Till the end barline do us part

Duets are like holy matrimonies in music. They are meant to be matches made in the Heaven of five-stave scores and crotchety notes holding hands with slurs and ties, having pianissimo tenderness and fortissimo passion in 4/4 time.

You have men and wives like Damien Rice and Lisa Hannigan, Ola Klüft and Sarah Isaksson (Pills), Gary Lightbody and Martha Wainwright (Set the Fire to the Third Bar), Justin Furstenfeld and Imogen Heap (Congratulations), Joshua Radin and Schulyer Fisk (Paperweight), Ben Gibbard and Jen Wood (Nothing Better), Torquil Campbell and Amy Millan (Heart), and if you may, even Jason Mraz and Colbie Calliat (Lucky).

Like timeless couples, these duos are hard to tear apart and mess with. They may try, but the effect will never be the same. Like the first kiss you get from your first love. When Hannigan went to sing Wainwright’s part with Lightbody, it might as well work, but you know that taste in your mouth that it can never compare to her many duets with Rice in The Blower’s Daughter or 9 Crimes.

And with every female vocalists Rice had to accompany his sets after Hannigan left, you know there will never be another woman who can hold it as well as Hannigan when she does Cold Water or Sleep Don’t Weep. Heck, Mraz sang Lucky with Penny Tai, and looked what a mess she made. It’s OK, Mraz, you’ll find your match someday.

When I heard Rachael Yamagata and Ray LaMontagne together, I knew instantly it was the right marriage. Like a girl marrying the boy she played hopscotch with when they were 8. They are mirrors of each other. If LaMontagne were a female vocalist, he may as well sound like Yamagata, and vice versa.

They carried the same weight in their voice, and the same sadness that when blended together in Duet, the sad song ain’t so sad after all. As long as they have each other.

My sister is getting married tomorrow, and I thought I should write a post to commemorate this wonderful day for her. I doubt she even knows this blog exists, but if she shares the same romanticism as I, this would be the song I will dedicate to her and her husband.

I wish you love. So, cheers.

Download the aptly named Duet from Rachael Yamagata’s Elephants… Teeth Sinking into Heart HERE.

Misery loves making a record

I don’t know about you, but there’s always a sense of romanticsm surrounding musicians. Behind every brooding bard, seems to be an epic tale. When I think about it, that does make sense. No one just decides to pick up a guitar and endure the mother-fucking pain on their fingertips for no particular reason.

Like Ray Lamontagne and his inspirational epiphany, Justin Vernon, better known as Bon Iver has a tale to tell too. Broken, beaten and battered, Vernon retired to his father’s cabin in the middle of a Wisconsin jungle, amidst freezing frostbites and howling winds to find solace.

And in that freezing cabin, for 3 months, he recorded his debut LP; For Emma, Forever Ago. It was unplanned. It was never meant to be. Going into isolation, Vernon brought along his beat-up guitar for company and just allowed his loneliness to take over. Recorded strictly in his cabin with his Mac and whatever basic instrumentation he could lay his hands on, For Emma was conceived to critical acclaim.

Listening to his record, I cannot say I’m impressed. And yet I understand why the critics hailed it like it’s the 2nd coming. The entire album captures the sense of loneliness with such grace. The production as raw as the wintery jungle and Vernon’s falsetto vocals captivates you, reeling in the sense of hopelessness, painting an image of a man isolating himself to wait for death.

The effects are really amazing. In Flume, Vernon cleverly uses an e-bow (a magnetic tool that vibrates the guitar strings to produce an intense sound) to maximum effect while the title track features broken hearted trombones that accentuates the whole cabin mystery.

The problem personally, is that Vernon’s songwriting is not nearly as strong as the mood he sets. His songs lack dynamism that you’d expect from a true polished songwriter. An entire 4 minute track sounds similar, no rise, no fall, no change. After listening to the record 5 times through, not a song managed to force itself into my head. I remember no tune, nor do I have the drive to listen to it again.

If you read every professional review out there, you’d notice that when introducing For Emma, they must mention the whole cabin drama. Now I begin to wonder, without that back story, would people still appreciate this record for what it is?

