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November 10, 2005

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Test Spin: Imogen Heap

By | November 10, 2005

I know that you’ve heard the song “Let Go” by Frou Frou on the Garden State soundtrack. Well, Frou Frou’s vocalist, Imogen Heap, has released her second solo album, Speak For Yourself. Heap is a classically trained pianist, so I expected her to be another Tori Amos wannabe. Luckily, I was pleasantly surprised. Instead of just being another piano-playing singer/songwriter, Heap is a truly innovative artist, with her wonderful blend of vocals and techno beat-laced instrumentals. My iTunes labels Heap as pop, but I’m pretty sure that she can’t be classified. Her music doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard, except for that of her former band and its uniqueness is by no means a bad thing.

The whole album is enjoyable and perfect if you want something fun but mellow. “Goodnight & Go,” which has been played on The O.C., is a standout song with its fun beat and catchy lyrics, but really, the whole album is impressive. If you like pop music, you should definitely check out Speak for Yourself.

Archived article by Tara Tavernia
Sun Contributor

Related

Life as a House

By November 11, 2005

When you hear “You and Me” for the first time, you’ll most likely be caught with a suspicious feeling of recognition. As the steadily-paced accompaniment swells and crests and sometimes disappears altogether to supplement and in the end, highlight lead singer Jason Wade’s full-bodied voice, you’ll perhaps be reminded of a similar feeling you had maybe five years ago when another song full of yearning and promise grabbed your attention and wouldn’t let go. “You and Me” is by no means a “Hanging by a Moment” clone, but its memorable melody and simple yet provocative lyrics resonate with a signature that could be attributed to none other than Lifehouse. Having been credited with one of the most popular songs of the new millennium (“Hanging by a Moment was the most played radio song of 2001), Lifehouse first entered the scene with 2000’s No Name Face. A veterans of the Los Angeles music scene, the then 20-year-old had been writing songs since the age of 15. Wade and his band suddenly found themselves the creators of a multiplantinum album. National and international recognition soon followed and a desire to create more music led to a follow-up album in the form of 2002’s Stanley Climbfall. Emotional, less complex in terms of production and considered by many to be a more artistic piece, the album is characterized by Wade as one where “we wanted to let the songs breathe.” The band’s third and most recent release, simply titled Lifehouse, came at an interesting moment in time after a successful European tour and changes in the band’s lineup. Wade and drummer Rick Woolstenhulme were joined by ex-AM Radio guitarist Bryce Soderberg after the departure of bassist Sergio Andrade and guitarist Sean Woolstenhulme. Also different this time around was the involvement of producer John Alagia, best known for his work with John Mayer, Rachel Yamagata, Liz Phair and Dave Mathews Band. The album was recorded at Alagia’s Maryland home studio on the Chesapeake Bay within merely five weeks. Akin to the unique rustic setting, the actual act of recording was just as simple. With practically no preproduction, the band merely played their hearts out, doing what they did best, and they just happened to have been recorded while in the process of doing so. A prolific songwriter and musician who is always writing and creating new material, Wade wrote over fifty songs alone for Lifehouse’s self-titled third album and professes a hope to perhaps one day release a B-side version of the songs that did not make the cut. Perhaps a departure from the sensational rock star highs of their early career, Lifehouse is more of an introspective, melodic album packed full of Wade’s characteristically catchy hooks, moody lyrics and unique brand of melancholy delivering a more lyrical feel. “You and Me” is a stirring love song showcasing Wade at his very best, a ballad about that time in your life when, as Wade says, “You start to fall for someone but you’re not sure if they return the feeling.” This hopeful fixated feeling is characterized by Wade as feeling like you’re in “the eye of a hurricane – everything else is swirling around you, but you’re totally fixated on this person, and you’re wondering, ‘Does she feel it too?'” In contrast, “Blind” speaks to a different kind of emotional high that proves destructively all-consuming. With a new album that touches both extremes and everything in between, Lifehouse establishes itself as an innovative, lasting talent on the music scene. What’s next for Lifehouse? The group has an upcoming DVD titled “Everything” due out Nov. 22, which includes every Lifehouse music video ever made as well as exclusive concert footage showcasing the band playing live. Lifehouse will be playing Barton Hall at 7 p.m. this Sunday, Nov. 13 with Collective Soul in a concert organized by the Cornell Concert Commission.Archived article by Tracy ZhangArts and Entertainment Editor
BRRRRRRIIING!

