At times, I’m harangued for making use of online file-sharing, of how mine and others’ lack of concern for the artist’s integrity as a viable commercial product is the cause for supposedly plummeting CD sales, thus shoving the broom handle into the bike spokes of the blessed music biz, and, ultimately, stripping the artist of his ability to share his heart to the masses. I can’t say that illegal downloading isn’t an ever-so-convenient fast track to, essentially, theft, but further supporting that point by saying that it’s a larcenous pollution of the music industry’s purity is ludicrous. That’s bullshit; fuck the industry. Maybe this sounds too close for comfort to John Doe’s philosophy in Seven – it’s ok to brutally murder disease-spreading whores, lying lawyers and pederasts, ’cause we’d all secretly thank the one who had the gall to actually do it – but I think that’s a misnomer. In the same way you can support the troops without supporting the war (except Ann Coulter), you can show your love for the artist’s work without falling prey to the (oh no!) Machine. Unlike millions of Radiohead fans who downloaded In Rainbows for free a few months ago – and still quite a few who went peer-to-peer out of habit, I guess – I paid for my copy. It was only ₤1 (about $3.00), but hey, if I were Trent Reznor, I might pay $5,000 bucks too; besides, Amy bought me a hard copy for my birthday, ’cause she’s awesome.
My point of all this is, the only concrete negative result I’ve seen from file-sharing is when I downloaded Some Loud Thunder by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! Not only did I seem to love this sophmore effort more than anyone else, but I thought the first title track was a captivating opener when every review I read trashed it as piss-poor production intended solely to ward off the throngs of indie darlings who declared their ‘05 debut as the advent of a revolutionary self-release market. Without my knowing it, though, CYHSY! had purposefully leaked a less-fuzzy version of the title track after the fact to, I guess, make up for the loss. Of course, I happened upon that version and have been listening to it for months as the on-the-shelves definitive version. The fact is, the first rendering is awful and completely off-putting to no apparent purpose, and is the only reason this album is not a bit higher on my list. After all, I’m a purist in that sense and base my criticism solely on what the CD gives me: I want my guarantee on the box. Paradoxically, it’s the purist in me that cringes at the coming-of-digital-age ideas of there no longer being a standard album cut, but rather free-floating mixes and remixes where the user now creates his/her own playlist to jumble willy-nilly. As much as I love the guy, Beck’s a pretentious arse for thinking he can “reinvent” the album. To the point, though, CYHSY! made their start by thriving on bootleg culture, promoting their own work sans label at the mercy of devoted NPR listeners and sycophantic critics. Once they signed to U.K. label Wichita for Thunder to boost their marketablity – or keep from being charged for the ice under the bleachers at Chicago Stadium – did they no longer fit the trend, which, in my opinion, cost them in the polls. In Matrix-speak, they are the anomaly that disproves the norm, or to sound more literate and borrow from Derrida, the deconstruction always already present within the work.
Don’t get me wrong, if their music had sucked, I wouldn’t have even cared to have it on my radar. Not only is Some Loud Thunder a commercial contradiction wrapped in a conundrum, but it’s a self-assured, sheerly brilliant piece cleverly disguised as a reckless rock record. Though a top-ten candidate of mine for quite a while before learning about my aforementioned goof, tracks like “Satan Said Dance” (my #14 song of the year), the euphoric bassline that drives closer “Five Easy Pieces,” and the rattled blues of “Arm and Hammer” perk my ears up every time. So whether or not I ever buy a jewel-case-and-insert copy of Thunder or keep it as the befuddled tracklist I fell in love with, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! shielded some unfair wrath (though not Brad Pitt’s) this year that, by some slim chance, this review might help unravel.
Sorry this rant was so long, but it needed to be said. “All this talking …”
