Antony's teaser EP — before the release of The Crying Light next year — begins with an end. Like a poem on his deathbed, the warbling wonder sings beautifully over a piano about needing another world on this EP's title track, because "this one's nearly gone." He then lists the things he will miss the most when he goes. It's a wonderfully tragic song to open with and it swells perfectly into the rest of the short player, oozing with pianos, lush strings, guitars and poetic lyrics about nature's throbbing life. Things get real dirty and lively on live favorite "Shake That Devil," a call-and-repeat back-alley jazz stomper. Contrary to the morbid opener, the EP ends with "Hope Mountain," a lullaby filled with life, leaving the listener inspired and hungry for whatever Antony will reveal in 2009.
Some unrefined folks might think Sufjan Stevens' sensitive bleating sounds like an Asthmatic Kitty. I'm pretty positive that's not why he gave his record label that name, but it's something to think about while you read about the imprint's next release.
Welcome to the Welcome Wagon is the debut album by The Welcome Wagon, a duo composed of Brooklyn, New York Presbyterian pastor Vito Aiuto and his wife Monique, who are backed on the record by members of their congregation. The album was produced and arranged by Stevens and features a mix of folk, indie pop and gospel styles.
The December 9 release includes a unique combination of original songs, hymns and covers, including The Smiths' "Half a Person." The two frontpeople sing and play guitar and glockenspiel, while members of their flock contribute vocals, lap steel, upright bass and brass instruments.
The album material was sourced from a variety of rehearsals and home recordings captured in living rooms, churches and home studios across New York City over eight years.
When most people buy an album, the thought of its production is pretty far from their minds. Since a main function of studio production is to shelter the listener from the background grit that might ruin the music's spell, music listeners don't really notice the process a band goes through in making a studio recording.
So it is with Army Navy's self-titled debut album, released October 14 by the band's own label. On the surface, it's a beautiful cross-section of the band's material, old and new. It does a good job showcasing their signature vintage guitar growl, infectious pop melodies and Justin Kennedy's spot-on, tight-throated vocals. The bigger picture, though, is available to those lucky enough to have heard older recordings, giving them a basis to compare how far this band has come.
In some of the go-to tracks like "Dark as Days" and "Snakes of Hawaii," which have been on every EP I have seen thus far, the fatigue of re-recording and re-mixing is starting to show in the guitar and vocals, which have just a twinge of "I've done this before" deliberateness – though the performance is sharp enough that a first-time listener would be hard-pressed to notice. The tiresome process can be seen again in "Saints," which was re-recorded almost identically to the older one, with the exception of new drumming.
However, this release has also given Army Navy some newer battleships for their musical fleet. "My Thin Sides," "Slight of Hand," and "Right Back Where We Started From" expose some glorious songwriting chops, giving first-time listeners a reason to stay interested and surprising longer-bearded listeners with some previously unheard song-smithing skills.
Near the top of the set is "My Thin Sides," a quick, frantic number that comes more from a Libertines / Dirty Pretty Things angle than most of the band's previous material. Its Iggy-Pop bassline and spastic solo, which I'm told was recorded in one take by a wasted Louie (Schultz, Guitar) makes it a good backing track for a happy London bar brawl. A couple slots down is "Slight of Hand," a relaxed, melodic tune with a gripping chorus that demonstrates the joyful melancholy this band can create. This sound, like the Smiths à la indie rock, is a huge part of Army Navy's appeal and may be what got this track into Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist.
One interesting track is "Pocket Boys," a breezy piece of strumming that hints of sailing ships and ocean shimmer, creating a peaceful soundscape that contradicts its blood-and booze-soaked lyrical content. This number is followed by the playful, manic energy of "Jail is Fine," whose lead riff teases like a joker offering another shot of rum. This vibe is reinstated in the album's sunny, celebratory final track, whose classic '60s backup vocals and careless lyrics nearly escape the darkness of vaguely scary love-lines like "and if you get hurt by the little things I say, I can put a smile back on your face." Overall, this is an awesome collection by a band that grows more amazing by the note. Any rock fan who takes pride in knowing up-and-coming material would be wise to invest in this little disc.
Attempting to compile a list of good side-project albums by drummers of successful bands is a task that will have you stumped almost from the beginning. It appears that Strokes drummer Fabrizio Moretti has done the impossible, though, with Little Joy, the band he formed in 2008 with Rodrigo Amarante of the Brazilian band Los Hermanos and Los Angeles singer/songwriter Binki Shapiro. Fab doesn't do the singing, but he wrote (or co-wrote) all the songs and provides a good portion of musical backing for Amarante and Shapiro's restrained vocals. Not only is the result not the embarrassment that some more uncharitable people may have anticipated, but Little Joy is a good (sometimes very good) album. A laid-back and easy to digest album with no grand statements to absorb or deeper meanings to dig for, it's made up of simple songs recorded simply and sung sweetly. The variety of influences on display (like midtempo Memphis soul, lovers rock, bossa nova, early '70s singer/songwriters, and sunshiny pop) gives you an idea of the mood the record conjures. The pieces are mixed and matched smoothly and with an ease and peaceful grace, making the record a joy to listen to. The hooky songs with summery grooves (the sweetly romantic "Brand New Start," "No One's Better Sake") and the semi-rockers (the kinda Strokey "Keep Me in Mind") are the first to grab you, but the quiet acoustic songs are just as nice. The gentle touch they display on "Unattainable" and "Don't Watch Me Dancing" is far from what you'd expect from the drummer of the Strokes, but it works perfectly for the trio. It's unlikely that this will become Moretti's full-time gig anytime soon, but he's using his downtime to the fullest with Little Joy.
