For a brief moment, I thought that this Seattle trio was actually another wonderful Seattle pop band, the Fastbacks.
Having never heard anything by Toothpaste 2000 and happily having heard plenty of Fastbacks records in the past, I kept thinking--hoping--that the sadly-defunct purveyors (nay, inventors?) of indie-pop had regrouped with a brand-new name. Sadly, this was not the case, and I'm going to have to continue to live in a world without the Fastbacks. Still, the vocal interplay between Frank Bednash and Donna Esposito certainly recalls the greatest moments of Kurt Bloch, Lulu Gargiulo and Kim Warnick!
Really, though, Toothpaste 2000 have that retro-punk sound down. From the first note of "Walking Out The Door," Tp2K (as they're commonly known) kick up a wonderful blend of 60s mod/r&b rock, 70s power pop and 80s indie pop that never, ever once sounds dated. After digging around Catch 22, this Seattle trio's sixth album, some real jewels have been found. From the crunchy intro, to the bittersweet "There's Always Something Going On," the wonderfully mellow, touching "When I'm With You" and the full-on rock onslaught of "Crying In The Morning," these three really cover every possible style and variation of power-pop, and every one of their songs sounds nothing less than wonderful. Of course, with the sheer size of Catch-22, it would be very hard not to get a variety of styles and sounds.
About the only real complaint I have with Catch 22 is its size. While the entire album is great, at twenty-two songs, it's simply too much to take at one sitting. (That's a great pun on the length of the album in the title, by the way!) The intricate details are lost, and songs that might have been standouts had the album been smaller are simply lost amidst the bulk of material. Don't get me wrong; the songs are there, and the songs are great, it's just easy to get bogged down after twelve or thirteen songs. It wouldn't have hurt the record to have divided it into two albums, as, surprisingly, the resulting two albums would have been extremely strong--perhaps stronger individually.
Toothpaste 2000 is a power pop-punk treasure, and desipte its girth, Catch 22 is a great record, and it's great to know that some bands out there haven't made melody and attitude mutually exclusive. Methinks it's best to divide this album up in chunks, or, perhaps, set the CD-player on random mix, just so you don't overdose of too much sweetness. You could do much, much worse than Toothpaste 2000, and there's no way you could possibly go wrong with Catch 22. Just don't overindulge.
--Joseph Kyle
September 28, 2002
September 24, 2002
Arto Lindsay "Invoke"
As much fun as I’m having being an indie-rock fan in 2002, I still
occasionally wish that I was born a decade or two earlier so that I could observe firsthand the musical movements that inspired so many of the bands that I listen to today. Instead of having my skull metaphorically cracked open watching US Maple open for Pavement at Stubb’s in 1999, I could’ve watched No Wave pioneers DNA in some seedy Soho art gallery back in 1979. From what little I’ve heard from this criminally undocumented band, I could visualize front man Arto Lindsay yelping and strangling his guitar like a two-fingered banshee while Thurston Moore takes notes from the audience. Yes, Lindsay really does cast that large a shadow over the outer fringes of rock; even Blonde Redhead, who has only recently shaken off its reputation as a Sonic Youth tribute act, is named after a DNA song. Nostalgia for things that I was born too late to witness is quite futile, though, especially when elder statesmen like Lindsay continue to make challenging music to this day. If you compare A Taste of DNA with the solo material he’s made twenty years later, you’d be surprised how far his artistic restlessness has taken him, as well as how little of his past he’s actually left behind.
An undercurrent of dissonance runs through nearly every song on Invoke: the string scraping and pitch-shifted vocals of “Predigo,” the shortwave squeaks and insect noises on “You Decide,” the reversed junkyard percussion that overtakes “Clemency,” and the ring-modulated fret noises that close “Uma” are just a few examples that reveal themselves upon close listening. Although Arto’s noise fetish hasn’t completely disappeared, it is obvious that he’s an older, calmer guy now. His abrasive textures don’t slap you in the face; instead, they creep behind your back and tap you on your shoulder when you least expect it. With each album, Lindsay gets better and better at fusing Brazilian pop, contemporary R&B, and outré rock into an indescribable whole. This makes Invoke an easier listen than his previous (and equally brilliant) solo album, 1999’s Prize. It also helps that there’s not an off-key yelp to be found on these songs, for Arto’s current singing voice is soothing and stately enough to make David Grubbs sound like Tim Kinsella in comparison.
The first song, “Illuminated,” is a portrait of man with a one-track mind in which Arto sings in English over a neo-soul backdrop of muted keyboards, choppy guitar, and spare drum programming. A Brazilian-born man who moved to America as a teenager, Arto remains a gifted and concise lyricist whether he writes in English or in his native tongue. The lyrics of “Predigo” are the famous last words of a prophet who awaits an untimely death; they’re sung entirely in Portuguese, and it’s telling that the lyrics lose a bit of their impact when translated into English. “Ultra Privileged” is a kiss-off to a flamboyant, shallow woman. The clarinet interjections and jazzy drumming suggest what the Red Krayola would sound like if it wasn’t so hell-bent on self-sabotage. The album’s title track is as close to a pop song comes to becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. Its lyrics could be used as a manifesto by any artist worth his or her salt:“I list your numerable and innumerable parts/All your limbs/Together in a simple motion.” When Arto sighs “I invoke” in the song’s chorus, a swooping, dramatic violin part enters, summoning the grandeur of an artist’s creation coming to life instantaneously.
The album’s one-two punch of “In the City That Reads” and “Delegada” outline the extremes of Lindsay’s sound. To be blunt, “City” is a complete mess; the percussion sounds like power tools drilling into the concrete, the guitars and keyboards play Morse code with each other, and weary chain-gang moans jump in and out of the mix. All of the instruments seem to operate independently of each other, occasionally exploding into some kind of marching-band fanfare. Needless to say, I LOVE THIS SONG! “Delegada,” on the other hand, is an acoustic ballad with Portuguese lyrics about a beautiful girl who’s far from a morning person. “Uma,” like “Illuminated,” exalts a unique person with an unshakable purpose. Two songs later, the protagonist of “Unseen” pleas for the return of a friend who has abandoned him as woozy violins weep and wander from one speaker to the other. That song’s despairing mood is instantly broken when album closer “Beija-me” begins. Listening to Arto sing about the sweetness and power of his lover’s kiss will make any red-blooded male want to grab the nearest pretty girl and start doing a tango…at least until the song takes an abrupt twenty-second funk detour.
Despite, or maybe because of, Arto’s refusal to stick to any one genre, mood, or language, Invoke remains a coherent and compelling listen from start to finish. It’s a shame that his Ani Difranco connection hasn’t resulted in wider exposure. It would be haughty to assume that a good review on a minuscule Web site would tip the scales that heavily in his favor, but somebody’s got to sing his praises. As unconventional as Invoke may be, I honestly feel that it would make a snug fit for any Adult Contemporary radio station’s play list. That’s wishful thinking at best, but you should take my advice and buy this CD anyway!
---Sean Padilla
occasionally wish that I was born a decade or two earlier so that I could observe firsthand the musical movements that inspired so many of the bands that I listen to today. Instead of having my skull metaphorically cracked open watching US Maple open for Pavement at Stubb’s in 1999, I could’ve watched No Wave pioneers DNA in some seedy Soho art gallery back in 1979. From what little I’ve heard from this criminally undocumented band, I could visualize front man Arto Lindsay yelping and strangling his guitar like a two-fingered banshee while Thurston Moore takes notes from the audience. Yes, Lindsay really does cast that large a shadow over the outer fringes of rock; even Blonde Redhead, who has only recently shaken off its reputation as a Sonic Youth tribute act, is named after a DNA song. Nostalgia for things that I was born too late to witness is quite futile, though, especially when elder statesmen like Lindsay continue to make challenging music to this day. If you compare A Taste of DNA with the solo material he’s made twenty years later, you’d be surprised how far his artistic restlessness has taken him, as well as how little of his past he’s actually left behind.
An undercurrent of dissonance runs through nearly every song on Invoke: the string scraping and pitch-shifted vocals of “Predigo,” the shortwave squeaks and insect noises on “You Decide,” the reversed junkyard percussion that overtakes “Clemency,” and the ring-modulated fret noises that close “Uma” are just a few examples that reveal themselves upon close listening. Although Arto’s noise fetish hasn’t completely disappeared, it is obvious that he’s an older, calmer guy now. His abrasive textures don’t slap you in the face; instead, they creep behind your back and tap you on your shoulder when you least expect it. With each album, Lindsay gets better and better at fusing Brazilian pop, contemporary R&B, and outré rock into an indescribable whole. This makes Invoke an easier listen than his previous (and equally brilliant) solo album, 1999’s Prize. It also helps that there’s not an off-key yelp to be found on these songs, for Arto’s current singing voice is soothing and stately enough to make David Grubbs sound like Tim Kinsella in comparison.
The first song, “Illuminated,” is a portrait of man with a one-track mind in which Arto sings in English over a neo-soul backdrop of muted keyboards, choppy guitar, and spare drum programming. A Brazilian-born man who moved to America as a teenager, Arto remains a gifted and concise lyricist whether he writes in English or in his native tongue. The lyrics of “Predigo” are the famous last words of a prophet who awaits an untimely death; they’re sung entirely in Portuguese, and it’s telling that the lyrics lose a bit of their impact when translated into English. “Ultra Privileged” is a kiss-off to a flamboyant, shallow woman. The clarinet interjections and jazzy drumming suggest what the Red Krayola would sound like if it wasn’t so hell-bent on self-sabotage. The album’s title track is as close to a pop song comes to becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. Its lyrics could be used as a manifesto by any artist worth his or her salt:“I list your numerable and innumerable parts/All your limbs/Together in a simple motion.” When Arto sighs “I invoke” in the song’s chorus, a swooping, dramatic violin part enters, summoning the grandeur of an artist’s creation coming to life instantaneously.
The album’s one-two punch of “In the City That Reads” and “Delegada” outline the extremes of Lindsay’s sound. To be blunt, “City” is a complete mess; the percussion sounds like power tools drilling into the concrete, the guitars and keyboards play Morse code with each other, and weary chain-gang moans jump in and out of the mix. All of the instruments seem to operate independently of each other, occasionally exploding into some kind of marching-band fanfare. Needless to say, I LOVE THIS SONG! “Delegada,” on the other hand, is an acoustic ballad with Portuguese lyrics about a beautiful girl who’s far from a morning person. “Uma,” like “Illuminated,” exalts a unique person with an unshakable purpose. Two songs later, the protagonist of “Unseen” pleas for the return of a friend who has abandoned him as woozy violins weep and wander from one speaker to the other. That song’s despairing mood is instantly broken when album closer “Beija-me” begins. Listening to Arto sing about the sweetness and power of his lover’s kiss will make any red-blooded male want to grab the nearest pretty girl and start doing a tango…at least until the song takes an abrupt twenty-second funk detour.
Despite, or maybe because of, Arto’s refusal to stick to any one genre, mood, or language, Invoke remains a coherent and compelling listen from start to finish. It’s a shame that his Ani Difranco connection hasn’t resulted in wider exposure. It would be haughty to assume that a good review on a minuscule Web site would tip the scales that heavily in his favor, but somebody’s got to sing his praises. As unconventional as Invoke may be, I honestly feel that it would make a snug fit for any Adult Contemporary radio station’s play list. That’s wishful thinking at best, but you should take my advice and buy this CD anyway!
---Sean Padilla
September 21, 2002
Five Second Flat
Crunchy noisy indie-rock with a hint of math is something that usually puts me off. I'm not a 21-year old college student anymore, and I've lost my taste for a lot of those kinds of things. That doesn't mean that I dislike the music; if something's good, I'll enjoy it, regardless of sounds or styles. It's just that the ratio of good math-rock bands to bad is rather small. Maybe my dislike of "math rock" stems from some childhood issues. See, my father was a college math professor, math was my worst subject throughout school, maybe I subconsciously hate my father.....who knows?
Five Second Flat didn't strike me very much the first time I listened to it. Maybe through years of Touch and Go and My Pal God-related releses, I've become immune to such sounds, making things seem so "been there, done that" upon first listen. Of course, the fact that there's been a glut of not-very-interesting mathy-rocky bands didn't help either. After initially dismissing Five Second Flat, I felt like I was being unfair to simply lump them in to the pile'o'poo that indie-rock's produced. I'm glad I gave them a second listen. See, these guys have a resume of other excellent bands (kilowatthours, the fontaine troups), and I just felt wrong about dismissing them so early on.
Five Second Flat starts off with "Oe," which builds up with a nice little cymbal flush. Insert trademark herky-jerky guitars playing off of each other. Throw in some singing that's somewhere between muddy and screaming. Extend for several minutes, and you've got the formula. Follow it through "Too Cool for School" and "I'm My Own Smartest Guy In The World." Take an abrupt halt at "Lou Diamond Phillips." Why stop right there? Because it's a live track.
