B.o.B’s “Airplanes” fits right into rap’s post-Kanye landscape. Its self-doubt and insecurity manifest themselves in brash bursts over a genre-confused, modern rock beat. But the song owes a lot of its power to a more ancient stretch of DNA, the notion that airplanes are an almost-magical mode of conveyance and escape.
In a classic it’s-not-me-it’s-you move, I’ve decided it’s not the outdoors I don’t like. I don’t like other people. There are three types of other people you encounter when you take your dog outside.
My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy was made by a combination evil villain-mad scientist on a tropical island. He imported henchmen and women as his whims moved him. They were ensconced in a mansion, replete with well-appointed staff and coterie at his beck and call. There were five-star dishes and different exotic fishes everywhere.
By the time they played their first New York show, the Odd Future story was at maximum volume, and had three notable features.
Arbitrary name capitalization. Assaulting fans. The unwieldy combination of rap and rock. Arrest for drug possession. Concept album sequel to a concept album. KiD CuDi is a interesting dude, but one who's not necessarily the most adept at self-awareness.
Taylor Swift — more than the over-sharing Kanyes and PSA-authoring Gagas of the music world — seems to be performing a sort of LiveJournal style of music. Actually, Swift is probably too young to have a LiveJournal, but the name is a lot more evocative than the more contemporary Twitter.
Weezer has made a strong career out of an extended adolescence. Whether they were actually sexually frustrated youths, or just writing from that point of view, the band has never been abashed about their songs' teen bent.
Das Racist (rhymes with "glass vases") takes rap literalism to its highest. That fake Jamaican accent? That's racist. Ignoring people of color? That's racist. Saying they look like Puerto Rican cousins? That's racist. Like Don Imus? That's racist. A line from "Nutmeg" sums up their somewhat quixotic project: "Play the race card again. And again. And again. Drinks at Bennigan's."
“I’mma let you finish” are four and a half words that continue to carry some cultural cachet despite their flimsy significance. They came up again at this year’s MTV Video Music Awards, as if the awards show were a pop culture Indian burial ground.
There is an album in here, somewhere. But what got pressed onto vinyl/laser etched onto compact disk/encoded into mp3 is emphatically not an album. There are heavy makeout sessions, limbs striking walls and breathing like gasping, that are more of an album than The Suburbs. Clattering pans and chefs pratfalling on spilled olive oil may sound more like an album than The Suburbs. No, The Suburbs sounds like the lifeless reflections of a chastised middle schooler set to a funereal caricature of this band I heard about a few years ago.
Is Bethany Cosentino high? (Hah, yes.) Every song on the album is at the same time a joy to listen to and aural torture. The sound of the album refers to gauzy 60s surf rock and slacker 90s alternative rock. In other words, the album’s bona fides check out. To people our age, Crazy For You is a very appealing record. Unfortunately, it suffers from being made for people our age.
The band worked by gut feel, a method learned by fits and starts being churned within the city's jammed, sweaty streets. LCD Soundsystem managed to release three albums, some of the decade's best, bowing out on top as New York's most beloved band. They also proved that the city has a short attention span.