Asthmatic Kitty

Dead Zone Boys

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

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

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

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

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

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

Written by: Brittany Shoot, December 13th 2009

Enjoy Your Rabbit

admin — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 18:26:00 +0000

By Sufjan Stevens

Asthmatic Kitty

Sufjan Stevens, god of the indie concept album, is the sort of fellow my evangelical Christian minister grandparents can enjoy. This is not an insult. My maternal grandfather, born in Michigan eighty-some years ago, has never admitted that he enjoys the Stevens album Michigan. I nevertheless suspect that my sometimes secular, former music minister grandpa samples some Sufjan when he thinks no one is around.

Stevens’ second LP, recently reissued by Asthmatic Kitty, essentially marks the beginning of his conceptual career. Recorded in 2001 and based around the Chinese zodiac, all the songs correlate with the year of particular animals. To be fair, the East Asian cycle is often awkwardly translated into English and does not leave space for varying breeds of animals across continents.

When I was a child in Indiana, my single mother and I—and later in my teens, my friends and I—used to frequent a Chinese restaurant named Yip’s Chopstick House. Their red and white paper placemats gave us an introduction to the Chinese zodiac before our egg drop soup and MSG-laden chicken and mushrooms arrived. My mother is the year of the rabbit, which is appropriate since she used to collect bunny-themed tchotchkes and put them in curio cabinets around the house. I am the year of the dog, but I try not to be a bitch.

If you came later to the Stevens game—say, anytime after 2002—Enjoy Your Rabbit may not be for you. Most of the tracks sound more like they’d be found on a Black Dice or Negativland CD. Myself a second wave Stevens fan, I enjoy his efforts from later this decade. When I cue up Sufjan, I expect folk loveliness, not glitchy noise. And yet for fans that enjoy the early catalogs of their favorites, this strangely electronic album can be great fun. I just don’t happen to be one of those hardcore fans. Sometimes, your earliest work is best left alone, best forgotten once you’ve worked out the kinks. I enjoy understanding artistic trajectory as much as the next person, but this album is quite like a video game soundtrack when all I wanted were a few lo-fi lullabies.

Thank god—either the one my grandparents worship or one of your own imagination—that Stevens put down the sound machine and started singing. The world is a much better place for it.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, October 4th 2009

Royal City

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

By Royal City

Asthmatic Kitty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Written by: Brittany Shoot, June 30th 2009

Heavy Ghost

admin — Tue, 19 May 2009 10:58:00 +0000

By DM Stith

Asthmatic Kitty

DM Stith makes weird music. Heavy Ghost is a weird album. Among his contemporaries, David Stith has been hailed as a genius for his spooky, otherworldly tracks and production. Inspired by working with pal Shara Worden of My Brightest Diamond, Stith recorded an album of his own, which at times draws to mind eccentric label mates Grampall Jookabox and the more orchestral Sufjan Stevens. DM Stith is nothing if not unique. Tracks range between plodding and creepy to upbeat and whimsical.

On “Thanksgiving Moon,” Stith sings about drinking and starting over, backed by an eerie score. “Braid of Voices” is at once unintelligible and moving. “Fire of Birds” is the album’s most melodic track, bringing to mind a more danceable Microphones. As Stith sings about how “we dance like we’re all on fire,” you have to wonder what blend of mania and introspection inspires this man.

Much of the music makes you feel uneasy, unnerved, and a little preoccupied. Stith often sounds like he’s singing himself into a corner, winding back into his own vocals like a less coherent Andrew Bird. The repetition can be unsettling, and more often than not, the aimless melodies sounded like an organ being tuned or a band readying for the actual show. While I wasn’t always drawn into the songs themselves, listening to them made it impossible to focus on anything else at the same time. Jarring, to say the least.

Best under headphones, this is lonely, crazy music for lonely, crazy people.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, May 19th 2009

Part I: John Shade, Your Fortune’s Made

admin — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 22:52:00 +0000

By Fol Chen

Asthmatic Kitty

Fol Chen could be one of those bands in which every member writes his or her own tracks and then, sheet music assembled in a stack, the group comes together to record without any concern for cohesion. This can result in an annoyingly disjointed album, or an inspiring mix of treasures. For this debut release, it’s a bit of both. With unidentifiable samples and influences from seemingly every corner of the globe, it’s difficult to get more specific than calling the band’s overall sound “electro-pop.”

As most other reviews of this album will explain, “Cable TV” is the catchy track that makes the rest of Part I: John Shade, Your Fortune’s Made feel sort of empty. Did you ever think that free cable at a hotel was a big deal when you were a kid? Did you ever have a teenage birthday party at the local Holiday Inn so you and your friends could all swim? Do you enjoy the occasional adult rendezvous weekend that includes Pay-Per-View and a nameless king size bed? Then this is the song for you.

The other standout, “You and Your Sister in Jericho,” is a slower, angst-infused ballad about youthful hair-dying, pot-smoking experimentation that devolves into a lyric-less, horn-infested plod by the end of its six minutes. “The Believers” seems to be about brainwashed religious zealots, complete with its repeated chorus of “Don’t follow me.” “No Wedding Cake” insists, “I could never break your heart again,” which is a comforting sentiment, considering lifelong commitment is hopefully based on a mutual desire to share vulnerable love.

Stick with the singles and wait for the follow up. These folks have tons of promise and already produced a few gems. Still, I believe there is a more consistent, fully formed album in Fol Chen’s future.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, March 11th 2009

Ropechain

admin — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 11:49:00 +0000

By Grampall Jookabox

Asthmatic Kitty

Grampall Jookabox, nee David Adamson, is as strange as his stage name would suggest. Adamson is from Indianapolis, Indiana, which is also my childhood stomping ground, give or take thirty minutes (in those parts, we count in minutes to be traveled, not miles). With an affinity for home that grows the longer I stay away, Ropechain fills a need in my life, a record that sounds clumsy and aimless when it is anything but. It is exactly as I once was, and if I hadn’t left, would I be making incomprehensible music in an insane asylum somewhere in the suburbs? It is completely plausible, and after surveying the options, I’d rather my moniker be Jookabox than Mellencamp.

Extremes are a favorite theme on this record, along with anxiety and the occasional dose of the paranormal. Loving on another fellow Hoosier, Grampall Jookabox sings about the King of Pop on “I Will Save Young Michael,” sympathizing with superstar burnout. Calling Jackson his brother because they’re both from Indiana, I wonder if that makes me their sister. One can only hope. On “Black Girls,” he sings about all of the things Black women can do that he cannot, often in cartoonish superhero(ine) language. I can’t decide if this is some sort of backwards compliment or wildly insulting.

“The Girl Ain’t Preggers” is perhaps the most bizarrely appealing track, on which GJ explores the complicated feelings that go with a pregnancy scare. “I need some money right now/I ain’t got no money/Can’t pay for no baby” is an honest take on an unexpected accident, and he goes on to lament his lack of health insurance and solid footwear. Yet, Adamson circles back, admitting his sadness that in fact, the girl is not preggers. He loves babies, even if his bank account would not smile on such an addition to his life. These things are always more complicated than money would imply.

Ropechain will probably bewilder conservative ears and confuse those who love straightforward lyrics and concrete ideas, but sensibility never made a good record.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, January 27th 2009