Recording review - It Looks Sad, Self-Titled (2014)

A satisfying sample of non-ironic post-punk catharsis

I’m so glad that the lagging nostalgia wave is finally cresting for the 1980s. I didn’t care for disco the first time around and, while the ‘70s folk-rock and pop revivals have each had their moments, I’ve been ready for the change. Lately, the indie scene is doing their part, with a host of bands mining the fertile post-punk inspiration from 1978 to 1986 or so. My Gold Mask, the Soft Moon, Cold Showers, Soft Kills – it’s more than I can keep track of, so it’s nice when a decent one falls right into my lap. It Looks Sad. from Charlotte, North Carolina joins the throng, but they manage to make their own mark. The music is tight and cathartic with the perfect shroud of echo. More importantly, they aren’t overthinking their angst and thrash or dressing it up in irony. The only (slight) misstep is the emo pretention of the punctuated band name, which remains from their awkward original name, “It Looks Sad. That’s Why I Said It Was You”, but that can be overlooked because it mostly serves as critic/hater-bait.

Their scant four song EP, Self-Titled, barely crosses 15 minutes, but each tune is a delicious morsel of dissatisfied, emotional tumult. “Radical” leads off and it stakes out the ground that the rest of the album will restlessly pace: hang your head, sway just a little and let the ringing post-punk guitars wash through you. The repetition and higher fret bass riffs recall Joy Division, but instead of Ian Curtis’ dark brooding, It Looks Sad. favors a more sullen vocal tone. Jimmy Turner alternates between plaintive, disjointed musing and rousing himself to resentful irritation, but the words are almost irrelevant. All that matters is the stormy wave of muffled frustration that ushers in catharsis. Turner has described “Radical” as a hastily written filler tune, but they seem to have stumbled onto a pattern worth repeating. A shadowy magic builds as his voice gets hoarser and rawer over the pounding breakers of flanged guitars.

The next track, “Fingers”, trades out Joy Division for a hazy, dream pop jangle. Turner’s vocals have the same weak whine and his diffident tone undercuts the love song lyrics. But complaining about his voice is like critiquing Joey Ramone or Lou Reed for their singing; his lack of technical ability is less relevant than the earnestness of the emotions that he conveys. It is a love song, but his disconnection is exactly the point. In the meantime, the music is quite satisfying as it lazily unfolds. Rather than a wall of guitars, the verses erect a haphazard fence whose gaps frame the melodic bass line. The chorus swells like a tsunami, but doesn’t so much overwhelm the mood as intensify it. The thick tone and repetition become a nurturing cocoon of noise, “I’m daydreaming again/ Your fingers touch my skin.”

The remaining two tracks offer up differing retro perspectives. “Raccoon” channels the Cure, albeit at a more upbeat tempo. Even the muted artifacts of echoed guitar strum sound familiar. That’s just window-dressing as the driving staccato guitar chop staples down the flowing bass work. “Ocean” also has a touch of the Cure, but the soft-loud-soft transitions showcase the power of Turner’s primal scream, recalling Trail of Dead’s early work. Sure, that’s a bit more recent than the ‘80s foundation It Looks Sad. has established, but the deviation is effective.

Like most EPs, Self-Titled is an elevator pitch for the band. It’s not a best-of-the-year contender or artistic triumph, but it is a solid introduction to It Looks Sad. and their nostalgic swirls of moody distortion feel like a good match for hot summer nights.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Cymbals Eat Guitars, LOSE (2014)

Growing up is serious work

Cymbals Eat Guitars filled their 2009 debut Why There Are Mountains with a tangled jumble of musical interests. Despite the roller coaster ride, the album worked, maybe because of how the shorter tunes broke up the more sweeping tracks. Since then, the band has tried to tame their urge to run off in a hundred different directions and LOSE generally provides something closer to pop structure than they’ve managed before. That said, the opening track, “Jackson”, is a callback to their debut even as it attempts to reach a wider audience. It’s catchy, with soaring pop vocals, but it also juxtaposes a grab bag of ideas into its sprawling six and a quarter minutes.

