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I'm going to keep saying "I'm a little disappointed with Everything That Happens Will Happen Today" until either someone asks me what I thought of it, or I change my mind. So: I'm a little disappointed with Everything That Happens Will Happen Today. That's not to say it's left my CD player this week, but I was really hoping for something weirder.
It's an album that carries two separate burdens on account of its pedigree: First, Rolling Stone, Bitchfork et al are more or less bound by conventions of editorial voice to praise it to the sky, and so are many of your friends; if you want to keep your snob card in good standing, you'd better love this. Second, though, people like me are going to try and fit it into some kind of continuum with My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, which is cruel. Bush of Ghosts was timeless, bizarre, prescient, inscrutable - at heart, terribly difficult to compare with anything - and here, 28 years later, we have an album that is merely insightful, inventive, well-performed and masterfully recorded.
Maybe I'm just disappointed to find that these guys have aged. I hear one track (I Feel My Stuff) with the kind of room-altering ambient force on which Eno built his reputation, and even there, he's channeling Mike Garson in a conspicuous way. David Byrne made his name writing music for grown-ups in an industry obsessed with teenagers, but I have to say, this sounds a little like something my grandmother would have liked. It's all very good. I'm just surprised to catch myself describing an album by two of the biggest risk-takers in modern music as unambitious.
Listen to it anyway. Just... appreciate it for what it is.
It's an album that carries two separate burdens on account of its pedigree: First, Rolling Stone, Bitchfork et al are more or less bound by conventions of editorial voice to praise it to the sky, and so are many of your friends; if you want to keep your snob card in good standing, you'd better love this. Second, though, people like me are going to try and fit it into some kind of continuum with My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, which is cruel. Bush of Ghosts was timeless, bizarre, prescient, inscrutable - at heart, terribly difficult to compare with anything - and here, 28 years later, we have an album that is merely insightful, inventive, well-performed and masterfully recorded.
Maybe I'm just disappointed to find that these guys have aged. I hear one track (I Feel My Stuff) with the kind of room-altering ambient force on which Eno built his reputation, and even there, he's channeling Mike Garson in a conspicuous way. David Byrne made his name writing music for grown-ups in an industry obsessed with teenagers, but I have to say, this sounds a little like something my grandmother would have liked. It's all very good. I'm just surprised to catch myself describing an album by two of the biggest risk-takers in modern music as unambitious.
Listen to it anyway. Just... appreciate it for what it is.