Over the last year or so I have come under the impression that I might like Of Montreal, both from reading reviews and from seeing multiple quotations attributed to bandleader Kevin Barnes that reminded me of another personal rock hero.

Finally I took the plunge and ordered their album Satanic Panic in the Attic.  It arrived today, and I immediately noticed that (1) the album title is written in the Burton’s Nightmare font, and (2) the first line of the first song contains the phrase “disconnect the dots.”

So, uhm…get used to the 5.9s, Mr. Barnes?

Actor Jeffrey Wright [below] on his new role as Chicago bluesman Muddy Waters in biopic Cadillac Records, New York Magazine:

If there’s a challenge to acting, it’s trying to do something that emulates what these original bluesmen did: craft something out of nothing.  What I’ve been led to understand is that there is no rock and roll, there’s only the blues.  Rock and roll was just a marketing term to entice young white kids.

And Chicago bluesman Billy Corgan, Smashing Pumpkins:

“Rock, rock, rock is dead…”

Rolling Stone’s recent “100 Greatest Singers of All Time” would seem to concur …

My Bloody Valentine returned to U.S. shores for the first time in 16 years last week, and I took in Saturday night’s show at the Aragon Ballroom in Chicago. While some debate the legacy of a band that was nary a household name in their heyday, I tend to prefer the take that the reunion is a welcome chance to see a group that was criminally underappreciated by the public but a huge influence and inspiration to a large amount of musicians (for reference, see the Pixies reunion tour circa 2004).

The Aragon was surprisingly good sounding for a venue that is notorious for horribly muddy acoustics (in fact, the best I’ve heard since the Smashing Pumpkins’ Machina tour). Between grainy video projections and a phalanx of constantly flashing strobes, the overall atmosphere was one of constant bombardment, especially when factoring in My Bloody Valentine’s legendarily loud shows.

However, I’m not debating MBV’s importance or even providing a detailed review of the show itself, but commenting on something that struck me as the show progressed. But the band sounded great and overall, I was really enjoying the show.

Until the set-closing performance of “You Made Me Realise.” I’m sorry, but the “Holocaust” is complete and total bullshit. For those who are unaware, in the midst of the song, the band locks into a chord, and proceeds to play it, at a deafening volume. It’s definitely a unique experience. Descriptions of the sound are often compared to being inside a jet engine, and in truth, that’s not very far off. You can feel your whole body vibrate as the noise pours over you; combined with the incessant light show, it has the effect of completely disorienting your sense of equilibrium.

Below is a YouTube clip from the Toronto performance two nights prior:

The sensation was unique and exciting at first. And then it went on. And on. And on. For 23 straight minutes. If any modern band or new band tried to get away with pushing the boundaries of their audience like this, they’d be ripped apart by fans and the press. In the midst of the maelstrom, it made me think of all the times Billy Corgan has pushed the limits and tested the patience of concertgoers and the amount of backlash he receives. And I’ve often been one of them, having been on record of my dislike of the extended versions of songs like “Heavy Metal Machine,” “United States,” and their “Set the Controls” cover. But at least those have some redeeming musical qualities. My Bloody Valentine deign to turn the crowd into a psychological experiment, and do so to the detriment of their overall show, especially when the show barely clocks in at an hour and a half total.

While Corgan would be eviscerated for such a self-indulgent, pretentious, egocentric act, I fully expected the reviews of the notoriously mysterious Kevin Shields and co. to be glowing and reverential since MBV have reached “legendary” status due to their prolonged absence. Surprisingly, while most reviewers took the predicted tack, there were some naysayers and temperates, including Time Out Chicago, the always amusing Jim Derogatis, and the even-handed group at Consequence of Sound, whose overall take most closely resembles my own.

However, I wonder just how different all the reviews above would read were the band unleashing this sonic experiment the Pumpkins rather than My Bloody Valentine.

In advance of Sunday’s Smashing Pumpkins concert in Raleigh, Robbie Mackey of North Carolina’s Independent Weekly discusses the influence of Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness on “the rise of ‘mainstream indie rock’”:

These bands share Corgan’s principal flaws—over-indulgence, a lack of critical perspective, records that are too long and noticeably lacking in focus. But they also share some of his strong points, too: When they’re good, they’re rich and rewarding in their denseness. Hyperactive collagists Evangelicals, the grandiose pop crew of Manchester Orchestra, Oxford, Miss.’s Colour Revolt, and our very own Annuals might not champion the sonic value of the Pumpkins, but they most certainly appreciate the aesthetic. Indeed, the shadow of Corgan still looms, convincing an entire generation, with the world at their keyboard tips, and weaned on Dawn, Dusk, Twilight and Starlight, to just fucking go for it. For better, or for worse.