Initially, it sounds like a big Trail of Dead setup: a dreamy opening dissolves into a circling wave of loudness. Percussion drives the tension while tiers of guitar infuse it with epic intent. But where Lenses Alien (2011) would have milked that into a full-blown exploration, “Jackson” intentionally lets the power slip away, leaving behind a thoughtful post-punk progression. Frontman Joe D’Agostino sounds calm but strained as he starts, “You’re taking two Klonopin/ So you can quit flippin’ and face our friends.” His voice is a bit ragged, which fits the sense of loss that permeates this whole project. The new wave simplicity of this section is eventually buried under thicker walls of indie pop guitar. He catalogs a headful of experiences with wistful poignancy as his falsetto is backed with guitar jangle, but before it tips into maudlin self-pity, clashing discord reveals the underlying angst with fluttering horns and waves of distortion. The meandering lead jam resurrects the original Trail of Dead feel to close out the piece.

The backstory is that LOSE is effectively D’Agostino’s music therapy for working through his grief of a good friend’s untimely death. Looming larger than that, though, is a more universal theme of growing up. Like the rest of the album, ”Jackson” wrestles with nostalgia, mortality and the painful clarity that comes with adulthood. Some tracks may explicitly refer to D’Agostino’s friend, Benjamin High, but that loss is really just the trigger for trying to make sense of a long overdue post-adolescence. From song to song, the lyrics vary in their degree of obliqueness – Cymbals Eat Guitars have always held their cards close to their chests – but they all circle around random recollections, tales of self and substance abuse and the niggling survivor’s guilt that can kick in as the years pile on and the friends slip away.

If that seems to hit harder than you’re ready for, that’s okay, because the band has worked out the math so that listeners can choose how deeply to immerse themselves. Tease out the words from D’Agostino’s raw vocals or visit the lyrics link on their website and you can soak in all the darkness you can handle. But plenty of the songs juxtapose music that contrasts with the cathartic lines, from the mellow wistfulness of “Child Bride” to the cool Berlin-style new wave pop of “Chambers”. A shallow ear will still catch ominous phrases – “‘Til your dad slapped the living shit out of you,” or “The panic sets in, cause nothing’s happening,” – but it’s easy to surrender to the rhythmic drive and interlocked layers of guitar so they glance off.

It’s hard to pick a favorite track, but it comes down to “Place Names” or “Laramie”. The former is a moody Jane’s Addiction set piece. D’Agostino’s swooping proclamations capture Perry Farrell’s lazy falsetto and the song is filled with shimmering swirls of feedback static. Cymbals Eat Guitars have had this sound in their arsenal since the beginning, but the frayed thread of lyrical logic fills it with sacred poetry and profane pronouncements. “Laramie”, on the other hand, is another nomadic journey across genres, like “Jackson”. It starts with a dreamy glam glory, but manages to blend in a weird post-rock experimentalism. The latter half heads off into other directions, turning from driving rocker to indie acid rock meltdown. Despite the gear-stripping changes, there’s an internal logic that keeps the piece on track.

Cymbals Eat Guitars have come a long way since their debut and LOSE is certainly their strongest release yet. The challenge will come with their next album. Now that they’ve confronted adulthood, will they actually grow up or will they linger in this shadowy twilight? If they do step forward, will they find something interesting and new to say? Based on their growth to date, I’m betting that they will.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Concert review - Future Islands with Operators

12 August 2014 (Aggie Theatre, Ft. Collins CO)

Ft. Collins is quite lucky, it seems. As Future Islands winds their tour across America, they managed to squeeze in a single show in Ft. Collins on the way to Salt Lake City. After looping through California, they'll pass through Denver later in the month at the Gothic, but that show is already sold out. So, we got to see them first and, although the turnout was good, it wasn't over-packed like a sold-out show.

It didn't turn out to be an particularly late night either. Tour mates, Operators, were the only opener and Future Islands followed them with a good show and still wrapped up their encore around 11ish.

Operators

Dan Boeckner, from Wolf Parade and Divine Fits, kicked things off with his latest band, Operators.
The line up features his previous bandmate Sam Browne (Divine Fits) on drums and electronics artiste Devojka tweaking buttons and dials. Their opening song blended a classic synth pop sound with Tom Tom Club dance beats. Crowded against the front of the stage, the trio offered a study in contrasts. Brown was deeply focused as he pounded out the rhythm, barely noticing the audience at all. Boekcner, on the other end of the line, was full of anxious energy as he paced forward and back. In between these two extremes, Devojka directed most of her attention towards her table full of toys, but she still engaged with the crowd.


As the set progressed, Operators settled into an electro-pop flavored post-punk feel, somewhat like Shriekback partnering with a laptop artist. Looping synth arpeggios and beep-boop punctuated dance grooves kept the crowd moving. While the bottom end was covered well enough, I would have appreciated a real bass player to partner with Brown's solid drum work.