By November 11, 2005

W e’ve all been in this situation before. You’re at Olin Library late at night, either splayed across several grease-stained comfy chairs in the near-deserted, twilight aura of Libe Caf, or you’re sitting at one of the “full-featured” computers trying to avoid the gaze of the masturbator sitting across from you. I feel your pain. Your assignment is nearly due, so there’s no time to relocate to Uris before closing time; it’s kind of chilly, so you’re wearing your ridiculous-looking puff jacket as you type away with icy fingers in pure, forced concentration – the kind possible only after hours of procrastination and many ounces of Seattle’s Best. This is the state of your existence when suddenly, your self-imposed solitary bubble is punctured mercilessly by the wrathful, shrill scream of the Olin Library Bell. You can’t tell if the masturbator has climaxed or if he’s been jolted so completely out of his bliss, because one of his contact lenses has spontaneously ejaculated from his eye. It is difficult to put the Olin Library Bell’s sound into words because it’s completely unique. However, I will do my best, using only the highest-quality vowels and consonants for your listening pleasure: “BBLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” So sayeth the Olin Library Bell. But that is not the end. The Bell, you see, tricks you into complacence. You make a note to move, but the note gets lost under that pile of mental detritus you’re trying to sift through to finish the night’s studying. No worry: the cruel librarians anticipated this human design flaw. At completely arbitrary intervals, the Bell repeats its mournful squeal, only to shatter your consciousness and cruelly allow you to forget it once more. I’d stop short of saying that things couldn’t possibly get worse, because it’s quite easy to think of even more painful scenarios. At Bob Jones University, for example, God Almighty traipses through the library stacks with His Holy Megaphone, slipping silently beside the ear of each remaining student. Using His Holy Windpipe, He intones the melody of Alanis Morissette’s “Ironic” in a gravelly baritone. But I have to say, even a nightmare scenario involving Alanis Morissette isn’t that much worse than the fate of late-night stragglers at Olin Library. The students of Bob Jones University don’t have to subsequently suffer through a small army of shrill Olin recruits shouting “The library is closing in 10 minutes!” as if no one in the building actually realized what the alarm signified. I mean, really. If a giant alarm with the aural smoothness of Vincent Gallo’s pubes won’t get a student to budge at the last second, neither is a work-study wage slave. Only the copulators in the stacks are staying the night. But now I’m just ranting. You have to wonder what the designers of the Olin Library Bell were thinking when it became necessary to install a timely, efficient notification system into the modernist bully that was planted warily at the edge of the Arts Quad several decades ago. Were they going for elegance or aesthetics? Clearly not. But then again, neither were the designers of the building. It’s like every American architect alive during the decades of the 1960s and 1970s went through a collective phase in which anything that looks remotely pleasing was deemed A Tool of The Man. (Have you seen Georgetown’s library? It’s like a bastard stepchild!) Thus, form did not even bother following function; it had been drowned at a wife-swapping party in Cayuga Heights. This, to me, is the only plausible explanation for the genesis of that which we know today only as the Olin Library Bell. Its designers pursued its functionality at the expense of just about everything, including sanity and basic human decency. My only surprise is that they didn’t install a similar system into McGraw Tower to wake up the rest of campus the next morning. My solution is extremely simple. Besides the hopefully obvious step of replacing the current bell with an elementary school-level intercom system (we could even broadcast the Pledge of Allegiance, followed by the Lord’s Prayer, every morning after the Chimes chimed in), I say we move the current Olin Library Bell into the homes of librarians, Hunter R. Rawlings III and, because they’re also annoying, the Cayuga’s Waiters. If you can’t end your misery, at least drag a few others down with you. But now I’m just ranting. Archived article by Andy Guess Sun Staff Writer