It’s a damn shame that Pandora doesn’t exist in Argentina (thank you, international digital copyright laws), because I miss it. I have Pandora to thank for introducing me to one of my favorite albums of all time:
The Heilig Levine LP (54º 40' or Fight!, 2005) (incorrectly labeled "The Heiliq Levine LG" on iTunes; beware), named by North Carolina-based indie outfit
Ticonderoga for the building where they recorded the thirteen tracks for free.
That I love the album doesn’t mean it’s not brimming with faults. You will remember that I have an almost pathological problem with hipster culture, but let it be known that a) I listen to what I like and b) I am an enormous hypocrite (that is to say, the extent of my hypocrisy is considerable; I am not, as it were, a large person who is also hypocritical). And I realize that knowing a bad thing is bad does not make it better, especially if you carry on doing it. So basically I have no excuse. And also I am very good at talking myself into corners.
(Get on with it, Claire.)
So I’ll begin with the weaker points of the album, which really all stem from its overproduction. I don’t know why so many people think that artistic creativity requires, or is equivalent to, greater complexity in terms of arrangement, programming and time-signature shifts, but that seems to be a trend that Ticonderoga has not been able to resist. If, figuratively speaking,
Muddy Waters is in his underwear, Ticonderoga is trussed up like bloody Marie Antoinette. I remember one Christmas when my parents gave us (my sister, brother and I) a 32-key Casio keyboard complete with preprogrammed, synthesized versions of Ode to Joy and Chopin’s Nocturne. It’s the closest we ever got to a piano, sadly, but it also had this one setting called Computer, I believe, which produced an unnerving electronic tinkling that annoyed the pants off anyone listening. Point being: I swear to God, Ticonderoga uses Computer starting at 6:53 of “Country Mouse” to nothing short of disastrous effect. I have no idea what they were thinking. Add to the list of Overproduction Grievances numerous counts of Intellectual Waffling: Musical, Electronic or Otherwise (see 1:07 of “Centipede” for a tiresome example) and apparently earnest use of Christmas bells ("Why Do You Suppose?"), and it would appear that we are dealing with an album that remains deservedly obscure.
Which is entirely untrue, because the whole project is just so damn classy. It fancies itself a concept album; the tracks fade into one another seamlessly, a detail I neglected to take into account when I burned the CD, resulting in rather harsh self-admonishment upon the first listen for allowing a 1-second gap between songs. Moreover, in spite of the album’s overwrought aesthetic you have gems like “They Can Run”, which is a fantastic example of both my chief musical weakness and generally excellent, intuitive songwriting. When I first heard “They Can Run”, I fell in love with it simply for its warm bass guitar and understated percussion. In less biased terms, the song has a fascinating melodic structure that takes a little getting used to. At first you feel like you’re listening to your run-of-the-mill, minor-key, moody acoustic ballad, but then Ticonderoga hits you with a measure of gorgeous dissonance that takes you completely by surprise. It just makes everything worth it. In short, self-deception has made Claire a (gasp) hipster apologist. For now, anyway.
