for that. According to AFP, being indie is more profitable for her than was having a record deal. When it’s profitable to the tune of $95K for a uke, a half-formed idea, and a banana, I guess she’s right. The fans have spoken: do little, and we’ll pay you a lot.

x

(Free download. Enjoy!)

The album is gorgeous from start to finish. Truly a delight. The progressive pop music is cinematic, deliciously layered vocals floating over dreamy string arrangements. The songs have an unhurried quality, capturing what one might imagine a sunny Saturday in the band’s hometown of Miami Beach, Florida, would feel like. It’s tempting to escape into the rich sonic landscape of the record, to indulge in a mini-vacation with every listen.

The man at the helm is Fernando Perdomo, an accomplished musician whose credits include playing lead guitar on a platinum-selling album (Amar Es) and international tour for Grammy-nominated Mexican pop singer Christian Castro. Perdomo writes and sings most of the songs on Dreaming in Stereo 2, with the exceptions of “Saturday Song” and “Without You”, by Marisol Garcia. Garcia’s vocals are stunning; her range extends from quiet intimations to soaring climactic power.

One thing the band seems to collectively understand is the significance of the musical dramatic arc. “Enough’s Enough” is but one example in which a pop melody swells into full orchestral glory and then returns to the original theme. This prog tactic owes much to Pink Floyd, who seem consciously referenced in songs like “Open the Door 2”, with its Syd Barrett-psychedelic lyrics and Dark Side of the Moon acid guitar solo with female vocals underneath. The Beatles also seem to be an influence, as in the vocal harmonies of “Part of Your Life”. Like the Beatles, Dreaming in Stereo writes songs that have an undercurrent of longing, a delicate sadness made beautiful by music. In effect, the experience of the album as a whole is a sort of journey, both inward into secret emotions and outward in an exploration of just how picturesque sound can be.

But, as people who know him will tell you, he’s also known for his genuineness—and in the music business, that’s saying a lot. He’s the kind of guy who turns an afternoon gig with no cover charge at Rockwood Music Hall into a benefit for tornado victims in Alabama; the tip bucket is used to collect donations instead of tips. He’s the kind of guy who, in April 2010, organizes a concert at Brooklyn Bowl with Chris Barron of the Spin Doctors, webcasts the show to an international audience, and gives the proceeds to Americares to aid survivors of the earthquake in Chile. The kind of guy who brings Starbucks treats to a friend in the hospital and stays to chat even though he’s feeling a little under the weather himself (thanks again). And the kind of musician who works diligently not because he wants fame but because writing and sharing music make him happy.

It’s a joy that’s contagious. The energy of Greenberg’s piano playing quickly wins over audiences, but the authenticity of his lyrics and of the way he delivers them, unselfconsciously and in earnest, keep people listening. There’s something about his songs that feels very solid and true, attributable to the fact that that’s kind of person who wrote them.

x

Greenberg also has a strong independent streak, a sort of stubbornness he credits to his being a native New Yorker. Originally from Long Island, he spent three years after college in Chile and Spain on a self-guided sojourn, finding himself as a songwriter before taking on the challenge of making it in his hometown. “You don’t want to be place-dependent,” he says. “You want to be work-dependent. It’s like, is it about New York, or is it about the work you’re doing?”

It seems like the answer for Greenberg is both. Largely self-taught on the piano, he has worked doggedly to refine his natural talent while drawing inspiration from his New York roots: he recalls hearing his parents’ Broadway records as a youngster and later studied Billy Joel songbooks religiously.

But for someone who’s lived in the city for most of his life, he still feels a bit like a fish out of water. “It’s tough in New York,” he explains, “because there are a lot of ‘scenes’ and circles…It’s hard for me to swim in the scene because I’m kind of a loner. I just can’t belong to any one scene too much.”

Fortunately, New York is a place that also rewards individualism. “There’s a definite integrity in what I’m doing,” Greenberg says. “In the long term, people come around to it. I feel like if I dig it, other people will. And you find your people.”

(I can’t help adding that that’s the attitude of an Original Hipster.)

***

OH: Tell me about your time in Chile. How did you start playing music there?

CG: There were these two guys that played in this bar three nights a week that would play like two-thirds English stuff—Beatles, Rolling Stones. And grunge music was still really big there at the time. So I started just sitting in with them with these egg shakers I had, and then after a while I graduated to getting a pair of bongos there, and later to singing harmonies. I was doing it all for free, getting food and drink.

