February 5, 2007:
From the post-post-punk of their early EPs to Silent Alarm's sprawl of sounds and ideas, Bloc Party has never shied away from reinventing their music. They continue to evolve on A Weekend in the City, an unashamedly ambitious, emotional album that builds on where they've been before but still feels like a departure. Silent Alarm's eclecticism was one of its biggest strengths; not knowing exactly which Bloc Party you were going to get from song to song — arty punks, unabashed romantics, or righteously angry rockers — made for thrilling listening. They make the earnest, anthemic sound that was on the fringes of Silent Alarm the heart of A Weekend in the City, and it works remarkably well. It helps that the band's feelings are as focused as the music is. A Weekend in the City revolves around Kele Okereke's thoughts on life in 21st century London; in his eyes, it's a few highs and moments of belonging, surrounded by a lot of loneliness and disappointment — not to mention racism, homophobia, and religious hypocrisy. On A Weekend in the City, Bloc Party is sadder, wiser, and more heart-on-sleeve than ever — almost embarrassingly so, especially when compared to their aloof post-punk influences. The album's opening salvo, "Song for Clay (Disappear Here)," immediately signals that vulnerable is the new brash: "I am trying to be heroic in an age of modernity," Okereke whispers, backed by tremulous keyboards and guitars. Even when the song unfolds into searing rock, it stays intimate and implosive. Okereke still sings like there's no time to waste, but his songwriting is tempered by experience. He's become a striking lyricist, conveying ambivalence and yearning in remarkably direct terms. Over "Waiting for the 7:18"'s wintry pizzicato strings and glockenspiel, he sings, "If I could do it again, I'd climb more trees/I'd pick and I'd eat more wild blackberries"; on "Kreuzberg," he sums up the hollowness that follows a string of one-night stands: "What is this love? Why can I never hold it? Did it really run out in those strangers' bedrooms?" The hopeful songs at the end of the album are just as eloquent, especially "I Still Remember," which wraps a complex attraction between two schoolboys in a sweet, almost singsong melody: "Every park bench screams your name/I kept your tie." Indeed, A Weekend in the City is often more remarkable for its emotional impact than its actual music, though Jacknife Lee's lush, layered production suits the album's scope (and just happens to be very radio-friendly as well). Many of the songs follow a predictable formula of hushed verses and big choruses, and while Matt Tong's drumming adds some bite to the album's slickness, the riffs throughout A Weekend in the City are distressingly similar to each other (although "Hunting for Witches"' depiction of thoughtless paranoia makes it a standout). A few tracks explore new sonic territory; not surprisingly, they're the ones that convey druggy escapism. "On"'s luminosity blurs the line between being high on drugs or a person, while "The Prayer" distills the ritualistic feel of dancing in a packed club with its massed vocals, heavy drums, and splattered guitars; later, "Where is Home?" uses these sounds to express mournful anger instead of elation. Bloc Party fans who responded to their dark, angular art-pop might be disappointed, at least at first, with A Weekend in the City. This album isn't as brash or immediate as the band's earlier work, but its gradual move from alienation to connection and hope is just as bold as Silent Alarm, and possibly even more resonant.
Is there anyone more impervious to criticism than Stephen Malkmus? At 41, the ex-Pavement frontman is so inculcated as an indie-scene godhead that neither fanboys' nor journalists' heated hairsplitting has put even a hitch in his giddyap. Maybe that's why he seems to enjoy himself so thoroughly on Real Emotional Trash, a sprawling continuation of his Smart Guy Rock shtick. Indeed, the hallmarks are all here: wonky guitar rambles, gloriously nonsensical McSweeney's-meets-fridge-magnet-poetry lyrics, and the drowned-in-sound evocations of Sonic Youth (''Dragonfly Pie''), the Grateful Dead (''Elmo Delmo''), and, of course, Pavement (''Gardenia'').
There's an exciting new addition: Janet Weiss, formerly of Sleater-Kinney, drummer par excellence. She and the rest of the Jicks imbue Trash's loosey-goosey vibe with an underlying discipline, from the road-dog adventure of the title track to the pretty, minor melancholy of ''Baltimore.'' If there's anything lacking, it is, perhaps, Malkmus' own Real Emotional Trash. Even as he skewers fakery with surprising directness on the latter song (''For all your hustle, what did you win?/ Woe is the man with the Cheshire cat grin''), the husband and father remains largely at a feline remove himself. That musical Teflon renders him as cucumber-cool as ever; too bad it also means our hero stays a cipher.
July 2006:
The dog days of summer are here. Stale, heated air hangs about like a lingering relative outstaying his/her welcome long after Thanksgiving has passed. Sunset offers little relief as the day's sun has so warmed the earth that it just seems to be oozing with humidity even as the temperature drops a few notches. Yes, at such a time, it could be such a welcome respite for a refreshing musical breeze to blow from the tropics up onto the ol' North American rock radar screen. Lo and behold, Brazil's latest sonic export: CSS.
Before taking things too seriously, it's important to realize just how cheeky a group this is. CSS is an initialism for Cansei de Ser Sexy, a name derived from an offhand remark made by Beyoncé (it means "tired of being sexy" in Portuguese). The group sports such song titles as "Let's Make Love and Listen to Death From Above" and "Meeting Paris Hilton." With these points divulged, this crew may seem to be little more that pop culture collagists, and while that impression is somewhat accurate, it in no way does full justice. To be sure, they are of the moment. Their popularity in Brazil, and eventually internationally, grew through postings on photo- and file-sharing sites; however, this doesn't mean that they are only for the moment. That's where the music comes in.
A jubilant mix of electro, rock, and smatterings of various other styles ranging from dance to punk, CSS's music is almost immediately infectious and surprisingly poppy. Adriano Cintra's drums are wild in their attack on the more ferocious cuts like "CSS Suxxx" and "Artbitch," yet incredibly refined on the more electro-dance numbers like "Alala," "Let's Make Love and Listen to Death from Above," and "Meeting Paris Hilton." On those latter tracks, the dirty synth lines help to keep things from feeling rigid, and the slightly broken English used by Lovefoxx in her lyrics make the ultimate effect very charming. 'Charm' is a good word to describe this entire affair, for no matter how angry vocalist Lovefoxx may seem (especially on "Artbitch" and "Fuck Off is Not the Only Thing You Have to Show"), she always provides a juicy hook for a listener to want to sing — an act easier said than done given her propensity for cramming an inordinate number of syllables into a phrase. See, there's the charm again.
