Musically Uplifting, Mentally Vacuous. A 311 Fan’s Bitter Review of Uplifter

I remember when I started to get into 311. It was the summer of 2002, the legendary love song “Amber” had hit the radios with its lush golden sunset tropical reggae-fied beauty, and like so many other teens and teeny-boppers at the time, my love affair with 311 had commenced. I remember being in Minnesota and loading Soundystem on to our family friends’ soundystem, and rocking out like I never had before.

Listening to the song “Freeze Time” was like awakening in some futuristic city of eternal summertime; although the album was already some five years old at that time, it sounded more musically modern than anything I had ever heard.

Amidst my pubescent struggles with awkwardness, girls, nagging parents, and acne, I found an unprecedented solace in the words and music of 311. The lads from Omaha showed me a philosophy that I had never fully explored before, one of positivity and unending tolerance.

And now, after am almost five year hiatus, 311 has returned with their latest effort, Uplifter, an almost cheesily self-reflexive indication of their continued focus on positivity, growth, and hopefulness.

Uplifter is undoubtedly upbeat and arguably uplifting in every one of its songs. Unfortunately, it’s really not that good at all.

I have asked myself many-a-time why so many brilliant and groundbreaking musicians often become complacent and uninspired with age. Is it a natural product of our respective ticking social and mental clocks? Do the aspirations for children and family and increased obligations that often characterize life after our 20s smother the spontaneity, artistic bravery, and general creativity of once vibrantly-minded artists?

Do most musicians simply succumb to the pressures of corporate executives and desires of having another hit single (or perhaps a fear of evaporating from the mainstream altogether into obscurity)? Or, maybe, when each band member has enough money to buy his or her own tour bus, a certain type of laziness or self-assuredness sets in, which simply hinders artistic progression.

Whatever the case may be, 311, a band made up of men mostly in their late 30s, are undoubtedly less creative and brave than their more youthful selves.

Current single and intro track, “Hey You,” does alright–perhaps as well as a song called, “Hey You” can be expected to do. The song is an ode not to a personal friend but rather to music personified. Despite its balls-deep and heavy introduction, the song is pretty standard and unexciting modern 311 fare, especially when the bouncing chorus, “Hey you! I gotta tell you my long-time friend…” sounds like it belongs on a Kidz Bop compilation.

The second track, (and alleged next single) “It’s Alright,” suffers from the same uncreative title choices as the rest of the album’s songs, but harbors a pretty nice pop-reggae and radio friendly vibe that flows far smoother than 311’s past single, “The First Straw” did. As per usual, Hexum sings a positive note about not worrying where you are in life in terms of your past mistakes or glories and your future worries and expectations. Embracing the present seems to be the recurring theme of Uplifter, and although it’s no new concept, Hexum expresses it concisely and with heartfelt delivery.

Perhaps 311’s most laughable lyrics yet come from the heavy power-pop reggae rocker, “Mix It Up,” in which Nick works his beguiling charm on a lady with the lines, “you take a little bit of me and a whole lot of you; add it up together and here’s what you’ve got to do…” Jesus Christ, man. It’s like Will.I.Am is co-writing some of these songs. Sure, Nick may have falsely claimed that the Black Eyed Peas we’re “coming full range” in ’99, but that was way before B.E.P. sold out completely and added that hot meth addict to their lineup. Now I’m starting to worry that Nick is listening to a little too much “Boom Boom Pow” on his ipod.

Track six, “Daisy Cutter” is a song in which Hexum compares his love interest to a bomb, something that the song is unfortunately not. I’ll be honest, the track has grown on me somewhat with its catchy chorus, but it’s still a far cry from a good song for 311.

“Two Drops In The Ocean” would be a beautiful instrumental, but Nick’s lyrical cheese somewhat dampens the mood. As a friend of mine commented, the song itself sounds a bit like a slow version of a Mario Kart song, but the song’s pre-chorus is one of the most beautiful examples of 311’s far-too-untapped dub prowess.

The penultimate track, “Jackpot” is a ferocious rap-rocker that smells like 2001 and would have fit seamlessly on 311’s From Chaos album. My only gripe with the song is how Nick has now turned to urging his listeners to “Get up, jump! Whoo!” That’s totally fine in concert; don’t get me wrong. Just not on a CD, please.

The ultimate low point of the album lies in one of two places: “Neverending Summer,” or “Something Out Of Nothing.”

“Neverending Summer” sounds like the theme song of a mashup of goofy 1990s Saturday morning cartoons. Think, Street Sharks meets Stunt Dawgs and maybe you’ll start to get the picture. If those names mean nothing to you, then you didn’t spend nearly as much time in front of the tube as I did as a child.

“Something Out Of Nothing” packs an equal amount of trans-fat saturated and heart-clogging cheese with the chorus, “Because it’s…maaagic: something out of nothing!” No, 311. Not even Criss Angel would call that magic. Not even behind a Heineken endorsement.

