Piano Magic, 4AD's latest ex, could have been their saving grace. When they released Son Del Mar, their debut for the label, I predicted that Piano Magic could be the band that could revitalize their then-sagging roster, but sadly the relationship failed after the release of last year's Writers Without Homes. It's hard to figure out, though, why Writers Without Homes failed. Perhaps it's because the band who had previously made records that were generally unclassifiable had suddenly made a record that sounded like a Piano Magic record. Some bands don't do well when they refine and define their sound. Thus, this little three-song EP on a tiny Spanish label may seem like a big step down from the glory of 4AD, but what makes it even more irksome is the fact that Speed the Road, Rush The Lights is a major step UP from Writers Without Homes.
"Speed the Road, Rush the Lights" starts things off with a menacing beat that's made more despondant by a keyboard-driven orchestra, throwing the song back to that era of post-punk music that we lovingly called 1984. Reminscent of Cindytalk, on this song Piano Magic comes close to sounding utterly Goth, were it not for Glen Johnson's spoken-sung vocals. The next song, "Paulette," it s a pretty, albeit rather brief, guitar and viola interlude, similar in style to Son Del Mar, and it nicely links the two epic songs together (the other two songs are over seven minutes long).
"Luxemborg Gardens" is the real winner of the lot, though. Starting with spooky, haunting operatic singing, it then creeps into a loud drone, tempered with a very sad guitar part, which then gives way to the singing. A haunting blend of male/female vocals, it is a melding of the distant and familiar, the haunting and the deranged. Angele David-Guillou sings like Bjork if Bjork was from Eartu and Glen Johnson sounds like an obsessed Jason Lytle, who follows her singing with the disturbing line "Don't you ever go home." It's creepy, it's cringeworthy, it makes you uneasy, it makes you a little bit paranoid--in other words, it's vintage Piano Magic!
Speed the Road, Rush the Lights is evidence that Writers Without Homes was merely a misstep. Too bad that it cost them their relationship with 4AD; the pairing should have been perfect. Still, it's good to know that life goes on, and Piano Magic have not yet begun to fight; though they've reached peaks other bands only dream of, I firmly believe that they've yet to put out their best record.
--Joseph Kyle
November 07, 2003
Parade "Life In Ten Songs or Less"
I don't understand why, but sometimes bands just don't get the notice or the attention that they deserve. A great band can be killed by lack of interest or attention. Though some people take comfort in the fact that 'good things will eventually be noticed,' unfortunately that's not always true, and that's such a shame. It's a bittersweet prize to be recognized and respected ten years after hanging up and walking away from what was really promising. Consider, then, Austin, Texas' newest pop band, Parade. Such a fate is one that I fear for them, and as a music lover and fan, I'm trusting you, dear readers, to not allow this to happen to them.
I've fallen for Parade in a big, big way. Though the primary band consists of Ty Hurless and Kevin Sekhani, Parade is actually a wonderfully big pop orchestra, with loud, swinging brass and a trio of excellent backup singers. Throw in a relative to the Bee Gees as producer and a general upbeat attitude that's noticable from the very first notes of the mellow and slightly psych "Wake Up." When it changes into the wonderfully poppy in spite of the title "Burial Ground," Parade's sound folds over and over in bright kaleidoscopic colors. To top it off, Sekhani has a really strong, intoxicating singing voice that's immediately likeable, and with all of these things working together, Parade's a band that makes quick converts from listen number one. I know that I was hooked from the get-go.
What really, really impresses me about Parade is just how natural it all sounds. While several bands out there today (no names, please, you know who you are) play around with the whole orchestra pop sound, to some extent these groups' use of big orchestration sounds more of a novel experiment. Not so with Parade; theirs is perhaps the first debut record that I've heard that incorporates this big band sound and doesn't sound gimmicky. No, one listen to songs like "Turn me Down" and "Delicate" and "Burial Ground," Parade's sound is tight, as if they have been making this kind of music for years, and that's what really wins me over. Their sound is fresh and new and it's all theirs and it never leads you to notice the fact that, yes, this is a debut album.
Though the sound of Life In Ten Songs or Less is pure big, well-produced baroque pop, it never falls victim to the trappings of retro music, and instead of sounding like 1968 all over again, these guys find it better to be in 2003. I've got a big long list of bands who they remind me of, but I'm not going to give that to you, because I really want you to hear Parade for what they are--a great pop band. Comparisons to other bands would be absurd, pointless and would not serve them well; they are their own band; their sound is all their own, yet it's warm and friendly and familiar and it's one that's served without a hint of hipster irony. (Finally, a pop album without irony!)
Let's not allow Parade to slip through the cracks, shall we? Their sound is too good, too wonderful and too friendly to allow to rot in obscurity. Life In Ten Songs or Less is one impressive debut album, and I totally hope that 2004 allows them great opportunities. They deserve it. They don't deserve to have to be caught having to self-release their music; they deserve to be on the radio, they deserve every great musical wish and fantasy of every lesser talented artist out there. Hopefully, they will get them soon.
(I really, really want you to hear Parade. Go visit their website, www.paradenews.net and experience one of the best bands you've never heard of--yet.)
--Joseph Kyle
I've fallen for Parade in a big, big way. Though the primary band consists of Ty Hurless and Kevin Sekhani, Parade is actually a wonderfully big pop orchestra, with loud, swinging brass and a trio of excellent backup singers. Throw in a relative to the Bee Gees as producer and a general upbeat attitude that's noticable from the very first notes of the mellow and slightly psych "Wake Up." When it changes into the wonderfully poppy in spite of the title "Burial Ground," Parade's sound folds over and over in bright kaleidoscopic colors. To top it off, Sekhani has a really strong, intoxicating singing voice that's immediately likeable, and with all of these things working together, Parade's a band that makes quick converts from listen number one. I know that I was hooked from the get-go.
What really, really impresses me about Parade is just how natural it all sounds. While several bands out there today (no names, please, you know who you are) play around with the whole orchestra pop sound, to some extent these groups' use of big orchestration sounds more of a novel experiment. Not so with Parade; theirs is perhaps the first debut record that I've heard that incorporates this big band sound and doesn't sound gimmicky. No, one listen to songs like "Turn me Down" and "Delicate" and "Burial Ground," Parade's sound is tight, as if they have been making this kind of music for years, and that's what really wins me over. Their sound is fresh and new and it's all theirs and it never leads you to notice the fact that, yes, this is a debut album.
Though the sound of Life In Ten Songs or Less is pure big, well-produced baroque pop, it never falls victim to the trappings of retro music, and instead of sounding like 1968 all over again, these guys find it better to be in 2003. I've got a big long list of bands who they remind me of, but I'm not going to give that to you, because I really want you to hear Parade for what they are--a great pop band. Comparisons to other bands would be absurd, pointless and would not serve them well; they are their own band; their sound is all their own, yet it's warm and friendly and familiar and it's one that's served without a hint of hipster irony. (Finally, a pop album without irony!)
Let's not allow Parade to slip through the cracks, shall we? Their sound is too good, too wonderful and too friendly to allow to rot in obscurity. Life In Ten Songs or Less is one impressive debut album, and I totally hope that 2004 allows them great opportunities. They deserve it. They don't deserve to have to be caught having to self-release their music; they deserve to be on the radio, they deserve every great musical wish and fantasy of every lesser talented artist out there. Hopefully, they will get them soon.
(I really, really want you to hear Parade. Go visit their website, www.paradenews.net and experience one of the best bands you've never heard of--yet.)
--Joseph Kyle
The Moles "On The Street"
Australia's The Moles were nothing if not weird. Richard Davies, who would shortly make an impressive baroque-pop record under the name Cardinal before setting off on his own excellent solo career, was the leader of this messy, sloppy group of Australian art-rockers. And yes, The Moles were arty. They were strange. They were weird. At times, they were utterly lovely; other times, they were--to be generous--utter crap. If you ever wondered about where bands like Olivia Tremor Control got their inspiration, then On The Street will be nothing short of a revelation.
In their lifetime, they produced a few singles, and they also produced two pretty unique albums, neither of which really sounded like each other. The first, Untune the Sky, is a weird mixture of lo-fi rock and baroque tinges, and Instinct, which was a Richard Davies solo album in all but name, was more in tune with the baroque-pop that was to come. On The Street consists of material that's all from the Untune The Sky era; it's not really a 'best-of', as much as it is a revisit to Untune the Sky. In fact, almost all of On The Street can be found on Flydaddy's reissue, which went out of print a few years ago.
The greatest caveat about On The Street is that much (if not all) of the album sound terribly, terribly dated. Their naive take on art-rock is a bit of a throwback to the days when the name Shimmy Disc actually meant something. If you're expecting the lovely pop of Davies' later records, you might be a bit disappointed. Not all of On The Street is a washout, though; "Bury Me Happy" is perhaps their greatest moment; it's a lovely, touching little lo-fi love song, full of tenderness and sincerity--much more so than contemporaries Sentridoh or Guided By Voices. Don't get me wrong; other songs such as "Lonely Hearts Get What They Deserve," "Saint Jack" and "This Is A Happy Garden" all have their charm, even if they're not things that can withstand multiple, repeat listens.
The second disc, titled Rare and Weird, lives up to its name, though it should be titled Rare and Weird and Sometimes Rather Unlistenable. These songs--a mixture of live, demo takes, alternate versions and unreleased tracks--are more for the hardcore (who?) fan. If you're a casual listener, these songs won't add anything to the first disc, other than to prove exactly how arty they were. Some of the songs do border on the unlistenable, with tape pops and hiss and such, but in one instance--the brooding, post-punk "Surf's Up,"--the poor quality actually adds a dimension to the song that couldn't have been there before.
On The Street might not be the essential document for The Moles, especially considering how nothing appears from their final album, Instinct. Why this album was neglected is a moot point; perhaps it too will see reissue soon, considering that this is the opening salvo of a full-blown Richard Davies reissue series. That said, it is still an interesting collection of songs from a band that has been neglected in being considered an influence on modern day lo-fi psych-pop.
