ARIEL PINK'S HAUNTED GRAFITTI

I just got me another beer to help me cope with this weird, hyper-orchestrated, psychedelic (as in acid-trip), sample-madness entertainer - songwriter - druggy - record. The Austrian breweries have started to issue their seasonal speciality “Bock”-beer, which is mainly double-strong (as in alcohol-content) beer with stronger taste. Fittingly, to this record, I think, because I don’t understand the existence of both, but I definitely prefer it to the usual trite boredom. I don’t believe in tradition, but I can see where it rears its ugly head to gain some breath again, and I feel pity and I can see its beauty in what has remained in the central, post-modern areas of insane inner city life. Like a specially brewed beer for christmas. Or the personas of David Bowie or Neil Diamond or The Bee Gees[1] creeping up in a definitely weird record (yeah, call it avant-rock if you like, John Peel is dead anyway.[2]) amidst heaps of lo-fi-homerecording, samples and mushy production. Amidst backyard wrestling and free improvisation afternoons organized by suburban kids in someone’s garage, that go extremely awry for the music always crawls back to melody and harmony in the end.

Other times I don’t believe all those stories. Nor do I believe the hypes. True, Paw Tracks is the label of The Animal Collective, who all of you have heard about and who are definitely worth the praise. And maybe – I say: maybe – the “we discovered this as a CDR during one of our tours and instantly fell in love with it and didn’t listen to anything else anymore for three whole weeks”-story is true. But I don’t believe in one second, that the drumsounds on this record were created by Ariel Pink’s (or whatever his name is) vocals alone. Never ever. Forget it. I have seen and heard too much to overcome my inherent distrust and cynicism to believe this one second. This might as well be just another impersonification of the Animal Collective or parts thereof. Or not. Who might ever know. And is it in anyway important?

If Ariel Pink is for real, and who I am to really deny the possibility (even while I sit back and ponder about the probabilities of this reality in contrast to some others I have fantasized and the overwhelming mass that is still out there waiting to be thought out), his persona must be most interesting. Suddenly the Flaming Lips and Guided By Voices sound like regular mainstream bands. I remember Joe Henry and Jimmy Buffet and think that, judging from the cover picture, Ariel Punk (if that is his real name) has to be too young to really fall into that generation, so maybe he has really young parents. Maybe he has met Quentin Tarantino. Maybe he likes to rummage the thrift stores and record fairs. Maybe he still dreams of giving a show at a big Las Vegas casino auditorium or that famous open air space in California that Neil Diamond and Monty Phyton played in (not together, of course). Dreams of a better life inhaled by the pale light of a waterpipe and other perception-altering drugs.

The title doesn’t give it away but this is actually a pretty happy and uplifting record, except for the loneliness and melancholia inherent in all the solitude necessary for home-recording. Or for the despair and hopelessness tucked in everyday by the synthetic atmospheres of Lite FM. Like Lite Beer, a commodity only bearable with certain amounts of drugs. There are times where there is no such thing as drug abuse. No sir.

Everyday we give so much away, in life, energy and information, to people who definitely do not deserve it but get it anyway – at times without even noticing. Think about it.

[1] And I do not exclusively refer to the high-pitched singing on „among dreams“ here. The whole record has songs and melodies that could be refined into songs that would have sold millions back in the late Eighties, if the right people would have recorded and sung them. Brian Ferry would eat his heart out.

[2] The orthography-editor of my text-software options for „savant-rock“, if you can believe that!

ARIEL PINK’S HAUNTED GRAFITTI The Doldrums CD/LP, Paw Tracks

Too many drugs and too much Seventies-Oldie-stations on the radio may produce the greatest results. “The Doldrums” is on the line between lo-fi-bedroom-music and the stations that the Radio Music Hall would put on. Take some LSD and listen to the soundtrack of Reservoir Dogs once again, until all those choruses, keyboards, harmony lines and grand arrangements start to get all warbly, wobbly and noisy. Like listening to FM-radio from within Bobby Conn’s mind while he is taking a shower.
I just got me another beer to help me cope with this weird, hyper-orchestrated, psychedelic (as in acid-trip), sample-madness entertainer - songwriter - druggy - record. The Austrian breweries have started to issue their seasonal speciality “Bock”-beer, which is mainly double-strong (as in alcohol-content) beer with stronger taste. Fittingly, to this record, I think, because I don’t understand the existence of both, but I definitely prefer it to the usual trite boredom. I don’t believe in tradition, but I can see where it rears its ugly head to gain some breath again, and I feel pity and I can see its beauty in what has remained in the central, post-modern areas of insane inner city life. Like a specially brewed beer for christmas. Or the personas of David Bowie or Neil Diamond or The Bee Gees[1] creeping up in a definitely weird record (yeah, call it avant-rock if you like, John Peel is dead anyway.[2]) amidst heaps of lo-fi-homerecording, samples and mushy production. Amidst backyard wrestling and free improvisation afternoons organized by suburban kids in someone’s garage, that go extremely awry for the music always crawls back to melody and harmony in the end. Other times I don’t believe all those stories. Nor do I believe the hypes. True, Paw Tracks is the label of The Animal Collective, who all of you have heard about and who are definitely worth the praise. And maybe – I say: maybe – the “we discovered this as a CDR during one of our tours and instantly fell in love with it and didn’t listen to anything else anymore for three whole weeks”-story is true. But I don’t believe in one second, that the drumsounds on this record were created by Ariel Pink’s (or whatever his name is) vocals alone. Never ever. Forget it. I have seen and heard too much to overcome my inherent distrust and cynicism to believe this one second. This might as well be just another impersonification of the Animal Collective or parts thereof. Or not. Who might ever know. And is it in anyway important? If Ariel Pink is for real, and who I am to really deny the possibility (even while I sit back and ponder about the probabilities of this reality in contrast to some others I have fantasized and the overwhelming mass that is still out there waiting to be thought out), his persona must be most interesting. Suddenly the Flaming Lips and Guided By Voices sound like regular mainstream bands. I remember Joe Henry and Jimmy Buffet and think that, judging from the cover picture, Ariel Punk (if that is his real name) has to be too young to really fall into that generation, so maybe he has really young parents. Maybe he has met Quentin Tarantino. Maybe he likes to rummage the thrift stores and record fairs. Maybe he still dreams of giving a show at a big Las Vegas casino auditorium or that famous open air space in California that Neil Diamond and Monty Phyton played in (not together, of course). Dreams of a better life inhaled by the pale light of a waterpipe and other perception-altering drugs. The title doesn’t give it away but this is actually a pretty happy and uplifting record, except for the loneliness and melancholia inherent in all the solitude necessary for home-recording. Or for the despair and hopelessness tucked in everyday by the synthetic atmospheres of Lite FM. Like Lite Beer, a commodity only bearable with certain amounts of drugs. There are times where there is no such thing as drug abuse. No sir. Everyday we give so much away, in life, energy and information, to people who definitely do not deserve it but get it anyway – at times without even noticing. Think about it. [1] And I do not exclusively refer to the high-pitched singing on „among dreams“ here. The whole record has songs and melodies that could be refined into songs that would have sold millions back in the late Eighties, if the right people would have recorded and sung them. Brian Ferry would eat his heart out. [2] The orthography-editor of my text-software options for „savant-rock“, if you can believe that!

CD/LP, Paw Tracks