I posted an unsympathetic, knee-jerk response to a review on an indie-rock site, not to the review but to the band and the name of their album. The band is Rabbit Is A Sphere and the album is titled Hope Is a Cinder That Blinks Quietly Until You Die. I was taken to task for criticizing the band and the album, and rightly so, because I hadn’t actually heard it. Guilty as charged. I still haven’t heard it, mind you, and I should seek it out. Nonetheless, I have been chafing at this latest eccentricity found in the Indie Rock community of trying to create the most eye-crossingly confused group name and the longest album title possible. The current champion of the latter category is Marnie Stern who’s recent release has received very good reviews and glowing praise for her guitar prowess. The album:This Is It and I Am It and You Are It and So Is That and He Is It and She Is It and It Is It and That Is That.
‘Scuze me while I suck on my oxygen mask.
The original intent of Indie Rock, or so I had been led to believe, was to be somehow set aside from the stereotypes of rock, and the only way to achieve that separation was to oppose them head-on; rock star flamboyance, manicured self-image and backstory, songs that defy the simplistic, lunkheaded boy-meets-girl and let’s get drunk ‘n party fare all had to be confronted. Because labels had a tendency to shy away from bands who didn’t play the game, it was necessary to do it D.I.Y. (do it yourself, for the abbreviation-challenged) and so, through a type of attrition, musical dominant traits evolved for the Indie Rocker. These traits are now as stereotypical as the traits they ran from.
Hasn’t done me much good though. I’ve been quietly releasing music for awhile now and, yeah, maybe I self consciously avoid falling into these new/old habits, but I still shop for my clothes at Target and hold down a day job. So come with me on a journey to remake myself into the next hot Indie Rock phenomenon, hopefully hot enough to sell out to a major label and, afterward, explain myself to or chastise my fanbase for never having gotten “me” at all. Fun times! Let’s go!
The first time I saw Wolf Parade, they were opening a secret Modest Mouse show at Webster Hall in 2004. I knew nothing about them, but they impressed me just as much as Modest Mouse had. Four years later, they’re still impressive: probably moreso than the band that fostered them into the spotlight.
For equitable purposes, it’s probably best to mentally separate Wolf Parade from their debut, Apologies to the Queen Mary. Not because it’s too good and they’ll never top it, and not because it’s bad: simply because Wolf Parade is quite a different band in 2008 than they were in 2005.