While Alex Lilly's sweet, girl-next-door vocals may have once backed fellow L.A. residents and pop-devouts The Bird and the Bee, her pipes take center stage for solo project Obi Best. And Capades, Lilly's debut album under the moniker, validates her step into the limelight. Under a sprightly, whimsical layer-cake of pianos, synths, and budget drum-machine skitters (provided by a slew of like-minded pals), Lilly's work takes on a circus-esque, twirling quality with its animated, bubbly instrumentation and varied lyrical topics, from lovers to gardens, and beyond. And tracks like the slower, twinkling ballad "Green and White Stripes" and the Stereolab-esque "Blooms Like Flowers" show Lilly's knack for both songwriting and setting an ethereal soundscape.
It is of no surprise that New York foursome Longwave have drawn comparisons to the likes of Radiohead and The Strokes: the band, especially on "No Direction," manages to create the sort of epic, almost daunting spaces of the former while infusing them with the more delicate pop sensibilities of latter. Longwave was formed in 1999 by Rochester native Steve Schlitz, and after self-releasing their first album, Endsongs, they were signed to RCA for two more albums and worked with The Flaming Lips' producer Dave Fridmann. Over the years, the band has swelled and shrank in size (Schlitz and bassist Shannon Ferguson are the only original members left), and they now find themselves releasing their fourth album, Secrets Are Sinister, with the creative freedom of independent label Original Signal Recordings.
To "No Direction" (also produced by Fridmann) they arrive as a lean foursome and inject their sound with a speed and all-around driving force that belies the song's title. While the machine-gun rattle of drummer Jason Molina pushes the song forward, Schlitz and company are free to create a wall of guitar and sonic fuzz suited to the airy confines of an arena rock stage. What Longwave does better than many of their contemporaries, though, is balance this sort of epic sound with quiet, almost eerie moments when the guitar dwindles to a whimper and all that is left is Schlitz's grandiose voice and the barely audible warble of the keyboard.
Whistling and bongos — two things I never imagined would pair well. But not only do they pair well, they have actually made it too "cool." Tell me you haven't gotten the Peter Björn and John track "Young Folks" stuck in your head, that you haven't found yourself whistling along to the intro, and I will have to challenge you to a duel. It's darn catchy!
The female singer on this insta-hit, being neither Peter nor John, is actually Victoria Bergsman, the former singer from the Swedish pop group The Concretes. After leaving the group due to internal differences, road weariness, stage fright, and the unfortunate theft of all their gear in New York City, Bergsman did the only thing that made sense to her at the time. She swore off the industry and signed a deal with Rough Trade to release her own project, Taken by Trees.
Open Field is the reluctant product of a passion that will not subside. I know that sounds contrived but after a few good listens there is a yearning within these tracks that comes across in a wonderfully honest and innocently enthusiastic way. It is almost as though each track is Bergsman's first attempt at songwriting, something captured from within the walls of her secondary school bedroom on a four-track recorder. Again, Bergsman teamed up with Peter Björn, who produced Open Field, and their approach is simplistic and formulaic: minimal instrumentation, rich, warm acoustics, and a heavy reverb that makes each song feel like Easter Sunday, as if performed from within a chapel of devout believers.
Bergsman sticks with familiar progressions throughout the album, giving the sound a feel of vague yet recognizable déjà vu. Her voice is velvety and soft, mildly accented, and very much in the front of the mix. In "Lost and Found" she speaks of being love sick and heartbroken much in the same way as one of Phil Spector's girl groups from the '60s. The orchestral arrangements also feel borrowed from another decade, though perhaps slightly earlier.
"Open Field" has a lilting string arrangement that could be the score from an early American settler film or a coming of age story set in the country's heartland. Bergsman sings of love, loss, friendship and forgiveness with frankness and guilelessness. The result is a wonderfully light and easy listen for tired ears and frank hearts.
The Oregonians of Blitzen Trapper often sounded like a ray-gun-wielding Grateful Dead cover band on 2007's Wild Mountain Nation, so it's no surprise that frontman Eric Earley calls himself a "moonwalking cowboy" and implores listeners to "leave this world somehow" on the band's fourth full-length. More surprising is the fact that it isn't all meaningless science-fiction babble: On its most focused album yet, Blitzen Trapper seems concerned with the ways a person can escape the terrestrial while staying on earth. Furr is a celebration of passion and abandon, featuring teens gone feral, God-fearing psycho killers, and other characters engulfed by the dangerous, antisocial forces of love, dance, God, and suicide. Throughout, Earley stresses how primal instinct magnifies rather than destroys identity, so it makes a kind of unexpected sense that these 12 roots-rocking songs come with less blippy weirdness and fewer noisy sideshows than before. Blitzen Trapper is just acting natural: The Neil Young and Beatles influences are laid bare, the quirkiness is now more tuneful than cerebral, and the band has surrendered to the basic human craving for candied country melodies.
There's simply no way of discussing this album without first addressing its origin and personnel. The Fireman is a duo consisting of Youth (Killing Joke bassist and jack-of-all-trades producer of experimental electronica and ambient remixes as well as the more mainstream rock of the Verve and Guns 'N Roses) and Paul McCartney (who needs no parenthetical).
