Tag: prodigy

#oneaday Day 110: Listen to albums

I’ve been trying to make an effort, when I listen to music, to put a full album on and let it run all the way through. It’s how I enjoyed listening to music as a teen and twentysomething — I had a big CD collection that I kind of wish I hadn’t gotten rid of now — and I’m beginning to drift back into preferring that kind of listening now, too.

Y’see, I’ve become increasingly conscious of the “media as content” problem that we, as a society, have been enthusiastically plunging ourselves headfirst into. Music has become disposable, and streaming services have made it very difficult for career musicians to… well, have a career out of music. Not only that, there is a not-insignificant number of people out there now who simply don’t respect music for its artistry; they just want “background noise”. Doesn’t matter what it is, so long as it’s noise.

I had a 3+ hour drive to and from the office yesterday and today respectively, so I decided to listen to some music rather than putting a podcast on. And I deliberately set up my music queue to play several full albums in succession rather than just a selection of favourite tracks — or, worse, just sticking it on “Shuffle” or “Radio” and letting it do its thing.

I really enjoyed it. And there’s still something very pleasant about listening to an entire album in the context it’s supposed to be heard. Really good albums feel like they’re taking you on a journey; it’s not necessarily that they have a narrative (though, of course, some do) but they do have a definite sense of progression from track to track. This is particularly evident in the case of stuff like Prodigy’s The Fat of the Land, which smoothly transitions one track into the next, making for one continuous soundscape that evolves in character and energy as it progresses through its complete runtime.

I will attempt to outline my enjoyment of several albums that I found to be particular highlights throughout both journeys.

WWDD – Dempagumi.inc

I can’t remember how I first came across Dempagumi.inc, a Japanese idol group that has been around since 2008, but I remember being very struck with this particular album from 2015 the first time I heard it. The songs were catchy and it felt like there was a sense of narrative to it. I didn’t understand a word of it, of course, with it being all in Japanese, but I felt like that didn’t matter all that much; what does matter to the Dempagumi.inc experience is being swept along by the energy of the group.

One track that I particularly like is Dear Stage e Youkoso (above). It’s not necessarily the song on the album that I would describe as the “best”, but the narrative setup of a seemingly downtrodden-sounding man discovering the real-life idol bar Dear Stage really works well. The listener finds themselves inhabiting the role of this man who gradually discovers joy through surrounding himself with the energy of the idols, and it feels like the performance is just for you. Or him. Or both. Whatever. Anyway, it’s good.

The whole album is energetic and enjoyable, and it’s one I come back to a lot. Definitely a good.

These Nuts – Ninja Sex Party

I absolutely adore Ninja Sex Party, the musical outfit run by Dan Avidan (best known as half of Game Grumps) and theoretical physicist Brian Wecht. Their work captures an absolutely perfect balance between being perfect pastiches of classic ’80s rock and ballads, and being utterly, hilariously absurd. I could pick any Ninja Sex Party album to go in this slot, but These Nuts, their album from this year, is the one that particularly stuck in my mind today.

The opening track (after Danny Sexbang’s obligatory introduction) is one of my favourites. Get Ready (To Get Ready) is a brilliantly energetic piece about people who will never be quite ready to do something when you want them to be — there’s always one little thing to do, an email to send or something like that. The whole thing is delivered with such overblown earnestness that it’s hard not to enjoy it.

Sports Anthem is also brilliant just because of the mental image it conjures up. It doesn’t matter what sport it’s referring to — because it doesn’t refer to any specific one, and one suspects that neither Danny Sexbang nor Ninja Brian being really into sports is definitely part of the joke — the sentiment of “don’t fuck it up” is universal.

The Fat of the Land – Prodigy

I vividly remember when I “discovered” Prodigy. I was on a bus for a school trip of some description, and my partial namesake Peter Miles was listening to a CD single of Breathe by Prodigy. I asked him if I could have a listen, and was immediately taken by, more than anything, the immensely satisfying drumbeat.

I hadn’t really thought much of Prodigy prior to this. I’d probably heard Out of Space in passing, and I absolutely detested Firestarter the first time I heard it — though this was, in part, reflected disgust from my parents who, quite understandably, didn’t understand the appeal.

But Breathe resonated with me for some reason, even though I still don’t know what the actual words are. And when The Fat of the Land came out, I listened to it a lot. I liked Firestarter in context, though it was probably my least favourite track on the album.

Returning to it today, it’s a great album. An absolute punch in the face of noise for most of its runtime, of course, but it has that really great sense of progression I was talking about before. Wisely, the whole album doesn’t rely on heavy basslines and driving rhythms as in Breathe; around the midpoint there are several more downtempo numbers including the famous Mindfields (probably known by most people due to it being in The Matrix), the Crispian Mills-fronted Narayan and the instrumental Climbatize, all of which I rather like (though I must admit I’d forgotten about Climbatize until today’s listen). Definitely one I will likely pop on when I’m in the mood for something loud.

