When you drive straight across Texas on I-20, you have to go through Dallas-Fort Worth. There's no two ways about it, it has to be done. The distance from Winter Park (where I-20 splits into I-30, which goes straight through Ft. Worth and downtown Dallas) to Terrell (where I-20 merges with Highway 80, just east of Dallas) is roughly 55 miles. While nowhere near as insane as I-30 can be, traffic on I-20 can be nerveracking.
I've had to make quite a few trips this summer, which hasn't exactly been something I've wanted to do, nor have these trips always been pleasant. Suffice to say, I've been a bit down in the dumps on that long drive, and I've had plenty of things to think about. Five hundred miles is a long time inside a car, but once I reach Winter Park, I know I'm no longer in the lonesome crowded west, because I'm close to home. Trees start to appear. Literally. Something called humidity also comes into the picture as well.
But I digress. On all of these trips east, I've soundtracked my trips with music that I love, as well as music I wanted to review for Mundane Sounds. Many times, I've listened to Dallas-area bands as I've driven through the Metroplex, simply out of tribute for the great talent that resides in this big, ominous city. It's a respect thing, and Dallas is deserving of respect. There's nothing better than blasting Tripping Daisy or Centro-matic or MC 900 Foot Jesus or even Edie Brickell as you're speeding through their hometown, and, believe me, damn it, I just feel right with the world when I pay my respect.
On one of my trips, though, I popped in Sharpen Your Teeth the solo project of Modest Mouse frontman Issac Brock. Now, other than the allusions made a moment ago, I don't really like Modest Mouse. Something about them is rather annoying, and I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's the fact that they're hyped to death, or that they are the staple band of so-called "hip" undergrads with undecided majors now, much like the Smiths were in my day.
To be fair to the Ugly Casanova, though, I decided to forget about Modest Mouse. Why should I bother to even have them in mind? This is a different band, with different players and a different kind of vibe. Besides, I don't know much about them, save for one or two of their singles and moments here and there from their albums, and from friends' attempts to make me like them. It wouldn't be fair of me to judge Ugly Casanova on the basis of Modest Mouse, now would it?
I'm glad I didn't. Of course, it's hard not to, especially since Brock's singing is so distinctive. When I hit Winter Park, and "Barncales" came on, with its broken-sounding country melody and Brock's low-key vocals tempered with slightly off-key harmonies with himself, I knew that this ride would be different. None of that indie-rock boy stuff...this would be a different ride. No, none of that Modest Mouse crap here.
When the second song, "Spilled Milk Factory," came on, though, the atmosphere was perfect. In the distance was the gray-fogged outline of downtown Fort Worth. It was a gray, foggy day in the metroplex, and this song...was...perfect. Between the odd duet style between Tim Rutili and Brock, and the wavy melody and the country-industrial beat of what sounds like a hammer on an anvil--I realized right then and there the point of Ugly Casanova--a new blues. Sharpen Your Teeth is the sound of a new Urban middle-class blues for the college educated who live in very big, imposing cities.
And then, much like Pink Floyd and The Wizard of Oz, everything started to fall into place. The quiet moments of the trip fit nicely with the quiet moments of Sharpen Your Teeth. The moments of pounding rhythm and hammer-on-metal beat came around at the same time that I hit road construction. Perhaps the best song on the album, "Things I Don't Remember," turned up at the very last moment of Dallas intensity, and quelled at exactly the moment where I-20 calms down, there's nothing but trees around, and the quiet refrain of "So Long to the Holidays" also seemed to say "So Long to the City Sprawl."
Sharpen Your Teeth is a welcome surprise from Issac Brock and his crew of blues ghouls, and it's certainly proving that Modest Mouse isn't the limit to his talents. Brock's got his pulse on the big city and the despiration and despair of living a world going technological on your ass, and he's not going to let a little thing like progress keep his dark heart down. God bless him for it.
---Joseph Kyle
July 25, 2002
July 23, 2002
Deerhoof "Revilee"
When Kill Rock Stars guru Slim Moon founded sister label 5 Rue
Christine in 1997, it seemed like it would be little more than a shadow of KRS. Its first few releases were from side projects of members of more popular and established bands. Replikants was an outlet for the more dissonant tendencies of Unwound personnel; Schema was basically Hovercraft and Stereolab jamming in the same recording studio. Other than these aforementioned connections, the music had little else to justify its purchase--but oh, how great things can rise from humble beginnings!
Within the past year, 5RC has put together a roster that puts much its parent label's recent output to shame. Listen to the hyperactive math-rock of duo Hella; the depressing, histrionic gothic techno of Xiu Xiu; the spastic, trebly new wave of the Seconds; or the loose, minimal dirges of the Young People. You'll discover a library of challenging, innovative rock that, at its current rate of quality and productivity, will equal that of Touch and Go before decades end.
Add Deerhoof's Reveille to 5RC's parade of hits. The band's last release on this label, Holdypaws, was a failed, though occasionally engrossing, attempt to harness its attention deficit disorder into conventional song craft. This time around, Deerhoof deliver on the promise set by their debut album, The Man, the King, the Girl, by finally accepting the fact that their music is best at its most fragmented.
Reveille's first proper song, "This Magnificent Bird Will Rise," begins with an ominous spoken-word piece about Mother Nature exacting her revenge on mankind. One by one, the familiar elements of a Deerhoof song enter the mix: acrobatic, over-modulated drumming, jangling Mersey Beat guitars, squealing feedback, childlike keyboard melodies, and the shy vocals of Satomi Matsuzaki.
These elements are arranged in the same kind of recombinant logic that drives records like Captain Beefheart's Trout Mask Replica. At first, each instrument sounds like it's playing in a different time signature from the others, putting the listener in a state of confusion. Just when one is about to dismiss the proceedings as artsy jerking off, the band launches into a coherent, stomping riff that underscores the care put into this seemingly haphazard music. Don't get too comfortable, though, because at the precise moment you do, the music will uncoil once again. Back and forth, from chaos to order, from melody to noise, from high fidelity to low fidelity, from No Wave to sound collage to garage punk, Reveille is a record that steadfastly refuses to make up its mind.
Acoustic ditty "The Eyebright Bugler" uses our Pavlov-like response to our favorite songs as a metaphor for how we compromise our individuality in other areas of our lives. It's pretty heavy stuff, but with only four sentences and forty-two seconds of music, it has the concision and catchiness of Guided by Voices' best work. Eight-minute centerpiece "The Last Trumpeter Swan" layers two-note pendulum guitars on top of insistent drum heartbeats, only to segue into a dissonant arpeggio that's as tense as the chase scene of an action movie. The androgynous vocals, droning organs, and metronome rhythm of "Top Tim Rubies" make it sound like a long-lost Stereolab four-track demo. "Holy Night Fever" is Deerhoof's mangled take on Southern-fried boogie-rock, and "Days and Nights in the Forest" is slow-core interrupted by random bursts of noise.
Interspersed with the proper songs are bits of found sound, some of
which sound like a man clumsily practicing his keyboard scales, others like a drum circle composed entirely of whining babies. These snippets only add to the exhilarating stream-of-consciousness flow of the album. In thirty-three minutes, Deerhoof go through more twists and turns than even the band's own peers will manage in their entire careers. None of this would matter, though, if the band didn't maintain such a strong grasp over its whims. With Reveille, music and anti-music are engaged in a vicious arm-wrestling match that ends in a draw; true victory belongs to the brave souls who choose to purchase this record.
--Sean Padilla
Christine in 1997, it seemed like it would be little more than a shadow of KRS. Its first few releases were from side projects of members of more popular and established bands. Replikants was an outlet for the more dissonant tendencies of Unwound personnel; Schema was basically Hovercraft and Stereolab jamming in the same recording studio. Other than these aforementioned connections, the music had little else to justify its purchase--but oh, how great things can rise from humble beginnings!
Within the past year, 5RC has put together a roster that puts much its parent label's recent output to shame. Listen to the hyperactive math-rock of duo Hella; the depressing, histrionic gothic techno of Xiu Xiu; the spastic, trebly new wave of the Seconds; or the loose, minimal dirges of the Young People. You'll discover a library of challenging, innovative rock that, at its current rate of quality and productivity, will equal that of Touch and Go before decades end.
Add Deerhoof's Reveille to 5RC's parade of hits. The band's last release on this label, Holdypaws, was a failed, though occasionally engrossing, attempt to harness its attention deficit disorder into conventional song craft. This time around, Deerhoof deliver on the promise set by their debut album, The Man, the King, the Girl, by finally accepting the fact that their music is best at its most fragmented.
Reveille's first proper song, "This Magnificent Bird Will Rise," begins with an ominous spoken-word piece about Mother Nature exacting her revenge on mankind. One by one, the familiar elements of a Deerhoof song enter the mix: acrobatic, over-modulated drumming, jangling Mersey Beat guitars, squealing feedback, childlike keyboard melodies, and the shy vocals of Satomi Matsuzaki.
These elements are arranged in the same kind of recombinant logic that drives records like Captain Beefheart's Trout Mask Replica. At first, each instrument sounds like it's playing in a different time signature from the others, putting the listener in a state of confusion. Just when one is about to dismiss the proceedings as artsy jerking off, the band launches into a coherent, stomping riff that underscores the care put into this seemingly haphazard music. Don't get too comfortable, though, because at the precise moment you do, the music will uncoil once again. Back and forth, from chaos to order, from melody to noise, from high fidelity to low fidelity, from No Wave to sound collage to garage punk, Reveille is a record that steadfastly refuses to make up its mind.
Acoustic ditty "The Eyebright Bugler" uses our Pavlov-like response to our favorite songs as a metaphor for how we compromise our individuality in other areas of our lives. It's pretty heavy stuff, but with only four sentences and forty-two seconds of music, it has the concision and catchiness of Guided by Voices' best work. Eight-minute centerpiece "The Last Trumpeter Swan" layers two-note pendulum guitars on top of insistent drum heartbeats, only to segue into a dissonant arpeggio that's as tense as the chase scene of an action movie. The androgynous vocals, droning organs, and metronome rhythm of "Top Tim Rubies" make it sound like a long-lost Stereolab four-track demo. "Holy Night Fever" is Deerhoof's mangled take on Southern-fried boogie-rock, and "Days and Nights in the Forest" is slow-core interrupted by random bursts of noise.
Interspersed with the proper songs are bits of found sound, some of
which sound like a man clumsily practicing his keyboard scales, others like a drum circle composed entirely of whining babies. These snippets only add to the exhilarating stream-of-consciousness flow of the album. In thirty-three minutes, Deerhoof go through more twists and turns than even the band's own peers will manage in their entire careers. None of this would matter, though, if the band didn't maintain such a strong grasp over its whims. With Reveille, music and anti-music are engaged in a vicious arm-wrestling match that ends in a draw; true victory belongs to the brave souls who choose to purchase this record.
--Sean Padilla
July 18, 2002
The Sunshine Fix "Age of the Sun"
If you've visited the "bookshelf" page found elsewhere on this website, you'll surely have noticed something called "Book." Now I won't take the time to simply talk about this project right now--I've got a record to review, after all--but you'll notice that this little treasure has hand-painted covers. Painting, while fun, can be time consuming, especially when you want everything to look exactly how you imagined it.
So, for giggles, I put The Sunshine Fix's debut album, Age Of The Sun. Creative music for creative time, especially when I'm painting little fluffy clouds in the sky. Apparently, Age Of The Sun is a concept album--or at least a themed album--about the sun. Literally. Songs about the sun itself, songs with "sun" or a reference the sun in the title. There's nothing wrong with that, because the music itself is quite cheery, upbeat, and (hee-hee) sunny.
This is inspired 60s pop with tinges of psychedelic rock along the edges. No surprise, either, seeing as this is the band of Olivia Tremor Control man Bill Doss--excuse me--TheBillDoss. With that said, you're bound to expect breezy lo-fi pop songs with oblique (sometimes dopey) lyrics, mixed in with quaint instrumentals. Sure, there's that whole "Brian Wilson is God" thing going on here, to which I say "ewwwww" because his cries for help are that, and nothing more, AKA there's a reason Smile was never finished. Of course, there's more to the 60's than Brian Wilson, and Sunshine Fix spend a great deal of time with...The Lovin' Spoonful? Yup, I've heard that quite a bit as I painted today. I kept expecting TheBillDoss to start singing "You didn't have to be so nice..." on "Digging to China." Tribute vs. Out-and-Out-Plundering has always been par for the course with Elephant 6, and The Sunshine Fix are no exception to this at-times annoying rule.
I'll admit, Age of the Sun wouldn't be all that fun for me to listen to in a sit-down situation. Why? Because the music isn't sit-down music. It's "let's do/not do drugs and get creative" type of music, and as such, I felt really inspired. So much so that my skies in my pictures were pink and the clouds were all yellow, and it seemed right. The colors..the colors...the colors! Sunshine Fix brought different colors in. And then, after skipping past "Le Roi-Soleil," the only pointless song on the CD--the word "sun" stretched out for twenty minutes really is pointless--my 5th Dimension greatest hits CD came on, and I continued to experience the colors of the Sixties, and I was happy, because I was experiencing the real thing. The Sunshine Fix is a nice little fix for those moments when you can't have the 60s psych-pop, but, like methadone or the nicotine patch, it pales in comparison to the real thing.
---Joseph Kyle
So, for giggles, I put The Sunshine Fix's debut album, Age Of The Sun. Creative music for creative time, especially when I'm painting little fluffy clouds in the sky. Apparently, Age Of The Sun is a concept album--or at least a themed album--about the sun. Literally. Songs about the sun itself, songs with "sun" or a reference the sun in the title. There's nothing wrong with that, because the music itself is quite cheery, upbeat, and (hee-hee) sunny.
This is inspired 60s pop with tinges of psychedelic rock along the edges. No surprise, either, seeing as this is the band of Olivia Tremor Control man Bill Doss--excuse me--TheBillDoss. With that said, you're bound to expect breezy lo-fi pop songs with oblique (sometimes dopey) lyrics, mixed in with quaint instrumentals. Sure, there's that whole "Brian Wilson is God" thing going on here, to which I say "ewwwww" because his cries for help are that, and nothing more, AKA there's a reason Smile was never finished. Of course, there's more to the 60's than Brian Wilson, and Sunshine Fix spend a great deal of time with...The Lovin' Spoonful? Yup, I've heard that quite a bit as I painted today. I kept expecting TheBillDoss to start singing "You didn't have to be so nice..." on "Digging to China." Tribute vs. Out-and-Out-Plundering has always been par for the course with Elephant 6, and The Sunshine Fix are no exception to this at-times annoying rule.
I'll admit, Age of the Sun wouldn't be all that fun for me to listen to in a sit-down situation. Why? Because the music isn't sit-down music. It's "let's do/not do drugs and get creative" type of music, and as such, I felt really inspired. So much so that my skies in my pictures were pink and the clouds were all yellow, and it seemed right. The colors..the colors...the colors! Sunshine Fix brought different colors in. And then, after skipping past "Le Roi-Soleil," the only pointless song on the CD--the word "sun" stretched out for twenty minutes really is pointless--my 5th Dimension greatest hits CD came on, and I continued to experience the colors of the Sixties, and I was happy, because I was experiencing the real thing. The Sunshine Fix is a nice little fix for those moments when you can't have the 60s psych-pop, but, like methadone or the nicotine patch, it pales in comparison to the real thing.
---Joseph Kyle
July 07, 2002
Silkworm "Italian Platinum"
After a year and a half, the boys in Silkworm get it together and release another good album. They all live in Chicago now, so perhaps that makes it easier to get together and write some kickass songs. On Italian Platinum, the band's seventh proper album, Silkworm seems to have expanded to a five-piece band complete with keyboards and backup female vocals by one Kelly Hogan, who actually sings lead vocals on one track. Still the only band I know of that rocks it with a baritone guitar, Silkworm done rocked it pretty good with Italian Platinum.
Now, I think it's swell that Silkworm have released this record. The packaging is a little disappointing (the only artwork consists of a row of little blue stars above and below the album's title), but the tunes more than make up for it. Wonderfully crafted songs (some of their best yet), with shared singing/songwriting duties between the group's three main members make for a handful of good songs to get Steve Albini to record, throw on an album, and release it on Touch and Go.
This album is reminiscent of Silkworm albums of yore, all of which sound similar in that "Pavement meets Television" sort of way, yet, all in all, sound quite different. The first track, Andy Cohen's "I hope U don't Survive", is an awesome power ballad of sorts whisking you away, back to the Firewater days of 1996. It reminds me a lot of "Nerves" from Firewater, acutally, with its slow rock tempo, its pop element,and its blistering guitar solos. "The old you" and "Dirty air" capture the style of the band's most recent albums Blueblood and Lifestyle, as "Moving" and "Cockfight of Feelings" could have easily been on Developer. The Tim Midgett-penned songs "The Brain" and "The Third" sound like they could have come off Libertine, and if that ain't old-school Silkworm enough for ya, Midgett's "Is She a Sign" sounds like it could have been on L'ajre! So, this album could be viewed as a trip down memory lane, if you are a Silkworm fan. If you are not a Silkworm fan, it's still a pretty kickass album to listen to when you're doing the dishes or drinking a 40 oz of High Life or whatever.
Italian Platinum starts off with great promise, but by the seventh song, it sort of loses momentum, and picks up again around track nine, "Dirty Air." "LR72" and "White Lightning" are good songs, but they just don't live up to the awesomeness as every other song on the album. But, hey, 11/13. --- that's not too bad. That's what I got on my microbiology quiz last week. If I were Silkworm, and if Italian Platinum were my microbiology quiz, I'd totally hang this shit on my fridge for all to see.
--Kyle Sowash
Now, I think it's swell that Silkworm have released this record. The packaging is a little disappointing (the only artwork consists of a row of little blue stars above and below the album's title), but the tunes more than make up for it. Wonderfully crafted songs (some of their best yet), with shared singing/songwriting duties between the group's three main members make for a handful of good songs to get Steve Albini to record, throw on an album, and release it on Touch and Go.
