indie music

These Open Roads

beth — Mon, 25 Apr 2011 03:49:38 +0000

When I received Haroula Rose’s album These Open Roads in the mail, I couldn’t help but judge it immediately based on the cover. It’s yellow with 70s fonts and on the back, you’ll see Rose dressed in a hippie-styled shirt, standing amongst a field of tall grass. My immediate assumption was a pretty girl who probably has a pretty voice and nothing beyond that. I had hoped to be wrong after listening to the album. Unfortunately, I was far from it.

These Open Roads, while a very conventional indie-folk album, isn’t without meaning. The album implies notions of self-identity, of finding oneself, and the emotional difficulties one faces when attempting to do so. I found this to be the case with songs such as “Brand New Start,” “New Year’s Day,” and “Love Will Follow.” Other songs like “Another Breakup Ballad” and “Lavender Brown” feature heartbreak and radiate feelings of isolation. Rose wrote all eleven songs in the album (the twelfth track is more of a soft ode without any lyrics) and based on the consistency of her lyrics, I’m guessing she put a lot of effort into inserting common themes throughout the record.

Rose’s songs have a delicate, personal feel to them and the instrumentals are soothing. But while listening to the album, I always felt there was something missing. Something extra that makes her album stand out—perhaps something more intimate or unique in the lyrics.

Rose, a Los Angeles-based singer/songwriter, certainly has a voice that fits in with the league of modern indie singers. Her voice is reminiscent of a softer, less mature version of KT Tunstall or Judy Collins. It’s a sweet voice that’s not hard on the ears, but it’s nothing that can set her apart from the crowd of other female folkies with guitars that we see singing in small cafes around the city.

Written by: Farhana Uddin, April 24th 2011

Manners

admin — Sat, 10 Jul 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Passion Pit

Colombia Records

To get the most out of Passion Pit’s debut album, you will need: a healthy appetite for sugary keyboard riffs, plenty of enthusiasm for falsetto vocals, and a large space in which to dance around like crazy. Having gathered these things, you can dive straight into Manners and experience all the colours promised by the album’s cover art. This is music that isn’t afraid of a bit of fluoro.

But once you’ve danced around the room a few times and flopped down on the couch, you might start to notice that there’s darkness in Passion Pit’s world as well. In between those insistent beats and sparkling keyboards, composer Michael Angelokos is asking questions like, "Is this the way my life has got to be?" and "Why do I always need to need you when you’re fleeting?," or simply requesting that we leave him alone.

Angelokos launched Passion Pit three years ago as "a humble one-man multi-track laptop project" from his college dorm room. Since then, he has managed to create Manners and gather a band to perform the album live. Passion Pit even had a hit on the Billboard Heatseekers chart with "Sleepyhead," which made it to number nine.

Passion Pit’s website describes Manners as "baroque and intricate in its construction," which sums up both its appeal and its main stumbling block. There’s enough going on here to sustain multiple listens, but perhaps too much for us to ever really get a grip on the emotion behind the material. Angelokos is in there somewhere, but more often than not, he’s obscured by the blinding brightness of his music.

If the emotion on Manners is hard to make out, its take on gender is all but buried. While Angelokos is generally singing to or about a "you," the identity of this person—like much of the album’s lyrical content—remains a complete mystery.

It’s only as the album winds down that we finally get a glimpse of the Angelokos behind the beats and sparkles. The acoustic versions of "Sleepyhead" and "Moth’s Wings" reveal a thoughtful, reflective man with a sweet, soaring voice, while the final track, a cover of The Cranberries’ "Dreams," suggests either a love of early nineties pop or a wicked sense of humour. All this points to one conclusion: we need to hear more from Passion Pit.