After a couple months, one of the guys I was playing with there had a friend who had opened up a new bar that was looking for a house musician, and so I went in and auditioned. At that point I had like six or seven cover songs that I could play and sing, but they hired me. Maybe partly because I was like a gringo novelty. So that was the start. I was playing there Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, three sets a night. Each night I would learn more and more songs, and that’s when I really started singing. That kind of changed my whole career trajectory–up until that point I thought I would just be a songwriter. But I remember having this very profound moment. I woke up that first Sunday after just three nights of playing, and something had just fundamentally changed in my life. I just felt like, wow, if I’m doing this in my life, I can be happy.

OH: What was your musical background, growing up?

CG: I took guitar lessons. I started playing guitar when I was sixteen, and I went to this guitar workshop in Connecticut one summer. So that was the formal training, and I had a good amount of theory through that. In school I took some music classes, like electronic music and jazz. I played in the school jazz band.

I never had a piano. I had friends that played and who would show me things here and there. But, that I really mainly did learn on my own, like sitting with Billy Joel songbooks. It was a lot by ear. I was also able to translate a lot of what I did on guitar to piano.

Piano opened me up more because all of a sudden I could now keep the bass in my left hand. It was a much fuller sound and added a new level of sophistication to my music. I feel that when I started writing on a piano, I became more of a composer. Vocally, too, it brought out my voice in a deeper, more resonant way.

OH: How would you describe your style?

CG: People say modern-day Billy Joel or Ben Folds. I definitely relate to Billy Joel, musically and background-wise. So I absorbed a lot from him–especially in that sense of New York identity and pride.

OH: I’m noticing your Ben Folds t-shirt.

CG: Oh, yeah. Ben was a huge influence, though much later.

OH: He’s like the ultimate rock pianist. There’s kind of no one better.

CG: I agree. And that’s the thing—there are a lot of piano player/songwriters out there, but I don’t think there are that many that really rock. There are people who take parts of what Ben does, but it doesn’t really have that rock attitude. So, that’s something I definitely feel, and I’m trying to incorporate that in what I do.

But also, Phish was a band that was hugely influential on me. It’s now kind of my guilty admission. They had a looseness in their music and this giddy exuberance. So I always thought about taking some of that but putting it into more of a pop structure. So you have good, hooky stuff and emotional vocals but room for improvisation and solos. This has been like the vision that I’ve been trying to actualize this whole time, that i think i’m only just getting down now.

OH: How would you describe your lyrics?

CG: They range. I have several songs that are about overcoming adversity. I guess I’ve tried to put some of the struggle I’ve gone through with this crazy career path I’ve chosen into songs that will inspire others. Also some about relationships, some about just random city experiences, and some political thoughts sneak in there from time to time, too.

For me most often in writing it’s a process of discovering what the song is about. That’s how I’ve always written. I’ve never sat down and said, “I want to write a song about this.” As some who considers himself a pop-songwriter, and a big melody guy, to me the lyrics just need to serve the song, and if you can say something interesting, that’s a bonus. The goal is always, you don’t want a lyric to take people out of the song.

These days I try to pull from concrete experience as much as possible, and I think my better songs are based on real things that happen to me.

I consider myself an old-school troubadour songwriter, kind of a throwback. And someone with a conscience, too, not just trying to write typical love stuff. There’s just so many people that do that, and I’m trying to explore other themes.

OH: How would you describe your singing style?

CG: People say there’s a little bit of a twang in there…I think there’s also a bit of sadness in my tone.

OH: How did your experiences abroad influence your music?

CG: More than musically, it was the experience of being on my own in these foreign places and being forced to make a life there and interact. Also, people say they get a very visual impression from a lot of my music, like a sense of place, so I guess my travel experience comes out that way a bit.

OH: What strikes me as interesting is that, even with all the traveling and your sort of wide-eyed view of the world, you seem to have remained consistent in who you are.

CG: Yeah, I think that’s true. I guess I would attribute that to my “New Yorker-ness”. With my music, at a certain point, I just accepted the fact that I’m never going to be the coolest thing out there, partly because I consider myself a throwback in many ways and also because keeping up with what’s currently “cool” is just too exhausting. There’s just too much stuff! I decided to just make the kind of music I’d want to hear and that the most important thing is to be true to yourself and to your vision.

OH: What’s the alternative to cool, for you?

CG: Being real. Being who you are. I feel like cool is such an intangible thing. And so is fame and celebrity. I just want to do good work…I’m just trying to find something real and find a connection with people.

There are people that are in “the scene” and trying so hard to be cool. But I don’t really think—mainly from my experience with my travels—it’s something most people in the world care about when they experience music. I’ve always tried to approach what I’m doing from the broadest perspective possible. And I really believe that, anytime in music, soul will cut through. So in my view, if you have soul, you’re cool.