While I enjoy listening to the gear-driven beats, to some extent, they leave me cold during a live performance. The obsessive knob-work and frantic activity can add a serving of sweeps and laser tones, but they never quite relate to the steady roll of the backing track. Fortunately, Boeckner's charisma and stage presence were exciting enough to carry the show. The crowd was primed with plenty of his fans, several of whom called for tunes from his older bands. Eventually, Devojka got irked enough to ask the audience member if they could play the song ("If not, shut up"). In any case, the energizing pop repetition of the music was a good warm up for Future Islands.

Future Islands

There is an aesthetic concept called the "uncanny valley", which quantifies how people react to things that are near, but not quite human. For example, robots, dolls, and clowns can each trigger a kind of aversion when they fall into that space between clearly artificial and a natural human appearance or behavior. The more times I see Samuel T. Herring perform, I can't help but revisit that concept as I watch his stylized movements and unnatural dance moves. He doesn't trigger a sharp repulsion, but  he's off by just enough to make his performance riveting in its strangeness.


While he was actually singing, he tended towards overly emotional theatricality, with melodramatic gestures and exaggerated facial expressions. In between his lines, though, he surrendered to his inner muse and chaotically danced with wild lunges and stiff-postured positions. On the one hand, this physicality was cool; there was the sense that Herring was channeling the song with his outsider-artist choreography. But as he waved his arms and crouched like a gorilla, mimed tearing away the mask of his face, or spasmed into a fixed-stare duck walk, it was hard not to be gobstopped. That oddness is certainly part of why the band has hit it so big in the wake of their David Letterman appearance.


Fortunately, Future Islands had more going for them than a sideshow performance. First of all, the band was remarkably tight. They casually delivered perfection in form of danceable tunes where every note was polished and carefully placed. That distilled performance could have turned cold and mechanical, but between the deeply personal tone of the songs and Herring's expressiveness, the music was surprisingly emotional, especially for a synth-driven pop band. In sharp contrast to their frontman, William Cashion, Gerrit Welmers and their touring drummer all played with a restrained economy. Cahsion moved the most as he played his bass, but seldom got further than two steps from where he started. Welmers almost melted into his keyboards, barely acknowledging the audience or the rest of the band, even when Herring introduced the players during "Spirit".


Future Islands slid through their set with little pause, moving from hypnotically danceable interludes to driving bass-driven darkness and then shifting into soulful brooding. Late in the set, Herring surprised me, though, with an unexpected bit of humor. During "A Song For Our Grandfathers", he spent much of the tune gazing up to his right, as though looking up to Heaven. After wrapping it up, he paused and then gestured up at the large posters that decorate the walls of the Aggie. He pointed up at the one he'd been staring at and said, "By the way, my grandfather isn't Tech N9ne." That little bit of self-deprecation made up for a lot of crazy dance moves.

Vocally, Herring veered from a strained soul tone reminiscent of Roland Gift (Fine Young Cannibals) to hoarse, death metal growls. Those changes were all in service to the whatever raw sense he was trying to evoke at any given moment. He apologized a few times about his voice, but seemed to give everything he had to his performance. By the end of the night, his tight black shirt was soaked with sweat and he looked a bit drawn. Future Islands finished out their three song encore with "Little Dreamer" and Herring was finally able to take a well-deserved break.

More photos on my Flickr.

Concert review - Megafauna, with Instant Empire, Bear., Hillary Hand & the Roseliers

19 June 2014 (Moon Room at Summit Music Hall, Denver CO)
Sometimes, there's no justice. Thursday night in Denver couldn't seem to summon up enough interest to go out and catch some music, so the crowd was disappointingly sparse. That wasn't fair for wait staff or the bands, but all four acts on the bill took it in stride and summoned up their enthusiasm so the lucky few of us there got a full night of energetic and entertaining performances. It's just a shame there weren't more people there to appreciate Megafauna's show along with the three regional bands that opened.

Hillary Hand & the Roseliers

Hillary Hand & the Roseliers from Colorado Springs opened the show. Like most ampersand bands, "somebody & the somethings", the Roseliers provide a showcase for Hillary Hand's songs and voice. That's not an indictment of the band's ability; they were talented set of musicians. But they muted their own personalities and playing so that Hillary Hand was never eclipsed.


Most of the time, the players seemed caught up in their own parts, although the backup singer, Melinda Hand, did interact a bit with rest of the band and with us. Where the others either checked in with Hillary or stared down at their instruments, Melinda looked around more, smiled, and made eye contact. Unfortunately Hillary came across as fairly shy and a bit nervous, so she didn't command all the attention that she could have.


