Emily S. Dunster

Betrayer

annette — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

What things come from Australia? Lots of bitey poisonous things. The fabulous and flamboyant movie The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. AC/DC. Australian Toaster Biscuits (do you remember Australian Toaster Biscuits? I do. They were amazing.) The On Fires also come from Australia. Are The On Fires as amazing as Australian Toaster Biscuits? Do they wear shorts all of the time like Angus Young? Can they do a mean Gloria Gaynor impression, while sporting a dress made out of flip-flop sandals? Perhaps most importantly, can they wrestle lots of bitey poisonous things like Steve Irwin? These are all questions I would like to have answered.

First things first: are they as amazing as Australian Toaster Biscuits (A.T.B. for short)? The amazing thing about A.T.B. is that they are sweeter and more substantive than regular English muffins. So the real question here is, are The On Fires sweeter and more substantive than English muffins? The closest English band to an English muffin would have to be the Spice Girls, for their rather dense exterior and the air-filled emptiness at the center. I would have to say I prefer The On Fires to the Spice Girls. The On Fires have a certain level of sweetness; on tracks like “Without”, that are both emotion-filled and packed with energy. Similar to A.T.B., The On Fires also have a certain level of substance that is lacking in their English muffin counterparts. They obviously are influenced by bands like The Mars Volta and Social Distortion, while the musical influences of the Spice Girls are clearly more along the lines of The Archies, if The Archies wore sexy pants.

Question number two: Do they wear shorts all of the time like Angus Young? The answer appears to be no. I see a sherpa hat on their guitar player in the liner notes, but no shorts. Which brings us to the question can they do a mean Gloria Gaynor impression, while sporting a dress made out of flip-flop sandals? As I have yet to see them in concert, I cannot say whether they are capable of such a feat. However, according to their website, their previous band name was “Asleep in the Park” until a fan shouted “you’re not asleep, you’re on fire!” so I can only imagine that they have quite a lot of enthusiasm on stage. In addition, their song “Melancholy” is obviously influenced by Queen, which clearly indicates they are at least friends of the family, if you know what I mean.

Finally, the most important question of all: can they wrestle lots of bitey poisonous things like Steve Irwin? Again, it doesn’t appear they wear shorts all of the time, so I cannot be sure they can match the awesomeness of His Royal Majesty of Crocodile Hunting (R.I.P.), Steve Irwin. They do have plenty of punk-rock swagger on tracks like “Coming Home,” which I suppose would be needed when faced with certain death at the fangs of something bitey and poisonous. However, they do a riff on the Ventures’ tune “Wipeout” during the song, which is probably not something you want to hear when faced with wrangling a death adder or a blue-ringed octopus. So, I suppose, the jury is out on the answer to this question.

I hope I have sufficiently answered these questions regarding The On Fires and various elements of Australia. In closing, I would have to say that they are far more enjoyable than Silverchair, and not nearly as enjoyable as AC/DC, although they do have a fair amount of rock and roll attitude. Just one more question, though: Why do people from hot climates wear sherpa hats?

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, April 21st 2011

Come Over

annette — Wed, 20 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Patty Carpenter and Dysfunctional Family Jazz Band

Epiphany Records

Patty Carpenter and the Dysfunctional Family Jazz Band (PCATDFJB) are a troupe of musicians who are also family members. Singer Patty was married to saxophonist Scotty, and they had daughter (who is also the band’s other singer) Melissa. Patty and Scotty broke up, and Patty married the band’s manager, Charles, and together they had son Travis who plays bass. This album is essentially like being trapped on a couch in the living room of your new neighbors watching an endless slide-show of their family’s summer vacation.

Little did you know how creepy your new neighbors were. “My Baby” stomps in with snarling saxophone and electric guitar. The song’s lyrics are about a rebellious child growing up, “My baby’s going away. And I hope it will be okay/Such a young girl hurrying out the door.” Okay, fine so far. But then the song gets a little bit too, er, tactile? “I can hold her when she needs my touch... Someday I know that she’ll go away/But I will stay close to her heart.” Now I’m confused. I thought this was a song about mother/daughter relationships? Is this the kissing family from Saturday Night Live?

