Page 27 - the NOISE November 2013

b Ugh
bb Eh
bbb Solid
bbbb Gold bbbbb Total Classic
vor of swing-rock-boogie in “Tell ‘Em All to Go to Hell” and upbeat-Motown in “My Zero.”
I didn’t really know what to expect from the other 11 tracks when my copy of the new full length arrived. Fortunately, it was far from dis- appointing, and even exceeded my blossom- ing expectations.
The album’s first track blared through my kitchen speakers, and all I could think while listening was how fortunate we all are that Furman can’t be brought down by anyone, contrary to the songs title, “I Wanna Destroy Myself.” After listening through the whole al- bum the first time, I tried to categorize it into a genre, but slowly began to realize the task was impossible. Each individual track draws inspiration from a plethora of musical styles, dissipating any chance of grouping its entire- ty under one banner.
It’s too difficult to choose a favorite track on the album. It seems to change with each listen, which is the genius of Furman and Day of the Dog. But the singer doesn’t deserve all the credit for this new classic. Just as Frodo couldn’t destroy the ring by his lonesome, Ezra wouldn’t have been able to produce such a multi-instrumental endeavor by him- self. This album wouldn’t have even been pos- sible without the Boy-Friends, and their talent on each respective instrument.
Without the horn section, for instance, tracks such as the albums eighth, “... And May- be God is a Train,” would’ve lacked the luster that helps elevate it to a near perfect musical form the world hasn’t seen much of since the
‘70s. That being said, the Boy-Friends wouldn’t have been able to pull this off without Ezra, whose easily recognizable voice is what makes each track the novelty it is.
I once heard Furman described by a friend as “Dylan if he could actually sing.” It’s almost difficult to disagree, but too shameful a no- tion to stand behind. Yeah, his voice has the same high-pitched, nasally demeanor as Dylan’s, but I’ve also often heard Geddy Lee’s vocal style compared to Robert Plant’s, and that just doesn’t hold its own in my book. Vanilla pudding is not the same as vanilla ice cream, despite their shared flavor. If any comparisons to Dylan can be made, the most solid would be Furman’s aptitude for molding the English language into unforgettable lyrics and track titles that both tell stories and dis-
Ezra Furman; Fronds
play masterful word-smithery.
Day of the Dog, and Furman, will most likely
remain hidden in the shadows of the colos- sal hardcore and electronic music scenes that seem to remain the most prominent in this age. Not because he writes bad music, but because he writes such good music the mainstream will overlook. Finding radio sta- tions that consistently play skin-driven guitar, bass, etc, has become somewhat of a hope- less scavenger hunt. Likewise, popular music has experienced the same conundrum. But that hasn’t stopped Furman from releasing genuinely good tunes, and we remaining few with an elevated taste should look no further than Day of the Dog to get our fix of the musi- cal remnants from days of yore.
—Tom Blanton
Frank Chipotel disappeared in the middle of the month. That’s last month. Actually he disappeared about the same time KWHY went off the air. Des-
perate for content, I scoured this off my laptop.
(He had been staying on my couch for quite some time. Usually, before this, he’d send me an attachment and come over at some point and work on his reviews, stinking up my place with cigarettes and booze. Once, on a par- ticularly challenging assignment, he almost gave himself carbon monoxide poisoning when he didn’t ventilate the back room.)
Since he usually did things at the very last minute, it took a while to realize he wasn’t going to return. As of press time, I have not heard from him. I have no idea if some of these are finished, and some of them certainly go off the rails. I left them as is.
Good luck, Frank Chipotel.
— MFTM Ed.
Fronds
S/T
Do Not Disturb Records
jjj
All the song titles are one word. “Crush,” “Sphere,” “Wash,” etc. San Francisco whispery
jangle pop. I hear voices calling my name.
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• NOVEMBER 2013 • 27