See, there's something about a live setting that transforms music such as this from merely bland experimentation and studio noodling, especially when the musicians have some damn fine chops. What sounded like angular riffing and complicated guitar parts in the studio transform into a new beast entirely when played live. Five Second Flat are probably a band that's better live than in the studio, and the factors and variables and random weirdness of a live show can really add an extra dimension. Maybe it's that they're trying to go for a live feel in the studio, or maybe it's because studio recording makes these raw songs a little less raw, but Five Second Flat is saved by that live cut. Imagine a maze on a piece of paper. Sure, you can go through it no problem. Now, imagine yourself actually IN the maze. Isn't so easy to navigate, is it? It's the third dimension that really brings out the power and intensity and complexities of a maze, and the same's to be said of a band. Kudos to Five Second Flat for recognizing this and including a live track. It won't cure any aversion you may have to math rock, but it won't be a total waste of your time, either.
(P.S.--Go to their website at fivesecondflat.com to download some really awesome live numbers, including the one included on this record.)
--joseph kyle
Five Second Flat didn't strike me very much the first time I listened to it. Maybe through years of Touch and Go and My Pal God-related releses, I've become immune to such sounds, making things seem so "been there, done that" upon first listen. Of course, the fact that there's been a glut of not-very-interesting mathy-rocky bands didn't help either. After initially dismissing Five Second Flat, I felt like I was being unfair to simply lump them in to the pile'o'poo that indie-rock's produced. I'm glad I gave them a second listen. See, these guys have a resume of other excellent bands (kilowatthours, the fontaine troups), and I just felt wrong about dismissing them so early on.
Five Second Flat starts off with "Oe," which builds up with a nice little cymbal flush. Insert trademark herky-jerky guitars playing off of each other. Throw in some singing that's somewhere between muddy and screaming. Extend for several minutes, and you've got the formula. Follow it through "Too Cool for School" and "I'm My Own Smartest Guy In The World." Take an abrupt halt at "Lou Diamond Phillips." Why stop right there? Because it's a live track.
See, there's something about a live setting that transforms music such as this from merely bland experimentation and studio noodling, especially when the musicians have some damn fine chops. What sounded like angular riffing and complicated guitar parts in the studio transform into a new beast entirely when played live. Five Second Flat are probably a band that's better live than in the studio, and the factors and variables and random weirdness of a live show can really add an extra dimension. Maybe it's that they're trying to go for a live feel in the studio, or maybe it's because studio recording makes these raw songs a little less raw, but Five Second Flat is saved by that live cut. Imagine a maze on a piece of paper. Sure, you can go through it no problem. Now, imagine yourself actually IN the maze. Isn't so easy to navigate, is it? It's the third dimension that really brings out the power and intensity and complexities of a maze, and the same's to be said of a band. Kudos to Five Second Flat for recognizing this and including a live track. It won't cure any aversion you may have to math rock, but it won't be a total waste of your time, either.
(P.S.--Go to their website at fivesecondflat.com to download some really awesome live numbers, including the one included on this record.)
--joseph kyle
September 16, 2002
I Am The World Trade Center "The Tight Connection"
I have a major bone of contention with I Am the World Trade Center. After that one day one year ago last week, everything "changed." Some shallow-minded people became so obsessed with the idea of not being "offensive" that any kind of mention of the World Trade Center should be censored. About the only justified self-censorship that happened was the Coup's decision to change their artwork--simply because it eerily LOOKED like what had just happened. Other forms--such as removing scenes that included the former twin towers, and let's not talk about the whole Anthrax thing--seemed absurd.
Then there was the case of I Am the World Trade Center. What to do about the name? Certainly, it would be understood why the twosome would have reservations about their name now. So, out of respect to the tragedy, they shortened their name to I Am The World. Okay, I could accept that. They did not tour, and released only one minor, obscure 7" under that name. Then, a few months after the band made what seemed to be ALL the newspapers, they changed the name BACK, and issued a statement of how keeping the name the same would be a testament to the former glory of the building.
Why does this bother me, though? Because it smacks of opportunism. Sure, with a name that included the former World Trade Center in it, the then-obsessed popular-culture eyes of the country would be watching this little band. Of course, changing the name would get them in all the papers, and it did. All those previous records--including loss leaders like vinyl--quickly sold out, I'm sure, driven by this perverse collector's attitude that, hey, this little band who did something...these releases will be worth money some day. Now that they actually released an album, they've got the little story that will most assuredly get them reviewed. I'll be fair to say that not being in their shoes in such an odd, tragic situation, maybe I'm missing something here--but as far as I see this issue, I can't let it go, because it seems like the tragedy of that fateful day last year seems to be the surefire angle a band needs to "make it big."
To be slightly fair to the band, it must have been a tough name to live with at the time. The world became obsessed, it seems, with this event and everything that the building used to be. My major contention, now that I think about it, is that the band's name change seems so...stupid. If you named your band in honor of something well BEFORE its destruction--and I do recall pre-9/11 discussion in interviews about their name being a tribute--then why change it? Okay, I can understand why they would change it...but to use the "we wanted to pay tribute to the former glory that was the World Trade Center" argument is not only short-sighted, but it also smells of something else...especially when the world is already altering the past in order to be less "offensive."
Let's set this argument aside, though. The Tight Connection...*sigh*. If only it could have been as grand as the buildings used to be, things might be different. "The Postcard" kicks off the album, and it's a rather good dance song. Not terribly original, mind you, but rather pleasant in a 90s techno meets 80s synth-pop kind of way. Too bad it goes downhill from there. "Big Star" follows, and it's okay, but from there...The Tight Connection turns into one big, indistinguishable record of synth-pop. Two covers, of the Stone Roses' "Shoot you Down" and Blondie's "Call Me," aren't bad, but they betray more about the band than they probably should, and instead of paying tribute, merely make the band seem even more derivative.
These arguments--they wouldn't be an issue if a., the record had been slated for release at least a month or two after that sad day, and b. the music wasn't so non-descript and downright boring. It's one of the longest less-than-40 minute records I've heard in a while. I've heard that they're a good band to see at a club, and maybe that's true--but The Tight Connection fails to make a connection. I just hope that the publicity that they generated from the saga of their name is worth it.
---Joseph Kyle
Then there was the case of I Am the World Trade Center. What to do about the name? Certainly, it would be understood why the twosome would have reservations about their name now. So, out of respect to the tragedy, they shortened their name to I Am The World. Okay, I could accept that. They did not tour, and released only one minor, obscure 7" under that name. Then, a few months after the band made what seemed to be ALL the newspapers, they changed the name BACK, and issued a statement of how keeping the name the same would be a testament to the former glory of the building.
Why does this bother me, though? Because it smacks of opportunism. Sure, with a name that included the former World Trade Center in it, the then-obsessed popular-culture eyes of the country would be watching this little band. Of course, changing the name would get them in all the papers, and it did. All those previous records--including loss leaders like vinyl--quickly sold out, I'm sure, driven by this perverse collector's attitude that, hey, this little band who did something...these releases will be worth money some day. Now that they actually released an album, they've got the little story that will most assuredly get them reviewed. I'll be fair to say that not being in their shoes in such an odd, tragic situation, maybe I'm missing something here--but as far as I see this issue, I can't let it go, because it seems like the tragedy of that fateful day last year seems to be the surefire angle a band needs to "make it big."
To be slightly fair to the band, it must have been a tough name to live with at the time. The world became obsessed, it seems, with this event and everything that the building used to be. My major contention, now that I think about it, is that the band's name change seems so...stupid. If you named your band in honor of something well BEFORE its destruction--and I do recall pre-9/11 discussion in interviews about their name being a tribute--then why change it? Okay, I can understand why they would change it...but to use the "we wanted to pay tribute to the former glory that was the World Trade Center" argument is not only short-sighted, but it also smells of something else...especially when the world is already altering the past in order to be less "offensive."
Let's set this argument aside, though. The Tight Connection...*sigh*. If only it could have been as grand as the buildings used to be, things might be different. "The Postcard" kicks off the album, and it's a rather good dance song. Not terribly original, mind you, but rather pleasant in a 90s techno meets 80s synth-pop kind of way. Too bad it goes downhill from there. "Big Star" follows, and it's okay, but from there...The Tight Connection turns into one big, indistinguishable record of synth-pop. Two covers, of the Stone Roses' "Shoot you Down" and Blondie's "Call Me," aren't bad, but they betray more about the band than they probably should, and instead of paying tribute, merely make the band seem even more derivative.
These arguments--they wouldn't be an issue if a., the record had been slated for release at least a month or two after that sad day, and b. the music wasn't so non-descript and downright boring. It's one of the longest less-than-40 minute records I've heard in a while. I've heard that they're a good band to see at a club, and maybe that's true--but The Tight Connection fails to make a connection. I just hope that the publicity that they generated from the saga of their name is worth it.
---Joseph Kyle
September 15, 2002
Will Johnson "murder of tides"
I'll say it right now, and I'll say it unapologetically. Will Johnson is one of Texas' best writers. Ever heard of him? I hope you have. He's made a ton of records with his band Centro-matic (literally) and he's currently expanded his writing into not only another band, South San Gabriel, but now, with Murder of Tides, he's even decided to go solo--and solo is indeed the word for Murder of Tides. If his m.o. is to be understood, Centro-matic is his rock band, South San Gabriel focuses on the mellower moments of Centro-matic (it's also the title of one of their albums), and the solo album is to be taken literally. Other than the assistance of Centro-matic buddy Scott Danbom, he's really solo here.
Reportedly, this was recorded on Matt Pence's front porch back in the hot, hazy summer of 2001. Even if it's not true, I'd belive it anyway, because Murder of Tides is an extremely quiet record. Hell, at times, you can even hear the crickets chrip and the birds sing and the twilight noises so common with this part of the state.These noises bookend the album rather nicely, creating the front porch feeling. Murder of Tides is an instrumental record that just happens to have vocals, and as such, is more a record of mood than content.
Not that you would mind, really. In fact, it's the little things that make this record really nice. It's folk-sounding, but it's a blues record--the blues being subject to what my pa said was one simple rule: "if you have to ask, you don't know. You feel the blues, and you know it when you hear it." Maybe it's due to my raising, but to me, this is the ultimate Saturday night record, where you're sitting on the porch, with corn liquor in hand, smokes in pocket, and the dog at your leg. If you aren't from East Texas, you wouldn't understand. Or maybe you would. It's a rural thing. God bless Will Johnson for gettin' in touch with this side of his muse.
--Joseph Kyle
Reportedly, this was recorded on Matt Pence's front porch back in the hot, hazy summer of 2001. Even if it's not true, I'd belive it anyway, because Murder of Tides is an extremely quiet record. Hell, at times, you can even hear the crickets chrip and the birds sing and the twilight noises so common with this part of the state.These noises bookend the album rather nicely, creating the front porch feeling. Murder of Tides is an instrumental record that just happens to have vocals, and as such, is more a record of mood than content.
Not that you would mind, really. In fact, it's the little things that make this record really nice. It's folk-sounding, but it's a blues record--the blues being subject to what my pa said was one simple rule: "if you have to ask, you don't know. You feel the blues, and you know it when you hear it." Maybe it's due to my raising, but to me, this is the ultimate Saturday night record, where you're sitting on the porch, with corn liquor in hand, smokes in pocket, and the dog at your leg. If you aren't from East Texas, you wouldn't understand. Or maybe you would. It's a rural thing. God bless Will Johnson for gettin' in touch with this side of his muse.
--Joseph Kyle
Victory at Sea "The Good Night"
Q: What do you call someone who hangs around musicians?
A: A drummer.
Of course, the above is just one of many jokes that musicians make about drummers on a daily basis. Drummers are often portrayed as the redheaded stepchildren of rock bands. However, it must be acknowledged that many bands owe much of their worth to the quality of their drummers. Consider three examples from the world of independent rock. Sleater-Kinneyís ascendance into greatness began when Janet Weiss (whom I like to describe as ìKeith Moon with breastsî) replaced their mediocre original drummer. The Olive Group envisioned themselves as a younger, snappier version of the Sea and Cake, but the former bandís incompetent drummer ensured that its music would never approach the latter bandís brilliance. Last but not least, thereís Damon Che, formerly of Don Caballero and currently in Bellini; any band that this man donates his talents to is worth at least a cursory listen.
Victory at Seaís entire discography is a case study on how crucial drummers can be in a rock bandís sound. So far, theyíve recorded each of their albums with a different drummer, and although terse, tense rock has always remained their M.O., there are still minor differences between each album and its predecessors. Christina Files played on their 1999 debut, The Dark is Just the Night. She wasnít (and still isnít) the fastest or most technically accomplished drummer on the planet, but she knew exactly what to play at any given moment to maximize a songís emotional impact. Her rhythms dragged, but they were the perfect backdrop against front woman Mona Elliottís moping and moaning. After Christina left last year to work with Mary Timony, the band recorded Carousel with Fin Moore (whom I like to describe as ìJanet Weiss without breastsî). Finís playing was so speedy and limber that for the first time, one could actually mosh to the bandís songs.
