How to describe Spoon

I first became aware of the Texas band Spoon when I heard the song “The Beast and the Dragon, Adored” on the radio close to a decade ago. (Exact date? Who knows, but the song is from the 2005 album Gimme Fiction, so we’ll leave it at “close to a decade.”)

The song is mesmerizing, a sinewy bit of rock ‘n’ roll that is not quite blues but plays around the edges. I downloaded the song — it remains my favorite by the band — but didn’t buy the album, — not, anyway, until the 2007 masterpiece Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga came out. I was hooked.

And yet, I’ve never felt comfortable describing the band. What is Spoon? Where does the band fit? It was experimental without sounding experimental, classic without sounding retro. Who is Spoon?

I think I found the answer, in a piece by Dan Kois in The New York Times Magazine. Part feature, part review of their soon-to-be-released album They Want My Soul (coming Tuesday, yay!), Kois writes that

Spoon seems to look at rock songs analytically and figure out ways to deconstruct them, as a molecular gastronomist might do with a traditional recipe. Riffs and instruments stand out in Spoon’s songs, individual sounds in empty space. The result is that their songs deliver a pure rush of musical elation, the distillation of rock music, in the way that sea-urchin foam on an avant-garde restaurant’s plate provides a diner with the essential flavor of ocean. Spoon delivers the power of familiar songs without actually sounding that much like other rock music at all.

Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga certainly has that feel, with nods to pop and soul that feel wholly organic even as they are layered on top of an indie-rock frame. Transference has a rougher, more aggressive sound, though it too feels complete and whole and wholly unlike most of what one usually gets from the dead genre known as alternative.

I’ve heard a few songs from the new album — so far, so good, so varied in approach and sound. I like the atmospherics of “Inside Out,” the sense of floating in unmoored modernity. “The Rent I Pay” is more aggressive, but mines some of the same thematic territory. “Do You” has a pop feel, but is driven by a nasty guitar that snakes into the mix.

This is not a review of the album — I haven’t heard it in its entirety yet — but I do like what I hear so far, (I’ll be listening this weekend  — it is available for streaming via iTunes radio.)

Sorry, Onion, but I don’t find sexism masked as satire funny

I know this Onion piece is supposed to be funny — especially to fans of the Eagles and Giants — but all it does is perpetuate the bogus “toughness is a male trait” nonsense. Romo, The Onion’s crack satirists write, had an ovarian cyst removed, adding that he has “responded well to the procedure.”

“If we had waited any longer, it very well could have spread to his uterus. Hopefully Tony can still have children.”

Baskin told reporters that there will most likely be some scarring along the fallopian tubes, but Romo’s range of motion should remained unaffected.

Funny, right? But why? Humor, like art, works by disrupting expectations. Romo is a professional football player, which means he is supposed to be big and tough. His critics say he is not and the joke here plays off this, equating his lack of toughness with female sex organs. The joke, when stripped back, does nothing more than call Romo a girl.

Some may find that funny. I don’t.

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Jersey rocks — a top 10 list at NJ Spotlight

Today’s list on NJ Spotlight offers the 10 best places to see indie rock, or play indie rock. I’m no expert to be sure, but in my efforts writing about bands these are the places the come up most frequently. I got help from music writers Jim Testa and Gary Wein, along with members of some of the state’s indie bands (and my friend Nick D’Amore). It is far from definitive and probably shortchanges South Jersey, so add to it.

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Anarchist/socialist: Notes on a personal ideology

I generally refer to myself as both an anarchist and a socialist, but explaining this to people can sometimes be difficult. To many, anarchism and socialism are political opposites — anarchism too often being confused in our present-day discourse with libertarianism and socialism too often being a simple short hand for Soviet-style government.

But anarchism and socialism can co-exist, if we define them properly. For me, anarchism is a system of thought that distrusts large concentrations of power. This is what separates it from libertarianism, which is purely anti-government and seems to trust last corporate entities to do the right thing. Power matters little in the libertarian equation.

