Doolittle, Pixies
Doolittle by the Pixies stands
as one of the most influential
rock records since its release in
1989. It moves through poppy
instrumentals
with
perfect
bass lines that contrast its dark
subject
matter
referencing
biblical violence, surrealism and
death.
These things melt into one
cohesive album that conjure up an
unsettling feeling, and Doolittle’s
iconic album cover gives those
feelings a face. Frontman Francis
Black gave the album’s lyrics to
photographer Simon Larbalestier
and
artist
Vaughan
Oliver,
allowing them to make images
directly related to the songs.
They produced multiple images:
everything from a stark black
and white photograph of a crab
and broken boot to represent the
mentioned crustaceans on “Wave
of Mutilation” to a chipped,
broken bell that queues the
“ringing bell” in “I Bleed.”
After
much
pondering,
Black chose the uncanny and
memorable image of the monkey
with a halo on its head under a
layer of odd geometric shapes.
The image recalls the song
“Monkey Gone To Heaven,” as
Black’s harsh voice gives purpose
to the three numbers branded
on the cover:
five, six and
seven.
Black
sings, “If man
is five / Then
the Devil is
six / And if
the Devil is
six
/
Then
God is seven,”
with a gut-
wrenching
shriek
emphasized
on “God” that
lingers in your
eardrums.
In
a
Consequence
of Sound review, they mention
a quote by Black explaining that
“Mr. Grieves” is about Death
in mythology. A line in the
songs references Dr. Doolittle
embodying
Death
because
they are both people who pass
through
multiple
planes
of
existence. Black says, “The ‘man
in the middle’ is Dr. Doolittle,
because if you could speak to
the animals you would be the
great link between mankind
and the animal world,” making
the monkey a symbol of the
otherworldly.
The cover has a distinct feeling
of distortion with its grey and red
colors. They match the rustic
tone of Black’s voice throughout
the record, especially in songs
like “Dead,” when his voice seeps
into a indistinguishable abyss
of sound as he sings, “You’re
suffocating you need a good
shed / I’m tired of living, shebe,
so gimme / Dead.” The record’s
constant references to death and
things beyond paired with the
creepy cover pushes listeners
into a curious middle ground
of light and darkness melting
together in entropy.
— Selena Aguilera,
Daily Arts Writer
Roundtable: on the importance of album cover art
Yeezus, Kanye West
Yeezus: The anti-cover. What
better feature for our series
about cover art than an album
with no cover at all? For his sixth
studio album, established hip-
hop innovator Kanye West took
a step toward the avant-garde,
bringing the design of its cover
with him. The Yeezus “cover” is
best discussed in terms of a CD
and case, as the digital version
is simply an image of the two:
With no design aside from a small
square of red sealant tape, the
physical Yeezus disc is completely
exposed through its clear, plastic
packaging.
It’s
minimalist,
it’s raw and
instead
of
augmenting
an
album’s
innate
qualities
of
mass-
production
and
digitization
with life and
creativity
as
album
art
typically
aims to do, it
completely
embraces the album’s CD-ness.
Ironically,
these
characteristics
(or lack thereof) brilliantly mimic
the tone of the album. Sonically,
Yeezus differs drastically from
Ye’s
traditionally
warm
and
polished sound, instead offering
a chaotic array of unfiltered,
digital mush. Its tracks are cold,
abrasive
and
overwhelmingly
artificial — attributes that a plain,
metallically reflective compact
disc perfectly embodies. For
example, “On Sight” is both parts
a jarring imitation of Afrika
Bambaataa’s condensed electro
beats of the ’80s and a brilliant
example of the power of gospel
sampling, either section starkly
contrasted without traditional
regard for blend or balance; “I’m
In It” boasts a gigantic, angry
beat that could be classified as
some corelary of rap metal with
ear-piercing screeches to match.
It’s only appropriate that the
album’s cover breaks the mold as
well.
In 2013, Ye ranted about Yeezus
and its cover: “With this album
we ain’t drop no single to radio.
We ain’t got no NBA campaign,
nothing like that. Shit, we ain’t
even got no cover. We just made
some real music.” Disgruntled
with the state of the music
industry in 2013, viewing pop
radio as uninspired, Ye indicated
that an additional motivation for
a coverless album was to recenter
focus strictly on the album’s
content. This was an especially
strong decision given that Yeezus
is difficult to digest upon first
listen; any additional art would
have made the record’s dark
experimentation overwhelming
and unpalatable. Instead, Yeezy
let the CD speak for itself.
— Mike Watkins,
Daily Arts Writer
MUSIC
Music writers of Daily Arts understand the importance that lies within an attractive binding and how an album’s cover can offer
a glimpse of the story its music contains. Thus, in no particular order, we have compiled a list of our favorite works of album art.