--Joseph Kyle
In their lifetime, they produced a few singles, and they also produced two pretty unique albums, neither of which really sounded like each other. The first, Untune the Sky, is a weird mixture of lo-fi rock and baroque tinges, and Instinct, which was a Richard Davies solo album in all but name, was more in tune with the baroque-pop that was to come. On The Street consists of material that's all from the Untune The Sky era; it's not really a 'best-of', as much as it is a revisit to Untune the Sky. In fact, almost all of On The Street can be found on Flydaddy's reissue, which went out of print a few years ago.
The greatest caveat about On The Street is that much (if not all) of the album sound terribly, terribly dated. Their naive take on art-rock is a bit of a throwback to the days when the name Shimmy Disc actually meant something. If you're expecting the lovely pop of Davies' later records, you might be a bit disappointed. Not all of On The Street is a washout, though; "Bury Me Happy" is perhaps their greatest moment; it's a lovely, touching little lo-fi love song, full of tenderness and sincerity--much more so than contemporaries Sentridoh or Guided By Voices. Don't get me wrong; other songs such as "Lonely Hearts Get What They Deserve," "Saint Jack" and "This Is A Happy Garden" all have their charm, even if they're not things that can withstand multiple, repeat listens.
The second disc, titled Rare and Weird, lives up to its name, though it should be titled Rare and Weird and Sometimes Rather Unlistenable. These songs--a mixture of live, demo takes, alternate versions and unreleased tracks--are more for the hardcore (who?) fan. If you're a casual listener, these songs won't add anything to the first disc, other than to prove exactly how arty they were. Some of the songs do border on the unlistenable, with tape pops and hiss and such, but in one instance--the brooding, post-punk "Surf's Up,"--the poor quality actually adds a dimension to the song that couldn't have been there before.
On The Street might not be the essential document for The Moles, especially considering how nothing appears from their final album, Instinct. Why this album was neglected is a moot point; perhaps it too will see reissue soon, considering that this is the opening salvo of a full-blown Richard Davies reissue series. That said, it is still an interesting collection of songs from a band that has been neglected in being considered an influence on modern day lo-fi psych-pop.
--Joseph Kyle
Duvall "Racine"
Well, this is a pleasant little single--if not a little bit spooky. Not that it's haunting, mind you, but it's amazing to hear how much Duvall sounds like Duvall leader Josh Caterer's old band, Smoking Popes. Of course, you should expect it, because Josh's voice is extremely unique, and with his brother Eli at his side, it's hard not to make comparisons. No matter what name he may use, it's really good to have Caterer back in action, and the three songs on here are all wonderful. "Racine" is the lead single from Duvall's upcoming full length debut, Volume & Density. It's a wonderful blast of pop that picks up where Destination: Failure left off. The same can be said with their cover of Spandau Ballet's "True." Though he changes the lyrics slightly--I think that the second verse is taken from a Smoking Popes song--and it's also pretty nice, too. "Time Is Gone" is a demo of an older tune, and while pretty, doesn't stand up next to the two very well.This is most definitely whetting my appetite for that full length album, and it shows that Caterer's still one of the best of the best in the pop-rock arena.
--Joseph Kyle
--Joseph Kyle
Sciflyer "Fair-Weather Karma"
As shocking as it may seem, it's been my observation that a lot of people who really invest their time in dreampop are quite conservative in terms of sound. I sometimes feel as if those that do feel as if they have a need, a desire, a calling that requires them to preserve the sonic ideas of 1988-1994, when bands such as Adorable, Lush, Slowdive, Chapterhouse, Ride, My Bloody Valentine, Pale Saints and Spaceman 3 walked the earth. Not that those bands were bad--many of them were really, really good--but where do you draw the line between innovation and mere imitation?
Sciflyer's the lastest group on the scene, and though they don't do anything terribly innovative, they do have a few things that differ from your ordinary, hum-drum shoegaze bands, and the main thing that sets them apart is the fact that they're not really trying to be innovative. Sure, that sounds lazy, but it's quite obvious to me that Sciflyer is more concerned about making a lovely sounding record that's pleasant on the ears and atmosphere-creating than they are about being uber-original. In a weird kind of way, their decision to stay close to the formula is actually quite original; though they definitely sound like a shoegaze band, they don't really sound like any particular band. Plus, there's a harder rock edge to Fair Weather Karma that is definitely not in others who make similar music.
Really, though, there's nothing to complain about here. True, the vocals are so faint and distant that you really don't hear them unless you try to, but, again, I don't feel as if their point is to make some sort of grand lyrical statement. These songs are all utterly pretty and wonderful and even though no one particular song stands out-- Sciflyer almost comes across as an instrumental band who happen to have vocals--it's impossible to deny that this album is a pleasure to listen to. It's easily a record that's meant for listening to while reading books on a rainy Sunday afternoon. (You should follow the band's advice, because it does indeed sound 'better with headphones.')
--Joseph Kyle
Sciflyer's the lastest group on the scene, and though they don't do anything terribly innovative, they do have a few things that differ from your ordinary, hum-drum shoegaze bands, and the main thing that sets them apart is the fact that they're not really trying to be innovative. Sure, that sounds lazy, but it's quite obvious to me that Sciflyer is more concerned about making a lovely sounding record that's pleasant on the ears and atmosphere-creating than they are about being uber-original. In a weird kind of way, their decision to stay close to the formula is actually quite original; though they definitely sound like a shoegaze band, they don't really sound like any particular band. Plus, there's a harder rock edge to Fair Weather Karma that is definitely not in others who make similar music.
Really, though, there's nothing to complain about here. True, the vocals are so faint and distant that you really don't hear them unless you try to, but, again, I don't feel as if their point is to make some sort of grand lyrical statement. These songs are all utterly pretty and wonderful and even though no one particular song stands out-- Sciflyer almost comes across as an instrumental band who happen to have vocals--it's impossible to deny that this album is a pleasure to listen to. It's easily a record that's meant for listening to while reading books on a rainy Sunday afternoon. (You should follow the band's advice, because it does indeed sound 'better with headphones.')
--Joseph Kyle
November 06, 2003
Pearlfishers "Sky Meadows"
Pastoral: by definition , it means "Having the qualities of idealized country life, such as charming simplicity and a leasurely, carefree pace." It's a fitting adjective to describe Sky Meadows, the fourth album by Scotland's underrated The Pearlfishers. It's a shame that this wonderful Scottish group has not garnered the same amount of critical acclaim as bands like Belle & Sebastian, Mogwai or Arab Strap, because The Pearlfishers should be giving these lesser bands a run for their money--especially the bland Belle & Sebastian. Sadly, it will never happen, because The Pearlfishers are too good, too tranquil, too mellow to be in the same class as their fellow countrymen. Surprisingly, that's okay, because I'd really rather not ruin a good thing, nor would I want anything to put any kind of pressure on David Scott.
The Pearlfishers are more than a mere band, though; we're talking an orchestra of Polyphonic Spree size, but unlike Tim DeLaughter, Scott is not trying to flood the listener's soul with the aural beauty of an orchestra. Unlike bands like High Llamas, Scott's not trying to be retro; he's just trying to make a lovely pop record, and he's done that. In fact, I think he owes more to the era of 1973-1983 than he does to 1968. In fact, it's quite obvious that Scott understands exactly where Aztec Camera went wrong. Instead of overwhelming lovely pop songs with heavy arrangements, it's best to treat everything with a touch of restraint; Sky Meadows soars as high as High Land, Hard Rain, and Scott's singing is more than a little bit reminiscent of Roddy Frame.
Sky Meadow is an album of understated, unhurried beauty; it knows where it's going, and it's getting there slowly--too many flowers to smell, too many little nuances of nature to appreciate. Luckily, Scott never really overindulges in the things that make the album great; while Sky Meadows is inspired by the great late-60s albums of the Beach Boys and Burt Bacharach, you never get the feeling that they're hung-up on the era. Though "I Can't Believe You Met Nancy" references Nancy Sinatra, it's even more telling that they have a song called "Todd is God," a tribute to Todd Rundgren. The only problem with Sky Meadows is that once you really get into its groove, once you've become enraptured by its charms, it's over. Good things never last, it seems; enjoy the lovely "My Dad The Weatherfan," "Flora Belle," "Pantohorse" and the epic "Haricot Bean and Bill" while you can--and then, enjoy them again!
I will admit that I am a sucker for the baroque pop style, and thus it didn't really take much to sell me on Sky Meadows. If you like grown up, refined pop songs that have a sensible grasp of life in the country, then I suggest you seek out the comfort and beauty of Sky Meadows. It's a consistently strong album, every listen is a joy, and it's as pleasant and as lovely and as tranquil as a Scottish field on a clear, windy day. This is easily one of the nicest Scottish pop records I've heard all year.
--Joseph Kyle
The Pearlfishers are more than a mere band, though; we're talking an orchestra of Polyphonic Spree size, but unlike Tim DeLaughter, Scott is not trying to flood the listener's soul with the aural beauty of an orchestra. Unlike bands like High Llamas, Scott's not trying to be retro; he's just trying to make a lovely pop record, and he's done that. In fact, I think he owes more to the era of 1973-1983 than he does to 1968. In fact, it's quite obvious that Scott understands exactly where Aztec Camera went wrong. Instead of overwhelming lovely pop songs with heavy arrangements, it's best to treat everything with a touch of restraint; Sky Meadows soars as high as High Land, Hard Rain, and Scott's singing is more than a little bit reminiscent of Roddy Frame.