PCATDFJB waffle between Sonny Clark-esque jazz, zydeco, and reggae. “Love Bound” is a song about daughter Melissa and husband Alan getting married in Jamaica. I know this because it says so, under the lyrics to the song in the liner notes: “we cooked up this song to celebrate the first anniversary of Melissa and Alan. Their wedding in Jamaica required a reggae saga. You had to be there. Now you are.” It really is great that this family willingly shows so much affection for each other. Frankly, though, I don’t really want to be invited to their wedding. I just don’t know them well enough to be interested. I suppose you could argue that there are plenty of great songs out there written about people and events that most listeners have no personal connection to. Paul Simon wrote about wife Peggy Harper in songs like “Run That Body Down,” and it works. But then, Mr. Simon didn’t write in the liner notes to his album, “My wife and I were going through a very difficult time, which would eventually end in a bitter divorce. You had to be there. Now you are!” Speaking of Paul Simon, he also made reggae work for a white dude. Unfortunately, PCATDFJB are more reminiscent of Willie Nelson’s attempt at reggae, which (needles to say) was both bumbling and strange.

On the track “Summer Love,” PCATDFJB get creepy again, for along come the sultry sounds of what can only be a mom singing about making whoopie in a corn field: “The corn’s silky tassels are luring me in [...] come on, baby, roll me in the grass.” Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. The teenager in me just threw up a little in my mouth. This is a family band! What are you doing, hippie parents? This song feels a bit like Maeby Fünke and Michael Bluth singing “Afternoon Delight” together. That moment on Arrested Development was funny because it was unintentionally creepy. This is just creepy.

It’s great that these folks enjoy making music together and seem to love each other so much. I just think you may need to be a part of their family in order to really get it.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, April 20th 2011

A Guide to Picking Locks, Number Two

brittany — Sat, 12 Feb 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By CrimethInc.

CrimethInc.

Full disclosure here: I have never, ever picked a lock. I suppose it would be kind of neat to know how to bust into a door with a wafer tumbler lock, but I just never have really experienced the need. An excellent parlor trick, perhaps? A desire to emulate Houdini in a daring escape from the chains of certain death?

For those savvy entrepreneurs who wish to start their own locksmithing business (or channel their inner Houdini), there are many texts available on the subject including Visual Guide to Lock Picking by Mark McCloud and The Complete Guide To Lock Picking by Eddie The Wire. (As a side note, Eddie The Wire is also the author of the Y2K classic, How To Bury Your Goods: The Complete Manual of Long Term Underground Storage. I wish I were kidding.)

So what would the purpose be to own a lock picker’s guide, a tiny, neon pink, pocket-sized book from the publisher CrimethInc? The short answer is, I don’t know. It is pocket-sized, which is convenient for those times where you just really have to get a lock picked and don’t have your hardback version of Modern High-security Locks: How To Open Them by Steven Hampton. My guess is, however, that most folks interested in this book probably are not going to be helping old ladies into their Oldsmobiles. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t really see a locksmith-in-training using this text as an educational device.

Something about the book just didn’t seem right, so I typed in a sentence from the book’s text, and surprise! A Guide to Picking Locks, Number Two is really just a hacked-up, poorly photocopied version of the Eddie the Wire book, The Complete Guide To Lock Picking (available free online). The CrimethInc book has no author information, so I’m not sure if Eddie the Wire was involved in this version or not. Contacting CrimethInc was a hopeless endeavour. Will we ever know the truth? Chances are, probably not.

You can buy the CrimethInc book for four bucks online, but I’m not sure exactly why you would when it is available for free. Use your anarchist instincts, lock pickers! Liberate those doomed mink with a free version of this lock-picking text, and avoid paying the man! Cinch up the strings on your hoodie, and make sure your bandanna is secured tightly around your nose and mouth while you access the book free on your iPad. Also, bring your Slim Jim Universal Lock Out Tool Set and make sure you have Febreeze—because as much as I feel for the plight of the mink, the potent aroma of their musk will be nearly impossible to wash out of your mom’s Subaru Forester.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, February 12th 2011

Elevator Art

alicia — Thu, 27 Jan 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Elevator Art

For a band working without the backing of a label, Elevator Art has crafted a disc that has the sound of a group with a fountain of money at their disposal. Sure, money isn’t everything, but I can tell you from personal experience that it makes a huge difference when you are in a small band with nothing but sad, starving little moths in your pockets and a record that needs mastering, artwork, and printing.