This album is reminiscent of Silkworm albums of yore, all of which sound similar in that "Pavement meets Television" sort of way, yet, all in all, sound quite different. The first track, Andy Cohen's "I hope U don't Survive", is an awesome power ballad of sorts whisking you away, back to the Firewater days of 1996. It reminds me a lot of "Nerves" from Firewater, acutally, with its slow rock tempo, its pop element,and its blistering guitar solos. "The old you" and "Dirty air" capture the style of the band's most recent albums Blueblood and Lifestyle, as "Moving" and "Cockfight of Feelings" could have easily been on Developer. The Tim Midgett-penned songs "The Brain" and "The Third" sound like they could have come off Libertine, and if that ain't old-school Silkworm enough for ya, Midgett's "Is She a Sign" sounds like it could have been on L'ajre! So, this album could be viewed as a trip down memory lane, if you are a Silkworm fan. If you are not a Silkworm fan, it's still a pretty kickass album to listen to when you're doing the dishes or drinking a 40 oz of High Life or whatever.
Italian Platinum starts off with great promise, but by the seventh song, it sort of loses momentum, and picks up again around track nine, "Dirty Air." "LR72" and "White Lightning" are good songs, but they just don't live up to the awesomeness as every other song on the album. But, hey, 11/13. --- that's not too bad. That's what I got on my microbiology quiz last week. If I were Silkworm, and if Italian Platinum were my microbiology quiz, I'd totally hang this shit on my fridge for all to see.
--Kyle Sowash
July 06, 2002
Bobby Bare Jr "OK, I'm Sorry"
The baby Bare is back! Hot on the heels of his leftfield homerun solo album, Young Criminal's Starvation League, Junior's decided to give all us long-sufferin' fans a handy-dandy plate of musical treates to tide us over until his next excellent album. Luckily for us, Bobby hasn't filled the plate with stale leftovers; instead, he's given us a wonderful little scrapbook of his hijinx over the past year. While it might not be as full of an offering as an album, it's certainly not a bunch of rejects, and it really gives you a healthy dose of quirky and intelligent music.
Kicking off this set is a most surprising cover of that lovey-dovey anthem, "I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing." Yes, that song, the one made famous by the christmas Coca-Cola commercial. Bobby's made it all his own, thanks in large part to that unique, yodelish vocal range. It's much better than you think it is. It's a speeded up version, and the sincerity strikes you in the face. It follows with a red-hot live bersion of "Flat-Chested Girl from Manardville," taken from a show in Holland, which then segues into another red-hot song from his debut album, the wonderful "I'll Be Around."
Then, OK I'm Sorry gets interesting.
Bare then offers us a brand-new original song, "Pinky." It's lush and mellow and actually kind of sweet, proving that underneath the hair and that big mischevious grin of his beats the heart of a sensitive boy-poet. From there, we return once again to the live setting, with a song called "Valentine." It's the only time OK I'm Sorry ever slips up. (A much better version of the song was recorded on the NPR-based program World Cafe.) From there, we travel to a radio session and another brand new Bare original, "Mother Ucker." It's a fun little tale, and though the chorus is kinda silly, it's a real serious little tune. Mix in the fun-sounding keyboards and THAT VOICE (as well as a moment of DJ error), and you've got a great little tune. The next song, "True Story," is his version of a poem song by Shel Silverstein--one of his inspirations and family friend--and it totally fits Bare's sneaky, mischevious nature. The album closes with the demo version of "I'll Be Around," which is a bit more moving than the final version. (There are video clips of the live tracks of two Chicago songs, "I'll Be Around" and "valentine" on here as well).
Bobby Bare Jr. is a man whose talent has yet to be fully appreciated, and OK I'm Sorry is certainly proof that the man's best days are only just beginning. Hopefully he'll have another full-length album for us. There's a reason I named Young Criminal's Starvation League my album of the year, and if you need further evidence, then this little stop-gap EP is for you.
--Joseph Kyle
Kicking off this set is a most surprising cover of that lovey-dovey anthem, "I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing." Yes, that song, the one made famous by the christmas Coca-Cola commercial. Bobby's made it all his own, thanks in large part to that unique, yodelish vocal range. It's much better than you think it is. It's a speeded up version, and the sincerity strikes you in the face. It follows with a red-hot live bersion of "Flat-Chested Girl from Manardville," taken from a show in Holland, which then segues into another red-hot song from his debut album, the wonderful "I'll Be Around."
Then, OK I'm Sorry gets interesting.
Bare then offers us a brand-new original song, "Pinky." It's lush and mellow and actually kind of sweet, proving that underneath the hair and that big mischevious grin of his beats the heart of a sensitive boy-poet. From there, we return once again to the live setting, with a song called "Valentine." It's the only time OK I'm Sorry ever slips up. (A much better version of the song was recorded on the NPR-based program World Cafe.) From there, we travel to a radio session and another brand new Bare original, "Mother Ucker." It's a fun little tale, and though the chorus is kinda silly, it's a real serious little tune. Mix in the fun-sounding keyboards and THAT VOICE (as well as a moment of DJ error), and you've got a great little tune. The next song, "True Story," is his version of a poem song by Shel Silverstein--one of his inspirations and family friend--and it totally fits Bare's sneaky, mischevious nature. The album closes with the demo version of "I'll Be Around," which is a bit more moving than the final version. (There are video clips of the live tracks of two Chicago songs, "I'll Be Around" and "valentine" on here as well).
Bobby Bare Jr. is a man whose talent has yet to be fully appreciated, and OK I'm Sorry is certainly proof that the man's best days are only just beginning. Hopefully he'll have another full-length album for us. There's a reason I named Young Criminal's Starvation League my album of the year, and if you need further evidence, then this little stop-gap EP is for you.
--Joseph Kyle
July 01, 2002
Live Report: Preston School of Industry, David Dondero, and Canoe, Stubbs, 6/15/02
Stubb's BBQ is one of my favorite Austin live music venues. Not many of the bands I like play there when they come into town, but the staff is nice, the food is good, and the sound is always superb. While eating a chopped beef sandwich in the lounge, I saw Scott Kannberg (aka Spiral Stairs) of the Preston School of Industry walk down the stairs. I shouted "SPIRAL!!!" at the top of my lungs, instantly outing myself as a complete dork in front of the entire restaurant. Scott responded with an awkward smile and continued on his way.
Pavement provided the soundtrack to many of the most intense moments of my teenage years. They (along with GBV) helped expose me to the "lo-fi" movement that gave me the impetus to make my own music. Pavement had a gift for melody that made even their weirdest songs easy to sing along to. They brought intelligence and irony to their music; their lyrics were filled with clever puns and historical allusions. Most of all, they taught me the importance of spontaneity. Sometimes the crack of one's voice, a flubbed note, or a lopsided rhythm is the best way to remind the listener that YES, there are actual humans making this music...a reminder that's especially necessary in this age of ProTools and pitch correctors. Granted, sometimes this tendency got the better of them; I still can't listen to their fourth album, "Brighten the Corners," very much because of front man Stephen Malkmus' consistently tuneless singing. However, for the majority of their career, Pavement were a band so talented that they didn't even *need* to put effort or polish into their music; the songs spoke for themselves. When Pavement officially broke up two years ago, I was initially bummed. However, both Stephen and Scott's new bands (the Jicks and PSOI, respectively) show promise, so Pavement fans will get the best of both worlds in the long run.
Local band Canoe kicked things off with a very humorous set. The singer/organist introduced himself as "Richard Nixon." All three (male) members were adorned in one-piece women's dresses, and when they pulled down their
tops, they had the words "CANOE FOR YOU" written on their chests. In the middle of the set, one of the band's friends jumped up on stage to tell a story about his brother, "Officer Ro-Ro." Thirty-five years ago, he and Ro-Ro were watching "An Officer and a Gentleman," when Ro-Ro walked out of the room to get some popcorn. Ro-Ro never returned with the popcorn; that was the last time the two brothers saw each other. Yeah, I know that the story makes NO sense, but I'm just recounting what the guy said...and yes, he WAS drunk. As the narrator burst into crocodile tears, a guy dressed in a Navy outfit with a patch on his eye, presumably Ro-Ro, hopped on stage. The two brothers then led Canoe in a rendition of "Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong." It was totally surreal and hilarious.
Fortunately, Canoe spent more time playing music than playing pranks. They specialize in bouncy power-pop tunes that depend on lots of give-and-take between distorted keyboards and distorted guitars. I guess that Quasi, Grandaddy, and Mates of State could be considered kindred spirits, but Canoe's songs aren't as dynamic as any of those groups'. I complain a lot about bands having too many songs in the same key; THIS band switched keys often, but had too many songs in the same tempo. At times, I wondered if their drummer could play more than one beat. It turns out that he can, but dynamic shifts were very few and very far between. I would see these guys live again, but I hope they write a couple more distinctive songs before deciding to release a CD.
David Dondero, a California singer/songwriter, was next on the bill. His set didn't get off to a very auspicious start. His drummer used nothing but a tom-tom, a snare, a hi-hat, and a cymbal, sporting a definite Moe Tucker influence. Unfortunately, one of the reasons why I can't get into the Velvet Underground that much is because of the
weakness of its rhythm section; it didn't work for them and it SURE doesn't work for Dondero. The fact that neither he nor his bass player knew how to tune their guitars made matters much worse. The first few songs were typical "I'm a troubadour on the lonesome highway" fare: things a guy with a thesaurus and too many Dylan records would write after learning three or four chords on his guitar. The only thing that Dondero had going for him was his reedy, tremulous crooning. By the fourth song, though, Dondero had figured out how to tune his guitar, and the songs experienced a DRAMATIC increase in quality. He sang about long-distance relationships, serial-killer preachers, kind strangers, and differences in regional slang with an ingratiating candor. His bass player doubled on pedal steel, and his reverb-drenched fills made everything sound fuller and sweeter. By the end of his set, the audience (including myself) had been fully converted. We even managed to coax him back on stage for another song. I can't remember the last time an opening act was asked back for an encore!
Obviously, Pavement fans want to know whether Scott's band is better than Stephen's, or vice versa; at this point, I'd have to say that it's a draw. Scott's still not as good a singer, lyricist, or guitarist as Stephen, though he is becoming more and more
confident in all three of these roles. There's a more pronounced country influence in PSOI's songs, which is perfect for Scott's limited, nasal voice. However, Scott's songs are much closer to the spirit of early, classic Pavement. Scott's also much more eager to share the spotlight with his new band mates than Stephen is. Whereas when the Jicks play live, the other members just play idly along as Stephen shreds on his guitar; PSOI work together as an ensemble, sending songs like "Your Time to Change," "Take a Stand," and "Time Out for Fun" into long, noisy, psychedelic jams that are as fun to watch as they are to listen to. PSOI also sports a tighter rhythm section than the Jicks; in stage presence AND in musicianship, Scott's drummer is basically a blond reincarnation of Keith Moon. At any moment, the guy looked like he would leap off of his drum kit and keep playing while in mid-air. Whereas Stephen still oozes as much smarm and distance from his audience as he did in Pavement, Scott seems to enjoy himself a lot more on stage. He pointed the microphone to the audience, leading chants of "P-S-O-I!" like some kind of hip-hop hype man. At this point, Scott's in the same position that George Harrison was in the early '70s; after being reduced to second banana in a popular, influential band, Scott finally gets to show off the stockpile of amazing tunes that his old band never got to call its own. Trust me, there's a reason why PSOI's debut album is called "All This Sounds Gas." Although Stubb's wasn't as packed as the Mercury was when the Jicks played there, I'm sure that with a set this good, Spiral Stairs' comeuppance will come sooner than we think...
--Sean Padilla
Pavement provided the soundtrack to many of the most intense moments of my teenage years. They (along with GBV) helped expose me to the "lo-fi" movement that gave me the impetus to make my own music. Pavement had a gift for melody that made even their weirdest songs easy to sing along to. They brought intelligence and irony to their music; their lyrics were filled with clever puns and historical allusions. Most of all, they taught me the importance of spontaneity. Sometimes the crack of one's voice, a flubbed note, or a lopsided rhythm is the best way to remind the listener that YES, there are actual humans making this music...a reminder that's especially necessary in this age of ProTools and pitch correctors. Granted, sometimes this tendency got the better of them; I still can't listen to their fourth album, "Brighten the Corners," very much because of front man Stephen Malkmus' consistently tuneless singing. However, for the majority of their career, Pavement were a band so talented that they didn't even *need* to put effort or polish into their music; the songs spoke for themselves. When Pavement officially broke up two years ago, I was initially bummed. However, both Stephen and Scott's new bands (the Jicks and PSOI, respectively) show promise, so Pavement fans will get the best of both worlds in the long run.
Local band Canoe kicked things off with a very humorous set. The singer/organist introduced himself as "Richard Nixon." All three (male) members were adorned in one-piece women's dresses, and when they pulled down their
tops, they had the words "CANOE FOR YOU" written on their chests. In the middle of the set, one of the band's friends jumped up on stage to tell a story about his brother, "Officer Ro-Ro." Thirty-five years ago, he and Ro-Ro were watching "An Officer and a Gentleman," when Ro-Ro walked out of the room to get some popcorn. Ro-Ro never returned with the popcorn; that was the last time the two brothers saw each other. Yeah, I know that the story makes NO sense, but I'm just recounting what the guy said...and yes, he WAS drunk. As the narrator burst into crocodile tears, a guy dressed in a Navy outfit with a patch on his eye, presumably Ro-Ro, hopped on stage. The two brothers then led Canoe in a rendition of "Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong." It was totally surreal and hilarious. Fortunately, Canoe spent more time playing music than playing pranks. They specialize in bouncy power-pop tunes that depend on lots of give-and-take between distorted keyboards and distorted guitars. I guess that Quasi, Grandaddy, and Mates of State could be considered kindred spirits, but Canoe's songs aren't as dynamic as any of those groups'. I complain a lot about bands having too many songs in the same key; THIS band switched keys often, but had too many songs in the same tempo. At times, I wondered if their drummer could play more than one beat. It turns out that he can, but dynamic shifts were very few and very far between. I would see these guys live again, but I hope they write a couple more distinctive songs before deciding to release a CD.
David Dondero, a California singer/songwriter, was next on the bill. His set didn't get off to a very auspicious start. His drummer used nothing but a tom-tom, a snare, a hi-hat, and a cymbal, sporting a definite Moe Tucker influence. Unfortunately, one of the reasons why I can't get into the Velvet Underground that much is because of the
weakness of its rhythm section; it didn't work for them and it SURE doesn't work for Dondero. The fact that neither he nor his bass player knew how to tune their guitars made matters much worse. The first few songs were typical "I'm a troubadour on the lonesome highway" fare: things a guy with a thesaurus and too many Dylan records would write after learning three or four chords on his guitar. The only thing that Dondero had going for him was his reedy, tremulous crooning. By the fourth song, though, Dondero had figured out how to tune his guitar, and the songs experienced a DRAMATIC increase in quality. He sang about long-distance relationships, serial-killer preachers, kind strangers, and differences in regional slang with an ingratiating candor. His bass player doubled on pedal steel, and his reverb-drenched fills made everything sound fuller and sweeter. By the end of his set, the audience (including myself) had been fully converted. We even managed to coax him back on stage for another song. I can't remember the last time an opening act was asked back for an encore!Obviously, Pavement fans want to know whether Scott's band is better than Stephen's, or vice versa; at this point, I'd have to say that it's a draw. Scott's still not as good a singer, lyricist, or guitarist as Stephen, though he is becoming more and more
confident in all three of these roles. There's a more pronounced country influence in PSOI's songs, which is perfect for Scott's limited, nasal voice. However, Scott's songs are much closer to the spirit of early, classic Pavement. Scott's also much more eager to share the spotlight with his new band mates than Stephen is. Whereas when the Jicks play live, the other members just play idly along as Stephen shreds on his guitar; PSOI work together as an ensemble, sending songs like "Your Time to Change," "Take a Stand," and "Time Out for Fun" into long, noisy, psychedelic jams that are as fun to watch as they are to listen to. PSOI also sports a tighter rhythm section than the Jicks; in stage presence AND in musicianship, Scott's drummer is basically a blond reincarnation of Keith Moon. At any moment, the guy looked like he would leap off of his drum kit and keep playing while in mid-air. Whereas Stephen still oozes as much smarm and distance from his audience as he did in Pavement, Scott seems to enjoy himself a lot more on stage. He pointed the microphone to the audience, leading chants of "P-S-O-I!" like some kind of hip-hop hype man. At this point, Scott's in the same position that George Harrison was in the early '70s; after being reduced to second banana in a popular, influential band, Scott finally gets to show off the stockpile of amazing tunes that his old band never got to call its own. Trust me, there's a reason why PSOI's debut album is called "All This Sounds Gas." Although Stubb's wasn't as packed as the Mercury was when the Jicks played there, I'm sure that with a set this good, Spiral Stairs' comeuppance will come sooner than we think...--Sean Padilla
June 30, 2002
Fivehead "Big Mistake Factory"
I imagine that John Hunt is an average guy. I'm sure he likes a beer or two on the weekend. I bet he likes to rock out after working 9 to 5. Bet he likes to turn up the rock when he gets together with "the boys." I'd also imagine that he likes rock music of various types: classic, alternative, indie, and college. He likes to do his rock thing with his "boys" called Fivehead, and their music is just dandy like ear candy.
Big Mistake Factory is Fivehead's latest snapshot of all-American Austin-based rock and/or roll. It's a fine, fine affair, no big surprise there, and it shows that Hunt's departure from Silver Scooter to focus on his side projects was not a bad decision in the least. I don't hear much that I could compare to the late, great Silver Scooter, which leads one to think that his role in the band, while important, never allowed his full potential to blossom.
But Silver Scooter is in the past, it's time to move on, and Big Mistake Factory is an excellent record of Hunt's growth. True, there are some that will dismiss a good portion of this record as being slightly derivitive. Screw those critics. Sure, a few seconds of a song may sound like Pavement here or Tobin Sprout there, but that's not to say they're not original. They're growing, and this is a nice growth spurt. Not particuilarly lo-fi, not unoriginal, and bring on the Cello---that's a nice touch! There are also some quite lovely little keyboard moments on "young and compliant" and "last vegas stance" has a pretty funny little comedy routine mixed in with the music.
Fivehead are a band that definitly have some interesting days ahead of them; Hunt's a growing songwriter, and this album is a great step above his "Goodie the Rat" EP he released earlier this year, and that was a kick-ass release! It's a pretty damn good sign when your newest recording is 100 percent better than your last awesome record.
Definitly a keeper, a smile-inducer.