Sky Meadow is an album of understated, unhurried beauty; it knows where it's going, and it's getting there slowly--too many flowers to smell, too many little nuances of nature to appreciate. Luckily, Scott never really overindulges in the things that make the album great; while Sky Meadows is inspired by the great late-60s albums of the Beach Boys and Burt Bacharach, you never get the feeling that they're hung-up on the era. Though "I Can't Believe You Met Nancy" references Nancy Sinatra, it's even more telling that they have a song called "Todd is God," a tribute to Todd Rundgren. The only problem with Sky Meadows is that once you really get into its groove, once you've become enraptured by its charms, it's over. Good things never last, it seems; enjoy the lovely "My Dad The Weatherfan," "Flora Belle," "Pantohorse" and the epic "Haricot Bean and Bill" while you can--and then, enjoy them again!
I will admit that I am a sucker for the baroque pop style, and thus it didn't really take much to sell me on Sky Meadows. If you like grown up, refined pop songs that have a sensible grasp of life in the country, then I suggest you seek out the comfort and beauty of Sky Meadows. It's a consistently strong album, every listen is a joy, and it's as pleasant and as lovely and as tranquil as a Scottish field on a clear, windy day. This is easily one of the nicest Scottish pop records I've heard all year.
--Joseph Kyle
Particle Zoo "Go-Go"
Particle Zoo's an interesting band. Taking a hint of pop and that whole 'modern rock' thing, they've put together a nice little blend of new-wave inspired rock-pop music, similar in nature to that whole 'emo' thing, but not really. Though at times Go-Go sounds a bit flat and restrained, it's still a promising little debut. The only time they ever really falter is with their cover of "Eleanor Rigby." The winner of the lot is "Wrecking Ball," though I kinda like the Elvis Costello-ish "Please Send Copies of You." A promising record, if ever I've heard one.
--Joseph Kyle
--Joseph Kyle
My Morning Jacket "It Still Moves"
This record rocks. Just listen to "Mahgeetah," "One Big Holiday" and "Steam Engine" and tell me I'm wrong, slappy. The second best album this year.
And that's all Ihave need to say.
--Joseph Kyle
And that's all I
--Joseph Kyle
bexar bexar 'haralambos'
Instrumental music often runs the risk of becoming painfully anonymous. I mean, you know that it's going to be limited to some extent--it is instrumental music, after all, and even the loudest screaming guitar parts and blazing drums and burning-up synths can get real boring real quick-like, especially if the musical style in question doesn't really change. True, some have made careers out of making light, tight instrumental music--Yanni, Tortoise, Harold Budd (yeah, i know, he read poems over his, it ain't the same thing, bucko) all have made their millions off of the genre.
Bexar Bexar's the lastest band to come to the table, and though they only know one trick, they do it really well, and their debut album, Haralambos, is nothing short of pleasant. It's apparent that they're aware of the anonymity of being an all-instrumental band, because they do their best to be as anonymous as possible. There's no details on who is in the band, or if Bexar Bexar even is a band. There's nothing save for some blurry photos of people on the beach, but even those look like they could have been taken thirty years ago. Nope, all we get on the cover is the tracklisting and some pictures.
Oh, and there's some music on here, too. Seeing as I've already mentione Tortoise, I might as well say that though Bexar Bexar don't sound like Tortoise, they do remind me a lot of the Tortoise-related band Brokeback, but with an occasional country vibe. Many of these songs have that whole 'soundtrack' slash incidental music feel to them, especially the lovely "Pay Attention," "Las Cruces" and "Adios." Of course, such a soundtracky vibe is to their credit; several of the songs on Haralambos appeared as incidental music on the NPR program This American Life.
Though their sound seems to combine a little bit of jazz and little bit of electronica, Bexar Bexar never sounds like either, instead, they've made a post-everything record that's as easy on the ears as a windy day. Haralambos is a quiet experience meant for those quiet moments of thought and reflection that oh so need a soundtrack. And we still don't know who did it, either--and it's probably best that way. Names are unimportant, after all; it's the moment that matters, and if the soundtrack of your life needs brief passages of instrumental reflection, then Bexar Bexar have what you need.
--Joseph Kyle
Bexar Bexar's the lastest band to come to the table, and though they only know one trick, they do it really well, and their debut album, Haralambos, is nothing short of pleasant. It's apparent that they're aware of the anonymity of being an all-instrumental band, because they do their best to be as anonymous as possible. There's no details on who is in the band, or if Bexar Bexar even is a band. There's nothing save for some blurry photos of people on the beach, but even those look like they could have been taken thirty years ago. Nope, all we get on the cover is the tracklisting and some pictures.
Oh, and there's some music on here, too. Seeing as I've already mentione Tortoise, I might as well say that though Bexar Bexar don't sound like Tortoise, they do remind me a lot of the Tortoise-related band Brokeback, but with an occasional country vibe. Many of these songs have that whole 'soundtrack' slash incidental music feel to them, especially the lovely "Pay Attention," "Las Cruces" and "Adios." Of course, such a soundtracky vibe is to their credit; several of the songs on Haralambos appeared as incidental music on the NPR program This American Life.
Though their sound seems to combine a little bit of jazz and little bit of electronica, Bexar Bexar never sounds like either, instead, they've made a post-everything record that's as easy on the ears as a windy day. Haralambos is a quiet experience meant for those quiet moments of thought and reflection that oh so need a soundtrack. And we still don't know who did it, either--and it's probably best that way. Names are unimportant, after all; it's the moment that matters, and if the soundtrack of your life needs brief passages of instrumental reflection, then Bexar Bexar have what you need.
--Joseph Kyle
November 05, 2003
THe like Young "Art Contest"
Where's wolfie??? Wherrrrrrrre's Wolfieeeee? THERE's Wolfie!
I'm sorry, I just had to say that. See, it's hard to seperate the cute-n-cuddly Wolfie from The Like Young, even though the two bands are most certainly NOT interchangable. Sure, Wolfie was cute and cuddly and crunchy indie-pop with a bit of a punk edge to it, but The Like Young--which consists of Wolfie's husband 'n' wife duo of Amanda and Joe Ziemba--is a whole 'nother beastie.The Like Young have obtained a balance of cuteness and seriousness that Wolfie never could get right. Lambasted for being too cute to be contenders, Wolfie suffered the ultimate cuddlecore fate of being precious.
Art Contest, The Like Young's debut album, does owe a little teeny-weenie bit to Wolfie. Thankfully, it's only a little bit, and it's the best part--the bubblegum. Yes, The Like Young's a cute band, but they're also a really really good band. Every song on this disk is a one-two punch of pop-punk--and the Wolfie years were what made this duo so tough. That's right, they're tough. They had to be--Wolfie got picked on quite a lot, and so I'm sure they spent time working on their toughness. Last year's EP was a pleasant, shocking surprise--these two kids had really grown over the course of a band, and Art Contest continues that growth.
Kicking off with the wonderful "Expensive Tastes," you're quickly taken for a ride, through a land that consists of songs about snobs and slobs and leather jacket and falling in love and nice people, and they never fail to bring a smile to your face. Every song is a hit in my book; every song delivers everything a pop song should, and it's clear that the Ziembas are onto something good. In fact, I'm pretty sure they could make Rivers Cuomo jealous and his former fans happy again. Heck, when I have this one on the car stereo, I crank it up to eleven. Who knew?
While it's true that the boy/girl power punk-pop duo sound could get old rather quickly, it's obvious that the Ziembas also understand this, and they keep things short and to the point. None of these eleven songs overstay their welcome; they're in and out with flash and pop and by the time you're humming along--after the first listen, mind you--they've already moved to the next one. They also pace things quite nicely; a fast song is then followed by a midtempo or a Joe song is followed by an Amanda-led song. Believe me, it's all good.
Art Contest is one of this years better debut albums, and it's no surprise that their tours have been well-received. The Like Young are a band who may be, like, young, but I'm almost positive that 2004 will give them more. In fact, I'm sure of it. A fresh blast of pop-punk, Art Contest is a wonderfully satisfying record, and if it is any indication, then 2004 may just be THEIR year. I sure hope so...
--Joseph Kyle
I'm sorry, I just had to say that. See, it's hard to seperate the cute-n-cuddly Wolfie from The Like Young, even though the two bands are most certainly NOT interchangable. Sure, Wolfie was cute and cuddly and crunchy indie-pop with a bit of a punk edge to it, but The Like Young--which consists of Wolfie's husband 'n' wife duo of Amanda and Joe Ziemba--is a whole 'nother beastie.The Like Young have obtained a balance of cuteness and seriousness that Wolfie never could get right. Lambasted for being too cute to be contenders, Wolfie suffered the ultimate cuddlecore fate of being precious.
Art Contest, The Like Young's debut album, does owe a little teeny-weenie bit to Wolfie. Thankfully, it's only a little bit, and it's the best part--the bubblegum. Yes, The Like Young's a cute band, but they're also a really really good band. Every song on this disk is a one-two punch of pop-punk--and the Wolfie years were what made this duo so tough. That's right, they're tough. They had to be--Wolfie got picked on quite a lot, and so I'm sure they spent time working on their toughness. Last year's EP was a pleasant, shocking surprise--these two kids had really grown over the course of a band, and Art Contest continues that growth.
Kicking off with the wonderful "Expensive Tastes," you're quickly taken for a ride, through a land that consists of songs about snobs and slobs and leather jacket and falling in love and nice people, and they never fail to bring a smile to your face. Every song is a hit in my book; every song delivers everything a pop song should, and it's clear that the Ziembas are onto something good. In fact, I'm pretty sure they could make Rivers Cuomo jealous and his former fans happy again. Heck, when I have this one on the car stereo, I crank it up to eleven. Who knew?
While it's true that the boy/girl power punk-pop duo sound could get old rather quickly, it's obvious that the Ziembas also understand this, and they keep things short and to the point. None of these eleven songs overstay their welcome; they're in and out with flash and pop and by the time you're humming along--after the first listen, mind you--they've already moved to the next one. They also pace things quite nicely; a fast song is then followed by a midtempo or a Joe song is followed by an Amanda-led song. Believe me, it's all good.