Elevator Art obviously put a lot of work and a considerable amount of hard-earned bread into this recording—and every dollar and hour spent recording, mixing, and mastering has clearly been worth the effort. Really, if they are able to turn a profit, why even bother with label backing? They clearly have the artistic side of the industry figured out.

Elevator Art mixes and mashes various genres into a stew of epic proportions—a generous helping of ‘70s arena guitar-driven rock, a smattering of ‘60s anti-war psychedelia, a pinch of Mars Volta, and a dab of Weezer and the Beatles, and you essentially have their self-titled debut album. Heck, there is even a Jethro Tull-esque flute solo.

The album opens with an uptempo mixture of crunchy guitar rock and wacky lyrics (something about a pregnant baby, a dog on stilts, and a unicorn that died) and is propelled by Yes-inspired tracks like “Punch and Judy.” They also throw in some country influences on “Autumn Epitaph” and channel Pink Floyd on “How Does the Day Find You” which sounds like it could have been a track on Meddle.

I do have a small bone to pick with the drums and bass. There are moments that the drums sound like electric drums (most obviously in a section close to the end of “Matryoshka” and also on “Peter Rabbit”). I’m not sure if it was intentional, but I would have preferred a more natural sound throughout. Also, Mike Jonin is a great bass player, but I wish his sound was a bit fuller—his bass gets a bit lost with so much mid-range and so little bottom end.

These are really very small criticisms, as most of the sound on the album is superb. The guitar, in particular, is clear and precise on every track, reminding me a bit of the crispness of tracks like “Young Pilgrims” by The Shins. Overall, this is a worthy recording by a band that is clearly dedicated to their craft.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, January 27th 2011

1,000 Years

alicia — Sun, 09 Jan 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By The Corin Tucker Band

Kill Rock Stars

It is kind of strange listening to Corin Tucker with a bass player, and without the backing of Carrie Brownstein and Janet Weiss in riot grrrl band Sleater-Kinney. Admittedly, at first I found myself missing Brownstein’s guitar chops, and the rhythmic awesomeness of Weiss. This isn’t to say that Tucker is a guitar slouch, by any means, just that Brownstein is one of the best living guitarists out there, and Weiss delivers an amazing syncopated punch that other drummers just can’t match.

And so perhaps it is a bit unfair to compare 1,000 Years with the previous work of Corin Tucker with Sleater-Kinney. The truth is, though, that S-K defined my adolescence. For me, at least, Tucker will always be linked to my seventeen-year old self. As an example, is there any Sopranos fan out there who was able to watch Where the Wild Things Are without conjuring images of Tony driving down the New Jersey Turnpike? But, the fact is that Tucker is plenty talented without the backing of her former mates. Frankly, with the strength of her new tracks and musical cohorts, I (almost) don’t even miss Brownstien and Weiss.

There have already been many reviews of this album, talking about the relative restraint of Tucker’s voice as compared with her time in S-K. It’s true the operatic bellow is turned down. But damn if she still doesn’t have a fantastic set of pipes and a range that is a bit easier to appreciate without the characteristic aggressive ululations of her S-K days. I should mention that while she is a bit more restrained in places, (such as on “Dragon and “Miles Away” where there are way more violins and acoustic guitars than ever appeared on any S-K album) she nonetheless has moments of uptempo howl on tracks like “Doubt” and “Pulling Pieces” where she sounds quite a bit like circa-1997 Corin Tucker.

I suppose what defines her new band is the focus, which is squarely on Tucker. S-K had Tucker, of course, but there was also the oomph of Weiss’ drumming prowess, along with the meticulous guitar mastery and vocals of Brownstein to make each album feel like a grand exercise in teamwork. 1,000 Years feels more like The Foo Fighters’ The Colour and the Shape.

There is absolutely no question that this album is Corin Tucker’s, just like there was no doubt that Dave Grohl was the one responsible on his album. Tucker’s band does an amazing job of emphasizing Tucker’s vocal talents. “It’s Always Summer” and “Handed Love,” for instance, contain fairly little in terms of instrumentation, which isn’t terribly necessary anyway with the power of Tucker’s voice.

