Billy Caveman – Ariel Cyclone
I try to picture what the people who write the hits are wearing when they do. Nah, I’m not talking about Lennon or Mercury writing theirs. I’m particularly interested in the sartorial sense of the folks penning the modern chart-toppers.
I imagine it’s something rather bland and comfortable. That would fit the music. And it’d also make sense if you consider the context. The majority of hits nowadays are written by 3-4 people sitting in a room at a time.
These people have to rely on formulas, have to look through their notebook at the instructions provided by the artist who has commissioned the song, and have to tread carefully. They wouldn’t stumble on the Billy Caveman song if they got to do this job for a thousand years.
That’s because, satisfingly, “Ariel Cyclone” seems to come out of the part of the brain where imagination goes, where it wants all shackles taken off. The result is a minimalist, bluesy garage-rock number that incorporates throat singing and the feeling that whoever is making this music is going nuts, and happy for this to be occurring. Excellent!
Fred Waves – Paradise Now
I’m told that there’s still a reliable market for great accordion players, harmonica virtuosos, and violin musos. I’m told that there are people who will listen to no other music when they are alone other than this.
But, how do you get to be addicted to those sounds? Perhaps trying to fall under their spell, exclusively, as an adult, it’s a tall order. Most likely, you would need to have had the relationship initiated in your youth. Maybe it was your dad playing bagpipes in the garden.
I suspect, however, that the people who grew up listening to dark, guitar-driven music, everything that came in between The Velvet Underground and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, have a similar kind of addiction as Fred Waves proves.
“Paradise Now” is modern psychedelic guitar rock that sounds like it ought to be played while walking through a dark forest at night. It touches a particular nerve and activates a certain kind of thrill that only this kind of wailing guitar sound and this kind of mysterious brand of rock can.
