female musicians

Marnie Stern

brittany — Tue, 05 Oct 2010 08:00:00 +0000

The buzzword on Marnie Stern's self-titled third album seems to be "introspective." Frankly, this descriptor hardly seems indicative of a sea change if we've been paying attention to her lyrics.

Sure, In Advance of the Broken Arm and her breakthrough sophomore effort, This Is It And I Am It and You Are It and So Is That and He Is It and She Is It and It Is It and That Is That, pack a mean sonic wallop. But her second album could have been retitled The Tao of Marnie. It was especially festooned with at-times profound statements and affirmations about the creative process and the human condition. Just because she pitched her nasal voice in a giddy upper register and her fingers were flying across the frets of her electric guitar didn't mean she wasn't doing some soul searching. Even if she didn't announce what the songs were about didn't mean she wasn't in them.

What I think the main difference is between her prior work and the new album is less reliance on creating a sense of immediacy. Previously, her music foregrounded indelible guitar riffs played loud and often executed with superhuman speed. The sound here is more meditative, with less emphasis placed on hooks instead of hypnotic passages that build as they repeat or are broken up by unexpected melody lines. The lyrics, though still introspective, are more clearly applicable to Stern's personal experiences. Much of this is attributed to the opening track. "For Ash" is a song dedicated to an ex-boyfriend who committed suicide and the process of writing it helped Stern out of a creative dead end.

This sense of loss, remembrance, and reflection informs much of the album's content, shifting Stern's ability to channel musical catharsis through her guitar playing. This is evident on songs like "Transparency is the New Mystery," "Risky Biz," "Gimme," "Cinco de Mayo," and especially the haunting closer "The Things You Notice." While Stern and drummer Zach Hill's playing is no less muscular, it possesses the control to vary tempo or decelerate while maintaining buoyancy and ramping up suspense.

But Stern's characteristic playfulness and prowess over a face-melting riff equally defines the album which bears her name. Songs like "Nothing Left," "Building a Body," "Her Confidence," and the pointedly titled "Female Guitar Players are the New Black" could easily slide in to the tracklists of her earlier releases.

However, that they weave seamlessly into this album suggests Stern's steady artistic progression. It also suggests that inward thought can yield some mighty external results. This album may not capture your full attention on first listen, but I'm confident it contains enough interesting ideas to invite many returns. As Stern continues to hone in and balance introspection with formidable instrumental performance, we may get the pleasure of discovering that they aren't disparate concepts. Here, they seem to be in service of one another.

Written by: Alyx Vesey, October 5th 2010

Girls to the Front: The True Story of the Riot Grrrl Revolution

admin — Tue, 28 Sep 2010 02:00:00 +0000

By Sara Marcus

Harper Perennial

First, an admission: like several feminist friends in my age group, riot grrrl didn’t make a profound impact of me until college. I was ten in 1993, the year Sara Marcus claims as pivotal for the movement in her book Girls to the Front. I was moving away from Mariah Carey and getting into the Pet Shop Boys. Riot grrrl was first on my radar through mainstream distortion in the pages of Spin and in the Spice Girls’ defanged “girl power” message. Marcus’s book is a great reintroduction and a valuable entry point for folks who have only a cursory knowledge of riot grrrl.

I especially appreciate that, despite the book’s monolithic title, Marcus incorporates the shared experiences of many girl participants. Riot grrrl tends to be defined by its adult-aged bands, with Bikini Kill and Bratmobile representing the movement. But many teenage girls were inspired by these bands. Some formed ‘zines and bands of their own, like Girl Friend founder Christina Woolner and Heavens to Betsy’s Tracy Sawyer and Corin Tucker. Not all of their contributions were preserved or recorded, so the book’s intervention is all the more important.