Even if their messages are a little convoluted, alternately celebrating and decrying pop culture and art, their existence stands as a testament to the perseverance of the DIY movement. This isn't a conglomeration of expertly trained musicians; this is a cluster of energetic and creative folks who use some widely available instruments and tools to express themselves with passion and abandon. In hearing this debut, one gets the feeling that there's still a lot of energy left in these ladies (and one gentlemen), but even more importantly, that they'll inspire hundreds of other restless youngsters to get a band together and bang it out for themselves.
September 5, 2006:
On their second album (and Warp debut), Yellow House, Grizzly Bear takes a dramatic leap forward, delivering a collection of songs that sound awe-inspiringly huge and intimate at the same time. While the album is overall more polished and focused than their debut, nowhere is this (literally) clearer than in Yellow House's production. Though the artful lo-fi approach Grizzly Bear used on Horn of Plenty — which sounded like it was recorded on tapes that had been moldering away in musty cupboards, or gradually dissolving underwater — was extremely evocative in its own way, Yellow House's warmth, clarity, and symphonic depth gives Grizzly Bear's widescreen psychedelic folk-rock a timelessness that makes it seem even more dreamlike and unique. The album's structure and songwriting are much more focused, too, even though many of the tracks hover around five to six minutes long. Instead of presenting their experiments as fragments and snippets, as they did on Horn of Plenty, on Yellow House Grizzly Bear incorporates their ideas into pieces with natural, suite-like movements. "Central and Remote" moves seamlessly from fragile marimba melodies to acoustic guitar-driven verses and towering choruses. The best moments not only have a natural sound, but conjure up nature imagery as well: "Easier" opens the album with a gently exciting buildup of woodwinds, banjo, and acoustic guitar that could soundtrack the dawn of a late summer morning, while "Colorado" closes Yellow House with wide expanses of vocal harmonies and mountainous tympani. In between, there's more majestic beauty to be found, particularly on the gorgeously hazy love song "Knife," which combines lush Beach Boys harmonies with a little bit of the Velvet Underground's chugging cool. Elsewhere, "Plans" feels like a more brooding take on the High Llamas' intricate, symphonic/electronic pop, while "On a Neck, on a Spit" recalls Jim O'Rourke's freewheeling deconstruction of folk-rock and soft rock. However, these similarities feel more like allegiances than tracing over the work of these artists — Yellow House is a beautiful album in its own right, and required listening not just for fans of Horn of Plenty, but for anyone who enjoys ambitious, creative music with an emotional undercurrent.
THIS WEEK: BANDS I'LL SEE ON FRIDAY AT THE 'PALOOZA "Metal Heart" from the albumMoon Pix
1998 iTunes
September 23, 1998: Moon Pix is the kind of album that just melts into ambient noise unless you really listen to it, listen without also talking on the phone or reading a magazine or playing on the computer. The album's 11 songs are so slow, spare, and understated that they seem to be coming from some Southern Gothic music box. Chan Marshall, Cat Power's only constant member, keeps her scratchy, mournful voice low in the mix. Over it swirl doleful guitar chords, washes of foggy feedback, occasional flutes and percussion so soft that it sounds like tiptoeing footsteps.
Quiet, though, doesn't equal twee — Marshall's more like the madwoman whispering in the attic than like a typical Lilith Fair babydoll. Her music is all the more intense for being so self-effacing. On the first few listens, all the songs on Moon Pix sound the same, fading in to each other to form one long lugubrious lullaby. Listen closely, though, and they begin to open up, musically and emotionally. Like Beth Orton, Marshall compliments her brooding folk singing with hints of high-tech atmospherics — on "No Sense," samples of a thunderstorm appear under layers of fuzz, low enough to become part of the song's texture instead of just a cheesy special effect. The mood, too, is subtly variable, from the frustrated paranoia of "Back of Your Head" to the swampy angst of "Moonshiner" to the heartbreak of "Colors and the Kids." It's as if Chan Marshall has discovered a dozen different kinds of melancholy.
Yeasayer's first album is an inviting collection of organic psych-rock that conjures spirits of a desert party. Full of entrancing effects and bouncing rhythms, All Hour Cymbals is both difficult and childlike in its mad carnival vibe. Multi-vocal chants, acoustic flares, and otherworldly sounds create a wonderfully engaging atmosphere.
The Brooklyn band's supernatural sense of rhythm sets All Hour Cymbals off, allowing their various speeds and intensities to all feel like part of the same flow. The good-tempered backbeat drives the jams while keeping the slower tracks on a coasting tempo.
The album begins with a flickering clapbeat that slowly builds using a pounding kick drum, metallic effects, and wild-eyed vocal track on "Sunrise." It eventually melts into a piano-licked chaos that shows off the band's erratic, but heavy, nature. "Wait for the Summer" is similar, with a danceable rhythm decorated by several shimmering instruments and a melted vocal duet. "2080" combines a gripping '80s drumbeat with a wash of guitars with agile crooning and shouting that eventually gets the kid treatment.
On the slower tracks of All Hour Cymbals, Yeasayer employ similar elements of outdoorsy rhythms and imaginative guitars, sometimes in even stronger doses. The cascading rush of "Germs" might be their most striking. "No Need to Worry" caterpillars along its stark, psychedelic trip. Meanwhile, "Worms" acid-croons along a rolling drum line before finisher "Red Cave" celebrates the shuffle along an Eastern path.
Rhythm might be Yeasayer's best friend, but the imaginative effects on top of it set it apart. All Hour Cymbals has a thorough cohesion thanks to the seemingly seasoned pros' ability to expand each track. Their debut is inspired, yet playful, while almost constantly near the point of mind-bending.
