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MUSIC REVIEWS ARCHIVE: A-L archive reviews M-Z | current reviews
Abilene - S/T (Slowdime) The first thing you notice when listening to Abilene's debut album is Alex Dunham's vocals and the band's overall Hoover-like sound. Regulator Watts (Alex's previous post-Hoover band) was the same way, even lifting their name from a Hoover song. But where Regulator Watts focused on the intensity of Hoover, Abilene sticks with the sparse instrumentation, stretching it out over the length of the entire album. The inherent problem with this is that with two eight-minute tracks and basically the same sound on each song, the album can get a little boring. When listening to Abilene, the music itself is appealing in its familiarity, but the sense that the band is doing little more than stripping down Regulator Watts/Hoover songs makes it less than essential listening. (jc) Aden - Hey 19 (TeenBeat) With Hey 19, Aden return with their third album of glib indie pop. At first I wasn't sure what to think of this new album (their second for Teenbeat). After two albums that, while quite enjoyable, were nevertheless very similar, I guess I was caught by surprise by the new Aden. While not drastically different, this album offers a somewhat different sound, although I would be hard-pressed to illuminate the differences. Perhaps "more mature" is a good description. Still present are the gliding melodies that, along with the soft voice of Jeff Gramm, so effortlessly float along without sounding overly polished or slick. But there are also a few breaks with convention, such as the angular rhythms of "Matinee Idol," the head-bobbing playfulness of "(Rock me now) Rockulator," or the fuzzed-out guitar of "Dear John" (a cover of the song by Nice). I didn't find this album as immediately enjoyable as the first two, but that was probably due to the fact that I wasn't expecting anything different. I am, however, pleasantly surprised. (jh)
I never thought I'd be using the words "really like" and "Aluminum Group" in the same sentence, but I'll be damned, here I go: I really like the new Aluminum Group album. Bet you didn't see that coming. As with their last album, the musicianship is top-notch and name-droppy and the gay brothers are still cheesy as ever, but they've added a helpful serving of groovy beats and blips and approaches, presenting low-key numbers with style you just can't refuse. The first track is my hands-down favorite, sounding like Stereolab meets Le Mans on the outside balcony of a swanky party on a sultry summer night. With its tropicalia influence, very spare and non-word-based vocals (i.e., no bad lyrical content), lovely embellishments, and kicky beats mixing it up with sparsely strummed guitar, this is an excellent opening track to get a listener's attention. After that, things fall back into the Aluminum Group I'm more familiar with, which I wasn't totally keen on, but something about the beats keeps things from getting bogged down in their dramatics and keep you from losing interest. "Tom of Finland" reminds me of a lighter Long Fin Killie song with that talky song and minor key feel. "Worrying Kind" keeps sticking in my head with its Spandau Ballet-like vocals (yes, another brother band) and smarmy disco beats. "What do I do with this bag of bones / Rattle it now until kingdom comes / Will I ever find someone new when there's nothing much new under the sun." Well, I'll second that jaded attitude, but admit there are still pleasant surprises to be had. (yc) Arab Strap - Mad for Sadness (Jetset) I always find "live" albums problematic. Really good live bands seldom sound as good on a studio album, and even well-made recordings of a live performance rarely capture the live experience. Arab Strap, however, seems to be a band that demands to be experienced live: best seen in a smoky pub, pint in hand, while musing over the bar room confessionals of singer Aidan Moffat. This album does a good job of capturing what I imagine to be the live brilliance of Arab Strap. The intimate nature of every song somehow lends itself to being there in person, feeling as it does like reading someone's journal or overhearing someone's confession of infidelity at the table next to yours. The themes are as simple as they are familiar: confessions of sexual temptation and infidelity, tales of drunken jealousy, unfulfilled desire, and failed sexual encounters. In fact, it hardly sounds like a live album at all, except for the quiet applause at the end of each track. This album was recorded in London in 1998, so the songs are predominately off of their first two albums and early singles. (jh) MC Paul Barman - It's Very Stimulating (WordSound Recordings) Sight unseen, the nebbish-y nasal inflections of Paul Barman remind one of none other than Eminem. It's an unfortunate reminder of injustice in popular consensus--in my alternate universe, it's Dre's pup who gets compared to superstar Barman. His inverted brags cross bad taste with a juvenile joy that appeals to your inner lowbrow, at least on this record. "I'm hung like a birthmark... If you want sex with me, be prepared for bad sex" starts off his theme song "Joy of Your World." In the tradition of universalizing Jewish humor, it ends with our protagonist reaching for a gold coin condom only to find "It was chocolate Chanukah gelt." What you get aside from left-field rhymes and crass libidinal commentary is an admission early on that 4/5th of his songs are fantasy, so even his mock playerhood amounts to failed bragging. Barman's embrace of failure affirms his place in the Smart-ass Pantheon, where even a fellow meta-referentialist like Dennis Miller gets the boot for believing his own bullshit. Guests include a raunchy turn by Princess Superstar and Mr. Len, while Prince Paul handles the beats. (gc)
Over the last few albums, Belle and Sebastian have developed more of a sense of collaboration instead of a band with a leader (the unmistakable Stuart Murdock). Isobel Campbell has been featured more as a lead singer (as in her band The Gentle Waves) and so has Stevie Jackson. It seems to work on the LPs by creating a stronger commixtion of sounds and benevolence. But B&S's new EP starts with its strongest song musically and botches it by not letting the signature Murdoch take the helm. Rather than creating diversity within the three songs, "Jonathan David" makes the EP feel weak at its beginnings.
