Summer of the Whore

Ha ha, yet another post to lure in the all-important Porn-Googling demographic!

You’ve never heard of the Mendoza Line, which I’ll forgive for now. Okay, no I won’t; go find and listen to Full of Light and Full of Fire right now. Do it. Did you do it? You’re listening to it right now? Good. That’s a husband and wife team on that album, Timothy Bracy and Shannon McArdle. That album, however is not new.

Ya see, McArdle and Bracy recently divorced, which,  unfortunately, meant the end of The Mendoza Line, perhaps the most underrated band to come out of Austin, TX, in quite a while. Rumor has it Bracy is working on a solo record but, in the mean time, McArdle has released a frighteningly honest look at their split called Summer of the Whore. You can guess from the title how she feels about things.

Break-up albums are a fickle mistress; trying to force the emotion can turn your break-up album into a cringe-inducing, emo-filled affair but holding back the real meat can make it seem superficial, like you’re merely trying to cash in on your heartache. On the other hand, if you strike the right balance between melancholy and honesty, you end up with things like Summer of the Whore or The Midnight Organ Fight by Frightened Rabbit. In declaring it the Summer of the Whore, McArdle is telling us the decision she’s come to about her break-up: she’s going to fuck her way out of the misery, at least for now. Album opener “Poison My Cup” sets the tone: “Don’t want to go to a show, no baby/ take me to your room”. You’ll get the sense, over the ten songs on Summer of the Whore that McArdle has already left the Summer of the Whore behind her, but her willingness to chronicle it is utterly compelling.

It helps that her voice is such a finely tuned instrument – she can sulk, she can sigh, and she can seduce all in the same tune and it helps to get you on her side even while you’re listening to her admit, “I’ll have no conscience to speak of, I’ll have no guilt to lament.” (I’m not saying you should take her side in the divorce, mind you – that’s none of our business. We’re concerned with the songs here and McArdle does a good job of being that friend you know who’s lonely and fucked up and making some bad decisions but you know they’re just trying to get… well, whatever it is out of their system.)

The subject matter can weigh down an album like Summer of the Whore, considering that most of the songs have images of death (usually by drowning, usually in a wedding dress) or discussions of when one takes the ring off and admits that things are never going to be the same. Luckily, Summer of the Whore is only ten tracks long and not entirely devoid of hope – by “Come, Autumn Breeze,” (“The heat has lifted,”) McArdle is talking about the next guy she could actually see herself with and there’s the sense fo the slow healing begun (perhaps her next album will be more upbeat). But McArdle’s musical sense makes even the biggest downers on the album worth hearing again – the title track is exquisite, one of the best songs on the album, as is “Leave Me for Dead,” a feisty little revenge song (“You can say that it’s over/ but, baby, I’m not finished with you”).

I can easily imagine that, like the afore-mentioned Midnight Organ Fight, Summer of the Whore will provide a real catharsis for the recently romantically fucked-over. I imagine, in fact, that this album goes down very well with your own personal bottle of wine during a rousing session of setting fire to all those photos of your ex. Fortunately, I can only imagine these things because I am in a happy relationship and, as such, perhaps am incapable of getting the full benefit of something like Summer of the Whore. But from a musical perspective, it’s a beautiful album by a great singer and is hopefully an indication that she’ll be around for a while, even if the Mendoza Line is dead and gone forever.

Dear TV on the Radio

Dear TV on the Radio,

I am employed in the service of Chorpenning, the iron-fisted ruler of Bollocks!. I think it is safe to assume that you are not among the 6 to 9 people (on average) who read Bollocks!, but it’s a blog about music. Chorpenning is the owner and head writer (only writer) for the site and he is a big fan of your work.

That’s why I’m writing to you, TV on the Radio. You see,  a few days ago, Chorpenning acquired your new album, Dear Science and, as is his wont, he listened to it straight through a couple of times. He likes to really wrap his head around an album before he writes about it. I, as his Imaginary Secretary, have to hear a lot of albums more than once, but it’s part of the job. Some of the albums are pretty nice (I really like that Hold Steady band, which is good – I think my job depends on it) so the repetition is usually bearable.

Dear Science was like that at first. And, actually, at second. I started to worry around the time Chorpenning locked the doors to the office, turned up the volume, and announced loudly, “I can’t stop listening to this record! It’s fucking amazing!” I cannot tell if he was drunk at the time; it’s often safe to assume he is. As we work in an Imaginary Office (cheaper lease!), there is no worry that he’ll drive home in such a state and cause injury to himself or others.

That was Tuesday, TV on the Radio. Today is Saturday. I haven’t been home, and neither has Chorpenning, since your album came out. I’ve been here, with him, listening to Dear Science over and over and over again. His dog and girlfriend (not imaginary, believe it or not) miss him. I have plants that need watering.

I am not saying that your music is bad or that you should have, somehow, made Dear Science less awesome. I’m simply alerting you to the situation caused by listening to your new album. I’m concerned that other people will hear Dear Science and, like my boss, never want to stop hearing it. How many people are stuck in their offices, their cars, wherever, right now, doing the same thing they’ve done since they first heard the enchanting first notes of “Halfway Home”? They could number in the millions. Millions of people, TV on the Radio, who get all the way through to “Lover’s Day,” and, rather than going home to their lovers (“Lover’s Day”, for my money, is one of the ten best songs about fucking I’ve ever heard) and loving them, they just let the disc whirr back around to “Halfway Home.” Your production is so lush, your harmonies so great, your beats so enormous, that they may well be dangerous. If it’s not too late, you may consider a warning on the next pressing of Dear Science. Something like: “Warning: the music you are about to hear is infinitely awesome and highly addictive. You may find yourself wanting to listen to it over and over, so much so that you neglect responsibilities and basic hygiene. Please have a friend stop the disc for you after every three rotations so that you can shower and let your employees go home.” Or something like that. I’m just spitballing here.

Again, I don’t mean to offend you or in anyway suggest that it’s your fault that my boss reacted so strongly to your album. To tell the truth, I can sort of see why the stirring songs like “Family Tree” and “DLZ” would warrant a second listen. And that dancing song, the one with the “foam-injected Axl Rose” (I Googled the lyrics), is pretty catchy too. But this is ridiculous.

Oh god. He’s just started it up again.

Look, I know you’re probably on tour or doing something very important and musical or whatever, but if you happen to actually receive this letter in the next week or two, could you please send help? Or maybe if you came here yourselves and explained to Chorpenning that he has responsibilities outside of the office that he should see to? I think he might need to hear it from you that, while you’re no doubt glad that he loves Dear Science, it was never your intention for him to imprison his employees (real or imaginary) and force them to descend into madness with him.

Although, in fairness, I suppose I should have known that a descent into madness and/or alcoholism was inevitable with this job.

In any case, TV on the Radio, if you can find it in your hearts to send help, please do so at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

Imaginary Secretary