I am a huge Sleater-Kinney fan, but I have already grown to accept that they are no longer together. I would be upset if Corin Tucker was trying to recreate S-K in her new band. But thankfully, that is clearly not the case on 1,000 Years, but I actually wish she pushed herself a little bit more outside of the S-K comfort zone and into some more daring territory. Sure, she’s far more restrained here than on The Woods, but the giant shadow of her former band still looms.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, January 9th 2011

Fall of Spring

beth — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Lonely Drifter Karen

Crammed Discs

Here I sit, thinking about the torrential rain and wind blanketing the eastern seaboard, and dreaming of warm kisses from the sun on a hilly bike ride in the country. I’m at work, to tell you all the truth, inside a rather chilly library (writing on my lunch break—too bleak to venture outside). My eyes move slowly from computer screen to rain-dappled window, yearning for a summer that wasn’t. A summer that should have been warm rather than sweltering; a summer that should have been speckled with relaxing days on quiet beaches rather than full of stressful agonizing weeks watching the economy wilt in the heat; and my friends and family face foreclosure, unemployment, and bankruptcy. The fact is, I need a break. We all do.

This is where Lonely Drifter Karen floats in, propelled on the light wings of twee, ukulele, and Spanish-tickled guitar. They are a group of European musicians who make a miserable storm-soaked Philadelphia day seem instead like a mild spring afternoon in Brussels. “Russian Bells” in particular has a lilting Belle and Sebastian feeling, leaving me wishing that I had a comfortable picnic place to enjoy a glass of wine and a slab of baguette with my fiancee. I close my eyes and tune out the electronic hum of the xerox machine, and dream of us dancing to the sweet ballet melody of “Julien,” carefree and barefoot in the grass.

Fall of Spring is a record that is as complex as it is airy and simplistic. They’re not only grounded by lazy pop harmonies that sound like they should be streaming out of the speakers at your local Banana Republic (although “Russian Bells” would seem to go nicely with a pair of finely crafted chino pants). They’re also dark and mysterious at times, backed by ghostly guitar reverb on “Eventually,” and punctuated by energetic hand slaps and dramatic growling piano on the gypsy folk influenced “A Roof Somewhere.”

Watching their live videos on YouTube reminds me of seeing Neko Case in concert—they’ve got their shit together, so to speak. Like the powerhouse that is Ms. Case, they are everything in concert that they are on their record. Lonely Drifter Karen sounds fantastic live, and clearly has a mess of talent behind a European charm that is unsullied by Auto-Tune or studio-mixing gymnastics. Perhaps, though, what make them work the best is their uncanny ability to take me away, even if just for a moment, to a sun-drenched European countryside. A girl can dream, can’t she?

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, October 13th 2010

Salt

brittany — Mon, 20 Sep 2010 02:00:00 +0000

By The Locals

If The Locals were an item of clothing, they would be a neatly pressed pair of designer vintage “distressed” jeans—$200 pants with holes, bleach stains, and grease marks already worked in. The Locals have a crafted sound that has been tweaked and molded into a perfect pair of pre-worn pants. Steven Gillis, the producer of their album, has manufactured a sound that has every ounce of distortion honed into a meticulous arc; every howl from lead singer Yvonne Doll’s voice is finely tuned until it cracks in just the right way in all of the right places. Perhaps music this polished in production isn’t really my thing, but I have to give the band credit for putting a whole lot of time and trouble into a finished product. They are clearly very dedicated (despite being unsigned) with an arty CD cover design, professional website, and squeaky clean production values.

The Locals are a good band. They are passionate musicians who have spent a lot of time and energy making a product that has everything but a record label. But here’s where I have to criticize. They list three major influences in their band bio which are The Pixies, The Killers, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. The Killers, perhaps. But the Pixies? The Yeah Yeah Yeahs? Really? If The Locals are a pair of distressed designer jeans, the Pixies are a sweat-stained t-shirt from a thrift store, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs are a sparkly space-ballet jump suit. The Locals are way, way too polished for a Pixies reference, and way, way too run of the mill to be compared to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

