Braid — The Age of Octeen (Mud, 1996)

(First, a little pre-history.)

Enter Braid—one of (literally) hundreds of bands to bear the almost-burden moniker of emo in the ‘90s.

Back then (you know, when bearing that tag actually meant more about music and actual talent than it does today), it’s unsurprising that after a while bands would start to sound alike. People were copying whatever sounded cool at the time and tried to add their own little change to it. Evolution right? Nothing new. Well, somehow, in the midst of all these clones and conformers (and I try to use that term lightly) appears Braid from Urbana, Illinois.

Braid, not unlike the pattern set before them, was a band that changed slowly over time, but still maintained an over-arching theme of you guessed it: evolution.

In The Age of Octeen, Braid displays an immediate change in tempo from their album prior, Frankie Welfare Boy Age 5 (1995, Divot), and departures into new, slower territory.

(Now for the actual review.)

The Age of Octeen sets up with the dramatic introduction piece My Baby Smokes, that offers foreshadowing into the rest of the album: personal lyrics mixed with staccato-drumming and complex dual-guitars.

Nothing new, right?

Well not long after, the song Divers* hits and sends those variables into the extreme—as well as the listener. This could very well be Braid at their most enigmatic and enchanting; with lyrics like “. . . the car lights are on / the red lights are visible / in the shadow of the door / and again on the floor / sixteen seconds / maybe more . . .”, they offer insight on what appears to be a struggle between father and son—however subtle.

So what does all of this mean exactly?

Like the title suggests, it’s exactly what it says it is: an expression on being an older teenager (18, 19 years old), encompassing not only the external struggles/joys, but—perhaps a great deal more on—the internal struggle(s) as well (such as nostalgia).

This is an excellent release that showcases Braid at there near-peak as far as creative energy is concerned, only to be over-shadowed by their later, acclaimed release, Frame & Canvas.

8/10

(Album artwork from here.)

* Sorry for the bad sound quality here, there weren't any other videos.

Slint — Spiderland (Touch and Go, 1991)

Call it what you will—be it the greatest album on the surface of the Earth, or the most generic, over-rated example of post-rock—Slint’s Spiderland is, at the heart of the matter, a most compelling (and controversial) album.

If you want to get technical, Spiderland doesn’t really introduce anything new as far as composition is concerned; it mixes loud/soft dynamics with temperamental time-signatures, and an interesting (if not questionable) insight on mental illnesses such as paranoia, bipolar disorder, and of course, depression. Notable mention about Brian McMahan’s vocals/lyrics: they either make or break a song—that is, if you can/want to understand what it is he’s saying/yelling/whispering.

But for all the album’s short-comings (and in some cases the band’s), there’s an undeniable sense of mystery and rhythm—whether it’s coming from the music itself or merely the listener’s imagination. It’s also worth mentioning that Spiderland alone produced a massive following and is treated as one of the greatest post-rock/whatever albums of all time (or at least the 90s). This is probably due to one of their most well-known songs, Good Morning, Captain, which also made an appearance on the 1995 soundtrack to the (also controversial) movie, Kids.

I’d recommend this to anyone looking for a shallow, albeit dark and only slightly disturbing album.

6.5/10

(Album artwork from here.)