The real shocker on this album is the album’s fourth track, “Golden Sunlight.” Amidst the regurgitated sunshine and rainbows of pop spewage comes, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful songs 311 has ever written.

The chorus’s lyrics, “What if I could let my guard down into freedom, on and on?” may not look too insightful on paper, but when I hear to SA and Nick belt it out in beautiful, bittersweet and courageously optimistic harmony amidst the band’s crushing instrumentation, it’s impossible for me not to sing along and smile. The fact that these words are coming from the guys who used to write slightly cocky braggadocio raps on how “suckers couldn’t phase” them makes the new lyrics all the more endearing. Now nearing their forties, Nick and SA are ready to admit that they put up walls and defenses just like any other human, and how they long to remove them and live with complete openness and fearlessness. No other words that 311 have written have seemed more honest or have resonated with me more.

The final track of Uplifter, “My Heart Sings,” features that classic funk/reggae Q-Tron wah sound that guitarist Tim Mahoney is so well known for (especially after the success of “Amber”) and while it is beginning to get a little played out, the song itself is pretty damn nice and mellow. Nick’s lyrics, “4 A.M. in this hotel room and I think of you. Not in anger, but in danger of calling you” are simple, but startlingly profound, personal, and beautiful in the context of the other songs in this ultra-upbeat album. Similar to “Golden Sunlight,” or in underrated 311 classics such as “Eons,” or “Use Of Time,” Nick’s lyrics speak volumes when he makes himself vulnerable.

But allow me to address another pressing issue, i.e.: Where the HELL is S.A. Martinez on this album?!?!

S.A.’s song contribution has always been outshadowed by that of Hexum’s, but their vocal time has always been roughly equal. On 311’s last album, Don’t Tread On Me, SA stepped up with roughly half of the featured songs being either co-written or entirely written by himself. It seemed as if the Spooky Apparition was on an artistic high. Beautiful songs like “Whiskey and Wine.” “It’s Getting OK Now,” and my favorite 311 song of all time, “Getting Through To Her,” an were penned by Martinez. S.A.’s songs delved into topics as common as relationship issues and fears of dying to topics as taboo as child sexual abuse and its lasting effects on grown victims and their relationships with others. I was left voraciously curious as to what his solo album would sound like.

Yet in five out of twelve of Uplifter’s twelve songs, S.A. does nothing but offer backing vocals. In the other seven songs, barring the unfortunate, “Something Out Of Nothing,” S.A. does nothing more but chime in with his own chorus or bridge section, in which he simply rehashes what Nick is saying in his own melodic or sometimes rappy way. I love and respect Doug Martinez dearly as an artist, but surely Count S.A. can offer more than this after nearly five years of waiting!

Part of me feels kind of fucked up writing all these scathing remarks because I really love this band so much. But I feel that it is because I admire them personally and have adored their music for the past seven years that I can say without doubt that they can do so much better than this.

Because of songs like “Golden Sunlight,” however, I haven’t lost all hope. SA Martinez once rapped, “The day we go pop the show will stop.” I think their next album will prove just how prophetic those words were, and even after all I’ve written here, I’m already looking forward to it.

Lullabies for Little Rockers

I had insomnia for one semester when I was a sophomore. It was none too pleasant; I was constantly tired throughout the day, people continuously misconstrued the reason behind my bloodshot eyes, and there were no brooding Edward Norton-esque monologues a la Fight Club. I just wanted to sleep. The fact that my very nice yet nocturnal next door neighbor with a killer sound system was blasting Lateralus by Tool at all hours of the night didn’t help too much either. But what if Tool had made an album of lullabies?

Surprisingly, they have not, but it turns out someone made it for them. Based in Silver Lake, Los Angeles, Rockabye Baby have been arranging soft and dreamy versions of popular Rock songs, tailored specifically for the little tykes, since 2006. The songs are entirely instrumental and composed of gentle strings, vibraphones, glockenspiels, meletrons, and bells. Rockabye covers include tender and innocent versions of The Cure, Nine Inch Nails, Bjork, Green Day, Radiohead, The Pixies, Queens Of The Stone Age, and over fifteen other Rock and Alternative lullaby cover albums.

A public poll from the official website for Rock-A-Bye Baby music suggests that The Police may well be the next band to be covered, which is great because Sting’s music used to make me sleepy when I was a young tot [Plus, who wouldn’t want to hear a xylophone and glockenspiel rendition of “Synchronicity II?”].

“First and foremost,” wrote CMH label vice president Lisa Roth on Rockabye’s website, “we’re fans, so we take care to make every album musically interesting enough to satisfy adult listeners. Believe me, making an album that’s gentle enough for sleeping babies but won’t bore Mom and Dad is trickier than it sounds.”

