Decoy’s Completely Biased Non-Definitive Guide To Music

The Cure - Disintegration (1989)

This is still hands-down my favourite Cure album. I say ‘still’ because back in my high school days, The Cure were a big fave band for me and my mates. We dug their whole catalogue, but it was great timing that we should witness the release of Disintegration, because after their (partial) dissolution in the wake of Pornography (1982), Robert Smith directed the music toward a more pop-orientated sound, with the hit singles “Lets Go to Bed”, “The Walk” and “The Lovecats”. They reunited with the commercially acclaimed albums The Head on the Door (1985) and Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (1987), which saw further success pop-wise, but Disintegration seemed to be the album we were waiting for. From the gentle opening crash of “Plainsong” the blue/green layers float down and blanket you with sonic sedatives. Ahh…s’just like coming home. Robert Smith’s whispered vocals begin their mournful litany: “I think it’s dark and it looks like rain, you said/ And the wind is blowing like it’s the end of the world, you said/ And it’s so cold, like the cold if you were dead/ And then you smiled for a second”…and those words were like poetry for morose (self absorbed) teenagers, like myself. And even though the lyrics are a bit over-marinated in gothic gloom, they fit the melody and the atmosphere like a glove. He couldn’t sing anything else. Plus I actually think Robert Smith has quite a talent for lyrics. There are some great lines on this album. Another example is the title track, with the lines: “Now that I know that I’m breaking to pieces/ I’ll pull out my heart and I’ll feed it to anyone/ Crying for sympathy/ Crocodiles cry for the love of the crowd and three cheers from everyone”. Not too subtle perhaps, but hey, this album is one long sad dirge (it’s The Cure, we know that going in). Even somewhat brighter songs like “Lovesong” or “Pictures of You” can’t fully step from the alienated (Floyd-flavoured) shade cast by the other songs. But it’s just another reason to love this album - it’s such a cohesive work, sonically and thematically. The spacey keyboards, the flanged guitars, Simon Gallup’s bass-line anchors; they all meld into one thick lava-flow of sound. Maybe the members of The Cure were going through some dark times personally, but they managed to conjure the finest gothic-prog concept album of the modern era.

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Nite Jewel - Good Evening (2009)

Nite Jewel is the alias of L.A.-based multimedia artist Ramona Gonzalez, who has been making music with various indie outfits before going solo. (I say solo, but you’ll note that most photos or footage of Nite Jewel reveal the band to be a two-piece). This album of (I assume) homemade electro-pop is on high-rotation at my house, and every time it finishes I just can’t seem to find anything to follow it. So it’s on repeat. (Be thankful you don’t live with me, I’d drive you nuts). And as I hear the opening track “Bottom Rung” take-off, I know I’ve made the right decision. The vocals are treated as such that I can’t make out a single line on the album, and that’s one of the things I love about it. I love that her voice becomes an instrument, and you just love melodies rather than lines. In turn, you give it any sort of narrative, or context. So the songs mean what you want them to mean. (As is the case with all music, I guess. The response being a subjective thing, in the end. But what I mean to say is: Nite Jewel [like other avant instrumental music] somehow manages to be more intimate as a result of its non-verbal twist). This album is couched in that lo-fi, home-recorded vibe, and the intentional fuzziness lends it a subterranean quality that seems to revel in the atmospheric murk. But it doesn’t push you away, it draws you in. There are great ‘songs’ here, like: “Artificial Intelligence” and “What Did He Say”, but I love it as an album - as a group work. It’s dreamy, it’s sludgy, it’s ambient. It’s warm, it’s playful, it’s inviting. But at the same time it’s kinda dark and gloomy too. (Imagine Pocahaunted if they went pop). Like other current neo-dance bands (particularly those on New York’s Italians Do It Better label) like: Glass Candy, Mirage and Chromatics - the music of Nite Jewel seems cosy and well paced. (It sounds truly retro and modern at the same time). It’s danceable, but you don’t have to go busting any moves. Rather, take your time, there’s no need to feel self-conscious, dance slow, just sway, or spin, dance stupid if you want to, this atmosphere is friendly. Some(most)times you don’t dance at all…just sit, have a drink and a chat.

