Flop - 'World of Today' (Frontier)

And here the Flop story ends, and it couldn't happen in a more beautiful and fiercely contemplative manner. Actually, if we're talking pure aesthetics of sound, World of Today only slightly pulls back the big, loud hard rock sound of Whenever You're Ready; the grandiose, stadium rock riffage is still here, recorded like a brisk autumn wind, and on this November morning I couldn't think of a more suitable record to listen to while watching the grey sky slowly brighten. World of Today was released after the band broke up, back on the Frontier label, and is a rare album that I prefer to have on CD than vinyl, since it was squeezed onto a white 10" that is mastered terribly. Maybe someday it will get repressed with the extra 2"s that it deserves, but I'm going to have a slow campaign of winning over fans to Team Flop until then, to build the potential market. Oh, capitalism - if there was justice in the world, then every man, woman and child on earth would receive a 12" 180g vinyl pressing of World of Today in their postboxes tomorrow, and together we could start to understand the frustrations and resentments of mankind, collectively. Because this is an album that is very much about the torment of the individual, struggling to acclimate through schooling ('North Mason Middle School'), child-parent relationships ('Eggs and Ash'), post-adolescence ('Of Today'), childbearing ('April Ate Our World'), labour (the brilliantly existential closing cut, 'Two Martians Working', as perfect a coda as could be) and escapism ('Waste of Space'). If this sounds like a bumpy journey, well it's true that World of Today is less accessible than And the Fall of the Mopsqueezer. The only single was the opening cut, 'Act 1, Scene 1' which is a dark, existential rumination on the corporeality of being, and sets the tone for what is to come. There's unmistakeable darkness throughout this record, and you can hear it in Willoughby's voice - it's hitting a slightly higher register, and there's none of the exuberance heard before on songs such as 'The Great Valediction'. That's not to say he underperforms here - in fact, there's still an enthusiasm and joy for music, and exhibit A of that would be the cover of 'Yellow Rainbow' by the Move. This is a remarkable rendering of an already remarkable song, and the 60s acid imagery of the original takes on a malevolent tone with mid 90s guitar production behind it,  and in the context of the rest of this album. Yet throughout, the essential fairytale nature of the song is never lost as Willoughby sings with almost reckless abandon. If I'm making this out to be a dour, miserable trip, then I'm doing a bad job of conveying the pure joy (no pun intended) of World of Today, at least as a listener. The catchy hooks and musicianship are more integrated than ever before, and you get delicate guitar jangle ('Eggs and Ash' is a beauty to listen to with Kurt Bloch's production) and shifting time signatures ('Of Today'), as well as some of the most earworm-forming (albeit dark) lyrics imaginable. Imagine a fifteen year old version of me singing 'You'll get more disillusioned with age ... you wait!' alone in my bedroom. (In case you're wondering, he was right, I did. We all do, which is one of the lessons of World of Today). This record represents the peak of Willoughby's songwriting in Flop, and some of the most personal moments that I've discerned from his work.  Hell, it represents the peak of songwriting in general, from just about anyone. It's hard to pick a single highlight but maybe it's the penultimate track, 'Miniaturize', which begins with a masterfully epic jangly buildup before it's autobiographical raison d'être is delivered with such mastery that I wish stadiums and arenas were filled with thousands singing along: 'Solemn as a child / in stoic reticence'. The melodic high point may be the back-to-back punch of 'Around' and 'We've All Seen Better Days', the latter being one of the moments of relief and empathy that comes here. I  can only wonder about the residue of failed relationships here, as well as a general questioning of one's purpose in life. That this came out of the Sony-catalysed bad juju makes sense, and if it's a band falling apart then it's channeled through one man questioning everything. I meant to post this a few days ago but once I started listening to it I kept listening to it over and over, so I've listened to this about ten times in the past week and just want more, and I've been listening to it consistently since 1995. I've never met another Flop fan in person, and only a few people who remember them at all; certainly no one whose life was so affected by this record as a teenager. I realise that there's a lot of great records that had I invested my formative years into them might have impacted me as much as this one, but I'm glad I ended up with this one being so important.

Chisel - '8 AM All Day' (Gern Blandsten)

