Yo La Tengo is Ira Kaplan, Georgia Hubley, and James McNew: An introduction for a band that, in most circles, does not need one. Started by
husband and wife Kaplan and Hubley in 1984, Yo La Tengo has been writing and
releasing records for over twenty five years. They have attained some
mainstream success, but for the most part they hover just under the mainstream radar.
They have cultivated a sound and remained consistent, not conforming to trends
and traveling to the beat of their own drone. This puts the band in a unique
position, neither blowing up nor falling into obscurity. It is their
persistence to write the way they want that has allowed such longevity in their
career. They haven’t fallen off. They will never offend their fan base by
embracing disco (in a manner of speech). They are in a way, out of the effected
reach of critics because their dedicated fans will likely not be swayed in a
negative direction. In other words, Yo La Tengo doesn’t need you to like their
music. They like their music and they will keep making music that they like.
That being said, their latest album Fade,
is actually quite exceptional.
Again I reiterate, Yo La Tengo are practically dinosaurs in
the music industry, and so I hesitate to make comparisons to other bands that
may share sonic similarities. Yo La Tengo predates many modern bands to which I
might make a comparison and it is more likely that said bands have been
influenced by Yo La Tengo, and not the other way around (that is not to say
that the reverse could not be true). The Velvet Underground influence is obvious,
from the repetitious droniness, to the fuzzy and technically avoidant,
meandering guitar and of course there is Georgia Hubley’s vocals that embody a prettier,
less atonal sounding Nico. But, this comparison is trite and at this point in
the band’s existence they have achieved their own relevance outside of any recollection
of Lou Reed, no matter how fond.
Fade begins with some
subtle percussive elements (guitar strings that better resemble tapping on an
empty bucket), followed by some kind of synthesized shimmer and then the beat
drops. Enter some guitar jangle and what emerges is the unmistakable pulse of a
Yo La Tengo concoction. A living,
breathing machine, this first track, “Ohm,” ebbs and flows as a mantra, the
essence of a sound developed over the course of almost three decades. Familiar
mellow vocals deliver the lines, ”Sometimes the bad guys come out on top/ Sometimes
the good guys lose/ We try not to lose our hearts, not to lose our minds.”
Kaplan comforts the listener in a way as he delivers a kind of matter of fact,
ethereal wisdom. He continues, “Nothing ever stays the same/ Nothing’s
explained.” His connotation is insecure,
but not without hope in an all-accepting, enlightened, and philosophical way.
The record plods along with the second track, “Is That Enough,” a reminiscent
love ballad that continues with the theme of pensive reflection. An unsure Kaplan asks the question, “Is that
enough if it’s not clear the way I feel for you?” Then in comes the infectious
upbeat third tune, with fast drums and a loud, funky bass riff. “Well You
Better,” serves as an answer to the uncertain thoughts of the first two tracks
and repeats in a spectacular and uplifting manner, “Please make up your mind
before it’s too late.” This song communicates that it is fine to thoroughly
contemplate, but at a certain point there is a demand for action, as Kaplan
understands because of a familiar voice heard inside his head.
Each song that follows has something special happening as
well. Hubley’s role is not to be marginalized as she sings beautiful lead on a
couple of songs echoing the comforting tone and vocal delivery established
early on by Kaplan. In “Cornelia and Jane,” Hubley’s voice conveys a desperate
sense of longing that I have not felt from a new release in a long time. I will
admit to holding Yo La Tengo in particularly high esteem. I have not been a
lifelong fan of the band, only previously being exposed to certain songs here
and there, mere highlights from an accomplished musical archive. This record
however, has meant something to me on a personal level. I listened to Fade for the first time through
headphones on a gray day, while traversing a windy and desolate beach. The
music served as a soundtrack to a pensive stroll; a backdrop to a scene in a
film where some kind of self-discovery first manifests. Realizations like this
are fleeting and mostly inconsequential outside of the moment. It was through
this lens that I experienced Fade and
although each listen will yield a different relation to this music, I will remember
that time on the beach because for me, music and memory are closely related.
Listening to music is not a passive non-event, but an active experience. After
the initial experience, each consequent listen is like a memory of the first
time. Over time it becomes less real and more bias toward some designation that
is readily acceptable; re-written into a comfortable narrative; dislodged from
the place where it was felt; transformed into something understandable and mundane;
no longer personal, but general and detached; no longer belonging to one’s individual
self alone. Something like that cannot remain and so, in the end, it will fade.
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