Some of these girls also came from working class or single-parent households or did not attend college. Furthermore, while much is made of the movement’s Pacific Northwest origins and identification with liberal arts colleges like Evergreen, Marcus is quick to refute essentializing class assumptions. Riot grrrl’s class heterogeneity becomes more pronounced when Bikini Kill and Bratmobile relocate in Washington D.C. and contend with the hardcore scene, which was primarily peopled by diplomats’ children.

Marcus challenges the notion that riot grrrl was sustained exclusively by white, middle-class, college-educated women. She also points out the movement’s aspirations toward queer inclusiveness were complicated by the efforts of predominantly straight or bi-curious cisgender females. Previous interpretations of riot grrrl represent it as a celebration of white girls challenging gender politics in a vacuum. Marcus points out how some girls created ‘zines, formed organizations, chaired panels, and created conferences challenging feminism’s inherent white privilege, racism, heteronormativity, and class politics, often causing contention and defensiveness from within.

Thus, I also liked reading that riot grrrl was an imperfect, discursive movement comprised of many conflicting opinions, belief systems, and identities. Despite third wave feminism’s investment in the fragmented female self, so often riot grrrl is depicted as a halcyon period for a then-nascent third wave. While it’s sad to read about in-fighting and rivalries, it’s refreshing to read differing opinions on philosophies and movement imperatives. As someone who’s participated in collective and politically-minded non-profit organizations, it seems a more honest representation.

Furthermore, the presence of male oppression from within informs riot grrrl in interesting ways. Riot grrrl formed in response to the right wing’s attack on feminism’s political gains as well as the cultural silencing of incest, sexual abuse, intimate partner violence, poor body image, and low self-esteem. It also opposed punk and hardcore’s exclusionary, homophobic, and misogynistic tendencies, best symbolized by the mosh pit, and implemented “girls in front” or “girls only” policies at shows. So it was really interesting to read about how bands like Fugazi aligned with riot grrrl, but were less willing to cede control over their audience.

In 1992, Fugazi and Bikini Kill played a Supreme Court protest. Frontman Ian MacKaye bristled at the idea of sharing the bill out of concern that the event would be misunderstood as a concert. He was also unable to reign in the aggressive inclinations of his predominantly white male fan base, and blamed the women in the audience who defended their space in the pit.

Marcus does something valuable with Girls to the Front. In representing riot grrrl’s imperfections and contradictions, as well as its relevance, she argues at once for its historical significance while challenging how we understand it. Make sure to check it out. Maybe it’ll convince you form a band with your best girlfriend and kick off a new revolution.

Cross posted from Feminist Music Geek

Written by: Alyx Vesey, September 27th 2010

The Road Home

admin — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 17:51:00 +0000

By Eliza Blue

When I opened my package containing Eliza Blue’s album The Road Home, I was greeted with a little bit of Southern hospitality; the CD was wrapped in a piece of twine and included a hand-written note saying, “Thanks for listening, hope you enjoy!” I felt comforted by that note. It was a little wave “hello” from home, and more than that, a connection between artist and audience. When I popped in the CD, I was immediately drawn in and stopped whatever inconsequential thing I was doing at the moment. The soothing meandering of a folksy style met with the bluegrass accoutrements of banjo, fiddle, and guitar, but it was Blue’s voice that made me pause.

Blue’s voice is smooth, with something deeper, thicker and something nostalgic—an old yellowed book sitting in afternoon sunlight, a glass of sweet iced tea, and for me, the sound of home. Her intonation and velvety middle range are reminiscent of Allison Kraus, but her tone is darker and earthier than Kraus’ ethereal sounds. I found myself playing this album on loop for days on end, getting lost in her voice. “Oceans & Fields” and “Mending Fences” were lovely in their acoustic melancholy, in the pizzicato ostinato and weeping duets of violins. “Gospel Song” pays tribute to the religious origins of old time, bluegrass, and country. I could spend more time describing the pieces, which are finely crafted, but I, for once, had difficulty capturing the aural experience in words without sounding contrived and thus doing the album injustice.

