indie rock

Skin Collision Past

payal — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 20:00:00 +0000

I was excited about this album within moments of pushing play. Wild Moccasins could not be rebuffed by the aging speakers of my 1980s boombox. Their energy electrified the faux-fur seat covers of my red Volvo. I found myself sitting in the parking lot, unwilling to go into the grocery store until I had listened to all nine tracks. I resisted the urge to text my friends that I had found… something new! Something young! Something untouched by Brooklyn’s current brand of cool! Something imperfect yet full of promise… something worth keeping an eye on.

Skin Collision Past is the third output by a young band from Houston Texas: their first “full-length” album, though it runs only thirty minutes with no song outstaying its pop-song-welcome of four minutes. The songs are urban, confident, and joyful. It is delightfully not hook-oriented, and attempts to be much more mature than the age of any one of the band’s members. It is the best of 2010: full of retro nods, but incontrovertibly modern in song structure and rhythm.

This quintet must have a lot of fun together, and if they don’t, they sure do a good job of faking it. The two singers have voices to kill, especially Zahira Gutierrez, who sounds like a richer and more exact Jenny Lewis. Her buttery tones soar above the insistent energy of the band, never letting up for a moment. She is spot on. The best part is that they have avoided the feeling of her vocals being a decorative add-on to a male-driven sound. She is as much a part of the band as anyone, and is at the core of what makes their sound exciting.

The lyrics, all written by Cody Swann, are straight out of a late teen’s diary: full of anxiety, overly analytical social observations, and a sort of naïve paranoia. The text of the album is not what makes it special. Without the help of the CD insert, no one would be able to discern what words they’re singing, and I don’t think anyone would care. But if you do delve into Cody’s writing, you’ll find someone who is struggling hard with language to convey the vague social pressures they feel but cannot name. He writes in the song “Chapter Four” about being carried off by an imaginary sea, trying to finish writing his sentences despite the flood and sea demons: “Now I know/no one knows/what we’ve wrote”. Skin Collision Past is about trying to find a space for expression in the face of a world that seems inhospitable to being vulnerable. It is the voice of young creatives, just beginning to find their way. I for one am giving Wild Moccasins all my support as they keep on keepin’ on. I think great things are yet to come.

Written by: Beth Fagan, February 25th 2011

Radical Act

mandy — Fri, 17 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0000

Directed by Tex Clark

Million Movies a Minute

Tex Clark made the documentary Radical Act in 1995. It was originally intended as a snapshot of the rise of cisgender female involvement in indie rock following riot grrrl's and queercore's impact, particularly amongst lesbians and feminist women. After over a decade, Million Movies a Minute is officially releasing it this month.

Dedicated to slain Gits' front woman Mia Zapata and opening with Tribe 8's "Manipulate," which mocks at the Utopian aphorisms of 70s-era lesbian separatist women's music, Radical Act serves as a time capsule for the role women played in underground music during the mid-90s. Despite Million Movies founder Erin Donovan's claim that the documentary captures how much has changed within the fifteen-year interval, it's also a timely meditation on how female musicians' relationships to the recording industry are informed by feminist politics. In under forty-five minutes, Radical Act succinctly dialogues varying experiences and opinions of musicians like Gretchen Phillips, Vicky Starr, Kay Turner, Kim Colletta, Toshi Reagon (the lone woman of color featured), and Meg Hentges across topics like initial motivations, band formation, gender performance, sexual politics, sexist assumptions about female musicians, and the degrees to which women's art can make a cultural impact.

Upon first viewing, the documentary suffers a few obvious handicaps. For one, music consumption changed considerably in the wake of digital intervention and the collapse of the recording industry. Also, independent music already fraternized with major labels at this point, making above- and below-ground distinctions almost impossible to parse in the coming decade. In terms of exposition, Clark strings together a series of talking head segments that sacrifice explication. As a result, the documentary makes no effort to contextualize the subjects' contributions to their respective scenes or their larger cultural significance. While I imagine this was either the result of budgetary limitations or an attempt against meddling with subjects' words, it proves to be a barrier. Furthermore, apart from Bikini Kill co-founder Kathleen Hanna and Rock She Wrote co-editor Evelyn McDonnell, a number of profiled women only achieved minor commercial success or never rose above cultural obscurity, potentially alienating viewers who never listened to Sincola, Vitapup, Girls in the Nose, or God Is My Co-Pilot.

