a review of Aerosmith's debut

Be a blues-rock band first, and get that right

 
Aerosmith peaked commercially from the late 1980s through the 90s. "Get a Grip," released March 1993, is the band's best-selling album. Joe Perry’s thresher of a guitar and Steven Tyler's highly animated vocals mix with huge pop hits like "Cryin'" and "Crazy." It was Aerosmith's eleventh studio album.

My favorite Aerosmith record, the 1973 self-titled debut, sounds nothing like it.

The music's punch comes not from showmanship—Tyler's yawps and Perry's lavish guitar—but from the sound of good bluesmen vibing.

Compared to other early 70s hard rock bands, the album's dusty production—especially the low gain on Joe Perry's guitar—softens the blow a bit. In his memoir, Perry says, "… because I lacked the studio chops to prescribe a remedy, I kept quiet. It pained me, though, that my guitar was not cutting through."

But compared to Aerosmith's later work, the album sounds raw, and I like it.

Maybe what I like most is Tyler's straight-ahead vocals. They shine more for his timing than his affectations.

I grew up with classic rock radio and heard Aerosmith's hits and how the band's sound changed over the decades. You have the raw, early classics like "Dream On," "Sweet Emotion," and "Walk This Way." Then comes bigger production on hits like "Dude (Looks Like a Lady)," "Angel," "Rag Doll," "Love in an Elevator," and "Janie's Got a Gun." And, finally, the full-on pop hits like "Amazing," "Livin' on the Edge," "Cryin'," and "Crazy."

I always liked the early songs best, so to get past the hits, I went back and listened to Aerosmith's first four albums. The debut is easily my favorite.

Here's "Make It," the first song on the first album.

 

a positive review of a technical death metal album

The band Pyrrhon began to drift apart during covid. Then they did something about it.

These songs will make you beg for just one moment of melody—anything to get a little oil into this gear-grinding machine.

But the grind is the theme of "Exhaust," the new album from NYC-based technical death metal band Pyrrhon.

If you feel burned out, Pyrrhon is right there with you. Vocalist Doug Moore says, "It's about the experience of being pushed beyond your ability to sustain things … It's a sense of constantly juggling things and never having a handle on them. That feeling became a big part of this record and the imagery."

"Exhaust" is us in this fucking cyclone of culture. The music channels the onslaught of content, the warping of technologies and time, and our politics of destruction.

The album itself, however, is a product of renewal.

Pyrrhon had just released its fourth album when covid hit. After 10 years of touring and crafting crazy-ass music, spending time apart became normal.

The guys began to worry about their partnership.

So they jump-started their band by gathering in May 2023 at a rural northeastern Pennsylvania cabin and taking mushrooms. Says vocalist Doug Moore: "We hadn't spent that much time together, and it felt like we were able to rediscover who we are and feel the energy of the collaboration."

Thematically the album may be about exhaustion, but the collaboration brought renewal.

Album opener "Not Going to Mars" bombards the wasteland of your attention span. The track is an aggressively chaotic work of rapid-fire snare drumming, dissonant guitar pull-offs, multi-personality vocals, and frequent part changes. It's a shock to the system. So goes the album.

Once I started wrapping my brain around the sound, the drums stood out. I noticed on "First as Tragedy, Then as Farce" how the bass guitar grinds with the drums. The syncopation, the precise, rapid execution and unity of the drums and bass are really something. The music represents a lot of talent and practice.

The album's first steady beat comes on "Strange Pains." Two songs stick out for me, and this is one. I can just imagine how this must hit live.

My other favorite is "Stress Fractures"—a song of sheer wall-climbing madness. The riff spirals up the fretboard as the bass pulls the rug and leaves the vocals gasping. This song exemplifies that "experience of being pushed beyond your ability to sustain things … of constantly juggling things and never having a handle on them."

Pyrrhon brings the creativity and sound of the previous four albums. "Exhaust" might even have a wider palette than 2020's "Abscess Time."