Eliza Blue is a versatile and pioneering artist; many of the instrumentals are played by Blue, and all songs are original compositions. It is a self-produced, self-promoted album to boot; this is actually her third album to date, having already garnered much attention in the Minneapolis area. This bluegrass/folk amalgamation is a beautiful accomplishment, an album of thoughtful, layered pieces where the lyrics and instrumentals are equally captivating.

Written by: Cristin Colvin, August 3rd 2010

Princess Noire: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone

admin — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Nadine Cohodas

Pantheon Books

Lately, I’ve been reading about artists, creativity, and the psychological eccentricities that draw the two together and force them into a lifelong bond. It is typical for artistic greats to be different from the mainstream, for they tend to be blessed with innovation, perseverance, and, well, a great deal of futuristic talent. If it were to have been different with Nina Simone, I would have been immensely disappointed. Needless to say, I was not.

Although I'm not impressed with the title of this book, Princess Noire: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone, because it gives the impression that Simone's life had been little more than bipolar, after reading its contents, I could understand why that title was chosen. Even still, Nina Simone’s work and talent demands great respect, as she was an instrumental figure in shifting both political consciousness and an innovative marriage of two strange bedfellows (classical music components and rhythm and blues).

As Nadine Cohodas writes, Nina Simone was definitely no angel, and she didn’t always make sound business or personal decisions. She was an extremely temperamental, moody, and complicated soul. She demanded the best from herself, her musicians, and even her audience. Simone recreated the past when recounting her upbringing—sometimes more positively, other times more negatively, and many times leaving much out altogether. She had a version of multiple personality disorder, two unhappy marriages, and many blowups.

Several notable artists were, and are, great because of the personal turmoil they endured. I am fully aware that there are artists who are great despite not having gone through traumatic tribulations, and I don't think one need go through such turmoil in order to produce great works; however, it seems to be a common theme in the creative world.

Nina was a child prodigy. Beginning at the age of two and a half, she demonstrated the musical abilities that would manifest into remarkable piano virtuosity. With her family's cultivation of her talent, and the generosity of people with foresight that extended beyond the color of her skin, Nina was able to hone the talent inside her that would eventually touch the world. Her initial goal of becoming a prominent Black female classical pianist got transformed into a recipe of jazz, rhythm and blues, originality, political consciousness, and an activism that left its mark on time immemorial.

Simone's self-proclaimed inability to fit in with most people has, ironically, united people everywhere. Her musical bravado infused with social consciousness paved the way for everyone from jazz great Ron Carter to hip-hop artist Talib Kweli. She helped get rid of the racially biased cabaret card and ways of conducting business in music. If this is how being different from the mainstream manifests, I’ll take it.

Written by: Olupero R. Aiyenimelo, April 22nd 2010

No Rest

admin — Mon, 05 Apr 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Christy and Emily

Klangbad

Brooklyn songstress roommates, longtime collaborators, and bestie brunettes Christy Edwards and Emily Manzo have hipster cred out the wazoo. So do loads of other borough-based bands, but few have the raw talent of these two singer-songwriter women—a label that hardly defines the true depth of their talent. Their music, at times hauntingly sparse, reverberates with their lush voices and minimal instrumentation, often just Christy’s guitar or Emily’s keyboard. Sound cloying? The opposite is true. There is nothing pretentious or difficult about this album.

On No Rest, their second release this year, the gals focus on teasing out their folk influences, veering away from their psychedelic roots. At the same time, they maintain their sound experimentation and focus less on complicated lyrics. Lines like “Why not live a life of truth/Like your siblings” could be as autobiographical as they could be creative poetry put to music. No matter that their words are uncomplicated; every sound out of their mouths is truly beautiful, and there is additional beauty in simplicity.

“Idle Hands” has some of the best rhythmic composition on the album and draws to mind a more serious Girls Guitar Club, starting Christy and Emily instead of Karen Kilgariff & Mary Lynn Rajskub.

“Here Comes the Water Now” is a nod to natural disaster—and how unfortunately timely. The nearly rhyming lyrics—which pay off at the end—kept me fully engaged with the story as well as the music.