With a supposed '90s revival in full swing, my hope is that folks believe much of these artists' oeuvre merit discovery or historical revision. This is due, in part, because one interviewee is Sincola drummer Terri Lord, whose professional contributions to Austin's Girls Rock Camp—a branch of the nonprofit organization for which I volunteer—cannot be overstated. Past this, many of the points raised continue to hold relevance.

As riot grrrl's revolutionary aspirations still charge the air, a lot of big ideas are bandied about here. Reagon asserts that the music industry is a capitalist business, and thus dependent on the interrelated nature of racism and patriarchy, which Starr believes could allay a concerted effort from women to form record labels. Hanna discusses her attempts to blur pleasure and politics in an effort to make activism fun. Starr and Phillips debate the impact of queer visibility amongst pop stars like kd lang and Melissa Etheridge, but also advocate personal value in staying underground. I also appreciate the candid comments about what or who drew them to rock music, as well as their defiance toward expectations of what instruments they should play (I don't play bass!), their proficiency as musicians, and the performance styles they adopt.

Radical Act proves itself a purposeful documentary that successfully bridged a cross-section of female artists who speak of their times. I hope with time it unfolds as a dialogue current artists could join in on at any point. I can only imagine what Beth Ditto could contribute to this conversation.

Written by: Alyx Vesey, September 17th 2010

Rockets EP

brittany — Thu, 09 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0000

By Boris Smile

Count Your Lucky Stars Records

Go outside. Look up. What do you see? What do you think (or wish or hope) sees us? At their most basic, those are the questions that have motivated humankind to create, to believe, and to explore since it first dawned on us to look up.

The famous opening phrase of Star Trek is “Space—the final frontier.” With its awe-struck yet determined delivery, the line presents space as the last, most daunting stop on humanity's Manifest Destiny Tour. Space is the only thing that remains to be conquered—at least in the realm of schlocky sci-fi TV.

In the world of music, however, space as an extended metaphor for love, loss, alienation, and the Other is well-traveled territory; it's cliché at this point. Just because something has been done to death, however, doesn't mean that it cannot be tweaked slightly, then polished up and trotted out one more time. Example? Take a listen to the Rockets EP, the latest release from California group Boris Smile.

“Satellites” starts quietly with what sound like recordings of astronauts reporting back to Earth. It then swells to an orchestral crescendo underscored with radio feedback, goes quiet again, then scratches back to loud with radio distortion.

Including Rockets, Boris Smile has four releases under its belt: two albums and two EPs. The song “Adventures With Rockets” has appeared on three of those; here, it's appropriately billed as being “[Revisited].” It also features the touchingly self aware lyric “The stars are in your eyes/and that's just a stupid pick-up line/but I'll use it since there are no planets in sight.”

Lyrically, “Apollo” is a direct descendant of David Bowie's “Space Oddity” or Elton John's “Rocket Man.” The song's narrative depicts an astronaut saying goodbye to his wife and kids before rocketing off to the heavens. It's bittersweet and direct, albeit familiar.

With its simple imagist lyrics written in rhyming couplets, “Are We Alone?” feels spare, despite the horn section tooting in the background. It's all existential angst here: “One small voice in a silent black/scream and shout, but it won't talk back.”

The only song that breaks with the spacey theme is “Aurora,” an extended metaphor for the complementary dynamic of a romantic relationship. It relies less on space similes and more on imagery drawn from the natural world. With its joyous sing-along ending, “Aurora” reminds me of The Polyphonic Spree or Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.

Clocking in at over twelve minutes, “8.24.06 (The Humbling of a Planet)” is the longest track on the EP. It includes another version of the third track, “Apollo,” then moves on to an extended metaphor about growing up and sending a mouse into space as an adolescent proxy. I wonder: why repeat “Apollo” when there's little variation between the two versions? Why not make the twee mouse metaphor song its own track?

Rockets is an above-average sampling of expansive indie pop. Despite contagious harmonies and quality wall-of-sound instrumentation, its tired space metaphor, navel-gazing lyrics and lackluster final track renders all that joy just a little cloying in the end.

Written by: M. Brianna Stallings, September 9th 2010

Strange Weather, Isn’t It?

admin — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By !!!

Warp Records

I will travel far and wide to see !!!, a band named for three staccato sounds (“chk chk chk” is the preferred pronunciation, though you can also say “pow pow pow” or “bang bang bang” to a fellow fan if so inclined). In the past five years, I’ve seen them at least as many times. From a slightly awkward but riotously fun gymnasium show in Chicago to a slam dancing mess at Boston’s Paradise, I’ve been there.

