Back in the 80’s a year like 2010 would have been imagined mostly in terms of jet-powered backpacks, robotic house servants, interstellar space travel, perhaps some sort of “beam me up” mechanism, basically one big, happy orgy of technology-propelled human contentment. Well I’m still waiting for my jet-powered backpack. In the meantime, I’m noticing that the “future” isn’t all it was cracked up to be. Turns out our natural resources are not inexhaustible after all. We’ve got pollution issues, energy shortages, mind-numbing commercialism on one end and shameless exploitation of human labor on the other. As for technology, it has its advantages, sure, but some would say it’s having troubling effects on old school human interaction. Okay, so here’s the good news: Gorillaz is part of this future as well and they’re here now with their third album, Plastic Beach, a sprawling modern musical collaboration, eclectically sourced yet tightly focused, sonically ambitious and legitimately poetic, not just a “concept” album but a sustained artistic statement about the major themes of our times. The “plastic beach,” it seems, could be a massive floating island of garbage in the middle of the ocean. Jamie Hewlett’s cover artwork shows the plastic refuse rising up into a mushroom-cloud shaped mountain which supports some sort of tacky architectural monstrosity that might well occupy the hills over the Malibu coast. A superficial show of wealth built on the most questionable of foundations. I wouldn’t wanna be gridlocked on PCH when it all comes crashing down. But if I was I’d very likely be listening to this album.

Plastic Beach may not be as emotionally resonant as LCD Soundsystem’s The Sound of Silver and it may not be quite as musically ground-breaking as Radiohead’s Kid A, but it’s in the ballpark, and that’s saying something. Like those two modern masterpieces, Plastic Beach, for all of its identifiable influences, sounds like the future. Damon Albarn, the musical maestro behind Gorillaz, creates complex but sneaky-catchy electronic soundscapes and balances out his technology-heavy approach by bringing in some of the world’s most distinctive human voices. Snoop Dogg kicks it off on “Welcome to the World of the Plastic Beach” and is followed by a parade of world class vocalists like Mos Def, Bashy and Kano, De La Soul, Gruff Rhys, Lou Reed, Bobby Womack and the Japanese singer Yukimi Nagano. On “Superfast Jellyfish” De La Soul and Gruff Rhys offer a hilariously funky take on fast-food consumption. Nagano stands out on a pair of great duets with Albarn including the dreamy “To Binge,” which sounds like space age bachelor pad music for Leonard Cohen fans. Former Clash guitarist Mick Jones makes a notable appearance as well, laying down a stellar intro to “Plastic Beach.” And then there’s Albarn himself taking the reins on some of the album’s best tracks, including “Rhinestone Eyes.” Through it all, the album takes an uncompromising look at everything from environmental degradation to sweatshop workers to the impact of technology on human relationships. On “Broken” Albarn sings, “It’s by the light/Of the plasma springs/ We keep switched on/All through the night while we sleep…And the space has been broken/Broken/ Our love/ Broken.” But there’s a notable strain of optimism as well. For all the technological prowess of Albarn’s sound, there’s always a human voice straining to break through, none more human than Bobby Womack, alone on “Cloud of Unknowing,” when he sings, “Every satellite up here is watching/But I was here from the very start/Trying to find a way to your heart.” Turns out the future isn’t about jet-powered backpacks after all. It’s about trying to get back to where we started.

-Chris Marakovitz

MARAKOVITZ.COM

The dreaded sophomore album. No easy task for the young artist. After blowing away critics and fans alike with their sensational debut Oracular Spectacular in 2008, MGMT now returns with their follow-up effort Congratulations. As the saying goes, a band has an entire lifetime to write their first album and six months, maybe a year, to write their next. Beyond the creative challenge there’s also the general weirdness of overnight commercial success, particularly for younger types firmly invested in the self-image and outward identity of the bohemian outsider. All of a sudden there’s mass acclaim. Limousines, groupies, sycophants swirling about. In other words precisely what MGMT fantasized about in 2008’s “Time to Pretend.” Be careful what you wish for, MGMT. Now the pressure’s on.

