Homage to Catalonia - The Estimated Temperature of Heaven
(Status)
Perhaps I've been too harsh, critically, in earlier reviews. Perhaps I haven't properly weighed the scale. Perhaps 1's and 2's (hey, even 3's) should be saved for bands that are so bad, so extremely unlistenable that it's a good indication that if they get a "1" that you should stay away, that nothing good will ever come from you buying something like that. Perhaps I should have thought before awarding such low ratings to bands like As Friends Rust, the Nationale, the Realistics, and Michael J. Sheehy. I ponder these things now, because I have received what could possibly be the worst CD ever created.
Now, I'm a fan of hyperbole. A big fan. I love it. But my friends, this isn't hyperbole—in my years of listening, of being a music lover, I don't think I've ever heard something like this. Before I continue, let me show you a sampling of Joshua Stephens' (AKA Homage to Catalonia) writing from "Notes of Salvation":
Adolescence was characterized by a sort of suffocation, an overwhelming sense that there were very few prospects for a beating heart in this world, consciousness that adulthood represented assimilation into a sort of self-interest and impunity that disgusted me. I was overcome by a fear that I wouldn't make it because I couldn't force myself into that, and believing I would die by the time I was twenty, possibly by my own hand. It's a pretty unsophisticated conclusion, nurtured by very little. Sort of in the way infants dream of the most primitive things, the most basic elements that make up their day-to-day life. In the years that have followed, maturity and experience have poked a sort of pinhole into that scenario. That pinhole is resistance. Any life that I've had since has come from forcing myself through that hole to allow myself to breathe. [...] Not too frequently, resistance and struggle are couched in purely rhetorical and allegedly objective sort of terms; the political, and the economic. There's a spiritual element to all of this; resistance is a means of surviving with a beating heart [...]
Wow, Joshua. Wow, wow, wow. I'm, like, so moved that you would include your deepest feelings in a spoken monologue like that on your record; it's like, so... personal, yet so politically charged as well. I don't think I've ever heard anything like that.
Actually, the truth is, this is just the first step in my overall hatred for this album. Joshua, you are not Howard Zinn. You are not Jello Biafra. Don't pretend to be by including long, pointless ramblings about your perspective on life that would have been better suited as a diary entry. "Dear diary, today a mean critic on fakejazz told me my album was bad! He's wrong, though... my cut-n-paste zinester pseudo-politico girlfriend says so!" Anyway, back to what I was saying. This shit doesn't fly around here. You're not Howard Zinn... enough with the spoken word. Oh yeah, and since you probably haven't gone through university to get a degree in this stuff, like my man Howard, or the always-reliable Noam Chomsky, don't include your various incoherent political ramblings inside the liner notes, either. Wanker.
Therein lies my next big qualm with this stupid record. The liner notes. Oh, boy, this is fun. On the first page is a long, eight-point font diatribe on Joshua's discomfort with titles and the idea of "being a musician." I guess that's why he's chosen a shitty name like "Homage to Catalonia" and recorded some limp, Saddle Creek inspired pop with dumb lyrics. But, man, he doesn't label himself a musician, and he doesn't like various titles, so it's okay, you know? Continuing. On the next page it talks about how much passion and joy went into recording. I'll bet. Then comes the best part. The lyrics! Yeah! Lyrics! And political rambling! Political rambling! Yeah! I love it already! Oh, no... wait, this is just a lot of "buzz" words (i.e., "substantive distinction" and "impetus of resistance") trying to convey vaguely leftist ideas. At one point, he compares the privatization of prisons to the slave trade. Good, Joshua. Good. That's like comparing the atrocities of the holocaust with Tommy Hillfiger. But big points for trying.
On the last couple of pages there's a long ramble about the time he got arrested at a Philadelphia demonstration. While I agree there were some major suspensions of First Amendment rights, the fact that he seems to want so much to be a part of the Battle in Seattle band (you know who I'm talking about: Jello, Kim Thail, and Krist Novasellic) sort of kills it for me. Also, his preachy tone really puts me in a foul mood. People buying this are probably going to share his frame of mind. You're preaching to the converted, Joshua!
Oh, yeah... music. What can I say? I've already likened it to the bands on Saddle Creek. So we're looking at a limp, way-less-entertaining Bright Eyes, or maybe a less novel Dashboard Confessional. Let's say that for perhaps the first thirty seconds of the album, when it's just a lightly picked acoustic guitar, I had hope that I could enjoy Homage to Catalonia. Like the police in Philadelphia butchered the rights of the protesters, so too has Joshua Stephens butchered any enjoyment I might have taken in this release. Zing!
Well, there you go. If you ever happen to stumble across this review, Joshua, I urge you to consider never making music ever again. And Status Records: don't tarnish your good reputation by keeping this guy on your roster! Drop him! Get rid of him! Make sure another record as dismally bad as this never, ever gets made! And for those of you at home, you readers, going by our rating system, understand this: if there were a possibility I could give this a zero, I would. Don't just laugh at people who own this. Break the CD in half, light it on fire, and make sure the owner never listens to the artist again.
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