I’ve seen related side projects and new ventures from Out Hud to Free Blood to LCD Soundsystem, and loved every minute of madness each show brought to my life. But every time I dance my ass off with the expansive !!! crew, I do it alone. This is distressing. Do I really not know anyone else who wants to dance the Nic Offer, a twist-meets-disco gyration named for the band’s lead singer? I only know one person who even has a name for the main man’s dance. I guess that’s how it goes when you obsessively listen to slightly obscure dance rock. Unless you have Coachella fanatic friends, you go it alone.

Strange Weather, Isn’t It?, the band’s third full-length effort following the preposterously manic nine-minute single “Me and Giuliani Down By The Schoolyard (A True Story)” and a split EP of Magnetic Fields/Nate Dogg covers, is a solid if slightly subdued release for a six-plus-member group known for switching instruments between every song at live shows. Several slower psychedelic tracks fill the nine-track album, and unlike previous efforts which relied on eight-minute dance jams, none of these songs clock in over six minutes. Vocalist Shannon Funchess, seemingly the only woman to stick around the !!! ranks very long, is officially included on the album after touring with the band for the last several years.

Strange Weather, Isn’t It? sounds like an amalgam of new work and older tracks left off of other albums. Opening track “AM/FM” captures the sound of a live performance with Funchess’ breathy vocals mixed with Offer’s half-spoken chants about how “you can change the station, but there just ain’t no replacement.” An oft-used !!! lyrical formula, it also discusses the merits of dance music (and in this case radio DJs and frequencies) in detail. “The Most Certain Sure,” with lyrics about lessons not learned, could have been cut from sophomore release Louden Up Now and reworked in the interim. “Steady as the Sidewalk Cracks” begins with an '80s pop riff reminiscent of Wham! and segues seamlessly into a classic !!! jam that urges you, “Don’t you ever look back/You’ve got to trust the music.”

In the past years, as my love for them and their fame has grown, !!! has experienced tragedy in their ranks; two band members have died in bizarre, tragic accidents involving elevator shafts and bike-car collisions. As with any sizable lineup, shifts within the ranks are bound to occur, but I sometimes worry so many changes will permanently destabilize an already slightly chaotic collective.

!!! makes a party for your stereo, for your life, and I say, make that party yours. Own it.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, August 24th 2010

Die Young

admin — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Blair

Autumn Tone Records

Blair Gimma bounces about between art pop and insightful complexity with her first full-length venture, Die Young, juxtaposing the indelible angst of indie folk rock (with help from her daydreamy vocals) with stark lyrical imagery. Die Young was produced by Keith Ferguson, and uses all New Orleans-based musicians as a sort of tribute to where Blair spent her adolescence. Although the deep-rooted sounds of this genre are not entirely reflected in Die Young, the personal nature of the record touches on its sentimentality, as if most of the songs were acoustically derived from adversity and recorded in the solitude of Blair's bathroom.

“Rampage” sets the partial tone for the record, filling the landscape with echoed reverb and a little Pavement-inspired noise rock delight. Listening to electric keyboard synths in the opening verse of “Hearts,” one can almost picture the rolling credits of a favorite 80s soundtrack in all of its soft new wave splendor. “Hello Halo” features Blair's sprightly vocals, cushioned with classic indie distortion and a pulsing, syncopated beat that’s as pleasing as it is fitting, all while Blair recites, “Got a radio in my head…and it tells me what to say"; not to mention Blair’s amusing ode to girly glory, as she continues by deadpanning, “Kittens, rainbows!” “Paris, France” is moody and ethereal, blending electro-pop and the warm glow of ambient-pop, lush and hypnotic. “Candy in the Kitchen” works with heavy beats and moves in the same direction, albeit with a bit of a departure from the rest of the record. Gleefully, Blair sings, “I was dancing to Whitney Houston,” as you adjust your ears earnestly just to hear what she’ll say next.

Die Young is an extension of light summery pop melodies with harsh complex concepts that cut through its airy pop conventionality. Blair’s mix of vulnerability and savvy musical chops work in tandem, even though some of the songs could be on different records. Her personal pilgrimage, lasting over a span of five years, is still in its beginning stages, a cunning premonition to her eventual creative evolution in the years to come.

Written by: Cat Veit, July 14th 2010

Thirteen

admin — Tue, 25 May 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Tribella

Rocklittleface Music

“Jangly” is a complimentary adjective in my music lexicon. It's a descriptor applied quite often to indie rock bands of the early '90s: think classic-era music from UK label 4AD. In the case of Texas trio Tribella, jangly serves as both a term of endearment as well as a nod to their forebearers. These darlings of the Austin music scene produce edgy ethereal power pop, showcased in fine form on their debut full-length album Thirteen.