Written by: Alice Allan, July 9th 2010

Songs for a Sinking Ship

admin — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By April Smith and the Great Picture Show

Little Roscoe

Not many people have heard of April Smith, but I’ve become quite the enthusiastic fan. Her music combines elements of pop and rock, but her voice has more of a jazz quality that gives the end result a great mix and unique style. I loved her previous album, loveletterbombs, and I saw Smith perform live a couple of times, so when I heard she was raising money for a new album through Kickstarter, I signed right up to contribute. But then she posted the track listing for Songs for a Sinking Ship, and I already knew half the songs. Needless to say, I felt a bit let down. Sure, some were from her live EP, and I expected them to show up again, but one went as far back as her 2005 album!

I kept an open mind and eagerly hit play when I finally got my copy. Halfway through the album I was already swallowing all of my doubtful words. From the first song, “Movie Loves a Screen” (my favorite of the new tracks), the energy and style wakes you up and makes you pay attention. She sustains this throughout the album, even on the slower tracks that draw you in with her emotional words. The pleasant surprise was that tracks I already knew were mostly different, better versions of what I’ve heard before. By the time I got to the last track, I was sorry the album was finished and immediately started listening to it all over again.

What really impressed me was the song “The One That Got Away.” This ballad from loveletterbombs was one of the songs that made me a fan in the first place. The song has gotten a complete makeover for this album, and now I can’t decide which version is my favorite. The tempo is sped up, the minimal instrumentation is replaced with a carnival feel, and what once sounded like a brokenhearted plea now sounds like an embrace of her circumstances. I have complete confidence that if she re-released a new version of loveletterbombs, I’d pre-order that too.

For people who aren’t already fans, it’s hard to listen to April Smith without finding a song that piques your interest and makes you curious to hear more. But even somebody who already owns her other albums won’t feel let down by spending the money to get this one. This is one of the best albums I’ve heard in a long time, and I can hardly wait for the next one.

Written by: frau sally benz, March 30th 2010

Don't Kiss Her Face

admin — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 00:59:00 +0000

By The Echelons

Bud Martin Productions

The Echelons have a lot going for them: quirky lyrics, a 1970s-inspired family ensemble, and fun tunes. Made up of father Ben Petrella, children Jessica and Louis, and neighbors Brian Santo and Brandon Grande, the Echelons make their debut with Don't Kiss Her Face.

Jessica is nineteen years old, and brother Louis is only twelve; this multi-generational dynamic gives the band a distinct aesthetic. At times, the band creates a light, west coast sound while the driving rhythms and prominent guitar conjure hints of punk rock.

My favorite song on the album is the title track. Its musical cohesion and witty lyrics tell the story of a high school girl who is too obsessed with her appearance. The band warns possible suitors that “she ain’t got a face until she puts it on in the morning.” Jessica leads the vocals on this piece, unraveling a yarn about a girl that all the boys can’t help gawking at, but who is, inevitably, artificial. I found this song to be a refreshing look at young women and self-image.

While the vocals on some tracks on Don't Kiss Her Face are a little rough around the edges, I am impressed overall with the musicality of the album. Jessica’s voice is clear and wonderfully folksy; I was left wishing she had been featured on more of the tracks. Brandon’s solid drumming and Ben’s strong guitar rifts kept the fledgling group grounded. This group’s funky lyrics and family-style band make them a stand-out in modern rock.

Written by: Cristin Colvin, February 21st 2010

Magic Neighbor

admin — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 17:01:00 +0000

By Lisa Germano

Young God Records

Lisa Germano’s music is like finding an old photograph at a yard sale. Somehow, inexplicably, you’re drawn in by a sad or troubled expression staring back in black and white. Soon, without knowing fully why, you feel a connection to the woman sitting in the photograph, hands in her lap, poised in an awkward position that seems unnatural, strange, perhaps even eerie. And you eventually see a story unfolding before you of a quiet childhood with a distant parent, an unrequited love, and precious moments of happiness glimmering in between.

