
From the desk of Dr. R.M. Shumway
Greetings, from the step tanzu of Dr. R.M. Shumway. Yes, I know, most respected journalists have desks, and most esteemed music critics have plain ol' entertainment centers, but bear with the good doctor, would you? The japanese craftsmen school of cabinetry known as tansu has forever been known for balance, simplicity, and utility, but it is also a darn fine place to squirrel away the stereo components. And that's what you need if you're going to talk about what I'm here to talk about: The tunes. They fly across state lines in a padded envelope sent by Coolfer Glenn and land on the ol' tanzu with a soft satisfying plop. Then I, the good doctor, put them through their paces and boil them down to their pure essence. The result is yours to savor: snarky rawk criticism! Here is your first serving: Bon apetit!
I remember the snotty old days where electronic-minded musicians kept their sub-genres quarantined from each other with a "keep your chocolate out of my peanut butter" fanaticism. Those days are gone, my friend. As the days have gone by, the ruling ethos seems to lean closer to the crockpot mentality: if you got it, toss it in there. The much-heralded Diplo is the latest purveyor of this ethos. Yours truly got a chance to take an aural peep at a single-track "megamix" of the recent album Florida.
Compulsive listeners who have already worn their limited edition RJD2 acetates thin will no doubt lap this one up too. That being said, the good Dr. Shumway can't in good confidence perscribe this one to you. The profusion of influences (dancehall, crunk, bangara, electro, and skatey-eight other musical forms) should feel like a blessed cornucopia, and yet it comes across more like a going-out-of-business sale. It's all done relatively well, but there's just so much of it so close together, that this particular listener responds with an affectless catatonia. Now don't get me wrong! I'm a big fan of the musical casserole. I get the same giddy joy out of the Avalanches that any other half-irish, quarter-italian, quarter-slovakian-american does, and I gladly stroke my three chin hairs whenever the shadowy Mr. Josh Davis hits the decks, but there's a coherence to the output that makes this megamix a little less than "mega".
Until our next appointment!