Art Contest is one of this years better debut albums, and it's no surprise that their tours have been well-received. The Like Young are a band who may be, like, young, but I'm almost positive that 2004 will give them more. In fact, I'm sure of it. A fresh blast of pop-punk, Art Contest is a wonderfully satisfying record, and if it is any indication, then 2004 may just be THEIR year. I sure hope so...
--Joseph Kyle
November 04, 2003
The Lucksmiths "A Little Distraction"
Another Lucksmiths record--what have we done to deserve this?? Really, it's been quite a wonderful year for this Aussie indiepop trio. A well-received new album, a big, succcessful tour of the US and Europe, and a growing fanbase--what better way to celebrate a great year than by releasing yet another wonderfully wonderful pop record? They've got love and songs a-plenty, so they've decided to give us a handy-dandy little mini-album of some great new tunes.
Seriously, these pop dudes have yet to make a bum record, and considering the amount of music they put out, you'd expect some slippage, but A Little Distraction is a wonderfully strong record. One peculiar point to be made about the Lucksmiths is that their singles and EP's are often much better than their albums. That doesn't mean their albums are bad, but it seems as if they have a stronger focus when the format offers songs in small doses; they write great singles, and that's their strong point. It also helps to explain why their strongest albums are their singles collections. As such, A Little Distraction is one strong, tight mini-album.
Kicking off with the lovely and slightly sad "Transpontine," The Lucksmiths set the mellow acoustic mood quite quickly. They pick up the pace with the lovely, harmonica-laden and tounge-twistingly titled "Successlessness," an ode to love in spite of money: "One day we'll be poor no more/I'm almost sure enough before/Then let's not let successlessness get the best of us, my love." Such great lyrics, such a catchy chorus, it was a shame that I had to turn off the CD to get those lyrics (cheeky boys they are, putting the lyrics on the CD itself!) The magic continues with the title track, "Moving," and the lovely one-two closing punch of "After the After Party" and "Honey Honey Honey." If you're like me, you'll be hard-pressed to make it to the end of the CD the first few times, because you'll simply hit 'repeat' after each song is over.
A Little Distraction is a nice little distraction from one of Australia's premier--if not the premier--indiepop bands. Another fine addition to both The Lucksmiths' esteemed discography and the Matinee label's track record. If you've ever wondered why they're so well thought of, then this record is a fine introduction. Hate to sound like a broken record, but A Little Distraction is an unsurprisngly wonderful record by an unsurprisingly wonderful pop band on an unsurprisingly wonderful pop label.
--Joseph Kyle
Seriously, these pop dudes have yet to make a bum record, and considering the amount of music they put out, you'd expect some slippage, but A Little Distraction is a wonderfully strong record. One peculiar point to be made about the Lucksmiths is that their singles and EP's are often much better than their albums. That doesn't mean their albums are bad, but it seems as if they have a stronger focus when the format offers songs in small doses; they write great singles, and that's their strong point. It also helps to explain why their strongest albums are their singles collections. As such, A Little Distraction is one strong, tight mini-album.
Kicking off with the lovely and slightly sad "Transpontine," The Lucksmiths set the mellow acoustic mood quite quickly. They pick up the pace with the lovely, harmonica-laden and tounge-twistingly titled "Successlessness," an ode to love in spite of money: "One day we'll be poor no more/I'm almost sure enough before/Then let's not let successlessness get the best of us, my love." Such great lyrics, such a catchy chorus, it was a shame that I had to turn off the CD to get those lyrics (cheeky boys they are, putting the lyrics on the CD itself!) The magic continues with the title track, "Moving," and the lovely one-two closing punch of "After the After Party" and "Honey Honey Honey." If you're like me, you'll be hard-pressed to make it to the end of the CD the first few times, because you'll simply hit 'repeat' after each song is over.
A Little Distraction is a nice little distraction from one of Australia's premier--if not the premier--indiepop bands. Another fine addition to both The Lucksmiths' esteemed discography and the Matinee label's track record. If you've ever wondered why they're so well thought of, then this record is a fine introduction. Hate to sound like a broken record, but A Little Distraction is an unsurprisngly wonderful record by an unsurprisingly wonderful pop band on an unsurprisingly wonderful pop label.
--Joseph Kyle
November 02, 2003
At Dusk "The Summer of Promises Kept"
The fact that this CD popped up in my mailbox was a happy coincidence. I read a review of this Portland trio’s earlier self-released EP on another website, and was prompted to check out their IUMA site. Once there, I downloaded “I Am the Starman” and “Seventeen Fever Dreams,” both of which appear on their debut full-length, The Summer of Promises Kept. “Starman” is a two-minute miracle, an acoustic song that has all of the simplicity, catchiness, and spontaneity of mid-1990s Guided by Voices. It is worth noting that the liner notes of Promises say that “Starman” was “recorded, mixed, and mastered by At Dusk all at once.” “Seventeen Fever Dreams,” on the other hand, is an electric, professionally recorded instrumental that eschews anything remotely close to pop. All three musicians play in different time signatures, and the two guitarists play in different keys. Such gratuitous and grating dissonance might work in the hands of a band like US Maple or the Curtains, but At Dusk simply can’t pull it off. “Starman” and “Fever Dreams” clearly delineate the extremes of this band’s sound, which brings me to the double-edged sword this CD presents me with.
On one hand, At Dusk are three guys who sing and play well, know their indie-rock history, and have a grasp of melody strong enough to ensure that almost all of their songs have one killer hook, as well as the versatility to ensure that no two songs sound exactly alike. On the other hand, they’re three guys who can let their instrumental prowess get the better of them, don’t spend enough time in the studio to truly perfect their songs, and haven’t quite settled on a distinct sound yet. However, when At Dusk gets it right, they get it REALLY right. The songs in which the scales are tipped more toward melody and structure than dissonance and angularity are the clear standouts.
For instance, there’s “Sports,” a speedy Wedding Present-style strum-a-thon in which glockenspiel and falsetto singing usher in what could’ve been a drab rock song into a new level of beauty. Then, there’s “The Image,” a song about nightmares that benefits from great guitar work and a spastic drum-driven coda. It’s what Sebadoh would’ve sounded like if they took as many cues from Slint and Karate as they did from Minor Threat and Nick Drake. “When You’re Far Away” is a Microphones song in all but name, as an intentionally off-key and ham-fisted acoustic intro slowly builds up to a crescendo of bells, organs, and drums. Last but not least, there’s the title track, which sports some wonderful three-part harmony and spells out the album’s underlying lyrical theme.
“This is a prayer for what can’t be said,” guitarist Cary Clarke and drummer Will Hattman sing, “for all that we’ve hoped for and done instead.” Throughout many of the songs (at least the ones that don’t rely on vague, melancholy clichés), there is a sense of optimism in the face of adverse circumstances. If the title of “What May Have Been the Sun” doesn’t give it all away to you, the song’s opening lines will: “If nothing else, then smile, for we may be here for a while.” Other songs (“The Deep End,” “Titled Floors”) lament being stuck in cycles and endlessly repeating the same mistakes. Lyrically, At Dusk have a fairly even ratio of signal to noise. The aforementioned songs in this paragraph definitely belong in the “signal” category, whereas in other songs (“Up on Persephone,” “Rain in the House”) they stretch their conceits further than they can reasonably go.
There are many songs that would be up there with “Sports” and “The Image” if it weren’t for one or two detracting elements. Some otherwise tuneful songs have brief tangents of “Fever Dreams”-style atonality that disrupt the momentum, and others are marred by vocals that could’ve used a couple more practice takes. I get the feeling that they didn’t really give themselves enough time to edit and record their songs. Trust me, guys: wrong notes don’t necessarily make your songs more challenging or interesting, and only certain bands can get away with them. You’re not one of them. Also, if you’re going to make “I Am the Starman” your HIDDEN TRACK, why would you list the song as “Hidden Track: I Am the Starman” in bold print THREE DIFFERENT PLACES on the CD’s artwork? If you announce its presence, guys, then it can’t really be hidden! Overall, though, The Summer of Promises Kept is a good start, and hopefully next time around At Dusk will have enough money and/or time to iron out the kinks, settle on what kind of band they actually want to BE, and deliver a great sophomore effort.
---Sean Padilla
On one hand, At Dusk are three guys who sing and play well, know their indie-rock history, and have a grasp of melody strong enough to ensure that almost all of their songs have one killer hook, as well as the versatility to ensure that no two songs sound exactly alike. On the other hand, they’re three guys who can let their instrumental prowess get the better of them, don’t spend enough time in the studio to truly perfect their songs, and haven’t quite settled on a distinct sound yet. However, when At Dusk gets it right, they get it REALLY right. The songs in which the scales are tipped more toward melody and structure than dissonance and angularity are the clear standouts.
For instance, there’s “Sports,” a speedy Wedding Present-style strum-a-thon in which glockenspiel and falsetto singing usher in what could’ve been a drab rock song into a new level of beauty. Then, there’s “The Image,” a song about nightmares that benefits from great guitar work and a spastic drum-driven coda. It’s what Sebadoh would’ve sounded like if they took as many cues from Slint and Karate as they did from Minor Threat and Nick Drake. “When You’re Far Away” is a Microphones song in all but name, as an intentionally off-key and ham-fisted acoustic intro slowly builds up to a crescendo of bells, organs, and drums. Last but not least, there’s the title track, which sports some wonderful three-part harmony and spells out the album’s underlying lyrical theme.