April 8, 2003:
While the vast majority of post-punk bands who have an obvious taste for the blues seem to enjoy taking the style apart and messing around with the bits and pieces, The Black Keys are the (relative) traditionalists within the subgenre. With their two-piece, no-bass format, there's no room for clutter or wank, and the raunchy fuzz of Dan Auerbach's guitar (and drummer Patrick Carney's production) owes more to the Gories/Blues Explosion/White Stripes school of aural grime than anything else, but look past all that and The Black Keys are a straight-up blues band who could probably cut an album for Alligator if they were willing to clean up their act and fill out the lineup. And Alligator would doubtless be glad to have 'em — the Black Keys's wail is hot, primal, and heartfelt, and Auerback's lean but meaty guitar lines and room-filling vocals drag the blues into the 21st century through sheer force of will without sounding like these guys are in any way mocking their influences. In short, if you're looking for irony, you're out of luck; if you want to hear a rock band confront the blues with soul, muscle, and respect, then Thickfreakness is right up your alley. Points added for the fact that The Black Keys performed, recorded, and produced Thickfreakness all by their lonesome in a single day — further proof these guys are not messing around.
The majority of the great British public will be familiar with Pete Doherty for his dalliance with 21st century rock's favourite accessory — Kate Moss — rather than his body of work. It's also fairly safe to assume that at least half of those who have heard his music rather wish they hadn't. Of course, in an age when fame has become an end in itself regardless of what's done to achieve it, Doherty's done rather well for himself but it has to hurt his creative soul to be known for anything but the day job.
Over the course of repeated listens to Midnight Boom, the third album from singer Alison Mosshart and guitarist/growler Jamie Hince, you come to realise that living life through a lens must come to mean very little to The Kills. Because it soon becomes apparent that if anyone's riding on someone else's coat tails, then it sure isn't this band's plank spanker, who is now famously stepping-out with the aforementioned super-model.
As the push and pull rhythms of "U.R.A. Fever" splutter and jerk at the onset of the duo's latest collection, before giving way to the kind of groove that U.S. Army platoons march to on parade with "Cheap and Cheerful," The Kills serve notice that not only have they moved on from the shadows of previous album No Wow, but they've left it as a speck of dust on the horizon. Received wisdom had it that bands struggled at the third album stage. These days, they're lucky to make it to the third single, yet The Kills confound all preconceived notions here.
For sure, Mosshart and Hince carry enough history between them to succeed but the presence of Spank Rock producer Alex Epton has infused The Kills' rock 'n roll groove with a funky touch that's both palpable and infectious. Check the minimalist pulse of "Getting Down," as dance beats coalesce with chanting voices, lifting The Kills way beyond what has gone before. Likewise the sparse yet forceful modulations of "Sour Cherry"— if ever two songs were separated at birth then this is the pair.
Sandwiched between them are the kinds of serrated and jagged shards of noise we've come to expect from The Kills. "Last Day of Magic" finds Hince practically strangling his guitar, while "Hook and Line" sees the shadow of Siouxsie Sioux slip approvingly by. Best of all is "Black Balloon," which mirrors The Velvet Underground's ability to fuse melody with menace, Mosshart's salacious croon leaving an indelible imprint. Not only have The Kills delivered a rock 'n roll album of note, it's one that achieves the rare trick of weaving timelines and timelessness with indecent ease.
September 6, 2004:
After the self-release of their debut record Out of the Shadow last year, Rogue Wave have opened for everyone from The Clientele to Super Furry Animals. Their recent tour supporting The Shins, and the subsequent re-release of Out of the Shadow by Sub Pop (with terrific new artwork), has catapulted them into the indie-rock spotlight. Like the Shins' own debut Oh, Inverted World, Shadow lives up to the hype, and captivates from beginning to end.
Recorded almost entirely by singer/songwriter Zach Rogue during a trip to New York — after losing his day job — Out of the Shadow's blissful indie-pop tunes are as affecting as they are catchy. The melodies and textures of the songs — especially the opener "Every Moment" — are automatic. Big choruses and hummable hooks avoid cliché triteness and Rogue's sincerity rarely comes into question.
Rogue's offbeat lyrics help compensate the three-minute, verse-chorus-verse format of Shadow's songs. The pretty "Postage Stamp World," one the album's quieter moments, starts with a boy whose mother walked out, and builds to the refrain, "It's a postage stamp world/ You get what you want/ You can all get in line and lick my behind." (Granted, on paper the line looks ridiculous.)
Rogue Wave's influences are not in short supply. From Guided By Voices to Elliott Smith to The Beatles, Rouge Wave's mentors pop up everywhere. In "Sewn Up" and "Endless Shovel," shoegazing guitars swirl into a wall of sound, while Rouge's vocals — clear and melodic — rise through the mix. The method is juxtaposed on the folky "Be Kind + Remind," but the shifts in dynamics never obscure Rogue's pop sensibility. One of the best debuts of the year.
The sophomore full-length from Vanguard Records darling Greg Laswell is a record of beautifully constructed songs full of airy and sweeping melodies and sexy tenor vocals. The defining characteristic of Three Flights From Alto Nido, however, is a therapeutic lyrical content based on renewal and letting go of loss.
Laswell has drawn comparisons to Jeff Buckley, Ron Sexsmith, and Radiohead due to his expressive piano melodies and airy guitar riffs. The lightness in the instrumentation is matched with heavy, self-reflective lyrics apparent on tunes such as single "The One I Love." Laswell croons, "I'm not sure why I'm / I'm running away from the only thing I want" atop a bouncy beat with whimsical keys and upbeat instrumentation.
Ambient yet staccato piano melodies and a driving tambourine creates a great summer song to blast while driving. "Days Go On" and "I'd Be Lying" display an eerie quality, be it in the vocals or piano melodies, but retain that beauty that Laswell is so good at capturing in his sadness. A grand, sweeping piano steals "Farewell" while it's Laswell sexy vocals that garner all the listener's attention on "Not Out" and closer "And Then You."