It's hard to imagine how Lars Von Trier would have made Dancer in the Dark had Björk not agreed to star in it. It's not just her touching portrayal of a well-meaning, desperate mother, but her musical numbers that take the movie over the top. Wonderful songs that arise out of the click and clatter of background noise. If you haven't seen the movie, you should, but you can appreciate this CD all the same. The lyrics may not have as much impact out of context, but the music is amazing with its pretty orchestration, ominously infectious beats, and of course, Björk 's soaring, childlike voice. If you need extra incentive, Thom Yorke of Radiohead makes a guest appearance on "I've Seen It All," replacing the flat voice of Peter Stormare. Also notably absent in the re-worked version of "Scatterheart" is David Morse's stilted vocals, which works better for presenting this number as a real, listenable song. This track is probably the most hauntingly presented track on Selmasongs. "Cvalda," the Stomp-like factory number is my favorite upbeat number because it was such a magical scene in the movie, but "In the Musicals" is a very close second, with its hope-filled chorus of "There's always someone to catch me." If there is a problem with this CD, it is that it's too short. (yc) Bright Eyes - Fevers and Mirrors (Saddle Creek) Conor Oberst, the core of Bright Eyes, is an emotional guy, writing what seems to be deeply personal lyrics and playing amazing live shows with each song sounding as if he's playing it for the first time. The lyrics almost seem to come to him as he sings them, connecting the audience to his music in a rare fashion. But the emotion that comes through at his live shows is lost on the new album. Despite a few excellent songs, Fevers and Mirrors sounds more forced than real, like a person playing the part of a 20-year old emo kid. While the last release, Every Day and Every Night, flowed from song to song with unstoppable catches, this album forces me to pick up the needle and skip songs that seem like obvious filler. Hope lingers on in the end though. The last track, "A Song to Pass the Time," is a simple early Dylan-esque song that I can't stop singing in my head, keeping my fingers crossed that on the next album Conor picks up where he left off. (jc)
Just looking at the Mark Robinson designed yummy art makes you want to find pleasures inside. While the music didn't deliver a full mind-blast the first few listens, I soon enough found myself singing parts of the songs while in the shower or cooking dinner or driving to work, i.e. all the time. John and Verna of Holiday Flyer present an upbeat power pop dish, leaving the melancholy songs of their other band behind. That's not to say this album is all sunshine and roses; it's just that the heartbreak and rejection are tinged with hope, or at least a catchy tune. My standout favorite, "The Weather," is about a doom-filled moment, but you're left with the feeling that the protagonist will succeed in convincing her lover that they can work it out. This is not groundbreaking stuff--it's comfortable and familiar straightforward boy-girl pop, at times reminding me of Go Sailor. Some of the lyrics are a little cheesy with odes to John Hughes and Olivia Newton-John, hidden superhero lifestyles and rollerskating, but gosh darn it, this is a good listen from a heartfelt group of performers who excel at their craft. (yc) Cerberus Shoal - Homb (Temporary Residence) This is a very pleasurable album. I've heard bands attempt to incorporate Eastern influence (Macha for example) to different degrees of effectiveness, but this one takes the cake. It begins with an organic drone and earthy beat, and takes off from there into mind manifesting territory. If you want a comparison, the closest I can conjure at hand might be Mirza crossed with Ghosts of the Canal. It's meditative and downright trippy prog-rock, sprinkled liberally with polyrhythms, jazz, drones, horns, flutes, and very diverse instrumentation. The singing and chanting on a couple tracks might throw you off at first listen, but they grew on me; the rest is instrumental. Grab the hookah, and listen to this band from Maine jam. This is expansive and worldly music for the open-minded, and pretty to the ears. (sb)
When I was in France three years ago I heard lots of pop songs in restaurants, played at a loud, almost unnerving volume. Mostly they played Alanis Morrissette (which was the fashion of the time) and lots of French rap, which has to this day, remained a mystery to me. I just don't see Jean-Luc Godard saying "word to your mother," but I guess, why would he? If they were playing the awesome dance pop songs of Etienne Charry instead of Alanis, I would have gotten out of my chair and started dancing like the American idiot I am (or the one I act like). You see, Etienne Charry makes you wanna dance, I don't care who you are. I have no clue what he is saying, as I don't speak a word of French, but it doesn't matter, I'm too busy shakin' my booty (go white boy). I mean seriously, what is this guy saying?? I need to take a French class. (jc)
It is a generally accepted fact that as each avant
garde replaces the last, there is a moment where the
new pays a vague tribute to the old before cataloguing
its failures and dismissing it entirely. Those who
can step outside these successive coups are rare, more
so are those who outlast them. Rhys Chatham
collaborated with many different performers and
artists during his career. Still, the turn from an
avant-classical student under the tutelage of LaMonte
Young and Tony Conrad to a bandleader of guitar
ensembles consisting of Nina Canal, Glenn Branca and
Wharton Tiers is difficult to fathom. Please don't confuse criticism of this effort as an attack on Steve Lamos' authenticity or intentions in trying to merge jazz drumming and horns with electronic music. I am all for the attempt to merge things, and can't hold any sort of stringent requirement standard over genre-crossing dilettantism--please, miscegenate your white boy indie rock, quick as you like. Appropriation is a secondary sin to inducing boredom. It just happens that the way Lamos goes about that mixture ("You got your jazz in my techno!") on his DMS debut feels awfully dry and more of a superimposition than a merger. You end up with the least interesting parts of each genre--dance music deprived of hip hop, machine beats with organic jazz skin for texture, the Donna Harraway dumbing down of cyborg potential. Dilute - The Gypsy Valentine Curve (It's Like False Advertising)
Opening with the lulling country-tinged "Bea," Dilute
add intermittent bursts of guitar spazz clamor to their
game. It's hard to figure just what their game is on this debut CD.