When Carl left the band shortly after Carouselís release, I feared for the bandís future, as I couldnít imagine their material sounding nearly as good without him. Although the bandís third album, The Good Night, partially confirms my suspicions, it is still worth checking out. The press kit for this album states that their current drummer, Carl Eklof, ìhad arrived, emoting like original drummer Files but also pushing the envelope like Moore did.î To me, this sounds like a fancy way of saying that heís better than the former, but not quite as good as the latter; at the very least, that sums up my assessment of his playing. However, Eklof doesnít get much of a chance to make an impression, as most of the second half of this album is drum-less. Overall, this is Victory at Seaís most subdued collection of songs yet. This doesnít work entirely to their benefit, but it would be wise to mention the albumís positives first.
The Good Night starts off very strong. Although the focus remains on Monaís world-weary vocals, elliptical lyrics, and deliberate guitar strumming, the mix is tastefully augmented by violin, trumpet, and piano. I am happy to note that after recording this album, the band added a full-time violinist to its lineup. ìMary in June,î a paean to a bored, isolated friend, climaxes with a chorus in which Monaís voice and Taro Hatanakaís violin compete to see which instrument weep louder. Mona has become more courageous as a performer, reaching for notes that one wouldnít normally expect her husky voice to hit, and it adds a sense of drama to some of the songs that borders on camp. ìCanyonî is an extended metaphor about two people who keep shutting each other out of their lives. In ìOld Harbor,î Mona uses class disparity as an illustration of how rarely the grass ends up being greener on the other side. ìBorn and raised at the minimum cost,î she sings; ìPut us on a bus to a separate place/we found out itís the same fucked up place.î ìProper Timeî is a final goodbye to an old friend that sounds more stern than sad, and ìSunny Daysî critiques people who never notice trouble until it stares them in the face. All of the aforementioned songs rank as album highlights.
The second half of the record, however, could have seriously used Finís overplaying to spruce things up. "A Song for Brianî is nothing more than two chords and wistful small talk: ìItís nice to hear/youíre feeling better/youíre getting married/your brotherís fineÖî ìKellyís Landingî is a directionless instrumental that canít decide whether it wants to be a piano fugue or a field recording. Album closer ìFireflyî wastes an evocative vow of vengeance towards an ex-lover on a chord progression so basic that I keep waiting for someone to play ìChopsticksî on the piano before the song ends. Some songs on Carousel also suffered from an inability to tell the difference between spare and underwritten, but you could always let yourself be distracted by Finís endless soloing. Thereís no such relief to be found on The Good Night. Nonetheless, once Victory at Sea actually settle on a lineup, they can work on developing a more fleshed-out approach to songwriting, and as the best songs on all three of their albums indicate, the results should be uniformly stellar.
---Sean Padilla
A: A drummer.
Of course, the above is just one of many jokes that musicians make about drummers on a daily basis. Drummers are often portrayed as the redheaded stepchildren of rock bands. However, it must be acknowledged that many bands owe much of their worth to the quality of their drummers. Consider three examples from the world of independent rock. Sleater-Kinneyís ascendance into greatness began when Janet Weiss (whom I like to describe as ìKeith Moon with breastsî) replaced their mediocre original drummer. The Olive Group envisioned themselves as a younger, snappier version of the Sea and Cake, but the former bandís incompetent drummer ensured that its music would never approach the latter bandís brilliance. Last but not least, thereís Damon Che, formerly of Don Caballero and currently in Bellini; any band that this man donates his talents to is worth at least a cursory listen.
Victory at Seaís entire discography is a case study on how crucial drummers can be in a rock bandís sound. So far, theyíve recorded each of their albums with a different drummer, and although terse, tense rock has always remained their M.O., there are still minor differences between each album and its predecessors. Christina Files played on their 1999 debut, The Dark is Just the Night. She wasnít (and still isnít) the fastest or most technically accomplished drummer on the planet, but she knew exactly what to play at any given moment to maximize a songís emotional impact. Her rhythms dragged, but they were the perfect backdrop against front woman Mona Elliottís moping and moaning. After Christina left last year to work with Mary Timony, the band recorded Carousel with Fin Moore (whom I like to describe as ìJanet Weiss without breastsî). Finís playing was so speedy and limber that for the first time, one could actually mosh to the bandís songs.
When Carl left the band shortly after Carouselís release, I feared for the bandís future, as I couldnít imagine their material sounding nearly as good without him. Although the bandís third album, The Good Night, partially confirms my suspicions, it is still worth checking out. The press kit for this album states that their current drummer, Carl Eklof, ìhad arrived, emoting like original drummer Files but also pushing the envelope like Moore did.î To me, this sounds like a fancy way of saying that heís better than the former, but not quite as good as the latter; at the very least, that sums up my assessment of his playing. However, Eklof doesnít get much of a chance to make an impression, as most of the second half of this album is drum-less. Overall, this is Victory at Seaís most subdued collection of songs yet. This doesnít work entirely to their benefit, but it would be wise to mention the albumís positives first.
The Good Night starts off very strong. Although the focus remains on Monaís world-weary vocals, elliptical lyrics, and deliberate guitar strumming, the mix is tastefully augmented by violin, trumpet, and piano. I am happy to note that after recording this album, the band added a full-time violinist to its lineup. ìMary in June,î a paean to a bored, isolated friend, climaxes with a chorus in which Monaís voice and Taro Hatanakaís violin compete to see which instrument weep louder. Mona has become more courageous as a performer, reaching for notes that one wouldnít normally expect her husky voice to hit, and it adds a sense of drama to some of the songs that borders on camp. ìCanyonî is an extended metaphor about two people who keep shutting each other out of their lives. In ìOld Harbor,î Mona uses class disparity as an illustration of how rarely the grass ends up being greener on the other side. ìBorn and raised at the minimum cost,î she sings; ìPut us on a bus to a separate place/we found out itís the same fucked up place.î ìProper Timeî is a final goodbye to an old friend that sounds more stern than sad, and ìSunny Daysî critiques people who never notice trouble until it stares them in the face. All of the aforementioned songs rank as album highlights.
The second half of the record, however, could have seriously used Finís overplaying to spruce things up. "A Song for Brianî is nothing more than two chords and wistful small talk: ìItís nice to hear/youíre feeling better/youíre getting married/your brotherís fineÖî ìKellyís Landingî is a directionless instrumental that canít decide whether it wants to be a piano fugue or a field recording. Album closer ìFireflyî wastes an evocative vow of vengeance towards an ex-lover on a chord progression so basic that I keep waiting for someone to play ìChopsticksî on the piano before the song ends. Some songs on Carousel also suffered from an inability to tell the difference between spare and underwritten, but you could always let yourself be distracted by Finís endless soloing. Thereís no such relief to be found on The Good Night. Nonetheless, once Victory at Sea actually settle on a lineup, they can work on developing a more fleshed-out approach to songwriting, and as the best songs on all three of their albums indicate, the results should be uniformly stellar.
---Sean Padilla
Ooberman "Running Girl"
There's something really cool about Ooberman. From what I understand, they're a popular band in England, having received a lot of high praise from the masters of musical press over there. They've been making music for years, and have perfected their craft, much to the enjoyment of their growing fanbase. Of course, being a young, talented and popular British band can only mean they've never been heard of over here. Tragic, that. See, Ooberman are good. Really good. If this mini-album is any indication, then it may just be that Ooberman are secretly one of the most intelligent bands in England.
Running Girl starts off, appropriatly, with the title song. It's an interesting little number, with a neat little vocal trick that makes it oh-so-catchy. In fact, I think it's the great Radiohead song that they never wrote, or, more correctly, the hit they WOULD have written, had Thom Yorke developed some sense of social skills, and not decided to turn himself into a "serious artist" who decided not to make music that people would enjoy. Indeed, Ooberman are making serious music, but at least they're seemingly having a good time in the process.
After the initial blast of goodness, Running Girl makes a small slip by moving into "Flashing Lights at Sunset," a folksy number that puts a halt on the energy of "Running Girl." Luckily, it's the only acoustic folky number on the album, because it's a bit of a bore. While it's true that almost everything on Running Girl is folky, it's done in such an interesting way that it's not really a problem--becuase Running Girl is actually PROGRAMMED in an interesting way that makes the lesser songs seem not as weak. I'd even say that this is post-folk, building a new sound in this post-OK Computer world that we live in. At times, I felt a bit like I'm listening to a younger, hipper version of the Lilac Time, which isn't anywhere near being a bad thing.
Ooberman are post-jazz, post-rock, post-genre music for a mature generation. It's good to know that as I get older, that there are bands that are willing to eschew style and simply make good, enjoyable music that isn't aiming for any particular genre definition. Running Girl is the sound of a band creating and maturing in its own groove. More bands should practice what Ooberman are preaching. As this is an American version of a record that came out last year, there are two additional tracks added--"Dolphin Blue," a beautiful little number that deserved to be saved from obscurity, and a remix of "Running Girl" that sounds almost demo-like and isn't particularly interesting or rewarding. I'm glad they've taken the time to venture into America, and if Running Girl is any indication, theirs is a sound that'll be most welcome.
---Joseph Kyle
Running Girl starts off, appropriatly, with the title song. It's an interesting little number, with a neat little vocal trick that makes it oh-so-catchy. In fact, I think it's the great Radiohead song that they never wrote, or, more correctly, the hit they WOULD have written, had Thom Yorke developed some sense of social skills, and not decided to turn himself into a "serious artist" who decided not to make music that people would enjoy. Indeed, Ooberman are making serious music, but at least they're seemingly having a good time in the process.
After the initial blast of goodness, Running Girl makes a small slip by moving into "Flashing Lights at Sunset," a folksy number that puts a halt on the energy of "Running Girl." Luckily, it's the only acoustic folky number on the album, because it's a bit of a bore. While it's true that almost everything on Running Girl is folky, it's done in such an interesting way that it's not really a problem--becuase Running Girl is actually PROGRAMMED in an interesting way that makes the lesser songs seem not as weak. I'd even say that this is post-folk, building a new sound in this post-OK Computer world that we live in. At times, I felt a bit like I'm listening to a younger, hipper version of the Lilac Time, which isn't anywhere near being a bad thing.
Ooberman are post-jazz, post-rock, post-genre music for a mature generation. It's good to know that as I get older, that there are bands that are willing to eschew style and simply make good, enjoyable music that isn't aiming for any particular genre definition. Running Girl is the sound of a band creating and maturing in its own groove. More bands should practice what Ooberman are preaching. As this is an American version of a record that came out last year, there are two additional tracks added--"Dolphin Blue," a beautiful little number that deserved to be saved from obscurity, and a remix of "Running Girl" that sounds almost demo-like and isn't particularly interesting or rewarding. I'm glad they've taken the time to venture into America, and if Running Girl is any indication, theirs is a sound that'll be most welcome.
---Joseph Kyle
September 08, 2002
Spoon "Kill the Moonlight"
Expectations. They can kill a record. Spoon are a band who have, through a continual series of events, created expectations. From the excellence of their debut Telephono, the Spoon fan sat in expectation of their next big record. Luckily, they hit a grand slam with A Series of Sneaks. Then....nothing. After having some label issues, the loyal Spoon fan had to wait nearly three years for their follow-up, Girls Can Tell, which had already been in the can for a year and a half by the time it saw release.
Now, with a loving, supportive label, Spoon has something they've never really had: stability. This stability frees up the need to prove themselves. Their previous album, Girls Can Tell, was an excellent record, but in the face of the all-out abandon of their previous records, over time it grew more sedate and eventually stale. Not that the songs are bad, but it felt like Spoon was holding back its maturity. Of course, in the face of all of the label problems, such restraint is easily understood. Who could blame them for wanting to make a warm, mature record, especially considering all the crap they'd been through? Instead of the uncertainty of Girls Can Tell, Kill the Moonlight is a cool, unrestrained, and, damn it, PURE experience.
Kill the Moonlight starts off, however, on a rather weak note. The keyboard driven "Small Stakes"--which was up in mp3 form, as well as featured on the recent Merge Records sampler, Survive and Advance, Volume One--could easily pass for a Bob Pollard outtake. It's one of Spoon's weakest moments, but don't fear, for it's also Kill the Moonlight's weakest moment. And, my oh my, the record kicks in to hyperdrive afterwards! Your head will literally swim by the time you get to "Stay Don't Go" and "Johnathon Fisk," you'll realize that Kill the Moonlight is a shameless whore of a record--slutty and gritty and dirty--and something you'll totally want at your next party.
The big story with Spoon 2002 would be the fact that they've finally melded all of their past styles--from the raw moments of A Series of Sneaks to the slower, piano-driven moments of Girls Can Tell--into one cohesive, strong, powerhouse of a sound. Like A Series of Sneaks it's one helluva driving album, not stopping for one second to pause. From the piano-driven "The Way We Get By" to the human beatbox of "Stay Don't Go" and the mellow moments of "Don't Let it Get You Down" and the closing "Vittorio E," this is the Spoon you've always known and loved, except all grown up and gettin' rather naughty.
