lo-fi

Down With Liberty...Up With Chains!

admin — Wed, 06 May 2009 23:30:00 +0000

Certain record labels have a sound that courses like an undercurrent through all of their releases. Others have an image to uphold. K Records has both. Founded in 1982 by Beat Happening's Calvin Johnson and featuring a roster that includes Mirah, Kimya Dawson, and the All Girl Summer Fun Band, K Records has a long-standing reputation for being indie, lo-fi, and proud of it. So it makes perfect sense that staunchly DIY musician Ian Svenonius—an artist with a unique sound also motivated by an agenda—would work time and again with the label.

According to Wikiquote, there are a number of variant phrases attributed to anarchist Emma Goldman about getting down when things get hot. The one that sounds most like the guiding philosophy of Chain and the Gang founder Svenonius is as follows: “If I can't dance, it's not my revolution!” Based out of Corruption Land, USA (also known as Washington D.C.), this has been Svenonius' unrelenting position for a couple of decades. Band after band—from the post-hardcore punishment of Nation of Ulysses to the self-proclaimed “Gospel Yeh-Yeh” of The Make-Up, from the indie sounds of Weird War and now to his latest outing, Chain and the Gang—Svenonius has made it his populist musical mission to take this tired old boring world out at the knees.

That being said, Down With Liberty... Up With Chains! is only somewhat serviceable as a soundtrack for smashing The State. This is an album full of seemingly simple repetitive electro-informed Brit soul-style garage rock dealing with complex subject matter (progress, the financial system, technology) in a gleefully irreverent way. Writing this review at the job that pays my bills, I feel slightly rebellious— dangerous, even—for listening to something so doggedly anti-establishment. Mostly, though, I am just reminded of my continual guilt at working for “The Man” to maintain the status quo. Which is, I gather, the exact sort of response Svenonius would want me to have.

Personal favorites include “Interview With the Chain Gang,” an innovative yet self-aware tune summoning up questions the band is likely to get from the music press, and “Unpronounceable Name,” a herky-jerky ditty that reminds me of those old-school no-wave sensations James Chance & the Contortions. Less entertaining is “What Is A Dollar?” a cheap and all-too familiar shot at capitalism full of tired sentiments that could make Jello Biafra roll his eyes. Still, it's a tidy and short album. Except for “Deathbed Confession,” a loose spoken-word song about those faceless evildoers we're always told the CIA hires to do their dirty work, all the songs are under five minutes; the whole thing clocks in at just under thirty-seven minutes. It won't be for everyone, as not everyone likes being beaten over the head with dogma, but if you dig gettin' down to a decidedly anti-authoritarian beat, this might be right up your alley.

Written by: M. Brianna Stallings, May 6th 2009

Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle

admin — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 23:46:00 +0000

By Bill Callahan

Drag City

I once happened upon a Callahan show at Boston’s MFA with friends who are seasoned fans of the Smog oeuvre. In town to promote Woke on a Whaleheart, my pals were far less surprised than I when a very average looking, middle-aged man took the stage to sing existential songs about meadows, dark skies, anniversaries, and water wells in his unmistakable deep baritone.

On Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle, the lo-fi Jandek admirer continues his tradition of half-speaking his otherwise emotional lyrics, backed by lovely orchestral chords. For as unimpressive as that might sound, it is the opposite. No one but Callahan can sound modest and sincere when employing phrases like “jaunty as a bee” or explaining, “I started telling a story without knowing the end.” His contemporaries would sound like awkward poseurs at best. But here, when he says, “I ended up in search of ordinary things,” it’s ol’ Bill just doing what he does best.

Most of the new tracks maintain the form Smog fans have come to know and love, though a few offer surprises. “My Friend” is the kind of song that shows Callahan’s progression as an artist whose preferred instruments used to be misshapen or broken. Showing influences of his experimental past, the song is cohesive, winding, and building on itself through strange chord progressions and lyrics about “sweet desire and soft thoughts.”