Ironic attempt to mix country with math rock? Or is it
just San Francisco humor-music, the kind of leg-pulling that bred
Amarillo Records and Thinking Fellers? Labeling their method matters
less than submitting yourself to the band's whimsy.
Dilute's twang-core sounds like Modest Mouse crossing
beams with Violent Femmes, the Meat Puppets officiating somewhere in the background. The whine of the nasal vocals and the drunken gallop of the songs
offer awkward charms while the compositions throw some suckerpunches. Instead of engaging in quiet/loud, tension/explosion dynamics of its contemporaries, Dilute draw you out for stamina and melodic payoffs tucked around corners.
This could be either infuriating in a live setting or totally captivating. All in all, a sturdy debut for a band following its own baffling logic. (gc) Drums and Tuba - Box Fetish; The Flying Ballerina (My Pal God)
Box Fetish and The Flying Ballerina constitute the first and second volumes of Drums and Tuba's "Water Damage Re-Issue Series." The original releases date from '97 and '98 respectively. Much has been said about the "unique" instrumentation of this trio (guitar, tuba, and drum set), and how the band sounds like no other. I don't understand this view. They sound like many others - replace the tuba with electric bass and Drums and Tuba could almost be The Police sans vocals, the Minutemen, or any "power trio." These two discs are indeed fun, but leave me unsatisfied. At close to an hour each, I find it difficult to listen to either disc in its entirety in one sitting. It seems that after three or four tracks, I've heard enough for the time being. Oh, I'd certainly let either disc play in shuffle mode in the background at a party or contribute tracks to a mix tape for the car, but neither represents a well-executed album. Duster - Contemporary Movement (Up)
If I were chosen to be in a space experiment of some kind where a team of astronauts and I were launched into space for a two-year mission and then somewhere along the way a lethal virus escaped, infecting and killing all the technical personnel except for me, because I, for some reason, have immunity (maybe I won an island challenge or something), leaving just me to float in space, staring out a small portal window into outer space for the rest of my natural life, I hope at that time, in my moments of isolation and insanity, that I remembered to bring my Duster CDs. I think that Duster would be the perfect soundtrack for such a scenario. Emergency’s gone through three years of basement
incubation since the release of a split 7” with Ann Arbors Lovesick
(Archigramophone/WestsideAudioLaboratories). It’s obvious they’ve covered a
lot of ground since then. The Less I Know is nine
songs of reclusive inharmonious dance-noise-stuttering that gives me a
good feeling about the future of Portland’s often ignored and splintered
music community. A cranking, gear-like single-note guitar line churns
and sputters like a syncopated and noisy experimental machine. At the
same time, urgent and expressionless drums and percussive dissonant bass
lay the groundwork for engaging textures under flat monotone rambling and
shouting (both male and female). “It’s not impolite to spit with poison in
your mouth” exposes their early D.C. influence, calling to mind dead-pan noise
pioneers The Metamatics and leaving you annoyed that the melody-less vocal
line is somehow seared into your memory. Recorded at Jackpot! And Insta-Frame
Studios in Portland, the LP comes in a really nice
hand-screened cover and includes a great lyric book to boot (something I love to see).
