V is for Remixes

It was on a whim that, late last year some time, I downloaded V is for Vagina by Puscifer. Puscifer is some sort of project by Maynard James Keenan. He grows wine in Arizona. He is also the vocalist for a rock group called Tool, of whom I guess I consider myself a fan, and also A Perfect Circle, of whom I don't. Maynard has this trademark wavery, tenor, nasalish yelp that he usually belts out on most everything he's ever done.

Now consider the stupid cover art. I wasn't expecting much when that whim hit me and I unzipped those files.

Imagine my suprise when I first listened to this album. Maynard's voice is the single element that holds it all together. His voice is deep, too deep, manipulated deep. His voice hits all the lowest notes and does that scratchy M Gira deep voice guy thing.

The music itself is not amazing. Mellow and throbbing. Thumping drum machines and ambient sounds bouncing around in atmospheric reverb. Piles of vocal harmonies. It's really not the sort of music I usually seek out, which is probably why it caught me off my guard and I actually fell for it. I guess the closest comparison would be to compare Puscifer to a really deep, less inspired and quirky, and much more sleazy Beck. All in all, it's not amazing, and that's just what stupid Tool fans expect from everything this man excretes, so there are probably a lot of pissed of pasty guys in faded black T-Shirts out there. If I can say one thing in defence of Puscifer, it's that it's sleazy to the point of absurdity and just plain fun, which is really refreshing coming from a guy who has been involved only in projects that take themselves way, way too seriously.

Then, this year, came the remix album. I though hey, this music is perfect for remixing. It's electronic. It already sounds remixed. A remix album seemed like a perfect fit. I didn't hesitate. I bought this one the day it came out. I thought that this one, unlike all those other remix albums out there, would actually be good.

It's quite a letdown. Why is it that (rock) artists allow their albums to be remixed when the ONLY THING remixing does to music is sap all the energy? Sometimes it feels like the thing one thing modern rock music is good for is energy. This is especially true for the sorts of bands that release remix albums in the first place. All I'm saying is that when you sap the energy from a Rob Zombie album (or NIN, or RevCo, or Ministry, and so on, and so on) all you get is a bunch of lame slow atmospheric techno songs.

The biggest problem with V is for Viagra is that the original material from V is for Vagina didn't have much energy in the first place, and the product of remixing the album ends up having even less energy, less immediacy, than the original material. It's almost all ambience. Even the one thing that carries Puscifer, Maynard's heavily processed vocals, get washed to the back of the mix, to the edges of arrangements as mere placeholders so the listener might have some indication of which original track each remixed one is supposed to represent in the first place. Even the funness of the original album, even the absurdity, is somehow washed away in favor of bland, moody remixing.

And that's just it. The tracks are gutted to the point that they'd be completely unrecognizeable if it weren't for tiny little indicators. A female backing vocal from a Vagina track comes to the forefront of a Viagra track just long enough to remind you that you're still listening to a Puscifer song. Another track, and after what feels like six minutes of ambient noise, Maynard's voice comes in, a tiny sample of what was the foundation of the source material. End result? Remixing adds nothing to these tracks. The remixers could have left out the little bit of original material and ideas from Puscifer and released something with a different name. But then nobody would have listened to it. I guess that sort of begs the question of how many people were listening to it in the first place. Me, at least.

But seriously, listen to V is for Vagina. Lots of fun on that one.

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One good thing about V is for Viagra is the addition of a remix of the track "Cuntry Boner." The song totally isn't worth the time or effort it takes to find a copy of the single on which it is included, of the same name. I mean, it's not even worth going to YouTube and typing in "Cuntry Boner." That said, the song is funny (I didn't say clever, just funny), and wouldn't have fit on V is for Vagina, but somehow works well at the end of this new collection.

Digital ... Physical Copy ... Vinyl ... CDs

I spent this evening surrounded in a pile of CDs - taking old favorites out of old cracked cases covered in sticker goo and dust with broken hinges and putting them into slightly less cracked cases with slightly less sticker goo. I do this every couple of years; I sort out oddball stuff that I will never listen to again, even stuff that I've never made it all the way through, stuff that I could never make a profit selling on Amazon, spool up the discs or put them in a CD book somewhere, and recycle their cases to generally upgrade the condition of my overall collection. Goodbye Life in the Fat Lane, goodbye Mailorder is Still Fun, goodbye needless second copy of The Known Universe - why the hell do I own these things? There are, I dunno, a little over five hundred cases on my bookshelf, and I sometimes feel the need to cull the weak. And recycle their jewel cases. How futile.

Because then I go ahead and blow more money on CDs. I've worried about it before. I've had an increasing fascination with new releases in the last few years. I remember wanting STP's No. 4 months before somebody else got it for me. I didn't find out about Tripping Daisy's final release until months after it was out. I coveted Pinkerton for years, I think, before I was given a copy. Where has that patience gone? If only I'd wait until after I know I want something, or at least until after I know I like it, I'd save myself a lot of painful effort. And money. And shelf space. And embarassment when people refer to my big bookshelf of CDs as a "plethora." And shock when people learn that I'm still interested in physical copies at all.

Will something change? I got an iPod. It was given to me, in fact. A co-worker decided to treat herself to one of those new iPods, with more hard drive space than my desktop computer. The kind of iPod that you can use to store and watch the entirety of Seinfeld. So she didn't need her old iPod any more, and gave it to me. It has 4 gigs of space, I think. iTunes is incompatible with my computer - I run Windows XP x64 - why the hell do I run this OS? I've found a little program called vPod which manages and syncs the iPod without all the other garbage that iTunes does, and that's just fine.

So now, for the first time since I got a personal CD player (I was late to the CD game, too) I am semi-up to date. I mean, the thing can store about thirty hours' worth of music and it's battery lasts about six hours and takes ten hours to fully charge. The two-tone screen has less pixels than my original GameBoy. I dropped it on the corner of a wooden crate and the glass over the screen is cracked in an embarassing sort of way that hasn't disabled the thing enough that I feel the need to get it repaired. The color is that pukey lime green and you expect it to have a smiling cartoon flower or bee or butterfly on the back of it. What I'm trying to say is that I hide it in my pocket when I have it with me out in public.

A step towards digital media means a step into the future for me, but I'm not sure if I'm ready. On one hand, as physical CD sales dwindle, CD packaging costs are going down and down. Now it's not uncommon for a brand new release to come out in a little cardboard envelope with no booklet and minimal artwork. That's fine, I guess. Less to be attached to. On the other hand, a lot of the music that I'm starting to like is so damn obscure that it takes less time to buy a long out-of-print CD on Amazon and have it shipped to me than it does to find some online source. Second of all, some bands have been releasing really enticing vinyl packages lately. Plus I just got some new speakers and got the turntable working easier and sounding better than ever. We went record shopping last Saturday, and I find myself wanting, wanting, wanting. It's not sick if you're collecting instead of hoarding.

Anyway, I'm starting to ramble about all this. I love music. I want to support bands. I want to be exposed to as much new music as I possibly can, and discover all my undiscovered favorites. I'm embarassed that I have hundreds of old, favorite CDs that I can never listen to. I'm embarassed that I have hundreds of other CDs that I have never even given a fair shake. Yet I am a materialist, and want a collection to proudly display, if only to myself. And here I go, looking for old vinyl copies of old records, and new vinyl copies of new records. Anway, as for that copy of A Bigger Bang that I stuck in a box today and will absolutely never listen to again, I only have it in the first place because it came packed free on a bottle of vodka.