Let me get this straight. Bon Iver captures the mood perfectly with his debut LP. The setting was simply stunning and I consider the production of the album virtually flawless. The fall however, begins with the lack of impressive songwriting. For whatever acclaim it garnered, I think it is completely over rated just as how I think Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is.

Listen to Skinny Love, and judge for yourself.

Of life, love and death

I guess I’ve been depressed lately. I’m not sure why. Something about airplanes maybe. So while some of my friends were happily diddling about at Urbanscapes, I rebelled against sunshiny fan fares and hid under the sheets.

Oh but I wasn’t alone. I’ve got company. It’s kinda of a combination of sub-par yawn yawn company that is thankfully neutralized by something more astonishing.

When I mention sub-par, I’m referring to this book I’ve been reading. It’s called Urban Odysseys: KL Stories. The title itself is a giveaway to anyone who has at least some form of intelligence, so yea, it’s a collection of short stories about KL written by supposedly up and coming, young Malaysian writers.

I don’t know why but there are at least 3 foreign writers in this book. Which is blasphemy considering it’s an avenue for local writers to show off their  craft. Anyway, it’s bad company simply because the stories are pretty much bland. Most of them have dog poo for a plot and recycles the same old Yasmin Ahmad heartstrings shit that cannot even kid a 5 yr old anymore.

I will single out Joanne Chin’s Clear Skies and Lee Eeleen’s Scenes from the Shopping Complex to be the only worthy read. The rest, I can shove it down my incinerator chute (if I had one to begin with). I’ve got a big complain about the local story telling scene, especially when it comes to books and film. Granted, I’m guilty for not being the biggest supporter (I’m trying to change that!) of the local arts, but what I’ve seen so far appals me. The stories in Urban Odysseys are drier than a 70 year old’s cunt. I practically have to force myself to finish it and at the end of each story, I go, WTF!? What was the point of that utter nonsense?

Let’s talk about film. Will you please stop doing that nonsense heart string tugging crap anymore Yasmin? Let’s try something different shall we? Or how about TV? Please no more Project Runway Malaysia. Or Ampang Medikal. Or So you think you can dance Malaysia. Fresh ideas please.

Celeste went to the screening of Free Flicks, and came home unsurprisingly disappointed. In her very own words, pointless. Now I trust her taste in a good solid story and if she said it was pointless, I believe her. She did mention a few worthy films – Kolam and whatnot, so to be fair there could be decent films out there but in a nut shell, we’ve got a long way to go. Oh yea she just turned 24, so everyone, say it with me.

Happy Birthday Celeste!

So what do I do now? Well, I turn to my brilliant  company for grace.

My old buddy from Dublin, birthplace of Guinness. He’s been busy these days. First writing a song for Woman of the Century, Aung San Suu Kyi and now, lending voice to the Dalai Lama by contributing another song to the Save Tibet CD, Songs for Tibet – The art of peace.

Listen. Listen. Just listen.

What do you really mourn for?

At the time of this writing, the world mourns Michael Jackson.

I’m upset. But not for the reason you may think. The world mourns him but what pisses me off is the pretencious nature that seems to engulf this “grief”. I load up my MSN contact list and lo and behold, 60% of them has a sappy sad PM for him.

You will be remembered MJ.
We will miss you MJ.
The world has lost another talented performer.

Bla..bla..bla, fucking bla. Let’s be honest here. None of you give a shit about him. None of you care a damn whether the lining of his cock hole stings when he pisses in the morning nor do you give two hoots if he snoozes his alarm 5 times before eventually rising. Now that he’s dead, you suddenly give a shit?

Or you’re just interested in jumping on the bandwagon hype of being in the middle of an “intense” topic of discussion?

I’m willing to bet my life that half of those alleged “sadden mourners” can’t even recite 10 songs of his by heart. Neither have they listened to any of his songs in the past 365 days of their lives.

Pretencious pricks.

So he’s dead now. I don’t give a shit. And really, why did he have to be white? He was a champion and an inspiration to the African Americans of his generation and trying to be white just cheapens that.

He’s gone and the only thing that crosses my mind now is how brilliant Liberian Girl is. That’s it. No teary goodbye. No sense of loss. No sadness. I don’t give a fuck.

