My brother and sisters took an instant disliking to Tears for Fears back in 1985, and at first, I agreed with them. I think it was "Shout", however, that made me break ranks and earn their pre-adolescent scorn.
Songs from the Big Chair ended up influencing me as a musician. I was taking my first steps as a songwriter in 1986, and "The Working Hour" seemed to leak its way into the stuff I wrote.
Rolling Stone magazine once described Tears for Fears as the missing link between Sade and the Cure. "The Working Hour" is perhaps emblematic of that bridge — there’s the requisite ’80s saxophone and that DX-7 piano. But at its heart, it’s still post-punk.
Being called the "boy Tori Amos" is not an endorsement in my book.
I haven’t yet figured out the generational cut-off date that separates Kate Bush fans from Tori Amos fans, but I’m guessing it’s somewhere close to my birthyear, 1972. I am squarely a Kate Bush fan, and I easily dismiss Tori Amos as a cheap knock-off.
So while being compared to Amos gets immediate demerits from my perspective, I can’t actually say I’ve listened to her thoroughly. (Just enough to go running back to Kate.) That ignorance works in Sacha Sacket’s favor.
I don’t think I’m going to be objective with this review.
Dylan Rice was listed in the Advocate’s Top 10 Indie Artists of 2005, and when I went to his official web site, I immediately thought, "Wow. He’s cute." Then I played an MP3 sample of his music, and I thought, "Wow. He can sing.". Then I downloaded his debut album Wandering Eyes from eMusic, and I thought, "Wow. He can write."
If you grew up with vinyl and cassette tapes, then you know about the favorite side bias.
It’s my description of liking a particular side of a vinyl record or cassette tape over another. I don’t know if there’s a generally-accepted term for this phenomenom, but I’m sticking with "favorite side bias".
For years, I would listen to Eurythmics’ Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) starting with side two, only because the tite track opened that side of the record. As young as I was back then, I wanted instant gratification — I didn’t pay much mind to the idea an album was actually sequenced to follow a general flow.
As such, I was always left with the impression that Sweet Dreams was a tepid, ambient album. It’s a whole different story when you listen to the album from the start.
The Art of Noise played an important role in the development of my music tastes. I was in 8th grade when "Legs" became a radio hit, and I was intrigued by an instrumental group using found sounds as musical timbres.
It didn’t take much of a leap to go from Art of Noise to Kronos Quartet and eventually, a century’s worth of modern classical music.
And yet, the Art of Noise wasn’t that much artful, nor was it much noise. My siblings would argue otherwise, though.
In Visible Silence and In No Sense? Nonsense! were all I needed from the Art of Noise. I didn’t get the impression Below the Waste was worth the effort, and a 7-inch single I bought with "Close (to the Edit)" and "Beat Box (Diversion One)" didn’t convince me to investigate (Who’s Afraid of …?) The Art of Noise!
Even though ABBA isn’t as anathema as they were 20 years ago — back when it was really uncool to like them — I still remember the teasing I received for even daring to show interest in them beyond 1980.
Junior high is when kids are cruelest, and the social ostracization I received for that mishap of taste left an indelible impression. Looking back, perhaps it was the first sign I knew better, but when you’re already squarely in the unpopular category of that social strata, capitulation meant survival.
So, no, I am not going to admit to any sort of ABBA admiration. You ask me, and I will tell you I’m a fag. You ask me, and I will tell you I have every post-Like a Prayer album from Madonna. (Except American Life. I owned it for a month before I sold it for cash. Man, does Mirwais suck.)
But ask me if I like ABBA, and you will witness the very definition of denial.
So don’t think this review of The Visitors is any indication of fandom. No — it’s an evaluation of a work I could have discovered earlier in my life but didn’t. That is all.
I had a very brief encounter with Cocteau Twins back in high school.
My friends and I were exploring all kinds of music back then — just something to serve as antidote to Milli Vanili and MC Hammer dug by all the fashionable kids at the time.
For me, that meant Kronos Quartet, Stephen Sondheim, Philip Glass and John Zorn. For my friends, that meant Erasure, the Smiths, the Dead Milkmen and Cocteau Twins.
Cocteau Twins came as a recommendation to one of my friends from his cousin in college. I was in his car when he put on the cassette tape (remember those?).
I may have heard only one or two tracks in that ride, but it certainly left an indelible impression.