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Rodriguez - Cold Fact (1970)

Back in 1995, I ended up at a friend’s house in Sydney, late at night, with a bunch of people sitting around taking turns playing tunes for each other. At one point someone put this on and I was transfixed. ‘Who is this?!’ I asked. I was told his name was Rodriguez and this is his only album, and that he was one of the forgotten troubadours of the late-60s. They said he’d done time in prison, that he’d even written this album while serving time, yada yada yada. He was over-flowing with the romantic myth of a tortured artist. Anyway, I loved the album, and I tracked it down soon after. Most of the stories were wrong as it turns out. Except the part about being one of the forgotten artists of the late-60s. Jesus ‘Sixto’ Rodriguez was born in Detroit, he recorded two albums Cold Fact (1970) and Coming from Reality (1971) and they went largely unnoticed in the U.S. But he gained popularity abroad, namely in South Africa and here in Australia. In those countries he remains an underground legend, still performing shows now and again. (He even toured Australia as the support for Midnight Oil in the early 80s) And it’s something us Aussies should feel kinda proud of. Coz this guy is great. Great songs with great melodies and memorable lyrics delivered by one of the most distinct voices of folk-rock genre. I’ve turned a few people on to him over the years, and invariably they respond to it instantly. It’s full of 60s references, but somehow not really dated. “Sugar Man” opens the album with overt nods to the hippie drug culture, ‘Silver magic ships you carry/ Jumpers, coke, sweet mary jane’. But (like early Dylan) Rodriguez is essentially a moralist. In “Crucify your Mind”, he sings: ‘Was it a huntsman or a player/ That made you pay the cost/ That now assumes relaxed positions/ And prostitutes your loss?/ Were you tortured by your own thirst/ In those pleasures that you seek/ That made you Tom the curious/ That makes you James the weak?’ It’s one of those mythic 60s/70s albums, its amazing (criminal, really) it isn’t more celebrated and renowned. It should be regarded alongside Bringing it All Back Home, and Bridge Over Troubled Water and Tea for the Tillerman and Crosby, Stills & Nash’s first album. That’s a cold fact.


By Decoy Spoon

If you want to hear/see any of the music reviewed by Decoy, visit the GritHouse – the GritFX YouTube Channel – and check out Decoy’s Playlist of music videos.

Decoy’s Completely Biased Non-Definitive Guide To Music

The Conet Project - Recordings of Shortwave Numbers Stations (1997)

For years amateur shortwave radio enthusiasts have been coming across strange signals in the global static. These mysterious broadcasts would typically announce themselves with some beeps and blips, then robotic disembodied voices would start reciting groups of numbers (or phonetic alphabet letters) in spooky foreign monotones. ‘Seven, zero, nine, eleven…Seven, zero, nine, eleven…’; ‘Alpha, charlie, lima, delta…Alpha, charlie, lima, delta…’ Then, after a few minutes, they disappeared. This was weird. ‘What the hell is it?!’, was on the lips of many listeners. They became known as Numbers Stations, and no official explanation had ever been given when Akin Fernandez came across them in 1992. So the industrious radio addict started to log the frequencies and the times and the messages of these enigmatic occurrences. And more importantly, he recorded them. Some appeared at random. Some were as regular as clockwork. He had no idea what he was going to do with all the data. But he eventually compiled them into a collection he called The Conet Project, and he made it freely available. Along the way, Fernandez would eventually learn the nature of these numbers, and the answer to the long asked question was sobering. These were covert messages sent to field operatives for all the major espionage agencies over the world: CIA, KGB, MI6, BND, StB, MOSSAD etc. Since WWI shortwave has provided these agencies with a world-wide fool-proof method for communicating with their spies. The encoded message could be received and deciphered by the spy with the use of a “one time pad”, a disposable dictionary key, intended for use only once, then presumably burnt, destroyed, eaten etc. Immediately the broadcasts take on an ominous overtone. The voice of a child eerily reading out numbers could well be instructing a spy to kill someone or blow something up. They’re a compelling listen. I got right into them. I even got myself a shortwave radio and started to scan the late night bands. And Fernandez’s recordings have slowly become a cult thing, popping up in sampled form in film (Vanilla Sky) and music (Boards of Canada), most famously by Wilco on their 2002 album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. It’s still freely available to download from Akin Fernandez’s label Irdial-Discs website, so if you haven’t heard it, get ready to be spooked. Literally.

