They Might Be Giants - Join Us

Whatever your feelings are about They Might Be Giants, we all owe them at least one thing, and that’s for teaching us that Istanbul was once, in fact, Constantinople. From there though, it’s a mixed bag. It’s nearly impossible for anyone who grew up in the 90s to not know at least a few tracks off their third and arguably most popular album Flood, but it’s also realistic to find that beyond that, there isn’t much else. A couple of Grammys and a few songs on the charts is about it. Why? Well, put on an album and decide for yourself.

No one can argue that founding members John Flansburgh and John Linnell don’t have the musical chops to be a success. Every album is an assortment of styles and instrumentation. Folk, rock, classical, grunge. Accordion, strings, horns, keys. Mixing and matching tempos and time signatures. They’ve got it all. They’re certainly original too. You know a Giants song when you hear it. So what is it?

It’s silliness.

The one thing that has remained unvarying over their nearly 30-year career is these guys are just plain silly. This might explain why they’ve even had recent success as a children’s act. Almost every song has some childish quality to it. Sometimes it’s the lyrics. Sometimes it’s the music. Sometimes it’s the vocals. Sometimes it’s everything. But the one thing they can’t seem to get away from—which apparently they have no desire to—is silliness. And, well, sometimes that’s not gonna cut it.

This probably explains why the start of Join Us is accompanied by a bit of an eye-roll, as if to say, here we go again. There’s Linnell overstating the Dylan-esq whine in his voice. And from there it’s track after track, no one in any way resembling the other, all having some redeeming if not admirable musical qualities, but none giving that wow factor you would hope for. There’s the chorus of “Canajoharie,” the up-tempo “When Will You Die” and oddly sweet and slightly disturbing “Never Knew Love.” These are the ones you might put on for a curious friend. But the rest? The rest is a sometimes commendable but often confusing, non-cohesive ball of silliness.

The die-hards will most definitely disagree, as they should. But it’s not that They Might Be Giants aren’t a good band or even that Join Us is a bad album. They are and it isn’t. But, you can’t help feel that they and it could be better. On the other hand, it’s this childishness, this lack of attention span that has made them who they are. So, who’s to say the status quo isn’t sufficient? It certainly seems to be paying their bills.

Rating
Overall: 3/5
Originality: 4/5
Production: 4/5
Listenability: 2/5

Thievery Corporation - Culture of Fear

Technology has left no shortage of self-appointed DJs in the music world. Walk into a music store and you’ll likely find someone that can put together some beats. Put on some headphones, push a few buttons, and presto, the makers of whatever device it is has turned them into a mix master. Thankfully there are artists that understand it a little deeper, that can conceptualize tracks from start to finish and mesh a variety of sounds and styles into one cohesive, complete and original work. Thankfully there’s Thievery Corporation.

Unlike some of their contemporaries who try to wow the listener on the first beat, Eric Hilton and Rob Garza approach their tracks with a more subtle touch. Rather than start with a bang and end with a tedious whimper. Thievery starts simple. Basic instrumentation, building and layering. Easily, subtly and emotionally. Each track offers the chance to listen either actively or passively. It’s up to you.

Coming off their 2008 “incendiary and bombastic call to arms” Radio Retaliation, Thievery backed off a little with their latest social commentary, Culture of Fear (released June 28). Revolving around the idea that we are surrounded with reasons to live our lives in fear, the album, save for the opening tracks, isn’t quite as doom-and-gloom as its name suggests, especially on the musical front.

Culture does smack you upside the head with its opening porn-funk “Web of Deception” and keeps right on with the title track, led by hip-hop MC Mr. Lif and his imploring “don’t succumb to this culture of fear.” The random shame is that the opening line of the song is actually dated, calling out the recently abandoned color-coded threat level system.

From there, the album cools off and sets off on a flight through mellowed out jazz and reggae jams. It’s highlighted by the bossa beats and ghostly vocals from LouLou Ghelichkhani on “Where it All Starts,” and the aptly-named “False Flag Dub.”

Surprisingly, the most disturbing song in the bunch is in name alone. In none of the 7 minutes and 48 seconds of “Tower Seven” do you get the impression they’re talking about a time and place where conspiracy theorists think the government killed thousands of Americans.

Yeah. So there’s that

“Overstand” comes somewhat out of nowhere, but it’s not unwelcome. The deep reggae and lay-it-on the table lyrics from Ras Puma make it clear we’re not just talking about the government either. And rounding it out is Kota’s haunting vocals on “Free,” sending the album off and leaving the man behind. It’s time to move on. “I am free. Come with me.”

Alright, so where are we? Are we more afraid, less afraid or just chilled out and feeling good? I’ll go with c. Relatively unchanged. And not just about fear. Culture of Fear is definitely a keeper. There’s things to be learned here. But it’s not necessarily a changer. That you’ll find more in Radio Retaliation. Certainly not taking anything way from a cohesive, complete and original work though.

And who says you need changing, anyway?

Rating
Overall: 3.5/5
Originality: 3.5/5
Production: 3.5/5
Listenability: 4/5