Emergency isn’t for everyone, but they don’t seem to care. (tl) Engine Down - To Bury Within the Sound (Lovitt)
For a couple of days I have been mulling over how to tell you how wonderful To Bury Within The Sound is. I thought their first LP on Lovitt was pretty average emo-core fare, and not worth much more. In fact, I'm trying to remember how I even stuck around long enough to see them play at their show in SF last month. I was feeling horrible, the girl I was with wanted to leave, and the band I came to see didn't even bother showing up. Pretty amusing, looking back on it. But after their first song ("Retread"), I stood anxiously anticipating each new song--it was that exciting. Engine Down have perfected some weird hybrid of Radiohead and their punk rock pedigree (i.e., Sleepytime Trio). Somewhere between the first LP and the new one, they came into their own, creating a soundscape of clean guitars, hardcore dynamics and timeless words ("How can you honestly say that you're content with me?). The obvious comparison to Sunny Day Real Estate and Radiohead will no doubt wear on them, but at least this time they have a record to be proud of. To Escape From Within the Sound is a more appropriate title if you ask me. (cp) The Ex - Dizzy Spells (Touch and Go)
The Ex is an enigma. Punk band. Free improvisers. Anarchist Collective. Fuck, Holland isn't a country. It's a commune! Over the past 20 plus years, the Ex has been releasing record after record of seemingly chaotic and unconnected music that can be both beautiful and abusive (I consider both of these terms to be positive and they are meant in praise). Their newest release, the Albini-produced Dizzy Spells, is still another challenge to their dedicated followers. Twelve songs considerably more subdued than their most recent material, The Ex have again shifted to a new position from attack to seduction. Freakwater - End Time (Thrill Jockey) This sixth release from Freakwater doesn't progress far from the previous album Springtime. They add sheen and deeper orchestrated arrangements, but as the album progresses that becomes less noticeable; foundation gleams through the mix revealing that not much changes in the old country. Although the label Thrill Jockey is known for more experimental adventurers such as Tortoise and Oval, Freakwater plays straight up, heavily Appalachian influenced country. The two females singers provide harmonies full of booze and shotgun references, whilst surrounding heartbreak and death bring their voices to the verge of crackin'. (sb) Since In On The Kill Taker, Fugazi has gone to all sorts of lengths to create CD art that stops just short of installation. Featuring found messages, old photographs and gum collections, Fugazi has pushed at the conventions of album design, much in the same way that they have done with their music. The inner booklet of The Argument holds the lyrics, typed with an old typewriter and layered on top of photos of suburban scenes--parking lot, new buildings and shopping malls (even a Party City sign). Although there are three separate photographs, they blend together seamlessly much like the suburbs themselves, forming a tribute to uniformity and uninteresting consistency. While this may seem meaningless at first, it only takes the first lines of the second track (“Cashout”) to understand its relevance--"on the morning of the first eviction / they carried out the wishes of the landlord and his son."
Gang Wizard has been perpetrating its particular sound making practice for
nearly a decade. This release assures its place in the cosmology of noise
music with a density of label affiliations -
this CD is a co-release between Blackbean and Placenta Tape Club, Deathbomb arc, ()Dial,
Ecstatic Peace, morc, priapus, Old gold, SunShip, Unread, and White Tapes.
"It's Alright(Wonderful)" starts off in a sort of stoner jam haze until
the screaming kicks in. It devolves further into backwoods stomp, wiring
indie rock cliches into a loose diagram of psych landing patterns. "Fucking
Rosie"
has a stop-start jerkiness to it that, though improvised, seems affected.
"I
Am a Snarling Ocelot" starts off with a pretty toy piano and chimes, and
one
hopes that they'll stick with this simplicity.
Shoddy recording and an omnivorous taste for
experimentation cover up their somewhat pedestrian starting points.
Recalling the Homestead Records bands of the late '80s, Gang Wizard still
believe in the value of the guitar solo, a form that seems to have gone
out
with the Dinosaur. One gets the feeling that they fell into this lo fi
recording aesthetic. It adds layers of grit and grime that may not be
present otherwise, otherwise they'd be playing fogey guitar rock. It's just better
when
they're not trying as hard to weird you out. "California" digs into your
neural paths with its insistent hook, much as you might try to remove it.
"Sending Nine Now" sounds like Crispy Ambulance in a blender with Electric
Eels. The inherent goofiness of the bonus songs makes everything
forgivable.
(gc) Golden Ticket - "d equals / hot cross buns" 7" (Sound Suicide)
Sometimes a perfect thing will hit you over the head when you least expect it. With an unknown band, it can be like love-at-first-sight, never knowing if the bliss will make it through the week, let alone the set. Golden Ticket struck me out of the stale derivative crowd, much as its Wonka-fied namesake. Hard to say what they manage to do differently, but they do it with the gusto that made me like punk in the first place and remind you that it is worthwhile to pay attention. I managed to see this band three times and was consistently blown away by each. Former members of the Death Wish Kids/Area 51 contingent of NW hardcore lineage, the band is augmented by frantic tension, feedback, and the charismatic lead of Nancy Jane. The strange juxtaposition of propulsive, straight-to-the-point punk and a woman with a goofy yet teetering vocal presence recalls finer moments of Skull Kontrol or Jaks. It's the Pretenders or Katrina and the Waves gone cavity-creep-crusty. Hilarious cover art tributes a dungeon master, like these two songs serve as soundtrack to a mulleted coming-of-age. Sadly, they'll probably disband before other recordings surface and this is a limited white vinyl press of 304. (gc) Har Mar Superstar - S/T (Kill Rock Stars)
Anyone who has seen Sean Na Na will remember his R. Kelly cover. It hints at a persona the oddly charismatic songwriter has cultivated into his R&B younger brother, Harold Martin a.k.a. Har Mar. There is an omnipresent jokiness to Tillmann's songs regardless of genre, but his familiarity with genre cliches makes for a layered hilarity beyond lines like "Hypercolor tells me where my baby is hot."