Should you have the patience to wait (it's worth it) or get distracted and not take the CD out of the player immediately, you'll get to hear a bonus track which is the GarageBand (which he totally pimps) demo of track 2 "That It Moves." The demo, obviously stripped down compared to its final mastered successor, features upbeat acoustic strumming and provides an inside look to Laswell's creating process.
When Blake Hazard and John Dragonetti moved from Boston to Los Angeles a few years ago, they were a functioning couple who played music together. When they ended their romantic relationship, they began to take their band more seriously. They called themselves The Submarines, and wrote and recorded a bittersweet album submerged in break-up imagery, with 2006’s Declare a New State.
Then they got married. Their recently released Honeysuckle Weeks reflects their declaration of this even newer state, wedded bliss.
“We’re both musically really excited about playing this record,” says Hazard, her speaking voice as zealous as the sweet singing voice that glides over the bouncy major chords on Honeysuckle.
“It feels more like an affirmation than anything, and it feels good to play the songs,” she continues. “We still feel like we’re somewhat in the same place where we were when we made the record, whereas with the last record, it was like we really had come out of this dark period. So it was really hard to revisit them over and over again together. So, this time around ... it’s a much more comfortable experience.”
Speaking of comfortable experiences, is it weird to present the lyrics to the person you’re working on the song with, when he is also the subject of the song? “That’s a really really good question,” says Hazard. “I think now in retrospect it was brave to share the songs that way that we did with each other.”
Although the first hook on the record is Hazard singing that “love finds you even when you’ve given it up,” the glee within Honeysuckle is not naive. “There is ultimately a happiness to it all, but it’s certainly grounded in the realities of a relationship,” says Hazard. “I don’t feel like we got married and then sort of rode off into the sunset.”
Instead, they rode off into the sunset, broke up, made some great music, got married, and then made even more great music.
Nashville's Aron Wright locally released his debut full-length In the Woods this March. As detailed on his Myspace page, the album centers on Aron's delicate vocal styling and well-crafted lyrics. Produced by Mike Odmark (The Lady Vanishes), In the Woods paints an impassioned, sometimes haunting musical landscape which draws listeners back for more. Aron's music sings like a lullaby: beautifully basic, seamless, and deliberate. His quiet songs speak of love, relationships, hope, and brokenness.
Aron recently exchanged e-mail with Jonk Music:
Can you share a little information about yourself?
Yes, my name is Aron Wright and I am a singer-songwriter living in Nashville, TN. I grew up mostly in St. Louis, MO and moved to Johannesburg, South Africa when I was in high school because my father works for ATT and was transfered. I moved to Nashville to attend Lipscomb University, a small Christian liberal arts university where I eventually got a degree in Spanish. I played little shows here and there throughout college and started a band with my younger brother Justin when he came to school there a few years later. We changed names several times over the years — Undercurrent, The Vision Bag ("maybe the worst band name" - Mike Grimes of Grimey's record shop) and finally Brothers and Friends. I eventually decided to do more of a solo thing and began focusing on writing songs that would hopefully stand on there own without a lot of accompaniment. For the last few years I've been playing shows in Nashville and touring mostly by myself and I guess that brings me up to today. Oh, also five years ago I fell in love with the artist Kelly Bonadies and I asked her to marry me a month ago. I'm very excited about that.
You've read my blog on at least one occasion, and I've visited your Myspace page. So now that it seems the Internet isn't a fad, what are your thoughts on the power of the web in relation to helping or hurting an artist?
I've read your blog on more than one occasion, it's great! I've also read hundreds of other blogs and seen a million Myspace profiles, as I'm sure you have. The internet and computers have provided the democratization of creating, recording, and distributing music. It's done the same thing with journalism. Anyone that has something to say can say it, or a song to sing can sing it, you can just put up pictures of yourself or every little detail of your life. This is a great thing in some respects, but it also means there's infinitely more competition and noise to deal with. I love that a guy (you) from anywhere in the world can find out about my music and write about it in his blog which he is passionate about. Probably 90 percent of the music I have sold has been to people in places I have never been to, maybe 20 percent of that to people in the UK. How beautiful is that? Just ten years ago, that was pretty much unheard of unless you had access to a major record label's marketing and distribution channels.
The web definitely makes booking shows easier to do; it makes everything easier for everyone to do. There are just so many trade-offs. The playing field is mostly leveled. I'm on iTunes, Justin Timberlake is on iTunes. It seems like the internet allows us to do so much but at the end of the day, I mostly feel like I've been spinning my tires. I feel much more productive and satisfied artistically and just as a human being after playing a show in front of people than I do spending an hour responding to Myspace comments.
We all need to be careful with the internet. If art is a reflection of our experience then we need to be guarded about the information we're allowing ourselves to consume and also how we consume it. The internet provides information from all over the world instantly and doesn't lend itself to deep extensive thinking, the way a book might. This has to affect the art we produce.
Overall, the internet can be a great tool to help artists with their music business but if abused, might have a negative impact on our art, our culture and our BRAINS (note: brains is meant to be yelled).
Could you describe the recording process of In the Woods?
I came to my producer Mike Odmark with about 20 demos I had done at my house and I let him decide what made it on the record. Then we started doing some basic tracks — mostly guitar and vocals on a song or two a night. Instead of continuing to start more songs we would usually drag out every instrument we could find and try it out on the songs from that night. It was great for me working like that because you could hear the songs coming together and it kept us excited about the work and also saved my voice from being overworked. Mike is a great engineer and makes decisions quickly so it always kept things going smoothly when trying so many different things. We also have a lot of multi-instrumentalist friends that would come over and play random instruments like upright bass (Aaron Roche), cello (Justin Saunders), piano (Daniel Ellsworth) or drums (Justin Wright) on whatever seemed appropriate. From the beginning I knew I wanted the recordings to be simple, mellow and beautiful; the rest was mostly getting the best takes and experimenting with different textures. Looking back, I realize Mike was really the best guy for the job. He took the sounds in my head and made them better; I can't recommend him enough.
Are there any current bands or records or sites that you enjoy and would recommend people seek out?