I’m not saying their music is bad. I’m just saying The Locals sound like they have radio-friendly hits that are so clean, crisp, and focused on slick production values that they could be on Top 40 radio right now. Think Matthew Sweet (another one of their cited influences, from their MySpace page) and you would be barking up a much closer tree. I don’t mind Matthew Sweet—the guy did have some catchy pop-sugar hits back in the mid-nineties—but he sure wasn’t singing about slicing up eyeballs, and his videos never featured little kids chopping off each other’s limbs. Somehow, I can’t see that kind of dark weirdness coming from The Locals, either. They’re good, they’re tidy, and they’re tight as hell. But Black Francis in a stained thrift store tee, they certainly are not.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, September 19th 2010

A Record

brittany — Fri, 17 Sep 2010 10:00:00 +0000

By Laura Stevenson and the Cans

Asian Man Records

A few months ago I reviewed the new record from People Eating People. Laura Stevenson and the Cans are certainly along the same sound profile—folksy female vocals with a tinge of She + Him and a pinch of Regina Spektor. As before, I ask, how can yet another folksy crew of musicians survive? How can they set themselves apart and make their music worth an earnest listen?

Laura Stevenson and the Cans manage just that—and they do it with a twist that isn’t quite the wild gypsy punk of Gogol Bordello, but certainly manages to jump with jangly fast-paced punky multi-instrumental swagger just the same. And while the precious folk thing has been done for a while now, there is something just a bit more excellent about doing a precious folk thing with a wicked punk rock beat and a troupe of multi-instrumentalists. Laura Stevenson and the Cans are precious like Frank Kozik’s artwork is precious. They’re precious like The Happy Tree Friends. They’re about as adorable and innocent as the animated rabbits in Watership Down. The punk-rock sensibility works well here, blending with the lo-fi resonance of the more countrified folk roots to create an album that sounds like it was performed live.

Of course, not every song is tinged with the vicious flavor of punk rock. But even their slower more traditional folksy tunes resonate with the strength of lead singer/guitarist Stevenson’s vocal talents and clever lyrics. I have to say I was tickled with “Beets Untitled” which begins with a dinner of boiled beets and ends with a sad refrain: “Keep away from me / I am full of terrible things / but if you love the terrible / then please be near to me.” I have also officially become my grandmother, who uses words like “tickled.” Although, perhaps it’s appropriate to channel my grandmother, as she listened to her fair share of the folk music during her time—mostly Woody Guthrie—and I have to say Laura Stevenson and the Cans owe quite a debt to that man and his sound.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, September 17th 2010

Cotton’s Queer Relations: Same-Sex Intimacy and the Literature of the Southern Plantation, 1936-1968

admin — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Michael P. Bibler

University of Virginia Press

As Michael Bibler mentions in the introduction to Cotton’s Queer Relations, it seems impossible that there could be enough material out there to serve as the basis for such depth of criticism on an incredibly narrow topic. There are a few notable classics that have homoerotic undertones and even some more overt mentions of homosexual encounters that are discussed in works like The Confessions of Nat Turner, but these queer moments seem like blips in what appears to be an otherwise overtly heterosexual literary scape. Is Bibler reading too much into plantation literature? Are his examples only the result of the passionate desire to find queer meaning in texts where none exists? The answer to both questions seems to be no.

Bibler’s arguments are focused and supported with strong evidence from the texts and the work of other critics. But the argument by Bibler is more complex than a simple acknowledgment of the existence of queerness in plantation literature; he argues that the queer subtexts in plantation literature expose wider social injustices in plantation life, and that queer relations also move racial inequality and sexism to the forefront.

Bibler wants to make it clear that same-sex relations here do not necessarily mean homosexual relations. I will allow the reader of Cotton’s Queer Relations to delve more deeply into the complex reasoning behind his assertion; but in a nutshell, he essentially pleads that the closeness of same-sex relations in the textual examples he uses stand in such conflict of the heterosexualized and paternalistic structure of the plantation that they can be defined as queer even if they are not directly homosexual. It is an interesting take, and one that may initially sound like a bit of a stretch.