Songs like "Out of Gas" and "Last Gasp" slow the tempo. "Out of Gas" is a concussed brain-bleeder featuring a modulated bass effect, some silly razz-matazz drumming, and a spoken, taunting vocal. Notes ring out on "Last Gasp" and create a scary space that fills with exaggerated spoken vocals that ramble on until overcome by caterwauling guitars.

"Exhaust" suits the moment and a state of mind. Moore says, "We've been through a time of great uncertainty. I tend to get into my head about this stuff."

a review of a new album I disliked

Doomy shoegaze band Lanayah set to release new album

Reverb and echo flood "I’m Picking Lights in a Field...," an album of obfuscated doomy shoegaze. Lanayah’s cooling lava flow of sounds try to muster some shape, some force, some proximate of artistry.

“Insects in Their Immersion” loudly blasts melodic doom, a vocal barking into the wind, sucked up into a warming atmosphere of futility before being suddenly cut off for the next track. The best song is “Nameless Fluttering”—breathy vocals echo down halls of smooth bass guitar. The good part ends and, after a pause, a coda tries to recover a moment nobody remembers anymore. The album goes like this. A thick bass stands out amid a wash of noise. Songs stray and dissolve into decadence. You wake to find an arm dead asleep.

Lanayah is based in Santa Barbara, California, and Seattle, Washington. The experimental group released its first album, North Pinion, in 2016. Forever in May followed in 2019. The new album, I’m Picking Lights in a Field..., will be released June 16, 2023.

 

something about Roger Ebert's autobiography "Life Itself"

Roger Ebert was a talented, Pulitzer Prize-winning film critic and writer who worked for the Chicago Sun-Times from 1967 until his death in 2013. In 1975, he and Gene Siskel, film critic for rival paper Chicago Tribune, began co-hosting a weekly movie review show in Chicago. The no-frills program was picked up for national syndication and eventually moved to commercial network television. The odd couple—plump, mop-haired Roger wearing glasses next to tall, thin Gene—having tense, insightful arguments and giving thumbs-up/thumbs-down movie reviews became a pop-culture phenomenon in the 1980s and 90s. After 53-year-old Siskel died in 1999, Ebert continued the show format with other critics.

Ebert was diagnosed with cancer of the thyroid and salivary glands in 2002, and his treatment and surgeries later led to the removal of his lower jaw. Ebert, disfigured and no longer able to speak, continued to write, and his blog attracted a loyal audience. He reviewed movies for the Chicago Sun-Times for 46 years and was on TV for 31. Ebert was 70 when he died.

His patient, careful autobiography, Life Itself, is traditional and lovely. Ebert describes his parents, his childhood (including Catholic school), his career, his alcoholism (and then his pain-killer addition during cancer treatments), and his relationships, including the close, competitive relationship he had with Siskel. Ebert's writing about his disfigurement and condition is touching. I also enjoyed reading his views on the evolution of film promotion over the years and his descriptions of his interviewing habits.

 

Read some of his interviews:

• "Who's gonna get me a beer?" An interview with Lee Marvin by Roger Ebert, October 10, 1970
• Interview with George Peppard by Roger Ebert, February 18, 1968
• Interview with John Wayne (1969) by Roger Ebert, June 29, 1969

And one passage early in the autobiography sneaks in this gut-punch.

The optometrist had me read the charts and slowly straightened up. "Has Roger ever worn glasses?" he asked my mother. "No. He hasn't needed them." The doctor said: "He's probably always needed them. He's very shortsighted." He wrote me out a prescription. "Wasn't he ever tested?" It had never occurred to anyone. My parents and my aunt Martha the nurse monitored my health, which was good; I was in the hospital only twice, to have my tonsils and appendix removed, and had monthly radiation treatments for ear infections (they were probably responsible for the salivary cancer I developed in my sixties.) I'd never complained about eyesight, and no one noticed any problems.

Life Itself was published in 2011.