“This is a prayer for what can’t be said,” guitarist Cary Clarke and drummer Will Hattman sing, “for all that we’ve hoped for and done instead.” Throughout many of the songs (at least the ones that don’t rely on vague, melancholy clichés), there is a sense of optimism in the face of adverse circumstances. If the title of “What May Have Been the Sun” doesn’t give it all away to you, the song’s opening lines will: “If nothing else, then smile, for we may be here for a while.” Other songs (“The Deep End,” “Titled Floors”) lament being stuck in cycles and endlessly repeating the same mistakes. Lyrically, At Dusk have a fairly even ratio of signal to noise. The aforementioned songs in this paragraph definitely belong in the “signal” category, whereas in other songs (“Up on Persephone,” “Rain in the House”) they stretch their conceits further than they can reasonably go.
There are many songs that would be up there with “Sports” and “The Image” if it weren’t for one or two detracting elements. Some otherwise tuneful songs have brief tangents of “Fever Dreams”-style atonality that disrupt the momentum, and others are marred by vocals that could’ve used a couple more practice takes. I get the feeling that they didn’t really give themselves enough time to edit and record their songs. Trust me, guys: wrong notes don’t necessarily make your songs more challenging or interesting, and only certain bands can get away with them. You’re not one of them. Also, if you’re going to make “I Am the Starman” your HIDDEN TRACK, why would you list the song as “Hidden Track: I Am the Starman” in bold print THREE DIFFERENT PLACES on the CD’s artwork? If you announce its presence, guys, then it can’t really be hidden! Overall, though, The Summer of Promises Kept is a good start, and hopefully next time around At Dusk will have enough money and/or time to iron out the kinks, settle on what kind of band they actually want to BE, and deliver a great sophomore effort.
---Sean Padilla
November 01, 2003
Imaginary Maps "S/T"
It's tough being a one-man band. It seems as if some people aren't gonna take you seriously, unless, of course, you make a record that sounds remarkably like a band. It's certainly a gambit best left to people who have true musical skill; after all, no matter how good you are, you're always going to be weak on one instrument. Also, as you're doing it all yourself, can you really be trusted to be an editor? You're gonna think every song is important, and editing can actually make a mediocre record better. But if every song is like your child, are you gonna throw one out of the house?
I have always said that any band or artist who can strike up a balance between acoustic folk and dark electronica would be the creators of a wholly original format. Some artists have accomplished much in this direction, such as Beth Orton and The Doves. Seattle's Imaginary Maps--a one man project led by a singular visionary by the name of VEO--deserve credit for trying to mix folk and electronica, and for bridging the gap between soft and loud. The music on Imaginary Maps is lush, dense, dark and beautiful; falling somewhere between electronica and goth, it is certainly anything but dull, and there's plenty to listen for, as it continually grows and expands upon further listens.
Too bad that VEO sounds like Billy Bragg.
Now, I personally like Billy Bragg, but I do know and understand that his vocals are an acquired taste. And, to be fair, I like Imaginary Maps, too, but VEO's vocals are also an acquired taste. Don't get me wrong; I don't have a problem with his singing, but when the vocals are mixed high above the music, the singing issue is much more problematic. When above the mix, his singing is overwhelming, and as a singing style like his is best taken in small doses. Of course, the bigger problem created with the vocals high in the mix is that it covers up Imaginary Maps' strongest feature: the utterly beautiful musical landscapes VEO has created.
This mixing problem is a common one, especially for one-man acts, because no matter how good of an artist you are, you'll never get the same kind of dynamic as you would with a full band. As VEO is just now starting out on his career, this is a flaw that's easily forgiven .To be fair, the Billy Braggisms occasionally work, like on beautiful electrofolk songs like "Fall Apart." When the balance between vocals and instrumental tracks is equally balanced and are in sync, such as on "Showdown" and the blistering "Waste," Imaginary Maps is wonderfully excellent.
Imaginary Maps is a promising group, and despite the flaws of the album, there's still plenty to love. Give them some time, growth, experience, maturity--and possibly a full band--VEO could easily create an album that is utterly amazing, and will easily mix all of his obvious influences and styles together. Though he's not there yet, I have faith in VEO's ability to become an artist to be reckoned with.
--Joseph Kyle
I have always said that any band or artist who can strike up a balance between acoustic folk and dark electronica would be the creators of a wholly original format. Some artists have accomplished much in this direction, such as Beth Orton and The Doves. Seattle's Imaginary Maps--a one man project led by a singular visionary by the name of VEO--deserve credit for trying to mix folk and electronica, and for bridging the gap between soft and loud. The music on Imaginary Maps is lush, dense, dark and beautiful; falling somewhere between electronica and goth, it is certainly anything but dull, and there's plenty to listen for, as it continually grows and expands upon further listens.
Too bad that VEO sounds like Billy Bragg.
Now, I personally like Billy Bragg, but I do know and understand that his vocals are an acquired taste. And, to be fair, I like Imaginary Maps, too, but VEO's vocals are also an acquired taste. Don't get me wrong; I don't have a problem with his singing, but when the vocals are mixed high above the music, the singing issue is much more problematic. When above the mix, his singing is overwhelming, and as a singing style like his is best taken in small doses. Of course, the bigger problem created with the vocals high in the mix is that it covers up Imaginary Maps' strongest feature: the utterly beautiful musical landscapes VEO has created.
This mixing problem is a common one, especially for one-man acts, because no matter how good of an artist you are, you'll never get the same kind of dynamic as you would with a full band. As VEO is just now starting out on his career, this is a flaw that's easily forgiven .To be fair, the Billy Braggisms occasionally work, like on beautiful electrofolk songs like "Fall Apart." When the balance between vocals and instrumental tracks is equally balanced and are in sync, such as on "Showdown" and the blistering "Waste," Imaginary Maps is wonderfully excellent.
Imaginary Maps is a promising group, and despite the flaws of the album, there's still plenty to love. Give them some time, growth, experience, maturity--and possibly a full band--VEO could easily create an album that is utterly amazing, and will easily mix all of his obvious influences and styles together. Though he's not there yet, I have faith in VEO's ability to become an artist to be reckoned with.
--Joseph Kyle
The Rhinos "Year of the Rhino"
In the early 1970s, pop-rock geniuses the Hollies hired Mikael Rickfors, a Swedish fellow, as their lead singer. While the relationship did not last very long, this little bit of trivia is certainly worth mentioning when discussing Year of the Rhinos, the debut from Sweden's latest jingle-jangle pop band, The Rhinos. Though I've never heard any of the Hollies' recordings with Rickfors, I can't help wondering if it sounded anything like The Rhinos.It's certainly worth mentioning, though, because The Rhinos are a wonderfully retro-based band, with some really lovely harmonies, and yes, they are very reminiscent of bands such as the Hollies and the Byrds.
The album kicks off with "Stop the Time," a strong little number which is also the album's weakest moment. From there, it only gets better; the lovely guitar lick of "Dream Diary" picks things up right quick-like, and the pace is never let down, nor is the template ever really altered. The Rhinos are just a bunch of fellows who have a sweet tooth for 60s folk-rock, and they're doing their best to carry the torch. Luckily, with killer numbers like "Greedy Girl" and "Everything To Me," they not only carry the torch, they prove themselves of making a sound that they can call their own. At times, though, they blend a more modern sound, and sound an awful lot like bands we love like The Posies, Jellyfish and on "I Don't Want to Be Alone Tonight," even the Cars! It's a combination of killer harmonies and that lovely guitar jangle that makes Year of the Rhinos fun, and I'd be curious to hear them in a live setting, because I have this feeling that they're a really impressive live act.
While it's true that Year of the Rhinos is not the most original-sounding record, but The Rhinos make such a lovely racket that you really don't mind. After all, I'd rather listen to a band who have really good harmonies and melodies and are somewhat unoriginal than I would to a band that's original yet completely devoid of harmonies and melodies and things that pretty songs are made of. Wouldn't you?
--Joseph Kyle
The album kicks off with "Stop the Time," a strong little number which is also the album's weakest moment. From there, it only gets better; the lovely guitar lick of "Dream Diary" picks things up right quick-like, and the pace is never let down, nor is the template ever really altered. The Rhinos are just a bunch of fellows who have a sweet tooth for 60s folk-rock, and they're doing their best to carry the torch. Luckily, with killer numbers like "Greedy Girl" and "Everything To Me," they not only carry the torch, they prove themselves of making a sound that they can call their own. At times, though, they blend a more modern sound, and sound an awful lot like bands we love like The Posies, Jellyfish and on "I Don't Want to Be Alone Tonight," even the Cars! It's a combination of killer harmonies and that lovely guitar jangle that makes Year of the Rhinos fun, and I'd be curious to hear them in a live setting, because I have this feeling that they're a really impressive live act.
While it's true that Year of the Rhinos is not the most original-sounding record, but The Rhinos make such a lovely racket that you really don't mind. After all, I'd rather listen to a band who have really good harmonies and melodies and are somewhat unoriginal than I would to a band that's original yet completely devoid of harmonies and melodies and things that pretty songs are made of. Wouldn't you?
--Joseph Kyle
October 30, 2003
Irving "I Hope You Are Feeling Better Now"
I bought this record last week, and I've had it on constant rotation ever since, and I simply cannot shut up about it. I've been raving about it to everybody I know, and I think everybody I know is getting sick of me talking about Irving. Too bad for them, though, because I'm not ceasing and desisting about hyping up this five-piece from California, as I Hope You're Feeling Better is more addictive than NyQuil and more pleasurable than a romantic weekend in the woods. Seriously, though, the twenty minutes you'll spend with this little record are not wasted, simply because Irving doesn't waste a single minute.
Starting off with the epic "The Curious Thing About Leather"--which starts off with the tinkle of windchimes, then turns into a jangle-pop ditty, and then ends with twom minutes of a joyous choir singing "ba-ba-ba's" over some of the sunniest horns you've ever heard. They've easily and deftly out-spreed the Polyphonic Spree, and they did it in exactly two minutes. When they hit that groove at the end of the song, I can't sit still; I find myself dancing around the room, waving my hands up in the air. I can't sit still, and those last two minutes give me the warmest feeling inside, and when the song (sadly) ends, I'm left with a big fat smile on my face.