I'm reminded of a conversation I had about cultural appropriation, and after years of adhering to a general party line, I decided that aesthetic and political considerations can conflict. White kids playing "other" music is not as cut-and-dried as all that. There is a power dynamic there that needs to be addressed, but who can say where one ought to place aesthetic affiliation? Why should white kids only identify with white (punk) music, and then conversely why should we as people of color identify with punk culture? Predecessors to this black music played by white punks argument include Vermin Scum funk band the Shit, the Make Up, even the source of the initial argument, !!!. In non-punk terms, it's G. Love & Special Sauce. I came to my own sort of conclusion in regards to food - there's a rampant pan Asian noodle trend in the Bay Area, but I can't complain about inauthenticity. Part of it is a general deference to restaurant staff, part of it is a less codified genre rule. I'll only complain if the food is bad.
Har Mar Superstar is not about authenticity, it's a cotton candy sugar rush and about as substantial. Like good R&B, it plays off generic expectations and offers some genuinely catchy production that encourages the shutting off of critical facilities in favor of humor and booty shaking. It's a parody where no one gets hurt. Check please. (gc) Watching Spent's last show in 1997, I was in denial that they were coming to an end. Here was this seemingly perfect working unit of a band calling it a day. I've long since gotten over it, just as I've left a lot of things from those days behind, but years later, here is a reminder of what impressed me back then. Annie Hayden was one quarter of Spent and her debut solo album highlights her unique contribution to the band. It's comforting to see the kids still working together--fellow guitarist John engineered the album and sings on what must've been a Spent song (judging by the songwriting credits) and drummer Ed lends his talents. But this is Annie's show and her sweet, unpretentious voice and gilded, nimble guitar lines pave the way into a post-Spent era. She demonstrates the wit, melodicism, and earnest allure that characterized her former band, but with a gentler touch. Maybe it's the lack of testosterone surrounding her in the songwriting process or just a maturing with age, but this is a fairly calm and clear album. There are a surprising number of instrumentals included, but they don't get too self-indulgent and work in the context of the album. I'm not sure of her relevance in today's scene as she doesn't fit a type as far as remarkable female performers go--she's just a woman in her early thirties with an under-appreciated past, a girl-next-door charm, musical talent, and some pretty songs to share. I guess that's really all the relevance you need. (yc) Three pop-harmony-upbeat-heartbreak songs from the rose
city, Portland Oregon. Heart Beats Red is
re-acquainting the northwest with melody and talent
that makes me nostalgic for bands like Tiger Trap and
Adickdid. "911" is a testament to emotional want,
need, aquisition, and estrangement, in that order.
This 7" has been out for a little while now, and
rumor has it that the band is taking a bit of a hiatus
to spend some time in warmer climes, so if you're
waiting for the full-length go out and get this to
tide you over. It might be a little while.
(tl) Helms - The Swimmer (Kimchee)
In David Foster Wallace's collection A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, he devotes a heavy chapter to the effect of television on young fiction writers--on televisual values affecting perceptions of reality. In this take, good writers are able to write about the experience of post-modernity through "image fiction," capturing the shallow buzz and confusion of overly mediated experience. The buzz of television's hyper-referentiality has only increased since the article was written back in 1990, and to a new school of artists even writers like Don DeLillo (he is cited favorably) are old hat--they comprise a new postmodern canon. Helms are stuck with this problem whether they know it or not. They are living out the parallel over-mediation problem in rock, which cycles its trends infinitely quicker than literature. Substitute floating pieces of Galaxie 500 or Slint for DeLillo or even Wallace himself, and decide whether you'd rather watch "ER" or "St. Elsewhere." While Helms may be trying to shape bedding out of its slowed down prettiness, the inescapable problem of their faithful rootlessness sticks in the maw like so much Tootsie Roll goop. How much do these boys owe to nautical-themed post-emo math rockers? There are whispering references to sailors and childhood action figures mixing the sing-speak of Ian Williams and Brian MacMahon, proof that this type of music is usually best served lyric-free. Noodly guitar flourishes a la Karate, volume knob tweaking a la Williams, etc. One track recounts an episode of "Three's Company." Which is not to say that it's wholly unenjoyable, just treacherously familiar. Wallace sees more hope for fiction writers than I can see for a new brood of indie rockers, but perhaps there is still time for them to prove us wrong. I just hope that time comes soon. (gc) Hot Snakes - Automatic Midnight (Sympathy/Swami)
Assuming familiarity with other band incarnations of Reis/Froeberg,
it's almost instinctive to group this with one you already know--I've
heard that it sounds like Rocket From The Crypt (at times it does), and even heard it
likened to Pitchfork by a few (not in my opinion). Mostly, it's hard to not
want this to be the new Drive Like Jehu record. Of course to expect
that is a disservice to the Hot Snakes (sorry, new moniker == new
band). Unfortunately this "reunion" does not answer the question of
Jehu fans waiting for the impossible encore: why did they vanish in
their prime? Instead it redundantly supplies the answer we already
knew to the question "do they rock?" In spades, duh, and it doesn't
let up here. Instead of shifting dynamics, the Snakes blaze full
throttle with no subtlety or pretension, and no recourse. Perhaps it's
for the best that Jehu stopped when they did, letting old legacies
take new forms. The adrenaline/testosterone mix is so
pure it can't be forced; what an appropriate rock & roll
band name! That name ought to tell you more about the sound
than history does. (sb) "If a feller named monroe never fathered bluegrass he would still be
unrecognized as the grand wizard of speed metal." So begins "Pontiac
Slipstream," track three from the new Howe Gelb album (or currently monikered "Howe"--if he releases his next album under the handle
"Bonnie
Prince Howe," I'm outta here). Confluence blends his normal brew of art-rock and
country with the same persuasion as last year's fantastic Giant Sand release, Chore of
Enchantment. This divide, or rather cohesion of styles is played out in
the
two versions of the song "Vex." The Paris version is built on his
art-rock
style using audio clips (read "random chatter") of people speaking in
French and talking in and around the Calexico tour bus, apparently
caught
on tape by Howe with his handy mini-disc recorder. Underneath it all is
a
slow moving pump organ and Howe's willingness to try anything
twice.
