Sonic Youth - DaydreamNation

Thu 29th Jun, 2006 in Music Reviews

On the eve of Sonic Youth’s 25 year anniversary tour, I rediscover the much acclaimed album Daydream Nation. The phrases ‘masterpiece’, ‘classic’, ‘seminal’ and ‘milestone’ have so often been referred to this album, but what is it about the sound on Daydream Nation, their eigth release, that makes it so special?

Sonic Youth, who began their music career in the New York art rock circles in 1981, have always had their feet firmly planted in the punk music scene. As largely experimental musicians, their  music is characterised by complex melodic layered sounds, empty pounding drums that can disappear into snare rim clicks in an instant, finely tuned guitar noise and endless distortion peddle. Their music is as tight as it is loose. Yet, deeply etched in their music is a die hard punk rock ethos. Daydream Nation cuts to the core of this ethos, as it focuses on disaffected and jaded youth.

As a curation of twelve musical pieces, the album is a seemless vessel. It resonates. It drips and shimmers with melody and harmony. It is light and dark. Emotional and disparate. And just when you feel that you have lost the threads of the album’s conversation, when the guitar fuzz and miscellaneous banter have taken their toll. Daydream Nation drops you back, an autumn leaf caught in a rambling breeze. It delivers you back to an alkaline, symphonic melody that you can grab onto.

The opening track, ‘Teenage Riot’, builds chiming guitars into a grinding momentum. The temperament is edgy, dreamy, young. Like the first time you storm off from your parents after a brawl and somewhere along the way, wandering suburban streets, an incredible freedom attacks you. There’s a vibration in your chest. It drifts and swirls. An upbeat guitar orchestra that feels like horses galloping.

‘The Sprawl’ descends with dark guitars and light rain interludes. Guitars weave in and out of focus. Kim Gordon’s flat voice talks over the music. Nostalgia, heartache and emotion filter through the distortion pedal. Something aches with these guitars. Like a violin, ‘The Sprawl’ sears at us.

A door has opened. ‘Cross the Breeze’ blows in. It lolls weightless onto an airstream. It rolls out onto a tumbling ocean storm.  Guitars crash, drums bash and we are hurtled back down to ground. There is a tapestry to this story. Rich and detailed and tight. You can’t get through or around, you must cross along it.

Eric’s Trip is a discordant bike ride on the back of Thurston Moore’s dusky vocals, inspired by Eric Emerson’s LSD-fueled monologue in the Andy Warhol movie Chelsea Girls. Slowly Daydream Nation edges us to the other side of the bridge. To ponds of experimental noise, to art rock, out to places we haven’t pondered. It steps us closer to dark aural pockets that we wouldn’t have deciphered. There is a crossing being built here.

‘Hey Joni’, is a dark lament to a fucked up past. Guitars spruik, basses stutter. There’s an echo somewhere on the stereo. It feels like waking up from an afternoon nap, confused at twilight. When you’re not sure where you have been.

The album whirs on. ‘Kissability’ grapples at Hollywood’s fakeness. Drums pound in primal rhythms, riffs ring out like bees and bells, Gordon’s flat voice drones. A signature has been created. The song begins to panic and then rolls into deep breaths. Ever so softly, there is order to this chaos.

‘Trilogy’ rips through three fast and furious sections. Attacking with ‘The Wonder’. Drifting with ‘Hyperstation’. Breathless with ‘Eliminator Jr’.

Daydream Nation is an album that has educated us, hurled us over to fields that we might not have ventured down to. Held our hands that might have shunned art rock, teetered us close to the edge for a view. It has opened our eyes, fine tuned our ears, it has floated us. It is cold air that burns cheeks into a blushing red, giddy guitars that loop the world around and around long after the album is over. It is attacking, drifting and breathless.