--Joseph Kyle
Big Mistake Factory is Fivehead's latest snapshot of all-American Austin-based rock and/or roll. It's a fine, fine affair, no big surprise there, and it shows that Hunt's departure from Silver Scooter to focus on his side projects was not a bad decision in the least. I don't hear much that I could compare to the late, great Silver Scooter, which leads one to think that his role in the band, while important, never allowed his full potential to blossom.
But Silver Scooter is in the past, it's time to move on, and Big Mistake Factory is an excellent record of Hunt's growth. True, there are some that will dismiss a good portion of this record as being slightly derivitive. Screw those critics. Sure, a few seconds of a song may sound like Pavement here or Tobin Sprout there, but that's not to say they're not original. They're growing, and this is a nice growth spurt. Not particuilarly lo-fi, not unoriginal, and bring on the Cello---that's a nice touch! There are also some quite lovely little keyboard moments on "young and compliant" and "last vegas stance" has a pretty funny little comedy routine mixed in with the music.
Fivehead are a band that definitly have some interesting days ahead of them; Hunt's a growing songwriter, and this album is a great step above his "Goodie the Rat" EP he released earlier this year, and that was a kick-ass release! It's a pretty damn good sign when your newest recording is 100 percent better than your last awesome record.
Definitly a keeper, a smile-inducer.
--Joseph Kyle
June 27, 2002
!!! "Me & Giuliani Down By The Schoolyard (A True Story)"
Wow! If you're not familiar with !!!, then I suggest, right now, that you proceed to either Tone Vendor, Insound, Twee Kitten
or Parasol RIGHT THIS MINUTE and buy their debut album on Gold Standards Laboratory. They're a POWER HOUSE OF DANCE MUSIC OF THE HIGHEST DEGREE, mixing all of the best
parts of Prince, Public Image Limited, Gang of Four, P-Funk (all stages), KLF, and any other power-house of dance-ROCK. You WILL dance. You WILL do the Robot. And you WILL love it. Both songs on this single are at least nine minutes long, which should tell you something about how hard and long these guys are going to give it to you! They're still nearly a year away from releasing their second album (goodness, fellows, what's the holdup?), but this two-song teaser is worth seeking out if you don't want to commit to a full-length purchase. "Me & Giuliani Down By The Schoolyard (A True Story)" is a new song, enjoy it because it may be a while for new music; luckily, it's plenty to satisfy your !!! appetite. The other song, "Intensifieder (Sunracapellellectroshit Mix 03)" is a remix
of the full-length's best number, "Intensified" and, yes it's harder. A rough, sexy, sex-driven ride that's worth more in 19 minutes than many albums these days. Essential.
--Joseph Kyle
or Parasol RIGHT THIS MINUTE and buy their debut album on Gold Standards Laboratory. They're a POWER HOUSE OF DANCE MUSIC OF THE HIGHEST DEGREE, mixing all of the best
parts of Prince, Public Image Limited, Gang of Four, P-Funk (all stages), KLF, and any other power-house of dance-ROCK. You WILL dance. You WILL do the Robot. And you WILL love it. Both songs on this single are at least nine minutes long, which should tell you something about how hard and long these guys are going to give it to you! They're still nearly a year away from releasing their second album (goodness, fellows, what's the holdup?), but this two-song teaser is worth seeking out if you don't want to commit to a full-length purchase. "Me & Giuliani Down By The Schoolyard (A True Story)" is a new song, enjoy it because it may be a while for new music; luckily, it's plenty to satisfy your !!! appetite. The other song, "Intensifieder (Sunracapellellectroshit Mix 03)" is a remix
of the full-length's best number, "Intensified" and, yes it's harder. A rough, sexy, sex-driven ride that's worth more in 19 minutes than many albums these days. Essential.
--Joseph Kyle
June 24, 2002
Jason Loewenstein "At Sixes and Sevens"
Be honest, readers: how many of you were on pins and needles, waiting impatiently for Jason Loewenstein to release a solo record? How many of you actually know who Jason Loewenstein is? Well, here's a brief history lesson: Jason was one-third of indie-rock stalwarts Sebadoh, a band that posited the strongest arguments both for and against creative democracy. His songs were a compromise between front man Lou Barlow's lovelorn rambling and drummer Eric Gaffney's tuneless mania. Despite being arguably the band's most talented musician, he never received nearly as much credit as the other two. After Eric left the band, Jason merely moved from being the third wheel to being the second banana. Even when Lou's creativity began to stagnate on the last few Sebadoh albums, few people noticed that Jason was beginning to write better songs than him. Now that Sebadoh is on hiatus, it seems that Jason finally has the opportunity to prove himself. At Sixes and Sevens, his solo debut, showcases the great songwriter that everyone should have known Loewenstein was since Sebadoh's 1993 masterwork Bubble and Scrape. Picture a whole album of songs as good as "Prince-S," "Careful," and "Bird in the Hand." This album's even BETTER than that.
This is a solo record in all aspects of the word: Jason wrote, played, sang, and recorded every note in his eight-track home studio. The problem with most one-man bands is that there's always at least one instrument that they're obviously weaker at than the rest, yet they insist on playing it solely for the egotistical pleasure of saying that they played EVERYTHING. I dare you to guess which instrument is Jason's Achilles heel. He is equally agile on guitar, bass, and drums, easily creating the illusion of a fine-tuned, well-rehearsal garage band. He knows when each instrument should shut up or show off, and when they should play against each other or with each other. He gets off on the dissonance that occurs when guitars are slightly out of tune with each other. Examples include the Sonic Youth-style arpeggios of "Casserole" and the Polvo-meets-Beefheart riffs of "Angles" and "Funerals." His vocals have improved since the last Sebadoh album: listen to how well his falsetto imitates the melodies his guitar plays on "Circles" and "Roswell to Jerusalem." Last but not least, this album is the cleanest eight-track recording I've heard since Spoon's 1996 debut Telephono. Any of these songs could be played on the radio without the listener experiencing an obvious drop in fidelity.
While doing research on this record, I discovered that At Sixes and Sevens is an idiom that means "at a point of disorder or confusion." What an appropriate name for an album that seems to revolve around the concepts of ending friendships and changing priorities. Jason approaches these topics with an almost plainspoken candor that keeps things open-ended without being vague. "Casserole" examines how things that seem inconsequential can end up causing great destruction. The protagonist of "Angles" expresses his frustration about making the same mistakes over and over again. The entire first verse of "Mistake" reads like a hand-written apology to a friend he has wronged, whereas "I'm a Shit" takes that same friend to task for being too bitter to forgive him. On "Circles" and "Funerals," Jason's anger is also directed toward self-destructive people. At Sixes and Sevens closes with the anthem "Transform," during which Jason finally cries out for change. It is during this song that he sings my favorite lyric on the whole album: "YouÍre hungry for the Tascam/But you can't afford the tape." Since I am also a homemade one-man band, this lyric particularly resonates with me. The vocals maintain a consistently ambivalent tone: too angry to mumble, but too world-weary to scream. Jason's falsetto on "Circles" sounds more like a sigh than a soar.
If the previous paragraph makes this record sound like heavy going, don't worry. For most of the record, the tempos remain brisk enough (and the songs catchy enough) that you'll be too busy banging your head to pay attention to what Jason's singing. Yes, by the time the appropriately named instrumental "H/M (Heavy Metal)" comes on, the detuned riffs will give you your fair share of neck cramps. At Sixes and Sevens is the album I always knew Jason had in him. Hearing indie-rock done this well makes me nostalgic for when I was in middle school, when "alternative rock" lived up to its name, and there was actually a middle ground between being incredibly famous and incredibly obscure. Pavement raised a ruckus on the Tonight Show, Sebadoh had videos on VH1, Live were covering Guided by Voices songs, and Sonic Youth actually entered the Top 40. How many of you remember THAT?
---Sean Padilla
This is a solo record in all aspects of the word: Jason wrote, played, sang, and recorded every note in his eight-track home studio. The problem with most one-man bands is that there's always at least one instrument that they're obviously weaker at than the rest, yet they insist on playing it solely for the egotistical pleasure of saying that they played EVERYTHING. I dare you to guess which instrument is Jason's Achilles heel. He is equally agile on guitar, bass, and drums, easily creating the illusion of a fine-tuned, well-rehearsal garage band. He knows when each instrument should shut up or show off, and when they should play against each other or with each other. He gets off on the dissonance that occurs when guitars are slightly out of tune with each other. Examples include the Sonic Youth-style arpeggios of "Casserole" and the Polvo-meets-Beefheart riffs of "Angles" and "Funerals." His vocals have improved since the last Sebadoh album: listen to how well his falsetto imitates the melodies his guitar plays on "Circles" and "Roswell to Jerusalem." Last but not least, this album is the cleanest eight-track recording I've heard since Spoon's 1996 debut Telephono. Any of these songs could be played on the radio without the listener experiencing an obvious drop in fidelity.
While doing research on this record, I discovered that At Sixes and Sevens is an idiom that means "at a point of disorder or confusion." What an appropriate name for an album that seems to revolve around the concepts of ending friendships and changing priorities. Jason approaches these topics with an almost plainspoken candor that keeps things open-ended without being vague. "Casserole" examines how things that seem inconsequential can end up causing great destruction. The protagonist of "Angles" expresses his frustration about making the same mistakes over and over again. The entire first verse of "Mistake" reads like a hand-written apology to a friend he has wronged, whereas "I'm a Shit" takes that same friend to task for being too bitter to forgive him. On "Circles" and "Funerals," Jason's anger is also directed toward self-destructive people. At Sixes and Sevens closes with the anthem "Transform," during which Jason finally cries out for change. It is during this song that he sings my favorite lyric on the whole album: "YouÍre hungry for the Tascam/But you can't afford the tape." Since I am also a homemade one-man band, this lyric particularly resonates with me. The vocals maintain a consistently ambivalent tone: too angry to mumble, but too world-weary to scream. Jason's falsetto on "Circles" sounds more like a sigh than a soar.
If the previous paragraph makes this record sound like heavy going, don't worry. For most of the record, the tempos remain brisk enough (and the songs catchy enough) that you'll be too busy banging your head to pay attention to what Jason's singing. Yes, by the time the appropriately named instrumental "H/M (Heavy Metal)" comes on, the detuned riffs will give you your fair share of neck cramps. At Sixes and Sevens is the album I always knew Jason had in him. Hearing indie-rock done this well makes me nostalgic for when I was in middle school, when "alternative rock" lived up to its name, and there was actually a middle ground between being incredibly famous and incredibly obscure. Pavement raised a ruckus on the Tonight Show, Sebadoh had videos on VH1, Live were covering Guided by Voices songs, and Sonic Youth actually entered the Top 40. How many of you remember THAT?
---Sean Padilla
June 22, 2002
American Analog Set "Promise of Love"
The first time I heard American Analog Set was on a country road driving home to Dallas from Austin with Andy Young, the drummer from Lift to Experience. Andy popped in From Our Living Room to Yours, and my first thought was that the music didn’t seem to change at all. The first song sounded like the same riff repeated for ten minutes. What I had wrong was that I was trying to actively listen to American Analog Set. Andy set me straight, distracting me from the music with all kinds of pointless chatter. Twenty minutes later I got it. The music has to seep in while you’re not paying attention, and surreptitiously plant the seeds of its catchy melodies in your brain, only for them to sprout god knows how long after. Three days later I found myself humming the "bada ba ba ba, badaba ba" refrain from "Magnificent Seventies" and I couldn’t make it quit.
So it’s no surprise that Promise of Love, the latest from Austin's American Analog Set, opens with a drum beat and organ oscillation that doesn’t change chords until the vocals come in-a full three minutes and fifteen seconds later-on "Continuous Hit Music." The title of the opening track is appropriate. Couched in each of these Steve Reich-style droning compositions is a pop song that would top the charts if it were packaged in a more digestible way.
The principle behind music like American Analog Set is this: begin with one thing, change it just a little bit four measures later, change something else four measures later, and in several minutes you’ve got an entirely different song going on. But these guys will sometimes take sixteen measures or longer to effect any one change. Listening to their music teaches your ear patience. Once it’s learned, the songs unfold like one of those silly Buddhist proverbs. Then you know each one of the changes, how perfect it is and how it had to wait that long to happen.
All of that said, Promise of Love is more varied from song to song than most other American Analog Set releases. "Hard to Find" sounds like it could be in a spy movie soundtrack, and the beat is hard not to move to. "Come Home Baby Julie, Come Home" competes with "Fool Around" for catchiest track on the record: both sound like they might be sixties pop songs, except of course for that repetitious droning that it wouldn’t be American Analog Set without. "You Own Me" gets slow and spacey, with a lot of delay and distortion on the guitar and dreamy vocals. On "Modern Drummer"-is this song title intended to be ironic?-the only percussion is a closed hi-hat every eighth note, and whenever the vocals stop their void is filled with real pretty cello swells.
This is one of American Analog Set’s best releases to date, but don’t expect to be immediately overwhelmed by how wonderful it is. That’s not American Analog Set's way. Go ahead and put it in your CD player on repeat and immediately start ignoring it. Give it some time to soak in. After an hour you’ll love it.
--Jeremy Yocum
So it’s no surprise that Promise of Love, the latest from Austin's American Analog Set, opens with a drum beat and organ oscillation that doesn’t change chords until the vocals come in-a full three minutes and fifteen seconds later-on "Continuous Hit Music." The title of the opening track is appropriate. Couched in each of these Steve Reich-style droning compositions is a pop song that would top the charts if it were packaged in a more digestible way.
The principle behind music like American Analog Set is this: begin with one thing, change it just a little bit four measures later, change something else four measures later, and in several minutes you’ve got an entirely different song going on. But these guys will sometimes take sixteen measures or longer to effect any one change. Listening to their music teaches your ear patience. Once it’s learned, the songs unfold like one of those silly Buddhist proverbs. Then you know each one of the changes, how perfect it is and how it had to wait that long to happen.
All of that said, Promise of Love is more varied from song to song than most other American Analog Set releases. "Hard to Find" sounds like it could be in a spy movie soundtrack, and the beat is hard not to move to. "Come Home Baby Julie, Come Home" competes with "Fool Around" for catchiest track on the record: both sound like they might be sixties pop songs, except of course for that repetitious droning that it wouldn’t be American Analog Set without. "You Own Me" gets slow and spacey, with a lot of delay and distortion on the guitar and dreamy vocals. On "Modern Drummer"-is this song title intended to be ironic?-the only percussion is a closed hi-hat every eighth note, and whenever the vocals stop their void is filled with real pretty cello swells.
This is one of American Analog Set’s best releases to date, but don’t expect to be immediately overwhelmed by how wonderful it is. That’s not American Analog Set's way. Go ahead and put it in your CD player on repeat and immediately start ignoring it. Give it some time to soak in. After an hour you’ll love it.
--Jeremy Yocum
Doug Shepherd "Type Foundry Sessions"
This is a fun, fascinating little release! Pressed on clear plastic, the concept behind this EP is just as unique. Doug Shepherd is a lo-fi folkie-type, but he's decided to release a series of EP's, but they are based on the notion that each EP will be recorded at different studios and with a different backing band. Though I don't know what's going to be next, I have to say that the "Portland, Oregon" session is pretty nice! I think Shepherd's English, because he's got an accent that reminds me quite a bit of Nick Drake, but he's not a sappy folkie by any means. Actually, the five songs on here go by rather quickly and leave you wanting more. The fact that he kind of sounds like Nick Drake shouldn't imply that he's a folkie, because he's not, and the opening "Wind is Warm" is certainly a lovely little folkie number. It's the only one of its kind, it seems; if anything, he's really into early 80s indie-pop. In fact, I'd say he's got a bit of a tendency towards garage rock. "Tin Angel" and "On The Moon" are certainly fast-paced rockers. All in all, a fun little experiment, and I'm certainly anxious to hear more!
--Joseph Kyle
--Joseph Kyle
Interview: Onelinedrawing's Jonah Matranga
The first time I heard Jonah Matranga was on his split with Sense Field. The song was brooding yet beautiful, dark yet not that desperate. My curiousity was piqued, and so I visited his *awesome* website, onelinedrawing.com, and found some most-wonderful samples. I picked up some of his self-released EP's and was continually blown away. When he released his new band project, New End Original, I was again astonished by how GOOD it was. Not at all like Onelinedrawing, yet sounding like a direct flow from the same fountain, New End Original was easily one of the best rock records of last year. He recently released his debut full-length album, Visitor, on Jade Tree. I managed to hook up with him before he set out on tour earlier this week, to get his thoughts on music, the internet, and fame.
How's it going?
Pretty well. I'm in a bit of a bad mood, for all ridiculous reasons. I'm getting ready to go out on a bunch of little tours, and attempting to not go into it being sick. In general, I'm well.
With New End Original being an anagram for onelinedrawing, are you suggesting that the two are directly related, ie "14 or 41" being a revamped version of an older Onelinedrawing song?
Not really that thought out, band names are just a pain. I always wanted to try 14-41 with a full band thing. I thought it would happen on a onelinedrawing record, but the New End thing happened, so there you go.
What is it about touring that you like? Do you prefer playing live or working in the studio, and with New End Original being a red-hot live rock band, do you see yourself developing OLD a more studio-oriented project, while letting New End Original be your live, in-concert project?
Definitely not. Maybe the other way around. While it is fun to be loud and all, my favorite shows lately have been in strange, very un-rock places, like houses and restaurants and things. Right at this moment, I'm pretty much feeling like not playing in a rock club ever
again. But then, I did say I was in a bad mood. For all I know, it could end up exactly the way you said, and that could be fun too.
Since the formation of New End Original, when you sit down to write a song, do you think, "this is a OLD song, or this is a NEO song?"
Haven't really written anything complete since New End started. The past few years have just been trying to get out the stuff that needed getting out. I never really write with the intention to make a song, much less a song for a specific entity. I just try to listen.
Was your experience with Far a good one, or was it one that prompted you to avoid the full-band set-up until New End Original?
Both. And New End continues to be everything great and horrible about the rock band thing.
You've got a much bigger, hands-on operation with your website and making your own CD's. If you've done so well on your own, what was it that prompted you to release your debut album on Jade Tree?
The relationship with Jade Tree started with New End, and we just got talking about them doing the onelinedrawing records too. I don't mind help, I actually really like it. There are a lot of things that I do for the site, mailorders, etc. that would drive me nuts if they weren't directly involved with the music. Sometimes they do anyway. Funny, though, writing this, I realize that I really like being as directly connected to the business part of all this. Sometime I think that's the way it'll end up in the end. But I like Tim&Darren, and they seem to like me, and they do a really good job of getting records out without being slimy in an increasingly slimy scene.
