Andre’s Posture

I am back on the Mau!

Deadmau5 - The 16th Hour

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Kelly Clarkson - Since U Been Gone (Live)

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Kelly Clarkson - Since U been Gone (Live).mp3 (3095 KB)

I'm quite surprized at how good she is live.

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My my my - Armand Van Helden (Stone Bridge remix)

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MyMyMy (StoneBridge Remix) [High quality].mp3 (3288 KB)

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Epic shit! : mUSER - Thought Loop

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mUSER___Thought_Loop_ee7cf378d55b49b775801074c6ef9e25_stream.mp3 (8221 KB)

This artist is why I became a regular at thesixtyone.com. Epic!

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Sinead O'Connor - The Lion and the Cobra

She’s always been like this: unconventional, abrasive, outspoken, hard-headed, ever so slightly obtuse... It seems Sinéad O’Connor was never quite geared for pop stardom. In an industry where most value job security over artistic freedom, the young Sister Bernadette seemed determined to dismantle her career before it had even started.

For example, Ensign originally planned to market O’Connor as a sex symbol, as would seem logical for any attractive nineteen year-old; in response, the insolent girl experimented with a number of hairstyles before finally shaving it all off, a decision she justified with the infamous words, ”hair's a fashion statement and I don't want to make one.” Later, believing that the label and producer Mick Glossop (Van Morrison, Public Image Ltd., The Skids) had pushed her music into a traditional Irish shell, she had four months of recordings scrapped on the eve of the scheduled mixing, branding Glossop "a fucking old hippy" on his way out. Finally, seven months pregnant (by the drummer, naturally) and resisting pressure to abort, she took the task of producing the album upon herself- a task and a half for any twenty year-old, let alone a soon-to-be single mother with barely any previous recording experience to her name.

Of course, assuming her “fashion statement” line was sincere, it was silly of her to assume such a move wouldn’t prejudice the way her music was perceived; her hairlessness brought the inevitable accusations of lesbianism (which she later confirmed, shortly before getting married for the second time, to a man.) Even that most esteemed (and always credible) of publications Rolling Stone got in on the act, declaring, “Sinéad O'Connor's first album comes on like a banshee wail across the bogs” as if it actually meant something. That assessment does, however, touch upon the most striking aspect of O’Connor’s early music- that voice. Untrained but beautifully controlled, emotionally and physically powerful and defying convention, it’s as hard now as then to pinpoint exactly where it comes from: her vocal strength undoubtedly stems from her background in jazz, while her heavily ornamented, arythmical and occasionally off-key solo spots have precedent in the Irish sean nós style. But in pop terms her closest (still distant) reference point is Kate Bush, one of few other pop artists willing to force change in the relationship between pitch, key and acceptability.

The music, in comparison, is simple to translate. There are clear elements of contemporary post punk pop music, art rock and glam rock, but the most explicitly referenced artist is Prince. The majority of the tracks have strong pop backing but are at once progressive, making heavy use of electronic beats (courtesy of John Reynolds) and synthesisers (Mike Clowes) in a style that recalls the second half of the tiny man’s 1999 and subsequent recordings. ‘I Want Your Hands (On Me),’ one of two “standard” pop songs on the record, is the type of funk-pop song only a white person could produce: sexually-charged, sweaty and… a little bit uncomfortable- it’s the sonic precursor to ‘Batdance.’ Yet, while The Lion And The Cobra features occasionally stunning instrumentals, it’s Sinéad’s voice, and particularly the way she arranges the tracks around that voice, that makes it such an outstanding record.

Prince may still be considered the master of progressive pop music, however I’d be inclined to argue there’s one major technique he was never fully able to avail of- dynamics. Kicking mic-stands might induce the odd deafening explosion, but leave it to Sinéad to go ahead burst eardrums the old-fashioned way- at points, even the best recording equipment 1986 had to offer couldn’t cope with the power and intensity of her performance. O’Connor is still one of the few rock musicians of recent times to truly understand how powerful the volume dynamic can be, provided it’s intelligently done. It compliments perfectly her lyrical themes, which revolve around confused and isolated characters whose emotions are as fragile and as fleeting as her own, such as the character of ‘Jackie,’ a ghost that wanders the shore long after her death waiting in vain for her seafaring lover to return, as she had in life. ‘Troy’ is an adventure in itself, contrasting Dublin’s urban setting with historical Troy, which she uses as a metaphor for the most callous of betrayals, crying ”the flames burned away, but you’re still spitting fire.”