If it sounds like I'm rambling, you're right. I'm giddy with excitement. I've always felt that Britt and company had a really, really great record in them, and I've been proven right. Kill the Moonlight is a modern indie-rock jewel: it's clearly rooted in classic rock, yet it's not sticking around for the jaded hipsters to scream "irony!!". One of the few records where I just have to break down and say, honestly, that you'll only be doing yourself a great, grand favor by buying and jamming to it on your car radio.
---Joseph Kyle
September 05, 2002
Word association fun with Harper Lee's Keris Howard!
Harper Lee
A great name for an author ... a poor name for a band? Seemed like a good idea at the time, but the more people ask why "Harper Lee?" the more I think it was a daft choice. If we were ever to get famous we would probably get sued. That cools one's ambitions. Better though than "George Orwell" or "Charles Dickens", other possibilities that I was playing around with in 1999. Why authors? Because it makes us sound bookish and bright...though you may have noticed I only consider writers who appear regularly on the school curriculum. We have read books outside of school set texts - honest.
Brighter
A great name for a Railway Children song...a poor name for a band? Well, it seemed appropriate at the time - a cynical attempt to get Matt and Clare at Sarah to play our demo...which worked. People say we still sound like Brighter - I'd hoped the new LP might break with the retrospective references to a band I killed off nearly 10 years ago. Listen to the lyrics...I'm much more unhappy now, and my voice has gone down an octave--I eventually had to give up trying to mimic the Sea Urchins. I also know more chords, well a couple more at least and the guitar parts don't soley feature the picking of a D shape ad-infinitum.
Bob Wratten
A lovely man, a great pal, a legend in his lifetime, the greatest lyricist of this generation, front man in one of the worse named bands ever--by which i mean Field Mice rather than Northern Picture Library-- though take your pick. One day, when people have finally ceased to express any interest at all in our maudlin whining, we've promised to try and find each other gainful employment, either with Bob as chief walker in my proposed dog exercising business, or with me serving tables in his Vegan restaurant on the Orkney Islands, dependent on which folds first.
Laura Bridge
My esteemed songwriting colleague, one of the few people to make me feel easy about my inability to hold down a barre chord (along with Bob Wratten), a raven haired beauty admired by both the boys and the girls, supporter of a thuggish football team and the belching, beer drinking Northern antidote to my burping, wine drinking, Southern ways.
Sarah Records
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...one of my most treasured possessions is the letter from Clare at Sarah saying they wanted to do a 7" - more important than any contract with Sony or EMI, a lined A4 pad scrawl saying we like your demo - we'd like to do a record. Seems silly now but it was such a great moment. i loved sarah, and what they stood for, the music and the politics. it all went a bit sour in the end but i was proud to have been a part of it (dab corner of eye with hankerchief)
Matinee Records
Jimmy Tassos - a wonderful man with an abundance of patience and dedication. His ability to remain calm as we continually fail to provide him with publicity photos or neglect to consider sleeve ideas until the record is ready to go to the pressing plant amazes me. his label looks and sounds a true labour of love - probably only a matter of time before he chucks us off.
Kicker
Laura's "other band" - where she has fun and plays songs that make people smile ....currently have a great CD collection of their singles "five forty-fives" available on Track and Field ... Jill from the band played violin on Harper Lee's first LP and if we ever play live, we may call on Kicker to help out as I have no friends of my own to speak of.
A great name for an author ... a poor name for a band? Seemed like a good idea at the time, but the more people ask why "Harper Lee?" the more I think it was a daft choice. If we were ever to get famous we would probably get sued. That cools one's ambitions. Better though than "George Orwell" or "Charles Dickens", other possibilities that I was playing around with in 1999. Why authors? Because it makes us sound bookish and bright...though you may have noticed I only consider writers who appear regularly on the school curriculum. We have read books outside of school set texts - honest.
Brighter
A great name for a Railway Children song...a poor name for a band? Well, it seemed appropriate at the time - a cynical attempt to get Matt and Clare at Sarah to play our demo...which worked. People say we still sound like Brighter - I'd hoped the new LP might break with the retrospective references to a band I killed off nearly 10 years ago. Listen to the lyrics...I'm much more unhappy now, and my voice has gone down an octave--I eventually had to give up trying to mimic the Sea Urchins. I also know more chords, well a couple more at least and the guitar parts don't soley feature the picking of a D shape ad-infinitum.
Bob Wratten
A lovely man, a great pal, a legend in his lifetime, the greatest lyricist of this generation, front man in one of the worse named bands ever--by which i mean Field Mice rather than Northern Picture Library-- though take your pick. One day, when people have finally ceased to express any interest at all in our maudlin whining, we've promised to try and find each other gainful employment, either with Bob as chief walker in my proposed dog exercising business, or with me serving tables in his Vegan restaurant on the Orkney Islands, dependent on which folds first.
Laura Bridge
My esteemed songwriting colleague, one of the few people to make me feel easy about my inability to hold down a barre chord (along with Bob Wratten), a raven haired beauty admired by both the boys and the girls, supporter of a thuggish football team and the belching, beer drinking Northern antidote to my burping, wine drinking, Southern ways.
Sarah Records
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...one of my most treasured possessions is the letter from Clare at Sarah saying they wanted to do a 7" - more important than any contract with Sony or EMI, a lined A4 pad scrawl saying we like your demo - we'd like to do a record. Seems silly now but it was such a great moment. i loved sarah, and what they stood for, the music and the politics. it all went a bit sour in the end but i was proud to have been a part of it (dab corner of eye with hankerchief)
Matinee Records
Jimmy Tassos - a wonderful man with an abundance of patience and dedication. His ability to remain calm as we continually fail to provide him with publicity photos or neglect to consider sleeve ideas until the record is ready to go to the pressing plant amazes me. his label looks and sounds a true labour of love - probably only a matter of time before he chucks us off.
Kicker
Laura's "other band" - where she has fun and plays songs that make people smile ....currently have a great CD collection of their singles "five forty-fives" available on Track and Field ... Jill from the band played violin on Harper Lee's first LP and if we ever play live, we may call on Kicker to help out as I have no friends of my own to speak of.
September 04, 2002
The Screamer "The Screamer's Greatest Hits"
My god, do you like to laugh? Do you like to laugh at the stupidity of others? Do you like to laugh at the stupidity of others when those others are bested by someone who appears to be nothing more than a total ass, or who get angered when someone exposes them for the idiot as they are? Then, by god, go and buy The Screamer's Greatest Hits right now!
See, when I was younger, I really got into Teenbeat Records. I bought everything that had the label, be it CD's or seven inch singles or posters or box sets or rock glasses or coffee mugs or combs! Anyway, the label released a lot of weird tapes, and one of these tapes was called The Tube Bar. It was a guy crank calling a place called Tube Bar. What did it sound like? It's what Bart Simpson does to Moe every week. Exactly the same thing. In fact, several of the calls are exactly the same, except it's ten years prior to the show.
On the expanded CD version, there were three other tracks. One was a track of a guy musing about life and society, and it wasn't very interesting. Another track was called "Julie Gang Debs" and was an audio letter sent to Don and Erin Smith from a teenage girl who sounded cute and a little bit lonely after she read about their zine Teenage Gang Debs in Sassy. Interesting listening, to say the least.
The track that made this CD a little more than a curious novelty was a track called "The Screamer." It was poorly recorded, and the first time I listened to it, I didn't get it. The fidelity on the recording was terribly low, and I had to turn my CD player's volume to painful levels in order to hear it. It was worth it though, for those sixteen and a half minutes were funny as hell.
Well, I'm happy to say that Teenbeat has rescued this odd little collection of prank calls from the den of obscurity. And I'm happy to say that instead of sixteen minutes of lo-fidelity recordings, the label has remixed the recordings and loaded a CD full of more recordings. It's brilliant, I tell you. It's 72 minutes full of funny-as-hell and all-real calls made to talk radio programs. There are 85 calls on this CD, and I'll be honest, 85 calls is far from enough to satisfy MY desire to hear the Screamer.
The funniest thing about these calls is that many of these DJ's take things WAY too seriously. There's one guy who constantly talks about the FBI going after him. Some of the DJ's take the Screamer in with a good sense of humor; others take him very, very seriously and treat him as some sort of threat. I think these people didn't realize that if you treat him like he's bad, he's not going to go away. Fuelling the fire, ya know. Two hosts, Sally Jesse Rafael (the one about the 3 month old baby on birth control) and Beverly LeHay (about why gays should not be in the military, due to the fact that when he was in 'nam, his tentmate refused to fight because he was too busy listening to the soundtrack to the Broadway show Oklahoma!) are so dense as to not realize that they've just been pranked.
There are way, way too many calls to discuss in detail here, but I'm just going to say that the best calls are the ones that don't sound funny from the beginning, such as the carjacking call, the Jerry Springer call, and the Battlestar Galactica guy call. Really, you have got to hear this record. Unlike Roy T. Mercer and the Jerky Boys, these calls are REAL and they strike in such a stealthy manner, that you literally sit on edge listening to this record, simply because you really CANNOT guess what's going to come out of the guy's mouth.
The fact that the Screamer did this sort of thing for fourteen years really makes me hopefull that there will be a "Volume Two" of The Screamer's Greatest Hits some time soon. This is really one of the funniest records you will EVER hear. Laughter is the best medicine, and The Screamer's Greatest Hits is like a bottle of cough syrup for your soul. Not a moment is lost on a bum call, either. Get this and laugh!
--Joseph Kyle
See, when I was younger, I really got into Teenbeat Records. I bought everything that had the label, be it CD's or seven inch singles or posters or box sets or rock glasses or coffee mugs or combs! Anyway, the label released a lot of weird tapes, and one of these tapes was called The Tube Bar. It was a guy crank calling a place called Tube Bar. What did it sound like? It's what Bart Simpson does to Moe every week. Exactly the same thing. In fact, several of the calls are exactly the same, except it's ten years prior to the show.
On the expanded CD version, there were three other tracks. One was a track of a guy musing about life and society, and it wasn't very interesting. Another track was called "Julie Gang Debs" and was an audio letter sent to Don and Erin Smith from a teenage girl who sounded cute and a little bit lonely after she read about their zine Teenage Gang Debs in Sassy. Interesting listening, to say the least.
The track that made this CD a little more than a curious novelty was a track called "The Screamer." It was poorly recorded, and the first time I listened to it, I didn't get it. The fidelity on the recording was terribly low, and I had to turn my CD player's volume to painful levels in order to hear it. It was worth it though, for those sixteen and a half minutes were funny as hell.
Well, I'm happy to say that Teenbeat has rescued this odd little collection of prank calls from the den of obscurity. And I'm happy to say that instead of sixteen minutes of lo-fidelity recordings, the label has remixed the recordings and loaded a CD full of more recordings. It's brilliant, I tell you. It's 72 minutes full of funny-as-hell and all-real calls made to talk radio programs. There are 85 calls on this CD, and I'll be honest, 85 calls is far from enough to satisfy MY desire to hear the Screamer.
The funniest thing about these calls is that many of these DJ's take things WAY too seriously. There's one guy who constantly talks about the FBI going after him. Some of the DJ's take the Screamer in with a good sense of humor; others take him very, very seriously and treat him as some sort of threat. I think these people didn't realize that if you treat him like he's bad, he's not going to go away. Fuelling the fire, ya know. Two hosts, Sally Jesse Rafael (the one about the 3 month old baby on birth control) and Beverly LeHay (about why gays should not be in the military, due to the fact that when he was in 'nam, his tentmate refused to fight because he was too busy listening to the soundtrack to the Broadway show Oklahoma!) are so dense as to not realize that they've just been pranked.
There are way, way too many calls to discuss in detail here, but I'm just going to say that the best calls are the ones that don't sound funny from the beginning, such as the carjacking call, the Jerry Springer call, and the Battlestar Galactica guy call. Really, you have got to hear this record. Unlike Roy T. Mercer and the Jerky Boys, these calls are REAL and they strike in such a stealthy manner, that you literally sit on edge listening to this record, simply because you really CANNOT guess what's going to come out of the guy's mouth.
The fact that the Screamer did this sort of thing for fourteen years really makes me hopefull that there will be a "Volume Two" of The Screamer's Greatest Hits some time soon. This is really one of the funniest records you will EVER hear. Laughter is the best medicine, and The Screamer's Greatest Hits is like a bottle of cough syrup for your soul. Not a moment is lost on a bum call, either. Get this and laugh!
--Joseph Kyle
August 30, 2002
Guided by Voices "Earthquake Glue"
I have to open this review with a disclaimer: Guided by Voices is my
favorite band in the entire universe. After the Beatles gave me the desire to make rock music, GBV gave me the drive to follow through on this desire through any available means. Listening to their 1993 masterwork Bee Thousand opened me up to a new world of do-it-yourself home recording, and it is one of the main reasons that I am the person I am today. I own all of GBVís official releases. I have seen them live at least once in every one of its incarnations from the so-called ìclassic lineupî (with Tobin Sprout and Mitch Mitchell) onward, forming a total of almost twenty shows. The members of the current lineup have seen me front and center at their Texas shows so many times that they know me by my first and last name. GBV guru Robert Pollard has even given me the affectionate nickname ìUrkelî because Iím a smart black guy who wears glasses. Because of all of this, the fact that Iím able to compose a review of this album with slightly more objectivity than it would take to simply say ìTHIS ALBUM PISSES ON EVERYTHING THATíS BEEN RELEASED THIS YEAR, SO BUY IT NOW OR I WILL SEND NINJAS TO YOUR HOUSEî is nothing short of a miracle.