What makes this record better is that it's not just another baroque-pop affair--far from it! Indeed, their sound is a weird mixture of Grandaddy/Polyphonic Spree/Byrds/Turtles/New Order/Boyracer. Think I'm being lazy and/or too generous with the comparisons? HECK NO! You really, really have to hear this to appreciate it. They have the jingle-jangle harmony sound that's pure Roger McGuinn (listen closely to "White Hot"), a beat and rhythm that's totally Peter Hook on "The Guns From Here." Though the Boyracer may seem a bit of a stretch, but the fact is that "I Can't Fall in Love" and "Please Give Me your Heart, Is all I need" are boyracerfare, if ever you've heard it. They even do a duet with KaitO's Niki Colk, and it all sounds real good.
Really, though, how could I Hope You're Feeling Better Now be anything less than an utter treat? Everything is just right, everything is totally perfect, and the sound will win you over from listen numero uno. It's hooked me immediatly, and Irving is definitely a band that's worth keeping an eye on for 2004. I wonder where they will go from here--but I don't really worry about it too much, simply because I have faith that their next album will be a total, utter killer.
If you're gonna give the gift of music this year, DO YOURSELF AND YOUR LOVED ONES A FAVOR AND GIVE THIS EP!!!!! I cannot begin to stress how utterly awesome it is!
--Joseph Kyle
Starting off with the epic "The Curious Thing About Leather"--which starts off with the tinkle of windchimes, then turns into a jangle-pop ditty, and then ends with twom minutes of a joyous choir singing "ba-ba-ba's" over some of the sunniest horns you've ever heard. They've easily and deftly out-spreed the Polyphonic Spree, and they did it in exactly two minutes. When they hit that groove at the end of the song, I can't sit still; I find myself dancing around the room, waving my hands up in the air. I can't sit still, and those last two minutes give me the warmest feeling inside, and when the song (sadly) ends, I'm left with a big fat smile on my face.
What makes this record better is that it's not just another baroque-pop affair--far from it! Indeed, their sound is a weird mixture of Grandaddy/Polyphonic Spree/Byrds/Turtles/New Order/Boyracer. Think I'm being lazy and/or too generous with the comparisons? HECK NO! You really, really have to hear this to appreciate it. They have the jingle-jangle harmony sound that's pure Roger McGuinn (listen closely to "White Hot"), a beat and rhythm that's totally Peter Hook on "The Guns From Here." Though the Boyracer may seem a bit of a stretch, but the fact is that "I Can't Fall in Love" and "Please Give Me your Heart, Is all I need" are boyracerfare, if ever you've heard it. They even do a duet with KaitO's Niki Colk, and it all sounds real good.
Really, though, how could I Hope You're Feeling Better Now be anything less than an utter treat? Everything is just right, everything is totally perfect, and the sound will win you over from listen numero uno. It's hooked me immediatly, and Irving is definitely a band that's worth keeping an eye on for 2004. I wonder where they will go from here--but I don't really worry about it too much, simply because I have faith that their next album will be a total, utter killer.
If you're gonna give the gift of music this year, DO YOURSELF AND YOUR LOVED ONES A FAVOR AND GIVE THIS EP!!!!! I cannot begin to stress how utterly awesome it is!
--Joseph Kyle
October 29, 2003
The Rapture "Echoes"
The hype surrounding this record, particularly in indie-rock circles, was absolutely ridiculous. With little more to go on than the (admittedly great) single ìHouse of Jealous Loversî and a handful of decent live shows, the Rapture were being touted as potential saviors of rock. If you believed most of these critics, youÃd think that the Rapture were the one band capable of lifting the scene out of its doldrums and getting scrawny and pretentious hipsters all over the country to shake their behinds in public with abandon. I admit that the Rapture show I saw in Houston this summer featured more unselfconscious dancing than any other IÃd seen this year did. However, thereÃs a simple explanation behind that. ItÃs EASY for people to dance to a strict, unwavering four-on-the-floor drum program. ItÃs the most basic beat ever, and if you canÃt dance to it, you simply have no rhythm. After years of either standing still or having spastic seizures to bands that changed time signatures every thirty seconds, a band as easy to dance to as the Rapture would obviously be a breath of fresh air. ItÃs hardly the stuff that revolutions are made of. Besides, ìHouse of Jealous Loversî and ìOlioî notwithstanding, the material that the Rapture had released up to that point sounded like teenagers in a garage who hadnÃt learned how to tune their instruments yet.
After the hype surrounding it, the long search for the right label to
release it, and the subsequent leaking of it all over the Internet, the staid reception that Echoes has received since its domestic release is surprising. Not only that, but itÃs downright disappointing, especially considering that itÃs a pretty good record after all. The album finds the Rapture focusing on the two tricks that they know and milking them for all that theyÃre worthÖand yes, they finally invested in tuners!
The first trick is to fuse the hard, stringent rhythms of 1980s Todd
Terry-style house music with the arty, postmodern panic of Public Image Limited. That last sentence was just critic-speak for the following equation: four-on-the-floor drum programming + two simple keyboard lines + a guy shouting like heÃs got a hot poker shoved up his behind = instant dance-punk to get your swerve on to. A saxophone occasionally pops up, but itÃs used more as a sound effects device than as a melodic embellishment. In ìOlio,î the crack in guitarist Luke JennerÃs uncontrollable wail of a voice becomes as rhythmically insistent as the drums and bass. When Jenner shouts, ìI need your love,î in the song of the same name, it sounds more like a frightened cry for help than a come-on. HeÃs so consumed by fear that he canÃt even enunciate his words: on the same song, ìVisions of you orî sounds like ìThis is a new world.î The lyrics are printed in Echoesà CD booklet, which is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, you get to make out what JennerÃs actually singing; on the other hand, you discover how facile the RaptureÃs lyrics are. TheyÃre at their best when theyÃre little more than repetitive catch phrases. Overused metaphors and forced rhyme schemes sabotage all attempts at deeper meaning.
The second, and slightly more impressive, trick is to take the same paranoid funk frenzy and transpose it to the context of a live, four-piece rock band. The songs mentioned in the previous paragraph (along with ìKillingî) rely heavily on synthesizers and programs, and there is very little sonic variation in these songs from one minute to the next. On the other hand, songs like ìHeaven,î ìThe Coming of Spring,î and ìEchoesî use primarily organic instrumentation, which gives the musicians opportunities to add melodic, dynamic, and tempo changes whenever they see fit. All of those songs start out as standard ìdeath disco,î only to mutate into something else. The coda of ìHeavenî slows the music down for a climax of hollered harmonies, splashing cymbals, and irritating saxophone squeaking. ìThe Coming of Springî inserts bursts of clipped white noise taken from a low-quality recording of a live show. ìEchoesî shifts into a double-time punk screech that will turn any dance floor into a mosh pit within seconds. These transitions give the songs real staying power.
The album is expertly sequenced so that the program-driven songs alternate with the guitar-dominated songs. Each song sounds different from the one before it, and no song overstays its welcome. In a stroke of genius, ìHouse of Jealous Loversî is placed right in the middle of the record. ItÃs the only song on the record in which both the organic and electronic sides of the Rapture seem to function simultaneously and interdependently. When the Rapture strays from either one of these tricks, though, the results are more miss than hit. Their imitations of 1970s Philly soul (ìOpen Up Your Heartî) and Rolling Stones pub-rock (ìLove Is Allî) are terrible, and they only serve to showcase the limitations of Luke JennerÃs voice. Frankly, he canÃt hold a note if it had Velcro attached to it; heÃs at his best when heÃs losing his marbles, NOT crooning. The one exception to this is album closer ìInfatuation,î a ballad so quiet and creepy that it sounds as if the band is afraid to touch its instruments. JennerÃs choked whispers suit ìInfatuationî well, and the song overall serves as a perfect comedown from the long and thrilling ride of the albumÃs first ten tracks.
HereÃs the final word. No, the members of the Rapture arenÃt saviors of rock. However, the Rapture knows its strengths, and showcases them well. TheyÃre distinctive, and theyÃll make you shake your butt in no time. At press time, Echoes is being sold for ten bucks at your local Best Buy. HOP TO IT.
---Sean Padilla
After the hype surrounding it, the long search for the right label to
release it, and the subsequent leaking of it all over the Internet, the staid reception that Echoes has received since its domestic release is surprising. Not only that, but itÃs downright disappointing, especially considering that itÃs a pretty good record after all. The album finds the Rapture focusing on the two tricks that they know and milking them for all that theyÃre worthÖand yes, they finally invested in tuners!
The first trick is to fuse the hard, stringent rhythms of 1980s Todd
Terry-style house music with the arty, postmodern panic of Public Image Limited. That last sentence was just critic-speak for the following equation: four-on-the-floor drum programming + two simple keyboard lines + a guy shouting like heÃs got a hot poker shoved up his behind = instant dance-punk to get your swerve on to. A saxophone occasionally pops up, but itÃs used more as a sound effects device than as a melodic embellishment. In ìOlio,î the crack in guitarist Luke JennerÃs uncontrollable wail of a voice becomes as rhythmically insistent as the drums and bass. When Jenner shouts, ìI need your love,î in the song of the same name, it sounds more like a frightened cry for help than a come-on. HeÃs so consumed by fear that he canÃt even enunciate his words: on the same song, ìVisions of you orî sounds like ìThis is a new world.î The lyrics are printed in Echoesà CD booklet, which is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, you get to make out what JennerÃs actually singing; on the other hand, you discover how facile the RaptureÃs lyrics are. TheyÃre at their best when theyÃre little more than repetitive catch phrases. Overused metaphors and forced rhyme schemes sabotage all attempts at deeper meaning.
