The New Pornographers winkingly call themselves an “indie rock supergroup,” even though none of their members were performing before crowds larger than 200 when they formed. Since then, they’ve grown into critical darlings with a cult following and an intimidating spread of studio albums and solo releases, but they were never scrappier, hungrier, and more fascinating than on their 2000 debut, Mass Romantic. Buoyed by bandleader Carl “A.C.” Newman’s sturdy pop songwriting, Dan Bejar’s looser, more whimsical compositions, and Neko Case’s superhuman vocals, the album packs six or seven hooks into every song. The results are both exhilarating and exhausting, and that ebullient energy is exactly why Rich has loved them for more than two decades. If you’ve never listened to the New Pornos before but enjoy great pop music, we hope this becomes a new favorite – because, after all, hope grows greener than grass stains.
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In 1977, Marvin Gaye divorced Anna Ruby Gordy (against his wishes), and as part of the divorce settlement he agreed to pay Anna a portion of the royalties of his next album. Marvin responded by recording and releasing Here, My Dear, a 72-minute double album about his divorce, his feelings about his ex-wife, and a lot of other topics weighty and otherwise. The album was initially a critical and commercial dud, but over time the album gained a reputation as a classic and possibly Gaye's best. In this episode, John (as host) stakes a position in favor of the album and its improved reputation, while Ben stakes a position that maybe listeners and critics got it right with their initial skeptical reaction (Rich takes a middle position, generally in favor of the album but with some reservations), and this makes for a spirited conversation about an album that can't help but prompt strong emotional response. Everybody needs love, and everybody needs to hear us talk about this complicated album from one of the most complicated men ever to sing beautifully into a microphone.
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Did you hear? Discord & Rhyme is continuing our holiday tradition of discussing bands who despise each other, and this year it’s the legendary Fleetwood Mac. After their foundation as a British blues band, they went through years of unbelievable turmoil before hiring a couple of Americans to add some sunny California rock to their sound. The result of all this was 1977’s Rumours, famously one of the best-selling albums of all time and inescapable to this day on classic rock radio. We’re taking a close look at this very famous album to see whether all that hype is truly deserved, and it turns out (spoiler alert) it totally is. So come along with us. We have some dreams we’d like to sell.
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Wipe that illegal smile off your face! Phil has been immersed in the music of John Prine for his entire life, and he’s brought along John and Ben to discuss the Maywood, IL, singer/songwriter, who unfortunately was one of the earliest victims of the COVID-19 pandemic. When Prine recorded his 1971 debut, industry execs saw him as a Midwestern rube, to the point of posing him on top of a hay bale on the album cover, even though hay bales are in short supply in the Chicago suburbs. But he’s a witty, intelligent, insightful, and empathetic songwriter with the ability to make listeners laugh and cry in the space of a single line, and his songs have been covered by legends including Johnny Cash and Bonnie Raitt. Prine’s passing led to a surge of interest in his music, to the point where this album charted higher in the spring of 2020 than it ever had in the previous five decades, so if he’s has flown under your radar to this point, this episode is a great opportunity to learn all about a true genius of American folk music.
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When Discord & Rhyme was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful, a miracle, oh, it was beautiful, magical. We also knew from day one that our podcast was eventually going to talk about Supertramp, and that day has come at last. Amanda and Rich have been immersed in the UK prog-pop band’s music from a very young age, and they’ve recruited Supertramp noobs John and Phil to round out the panel. You may be familiar with their late-’70s album Breakfast in America and its quartet of radio singles, but today we’re talking about their 1974 album Crime of the Century, a musically and psychologically dense song cycle boasting some of the best art-rock production this side of Dark Side of the Moon. Rick Davies and Roger Hodgson had diametrically opposed arranging and songwriting philosophies, which tended to make their albums extremely disjointed, but for this one album, the balance was just bloody well right.
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For over twenty years, Ted Leo has been one of the most intelligent and consistent songwriters of the indie rock world. In this episode, Dan, Rich, and guest rude-boy James Boo discuss the 2003 album Hearts of Oak, which showcases Leo’s talent for crafting thoughtful, politically-charged lyrics and channeling them into immediately catchy anthems. Whether it’s navigating the confusing climate of a post-9/11 America or simply ruminating on the power of ska, Ted serves it up in a poignant, ear-catching package.
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This Halloween we’re celebrating FALLoween, as we hit the north and take on the Mighty Fall! Other than a few singles that barely scraped the UK top 40, the Fall never achieved commercial success, but they built a large cult following due in large part to the personality and antics of their difficult, irascible, intelligent, and borderline unintelligible bandleader, Mark E. Smith. But what we hope to emphasize in this episode is that despite Smith’s outsized influence over the Fall, and his tendency to fire members on a whim, the Fall was always a band. Smith’s ideas formed the bedrock of their songs, but their music was always the product of a back-and-forth between him and incredibly talented musicians who added their own distinctive stamp to every iteration of the Fall. Their discography can be large and intimidating to new listeners, so we’ve chosen their 1985 opus This Nation’s Saving Grace, which is relatively accessible, but also a legit candidate for their greatest album. So even if you don’t come away from this episode as the Fall’s 50,001st fan, we hope you’ll at least understand why anyone would willingly listen to this band.
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We talked about our first classical suite a few episodes back, so now it’s time for Discord & Rhyme to talk about its first symphony! Electric Light Orchestra have been going through something of a resurgence in the 21st century, but in the ‘70s, music critics savaged Jeff Lynne’s attempts to mix pop songwriting with orchestral pomp. But with 1974’s Eldorado, Lynne was attempting to please his harshest critic of all, his classical-loving father, who claimed that ELO’s songs “have got no tune.” The result was a fascinating, overblown concept album about a Walter Mitty-esque character who escapes the real world through the power of fantasy, and whether the concept holds for the entire album (it doesn’t), it dazzled Producer Mike as a child and continues to dazzle him today. So join our hosts for an evening at the symphony, as we fight some of the holiest wars and smash some of the holiest jawrs(?!!).
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As luck would have it, two of Discord & Rhyme’s most powerful villains have been turned loose for an episode that will strike terror into the hearts of men! This week, Rich and Mike take on the 2004 hip-hop classic Madvillainy, a team-up between MF DOOM, a rapper with a metal mask and a tragic, comic-book backstory, and Madlib, a DJ with eclectic taste and an unpredictable, artfully imprecise style. The album’s 22 tracks unfold like a fever dream over just 46 minutes, with samples drawn from Bollywood, Brazilian music, Zappa, and Sun Ra crashing headfirst into snippets from old cartoons. And this is all presided over by DOOM, who packs almost unfair amounts of wordplay and meaning into every line. It may seem like chaos at first, but there’s a method to Madvillainy, and it shows how hip-hop can contain the world.
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The Jefferson Airplane's drugged-up, hyper-political jams are often dismissed as a relic of the late 1960s. But the band's talent was in abundance on their earnest debut album The Jefferson Airplane Takes Off; and when they added vocalist Grace Slick to their lineup and recorded their second album, 1967's Surrealistic Pillow, the whole world discovered what they were capable of. In discussing that album, Ben, Amanda, and John make the case that the Airplane's musicianship, harmonies, and attitude all hold up today.
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