Terminology notwithstanding, Bibler offers fresh readings of literary classics like Absalom, Absalom! and gives contemporary insight to controversial texts like Styron’s Nat Turner. He digs deep into Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and is able to juxtapose Big Daddy’s simultaneous tolerance of homosexuality with his unabashed lack of respect toward the black servants he employs, effectively layering new meaning on a well-worn text. He picks apart the relationships of white women and their black servants in the works of Lillian Hellman, Katherine Anne Porter, and Margaret Walker, describing them as “romances”—and supports his logic—even though none of the women in the stories share an erotic lesbian moment, or even a kiss. While there are a few minor stretches here and there in Bibler’s text, he overall pleads his case. He certainly does not appear to be afraid of stirring controversy, and does a remarkable job of defending his arguments while he discusses each point.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, July 16th 2010

Newborn Slime/White Light Split

admin — Sun, 06 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Castle Oldchair, Kid Primitive Family

Graymalkin Productions

According to the Musical Family Tree website, musician Kid Primitive was so “enchanted” by the album Newborn Slime, by Castle Oldchair, that he felt the need to “create a sister album for it.” So, here we have the two albums together, like peanut butter and jelly smashed at the bottom of your book bag. Could this be a match made in heaven? Or will this double album make you wish you had brought money for the lunch lady special?

Let me describe it this way: you know that guy at the party who everyone tries to avoid because he’s rolling on E, or has taken a fistful of psilocybin mushrooms, or both? You know the one: his eyes are like cartoon swirls and he will somehow manage to corner you and talk for two hours about mystical fortresses, tiger princesses, aliens, and bizarre Greek philosophies you’re pretty sure never existed? Put that guy in a room with a karaoke machine and two adolescent boys making farting noises with their armpits, and what you get is Newborn Slime/White Light.

I suppose you could call the album essentially a cappella, since there are really only two tracks with instruments. Some a cappella albums, like Björk’s Medúlla, are excellent. Newborn Slime/White Light sounds roughly like an Andre the Giant or Sloth from The Goonies flatulence celebration. There are a few passable attempts at beatboxing on tracks like "Thanks with an X," but generally those disintegrate rapidly into moaning, bleating, lip farting/raspberry making, and spoken word-esque vocals that sound like they are being squeezed out of a pinched balloon.

Nearly every track on the album is physically difficult to endure. Frankly, I’m fairly certain there were only two songs that kept the headphones in my ears throughout the whole experience: “Innerlewd” and “Outerlewd,” the only guitar tracks on the album. Both have some pleasant and even interestingly technical guitar picking, and effectively kept me hoping that there was light at the end of a very bleak tunnel.

“Innerlewd” and “Outerlewd” show that these guys do have some talent for writing interesting stuff. A quick peek at their respective MySpace pages also reveals that they are capable of creating listenable-even likable-music. Perhaps, however, these are simply fleeting moments of clarity in an otherwise viscous heap of unpleasant detritus that I would rather not have to wade through. For me, music has to be an experience that I enjoy or somehow get something out of. It can be painful, cathartic, or abrasive, as long as there is some link to some kind of worthwhile experience. I just can't seem to find that here, in a mountain of noises that sound essentially like "horny cats getting hit by cars" or the "annoying yet tortured ghost of Wallace Shawn" (those were actual notes I wrote in my notebook as I listened to the album for the first time). Unfortunately, I’m fairly certain a true appreciation of this album is only accessible through a large quantity of illicit substances, which is also the best argument against drug use I’ve ever heard.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, June 5th 2010

Between 10 and 2

admin — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By TyLean

Bast Records

How do you solve a problem like TyLean? Perhaps it is her pre-occupation with nihilism, an ethos that I give about as much credit to as what Walter does in The Big Lebowski. I mean, seriously? She really believes in the ultimate worthlessness of everything? Why wake up, eat breakfast, or do something creative like write music if you truly believe that there is no worth or purpose to life? TyLean’s obsession with despair, child abuse, and insanity is just about as fun as watching Schindler’s List on repeat.

I’m not trying to imply that music needs to have some redemptive happiness in order for it to be good. For instance, I would be hard-pressed to find a single “joyful” moment in any song by Joy Division, but I don’t know anyone who would argue that their music isn’t completely amazing and worth listening to. However, music needs to have a hook, a carrot at the end of a stick, something that sets it apart and makes it interesting in order for it to be worth listening to—and TyLean's music is just missing something.

