LOVEOF74 ::::

dos versiones curiosas

TV ON THE RADIO le ponen mas brillo aún a Daniel Johnston, mientras el inclasificable Bonnie Prince Billy se casca una de MARIA CAREY!!!!!!

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TV on the Radio: "Walking the Cow"

When I stare-- and I do stare-- at TV on the Radio, I feel like Dustin Hoffman's stripper wife in 1974's Lenny, after she's been given some insecure business about her bisexuality. She screams: "You son of a bitch! Why do you always have to be so damn hip!" I just, y'know, feel like they've attained, without jazzercise, the kind of cool that most of us consumers pursue in vain. So I'm troubled to see them flirting with boredom and annoyance on this cover of ONE OF THE FINEST AMERICAN SONGS ever of all of time, etc.

Their lengthy demo, nor their debut EP, nor their official full-length (which they've admitted in interviews to finding insufficient) did not prepare me for five minutes of plankity pianos, sub-minimalist drumming, and vocal constipation. On the pauses, the fog of noise/distortion actually works, and the cooing of Johnston's original solo (performed on a child's chord organ) is interesting/admirable, but the rest blasphemously handles a song that is basically the white man's "Hellhound on My Trail". Johnston's manias, (mis)processing the pop-worship that equates Jesus with Marvel superheroes with the Beatles (whom he believes will reunite for Armageddon), invented a new idiom for ennui/anomie/merdre, for those moments when one is simply walking the cow. Tunde Adebimpe and his band of geniuses do Johnston an injustice with this Liverpudlian kraut-klezmer hoedown that invokes mid-career Of Montreal. Seek out K. McCarty's gorgeous version instead.

Bonnie "Prince" Billy: "Pussyfooting"

He takes a Dylan drink; he takes a Warhol drink. What a character Oldham still is. I mean, he wrote an article for The Guardian a few months ago in which he bemoaned how his ward/persona, B"P"B, has wantonly usurped his career! But let's talk about you: If you ever get locked inside a Best Buy one night, you could do a Richard-Pryor-in-Superman-3 job on the alarm, fire up a router and a laptop, bust open a CD-R, connect to a file-sharing service, and burn yourself a six- or seven-song EP of Will Oldham's "electronic" work to commemorate your awkward evening. You'd notice that, except for an odd experiment with David Pajo, all of Oldham's machine-driven songs are "covers," either of others' songs, or of his own work, or of others' poems. "Pussyfooting", alas, is no ankle-fetishist's ballad, but a semi-straight tiptoe through Mariah Carey's "Can't Take That Away (Mariah's Theme)", which was a Whitney Houston rip anyway.
Oldham has a soft spot for forcing funny drum machines to sober up, reckon, because despite these beats' woofer-potential, they maintain a dopey stiffness reminiscent of his 1996 Arise Therefore "drums" (which were credited to the Mayatone machine as if it were a band member, Maya Tone). My crap-synth-dependent college band sent Oldham a sampler back when he started Palace Records, and the response note asked twice what machine was used to make the drums. Point being: If you want to make your own version of this song, just amble over to the hit music section of the Best Buy and puncture a copy of Mariah Carey's 1999 Rainbow (featuring Starsky & Hutch's irascible Snoop Dogg, and a version of that Postal Service classic "Against All Odds"). Play the disc on a wall of speakers, trot to the section where the store keeps a few keyboards handy, and finesse the jam. Be sure to program the kitschiest mechanized strings and bass available. Mumble the verses, and you've almost got it, except for the Ween-esque live guitar solo, and, uh, Oldham's feathery and sweet multi-tracked chorus. [William Bowers; September 21st, 2004]
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