Wandering and melancholic, each song on her latest album Magic Neighbor speaks in this same strangely intimate way, like a diary page read aloud. Germano sings almost as if she’s a young girl, alone in the corner of her room, creating lyrics to a meandering melody and humming to herself. Perhaps one of the more structured songs “A Million Times” beautifully depicts the path of a relationship as she recalls memories one after another. Germano sings of honest observations, blatantly saying, “We had more fun when we were strangers, as blind as blind can be.” Supported by minimal repetitive cords and percussion, she lays out, “A million times, we like to play the game all over, and when we’re done, we’ll start again.” With unforgiving candidness, Germano reveals the flaws and insecurities she harbors while in love, as if she never expected anyone besides herself to hear the song.

Peculiar instrumentals on various instruments including piano along with Germano’s half singing-half speaking style make the experience of listening to her music even more unique. Her music is painful and pleasing, comforting and disturbing, immediately memorable but only meaningful (and increasingly palatable) after a few listens. As a woman, she represents a feminine honesty and loquaciousness that could on the surface be perceived as trivial, but in essence is nothing of the sort. Like stumbling on an old photograph whose subject never knew they’d be viewed by a stranger’s eyes, Magic Neighbor draws the listener into Germano’s world and opens a window into the stories of another life.

Written by: Melissa Ablett, December 15th 2009

Dead Zone Boys

admin — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

By Jookabox

Asthmatic Kitty

Critics like to explain that because Jookabox’s David Adamson is from the east side of Indianapolis, he understands poverty, racism, and its symbolism in society. Check cashing joints and vacant strip malls feature prominently on the list of his influences. Perhaps this is why Jookabox appeals to me so greatly. In addition to my own near-Indianapolis roots, I find meaning and take solace in failing capitalist structures: dilapidated mini-golf courses, repurposed gyro drive-thrus that now house wristwatch wholesalers, theaters that seem to double as half venue, half asylum. I could have grown up down the street from Adamson for the ways we internalized similar representations of home.

In terms of fight or flight, Adamson stayed for the former, while I moved six time zones away. That doesn’t mean I don’t go back; increasingly, my roots are more appealing, fascinating to study and even love. My best friend lives in central Indianapolis, and when I visit, we go to the types of places that have inspired Jookabox. I do not fear the depressive shopping malls with only remote-controlled helicopter kiosks to stabilize an economy once supported by Sears and JC Penney anchor stores—the likes of which have since been relocated to more lucrative locations. The last time I was in the city, the only places I went were the ones most people avoid.

On the band’s previous album as Grampall Jookabox (rumored to have dropped the ‘grampall’ after ‘a haunting vision’), the topic of women arose frequently: a near unplanned pregnancy (false alarm!) and the relative toughness of Black women in comparison to the GJ frontman. On Dead Zone Boys, we once again hear about the fairer sex on “Evil Guh,” on which repeatedly Adamson repeatedly sings about his “evil, evil woman.”

More than feminine themes, Dead Zone Boys—perhaps appropriately—contains multiple songs about phantoms and zombies. I don’t assume these themes relate to a particular autumn holiday or horror flicks. I suspect they instead refer to evaporating communities and the terrifyingly dead stares on the faces of Indy’s TJ Maxx shoppers. The Right may have their End of Days, but the Left has its own apocalyptic predictions. They often involve the demise of capitalism and a larger cultural awakening.

The King of Pop also hailed from Indiana, but rest his soul, his legacy ends with already available material in his catalog. Jookabox, on the other hand, seems to have taken lessons from the tortured idol: go forth and make it. As the band’s psychedelic pop rock continues to spread beyond the Hoosier State, I hope others hear the promise of Holidome pool parties in their lyrics. Where you see abysmal failure and ugly facades of once-prosperous businesses, I see space for artistic reinvention.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, December 13th 2009

Red Rainbows

admin — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 01:00:00 +0000

By Noveller

No Fun Productions

Sarah Lipstate has all the makings of a feminist noise fan’s dream. At twenty-five, she plays in ensembles with now-graying heroes of New York’s avant garde scene, like Glenn Branca and Rhys Chatham. She recently joined new wave band Cold Cave after a stint in Parts & Labor. And solo, under the name Noveller, she coaxes ambient drone from a double-necked guitar.

