The Strokes - Machu Picchu

Wow, nothing by The Strokes.

I play a lot of FIFA. The new one came out a month or so ago and I play it about five times a week. Sometimes, lately, seven times a week. Sometimes an hour and a half at the most in a sitting, always with music blaring. The game has a soundtrack too, though. This isn’t about that soundtrack. But when I turned it on today, it played “Machu Picchu” by The Strokes.

Machu Picchu is an icon in the Inca world. It means ‘old peak’ and it’s an estate that was built in Peru and is still standing today. It’s mostly special because it’s a beautifully-constructed ‘thing’ that stands in these mountains that creates amazing atmosphere, exposure and well, views. Once I started reading up on it a bit I had to find a way to include the picture I found of it, at the top. It was apparently voted as one of the new Seven Wonders of the World; nothing official on that though.

It’s just the title of the opening song off their latest album, Angles. For starters, Julian Casablancas has emphasized the band doesn’t really weigh too much impact on the words but that the whole band including him are way more focused on the music. Another fact is that the band recorded all of the music for this album without Casablancas before he came on to sing on the album. So it makes sense when thinking about the lyrics and especially the line before the tearing guitars, “I’m just trying to find a mountain I can climb,” that maybe the song is merely about consistently staying busy. Always focusing on steadying a boat of various pressures and stresses, the ultimate climb would be Machu Picchu – if one ever were to arrive.

So the song begins with a ringing twitch before the drums explode with a nervy guitar battle and a resonating bass line. The music twitches along with a chugging atmosphere, as if you’re simply living your life. As the music rises into the turbulent swells where the guitars continue to clash against each other, the drums pound through and the harmonies counter with bite, there is a lot to overcome. Your patience is tested, you’re continuing to worry with social statuses, the voices in your head continue to torment you, etc. It’s a really awesome choice to kickstart the album.

They’re a super popular band so it’s not much of a miss to have not mentioned them before. However, they’re a very important band in my personal musical life (they were my first ever concert, saw them through first and second album tours, I’ve seen them four times total, each album was heard as it came out as I was growing up through high school and beyond and now blah blah blah) so that’s why I was mostly surprised to see no mention yet. I even had to search it lots of times to make sure I wasn’t repeating it.

So this is just one song by them, off their latest album. Here’s to more to come from them maybe. – Bryan

Radiohead - I Might Be Wrong: Live Recordings

I don’t think I’d mind it much if this whole blog was majority Radiohead posts. I think that would be a pretty decent representation of my music background in one all-encompassing shell of bliss. I think the blog still invites diversity but well, I seem to be the last one standing at the moment. I think, though, if not anybody cares that by the new year at this rate, I’d be foolish to survive it alone. But if I could present a solid amount of deserved praise for a band, before and after In Rainbows, it would need to be Radiohead.

There’s some sort of ‘getting back to basic’ fundamental reach for Radiohead in a large sense as well. Their music has always felt strongly enveloping; moments where they’ve been able to rush goosebumps to my skin are hard to all recount. So before when I was still lost in myself as a young soon-to-be junior in high school, I remember reaching for my walkmen and getting lost in the haze of “Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors.” And recently I got back to basics and pulled out my vinyl copy of the other album they released in 2001 and it brought me all back again.

Well Amnesiac was the sordid smash hit of the summer of 2001. Released on June FIFTH it acted as a sort of prerequisite to some of the madness that was soon to follow. But mostly, it was an emotionally-packed release that followed up Kid A with sort of, more than, lofty expectations. I remember it being good, not great. Then I remember the I Might Be Wrong: Live Recordings and their release in the winter of 2001. Drastically different times for me both as a growing person and times of the year, the latter is a live collection of songs from their two previous albums and of course, the masterful “True Love Waits” is on it too.

There’s the solemn, subtle version of “Like Spinning Plates” and its chilling strings. In a way, for me at least, the way the piano melts in and around Thom Yorke’s voice is a thing of beauty. So much so that I’d dare argue that this version is probably better than the original. Sure, the regular version resonates into that album’s (Amnesiac) cloudy discord and this version basks in the glory of a soaring piano and towering strings but it’s still spectacular. It’s partly cool when you realize the crowd finally clamors when they realize what it is because of how dissimilar it all starts and ends from the original; there’s a silence the song demands and finally receives.


The recordings are mostly endearing because of how it’s a quick, eight-song excerpt of what the band sounded live at that time. Easily the best band of our time, the I Might Be Wrong: Live Recordings were a great treat for Radiohead fanatics like yours truly. Here the version of “Everything in its Right Place” is added with more atmospherics, less bumping beats and drums, and more manic lulls by Yorke. It twists and shouts in a circular motion as the heady synth line maintains current the whole way throughout: a seven-minute revealing of musical chaos. It’s getting great to be able to hear a lot of this again and remember the music, more so than the time, although they both weigh importance. Naturally, the past is past and music is much more current here than ever before. – Bryan

Deerhunter - Microcastle

Back in the winter of 2008 was a band called Deerhunter and their subtle, yet timely ways. I was nothing more than a fresh, young-faced 23-year old punk kid that was lost in the world. Without a soul to stand by and without a way out of the encaged sadness that I was living in for the past year I latched onto the music that was pouring into my heart. Weakness aside, Deerhunter had made an impression on me a year before with Cryptograms and its endless bliss of beauty – please remember to write about that one some. But it wasn’t until the splendid seamlessness of Microcastle that it all finally made sense to me.