Despite that, she and Roseliers had some very good material, with interesting structures and contrasting soft and loud moments. The tunes varied a bit in style, from a light country feel reminiscent of Emmylou Harris backed by a more modern rock band to dreamy pop songs. Hand had the vocal versatility to follow along, from a subtle twanged folk to ethereal fragility. She also seemed adept at finding a harder edge under the velvet. The guitarist, Joseph Degalia, stood out the most musically, with some nice chops. He had a good ear and a subtle touch, especially on slide. He never upstaged Hand, but his fills added some complexity against her keyboard lines.


By the end of their set, I appreciated their nuanced style. Then they threw a real curve ball. "Run Like A Rabbit" launched with a synth-pop/electro-pop feel that didn't mesh with their earlier sound. The band was more than competent enough to pull it off, but it was a weird outlier. The rest of the songs had a kind of eclectic continuity, but this felt a bit odd.

Bear.

If the Roseliers had a handle on soft to loud transitions, Bear. took that a couple of levels further, playing a good set of indie rock that featured plenty of thrashy breaks. Songs would settle into a solid drive, driven by the syncopated drums and punchy bass, but then interludes of cathartic frenzy would erupt as if the band couldn't withhold any longer.


Frontman Will Livingston dominated the stage with a huge personality and big movements. With his unpredictable shifts of persona, he was entertaining like somebody's drunk uncle. He was personable and clearly meant well, but he was mercurial as he surrendered himself to the music and acted out. When he was seriously engaged in the song, he radiated an intensity, but he could flip and be fairly meta and "ironic" too. Livingston spent most of the set on guitar but switched to keys for the last couple of tunes. He flailed around less on keyboards, but he still bounced in his seat.


The second guitarist, Bruce Butler, didn't try to compete with Livingston. He was quiet on stage, but he was an excellent player, laying down some metallic riffage and memorable fills. Bass player Dylan Camacho was also quite focused on his playing, but had a good physical presence with constant movement as he effortlessly held the bottom end. Rather than random motion, though, he favored more choreographed moves.


Most of their songs had a quick hard edge, but they also played a new tune that was poppy and uplifting. At the end of that final song, Livingston thanked us as it seemed to wind down, but then he ran to grab his guitar for the final chord. I'm not sure if this was a stunt or reaction to the sound problems he had had with his keyboard, but it was just another bit of sudden movement to cap their set

Instant Empire

Watching Instant Empire on stage, I have no sense of how these six guys ever met and came together. Various pairs appeared reasonably matched, but overall, they seemed to come from different ages, core musical backgrounds, and fashion styles. Despite that, their music was very well-executed, with each player knowing his role and smoothly covering his part. They played a mix of punk and post-punk rock, but they had a very immediate sound, without much sense of retro aspirations.


In general, I really enjoyed them, although the horrible fuzzed out keys on the first song were fairly off-putting. Imagine something like a staticky loose cable, but tuned, and you'll have an idea of what I mean. Fortunately, he picked some more complementary patches later in the set.


Lead singer Scotty Saunders owned the stage with his theatrical flair. Every moment had the perfect stylized gesture and facial expression. He'd prance one moment, then lunge forward menacingly in another. At times, his over-emoting got right up to the edge of campy, but never crossed over, in large part because it seemed like a natural part of his personality. It also helped that his vocals showed some diversity as they ranged from shout rap-singing to tight new wave crooning to punk proclamation. Most of the band let Saunders take the spotlight, but bass player Aaron Stone challenged him in his bid for the crowd's attention. The interaction was positive, though, with Stone being more exuberant than attention-starved.


It's also worth noting that this was the first show for Instant Empire's new drummer. He did a great job keeping up with the rest of the band as they flew through the tunes in tight formation. Their show was an energetic springboard to set up Megafauna's performance.

Megafauna

Megafauna's Dani Neff is not one of the most impressive female guitarists around, she's just one of the best guitarists period. She has enough jaw-dropping talent to sidestep the whole question of gender. Where many strong women players are forced to either trade on their sexuality or try to out-butch the boys, Neff doesn't acknowledge either of those paths as necessary or interesting. Taking in her performance at the Moon Room, I didn't miss that kind of posturing, because it was all about the music and face-melting, ear-shredding tone that Neff could wring out of her guitar.


I'll confess that, like most guitarists, when I watch another player, I often think about how I would approach the piece myself and judge their skills. Someone might be a little quicker than me, but I might still feel that my phrasing or tone are better. Neff's mastery of the guitar left me nothing but humbled and grateful to witness it.


