folk pop

Splash

admin — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

I spent a few years as a DJ for the college radio station during graduate school, and quickly learned that the fastest, most accurate way to asses if you’ll like an album is to pay attention to the label. If you really dig a band, it’s worth your time to research the label that produces their albums–chances are it will be home to other artists you’ll enjoy. Such is the case for K Records, distributed by Secretly Canadian, and home to some of my favorites like anti-folk heroine Kimya Dawson, dance-pop loveliness The Blow, and low-fi folk rocker Jason Anderson.

It is easy to hear how pop-folk artist Jeremy Jay found a home at K, but if the aforementioned artists are seniors at the top of their class, Jay is a freshman with plenty of room for improvement jotted in his report card. Though Splash is Jay’s third release on K, at just over twenty-five minutes, it plays more like a debut EP. One song is no more diverse or interesting than the last; I was in the middle of track three before I realized the album had played all the way through and was on its second rotation. The album’s title conjures images of excitement and disruption that would be more fitting for an artist poised to make waves. But Jeremy Jay is not that artist.

Every song reflected the influence of another musician, but never did I get a feel for Jay’s own unique voice or style. “Just Dial My Number” is an upbeat, summer ditty but the use of piano is so similar to Peter Bjorn and John’s “Young Ones,” that every time it played I thought I was hearing the latter. There are moments when he channels Morrissey; I even heard a little Tracy Chapman on “Someday Somewhere.” But the most notable comparison is to Magnetic Fields front man, Stephin Merritt. But whereas Merritt’s distinctive bass subtly demands you to pay attention to his lyrics, Jay’s more delicate timbre only adds to the ambiguity of his songwriting.

While he certainly evokes the mood of agenda-free days of exploring the city, the lack of imagery and individuality leaves Splash too malleable to make an impression. It would serve well as a soundtrack to a film where visual images and plot might add some heft and dimension to his sound.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, August 25th 2010

Don't Kiss Her Face

admin — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 00:59:00 +0000

By The Echelons

Bud Martin Productions

The Echelons have a lot going for them: quirky lyrics, a 1970s-inspired family ensemble, and fun tunes. Made up of father Ben Petrella, children Jessica and Louis, and neighbors Brian Santo and Brandon Grande, the Echelons make their debut with Don't Kiss Her Face.

Jessica is nineteen years old, and brother Louis is only twelve; this multi-generational dynamic gives the band a distinct aesthetic. At times, the band creates a light, west coast sound while the driving rhythms and prominent guitar conjure hints of punk rock.

My favorite song on the album is the title track. Its musical cohesion and witty lyrics tell the story of a high school girl who is too obsessed with her appearance. The band warns possible suitors that “she ain’t got a face until she puts it on in the morning.” Jessica leads the vocals on this piece, unraveling a yarn about a girl that all the boys can’t help gawking at, but who is, inevitably, artificial. I found this song to be a refreshing look at young women and self-image.

While the vocals on some tracks on Don't Kiss Her Face are a little rough around the edges, I am impressed overall with the musicality of the album. Jessica’s voice is clear and wonderfully folksy; I was left wishing she had been featured on more of the tracks. Brandon’s solid drumming and Ben’s strong guitar rifts kept the fledgling group grounded. This group’s funky lyrics and family-style band make them a stand-out in modern rock.

Written by: Cristin Colvin, February 21st 2010

Broken Cookies

admin — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By Annie Dinerman

Blue Bird

While there are plenty of catchy numbers on Broken Cookies, the second full-length album from Ohio native Annie Dinerman, it is her lyrics that set her apart from her peers in the folk-pop category and make her songs memorable. This gift sparkles on “My Ex-Boyfriend,” in which she cleverly starts each line with “You remind me of my ex-boyfriend,” but then juxtaposes the ex’s bad qualities with the good qualities of her current love interest: “You remind me of my ex-boyfriend / yet you actually do like your job” or “but you’ve got manners and you’re a thinker.”

I smiled at the end, as the song’s refrain changed to “You remind me of my next boyfriend,” indicating that this man has potential after all. Dinerman's love of wordplay is also apparent on “Big Dog,” in which a stubborn canine is a metaphor for a philandering lover. “You broke your leash and ran,” she sings.

