Yesterday, my colleague Kate MacDonald wrote about television shows she thought should disappear. I agree — “Survivor” needs to go away soon and “America’s Funniest Home Videos” hasn’t been the same since Bob Saget returned to his dirty ways.
That stated, I’m going to take the other side of the issue (with a more musical flavor) and speak about a band that just needs to sneak back onto the radar. Revive its presence in the music scene. Put out a record, for god’s sake.
A friend of mine at that all-uppercase hipster ‘zine dropped Broadcast onto my lap one day. Actually, he casually segued from Bjork’s latest jewel Vespertine into The Noise Made By People, seemingly in an attempt to fool one’s unacclimated ears.
Though both Bjork and Trish Keenan’s vocals ascend above the stratosphere into the cherubic plane shared also by Nina Persson of the Cardigans, Broadcast’s reliance on late ’60s synth and wile-placed John Barry samples gives the album a more vintage electronic stance — also contributed to by the Birmingham four-piece’s manipulation of refurbished analogs.
“Come on Let’s Go” basks in bright waves of free-lovin’ organ chords, seemingly straight from Polanski’s Repulsion soundtrack. Hypnotic wails of “The things you miss out when you try to mislead” straight from Keenan’s sugar-coated pipes intoxicate on “Papercuts,” while “Until Then” relies on a Scooby Doo slide-whistle effect as reinforcement to the overall melancholy bend.
Sharing famed electro-pioneer Warp as record labels, Broadcast has always drawn relatively conspicuous parallels to Stereolab. Not such a bad thing when fighting for cred in Britain’s fickle music environ.
Broadcast offers the perfect 2 a.m. mix on this record, complete with lengthy instrumentals for those quality moments requiring no interruption. Or the sonic bliss to chug that gallon of Gatorade needed after a rough night of two-step. The album allows for many options.
Broadcast must return, half because I am already tired of Stereolab’s early-fall gem Sound-Dust (my fault for keeping it in rotation past the four-day rule), half because outside of the usual-suspects, female-lead synth rock has taken a nap recently (not my fault that Portishead has released only a DVD since ’98). Broadcast will make you feel fuzzy inside.
The Big Takeover
Editor Jack Rabid recalls in the latest issue of his indie-rock-fanzine-gone-corporate-rock-reviewing-powerhouse The Big Takeover a story about printing (more like photo copying/stapling) the first issues on the 38th floor of the north tower of the WTC some 20 years ago. The 5000-word anecdote eloquently lays out Rabid’s memories of the towers as his community for the two years he delivered mail and wrote rants about New York punk rock.
Unlike the dozens of ignoble letters penned by the uptown editors of mainstream books, Rabid won me with his gritty downtown prose, dissecting the events while interjecting uncensored quips. Rabid’s essay exemplifies the tone of The Big Takeover.
In true ‘zine fashion, almost all of the interviews are conducted by Rabid himself with a tone that sways between reverential (Iggy Pop) and cynical (numerous snippy reviews). When you see The Softboys, Burning Airlines and Glenn Tilbrook packaged in an issue, you know the editor knows his shit.