Red Rainbows follows debut album Paint on the Shadows, which was released in a tiny batch of vinyl in April, and its centerpiece “St. Powers” appears on both. “St. Powers” both anchors and overshadows the rest of Red Rainbows, as its pipe organ-like throb and finger-picked chime exudes an Arthur Russell-like resolve that dissonant above-the-frets scratching can’t dampen. Eleven minutes in, what sounds like a thumb piano begins to skid atop the bowed guitar, and the song neatly closes with a gorgeous melody that seems borrowed from Tortoise.

Lipstate constructs a grandiose, Chatham-like lake of guitar fuzz with “Rainbows,” but the tones fade out just as they begin to coalesce into something unsettling. The meandering, metallic chill of “Brilliant Colors” might befit a night flight over a canyon, but sounds aimless on the heels of “Rainbows” and is at its best when its twiddled knobs and sawed strings give way to an irregular beat and occasional silence. On “Bends,” with the help of collaborator (and No Fun founder) Carlos Giffoni, Lipstate mines a repeated shift between a simple rhythm and a cicada-like din. Two repeated notes suggest a table saw whirring under-load. A sing-songy guitar line tantalizingly suggests a broken punk rock record that, with a push of the needle, will break out of its hiccuping sterility.

But the music on Red Rainbows seldom does break out. By far the album’s most patient, evocative, and ambitious piece, “St. Powers” is the only one that doesn’t sound safe in its obtuseness, and is the only piece that routinely threatens to collapse on itself. Red Rainbows might as well be Noveller’s debut to a wider audience, thanks to the minuscule pressing of her first LP, and it makes sense that Lipstate would want that wider audience to hear a standout song—but the album remains perplexing in its structure.

The noise and drone scene has long since been canonized by a cultural patriarchy of aging, ego-laden, middle- to high-brow males; its heroes alternately conduct orchestras at public monuments and rock out to corporate sponsorships. So what is the role of young female musicians?

At times on Red Rainbows Lipstate begins to dismantle her own genre assumptions, many of which rely heavily on masculine codes, but at others she adheres to them to generate barren soundscapes that pass without leaving much of an impression. It’s clear from the album that Noveller is capable of creating discomfiting, urgent, and beautiful music that may be more relevant and inspired than its influences.

Written by: Sam Schulz, December 11th 2009

The Snake

admin — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 01:03:00 +0000

By Wildbirds & Peacedrums

Leaf Spain

Access to a wide variety of musicians and bands has recently become widespread with the proliferation of the Internet. Though this gives inquisitive music lovers vast seas of artists to explore, this also presents the predicament of originality. Like any other art, only so many ideas can be looked at from so many points of view before they begin to blend together. It is difficult to find a sound that is original and surprising without being on the fringes of what is acceptable as music. However, Wildbirds and Peacedrums deliver just that—a unique listening experience while retaining an essential rhythm and harmony.

Putting Wildbirds & Peacedrums into a genre is almost impossible. Though many suggestions have been put on the table, ranging from psych folk to straightforward experimental, their music refuses to be placed in a box. Mariam Wallentin and Andreas Werliin, a husband and wife duo from Sweden, are the band’s only members. It is interesting that this band’s unique sound consists of mere drums and vocals, which Mariam considers her “instrument.”

The Snake is the band’s second album and it does not disappointment. The combination of Andreas’s spirited percussion with Mariam’s earthy vocals conjures an image of the mundane world, but colored with the most basic of emotions and instincts. There is something very primal about the music of Wildbirds & Peacedrums.

Mariam’s vocal work is very natural, to the point where sometimes she is simply making sounds rather than singing lyrics, much like a deeper toned Bjork. Andreas’s basic but somehow overwhelming drumming makes up for the lack of instruments accompanying his wife’s voice.