Of course rock is full of historical precedents when it comes to approaching the sophomore album after a smashing debut. The first option is to confirm your artistic genius and staying power by creating a second album as good or better than the first (Led Zeppelin, Joy Division, Beastie Boys). Much less desirable is the possibility of whiffing entirely and fading rapidly into obscurity (Violent Femmes). There are those who have pretty much driven themselves crazy trying to find their way after a classic debut (Axl Rose) and those who have continued to produce good work while carefully pulling back from the precipice of mainstream rock stardom (Pearl Jam). And then there’s the Liz Phair approach. After provoking an avalanche of critical acclaim with her debut opus Exile in Guyville in 1993 (Pitchfork ranks it is as the fifth best album of the decade), Phair said of her 1994 follow-up Whip-Smart, “I made sure it wasn’t shitty, but I didn’t worry about whether it was, like, A+.”

This seems, in a nutshell, to be the approach that MGMT has applied to their own follow-up effort. There’s nothing here as boldly original and exciting as Oracular Spectacular’s “Time to Pretend,” “Kids” or even “Electric Feel.” Rather, Congratulations is at times appealingly understated and at other times maybe a bit underwhelming. Still, there’s nothing here that changes the overall impression of MGMT as one of the better young bands of their generation. It’s just that the pleasures of Congratulations are a little less ecstatic, a little more subtle, and, yes, a little less frequent than those of Oracular Spectacular. Cases in point: “It’s Working” and “Someone’s Missing,” neither of which grabs you from the beginning but both of which build up to some unexpected and sneaky-good flourishes.

In other cases MGMT seem to be quoting even more directly from their influences than they did on album one, admittedly a troubling trend. On “Brian Eno” they come right out and name a song after one of their musical idols. Several other songs on the album might well have been named after artists who obviously inspired them as well. “Lady Dada’s Nightmare” could have been called “Floydian Instrumental Interlude.” At times MGMT even acknowledge their influences with winking lyrical references. “Flash Delirium” is pure Bowie and when Andrew VanWyngarden sings: “sue the spiders,” a nod to Ziggy and the Spiders from Mars, it seems more likely that the spiders would sue MGMT for robbing their musical schtick. Still, if “Flash Delirium” is a Bowie rip off, it’s a damn good one, as in, like, it’s almost as good as Bowie. That’s more than enough to make it the best song on the album.

The 12 minute plus “Siberian Breaks,” on the other hand, is a bit on the meandering side, and probably not quite as epic as the band might have intended. It’s a twisting, turning ride leaning at one point in the direction of seventies folk-rock with a shout-out to the Mamas and Papas followed by a Leonard Cohen tribute so dead-on as to border on imitation (“Oh Marianne pass the joint,” sings VanWyngarden). It’s also here where the band begins to deal with the ramifications of their overnight success: “Wide open arms can feel so cold/And you can sit beside me and tell me what it’s worth/But I hope I die before I get sold.” But it’s with the mellow groove of the title track that closes the album where VanWyngarden really lays it out: “It’s hardly sink or swim/When all is well if the ticket sells/Out with a whimper/It’s not a blaze of glory/You look down from your temple/And people endeavor to make it a story.” So maybe MGMT’s sophomore effort isn’t a blaze of glory, but nobody’s suggesting they vacate the temple just yet.

The recent release of “The Promise: The Darkness of Edge of Town Story” confirms something that I have suspected for some time now. Whether we’re talking about the outtakes from the “Darkness” sessions, the remastered original songs, Thom Zimny’s outstanding documentary on the making of the album, or the live dvd’s of the tour that followed, “The Promise” paints a picture of Bruce Springsteen not only as a great American artist, but, quite possibly, THE great American artist.

Think about it.

He has lived the quintessential American life. Born into poverty on the east coast, he poured every ounce of youthful energy he had into his art, his music, maintaining his integrity along the way and still managing, despite himself, to get filthy rich. He has written about the Jersey shore, serenaded New York city, walked the “Streets of Philadelphia,” taken us with him on stark rides through Youngstown, Ohio and the state of “Nebraska,” summoned the “Ghost of Tom Joad,” climbed the fence at Elvis’ house in Memphis, stopped in a little café down San Diego way, sung about immigrants traveling “Across the Border,” wound up with a big ‘ole house in Beverly Hills and then gone full circle, returning home as a whopping success and settling back on the farm in New Jersey where he now resides. It is the living embodiment of the mythical hero’s journey. Along the way, Springsteen has covered every nook and cranny of this grand country, first as vagabond youth, a troubadour with a guitar on his back, and, later, as a superstar, a rich man touring in style. Is there any American artist who has played so many legendary shows in such diverse venues, ranging from small bars like the Student Prince in Asbury Park and Max’s Kansas City in New York to MadisonSquareGarden, every other basketball arena in the country, and on to the even larger shows at places like FenwayPark and Giants Stadium? He has proven the diversity of his talent, playing riveting Dylanesque solo acoustic shows as well as rocking stadiums of 60,000 with the E Street Band behind him, electrifying crowds and eliciting guttural screams from women that would make Elvis himself blush. He has navigated various levels of popularity, beginning with critical acclaim, a cult-following, reaching the front pages of “Time” and “Newsweek,” achieving mass popularity and fame in the 80’s, and now settling into a role as an esteemed elder statesmen of rock n roll, his audience more limited but completely devoted.