Here we are, though, with Earthquake Glue, this yearís entry in the rock and roll sweepstakes. Every year, we can expect GBV to give us a series of songs with quirky titles, lyrics that initially sound nonsensical but reveal deeper meaning after close study, and Pollardís British Invasion vocals turning these lyrics into indelible melodic hooks. This album is no exception, but it is among a rare breed of GBV albums that demonstrate a surprising consistency from start to finish. The first three and the last two songs are Earthquake Glueís strangest. Opener ìMy Kind of Soldierî recalls Seamonsters-era Wedding Present due to its dense wall of guitars and Steve Albiniís trademark gunshot snare sound. A last-minute addition, itís the only song on this album that Albini worked on, which is a shame. He did good work for them on 1996ís Under the Bushes Under the Stars, and it would be nice for them to do an entire album under his wing. The second song, ìMy Son, My Secretary, and My Countryî begins with a horn fanfare from a middle-school band, and serves as little more than a short acoustic climax designed to set the stage for the next song. ìIíll Replace You with Machinesî bursts in with a gurgling noise that sounds like a whip hitting sheet metal forming a sort of click track for the rest of the band. Itís the kind of heavy-handed sonic statement that one would expect from Rush, but the song overcomes it by the force of its own catchiness.
ìShe Goes Off at Nightî is where the album really gets going. The cymbal splashes and rat-tat-tat snare fills are pure Keith Moon, and the slashing power chords are pure Pete Townshend. The bridge of the song, though, is pure shoe-gazer loveliness. ìBeat Your Wingsî is a lighter-waving stadium anthem, one of many songs in which the current lineup of GBV shows off its musical chemistry. Listen to drummer Kevin Marchís beat displacements during the guitar solo, and youíll see what I mean. ìUseless Inventionsî is an anti-technology punk screed that will have you jumping around the room in mere seconds; it has already ascended into my list of favorite GBV songs ever. ìDirty Waterî is bluesy prog-rock complete with harmonized wah-wah guitars and meter changes. It is successful in ways that previous attempts at prog (see Do the Collapseís ìLiquid Indianî and Universal Truths and Cyclesís ìStorm Vibrationsî) failed because of its comparatively brisk tempo and brief running time. ìThe Best of Jill Hivesî could have been a long-lost Under the Bushes out-take. ìDead Cloudî is another propulsive mishmash of stop-start dynamics and meter changes, and ìMix Up the Satelliteî puts four distinct riffs together in a combination that doesnít sound the least bit disjointed.
The lyrics of ìThe Main Street Wizardsî ooze wistful nostalgia: ìWill you exchange the past? Nothing is meant to lastÖstill they are coming back to you.î The music follows suit in a way that would conjure up the majesty of Bee Thousand if it were recorded on a cheap four-track. The next two songs could be interpreted as, respectively, Pollardís internal and external dialogue about the state of GBV. ìA Trophy Mule in Particularî betrays his desire for the band to be a messianic musical force. He considers it ìa challenge, one to go for and celebrate, with the stock market tumbling and the rock market crumbling.î He then refers to himself as ìa soldier, a trophy mule.î ìApology in Advanceî could be interpreted as a rebuke to the critics who have hounded him over the last couple of years. ìA disabled vet? Well, Iím not there yet! [Iíve] been around the block; Iíve even threw up one street over!î Anyone who has studied GBV over the last couple of years knows that it hasnít been exactly easy for them. Pollardís dealt with a divorce, acrimonious lineup changes, and failed attempts at hit making. He deserves to characterize himself as a weary but persevering soldier in the battlefield of rock. The ten-song stretch from ìShe Goes Off at Nightî to ìApology in Advanceî on Earthquake Glue serves as a good case for him to keep fighting the good fight.
The last two songs make a slight return to the awkwardness of the albumís beginning. ìSecret Starî is really two brilliant two-minute songs shoehorned together by an ill-advised drone interlude. Three simultaneous guitar riffs, all of which fit the song individually but donít work well together, drive album closer ìOf Mites and Menî. If any one of the guitars were punched out of the mix, the song would improve as a result. However, as is the case with almost every GBV album, even the failures can only be considered such when compared to Pollardís best work. They still tower high above the best songs on the majority of rock records released nowadays. Pollard has often said that the four Pís of rock drive his music: pop, punk, psych, and prog. Whereas most of GBVís albums sound like collages of songs that fit these four categories, Earthquake Glue puts them into a fairly homogeneous mix. The proficiency of the bandís current lineup has enabled them to integrate jerky dynamics, meter changes, and subtle keyboards and sound effects into their songs in ways that the classic lineup never could. Thus, there are very few songs on this record that can be easily categorized as one of the four Pís. This, more than anything, is what makes the album such a rarity on GBVís discography. What is so amazing about the band is that even after almost twenty years in the game, theyíre still undergoing the process of self-actualization. Theyíre still figuring out what kind of band they want to be, and this indecision yields more surprises than one would expect within the rigid parameters that Pollard has set for his music. In conclusionÖ
UmÖ
ErÖ
Screw itÖ
THIS ALBUM PISSES ON EVERYTHING THATíS BEEN RELEASED THIS YEAR, SO BUY IT NOW OR I WILL SEND NINJAS TO YOUR HOUSE!!!!!
(He will, too.--ed.)
---Sean Padilla
favorite band in the entire universe. After the Beatles gave me the desire to make rock music, GBV gave me the drive to follow through on this desire through any available means. Listening to their 1993 masterwork Bee Thousand opened me up to a new world of do-it-yourself home recording, and it is one of the main reasons that I am the person I am today. I own all of GBVís official releases. I have seen them live at least once in every one of its incarnations from the so-called ìclassic lineupî (with Tobin Sprout and Mitch Mitchell) onward, forming a total of almost twenty shows. The members of the current lineup have seen me front and center at their Texas shows so many times that they know me by my first and last name. GBV guru Robert Pollard has even given me the affectionate nickname ìUrkelî because Iím a smart black guy who wears glasses. Because of all of this, the fact that Iím able to compose a review of this album with slightly more objectivity than it would take to simply say ìTHIS ALBUM PISSES ON EVERYTHING THATíS BEEN RELEASED THIS YEAR, SO BUY IT NOW OR I WILL SEND NINJAS TO YOUR HOUSEî is nothing short of a miracle.
Here we are, though, with Earthquake Glue, this yearís entry in the rock and roll sweepstakes. Every year, we can expect GBV to give us a series of songs with quirky titles, lyrics that initially sound nonsensical but reveal deeper meaning after close study, and Pollardís British Invasion vocals turning these lyrics into indelible melodic hooks. This album is no exception, but it is among a rare breed of GBV albums that demonstrate a surprising consistency from start to finish. The first three and the last two songs are Earthquake Glueís strangest. Opener ìMy Kind of Soldierî recalls Seamonsters-era Wedding Present due to its dense wall of guitars and Steve Albiniís trademark gunshot snare sound. A last-minute addition, itís the only song on this album that Albini worked on, which is a shame. He did good work for them on 1996ís Under the Bushes Under the Stars, and it would be nice for them to do an entire album under his wing. The second song, ìMy Son, My Secretary, and My Countryî begins with a horn fanfare from a middle-school band, and serves as little more than a short acoustic climax designed to set the stage for the next song. ìIíll Replace You with Machinesî bursts in with a gurgling noise that sounds like a whip hitting sheet metal forming a sort of click track for the rest of the band. Itís the kind of heavy-handed sonic statement that one would expect from Rush, but the song overcomes it by the force of its own catchiness.
ìShe Goes Off at Nightî is where the album really gets going. The cymbal splashes and rat-tat-tat snare fills are pure Keith Moon, and the slashing power chords are pure Pete Townshend. The bridge of the song, though, is pure shoe-gazer loveliness. ìBeat Your Wingsî is a lighter-waving stadium anthem, one of many songs in which the current lineup of GBV shows off its musical chemistry. Listen to drummer Kevin Marchís beat displacements during the guitar solo, and youíll see what I mean. ìUseless Inventionsî is an anti-technology punk screed that will have you jumping around the room in mere seconds; it has already ascended into my list of favorite GBV songs ever. ìDirty Waterî is bluesy prog-rock complete with harmonized wah-wah guitars and meter changes. It is successful in ways that previous attempts at prog (see Do the Collapseís ìLiquid Indianî and Universal Truths and Cyclesís ìStorm Vibrationsî) failed because of its comparatively brisk tempo and brief running time. ìThe Best of Jill Hivesî could have been a long-lost Under the Bushes out-take. ìDead Cloudî is another propulsive mishmash of stop-start dynamics and meter changes, and ìMix Up the Satelliteî puts four distinct riffs together in a combination that doesnít sound the least bit disjointed.
The lyrics of ìThe Main Street Wizardsî ooze wistful nostalgia: ìWill you exchange the past? Nothing is meant to lastÖstill they are coming back to you.î The music follows suit in a way that would conjure up the majesty of Bee Thousand if it were recorded on a cheap four-track. The next two songs could be interpreted as, respectively, Pollardís internal and external dialogue about the state of GBV. ìA Trophy Mule in Particularî betrays his desire for the band to be a messianic musical force. He considers it ìa challenge, one to go for and celebrate, with the stock market tumbling and the rock market crumbling.î He then refers to himself as ìa soldier, a trophy mule.î ìApology in Advanceî could be interpreted as a rebuke to the critics who have hounded him over the last couple of years. ìA disabled vet? Well, Iím not there yet! [Iíve] been around the block; Iíve even threw up one street over!î Anyone who has studied GBV over the last couple of years knows that it hasnít been exactly easy for them. Pollardís dealt with a divorce, acrimonious lineup changes, and failed attempts at hit making. He deserves to characterize himself as a weary but persevering soldier in the battlefield of rock. The ten-song stretch from ìShe Goes Off at Nightî to ìApology in Advanceî on Earthquake Glue serves as a good case for him to keep fighting the good fight.
The last two songs make a slight return to the awkwardness of the albumís beginning. ìSecret Starî is really two brilliant two-minute songs shoehorned together by an ill-advised drone interlude. Three simultaneous guitar riffs, all of which fit the song individually but donít work well together, drive album closer ìOf Mites and Menî. If any one of the guitars were punched out of the mix, the song would improve as a result. However, as is the case with almost every GBV album, even the failures can only be considered such when compared to Pollardís best work. They still tower high above the best songs on the majority of rock records released nowadays. Pollard has often said that the four Pís of rock drive his music: pop, punk, psych, and prog. Whereas most of GBVís albums sound like collages of songs that fit these four categories, Earthquake Glue puts them into a fairly homogeneous mix. The proficiency of the bandís current lineup has enabled them to integrate jerky dynamics, meter changes, and subtle keyboards and sound effects into their songs in ways that the classic lineup never could. Thus, there are very few songs on this record that can be easily categorized as one of the four Pís. This, more than anything, is what makes the album such a rarity on GBVís discography. What is so amazing about the band is that even after almost twenty years in the game, theyíre still undergoing the process of self-actualization. Theyíre still figuring out what kind of band they want to be, and this indecision yields more surprises than one would expect within the rigid parameters that Pollard has set for his music. In conclusionÖ
UmÖ
ErÖ
Screw itÖ
THIS ALBUM PISSES ON EVERYTHING THATíS BEEN RELEASED THIS YEAR, SO BUY IT NOW OR I WILL SEND NINJAS TO YOUR HOUSE!!!!!
(He will, too.--ed.)
---Sean Padilla
Velvet Crush "Free Expression"
Ladies and gentlemen, let's step back a few years and revisit my old 'zine, Lois is my Queen. Let's look and see what was said about Free Expression the first time around:
"This new album by retropoppers Velvet Crush is a good but not entirely satisfying record. Apparently, Velevt Crush have undergone a major lineup change, and this album finds them in that most dreaded of all positions: "in transition." Because of this, their songs, while good, never really go any further than simply being "nice," friendly and affable pop music that's not going to offend your sensibilities. Still, I'd be lying if I didn't say that something seems to be missing. There's just an unknown creative spark that is lacking on Free Expression. It seems a bit too raw in places--especially the drumming--and I feel as if they're simply going through the motions of what Velvet Crush should sound like. Don't get me wrong--there are some extremely wonderful moments here and there, from lovely harmonies, passages that sound stolen from Roger McGuinn, and a friendly, sunny vibe that just screams Los Angeles. The best number on Free Expression is "Melody #1," and it is here that they achieve the highest peak of success: "bubblegum heaven." While I have every hopes that this album is a 'grower,' it hasn't really sparked any sense of devotion in me as of yet, and each time I listen to it, I try to find something outstanding about it, but it's sadly not connecting with me. It's good, what you'd expect Velvet Crush to sound like, but sometimes that's not enough. It's no Teenage Symphonies to God,--but then again, what could be?