These two elements are best united in the track “There is No Light,” which is perhaps the best track on the entire album. Andreas’s drums are the only literal instrument used and the remainder is dominated by Mariam’s voice, which is almost guttural in nature. It is difficult to imagine such a thing to be pleasant but the pair does not only succeed. “There is No Light” evokes an overwhelming feeling of movement. It makes you want to dance, but more in a primitive jumping and undulating sense. This atmosphere is all created through smart drumming, primal voice, and raw lyrics about failure and triumph. In short, this is a very powerful track.

The album is perfectly structured for the attention span of an average listener. The first track is mysterious, haunting, and a hook in every sense of the word. There is a balance between shorter and lengthier songs. Every track on The Snake has its own individuality. The innovation that they use to give each track its own stand-alone sound with only two mediums of sound is interesting enough, without considering the quality of each track itself.

Almost every track on The Snake seems to overwhelm the listener with one emotion or another, conveyed more through rhythm and sound than through the lyrics themselves. It is definitely an album that can be listened to more than once without boredom entering the picture. Those who are new to Wildbirds & Peacedrums will receive an open armed welcome into this sweet, emotional, and, at its core, primordial world that The Snake creates.

Written by: Jacquelyn White, December 7th 2009

Crepusculo

admin — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 17:03:00 +0000

By Petracovich

Redbutton Records

It’s a treasure to stumble upon new music that for one reason or another resonates deeply within you. I selected Crepusculo after learning that Petracovich singer Jessica Peters Malmberg had made the album while pregnant, and then tragically lost her son shortly after he was born. Grieving a recent miscarriage myself, Crepusculo did for me what only those rare special albums can: it comforted me, let me cry, helped me heal, and taught me to create a place in my heart for what I had lost.

Crepusculo (Spanish for “twilight”) utilizes the standard drums, guitar, and bass setup and is richly textured with a multitude of other instruments, including piano, cello, trumpet, harmonium, and banjo. Described as folk pop, this latest album from Petracovich accomplishes an earthiness that brings each song to life. The songs are powerful, thanks to masterful lyrics and Malmberg’s stunning voice that is at times soaring and smooth and later hushed and reverent.

“Heaven Help the Day” is the opening track__, and it begins with an upbeat piano that propels the song to a quick crescendo. It’s a perfect match for the empowering lyrics about an absent father. Malmberg warns the father to beware coming back to the family, and if he does, she sings “I’d make you love me then I’d leave you all alone.” A compelling and driving banjo opens “Sleep It Off/Lie Down,” in which Malmberg sings out a challenge to “try to make me unsad/just try making me glad.” It’s a song that wonderfully depicts embracing sadness and revels in the beauty of fully experiencing human emotion.

While Crepusculo undeniably deals with painful losses, the beauty of the album is that there’s a sense of lightness and fun throughout the record. For example, in “San Rafael,” Malmberg dreamily imagines floating above traffic and “over dew and honey grass and sleeping deer; over rollers, hills with backs like dinosaurs.” A sense of whimsy threads itself through many of the songs.

What the music in this album accomplishes is a spirit of graciousness. It’s a snapshot of what it means to be alive, and that is a welcome solace. Crepusculo is an album for everyone that offers an unforgettable joy listening to each song as it magically unfolds.

Written by: Beverly Jenkins-Crockett, November 8th 2009

All Tomorrow’s Parties: The Film

admin — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 17:01:00 +0000

Directed by All Tomorrow’s People, Jonathan Caouette

Warp Films

Lightning Bolt jams in a courtyard. Grizzly Bear harmonizes on the beach. Concert-goers play Dance Dance Revolution, and young hipster musicians experiment with theremins, wind machines, and banjos. If you know of—or even had the supreme privilege of attending—All Tomorrow’s Parties (ATP), this likely sounds like a plausible scene.

Named for the Velvet Underground song of the same name, the annual event has been running for nearly a decade, with parties in the UK that have since expanded to the U.S. Originally springing out of Bowlie Weekender, a similar one-off event curated by Belle and Sebastian’s Stuart Murdoch in 1999, ATP is a who’s who of indie rock, with renowned post-punk, electronic, hip-hop, and avant-garde headliners. One such luminary asks their own favorite musicians to perform, a few visual artists show up, and magic is made.