While she could have carried the show completely on her own, the rest of her band rose to the challenge, showing off their own significant technical skills. Bass player Bryan Wright was a second focal point, both musically and visually. Reflecting the band's earlier lineup as a trio, he took over some of the rhythm guitar duty, easily tracking all of the twists and turns to these songs. Drummer Zach Humphrey was a busy player, building up syncopated complexity on the straight rock sections, but also driving the more interesting time signature changes. He had a dramatic sense of dynamics; he could knock the shit out of the drums, then drop back to cymbal work when the tune called for it. I did feel a little sorry for John Musci, the rhythm guitar player, because he spent most of the set completely in Neff's shadow, but his contribution to the foundation was important.


Megafauna led off with tribal drum beat and guitar whine of "Hug From A Robot," which set the stage for the rest of the night. The song borrowed heavily from classic rock, with a bit of Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" crossed with Jimi Hendrix's "Crosstown Traffic". They mine some of the same veins as Earl Greyhound, juxtaposing an insistent rhythmic drive with more thoughtfully paced vocals. Like many songs in their set, the band could dissolve from a throaty roar of fuzz to shredding out a flurry of notes.


After staking out their claim to classic hard rock and then edging into early heavy metal, they quickly expanded their musical sensibility and became harder to pigeonhole. Songs might incorporate blues, then fusiony jazz. They usually stayed centered on that dark heaviness, but even if they were locked in a psychedelic grind, they could turn into utterly unique directions. This constant possibility of surprise held the audience enthralled. Hypnotized by the groove, we were carried along, whether they leaped into hardcore thrash or shifted into El Ten Eleven or Trail of Dead style post-rock. Although Megafauna favored these lightning quick stylistic jumps, they were always in service to the song, much like their surprising time or key changes.


Through it all, Neff retained a rock star presence, knowing how to pose for effect, but never letting up her guitar assault. She'd casually slash at her guitar, but the sound was anything but sloppy. Even at the ecstatic height of a solo, she struck with precise control. The band's forays out from their hard rock core gave her plenty of room to vary her playing from wicked minor pentatonic runs to outside, chromatic riffs that naturally interlocked with the bass. More than just a guitarist, though, Neff adroitly covered vocals, changing character to fit each tune. One song might feature a less twangy version of X's Exene Cervenka style punk, but she could also summon a good gothy darkness like Siouxsie Sioux and a haunting, ethereal tone that suggested Björk in her saner moments. Of course, her singing didn't diminish her playing at all.


Bottom line: if talent ruled the world, we would be Dani Neff's loyal subjects. Barring that, we'll have to settle for worshipping her and Megafauna by buying their album on Bandcamp.

More photos on my Flickr.

Recording review - Blank Realm, Grassed Inn (2014)

Poppy post-punk can't maintain the magic

I really want to love Blank Realm and welcome Grassed Inn into my heart. For all its simplicity, their exuberantly poppy post-punk has a golden spark of magic. It’s hypnotically repetitive and startlingly direct, with intriguing splashes of Velvet Underground and Tom Verlaine’s Television. But before I can fully consummate or commit, Daniel Spencer’s nasal whine diffidently drills into my brain, sabotaging all the pretty musical endorphins. It’s not like the bar is necessarily that high: neither Lou Reed nor Verlaine is a mellifluous, traditional singer. But where a band like Pere Ubu could wield David Thomas’ quirky yelp as an artistic tool, Spencer seems content to rely on a sloppy, Dylanesque yowl. Emphasized by the low-fi, muddy production, it’s hard to escape or ignore. But just as annoying, every time I’m ready to throw in the towel and turn it off, Grassed Inn offers up a beautiful musical phrase to distract and calm me: a spangled blur of psychedelia, a dizzy pop swirl, or a crystalline glint of synth melody. Somehow it’s enough to tip the balance and suck me in for another listen, especially with tracks like “Bulldozer Love”, which completely overpowers the vocals for the win.