Thematically, Springsteen has covered every important point along the American terrain as well. His music offers a perfect balance between a uniquely American romanticism, the American capacity to dream, and a confrontation with the flipside of the American dream, the experience of being disappointed, of having those youthful dreams go unrealized. He often attributes this dichotomy to the opposing personalities of his parents: his father, a bitterly disappointed man, and his mother, the more lighthearted and joyous soul. Two of his greatest albums, “Born to Run” and “Darkness on the Edge of Town,” epitomize this sense of balance. The first of these albums, written when Springsteen was 24 years old, offers perhaps the greatest ever musical expression of youthful American yearning, exhilarating, inspiring, and full of expectations so grand that they border on the hallucinatory. What can be more American than this? On “Darkness,” meanwhile, Springsteen realized that he had to answer for the fact that dreams don’t always come true. It was on songs like “Racing in the Street” that he first began to explore the feelings of disappointment and economic marginalization that he knew so well from his own childhood. There is still hope on this album, but the point is clearly made that you have to fight for what you want in this life. You have to work for it. As he sang in “The Promised Land:” “There’s a dark cloud rising from the desert floor/ I packed my bags and I’m heading straight into the storm/ Gonna be a twister that blows everything down/ That ain’t got the faith to stand its ground.” Springsteen has sung his about this faith repeatedly in his music, and he has demonstrated it in his own life.

Later, on “The River,” a double album, Springsteen continued to weave songs of longing and disappointment (the title song, “Point Blank,” “Stolen Car”) with lighthearted party songs (“Out in the Streets,” “Sherry Darling”). Dad and mom both represented. On “Hungry Heart,” meanwhile, his first radio hit of any significance, Springsteen pioneered a technique that would become a hallmark of his songwriting: a story of loneliness and alienation wrapped within an upbeat, catchy musical package. This technique was perfected on “Born in the USA,” an album that stands the test of time remarkably well. At the time it was difficult to gauge the depth and quality of so many of these songs for the simple reason that they were all so popular. Most notably on the title song, but also on cuts like “I’m Going Down,” “Downbound Train,” “Cover Me,” and “Dancing in the Dark,” chart-topping melodies provided clever disguises for the darker themes pulsing through the lyrics. Those who have heard more recent Springsteen albums, such as “Magic,” may note this songwriting technique on display once again.

In crowning Springsteen as the greatest American artist I am also taking into account the popularity of his work and its penetration of the collective psyche. Surely there are many great American artists, ranging from Emily Dickinson, William Faulkner, and Ernest Hemingway to Jackson Pollack and Mark Rothko. But how many Americans can quote a line from any of these authors or have seen the work of these painters? On the other hand, just mention the lines, “The screen door slams, Mary dress waves,” and see how many people smile and nod in recognition. I will also submit that the best of Springsteen’s work holds up in artistic quality to the names mentioned above. After all, is there really a greater American poem than “Thunder Road?”

