LOST POST: Collected thoughts on Guided by Voices

When I began The Whittling Post back in 2010, I moved over all culture discussion posts from a now-deleted journal called “It’s Late in the Day”, mainly in order to pad-out my new writing enterprise. The rest of It’s Late in the Day’s posts were merged into The Salad of Convenience, which I have recently started updating again. Curiously, it’s now becoming clear that I missed some posts during the initial migration stage.

And so we come to this.

The below 17-year-old article cropped up in my stats completely at random, and I genuinely have no memory of writing it whatsoever. I was just going to ignore it, assuming the article would be very short and sweet, but it actually looked like it had been quite the undertaking. So, I’ve given it a jolly good grammar and punctuation polish, as I didn’t seem to know what those things were back then, and am reposting it here and now for your mild pleasure.

The story of Dayton, Ohio band Guided by Voices has changed considerably since the original version of my post was written, so some details are now out of date. I’ve tried not to mess with that issue too much, as it might interfere with the heart of what 29-year-old me was trying to say.

Please bear this in mind, should you feel inclined to read any further.

Collected thoughts on Guided by Voices

Sheffield, South Yorkshire

2009

I’m obsessed with GBV now.

I can’t work out whether it’s the vocals, the melodies, the lo-fi production, or the energy and spirit that leaks out of every single song.

I love the confidence they have to just put out everything. One particular track, consisting solely of a discarded bass line, has even made it onto a rarities compilation. This serves as a prime example of the band’s willingness to share. It’s a pretty brave attitude to have, as some may accuse this behaviour as being akin to “scraping the barrel”. I personally could never rate one of their songs, like I would with another artist, as GBV seem to defy criticism altogether. Part of the aesthetic and art of what they do is to put you on a rollercoaster of musical experiments, with the fact that they often fail being also why they succeed.

It’s all part of the experience.

Some of their melodies feel like a throwback to The Beatles or The Who-style simplicity, which is quite endearing. Then they’ll chuck in a disturbing and hypnotic Sonic Youth-style experiment, that throws you off the horse entirely.

I think frontman Robert Pollard has the most perfect rock voice. I could listen to him just reading the phone book, which wouldn’t surprise me if it actually happened. There’s a demo track where you hear him introducing the song, with his smooth Ohio drawl being just so yummy. It’s such a nice moment, as he laments: “I’m not sure what’ll happen with this, but…”, and then cracks on with singing.

Very nice.

I sometimes sit there listening to the band and wonder if it’s all aimless nonsense and I’m a fool for loving it so much. Are they just a drunken pub band who got lucky, or cult geniuses who will never get the mainstream recognition they deserve?

Probably a bit of both.

There’s just so much of it to listen to as well! So many albums. So many rarities collections. So many EPs. So many singles. I’ve been listening to them for two years now, after hearing them on an episode of The IT Crowd, and I’ve still only bought half their output. And I’ve got seven albums and a 4-disc rarities box set (the first of many).

That said, the “classic era” set of constantly-revolving band members dissolved after their ninth album, Under the Bushes Under the Stars, and somewhat rare fanclub-only album Tonics & Twisted Chasers. After these releases, the Guided by Voices brand seemed to lose its grounding, with Bob even having the new line-up go into a “proper” studio with an experienced producer to record Mag Earwhig!.

Sober.

The previous line-up recorded Under the Bushes Under the Stars in professional studios too, but those results still sound a little more pure, retaining the lo-fi edge that makes GBV so interesting. Mag Earwhig! is an eerily well-produced nightmare, with big silences and clean audio tracks. GBV albums are usually full of performance mistakes and atmospheric hissing and the sound of band members stumbling about the place drunk, making Mag Earwhig! a very unsettling listen indeed.

It’s just far too clean shaven for my liking.

I think Bob took the soul of GBV into his solo work when the old line-up said goodbye (or were summarily discarded), so I might follow that output instead. Bob assures us there’s a difference between the two projects, but I can’t hear it. I’ve still got the other Suitcase boxsets to hunt down though, so my journey isn’t over yet.