I listen to my friends' music mostly and I recommend them all...where do I even start? My brother Justin Wright is one of the realest people you'll meet (if you're lucky enough to meet him) and his music reflects that. A lot of his music is faith-inspired and is also simple and heart-felt. Daniel Ellsworth is another amazing artist and friend. Daniel played piano on my record on two songs and I played trumpet on two of his that are about to be released. His music ranges from '60s inspired pop to Americana to jazz. He's such a talented songwriter and pianist, I think he just can't be contained by a genre. McClain is a married couple, Travis and Lindsay that play beautiful Americana music. They are great writers and sing harmony like nobody's business. I was supposed to play trumpet on their record but fell asleep and missed my chance. Quote is a another duo from Nashville, which consists of Justin Tam and Jamie Bennett. Their music is really fun; it always reminds me of 21st century pirates but most people say they remind them of Simon and Garfunkel. I guess I can hear that. They have amazing songs and harmonies and they just released a book with their album that has short stories and art — very cool. Aaron Roche is another guy from Nashville everyone needs to hear. He's the musical genius type that can pick up any instrument and make it sound good; great songs and style. The Winston Jazz Routine is Nathan Phillips and he plays some of the most beautiful music I know of. Ivan Colon — I love this guy's music and I played on trumpet on one of his songs so that's my favorite probably. Last, but not least is Tommy Busby. Tommy has played in bands with me in the past but is now in LA doing his own thing. He plays mostly folk music but can also rock your face off or rap. Sorry I couldn't think of any cool way to say he raps. I think that's enough, they should all be listened to. Also, listen to anything Mike Odmark has produced — if it wasn't good when he got a hold of it, it will be when he's done with it.
The only website that I've seen lately that is really cool is ustream.tv. It allows anyone with a camera and a computer to stream live video from anywhere with internet access. It has allowed me to webcast most of my shows and I also play a show from my house every Thursday at 8pm central time. You can watch me at thepindrop.tv. It's pretty nerdy but it's cheaper than driving.
Parting words?
Jon, thanks so much for having me. Come to Nashville and we'll go listen to some music.
Not many bands are described as a mix between Sigur Rós, an experimental post rock band, and George Michael, a pop singer, but that's how Seattle-based band Barcelona was described by Seattle Weekly.
"We don't mind it, those are bands we like and respect," guitarist Chris Bristol said. What they don't like, however, is being described as having a similar sound to Coldplay and The Fray. "Those are the bands other bands rip off," Bristol said. "You can't rip off Sigur Rós, they're too creative."
The members of Barcelona describe their sound as melodic piano pop rock. Not all of their songs feature a piano, but the songs that do have a distinct sound different from many other bands that could be described as pop-rock.
The band's live music sounds somewhat different from their debut CD, Absolutes. The band members chalk this up to the atmosphere of the live shows. "When you're playing live it's a lot easier to share energy," Bristol said. "It gives you a chance to open up more."
Barcelona singer Brian Fennell attended Whitworth University in Spokane for two years, in 2001 and 2002, but transferred to Seattle Pacific University because he wanted to be closer to home. While he was there he met drummer Rhett Stonelake, and Bristol, who lived across the hall from each other. Barcelona started touring in late 2005, and have had nine or ten West Coast tours since then, Fennell said.
So far, the best part about touring has been going to shows and having people know the band's music. "Going to towns we have never been to before, where we have no lateral support and having kids know songs is pretty out of control," Stonelake said.
Three years after Key, Son Ambulance emerge from their retreat with a third full-length, Someone Else's Déjà Vu. On the album, Omaha singer-songwriter Joe Knapp (musical accomplice of Conor Oberst) brews up a concoction of soft, meandering melodies. This time, Knapp almost entirely ditches the piano and shakes things up a bit by using the double bass, saxophone, and even synthesizers. The result is a collection of soaring, swirling songs that drift along slowly, from the acoustic stripped-down Leonard Cohen-esque "Constellations" to the prog-rock closing song "Requiem for a Planet." The single "Horizons" is reminiscent of Simon & Garfunkel's folk-style, with Knapp's vocals quietly floating over the organ and bells. Without reinventing the wheel, Joe Knapp offers honest songs perfect for a summer's day, and firmly establishes himself as a songwriter in his own right.
Parenthetical Girls, sometimes endearingly referred to as (((GRRRLS))), is actually comprised of four men and one woman, but the band sees a regularly rotating cast of musicians contributing to its music, as evident on its forthcoming Entanglements. As its name might suggest, the release is a dense arrangement of sound, orchestral in style, with synths, organs, accordions, snares, and the odd piano here and there. Combined, these instruments create a composition that hangs in the balance between pop and experimental — with an edge of darkness thrown in for good measure.
Named for the 1960s Brill Building pop singer/songwriter, "A Song for Ellie Greenwich" augurs well for the rest of the album, proving that it's possible to make modern orchestral pop without sounding too slavishly indebted to The Beach Boys, The Zombies, Van Dyke Parks, et al. While the grand orchestral statements of the '60s are undoubtedly an influence here, the band has assimilated those sounds into something that feels strikingly new. Sure, there's a tongue-in-cheek quote from Burt Bacharach's "Close to You" at the top of the tune, but even with its retro-conscious title, "A Song for Ellie Greenwich" seems surprisingly forward-looking.
New York band The Walkmen wowed audiences with their stripped-down-yet-expansive sound and somber lyrics on their 2002 debut, Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone. With each new outing, the band continues to explore their sound, seeking to find a balance between the roughhewn guitar and vocals of their songs and the smooth, soothing soundscapes created through vintage instruments and never-ending experimentation in the studio.
It's safe to say The Walkmen have found that balance on their newest album, You & Me, which drops August 19. All the tried-and-true elements shine in vibrant technicolor on this album — the ragged guitars and Bob Dylan-inspired vocals, surrounded by sweeping analog keyboards on one side and versatile drumming on the other.
Just listen to "In the New Year" and you'll understand what I'm talking about. The song starts off with Hamilton Leithauser's worn voice backed by Paul Maroon's rusty guitar. Then, as the chorus approaches, you hear the steady thumping of drums, followed by a mournful fuillisade of organs which overtake the guitar and compete with Leithauser's voice for your attention.
