Spork: TV on the Radio

Showing posts with label TV on the Radio. Show all posts

Monday, August 20, 2018

I'd Love to Turn You On #212 - TV on the Radio – Return to Cookie Mountain

Last Wednesday I witnessed one of those magical moments that can only happen at Red Rocks. TV on the Radio opened for Father John Misty and drew an impressive crowd so early in the night. As light began to fade from the sky about halfway through their set, vocalist Tunde Adebimpe mused in a playful sing-song voice, “I see the moon and the moon sees me.” The band gave the audience a moment to turn around and regard the crescent moon rising between the amphitheater’s rock formations before launching into a blistering rendition of their biggest hit, “Wolf Like Me.” Just as the moon triggers a supernatural transformation within the song, it played a key role in morphing the relatively subdued audience into an ecstatic, howling mass during the song. The enduring appeal of “Wolf Like Me” hints at what makes Return to Cookie Mountain, one of this young century’s greatest albums.

TV on the Radio built on the promise of their debut EP, Young Liars, and their dynamic first full-length album, Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes, and delivered a mind-blowing collection of genre-defying, cathartic songs with Return to Cookie Mountain. Looking back, I remember how much I looked forward to the release of Return to Cookie Mountain in the summer of 2006. Sure, I had enjoyed the band’s first couple of releases, but I had a feeling that this new album would help me get through the very challenging times I was going through personally and professionally. Well, the album certainly didn’t disappoint me and the opening track, “I Was a Lover,” provided a well-tailored soundtrack and a much needed outlet to transcend the miserable situation surrounding me. Through the orchestrated cacophony of an overdriven bass drum, a sorrowful horn sample, layers of glitchy distortion, and countless other sonic elements, Kyp Malone and Adebimpe inject passion and anguish into Malone’s brainy, surreal lyrics that capture the fever-dream paranoia that results from the implosion of a relationship. “Province” treads on similar thematic territory, but ascends with a tentative sense of hope and optimism for what the future holds. David Bowie joins Malone and Adebimpe on vocals for this song and not only helps create one of this band’s finest moments, but also marks a highlight among his late career collaborations. When the band played the Boulder Theater three years ago, Malone introduced “Blues from Down Here” by skewing the now common on-stage banter about legal marijuana in Colorado and asked the audience if they would seek justice for those who have been imprisoned under severe drug laws. This literal application of Malone’s harrowing metaphor within the song surprised me at the time, but has helped me appreciate the layers of meaning contained in this haunting perspective of isolation, oppression, and hopelessness.

As much as I love Return to Cookie Mountain, I have to admit that a lot of what makes it such an amazing work can also weigh it down if you’re not feeling up for taking the album’s emotional journeys. In 2008, when TV on the Radio released their next album, Dear Science, I was delighted that the band offered up a bright, beautiful set of songs as complex, innovative, and satisfying as their earlier work. Two of that album’s high points, “Golden Age” and “Lover’s Day,” feel like intentional counter-balances to the heaviness of Return to Cookie Mountain. In 2011, the band released Nine Types of Light, an album I’ve liked, but never really loved (a point I’ve had to debate repeatedly with a number of TVOTR fans over the years). Three years later, TV on the Radio’s fifth album, Seeds, won me back with a set of concise, polished, and upbeat songs proving that these remarkable musicians still have plenty of room for exploration and expression.

- John Parsell

Monday, July 24, 2017

I'd Love to Turn You On #184 - Grizzly Bear – Yellow House

In the fall of 2006, I struggled through the last year of my twenties trying to balance the demands of graduate school and the collapse of a five-year-long relationship in a small town in Vermont. Despite the exquisite autumn foliage, quaint locales, and charming New England characters surrounding me, I found myself at a low point with few breaks from the pressure, frustration, and loneliness I felt. Throughout my life, music has provided an outlet from my troubles and a path toward healing. Around this time, TV on the Radio released their second album, Return to Cookie Mountain, and offered the gift of an intense, gorgeous, and complicated album that soon became a personal favorite. Speaking of gifts, a few weeks later a friend bought me a ticket to see TV on the Radio in Boston. Preparing for the show, I noted the name of the opening band, Grizzly Bear, and wondered what they would sound like.

The trip to Boston allowed me a much needed interlude from Vermont and once I entered the venue I felt energized by the evening’s potential. Shortly after I arrived four young men took to the stage, announced themselves as Grizzly Bear and conjured an intricate, haunting, and mesmerizing collection of songs. All four band members contributed to the lush vocal harmonies woven into the songs and they cycled through a range instruments including clarinet, autoharp, banjo, and xylophone. At the end of their set, the band announced that they would be selling copies of their brand new sophomore album, Yellow House, at the merch table. TV on the Radio came on soon after and put on a brilliant performance that far surpassed my expectations. That night stands as one of the best combinations of opening act and headliner I’ve ever witnessed. After the show, I took Grizzly Bear up on their suggestion and bought a copy of Yellow House. The whole band worked the table and their enthusiasm for their new album was infectious. Return to Cookie Mountain had given me a vibrant, cathartic push through a tough fall, but Yellow House invited me to explore the elusive and delicate possibilities of the near future as I prepared for winter in Vermont. Each of the ten songs on Yellow House possesses a distinct identity, but I think of the album as a whole. The opening song “Easier” slowly builds through an evolution of disparate elements for over a full minute before coalescing into a spritely paced, densely layered introduction to the band’s unusual and compelling songcraft. Although the album begins with an airy feeling and light instrumentation, the closing song, “Colorado,” stirs low, heavy piano notes and pulsing percussion into a heavy, meditative storm as the phrase, “Colorado, what now?” repeats like an invocation until the song slowly reduces to the hushed, persistent beat of a drum.

In 2007, I saw Grizzly Bear tour in support of Yellow House two more times and each time I felt like I learned more about the songs and how they worked so well together. Two years later upon the release of their breakout third album, Veckatimest, the band played in a much larger venue and it was thrilling to see them thriving and enjoying the success of their hard work. In just a few weeks, Grizzly Bear will release their fifth studio album, Painted Ruins, and I’m eager to hear how the band has evolved in the five years since their last album, Shields. After I first became acquainted with Yellow House in New England, I lived in Oregon and back in my hometown in South Carolina before moving to Colorado a few years ago. Nearly eleven years later, I still feel like Yellow House has new things to tell me and I must admit that more and more I find myself wondering, “Colorado, what now?”

- John Parsell