I’m a geek for it all, but I know one day I’ll pass through it and move on. I am not looking forward to that day.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Wakker Met Een Wijsje

I believe I have spoken enough about Kinderen voor Kinderen’s 1990s output to last both myself and my readers a long and prosperous lifetime. However, upon listening to it again this morning, I decided to pay special tribute to this truly wonderful song from 12 (1991), one of the albums I didn’t cover.

“Wakker Met Een Wijsje” (“Wake Up with a Tune”) is one of KvK’s songs that, after my initial interest had already been piqued, cemented my realisation that the Dutch music collective was something very special indeed and would improve my collapsing mental health considerably.

It truly is anthemic, despite the silly rooster (I daren’t use the English term for the bird here) call at the beginning. The chorus will provide you with a natural high and leave you feeling cleansed for the better. It’s heart-pounding stuff! Even the music video is fun, with the ginger young singer turning out to be a solid actor too.

I don’t have much else to say, other than please just listen to it and everything else KvK has accomplished in the past 46 years. While they have lost the “cuteness factor” in recent years, mostly due to the producers wanting to sound more slick and modern, the melodies and performers are as strong as ever.

Improve your soul by waking up to this tune. 

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Framed to Perfection XLIX

ROBOT MONSTER (1953)

Director: Phil Tucker

Cinematographer: Jack Greenhalgh

A model example of the nuclear apocalypse family.

Robot Monster is considered one of the worst movies ever made, which I believe to be rather unfair. In one way, I can see where its detractors are coming from. In another way, basically my way, I find it incredibly cute and harmless. In the context of the story, most of the film takes place within the dream of a concussed child, which allows all of its beguiling oddness and perceived “badness” to make perfect sense.

Not that writers should always use that as an excuse, of course.

That the character of dazed little “Johnny” also dreams of a hunky dude being shirtless and the girl-next-door, who pesters him constantly about playing “house” (which I assume is the closest you can get to playing “doctor” without anyone getting fingered), being dispatched makes me wonder whether this was intended as a coded LGBT film.

I am happy to believe so.

Shot in 3D, the gimmicks employed to heighten such an experience are as tiresome as they are to this very day. Why is there a bubble machine? 3D. Why are there gratuitous close-ups of hands working away at wiring? 3D. Why is there a grown man wandering around in an ape costume with a diver’s helmet on his head? Fuck knows.

George Nader is as insufferable as always. The man built a career on being a smug son-of-a-bitch. I dearly hope his agent at least tried to get him to tone it down a bit. Still, he’s a very handsome man, so many thanks to little “Johnny” for imagining him with his shirt off.

You go, girl!

My favourite moments are when you witness “Ro-Man” just idly wandering around the countryside. He doesn’t cut the most intimidating of figures in doing so. Quite why the last family on Earth doesn’t just pounce on the murderous beast and kick the shit out of him to save the human race is beyond me. But, hey, then there wouldn’t be a movie, right? Right.

“Johnny” and his precocious acts of heroism and mature war planning abilities are a key sign that this is all a dream. As is his sudden costume change from trousers to shorts. Not that I was looking. Oh and him waking up at the end is another sign. Perhaps the biggest one that I really should have mentioned first.

Never mind, this is all just a dream!

Robot Monster is nowhere near as bad as its reputation would have you think. It’s also a great masterclass in production economics, as it was filmed entirely outside in only a couple of weeks. While strange at first, you eventually get used to the sparse locations during the film’s sparse 64-minute runtime. Gregory Moffett is by far the film’s standout performer, with his real-life mother apparently helping her son with his dialogue by underlining in the script which words he should emphasise.

Bless.

I watched the 2D version that’s available digitally, and I feel no worse off for it. I doubt there’ll ever be a physical copy of it in the UK, although there currently isn’t one for The Last Emperor either.

Good grief.

Do stay in touch, hu-mans.

Toodles!

I AM BELLARIAN!

You will never fail to get a laugh out of me by having Crow T Robot dressing up in a wig. Even when he’s not saying anything, I’m chuckling to myself. Another great one, which I tragically cannot find a clip of, is where they’re playing “soap opera” after watching a General Hospital short.