"Red Moon" is another song that shows The Walkmen fine-tuning their sound. The song is built around pianos, keyboards, and horns, with guitars and drums taking a supporting role. I could see myself listening to this song in the midst of a sleepless night. It's soft and gentle, complete with a nursery rhyme cadence that recalls "Rock-a-Bye-Baby," except "Red Moon" sends delicious shivers down my spine. Picture "Rock-a-Bye-Baby" set to lyrics about loss, death, and alienation and you'll understand my reaction. The lyrics are sharp and vivid, yielding a favorite line on the album, "you shine like the steel on my knife" (so chilling, yet so beautiful, thanks to the keyboards and pianos, which blanket you in a warm sea of sound).
You & Me is an apt title for this album. Each track centers on either a doomed relationship or the archetypal nomad's clashing desires to wander, on the one hand, and to find a resting place, on the other. The instrumentation is haunting and pared down, which fits the forlorn mood of the album. Yet, I still find myself bopping my head to the beat and fighting the urge to do a little dance as I listen to the songs (nothing crazy like the Electric Slide or the Macarena; a little melancholy swaying will do).
The Walkmen's latest offering You & Me catches your attention — and holds it. Sure, the music is very somber and blue and downbeat. The point is that it's somber and blue and downbeat with great intensity and energy, inviting you to listen again and again, which is just what any album worth a damn (be it sugary pop, down 'n dirty rock, or soulful R&B) ought to do.
Setting Sun is a quintet led by frontman and producer Gary Levitt. The band's third album, Children of the Wild, evokes the laid-back simple life of Levitt's Upstate New York home. Driven by simple acoustic guitar lines, Erica Quitzow's graceful string orchestrations, and Levitt's hushed vocals, Setting Sun's arrangements are dramatic and poignant.
Levitt's whispery vocals might remind listeners of a less depressed Elliott Smith. Levitt mixes softly cooed choruses and murmured spoken-word verses on the album's opening track, "What We Wanted," giving the sense that he's playing and singing to himself. This personal, confiding style lends the music its defining intimacy. Levitt the storyteller is immediately alluring, offering an inviting closeness in the whisper and croon of his honest lyrics.
Along with Setting Sun's characteristic guitars, cello, violin, drums, and backing singers, the band also travels with a synthesizer. Unobtrusively, the band mixes synth experimentalism in with its folky, string-band sound — at times to great effect. "No Devil Me No More,"Children of the Wild's second track, takes blue-note melodies and a driving beat and sets them against scratching violins and ambient electronic feedback. The resulting gloominess well-emphasizes the track's melancholic lyrics.
When artists from different bands collaborate on a new project, they usually (or at least hopefully) come up with a completely different and surprising sound — something outside their comfort zone. In the case of the newly formed collective The Accidental, the results aren't terribly surprising; but they are no less compelling.
The Accidental features members from several British experimental folk groups: Tunng, The Memory Band and The Bicycle Thieves. The group's debut release, There Were Wolves, is a beautifully produced mix of, well, experimental folk music. The songs don't venture into new territory for any of the members. But their familiarity with each other's sound makes There Were Wolves a comfortable, cozy and very fluid listen. It features tape loops, found sounds, and ambient samples along with delicately spare rhythms and subdued melodies — all standard for lo-fi, glitch-folk recordings. But The Accidental executes it all so gracefully, it feels fresh and inspired.
The Accidental is: Stephen Cracknell of The Memory Band, Sam Genders, frontman for Tunng, Hanna Caughlin of The Bicycle Thieves and singer-songwriter Liam Bailey. Cracknell and Genders had met earlier and talked about working together by sending songs to one another through the mail. The first thing they came up with was the song "Wolves."
"The first two tracks written were 'Wolves' and 'I Can Hear Your Voice in My Head,'" says Cracknell. "I sent Sam a CD with about five sketches on and two days later I got another one back with both finished songs on there. At that point I think we both knew we had something good going on."
"Wolves" is a slow burn. It begins with instrumentation so spare the vocals are nearly a cappella. But it gradually builds, adding strings, faint forest ambience and lovely, single-layer harmonies.
The Accidental recorded There Were Wolves in Cracknell's London apartment with a computer and a pair of microphones. "We didn't have a set idea of what the project was and what our plans were for it from the start, so it felt like a very free and natural process," says Cracknell. "I think the fact all of us had achieved things with other projects gave us a real sense of freedom and relaxation making the album."
Much of There Were Wolves was inspired by the sonic whirlwinds produced by Panda Bear and Animal Collective. "I wanted to take something from their ideas but not copy it," says Cracknell. But "I wanted it to have an English sound too. I have a fondness for The Kings Singers, who were poshboy choral singers from the '70s doing pop covers. George Martin produced their first album and it's great. I also love the Free Design, and loads of vocal harmony stuff, so I tried to take influence from all of this."
Defiantly lo-fi and beholden to the past, by rights Sybris should slot neatly within the current crop of such retro acts as The Hold Steady. But even though they exhibit the same nervous energy and juttery rhythms, the Chicago quartet are just as enthralled with the early indie scene as the post-punk era. And the differences don't stop there, for Sybris' signature is their misty atmospheres, evoking the likes of Ride and Slowdive. Into the Trees is wrapped in them, a gauzy veil that blankets every track within, even "Old Tyme E" and "Saint Veronica," the brightest songs on the set. The former has a svelte '60s feel, all excited beats and bouncy guitars, the latter glides from a dreamy pop feel into a hard rock segment, then soars heavenward on a sea of chimes and drones. That post-punk drone is prominent throughout the set-diving "Safety City," "Something About a Dark Horse or Whatever," and "Gin Divides Us." At times, "The Mary" is a good example, the guitars aren't actually droning, they just sound that way thanks to the band's profligate use of reverb. On that number Sybris play off the drone against lilting guitar riffs, a juxtaposition that also defines their sound. "Mary" has more than a touch of New Order about it, elsewhere the Cure, U2, and Siouxsie & the Banshees play an inspirational role, as does the art-rock scene. The latter is particularly evident in the jumpy rhythms of "Burnout Babies" and "Gin Divides Us." There again, even the band's most downtempo numbers have a nervousness around the rhythms and a tension to the auras, a jittery feel that vocalist Angela Mullenhour feeds. Varyingly fragile, tough, sweet, dreamy, and caterwauling, she is the bastard child of Björk and Siouxsie Sioux, more tuneful than the former, more childlike than the latter, her clear tones sweeping and soaring over this set. From lullabies to indie rockers, gloomy goth rockers to bright poppers, Into the Trees takes one deep into a forest of aural delights.
