Metric – Old World Underground, Where Are You Now?

I want to rant about the dishonest American media’s portrayal of Canadian health care here – it’s amazing watching a fraud being perpetuated, spitting in the face of the truth, essentially along partisan lines. Any Canadian, Brit, or funny, beret-wearing French chef knows that their health care system is not awful, not murderous, and saves the lives of far more people than the American “all-out-capitalism” approach. Does our system let down the occasional person? Absolutely. But not nearly as many as the American system, and not entirely along economic lines. It’s downright olde English what’s going on down there, and yet…

But instead I’d rather complain about how I have nowhere to move to in a week, and no job for when I get back from this trip, but I’m too tired, and insecure about my fat content and flailing personality in the face of responsibility, but I think I’m too tired even for that. You see, my imaginary and fantastical audience, I can’t sleep when I’m with a girl maybe half the time. This is not specific to my current relationship – it’s been happening since I started being in them, and this is on top of my existing sleeping problems that have troubled me since I was a little kid.

Oh, times were simpler when it was 2001 and new “hep cats” were “rockin’ around the clock” to the tune of tunes like this album’s, a lovable harbinger of young folks to come. By this time Feist and the Metrics had realized that they were actually a normal-ish four-piece rock band, eschewing the Stars-ness of their previous album in favour of pop-rock songs. This isn’t too much of a departure, as the (invalid) rhythm dept. doesn’t do too much and they already wrote verse-chorus pop songs (not counting that Mainstream EP). I sure do likes the the sound of real drums a lot more though, and the previous gloss-synths have been replaced with a sly, slithering synth that borders on sarcastic all album long.

So the songs! What about the fucking songs, Myles Warren Stocker? I’ll tell you, MetricReview Textedit. They’re pretty good!

End of review.

Credits roll.

Wacky post-review “bonus material” starts after the credits as follows:

They’re about venerable hipster topics like the title of the gosh darn album, the joys of arguing with a lover, what to wear, alienation with modern life love and music, and hint at a deep romanticism while throwing out catchphrases that nail it on the romance front but are painful on the political front. “Every ten year old enemy soldier thinks falling bombs are shooting stars / But she doesn’t make wishes on them” – What does that even mean? And what soldiers would those be? Unless she’s talking about Joseph Kony…Nothing is discordant and not a note is extra, but some songs do it for me way more than others. Namely, “Combat Baby” is tedious and barely mediocre (and lose the drum machine, fatty), while a few on the second half aren’t too memorable. On the winning front, the two slow, sad songs, “Calculation Theme” and “Love is a Place” are the two best things here – genuinely moving and original, while “Dead Disco,” the most straight forward-ly poppy song here, really pulls off its frustration and annoyance at the doneism of what’s out there and what’s to create.

It’s a little too exact and euphonic at times, but it sounds good all the way through, and if the glossiness annoys you then don’t listen to it seven times in one day for the sake of review. Listen to some Jandek, or something.



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