Few, save for Liam or Noel Gallagher, dare speak this heresy aloud, instead couching it in longings for a “back-to-basics” album or a “return to form,” despite the fact that Radiohead are at their critical and commercial peak. Civil (by Internet standards) discussions reside on Yahoo message boards with titles like “Why Did Radiohead Become Dull and Boring?” But while such almost apologetic criticism typically hides online or at water coolers, sometimes the elephant isn’t in the room, but onstage.

At last year’s All Points West festival, as their thin, stubbly faces filled massive video screens, Radiohead began their set with In Rainbows’ “15 Step”: an open-ended groove with a quirky electro beat, two-chord motif, and airy, abstract singing. Then they did the 2001 song “Morning Bell/Amnesiac”: an open-ended groove with a quirky electro beat, two-chord motif, and airy, abstract singing. Then they kept going, one groovy tone poem into another, masterfully weaving beats, sound-washes, and misty vocals into an immersive experience of sound, light, pattern, rhythm, and utter, paralyzing boredom. By the encore, it was obvious what Radiohead had become: an exceptionally well-dressed jam band. That you can’t even dance to.

From Spin.

As for the question that prompts such an answer? “Is the internet stifling new music?”

Via BBC no less.

The article is written by once-rock star John Taylor, former bass player for Duran Duran and Power Station. The man has been pelted by his share of female undergarments while performing live, and it shows:

When artists today are asked to Twitter their every thought, their every action, to record on video their every breath, their every performance, I believe they’re diluting their creative powers, their creative potency and the durability of their work.

And in the long run I believe they’re also diluting the magical power and the magnetic attraction that they can or will ever have over their audience.

Right. So the inaccessible rock god has given way to the singer-songwriter who shares a campfire with us all. That has long been established. But why exactly is the internet stifling new music today?  What makes the situation now any more dire than it was ten years ago?

My stepson is at New York University (NYU) and he was telling me how he’s currently into Cole Porter, music from the 1920s and swing music from the 40s. So the availability and accessibility of music on the internet today is truly incredible, and I applaud anything that can inspire interest or curiosity in anyone.

But this also means that those of us who before would have been looking towards the current culture for inspiration are now often to be found, like my stepson, in various backwaters of older music.

This relative lack of need for current, innovative culture can cause, has caused, is causing – maybe – the innovative culture to slow down, much as an assembly line in Detroit slows down and lay-offs have to be made when the demand for a new model recedes.

Gotcha.

It’s great to have a theory. It’s even better to have a little data to support it. As we go to print, the 1962 cast recording of Cole Porter’s Anything Goes (re-released in 1990) stands at #48,447 on Amazon’s music bestsellers. Not bad. You could do a lot worse. For example the “beautifully imaginative … magnificent” LP The Snake stands at #162,064. He just might have a point.  The internet (better said: the internet age) might be disincentivizing creativity.

But one release is 19 years old, the other has only a few months of promotion behind it. By point of reference Radiohead released Pablo Honey in 1993, and Amazon ranks that album at #5,070. Too pedestrian? OK.  Try, well, OK Computer at #729. Looking for something in the double digits? How about The Killers at #23?

It’s great that new listeners are uncovering old jazz, and it’s a shame that a rock übermenschlich has been forced to come down from the ivory tower (/sarcasm). But arguments with two data points are two dimensional, simple as that.

Just now driving back from 7-Eleven (executive lunch). Carrollton, Texas. I’m crossing Marsh Lane from the west while a mother in sweat pants with a baby and baby stroller is crossing Marsh Lane from the east. She gets that smile, that Something is Wrong smile, and I think nothing of it. Then she starts falling. The process of falling, beginning-to-end, takes about a month. Finally bam! and she’s down on one knee, then basically face plants, and now baby stroller is capsized and the baby, while still firmly strapped down, is staring at the sky. Need I remind you this is all taking place on Marsh Lane in Carrollon, Texas during lunch rush hour?