The witty lyrics and lovely melody of “One Planet At A Time” make this plea for environmental protection amusing rather than preachy. Dinerman advocates cleaning up Earth before humans explore other worlds, an unconventional, humorous, and insightful position. “This beautiful messed-up world is ours / so why do they spend my taxes on Mars?” The jaunty “In The Dark” concerns a lonely woman who overhears her older neighbor’s romantic escapades through the apartment wall and wonders why she doesn’t have a paramour herself. “He’s got gray hair / he’s got wrinkles / he’s got a pension / he’s got a lover,” she belts out. By the end of the entertaining tune, she rather hopefully decides to rekindle her own love life.

Dinerman's more poignant songs also shine. “Broken Cookies” recounts a memorable incident in which a young girl and her mother buy a box of broken cookies from a bakery and scarf them down in the car; she captures the 4-year-old’s joy of a lark with her mother perfectly, down to the “green icing, powdered sugar, marmalade” cookie bits. Sadly for our young protagonist, her mother refused to buy the broken cookie bits again, and subsequently other sweets were disappointing. The post break-up song “Different Now,” is refreshing as it acknowledges that “life is still a bitch sometimes” and that healing occurs slowly. It is neither a revenge fantasy of a woman scorned or a triumphant tale of dumping a lover and setting out on new adventures, but instead addresses the very real hurt that almost any breakup produces.

While Dinerman's material is solidly in the folk tradition, she displays a mastery of various forms, from the slow, introspective, and melancholy “A King and a Hero” to the no-holds-barred torch ballad “Stole My Soul.” Soaring melodies showcase her rich voice; the instrumentation primarily consists of guitar, bass, piano, and drums but occasionally wanders into wider territory, such as the castanets and conga on “Egyptian Cotton.”

Too often folk music is thought of as low-key, something to be played in quiet coffeehouses as background noise. Dinerman shows that a singer-songwriter can tackle a wide array of topics with humor and heartfelt emotion while making deeply memorable music that will have you humming and tapping your feet.

Written by: Karen Duda, January 26th 2010

Crepusculo

admin — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 17:03:00 +0000

By Petracovich

Redbutton Records

It’s a treasure to stumble upon new music that for one reason or another resonates deeply within you. I selected Crepusculo after learning that Petracovich singer Jessica Peters Malmberg had made the album while pregnant, and then tragically lost her son shortly after he was born. Grieving a recent miscarriage myself, Crepusculo did for me what only those rare special albums can: it comforted me, let me cry, helped me heal, and taught me to create a place in my heart for what I had lost.

Crepusculo (Spanish for “twilight”) utilizes the standard drums, guitar, and bass setup and is richly textured with a multitude of other instruments, including piano, cello, trumpet, harmonium, and banjo. Described as folk pop, this latest album from Petracovich accomplishes an earthiness that brings each song to life. The songs are powerful, thanks to masterful lyrics and Malmberg’s stunning voice that is at times soaring and smooth and later hushed and reverent.

“Heaven Help the Day” is the opening track__, and it begins with an upbeat piano that propels the song to a quick crescendo. It’s a perfect match for the empowering lyrics about an absent father. Malmberg warns the father to beware coming back to the family, and if he does, she sings “I’d make you love me then I’d leave you all alone.” A compelling and driving banjo opens “Sleep It Off/Lie Down,” in which Malmberg sings out a challenge to “try to make me unsad/just try making me glad.” It’s a song that wonderfully depicts embracing sadness and revels in the beauty of fully experiencing human emotion.

While Crepusculo undeniably deals with painful losses, the beauty of the album is that there’s a sense of lightness and fun throughout the record. For example, in “San Rafael,” Malmberg dreamily imagines floating above traffic and “over dew and honey grass and sleeping deer; over rollers, hills with backs like dinosaurs.” A sense of whimsy threads itself through many of the songs.

What the music in this album accomplishes is a spirit of graciousness. It’s a snapshot of what it means to be alive, and that is a welcome solace. Crepusculo is an album for everyone that offers an unforgettable joy listening to each song as it magically unfolds.

Written by: Beverly Jenkins-Crockett, November 8th 2009

Victoria Day

admin — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 23:00:00 +0000

By Melissa McClelland

Six Shooter Records

My first taste of Melissa McClelland came about a year ago when a friend had me listen to her beautiful rendition of Bruce Springsteen’s ballad of the working class "Factory." Her version gave a feminine and country-tinged perspective that worked brilliantly with the song. I was immediately impressed.

