Noses Up: The Sound of Muzak

At first Muzak may seem to be the most boring possible topic for a column about music. A quick online stroll to www.muzak.com, however, will quickly dispel any worries of boredom that come with the idea of background music, which is usually attached to that lame, Barry Manilow-esque orchestral sound one hears in airplanes and elevators. At this website, you are greeted with the intriguing question: “What does chocolate sound like?” and upon further probing you will be introduced, as I was, to the fascinating and chilling idea of Audio Architecture.

Noses Up: Ashcroft and the Other Warclub

It has been years since John Ashcroft’s days in the limelight, at the front of controversial Bush administration policies. In light of this fact, I would like to take a trip down memory lane.
In the midst of all of the uproar about the Patriot Act, the horrors of Guantanamo, 9/11 and the general recognition that perhaps we had voted in the wrong president, Ashcroft was the member of the Bush administration who gave us pause. In 2002 he composed a little ditty called “Let the Eagle Soar,” sang it at a press conference.

Noses Up: Between Politics and Poses: Israeli Rock

Usually coming up with a topic for these columns involves two weeks of stress, followed by about an hour of frustration. This time, however, the same day that my last column was in the paper, I went to a very striking musical event, and so I apologize if these words seem a little after the fact. On October 25th, a famous Israeli band called Teapacks played at Noyes Community Center. They brought an entertaining, and in many ways very typical, rock ’n roll concert, complete with silly between-song banter, outlandish appeals for crowd participation and a lead singer named Kobi Oz, who couldn’t have been over 5’5”, but nevertheless radiated with Bono-esque charisma.

Noses Up: Play That Funky Music … What Boy?

For the .01 percent of music listeners who care about these issues, this past few weeks has seen a pretty exciting clash between two well-established music critics.
The New Yorker’s Sasha Frere-Jones (a high brow magazine’s expert on low brow music) published an article recently trying to unpack his personal boredom with current “indie-rock.” His final analysis was that it lacked the borrowings from “black music” that have, by many accounts, defined rock ’n roll’s popularity since its birth from the blues. Musical miscegenation, or the borrowing of distinctly African-American musical traits like syncopated rhythms and “a bit of swing,” in his words, were integral in independently minded rock up until the 1990s, when this music underwent a “racial resorting.” It lost its “blackness,” and moved towards the distinctly unfunky styles typified by bands like Arcade Fire, Wilco and the Decemberists. “A little more syncopation would have helped,” suggests Jones, referring to Wilco’s 2002 record Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.
Jones ascribes this shift to the increasing popularity and success of black artists such as Snoop Dogg and R. Kelly who received the same major-label success as any white musician who could borrow from them.

Record Review: Beirut 1/3

Zach Condon treads a strange line between the familiar and exotic. He is simultaneously the new it-kid of the independent music community, and yet his albums are packaged like field recordings from the distant past, complete with sepia-toned photographs that were probably taken before he was born. His band is named after a city in the Middle East, his first album sounded distinctly Eastern-European and some of the first words on his new record The Flying Club Cup are in French — and probably from an old film. He throws around foreign words like “Orkestar” and “Cliquot,” but sings in English. He is from New Mexico, his second release was cleverly titled Lon Gisland and his new liner notes ask “Where were you when Napoleon died?” What is going on?

Noses Up: Express Yourself: What About Freedom of Music?

Last time, I tried to argue that great music doesn’t need to be attached to the person who made it. Kanye West’s and Mozart’s public personas (and massive public egos) don’t have anything to do with our appreciation of the music they have produced.
Immediately after writing that column, however, I realized how much more complicated the situation is than I thought. These notions of creativity are hardly as black and white as one would gather from what I said two weeks ago.

Noses Up: Proud and Loud, With Skill to Match

It all probably started when Sugarhill Gang boasted: “Ya see I got more clothes than Muhammad Ali and I dress so vicious/ I got bodyguards, I got two big cars.” It continued throughout the ’90s as “bravado” and “machismo.” As the 2000s began, hundred dollar bills swirled around hundred thousand dollar cars, and this in your face pomposity became integral to very idea of “rapping to the beat.”
And then came Kanye West. He’s the most publicly egotistical rapper/producer we’ve ever seen, perhaps more in what he says when the music isn’t playing than when it is.

Record Review: Okkervil River

There is little I could say about Okkervil River’s The Stage Names that lead singer Will Sheff hasn’t already said in his lyrics. This time around, instead of the grand, embellished story-weaving that defined Black Sheep Boy in 2005, the lyrics are literally about being a rock ’n roll fan, with all of the intensity and borderline spiritual (sexual?) obsession that being a fan can entail.
In only nine songs, Sheff spins out themes of suicide, self-reference, pornography and getting wasted over straight up rock ’n roll riffs in a way that is somehow wildly accessible, and not cliched, but still genuinely intellectual.

Noses Up: The Two Sides of Snobbery

My favorite part of “Umbrella” is when Rihanna insinuates a connection between expensive automobiles and her objectified lover as a submediant harmony rises to tonic. Her rhetoric is reminiscent of the Beatles’ “Can’t Buy Me Love,” but with a self-reflexively hip-hop musical aesthetic. Just kidding. My name is Maurice Chammah and I live two lives. They both revolve around my interest in making and talking about music, but couldn’t be more different in the ways they play out. By day and during the school year I take classes and study in the University’s department of music: home of composers, scholars and musicologists. By night, and in the summers, I play rock ’n roll in dingy bars, at noisy coffee shops and in friends’ garages.

Review: Mapping an Uncharted World


Tin Hat channels a sound only found in dreams

3.5 out of 5 Stars

The first day I heard Tin Hat’s The Sad Machinery of Spring was the same day it snowed in Ithaca in April, after several teasing days of Spring weather. On that day, the rushing winds and jackhammers on Thurston bridge competed for attention, and as I ducked into my room and clicked “purchase” on iTunes, tinkling fragments of a music box and Carla Kihlstedt’s barely audible violin runs competed in the melody of “Old World,” the mournful opener this new album.