4AD
Revolver, The Beatles
Prior to Revolver, Beatles
album covers had been fairly
straightforward photos of the
four members, and although
Rubber Soul did feature a
marijuana-fueled
distortion
of their faces, Revolver was
still a major departure. The
cover
consists
of
drawings
of the Fab Four rather than
photographs,
intermingled
with a psychedelic collage in
black and white, which was a
subversive artistic decision in
an era where intense color was
de rigueur. This was the cover
art of a band who had begun to
take their work more seriously,
certain now that this was not
just pop music — it was art.
Paul had immersed himself
in the London avant-garde
scene,
devouring
anything
hip
and
interesting,
from
Stockhausen to cocaine. This
included tape loop collages
— a sonic innovation that
would find its way onto the
ultra-experimental
closer
“Tomorrow
Never
Knows”
(and in a much more extreme
form on John’s “Revolution 9”
a few years later). On the cover
Paul is looking outward, much
like how he spent the Revolver
era
searching
for
external
inspiration, synthesizing the
innovations of his time with
The
Beatles’
pre-existing
musical sensibilities (visually
reflected in how the old images
of The Beatles are melded with
the nouveau illustration of
Klaus Voormann).
John,
conversely,
had
become
reclusive
—
eating
acid, watching TV and idling in
Ringo’s garden. His withdrawn
and
contrary
worldview
emerged in songs like “I’m Only
Sleeping” and “And Your Bird
Can
Sing,”
and is also
reflected
in
the
subversive
black
and
white cover
art.
When
most
were
moving
towards
technicolor
psychedelia,
The Beatles
eschewed
color
altogether.
Lennon’s
gaze on the
cover is shifty-eyed and his face
is partially obscured, looking
with near-condescension at the
older images of the mop-top
Beatles, an era he was soon to
reject.
George is the only Beatle to be
looking directly at the viewer,
coming into his own creatively
on the record from his original
pieces
(in
particular,
the
Indian-influenced “Love You
To”) to his scorching guitar
parts on songs like “She Said
She Said” and “And Your Bird
Can Sing.” The quiet Beatle
began to find his voice on
Revolver, and his intense gaze
on the cover suggests that he
intends to be heard.
Finally,
Ringo
is
gazing
upwards,
a
receptive
pose
befitting the Beatle whose role
was to support the others on
their creative journey — his
drum-playing never missing
a beat — despite the fact that
he himself never instigated
any of this development, from
his
brain-crushing
thumps
on “Tomorrow Never Knows”
to
his
intense
technical
performance on “She Said She
Said.”
The cover of Revolver is
emblematic not just because
it is visually engaging, but
because it captures the spirit
and sound of the album. It is the
audacious epitome of a moment
when The Beatles made their
biggest leap from pop icons to
art musicians.
— Jonah Mendelson,
Daily Arts Writer
Seek Magic, Memory Tapes
I first came across Seek Magic
during Mar. of my senior year of
high school. I was a Future Islands
fanatic — some things never
change — and my obsession with
the band set me down a winding
path that ultimately led to ’70s and
’80s inspired synth-pop revival
and doused-out chill wave in
equal measure. I was knee-deep
in the youth lagoon, if you will,
encountering
Twin
Shadow,
Chromatics,
Wild
Nothing,
Washed Out, Craft Spells and
Neon Indian for the first time.
Somehow,
maybe
through
Spotify’s
“Related
Artists”
feature or a 2009 “Best Of” list,
I stumbled upon Memory Tapes
and Seek Magic caught my eye.
The album’s cover art could be
mistaken for a sun or water-
damaged photograph from afar,
but it’s actually a painting, though
it’s difficult to tell what of.
I’ve tried many times over
the past three years to find
information on the cover’s artist,
but never succeeded. Memory
Tapes has a Bandcamp page, but
Seek Magic is glaringly absent,
and the album’s Wikipedia page
is about as helpful. Left to my own
devices, I have always imagined
that the artist’s goal was to
challenge the border between the
above and the below, the sea and
the sky.
What seem to be clouds line the
top of the image, while the lower
two thirds consist of reflective
strips, like inconsistent little pools
of oil whose iridescence causes
their reflections to be unfaithful
replications
of
reality.
The
centerpiece of the cover is plain
to see but difficult to describe.
Intuition tells me that it’s an
island — a distant one, certainly —
either peeking out from the water
or hanging in midair. Whatever
the case may be, the sum total of
the landscape’s features seems to
represent a magical half-reality,
suitable given the album’s dreamy
feel.
“Swimming Field,” the album’s
first cut, begins with the sound
that insects make in the night at
warmer latitudes. The familiar
drone of bugs is punctuated by
a dog’s bark even further in the
background — you might miss it if
you’re not listening on headphones.