Keane live in Singapore @ 13 Aug 2009

Bah. You. Lucky bastards. I have nothing else to say to you guys. Hmph.

Date: August 13, 2009 (Thursday)
Venue: Fort Canning Park, Singapore
Ticket price: SGD75 (limited early bird, on sale from June 24); SGD95 (standard ticket, after pre-sale period); SGD85 group ticket (min 5 pax)
* Early bird tickets include priority entry to concert grounds

Tickets will be on sale from June 24 at TDC. Ring up their hotline at +65 6296 2929 (from 9AM-6PM), or stop by one of their outlets in Singapore. Log on to their website, or check out LAMC Productions’ website, the organiser who is responsible for bringing Kaiser Chief, Red Jumpsuit Apparatus and Nine Inch Nail to Singapore.

Doing pilates

Pilate was one of the bands that rotated on my Pandora playlist (back when they were still available to listeners across the globe), which I had marked as a favourite. I just loved the way Todd Clark, the lead, carried the vocals at the bridge like a fragile glass: “Please don’t you ask / Please don’t you ask me how it feels / She was the last / To light up my night and make me sing”. And then floated over so seamlessly to Chris Greenough’s guitar solo that was not too heavy nor too little for a climatic peak of the song.

It was a perfect moment in the song to close your eyes, have your emotions drink in the feel of the music and come undone with the solo, like a box of confetti bursting in the middle of a clean white room.

Upon listening to their debut album Caught by the Window, I learned to get used to the lightness of the band. They sauntered across their album quite alike to a bunch of lazy bums: Keeley’s lazy strokes on the snare, Clark’s vocal slurs that drag, Greenough and Bumrah’s riffs that, try as they may, could not really hit it properly when they do fast tracks like Perfect Thrill, Into Your Hideout and Overrated.

With this, it contributed a lot to making their ballads shine and choked with emotions, especially the abovementioned song, Alright and The Travel Song. Also the fact that they had the album perfectly wrapped with Endgame and A Reprise;  from a meticulous wrapping with scotch tapes, and a carefully selected ribbon of the right length securing the package.

Pilate has since changed their band name to Pilot Speed and adapted a heavier outlook for their music in Self Control for Life’s Speed and Wooden Bones. I still prefer how they started off.

Download another nice song from their debut album, Alright, HERE.

Aimee Mann live in Singapore @ 29 August 2009

Excuse me while I try to remind myself that Aimee Mann is not Fiona Apple, although they are vastly different.

So, let’s be over done with the whole why-is-Singapore-getting-another-good-act-while-Malaysia-is-left-with-nothing banter, and go straight down to business.

Thank you, Mojo, once again for giving us the heads up on the Grammy award winning folk singer swinging by Singapore for a gig at the Esplanade Concert Hall.

If you are not a hardcore fan, you would certainly have heard her peppered in soundtracks like Magnolia, I Am Sam and the more recent The Last Kiss. And you would all agree that she has one of the silkiest and most honey-coated voices out there. Her voice flows like a current-less river down the bank, like clouds drifting painlessly through the breezy sky.

So, feel free to check her out.

Date: August 29, 2009 (Saturday)
Time: 7.30PM – 10.30PM
Venue: Esplanade Concert Hall, Singapore
Ticket price: SGD118, SGD98 and SGD68 (excluding SISTIC fees)
* Fans of the Greenhorn Productions facebook page will receive a password for early bird booking/discounts. Details to be announced at www.sistic.com soon.

Vern suggested the uninitiated to check out The Forgotten Arm. Here, I give you a nice song I have on my iPod – It’s Not from Lost in Space.

I just need a little more time with you…

This is a story ’bout the three of us,
Down by the water and the tide is rising,
This world is burning and I’m terrified,
I need a little more time with you,
Oh, I just need a little more time with you..

A man, a piano and his delicate little words. Can the world get anymore beautiful than that?

So, who’s gonna watch you die?

Let’s talk about death. (Look, someone’s gotta do it. Life is all about the same old shit on different days, and sex is not that much fun to talk about anymore, when your friends would snigger at the slightest hint of “blow”. Meh.)