The second, and slightly more impressive, trick is to take the same paranoid funk frenzy and transpose it to the context of a live, four-piece rock band. The songs mentioned in the previous paragraph (along with ìKillingî) rely heavily on synthesizers and programs, and there is very little sonic variation in these songs from one minute to the next. On the other hand, songs like ìHeaven,î ìThe Coming of Spring,î and ìEchoesî use primarily organic instrumentation, which gives the musicians opportunities to add melodic, dynamic, and tempo changes whenever they see fit. All of those songs start out as standard ìdeath disco,î only to mutate into something else. The coda of ìHeavenî slows the music down for a climax of hollered harmonies, splashing cymbals, and irritating saxophone squeaking. ìThe Coming of Springî inserts bursts of clipped white noise taken from a low-quality recording of a live show. ìEchoesî shifts into a double-time punk screech that will turn any dance floor into a mosh pit within seconds. These transitions give the songs real staying power.
The album is expertly sequenced so that the program-driven songs alternate with the guitar-dominated songs. Each song sounds different from the one before it, and no song overstays its welcome. In a stroke of genius, ìHouse of Jealous Loversî is placed right in the middle of the record. ItÃs the only song on the record in which both the organic and electronic sides of the Rapture seem to function simultaneously and interdependently. When the Rapture strays from either one of these tricks, though, the results are more miss than hit. Their imitations of 1970s Philly soul (ìOpen Up Your Heartî) and Rolling Stones pub-rock (ìLove Is Allî) are terrible, and they only serve to showcase the limitations of Luke JennerÃs voice. Frankly, he canÃt hold a note if it had Velcro attached to it; heÃs at his best when heÃs losing his marbles, NOT crooning. The one exception to this is album closer ìInfatuation,î a ballad so quiet and creepy that it sounds as if the band is afraid to touch its instruments. JennerÃs choked whispers suit ìInfatuationî well, and the song overall serves as a perfect comedown from the long and thrilling ride of the albumÃs first ten tracks.
HereÃs the final word. No, the members of the Rapture arenÃt saviors of rock. However, the Rapture knows its strengths, and showcases them well. TheyÃre distinctive, and theyÃll make you shake your butt in no time. At press time, Echoes is being sold for ten bucks at your local Best Buy. HOP TO IT.
---Sean Padilla
October 28, 2003
Surface "Surface"
Another day, another new band, another nice little EP. Surface is a New York trio of classically trained musicians has a sound and an atmosphere that I really have enjoyed. Mixing up the sounds of modern rock and jazz, their sound is inspirational in the sense that it’s always a bit of an inspiration to hear a young band find a groove that’s all their own. I’ve said it before--an EP is a good format. It’s a good way to be introduced to the world, and it’s a great way to
work out the kinks that come from being a brand new band.
The five songs that constitute this EP (titled EP--heh!) are
all cut from the same cloth. They have a jazzy feel; mixed with a little bit of Britpop, these songs all have a light, airy feeling that is very friendly on the ears and is always a pleasure to listen to. They mix up jazz and pop quite naturally-and for good reason; all of these fellows are classically trained and educated musicians. Sometimes that’s not a good thing; technical skill can occasionally overwhelm the music itself, leaving the music feeling bland and
passionless. Luckily, Surface doesn’t have that problem.
Starting off with “Control Freak,” lead singer Sean Han impresses quite quickly with his not too sad yet not too happy vocals. He has a flare for the dramatic that’s not unlike Jeff Buckley or Chris Martin, and even though he doesn’t quite reach up to Buckley’s angelic heights (then again, who can?) he’s not a weak singer at all, and he doesn’t fall flat into the pit of imitators-and believe me, there sure are plenty of them these days! “Move” is a number with a wonderful jazzy instrumentation-and could just as well be an instrumental. “Hard to Believe” and “Forget Your Blues” are also nice, radio-friendly ballads, and the final track, “Pulling Teeth,” is perhaps the weakest of the bunch; it sounds older than the rest of the songs, but after a few listens, it grows on you.
Perhaps the only problem I have with EP is the fact that their sound, while good, doesn’t have the strength of experience. Their songs aren’t weak; they just sound like those of a new band who are young but daily growing. I have a feeling that won’t be an issue for much longer. Growth fixes these things, and Surface have nothing but time, and with the time spent playing out, I’m positive that Surface will make a stellar, strong debut album. Surface is a fine debut for a band well worth paying attention to.
--Joseph Kyle
October 27, 2003
Meeting Places "Find Yourself Along the Way"
Meeting Places' debut album leaves me utterly breathless. In life, there are imitators and innovators. Imitators imitate--and sometimes they do it quite well--but they offer up nothing original. Some can add their own sense of style, but often they fail to do anything more than rehash somebody else's ideas, without coming up with one single idea that they can call their own. It's nothing that's to be fretted over, though; everybody has at least one or two inspirations that they borrow from--and innovation often comes from imitation. After all, innovation is derived from taking elements of the familiar and making something new from it.
On first listen, it's pretty clear that Meeting Places take their inspiration from the British musical trends of 1989-1994. True, their sound owes much to the dreampop/shoegazer world of yore, but don't let that put you off. Their sound may be rooted in the past, but Find Yourself Along the Way is a very forward-thinking record, so at least they're not going to give you Loveless, pt. 2. Even more importantly, you really can't find any moment that reeks of one particular band, either. Besides, you really can't go wrong with Find Yourself Along The Way. Big guitars? Yup, they've got 'em. Haunting melodies? In spades. Blissed-out crooning that could easily lull you into a deep, deep sleep? Yeah, there's plenty of that as well. Heck, you could package lead singer Chase Harris' voice as a narcotic sleep aid and nobody would be the wiser.
Throwing all of these styles together produced some really, really excellent songs. From the pulsating beat of "Take To The Sun" and "Blur the Lines" to the slowed-down drone of "Where you Go" and "Freeze Our States," Meeting Places takes you through their foggy and possibly drugged-up musical world, and you're all the better for it. That they do so without ever looking up from their shoes is even more impressive. They even make you momentarily forget about all of those bands who came before, whose names become mythical with each passing year: Ride, Chapterhouse, Pale Saints, Adorable...
This leads me to my one concern: the future. Find Yourself Along The Way is an impressive debut, but how will they top it? Surely a continuation of these ideas would be good, but would it? Now is the time for personal growth and for discovery of the depths of your muse, guys. I'd hate for them to get caught in a lull and drown from the pressure of doing something new. But, then again, I shouldn't worry; they'll come up with something, and if it's anything like the majestic heights and blissful flights of this album, then we will definitely be in for a major musical treat.
--Joseph Kyle
On first listen, it's pretty clear that Meeting Places take their inspiration from the British musical trends of 1989-1994. True, their sound owes much to the dreampop/shoegazer world of yore, but don't let that put you off. Their sound may be rooted in the past, but Find Yourself Along the Way is a very forward-thinking record, so at least they're not going to give you Loveless, pt. 2. Even more importantly, you really can't find any moment that reeks of one particular band, either. Besides, you really can't go wrong with Find Yourself Along The Way. Big guitars? Yup, they've got 'em. Haunting melodies? In spades. Blissed-out crooning that could easily lull you into a deep, deep sleep? Yeah, there's plenty of that as well. Heck, you could package lead singer Chase Harris' voice as a narcotic sleep aid and nobody would be the wiser.
Throwing all of these styles together produced some really, really excellent songs. From the pulsating beat of "Take To The Sun" and "Blur the Lines" to the slowed-down drone of "Where you Go" and "Freeze Our States," Meeting Places takes you through their foggy and possibly drugged-up musical world, and you're all the better for it. That they do so without ever looking up from their shoes is even more impressive. They even make you momentarily forget about all of those bands who came before, whose names become mythical with each passing year: Ride, Chapterhouse, Pale Saints, Adorable...
This leads me to my one concern: the future. Find Yourself Along The Way is an impressive debut, but how will they top it? Surely a continuation of these ideas would be good, but would it? Now is the time for personal growth and for discovery of the depths of your muse, guys. I'd hate for them to get caught in a lull and drown from the pressure of doing something new. But, then again, I shouldn't worry; they'll come up with something, and if it's anything like the majestic heights and blissful flights of this album, then we will definitely be in for a major musical treat.
--Joseph Kyle
October 26, 2003
The Blow "The Concussive Caress"
This is the first indie-pop record I’ve heard that betrays a direct hip-hop influence without sounding either corny or ironically racist. Whenever I hear someone in a band trying to rap in one of their songs (and this happens more often than most people would know or admit), it reeks of shtick. The humor is almost always found in the performer’s acknowledgment of his or her inability to rap. Even at its best, it’s a joke that gets old quickly. At its worst (see Kleenex Girl Wonder’s last couple of records), it’s just a couple steps shy of modern minstrelsy. When I first heard Graham Smith utter the words, “Ain’t a damn thing changed, muthaf**ka,” I thought to myself, “If all he’s getting out of the music is the posturing and cursing, he’s either listening to the wrong kind of rap or he simply isn’t paying attention.”
On the other hand, when I listen to The Concussive Caress, I get the feeling that Khaela Maricich (the woman behind the Blow) is sincerely trying to make her version of a modern R&B record with limited resources. She couldn’t get a troupe of gospel-trained background singers, so she overdubbed her own slightly out-of-tune vocals on top of each other to make similar multi-part harmonies. She couldn’t buy a TR-808 for herself, so she programmed the beats by hand on whatever dinky keyboards she could find. Khaela’s casual, yet confident, sing/speak vocal style that would sound just as good on top of an honest-to-goodness hip-hop beat as it does on the minimal DIY concoctions found on this record.