Released on the heels of the six-song EP My Guest List, and following the band's 2009 U.S. tour, Tribella's Thirteen is an ambitious collection, featuring nine (highly) original songs and one remix. Tribella has three members: lyricist, guitarist and lead vocalist Sarah Glynn, bassist Rae Golding, and drummer/vocalist Dena Gerbrecht. They've kept good live company, sharing stages with such artists as San Antonio trio Girl in a Coma and music festival mainstay Sarah Bettens (K's Choice). The group dips its toes into pseudo-Britpop, indie rock, prog, shoegaze, and even math rock. The result is a gleaming multifaceted expanse, leaping joyously from rhythm to rhythm–often within the same song–while still achieving a constancy of sound that successfully unifies the album.

With lyrics like “Think of all the books you'll read/Now that you're rid of me,” the title track is wry bittersweet barb. Its sting hearkens back to the Lush song, “Ciao!” (featuring Jarvis Cocker of Pulp), in which a recently separated couple barrage each other with insults while wallowing in regret and denial. “Revolution Script” eloquently considers the socio-political impact of our actions, sans preachiness: “Look back with a rock in my hand/Throw it in the future/Hope it might land.”

Previously released EP lead track “My Guest List” also features prominently on Thirteen, both in its original form and as a tinkling, yet somewhat tepid, remix courtesy of Eric LeRoc. There's a sassy defiant charm to its chorus: “And all the world that matters/Will be on my guest list/And all my friends that matter/Will be on my guest list.” It seems to be at once mocking such a shallow mentality, while at the same time celebrating the truly important things in our own little microcosms by bestowing upon them the honor of VIP status.

For me, Tribella's sound is so familiar that it's difficult to critique. I just... like it. I delight in their use of irregular meters (highlighted with the title song, which is played in 13/8 time), their cynical-sweet lyrics, and most of all, Glynn and Gerbrecht's dense harmonies. If your heart doesn't beat to the rhythms of groups like Belly, Throwing Muses, Lush, or Metric, then Tribella might not be your cup of tea. Not everyone cottons to the complex flavors of genre-defying rock. But do me a favor: give it a teensy taste. Please? You never know. You just might like it.

Written by: M. Brianna Stallings, May 24th 2010

From A Basement On The Hill

admin — Sun, 09 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Elliott Smith

Kill Rock Stars

My indie cred—if you want to call it that—is this: I was at one of Elliott Smith’s last shows. At the Northwestern University A&O Ball in 2002, Smith attempted to open for Wilco, fumbling with his guitar, breaking a string, complaining that his hand fell asleep, and never really finishing a song before trudging off stage an hour later. My friends and I were so angry and disappointed. “Is he on drugs?” If only we’d known the truth. If only anyone had known what was to come. A year and a half later, Smith committed suicide by stabbing himself in the chest.

I love Elliott Smith's music. I’m a sad former college radio nerd who grew up at the height of his popularity. “Miss Misery” is undoubtedly one of my favorite songs, in part because I love any movie shot in Boston and featuring under-the-radar music. But after he died, I couldn’t bring myself to listen to From a Basement on the Hill. Tragically, I’m a pro at handling death in the short term, but posthumous releases sort of freak me out. What’s done is done, right? What does it mean if the artist isn’t here to be a part of the production or release of his or her work? Only recently did I pick up some posthumous 2Pac and feel good about it. A decade later, I apparently come around.

Kill Rock Stars, arbiter of northwestern indie cool, recently got the rights to the 2004 release from ANTI-. Anyone who got a first listen in, well, the past five years, knows that this album is beautiful but sad. Songs like “A Fond Farewell” are reminiscent of XO. Others dabble in noise rock with strange layers of buzzing and bird noises attached. The album, sort of like Smith’s life, feels like a celebration on a rainy day. You could try to be the happiest person in the world, attempting revelry with friends, but inevitably, there will be a dark cloud on the horizon. That’s just how some of us are made.

Such a large percentage of From a Basement on the Hill deals in morbid fare: goodbyes, being a fuck up, memories, drugs, feeling lost, trying to keep it together. I’m not the first to say that it all feels foreboding, even now that we know the end of the story.