The effect is immediate nostalgia
at its purest and most intense, and
a feeling of space, like walking
down
an
empty street
somewhere
in coastal Fla..
There’s
no
sidewalk, but
no cars either,
so you amble
along the side
of the road,
appreciating
more
than
usual
both
the
light
provided
by
street lamps
and the space
in
between
them.
While the
album art alone might not merit
the recognition I’ve given it, the
interplay between the visual and
aural within this album especially
has always stuck with me. Lyrics
are subdued throughout, and the
general mood is one of longing. For
me, this has always meant longing
for the past, for simplicity and the
space to not feel so bad about being
lazy. This idea of the past as being
perfectly simple isn’t an accurate
one though, thoroughly colored by
rosy retrospection. Seek Magic’s
fantastical landscape is analogous
to the places that populate my
memories. It exists as they exist,
certainly there but not quite real,
tantalizing and comforting in that
I can never quite return to the
place I recall, because I was never
actually there.
— Sean Lang,
Daily Arts Writer
The Kick Inside, Kate Bush
The UK release cover of
The Kick Inside by ethereal
songstress
Kate
Bush
has
always
been
one
of
my
favorite examples of album
art, from the moment I first
saw it to every time it comes
up on my phone to this day.
A stark yellow background
embellished with red details,
the cover exudes the brilliant
life of the record’s contents —
the debut album for Bush and
the first chance the world had
to experience her genius. In
the artwork, Bush appears to
be exploding out of a watchful
eye on a sail of fire, surrounded
by swirling Chinoiserie fabric
and a title written out in
careful calligraphy. The bright
contrast between the red and
yellow of the cover shows the
lively and beautifully alien
aspects of Bush’s work in one
glance, as each portion of the
art works together in a strange
yet innovative manner. If there
was anything to describe The
Kick Inside, that would be
it:
strange,
yet
innovative.
Carrying her top single and
most memorable song from the
album, “Wuthering Heights,”
the album was released to
international acclaim, yet this
haunting cover art did not go
with it everywhere. The United
States release of The Kick Inside
instead bares just a photo
of Bush comfortably sitting,
wearing jeans and a red blouse,
supposedly
more
appealing
to an American audience who
wasn’t
so
adapted
to
the intrigue
of
Bush’s
artistic
sensibilities.
Nonetheless,
the UK cover
became the
accepted
version
of
the
album,
and
its
longevity
has carried
Bush’s
wonderful
weirdness
into
the
hands of many since its release.
This is a record you can truly
judge by its cover, because the
art is a perfect replication of
what lays within — a lasting
and memorable show of a
young Bush’s prodigal talent
and “it” factor which echoes
into the present.
— Clara Scott,
Daily Arts Writer
Melodrama, Lorde
When I think of the summer
of 2017, I think of driving and
I think of Lorde’s Melodrama.
My first time listening to the
album in full was during my
daily commute from home to
campus, where I was taking
classes for the summer. The
most vivid memory I have of
that experience is hearing
“Homemade Dynamite” float
through my car speakers like
some sort of chilling dream:
“We’ll end up painted on the
road / Red and chrome / All
the broken glass sparkling.”
Most
of
the
albums
I listen to
are
black
and red, not
just in color
scheme,
but also in
tone.
More
often
than
not,
artists
will
fixate
on a single
emotion,
weaving
it
in and out of
every single
track
until
it positively
blots
out
everything
else,
which
doesn’t
leave
much
room for nuance. Take My
Chemical
Romance’s
Three
Cheers
for
Sweet
Revenge;
although the pace changes
slightly from song to song,
anyone who isn’t particularly
into the genre might not be
able to pick apart the tiny
differences that separate the
individual tracks. My favorite
part about Melodrama is how
complete it is: There’s a song
for every single emotion on
the spectrum. Underlying it
all is a somber, brilliant blue
that Lorde somehow manages
to balance just right. There’s
the slow, heartbreaking build
of “Liability” that renders
it Melodrama’s ultimate sad
song,
contrasted
with
the
dramatized, deceptively bright
“Green Light” and the heart-
racing, free-falling beat that
drives “Perfect Places.” The
vivid brights of Melodrama’s
album art are the sights to
the sound, the precise visual
manifestation of how much
of herself Lorde puts into her
work.
On
Melodrama,
Lorde
condenses
the
essence
of
teenage relationships in all
of their turbulent glory, from
the before to the during to the
after, and does it all without
abandon. She leaves us with a
final parting gift: an image of
her at her most striking, when
she’s
unflinchingly
staring
right at the viewer.
— Sam Lu,
Daily Arts Writer
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5 — Thursday, April 12, 2018
Arts
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