I was sixteen years old and my music friend (the man responsible for making me mixtapes which forever cemented my interest in mid-90s indie rock) was trying to get me into Superchunk. He had succeeded in showing me the ways of Pavement, Sebadoh and some minor cult faves who you will hear about later. Superchunk actually came to town during this period, but I didn't go, as I had yet to become hip to their sounds. My friend returned from the gig with his mind blown by the opening act, Chisel. I remember him saying "They took the stage and then played the most amazing songs I ever heard"; he snapped up both of their CDs and immediately dubbed them for me. Now I eventually did become a Superchunk fan, but it's because of Chisel that I regret missing that show (I would later see both bands). Now I've nearly doubled in age, but 8 AM All Day is one of those CDs that I've taken with me from place to place, pulling it out at least once a year for a trip down memory lane. It has become no less sweet with time. This is one of the prime artefacts from an era where I learned every millisecond of my favourite albums by heart, finding deep connections to the songs that tapped into a physicality and a lyrical connection as well. Yeah, that doesn't happen anymore. For one thing, I'm not sixteen anymore. I still remember every millisecond of this album and I'm glad I do! At the time, I didn't know much about the DC-area hardcore scene (of which Gern Blandsten, the label, was a player, releasing a bunch of other records though I can only remember Merel right now) or the history of mod-influenced power pop. Ted Leo has never shied away from his appreciation of Paul Weller or Joe Jackson but I didn't know any better then. All I knew was that 'The Dog in Me' was the perfect summation of everything I wanted indie rock to be. It was fast, and aggressive, with an awesome guitar solo/buildup at the end, backing vocals during the chorus that showed an appreciation of pop saccharine, and a line like "Trying to touch that sound/and not let it get me down/when nobody comes around". Of course that's magic to my ears, because this stuff was all part of a secret club for me, and I was on the outside looking in. Ah, this whole fucking album still stands up as a masterpiece to my older, jaded ears. The opening cut, 'Hip Straights', explodes with the line "Why don't we go walking for awhile?", intensifying in pitch and energy as the song goes on. I was amazed by Ted Leo's guitar playing - I thought at the time he was the best guitarist I had ever seen (it was 1997 when I finally saw them) because he could shred these inventive, fast licks and sing at the same time! 'What About Blighty?' was as fast and hardcore as I could take it then, and I still jump around when listening to it. 'Your Star is Killing Me' was on the first album (Nothing New, my copy of which seems to have disappeared) but re-done here with twice the energy. And then the immaculate 'Looking Down at the Great Wall of China From Way Up High in the Sky', whose lyrics are far more whiny and self-centered than such a grandiose title would indicate. The tempo cuts back for this one, and the endless guitar lead is like a knife slicing through butter. I didn't really know what 'emo' was at this time but this sure woulda been it! Even now I shouted out "I still care about her / yeah I really like her a whole whole lot" while listening, though typing it make me realise that at 16 I wasn't so concerned about fear of commitment. The rest of the album continues to be great. The title track has a brilliant cadence that almost re-works 'The Dog in Me', yet it's still a distinct song. 'Out for Kicks' is an actual reworking of a song from Nothing New, with new lyrics, and perhaps the most overtly Jam-styled number. And then the beautiful, beautiful closing pair of songs, 'Citizen of Venus' and 'Breaking Up with Myself'. Leo's songwriting was a better glimpse into the world I dreamt of than the bigger names like Malkmus or Barlow could manage; the emotions conveyed now pretty much summed up my life from age 18-22, when I was still listening to Chisel but a lot less frequently. So what happened to Chisel? They made another album which I anticipated like nothing else in the world, but was disappointed by; Ted Leo went on to a solo career that wasn't bad, but I never really got into except for one album (Hearts of Oak). I grew up and never stopped loving 8 AM All Day, and I love meeting others who share it with me. It's not the life-altering artistic statement of an Astral Weeks or even an Alien Lanes, but it's perfect nonetheless.

Bedhead - 'Transaction de Novo' (Trance Syndicate)

Perfection comes at the end. Here's a CD I've listened to so many times that every chord change, every nanosecond of hesitation before each note is played, every barely audible vocal breath -- these things are all weighed down with a dense, emotional gravity to my ears. Maybe you'd just hear some slow-paced indie rock band doing what they do, nothing special. Ear of the beholder, I guess? The formula is the same yet there's miles of growth in this band, though that realisation might be hard for me to articulate. 'Exhume' opens up with a drumless, ringing patchwork of guitar and bass notes just like 'Beheaded', except the tone is more contemplative than dark. The lyrics alternate between barely-sung and extremely sung, by which I mean melodically intoned with a real sincerity. 'More than Ever' maybe exemplifies this - it's slow, open drum beat leaves room for the voice to ring along with the guitars, where every note is expertly chosen to fall alongside every space, also expertly chosen. The ringing notes are so powerful - on 'Parade', they're repetitive and trance-like, and they've been stuck in my head for literally a decade. Bubba Kadane sings on 'Half-thought' which is slightly more upbeat and bouncy, though I would never know it was a different singer were it not for the credits. 'Extramundane' is even more upbeat, a fast, slightly distorted tune that would have been a perfect pop single in another world. The lyrics are maybe a bit more upfront than before, and you can hear a confidence even as they sing about hesitation and uncertainty. Brilliant! The real rocker, and one of the most memorable songs in the Bedhead catalogue, would be 'Psychosomatica', which is the most cranked up they ever sounded. Instead of a warm glow, the Rat pedals come out for properly crunchy, angular riffs. There are pop hooks in all of these songs, but they are ironed out and subdued so you would never think of any of these songs as catchy - but maybe this makes their inevitable brain-burrowing more effective. A personal note: shortly after this album came out I jumped in a car with some friends and drove a few hours to a nearby city to see Bedhead live, in a small club I had been to before where there were maybe 50 people watching bemusedly. They were good, maybe even great, though it was 1998 and memory hasn't been kind. I remember they played 'The Rest of the Day' at the end of their set, which was like shooting their load kinda, but it was the end right? So then an encore is demanded and they come out and play the one song I was hoping to hear, 'The Present', which is the last track on this, Bedhead's last album. And any doubts about what my all time favorite Bedhead song was immediately were washed away. I can't say why this song is so great - there's no obvious riff of dramatic build, apart from some sort of organ or affected guitar that fills the middle zone unlike anything they ever used before. Maybe its the lyrics, which are I guess playing on words meaning both the current era and a gift; the gift of course is the music they left for us. I'm sure I'm not the only devoted fan who is still waving their torch a decade later (after going through personal journeys, taste changes, broadening horizons and self-reinventions a million times over). They broke up really soon afterwards, maybe a week or two, and immediately I regretted not savouring every second of that show. The drive back in the middle of the night was more memorable, with a $2 tape of Galaxie 500 'This Is Our Music' stuck in the tape player and playing over and over. Anyway, I saved the sticker that was on the shrinkwrap when I bought this CD in 1998, and it just fell out of the CD booklet. Great press quotes here: "Mesmerising ... melancholy and pure." (Melody Maker). "Restraint. Intelligence. Control... the effect is monumental." (Raygun). But it's not just restraint and intelligence - it's emotional and soulful and impressionistic, just with a carefully chosen palette. Live forever, Bedhead - not to discount that Macha EP or the New Year, but this is where it peaked and then you flamed out as you should have.