McCartney had always been fascinated with the experimental possibilities of electronic music, and with Youth's studio wizardry, the Fireman released two albums of far-out electronic ambience. Initially, they hid their identities, allowing Fireman's music to swim out into the musical landscape unfettered by the loaded preconceptions that their names exude. However, the duo's identities were inevitably outed.
McCartney and Youth no longer attempt to shroud Fireman in anonymity. And that's not the only change this time around. Unlike 1994's Strawberries Oceans Ships Forest and 1998's Rushes, which were ambient electronic experiments, Electric Arguments is basically a standard pop album, complete with concise structure and prominent vocals.
McCartney's latest offerings, especially 2007's Memory Almost Full, were like sonic chicken noodle soup, familiar and comforting but also unexciting. McCartney was consciously playing the musical role of "Paul McCartney, " staying safe and giving us what we all expected but nothing more, nothing new.
On Electric Arguments, McCartney throws out the can of Campbell's condensed and improvises a new recipe from scratch, impulsively dashing in pinches of spice, haphazardly tossing in whatever ingredients come to mind. The result is an exciting, strange and unexpected stew.
The opening song announces this exploratory spirit quite definitively. "Nothing Too Much Just Out of Sight" is a dirty, noisy blues sure to make some fans verify whether they haven't mistakenly bought the wrong album. The feedback and guttural vocals that close the song shed light on the underexposed side of McCartney's persona behind "Helter Skelter."
But this album isn't all blistering freak-out jams. In fact, it doesn't stick with any one sound at all. It's almost as if Youth and McCartney recorded four separate EPs, each cohesive in their own right, but then threw all the tracks into a Hefty bag, shook it up and out came the hodgepodge that is Electric Arguments. While this might irreparably fault lesser albums, it adds to this album's off-the-cuff charm.
One sound is that of the previously mentioned "Nothing Too Much": blistering blues with a vengeance. Then there is more traditionally Macca-esque fare replete with flowing melodies and a laid-back aura. The twee "Two Magpies" takes its lyrics from a nursery rhyme, and "Light from Your Lighthouse" is a folksy sing-along. Even though they are more predictable, they exude a long-absent freshness. For example, on the latter track McCartney explores the sinister tones of his vocal range's bottom end, undercutting the otherwise pastel tune with darker shades. It's hard to imagine such ambiguity existing in Memory's two-dimensional landscape. Another recurring sound on Electric Arguments is a wide-eyed spiritual sound. It's U2-ish, triumphantly idealistic yet less overbearing. Tracks in this vein, like "Sing the Changes," sparkle with their lyrical optimism and inspiring musical force.
The album closes with five tracks of a more experimental and electronic bent, many lacking prominent vocals or recognizable structure. At their worst, these experiments are meanderingly indulgent; at their best they're hypnotically captivating, such as pulsating "Lovers in a Dream." It's much more fascinating to hear McCartney occasionally trip up while trying new things than to hear him go through the motions as he has on his past few albums.
Perhaps the fact that this isn't truly a McCartney release has eliminated any pressure to conform to a preconceived identity. Or maybe the act of collaborating, especially with a creative foil like Youth, has brought out a hidden side of his talents. Whatever the roots of this risk-taking may be, the result is an exciting album that enriches and expands our understanding of McCartney's endearing personality and immense talents.
From Low Altitude Records comes Paper Route's new album Are We All Forgotten, an ambient-pop/prog rock outfit whose glassy soundscapes shimmer with a gentleness that is reflective of Great Northern and Lost Ocean's music and soars into a comet-infested extravaganza relatable to Hundred Year Storm. The band's five-track record is a sample of their cosmic dimensioned rock. It's dreamy and ethereal to the touch and does wonders to liberate the senses like a stress relieving tonic.
Some aspects of the band's music may remind fans of the shoegazy atmospherics of '80s bands like The Cure, Pink Floyd, and Joy Division in tracks like "American Clouds" and the title track, but reviving old templates does not seem to be the objective of Paper Route. They take steps into present day chord formations, intonations, and imaginary cosmic-bunkered escapes. Songs like "You Kill Me," "Empty House," and "Waiting for the Final Leaf to Fall" have a translucent density that makes them appear bushy, yet easy to put your hand right through it like a mind-boggling sonic illusion.
Paper Route's album has mass appeal in world music markets in ways that bands like Pink Floyd, The Cure, and Joy Division had. It takes the listener into the cosmos, a trance-like ethereal dimension that has no walls, only molecular floatations filled with bushy cloud clusters that appease the recesses of the mind. The album is like one long drifting dream that traverses across landscapes that are aurally fluffy and soft and cooling on the senses.
It was only recently that Fat Possum Records was a record label that released aging Mississippi bluesmen (R.L. Burnside, Junior Kimbrough, T-Model Ford) and the quite-likely insane (Hasil Adkins, Bob Log III) exclusively. Lately — after signing a spate of indie-blog types like The Fiery Furnaces and Andrew Bird — it's less easy to tell what you're going to hear when you hold a Fat Possum record in your hand. It's difficult, however, to break the compulsion to place whichever band it is into the label's lineage of obscure American roots music.
As such, it's easy to come into the Mississippi-based Colour Revolt's debut full-length Plunder, Beg, and Curse expecting some take on the blues, despite their use of British spellings. The ringing tremolos that open the record dispel this fast, and the band comes in heavy, like a stoner-rock band that's given up on the drones and discovered something approaching melody.