But you don’t listen to think back in sadness. You listen to remember why you ever listened at all. Elliott Smith made incredible music during his short time on Earth. If you’re as silly as I was—to largely overlook this album for the last few years—go grab a copy and remember the good times with the floppy-haired guy with the acoustic guitar and mellow voice. And if you never discovered Smith while he was alive, you still have time. Take advantage.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, May 9th 2010

The Bundles

admin — Thu, 06 May 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By The Bundles

K Records

I used to have a Livejournal, and Kimya Dawson was on my “friends list,” meaning I could read her journal entries. She was always a cheerful yet honest writer. Kimya shared photos of her lovely self, her bearded-and-bespectacled-husband, and her baby dressed in gender-neutral colors. I quickly admired this plus-sized woman with body modifications and tattoos, going about being a mother, wife, and artist, all in her own way.

Both Kimya's music and overall personality seemed to lack the superficial posturing many other folks demonstrate. Needless to say, I was inspired. Unfortunately, many women completely sacrifice their work (creative and otherwise) in order to care for their families, and I was happy to see Kimya balancing both her family and her art—a difficult task, to say the least. However, to supply time and energy to our loved ones and personal projects, that time and energy needs to be taken away from something, or someone, else.

This leads us to Kimya's latest creative endeavor: performing with a band called The Bundles that consists of Jeffrey Lewis, Jack Lewis, Anders Griffen, and Karl Blau. Although this album is their debut, the group itself is not exactly new. These folks originally started The Bundles about eight years ago, developing songs and performing shows. However, they never actually recorded any of the songs. The band members drifted to solo work and other bands, and it wasn't until recently that they were able to finally come together to record their self-titled album.

Kimya has inspired me yet again by reconnecting with her old friends and finishing what they started a very long time ago. The first song, “A Common Chorus,” tells us from the beginning, “Don't forget about your friends.” Jeffrey Lewis' voice has a Jonathan Richman cadence about it, no matter how heated he gets. Kimya's familiar childlike vocals are alternately soothing and scurrying through the syllables. I was also surprised to hear her growl a little bit on “Ishalicious!”

Aside from trading vocals, Jeffrey and Kimya sometimes clash in complete cacophony. “Shamrock Glamrock” is like listening to all of your pans fall out of the cupboards and hit the linoleum at once. But my favorite sound is when Jeffrey and Kimya harmonize with a full chorus singing in the background.

The Bundles' lyrics often alluded me. Was that “phoenix out of the ash” or “kleenex out of the glass?” My advance promotional copy didn't come with any liner notes. I often picked up on radical references and silly tidbits, like the ones on “Jello Biafra and Hello Kitty.”

Musically speaking, I enjoyed the guitars and drums. They switch from wholesome acoustic chords to floating electric fingering, depending on mood. I can't recall hearing Anders Griffen's drums before, but I'm pretty amazed! It's hard not to play “air drums” to many of these tracks.

“In the Beginning” seems to showcase the best of everyone. The music for “Metal Mouth” is solid, while the lyrics are hilariously juvenile, reminding me of something my heroes, Ween, would do. The ending is “Be Yourself,” which is a mellow sort of “good bye” track.

So there we have it: The Bundles is a fun, capable collection serving as closure for old friends.

Written by: Jacquie Piasta, May 5th 2010

American Gong

admin — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By Quasi

Kill Rock Stars

Did adding Joanna Bolme on bass somehow ruin the “purity” of the Quasi sound? I would suggest not. Although it would be impossible to argue that their music was thin before, Bolme’s bass adds a perfect oomph without taking away from the chemistry of the duo that already existed. Bolme, like both Sam Coomes and Janet Weiss, is a music veteran, playing with bands like Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks, as well as working with Elliot Smith and producing what is probably Quasi’s most critically acclaimed album, Featuring “Birds.”

A big reason Quasi never sounded thin is drummer Janet Weiss, who is absolutely and completely underrated as one of the best drummers in the business. Perhaps her drumming is bit less bombastic and intricate with Quasi than when she was with Sleater-Kinney, but her calculated triplets and chunky bass drum thumps are scaled back just enough to work perfectly with the sweetness of Coomes’ voice, and she still turns on the heat when necessary. She makes me wish that she was in the White Stripes, instead of Meg White, because as much as I love the White Stripes, Meg White’s drumming is on the lean side. I think Weiss’ style would work perfectly with Jack White, and then they could commence to form The Greatest Rock Band That Ever Existed and take over the world.

American Gong basically continues with the Quasi sound of the last two decades, which is part Beatles, part country blues, and even part Flaming Lips. They’ve still got some of that country-blues-rockabilly on songs like “Rockabilly Party,” but are a tad more Sonic Youth and a smidge less Reverend Horton Heat overall on this album than on some of their others.