On your website, you sell a ton of records you've created and released yourself, and are rather successful in that regard. I'm curious to know, does success online translate into a more general, non-internet success?
Good question. It could, in the same sense that word-of-mouth used to, and still does, work. People tell their friends, people follow links from another band's site that they like, etc. One strange thing is that online success seems more about just a few people in lots of different places having a connection with something you've made, as opposed to depending on a town or a scene to embrace you. I've never been very interested in that sort of thing anyway, and I don't think I fit in anyone scene, none of my music ever has, it seems. I just like the idea that people can like what you do, and tell you about
it, and support it, regardless of where they are.
Has your success online and on your own prompted any friendly visits from major labels?
There was some a couple years ago, but none lately. I think I'm pretty done with them, and them with me.
Singer-songwriter. Is this a pejorative term, or is it simply misunderstood, and how do you feel about it being applied to onelinedrawing?
It's one of the few literal genre titles (i.e. not emo, grunge, etc.), so that's good. There are caricatures that go along with it, which I suppose is to be expected. I'm more interested in titles like artist, musician, or person. Person is especially good. Seems like the more we categorize, whether on musical terms or any other set of terms, the more we dehumanize.
What advice do you have for young musicians?
Make sure you love the music part, cos the rest is as annoying as I would imagine any other business is.
What's next for Jonah Matranga?
Continuing the slow move off the grid. An RV near a beach with a wireless high speed connection, and a network of houses to play. Or something completely different. I try not to have too many plans. I still love music, I still want to help, I still want to be around
friends and family. if I stick to those, I should be okay.
The new Star Wars. What's your opinion? Thumbs up? Thumbs down?
Up. With a big blockbuster grain of salt.
Thanks, Jonah!
--Joseph Kyle
How's it going?
Pretty well. I'm in a bit of a bad mood, for all ridiculous reasons. I'm getting ready to go out on a bunch of little tours, and attempting to not go into it being sick. In general, I'm well.
With New End Original being an anagram for onelinedrawing, are you suggesting that the two are directly related, ie "14 or 41" being a revamped version of an older Onelinedrawing song?
Not really that thought out, band names are just a pain. I always wanted to try 14-41 with a full band thing. I thought it would happen on a onelinedrawing record, but the New End thing happened, so there you go.
What is it about touring that you like? Do you prefer playing live or working in the studio, and with New End Original being a red-hot live rock band, do you see yourself developing OLD a more studio-oriented project, while letting New End Original be your live, in-concert project?
Definitely not. Maybe the other way around. While it is fun to be loud and all, my favorite shows lately have been in strange, very un-rock places, like houses and restaurants and things. Right at this moment, I'm pretty much feeling like not playing in a rock club ever
again. But then, I did say I was in a bad mood. For all I know, it could end up exactly the way you said, and that could be fun too.
Since the formation of New End Original, when you sit down to write a song, do you think, "this is a OLD song, or this is a NEO song?"
Haven't really written anything complete since New End started. The past few years have just been trying to get out the stuff that needed getting out. I never really write with the intention to make a song, much less a song for a specific entity. I just try to listen.
Was your experience with Far a good one, or was it one that prompted you to avoid the full-band set-up until New End Original?
Both. And New End continues to be everything great and horrible about the rock band thing.
You've got a much bigger, hands-on operation with your website and making your own CD's. If you've done so well on your own, what was it that prompted you to release your debut album on Jade Tree?
The relationship with Jade Tree started with New End, and we just got talking about them doing the onelinedrawing records too. I don't mind help, I actually really like it. There are a lot of things that I do for the site, mailorders, etc. that would drive me nuts if they weren't directly involved with the music. Sometimes they do anyway. Funny, though, writing this, I realize that I really like being as directly connected to the business part of all this. Sometime I think that's the way it'll end up in the end. But I like Tim&Darren, and they seem to like me, and they do a really good job of getting records out without being slimy in an increasingly slimy scene.
On your website, you sell a ton of records you've created and released yourself, and are rather successful in that regard. I'm curious to know, does success online translate into a more general, non-internet success?
Good question. It could, in the same sense that word-of-mouth used to, and still does, work. People tell their friends, people follow links from another band's site that they like, etc. One strange thing is that online success seems more about just a few people in lots of different places having a connection with something you've made, as opposed to depending on a town or a scene to embrace you. I've never been very interested in that sort of thing anyway, and I don't think I fit in anyone scene, none of my music ever has, it seems. I just like the idea that people can like what you do, and tell you about
it, and support it, regardless of where they are.
Has your success online and on your own prompted any friendly visits from major labels?
There was some a couple years ago, but none lately. I think I'm pretty done with them, and them with me.
Singer-songwriter. Is this a pejorative term, or is it simply misunderstood, and how do you feel about it being applied to onelinedrawing?
It's one of the few literal genre titles (i.e. not emo, grunge, etc.), so that's good. There are caricatures that go along with it, which I suppose is to be expected. I'm more interested in titles like artist, musician, or person. Person is especially good. Seems like the more we categorize, whether on musical terms or any other set of terms, the more we dehumanize.
What advice do you have for young musicians?
Make sure you love the music part, cos the rest is as annoying as I would imagine any other business is.
What's next for Jonah Matranga?
Continuing the slow move off the grid. An RV near a beach with a wireless high speed connection, and a network of houses to play. Or something completely different. I try not to have too many plans. I still love music, I still want to help, I still want to be around
friends and family. if I stick to those, I should be okay.
The new Star Wars. What's your opinion? Thumbs up? Thumbs down?
Up. With a big blockbuster grain of salt.
Thanks, Jonah!
--Joseph Kyle
June 17, 2002
Belly "Sweet Ride: Best of Belly"
Listening to Sweet Ride, Belly's "greatest hits," has really brought back an overflow of emotions and recollections about the "good" "old" "days" of 1992-1994, back when "Alternative Rock" had some semblence of decency, some sort of meaning, and it seemed, if ever-so-briefly, that the music I liked might just help eliminate the crapola on the radio. Belly, though, was the angel-girl band that I thought the world of.
See, I was a big Throwing Muses fanatic, and when I learned that Tanya Donelly had left them in order to form her own band, I was estatic--for she was a most neglected talent in the Muses. Like George Harrison, her one or two songs per album would really sparkle and shine, always hinting at an unpolished greatness. Unfortunately for the Muses, Donelly decided to carry her aesthetic elsewhere.
After a brief touring stint in her side-project The Breeders, she was off to record and release the Slow Dog EP--and from there, the hype began. Initially a trio, Belly released Star, to much critical acclaim from respected media outlets and teen magazines alike. Of course, several of these songs had been attempted with the Throwing Muses, and thus some had a more-than-similar sound to her Muses work. That wasn't a real complaint, though. With its sweetly deceptive lyrics and Donelly's little-girl voice, Star was a shoo-in for stardom. Between childike crooning, sexy singing, and weird words rested the pulse of a pure-pop monster, one that the Muses could never have achieved, and yours truly--then a bookish, post-teen undergrad--fell for them HARD. Bigtime.
When it came time to follow up, with 1995's King--after having grammy nominations, successful tours, and tons of press--Belly, well...failed to click. Perhaps because they took too long to follow up on their initial success or perhaps because it wasn't as hyped--it's a difficult call, because King was miles above Star. While Star was a sweetly bitter pill, King was a bittersweet pill, and the music was darker, too. With the addition of Gail Greenwood, Belly were really a much fuller-sounding band. For whatever reason, King failed to click. Except for one or two songs, it didn't move me, eihter. Too bad, and Belly quietly called it a day.
It's probably a case of late-20's nostalga, but Belly fit in quite nicely in my pop-culture growth. I remember the joy of finding the "Feed the Tree" cassingle at a small East Texas Walmart. I remember the joy of FINALLY getting the Slow Dog EP and waiting for the full length. I took great joy in seeing them on late-night TV shows, even if David Spade dissed them on Saturday Night Live. I remember thinking "What??" to their cover of "Are You Experienced?" on a tribute to Jimi Hendrix. And the interviews, too, which focused on how NICE Tanya and the crew really were. Oh and that show I saw, where their Star shone so brightly, leaving in the shadows that creepy, Britpop flavor-of-the-month band Radiohead (Gee, I wonder what ever became of that band?)
But when I picked up Sweet Ride, for some reason, I choked. Would the music really hold up against the sands of time--that time when you knew that Frasier was intentionally set in Seattle and that Friends was a indirect spin-off of Singles. Fortunatly, the compliers of Sweet Ride knew that it would be a bit facetious to charge full-price for a record that would compile most of two records that could probably be found in most bargain-bins and would ultimatly be cheaper to purchase than the greatest hits record itself. Instead of sticking to the choicest album cuts, Sweet Ride provides all of the hits--in their single-remixed versions, one or two choice album cuts, and numerous B-sides, as well as the single unreleased King outtake, "Lillith." While the hardcore Belly fans probably have most of these songs already, it's safe to say that Sweet Ride is a new album altogether (Baby Silvertooth owners---bite your tongue!) and should not be considered a "best-of."
Of course, that's semantics for fanatics, and I loved Belly. It's good to hear some of the old B-sides again, such as "Trust in Me," "Hot Burrito #1," "Sweet Ride" and "Thief" all together, for these songs all compare quite nicely to the familiar hits of "Gepetto," "Feed the Tree" and "Seal My Fate." Belly were a shining star, and though they didn't shine long, their light still shines on for those who bother to look in their direction. While I may get older, my love of this band hasn't faltered, and now, listening back, it's slightly sad to know that their potential quickly disappeared after the spotlight moved on, but yet I feel content, knowing that a band like Belly even existed in the first place. Sweet Ride is an essential record for those of you who like indie-pop or just plain old smart music.
--Joseph Kyle
See, I was a big Throwing Muses fanatic, and when I learned that Tanya Donelly had left them in order to form her own band, I was estatic--for she was a most neglected talent in the Muses. Like George Harrison, her one or two songs per album would really sparkle and shine, always hinting at an unpolished greatness. Unfortunately for the Muses, Donelly decided to carry her aesthetic elsewhere.
After a brief touring stint in her side-project The Breeders, she was off to record and release the Slow Dog EP--and from there, the hype began. Initially a trio, Belly released Star, to much critical acclaim from respected media outlets and teen magazines alike. Of course, several of these songs had been attempted with the Throwing Muses, and thus some had a more-than-similar sound to her Muses work. That wasn't a real complaint, though. With its sweetly deceptive lyrics and Donelly's little-girl voice, Star was a shoo-in for stardom. Between childike crooning, sexy singing, and weird words rested the pulse of a pure-pop monster, one that the Muses could never have achieved, and yours truly--then a bookish, post-teen undergrad--fell for them HARD. Bigtime.
When it came time to follow up, with 1995's King--after having grammy nominations, successful tours, and tons of press--Belly, well...failed to click. Perhaps because they took too long to follow up on their initial success or perhaps because it wasn't as hyped--it's a difficult call, because King was miles above Star. While Star was a sweetly bitter pill, King was a bittersweet pill, and the music was darker, too. With the addition of Gail Greenwood, Belly were really a much fuller-sounding band. For whatever reason, King failed to click. Except for one or two songs, it didn't move me, eihter. Too bad, and Belly quietly called it a day.
It's probably a case of late-20's nostalga, but Belly fit in quite nicely in my pop-culture growth. I remember the joy of finding the "Feed the Tree" cassingle at a small East Texas Walmart. I remember the joy of FINALLY getting the Slow Dog EP and waiting for the full length. I took great joy in seeing them on late-night TV shows, even if David Spade dissed them on Saturday Night Live. I remember thinking "What??" to their cover of "Are You Experienced?" on a tribute to Jimi Hendrix. And the interviews, too, which focused on how NICE Tanya and the crew really were. Oh and that show I saw, where their Star shone so brightly, leaving in the shadows that creepy, Britpop flavor-of-the-month band Radiohead (Gee, I wonder what ever became of that band?)
But when I picked up Sweet Ride, for some reason, I choked. Would the music really hold up against the sands of time--that time when you knew that Frasier was intentionally set in Seattle and that Friends was a indirect spin-off of Singles. Fortunatly, the compliers of Sweet Ride knew that it would be a bit facetious to charge full-price for a record that would compile most of two records that could probably be found in most bargain-bins and would ultimatly be cheaper to purchase than the greatest hits record itself. Instead of sticking to the choicest album cuts, Sweet Ride provides all of the hits--in their single-remixed versions, one or two choice album cuts, and numerous B-sides, as well as the single unreleased King outtake, "Lillith." While the hardcore Belly fans probably have most of these songs already, it's safe to say that Sweet Ride is a new album altogether (Baby Silvertooth owners---bite your tongue!) and should not be considered a "best-of."
Of course, that's semantics for fanatics, and I loved Belly. It's good to hear some of the old B-sides again, such as "Trust in Me," "Hot Burrito #1," "Sweet Ride" and "Thief" all together, for these songs all compare quite nicely to the familiar hits of "Gepetto," "Feed the Tree" and "Seal My Fate." Belly were a shining star, and though they didn't shine long, their light still shines on for those who bother to look in their direction. While I may get older, my love of this band hasn't faltered, and now, listening back, it's slightly sad to know that their potential quickly disappeared after the spotlight moved on, but yet I feel content, knowing that a band like Belly even existed in the first place. Sweet Ride is an essential record for those of you who like indie-pop or just plain old smart music.
--Joseph Kyle
June 15, 2002
Badger King "the lighthouse, the giant"
In my opinion, more rock bands should take advantage of the element of surprise. Few things in music make my ears prick up more than the moment when an already good song takes an abrupt and unexpected detour into uncharted territory, especially if the tangent ends up being as good as, if not better than, the song's original idea. Take a chance! Interrupt your traditional guitar-bass-drums setup with a dulcimer solo, or a string quartet. Change keys. Switch from a professional studio recording to a low-fidelity four-track demo version mid-song. Add another bridge instead of repeating the chorus. Heck, don't even repeat the chorus at all! Show the audience that you want to maintain its interest. Whenever new music fails to excite me, I can always turn to my Swirlies, Polvo, and Thinking Fellers records for comfort because even after running them into the ground, I still don't get bored. I like bands that stitch ideas together like hyperactive dyslexic kids with glue, scissors, and construction paper. Bands like the aforementioned three are often criticized as disjointed and incoherent, and sometimes these criticisms are justified. I believe, though, that even when the music doesn't make any logical sense, a band with too many ideas is still better than a band with too few ideas.
The Badger King is definitely aligned with this attention-deficit-disorder aesthetic. On The Lighthouse, the Giant, they're an indie-pop quintet, but from what I've heard, they're touring in support of the album minus three members, and with the songs recast into an IDM framework. That alone should tell you how committed this band is to stylistic consistency. For sanity's sake, I'll stick to simply evaluating the record. If you can fathom a fusion of Mary Timony's lyrical fetish for exotic animals and pastoral scenes and the Microphones' symphonic fuzz-pop, then you have an idea of what this album sounds like. That's not even counting the detours into one-chord jamming ("I Obscenity" and "Red Ships of Spain"), Stereolab-style Moog funk (part two of "The She Trilogy"), bubbly electronic break beats ("Space Ox"), field recordings ("Great Birds"), and keyboard fugues straight out of a Yes record ("Interlude One," "The Coldest Feet"). In fifty-two minutes, these nineteen songs take enough twists and turns to leave my head dizzy. At first, I couldn't remember many of the songs because there was simply so much information in them to absorb. It only took two or three more listens, though, for half of the songs to take possession of my skull by force.
The lasting impact of these songs is due mainly to front woman Marianna Ritchey's strong sense of melody, as well as her ability to contain her whimsical musings inside more down-to-earth narratives. She has a clear, assertive, though obviously untrained voice. Sometimes her long-lined melodies force her to reach for notes that she can't quite hit, but the results rarely make me cringe. In fact, one of the Badger King's most obvious similarities to the Microphones is their love of zillion-tracked vocal harmonies, some of which are out of tune with each other, creating a pleasantly woozy effect not unlike that of My Bloody Valentine's whammy-bar histrionics. The chorus of "Home to England" asserts, "Tell me one reason why I ought to come home to you," and I'm not quite sure whether Ritchey is addressing the country, an ex-lover, or both. "The Fiasco Master" is a piano-driven elegy to a person who, up to his/her death, possessed a remarkable ability to handle private crises. Ritchey chides slackers on "You Aren't An Ark," an acoustic snippet that reminds me of the unjustly overlooked That Dog. "The Crab, the Claw" tells the story of a young girl from a nomadic family who learns first to become one with nature, and secondly to fear it. "To Touch Base" seems to be about an amicable breakup, at least until Marianna starts singing about seeing elephants in her dreams. Although the Badger King is clearly Marianna's show, she keeps her ego from dictating the arrangements, with boy/girl harmonies and ensemble playing employed more often than not.
This record arrived in my mailbox amidst a smorgasbord of anonymous indie-pop records that a publicity firm sent me, most of which I could already tell were going to bore the pants off of me from reading the verbose press releases. My hesitancy to give The Lighthouse, the Giant a fair chance was a huge mistake, because it is attention-deficit-disorder pop of the highest order. This record isn't being publicized very well, so you probably won't read about in many publications. (Hey, that's what Mundane Sounds is here for, right?) Therefore, I urge anyone reading this to take my advice. DO NOT LET THIS AMAZING RECORD GO UNNOTICED.
--Sean Padilla
The Badger King is definitely aligned with this attention-deficit-disorder aesthetic. On The Lighthouse, the Giant, they're an indie-pop quintet, but from what I've heard, they're touring in support of the album minus three members, and with the songs recast into an IDM framework. That alone should tell you how committed this band is to stylistic consistency. For sanity's sake, I'll stick to simply evaluating the record. If you can fathom a fusion of Mary Timony's lyrical fetish for exotic animals and pastoral scenes and the Microphones' symphonic fuzz-pop, then you have an idea of what this album sounds like. That's not even counting the detours into one-chord jamming ("I Obscenity" and "Red Ships of Spain"), Stereolab-style Moog funk (part two of "The She Trilogy"), bubbly electronic break beats ("Space Ox"), field recordings ("Great Birds"), and keyboard fugues straight out of a Yes record ("Interlude One," "The Coldest Feet"). In fifty-two minutes, these nineteen songs take enough twists and turns to leave my head dizzy. At first, I couldn't remember many of the songs because there was simply so much information in them to absorb. It only took two or three more listens, though, for half of the songs to take possession of my skull by force.