That song, "Naked and Red," keens drunkenly between classic Southern rock, '90s indie rock favorites Built to Spill and Modest Mouse, and some obscure Josh Homme side project, while the band betrays their Deep South heritage in the biblical Gothic of the lyrics ("There goes Adam with the Devil's head / His body's all naked and red ... And I'm still swinging from from the liquor tree / And Eden is a hell of a place").
While Plunder, Beg, and Curse starts off strong, the focus dissipates over the course of the album. Colour Revolt has a tendency to lapse into common indie-isms ("See It," "Innocent and All") and endless riffs, signifying little ("Swamp"). The highlights — most evident when they begin to branch out, like on the just-shy-of-epic closer "What Will Come of Us?" or the gentle "Moses of the South" — are enough to show a promising band looking for the perfect fit for all their urges. While singing about sin is all fine and good, sinning itself makes for better rock and roll.
I have a funny feeling that Clare Muldaur Manchon is a die-hard romantic. It's hard not to get that impression listening to the Martha's Vineyard-born singer-songwriter's debut record, The Movie. And it's not just because of the film noir album art. It's in the sound of her voice, in her backing band's delicate harmonies, and in the gentle swell of the strings that permeate nearly every one of the record's eleven jazz-tinged indie tunes. By the time you've finished listening to them all, you're left with the distinct impression that Muldaur Manchon is the kind of person who counts Casablanca among their favourite films, Edith Piaf among their favourite singers, and red wine among their favourite beverages.
Of course, you don't even have to make it all the way to end of the record before you start to get that feeling. You could probably guess it right from the very first track, a string-soaked, starry-eyed ballad written to Pluto, lamenting its recent demotion to non-planetary status. "Pluto," she sings, "I have some frightful news / In the New York Times / They've just reported you've been overthrown / From your solar throne / For good." One track in, and it's already obvious that Muldaur Manchon isn't your typical indie songstress (after all, it's not everyone who chooses to write sentimental songs about the official policies of the International Astronomical Union regarding celestial bodies and their ability to become gravitationally dominate in their orbital zone.) And as if that weren't evidence enough of a romantic worldview, she ends the album with a French version of the same tune, "Pluton." ("Pluton," she sings, "J'ai eu mauvaise nouvelles...")
Now, you'd be forgiven for thinking that all sounds a little bit corny. And maybe it is, but for the most part, Muldaur Machon pulls it off. A healthy romantic spirit has been known to produce more than a few good songs over the years, and you can count most of the tracks on The Movie among them. After a few listens, some of the album's songs ("Under the Water," "Go Back," "Sugar in My Hair") still blend into the rest of the record without making much of an impression, but by then others (like "Pluto," "Alphabet City," and "Rodi," the first single) are familiar old friends.
Part of what helps them feel that way is that they're dotted with little snippets of sentimental lyrics — in "Nothing/Nowhere" ("If you're free / Come with me / To nowhere"), in "Alphabet City" ("3 am / In Alphabet City / A-B-C-D / Just you and me"), in "Cook for You" ("And I like to talk to you / While I brush my teeth / Because I have so much to say")—and that Muldaur Manchon has equipped them with catchy, upbeat melodies. Beyond that, they're also strengthened by a couple of notable guest appearances: Sufjan Stevens lends his vocals to "Nowhere/Nothing" and famed Brian Wilson collaborator Van Dyke Parks helps out on "Love Can Be a Crime," where you can only assume that he had something to do with the track's gorgeous Beach Boys-style harmonies.
So, by the time you've made the trip all the way from "Pluto" to "Pluton," you can't help but think that Muldaur Monchon and her Reasons live in a world made of black and white films and young people falling in love. (It might be genetic: her father, a folk guitarist, recorded the classic, bittersweet version of "Brazil" Terry Gilliam used for his film.) Clare and the Reasons' songs — earnest, but playful, never taking themselves too seriously — are all about the little, poetic moments in life. And if you, too, long for the world of Casablanca and red wine, then may I suggest The Movie, the kind of record a young person could fall in love to.
M83 has one of the largest sounds in electronic music today. Almost every track on their 2005 release, Before the Dawn Heals Us, soars with a synthesized intensity that rivals even the most ecstatic Pink Floyd climaxes, which is why meeting Anthony Gonzalez is so disarming. As one of the producers and performers, responsible for putting together this diverse and overpowering sound, he can best be described as cute. Shy and terribly soft-spoken, he has a demeanor that belies the energy of his music.
Gonzalez found his musical inspiration in the electronic sounds of '70s and '80s prog rock. This is not a surprising revelation considering that the frigid landscapes of his first release, Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts, could easily be applied as a backdrop to any number of sci-fi films from the late 20th century. However, unlike Dead Cities, Dawn aims more for a pop aesthetic, sounding more like a slick, late-night Autobahn adventure than a joyride through the apocalypse.
"My music evolves with the time," Gonzalez said before a recent show at Holocene. "I need to make a different record each time, with different kind of production and different kind of songs."
These "different kind of songs" have created quite a stir in the U.S. electronic community in large part because they update a sonic quality that has been largely absent from modern music since the disappearance of Brian Eno, Tangerine Dream, and others.
"My music is just a mix of all my influences. I love ambient music from the '70s," Gonzalez said, also noting his appreciation of mid-'90s rock.