There can be no question that their music references other bands; I had to smile at the song “Black Dogs and Bubbles,” which has a lick that sounds quite a bit like the Beatles' jam session that is “I Want You (She’s So Heavy).” And just to make sure you didn’t miss the suggestion, it cuts off abruptly at the end just like the Beatles’ song does. It’s just reminiscent enough to be a happy homage rather than a cheap rip-off.

Quasi still writes songs that are sneakily catchy. I get “It’s Hard to Turn Me On” stuck in my head every time I listen to Featuring “Birds,” and I’ve had “Bye Bye Black Bird” and “Repulsion” repeating in my ears since the first time I listened to American Gong. Their classic rock and country riffs are perhaps less apparent on this album than on The Going Gets Dark or Hot Shit!, but Quasi is still there, writing happy-sounding songs with sadly psychedelic lyrics that still somehow manage to laissez les bon temps rouller.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, March 9th 2010

Darling Dear

admin — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By Little Fish

Motown Records

At one point in the chaos of alley-crawling and narrow escapes that is the “Darling Dear” video, Little Fish frontwoman Juju beats up a guitar-wielding hipster boy, steals his guitar and straps it on before she launches in a furious bout of The Rocking. It is precisely this raw frenetic energy that attracted the attention of Custard Records, the label launched by singer/songwriter/producer Linda Perry (4 Non Blondes). Baffled & Beat, Little Fish's full-length album from Custard produced by Perry, is scheduled for an early 2010 release. In the meantime, we have Darling Dear, a three-song maxi-single guaranteed to rock off the socks of every music fan lucky enough to listen.

Winners of the “Guitar Hero Best Rock Act” at the 2008 UK Indy Music Awards and the subject of fawning adoration from BBC Radio Oxford, Little Fish released Darling Dear in mid-October. In short order the group has gone on to share the stage with the likes of Juliette Lewis and Alice in Chains. They're a rare breed of band—self-aware without being self-important. They know full well that they're making stellar wall-shaking rock n' roll, but they're not pretentious about it.

Self-taught guitarist Juju is a singer/songwriter whose warm raspy voice has been compared to Patti Smith and PJ Harvey. To me, there are also hints of Johnette Napolitano, and yes, even a bit of Linda Perry. Drummer Nez is right there keeping up every step of the way, which is a mighty undertaking, especially given the rapidly escalating rhythm of “Darling Dear.” It starts out slow then builds to a glorious pulsating frenzy. Here, Juju's voice struts and swaggers like one of a seasoned rock star; she looses pitch perfect screams with a precision that Janis Joplin would envy.

As a second track, “Sweat and Shiver” is cleaner-sounding, almost poppy in comparison to the song that preceded it. Thankfully, though, it's not pristine. Not by a long shot. Harmonies beautify scuzzy febrile lyrics like “My eyes are glazed/I'm pretendin' to sleep” and “Hands and knees/crawlin' on the floor/Cigarette burnin' on a cockroach floor.” Little Fish is following a classic pop/rock music formula with this song—stuffing grimy unpleasant imagery in the sweet swirling center of harmony and repetition.

Of the three tracks, “Whiplash” sounds the most up-to-the-minute British post-punk. At two minutes and fifty-one seconds, it's the shortest of the three tracks, and ends abruptly. It has all the earmarks of a set-ender. It's the short upbeat track you hope will be played at the close of a brilliant show. It's a song that gets a crowd dancing before BAM! Throw down a guitar grown heavy on exhausted shoulders, fling away drumsticks and walk off panting backstage for a pull from a bottled beer before stumbling back out for an encore.

And believe you me, after everything Little Fish puts in their music, you'll be screaming yourself hoarse for an encore.

Written by: M. Brianna Stallings, February 3rd 2010

Underslept

admin — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By Systems Officer

Temporary Residence

Systems Officer reminds me a bit of Grandaddy. Of Grandaddy I have to say this: I have seen Grandaddy once, opening for Elliott Smith, and Jason Lytle (formerly of Grandaddy) once, opening for Neko Case. It is probably unfair to hold Grandaddy and Jason Lytle up to the same level of adoration that I have for the other two artists (considering I would have hurdled myself into a closet full of menstruating hornets to see either Smith or Case). It’s not that I don’t like Grandaddy (or by association Lytle), it’s just that I would rather listen to something else. I feel the same way about Systems Officer. Sure, there are moments that Systems Officer reminds me of Sunny Day Real Estate (my fourteen-year-old self just squealed and started humming “Seven”) and other times they sound a bit like Peter, Bjorn, and John; who I also really enjoy.