He quickly moves from "Vex (Paris)" to "Vex (Tucson)," not stopping in
between
to let you wonder what just happened. Where "(Paris)" was abstract
"(Tucson)"
is literal, using acoustic guitar and his deep soft voice that is so
intently pop and so unmistakably country. International Airport is an amorphous group centered around Aggi and Tom of the Pastels (Tom is also in Appendix Out). They recorded this album in Tom's living room and it has that intimate, organic quality that reflects the space. Gentle instrumentation mixed with some electronic foolery. This would make a good soundtrack to a rainy afternoon spent next to the misty window with a cup of hot tea, a sleepy cat in your lap, and your crochet needle moving to the beat. I don't crochet, but point being there's enough movement in the music that you should be doing something along with it, not just napping. This is a delicate album, but it's not fragile. It's just the right balance of melody and ambience, grace and sweet awkwardness. Aggi's mumbled vocals and certain tuneful elements are reminders of the Pastels, but International Airport move beyond pegging as a "side project" by creating their own sense of timing and space. Some of the album takes a turn for the more unstructured, accidental beauty. The trippy nature of the notes, sampled girl giggle, and Stereolab-y "bah bah"s make track 7 a natural standout. The looped beats become more prominent in "Does Chocolate River Live Here?", conversing with the other instruments in a playful manner. But my favorite song just might be the short closing track, "Cyclonic Lanes," which combines both worlds into a neat earthy manufactured mix, making me wish the album was far from over. (yc) This Portland collective trades in improv-psych jams that dig into the dirt for indigenous treasures.
Utilizing the boho-free-jazz work ethic and free-floating membership template of such nebulous ensembles as No
Neck Blues Band and Tower Recordings, JOMF develop at their own pace, eschewing structure for a rambling organic
reach. Captivating and pretty guitar tones hang in the still air, banjos and violins kick the ship off course,
drums amble toward some distant goal. Mewly horns, vibes, and skittish loops all conjure up this image of
peaceful anarchy, shockingly pastoral. There are some classic rock leanings emerging
with the awkward vocals of "Something on your Mind"'s tinny art pop. Differing
from the other Road Cone acts (Loren Mazzacane Connors, Irving Klaw Trio, and Alan Licht), JOMF have more invested in melodies and American pop music than its highbrow
buddies. Not a whole lot more, mind you, but enough to make this an easy sell for the average listener.
Drum machines guide the wandering fiddle and whammy bar dalliances of "Ray-O-Graph." "Peace on Earth" kicks
things off with a flurry of bell sounds and muted frenzy that recalls Ayler or Shepp without actually being
free jazz. Liberation is a nice departure for fans of mutating psychedelia that splits off from the rock family tree.
(gc) The San Francisco-based Dilute is reputed for its obtuse, country-twinged math-pop slowed down to a simmering gurgle. a is the solo debut of Dilute leader, Marty Anderson. The teetering circus keyboards of the opening tracks lend an air of chaos to these proceedings, but it’s all very-based on songwriting. The ballad “Baby Eye” has epic piano swells at a slow pace and an almost Tom Waits-y feel to the melodies, and then suddenly you hear the tape stop. It’s a neat trick, a comment on the medium that the solo project is inherently confined to, exposing the physical process of recording.
Anderson’s vocals recall the naif-stylings of Modest Mouse’s Isaac Brock, or even authentic naif Daniel Johnston as he repeats mumbled lines over acoustic guitar strums, wanky ‘70s rock riffs, and the aforementioned keyboards.
a is an album with quirky charm that blooms into a fully-developed sensibility. Anderson should be rewarded for peppering his pop sensibilities with creepy and noisy elements which makes his bitter rants go down all the easier. Kopstein the alter ego has a bright future ahead.
(gc) Japanic - Red Book (Plethorazine)
Houston's Japanic robs the grave of Gary Numan and the Tubeway Army and makes off with some of the choicest bits. Along with recent retrofitters like Mocket and the Faint, they find that moment where punk transitioned/de-politicized into new wave fertile ground for influence mining. Like others of their ilk, Japanic occasionally fall prey to the dead-end of imitation, but there is plenty of effort to update the musical robo-fantasy with some currency. There are quirks and pleasures to be found in their awkward, unfamiliar moments; "Is It Safe?" plays off Talking Heads paranoia and squeaky guitar riffs. The male/female vocal interplay even reminds me of X, even though there's too much reliance on that same Matt Steinke vocoder-ish warble effect. I feel like this could be a live band that leaves a better impression than their recordings, much as Bis or Servotron did for me. All in all, Red Book is a promising debut that appeals to both nostalgia and pop futurism. (gc) Bleep bloop. scream. thrash. burning valkyries and monster hordes. These are the impressions that come to mind when listening to Jonny X and the Groadies. Live, this longstanding Portland band assaults its audience with strobe lights, nudity, disturbing masks, and the full-bore Mr. X himself. Accompanied by digitized blast beats, the Metallica-influenced guitar chugging and sensory overload of a live show is tough to capture on record. “Illin’ Technology” is a good stab at it though, an encapsulation of the Groadies’ juvenile sense of humor and skill with mood.
