Paul Fowler
Several years ago, James Mercer ruthlessly fired every single one of his longtime band mates from The Shins, raising serious questions about the future of the darling little indie-pop band from Portland. Mercer dabbled in some side projects, announced that he would no longer be recording under the storied Sub-Pop label and hired a new cast of musicians for The Shins, all while trying to convince everyone that he wasn’t a raging asshole.
When the follow up to 2007’s Grammy-nominated Wincing the Night Away was finally announced, fans were quick to forgive, and we immediately started waiting for Port of Morrow like lonely teenagers desperate to fall in love. When the album finally came out, many experienced the same letdown that every lonely teenager eventually goes through – some things just can’t live up to the colossal expectations we have for them.
It’s certainly difficult to listen to Port of Morrow without thinking back to The Shins’ early work. The Shins have always had an undeniable pop appeal, and even through the lo-fi production of their debut album, they sounded like a band destined for the mainstream.
Port of Morrow dials up the power-pop, resulting in an album that feels like it’s gunning straight for the Top 40. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Port of Morrow is smooth, infectious pop music perfect for a sunny spring afternoon.
Unfortunately, the album does feel slightly empty. The Shins used to make music that sounded effortless. On Chutes Too Narrow, every time Mercer opened his mouth, a hook that would make Paul McCartney jealous poured out. On Port of Morrow, every sound and melody seems carefully calculated, and although the results are pleasing, the album is missing the breezy spontaneity that made Mercer famous.
Mercer has a rather interesting place in the world of indie rock. Ever since the famous scene in The Garden State, where Natalie Portman claims that listening to The Shins will “change your life,” the band has become synonymous with early-2000s indie rock.
Although it would be a gross exaggeration to say The Shins changed my life, like many people in their early 20s, The Shins were one of the first “indie rock” bands I ever truly fell in love with. Any disappointment with Port of Morrow is likely an unpleasant byproduct of this.
As we develop close emotional ties to music, our expectations for new material balloon out of control. With a five-year delay between albums, expectations for the new Shins release were massive. It was simply impossible for Port of Morrow to deliver.
When I put on Port of Morrow, I was hoping for the same rush of energy that hit me the first time I listened to The Shins sophomore album, Chutes Too Narrow. I was desperate to fall in love with Port of Morrow, but I just couldn’t.
It’s not that it’s a bad album. In fact, Port of Morrow is pretty enjoyable. Some would even argue it’s great. But after Mercer fired everyone in the band and made me wait for five years, I wanted something that would change my life.
Paul Fowler
Silhouette Staff
Six months ago, a relatively unknown singer-songwriter working under the grandiose moniker Lana Del Rey posted the song “Video Games” on YouTube. The song set the Internet ablaze, and, in a matter of weeks, Del Rey signed a major record contract and promised her rapidly expanding fan base an album. As songs from the record slowly trickled onto YouTube, Del Rey’s runaway hype machine collided with a wall of fiery hatred, igniting the age-old debate of authenticity in music. After months of squabbling, Born to Die is finally here.
The album opens on a surprisingly pleasant note with its title track, “Born to Die.” Like most of the record, the opener weaves Lana’s seductive croon into a dense web of pop production that is particularly heavy on strings. Unfortunately, after “Born to Die,” it’s almost all downhill.
The worst aspect of Born to Die is without a doubt its atrocious lyricism. Each song is a catalog of uninspired clichés: “I will love you till the end of time,” “love hurts,” “you’re no good for me,” “money is the reason we exist, kiss, kiss.” The sappy, superfluous strings, which slowly leach the life out of the album, feel like an attempt to cover up the lack of depth in Del Rey’s songwriting.
At its best, Born to Die is catchy yet completely forgettable pop, and at its worst, it’s absolutely unlistenable.
Ultimately, Born to Die feels like a desperate grasp for mainstream attention. Despite describing herself as a “gangster Nancy Sinatra,” there is nothing daring, racy or exciting about Del Rey. Her mixture of generic music and sterile lyrics is not only safe for the pop world, it fits in perfectly beside Katy Perry, Taylor Swift and the other dregs of mainstream female pop.
I suppose Lana Del Rey does give profit-addicted record executives a chance to rejoice. They’ve managed to pluck yet another blossoming Internet sensation and transform it into bland and uninspiring mainstream pop while somehow managing to keep the hype machine churning.
However, despite all the hatred, there is one gem on Born to Die. “Video Games,” the song that launched Del Rey into the mainstream, is an undeniably gorgeous piece, driven by a graceful melody steeped in longing and sadness. Instead of detracting from the work, the beautifully swelling strings make lovesick lines like “heaven is a place on Earth with you” seem shockingly poignant.
Given “Video Games,” it’s not surprising that Lana Del Rey was originally seen as the antithesis of trashy radio pop. Listening to the song gives a hint at what could have been had Del Rey stuck to the style that briefly captured the attention of both the mainstream and independent musical spheres. Unfortunately, the evil lure of the major record labels won her over. Now, she’s just another run-of-the-mill, generic pop star.
Paul Fowler
In the 1960s, Lou Reed fronted avant-garde rock group The Velvet Underground, one of the most prophetic and influential bands of all time. Twenty years later, Metallica’s ferocious riffs and aggressive guitar solos helped to define the genre of thrash metal.
Lou Reed and Metallica have only one thing in common: their best work is well behind them. They are now more famous for being awful than for releasing revolutionary music. Despite coming from opposite ends of the musical spectrum, Reed and Metallica were somehow convinced that their styles would be compatible.
Their collaborative album, Lulu, was released on Nov. 1, and it was an instant classic, though of the worst kind. The first single, “The View”, is a truly vomit-inducing track that buries Lou Reed’s out-of-tune rant in a clutter of poorly produced thrash.
The rest of Lulu follows a painfully similar formula, and the album is a disastrous and unlistenable mess. While it might not be the worst album of all time – many reviewers have made this very case – Lulu will undoubtedly go down as one of history’s most puzzling musical collaborations.
People will be talking about this debacle for years to come. In that sense, Lulu is a classic.
I wish I knew what Lou Reed and Metallica were thinking when they decided to release the album. Anyone who has listened to them degenerate from musical innovators to bad jokes could have predicted Lulu’s failure. Perhaps it’s all just a massive prank. Maybe Lou Reed and Metallica are laughing right now as they watch a legion of music critics slowly driving themselves insane trying to understand the mysterious impetus behind Lulu.
On the other hand, a very small minority of people are trumpeting Lulu as a success, arguing that this is the sound of two artists releasing music for themselves without any thought to the commercial world. While I’m always in support of artists who follow their own vision, I just can’t get behind anything as atrocious as this.
The only promising element of the collaboration is that it might deter others from the irritating trend of collaborative projects bound for failure. Surely an album as bad as Lulu should serve as a warning sign.
Unfortunately, there’s little reason for hope. The latest rumblings on the Internet indicate that Kiss and Lady Gaga are considering collaboration. If Lady Gaga and Kiss have not found a name for their project, I would like to make a suggestion – “Disastrous Trainwreck.”
Please, don’t bother with an album. The musical world can only handle so many ‘classics’.
