emo

The North End

mandy — Sun, 05 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0000

In a time when emo hasn’t enjoyed the same popularity as it did ten years ago, this six-man band is happy doing its thing. Hailing from Midwestern America Joie De Vivre draws a good amount of influence from the northern part of the region for lyrics and the wintry scenes for their most recent album, The North End.

For anyone who’s been to college and listened to local/house bands, The North End is certain to make you nostalgic. Granted, the album is a clean recording and the packaging that of a label-backed-band. Nonetheless, it’s easy to picture yourself huddled in the basement of some old house, a single light bulb the only source of illumination.

If your memories aren’t made of dark basements, then the crying vocals and melodic instrumentals will surely strike a nerve. Especially, let’s say, if you’ve recently gone through a breakup. And what more could you ask for from emotional rousing lyrics and sounds, but to remind you of these raw emotions. It’s not that The North End is the album of the year—in fact, the number of listeners will probably reach only a small handful of people—but Joie De Vivre is doing what it loves: making music.

How these fellows agreed on the “Joy of Life," as the band name is anyone’s guess. But it appears that with the sorrows, insecurities, and downers that sometimes come with life, there is always beauty to be found. Kudos to this Rockford, IL group who have fun with song and are well prepared for brutal winters with their bundled-up selves.

Written by: Irene Wazgowska, September 5th 2010

Ghosts

admin — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By Nakatomi Plaza

Ghosts is a gripping, ten song, posthumous love letter from Brooklyn’s Nakatomi Plaza. Aptly named for a record released after the band’s break up, the album comes with a booklet of liner notes filled with blurry black and white photos and reflections from each of the members about their time in the band. Reading these, one might assume that Nakatomi Plaza was just another idealistic punk band trying to keep their teenage, DIY-revolution zeal alive in the face of New York City and the challenges of adulthood. However, this is too hasty of a conclusion. Nakatomi Plaza made high-energy, pop punk for years, and they have produced a slick record that will appeal to the lovers of homemade recordings and kids who have grown up on mainstream “emo” rock production alike.

Any listener for whom the discovery of punk rock helped them survive their formative years will relate to Nakatomi Plaza’s fervent songwriting and passion driven performance. After close listening it’s also clear that playing music also was a formative experience for the band members and this album serves as a tribute to their years together.

The songs are fit for dancing and the lyrics for soul searching. The guitars crunch and twang with references to 1990’s bands like the Promise Ring and Jawbreaker, but the sound stays down to earth. From the road anthem of “Bomb Shelter,” to the melodic, catchy emotional rock of “Artificial Light” to the driving beats and desperation of “Guards,” Nakatomi Plaza knew how to construct a song and capture a moment in their music and in their lives. It’s rare to find a punk record on which each song is distinctly crafted and committed to tape. Ghosts underlines that Nakatomi Plaza’s break up is a loss for Brooklyn’s rock scene, but at least they have left this record.

Written by: Eleanor Whitney, March 11th 2010

New Best Friends

admin — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 23:31:00 +0000

By Mansions

Doghouse Records

When first hearing Mansions’ sound, a rare and unlikely mutation of early Death Cab for Cutie and standard emo rock band hybrid creeps to mind. While this description may not seem to be the most flattering of statements, the emotionally heartfelt beats that make up the majority of New Best Friends are difficult to describe as anything else.

None of the album’s tracks veer off the pre-charted indie rock aesthetic, but this is one of the rare cases that this works in a band’s favor. There is a kind of comfort in knowing that all twelve of the album’s tracks will adhere to certain expectations. It is a rare band that can take lyrics that barely skim the surface of depth and create something that manages to seep into the brain of the listener. For instance, phrases like “You met him at a party. He was a hot Australian. All you wanted was to fuck his accent” (from “Por Favor is Spanish”) have the annoyingly wonderful ability to glue themselves into the brain of the listener.

While all of the tracks on New Best Friends are catchy, the standouts are “Curacao Blue” and “All Eyes on You.” Both songs explore a deeper and more nuanced world than their album-mates, and both have the staying power to hold up on subsequent listens. The simplicity within these tracks is refreshing; in a world flooded with over-produced anthems, this band manages to maintain a listener’s interest while still retaining a sense of self. “Curacao Blue” in particular exudes a vibe that is simultaneously rough around the edges and yet still somehow delicate.