About all I can do is gawk. Stopping in the intersection to help would have risked a pile-up, and she did not want that baby within ten feet of a pile-up. Besides, she was back on her feet by the time I would have come to a stop. The way she tripped, though, is exactly the way I would have tripped if I’d trod upon an unseen piano. What the hell? Climate change causing unseen rivers of air that are totally unnavigable?

Like I said, don’t laugh. Tonight the Karma Police are out in full:

That was The Dresden Dolls and Smoosh covering Radiohead’s überclassic.

What truly separates one course from another isn’t total elevation gain, winds, etc, but rather how often it forces you to make a decision. Lots of little good decisions create a good day. Lots of little bad decisions add up to create a very bad day. At Wisconsin you are making decisions for the entire 112 miles. Flat, false flat, up, down, left, right, head/cross/tailwind, do I shift/not shift into my small/big ring? Do I power or noodle up this little/big hill? On the Wisconsin course you are never doing any one single thing for longer than about five minutes. This creates the opportunity to make a lot of little (and big) mistakes that express themselves somewhere on the run.

Seth Godin recently made similar comments about running a business:

What should you do next?

Is it better to email an existing customer, send a brochure to a prospect or improve your product a bit? Should you tweet or post a new blog post? Should you have a meeting to coordinate your team or spend ten minutes returning phone calls instead?

This is an unheralded skill, something successful people do really well and others struggle with.

I notice this as a music blogger and music zealot. What should I listen to now? Not in general, but exactly right now? A guilty pleasure, or something with substance? A new artist, an old artist, or an old! artist? This band is defunct: should I file a dispatch on them anyway? When recommending an LP do I type my thoughts out right now, while the terrain is unfamiliar and exciting? Or do I wait until I have my hands around the tree, but the Shazam! has worn off somewhat? If I change my mind about an artist do I post an update?

I think musicians and record producers have it much harder, though.

Think of all the little things that can ruin a song: the singer won’t shut up, the song is a minute too short, or a minute too long. It follows too closely to convention, or is too experimental-for-its-own-sake. The drummer just has to over-express himself, or the guitarist does, or the accordion player. Or they under-express. It reeks too pungently of “indie,” or “alt-country,” or “glam metal,” or whatever other trade genre into which the band members have decided to shoehorn themselves. You don’t notice this in a good song because that’s exactly what makes it a good song: wise decisions that are built upon previous wise decisions that in turn are built upon previous wise decisions are, by definition, signs (or non-signs) of expert songwriting. Solo musicians have it hard enough, but I simply can’t imagine what it must be like to write a song as a band. In addition to an ensemble of five free moral agents writing one song composed of five competing licks, you’ve also got five temperaments and five potential vetoes in the room. Five different cell phones going off. Five different beer drinkers or five pot smokers. Do we add cello here? If so, do we add french horn? And if we add french horn, might it work without the cello? I want to pay homage to Ray Charles here and to Steven Tyler here. What do you have against Steven Tyler, anyway? Do we need a cymbal crash here? How about here? Or here? Here…? Here…? Here…? Percussion here, here or here?

I have almost no basis at all for saying this, but I think Radiohead does very nearly the best job of making the myriad of little choices. Even more, of not falsely forcing unnecessary choices upon themselves.

Strange then that they are not my favorite band. My favorite band is Arcade Fire, who doesn’t do nearly as good of a job at this, but succeeds nevertheless.

I would like to take a moment to talk about the 10.0 rating (I’ve never handed one out) and make our criteria for a perfect score clear. Personally, I think the album has to move the listener to a level where the love for the sound is indefinable, which makes clearly stating your reasons for loving the album impossible. My co-WLFY blogger, Hank, believes it’s impossible to give a current album the 10.0 rating because the album has to stand the test of time. While I agree with this notion, what’s the fun in running a music blog if you can only hand out perfect scores to re-issues? Were you really shocked when Pitchfork gave “OK Computer” a 10.0?

Interesting stuff. And while tMiM rarely does full reviews — and doesn’t give numerical scores when we do — the questions nevertheless stand: “What constitutes a perfect LP?” And “Does such a beast even exist?”