This mix of ambient synthesizers and progressive rock guitars may seem like an incongruous outcome considering that, as a boy, Gonzalez was inspired to learn how to play guitar after hearing bands like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden. He started rock bands with friends but soon wanted to "discover new sounds." Discovery occurred in the circuitry of the samplers and keyboards he collected. Before long, he had cut the demo which would start him on "the adventure of M83," which began with a self-titled record that had limited release in Europe in 2001 and stateside in 2005. "It's a very electronic record," Gonzalez said. "We did it in my room in, maybe, one week."
It might be that, as an audience, fans from the United States are particularly susceptible to the images that M83 attempts to produce through sound. "I like the relationship between music and pictures," Gonzales said. "It's very important for a band like M83. When you listen to this record [Before the Dawn Heals Us] you can imagine your own story."
This may be the most appealing aspect of M83: In a world that demands our attention be spread across numerous media during every waking hour, it is good to know that M83 would like us to sit down, close our eyes and drift into a world of improbable electronic landscapes where the story we imagine is our own.
Somewhere deep in the Catskills, a young couple is making beautiful music together. Literally. Gary Levitt and Erica Quitzow each has a band, but each also counts the other as a bandmate.
Setting Sun is Levitt's baby, a moody brew of pop that includes acoustic or electric guitars, strings and some '80s-style keyboards; his confessional voice sometimes evokes Elliot Smith. "Isolation," from 2005's Math and Magic, brought together the dramatic delivery with a set of lyrics spilling out with a poetic skill rarely heard in any style of music. The recently released Children of the Wild may or may not have its own "Isolation," but it contains plenty of prime pop writing from Levitt.
On previous Setting Sun tours, Erica Quitzow played cello, drums and keyboards — the second two simultaneously — and added harmonies. After months of recordings that found her playing almost every instrument, she has released her solo debut under the name Quitzow. Art College is largely composed of lead cellos, vintage keyboards and beats that come from both live and programmed drums.
Her string instrument of choice, and its role as a lead instrument, draws similarities to cello trio Rasputina, especially when combined with Quitzow's semi-manic vocals. But Art College has dance party written over parts of it too, thanks to the rubbery keyboards. If the Fiery Furnaces could stick with just one musical idea and develop it, they might sound more like Quitzow.
Setting Sun and Quitzow perform as full bands with both leaders acting in main and supporting roles.
Cape Town's three-piece rock outfit Civil Twilight (Weakerthans reference?) is earnest and endearing, moving to Los Angeles to exhilarate its live act career, then to the East Coast to record their debut album, Human, out now on One October Entertainment. And, after listening to the evocative and determined release, this journey embarked upon by Steven McKellar, Andrew McKellar, and Richard Wouters seems almost necessary.
Just listen to the heated jaunts of "Solider," the piano-tinged balladry of title track "Human," and passionate collisions of closing track "Quiet in My Town." Human is a rich and diverse landscape trodden with lingering plucks, tense but lissom melodies and archetypal lyrics of love, war, pain and peace ("What is this I feel? Why is it so real? / What am I to say? / It's only love. It's only pain. / It's only fear that runs through my veins. / It's all the things we can't explain / That make us human," McKeller whirrs on "Human"). The only downfall to the record: the unambiguous Thom Yorke influence on McKellar's vocals. But that can easily be overlooked as Civil Twilight stands strongly on its own with strong hooks and rhythmic undertakings.
Divorced from all the talk about the return of the lo-fi sound, the scene revolving around the band's home base in L.A. (the Smell), and the group's rep as no-nonsense noise punks, you have the music of No Age. All that stuff is just background — what matters is the sound coming down the wires as Nouns clatters and hisses on through to your ears. The duo of Dean Spunt (drums and vocals) and Randy Randall (guitar) are proudly noisy, drawing influence from early-'90s lo-fi acts like Eric's Trip as well as the New Zealand sound of that decade. They make no attempt to clean up their sound (though it does seem slightly more professionally recorded than the singles that made up their first release, Weirdo Rippers) as amps hum, drums clatter like garbage cans, and voices shout and holler. It's an arresting amount of noise and it may put you off initially. If you stick with it past the first wave of fuzz, though, you'll be captured by the songs, because No Age aren't about noise alone. Below that less than pristine (to be kind) sound there are songs. There are rollicking freak-outs ("Here Should Be My Home"), folk songs tossed about by waves of fuzz ("Eraser"), and careening rockers with hooky choruses ("Cappo"). Take them out and scrub them up a bit, and they would be as shiny and clean as things you might actually hear on the radio. After a polish it's not hard to imagine "Teen Creeps," for example, playing in the background of a teen movie. "Sleeper Hold," too, could be the theme song for any manner of triumphant scene; the chorus has the kind of hook you'll be singing all day. Choosing to bathe the songs in noise adds an extra layer of sound, sure, but also creates an epic battle between melody and noise, between beauty and grunge, that gives the album a real sense of drama. Also adding to the sense that something is at stake on Nouns are the lyrics. There are no simple love songs here — mostly twisted fragments of isolation and ruin with the (very) occasional bit of tender hope thrown in to keep you from throwing in the towel. In the final count, melody and beauty, fractured as they may be, win the day. Like fellow noise poppers Times New Viking did on their awesome album Rip It Off, No Age turn noise into gold on Nouns.