That's a bit harsh, isn't it? Yeah, I thought so, too, and on listening to the reissue of Free Expression I've changed my opinion on it. At the time, it just didn't strike a chord with me, and I really can't explain why, really. It just wasn't a love connection. As hard as I try to rationalize why it didn't move me, I just don't know what to say. Free Expression--while a bit rough around the edges, is everything I like: strong hooks, wonderful melodies, harmonies to die for, and an obvious all-around commitment to making quality music. I'm still quite fond of "Melody #1," even if it does sound like a Byrds outtake (and a possible source of, erm, borrowed inspiration for The Polyphonic Spree's "Light & Day"), and "Ballad of Yesteryear" is the song that's grown on me the most. Interestingly enough, the album was produced by Matthew Sweet; it's interesting in the fact that this album sounds a whole lot like his new band, The Thorns.
Velvet Crush decided to make things a bit interesting with the reissue of Free Expression by including a second disc that is merely a demo version of the album. Want to know the interesting part? It could have easily be released as an album, and nobody would have been the wiser. While there are moments that are indeed rough, it's difficult at times to compare the two albums, because it's hard to say that one version is better than another, especially when they're so similar. Then again, all it takes is a little less gloss and polish to make a song better. Case in point: "Roman Candle." The album version is a pretty good little number, though it's got a pretty annoying little wah-wah guitar that's rather annoying. The demo version? It's rougher, the guitar part doesn't seem nearly as annoying, and the harmonies on the chorus are not only more pronounced, they're overbearing--and I love it!
The nice thing about getting older is the ability to recognize quality when you hear it. I'll admit that I wasn't open to Free Expression at the time, but now that time's passed, I can hear exactly how wonderful of a record it is. True, it's not their best work--that honor still belongs to Teenage Symphonies to God, but Free Expression is still a fair little masterpiece.
--Joseph Kyle
"This new album by retropoppers Velvet Crush is a good but not entirely satisfying record. Apparently, Velevt Crush have undergone a major lineup change, and this album finds them in that most dreaded of all positions: "in transition." Because of this, their songs, while good, never really go any further than simply being "nice," friendly and affable pop music that's not going to offend your sensibilities. Still, I'd be lying if I didn't say that something seems to be missing. There's just an unknown creative spark that is lacking on Free Expression. It seems a bit too raw in places--especially the drumming--and I feel as if they're simply going through the motions of what Velvet Crush should sound like. Don't get me wrong--there are some extremely wonderful moments here and there, from lovely harmonies, passages that sound stolen from Roger McGuinn, and a friendly, sunny vibe that just screams Los Angeles. The best number on Free Expression is "Melody #1," and it is here that they achieve the highest peak of success: "bubblegum heaven." While I have every hopes that this album is a 'grower,' it hasn't really sparked any sense of devotion in me as of yet, and each time I listen to it, I try to find something outstanding about it, but it's sadly not connecting with me. It's good, what you'd expect Velvet Crush to sound like, but sometimes that's not enough. It's no Teenage Symphonies to God,--but then again, what could be?
That's a bit harsh, isn't it? Yeah, I thought so, too, and on listening to the reissue of Free Expression I've changed my opinion on it. At the time, it just didn't strike a chord with me, and I really can't explain why, really. It just wasn't a love connection. As hard as I try to rationalize why it didn't move me, I just don't know what to say. Free Expression--while a bit rough around the edges, is everything I like: strong hooks, wonderful melodies, harmonies to die for, and an obvious all-around commitment to making quality music. I'm still quite fond of "Melody #1," even if it does sound like a Byrds outtake (and a possible source of, erm, borrowed inspiration for The Polyphonic Spree's "Light & Day"), and "Ballad of Yesteryear" is the song that's grown on me the most. Interestingly enough, the album was produced by Matthew Sweet; it's interesting in the fact that this album sounds a whole lot like his new band, The Thorns.
Velvet Crush decided to make things a bit interesting with the reissue of Free Expression by including a second disc that is merely a demo version of the album. Want to know the interesting part? It could have easily be released as an album, and nobody would have been the wiser. While there are moments that are indeed rough, it's difficult at times to compare the two albums, because it's hard to say that one version is better than another, especially when they're so similar. Then again, all it takes is a little less gloss and polish to make a song better. Case in point: "Roman Candle." The album version is a pretty good little number, though it's got a pretty annoying little wah-wah guitar that's rather annoying. The demo version? It's rougher, the guitar part doesn't seem nearly as annoying, and the harmonies on the chorus are not only more pronounced, they're overbearing--and I love it!
The nice thing about getting older is the ability to recognize quality when you hear it. I'll admit that I wasn't open to Free Expression at the time, but now that time's passed, I can hear exactly how wonderful of a record it is. True, it's not their best work--that honor still belongs to Teenage Symphonies to God, but Free Expression is still a fair little masterpiece.
--Joseph Kyle
August 25, 2002
Seana Carmody "Struts and Shocks"
In an earlier Mundane Sounds review of mine, I stated that bands with too many ideas are usually better than bands with too few ideas, and I backed up my assertion by briefly mentioning the Swirlies. That band's almost defunct now, but they were one of the late-nineties bands that helped me get through high school without strangling anyone. They forged a disjointed, but invigorating hybrid of My Bloody Valentine's whammy-bar acrobatics, Stereolab's Moog drones, and Sebadoh's collage-like approach to recording fidelity. I still love their music dearly, which is why I was so excited to see Seana's solo debut in my mailbox a couple of weeks ago. After leaving the Swirlies, Seana formed a forgettable outfit called Syrup USA, whose keyboard-driven twee pop had already been done better by Helium on their swan song The Magic City. I was curious as to what she would do on this record. Would she return to the noise of the Swirlies, continue with the frillier textures of Syrup USA, or throw me completely for a loop by forsaking them both?
As it turns out, Struts and Shocks stays somewhere in between
the first two options. Contrary to the album's title, Seana neither struts nor shocks anyone during these ten songs. Even on the louder songs, her voice never raises itself above a crisp, slightly flat croon. Most of this album ambles along in a pleasant mid-tempo groove that threatens to turn into mere background music if one doesn't listen attentively. At thirty-three minutes, the album is criminally brief; not all of the songs are solid, which leads me to believe that Seana really didn't have enough compelling material to fill a full-length. Ironically, the album's missteps are the songs in which she lays the distortion on thick. "Tailgate" shows promise but is marred by a meandering bridge and "Stay Awake" coasts on one chord for eight minutes that will leave most listeners unable to obey the title's command. Fortunately, the positives on this album outweigh the negatives.
First of all, "Mighty Bull" has become my favorite song released this
year. This evocative ode to a charismatic friend builds up to a breezy climax with nothing but four dissonant chords and a wordless melody. This song is probably the closest that Seana comes to establishing her own distinct sound. Reading the special thanks list in her liner notes will give you an idea of what the rest of this album sounds like. She thanks Victory at Sea front woman Mona Elliott (who also sings on two tracks), and the slow, tense waltz "Lazy Island" definitely bears that bandÕs influence. Seana also thanks Swirlies band mate Damon Tutunjian, and her usage of the whammy-bar on "Sidewalk" wouldn't sound out of place on their debut EP, What to Do About Them. The whimsical imagery and pretty, deliberate guitar strumming on "Tornadoes" and "Deirdre" make them sound like songs that Mary Timony forgot to write. Speaking of such, Mary's current drummer Christina Files was the woman who filled in on vocals and guitar for Seana when she left the Swirlies! This definitely has got to be some kind of musical circle of life, but I digress...
Seana could have removed the two weakest songs from Struts and
Shocks and marketed it as a mid-price EP. Having said that, the album is worth the ten bucks for "Mighty Bull" alone, and after registering under the indie-rock radar for so long, it's very nice to have Seana back. It's all uphill from here, and if the Swirlies don't manage to get their act together and make a third album, Seana's solo follow-up should be the next best thing.
---Sean Padilla
As it turns out, Struts and Shocks stays somewhere in between
the first two options. Contrary to the album's title, Seana neither struts nor shocks anyone during these ten songs. Even on the louder songs, her voice never raises itself above a crisp, slightly flat croon. Most of this album ambles along in a pleasant mid-tempo groove that threatens to turn into mere background music if one doesn't listen attentively. At thirty-three minutes, the album is criminally brief; not all of the songs are solid, which leads me to believe that Seana really didn't have enough compelling material to fill a full-length. Ironically, the album's missteps are the songs in which she lays the distortion on thick. "Tailgate" shows promise but is marred by a meandering bridge and "Stay Awake" coasts on one chord for eight minutes that will leave most listeners unable to obey the title's command. Fortunately, the positives on this album outweigh the negatives.
First of all, "Mighty Bull" has become my favorite song released this
year. This evocative ode to a charismatic friend builds up to a breezy climax with nothing but four dissonant chords and a wordless melody. This song is probably the closest that Seana comes to establishing her own distinct sound. Reading the special thanks list in her liner notes will give you an idea of what the rest of this album sounds like. She thanks Victory at Sea front woman Mona Elliott (who also sings on two tracks), and the slow, tense waltz "Lazy Island" definitely bears that bandÕs influence. Seana also thanks Swirlies band mate Damon Tutunjian, and her usage of the whammy-bar on "Sidewalk" wouldn't sound out of place on their debut EP, What to Do About Them. The whimsical imagery and pretty, deliberate guitar strumming on "Tornadoes" and "Deirdre" make them sound like songs that Mary Timony forgot to write. Speaking of such, Mary's current drummer Christina Files was the woman who filled in on vocals and guitar for Seana when she left the Swirlies! This definitely has got to be some kind of musical circle of life, but I digress...
Seana could have removed the two weakest songs from Struts and
Shocks and marketed it as a mid-price EP. Having said that, the album is worth the ten bucks for "Mighty Bull" alone, and after registering under the indie-rock radar for so long, it's very nice to have Seana back. It's all uphill from here, and if the Swirlies don't manage to get their act together and make a third album, Seana's solo follow-up should be the next best thing.
---Sean Padilla
August 24, 2002
Various Artists "Cool As Ice: The Be Music Productions"
For fascinating historical documents of the British independent music scene, fewer labels have been quite as enthralling as LTM. From their historical documents of one-single-only bands and others whose names are whispered with a certain amount of secrecy and awe, they have really preserved music that would otherwise have been lost to obscurity. Though some at Pitchfork Media might disagree, I personally think they're doing a service, and they should be commended for preserving the talents of folk such as Cath Carroll, Blue Orchids and The Wake.
Cool As Ice: The Be Music Productions is a little bit different, though, in that it was not originally a record--or, even, really a band. Instead, it is a collection of remixes done by New Order under the guise of "Be Music." As you'd expect, these remixes are dancefloor ready; unlike modern remixers, who think of a remix as an opportunity to bring their own special touch to a song, the Be Music style does not really change the style of the song. Indeed,the rhythms added by Hook, Gilbert, Sumner, and Morris are very contemporary; though none of the remixes have the same potency of "Bizarre Love Triangle," "Blue Monday" or "Perfect Kiss," they do come rather close.
Though this period of outside remixing as Be Music only lasted for about two years, they were quite productive dring that period of time. The twelve tracks on Cool As Ice represent the tip of their remix iceberg, and while there's no evidence that these are (or aren't) the best of the lot, these songs are all worthy of inclusion. Personally, I'm fond of Quando Quango's "Love Tempo," Section 25's "Looking From a Hilltop," Marcel King's "Reach For Love" and 52nd Street's "Can't Afford To Let You Go" and "Cool As Ice," two songs I vaguely remember from the eighties. While these songs might sound dated, some of them still sound fresh. Know why? It's simple, really. Many of these songs have rhythms that have been sampled, borrowed, or stolen. Cool As Ice also includes a New Order rarity, the "Be Music Theme," which was a Peter Hook composition that was used as intro music for Stockholm Monsters.
While Cool As Ice might serve as merely an interesting collection of underground dance remixes from the mid-1980s, these mixes also prove another point--that New Order were, at one time, a significant force to be reckoned with in the underground dance world. Nowadays they're considered nothing more than the guys who hung with Ian Curtis, and it's a shame that they're known as the lesser remnants of Joy Division who had some mainstream hits. Cool As Ice: The Be Music Productions certainly shows how ahead of the game they really were.
--Joseph Kyle
Cool As Ice: The Be Music Productions is a little bit different, though, in that it was not originally a record--or, even, really a band. Instead, it is a collection of remixes done by New Order under the guise of "Be Music." As you'd expect, these remixes are dancefloor ready; unlike modern remixers, who think of a remix as an opportunity to bring their own special touch to a song, the Be Music style does not really change the style of the song. Indeed,the rhythms added by Hook, Gilbert, Sumner, and Morris are very contemporary; though none of the remixes have the same potency of "Bizarre Love Triangle," "Blue Monday" or "Perfect Kiss," they do come rather close.