Brandishing the delicate, wood-smoked harmonies of Crosby, Stills & Nash and rustic reverbed vision of My Morning Jacket's Tennessee Fire, the debut LP from Seattle's Fleet Foxes opens on a brief a cappella hymn, an enchanting displacement that melts into the dazzling psychedelic folk strum of "Sun It Rises." The quintet's romantic idylls burst bright and soft, wandering reverent with touches of ancient folk ballads on "Tiger Mountain Peasant Song" and "Your Protector" that cast against the pop glow of "He Doesn't Know Why." "Ragged Wood" races alongside Band of Horses, while "White Winter Hymnal" laces a Shins-ian hum into the vocals. A number of contemporary indie bands attempt to strip-mine mountain ballads in the service of indie pop, but none has melded the impulses as effortlessly and captivatingly as Fleet Foxes manage on "Blue Ridge Mountains" and "Oliver James." Sublime.
His musical pedigree couldn't be any more impressive, but lineage only takes you so far before you have to stand on your own merits. Teddy Thompson — son of folk-rock icons Richard and Linda Thompson — more than lives up to the family name on his latest solo effort.
A Piece of What You Need, Thompson's fourth album, expands his singer-songwriter vibe into a broader, sophisticated pop sound built around airy, sometimes bold arrangements from producer Marius de Vries.
Despite the step up in production, it's still very much Thompson's record. He's a confident singer who radiates low-key charm, and he has a knack for sounding both pensive and wry. "My standards are slipping day by day / I'll sleep with anyone who gets in my way," he sings, playing the cad on opening song "The Things I Do."
His melodies are subtle, but don't confuse his restraint with detachment -- these songs sound deeply felt. Thompson repents a breakup on "Don't Know What I Was Thinking," a tune with a faint country-and-western vibe in the jangling rhythm guitar, and offers loving reassurance on "One of These Days," a fast shuffle packed with a riot of horns, stinging guitar leads and barrelhouse piano vamps.
Thompson says in the press notes that the album title reflects his desire to contribute "some tiny little building block of something worthwhile, rather than just adding to the massive pile of disposable rubbish" that passes for popular music these days. He's done it: A Piece of What You Need is, in fact, exactly that.
If anything, Clinic is consistently weird. Hardly pigeonholed with one definable sound, the Liverpool quintet has peppered its soundscape for the past 11 years with blues, garage rock, punk, psychedelia, surf rock, and echoes of doo-wop and '60s girl-group pop. It's that menagerie of sounds that has given the band its signature melting pot of styles in all its fuzzy and distorted glory, with singer Ade Blackburn's hissing, lispy vocals always at the fore. On its fifth album in eight years, Do It!, Clinic culls together that sound and spices it with a more melodic twist through its carnival of organs, crunchy guitars, stepthump drumming, and spooky backing vocals. No song is longer than three minutes and 30 seconds, and the band seems to be on a mission to get in, do it, and get out. It's that attitude that keeps Clinic a fixture, with an unsettling, enjoyable addition to its repertoire to boot.
Although their pairing under their current moniker is relatively new, The Dutchess and the Duke's Jesse Lortz and Kimberly Morrison briefly made music together as part of Seattle's The Sultanas. As new introductions go, "Reservoir Park" is a bleak one — an almost archetypal lament, a song that could be 30 years old and might just as well hold up for another 30. Over shuffling rhythm and bristling guitar, Lortz's narrator details a grim day: "I barely woke this morning on the cold ground by the sea," he begins. Things don't exactly improve: He searches for an absent God, is confronted by a rooting malaise, repeatedly returns to contemplate the ominous clouds looming above his head. In the end, he seeks answers about his future and is told, "You ain't got no future/ You ain't ever growing old."
The vocals call and respond, the guitar bursts in at the right times, and the loose percussion drives things forward. If the overall form is essentially classic, the details are what make it unique. Lortz's dry vocals hail from an outsider's tradition: a punk rock snarl and a barely restrained frustration impossible to contain in auxiliary spaces. Counterpointing him is Morrison, who brings a fullness to the lines she sings, a lost and entirely melodic sensibility that seems more '70s California than '60s Detroit. And as bare-bones as the song's recording may immediately seem, the studio is used deftly: Lortz's voice layers atop itself for critical lines, while Morrison's harmonies serve as both balance and foil. The song crackles as it goes, but it's the deftness of its construction that makes repeat listens so rewarding.
Sure, if St. Paul chanteuse Haley Bonar's latest release Big Star was playing overhead in your neighborhood coffee shop, you probably wouldn't bat an eyelash. Fair enough. The greatest tragedy about quality coffee shop music is that it isn't meant to be homogenized into a low volume playlist just pleasant enough to keep customers calm and content. The best of this genre chock full of gentle guitars and down-to-earth vocals is meant for a truly intimate setting a public meeting place can never offer — one where the words can be heard and contemplated, where the strumming can be felt and absorbed. Haley Bonar's Big Star is a shimmering bright spot too good for the coffee shop world.
Although the 25-year-old Bonar's fourth album offers similar instrumentation and the same inimitable croon as its predecessor, there's a newfound directness at play in the songwriting. Earlier Bonar tunes often stretched out like never ending mountain ranges, while Big Star's tracks crackle like small bushfires: warm and contained, but still shrouded in darkness and mystery. Bonar's artistic growth is evident throughout, particularly in the lyric department, focusing on some heftier themes such as celebrity ("Queen of Everything") and the relationship difficulties that come with that territory ("Something Great"). Tracks like "Bag" show Bonar can still approach minimalist imagery with just as much efficacy.