TyLean, for her part, seems to be taking the Fiona Apple approach of “I write for me not you,” and appears to be rather proud that some of her songs verge on the unlistenable. “Rosalyn,” for instance, chronicles a dream in which children at an orphanage are tortured, and (ahem!) separated from their skin. TyLean doesn’t seem concerned that some may be unwilling to listen to the song, and states on her own MySpace page that “If ‘Rosalyn’ got to them so much that they had to turn it off, then I have successfully recreated the dream, because I couldn't take any more or [sic] it either. 'Rosalyn' is my proudest accomplishment to date.” (If you are a nihilist who believes there is no purpose to anything, then why try to ascertain purpose from a dream, or even be proud of an accomplishment?)

Frankly, I’m not against music that is creepy, disturbing, sad, depressing, headache inducing, or otherwise nauseating. Peaches? Yes! Jesus Lizard? One of my favorite bands! AIDS Wolf? Bring it ON! The problem here is that TyLean just isn’t interesting enough.

TyLean has the right idea with a lot of great influences. She sounds a lot like a mash-up of Tori Amos and Rasputina—but she’s just not quite there. Her voice is great and she has interesting ideas with both cello and piano, but the ultimate problem is that she spoon-feeds her message to the audience too much of the time. Her video for “Corner of My Eye” is about a descent into insanity complete with images of her flapping about in a straight jacket inside a dark, dungeon-like, London tunnel while dry humping a dusty piano and being strangled by a dude who looks like a cross between Andre the Giant and Robert Plant.

TyLean’s kind of what would happen if the kids from “Goth Talk” on SNL formed a band. There is simply too much contrived freak show camp, and not enough true simmering terror. She rings inauthentic because she tells us what we should be thinking and heaps it on in dollops too big to swallow. Leave just a little bit to the imagination, TyLean; you don’t always need to proclaim it from the mountain.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, March 17th 2010

Fool's Gold

admin — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 00:01:00 +0000

By Fool's Gold

IAM Sound

As I sit in my Philadelphia apartment trapped again by yet another massive winter storm (if the last one was “snowmageddon” this one is more like a “snurricane”) I listen to Fool’s Gold, and dream of the warm places the band evokes. The group hails from southern California, their lead singer Luke Top was born in Israel (and sings most of the band’s songs in Hebrew). Fool's Gold's music conjures a tropical Afro-pop sound that Vampire Weekend only wishes it had.

True, singing Afro-pop inspired songs in Hebrew by a bunch of white guys out of Southern California may sound a bit too much like a shtick for some—as Sean Fennessey mentions in his review for Pitchfork, “watch as cultures collide!"—but there can be no doubt that Fool’s Gold manages to create some fantastic music. “Surprise Hotel” in particular has a guitar sound that makes me want to drink something chilled and vaguely alcoholic out of a coconut on a sandy, warm beach in the tropics. (Okay, so maybe right about now I would saw off a limb to be drinking something vaguely alcoholic out of a coconut on a tropical beach, but I think you get my point.)

At times they sound a bit like Madness with a mean ska groove and tenor sax (“Night Dancing”) and other times they even sound just a bit like Rufus Wainwright on the orchestral and vocally stylistic “Nadine.” Their music is so catchy and danceable that the listener will probably forget that they don’t understand a word Top is saying. I don’t need to know what is being said because Top’s voice collides with the sprinkling guitar, jangling drums, and honking sax perfectly. (The lyrics are included in English in the liner notes for those who are curious.)

I watched the video for “Surprise Hotel” at work the other day with a co-worker as the snow poured out of the sky from our icy second-floor window. “I guess if Paul Simon can do the whole Afro-pop sound and get away with it, these guys can,” she said. I would agree. I also would like to borrow their sun, their palm trees, their pool, and their cheerful grandparents for just one weekend. I would be willing to listen to “Surprise Hotel” the whole time if they’d let me, and frankly, I wouldn’t mind at all.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, March 16th 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

Daggers at the Moon

admin — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By Hawnay Troof

I’m not sure whether Vice Cooler is insane, or a genius, or an insane genius. One thing is certain: Cooler is busy. He’s toured with Peaches (there is a video of them on his MySpace page doing a very naughty version of a certain Gwen Stefani song that won’t soon leave your memory), he also has written a book, and continues to contribute to magazines like Vice and Rolling Stone. His solo project, Hawnay Troof (he also is a member of the band xBxRx), is sort of a mash up of the Beastie Boys and mid-nineties Beck. He’s brattier and less laid-back than Beck, for sure, but less stripped down than the Beasties. There’s also an element of M.I.A. in there—I can hear “Bamboo Banga” in my head as I listen to “Body Armageddon” in particular.