The lasting impact of these songs is due mainly to front woman Marianna Ritchey's strong sense of melody, as well as her ability to contain her whimsical musings inside more down-to-earth narratives. She has a clear, assertive, though obviously untrained voice. Sometimes her long-lined melodies force her to reach for notes that she can't quite hit, but the results rarely make me cringe. In fact, one of the Badger King's most obvious similarities to the Microphones is their love of zillion-tracked vocal harmonies, some of which are out of tune with each other, creating a pleasantly woozy effect not unlike that of My Bloody Valentine's whammy-bar histrionics. The chorus of "Home to England" asserts, "Tell me one reason why I ought to come home to you," and I'm not quite sure whether Ritchey is addressing the country, an ex-lover, or both. "The Fiasco Master" is a piano-driven elegy to a person who, up to his/her death, possessed a remarkable ability to handle private crises. Ritchey chides slackers on "You Aren't An Ark," an acoustic snippet that reminds me of the unjustly overlooked That Dog. "The Crab, the Claw" tells the story of a young girl from a nomadic family who learns first to become one with nature, and secondly to fear it. "To Touch Base" seems to be about an amicable breakup, at least until Marianna starts singing about seeing elephants in her dreams. Although the Badger King is clearly Marianna's show, she keeps her ego from dictating the arrangements, with boy/girl harmonies and ensemble playing employed more often than not.
This record arrived in my mailbox amidst a smorgasbord of anonymous indie-pop records that a publicity firm sent me, most of which I could already tell were going to bore the pants off of me from reading the verbose press releases. My hesitancy to give The Lighthouse, the Giant a fair chance was a huge mistake, because it is attention-deficit-disorder pop of the highest order. This record isn't being publicized very well, so you probably won't read about in many publications. (Hey, that's what Mundane Sounds is here for, right?) Therefore, I urge anyone reading this to take my advice. DO NOT LET THIS AMAZING RECORD GO UNNOTICED.
--Sean Padilla
June 14, 2002
Fury "Resurrection"
Historical hardcore document from those wonderful DC-scene kids. While I'm not up on the whole DC history and I think I packed up my copy of the excellent Dance of Days I don't know the exact history Fury, but there's one thing that's most recognizable: the singing.
Yes, punk kids, that screaming yelp is none other than a teenaged Chris Thomson. Thomson's got one of those instantly recognizable screetching-madman/boy genius vocal styles. While not quite as passionate as Circus Lupus, nor as discordantly dance-y as Monorchid, nor as amateurishly witty as Skull Kontrol, Fury has a fire--a small spark--of genius yet to come.
The music on here's straight-up hardcore--and I'll plead ignorance about the subject right here--and, yet, it's trying to be something more. Thomson's got a budding rant-voice, one that saw a greater depth in those previously-mentioned bands, and though he's mumbling and shouting in a blur of lyrics and guitar power. "Resurrection" is perhaps the closest thing to sounding like Skull Kontrol, but you can hear those other bands in Resurrection. I'm also really partial to "Shotgun," with its brooding danger seeping through the bassline. In other places, it seems like these are kids who haven't quite broken free from their Ian McKaye-related record collection. Youthful imitation isn't bad, though it doesn't always make that interesting of a listen.
According to the press bio, this was twelve minutes committed to tape and is a rant, and my god, it sounds like it. Not that I'm saying such thing as an insult, it's just how it is. And not that Fury shuld be dismissed, either. It's a fun listen, mind you; it's just not a particularly important one, unless you're wanting to go back and get a feel of the DC-hardcore era of the late 80s. As a picture of where the musicians came from, however, it's mildly interesting--though I recommend jumping over this one and going straight to Circus Lupus and Monorchid instead--though I think that someone should reissue the lost Los Mordidas discography.
--Joseph K.
Yes, punk kids, that screaming yelp is none other than a teenaged Chris Thomson. Thomson's got one of those instantly recognizable screetching-madman/boy genius vocal styles. While not quite as passionate as Circus Lupus, nor as discordantly dance-y as Monorchid, nor as amateurishly witty as Skull Kontrol, Fury has a fire--a small spark--of genius yet to come.
The music on here's straight-up hardcore--and I'll plead ignorance about the subject right here--and, yet, it's trying to be something more. Thomson's got a budding rant-voice, one that saw a greater depth in those previously-mentioned bands, and though he's mumbling and shouting in a blur of lyrics and guitar power. "Resurrection" is perhaps the closest thing to sounding like Skull Kontrol, but you can hear those other bands in Resurrection. I'm also really partial to "Shotgun," with its brooding danger seeping through the bassline. In other places, it seems like these are kids who haven't quite broken free from their Ian McKaye-related record collection. Youthful imitation isn't bad, though it doesn't always make that interesting of a listen.
According to the press bio, this was twelve minutes committed to tape and is a rant, and my god, it sounds like it. Not that I'm saying such thing as an insult, it's just how it is. And not that Fury shuld be dismissed, either. It's a fun listen, mind you; it's just not a particularly important one, unless you're wanting to go back and get a feel of the DC-hardcore era of the late 80s. As a picture of where the musicians came from, however, it's mildly interesting--though I recommend jumping over this one and going straight to Circus Lupus and Monorchid instead--though I think that someone should reissue the lost Los Mordidas discography.
--Joseph K.
Anamude "Urban Comfort"
Anamude is the singular project of Ana Hortillosa, who set about creating this record all by her lonesome, with nothing but her singin', her guitar pickin' and her accordion grindin'. She's got the vibe that is all Sunday morning, 4:12 am, post-show, smoke-filled post houseparty comedown. It's kind of dark, too, whcih I like--but not too dark, though. She sings with such a sweet smile, you can't help but be won over by her charm.
Actually, Urban Comfort is a pretty nice little record, not too sweet, but not too dark, either. The only problem I have with it is that occasionally, the vocals sound a little too similar; it seems like she could do with a little variety in her presentation. Of course, when you're playing an all-acoustic set, you do run this risk, and relative newcomer Hortillosa doesn't always have the strength to hold up under the stripped-down pressure. I like "nosedive" and the three part "urban comfort" suite, even though they don't really seem to be connected with one another.
My minor stylistic quibbles aside, Urban Comfort is a pleasant little diversion. I like the slow, sadder things in life, and though I'm not in that particular mindset right now, I'm sure that this would play along quite well for that mood.
--Joseph Kyle
Actually, Urban Comfort is a pretty nice little record, not too sweet, but not too dark, either. The only problem I have with it is that occasionally, the vocals sound a little too similar; it seems like she could do with a little variety in her presentation. Of course, when you're playing an all-acoustic set, you do run this risk, and relative newcomer Hortillosa doesn't always have the strength to hold up under the stripped-down pressure. I like "nosedive" and the three part "urban comfort" suite, even though they don't really seem to be connected with one another.
My minor stylistic quibbles aside, Urban Comfort is a pleasant little diversion. I like the slow, sadder things in life, and though I'm not in that particular mindset right now, I'm sure that this would play along quite well for that mood.
--Joseph Kyle
June 07, 2002
The Clientele "Lost Weekend"
The most important part of a romantic evening is the atmosphere. You want to feel comfortable and at ease, though sometimes one does get nervous. Trembing in the heat of the moment, anxious as to what shall indeed happen next. You want everything to be just perfect, because you want this moment to last. You want this moment to be with you twenty years from now, even though you'll forget it by next week. You want this moment to be special, because you may never have it again.
The Clientele's newest EP, Lost Weekend is not only a beautiful moment musically, but it also highlights the band's own musical progress and growth. The set starts off with "North School Drive," which is the sonic equivalent of walking home alone after being dumped on a cold December night. It's a haunting, piano-enhanced number. This sad little walk home fades into a little field recording of a busy street, entitled "Boring Postcard," which fades into the most epic Clientele nubmber ever, "Emptily Through Holloway." This is an even-sadder song than before, mainly due to the heart-tearing vocals of Alasdair Maclean, which will simultaneously break your heart and fill your soul with empathy. "Kelvin Parade" is a return to more familar Clientele sounds, harking back to their many 20th Century singles. The moment fades into "Last Orders," a long-ish, sad piano instrumental, that turnes the whoe emontional thermostat down to below zero degrees. You're frozen in time, sad, melancholy.
Then, it's over. This moment, so lovingly brought to you by the Clientele, has passed. Will you have it again? I would certainly hope so. The band's dynamic is much more atmopspheric, much sadder than ever before; the sounds have matured from their earlier records, and Maclean has grown as a songwriter. Lost Weekend is their best record to date, one of the best records of 2002, and one of the best records I own. Each time I press play, I feel the love and the sadness in my life, and I smile/sigh.
--Joseph Kyle
The Clientele's newest EP, Lost Weekend is not only a beautiful moment musically, but it also highlights the band's own musical progress and growth. The set starts off with "North School Drive," which is the sonic equivalent of walking home alone after being dumped on a cold December night. It's a haunting, piano-enhanced number. This sad little walk home fades into a little field recording of a busy street, entitled "Boring Postcard," which fades into the most epic Clientele nubmber ever, "Emptily Through Holloway." This is an even-sadder song than before, mainly due to the heart-tearing vocals of Alasdair Maclean, which will simultaneously break your heart and fill your soul with empathy. "Kelvin Parade" is a return to more familar Clientele sounds, harking back to their many 20th Century singles. The moment fades into "Last Orders," a long-ish, sad piano instrumental, that turnes the whoe emontional thermostat down to below zero degrees. You're frozen in time, sad, melancholy.
Then, it's over. This moment, so lovingly brought to you by the Clientele, has passed. Will you have it again? I would certainly hope so. The band's dynamic is much more atmopspheric, much sadder than ever before; the sounds have matured from their earlier records, and Maclean has grown as a songwriter. Lost Weekend is their best record to date, one of the best records of 2002, and one of the best records I own. Each time I press play, I feel the love and the sadness in my life, and I smile/sigh.
--Joseph Kyle
Doug Martsch "Now You Know"
When you buy a Built to Spill records, you expect a few things. You expect that voice. You expect those long, epic-like guitar solos. You expect quirky lyrics that make sense. You expect artwork by Tae Won Yu. On this, Doug Martsch's solo album, the things that you might expect from a Built to Spill record aren't to be found. Instead of the loud guitar solos, you get solo guitar. Instead of Tae Won Yu, you get something that's not quite as good. Not to fear, though, because the voice and the lyrics are the same. You might say that this solo record is 50% different than Built to Spill.
Okay, so maybe Now You Know is a bit more than just 50% different than your average Built to Spill record, but it's true, certain things are a given when it comes to Doug Martsch's music. Instead of the big Rock Guitar riffs, you get quiet, acoustic moments that are as intricate and detailed as Built to Spill's grandest moments--not that all of these songs are acoustic numbers. The electric moments such as "Woke Up This Morning (With My Mind on Jesus)" are excellent, because Martsch's power is the electric guitar. But, really, Built to Spill really does cast a very long shadow. Take "Window," for instance. If it were plugged in, it would fit in quite nicely with There's Nothing Wrong With Love. "Lift" screams for a full-band treatment.
Hell, all of these songs do.
From what I understand, Martsch was hesitant to release this record, and I can understand why. Originally given to friends a few years ago, Now You Know wasn't meant for the world to hear, and the songs do sound like demos or incomplete works of art. The music's great, though; Martsch is a very talented songwriter, and these songs are miles better than the last Built to Spill record. Maybe some of the magic on Now You Know will appear on Built to Spill's follow-up to last year's mediocre Ancient Melodies of the Future--or maybe Martsch will just become the bearded hermit bluesman that we've always expected that he'd become. Either way, there's one thing for sure--the music'll be good!
--Joseph Kyle
Okay, so maybe Now You Know is a bit more than just 50% different than your average Built to Spill record, but it's true, certain things are a given when it comes to Doug Martsch's music. Instead of the big Rock Guitar riffs, you get quiet, acoustic moments that are as intricate and detailed as Built to Spill's grandest moments--not that all of these songs are acoustic numbers. The electric moments such as "Woke Up This Morning (With My Mind on Jesus)" are excellent, because Martsch's power is the electric guitar. But, really, Built to Spill really does cast a very long shadow. Take "Window," for instance. If it were plugged in, it would fit in quite nicely with There's Nothing Wrong With Love. "Lift" screams for a full-band treatment.
Hell, all of these songs do.
From what I understand, Martsch was hesitant to release this record, and I can understand why. Originally given to friends a few years ago, Now You Know wasn't meant for the world to hear, and the songs do sound like demos or incomplete works of art. The music's great, though; Martsch is a very talented songwriter, and these songs are miles better than the last Built to Spill record. Maybe some of the magic on Now You Know will appear on Built to Spill's follow-up to last year's mediocre Ancient Melodies of the Future--or maybe Martsch will just become the bearded hermit bluesman that we've always expected that he'd become. Either way, there's one thing for sure--the music'll be good!
--Joseph Kyle
Your Team Ring "homelife"
During the mid-nineties, the Elephant Six collective monopolized that area of the genre continuum between which bubblegum pop, psychedelic rock, and musique concrete existed. Recent years, however, have seen E6's leading lights floundering or disappearing into obscurity. The Apples in Stereo refuse to live up to their potential and make the masterpiece everyone knows they're capable of, and Neutral Milk Hotel refuses to make any new music at all! The Olivia Tremor Control, my favorite E6 band, has split into two different bands, only one of which, the Circulatory System, even approaches the original band's greatness. Elf Power continues its gradual descent into mediocrity, and Of Montreal, despite shaping up to be both E6's weirdest and most consistent act, fails to receive nearly as much attention as the aforementioned bands. If E6 continues its downward slide, whom will we be able to turn to for pop songs that bridge the gap between now and the LBJ era?
Gabriel Walsh's nebulous home-recording project Your Team Ring establishes itself as a worthy candidate with its debut album Homelife. It's a concept album batty enough to compete with that of any pre-punk LSD-inspired song cycle. An unnamed protagonist (who, for clarity, I'll refer to as Gabriel) clones himself, and travels to outer space, leaving the clone on Earth to tend to the Gabriel's errands. While in space, Gabriel decides to return home after discovering that the clone has stolen his girlfriend. On the way back, though, Gabriel's landing gear gets stuck, and he ends up passing through a number of strange places (the Fourth Dimension, the Parade of Mechanical Ants, the Ocean of Bone). During his travels, he somehow loses his skin, rendering him unable to survive once he finally returns to Earth. At the last minute, though, the clone decides to give his own skin to Gabriel, killing himself to save his creator's life. I'm not sure that this is the exact plot that Your Team Ring wished to convey, since some of the lyrics are very open-ended. Besides, you don't need to know all of the details to truly enjoy Homelife.
Of course, Your Team Ring possess the same mastery of melody that the best Elephant Six bands are known for, as well as a similar gift for making the most out of lo-tech equipment. However, Homelife's primary strength is its arrangements. Tasteful employment of strings, sound effects, and ethnic instrumentation ensures that choruses stand out from verses. For instance, the beginning of "Brother Clone" is what one would imagine the music of a Buddhist temple to sound like, with the rhythm outlined by booming gongs and staccato mandolins. The chorus, however, uses traditional rock instrumentation, as a sampled falsetto voice interrupts the nasal, high-pitched harmonies. "Mobile Home" employs the opposite strategy by sounding like a normal rock song in the verses, yet shifting into a cacophony of seesawing violins and flanged voices during the chorus. "Parade of Mechanical Ants" uses organic percussion to imitate the glitch backbeats of IDM, and "Change Directions" pits countrified banjos against randomly panned drum machines. Proper songs are followed by brief instrumentals, such as the drum circle hypnotism of "The Love Life of Clones," and the synthesizer-driven raga of "The Short Journey Toward Home." A vaudeville influence pops up whenever the character Space Trolley Man appears to deliver Gabriel bad news. Homelife saves its best for last, with a title track that George Harrison would leap out of his grave to write, from its quasi-mystical lyrics to its leisurely slide guitars.
I have to warn you that when I wrote "nasal, high-pitched harmonies" in the preceding paragraph, I MEANT IT. Walsh sings like he was born with a head cold, and this quirk may irritate some listeners. That caveat aside, I congratulate Your Team Ring for such a seamless union of high-concept experimentation and low-fidelity pop, especially now that the Elephant Six logo is no longer a failsafe guarantee of quality.
---Sean Padilla
Gabriel Walsh's nebulous home-recording project Your Team Ring establishes itself as a worthy candidate with its debut album Homelife. It's a concept album batty enough to compete with that of any pre-punk LSD-inspired song cycle. An unnamed protagonist (who, for clarity, I'll refer to as Gabriel) clones himself, and travels to outer space, leaving the clone on Earth to tend to the Gabriel's errands. While in space, Gabriel decides to return home after discovering that the clone has stolen his girlfriend. On the way back, though, Gabriel's landing gear gets stuck, and he ends up passing through a number of strange places (the Fourth Dimension, the Parade of Mechanical Ants, the Ocean of Bone). During his travels, he somehow loses his skin, rendering him unable to survive once he finally returns to Earth. At the last minute, though, the clone decides to give his own skin to Gabriel, killing himself to save his creator's life. I'm not sure that this is the exact plot that Your Team Ring wished to convey, since some of the lyrics are very open-ended. Besides, you don't need to know all of the details to truly enjoy Homelife.
Of course, Your Team Ring possess the same mastery of melody that the best Elephant Six bands are known for, as well as a similar gift for making the most out of lo-tech equipment. However, Homelife's primary strength is its arrangements. Tasteful employment of strings, sound effects, and ethnic instrumentation ensures that choruses stand out from verses. For instance, the beginning of "Brother Clone" is what one would imagine the music of a Buddhist temple to sound like, with the rhythm outlined by booming gongs and staccato mandolins. The chorus, however, uses traditional rock instrumentation, as a sampled falsetto voice interrupts the nasal, high-pitched harmonies. "Mobile Home" employs the opposite strategy by sounding like a normal rock song in the verses, yet shifting into a cacophony of seesawing violins and flanged voices during the chorus. "Parade of Mechanical Ants" uses organic percussion to imitate the glitch backbeats of IDM, and "Change Directions" pits countrified banjos against randomly panned drum machines. Proper songs are followed by brief instrumentals, such as the drum circle hypnotism of "The Love Life of Clones," and the synthesizer-driven raga of "The Short Journey Toward Home." A vaudeville influence pops up whenever the character Space Trolley Man appears to deliver Gabriel bad news. Homelife saves its best for last, with a title track that George Harrison would leap out of his grave to write, from its quasi-mystical lyrics to its leisurely slide guitars.