With famed producer Tchad Blake (Peter Gabriel, Elvis Costello, Pearl Jam) working the mixing board for the album, it's no surprising that Bonar's sonic territory feels tweaked as well. Blake wisely doesn't smother Bonar's tunes in grand string arrangements or wall-of-sound production values, instead preserving the open and airy quality of the source material. Bill Mike's electric guitars meekly swell up behind Bonar's acoustic chord progressions on the album's prophetic title track and elsewhere snare and cymbal hits bound and spring radiantly underneath the mellotron on "Arms of Harm." Even Bonar's flirtations with straight-ahead country ("Highway 16") and her slowcore past ("Along") sound rich despite only a limited amount of vocal and guitar layering. Big Star's slightly revised approach to lyrics and production could easily make Bonar a star. Just promise not to let her gorgeous songs drown in Starbucks boredom.
I'm definitely excited about these guys. The Uglysuit are a new band out of Oklahoma City that play orchestral guitar pop that's space-y, sunshine-y and sort of Shins-y. And it's unbelievably catchy. I feel good listening to these songs. The Uglysuit's clean melodies are for the most part optimistic, yet sometimes there's the unmistakable twinge of sadnesss, but they're always 100% singalong-able. These six guys are new to the scene (all are just 20-23 years of age), but will most assuredly be around for quite some time.
Their phenomenal debut is due out August 19 on Chicago-based Quarterstick Records (part of Touch & Go) and the boys and girls are going to love it. As of this writing, The Uglysuit are gearing up to play some dates with Iron & Wine and word on the street is that The Flaming Lips are big fans, too — they are from Oklahoma City, after all. A really good new band that's here to stay.
With his new band Sleepercar rolling down the tracks, Jim Ward says he's "not in a big rush to make any sort of decision" about his other concern, Sparta.
"One of the gut reactions I have now is to not plan too far ahead," Ward says. "The last ten years of my life have been very much part of a collective and planned out. Being part of a group gets old sometimes, and you need a break from it. You've got to remember you're an individual and can do what you want to sometimes."
After promoting Sparta's last album, Threes, in 2006, Ward says the group has decided to "take at least a year off, and we'll kind of go from there. I wouldn't mind doing this band (Sleepercar) and seeing where it goes — and working on my house and having my family around."
Sleepercar has actually been part of Ward's life since the waning days of his previous band, At the Drive-In, when he began writing the song "Fences Down" at a sound check prior to one of that group's last tours. The Americana-styled music didn't particularly fit the subsequent Sparta, either. But the musical differences helped him define what he wanted to do on Sleepercar's debut album for Doghouse Records, West Texas.
"I don't know how much of it was conscious," Ward says, "but obviously I would get home from a Sparta tour and not want to play heavy music, which would just open that canal, that gateway to those songs."
Ward currently has Sleepercar on the road through mid-July and is hoping to schedule more dates soon. Mostly, Ward contends, he's overwhelmed there's an audience for this music at all.
"I'm blown away by it," he says. "It's totally a surprise to me. I thought I'd take a year off from Sparta and put out the record and play some shows, and it's gone much better than I could have expected. It's been fun to sell records to people who have absolutely no idea who I am."
It's hard to imagine many people who wouldn't quickly surrender to the catchy melodies, playful R&B-tinged rhythms and John Legend-by-way-of-Stevie Wonder vocals that come together in rising pop singer Eric Hutchinson's music. The bean counter on his MySpace page has clocked past 1.5 million plays for a handful of his songs, suggesting this New York-based musician is well past cult-hero status.
Yet just last year, Hutchinson was dropped by Warner Bros. Records after the label's subsidiary to which he had been signed, Maverick Records, folded before his album was finished. So Hutchinson did what most singer/songwriters in their 20s have done when confronted by that all-too-common scenario: He felt depressed, briefly considered giving up, recommitted to his passion for music and soldiered on.
"It was a slap in the face, but looking back, maybe it was a good one," Hutchinson said recently on a rare day off back home in New York. It's a generous turnaround, considering that when Maverick started to go under, Hutchinson got a phone call one day while on tour telling him that the album he'd recently started recording was on hold, and his tour was abruptly called off.
"They said, 'Everything's frozen. You can't stay in your hotel tonight. We're shipping you home,'" he said. "The good part is I learned that a career in this business is very fragile, but the other thing I was reminded of is why I was doing it in the first place, which is that I really love it."
Now Hutchinson is enjoying an upswing. His recently released major-label debut album, Sounds Like This, includes new recordings of two songs he'd started working on for the Maverick album, but mostly it's stuff he's written since. The real twist? He's back in the Warner Bros. fold.
After his Maverick deal fell apart, Hutchinson decided to post tracks on MySpace, and word of mouth began to build. "I decided I didn't want to wait anymore looking for a deal," he said.
A week after the album became available on iTunes, Web gossip king Perez Hilton, who had been tipped to it by one of his readers, posted links to the album's iTunes page and later sponsored a showcase in Los Angeles for Hutchinson. "It was very catchy," Hilton said recently. "It did what all good music does — it established an immediate, visceral connection."
Hutchinson's world exploded. "I woke up, my in-box was flooded. Everybody was calling," he said. "I was touring on the West Coast at the time, and it was a complete frenzy. The album jumped into the Top 10 on iTunes, and my manager got calls from tons of record labels." Quicker than you can spell "Internet phenomenon," a bidding war ensued with Warner Bros. emerging victorious.
"When I first heard that [Warner Bros. executives] were interested, I was offended — I didn't understand it," he said. "Then I found out that the label's A&R guy Craig Aaronson didn't know I'd been on Maverick. It came down to [Warner chief executive] Tom Whalley and him, and I really felt that they believed in the project and what I wanted to do. But it was a weird experience."
Madison, Wisconsin, U.S.A. Jonk Music encourages you to buy your favorite music. If you like the sample you hear, please support the artists by purchasing their work and attending their shows.