Album-making is definitely an art form, and I worry that it’s something we’re at risk of losing — as with so many forms of culture. I feel like in the last 25 years or so we’ve lost more forms of culture than we’ve gained; the vapid brain-rotting dogshit that is TikTok doesn’t feel like a very fair exchange for listening to full albums being the norm.

Still, it’s not as if those old albums have gone away. So I’m going to continue making a point of listening to full albums as much as I can. And if you haven’t done it for a while, I recommend giving it a go — you might be pleasantly surprised at how enjoyable it is.

Want to read my thoughts on various video games, visual novels and other popular culture things? Stop by MoeGamer.net, my site for all things fun where I am generally a lot more cheerful. And if you fancy watching some vids on classic games, drop by my YouTube channel.

1719: Album for the Young

I made myself a music playlist the other day. Contained therein was a selection of music from my teenage years, which is when I started actually buying CD albums and singles for myself — beginning, as I believe I’ve said before, with Oasis’ Definitely Maybe just a day before (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? came out.

Like most playlists I make, I was putting full albums rather than individual tracks in there, as I like to have a full selection of music from favourite artists available. Hitting the “Next Track” button is simple enough if you happen to be served up a stinker of an album track, so it is, for me, a case of better to have too much than too little.

Now, here’s where I did things a little differently. Normally, when I put music on these days, as many people do, I believe, I choose a playlist, hit Play, then hit the Shuffle button so I get a random selection of tracks from those that I’ve picked. I could make the time or effort to curate playlists a little more carefully and not have to rely on Shuffle, of course, but I rarely do that these days; the only exceptions have been when I need a particular amount of music, or when I want to choose some very specific tracks to, say, take to the gym or something.

When I selected this playlist and started playing it in the car the other morning, though, I decided that I wasn’t going to follow my usual pattern, and was instead going to listen to the tracks contained therein a full album at a time. If it was good enough for my fifteen year-old self, I’m sure it’s still good enough for me now — and I don’t like to think that the 21st century has given me such an attention span deficit that I can no longer deal with more than one track by the same artist in succession.

I used to enjoy listening to albums when I was younger. True, I rarely did it as an activity by itself — I would usually put an album on while doing homework, or reading, or something like that — but I would usually listen to a whole album once I put it on. This was at least partly due to the fact that the age of music on physical media meant that you had to get up and change a disc (or even cassette, a medium which even made it difficult to listen to a specific song) if you wanted to hear something by a different artist — but it was also due to the fact that even then, I was conscious of most albums — good albums, anyway — being designed as coherent works in and of themselves. Sure, it was the individual tracks you’d tend to hear played on the radio or the television, but a well-designed album had a beginning, middle and end: it took you on a musical journey, and sometimes even told a story.

Listening to these albums this way for the first time in a very long while has reminded me what a good experience it can be to settle down and immerse yourself in just one album; just one artist’s work, the tracks presented in the order they believed that was best, rather than some arbitrary random picker thingy.

Particular highlights of drives this week have included the Manic Street Preachers’ Everything Must Go, a favourite of my teenage years that I primarily picked up in the first place because a girl I fancied was totally into it; Propellerheads’ decksanddrumsandrockandroll, an album I never actually owned but always enjoyed listening to; and Prodigy’s The Fat of the Land, which remains, to date, a wonderfully “industrial”-sounding album filled with fire, energy and not a small degree of filth. (Not in a sexy way, either; I’m talking the kind of smoky, dusty, grimy filth that belches forth from a factory chimney.)

The latter in particular has been a pleasure to rediscover, at least in part because there’s really nothing quite like it getting mainstream airplay these days; it remains a product uniquely of its time, and listening to it takes me back to the first time I heard Breathe on a school bus, courtesy of my classmate Peter Miles (a noteworthy acquaintance during my school life for being someone who challenged me to a fight that neither of us showed up for, and who was good enough to lend me a long leather coat so I could dress up as a Gestapo agent for a murder-mystery party just a couple of years ago), and discovered that an artist I’d previously written off on the grounds of the fact I didn’t really like their previous single Firestarter was actually rather thrilling to listen to.

So while I’m not sure I’m going to start just sitting down and doing nothing but listening to an album — something that I’ve never really done, even back when iTunes was something we could only dream of — I’m certainly going to be making an effort to use the Shuffle facility a whole lot less when I’m listening to music in the future. There’s an artistry in the construction of a good album, just as there is (arguably more obvious) artistry in the composition and production of an individual track; it’s something that not many people take the time to appreciate these days, so it’s something that I fully intend to (re-)explore a little more in the coming days.