Certainly, she’s the only one capable of exploiting the quiet-loud dynamic with the power of her voice alone and not a distortion pedal or laboured string section. Sinéad here proves herself capable of moving tirelessly between alto and soprano registers, soft and breathy one minute, euphorically belting the next. This is nowhere more aptly demonstrated than one the six-minute surprise single ‘Troy,’ which sees the singer transform a barely audible whine to a series of mock crescendos half-way through, before finally giving away to abandon in the closing phrases. ‘Troy’ is merely the most thrilling example: The Lion And The Cobra as a whole plays like a Hitchcock soundtrack, or even an entire film festival. Undoubtedly, suspenseful film music makes its mark on the album somehow, whether as a direct or borrowed influence. On ‘Never Get Old,’ Sinéad uses her voice as a makeshift violin, mimicking the classic “screeching strings,” and elsewhere is masterful at manipulating the listener’s emotions merely by adjusting the volume of her voice.

While far from technically perfect, Sinead was and is an incredibly gifted singer; later albums would see her develop immensely as a more “straight-forward” vocalist, however The Lion And The Cobra is a stunning example of pure expression, a singer with the exceptional ability to maximise her own capabilities. For instance, ‘Drink Before The War’ sees Sinéad hold a single note for extended periods without a variation in pitch (barring the odd glitch), yet the very fact she’s less than perfectly trained (in essence, human) makes it sound pained, almost primal. Conversely, on ‘Jerusalem’ she fashions an entire chorus from one word, uttering the four syllables in a continuous and melodic burst showing that she need not be limited, melodically, by a single word or phrase.

The Lion And The Cobra is an intense experience, an album that’s almost impossible to listen to casually- if it doesn’t draw the listener in, it’s likely to lose their interest completely. There is some respite to be had, however: ‘Mandinka’ was a hit upon its release and, while overshadowed by ‘Nothing Compares 2 U,’ remains a classic. In contrast to most of the tracks on the album, it’s extremely simple, based upon the classic major I-V-IV pop progression- however it’s also very cleverly produced. For a start, the main hook is the chord progression itself: the vocal melody wanders but the chorus is never the central element; the bass is cleverly separated from the drums and doubles the guitar track, bringing in a quasi-funky element. Most importantly, it exposes the pop undercurrent that runs through her work without emphasising the erratic nature of her vocal performance.

‘I Want Your (Hands On Me)’ and ‘Just Call Me Joe’ are the other two anomalies: both featuring Sinéad’s most relaxed vocal performances, and the latter the first indication of what was to follow on 1990’s I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got, although it was in fact written by guitarist Kevin Mooney under the pseudonym “Black Moon E.” That second album is generally regarded by critics as her finest effort (unusual, as critics tend to prefer the rawer, “before she was famous”-type albums), but the majority of Sinéad fans regard The Lion And The Cobra as her most distinguished product- emotionally honest; perfect by merely being imperfect.

It’s no coincidence that of the two major female rock artists to emerge since the early 90s: Shania Twain is a country singer, and Alanis Morissette is profoundly influenced by Sinéad O’Connor (leading to the conclusion that two-thirds of all women are Canadian and the other third are bald?) The initial impact she made both as a musician and a female musician have never really been improved upon, however her influence can be heard across the board in contemporary Irish music (ask Damien Rice), and The Lion And The Cobra will, I’m sure, one day be held in the esteem that it commands.

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sinead_20o_27connor_20-_20jerusalem.mp3 (4068 KB)

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I used to cry when I heard this...no longer...Win or maybe I don't get that drunk anymore

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09 Track 9.mp3 (4837 KB)

Image via Wikipedia

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Growing - Like a prayer - Tori Amos A tribute

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Under rug Swept - Alanis Morissette --last post of this kind

Cover of Under Rug Swept

Precious Illusions - Alanis Morissette
Hands Clean - Alanis Morissette

Looking for an icebreaker when you meet that possibly special someone? Here's one from Alanis Morissette: "Do you have a big intellectual capacity but know that it alone does not equate wisdom?" That's one of the "21 Things I Want in a Lover," the power-chorded personal ad that opens Under Rug Swept, Morissette's latest grapple with the ups and downs of love. And it's not the only song on the album to suggest that her dream date would be Deepak Chopra.

