"No one knows where go when we're dead or when we're dreaming."
After powering through most of God Is Not Great on the plane yesterday, it's hard to immediately change gears and spend time questioning what happens after you die. That being said, when the questions come courtesy of the beautiful songs Chad VanGaalen wrote for Soft Airplane, the experience is a rewarding one. Chad has always written tales of death, murder and rage, but in a way that forces you to start asking the same questions and feeling the same emotions.
I read an interesting review of the new Okkervil River record on Rawkblog where Dave mentioned that "critics as musicians are failures, much more often than not; they know too much to fuck up, which is unfortunately a preventative measure to playing rock 'n' roll music." If that statement is true, the other side of the coin would indicate that only when a musical soul is secluded from the shouts and whispers of the critical public can true greatness or incredible failure occur. Such is the case for VanGaalen.
I hesitate to rely on the easy play of labeling him as a musical recluse riddled with insecurities when I talk about his songs, because that cheapen the success of this record. Even if it's only subconscious, those words force the reader to think the sounds were contrived by luck or simply good timing; the result of someone stumbling upon the combination of sounds without much thought and that couldn't be less true when it comes to VanGaalen.
He's obviously a unique man with social anxiety and an unquenchable thirst for creative expression and as a result Soft Airplane is incredibly spontaneous and challenging, but at the same time multiple listens show how well the record is thought out. Sound effects, textures and emotion are nestled into the folds and corners, and until you can listen to the complete song, you aren't really hearing Chad's visions.
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After powering through most of God Is Not Great on the plane yesterday, it's hard to immediately change gears and spend time questioning what happens after you die. That being said, when the questions come courtesy of the beautiful songs Chad VanGaalen wrote for Soft Airplane, the experience is a rewarding one. Chad has always written tales of death, murder and rage, but in a way that forces you to start asking the same questions and feeling the same emotions.
I read an interesting review of the new Okkervil River record on Rawkblog where Dave mentioned that "critics as musicians are failures, much more often than not; they know too much to fuck up, which is unfortunately a preventative measure to playing rock 'n' roll music." If that statement is true, the other side of the coin would indicate that only when a musical soul is secluded from the shouts and whispers of the critical public can true greatness or incredible failure occur. Such is the case for VanGaalen.
I hesitate to rely on the easy play of labeling him as a musical recluse riddled with insecurities when I talk about his songs, because that cheapen the success of this record. Even if it's only subconscious, those words force the reader to think the sounds were contrived by luck or simply good timing; the result of someone stumbling upon the combination of sounds without much thought and that couldn't be less true when it comes to VanGaalen.
He's obviously a unique man with social anxiety and an unquenchable thirst for creative expression and as a result Soft Airplane is incredibly spontaneous and challenging, but at the same time multiple listens show how well the record is thought out. Sound effects, textures and emotion are nestled into the folds and corners, and until you can listen to the complete song, you aren't really hearing Chad's visions.
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Chad VanGaalen - Molten Light