Better decide on what to bring Take a look around at everything There’s only so much time will allow Here comes the water... now

Closing track “Amaryllis”—which is coincidentally my favorite flower—uses the annual as a metaphor for periods of light and darkness. If you’ve never cared for these bulbous houseplants, just know that they’re like any other bulb. After blooming in the spring, they require months of darkness during the winter. In my experience, this typically means putting them in a large paper bag and tucking them in a dark corner until the springtime frost has vanished. C&E no doubt like these big horn-shaped flowers, as they’ve dedicated a whole song to them and sing, “Oh how lovely the plant you keep in the dark.”

From the album’s opening line—“I’m not scared of what I can’t see anymore”—to the sonic waves, gorgeous vocals, and wind chime-type sound effects, this album will mesmerize you. Let it.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, April 5th 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

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

Know Better Learn Faster

admin — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 08:59:00 +0000

By Thao with The Get Down Stay Down

Kill Rock Stars

“Messy” and “complicated” could very well be the two best words for defining romantic love. As suggested by the title of Thao with The Get Down Stay Down’s latest record, Know Better Learn Faster, the brokenhearted masses could easily avoid painful relationships if they were just plain smarter and quicker learners. Alas, we as humans aren’t always the best decision makers, and as a small consolation, that’s why we get great break-up albums like this one.

On their second release for KRS, Thao with The Get Down Stay Down offers a varied record that is mostly energetic but also studded with a few mellow tracks. Drummer Willis Thompson, bassist and keyboardist Adam Thompson, and singer and guitarist Thao Nguyen have struck a fine balance of pacing on this album, avoiding any clichéd or sappy songs. The music itself is so lively that Know Better Learn Faster can be listened to at any time and in any mood.

Complementing the vibrant music are Nguyen’s capable songwriting abilities. She has a knack for quirky, attention-grabbing one-liners. On “Trouble Was For,” she opens the track by sultrily singing, “Everybody please put your clothes back on/We must see what the trouble was for,” and on “Body,” Nguyen pointedly asks, “What am I, just a body in your bed?”

“The Clap” gives the album an ominous and threatening opening. It’s a half-minute track complete with hand claps and layered vocals that repeats, “If this is how you want it ok, ok.” Sonically, this is as dark as the album gets, and while other tunes on Know Better Learn Faster are slowed and melancholic, none seem as chilling as the opener.

In most break-ups, there always seems to be a period of longing for the other to come back. This is a theme that is brought up frequently by Nguyen, like on “When We Swam,” where the plea is sung to “bring your hips to me,” or again on “Body,” where Nguyen makes a desire known by asking, “Won’t you reach for the body in your bed?”

But like Nguyen’s voice, which is strong and full-bodied, there’s a sense of resolve throughout the record to accept that the relationship is truly finished. On “Good Luck and Goodbye,” Nguyen sings, “Take care of your neck and spine and good luck and goodbye,” as if she is giving a reminder to learn from the past and to protect yourself from letting a relationship break you apart.

The dance-inducing “Easy” closes the album. It begins with Nguyen reminding us that “sad people dance, too.” It’s a great way to end this enjoyable album. Thao with The Get Down Stay Down leaves us with the knowledge that break-ups are never easy, but somehow, falling in love is still worth it.

Written by: Beverly Jenkins-Crockett, January 9th 2010

Magic Neighbor

admin — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 17:01:00 +0000

By Lisa Germano

Young God Records

Lisa Germano’s music is like finding an old photograph at a yard sale. Somehow, inexplicably, you’re drawn in by a sad or troubled expression staring back in black and white. Soon, without knowing fully why, you feel a connection to the woman sitting in the photograph, hands in her lap, poised in an awkward position that seems unnatural, strange, perhaps even eerie. And you eventually see a story unfolding before you of a quiet childhood with a distant parent, an unrequited love, and precious moments of happiness glimmering in between.