In the All Tomorrow’s Parties documentary, quaint archival backyard party videos are mixed with footage of Beth Ditto dancing barefoot on stage. Interviews with random attendees who bemoan the “bogus capitalist process” of creating music are juxtaposed with an eerily foreshadowing interview with Jerry Garcia, who predicted a move towards alternate festivals as an answer to large-scale amphitheater productions. The often mind-blowing assemblage of old and new film was recorded by a group of fans over the last several years and finally stitched together for a cohesive documentary release by Warp X.

Admittedly, because so many of the same types of indie white dudes curate the festival each year, the lineup can be repetitive, regularly including Dirty Three, Les Savy Fav, Fuck Buttons, Sonic Youth, and Yeah Yeah Yeahs. On the other hand, most music snobs don’t seem to object to the billing. Year after year, buzz about the somewhat elusive parties grows. Perhaps predictably, save appearances by Patti Smith, Karen O, and Beth Gibbons from Portishead, the roster is incredibly male-centric. Nick Cave singing about his “no pussy blues” could be a metaphor for indie music-loving feminists too. Where the women at, y’all?

Call me a feminist sellout; I read a lot of male-authored fiction and listen to bands that tend to be comprised of fellas. Despite the lack of diversity, attending ATP is some sort of aural pipe dream for a gal like me. But then, if you don’t know what Dave from Slint or the Animal Collective guys look like, the intimacy of the festival—let alone the film—may be lost on you.

Still, there’s something to be said for the energy of this film. That so many indie gods and goddesses descend on one space for an inspiring, collaborative weekend is its own sort of infectious, particularly for artistic viewers of any medium. You don’t have to know the stylings of Seasick Steve, even if it admittedly makes for a more informed viewing.

For screenings near you, head to ourtrueintent.com. If you’re a music geek with historical knowledge to boot, this is one not to be missed.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, November 6th 2009

Slanted and Enchanted: The Evolution of Indie Culture

admin — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 11:49:00 +0000

By Kaya Oakes

Holt Paperbacks

I’ve always thought of indie culture as the marriage of individuality and community, and of course, a celebration of the do-it-yourself (DIY) morality that is ingrained in our society. However, some of our most creative pioneers are often obscured from mainstream art, music, and literature. Kaya Oakes’s Slanted and Enchanted: The Evolution of Indie Culture offers a well-researched history and analysis of the DIY movement and the creative brilliance this community has generated. An engaging and remarkably informed cultural survey, the book examines the development of independent culture in the United States from the Beats and the Diggers through the current explosion of user-created content on the web.

Oakes presents indie culture as a deserving slice of American cultural history, offering an accessible academic portrait of icons such as Mike Watt of the Minutemen and poet Alan Ginsberg. She defines the often hard-to-peg genre of indie culture skillfully and provides major examples in the fields of art, literature, and music. A historical overview of indie culture is followed by chapters surveying the different areas of indie culture including independent publishing, music, zines, and crafting.

As someone who grew up in the post-punk years, I appreciate the detailed background Oakes provides because it gives me a better understanding of how the indie rock bands I love today, as well as their labels and distributors, progressed from the independent communities of earlier decades. And, as a crafter, I enjoy learning how independent culture has given rise to the online crafting communities and knitting collective I participate in today. My favorite quote from the many personal stories Oakes shares throughout the book comes from Handmade Nation’s Faythe Levine. When asked to reflect upon her first forays into independent culture, Levine refers to zine making as “my gateway drug to realizing that I would do whatever I wanted, and by myself.” This perspective really sums up DIY culture for me, as it is empowering to take the reigns of creativity into your own hands and realize you can truly participate in the independent cultural community.

