Mr. Moderator

Mr. Moderator

When not blogging Mr. Moderator enjoys baseball, cooking, and falconry.

Apr 282008
 

You may recall The Great 48’s initial impressions on Elvis Costello and the Imposters’ recently released, fetishist-marketed, vinyl-only (until May 1, 2008), unnecessarily gatefold-sleeve-packaged album Momofuku. The vinyl/gatefold fetishist in me was intrigued. Although it’s very rare that I even get a chill listening to a new release by one of my favorite artists of all time, no matter how many lousy and mediocre albums he’s released since first parting ways with The Attractions, and bassist Bruce Thomas in particular, I’m still willing to listen to most of his new releases. The packaging of this one had me as stoked as I’ve been since the release of anything by Costello since his collaboration with Burt Bacharach, Painted from Memory (which, by the way, includes the last chill-inducing song I’ve heard by EC, “Toledo”). In fact, I was stoked enough to run out and by the record.

“No Hiding Place”

Like The Great 48 said, the vinyl is heavy – at least 178 grams – and it being vinyl, a physical medium, can develop character-building pops and scratches soon after it’s been played. You may be able to hear the surface noise on my copy of the album’s kick-off track, “No Hiding Place”. I love it! And the song has a nice drive to it, complete with so many of Elvis’ beloved vocal and melodic mannerisms. My only beef is that the wildcard provided by Bruce Thomas’ bass is not in evidence. Imposter bassist, Davey Faragher, locks into the right launching notes, has the right intentions, but he never really frees his mind or ass and cuts loose. With Steve Nieve tamed down a bit on a song like this, the song could use an unexpected jolt of energy. Costello’s guitar playing is rarely that exciting when heard (his best guitar work is typically those parts you can barely discern on albums like Get Happy!! and Trust). As a result of Faragher’s more conservative approach, drummer extraordinaire Pete Thomas is more prone to stick to basic “engineer’s dream” drum parts, that is, straightforward snare-and-kick patterns without many surprises.

“Pardon Me, Madam, My Name Is Eve”

It’s songs like “Pardon Me, Madam, My Name Is Eve” that make me wish I more frequently cared what it was Elvis was singing about. With the exception of the of Imperial Bedroom and half of the songs on Get Happy!! and Trust, it’s rare that I get a lyrical kick out of all but a song or two on most of the man’s albums. Witty, angry couplets that are fun to sing along with? Certainly! But an entire set of lyrics that I would care to read or think about? Rarely. Nevertheless, the stately formalisms of this song are worth spinning, and I highly appreciate not hearing the too-clever pinging snare that would have spoiled this song on one of those Mitchell Froom-related productions. Elvis seems to have finally moved away from his Tom Waits fixation. Thank god! (And that’s not to say there’s anything wrong with Tom Waits; it just didn’t fit Costello.)

“Drum & Bone”

Here’s another song that, 10 to 15 years ago, during the What Would Waits Do era, would have surely had its humble charms overtaken by marimbas, junkyard drums, and a proudly credited chamberlain. Instead Costello and the Imposters play “Drum & Bone” like an early run-through demo. The light, Mellow Mafia backing vocals are just right. Wish I was getting something out of the lyrics, though.

You know what’s the only thing that SUCKS about Momofuku (beside the album title)? The record cover! They’ve taken the time and care to release this thing on 180-gram vinyl, yet the gatefold cover is as flimsy as a manilla envelope. Any utilitarian notion of the gatefold is down the tubes, and I doubt this cover will outlast the May 1st date of the digital release of these tracks. I may have to cut up the crappy graphics of this cover and paste the panels to a real gatefold sleeve from the ’70s, one made of 180-gram cardboard. Other than that, I’m satisfied with my purchase of Momofuku.

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Apr 252008
 


Have you ever seen the looks on the faces of 75 middle-aged men on a sunny day, eating grilled hot sausages? Following Townsman Chickenfrank‘s description as last night’s show got underway, that’s how I’ll remember the looks on the faces of the mostly male, mostly middle-aged rock nerds gathered at the always-excellent Maxwell’s in Hoboken, NJ to see the first announced reunion show of Boston’s underappreciated ’80s underground rockers Big Dipper.

The night before, the Dipper played an unannounced show in Boston to “shake the rust off,” as guitarist-singer Gary Waleik told me. Unlike those not-really-unannounced tune-up gigs that the Rolling Stones would play at a place like Toronto’s El Mocambo, this show truly flew under the radar, with reportedly a half dozen or so friends in attendance. So last night’s show was the first of a handful of planned rilly big shews.

With the exception of ageless powerhouse drummer Jeff Oliphant, who with a Workingman’s trim and shave actually looked younger and more vibrant than I’d remembered him in his more brazenly hirsute youth, the band members’ heads were grayer and their scalps more exposed. The audience had loosened its collective belt as many notches as would be expected. For better and for worse, few 20-something hipsters were seen text messaging in the audience. Our ’80s rock scene had come and gone before our eyes. Faces I’d seen many times over through the years slowly came into focus. Names often failed me at first re-introduction, with “dude” having to suffice. It was not a problem, never really was.

Sadly, perhaps, this was not the type of reunion show that brought out the uninitiated. Sadly, because after all these years I still marveled at the band’s insistent, nervous energy; pop smarts; and joy. Main singer-guitarist Bill Goffrier looked like he was about to burst out of his skin. Back in the day, Bill never lacked energy and showmanship, but seeing him in ecstasy last night was one of those moments we need to see expressed by our fellow humans now and then. There were many moments you could tell the guys were on another plane. Empathy was in the air, brothers and sisters. We need to get on that plane now and then, and what better reason to go to a show but to find the band ready for flight, in the cockpit.
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Apr 212008
 


Is it really time I revisit Love’s Forever Changes, that damn bullfighting music, again? Phawker is running a stream of some alternate mix of the one album that’s never made a lick of sense to me. Give me “Little Red Book” and throw out just about everything else in that band’s catalog. That said, I’m nothing if not open minded and relentless in my pursuit of knowledge and good taste. You tell me. Maybe you’ll want to listen along with me. Stay tuned…

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Apr 212008
 

It’s time to share your gut feelings with your fellow Townspeople. If you’ve never joined in on Dugout Chatter before – or haven’t done so in some time – try it. You’ll find it highly rewarding and stimulating. Or at least the rest of us will find your answers so. Let’s get it on!

Does any non-Beatles song better mix the characteristics of Lennon and McCartney’s late-period work with The Beatles as well as melding the best qualities of their solo records better than ELO’s “Telephone Line”?

Excepting his production of the Talking Heads‘ albums and non-rock albums, such as the two Jon Hassell albums, is there any evidence that Brian Eno had anything to offer as a producer of rock bands? Please provide specifics.

What’s your favorite artist photograph/portrait on an album cover (ie, as opposed to non-artist-related images on album cover art itself)?

Excluding the Sam Ash Sound, what’s the most recent “original guitar sound” that you’ve heard (ie, the most recent development in original guitar sounds that you’ve noted)?

Which rock musician would you most like to see hosting a late-night talk show that is not necessarily concerned with music?

If you could direct a rock video for one song, what would it be?

I look forward to your responses!

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