Reader, please note that this is not your usual musical tour guide and a young tippler has usurped the electronic quill and is anxiously writing down reflections of meaning; the quill's ink is not well administered, thoughts are not collected. Yet the youth relishes each moment knowing the former scribe will return to his study at any second...
Pitchfork granted in a holy declaration: Sad Robots, 6.2/10. As I have no power vested in me by the consumerism gods, I will not attach any scale of preference to the album other than to say I enjoy it. There is no narrative structure or concept linking the songs together, so you can listen to it on shuffle if you please. The album opens with Maintenance Hall, 4 a.m. A brief instrumental that although only two minutes and eighteen seconds manages to trudge around your home leaving a trail of gasoline while you're out watching Disney movies with your ex. As the song wanes away it flicks a match over its shoulder, this match's glowing arc consumes the oxygen rich night air and lands playfully, nearly not in reach of the gasoline wick.
The next song is nearly six minutes, it keeps the same melodic drone throughout. Your thoughts wander as you head home. You reach your driveway and find your home ablaze. Amy joins in halfway through the song and lends her greatness. Torq comes back in and the song reaches it's full potential. Bass lines support delicate piano riffs, snares accent guitar distortion, the world is alright. You take a shot of canadian club, a whisky you normally would not purchase due to it's price, but for some reason you've treated yourself this time. As you feel the alcoholic heat expand through your blood into your fingers and toes Amy's voice questions "When will it stop?" in the song "Undertow". A crowd has formed around your house that is burning down, no one is calling the fire department, everyone is treating it as if it's a large bonfire and they've been needing a get together. The house is burning steadily, the foundation is still stable and the flames are licking all the crevices, exploring with great excitement.
The fire grows at this point in ways you don't see. The band is covering their own song. "Going, going, gone". "There is nowhere to move on." Geeky synth drives the song. Countless bad jokes are being made about the burning down house... "Hot Party!"
What's the point? The next song is "14 forever". The bands strange balance between growing old but still playing songs that appeal to young people and the paradox of young people finding the appeal of their songs. The band is growing up, the crowds are staying the same age. I can't begin to articulate the emotions involved. "The revolution starts in a sea of paper cups".
You have several more shots, a few beers, and time begins to blur. Laughter piles upon laughter and everyone is dancing. The contrast between the dark and the burning house is so incredible you have no idea what to do. It begins to rain. Songs are sung in french. The rain, in a final twist of fate ends the party early, cutting short the perverted enjoyment of the house burning. The flames are dowsed, but the damage to the house is irreparable. The music ends before you know and the everyone but you is ready to go home. The excitement in your muscles feels like a ditched date leaving you with handfuls of confused energy. A robot is being rained on and it is going to rust and die. "Sad Robot" explains "My heart will turn from steel to dust". A primal instinct floods your brain with sleepy chemicals and you feel comfortable in the wet grass. You fall asleep.
You wake in the morning rain. Everything is different in the light. All the people are gone. You loved the party, you are lost now. Your muscles ache, your nose is runny, your clothes are wet. Your home is gone and your heart is sore.
However there is still some whisky and still some friends with whom you plan a series of nocturnal arson attacks...
You've learned a very valuable lesson: the complex nuances of emotion, youth, and love are not discovered through thought. You are a sad robot.
Contextual Details: I've been a fan of a Stars for several years now and it would be hard for me to not enjoy something they created. It's early March 2009. The world's markets are failing splendidly. Spring is still springing, people are still laughing. Amy's voice is heaven.
Submitted by Zach
Pitchfork granted in a holy declaration: Sad Robots, 6.2/10. As I have no power vested in me by the consumerism gods, I will not attach any scale of preference to the album other than to say I enjoy it. There is no narrative structure or concept linking the songs together, so you can listen to it on shuffle if you please. The album opens with Maintenance Hall, 4 a.m. A brief instrumental that although only two minutes and eighteen seconds manages to trudge around your home leaving a trail of gasoline while you're out watching Disney movies with your ex. As the song wanes away it flicks a match over its shoulder, this match's glowing arc consumes the oxygen rich night air and lands playfully, nearly not in reach of the gasoline wick.
The next song is nearly six minutes, it keeps the same melodic drone throughout. Your thoughts wander as you head home. You reach your driveway and find your home ablaze. Amy joins in halfway through the song and lends her greatness. Torq comes back in and the song reaches it's full potential. Bass lines support delicate piano riffs, snares accent guitar distortion, the world is alright. You take a shot of canadian club, a whisky you normally would not purchase due to it's price, but for some reason you've treated yourself this time. As you feel the alcoholic heat expand through your blood into your fingers and toes Amy's voice questions "When will it stop?" in the song "Undertow". A crowd has formed around your house that is burning down, no one is calling the fire department, everyone is treating it as if it's a large bonfire and they've been needing a get together. The house is burning steadily, the foundation is still stable and the flames are licking all the crevices, exploring with great excitement.
The fire grows at this point in ways you don't see. The band is covering their own song. "Going, going, gone". "There is nowhere to move on." Geeky synth drives the song. Countless bad jokes are being made about the burning down house... "Hot Party!"
What's the point? The next song is "14 forever". The bands strange balance between growing old but still playing songs that appeal to young people and the paradox of young people finding the appeal of their songs. The band is growing up, the crowds are staying the same age. I can't begin to articulate the emotions involved. "The revolution starts in a sea of paper cups".
You have several more shots, a few beers, and time begins to blur. Laughter piles upon laughter and everyone is dancing. The contrast between the dark and the burning house is so incredible you have no idea what to do. It begins to rain. Songs are sung in french. The rain, in a final twist of fate ends the party early, cutting short the perverted enjoyment of the house burning. The flames are dowsed, but the damage to the house is irreparable. The music ends before you know and the everyone but you is ready to go home. The excitement in your muscles feels like a ditched date leaving you with handfuls of confused energy. A robot is being rained on and it is going to rust and die. "Sad Robot" explains "My heart will turn from steel to dust". A primal instinct floods your brain with sleepy chemicals and you feel comfortable in the wet grass. You fall asleep.
You wake in the morning rain. Everything is different in the light. All the people are gone. You loved the party, you are lost now. Your muscles ache, your nose is runny, your clothes are wet. Your home is gone and your heart is sore.
However there is still some whisky and still some friends with whom you plan a series of nocturnal arson attacks...
You've learned a very valuable lesson: the complex nuances of emotion, youth, and love are not discovered through thought. You are a sad robot.
Contextual Details: I've been a fan of a Stars for several years now and it would be hard for me to not enjoy something they created. It's early March 2009. The world's markets are failing splendidly. Spring is still springing, people are still laughing. Amy's voice is heaven.
Submitted by Zach
you may be a bit biased assuming everyone would want to host this "Hot Party" listening to the album, but eloquent nonetheless.
ReplyDeletei wouldn't be opposed to attending.