It’s a pretty brilliant idea if you think about it. String Quartet tributes and novelty acts have long been making their own unique instrumental versions of hit songs, but few aside from Raffi and his colleagues have tapped the “under three” demographic.

Rockabye Baby might not be the Kidz Bop killer (much to the chagrin of many parents), but it can ensure that the whole family can sleep a little easier without succumbing to mind-numbing lullabies that sound like the ice cream truck song.

Personally, I would love to hear a Rockabye version of Weezer’s The Blue Album. I realize that a twelve week old infant probably couldn’t care less whether it was Mother’s Milk or Mother Goose, so Rockabye Baby may indeed be a little more for the parents than the wee ones. But that’s OK. There’s always something intriguing about hearing your favorite songs being played in an entirely different manner, whether its Me First and the Gimme Gimmes’ Punk Rock take on oldies or Easy Star All Stars’ Dub and Reggae transmogriphications of Rock classics.

While some songs unfortunately don’t translate quite as well into nighty night music as you’d think, (Bjork’s Rockabye album for example), some songs seem to have been almost destined to be transformed into serenades for cranky sleepyheads, such as The Beach Boys’, “Surfer Girl,” The Smashing Pumpkins’, “Tonight, Tonight,” and roughly three-fourths of the Beatles’ anthology. And just think of sure-to-be future Rockabye versions of The Shins, Foo Fighters, and The Red Hot Chili Peppers. If that doesn’t sound enticing in a strangely regressive and embarrassing way, then you probably listen to Nickelback.

You do have to wonder, however, why the people over at Rockabye decided to cover eerie minor key melodies such as “Hurt” by Nine Inch Nails, “Sober” by Tool, and “Paint It Black” by The Rolling Stones. Considering that babies generally otherwise listen to lullabies about infants falling out of trees and dying from the black plague, perhaps it isn’t too great a leap.

So if you’re curious about listening to some gentle twilight tunes to accompany your sippy cup and your binky during life’s hectic moments, then go ahead and listen to some of the Rockabyes yourself. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Personally, I recommend Rockabye’s versions of The Pixies’, “Here Comes Your Man,” Bob Marley’s “Stir It Up,” and No Doubt’s “Sunday Morning.”

The world seems to be slowly catching on, and Rockabyes might just be the next big thing. Now we just have to eagerly wait the destined-to-be-classics lullaby versions of Aphex Twin, Limp Bizkit, and, of course, Lil John.

Hum: A Retrospective

I actually didn’t hear about Hum until nearly ten years after they broke up. A friend of mine showed me a song called “Stars,” and upon hearing the cool, heavy, and modern groove-driven guitar riffs, I remember saying, “where has this band been all my life?!”

This quartet from Champaign, Illinois brought a remarkably unique sound to the 90s rock scene, and although they appeared only briefly on the fringes of the mainstream, they possessed a musical ingenuity, innovativeness, and individuality that makes them as relevant as any good rock band coming out today. Compared to the myriad of tired, insipid, and retro-reaching rock music on modern radio, Hum sounded like a band that could have been formed in the year 2015. Even their 1993 official debut, Electra 2000 sounds light years ahead of the rock bands atop the charts today.

Formed in 1989 by singer/guitarist/songwriter Matt Talbott, and later joined by bassist Jeff Dimpsey, drummer Bryan St. Pere, and guitarist Tim Lash, Hum set out on a ten year journey to deliver their signature brand of music.

Hum’s style is hard to pin down. They can be heavy as hell, but they’re not metal; the guitars seething with distortion are reminiscent of late 90s rock, but it’s certainly not nu-metal. Critics have attempted to call Hum many different things, but when you get down to it, they simply made good rock music.

What I don’t understand, however, is how the label “Space Rock” is so frequently attributed to them, and indeed may have even pigeonholed them. It might have been because their second album was titled, You’d Prefer and Astronaut, or because Talbott occasionally references constellations, star gazing, and spaceships. Or maybe it’s the frequent use of air and flight-evoking modulation of Lash and Talbott’s guitars (it’s just called a flanger, people). Rather than the conceptual sci-fi band that some critics attempted to label them as, Hum was just a rock band, and nearly every single one of their songs were about love and relationships.

Nevertheless, there is something undeniably futuristic and progressive about Hum’s work. One of the most recognizable features of Talbott’s songwriting is his use of what I call “the cool conflict chord.” For you guitarists out there, this is basically when you tune your bottom string down a step, bar your index finger, and plant your third finger two frets up on the D string. The result is a refreshing alternative to the standard rock power chord, one that reeks of adventure, excitement, tension, and bravery. Filter liked it, the Deftones love it, but Hum championed it throughout their time together.

The best part was that aside from the modern and mysterious sheen of Hum’s craftwork, there was still something raw, ancient, and primal about it. Heavily distorted guitars, ridiculously cranked amplifiers, and screams permeated every Hum record alongside the beautiful melodies and curious noises.