The avenging banshee who sang "You Oughta Know" in 1995, complete with its boast about going down on her ex in a theater, has mellowed on Under Rug Swept, though she's still busting taboos. The album title comes from lyrics in its lead single, "Hands Clean," an apparently matter-of-fact reminiscence of underage sex with a music-business mentor, an affair "under rug swept." As if to insist it's autobiographical, the song's video clip shows Morissette being groomed for her early stardom in Canada as a big-haired teeny-pop doll. Verses taking the man's role urge her to "overlook this supposed crime"; in the chorus, she announces, "I have honored your request for silence." Until now, that is. (How long is that statute of limitations, anyway?)

With Under Rug Swept, Morissette is mentor-free. After the two multiplatinum studio albums she made with Glen Ballard as producer and songwriting collaborator, Morissette wrote and produced the new album on her own. Sonically, she has learned all she needs. The music is brawny and meticulous, a further refinement of the tracks she created with Ballard on Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. She concocts folk rock driven by hip-hop beats, ballads that build without getting gooey and hard rock aswirl with psychedelia.

The keyboards and acoustic guitars sparkle; electric guitars jab hard-rock chords and seethe with distortion. Most of all, Morissette understands her voice as both emollient and irritant. She makes it quiver delicately with nervousness and seesaw between vulnerability and resolve. She uses her nasal edge to slice up a self-absorbed guy in "Narcissus," then comes up with the perfect whine, multiplied in an overdubbed chorus, as she wonders, "Why, why, do I try to change you?"

While she applies her musical skills to songs about love, they don't exactly add up to love songs. After "21 Things," the album examines romantic calamities: the little rejections that cause her to feel "So Unsexy," the ex-boyfriend who can still make her "Flinch." Then come successes: the reluctant guy who overcomes his misgivings in "Surrendering," a promise of unconditional love in "You Owe Me Nothing in Return." The album concludes with a wistful, waltzing vision of a perfectly understanding world, "Utopia," in which Morissette becomes an airy Celtic choir.

The need, the obstacles, the compassion, the happy ending -- this is the structure of self-help books and talk shows, and unfortunately it seems that Morissette has been consuming them wholesale. Under Rug Swept just about drowns in psychobabble. While the tone of the songs, and the grain of Morissette's voice, promise intimacy, there's hardly a private detail anywhere. Any glimmer of lived experience or everyday imagery - the antibiotics in "Thank U," the refrigerator light in "Not the Doctor" - has been rarefied into abstractions, with enough cliches for a season of Oprah.

Try "Precious Illusions," as she intones, "I want to decide between survival and bliss/And though I know who I'm not/I still don't know who I am/But I know I won't keep on playing the victim." Or "That Particular Time," a serenely spacious hymn carrying a prosaic payoff: "I kept on ignoring the ambivalence you felt/And in the meantime I lost myself." Lines like that might provide some perspective if there were a story to go with them, but there is none. Even "Hands Clean" holds not a hint of Lolita guilt, forbidden passion or resentment; compared to her furious take on the same situation in "Right Through You," on Jagged Little Pill, it's downright clinical.

Morissette has always had a vague, jargon-slinging side, but on past albums she offset it with raw confessions. Under Rug Swept doesn't bother to get off the couch, and its final track, "Utopia," sounds like an eternal group-therapy session, where "we would share and listen and support and welcome." The paradox is that as Morissette talks herself into self-esteem and deep, shared love, she numbs her own wayward individuality.

Zemanta helped me add links & pictures to this email. It can do it for you too.

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Alanis%20Morrisette%20-%20Precious%20Illusions.mp3 (3932 KB)

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0001-Alanis Morissette-Under Rug Swept-03-Hands Clean.mp3 (10590 KB)

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This all started with me sitting in a bar minding my own business...

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alanis morisette - thank you.mp3 (4062 KB)

When Alanis started singing this song, Thank U, a song that has never really spoken to me before nor for which I used to care much about...but I guess now it is a different  story...
Well, anyway, this is what Rolling Stone had to say about the album, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie...