Though this period of outside remixing as Be Music only lasted for about two years, they were quite productive dring that period of time. The twelve tracks on Cool As Ice represent the tip of their remix iceberg, and while there's no evidence that these are (or aren't) the best of the lot, these songs are all worthy of inclusion. Personally, I'm fond of Quando Quango's "Love Tempo," Section 25's "Looking From a Hilltop," Marcel King's "Reach For Love" and 52nd Street's "Can't Afford To Let You Go" and "Cool As Ice," two songs I vaguely remember from the eighties. While these songs might sound dated, some of them still sound fresh. Know why? It's simple, really. Many of these songs have rhythms that have been sampled, borrowed, or stolen. Cool As Ice also includes a New Order rarity, the "Be Music Theme," which was a Peter Hook composition that was used as intro music for Stockholm Monsters.
While Cool As Ice might serve as merely an interesting collection of underground dance remixes from the mid-1980s, these mixes also prove another point--that New Order were, at one time, a significant force to be reckoned with in the underground dance world. Nowadays they're considered nothing more than the guys who hung with Ian Curtis, and it's a shame that they're known as the lesser remnants of Joy Division who had some mainstream hits. Cool As Ice: The Be Music Productions certainly shows how ahead of the game they really were.
--Joseph Kyle
August 23, 2002
Eric Bachmann "Short Careers: Soundtrack to the Film Ball of Wax"
This is Merge's third soundrack album in less than a year, and, oddly, it's strikingly similar to the other two--both solo projects from well-established musicians, both instrumental based, both clocking in at less than 40 minutes, and both being slightly more experimental than the particular artist's normal fare. It's also Bachmann's formal solo debut as well, and after years of impressive records with Archers of Loaf and Crooked Fingers, who could blame Bachmann for wanting to put out a record under his own name?
Unfortunatly, unlike those previous two albums (by Portastatic and Stephin Merritt), Short Careers does not prove to be as enjoyable a diversion as one would hope, simply because without any sense of context, the music just seems...flat. While it must be stated that the music on Short Careers certainly expands on Bachmann's current fascination with dark, brooding atmosphere, that doesn't necessarily mean that these songs have the same level of passion of Crooked Fingers or even Bachmann's previous instrumental experiment, Barry Black.
Short Careers' shortcomings aren't necessarily Bachmann's fault. Music can work wonders for a movie, yet without having the advantage of seeing the film, you can't really appreciate the music, especially if the music makes the scene. Instead, we're left with ideas that seem somehow incomplete, and that adds up to songs that just seem to exist side by side, with no real connection to the song that follows or precedes it. At times, though, Short Careers sounds a lot like electronic instrumentalists In the Nursery, but without their cohesiveness.
Bachmann's made some great records, but Short Careers isn't one of them. Short Careers shows that Bachmann's delving deeper into electronic-based mood music, but this experiment proves to be less interesting and, ultimately, rather forgettable. While I still eagerly await each new Eric Bachmann record, Short Careers was a major disappointment, especially considering his track record.
---Joseph Kyle
Unfortunatly, unlike those previous two albums (by Portastatic and Stephin Merritt), Short Careers does not prove to be as enjoyable a diversion as one would hope, simply because without any sense of context, the music just seems...flat. While it must be stated that the music on Short Careers certainly expands on Bachmann's current fascination with dark, brooding atmosphere, that doesn't necessarily mean that these songs have the same level of passion of Crooked Fingers or even Bachmann's previous instrumental experiment, Barry Black.
Short Careers' shortcomings aren't necessarily Bachmann's fault. Music can work wonders for a movie, yet without having the advantage of seeing the film, you can't really appreciate the music, especially if the music makes the scene. Instead, we're left with ideas that seem somehow incomplete, and that adds up to songs that just seem to exist side by side, with no real connection to the song that follows or precedes it. At times, though, Short Careers sounds a lot like electronic instrumentalists In the Nursery, but without their cohesiveness.
Bachmann's made some great records, but Short Careers isn't one of them. Short Careers shows that Bachmann's delving deeper into electronic-based mood music, but this experiment proves to be less interesting and, ultimately, rather forgettable. While I still eagerly await each new Eric Bachmann record, Short Careers was a major disappointment, especially considering his track record.
---Joseph Kyle
August 22, 2002
American Analog Set "updates"
I'm not always fond of remix records, especially when I'm in a position that I'm not either a. familiar with the original version, or b. familiar with the remixer. Remixing is an art, to be sure, and sometimes the remix takes on a life that's more like its remixer than the original idea for the song. All but two of these tracks are reworkings of songs from their most recent album, Know By Heart, which saw the band changing their older style, to mixed success.
Updates is American Analog Set's first visit to the world of the remix, and, shockingly, it's surprisingly fresh. Though not a full-length, the fact that Updates is but a mere EP means that the idea of quiet-band-gone-remixed doesn't overstay its welcome, nor is the concept allowed to drag on. It's a surefire way to experiment without having the same kind of band commitment to the idea that a full-length would naturally create. Plus, failures on an EP aren't considered quite as serious as full-length failures.
Updates consists of two new songs, one being "Desert Eagle," an electronic recreation of some older ideas, and "These Days," a cover of Her Space Holiday, with whom the band just recently toured. Her Space Holiday come into play again, with two remixes, "Aaron & Maria" and "Know By Heart." Electronica artist Styrofoam remixed the other two tracks, "The Postman" and "We're Computerizing and We Just Don't Need You Anymrore." The Her Space Holiday tracks are harder, with more of a schitzophrenic edge to them. The Styrofoam tracks are just the opposite, focusing on the band's softer, colder side. Both artists breathe life into tracks off of Know By Heart. I thought the album was weak and didn't give it much thought, and I missed the beautiful song "The Postman." This song is gorgeous and sad and lovely, and I'm going to have to dig that out again to see if my listening experience will be different. I guess that's the whole point of these remix projects anyway; here's hoping the band mix these new ideas into their sound while working on their new album...
---Joseph Kyle
Updates is American Analog Set's first visit to the world of the remix, and, shockingly, it's surprisingly fresh. Though not a full-length, the fact that Updates is but a mere EP means that the idea of quiet-band-gone-remixed doesn't overstay its welcome, nor is the concept allowed to drag on. It's a surefire way to experiment without having the same kind of band commitment to the idea that a full-length would naturally create. Plus, failures on an EP aren't considered quite as serious as full-length failures.
Updates consists of two new songs, one being "Desert Eagle," an electronic recreation of some older ideas, and "These Days," a cover of Her Space Holiday, with whom the band just recently toured. Her Space Holiday come into play again, with two remixes, "Aaron & Maria" and "Know By Heart." Electronica artist Styrofoam remixed the other two tracks, "The Postman" and "We're Computerizing and We Just Don't Need You Anymrore." The Her Space Holiday tracks are harder, with more of a schitzophrenic edge to them. The Styrofoam tracks are just the opposite, focusing on the band's softer, colder side. Both artists breathe life into tracks off of Know By Heart. I thought the album was weak and didn't give it much thought, and I missed the beautiful song "The Postman." This song is gorgeous and sad and lovely, and I'm going to have to dig that out again to see if my listening experience will be different. I guess that's the whole point of these remix projects anyway; here's hoping the band mix these new ideas into their sound while working on their new album...
---Joseph Kyle
August 21, 2002
Year of the Rabbit
Year of the Rabbit is easily the Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde album of the year. I've been really, really torn about how I should approach it. On one hand, I really love the album. It has that quality that makes you go "YEAH!!!" when you put it on your stereo. On the other hand, there's a high price to be paid for such a universal sound. If I give it a good review, I'd be guilty of holding myself back; if I give it a bad review, I'd be guilty of not pointing out its strong points. Sadly, this is not an album where you can give a mixed review, either; when it's good, it's real good, when it's bad, it's utterly horrible.
First the good things. Year of the Rabbit sound awesome. It's quite obvious that these guys--who have been making music professionally for the past thirteen years--have got some mad skills. Year of the Rabbit sound as if they spent the last three years on tour before they set foot in a studio. Their songs have a very tough punch that could have easily kicked the ass of STP, Pearl Jam and Alice In Chains; their music is extremely radio-friendly, too, which would have been to their advantage--in theory, at least--ten years ago. Put this one on your car stereo, crank it up and drive--you'll have one wonderful experience, because these guys rock in a way so few bands do now.
What, then, makes Year of the Rabbit so problematic? It's because it's so been there, done that, so by-the-book, that to indulge in it seems wrong. Of course, when you sound like a dead-ringer for Kurt Cobain, and your sound is horribly dated, it's hard to accept it as being anything but new. I figured that these guys would have at least tried to avoid the cliches of ten years ago. (Has it really been a decade?) Sadly, Year of the Rabbit sounds like a conceptual Cobain-sung version of Foo Fighters, and nothing more. None of the songs really stick out; they're all 'good' in that vague kind of way that goes along with someone who is 'good' in all of the fundamentals.
Even more puzzling is the fact that they're an unknown band getting major-label funding. How did this happen? This album is a total anomaly; it's retro-rock of the worst kind, and it's about ten years past its prime. That's the catch, though. Maybe that is their shtick. Maybe they're the retro band--maybe they're trying to make it big by regurgitating the past, milking the nostalga of yesteryear for $omething a little more rewarding. THey do it so well, though, that you'd be forgiven for thinking that this was an older record. It's so clean and inoffensive and radio friendly, it's the musical equivalent of a bandaid. Year of the Rabbit needlessly wastes a perfectly good parental warning sticker, too--somewhere, an ODB record goes unlabelled. A real tragedy, that.
It's a fine line between redefining older sounds and simply living in the past, and Year Of the Rabbit zig-zag across the border without a care in the world. Year of the Rabbit is an album that says absolutely nothing by some extremely talented people. It sounds excellent, but at what price? Is the sacrifice of a soul really worth the end results? This album is like the pink lemonade I drink around the home office--yummy, sweet, enjoyable, but yet it's totally empty of calories.
--Joseph Kyle
First the good things. Year of the Rabbit sound awesome. It's quite obvious that these guys--who have been making music professionally for the past thirteen years--have got some mad skills. Year of the Rabbit sound as if they spent the last three years on tour before they set foot in a studio. Their songs have a very tough punch that could have easily kicked the ass of STP, Pearl Jam and Alice In Chains; their music is extremely radio-friendly, too, which would have been to their advantage--in theory, at least--ten years ago. Put this one on your car stereo, crank it up and drive--you'll have one wonderful experience, because these guys rock in a way so few bands do now.
What, then, makes Year of the Rabbit so problematic? It's because it's so been there, done that, so by-the-book, that to indulge in it seems wrong. Of course, when you sound like a dead-ringer for Kurt Cobain, and your sound is horribly dated, it's hard to accept it as being anything but new. I figured that these guys would have at least tried to avoid the cliches of ten years ago. (Has it really been a decade?) Sadly, Year of the Rabbit sounds like a conceptual Cobain-sung version of Foo Fighters, and nothing more. None of the songs really stick out; they're all 'good' in that vague kind of way that goes along with someone who is 'good' in all of the fundamentals.
Even more puzzling is the fact that they're an unknown band getting major-label funding. How did this happen? This album is a total anomaly; it's retro-rock of the worst kind, and it's about ten years past its prime. That's the catch, though. Maybe that is their shtick. Maybe they're the retro band--maybe they're trying to make it big by regurgitating the past, milking the nostalga of yesteryear for $omething a little more rewarding. THey do it so well, though, that you'd be forgiven for thinking that this was an older record. It's so clean and inoffensive and radio friendly, it's the musical equivalent of a bandaid. Year of the Rabbit needlessly wastes a perfectly good parental warning sticker, too--somewhere, an ODB record goes unlabelled. A real tragedy, that.
It's a fine line between redefining older sounds and simply living in the past, and Year Of the Rabbit zig-zag across the border without a care in the world. Year of the Rabbit is an album that says absolutely nothing by some extremely talented people. It sounds excellent, but at what price? Is the sacrifice of a soul really worth the end results? This album is like the pink lemonade I drink around the home office--yummy, sweet, enjoyable, but yet it's totally empty of calories.
--Joseph Kyle
August 12, 2002
Akufen "My Way"
Many IDM (Intelligent Dance Music) practitioners constantly strive for new sounds and new methods by which to contort them. Although the quest for originality-above-all-else may keep the genre’s musical progress from stagnating, it doesn’t really make things easy for neophyte listeners. Though many are adventurous enough to dip their toes in the water, most are too attached to the tried and true to dive into the shallow end of the pool.
My personal introduction to IDM came from Autechre’s 1996 masterwork Tri Repetae, which is basically the turning point of their oeuvre. The two albums they made before Tri Repetae struck me as a bit cheesy and dated, whereas everything they made afterwards would probably strike everyone who isn’t already into Autechre by now as too cerebral or difficult. If someone were to ask me what IDM sounded like, and I could only choose one record as an answer, I wouldn’t choose Autechre’s debut Amber, nor would I pick Confield, their most recent (and arguably harshest) album. I could use examples from the discographies of Oval and Aphex Twin to back my case up, but I will simply get to the point. Every once in a while, an IDM record comes along that is anchored firmly enough in traditional sounds to satiate those just getting their feet wet, but also forward-thinking enough to entrance the deep sea divers. Akufen’s My Way is one of them.