Wandering and melancholic, each song on her latest album Magic Neighbor speaks in this same strangely intimate way, like a diary page read aloud. Germano sings almost as if she’s a young girl, alone in the corner of her room, creating lyrics to a meandering melody and humming to herself. Perhaps one of the more structured songs “A Million Times” beautifully depicts the path of a relationship as she recalls memories one after another. Germano sings of honest observations, blatantly saying, “We had more fun when we were strangers, as blind as blind can be.” Supported by minimal repetitive cords and percussion, she lays out, “A million times, we like to play the game all over, and when we’re done, we’ll start again.” With unforgiving candidness, Germano reveals the flaws and insecurities she harbors while in love, as if she never expected anyone besides herself to hear the song.

Peculiar instrumentals on various instruments including piano along with Germano’s half singing-half speaking style make the experience of listening to her music even more unique. Her music is painful and pleasing, comforting and disturbing, immediately memorable but only meaningful (and increasingly palatable) after a few listens. As a woman, she represents a feminine honesty and loquaciousness that could on the surface be perceived as trivial, but in essence is nothing of the sort. Like stumbling on an old photograph whose subject never knew they’d be viewed by a stranger’s eyes, Magic Neighbor draws the listener into Germano’s world and opens a window into the stories of another life.

Written by: Melissa Ablett, December 15th 2009

The Supremes: A Saga of Motown Dreams, Success, and Betrayal

admin — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 16:55:00 +0000

By Mark Ribowsky

Da Capo Press

Mark Ribowsky did not interview singer Diana Ross or Berry Gordy, the founder and iron-fisted ruler of Motown Records, for this unauthorized look at The Supremes’ rise and fall. That said, his copious research makes the book—all 440 pages—a fascinating assessment of both music trends and the gender and race politics that have governed the industry since the late 1950s.

The Supremes' story, as traditionally put forward, channels the American Dream: high-school-aged girls living in the Detroit projects with nothing but their voices find one another and miraculously rise to stardom. Reality, of course, is far less dramatic. Indeed, the “girls” did come from the projects, but their families were intact. From the start there were tensions—competition between singers, four at first and then three, over who would be showcased most prominently. Despite the fact that Florence Ballard created the group, Berry Gordy was smitten by the demure, and ultra-feminine, Diane Ernestine Ross. As he pushed her into the lead, the other young women were reduced to backup roles, and over the course of several years Diane morphed into Diana and became a diva extraordinaire. Not surprisingly, this riled the others and Ribowsky goes to great lengths to document bitter catfights and rivalries.

He also documents Gordy’s managerial immorality, his legendary refusal to pay much of anything to performers hungry for fame. His descriptions of the company’s tenacious stranglehold on performers like the Jackson 5, Four Tops, Temptations, Stevie Wonder, and Supremes is astonishing, especially since Gordy was largely unschooled in either business or music promotion. In fact, before starting Motown, he was a never-do-well who was literally reduced to begging his financially savvy family for $800 to start the company. Call it right place, right time, right instincts, and you pretty much have Berry Gordy’s ascension in a nutshell: He pulled together a winning mix of talented writers, musicians, singers and promoters, forged a unique sound, and worked feverishly to get radio airplay and stage time for Motown acts.

While Motown is front and center in The Supremes, Ribowsky simultaneously focuses on Diana Ross, Florence Ballard, and Mary Wilson, the three singers responsible for the group’s twelve number one singles and ten additional Top Ten hits. Throughout, his portrait is devoid of feminist sisterhood, and makes clear that the singers were more interested in racking up personal accolades than in promoting the group. Take Florence Ballard’s accelerating alcoholism and self-destruction as an example. Despite ample evidence of her decline, neither Ross nor Wilson intervened to help her; instead, they allowed Gordy to fire her.