I have always thought the best way to die is to tuck yourself in bed and swallow a bunch of sleeping pills. It is kind of poetic. Like you take so much pills that it will make you sleep until your body never wakes up and shuts down forever. Maybe when all the pills are done in your system, you may wake up already in your grave. I am a quiet girl in person, so if ever I want to take matters into my own hands, this would probably be the right and subtle way to go.

But as life goes on, I came to understand why people would hurt themselves physically. There is a sense of release when you run something as sharp as a razor, or something as blunt as your fingernails down your forearm. It is because you felt this dumb hurt inside of you for so long already, that any kind of pain that is the slightest bit different renews you. All the heartaches that spread all over your body, is gathered and balled into one clean swipe down the arm. Who would not want something as controllable as that? Just remember to bring an extra razor.

And when I am gone, I would maybe like this particular song to be played at my funeral: Gary Jules’ Mad World. I think it would be quite a perfect ending to this thing called life. (Another would be Death Cab’s I Will Follow, but I doubt any elaborations is needed for that).

Nothing corny like the out of tune brass band banging down the street during the procession. Nothing too elaborate like a contrasting joke at my funeral, or someone pulling a Yasmin Ahmad on me. Nothing too religious like a hired priest reading scriptures I do not believe in anymore.

Just perhaps a moment of silence, like how you would be in the presence of someone taking a nap in your living room. Maybe someone with a sad angel voice will be nice enough to sing this song by the mini grand, complemented by a moaning cello. If you may, cry a few tears for me for my sendoff to the blinding light, through tunnels to gates of white.

I think that could just about be enough for me.

Download Gary Jules’ Mad World HERE.

* Backseat Radio does not endorse suicidal attempts. Maybe just entertain them.

A Review: Death Cab for Cutie’s Open Door

“I was once a loyal lover, whose lips did never seek another. But now each love’s more like a match, a blinding spark that burns out fast”

I wasn’t a big fan of Narrow Stairs. It’s probably my own fault. I subscribe too much to the If-ain’t-broken-then-it-sure-as-hell-don’t-require-no-fixing philosophy. All Death Cab purists would recognize the change of tempo and the swapping of styles that was prevalent in Narrow Stairs that just don’t seem to fit in any of their previous works.

I understand the need to try something new. I welcome it even, but Narrow Stairs just coudnt invoke the same kind of emotions that Plans or Trans did. It had teeth alright, it just didn’t really have heart.

When I unwrapped the plastic sheet to Open Door, the question that was bobbing around my mind was this. “Am I about to be inspired or am I going to be dissapointed?” You can’t blame me. The EP was recorded during the Narrow Stairs session after all.

I’ve heard Casino Blues during Ben’s solo live sets. I thought it was a decent song but I didn’t like it much till it’s evolution to become Little Bribes is complete on Open Door. The crisp production ability of Walla contributes much to the beauty of the song and Ben, as usual, is at his poetic finest. He goes, “Pretend every slot machine is a robot amputee waving hello. The people stare into their eyes and they feed them little bribes and then they go“

The record then flows seamlessly to A Diamond and a Tether.  Most reviews out there claim it’s the weakest song but I beg to differ. For someone to even conceive using the word “tether” and apply it to a song itself is pure genius to me. Yes, I’m speaking like a fanboy but fuck that – I’m not embarassed to admit that I worship the ground Ben walks on. In the chorus he sings, “I know you can’t hold out forever, Waiting on a diamond and a tether, from a boy who won’t jump. When he falls in love he just stands with his toes on the edge and he waits for it to disappear again“

Which brings us to my favourite song on the record – My Mirror Speaks. Melodically superior and vocally challenging, (Ben goes all falsetto in the chorus) I won’t spoil anything for you. Open Door closes with a demo version of Talking Bird. Just Ben and a Ukulele. Stripped off it’s elaborate production, the rawness of this song tinkers with my mind and tugs at my bones to make me appreciate the genius that is Ben.

Open Door is a very very good record. Not their best, but a pretty damn good effort for an EP. It also confirms a fact that I already well know.

That Benjamin Gibbard is indeed a gifted man.