Written by: Meg Rayford, October 3rd 2009

Royal City

admin — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 09:38:00 +0000

By Royal City

Asthmatic Kitty

Whenever I’m having an existential crisis sort of day—yes, it can come in daily doses—listening to songs like Iggy Pop’s “Success” soothes my insecurities and favors my sardonic humor that is both a coping mechanism and a genetic condition.

How fortuitous then, among the early tracks from Canadian band Royal City, is a humorously lo-fi cover of Mr. Pop’s infectious tune. Such a cynical collection of sad tunes may be easy to find; yet when has it forced me to listen with such a critical ear?

Royal City is one of those bands who just happened to release a catchy album during my stint as a college radio manager, thereby solidifying their place on any mixed tape—or CD or mp3 mix, as it has become—I made in the next five years. Known to include “Bad Luck” to throw off my dearest music snob friends, I always thought of the track as my own personal indie folk-rock one-hit wonder. A hit and a wonder if you like my mixes, I suppose.

On this collection of b-sides, you can hear the now-defunct band in raw form. This is good and bad—good if you like unpolished gems, bad if you like listenable singles. “They Came Down,” while a great track, is quite bleak in its repetition of the line, “It gets so depressing...down here.” “Postcards” is another lovely, sad song, explaining that old mementos are not necessary reminders of one man’s misery.

_I don’t need pictures of you or postcards from you
I don’t need nothing at all
To remind me I’m blue for you

My old favorite, “Bad Luck,” even makes the list, though pared down in a way I’m glad was changed for its inclusion on Alone at the Microphone.

Royal City isn’t an album of background music, which is what makes it so appealing. Try as I might, I couldn’t work with it on in the background. Turn it up or turn it off because you’re going to be distracted and fussy if you try for middle ground. Maybe you should just accept your Weltschmerz like I do. You might find you appreciate apathetic youthful misery music like I do. Your fate could be worse.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, June 30th 2009

Secret Cog

admin — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 09:40:00 +0000

By Talk Normal

Talk Normal’s Secret Cog, a five song EP, begins with a noise sample that is not quickly placed—a curious noise that immediately demands attention and perks the listener’s ear. This theme lasts throughout the album as the Brooklyn duo plays dissonant and provocative songs that defy any one genre.

At times they are clearly noisy with Sarah Register’s distorted and wandering guitar; at other times they border on a mathematical sound with Andrya Ambro’s drumming and the call and response timing of the guitar and bass in the song “33,” and they ultimately fit into the no-wave category, which is a description they receive often. The guitar playing is reminiscent of early Erase Errata and even a bit of Fugazi, like the bright lead riff in “Lemonade.”

The five songs weave into each other so that the album becomes something of a larger whole. True, the songs can most definitely be enjoyed by themselves, but it is a different experience to listen to the album in its entirety. Talk Normal are successful at simultaneously creating songs that can hold a careful ear but also allow the listener to unfocus and feel the effects that the songs generate.

I always appreciate a lyrics sheet, but one is not supplied with the album. I suspect it is because the words are not as important of a contribution to the record as are the sounds that the singing makes, which adds to the music like its own instrument. The singing waxes and wanes much like the music, and the drums are carefully aligned to build the crescendos of the songs. While listening to Secret Cog I imagine that these songs would have yet another powerful effect while played live, which is something I’m very curious to see. Being able to pull off a variety of effects with five songs is quite admirable, and these women do it well.

Written by: Krista Ciminera, June 23rd 2009

Insects Awaken

admin — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 00:13:00 +0000

By Death Sentence: Panda!

Upset the Rhythm

Death Sentence: Panda! seems like a ridiculous name, right? Pandas are cute. They look like plush dolls. They eat bamboo, which is, like, a totally cute plant. They are fuzzy and have paws. Death by panda sounds like it’s just about as probable as being mauled by a herd of unruly kittens. Unfortunately for us weak and easily fooled humans, all of that cuteness is a ruse.