Songs like “Crushed by Machinery” and “Organ Failure” offer the Groadies sci-fi social consciousness, warning of our enslavement by machines and a “Matrix” like organ harvest. “Gravedigger” has such fantastic lyrics as “No Premature ejaculation for me tonight…Digging my own grave with a rounded off spork…gravemarker, middle finger!” Ah, romance. The dystopia of Jonny X is akin to the cartoonish postapocalyptic fantasy tracks prevalent in pre-millenial hip hop. Cartoonish violence and gore seems like bad subject matter in our current state of affairs, but much like the reported end of “Generation X” irony, its adherents are sticking to old habits.
(gc) Geoff Farina and company get increasingly downtempo from the down starting point of Karate's talky, intimate body of work. They are a perfect example of "Tweemo"--a genre I just made up--bridging the fanbases of Promise Ring and Braid with those of Tullycraft or Belle and Sebastian types (tweemo unity hinges on sweaters, thick-rimmed glasses, bowlcuts, and datelessness). They are sensitive, but oh, can they rock out in that non-threatening white boy way. As derisive as that sounds, I have a genuine soft spot for Farina's songs. Karate songs have always taken a different tack than those of Secret Stars, but between both groups there is enough lovelorn mixtape material to give Lou Barlow a run for the money. On Unsolved the music is willing to "go there" - "there" being the full-on '70s rock freakout "Sever" or even more noticeable nods into James Taylor country. These were moments of indulgence emerging on In Place of Real Insight, but while previously offset with straighter pleasures, these have come to fruition as jazzy (read "wanky") guitar solos. This only seems ostentatious in comparison to previous records, but cliches are still cliche, however minimally applied. Lyrically, Farina offers obscure details and struggles with trod-upon idealism with the cadence of a calmer Chris Leo. That's really their forte at this point, and songs like "the Angels Just Have to Show" highlight that mood of insomniac regret. "This is one splinter of a sentence, both a pain and a pleasure to try to expel," he intones on the Arab Strap-esque "This Day Next Year", compelling you to lick the wound. (gc) Lesser/Pisstank - split 7" (555)
More guerrilla sampling-and-killing technique with
Lesser using both recognizable and derivative sounds
from some Adam and the Ants records (think drum
corps). The Pisstank side contains a NWA
track with a few other noisy, grating numbers ranging
from hardcore (punk) to hardcore (4-on-the-floor
bangin' techno) to de Babalon/Shizuo-style
noise-breaks. And all on yellow vinyl, 'cuz that's
just how they do it at 555. (mt) It's called the solo debut from Mike Levy, but if you look carefully, you'll see that all of the other members of his fabulous San Francisco band, the Sneetches, play on it! Other notable players include: Alison Faith Levy (no relation) from the Loud Family and David Immergluck and Jonathan Segel of Camper Van Beethoven fame. Why'd they contribute their talents to this outing? Just take a listen. Mike Levy combines the best elements of pop songsters like Harry Nilsson and the Zombies to make the upbeat, yet bittersweet, collection of tunes presented here. It took him five years (and two record labels) to finally put this thing out, but it sounds like it was worth the wait. Give this a shot if you like introspective pop. (as) Lightning Bolt - Conan 7" (Load)
The best live music experience I had in the year 2000 was seeing Lightning
Bolt six times in one week. Their musical jungle gym workouts leave an
impression unlike anything short of Animal from the Muppets after chugging
Bunsen Honeydew's growth potion. Two live tracks here from radio shows prove
that there need never be overdubs on planet Bolt. Having only vinyl releases
so far, the hiss storm of the LP has given way to song-like features and
calls for "discipline," but all are basted in the bass feedback deep fry.
I'm tempted to call them the best live band in America, but why stop there?