Some People Have Real Problems is Sia's first release on the Starbucks-affiliated label Hear Music, following acts like Paul McCartney and Joni Mitchell. Given the burst of attention Sia got when her song "Breathe Me" was used to excellent effect in the final scenes of the series finale of the HBO show Six Feet Under (which brought the Australian singer/songwriter to a much wider audience than was familiar with her earlier work with Zero 7 and Massive Attack), it makes perfect sense. With her old-school soul vocal style, with just a hint of roughness under her delicate high-register tones, set against the contemporary sophistication of her music, Sia is exactly the sort of artist a middle-aged Starbucks devotee who wants to remain at least tangentially hip would flock to: if Amy Winehouse did yoga instead of Jack Daniels, she'd sound a lot like Sia. But fans of Sia's earlier releases may well be in for a shock: Some People Have Real Problems sounds like a concerted grab for the Mum Rock demographic, those looking for something to listen to while they're waiting for Corinne Bailey Rae and Regina Spektor to release new albums. Considerably more pop-oriented and uptempo than the chilly electronica that made her name, songs like "Buttons" and "Academia" (one of two songs featuring Beck on harmony vocals; the other, "Death by Chocolate," also features fellow Scientologists Jason Lee and Giovanni Ribisi) also seem designed to attract the audience that fell for Feist's "1234." It would be easy to condemn Sia for such a naked brass ring grab (remember the hubbub over Liz Phair's self-titled album?) except for one somewhat surprising point: the change actually suits her. The newly varied arrangements, moods, and textures of this album, from the mournful piano-led cover of The Kinks' "I Go to Sleep" through the horn-based R&B swing of "Electric Bird" to the sarcastic bounce of "The Girl You Lost to Cocaine," make Some People Have Real Problems Sia's most engrossing and satisfying album yet.
There really isn't much behind Minus the Bear's EP entitled Acoustics. After all, it is what it is: six previously recorded tracks and one brand spankin' new track with acoustic guitars and modest percussion. Beyond that, it was easy to see Minus the Bear going acoustic due to their intricate and soothing indie/progressive rock with that almost emotionally numb attachment.
Acoustics begins with their new track, "Guns & Ammo," a definitive highlight of the album. One of the most impressive qualities of "Guns & Ammo" is cohesiveness and how refreshing the sound is initially. After all, it is the first real taste of Minus the Bear in an acoustic sense. Anyway, regardless of the apparent repetitiveness, something that Minus the Bear regularly pull off successfully, this track thrives on it. Additionally "Guns & Ammo" is one of the more diverse tracks without reaching into a more progressive sound. Between the bridge and the perfect pace of the song, it makes you wonder why they did not record seven new tracks that would compliment "Guns & Ammo."
Instead, I wondered how they would incorporate the progressive elements from their last full-length, Planet of Ice, and integrate it into Acoustics. Of the tracks transcribed, "Knights" seemed to be the most challenging. Between the effects and progressive nature of the track, the stripped down track played off well, actually better than that. The technicality of "Knights" is still there, along with the incredible precision. "Knights" sounds tighter with acoustic guitars perhaps due to the removal of wailing guitar work. The synth-laden "Burying Luck" also went through major changes, switching to a more classical piano driving along with Jake Snider's vocals sounding rather ordinary without that fire that drove "Burying Luck" so far on Planet of Ice.
As expected with Acoustics, important little details tend to be omitted. Take "Panucha Sunrise," which was a track that begun with delay guitar effects on the initial recording that created a whimsical sound, but instead on Acoustics the note is simply held down. Otherwise, "Pachuca Sunrise" barely misses a beat and if anything, sounds better than ever with a more natural sound. The last track, "Ice Monster," incorporates different percussion instruments like maracas and tambourines, behind Snider's best vocal work on the album, in a track that claps its way to the end of Acoustics.
What to take away from Acoustics is a new light to view Minus the Bear. After all, they are generally a relaxing band to listen to that stays within a certain boundary. In all, Acoustics highlights their work that is typically overshadowed by their use of effects, but the resulting sound was hardly a major surprise. Overall, Acoustics is tabbed as another steady and consistent release by Minus the Bear. I guess that works.
With Out Hud now no more, cellist and founding member Molly Schnick has gone her own way as Jean on Jean. Those with a hankering for more punk-funk will have to content themselves with the output of related band !!!, while indie-pop fans may be surprised to find in Schnick a kindred spirit all along — at least based on "Tonight," the opening track from new album Jean on Jean. Her lush cello playing is still a major focal point, particularly on the instrumental bridge, but here it's joined by shambling guitar, sighing keyboards, handclaps, and Schnick's own wispy, layered vocals. "Tonight after we said goodbye / I listened to the radio on my drive," she sings, as the percussion provides a Phil Spector-ian rumble. Consider it a graceful, promising reminder that Out Hud, like twee-pop favorites the Softies, spent part of their formative years in Sacramento in the 1990s.
"Always Where I Need to Be" from the albumKonk
2008 iTunes
After an excellent and highly praised debut album, the "Kooky" quartet from Brighton is at it again with Konk. Lead singer Luke Pritchard says, "If it doesn't make you feel good, then what's the point?" — and their new tracks do feel good, filled with great upbeat guitar and powerful choruses. The headlining songs on Konk are the album's first two: "See the Sun" and "Always Where I Need to Be." Other tracks that impress are "Do You Wanna" (with a lively dance quality and sexy lyrics) and "Stormy Weather." The Kooks maintain their unique sound throughout. With positive vibes along the lines of fellow Brits The Kinks, Konk flows cohesively and is easy and pleasant to listen to all the way through, which is very hard to say for most full-lengths in this era of hit singles. Following their first release, their progression with Konk proves that if The Kooks keep this up, they'll be making great rock albums for years.