Panda teeth are actually carefully honed and specialized not for eating leafy greens, but are actually made for gnawing on human flesh. CNN reports that in January a panda named Gu Gu at the Beijing Zoo attacked a man that climbed into his pen. The man, Zhang Jiao, described the attack thusly: "The panda didn't let go until it chewed up my leg and its mouth was dripping with my blood."

Death Sentence: Panda! is all clarinets, flutes, bells, and drums, which sounds oh-so-endearing—like a parlor band in an old, quaint house with lots of doilies placed neatly on armrests of comfortably cushioned chairs. However, before you invite them to your next _Antiques Roadshow _house party, consider Gu Gu the panda. Remember his maw, so cutely dripping with man-leg blood?

Death Sentence: Panda! doesn’t play cute instruments like cute instruments should be played. Screw you, Pan, and your sweet little flute and fuzzy goatey legs. Clarinet? Thought it was just for Benny Goodman, right? Well, take a big band playing “Sing, Sing, Sing” and toss in a bee nest, that freaky leatherface dude from Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and maybe Mike Patton for flavor, and you have Insects Awaken.

The weird thing, though, about Death Sentence: Panda! is that they somehow retain some cuteness despite the violence that their music spits up like yesterday’s salmonella-tainted peanuts. It’s sort of like reading Lord of the Flies. Cute little boys plus spears, boulders, and fire equals… cute little boys that brutally attack, maim, and kill each other! Adorable!

Sure, sharks look brutal, and snakes conjure images of Satan in the Garden of Eden. Whatever. Pandas are way scarier; they lure you in with their cute, and kill you with their giant freaky jaws. That, in my opinion, is way more evil.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, June 2nd 2009

Look Ahead

admin — Tue, 26 May 2009 09:01:00 +0000

By Chrissy Coughlin

Nature Girl Records

Chrissy Coughlin’s sound is an amalgamation of pop, indie, and folk, but overall it’s good songwriting, and she switches styles with aplomb. “Back to You” starts the album out kicking; it’s a peppy, upbeat tune marked by a strong beat and understated organ. The lyrics of this toe-tapping power rock song are somewhat trite (“If I don’t turn around and stay I would be a fool/I’m coming back to you”), but it’s absolutely fun nevertheless. “Watch Your Step,” takes things in a totally different direction, with reflective lyrics and acoustic guitar and piano. The lyrics of this introspective tune, in which she voices her worries over a friend having a rough time, are thoughtful. “I know you’re used to flying/Now the curtains are drawn/How quick the daylight’s gone/And all you’ve got are the stars above/Tell me what you gonna do my friend?”

The standout track “Big Log” is a classic Southern rocker—a sultry ballad with a languid electric guitar, with tension bubbling beneath the surface. “Perfect Time” is another upbeat tune, again featuring organ. The message—take advantage of the present moment—is simple, but the straightforward melody and infectious rhythm make it a perfect sing-along. The autumnal “Wait for You” is among the most memorable tracks on the disc. It starts with a melancholy piano riff and slow guitar picking; ambiguous lyrics add to its appeal. We don’t know who Coughlin is waiting for or why, but her plaintive vocals hint at longing and desperation.

Coughlin tries her hand at jazz with Carlos Antonio Jobim's bossa nova classic “Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars (Corcovado),” which features piano, cymbal washes, horns, and a long sax solo. The song showcases her husky, nuanced vocal, and her adventurous choice in covering this standard pays off. The disc concludes with “Honestly,” a straightforward tune about following one’s calling. The music perfectly fits Coughlin’s inspirational lyrics and it is a heartfelt, powerful end to the album.

Coughlin has been compared to a wide range of female singer-songwriters in the country, folk, and rock traditions, including Sheryl Crow, Lucinda Williams, Sarah McLachlan, Joni Mitchell, and Ricki Lee Jones. While traces of these artists’ influences can be found on her second album, what she really shares with them is a penchant for musical exploration and adventure, embracing multiple genres, and balancing them with wonderful results. She is at turns delicate and introspective, self-assured and in control, but she is always worth a listen.

Written by: Karen Duda, May 26th 2009