No, no, Alantis – thank you. And you, too, Jewel. When Alanis Morissette first showed up with "You Oughta Know," she got pigeonholed as That Angry Chick in the Theater. But as Jagged Little Pill spun off hit after hit, Alanis became a livelier radio presence than anyone could've guessed, with a wise-ass twist on Seventies-style soft rock. Ballads like "Ironic" established her as the new Carole King, dreaming up sweet seasons for yet another generation of continuous lite favorites. And Jewel was right behind her, singing acoustic ballads of love, loss and PJs on Pieces of You. Together, Alanis and Jewel can take credit for opening up the radio to a quiet storm of excellent soft-rock hits like Jann Arden's "Insensitive," Merril Bainbridge's "Mouth," Meredith Brooks' "Bitch" and Lisa Loeb's "I Do." What a great Rhino compilation they'll make someday – It's Like Ten Thousand Spoons When All You Need Is a Knife: Mellow Nineties Gold.

Morissette calls her follow-up Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie, and in case you can't tell from the title, she's not big on false modesty. She makes claims on hard rock, soft rock, spacey drum loops and harmonica solos, all while flaunting her titanic pop ambition and updating us on her latest spiritual journeys. Trying to read Alanis' mind is like trying to follow the plot of an Elvis movie – you have to let both artists just clobber you with their unmitigated showbiz gall, and Alanis is one megastar who knows how to translate her gall into dynamic rock & roll. It's her party, and she'll thank India if she wants to. "Thank U" could've been a pretentious disaster, but instead it's a pretentious stroke of brilliance – she finds something shockingly smart to say about her spiritual crises, riding an indelible Eighties AOR synth hook and wailing like Robert Plant stealing "Kashmir" back from Jimmy Page and Puffy. When she sings "Thank you, India/Thank you, Providence," it's a quintessentially Alanistic moment – you can't be sure whether she's bowing down to divine providence or to the city in Rhode Island where they drink Narragansett beer, and it sounds fabulous either way.

Morissette co-produced Junkie herself with regular collaborator Glen Ballard, and she obviously has fun twiddling the knobs in the psychedelic rant "Front Row." The dense music complements the peaceful vibe of the lyrics. She sings a couple of sympathetic odes to her parents, and in "Unsent" she reads forgiving letters to all the boys she's loved before. Since the ex-boyfriends appear by first name, you can play "You're So Vain" with the song. But the boldest, sweetest statement here is the muted ballad "That I Would Be Good," a self-esteem pep talk that closes with a flute-solo coda. Alanis plays her own flute solo, and she works her ass off to get it right, breathing too hard between the notes, but she wins you over with her sheer daring; it isn't every day that a megastar comes right out and auditions for you.

Jewel sure makes a colorful pop star, and if she isn't in Morissette's class as a song crafter, she's got her own style of musical comfort food. When Spirit is good, it's like a steaming bowl of instant macaroni and cheese; when it's bad, it's like the same macaroni and cheese two hours later. Unfortunately, Spirit does a poor job of showing off Jewel's star quality, displaying none of her chutzpah, charm or humor. The strongest songs here are the sentimental love ballads in the mode of her biggest and best hit, "You Were Meant for Me." "Jupiter," "Kiss the Flame" and "Enter From the East" sum up the Jewel school of romance, with flames, shadows, starry starry nights and mysterious men of the land. The spare acoustic sound suits these scenarios, and Jewel comes up with a classic seduction line: "My heart has four empty rooms/Three wait for lightning, and one waits for you." It's such a good line that she can't resist recycling it four songs later, and you don't even mind.

Jewel's sincere sentiment has its attractions in a time of irony overload; she plays John Denver to Dylanesque tricksters like Courtney Love and Beck. But John Denver was sensible enough to stick to catchy songs about country roads and rocky mountains, while Jewel spends most of Spirit straining for grand meaning-of-life statements. She keeps railing against the world for not being as sentimental as she is, and nothing ruins perfectly good pop sentimentality like getting preachy about it. Garbled tirades like "Innocence Maintained" take forever to say nothing in particular – something about how niceness is better than not-niceness, with not-niceness being your fault – and the music is too flat to help. Despite the presence of Madonna producer Patrick Leonard, Spirit rehashes the sound and mood of Pieces of You, not a good sign for a young artist overdue to move to the grown-ups' table. Jewel is clearly counting on long-term stardom, and she's ambitious enough to learn new tricks if she needs them to stay on top, which, on the evidence of Spirit, she does. She should pick up some tricks from her fellow Class of '95 grad Alanis Morissette, who proves that soft-rock ingénues can conquer adulthood on their own eccentric terms – and make some noise when they get there.via

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I had great sex.....

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06 what is love.mp3 (5268 KB)

to this tune in the 90's!

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