|  Let’s
clear thing up here. I am speaking to you, discerning music listener
(and I know you are so, because you are reading this pretty much obscure
fine e-print of opinion and discourse, love and hate, good and evil),
about the best record of two thousand two. I have to say this and, then,
we will get into the chosen record.
This is my choice. Yes, my choice. We can endlessly debate what truly
(and utterly) constitutes the “best” record of the year:
it’s the songs stupid; it’s the aesthetic, the attitude
(or more simply stated, it’s the one that pisses off the most
parents); it’s originality; it’s anti-bandwagonesque; it’s
anti-anti-anti-etcetera-whatever. I’m leaving that self-congratulatory,
egomaniacal, one-uppism to Christgau, Pazz & Jop 2002, Meltzer,
the Magnet editorial staff, Fricke, Schrieber/Pitchfork, Marcus, Peel,
and the gazillions of armchair rock critics (known and unknown). Right
here, right now, I deliver to you, my favorite record of 2002, Cinerama’s
Torino.
What makes this platter of pathetic deception, innocent run-through-a-field-of-daises-love,
garish sex, outright lies, mutual betrayal, and multiple sex partners
(among other things) so damn wonderful? Well, in spite (or is it despite?)
these thirteen tales of, well, what I just wrote, please allow me to
be frank: it’s just so great!
Cinerama’s (led by ex-The Wedding Present frontman David Gedge)
first full lengths were loungey-pop-with-some-power; noticeably different
from the abrasive hyper pop confections of Gedge’s previous (legendary)
band. Well, to make a long story short (cliché intended), Torino
represents a return of more than sorts for Gedge: the record flat out
rocks (even in the quieter moments). This is a good thing. Combining
this return to form (again, cliché intended) with his stellar
songwriting abilities (in melodies/hooks/choruses and, even, lyrics),
whoa, it makes Torino that much more of an evocative treat. Basically,
the record showcases, no, not showcases, validates what makes Gedge
so brilliant (cliché not intended). His mad scientist ability
to take the pop song format and meld it with rock-n-roll energy (and
support it with witty and smart lyrics) is impeccable. It’s Elvis
and The Beatles and Buddy Holly and Roy Orbison and Chuck Berry. But
faster and hornier.
So, you know that I love this record. You know that I see it as a return
to what Gedge does best. “But what about the record itself?”
Ah, indeed! You are discerning music listeners! Well, I could be a tease
and proclaim, “Trust me, go out and buy the damn thing!”
[pause] but I won’t be so cheeky. Let me say this: from start
to finish (track one to thirteen), Cinerama offers you a molten slab
of Sex Pistols-meet-The Smiths a la vintage Gedge-istic jams. Translation:
good shit.
“And When She Was Bad,” the opener, begins with Gedge inhaling
and with a slight sigh he tells a tale of rationalizing his girlfriend’s
indiscretions. Just an acoustic guitar and Gedge, then about a minute
ten into the song, the band kicks in with a power chord, and he takes
you into a dysfunctional assessment (“please, just stay away from
him from today”-an aside, the “from him from today”
is an obvious lyrical gaff, but he didn’t bother to clear it up)
and then brings it down with acoustic guitar and cello. Then as you
attempt to recover, song two (“Two Girls”) blasts in with
a quick-hit drum riff and big guitars. This track is as hot as it gets
as Gedge bangs his head with self-hatred, yet he is exhilarated over
his macho philandering (“I’ve never planned on falling for
two girls at the same time”).
“Airborne” is one of the most wonderful and downright pretty
relationship laments ever written. Backed mostly by mournful strings
(cello, viola, violin), the song is heartbreaking as he sings about
watching his former lover’s plane disappear into the sky. At one
point he croons, “You just flew away the moment things got tough”
and he ends the song with, “You just never worked out how to take
the good with the bad.” But, again, he allows the listener no
recovery as the next track (“Quick, Before It Melts”) begins
with the line, “And when you said, ‘I’ve got nothing
on underneath this dress’, that was such great flirting.”
The song blends Gedge’s orch-pop leaning of previous Cinerama
efforts with the kinetic perpetual motion guitar riffs of The Wedding
Present with lyrics equally filthy and innocent (sexually speaking).
I could go on and on and on and on, but my irksome editors would be
irked. “Careless” and “Starry Eyed” rock. “Close
Up” and “Tie Me Up” are poignantly pretty. “Get
Up and Go” and “Health and Efficiency” are epic. Countless
lyrics are as quotable as a Morrissey greatest hits. Yes, every single
song is a winner (infectious, demanding of attention, etc.). On and
on and on and on, I could go. And that is why it is the best record
of two thousand two.
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