“All Thoughts Are Prey to Some Beast,” on the other hand, is not so much a song as a three-minute experimental drone, and a bit out of place. “Faith/Void,” however, rebalances and ends the album with calm clarity. At nearly ten minutes, it is the perfect track for agnostics or the religiously weary among us, as Callahan simply croons, over and over, “It’s time to put God away.” At no point does it feel repetitive, even if that’s exactly what it is.

Whoever made the term “singer-songwriter” sound derogatory never listened to anything in the Callahan canon. Shame on that unwise critic.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, April 27th 2009

Elizabeth Willis

admin — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 18:55:00 +0000

By Elizabeth Willis

Little Blackbird Music

In Anne Sexton’s introductory note for her book of poems, Live or Die, she “apologizes for the fact that [these poems] read like a fever chart for a bad case of melancholy. But...the order of their creation might be of interest to some readers.”

Whether or not Elizabeth Willis’ songs on her self-titled album were placed in a similar kind of order, they can definitely be characterized as introspective as they explore their own "case of melancholy." It’s no surprise that Willis thanks Dostoevsky and Beethoven in her liner notes. You can hear their influence in the restless piano and the contours of Willis’ voice, which fall somewhere between Fiona Apple and an indie lo-fi version of Sarah Vaughn.

We are in fever chart territory–traveling with and within the artist. The plaintive "Overture," an instrumental of piano and violin, is moody as a desolate Scottish moor. Yet towards the end of the song, the drums come in. It’s not exactly Paxil, but the percussion is restorative. Willis often plays out this balance between lows and highs throughout the album. Many songs are decidedly contemplative: "One," "Thoughts," and "Don’t Worry." Others have more of an upbeat undertone, such as “4am” with its frenetic piano, and "(In) Love" with Willis’ vocals taking on an exuberant, higher key.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with Scottish moors or contemplation. In fact, it’s the melancholy that gives depth and complexity to the steadfast hope in many of Willis’ lyrics: "It was in your eyes/A little hint of a blue sky." The album explores the connection between personal relationships, nature and self-awareness as Willis sings of loneliness, love, dreams of blackbirds, and walks under a starry sky.

A place for improvement is the overlap of vocals in "4am" and "Stars." I found it distracting to hear Willis singing with herself because it becomes more studio production than song. A few lyrics are obscure and abstract. "You'll be in my thoughts forever" could be any pop song. The honest vulnerability of Willis’ voice should be matched with more fully-developed lyrics.

Although this album is meditative, Willis’ fever chart for melancholy is one that is resolutely determined to not let the sadness get her down: "I’m going to find my way. I’m going to make mistakes. And move on." Elizabeth Willis is a promising artist who will definitely find her way.

Written by: Andrea Dulanto, February 24th 2009

High Places

admin — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 17:33:00 +0000

By High Places

Thrill Jockey

The experimental, lo-fi, Brooklyn-based duo High Places could be considered an acquired taste. The vocals are whimsically distorted and much of the percussion sounds as though it were made in someone’s kitchen by rattling a silverware drawer (since their self-titled album was made in their home studio, this may actually be the case). High Places starts off awkwardly slow, and on first listen, the short tunes and chanting rhythms may fail to draw you in. Only by track five, "Gold Coins," a standout gem, do you start to understand this band’s maddening method. The constant feedback of vocalist Mary Pearson’s voice is one part haunting and one part hypnotic.

By the second spin of this album, I got the hang of what was happening and relaxed enough to enjoy the disjointed melodies. I found my foot unconsciously tapping and realized that the succinct songs were quite memorable. High Places began to sound more like a record my artist friends would make over several weekends and heavily edit with ProTools. High Places goes one better and makes their music with authentically weird instruments and improvised live recordings. "Gold Coins," a nod to Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet, explains, "Part of you is man/Part of you is god-self," and the High Places duo walk a similar tightrope. The mix of ethereal and clunky calls to mind a fusion of The Blow and Pole, or maybe the more recognizable Au Revoir Simone meets Animal Collective. Heaven and Earth. High places and low ones.

The High Places blog is full of beautiful concert photos from around the globe. Like other experimental bands, I can grow to love their dreary, dreamy music, which I suspect it is best experienced live.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, February 3rd 2009