Perhaps one of the most exciting aspects of Mansions’ latest album is the bonus MP3 CD included. The bonus is jammed with thirty eight tracks, mostly demos and remixes, but definitely worth your time. Who knows, after listening to New Best Friends, you may have a new band to be BFFs with.

Written by: Corey Janssen, September 8th 2009

Loney Dear (4/5/2009)

admin — Thu, 14 May 2009 00:09:00 +0000

Lille Vega

Copenhagen, Denmark

It is so ridiculously obvious why the kids are flipping out about this impressively under-the-radar Nordic crooner. It doesn’t matter if gnat-attention-span hipsters can’t name his influences, the history that brought us to now. It doesn’t matter if they forget the album tomorrow (though it’s clearly their loss). What does matter is when amazing music comes forth. What matters is keeping it in our hearts once the fair-weather fans have moved onto the next big college radio hit.

When I was coming up, Polyvinyl was a key player among emo purveyors. These days, the nice Illinois-based label folk have expanded to include distant cousins of the much-co-opted genre. Loney Dear, alternately known as Swedish multi-instrumental Emil Svanängen, plays a strange mix of heartfelt crooning and synth. On Dear John, his second major U.S. release, following Sub Pop-released 2007 Loney, Noir, Loney Dear is in top recorded form.

In person, Loney Dear is a more handsome, thinner, sufficiently Aryan Perez Hilton, thankfully also missing the boorish manners and cum jokes. Lille Vega—conjoined twin of the larger Vega next door—is not a hidden club with no sign, for in a city the size of Copenhagen, that doesn’t usually work for very long when everyone who is anyone knows everyone else. Despite being along one of the city’s main drags, Vega brings some of the best shows in town. I flashed my passport and was in the door, camera tucked in back pocket of my partner’s not-so-skinny jeans. My partner and I did not wear the requisite faux Keffiyehs and high tops, but thankfully my man was on hand to translate the bands’ Swedish mumblings between songs.

Opener Marching Band—whose MySpace made me a believer before they took the stage—stole the show as duo Erik Sunbring and Jacob Lind had turned quintet with a backing band for the affair. Bearing no resemblance to kids in matching uniforms who like to feel each other up at sleep away camp, the two did make a visually unlikely pair. Erik, in a sports jacket and tight pants, bounced to his own music on one side of the stage. With shoulder-length hair grazing the top of his wolf-emblazoned brown sweatshirt, Jacob did his own whistling while vigorously tapping various sound machines.

As they packed up after an incredibly short set, the room filled up in anticipation of the headliner. There are two ways this can go, I thought, for it is what I always think. The band will either mimic their own album with eerie precision, or the man about to take the stage will in no way resemble the crooner on the CD. The latter isn’t generally a problem for me, since why show up to hear the same tracks you have at home? Live versions are passed via bootleg for a reason. And yet, if it were ever possible to mangle a live performance of one of the year’s most celebrated releases, I believe it happened before my eyes.

Loney Dear, much as I hate to admit it, was a disjointed, confusing mess. Svanängen staggered onto the stage as the volume was cranked so high that even the most seasoned concert-goer began stuffing plugs into their ears. Perhaps I should not blame Svanängen as much as the folks in the sound booth. Has your face ever vibrated, independent of your body, from being too close to an amp? Have you ever felt as though your teeth and brain might shake loose and end up lying next to the empty Tuborg bottles at your feet? When an acoustic song began, I sat down on a bench to try to calm my nerves, frazzled by the shift in sound, praying this coherence was not temporary. But after one verse, the bass and pounding drums rejoined, and any semblance of listenable music was gone. Unless you’re following the Dead in a van, one should never feel as though being high for a concert would make it a better experience. If I smoked, I’ve have sought refuge in the lobby’s eight-dollar-a-pack machine.

