Word: fucks
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...Fuck is a band that thrives upon subverting expectation and playing upon the ambiguities of language. A manifesto contained within one of their earlier albums explains that "From the puritanical knee-jerk cringe to the joyous declamation of tourettes [sic], the mere utterance of this monosyllable rarely fails to invoke an immediate response, emotionally and/or intellectually. And in considering an implied negativity, the effect becomes confused, comical and thought-enticing: fuck records, fuck product, fuck fans, fuck music...
...Fuck's music is a perfect mirror of this message, approaching brilliance with its obvious attempts to evade strict interpretations and confining genre classifications. Fuck draws from diverse styles to create music incorporating Pavement-esque indie-pop, space-age bachelor pad swing, Uncle Tupelo style country twang and '60s Brit-pop, all united by the poetry and grace of lyrics normally found in only the most sensitive of folk ballads. Together, these disparate elements mesh together to create a hodgepodge of influences that somehow manages to persuade the listener that chaotic synthesis is the perfect synthesis...
...songs on Conductprogress through a series of anxieties that are never truly resolved. Fuck's fascination with the nature of fame is evident from the first song. The album opens with "the thing," a short piece that attempts to mock the expectations surrounding their name. A woman's voice, credited as the "sacrificial lamb," screams above low-rumbling bass and guitar while the band's lead singer, Tim Prodhumme, mumbles incoherently about "the thing." Yes, this is the Fuck we expected...
After 30 seconds, "the thing" moves into "drinking artist," in which Fuck quickly and gracefully throws off the weight of the connotation and begins the album again in a very different vein. A single guitar picks out a tranquil, wandering melody, allowing listeners a few seconds to absorb the shock of the transition before Prodhumme (sounding very much like The Flaming Lips on a particularly sober day) enters with an endearing, wavering voice to ask what it really means to be an artist: "You concentrate/get strait/calculate/what it takes to be an artist...
Even though Fuck often tries too hard to prove--with lyrics that are annoyingly bitter and whiny--that they are more than just a dirty word (after all, you made your own bed, Fuck), Fuck's music isn't always depressive. As the album progresses away from self-reflective artist anxiety, the music becomes a gigantic toybasket of styles. "Monkey-doll" is a Beatles-esque, upbeat true story of Fuck's tours with a stuffed monkey (rumour has it that Fuck never performs without a pile of stuffed animals covering the stage). "Italy" is a beautiful love ballad evoking images...