I mean, it would have been funnier if they said they were playing “doctor”, but whatever.

Thanks to RiffTrax, I’m finally warming to the Mike + Bill era episodes of MST3K, although I still think Mike has all the charisma of a door. And not even a particularly interesting door. Like a fire door in a business centre with one of those annoying anti-slam mechanisms.

Yes, I’m practicing material for my tight comedy five.

Anyway, back to drinking in order to get through this insufferable heatwave…

Do stay in touch, proud Ballarians.

Toodles!

Per un bicchier di vino

Yes, folks, it’s chaotic indie rock vocals perfected by an Italian child circa 1970, in particular during the high-pitched chorus wailing.

Just wonderful. I wish I could be in a band with this sound.

The song title translates to: “For a Glass of Wine”, which only mainland Europeans can get away with having a kid sing.

A modern Brit would be burned at the stake for such wanton subversion.

I know I said I wouldn’t write another Zecchino d’Oro post for awhile, but this I just could not resist. I’m alternating between their modern stuff and ghostly vintage stuff, with the vintage stuff being very cosy to listen to indeed.

Oh and I finally worked out that Zecchino d’Oro stands for: “Sequins of Gold”, so I can sort-of understand why they’re trying to swap it out for “Piccolo Coro dell’Antoniano” (“Little Choir of Antoniano”), although I find the latter to be something of a mouthful and pain in the arse to type out.

Lotta quotation marks in this post.

Goodness knows what any of it means, but it’s cute as all get out and continues to put a big smile on my face. Don’t be put off by the foreign language nature of it or the age of the singers. Just rock out and giggle uncontrollably.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Ciao!

Framed to Perfection XLVIII

JING WU MEN (1972)

Director: Wei Lo

Cinematographer: Ching-Chu Chen

I’ve had to take a break from this entry in my Bruce Lee boxset, as the nonstop punching and kicking sound effects are starting to get on my teabags. I’m sure I’ll be in a better headspace later when I return, but I just couldn’t take any more.

There’s no English dub available this time, which is a shame. Some movies are just better with cheesy dubbing. The disc player does acknowledge an “ENGLISH” track, but it just seems to be another Cantonese/Mandarin one. Hmmm. It does sound slightly different though, so I’ll keep checking back in to see if the English kicks in.

Still, what with my experience of watching foreign films without a translation, I’m fine with it. I did role my eyes somewhat when I read a short synopsis, which implied the film would just be about two martial arts training centres bickering. I could predict the entire movie in its studio-bound dullness. So far, I have not been proven wrong.

As far as I can tell, Bruce Lee is playing the villain in this one, which is a surprise. If I am completely wrong, then I have clearly become deaf to the language of cinema. As well as blind. His character keeps viciously beating up a lot of downtrodden-looking people already, which isn’t very heroic.

The film is also lacking the cute melodrama of The Big Boss, which I am surprisingly missing. It’s just fight after fight after fight in these claustrophobic training centres. I’d get more entertainment out of admin staff fighting over a free buffet at a health & safety brief.

Now there’s a pitch!

Regardless of my own personal tastes, there has already been loads of pretty framing by the cinematographer, one of which you will find above.

I don’t know how Fist of Fury, its English title, stands in Bruce’s filmography in terms of quality and fan approval, but so far it feels the lesser of the only two I’ve experienced. Well, one and a third.

We shall see…

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

An Emotional Side Quest

I’ve begun adding to my personal thoughts journal/diary/whatever again, after a 2-year hiatus publishing exclusively here. This doesn’t mean I’ll pull back on my entries for The Whittling Post, but I just feel the need to blurt out more intimate b.s. at the moment.

The major difference will be that, this time, my personal blog won’t include much cultural commentary, which it did use to. I’ll keep all that here, besides the odd perfunctory mention.

You can find The Salad of Convenience in all its grimy glory here.

Or not. Do what thou whilst, patient reader. I definitely do need to sort out its colour scheme, however, as it looks frigging hideous, so please don’t be put off by that detail straight away!

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!