He’s certainly got a “WTF” factor in his music—that little bit of “What the F#@k?!?” that definitely makes it interesting and keeps it in constant rotation in my CD player (yes, that’s right, I said CD player. Mid-nineties represent!). The guy is gutsy, after all—he starts his newest album with a repeated noise that sounds like someone saying “duh” over and over again on a skipping CD (and yes, I did have to check my disc player to make sure the disc wasn’t scratched).

The sound lasts more than a minute on repeat before other music kicks in. That’s something that other artists do for a hidden track—not for the first taste of a new album. I suppose much of the album isn’t really a “WTF” factor so much as a “F-it” factor… and not in a bad way. He’s an artist that knows what he likes, and doesn’t really care if the first minute of a new album is something that most of the listening public will probably skip over to get to the rest of the music. When the music does kick in, however, it is fantastic.

One of my favorites is “Said Once” which starts out sounding like an early Nine Inch Nails song and finishes like something off of Mellow Gold. The video is weirdly scary—I’ve never before been so creeped out by canned beans, popsicles, and cowboys. I’m disappointed, to say the least, that he wasn’t a part of the Peaches show that I recently witnessed at the TLA in Philadelphia, because I would absolutely have been singing along with his music just like I was with her music.

Do yourself a favor and check out his MySpace page, in particular. Like Peaches, he’s got some incredible music videos that MTV probably will never show, posted there—just be prepared for some serious “WTF” moments.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, January 31st 2010

People Eating People

admin — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By People Eating People

The Control Group

So, back in the day, I was in a struggling band in Seattle. And back in that day, one of the biggest breaks a struggling band could get was getting a blurb written about them in The Stranger, the local indie newspaper (edited by none other than Dan Savage, of “Savage Love” fame). While my band was scrambling between shows, staying up way too late at practice, and generally creating plenty of VH1 Behind the Music drama, another band was stealing all of the time in The Stranger: Mon Frere.

When members of my band said their name, it sounded like it should be in italics and in caps, just because we said it through gritted teeth in a mean voice, as in, “Oh, how sweet, Mon Frere got another piece in The Stranger!” (Not that our music could even really be compared—my band and Mon Frere sounded just about as similar as Elton John and Black Flag). So, I admit that when I saw Nouela Johnston went solo and has a new album with her solo act, People Eating People, I was all over it! Heck Yes! Revenge!

Well, here are the facts: I really like People Eating People. I was fully planning on hearing something that I’d heard before (piano plus angst multiplied by the square root of Tori Amos, post-Strange Little Girls, roughly equals something irritating), but People Eating People is really, really good. I don’t even have to totally hold myself back from gritting my teeth as I agree with Stranger columnist Megan Seling. Johnston’s sound lies with Fiona Apple (minus my mom asking me if I’m feeling okay when I’m listening to her), Regina Spektor (minus the kitsch), and Amanda Palmer (minus those funky tattooed eyebrows). Only (sigh!) I like her more than all of the previous three. There. I said it.

“For Now” makes me teary-eyed in a way that Fiona Apple could only do back when I was about sixteen. “Rain, Rain” is funky and quirky without being obnoxiously so (and yes, even Spektor can overdo the quirky at times). I like Amanda Palmer quite a lot, but Johnston just about slays her with a jazzy bravado and riffing on the old jazz standard “Summertime” in her song “Let’s Rage.” And, finally, let’s face it: She just kills with her wickedly fantastic lyricism. Take “Supernatural Help”: “I don’t need supernatural help/I can fuck things up myself.” Well put.

What makes People Eating People work is that Johnston keeps things simple, letting her voice and her piano speak by themselves when appropriate, and bringing in drums and other accouterments only when they are needed. Gee, she’s so great that I don’t even have to be jealous that Matt Bayles mastered her disc. He only was responsible for mixing, engineering, or producing (or all three) bands like Botch, Mastodon, The Murder City Devils, and Pearl Jam, to name but a few. Not me. I’m just not the jealous type.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, January 30th 2010