You can hide ‘neath your covers

And study your pain

Make crosses from your lovers

Throw roses in the rain

Waste your summer praying in vain

For a savior to rise from these streets

Well I’m no hero

That’s understood

All the redemption I can offer, girl

Is beneath this dirty hood

With a chance to make it good somehow

Hey what else can we do now

Except roll down the window

And let the wind blow back your hair

Well the night’s busting open

These two lanes will take us anywhere…

I could go on, both in this song and in songs like “Born to Run” among many others, but you get the idea. The point is that no artist has lived a more quintessentially heroic American life. And no artist has expressed the ups and downs, the ins and outs, of the American experience as fully and completely as Bruce Springsteen. Who among us has not dreamed big dreams in youth and then struggled with the disappointment and disillusionment of not having things work out precisely as planned? Who has not wrestled with these situations, trying to figure out how and when to let go of youthful dreams, or how and when to hold onto them? Who among us has not enjoyed and celebrated the camaraderie of great friendships and relationships at certain times and then wrestled with feelings of isolation and alienation at other times? All of these points along the spectrum of American experience find powerful and meaningful expression in Springsteen’s music.

When I was much younger, for example, I never really understood or appreciated a song like “Dancing in the Dark.” The concept didn’t resonate with me. At that stage in my life I understood “Born to Run” and “Prove it All Night” and “The Promised Land.” But “Dancing in the Dark?” What’s that all about? Now, in my late 30’s, just a few years older than Springsteen was when he wrote the song, it occurs to me that this song offers the perfect image for a generation of people that have stayed single far later in life than any generation in the history of the human race. Sure you have your freedom, but what does it really matter without some kind of meaningful connection to a lover, to friends, to some sense of community? I have a bootleg of a Springsteen concert from the “Tunnel of Love” tour where, before launching into a haunting acoustic rendition of “Born to Run,” he talks about trying to live up to the promise of that song, of the fact that he had “put all those people in all those cars” and now he needed to figure out a place for them all to go. That’s the beauty of Bruce Springsteen right there, a willingness not only to dream big, but to face the ups and downs and consequences of that journey, that great American ride, for better or worse.

Just a few miles from Spaceland in Silverlake there’s surely a couple of Hollywood suits spending ridiculous amounts of money on bottle service in the VIP section of some swanky club. Elijah Jones, leader of the Atlanta band The Constellations, and I are enjoying our own version of bottle service. The bottles are a couple of forties from a nearby 7-Eleven (Fat Tire for him, Asahi for me) and the VIP section is the back end of The Constellations’ travel van, makeshift dressing room and all-purpose home on wheels otherwise known as the Velvet Panda.

One look around the not-so-plush interior of the Panda and you know Elijah Jones isn’t in it for the money. He’s not in it for the chicks either- his girlfriend Shab Bashiri is a singer in the band. He makes little or no mention of achieving international fame, attaining worldwide musical dominance, or someday starting a clothing line. He’s living completely in the moment, excited about tonight’s performance, about the music he’s creating, the people he’s working with, and the road life he so clearly thrives on.

And as far as I can tell he’s happier than a pig in you-know-what.

As a child his mother used play him the intro to “Layla” on the piano and his father was a Baptist preacher. Watching The Constellations onstage it’s apparent that he’s inherited more than his share of musical talent- and he’s got a bit of the preacher in him as well. Actually, preacher doesn’t quite describe it. He’s more like a shaman, refusing to accept anything less than the provocation of an absolute unholy frenzy among his bandmates and anyone else with a pulse who happens to be in the immediate vicinity.   

Then again, it’s not like the rest of The Constellations are lacking for inspiration. Keyboard player Jamie Gordon hovers over his ivory machine like a man possessed, venturing forth now and again to give the cow bell a rhythmic beat down. Bass player Wes Hoffman is a sight to behold, strutting around the stage like a latter day John Belushi with an afro the likes of which haven’t been seen on a white man in these parts since the MC5 rolled through town in 1972, all the while laying down beats so fundamental to the band’s sound that they’re more like frontbeats than backbeats. If there’s such a thing as a “lead bassist” Hoffman is surely that. Drummer Nackers is often frontal to the group’s sound as well, joining with Hoffman on songs like “Setback” to pound home vicious “Tomorrow Never Knows”-like pulsations. Guitarists Trevor Birdsong and Ryan Franklin fill the gaps with perfectly timed funk flourishes. And last but certainly not least, Bashiri and Alaina Terry are much more than window dressing, though they do provide a welcome bit of eye candy. Bashiri and Terry may be backup singers but they’re very much in the foreground of the live show, providing a dreamy 60’s feel that is essential to “Setback” and laying important mood-setting sonic foundations for Jones to riff off on “We’re Here to the Save the Day” and “Weighing Me Down.” In the middle of at all is Jones, the vortex around which all else swirls. Let’s just say this isn’t a band lacking for energy or onstage theatrics.