In fact, “Bulldozer Love” and its predecessor, “Bell Tower”, form the musical engine for the whole album. “Bell Tower” lays down a moody, new wave riff and caresses it with pensive tremolo waves. Spencer’s voice shifts the balance to garage psychedelia, but it works here. The organ on the chorus perfectly matches the mood, but could stand to be more pervasive on the tune. The opening phrase is repeated like a prayer, providing a wisp of comfort, but the chorus admits the truth, “Bell tower in my brain/ You’re driving me insane.” The prayer becomes an obsessive sign of inner anguish as the tune builds to its inevitable psychological collapse. The transition to “Bulldozer Love” promises relief as the psychedelia turns more cheery. The hook is set with an insistent beat and a repetitive run of chords soaked in acid-washed echoes. The keys slide in surreptitiously to add a subliminal ‘80s synth-pop undertone. Spencer’s sister, Sarah, softens the vocal tone with her harmonies as the chorus chant, “Your bulldozer love,” becomes a mantra. The meandering chords loop around and transform into hazed out angles for the song’s sonic maze. Spencer sounds more plaintive than distracted, which helps make this the standout track of the album, from its gentle delay-box ringing at the start to the swirling, overdriven guitars and freak-out keyboards at the finish.

If Grassed Inn could deliver that kind of one-two punch across the whole album, I’d have a new favorite band. Unfortunately, despite catchy moments and hints of musical bliss, the rest of the tracks are flawed in one way or another. The second half of the album ushers in a promising electronic aesthetic, but it’s not enough to rouse the songs. On “Violet Delivery”, the motorik thump and flood of electronica tricks ’n’ treats throw the album into a new dimension, but once the intro wraps up, the track loses its momentum as the repetitive changes and relentless droning vocals take over. Where Velvet Underground could turn a couple of simple chords into a hymn and build a tapestry of free verse lyrics in songs like “Sister Ray”, Blank Realm never seems to make any point at all here beyond the non-message of emphasizing the title words. It’s easy to find small elements that are shiny enough to attract, but the band doesn’t seem to know what to do with them.

It’s frustrating because those sweet sounds and a couple of exquisite tracks can’t lift Grassed Inn up to the band’s promising potential. Maybe it’s a case of capturing the output from an infinite set of musical monkeys; Blank Realm is sufficiently savant to populate the project with great fragments, but they can’t quite recognize the wheat from the chaff.

Here's a taste of what's out on YouTube right now:

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Iceage, You're Nothing (2013)

 Primordial noise from a new generation of punk

The scene is littered with pop-punk bands trying to summon a flicker of bygone fire to animate their pseudo-angst and Denmark’s Iceage responds, “You’re Nothing.” Proving that punk, real hardcore punk, has nothing to do with catchy hooks, You’re Nothing is a muddled mix of hard edges, flailing guitars and inarticulate singing. Like the Sex Pistols or Black Flag, it’s easy to tell that this is no artistic pose; the band is so invested that they almost seem to resent our attention. From classic punk to post-punk thrash, their music is all straight from the gut. Front man Elias Bender Rønnenfelt sells this with raw vocal energy that colors the songs. Sometimes his voice cracks with emo suffering, slurs at the edge of exhaustion or exudes a fiery rage, but it always rings true.

The album’s earlier tracks evoke the sweltering shows I remember from 1983, packed with slamming bodies and ringing ears. In particular, the ironically titled “Ecstasy” is utterly satisfying. The bass-heavy grind of the verse is fatalistic and the monotone vocals reach for detachment, but can’t hide the bruising. Then the band opens up into an up-tempo, West Coast drive that suggests a memory of joy. But the moment is elusive, serving only to accentuate the pain. In the pause before the verse returns, Rønnenfelt’s tired, hoarse voice locks onto the loss, “Pressure, pressure/ Oh God, no!/ Pressure.” As the band see-saws between these extremes with frantic slashes of distortion and relentless drums, the guitars whine like demonic power tools. The song begs for the physical relief of a mosh pit.

Iceage follows this with another simple thrasher, “Coalition,” and then breaks their pace with the moody “Interlude.” Beginning with the ambient hum of amplifiers, a light drone and fluttering vibrations, it evolves into a programmatic piece. Full of subtle texture and heavy tension, it feels like the soundtrack to a set of implacable events unfolding before us. It’s a cool sonic moment but it’s unconnected to the rest of the album. Perhaps it’s intended to separate the straight ahead opening tracks from the more diverse songs that follow.

Sonic Youth-style noise rock (“Burning Hand”) and turgid post-punk (“Morals”) let the band demonstrate a nice range of sound, but You’re Nothing finds its sweet spot with a smattering of Midwestern punker tunes. Evoking a mix of Hüsker Dü and the Replacements, “In Haze” serves as the best example. Chaotic guitar jangle dances around Dan Kjær Nielsen’s busy drum flail while Rønnenfelt’s flat singing is full of snarl and rage. A recurring guitar riff offers a token taste of melody against the pounding tide of noise. Compared to “Ecstasy”, the vocals are all but incomprehensible. Occasional phrases sneak out between the mix and the accent, but the catharsis and emotion are more important than the words. Finally, the song dashes itself against the rocky shore of its ending. The guitar’s last detuned chord twitches reflexively in collapse rather than surrender.