It didn’t help that the only female among the ten-plus men that took the stage all evening was relegated to playing a tambourine and, occasionally, hitting a cymbal. “They can’t even give her a full drum set? All she can do is play the theme from Shaft.” To make things worse for our lone lady musician, by song two, the crazed Loney Dear front man had stolen her tambourine and would pound on her keyboard from his upside-down vantage point while she was forced to merely stand there and watch. I get that the dude is a “multi-instrumentalist,” but could he try to focus instead of meandering around, stealing the other kids’ toys? Straining to hear vocals behind the deafening bass, I could barely make out the album’s best track, “Airport Surroundings.” My head was starting to hurt. Badly.

I will admit that my partner and I exchanged nods before exiting the building, long before anyone else had considered doing the same. Danes are a reserved bunch, and I saw no disgruntled stares as many stayed to hear the band finish. I wondered how they really felt as I breathed in the cool spring air, away from the shaky mania of the club. My headache started to lift; safely on the streets, not a moment too soon.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, May 13th 2009

Somewhere at the Bottom of the River Between Vega and Altair

admin — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 11:36:00 +0000

By La Dispute

No Sleep Records

This young five-piece screamo-hardcore band from Grand Rapids, Michigan, whose album name comes from an Asian folktale, are trying something new. Many of their songs have progressively long intros, which is unusual for their genre of music. Their album begins with the track "Such Small Hands." Bordering on spoken word poetry, the track has a nice build to an emotic end that fizzles out into the next track—the epic "Said the King to the River," which starts out similar to the first track before quickening in tempo.

The mix of quick beat drums, rising guitars and thoughtful lyrics make La Dispute more complex than the average screamo band. Their songs never stay the same for long, ebbing and flowing like the ocean; each track is a part of a greater story about love and loss. I found it easier to follow the album’s progression when I turned down the volume, which is unusual for me. This may have something to do with lead singer Jordan Dreyer's, at times, whine of a voice, which really turned me off at first. But if you’re used to this type of vocals, and keep the sound level down, the melodies will sweep you past this minor flaw.

I like "Andria," once it gets passed the spoken part, which borders on whiny and over sentimentality. The intermingling guitars and fast paced drumming compliment the singer's desperate voice, which at times borders on shrill, but not as much on this particular track. I also admittedly have a soft spot for clap solos.

While many of their tracks are four- to five-minute songs that are hard to classify within an emo aesthetic, La Dispute stays true to their more mainstream roots with fast paced tracks such as "Damaged Goods" and "Bury your Flame." La Dispute does keep listeners on their ears, though, with each song slowing and speeding up at will. Boring they are not.

Written by: Chrissie Thornburg, February 25th 2009

Elephant Shell

admin — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 13:02:00 +0000

By Tokyo Police Club

Saddle Creek

A college friend of mine was fond of saying that any album he found boring, underperforming, or straight-up bland – music that failed to move him to even the mildest active like or dislike – was “really mediocre.” Discs that merit this special kiss of death are usually just not very good. Sometimes they’re over-hyped, so-hot-right-now sophomore efforts, or ambitious projects that fell short of achieving the kind of transcendent finished product of which their creators seemed so capable when the first press release hit. You want a wrecking ball, this music barely leaves a mark. Two dozen roses are called for; this is the aural equivalent of a battered pink carnation.

I hereby bestow this designation upon Tokyo Police club’s first full-length album, Elephant Shell. The Toronto-based indie rockers kicked up a lot of hype on just two EPs in two years; at only twenty-eight minutes, their first full-length is barely that. Nothing’s wrong with brevity, but combined with the flat, contained production, irritatingly emo-esque vocals from front man Dave Monks, and formulaic song structures, the Elephant Shell listening experience is like swatting at a cloud of gnats for half an hour.

Tokyo Police Club’s music is fast-paced and catchy enough to be more energetic than it is, but each tune takes verse-chorus-verse to new depths of lifelessness. Here’s the vaguely dancey guitar hook, here’s the tinny but tight drums, there’s the four-note organ figure. And now it’s Monks, our tour guide through this disc of rock music Monet prints, with references to books on tape (“Centennial”), chessboards (“Your English Is Good”), the Arctic Circle (“Juno”). Any momentary bursts of life appear as a carefully mangled lick of guitar feedback, burning out quickly and disappearing as if they’d never been. It’s a shame, because on paper, their songs are solid enough to deserve better.

Written by: Alexandra Jones, June 16th 2008