But I just can’t get past it—they sound too much like Grandaddy. I don’t love them, and I don’t hate them. I would just rather listen to something else. It’s not that they’re bad, either. “Shape Shifter” weaves some interesting interplay of keyboard, guitar, and bass and is one song that I could get stuck in my head and feel like I wasn’t waiting desperately to hear “Bottle Up And Explode!” There’s a funky edge to the song that sets it apart from the rest, with some interesting keyboard work that at times is similar to the sounds of the video game where Mario is in a castle level trying to get past those annoying flame pits that spit fireballs. “East” is the song that reminds me, at first, of Sunny Day Real Estate (yes, I am currently hugging clenched fists to my chest and dreamily looking toward the ceiling in a manner that doesn’t at all suit a thirty-year-old woman). It’s got just a little bit of that sad-grit thing going for it that Sunny Day Real Estate did oh-so-well.

Underslept has the sound of a laid-back afternoon of light beers sipped while reclining on a warm green lawn on a Sunday. It’s simple and it’s mellow. The trouble is that I’m a complex and moody girl, in need of music that makes my brain flutter and my eyes mist with the remembrances of things past. I’m looking for Proust, and this is more like Hemingway. Good, but just not my style.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, January 29th 2010

Transference

admin — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 17:02:00 +0000

By Spoon

Merge Records

Do you have a band with which you feel a connection that far surpasses all others? Are you a writerly music nerd who wouldn’t dream of interviewing said band for fear the mystique would be shattered? I reserve such ardor for only one band. I met Spoon frontman Britt Daniel a few times over the years at various North American concerts. Once, I had the guts to say, “Hi, I’m Britt too.” He put his arm around my shoulders, made a fist with his other hand, and took a photo with me. It’s crazy intense. So is my love for his band.

I can’t normally write about Spoon because my deep devotion to their music simply doesn’t feel properly transferred to the page. I’m so wholly obsessed with my own insular lyrical interpretations that I can’t typically bring myself to philosophize about them in public. I am the ultimate fangirl in a white boy musical land, but dammit if I don’t know just as much about Spoon and own every obscure 7” vinyl, complication track, and b-side single they’ve released in the past fifteen years.

I am trying to push myself as a writer, and quite frankly, you need to know about this album. Transference, the new record from Spoon and an appropriate nod to the way I treat their lyrics and music as my own personal autobiographical soundtrack, is yet another gem in a discography of precious stones. Cryptic lyrics, brilliant synth, complex percussion, and Daniel’s sultry voice have fused to make another superior record.

Opening track “Before Destruction” brings to mind the much loved but terribly overlooked Soft Effects EP. In what I hear as a nod to self-loathing, Daniel croons, “Everyone loves you for your black eye.” I sure hope so.

What would it mean for an ex-partner to call and say “Is love forever?” The song of the same name poses the question, and I took a moment to ponder how my life partner ended up having roughly the same floppy hair and thin physique as Mr. Daniel.

Misplaced nostalgia and ideas of disappearing to where no one will know you are prominent on “The Mystery Zone.” As someone who has moved to new unknown cities several times, I should mention that this concept sounds much better in song.

Reminiscent of Kill the Moonlight's “Paper Tiger” or “The Infinite Pet” from Gimme Fiction, the incredibly pared down “Who Makes Your Money” repeatedly offers that very inquiry. For the first time in my life, I am not the highest (or sole) income earner in my relationship. Indeed, who makes my money?

“Got Nuffin” is a leg-slapping, foot-tapping anthem about how you have “nothing to lose but darkness and shadows.” I’ve admittedly had the Got Nuffin EP since it was released last year, but the track’s inclusion on Transference loses nothing from repeated previous plays.

I could explain every track in perfect detail, its first-rate arrangement. Britt Daniel is one of the few men who could make lyrics like “You were there but you weren’t” or “All I know is all I know” sound ingenious. I digress for the sake of space.

Every time a new Spoon record drops, I have to wait until I have alone time at home to put it on without distractions. I treat no other band with such reverence. I can’t believe they make this music, and that it is so consistently amazing. Run—I mean it, RUN—to get your copy of Transference.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, January 28th 2010

Sugarland

admin — Sun, 10 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By Talk Normal

Rare Book Room Records

While growing up reading Spin and Rolling Stone, I quickly realized that both publications are fond of describing the sound of new bands by referencing older bands, many of which my twelve-year-old self hadn’t heard. I used to hate it, but now I realize it’s a pretty effective if lazy way of doing things. This is why I can say that Talk Normal would be the resulting lovechild if Sonic Youth and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs had really sweaty, kinky, drug-fueled sex, which is to say it’d be a very frightening, emotional lovechild, fond of howling, screaming, and talking nonsensically into a microphone over sonic noise.