Truth be told, there’s nothing really new here. Countless other bands worked these veins of nihilism long before the guys in Iceage were even born. But that’s irrelevant. Punk strips away artifice, denies ego-driven invention and pits us against waves of primordial noise. Iceage is right, we are nothing, but in the center of this storm, we are together.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Wire Faces, King Cataract (2013)

Richly textured, drum-driven post-punk

It's been a year since I reviewed Wire Faces' live show. Their new album, King Cataract largely lives up to the high bar they set opening for El Ten Eleven last February. The release is overshadowed a bit by material loss: their equipment was stolen over the holidays from their rehearsal room. The band had just launched a Kickstarter campaign to pay for mixing and duplication of the new CD, but this left them looking for even more help from their fans. The original goal was $5000 which they overshot by almost $2K. That can buy some new gear but still leaves them hurting.

Listening to King Cataract is like slipping back in time and across a dimension or two. Their universe is anchored in the '80s. But unlike our world, post-punk dominated and evolved into a wild, technically proficient musical force. On the surface, Wire Faces' riff-driven songs evoke bands like The Fixx, Wire, and early Police, but the trio's music is more restless and complex.

Savant drummer Shane Zweygardt pushes the band, integrating a constantly shifting set of fills and rarely settling for a simple beat. The rest of the band integrates with his rhythms, creating a tight, textured whole. "Your Blue Lips" leads off with a a frosty, open-phrased guitar riff countered by the bass' steady throb. The drums bridge the two, aligning splashes of cymbals to fit the guitar and back beats to mesh with the bass line. When the verses opens up, the bass and guitar shift into balance while the drum syncopation add an energy to contrast the singing. The vocals are coated in reverb and detachment, adding to the new wave vibe.

Zweygardt pulls double duty in the band, somehow covering lead vocals while he tosses off his impressive drum parts. Unfortunately, his voice isn't as strong as his playing. His unpolished singing favors simple phrasing and small melodic hops, but is serviceable for the style. Between the production and his tone, it can be hard to pick his words out of the mix. "Endless Gala" captures his best vocal performance. The staccato beat and driving bass at the start of the track suggest Doug Feiger and the Knack, but the song quickly moves beyond power pop with Ian Haygood's guitar adding nuance and flavor to the arrangement. Choppy riffs alternate with splashes of chords, but the simple repeated phrases of the short lead resonate and ring.

I like how the band can shift from the high-pressure tension of"Happiest Man" to the odd beat pensiveness on "Temptress" or the deliberate chill of "Vultures". I also like the full sound that they build throughout these songs. While there are clearly some guitar overdubs and occasional studio treatments, the album is not so far from what the band delivers on stage.

Give Wire Faces a listen and, if you want to help support them, drop by iTunes and pick up King Cataract or one of their other albums.

December Singles

Let's wrap up the year with an old friend and a small collection of newer bands.

They Might Be Giants - "Call You Mom" (from Nanobots, due March 2013)


They Might Be Giants are promising a lot with their upcoming album, Nanobots: namely a full serving of bass clarinet. Regardless of whether they have their pulse on the market demand,"Call You Mom" delivers that classic TMBG aesthetic. Quirky yet compelling, the lyrics follow a Freudian Slip 'n' Slide of Oedipal images. The solid retro rock music adds the perfect frantic energy.

FIDLAR - "Gimme Something" (from FIDLAR, due January 2013)



Speaking of retro, über-ironic FIDLAR brings a house party atmosphere laced with healthy sense of humor. Their video for "Gimme Something" claims, "Our friend found this video of us playing a couple years back. Back when cocaine was good for you." While the band pounds their way through the jangly rocker, the video splices footage of Credence Clearwater Revival (circa 1970) to match FIDLAR's track. It's a clever joke, but there's an ounce of truth as the band's guitar sound borrows a fair amount of Fogerty's tone.

Wax Idols - "Sound of a Void" (from Discipline & Desire, due March 2013)


We'll continue the retro run with a great, high energy post-punk jam on "Sound of a Void". The thick wave of rhythm guitar and bass packs the dynamic space as Hether Fortune's accusatory tone channels '80s angst amidst shards of angular fills. "Let's turn down the static world" -- Wax Idols build a delicious dark tension with echoes of Siouxsie Sioux and Romeo Void.