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Stars of the Lid - And Their Refinement of the Decline (2007)

You know when you close your eyes, and you see that glittering mosaic of abstract shapes shifting in the dark light? Well that’s what the name Stars of the Lid refers to. And it’s the perfect handle for this band. The Texas duo (Brian McBride and Adam Wiltzie) have been making drone music since 1993, and their music typifies these inner embryonic moments. Over the course of eight studio albums, starting with Music for Nitrous Oxide (1995) to this, Stars of the Lid have changed very little at first glance. But upon repeated listens, each album reveals subtle shifts in instrumentation, presentation and direction. The intent may remain the same, which seems to be to make moving minimal music for personal private consumption, perhaps while laying back, eyes closed, lights off, surrendering to the sound and the environment, letting the music transport you to unknown destinations. Your emotions and your imagination are paramount here. If you let it, this music will flesh out thoughts and dreams and feelings you weren’t aware existed. The music ages slowly, and it changes imperceptibly sometimes. Like life, I guess. This is ambient music rendered not with the cold fluorescent light of layered electronics, but with the warm candlelight of strings, horns, guitars, organ and piano. No vocals. No percussion. So it pulses in different ways than most ambient fans may be accustomed to. Everything is controlled and orchestrated with a gentle precision. There is apparently a feature length film coming out about Stars of the Lid, and having seen the teaser trailer, I’m sure it will make more people realise the emotional power this music can wield. Get your pillows ready now. Zap the Milo in the microwave. I can’t wait…

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Elvis Presley - The Essential Elvis Presley (2007)

What can I say, really? The King. The Man. He’s pretty much the first rock star. (Bill Haley cringes in the grave, again. Along with Bo Diddley). Elvis was/is the archetypal blueprint for Rock’n’Roll. (Though I’d argue Buddy Holly deserves that title just as much). Elvis paved they way through the birth of rock in the mid-fifties and came to symbolise the untouchable icon perhaps better than any. A po’ boy from Tupelo, Mississippi, taking inspiration from the Rhythm & Blues originators of Memphis, and the Southern Gospel of his youth, he brought the edgy, dangerous ‘Devil’s Music’ to a wider (and whiter) audience. He had the looks. He had the voice. He had the swagger. He had ‘it’. His story is now the thing of legend. From the early rockabilly Sun Records songs like: “That’s All Right (Mama)”, “Mystery Train” and “Blue Suede Shoes”. Then the move to RCA and the breakthrough hits, “Heartbreak Hotel”, “Hound Dog”, “Don’t Be Cruel” and “Love Me Tender”. Elvis was away. The hips were shaking, the girls were screaming and the oldies were outraged. He was punk before punk. Sex/Youth/Energy had entered the world of music like never before. And things would never be the same. The late-50s and early-60s saw Elvis move onto the silver screen, and the hits kept coming too. This was perhaps the birth of cross-promotional marketing, and the birth of the MEGA-star. He made something like 30 movies in half as many years. If John Lennon didn’t beat him to the punch, Elvis could’ve claimed he was bigger than God. Or was God. I dig Elvis, of course, and appreciate his immeasurable contribution to the world of music. (I probably wouldn’t be writing about music if it weren’t for Elvis. No one would. He helped legitimise Rock’n’Roll and turn it into a bona fide cultural phenomenon). My personal favourites are the late-60s era songs. I dig the dramatic theatre of songs like: “In the Ghetto”, “Suspicious Minds”, “Don’t Cry Daddy” and “Kentucky Rain”. His voice had deepened and he channelled the forlorn narratives beautifully. This album (part of Sony BMG’s Essential series) is a great selection of songs that does its best to cover the entire spectrum of Elvis and his impressive career.


By Decoy Spoon

If you want to hear/see any of the music reviewed by Decoy, visit the GritHouse – the GritFX YouTube Channel – and check out Decoy’s Playlist of music videos.