It seems cliché when a band breaks up, or takes a hiatus, so that their front man can work on a solo project. It is refreshingly unlikely that Peter Walker jumped in the opposite direction, from solo singer-songwriter to band. Indie rock trio Eulogies formed on the road as the touring band in support of Walker's promising sophomore solo release, Young Gravity.
As the name suggests, the dark tones of Walker's solo works remain. They are actually even darker this go-around, as the happy-go-lucky music that masked the sadness and despair of Walker's music previously now sounds a bit more grounded. The band has a rugged, relaxed, and confident sound that accents Walker's gently reverberating vocals well. The band is at their best on slow burning, tension-filled rock ballad "If I Knew You." Guitars gradually inch closer from the sparse introductory verse, before unloading with a distortion-filled growl for Walker's bleak vocals to creep under. The mellow restraint of the steadily marching band fits the bummed-out vocals perfectly on "Under the Knife," where Walker's "so why deny, deny, deny" hook sparkles as a hazily melodic gem without becoming a gooey pop song.
Walker's ability to write gorgeous ear-grabbing hooks while keeping his garage-rock edge is what makes the songs work so well. Dusty melodic vocals dance with strutting riffs reminiscent of The Cars on "One Man," where Walker realizes that he cannot save the world on his own. The buzzing guitar solo, urgent bass line, and crashing beats play second fiddle to the hand-clap infused hook "I learned something in the nick of time / I'm only one man." Cheery lyrics have never been Walker's forté, and his work with Eulogies is no different, as evidenced by restless "Suicide" and the stark "Running in the Rain." Police-esque stabbing riffs echo in the distance, where Walker sounds on the edge of giving up, "It's impossible, take a bullet in the brain / It's easier than running in the rain."
Eulogies serves as evidence to maintain what those paying attention realized on Young Gravity. Peter Walker is a star quietly waiting for you to notice.
With their second full-length album House With No Home, Horse Feathers delivers a piece of subtle Americana that is as beautiful as it is unnerving and as soothing as it is depressing. Justin Ringle's vocals are hushed, as if he is performing alone in his bedroom, trying not to disturb anyone. These hushed tones resonate in songs about alienation, sorrow and confusion ("Are you true to me?/ Are these vows that we say profane?"). Such is the case in the opening track, "Curs in the Weeds," about a father pleading for his lost son to return, even promising that for once "I'll call off the dogs if you call off your guard."
Each track has a minimalist arrangement, with no note played that does not have a purpose. Often silence stands out as the most haunting of sounds, such as in "Helen," where Ringle's whispered vocals often break up and disappear before the entire word can be recognized. Heather Broderick's cello and violin give the songs their most powerful moments, often coming to the forefront while the guitar and vocals drift behind. In an album this sparse, it is moments like that, where a well-placed cello note grabs you, where the true beauty of the music is realized.
It's not everyday you hear a band that comes into your life and gets out just as quickly, never lingering for riff raff and never leaving you the least bit unsatisfied. That's just how Michigan-born band Mason Proper rolls.
Formerly named Patterns, the quintet enjoyed a sort of rebirth before releasing their full-length debut There is a Moth in Your Chest in 2006. Suddenly in such demand, Mason Proper joined music label Dovecote Records, re-released the LP, and seemingly never stopped touring.
Singer Jonathan Visger never seemed to stop making music, whether it be for Mason Proper (also including keyboardist Matt Thompson, bassist Zac Fineberg, guitarist Brian Konicek and drummer Garrett Jones) or his own solo work. While the title might remind you of your childhood days, the sophomore album Olly Oxen Free does little to bring you back to those carefree times.
Instead of recalling days of endless summers, you recall lost memories you can never re-live again. The opening "Fog" focuses on the haze that develops when your future and past appear as blurry as true happiness: "I found a crystal ball, but I lost it / I bought a tea leaf to find out where you are / But I drank it."
"Point A to Point B" follows to where that hopelessness is made even worse during the journey to find some sort of relief and enlightenment: "I travel from point A, to point B, to point C / Trying to fall from grace along the way / To get lower and lower and lower." Not all is gloom and doom. Mason Proper just used the moodiness of puberty to examine the more comforting parts of life: complacency and the chance of a blissful existence.
Olly Oxen Free is more like a carousel of emotion rather than a revolving door of chaos. Songs like the rebellious "Lock and Key" and the dour "In the Mirror" are simply hurdles that everyone faces and need to experience. I mean can you really appreciate something like "Shiny" without having to go through a "Downpour?"
CMJ New Music Monthly said it best when they described Mason Proper's music as "a consistent juxtaposition of punk defiance across eerie plains of cascading indie rock."
The End of the World, a Brooklyn-based indie rock duo, first drew attention for "This Little Theater," a song off their 2005 self-titled EP. Featured in the remake of The Manchurian Candidate, the song was given high praise by critics, leading The Village Voice to dub it the best song to come out of Brooklyn that year. The next year saw the release of their first full-length album, entitled You're Making It Come Alive, which was again welcomed with open arms by critics and fans.
This year, the band releases their follow-up album, French Exit, which in laymen's terms means leaving without saying goodbye. The title captures perfectly the album's theme of loss and regret that attends the move from adolescence to adulthood.
French Exit starts off with an excerpt from one of their concerts. "Get more sentimental!" someone in the crowd shouts, most likely in jest. Sentiment abounds, however, when listening to French Exit. An undercurrent of loss and lessons learned the hard way run throughout the album. "Most of the record is very much about our lives, our friendship and our friends in general," guitarist Benjamin Smith says. "It's definitely a growing up, life choices type of record."