I have to warn you that when I wrote "nasal, high-pitched harmonies" in the preceding paragraph, I MEANT IT. Walsh sings like he was born with a head cold, and this quirk may irritate some listeners. That caveat aside, I congratulate Your Team Ring for such a seamless union of high-concept experimentation and low-fidelity pop, especially now that the Elephant Six logo is no longer a failsafe guarantee of quality.
---Sean Padilla
June 06, 2002
Beachwood Sparks "Make The Cowboy Robots Cry"
I've been spending a little bit of time appreciating Norman Carl Odam. A name that doesn't really mean much, unless you're really in to odd, weird music. Odam was and is much more "commonly" known as the Legendary Stardust Cowboy. His is a wonderfully odd story, and though I won't go into his full life here, suffice it to say that his "space country" was and is most peculiar. Or, as one DJ recently said, "In 1964, The Beatles got big, so Norman thought he should be that big, too," and proceeded to create ramshackle "space country" music that sounded like (and still sounds like) nothing heard at the time.
Beachwood Sparks also have that whole "space country" vibe going. They've released two albums to critical acclaim and comments such as "dude, they sound like the Grateful Dead!" And while I wouldn't be able to confirm or deny, I'm pretty sure that their recording sessions occasionally get a bit hazy. Make the Cowboy Robots Cry is the document of the Sparks' collaboration with Jimmy Tamborello, of futuristic electronic bands Figurine and D'ntel., and they're wanting to create a new country rock style, by way of modern electronica-based instrumentation.
One might think that this meeting of acoustic soft "old" sounds and technologically cold "new" sounds might prove to be an interesting development of space country. Make the Cowboy Robots Cry, at its best, provides glimpses of a newly-birthed musical style. At its worst, however, it's a third-rate Grandaddy impersonation.
With its warm, mechanical purring pulse, Beachwood Sparks deserve credit for trying something new, and I'm not holding that against them. Pretty is nice, but it doesn't always work, and Make the Cowboy Robots Cry is nothing if not an attempt at making pretty music.
The DJ that I was referring to earlier mentioned that Norman Carl Odam was "a genius in some ways, and not in others," and I think that's a pretty good summation of Make the Cowboy Robots Cry. This is a record that strikes me differently each time I listen to it. Sometimes, I really think the spaced-out mix and the floating in and out of tune harmonies are quite gorgeous, painting a picture of space as the new Wild West. Other times, I feel like it's all a big sonic blur that sounds terribly, terribly flat.
The one high point is "Ghost Dance 1492," which is a rather upbeat rocker that sounds all of 1968, and doesn't really contain the elements that make the rest of Make the Cowboy Robots Cry a mixed bag, and though it's not their best record, it proves that the Beachwood Sparks are growing, experimenting, and maturing their musical ideas.
--Joseph Kyle
Beachwood Sparks also have that whole "space country" vibe going. They've released two albums to critical acclaim and comments such as "dude, they sound like the Grateful Dead!" And while I wouldn't be able to confirm or deny, I'm pretty sure that their recording sessions occasionally get a bit hazy. Make the Cowboy Robots Cry is the document of the Sparks' collaboration with Jimmy Tamborello, of futuristic electronic bands Figurine and D'ntel., and they're wanting to create a new country rock style, by way of modern electronica-based instrumentation.
One might think that this meeting of acoustic soft "old" sounds and technologically cold "new" sounds might prove to be an interesting development of space country. Make the Cowboy Robots Cry, at its best, provides glimpses of a newly-birthed musical style. At its worst, however, it's a third-rate Grandaddy impersonation.
With its warm, mechanical purring pulse, Beachwood Sparks deserve credit for trying something new, and I'm not holding that against them. Pretty is nice, but it doesn't always work, and Make the Cowboy Robots Cry is nothing if not an attempt at making pretty music.
The DJ that I was referring to earlier mentioned that Norman Carl Odam was "a genius in some ways, and not in others," and I think that's a pretty good summation of Make the Cowboy Robots Cry. This is a record that strikes me differently each time I listen to it. Sometimes, I really think the spaced-out mix and the floating in and out of tune harmonies are quite gorgeous, painting a picture of space as the new Wild West. Other times, I feel like it's all a big sonic blur that sounds terribly, terribly flat.
The one high point is "Ghost Dance 1492," which is a rather upbeat rocker that sounds all of 1968, and doesn't really contain the elements that make the rest of Make the Cowboy Robots Cry a mixed bag, and though it's not their best record, it proves that the Beachwood Sparks are growing, experimenting, and maturing their musical ideas.
--Joseph Kyle
Buffalo Tom "Asides From Buffalo Tom"
There's something rather summerly about Buffalo Tom. I found this collection on sale in a used bin, and, having been enamored of one or two of their "hits" I thought it would be a great record to take on my somber, unexpected trip across Texas.
I couldn't have picked a more appropriate record.
See, Buffalo Tom were alternative-rock before the term was overused and abused by those who were simply the same old mediocre wolves in used flannel sheeps clothing. So, when listening to this record, it's a little hard not to cringe at first, not because of the music that they're making, but because of what their sound pathetically turned into. That there's no correlation between and every correlation between bands such as Buffalo Tom and stuff like The Calling and Jimmy Eat World really says a lot about Buffalo Tom's ability to make unique yet familiar music. One could essentially say, though, that it's because of artists such as Aerosmith and Elvis Costello and R.E.M. that we have Buffalo Tom, so I digress on that point.
In fact, let's forget the whole genre-fuck of alternative, and let's look at the music for a moment, okay? Buffalo Tom is a rock band. They make music, and any genre constraints that you put on them are done by your choice, and they take zilch away from the music. Like their contemporaries Dinosaur Jr., Buffalo Tom was a band possessing a simple thesis: tell a story. In that oh-so-haughty era of "alt-rock," the utterly simple concept of narrative seemed to fall from grace. Bands such as Buffalo Tom, however, seemed to fall through the cracks, and though that might not have made some people happy, it certainly didn't reflect at all on the music. Like contemporaries Velocity Girl, their talents improved over time, while the sound and the genre they were tagged quickly fell from grace, insuring that their records would be ignored.
That's the world's loss. Not Buffalo Tom's.
Really, though, how could you not enjoy the sounds of Buffalo Tom? If you like songs with a good beat, a hard, driving rhythm, and intelligent, thoughtful lyrics, then looking no further than Buffalo Tom should be the first thing you do. Period. Where R.E.M. faltered, Elvis Costello alienated, and Aerosmith bored, Buffalo Tom was there, making their music, singing their songs, the rest of the world be damned. Janovitz and company could go from soaring rock anthems like "I'm Allowed" and "Sunflower Suit" to tender, tear-jerk melodies like "Wiser" and "Postcard," without losing their hard-rocking edge, or having to pawn their sentimental, heart-felt nature.
And what songs they were, too! I challenge any artist currently making music to come up with powerful numbers such as "Rachael," "Summer," or "Sodajerk." These songs were hits for those who heard them, and were a nice-kept secret for the converted and the bored-with-the-scene post-scenesters. Bill Janovitz is a highly underrated singer-songwriter, to be sure, and I'd give anything to have written any of the eighteen songs on Asides 1988-1998. A career retrospective like Asides, though not necessarily a record for the fans, serves Buffalo Tom quite well--highlighting the songwriting skills of Bill Janovitz, whose style falls between, well, Stipe, Dylan, Costello, and Janovitz. Methinks, that at the end of the day, Buffalo Tom were simply happy to make the records that they made. It's too bad, really, that Buffalo Tom weren't allowed more of an opportunity to be heard; they were, and may still be, the last great alternative-rock band.
--Joseph Kyle
I couldn't have picked a more appropriate record.
See, Buffalo Tom were alternative-rock before the term was overused and abused by those who were simply the same old mediocre wolves in used flannel sheeps clothing. So, when listening to this record, it's a little hard not to cringe at first, not because of the music that they're making, but because of what their sound pathetically turned into. That there's no correlation between and every correlation between bands such as Buffalo Tom and stuff like The Calling and Jimmy Eat World really says a lot about Buffalo Tom's ability to make unique yet familiar music. One could essentially say, though, that it's because of artists such as Aerosmith and Elvis Costello and R.E.M. that we have Buffalo Tom, so I digress on that point.
In fact, let's forget the whole genre-fuck of alternative, and let's look at the music for a moment, okay? Buffalo Tom is a rock band. They make music, and any genre constraints that you put on them are done by your choice, and they take zilch away from the music. Like their contemporaries Dinosaur Jr., Buffalo Tom was a band possessing a simple thesis: tell a story. In that oh-so-haughty era of "alt-rock," the utterly simple concept of narrative seemed to fall from grace. Bands such as Buffalo Tom, however, seemed to fall through the cracks, and though that might not have made some people happy, it certainly didn't reflect at all on the music. Like contemporaries Velocity Girl, their talents improved over time, while the sound and the genre they were tagged quickly fell from grace, insuring that their records would be ignored.
That's the world's loss. Not Buffalo Tom's.
Really, though, how could you not enjoy the sounds of Buffalo Tom? If you like songs with a good beat, a hard, driving rhythm, and intelligent, thoughtful lyrics, then looking no further than Buffalo Tom should be the first thing you do. Period. Where R.E.M. faltered, Elvis Costello alienated, and Aerosmith bored, Buffalo Tom was there, making their music, singing their songs, the rest of the world be damned. Janovitz and company could go from soaring rock anthems like "I'm Allowed" and "Sunflower Suit" to tender, tear-jerk melodies like "Wiser" and "Postcard," without losing their hard-rocking edge, or having to pawn their sentimental, heart-felt nature.
And what songs they were, too! I challenge any artist currently making music to come up with powerful numbers such as "Rachael," "Summer," or "Sodajerk." These songs were hits for those who heard them, and were a nice-kept secret for the converted and the bored-with-the-scene post-scenesters. Bill Janovitz is a highly underrated singer-songwriter, to be sure, and I'd give anything to have written any of the eighteen songs on Asides 1988-1998. A career retrospective like Asides, though not necessarily a record for the fans, serves Buffalo Tom quite well--highlighting the songwriting skills of Bill Janovitz, whose style falls between, well, Stipe, Dylan, Costello, and Janovitz. Methinks, that at the end of the day, Buffalo Tom were simply happy to make the records that they made. It's too bad, really, that Buffalo Tom weren't allowed more of an opportunity to be heard; they were, and may still be, the last great alternative-rock band.
--Joseph Kyle
June 03, 2002
East River Pipe "Shining Hours In a Can"
I own exactly one original Sarah record, a ten-inch mini LP by East River Pipe entitled Goodbye California. It's a lovely record, well worth the money I spent for it, and is a simply amazingly charming record. What's more amazing about this record is that, when listening to the last East River Pipe, 1999's The Gasoline Age, there's very little room for comparison between the two. It's not because one is better than the other--far from it. In fact, they sound like contemporaries. It's the damndest thing. F.M. Cornog's music doesn't age, it doesn't change all that much--he's a very consistent songwriter.
Shining Hours in a Can--originally released in 1994 on Ajax, and out of print for a few years now--is prime East River Pipe. This handy little collection compiles up all of the early singles and EP's released for the fabled Sarah records, as well as a few odds-and-sods tracks. It's easy to understand why Sarah label honcho Matt Haynes wanted Cornog to sign to his label, as the songs on here are nothing short of small, lo-fi works of art.
Did I mention that these songs are almost all "lo-fi" in nature? Yeah, I didn't--because to the casual listener, such limitations to recording wouldn't be easily detected. Cornog has a way with recording, and his songs--almost all of the basic gutiar, vocals, keyboard, and drum machine variety--really resonate with a shining charm that makes the limitations of the recording seem much less apparent. Add to it that Cornog's musical sound is really aligned to a more traditional, FM-rock radio style, and you've got yourself a recipe for goodness.
While it may be a while for the next East River Pipe opus--Cornog's an enigmatic fellow who never tours, never plays live, doesn't have a band, and releases records when he wants to--Shining Hours In A Can is a nice little appetite-filler..and it's more than likely that next opus won't sound too different than this. A fine scrapbook of early pictures of one of today's most underrated songwriters.
--Joseph Kyle
Shining Hours in a Can--originally released in 1994 on Ajax, and out of print for a few years now--is prime East River Pipe. This handy little collection compiles up all of the early singles and EP's released for the fabled Sarah records, as well as a few odds-and-sods tracks. It's easy to understand why Sarah label honcho Matt Haynes wanted Cornog to sign to his label, as the songs on here are nothing short of small, lo-fi works of art.
Did I mention that these songs are almost all "lo-fi" in nature? Yeah, I didn't--because to the casual listener, such limitations to recording wouldn't be easily detected. Cornog has a way with recording, and his songs--almost all of the basic gutiar, vocals, keyboard, and drum machine variety--really resonate with a shining charm that makes the limitations of the recording seem much less apparent. Add to it that Cornog's musical sound is really aligned to a more traditional, FM-rock radio style, and you've got yourself a recipe for goodness.
While it may be a while for the next East River Pipe opus--Cornog's an enigmatic fellow who never tours, never plays live, doesn't have a band, and releases records when he wants to--Shining Hours In A Can is a nice little appetite-filler..and it's more than likely that next opus won't sound too different than this. A fine scrapbook of early pictures of one of today's most underrated songwriters.
--Joseph Kyle
May 28, 2002
Mirah "Advisory Committee"
Talk about a growth spurt! Mirah Yom Tov Zeitlyn, Russian-born lo-fi pop folkie, has outgrown the naive charm, heartbroken innocence and whip-smart allusions of her 2000 debut, You Think It's Like This, But Really It's Like This. While that debut was charming and lovely, Mirah's voice seemed to be mixed with the Microphones' Phil Elvrum's own ideas, leaving one to wonder what Mirah would sound like with songs that sounded truely her own.
What's nice is that she's really matured as a singer/songwriter. Just one listen to the epic opener "Cold Cold Water" tells you that her hints of greatness were simply that--hints. Nothing could have prepared me for the epic balladry of this, merely her second full-length album. Unlike her previous album, she's not simply being coy about her feelings anymore--she's straightforward, in your face, and totally unapologetic about it as well. She's got her story to tell, and proves that you don't have to be loud to be powerful or controversial.
What was good about You Think It's Like This... is multiplied threefold. If anything, she's become a master of contradiction. Sure, her little girl-voice is still there, but unlike her previous work, she's a bit more refined and not as twee. There's more interesting instrumentation on Advisory Committee as well; mixing up her songs with little noises and blips and little sonic goodies. These things were charmingly awkward earlier, but now they're breathtakingly subtle, and in so doing, are louded here than ever before. Advisory Committee is also a longer, more complex album than You Think It's Like This.. yet it's about 20 minutes shorter.
Aside from that, all I can say is that this is a fun record. I hate to simply waste review space on a record that ultimatly ends with "the best thing to do is go out and buy this record," but it's really the case with Advisory Committee. This is such a pleasant listening experience that's not too sad or happy or moody or anything that makes records dull after a few listens. It's folk, rock, pop, all of the above, and none of the above. I really enjoyed listening to Advisory Committee on my diskman. It's really a headphones record--with little nuances and odd sounds that really need to be appreciated with such an intimate method of listening. You'll also appreciate it when "Recommendation" and "The Garden" come on, as you'll surely be dancing around the bedroom. I know I was.
Mirah...kudos to you! You've made me a very happy music listener, and I just have to thank you for that. Your records have kicked a certain Righteous Babe's work, and I'm honestly looking forward to your next record.
--Joseph Kyle
What's nice is that she's really matured as a singer/songwriter. Just one listen to the epic opener "Cold Cold Water" tells you that her hints of greatness were simply that--hints. Nothing could have prepared me for the epic balladry of this, merely her second full-length album. Unlike her previous album, she's not simply being coy about her feelings anymore--she's straightforward, in your face, and totally unapologetic about it as well. She's got her story to tell, and proves that you don't have to be loud to be powerful or controversial.
What was good about You Think It's Like This... is multiplied threefold. If anything, she's become a master of contradiction. Sure, her little girl-voice is still there, but unlike her previous work, she's a bit more refined and not as twee. There's more interesting instrumentation on Advisory Committee as well; mixing up her songs with little noises and blips and little sonic goodies. These things were charmingly awkward earlier, but now they're breathtakingly subtle, and in so doing, are louded here than ever before. Advisory Committee is also a longer, more complex album than You Think It's Like This.. yet it's about 20 minutes shorter.
Aside from that, all I can say is that this is a fun record. I hate to simply waste review space on a record that ultimatly ends with "the best thing to do is go out and buy this record," but it's really the case with Advisory Committee. This is such a pleasant listening experience that's not too sad or happy or moody or anything that makes records dull after a few listens. It's folk, rock, pop, all of the above, and none of the above. I really enjoyed listening to Advisory Committee on my diskman. It's really a headphones record--with little nuances and odd sounds that really need to be appreciated with such an intimate method of listening. You'll also appreciate it when "Recommendation" and "The Garden" come on, as you'll surely be dancing around the bedroom. I know I was.
Mirah...kudos to you! You've made me a very happy music listener, and I just have to thank you for that. Your records have kicked a certain Righteous Babe's work, and I'm honestly looking forward to your next record.
--Joseph Kyle
The Makers "Strangest Parade"
This album's a quiet little stunner. If you're familiar with the Makers, then you're well aware that these fellows make trashy, glammy garage rock, with more than a fair share of attitude. They're a band known for antics, and a live set that just steams. Well, that's always been my impression of them--boogie-rock garage hellions set on rocking out, burning up, and making out with your girlfriend.
Then, comes the Strangest Parade, The Makers' aptly-titled seventh album. While the rock vibe is there, it's in a most peculiar place. Where once The Makers tore up, they're now building up, and instead of rock straight out of your garage, they are now making rock straight out of your FM radio, 1974 era. Yup, the innocence is gone, replaced with a most-glammy rock. Garage hooligans grown up, perhaps, or maybe a band that's finally found its sound?