In a memorable set at Spaceland on Monday night The Constellations flashed a musical style that might best be described as 60’s psychedelia meets hip hop with healthy doses of guitar funk, soul and punk rock attitude mixed in. It’s a testament to the band’s overall chemistry that so many eclectic influences and talented musicians can come together in such a cohesive manner. On songs like “Felicia” the band demonstrates a strong pop sensibility. In fact, “Felicia,” is downright infectious, the kind of tune that you can’t get out of your head after you hear it once or twice.  This seems fitting, since the song is about a girl you wouldn’t easily forget either- the kind of girl your mom warned you about and your dad dreamed about. Not surprisingly it’s the first single in the U.S. off the band’s forthcoming album Southern Gothic, scheduled for release June 22 (although “Felicia” as well as “Setback” are currently available on iTunes as singles.)

For all the sense of fun that the band conveys in playing these songs, their music also bears the mark of a dark and dirty southern influence as well. “Setback” gives strong indication of this, with Jones playing the role of the street poet, identifying with the grift and grime of his beloved Atlanta. Jones has a way of celebrating and even romanticizing the desperate characters of the street that is reminiscent of early Springsteen. This came across loud and clear on the Monday night closer “Step Right Up,” which Jones introduced with an intentionally maniacal laughing scream and which culminated with all kinds of sinister mayhem breaking loose onstage. It’s something that Jones re-wrote from a song originally created by Tom Waits- the artist he most respects and admires among his many influences.

Before including the song on Southern Gothic, Jones had to get the green light from Waits himself. Although they never met in person, Waits requested copies of the song and lyrics before eventually giving his okay. Imagine being an artist in any genre and gaining such a stamp of approval from your biggest hero. Now that’s satisfaction that bottle service can’t buy.

At 117,000 miles, the Velvet Panda is on its last legs, but The Constellations will be going strong in the coming months, hitting the festival circuit in their new van, already christened the Vanna White, with stops at Bonnaroo and Lollapalooza among others scheduled along the way.

Life is like a movie. We’re all writer/director/stars of our own unfolding narrative. This being the case, your music collection is nothing less than the soundtrack to your life. And like any good story, yours needs a love interest. Or at least a date every now and then. And when you do have this date, it might behoove you to give some thought to the appropriate musical accompaniment. No reason to be nervous, just sit back and let the music be  your guide…

Part I: Pre-Date Tunes

There’s a lot to be said for mental preparation. Rather than just wandering aimlessly from one situation in life to the next, feel free to take a few moments to focus on the matter at hand. So you’ve got a date tonight…presumably you’ll be taking a shower, choosing an outfit, combing your hair, all that good stuff, and you’ll need some music to listen to in the process. The right selection here can put you in the ideal state of mind for romantic success. The wrong one can set the stage for disaster. Avoid anything too deep or dark, anything that reminds you of ex-girlfriends or personal failure of any kind. Keep it light, upbeat, but not over the top. This is not the time for the “Rocky” theme or AC/DC’s “Hell’s Bells.”  Satanic imagery is not good for the pre-date psyche. We’re looking for something that reinforces the required self-image: suave, debonair, laid back but totally in charge. That’s you. Here are some musical suggestions (in reverse order) that can help take you there:

2. Sinatra – Key Songs: “My Way”; “Summer Wind.”

Now we’re venturing into the rarefied air of pre-date listening. Not only does Sinatra’s music take you where you need to be, but the man himself personifies what we’re going for…Francis Albert Sinatra. Now that’s someone you can channel as you head off into the night. All swagger and attitude. Warmth and romance without an ounce of sentimentality. Feeling a little pre-date anxiety? Let it drift away with the warm Summer Wind. Now go out and do it your way.

1. Joao Gilberto & Stan Getz – Key Song: “Girl from Ipanema.”

Stan Getz may not be as hip as Sinatra, but he’s plenty hip himself. More than close enough to suit our purposes here. Start off with “Girl From Ipanema” and let it go from there. Soak it in. The Brazilian bossa nova. A sublime dose of Latin romance. The musical personification of cool. This music is so cool that anyone who listens to it automatically becomes cool. It’s impossible not to. Picture yourself negotiating your date like a Getz sax solo: effortless, mysterious, self-assured, playful, timelessly sexy.