This is how Noam Chomsky describes anarchism — someone posted this to Facebook the other day, which is why I am writing this. Anarchism, he says,

is a tendency that is suspicious and skeptical of domination, authority, and hierarchy. It seeks structures of hierarchy and domination in human life over the whole range, extending from, say, patriarchal families to, say, imperial systems, and it asks whether those systems are justified. It assumes that the burden of proof for anyone in a position of power and authority lies on them. Their authority is not self-justifying. They have to give a reason for it, a justification. And if they can’t justify that authority and power and control, which is the usual case, then the authority ought to be dismantled and replaced by something more free and just.

Distrust and skepticism are he the keys, which. Is what separates the anarchist from the libertarian. The libertarian’s skepticism is incomplete. He distrusts government, but asks no questions of those outside of government who would accumulate and concentrate power. A tyranny of money, therefore, is acceptable to the libertarian — the rich earned it so they can do what they want in the name of liberty — but not to the anarchist.

Or the socialist. Socialism, as I under stand it, is about creating the optimal conditions under which man can thrive — see Oscar Wilde’s essay on socialism. The goal is to find says to lessen the economic burdens on individuals so that they can be the best they can — as thinkers, as humanitarians, etc. How we get there is debatable — Marx offers one route (in The Communist Manifesto), but there are others that are far more democratic and that can be built without the excesses that are central to Marxism and that should be compatible with an anarchistic worldview (not all anarchists will agree, of course, but this is my sense of things).

I start from this point: The anarchist and the socialist are both concerned with the individual, with expanding his or her happiness and freedom, his or her ability to live healthy and whole lives. The regulatory regime is a necessary — Chomsky makes this point elsewhere, though I don’t have a link — bulwark against concentrated corporate and business power. It levels the playing field and protects the individual’s “inalienable rights.”

Chomsky, in the 2013 interview cited above, makes the same point. The use of the state, he says, “to the extent that it is democratically controlled” serves a function — even if the ultimate goal, unrealistic (and likely counterproductive) as I think it is, is to eliminate the state. The state, he says,

exists, alongside of private power, and the state is, at least to a certain extent, under public influence and control — could be much more so. And it provides devices to constrain the much more dangerous forces of private power. Rules for safety and health in the workplace for example. Or insuring that people have decent health care, let’s say. Many other things like that. They’re not going to come about through private power. Quite the contrary. But they can come about through the use of the state system under limited democratic control … to carry forward reformist measures. I think those are fine things to do. they should be looking forward to something much more, much beyond, — namely actual, much larger-scale democratization.

What Chomsky describes, I think, is a variant of socialism, and one that Wilde might endorse.

Socialism, of course, can lead to concentrations of power, but only if we define the state as being somehow separate from the people being governed and not as an extension of the people. In a democratic or republican government, the state derives its power from the governed, meaning the state is the people and not something separate. The limited powers we grant the state are supposed to enhance our welfare and broaden the individual’s freedoms — even if it means using the state to counterbalance other concentrations of power.

This is why I view financial and environmental regulations as acceptable — the corporate world has proven it will run amok without someone reining it in — and the surveillance state and the drug war as unacceptable — the use of state power in these realms far exceeds what might have been (arguably) necessary to address safety and security concerns.

Somehow we have lost sight of this — we grant the state nearly unlimited powers of surveillance, assuming it will keep us safe, but at the same time decry any efforts to rein in big money. This is the use of power to support power, which has created a system in which money rules and the individual has been relegated to bystander or spectator status. Structurally, this is the opposite of Wildean socialism. And it benefits money and continues to erode our ability to check money’s power. It also turns all debate into entertainment — see Neil Postman — further debasing our public political language and discourse, which enforces this erosion.

I would like to be optimistic, but the climate makes it difficult. My hope would be that we can move back to Chomsky’s notion that a clear justification must be present before the individual cedes power, but the reality is that power creates its own corrosive momentum.