Still, no one in the book is wholly demonized. For example, Ribowsky reports on Ross’ periodic generosity, mentioning that when Ballard died of heart disease at the age of thirty-two—after being booted out of the group—Ross set up trust funds for each of Ballard’s three children. Yet, he also makes clear that everything Ross did—from love affairs with the married Smokey Robinson and Gordy himself, to kind social gestures—was on her terms.

The Supremes were Gordy’s answer to the social turmoil of the 1960s, a way to hang on to the propriety of earlier decades. The “girls” were always stylishly coiffed and wore only the best designer gowns and cocktail dresses. The message was simple—they were not hippies, but ladies. What’s more, they didn’t address the Vietnam War and ignored the civil rights movement until Martin Luther King’s assassination. Unlike militant Black musicians-slash-activists, they represented the status quo and were rewarded handsomely for the reassuring image they presented to an oft-worried Caucasian mainstream.

Was this image a calculated business decision on Gordy’s part? Probably. But if it’s true, it makes The Supremes an even more interesting look at U.S. social politics and mores. In the end, apolitical beauty sells, even when it is manufactured.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, October 6th 2009

Lost Houses

admin — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 23:45:00 +0000

By The Curtains of Night

Holidays for Quince

The only way I could love The Curtains of Night more is if they wore my grandmother’s homemade bread as a hat. It’s like they took a Melvins super burrito and added Kat Bjelland guacamole and made the best dinner entrée ever—with maybe a Big Business tequila chaser. Although their compositions lack some of the Romanesque eccentricities of their superannuated musical cousins The Melvins, the influence of albums such as Honky and The Maggot are acutely evident. Although their musings are perhaps less baroque in nature than The Melvins, the feculent guitar still abounds, and is magnificently aggrandized by the caustic nature of the vocals. In shorter terms: less weird, but still totally rad.

If there is a criticism, it is that The Curtains of Night seem to lack a bit of fullness that comes in a normal triad of guitar-bass-drums since they are a guitar-drums duo. I am going to go on a clichéd SNL limb here and say that I have a fever, and the prescription is more bass.

I could also use a dash of the bizarre. Don’t lay it on too heavy. Think of the Rachel Ray description of nutmeg: that little thing that makes people go, “Hmm, what is that?” (Yes, I just used Rachel Ray in a sludge metal music review. Sure, go ahead and act like you don’t watch Rachel Ray. Jesus and Santa Claus know the truth.) Of course, if The Curtains of Night did have bass and an extra splash of weird, they wouldn’t need the bread hats. They would be so perfect you couldn’t even see them, just like you can’t see God because God is perfect and you aren’t supposed to see perfection.

The Curtains of Night is a band made up of two women. As a lady formerly of a metal band made up of men and women (women on bass and guitar, men on vocals and drums), it used to irritate the hell out of me when dudes at our shows would say things like, “Wow! I never new girls could rock so hard!” To those dudes, I answer: we also have things called airplanes that can fly you to someplace where they won’t kick your ass for being a clueless turd; so I suggest you go buy a ticket if you value the safety of your testicles. A note to The Curtains of Night: if you need a bass player, I know one available in the Philadelphia region. I hear her grandma makes some pretty killer homemade bread.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, August 15th 2009

A Ways Away

admin — Sun, 02 Aug 2009 09:11:00 +0000

By Tara Jane O'Neil

K Records

I think I’m genetically predisposed to rock; it’s in my blood or something. I want things to be loud, sometimes fast, and always frantic. I like it when a bass line’s so fat you can feel it in your crotch. I like it when guitars rip through your eardrums. I especially like it when a drum beat is so loud you can mistake it for your own pulse. I want to hear something in the singer’s voice that essentially says, “I will sing these words as if my life depends on it.”

There are exceptions, of course, like when I listen to Elliott Smith, though it could be said the same rules apply—just in reverse. The quieter and more timid music is, the more crazed I feel. Tara Jane O’Neil’s fifth album is definitely in the “softer” category of music. It did not turn me into the crazed, emotional wreck I often become after the first chords of “Needle in the Hay,” but A Ways Away is pretty in its own distinct way.