For Strangest Parade, The Makers have slowed down their pace, turned down the lights, and looked into their hearts. I don't know if it's intended, but Strangest Parade seems to be a concept album about death--death of innocence, death of life, death of a dream--the rock and roll dream, perhaps? Just a glance or two at the titles reveal hints traces or hints of a more morbid scene--"An Eternal Climb," "Heaven and Hurricane," "Addicted to Dying," "Suicide Blues" are but a few of the questionable titles. In particular, "Suicide Blues," with its heavenly choir chorus, helps give us folk a glimpse of Rock and Roll Heaven.
While I can't say for sure, I seem to get a whiff or two of Rock and Roll Suicide. Though there are times that The Makers seem to let their Bowie/glam roots be seen, there's something rather original in this tribute to the great rock days of yore. "Calling Elvis, John, and Jesus" is a heartfelt tribute to not only the great public idols, but also a tribute to Rock and Roll. Throw in the most-powerful song I've heard in a while, "Addicted to Dying," with some of the most Bowie moments I've heard since I last heard Ziggy Stardust, and you feel like you're in the presence of the Thin White Duke, circa 1972.
Kudos are also in order for producer Kurt Bloch. The use of segueways through most of the album really help mold the album into one cohesive whole, making me feel like I'm listening to some sort of symphonic moment or rock orchestra. He also managed to capture both the intensity of the band's wild, intense live show, a most rare feat, and he's also brought out a more sensitive, heartfelt side to the band. My favorite part of Strangest Parade would have to be the closing "Wide Wide World of Girls." It's an acoustic ballad from a live show, with applause and a hollow sound. It's lovely, sad, and longing--and a perfect closer to the show. The way it's mixed in with "Suicide Blues," it also helps you feel like you've been listening to a live show as well.
Dirty, greasy, smelly, sexy, and sincere--Strangest Parade is all of these and more. This is a most surprisingly lovely album from a band who have kept the Rock beast alive and kicking. A perfect mixing of melody and hedonism from a band who want nothing more than to mix their melody with their hedonistic tendencies. God bless 'em.
--Joseph Kyle
Then, comes the Strangest Parade, The Makers' aptly-titled seventh album. While the rock vibe is there, it's in a most peculiar place. Where once The Makers tore up, they're now building up, and instead of rock straight out of your garage, they are now making rock straight out of your FM radio, 1974 era. Yup, the innocence is gone, replaced with a most-glammy rock. Garage hooligans grown up, perhaps, or maybe a band that's finally found its sound?
For Strangest Parade, The Makers have slowed down their pace, turned down the lights, and looked into their hearts. I don't know if it's intended, but Strangest Parade seems to be a concept album about death--death of innocence, death of life, death of a dream--the rock and roll dream, perhaps? Just a glance or two at the titles reveal hints traces or hints of a more morbid scene--"An Eternal Climb," "Heaven and Hurricane," "Addicted to Dying," "Suicide Blues" are but a few of the questionable titles. In particular, "Suicide Blues," with its heavenly choir chorus, helps give us folk a glimpse of Rock and Roll Heaven.
While I can't say for sure, I seem to get a whiff or two of Rock and Roll Suicide. Though there are times that The Makers seem to let their Bowie/glam roots be seen, there's something rather original in this tribute to the great rock days of yore. "Calling Elvis, John, and Jesus" is a heartfelt tribute to not only the great public idols, but also a tribute to Rock and Roll. Throw in the most-powerful song I've heard in a while, "Addicted to Dying," with some of the most Bowie moments I've heard since I last heard Ziggy Stardust, and you feel like you're in the presence of the Thin White Duke, circa 1972.
Kudos are also in order for producer Kurt Bloch. The use of segueways through most of the album really help mold the album into one cohesive whole, making me feel like I'm listening to some sort of symphonic moment or rock orchestra. He also managed to capture both the intensity of the band's wild, intense live show, a most rare feat, and he's also brought out a more sensitive, heartfelt side to the band. My favorite part of Strangest Parade would have to be the closing "Wide Wide World of Girls." It's an acoustic ballad from a live show, with applause and a hollow sound. It's lovely, sad, and longing--and a perfect closer to the show. The way it's mixed in with "Suicide Blues," it also helps you feel like you've been listening to a live show as well.
Dirty, greasy, smelly, sexy, and sincere--Strangest Parade is all of these and more. This is a most surprisingly lovely album from a band who have kept the Rock beast alive and kicking. A perfect mixing of melody and hedonism from a band who want nothing more than to mix their melody with their hedonistic tendencies. God bless 'em.
--Joseph Kyle
Crooked Fingers "Reservoir Songs, Volume 1"
Covers. Either you love 'em, or ya hate 'em. Of course, covers are subject to a paradoxical standard. If the cover's faithful, then the song'll be written off as a nice diversion, or, in a worst-case scenario, karaoke. If the cover's radically different, the song's either praised as 'bringing new life' or it's dismissed as defacing sacred ground. Unless the covers are spectacular, then an album of cover songs isn't treated in the same regard as original compositions. More often than not, a covers record is often seen as a stopgap measure between real albums.
Crooked Fingers' first foray into the cover record territory is Reservoir Songs. For those who have seen Crooked Fingers in the past year or two will have heard at least one of these songs, as they all have been staples of their live set for some time.
The first song is a cover Kris Kristofferson's hit for Johnny Cash, "Sunday Morning Coming Down." It's a tale of a lost sinner wandering around town on a Sunday morning, and feeling somehow incomplete in the process. Johnny Cash's version has a special place in my mind, and Crooked Fingers' version, while dark and brooding (thanks in part to the drone of the backing band) isn't going to be replacing Cash's version in my mind.
Luckily, that's the weakest song on the record. The pace is picked up quite quickly by his cover of Neil Diamond's "Solitary Man," and Bachmann's rendition is perfect. It's not the same, but it's not terribly different, and his voice sounds quite a bit like Diamond's. When "When U Were Mine," an early Prince hit, starts, with its lone banjo picking and heartreaking cello backing, you cannot help but be shocked. It's not a thing like the original; it's slower and sadder, and Bachmann's singing really spotlights the pain that Prince's version seemed to write off as bitterness. It's a breathtaking version, and from what I understand, when it's performed live, it's performed without amplification.
"Down to the River," by Bruce Springsteen, was the only song of the bunch that I wasn't familiar with, and though I'd heard Crooked Fingers' version live about two years ago, I've still to hear the original. Either way, Bachmann makes it his own, and, like "Solitary Man," Bachmann doesn't stray very far from Springsteen's version. The closing song, "Under Pressure," is an interesting, stripped-down version of the Queen/David Bowie hit. When I say stripped down, I mean "altered" in the sense that Crooked Fingers sensibly removed any trace of that nauseatingly ubiquitous melody line that most would remember more as being "Ice Ice Baby."
Crooked Fingers. Man, I love 'em. Great band, great talent. Reservoir Songs is a nice little release, and, from what I've read, may not be Crooked Fingers' only cover record. Bachmann says he enjoys doing covers, and god bless 'em for having good taste in music and the skill to pull 'em off.
--Joseph Kyle
Crooked Fingers' first foray into the cover record territory is Reservoir Songs. For those who have seen Crooked Fingers in the past year or two will have heard at least one of these songs, as they all have been staples of their live set for some time.
The first song is a cover Kris Kristofferson's hit for Johnny Cash, "Sunday Morning Coming Down." It's a tale of a lost sinner wandering around town on a Sunday morning, and feeling somehow incomplete in the process. Johnny Cash's version has a special place in my mind, and Crooked Fingers' version, while dark and brooding (thanks in part to the drone of the backing band) isn't going to be replacing Cash's version in my mind.
Luckily, that's the weakest song on the record. The pace is picked up quite quickly by his cover of Neil Diamond's "Solitary Man," and Bachmann's rendition is perfect. It's not the same, but it's not terribly different, and his voice sounds quite a bit like Diamond's. When "When U Were Mine," an early Prince hit, starts, with its lone banjo picking and heartreaking cello backing, you cannot help but be shocked. It's not a thing like the original; it's slower and sadder, and Bachmann's singing really spotlights the pain that Prince's version seemed to write off as bitterness. It's a breathtaking version, and from what I understand, when it's performed live, it's performed without amplification.
"Down to the River," by Bruce Springsteen, was the only song of the bunch that I wasn't familiar with, and though I'd heard Crooked Fingers' version live about two years ago, I've still to hear the original. Either way, Bachmann makes it his own, and, like "Solitary Man," Bachmann doesn't stray very far from Springsteen's version. The closing song, "Under Pressure," is an interesting, stripped-down version of the Queen/David Bowie hit. When I say stripped down, I mean "altered" in the sense that Crooked Fingers sensibly removed any trace of that nauseatingly ubiquitous melody line that most would remember more as being "Ice Ice Baby."
Crooked Fingers. Man, I love 'em. Great band, great talent. Reservoir Songs is a nice little release, and, from what I've read, may not be Crooked Fingers' only cover record. Bachmann says he enjoys doing covers, and god bless 'em for having good taste in music and the skill to pull 'em off.
--Joseph Kyle
May 27, 2002
Camera Obscura "Biggest Bluest Hi-Fi"
God, I love this record! I haven't been this taken by a band from first listen since I first heard the Clientele a few years ago, it was a moment in time that meant total love and devotion from me, and I'm happy to say that there's another band that's done that from the get-go. Maybe I'm getting older, or maybe I'm getting harder to impress, but nothing just knocks me over and causes me to admit my total love and devotion from listen numero uno.
Really, though, how could I NOT love Camera Obscura?? Their music is charming and lovely and a little bit sad. I like the sweet boy-girl vocal exchange, simply because---well, because they're simply lovely! I don't know who does what, because there's not extensive crediting for duties in the liner notes, but I want to commend whoever does the singing for having one of the sweetest voices out there today. And those accents, too! Listening to Biggest Bluest Hi-Fi--Camera Obscura's debut--is much like looking at baby pictures, automatically you fawn over the little fellow or lady, and you simply cannot help but smile. I'm gushing, yes, I know, because there's also a little baby that's won my heart recently, and Camera Obscura's totally won my heart over.
I'm sure you're thinking, "yes, but Joseph, how do they sound--and don't just say 'beautiful' or 'lovely,' please, because I really want to know!!" Well, they're folky and jangle-jangley, and, yes there's a sonic similarity to that B&S band we know and don't particularly love over here. The singer, she also has a sound that's very similar to Rose Melburg of the Softies, and that's only a good thing. There's not a bum song on Biggest Bluest Hi-Fi, and thanks to Elefant for adding on two b-sides from their Elefant single, because that means more Camera Obscura, which I simply cannot get enough of!!
You should be aware of one thing: Camera Obscura are not not NOT to be mistaken for the rather not-very-good American band of the same name, so please be aware. Now if only some wise record label in the United States would pick up on this rare diamond of a band, because this side of the world really deserves to hear Camera Obscura. I'd also like to suggest, if the legal issue comes up, that they simply add "The Good" to it, because nothing would state the truth that well.
--Joseph Kyle
Really, though, how could I NOT love Camera Obscura?? Their music is charming and lovely and a little bit sad. I like the sweet boy-girl vocal exchange, simply because---well, because they're simply lovely! I don't know who does what, because there's not extensive crediting for duties in the liner notes, but I want to commend whoever does the singing for having one of the sweetest voices out there today. And those accents, too! Listening to Biggest Bluest Hi-Fi--Camera Obscura's debut--is much like looking at baby pictures, automatically you fawn over the little fellow or lady, and you simply cannot help but smile. I'm gushing, yes, I know, because there's also a little baby that's won my heart recently, and Camera Obscura's totally won my heart over.
I'm sure you're thinking, "yes, but Joseph, how do they sound--and don't just say 'beautiful' or 'lovely,' please, because I really want to know!!" Well, they're folky and jangle-jangley, and, yes there's a sonic similarity to that B&S band we know and don't particularly love over here. The singer, she also has a sound that's very similar to Rose Melburg of the Softies, and that's only a good thing. There's not a bum song on Biggest Bluest Hi-Fi, and thanks to Elefant for adding on two b-sides from their Elefant single, because that means more Camera Obscura, which I simply cannot get enough of!!
You should be aware of one thing: Camera Obscura are not not NOT to be mistaken for the rather not-very-good American band of the same name, so please be aware. Now if only some wise record label in the United States would pick up on this rare diamond of a band, because this side of the world really deserves to hear Camera Obscura. I'd also like to suggest, if the legal issue comes up, that they simply add "The Good" to it, because nothing would state the truth that well.
--Joseph Kyle
May 22, 2002
L'altra "In the Afternoon"
Whenever I intend on spending an afternoon or an evening writing, I always make a pizza. It's a simple, easy to make dish. I put the ingredients in my bread machine, and I let it mix the dough. I'll spend my time on my computer or with my notebook and work until the dough is ready. then, I take a simple break, put the fixings on it, then go back to work until it's ready. Then, when done, I have something to snack on while gettin' my writin' on.
Lately, however, I've been a little more creative when it comes to preparing my pizzas. I discovered that I would spend less money if I were to buy two or three slices of fancy cheese instead of packages of shredded cheese. My world changed. Now I could pretend to be a gormet! With the newfound cheese goldmine, I thought that maybe I could expand on the other toppings as well. So now, when I make a pizza on Sunday nights, I'm adding two or three different meats, such as hamburger, ham, bacon, pepperoni, sausage, as well as having as many as six different cheeses. I also learned that if you put italian seasoning in the dough, it gives the dough a less bland taste, and if you let the dough rise for a few hours longer, then the dough has a nice, rich texture.
The key to good pizza is love. You have to love what you're making to really appreciate its goodness. Once you realize your love, you can play around with it and have fun trying different things. Remember---the ingredients all work together to create the whole pizza. For example, if you choose the wrong cheese (white American in my instance) it seemingly unbalances the delicate nature of the pie, and makes your experience not as great. Ultimatly, the key to making a killer pie is knowing what you think will make your pie killer, and then acting on it.
L'altra is a lot like my pizza making experience. The four memeber of L'altra are all experienced musicians who have their own loves and passions and styles. Like the mozerella on the monetrey jack, the singing of Lindsay Anderson simply melts with the music being made by her bandmates, and the rest of the music also forms itself quite nicely around her singing as well. Variety being the spice of life (and italian food), L'altra have brought in numerous guest musicians to accompany them on In the Afternoon, and the taste is utterly yummy! Instead of being your typical post-rock band, however, L'altra are rather layered--a little jazz here, a little folk there, a little indie-rock right here, and a whole lot of good music all around.
In the Afternoon is a tasty mix of atmosphere, passion, and space. It's a quiet record that can be served any time of the year. Burning up from the heat and too cheap to turn on the air conditioner? L'altra will cool you down. Feeling cold and lonely on a grey winter afternoon? L'altra will heat you up for that as well. In the Afternoon is a soft, sonic, soothing record that will intoxicate you and fulfil your hunger for dark, intelligent music. Serve it at your next candlelit dinner, too, for atmospehre, and you'll find that you'll get your fill.
--Joseph Kyle
Lately, however, I've been a little more creative when it comes to preparing my pizzas. I discovered that I would spend less money if I were to buy two or three slices of fancy cheese instead of packages of shredded cheese. My world changed. Now I could pretend to be a gormet! With the newfound cheese goldmine, I thought that maybe I could expand on the other toppings as well. So now, when I make a pizza on Sunday nights, I'm adding two or three different meats, such as hamburger, ham, bacon, pepperoni, sausage, as well as having as many as six different cheeses. I also learned that if you put italian seasoning in the dough, it gives the dough a less bland taste, and if you let the dough rise for a few hours longer, then the dough has a nice, rich texture.
The key to good pizza is love. You have to love what you're making to really appreciate its goodness. Once you realize your love, you can play around with it and have fun trying different things. Remember---the ingredients all work together to create the whole pizza. For example, if you choose the wrong cheese (white American in my instance) it seemingly unbalances the delicate nature of the pie, and makes your experience not as great. Ultimatly, the key to making a killer pie is knowing what you think will make your pie killer, and then acting on it.
L'altra is a lot like my pizza making experience. The four memeber of L'altra are all experienced musicians who have their own loves and passions and styles. Like the mozerella on the monetrey jack, the singing of Lindsay Anderson simply melts with the music being made by her bandmates, and the rest of the music also forms itself quite nicely around her singing as well. Variety being the spice of life (and italian food), L'altra have brought in numerous guest musicians to accompany them on In the Afternoon, and the taste is utterly yummy! Instead of being your typical post-rock band, however, L'altra are rather layered--a little jazz here, a little folk there, a little indie-rock right here, and a whole lot of good music all around.
In the Afternoon is a tasty mix of atmosphere, passion, and space. It's a quiet record that can be served any time of the year. Burning up from the heat and too cheap to turn on the air conditioner? L'altra will cool you down. Feeling cold and lonely on a grey winter afternoon? L'altra will heat you up for that as well. In the Afternoon is a soft, sonic, soothing record that will intoxicate you and fulfil your hunger for dark, intelligent music. Serve it at your next candlelit dinner, too, for atmospehre, and you'll find that you'll get your fill.
--Joseph Kyle
Various Artists "Location Is Everything, Volume One"
Quietly, over the last decade, Jade Tree has become a most distinctive record label, building up a diverse roster of artists from different genres of indie-rock. What makes Jade Tree even better, though, is the fact that it's becoming quite obvious that when you pick up a record with a Jade Tree label, you can pretty much trust that the music's gonna be good. It's rare these days for labels to fire off records with such consistency, but these fellows manage to do so.
For a label who vaguely defined "emo" via one or two of their bands, the label is home to many other bands and artists who not only defy the "emo" tag, but in fact help to free the label from such ridiculous, imposed-by-fools limits. In fact, listening to Location is Everything, Volume One, it's quite clear that anyone who would label Jade Tree an emo label either hasn't paid attention to what the label's done over the past few years or is simply listening with prejudice, if they're even bothering to listen at all. It's a shame, really, because those who turn their noses up to the label on such vain grounds are really missing out on some good music.
Location is Everything, Volume One isn't really a compilation so much as it is a sampler. For the most part, everything on here is previously released, focusing on the "hits" from each record. While there are tinges of "emo" on here, from tracks by The Promise Ring and New End Original, there's also some pretty traditional rock and roll via Jets to Brazil, some lo-fi experimental music from Denali, Euphone, and Owls, some pretty hot punk rock via the Explosion, Strike Anywhere, and Trial by Fire, some electronic punk-funk insanity via Zero Zero, Milemarker and Girls against Boys, as well as some pretty, beautiful, heart-rendering music from Pedro the Lion, Onelinedrawing, and Cub County.
