James Ferraro - Last American Hero / Adrenaline's End (2008)
late-night broadcast, bikers, big deserts
In concept, this album represents the mid-2000s upper middle class and the hellish purgatory in which they roamed. The use of bluesy guitars—none of which are sampled, apparently!—gives Last American Hero a Wild West twang, like tumbleweeds are about to start rolling down the aisles of Ikea. I think the "point" is to contrast the machismo of old Americana with the reality of easy, constant, on-demand consumerism. You can't be a cowboy in a gated community.
A heavy dose of tape degradation (saturation, compression, the usuals) makes everything extra "nostalgic." It's a trick that could come off cheap but for some reason doesn't, and I have a hard time understanding why. Maybe it's because James Ferraro was doing nostalgic reflections on his then-present moment, rather than editorializing something from decades previous. Maybe it's because the album feels disposable, like something you'd pluck from the bargain bin, itself contributing to the vast churning sea of American consumption. It all feels very intentional, but not demanding.
Consumerism is really the name of the game here. It's probably true that in 24 hours the same amount of people eat at McDonalds as attend church. Ferraro asks, "What if we treated the Big Mac like we do Jesus Christ?" He commits to the bit so he can show us our own absurd fealty to corporations/products/things.
That theme isn't as prominent on this specific album as it is on other Ferraro releases, but it's still there if you listen. The raspy audio quality and occasional sonic "jump-cuts" bring to mind staticy late-night television. Think of the junk that would get thrown in the post-midnight slots, stuff that didn't need to be interesting because there were practically no viewers—media waste, basically. Or think of driving down long stretches of highway with a radio playing endless pop songs and advertisements, struggling to maintain a signal from one gas station to the next. Last American Hero's repetition of motifs without catharsis represents this junk, represents the stuff we get inundated with during our every waking moments, all the products and monocultural slogans and whatnot on all the billboards on all the highways etc etc etc.
I'm starting to feel a bit crazy typing this all out, so it's about time I wrap up! Give this album a listen if you're nostalgic for the real 2000s...
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