I expect a lot of female singer-songwriters. Some might say that makes me sexist, but I just say it makes me demanding. I don’t want cliché, Lilith Fair-type, boyfriend-inspired angst, and I definitely don’t want watered down, Top 40 love ballads. I just want the music to be real and achingly beautiful. I want it to perfectly encapsulate something unique to the female experience, is that too much to ask?

TJO’s album has a quiet power that’s hard to describe. I, to this day, don’t know any of the lyrics on A Ways Away even after repeated listens, but each and every song on the record sounds like a lovesick lullaby for grownups. There are gentle, reverberating sounds everywhere, and shaky, childlike singing. If you close your eyes long enough while listening to “Dig In” or “Pearl into Sand,” you begin to think of first kisses, the electricity of love, and long, warm summers that were spent doing nothing in particular yet still managed to feel larger than life. I don’t know about you, but I’m of the opinion that that’s a major accomplishment for a timid little record.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, August 2nd 2009

Girls Rock!

admin — Sun, 02 Aug 2009 08:52:00 +0000

Directed by Shane King, Arne Johnson

Liberation Entertainment

Move over campfires and nature hikes, there’s a new Rock ‘n’ Roll Camp for Girls in town! In Portland, Oregon, campers ages 8-18 discover a fresh summer adventure. During the one-week session, the girls must form bands, choose instruments (which may or may not be familiar to them), and write songs. Helping them in this undertaking are female rockers from bands such as Sleater-Kinney and The Gossip.

Many campers begin their camp experience shy and withdrawn, but find themselves loudly banging on drums and belting out rebellious lyrics by the end of the experience. This is, in part, due to the empowering non-musical instruction the girls receive at camp, such as anger management and self-defense. Wishing you could see this phenomenon for yourself? Thanks to a new documentary, you can!

Girls Rock! follows a group of campers through the entire camp experience: the first day’s meet-and-greet; the drama surrounding choosing band-mates and names; and the fights, friendships, and indescribable bonds and breakthroughs that happen throughout the week. Viewers get to know specific campers through in depth footage of their home lives and candid interviews. We get to see all facets of these girls lives. They are simultaneously charming, annoying, demanding, and lovable, which is to say that they are real girls who are still growing into themselves.

Emotional, funny, challenging, and eye-opening, Girls Rock! will make anyone want to pick up an electric guitar and tell the world a thing or two, especially after you read the shocking statistics dealing with gender disparity that are juxtaposed with the camp’s stereotype-defying backdrop. And if the film's not enough for you, there are fabulous extras included on the DVD that are entertaining and interactive: commentary by the director, camp skits, a follow-up with the campers featured, and DIY rock and roll tips to try at home.

Written by: Amanda Moss, August 2nd 2009

Trailer Park (Legacy Edition)

admin — Fri, 22 May 2009 23:49:00 +0000

By Beth Orton

Sony Legacy

I was twenty and living in Austin when I first heard Beth Orton. She laid the soundtrack to my existential search for love and self and meaning. Trailer Park is the kind of record you listen to while laying on your bed, questioning your life, your love, or playing against the background in a movie scene where you walk along the railroad tracks, hands in your pocket during a particularly emotional moment. When I see photos of Kristin Stewart, for some reason, Beth Orton sings in my head.

Orton has the smooth soft voice of an old school siren, but there is so much depth to her quiet and gentle sound that it’s difficult to pinpoint whether it’s her voice or her emotions that pour into each song. In some ways, Orton has a Portishead aesthetic of mixing trip hop with a woman’s beautiful voice, but without the affectation of Beth Gibbons, Orton just sings with a vulnerability and softness that still manages to get your attention. One of the best songs on the album is a cover of the Ronette’s “I Never Saw the Sunshine,” a quiet memorable track that captures what is best about Trailer Park and Orton—not overdone, not showy, just simple and straightforward, but powerful. There are also two different versions of “Best Bit” that are both remarkable in their own way.