Look no further than “What Tom Said about Girls” for proof of the Blow’s R&B ambitions. The instrumentation is little more than a drum kit, a beat box, and a distorted bass line. Every once in a while, high-pitched synthesizer leads seemingly borrowed from a Dr. Dre record pop up. On top of this backdrop, Khaela sings and speaks from the point of view of an inarticulate male who is more concerned about his car than he is about his girlfriend. He recounts a night under the stars with her, during which “she’s like, ‘Tom, do you ever realize the space that’s in between the stars?’ And I was like, “Well, you know…uh…’” Little spoken-word interjections like this add spice and humor to an already funky and catchy song. Khaela imitates the guy’s lame pickup lines later on in the song in an exchange that is too funny to spoil in a review. This song is par for the course on an album that examines love and lust from all kinds of creative angles.
The majority of the album seems to be a narrative revolving around two lovers, Amy and Pauline. Now would be a good time to mention that Khaela has a fascination with sex that could make R. Kelly blush. The first song on the album is called “How Naked Are We Going to Get,” and during the song she asks, “Will you still know the way to her heart through her thighs?” During a later untitled snippet, she laments over a guy who sweet-talked her only to drop her like a bad habit. The chorus of “Where I Love You” goes “I love you/Yes I do/You know it’s true,” which would seem trite if not for the fact that she sings “my hands are free to say” right before those words. “Who watches you from below when the breeze blows up your skirt?” she asks in “Gravity (Pauline’s Response to Amy).” On “Come On Pauline (Amy’s Cassette for Pauline),” Khaela repeats the “I” in “I kinda need you” with a rhythmic stutter that would make Missy Elliott jealous.
Not every song is a Jeep classic, though. This is a K Records release, after all, so you have to get your daily dosage of twee, timid “love rock.” “Night Full of Open Eyes” is a two-minute guitar-and-drums ditty that recalls early Spinanes. A couple of tracks are super-brief sketches that Khaela didn’t bother to develop any further, and could have easily been excised from the record without any damage done. One of them, though, “What Amy Heard in Her Mother’s Voice Played Backwards,” is probably the first attempt at back masking I’ve heard that actually manages to sound sinister. After one or two listens, the voice is deciphered as saying “Keep away from love; it will f**k you up.” I guarantee that if you played this track in a dark room in the middle of the night, it would scare the crap out of somebody. Then, there are baroque moments like closing track “The Warrior’s Hearts,” in which Khaela sings of the similarities between love and war atop a swell of pianos and trumpets. For the most part, though, Khaela’s booty hounding is backed by the proverbial boom-bap.
I’ve been waiting for this record since I saw Khaela open for the
Microphones during their Paper Opera Tour a year or so ago. She did a solo set that was little more than her voice accompanied by an archaic drum machine. That was all she needed to charm the pants off of the audience, and I still remember the words to nearly every song she sang that night. It also helped that Khaela is really cute; if she ever asked me how naked we were going to get… (Transmission interrupted) The mini-EP she released last year was named Bonus Album, and appropriately so; as good as it was, it still sounded like leftovers from a kick-ass album that wasn’t released yet. Folks, The Concussive Caress is that kick-ass album. Buy it, and get your indie-pop swerve on with a clear conscience.
---Sean Padilla
On the other hand, when I listen to The Concussive Caress, I get the feeling that Khaela Maricich (the woman behind the Blow) is sincerely trying to make her version of a modern R&B record with limited resources. She couldn’t get a troupe of gospel-trained background singers, so she overdubbed her own slightly out-of-tune vocals on top of each other to make similar multi-part harmonies. She couldn’t buy a TR-808 for herself, so she programmed the beats by hand on whatever dinky keyboards she could find. Khaela’s casual, yet confident, sing/speak vocal style that would sound just as good on top of an honest-to-goodness hip-hop beat as it does on the minimal DIY concoctions found on this record.
Look no further than “What Tom Said about Girls” for proof of the Blow’s R&B ambitions. The instrumentation is little more than a drum kit, a beat box, and a distorted bass line. Every once in a while, high-pitched synthesizer leads seemingly borrowed from a Dr. Dre record pop up. On top of this backdrop, Khaela sings and speaks from the point of view of an inarticulate male who is more concerned about his car than he is about his girlfriend. He recounts a night under the stars with her, during which “she’s like, ‘Tom, do you ever realize the space that’s in between the stars?’ And I was like, “Well, you know…uh…’” Little spoken-word interjections like this add spice and humor to an already funky and catchy song. Khaela imitates the guy’s lame pickup lines later on in the song in an exchange that is too funny to spoil in a review. This song is par for the course on an album that examines love and lust from all kinds of creative angles.
The majority of the album seems to be a narrative revolving around two lovers, Amy and Pauline. Now would be a good time to mention that Khaela has a fascination with sex that could make R. Kelly blush. The first song on the album is called “How Naked Are We Going to Get,” and during the song she asks, “Will you still know the way to her heart through her thighs?” During a later untitled snippet, she laments over a guy who sweet-talked her only to drop her like a bad habit. The chorus of “Where I Love You” goes “I love you/Yes I do/You know it’s true,” which would seem trite if not for the fact that she sings “my hands are free to say” right before those words. “Who watches you from below when the breeze blows up your skirt?” she asks in “Gravity (Pauline’s Response to Amy).” On “Come On Pauline (Amy’s Cassette for Pauline),” Khaela repeats the “I” in “I kinda need you” with a rhythmic stutter that would make Missy Elliott jealous.
Not every song is a Jeep classic, though. This is a K Records release, after all, so you have to get your daily dosage of twee, timid “love rock.” “Night Full of Open Eyes” is a two-minute guitar-and-drums ditty that recalls early Spinanes. A couple of tracks are super-brief sketches that Khaela didn’t bother to develop any further, and could have easily been excised from the record without any damage done. One of them, though, “What Amy Heard in Her Mother’s Voice Played Backwards,” is probably the first attempt at back masking I’ve heard that actually manages to sound sinister. After one or two listens, the voice is deciphered as saying “Keep away from love; it will f**k you up.” I guarantee that if you played this track in a dark room in the middle of the night, it would scare the crap out of somebody. Then, there are baroque moments like closing track “The Warrior’s Hearts,” in which Khaela sings of the similarities between love and war atop a swell of pianos and trumpets. For the most part, though, Khaela’s booty hounding is backed by the proverbial boom-bap.
I’ve been waiting for this record since I saw Khaela open for the
Microphones during their Paper Opera Tour a year or so ago. She did a solo set that was little more than her voice accompanied by an archaic drum machine. That was all she needed to charm the pants off of the audience, and I still remember the words to nearly every song she sang that night. It also helped that Khaela is really cute; if she ever asked me how naked we were going to get… (Transmission interrupted) The mini-EP she released last year was named Bonus Album, and appropriately so; as good as it was, it still sounded like leftovers from a kick-ass album that wasn’t released yet. Folks, The Concussive Caress is that kick-ass album. Buy it, and get your indie-pop swerve on with a clear conscience.
---Sean Padilla
October 24, 2003
Milton Mapes "State Line"
With the release of their excellent Westernaire, Milton Mapes' record label also reissued their debut EP, with two bonus tracks. Westernaire, their debut full-length, is an overwhelming album of moving, deep songs that mix the atmosphere of bands like Radiohead and temper it with a songwriting style that's not been seen since the heydey of Springsteen. (Yes, it's thatgood.) The State Line obviously stands in contrast, and though it's nowhere near as grand as Westernaire. But don't worry; The State Line is an interesting document of a young band, and it certainly provides a nice little insight into Greg Vanderpool's developing talent.
In many ways, The State Line is exactly what you'd expect from a debut record, especially considering the overwhelming brilliance of the follow-up record. The State Line is a rough, raw recording, with only the smallest hints of what they would deliver with Westernaire. The overwhelming atmosphere mixed with country twang and singer/songwriter brilliance that was so impressive isn't quite as developed here, but Vanderpool and company certainly did start off strong. Westernaire proves that they were able to deliver on the promises and hints that they dropped on here.
That's not to say that The State Line isn't charming. In fact, it's a really wonderful little record. It's all so fascinating, hearing Vanderpool's budding songscraft. While "Down By You" is a discordant little rocker (and perhaps the record's only true weak spot), for the most part The State Line is a collection of singer-songwriter country rock that occasionally is similar to Neil Young and Bruce Springsteen, though it's obvious that they owe a little bit to alt.country bands such as Old 97s, especially on songs like "The Elusive Goldmine." Personally, I'm really impressed most by "Lubbock," because it's the first song that I've ever heard about the city that truly captures the hopelessness of a windy winter day in that dusty West Texas town.
While the world should certainly pay attention to Milton Mapes' Westernaire, it's nice to go back and look and see where they came from. A charming little record from a band who have just begun to make waves. The State Line is a wonderful little compendium to this year's best record, and is a nice little record to boot.
--Joseph Kyle
In many ways, The State Line is exactly what you'd expect from a debut record, especially considering the overwhelming brilliance of the follow-up record. The State Line is a rough, raw recording, with only the smallest hints of what they would deliver with Westernaire. The overwhelming atmosphere mixed with country twang and singer/songwriter brilliance that was so impressive isn't quite as developed here, but Vanderpool and company certainly did start off strong. Westernaire proves that they were able to deliver on the promises and hints that they dropped on here.
That's not to say that The State Line isn't charming. In fact, it's a really wonderful little record. It's all so fascinating, hearing Vanderpool's budding songscraft. While "Down By You" is a discordant little rocker (and perhaps the record's only true weak spot), for the most part The State Line is a collection of singer-songwriter country rock that occasionally is similar to Neil Young and Bruce Springsteen, though it's obvious that they owe a little bit to alt.country bands such as Old 97s, especially on songs like "The Elusive Goldmine." Personally, I'm really impressed most by "Lubbock," because it's the first song that I've ever heard about the city that truly captures the hopelessness of a windy winter day in that dusty West Texas town.
While the world should certainly pay attention to Milton Mapes' Westernaire, it's nice to go back and look and see where they came from. A charming little record from a band who have just begun to make waves. The State Line is a wonderful little compendium to this year's best record, and is a nice little record to boot.
--Joseph Kyle
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