See, back in that winter they decided to stop by El Paso for a memorable show. While I reached for the front, we were torn apart by the sheer loudness of the music as we were prime and center. The band wore ear plugs but I remember just feeling overcome with the wave of sounds. “Cover Me (Slowly)” seems like the perfect introduction to “Agoraphobia” anyways and the way Bradford Cox sings, “cover me, cover me” at the beginning of the latter, it just makes sense. I love the way the former is a cloudy disarray of ominous shade and distortion before leading into the sparkling guitar and keyboard of “Agoraphobia.”

Agoraphobia is described as the ‘abnormal fear of being helpless in an embarrassing or inescapable situation.’ I read somewhere else that it’s like being afraid of getting a panic attack during a difficult situation. You feel the smoothness of the fuzzy droning in the background and the way the music ebbs and flows against both the atmosphere and rhythms, like a calming medicine – like if being paranoid and not being able to escape the paranoia – it washes all away. The song is pure pop sugar, one of the myriad of facets Deerhunter pull off so amazingly.


And then there’s the last song on here, “Twilight at Carbon Lake.” Imagery first: a ray of light flashing in the sky in the middle of the sordid water. (how can water be sordid and how can the ray of light flash in the sky? Haha) There’s a lulling, twirling guitar melody that always seems to be creeping in and out of focus. Behind the warbling vocals, the desperate atmospherics and the entire calamity is a soaring entrance and as it swells and swells – adding layers and layers of sounds – into a huge wall of sound, it all disappears so easily. It’s fitting as a closer because of the way it ties in all of this nonsensical dreariness into a blasting array of explosions: it’s beautifully awkward in the way it’s constructed. And it’s devastatingly intense as one of the best songs Deerhunter has ever written. – Bryan

The Flaming Lips – One More Robot/Sympathy 3000-21

Only a few years after the Flaming Lips had presented The Soft Bulletin came an album about a female protagonist destined to survive amongst and against the robots: Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. While each album encompasses a side of the Lips many have garnered to love – concept albums filled with emotionally-enriched, soulful songwriting about innovative worlds and stories – there’s a heavy debate amongst the music-fanatic-brethren about which of the two is superior. And so instead of dwelling on that, because much could be said in a separate post – but then who wants to read pretentious dribble as to why The Soft Bulletin is better, no. Instead, there’s beauty on this album that I was recently rediscovered with.

After the reflective entrance of “Fight Test,” where production values maintained from the previous album with sparkling, booming drums and a wide open canvas of vastness, is the tremendous pull of “One More Robot/Sympathy 3000-21.” The obvious facets first: its dreamy bass line throughout the entire song is amazing. The way it blends into the drums and the way each pounds against each other. There’s the story about a robot designed to work as a machine that slowly realizes perhaps, there is more to life than just monotonous work. He/she begins to feel the initial draw of love and its tumultuous breakthrough, he questions it: “Cause it's hard to say what’s real, when you know the way you feel. Is it wrong to think it’s love, when it tries the way it does...” During this time there’s an argument to be made about how Wayne Coyne’s voice had also improved and sincerely, his vocals shine like a fantastic luster on the song. Through the bumping ride of blissful bass are atmospheric glitches in the production wall, an ascending keyboard line as support and growing, growing, growing flow.

The ebb of the song is seamless: like a perfectly conscious stream of circuits. So really, you could measure it as one of the finest compositions they did on the album, without a doubt. I can’t help but feel like the song has to be a metaphor to someone first learning how emotions and love are connected and how one comes out of their shell in order to reach and attain love. Like all of us, whether it’s the very first time, or even after coming back to it all after a long break, feeling emotions and sentiments is a delicate manner. So this robot is a bit awkward and pondering it all still.

Then everything sort of transcends, almost motionless, into an abyss of metallic feedback and reverb on the “Sympathy 3000-21” part. Borrowed from the beginning of the song, it’s unsettled but not chaotic. Only instead of creeping into the beats there’s a soft guitar intro before the synthesizer in the background - well the melody at the foreground - like a lonely lullaby is paired with lush, orchestral swells. Sweeping and majestic, they’re heavenly flourishing strings that uncover a stellar symphony. It’s a brief segment of music that acts more as resolution to the massively gorgeous endearment before it; but before, during and as it reaches and exhales, it’s gorgeous in and of itself. – Bryan

(P.S. Wall-E has/had nothing to do with “One More Robot/Sympathy 3000-21,” as through no official meaning by the Lips. Love the movie though, unabashed. If I could write about movies, I’d write a story about it.)