Because the words "live," "band," and "America" will cease to hold any
meaning. Your suspended disbelief and dropped jaw will have to testify
mutely. (gc) Lovelife - The Rose He Lied By (Troubleman)
After the marked cataclysm that was Jaks, it's hard to imagine that gang conjuring up anything as incendiary or downright shocking again. Preceding the now wave, no wave, and goth-core revivals of late, the Michigan/Chicago quartet dropped a few vinyl bombs (and one CD-only full-length, Hollywood Blood Capsules) in the mid-'90s and can only be pigeonholed in hindsight. Half of them relocated to Baltimore and started up Lovelife, who are content to fill out the space that bands like Jaks, Scissor Girls, and the VSS paved. In wisdom or maturity, Lovelife doesn't go in for the frontal kill. In the logic of mellowing with age, they usurp tendencies for throttle with a lulling, sleepy, creeping goth vibe. Violins, horns, and chimey bell things create discomfort that is palpable, but it is all somehow smooth and sexy. Shades of Birthday Party, Jesus Lizard, and even contemporaries and parallel thinkers Get Hustle cross their paths. The record stands right in between what they are capable of as a live act--the first time I saw them I found it miserable, boring and flat. The last time, with the addition of horn section, I had to swallow every bad thought or word about them--they can be a devastating force. Emo kids who namedrop "darkwave" are willing victims in their hands. (gc) Low - Things We Lost in the Fire (Kranky)
What can I say about Low that hasn't already been said? You already know they exemplify slow indie rock and ever since their rendition of "Little Drummer Boy" was featured in a GAP commercial, they have been garnering even more national attention. That being said, Things We Lost in the Fire is definitely a happier and more accessible album than their previous (Secret Name), with highlights including "Dinosaur Act," "Whore" and "Like a Forest." Not that it's pop by any means, but it captures a more content mood than Low previously were willing to show. It's easy to compare them with Yo La Tengo--both bands are a trio with a married couple within the group, both are deeply influenced by the Velvet Underground (more so Yo La Tengo), and both create beautiful, intelligent songs that keep indie rock hanging by a thread. This CD actually sounds like Yo La Tengo's latest album, And then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out, but taking those happy, almost sing-along melodies and slowing them down considerably, especially on songs like "Medicine Magazines," "Embrace" and "In Metal." Although it's been stated that Low have broken out of the slowcore mold, this album (while thoroughly enjoyable) is not a breakthrough one, but rather is the Low you have come to know and love. The upbeat tempo may win over newcomers, but stalwart Low admirers need not worry. (jc) Santa Cruz's visionary no-wave trio strip-mines noise and indie rock stomping grounds with refreshing abandon. Their approach recalls such disparate
influences as They Might Be Giants, the Contortions, Jad Fair, Beefheart,
and Oly homeboys Old Time Relijun. With sax bleats, whines, whimpers, and
keyboard meltdowns, the boys flesh out surprisingly pop bits from the
melodic scraps of avant-garde eviscerati. The imagery is collage with wires,
hair, and masking tape while the rest of the music world seems obsessed with
Photoshopping the rough edges off. The title Revolver II indicates a
desire to take on bigger myths than even Oasis dared to, but the casualness
towards anachronistic "rock masterpiece" status furthers my theory; the
post-rock/idm backlash will be lead by cave-dwelling pre-rockers, stretching
their opposable thumbs to encompass all available sounds. Having a good
chuckle deflating such mythos, the band may find itself in a conundrum with
its growing popularity--will they become the Blink 182 of noise?
Single-bandedly forging their backwoods jamboree into a global freak scene,
the Lowdown may yet reclaim Santa Cruz from the ghosts of Camper Van
Beethoven and Deadhead sluggishness. (gc) Lungfish - Necrophones (Dischord)
My friend Charlie got a tattoo from Daniel Higgs a few years ago. It's a
heart with flames coming out of the top through a tube and it has a banner
on the bottom reading "Fidelity." It's a beautiful old-style tattoo,
besides the fact that it immediately makes me think of the not-so-good old
Dischord band Fidelity Jones. Apparently when Charlie and his friend drove up
to Baltimore the one day a week that Higgs does tattoo work, his friend
didn't have a real idea of what he was getting, just that he wanted, "an
anchor in outerspace." He used to be a sailor and
as a kid was obsessed with being an astronaut, hence the outer space part of
the concept. Higgs drew up a couple of ideas, putting stars next to an
anchor, floating in a blackness of space. After about fifteen minutes of
trying to sketch an anchor floating in space, he scratched the whole idea
and decided to go in a different direction. Eventually, Charlie's friend
left Balitimore with a tattoo of an anchor drawn in old-style
with a banner below it reading, "outerspace." It was a brilliant concept
and one that Higgs seems to use in his music as well as his tattoo art;
simplify and repeat. Necrophones, much like the anchor tattoo, is Lungfish
at its best--a raw eccentric tone pushed and pulled song by song with an
end that seems nowhere close. This album builds on last year's The Unanimous Hour in that it is a break from
previous sound while continuing the same values of the band that they have
always had over the past decade. Their music is a puzzle played with only
one piece; there is no finish and there is no beginning. "Until the repetitions cease/the repetitions must increase." Anchors away... (jc) |
The Aluminum Group - Pelo (
Belle and Sebastian - Sing...Jonathan David CD EP (
Björk - Selmasongs (
California Oranges - S/T (
Etienne Charry - 36 Erreurs (
Rhys Chatham - A Rhys Chatham Compendium
(
DMS - S/T CD EP (
Emergency - The Less I Know LP (
Fugazi - The Argument (
Gang Wizard - El Cortez Buy Y'A Drink (
Annie Hayden - The Rub (
Heart Beats Red - 7" (Scaredy Cat Records PO Box 21543, 1850 Commercial Dr.
Vancouver, BC V5N5T5 Canada)
Howe - Confluence (
International Airport - Nothing We Can Control (
Jackie-O Motherfucker - Liberation (
Jacques Kopstein - a (
Jonny X and the Groadies - Illin’ Technology (
Karate - Unsolved (
Mike Levy - Fireflies (
The Lowdown - Revolver II (