Part British folk, part interlude, Beth Orton’s /B001C5R2QW?ie=UTF8&tag=feminrevie-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B001C5R2QW) adds a second disc of thirteen extra tracks, including live versions of several noteworthy songs, such as “Galaxy of Emptiness.” Lyrics like “Won’t you please knock me off my feet for awhile? Could you please knock me off my feet for awhile?” express completely what is so good about Orton and this album.

The heir to Carole King and Joni Mitchell, the original album fell onto the rainy London streets in the mid-90s, and a little more than ten years later, the legacy addition can reach out to a new generation of fans.

Written by: Mónica Teresa Ortiz, May 22nd 2009

Middle Cyclone

admin — Sat, 02 May 2009 22:03:00 +0000

By Neko Case

Anti- Records

Music reviews are supposed to be about critical analysis, not deferential boot-licking. But Heaven help me, I cannot help it this time. I love Neko Case. Did you hear me? LOVE. L-O-V-E. When a live stream of Middle Cyclone was made available through NPR before the album went on sale (it's since been taken down), I listened to it a dozen times in a row—in one day.

Released almost three years exactly to the date as her 2006 album Fox Confessor Brings the Flood, the first copy that I’d purchased of Middle Cyclone came with a deep permanent scratch, causing it to skip a third of the way in; three separate re-surfacing attempts did nothing. Rather than go through the rigmarole of an online order return, I just popped in to my favorite indie record store and bought another copy. At the time, it left me with less than $10 in my bank account, but it was a sacrifice I was all too happy to make.

Neko Case is possessed of a pure primal voice, one that she uses to give voice to the natural world and its inhabitants. Case reminds listeners of the folly of forgetting an animal's instincts, to great comic effect, with “People Gotta Lot of Nerve”:

I'm a man man man man man man man eater
But still you're surprised prised prised when I eat ya

You know they call them killer whales
But you seem surprised
When it pinned you down to the bottom of the tank
Where you can't turn around

You can hear an ironic dismay in her voice when she repeats those words in the chorus, almost as though some massive creature is singing through her and shaking its head. Her lilting sarcastic emphasis on the word “killer” is full of dark humor. With its repentant tone and a large chorus repeating its title, Case's cover of “Never Turn Your Back On Mother Earth,” originally written by Ron Mael (also known as one half of the pop-brother duo Sparks), is less satire and more reverie. She later goes a step further, reminding us all to also remember our own nature with the appropriately titled song “I'm An Animal.”

The microcosm of “Middle Cyclone” is all in spin. Take “This Tornado Loves You,” a song about a tornado in love with a human being. Its love is grandiose, even sociopathic: “Carved your name across three counties/Ground it in with bloody hides/Their broken necks will line the ditch/'Til you stop it, stop it/Stop this madness/I want you.”

While the album title reiterates this tempestuous tone, the title song is more like the eye of a storm—eerily calm, swelling at every turn with poignancy and regret, and leaving the listener to wonder what lay in its wake. It is an absolutely heartbreaking description of how hard it can be to drop a facade and let someone in to that “middle cyclone,” that closely guarded vulnerability: “Can't give up actin' tough/It's all that I'm made of/Can't scrape together quite enough/to ride the bus to the outskirts/Of the fact that I need love.”

Yet even at my most devout, I cannot overlook missteps—and at over thirty-five minutes, it's virtually impossible to overlook a misstep as large as “Marais la nuit” (“Night Swamp”). It's a loop of chirps, tweets, croaks, and other sounds originally recorded at a pond on the land Neko Case recently bought in Vermont. While my inner completist dutifully listened to all of it when I first heard the whole album, and my apologist tries to keep in mind that this is yet another example of Case's affinity for nature, my inner skeptic thinks it sounds like a Nature Sounds CD unnecessarily tacked on to the end of an otherwise complete record.

Written by: M. Brianna Stallings, May 2nd 2009