Whether the music soars with pop-rock bliss, as on "Jody" and "I Don't Wanna Lose," or shimmers with a haunting country twang as on "Learning," there is an honesty at the album's core, thanks to drummer/singer Stefan Marolachakis' soaring and heartfelt voice and guitarist Benjamin Smith's cross-breeding of pop, rock, folk, and country. Of course, that was the plan from day one when the duo sat down to make French Exit. "When everything else is removed and it's just the two of us, there's a good line of communication there," says Marolachakis. "It made it easier to make a record that felt honest and clear."
Honesty, earnestness, sentiment. The words bring to mind images of countless emo bands. But make no mistake — the End of the World isn't a My Chemical Romance or Good Charlotte knock-off. Their music is honest, earnest, and sentimental in the tradition of Neil Young or Bob Dylan. Marolachakis foregoes emo's tendency for pretense and smarminess in favor of the folk singer's penchant for down-to-earth storytelling.
Listening to Smith's guitar work accompany Marolachakis' searing vocals evokes a sadness and pain that cuts straight to the heart. The sadness and pain shine best on "Learning" and "Someone Else's Dollar," where Smith takes a less-is-more approach to the guitar. The duo strike raw nerves with these tracks. In a sense, "Learning" and "Someone Else's Dollar" are the strongest songs on the album because they are so raw and overwhelm your senses.
Thankfully, the entire album isn't so emotionally raw. Tracks like "Jody" and "Section House" sound more upbeat, thanks to Smith's sturdy pop guitar riffs (which sound, at times, like they were taken from a Strokes album). Indeed, Smith's pop sensibilities on the guitar take the edge off of Marolachakis' penetrating voice, making it easier to listen to French Exit from start to finish without falling into a bout of sadness.
Fans of sleepy songwriters like Nick Drake, Sam Beam (Iron & Wine), and Damien Rice will surely latch on to the understated acoustic stylings of Daniel Martin Moore's Stray Age.
The release on much-ballyhooed Sub Pop qualifies as an unlikely one. A resident of Cold Spring, Kentucky (population 3,800, at last count), Moore sent an unsolicited package with a demo to the label's headquarters. Despite Sub Pop's policy against unsolicited demos, the right hands in Seattle happened upon it and, fatefully, its modest charm pleased the ears of just about all who heard it.
The allure of Stray Age is in its simplicity. Right out in front of gently strummed acoustic guitar and muted (or, in many cases, absent) percussion, Moore's soft, whispered tone creates. His ditties are keen on observation — on "We Know Where the Time Goes," Moore implores, "Across the evening sky, all the birds are leaving. But how can they know it's time to go?" — but lean on instrumentation.
"Restoration Sketches," one of the most striking tracks on the entire album, spurns lyricism altogether, opting instead for the power of an extended two-part harmony.
Much like a tide-pool, Stray Age isn't very deep, but it sure is soothing.
"If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.
It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen; by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the very first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different; that their voice could be that difference.
It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Latino, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled — Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been a collection of Red States and Blue States: we are, and always will be, the United States of America.
It's the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful of what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.
It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America.
I just received a very gracious call from Senator McCain. He fought long and hard in this campaign, and he's fought even longer and harder for the country he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine, and we are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader. I congratulate him and Governor Palin for all they have achieved, and I look forward to working with them to renew this nation's promise in the months ahead.
I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on that train home to Delaware, the Vice President-elect of the United States, Joe Biden.
I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last sixteen years, the rock of our family and the love of my life, our nation's next First Lady, Michelle Obama. Sasha and Malia, I love you both so much, and you have earned the new puppy that's coming with us to the White House. And while she's no longer with us, I know my grandmother is watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight, and know that my debt to them is beyond measure.
To my campaign manager David Plouffe, my chief strategist David Axelrod, and the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics — you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what you've sacrificed to get it done.
But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to — it belongs to you.
I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn't start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington — it began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston.
It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give five dollars and ten dollars and twenty dollars to this cause. It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation's apathy; who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep; from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on the doors of perfect strangers; from the millions of Americans who volunteered, and organized, and proved that more than two centuries later, a government of the people, by the people and for the people has not perished from this Earth. This is your victory.
I know you didn't do this just to win an election and I know you didn't do it for me. You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime — two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century. Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us. There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after their children fall asleep and wonder how they'll make the mortgage, or pay their doctor's bills, or save enough for college. There is new energy to harness and new jobs to be created; new schools to build and threats to meet and alliances to repair.
The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even one term, but America — I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you — we as a people will get there.
There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as President, and we know that government can't solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And above all, I will ask you join in the work of remaking this nation the only way it's been done in America for two-hundred and twenty-one years — block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.
What began twenty-one months ago in the depths of winter must not end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek — it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you.
So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other. Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, it's that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers — in this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people.
Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House — a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity. Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, "We are not enemies, but friends…though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection." And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn — I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too.
And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world — our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand. To those who would tear this world down — we will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security — we support you. And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright —tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope.
For that is the true genius of America — that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.
This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that's on my mind tonight is about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She's a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing — Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.
She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons — because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin.
And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America — the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can.
At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.
When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs and a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.
When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.
She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We Shall Overcome." Yes we can.
A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can.
America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves — if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?
This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time — to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth — that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism, and doubt, and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people:
Yes We Can. Thank you, God bless you, and may God Bless the United States of America."
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.