Akufen, a.k.a. Marc Leclair, composes his tracks with a technique that he refers to as “micro-sampling”. The technique is exactly what its name implies; instead of sampling entire bars or hooks from songs
Puffy-style, Leclair excises millisecond-length bits from whatever broadcasts he happens to glean from his short-wave radio. Voices are broken down to either individual consonants for a percussive effect, or individual vowels for a melodic effect. I think the only voice on the whole record that I can identify is a syllable from a Janet Jackson song (on “Heaven Can Wait”); I’m not entirely sure what it is about her voice that remains distinctive even when chopped into such small bits. Organic instruments, many of them seemingly derived from ‘70s jazz-funk songs, are only allowed to play a couple of notes, if that much, before being abruptly interrupted by the next sample. Of course, both Prefuse 73 and Nuno Canavarro have made use of small vocal samples before Leclair. However, Leclair is the first artist I’ve heard to make micro-sampling his primary method of composition, and to apply this technique to instruments as well as voices. With the aid of very precise panning and tasteful usage of reverb, these micro-samples are combined to form collages that are paced rapidly enough to induce seizures when listened to on headphones.
Two things keep My Way from becoming an experiment gone awry:
its roots in house music and its masterful sequencing. Opening track “Even White Horizons” is the album’s most mellow, attempting a kind of futuristic jazz-noir with its samples of weepy strings and ominous acoustic guitars. On this song and the album’s next two tracks, the micro-samples are used sparingly as garnish over what would otherwise be pleasant and slightly formulaic four-on-the-floor beats. Each song is more strident than the last, the micro-samples becoming slightly more jarring; third track “Skidoos” makes particularly great use of four different people uttering the same syllable. You get the feeling that Leclair is slowly trying to ease you into the extremities of his sound world.
Once the fourth track “Deck the House” begins, though, he pulls the rug off from under your feet. The droning keyboards that carried the previous three songs are abandoned. The micro-samples are left to completely dictate the chord progressions and melodies of the next six songs, with only the staccato bass lines and four-on-the-floor rhythms left to support them. Short-wave interference, dial tones, and other miscellaneous sound effects are micro-sampled along with the voices and instruments. The collages get so hectic that by the time the ten-minute epic “Late Night Munchies” begins, you’ll feel like a ball inside a pinball machine. No matter what happens, though, the songs on My Way remain easy to dance to, and occasionally even hummable. You can play any of these songs in a club, and after the audience realizes that the P.A. system isn’t malfunctioning, they’ll resume dancing like nothing ever happened.
The title track that closes the album begins completely free of
micro-samples, and the sampled vocalists are allowed to sing an entire phrase: “I want to do it my way.” This comparatively relaxed and uncluttered portion serves as a fitting palate cleanser after the
frenzy of the previous six songs. He doesn’t let the listeners off the hook so easy, though; in case anyone forgets what Leclair’s way means, he lets a flurry of micro-sampled organs hijack the song at its five-minute mark. When My Way fades out, you will agree that Leclair has more than earned the right to be such an autocrat. Here’s hoping that musically, Akufen neither regresses nor disappears up his own arse, as so many of his contemporaries are wont to do...
---Sean Padilla
My personal introduction to IDM came from Autechre’s 1996 masterwork Tri Repetae, which is basically the turning point of their oeuvre. The two albums they made before Tri Repetae struck me as a bit cheesy and dated, whereas everything they made afterwards would probably strike everyone who isn’t already into Autechre by now as too cerebral or difficult. If someone were to ask me what IDM sounded like, and I could only choose one record as an answer, I wouldn’t choose Autechre’s debut Amber, nor would I pick Confield, their most recent (and arguably harshest) album. I could use examples from the discographies of Oval and Aphex Twin to back my case up, but I will simply get to the point. Every once in a while, an IDM record comes along that is anchored firmly enough in traditional sounds to satiate those just getting their feet wet, but also forward-thinking enough to entrance the deep sea divers. Akufen’s My Way is one of them.
Akufen, a.k.a. Marc Leclair, composes his tracks with a technique that he refers to as “micro-sampling”. The technique is exactly what its name implies; instead of sampling entire bars or hooks from songs
Puffy-style, Leclair excises millisecond-length bits from whatever broadcasts he happens to glean from his short-wave radio. Voices are broken down to either individual consonants for a percussive effect, or individual vowels for a melodic effect. I think the only voice on the whole record that I can identify is a syllable from a Janet Jackson song (on “Heaven Can Wait”); I’m not entirely sure what it is about her voice that remains distinctive even when chopped into such small bits. Organic instruments, many of them seemingly derived from ‘70s jazz-funk songs, are only allowed to play a couple of notes, if that much, before being abruptly interrupted by the next sample. Of course, both Prefuse 73 and Nuno Canavarro have made use of small vocal samples before Leclair. However, Leclair is the first artist I’ve heard to make micro-sampling his primary method of composition, and to apply this technique to instruments as well as voices. With the aid of very precise panning and tasteful usage of reverb, these micro-samples are combined to form collages that are paced rapidly enough to induce seizures when listened to on headphones.
Two things keep My Way from becoming an experiment gone awry:
its roots in house music and its masterful sequencing. Opening track “Even White Horizons” is the album’s most mellow, attempting a kind of futuristic jazz-noir with its samples of weepy strings and ominous acoustic guitars. On this song and the album’s next two tracks, the micro-samples are used sparingly as garnish over what would otherwise be pleasant and slightly formulaic four-on-the-floor beats. Each song is more strident than the last, the micro-samples becoming slightly more jarring; third track “Skidoos” makes particularly great use of four different people uttering the same syllable. You get the feeling that Leclair is slowly trying to ease you into the extremities of his sound world.
Once the fourth track “Deck the House” begins, though, he pulls the rug off from under your feet. The droning keyboards that carried the previous three songs are abandoned. The micro-samples are left to completely dictate the chord progressions and melodies of the next six songs, with only the staccato bass lines and four-on-the-floor rhythms left to support them. Short-wave interference, dial tones, and other miscellaneous sound effects are micro-sampled along with the voices and instruments. The collages get so hectic that by the time the ten-minute epic “Late Night Munchies” begins, you’ll feel like a ball inside a pinball machine. No matter what happens, though, the songs on My Way remain easy to dance to, and occasionally even hummable. You can play any of these songs in a club, and after the audience realizes that the P.A. system isn’t malfunctioning, they’ll resume dancing like nothing ever happened.
The title track that closes the album begins completely free of
micro-samples, and the sampled vocalists are allowed to sing an entire phrase: “I want to do it my way.” This comparatively relaxed and uncluttered portion serves as a fitting palate cleanser after the
frenzy of the previous six songs. He doesn’t let the listeners off the hook so easy, though; in case anyone forgets what Leclair’s way means, he lets a flurry of micro-sampled organs hijack the song at its five-minute mark. When My Way fades out, you will agree that Leclair has more than earned the right to be such an autocrat. Here’s hoping that musically, Akufen neither regresses nor disappears up his own arse, as so many of his contemporaries are wont to do...
---Sean Padilla
Sarah Shannon "Sarah Shannon"
Can we really be surprised that Sarah Shannon, former and current Velocity Girl singer, would make an album of baroque, light-jazz pop, a la Bacharach? Stranger things have happened, and this isn't one of them.In fact, the pairing of Shannon's husky yet sensual voice with Blake Wescott's gorgeous instrumental production works in only the grandest of ways.
Normally, such grand aspirations fall in to the category of "adult contemporary." Reminiscent at times of late-1980s Everything But the Girl, Sarah Shannon provides a great new take on a tried and tired genre. Unlike alt-rock contemporary Nina Gordon, Shannon's not going for anything haughty or overwhelmingly commercial here--she's just singing pop because, darn it, she likes pop.
The opening "Down" quickly sets the mood of a lite-jazz radio playing in a coffee shop in a hip downtown area of (insert your town here). The rest of the album never breaks from that formula, yet it never once falls into a rut. Personally, I'm absolutely content with Sarah Shannon. I never could have expected that she would make a record so sublime, so beautiful, and so nothing that she's ever done before
Yep, there's none of that smelly indie-rock here, and let's thank god for that. "Call You on the Telephone" will quickly make you forget about "Crazy Town," and, as a whole, Sarah Shannon will make you forget all about that last Velocity Girl record. While a blatant change of style fails most of those who attempt it, Sarah Shannon's got a winner here, folks. I can't help but wonder if they'll take a walk down the path formed by Sarah Shannon, for it might just prove to be the key to success they missed the first time around.
--Joseph Kyle
Normally, such grand aspirations fall in to the category of "adult contemporary." Reminiscent at times of late-1980s Everything But the Girl, Sarah Shannon provides a great new take on a tried and tired genre. Unlike alt-rock contemporary Nina Gordon, Shannon's not going for anything haughty or overwhelmingly commercial here--she's just singing pop because, darn it, she likes pop.
The opening "Down" quickly sets the mood of a lite-jazz radio playing in a coffee shop in a hip downtown area of (insert your town here). The rest of the album never breaks from that formula, yet it never once falls into a rut. Personally, I'm absolutely content with Sarah Shannon. I never could have expected that she would make a record so sublime, so beautiful, and so nothing that she's ever done before
Yep, there's none of that smelly indie-rock here, and let's thank god for that. "Call You on the Telephone" will quickly make you forget about "Crazy Town," and, as a whole, Sarah Shannon will make you forget all about that last Velocity Girl record. While a blatant change of style fails most of those who attempt it, Sarah Shannon's got a winner here, folks. I can't help but wonder if they'll take a walk down the path formed by Sarah Shannon, for it might just prove to be the key to success they missed the first time around.
--Joseph Kyle
August 11, 2002
Windsor for the Derby "The Emotional Rescue LP"
When you drive across Texas, after about nine hours, you start to get a bit blurry in mind. You get a little bit hazy, the road seems to go on and on and on, and you're hypnotized by the road. For years now, Texas artists have attempted to tap in to the tedium, the boredom, and the charm of the nothingness that exists in and around Texas. From the brooding, loudness of Explosions in the Sky, to the hazy, slightly stoned tones of American Analog Set, and from scenes as diverse as Austin, Denton, and Houston, Texas has had a profound affect on musicians here.
Windsor for the Derby is no exception. Having created some beautifully sparse records over the past few years, there's a certain sense of expectation about them. The Emotional Rescue, however, finds the former Texas band moving a bit from their droning, hazy past. Instead of long, dark, instrumental epics, Windsor for the Derby have turned in an album that's more folk-rock than drone-rock. Like contemporaries American Analog Set, they've simply looked into a more song-based, folkier sound that hints at--instead of rehashes--their previous glories. I think I know what they're trying to do: they're trying to mix cold technology with warm songs, in order to create an electronic-based folk that's both coldy human and warmly electronic.
I'm not really sure, though, if the recipe for their new style is fully cooked. While the music is pretty, it's not quite as spectacular as previous efforts. At times, such as "Emotional Rescue" and "Awkwardness," Windsor for the Derby sound A LOT like New Order. Other times, such as on "Another Rescue," "Mythologies" and the re-recorded "Now I Know the Sea," the songs seem to meander just a little bit. There are some moments on The Emotional Rescue LP, such as opener "The Same" and closer "Donkey Ride," that hint at their former glories, but there's nothing that really sustains a pulse over the album. Though this album stumbles, it hints at ideas that, if developed more, might lead to later greatness. The Emotional Rescue LP is a snapshot of a great band's awkward age--beautiful in the beginning, not so pretty during their transition, and
even more so after maturation.
--Joseph Kyle
Windsor for the Derby is no exception. Having created some beautifully sparse records over the past few years, there's a certain sense of expectation about them. The Emotional Rescue, however, finds the former Texas band moving a bit from their droning, hazy past. Instead of long, dark, instrumental epics, Windsor for the Derby have turned in an album that's more folk-rock than drone-rock. Like contemporaries American Analog Set, they've simply looked into a more song-based, folkier sound that hints at--instead of rehashes--their previous glories. I think I know what they're trying to do: they're trying to mix cold technology with warm songs, in order to create an electronic-based folk that's both coldy human and warmly electronic.
I'm not really sure, though, if the recipe for their new style is fully cooked. While the music is pretty, it's not quite as spectacular as previous efforts. At times, such as "Emotional Rescue" and "Awkwardness," Windsor for the Derby sound A LOT like New Order. Other times, such as on "Another Rescue," "Mythologies" and the re-recorded "Now I Know the Sea," the songs seem to meander just a little bit. There are some moments on The Emotional Rescue LP, such as opener "The Same" and closer "Donkey Ride," that hint at their former glories, but there's nothing that really sustains a pulse over the album. Though this album stumbles, it hints at ideas that, if developed more, might lead to later greatness. The Emotional Rescue LP is a snapshot of a great band's awkward age--beautiful in the beginning, not so pretty during their transition, and
even more so after maturation.
--Joseph Kyle
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)