I got very excited to learn McClelland had a new album out entitled Victoria Day, after her homeland’s holiday that generally marks the beginning of summer—not unlike Memorial Day for most Americans. The album definitely carries an air of summer it its sound, so the title is quite fitting.

McClelland was born in the Unites States, but raised in Canada. Many music fans simply know her as singer-songwriter Luke Doucet’s wife, but she has proven she will not remain in his shadow—and quite possibly may even take some of the spotlight for herself.

McClelland's music reminds me much of some of Canadia's other songstresses. Her blend of powerful vocals and just enough of a country feel to give it character makes for an easy association with the wonderful Sarah Harmer. Unlike Harmer, whom often leans closer to the melancholy folk side, McClelland brings a poppier barroom feel to many of her tracks. On past efforts, McClelland’s lyrics they told stories and felt more intimate, but Victoria Day seems to play it safe on most tracks and worries more about the melody.

McClelland’s sound brings to mind a picture of square dancers twirling skirts, a well-dressed band playing, hay bales on the sidelines, and her in the spotlight. It is a classic sound, meant to entertain and keep people interested. The ballads on the album would as easily fit within a big band ballroom filled with satin dresses and evening gloves since they lack the fiddle and banjo most pure country is wont to include.

The title track, “Victoria Day (May Flowers)”, is a standout on the album, as is “I Blame You,” but I can confidently say there are no tracks that feel like a waste of time. It is a brilliantly put together album from beginning to end.

Written by: Anne Corrigan, September 21st 2009

The Drifter

admin — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 16:53:00 +0000

By Lindi Ortega

Cherry Tree Records

The wanderlust, the whisky, the love-done-me-wrong– Mexican-Canadian musician Lindi Ortega sings it all out on The Drifter EP, and even if you're not a fan of indie country folksiness, her voice calls to you. The singer's voice lulls and disarms with a sweetness that could be borderline saccharine. Nonetheless, she is saved by her expansive ability to belt out a tune. If you heard her singing in a bar, you'd probably be forced to put down your beer.

Ortega's EP has only four songs, so before you know it, the album is over. But the brevity could be a metaphor for the love affairs in some of her lyrics: Here today, sing about it tomorrow.

"Dying of Another Broken Heart" is a deadpan perspective on breakups: "I should hold a funeral for every love I’ve lost." Ortega's guitar and keyboards play out the rhythm of a pop-folk lullaby in contrast to the cynical humor. Except for an interlude of bells where the lullaby takes over, this mix of sweetness and cynicism works well.

"All My Friends" transposes Ortega's wit onto an allegory for alcohol and drug addiction. She sings about "Jack" and "Mary Jane", the "friends" who will kill her dead. Despite this heavy-handedness, Ortega plays the expert staccato chords of a protest song, complete with Jewel-like vocals.

"Black Fly" and "Drifter" provide a different kind of protest: the refusal to end relationships without "one last taste." "Black Fly" is the most orchestrated composition on the album, with drums added to guitar and vocals. A song with pop-country verve and Hollywood bravado, it could be a lost track from Thelma & Louise. But "Drifter" lowers the guitar and keyboard to bossa nova volume, creating a music box melody. Pristine and unadorned, Ortega's voice stays in a muted key. This is the album's most experimental work, and it shows her indie side.

Still, both songs are ballads for co-dependency: "Sometimes lies are sweet like honey/ When you tell me/ that you love me so/ I drink it up you know." "Drifter" is an extended voice-mail message for an elusive lover: "I wonder what you’re running from/ Yes, I wonder if I could be the one/ to make you stay." (Step One for co-dependents: Do not leave songs as voice-mail messages.) But Ortega can sing with a boldness that needs no serenity prayers. Why not evince the same boldness with her lyrics?

Mainstream and indie, sweet and cynical, co-dependent and standing on her own, Lindi Ortega experiments with many musical personas, and, despite a few missteps, The Drifter offers the work of an eclectic artist worth exploring.

Written by: Andrea Dulanto, August 28th 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

Elizabeth Willis

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

By Elizabeth Willis

Little Blackbird Music

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

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

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

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

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

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

Written by: Andrea Dulanto, February 24th 2009