Take the subject LP, Clues by The Clues, a subdued and quirky, yet often noisy and dissonant work. Bear in mind that I type all four of those adjectives out as compliments. More compliments: it is also theatrical and inconsistent. Inconsistency is a good thing? For me, yes. A consistent work of all four-star tracks (say, From the Choirgirl Hotel by Tori Amos) does not take as many risks as an inconsistent work of five- and three-star tracks (e.g. Grace by Jeff Buckley). Risks bring returns. Returns push music forward. So while From the Choirgirl Hotel is still great listening, Grace represented an evolutionary leap forward for all of music. It has been copied ever since.

But is Grace perfect? Is Clues perfect? Maybe my long-delayed copy of Radiohead and Philosophy will shed some light on what constitutes a perfect LP, but in the meantime, oy! what a question that is. The perfect LP would not only have to break new ground, it would have to inhabit us, we could not help but dance. That feeling you get sometimes? That you need to get a song out of your blood, or you’ll go batshit crazy? Large sections of the album need to infect you that way.

So while cerebral touches like subdued, quirky, noisy, dissonant, theatrical, inconsistent, risk and returns are great places to start, the song needs to sing. And no, I do not believe such an LP exists: how could it? So while The Clues alternate between gyspy fever and scholarly intellect, the best we could offer would be an 8.75/10 and a Best of 2009 nomination.

But do listen to “In the Dream,” “Approach the Throne” and “Cave Mouth.” Great work.

They’re unpolished to be sure, but that’s what a music blogger should be looking for (we’re looking at you, P4K). Their name is bombdog. Their self-description is “Ambient / Alternative / Progressive, post rock, balkan, mexican, french.” They cite as influences “Godspeed you black emperor, Labradford, Sigur Ros, Mogwai, Silver Mount Zion, Beirut, Pan American, Radiohead, Beirut, Hawk and a Hacksaw, Jacques Brel.” When they last updated their Myspace page they were unsigned. Some of their tracks have only been accessed once, and I seem to be the first to listen to “stressbundle.”

I mean, really. Are you folks reading my mail?

But frankly I was sold on the first few seconds of “la lune et la mer.” Do vacate the premises now and go give them a listen.

(As to the photograph, all apologies to the gentleman on the far right. But the image came from your own archives, so, there you go.)

Citing such unimpeachable influences as Rage Against the Machine, Sigur Ros, Muse, Deftones, and some unlikely band of misfits named Head of Radio (heh! as if!), Proximity Effect is a band from which you’re sure to hear more. So you might as well hear it now. I really like the track “AutoPilot,” which is, coincidentally, the worst way to describe the drum lick on that cut. Very solid throughout. (Patrick contends that “solid throughout” is redundant, but what does he know?)

…a cover of Radiohead’s “Karma Police,” from Stereogum Presents…OKX: A Tribute to OK Computer. While you’re there, check out Vampire Weekend’s cover of “Exit Music (For a Film).”

…or even Kookaburra from his Emerald City LP.

So while I’d love to say that Romanian Names stands among his best work, in time I think we’ll find it’s far too commonplace for that.

Yeah. It’s like that.

We keep telling you. It’s like that.

Rossi went on to win the show, record and tour with the band (Tommy Lee, Jason Newsted, Gilby Clarke), release a solo EP, form another band, release another EP, and announce a full-length LP, due…? I’m listening to the solo EP now; it’s titled Love and Lust, a reflective but flawed collection of four tracks. I mentioned that Rossi did not unleash his vocal talents until six weeks into the Rock Star competition. Toward the end of the first clip above, you heard Jason Newsted remark similarly. Love and Lust proved again what we already knew, that he was much more comfortable with his James Hetfield voice than he was with his Jeff Buckley voice. The track “Dead Flower” confirmed this more than the others: during the bridge section his voice soared beautifully, yet was buried under an uninteresting piano riff. The latest incarnation of “Headspin” was pretty unwelcome.

Let’s hope the new LP, you know? Brings it?

These make me want to go and play Super Mario Brothers.