It seems that Rare Book Room Records has made it their goal to sign the creepiest, noisiest, and most difficult to characterize bands to come out of Brooklyn. These bands, much like Talk Normal, make records that you’d be afraid to listen to by yourself, as they may bring on a nasty drug flashback or elicit some pretty strange daydreams.

To be honest, I don’t even know if I liked Talk Normal’s Sugarland. I can’t ever picture myself saying, “Hey, let’s throw on that incredibly moody, emotional, energy-draining album that scares the shit out of me.” Which is not to say it’s bad; it’s just too different. When I want to be sad, I throw on something sad. When I want to be happy, I throw on something happy. Sadly, a mood has yet to be discovered that would result in me throwing on Talk Normal’s record. Maybe with a little more time spent practicing together and a little less distortion and howling, Talk Normal’s next record can illicit some more human emotion—as opposed to pure animal savagery.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, January 10th 2010

Somewhere Gone

admin — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 01:00:00 +0000

By Exene Cervenka

Bloodshot Records

More subdued than X, less twang than the Knitters, this album might be what you listen to once glad bags have been replaced by retro shifts as the little black dress of choice—more spirit than spit. Exene Cervenka’s Somewhere Gone demonstrates verse and verve in a dozen new recordings.

Cervenka was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in the summer of 2009, but that hasn't slowed her down. In addition to this new release, she continues to tour with X, and encourages support of Sweet Relief, an organization founded by musician Victoria Williams upon her own MS diagnosis in 1992 to assist career musicians in crisis.

Exene Cervenka and John Doe met, legend has it, at a poetry reading. On Somewhere Gone they are joined by Lou Whitney of The Skeletons, who provides bass-stylings and engineering services, and Amy Farris and Cindy Wasserman as the back-up singers. The instrumentation is sturdy, basic, and subdued, and features acoustic guitar, quiet percussion, and strings. “Surface of the Sun” features piano and organ by Dexter Romweber. “The Willow Tree” is a traditional ballad, tear-jerking your heartstrings (if you like it, you'll like “Little Shoes“ by Freakwater). And who among us has not made an “Honest Mistake?" Adding Somewhere Gone to your music collection is far from an error, indeed.

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, December 17th 2009

Hung Like A Horse

admin — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 01:00:00 +0000

By All Leather

Dim Mak Records

Members of The Locust and Some Girls make up the edgy electro-punk industrial outfit All Leather, mixing angelic screeching over electro beats and spastic hardcore pummeling, which are all packed tight into ten glorious minutes of the Hung Like a Horse EP. All Leather consists of guitarist Nathan Joyner, Jung Sing on drums, and Justin Pearson doing vocals. They collectively rail against all that is decent with dirty synths and lyrics to match. Indulging in their playful hedonism, Hung Like a Horse isn’t as much decadent as it is audibly interesting. There is a pounding undercurrent that consents to headbanging while allowing itself to delightfully canoodle with the bouncy elements of electro-dance.

Colorful song titles will relay the story before even hitting play. The music itself almost garners more cred by combining earnest raw energy with their unfettered sense of humor. “As The Hog Pisseth” opens the record with a sledgehammer of metronome beats dripping in “Miller-Lite fantasies,” as the amusing lyrics suggest. Next up, “We’re Skrewed.” Pearson punches the lyrics hard enough to match the intensity of Sing’s beats. Drums and lyrics work in tandem throughout like a diabolic tag team as Pearson belts, “Civilization… vs none.” The kinetic “I Don’t Hate Fags, God Does” has you dancing in place amongst the hippest of hipsters, while gleefully throwing elbows left and right, reveling in the thrash curveball thrown. “Audios mi Amoebas” works the industrial magic with pulsating white noise. The aggressive fusion builds and accelerates until the very last note.

Post-punk bliss, albeit thrashy and brash, Hung Like a Horse works on many levels. It delivers the goods if you appreciate heavy spastic rock made interesting and fun, thanks to spirited electronic dance grooves. The EP gets to the point pretty quick, clamps down hard, and draws a little blood between minutes six and seven. They know how to replace the pop with the sludge all while staying true to the raucous energy that defines it.

Written by: Cat Veit, December 8th 2009