So let us travel downward and heavenward as we take a look at and a listen to some of Hum’s greatest songs.

1) “Pinch And Roll”

Off their debut, Electra 2000, the kinetic “Pinch And Roll” can be summarized by the nonchalantly sung lyrics of its first verse, “And everything I say and do…fuck you.” The song is a self-cognizant failing attempt of keeping one’s cool and guarding one’s bitterness in the midst of an ex.  Talbott progressively loses said cool as the song reaches its completion, as he screams “Yeah, I’ve healed!! Screaming at the world, I’ve healed!! Healed, yeaah!!!” undergoing a full mental breakdown as he attempts to claim he’s over her.

The song’s title is derived from the male scrotal scratching technique…just FYI.

2) “The Pod”

“The Pod” is one of Talbott’s many descriptions of a mysterious, loaded, beautiful disaster who has passed the apex of her last clean high and is beginning her descent into junkie hell. The song’s backwards looping guitar sets the nauseatingly sweet tone of the song, before dropping the listener into a heavy assault of darkly grinding and chugging guitar work.

The song mimics a bad trip or maybe a hellish morning after, and grows steadily more intense. “The Pod” has an absolutely assaultive breakdown in 3/4, before busting out a Cobain-esque fuzz and feedback guitar solo. One of the highlights of the song is when Talbott unexpectedly screams the ending lines of the refrain, “and hold me up tight! Let me breathe now!!” The song then slowly fades into a mellow, acoustic, and sobered outro, finally free from the four minutes of drug-induced paranoia.

3) “Isle Of The Cheetah”

“Isle Of The Cheetah” is one of my favorite songs in the world to listen to. Desipite its slow pace, its constantly morphing time signature makes for a challenge for even the most seasoned of air drummers.

“Isle Of The Cheetah” is like a roller coaster ride in slow motion, with sudden and unexpected drop outs, banks, ascents, and twists. Lash’s heavily amplified slides and harmonics slice through the pulsing soundscape, marking the transitions of the song’s meter.

The lyrics vaugely touch upon oceanic imagery and a beautiful girl assuming the role of the doomed Icarus. Talbott’s self-harmonizing is almost reminiscent of a folk or bluegrass lilt, despite the churning tidal wave of metallic and electric sound that streams through the speakers.

This is the type of song that can give you goosebumps even after fifty listens. For maximum effect, listen to it in your car, crank the volume up, and set out at sunrise.

4) “I’d Like Your Hair Long”

This was the first song that got me into Hum. It can almost be seen as Part II to “Pinch and Roll.” This time Talbott is filled with real audible confidence, realizing his disgust with a girl who has caused him so much misery. Talbott even humorously muses about the pointless nature of his mental dialogue, singing “it’s a waste of a song…you’re a waste of my lungs.”

If there’s any song that’s responsible for the “Space Rock” label, it’s probably this one. The song’s flanged guitars, bold riffage, and brutal but steady drums make the song sound like a rocket preparing to enter into orbit.

5) “Dreamboat”

I’m not going to claim I understand “Dreamboat.” The song is rife with spacious and oceanic imagery, with mentions of lighthouses, kelp-ways,  starfishes sending out binary code, and a girl who can be compared to a submarine. You may not get it, but that doesn’t matter. This song is great for any modes of travel. As long as the scenery is whirling by at a fairly good pace, “Dreamboat’s” mid-tempo chug-a-lug pace and infectious hook makes for a song built for roaming.

6) “Why I Like The Robins”

This is my favorite song from Hum, and one of my favorite songs in general. “Why I Like The Robins” is an achingly beautiful song about birds coming back home, raindrop collectors, and the girl of your dreams. “Why I Like…” was built for the rainy season of the year, when the weather struggles to shift its stride from Winter to Spring.

The fluttery 3/4 time signature, the echoic feedback in the background, the gradual build up of energy, and Talbott’s calm singing voice make the song all the more hypnotic and alluring.

Like many of Talbott’s songs, the lyrics are cryptic–the song may even be about a break up–but the beauty, contentedness, hopefulness that it brings is incomparable. If I could recommend just one song by Hum to show you, it would be this one. Just make sure the mood and the weather outside is right for it.

7) Ms. Lazarus

“Ms. Lazarus’s” upbeat and happy feel belies its fairly dark and somber lyrics. The song is filled nostalgia and regret. Talbott sings about a dead girl, and it’s not clear whether he means it literally or just metaphorically. His mind is a “time machine that will not power down,” continually thinking about the person he cared about, and seeking to return to her “living arms.”

Musically, “Ms. Lazarus” is beautiful, catchy, and almost carefree, yet in each refrain morphs into a minor key that breathes some sadness and longing into this otherwise sunny song.