For those who may have many of these releases, there's also a few unreleased tracks. Girls Against Boys offer "Super Slow," which sounds like a variation of New Wet Kojak's "Livin' Too Low." Milemarker offer up a jam-session entitled "New Lexicon." Pedro the Lion do some preaching via "Backwoods Nation." There's a track from Jets to Brazil's demo tape, "I've Got All the Words..." New signees Paint it Black offer up "Another Beautiful 'Fuck You' Song." Mighty Flashlight offer up a track, "Thickened Light." The final song is from former Jade Tree superstars the Promise Ring, entitled "Easy," from sessions from their last Jade Tree album, Very Emergency. Emo? Nope. It's kind of countryish and it really really reminds me of the Old 97s.
It's summertime, and it's time for good rock and roll. Location is Everything, Volume One is certainly a record that's made for playing in the car stereo on those road trips to livejournal and Make-Out Club parties. So shut up with your preconceived notions of this very fine record label, why don't you?
--Joseph Kyle
For a label who vaguely defined "emo" via one or two of their bands, the label is home to many other bands and artists who not only defy the "emo" tag, but in fact help to free the label from such ridiculous, imposed-by-fools limits. In fact, listening to Location is Everything, Volume One, it's quite clear that anyone who would label Jade Tree an emo label either hasn't paid attention to what the label's done over the past few years or is simply listening with prejudice, if they're even bothering to listen at all. It's a shame, really, because those who turn their noses up to the label on such vain grounds are really missing out on some good music.
Location is Everything, Volume One isn't really a compilation so much as it is a sampler. For the most part, everything on here is previously released, focusing on the "hits" from each record. While there are tinges of "emo" on here, from tracks by The Promise Ring and New End Original, there's also some pretty traditional rock and roll via Jets to Brazil, some lo-fi experimental music from Denali, Euphone, and Owls, some pretty hot punk rock via the Explosion, Strike Anywhere, and Trial by Fire, some electronic punk-funk insanity via Zero Zero, Milemarker and Girls against Boys, as well as some pretty, beautiful, heart-rendering music from Pedro the Lion, Onelinedrawing, and Cub County.
For those who may have many of these releases, there's also a few unreleased tracks. Girls Against Boys offer "Super Slow," which sounds like a variation of New Wet Kojak's "Livin' Too Low." Milemarker offer up a jam-session entitled "New Lexicon." Pedro the Lion do some preaching via "Backwoods Nation." There's a track from Jets to Brazil's demo tape, "I've Got All the Words..." New signees Paint it Black offer up "Another Beautiful 'Fuck You' Song." Mighty Flashlight offer up a track, "Thickened Light." The final song is from former Jade Tree superstars the Promise Ring, entitled "Easy," from sessions from their last Jade Tree album, Very Emergency. Emo? Nope. It's kind of countryish and it really really reminds me of the Old 97s.
It's summertime, and it's time for good rock and roll. Location is Everything, Volume One is certainly a record that's made for playing in the car stereo on those road trips to livejournal and Make-Out Club parties. So shut up with your preconceived notions of this very fine record label, why don't you?
--Joseph Kyle
May 20, 2002
Sparta "Austere"
Ahhh, yes, the remnants of the band who celebrated being dubbed "next big thing" by breaking up. Well, Sparta is the non-Cedric project (both of which, DeFacto and Mars Votala, are extremely weird and beautiful), and as far as sounds go, Sparta is going in a completly different direction. Of course, Jim and Tony were also highly-talented members of At the Drive-In, so there should be no reason to fear this new project.
Actually, it ain't bad, this Sparta thing. Austere kicks off with "Mya," a loud, droning, pulsing screamo of a song that, yeah, sounds not unlike, you know, that band. With "Cataract," the band drops the At the Drive-In act and turn their settings to electronica-rock, and though it sounds rather post-punk, it's also quite appealing. "Vacant Skies" is a bit of the same, with a major helping of that whole emo thing. The final track, "Echodyne Harmonic," is a "de-mix," yet to my ears it seems like an electronoica jam that nice, yet rather forgettable.
While Austere may seem rather innocuous, it's important to remember that this is merely the beginning for these kids. Methinks, however, that Sparta is an act for whom the phrase "next big thing" is more than a reference for two members' previous band. Though too small to really define their sound, Austere is certainly a nice, though brief, taste of things to come.
--Joseph Kyle
Actually, it ain't bad, this Sparta thing. Austere kicks off with "Mya," a loud, droning, pulsing screamo of a song that, yeah, sounds not unlike, you know, that band. With "Cataract," the band drops the At the Drive-In act and turn their settings to electronica-rock, and though it sounds rather post-punk, it's also quite appealing. "Vacant Skies" is a bit of the same, with a major helping of that whole emo thing. The final track, "Echodyne Harmonic," is a "de-mix," yet to my ears it seems like an electronoica jam that nice, yet rather forgettable.
While Austere may seem rather innocuous, it's important to remember that this is merely the beginning for these kids. Methinks, however, that Sparta is an act for whom the phrase "next big thing" is more than a reference for two members' previous band. Though too small to really define their sound, Austere is certainly a nice, though brief, taste of things to come.
--Joseph Kyle
May 19, 2002
Kleenexgirlwonder-"After Mathematics"
Know what I hate? When a smug, self-centered, self-congradulatory artist-type makes a record that makes me have to change my opinion of them. Kleenexgirlwonder, or Graham Smith, has been one of those artists who, from the first time I heard, I have never ever liked. I can't explain why..oh, yes I can..I thought his music sucked! I thought that the adjectives of "talented," "clever," "genius," and "original" were completly wasted upon Smith.
Then this record appeared in my mailbox. I wasn't expecting too much, which was probably for the best, as what I heard was much, much more than I expected from Graham Smith. Sure, I'd read the little bio that came with the record, but I rolled my eyes at it when I saw mentions of his new hip-hop direction, references to TLC, and those previously-mentioned adjectives that I'd seen so many times before. All I could think was "Gee, Har Mar Superstar did this kind of thing, what, two years ago?"
However, confronted with After Mathematics, I have to change my tune, for, somewhere, he changed his tune drastically from that first time I heard him. In the place of his lo-fi indie-pop bedroom sound is this odd mixture of hip-hop and indie pop, and, surprisingly he pulls it off rather well. What Smith's doing on After Mathematics, however, may not be all that different from what he's been doing all along, but he's using that beatbox someone gave him. While there have been others to blend hip-hop with indiepop and indie rock, there's something about Kleenexgirlwonder's own style that seems quite original and, better still, quite enjoyable.
The first song, "I'm Pregnant," was quaint--and though it didn't leave much of a mark the first time I heard it, it did after a few more listens. It's that clever college-rock thing, but it was easily and quickly forgotten by the time "Ain't a Damn Thing Changed" came on. The song is supposed to be a R&B ballad in the same style as TLC's "Waterfalls," the melody sounds not unlike George Michael's "Faith" with hints at TLC's "Unpretty." It's quite funny hearing this white boy throwing down the most clichéd hip-hop phrases as if they were original Graham Smith ideas. Still, when guest rapper Zarathustra joins at the end of the song, you're certainly enthralled by this new indie-rap-rock blend. More traditional indie-rock songs such as "Amelia" and "Why I Write Such Good Songs" seem to have traces of this new style, and are greatly improved and much more interesting than I'd expected.
The one flaw with After Mathematics is that while Smith has certainly struck some new, interesting ideas, he is either just now developing these ideas, or simply doesn't know how to carry these ideas any further. If I were cynical, I'd say it's certainly the latter; but I really think that the former is the case here. After "The Intentional Fallacy," the album just seems to drift back into lesser lo-fi indie rock, and though the closing song, "Fitzcarraldo" is quite excellent in its haught, dramatic, album-closing epic way, those last few tracks seem to pale in the face of the first of the album. The high points of After Mathematics were enough for me to give Smith a better listen, and here's to the future, and further explorations of these new
ideas.
--Joseph Kyle
Then this record appeared in my mailbox. I wasn't expecting too much, which was probably for the best, as what I heard was much, much more than I expected from Graham Smith. Sure, I'd read the little bio that came with the record, but I rolled my eyes at it when I saw mentions of his new hip-hop direction, references to TLC, and those previously-mentioned adjectives that I'd seen so many times before. All I could think was "Gee, Har Mar Superstar did this kind of thing, what, two years ago?"
However, confronted with After Mathematics, I have to change my tune, for, somewhere, he changed his tune drastically from that first time I heard him. In the place of his lo-fi indie-pop bedroom sound is this odd mixture of hip-hop and indie pop, and, surprisingly he pulls it off rather well. What Smith's doing on After Mathematics, however, may not be all that different from what he's been doing all along, but he's using that beatbox someone gave him. While there have been others to blend hip-hop with indiepop and indie rock, there's something about Kleenexgirlwonder's own style that seems quite original and, better still, quite enjoyable.
The first song, "I'm Pregnant," was quaint--and though it didn't leave much of a mark the first time I heard it, it did after a few more listens. It's that clever college-rock thing, but it was easily and quickly forgotten by the time "Ain't a Damn Thing Changed" came on. The song is supposed to be a R&B ballad in the same style as TLC's "Waterfalls," the melody sounds not unlike George Michael's "Faith" with hints at TLC's "Unpretty." It's quite funny hearing this white boy throwing down the most clichéd hip-hop phrases as if they were original Graham Smith ideas. Still, when guest rapper Zarathustra joins at the end of the song, you're certainly enthralled by this new indie-rap-rock blend. More traditional indie-rock songs such as "Amelia" and "Why I Write Such Good Songs" seem to have traces of this new style, and are greatly improved and much more interesting than I'd expected.
The one flaw with After Mathematics is that while Smith has certainly struck some new, interesting ideas, he is either just now developing these ideas, or simply doesn't know how to carry these ideas any further. If I were cynical, I'd say it's certainly the latter; but I really think that the former is the case here. After "The Intentional Fallacy," the album just seems to drift back into lesser lo-fi indie rock, and though the closing song, "Fitzcarraldo" is quite excellent in its haught, dramatic, album-closing epic way, those last few tracks seem to pale in the face of the first of the album. The high points of After Mathematics were enough for me to give Smith a better listen, and here's to the future, and further explorations of these new
ideas.
--Joseph Kyle
May 09, 2002
Hot Hot Heat "Knock Knock Knock"
There's nothing more disingenious than new wave pop. Modern-day practitioners are often torn between wanting to make music that's highly danceable yet rather experimental, with very little alliegence to the mainstream fathers of the genre. If you want to
maintain a healthy image in this oh-so-fashionable underground scene, who would you rather claim to have been inspired by, Duran Duran or Section 25?
Hot Hot Heat are the latest arrivals at this art-rockmeets new-wave dance party party. From the first track on their Sub Pop debut EP, Knock Knock Knock, Hot Hot Heat throw down a gauntlet for other new-wave retro popsters. "La-La Low" is a fast little number that will get you dancin' around the bedroom. "5 Times out of 100" continues the fast-paced beat, but with more emphasis on shifting to a shifty, chronically changing tempo, Hot Hot Heat have quickly unpegged the listener from any notions of being a mere New Wave Band. In fact, the band's backing appears to be only a bass, piano, and drum, with two or three voices sing at the same time, making for a most odd, yet rather fulfilling song. "Have A Good Sleep" provides yet another stylistic shift, with a sneaky Oriental-style guitar entry, and sounds not unlike the Cure.
"Touch You Touch You," however, throws out all the stops, pours out the sexuality, and wears its lustful nature on its sleeve, all within this wonderful dance beat rhythm that sounds like the ultimate love child of Howard Jones and Falco. The Faint are but a faint memory when Hot Hot Heat finally get their groove back, and this would be an awesomelly powerful little record were it not for the fact that "More For Show" is so lackluster in comparison to the rest of Knock Knock Knock. Still, an 80 percent mark for an EP is pretty darn good, and I'm totally telling you all--keep an eye out for these guys! See, Hot Hot Heat have stumbled upon a fun, winning sound. It's a mixture of new-wave, pop, punk, and the all-important key element for dancy music: fun.
--Joseph Kyle
maintain a healthy image in this oh-so-fashionable underground scene, who would you rather claim to have been inspired by, Duran Duran or Section 25?
Hot Hot Heat are the latest arrivals at this art-rockmeets new-wave dance party party. From the first track on their Sub Pop debut EP, Knock Knock Knock, Hot Hot Heat throw down a gauntlet for other new-wave retro popsters. "La-La Low" is a fast little number that will get you dancin' around the bedroom. "5 Times out of 100" continues the fast-paced beat, but with more emphasis on shifting to a shifty, chronically changing tempo, Hot Hot Heat have quickly unpegged the listener from any notions of being a mere New Wave Band. In fact, the band's backing appears to be only a bass, piano, and drum, with two or three voices sing at the same time, making for a most odd, yet rather fulfilling song. "Have A Good Sleep" provides yet another stylistic shift, with a sneaky Oriental-style guitar entry, and sounds not unlike the Cure.
"Touch You Touch You," however, throws out all the stops, pours out the sexuality, and wears its lustful nature on its sleeve, all within this wonderful dance beat rhythm that sounds like the ultimate love child of Howard Jones and Falco. The Faint are but a faint memory when Hot Hot Heat finally get their groove back, and this would be an awesomelly powerful little record were it not for the fact that "More For Show" is so lackluster in comparison to the rest of Knock Knock Knock. Still, an 80 percent mark for an EP is pretty darn good, and I'm totally telling you all--keep an eye out for these guys! See, Hot Hot Heat have stumbled upon a fun, winning sound. It's a mixture of new-wave, pop, punk, and the all-important key element for dancy music: fun.
--Joseph Kyle
May 02, 2002
Hayden "Skyscraper National Park"
There's something quite distant, quite forest-like about this album. Maybe it's the wood-and-moose combination on the cover. Maybe it the fact that the dark atmospheric folk songs of Skyscraper National Park sound like they were recorded on the back porch of a log cabin in Northern Canada. Maybe it's the "National Park" in the album's title. Yes, my friends, we've got us another homegrown album here.
But I digress. Hayden is one of the many artists who lost a label but gained a following, and Skyscraper National Park is his first "new" album since being dropped. (I say "new" because apparently Hayden released this album himself a year ago, and it quickly sold out.) I'm not really familiar with Hayden's previous albums, but after a few listens to Skyscraper National Park I feel like I definitely want to peruse the local bargain-bins to find his previous "loved-by-critics-but-nobody-else" albums.
There's something about this album, though, that I can't shake. I think it's Radiohead. Like Grandaddy, who applied the OK Computer template to California radio-friendly 70s rock, and Sparklehorse, who in turn have created their own sound which can loosely be seen an Appalachian version of the Radiohead experience, Hayden has tapped into the atmosphere of his native Canada's countryside, to great results. Let's not go into the fact that the first song on this album is "Street Car," either. The Radiohead comparison is rather apt; for, in his own little way, Hayden sings a lot like Thom Yorke, sounding somewhere between tortured soul, bitter poet, and angel boy. If you were to remove Yorke from the vast, overwhelming musical tour-de-force of Radiohead in favor of a simple piano-slight drum-guitar combo, and you've got an utterly powerful performance.
The one problem with Skyscraper National Park, if you could really consider it a problem, is that it seems rather top-heavy. The epic "Dynamite Walls" is but the second song on the album and, while gorgeous, seems to weigh down the rest of the record. With the first 12 minutes of this nearly 40-minute album belonging to the first two songs, one can't help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the one-two punch at the beginning, or feel that the rest of the album seems a bit skimpy. Not that you'll want to miss highlights such as the sweet love song "Carried Away," or the disturbing "Bass Song," because those are simply two of eleven gorgeous songs to be heard on Skyscraper National Park.
I've heard it said that this is the best album of Hayden's career. As I've never heard his previous work, I cannot make such a claim, but I can clearly understand the sentiments behind such comments--Skyscraper National Park is a most beautiful record. Hayden is someone who deserves to be heard, and will clearly move you into listening. Hayden is among the few rare artists who undeniably deserves all of the hype surrounding him, and Skyscraper National Park is one of those rare records that will enthrall you from from beginning to end. Essential? Only if you like powerfully emotional music.
--Joseph Kyle
But I digress. Hayden is one of the many artists who lost a label but gained a following, and Skyscraper National Park is his first "new" album since being dropped. (I say "new" because apparently Hayden released this album himself a year ago, and it quickly sold out.) I'm not really familiar with Hayden's previous albums, but after a few listens to Skyscraper National Park I feel like I definitely want to peruse the local bargain-bins to find his previous "loved-by-critics-but-nobody-else" albums.
There's something about this album, though, that I can't shake. I think it's Radiohead. Like Grandaddy, who applied the OK Computer template to California radio-friendly 70s rock, and Sparklehorse, who in turn have created their own sound which can loosely be seen an Appalachian version of the Radiohead experience, Hayden has tapped into the atmosphere of his native Canada's countryside, to great results. Let's not go into the fact that the first song on this album is "Street Car," either. The Radiohead comparison is rather apt; for, in his own little way, Hayden sings a lot like Thom Yorke, sounding somewhere between tortured soul, bitter poet, and angel boy. If you were to remove Yorke from the vast, overwhelming musical tour-de-force of Radiohead in favor of a simple piano-slight drum-guitar combo, and you've got an utterly powerful performance.
The one problem with Skyscraper National Park, if you could really consider it a problem, is that it seems rather top-heavy. The epic "Dynamite Walls" is but the second song on the album and, while gorgeous, seems to weigh down the rest of the record. With the first 12 minutes of this nearly 40-minute album belonging to the first two songs, one can't help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the one-two punch at the beginning, or feel that the rest of the album seems a bit skimpy. Not that you'll want to miss highlights such as the sweet love song "Carried Away," or the disturbing "Bass Song," because those are simply two of eleven gorgeous songs to be heard on Skyscraper National Park.
I've heard it said that this is the best album of Hayden's career. As I've never heard his previous work, I cannot make such a claim, but I can clearly understand the sentiments behind such comments--Skyscraper National Park is a most beautiful record. Hayden is someone who deserves to be heard, and will clearly move you into listening. Hayden is among the few rare artists who undeniably deserves all of the hype surrounding him, and Skyscraper National Park is one of those rare records that will enthrall you from from beginning to end. Essential? Only if you like powerfully emotional music.
--Joseph Kyle
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