A. Chal - "Dirty Mouth" (from Ballroom Riots)


Back to the present - Our last single for the month is a tripped out electronic groove from A. Chal. He sets up "Dirty Mouth" with a sparse drum machine beat and shimmery washes of synth. The heart of the tune is a chopped and processed vocal line:

Dirty mouth and she just can't
Get it good to be on that
Daddy issues and cognac 

It's hard to tell if I got that second line right, but the moody chill of the mix implies that things probably won't end well. This is wonderfully evocative track, but it fades out way too soon to fully satisfy.
 

Recording review - The Soft Moon, Zeros (2012)

Darkwave updated with modern electronics

Imagine an alternate reality where Factory Records didn’t implode in 1992 but instead carried their trademark sound forward to the present day, a timeline where the darkwave sounds of Joy Division, New Order and Bauhaus matured and incorporated modern electronic music. The Soft Moon recorded Zeros with more than half an ear listening to that world’s music.

These songs resonate with the purest sonic elements of that classic, mid-80s period. The stark, treble toned drum sounds are filtered through the same tight reverb that adds its own touch of distortion. The bass lines have the same gaunt, hollowed out tone. Luis Vasquez even catches a lot of the same retro synthesizer sounds. More than that, Vasquez seems tapped into a similar dark headspace where the staccato beat and choppy bass create a Gothic misery. Philistines may hear the echoes of that period’s pretentious excess, but The Soft Moon never wallows in gloomy self-indulgence.

Despite the obvious reverence that the band holds for that era, they add their own twists, such as applying a modern production aesthetic and blending in a touch of Motorik drive. On "Machines", the droning synth and looped drum machine are pure Krautrock, but the bass riff sounds like it was lifted from an early New Order track. In a contemporary move, The Soft Moon turns away from period simplicity and layers in a full assortment of synth accents with a sharply stereo mix. The vocals are processed and low, so the words can’t be discerned but the alienation comes through.

With a touch of Bauhaus flair, "Insides" sets up a strong contrast between a pensive, controlled surface and chaotic depths. It feels like spying on the mind of a stalker. The bass and beat are purposeful and threatening, but the suggestive vocals lurk like an inner voice and the sharp, repeated notes signal a barely repressed tension. As the synth adds some more piercing tones, it’s a tasty frisson of fear that draws the song closer to action.

It is good, though, that Zeros doesn’t dwell completely in the past. "Die Life" starts with a venomous synth stab that creates an immediate tension. This intro transitions into a mechanically percussive groove. When that drops back to make room for the threatening vocals, the bass and drums still sound darkwave, but the speedier tempo leans more towards urgency than gloom. Sandpaper scratches, whirring and grinding machinery and electrical pulses interlock to weave a modern electronic rhythm.

A few songs later, the band once again relies on a complex Motorik beat for "Want". But this time the band ties the steady drive to a choppy, electronic sounding bass and creates a hypnotic trance feel. Dueling stereo percussion riffs set up a drop out break that could have used more space, but like the song says, “I want it/ Can’t have it.” A droning note comes in and climbs steadily, preparing for a climax. The sudden end of the track resolves nothing.

Little thwarted expectations like that make Zeros a more interesting album. The Soft Moon uses the dark proto post punk and Krautrock to make a statement, but they’re talking to their peers, not the past. Or maybe they’re just connecting with a parallel universe.

(This review originally appeared on Spectrum Culture)

CD review - Cut Off Your Hands, Hollow (2011)

Rooted in old school reverb and Smiths style post punk

Cut Off Your Hands seem like they've picked up their influences via long range osmosis. On Hollow, the New Zealand band evokes the Smiths and the Cure with their indie flavored post punk sound. They give it their own upbeat spin by dragging in some earlier sounds. The mix of up tempo rhythms and downbeat lyrics is less bipolar than "glad to be sad".

The Smiths element is largely based on some nice Johnny Marr style guitar arrangements and the thick sheen of reverb in the production, although I half think the title, Hollow, is a reference to the Smiths' Hatful of Hollow. Given some of the '60s pop aspects to the album, that wall of reverb could be more directly attributed to Phil Spector, who Johnny Marr also admired. The sound of a long, soft decay is like the band is trapped in amber or behind a glass wall. It creates a sense of distance, both sonic and emotional.

The shimmery guitar on Oh Hell rides the thick echoes much like some of Marr's work. The brief bits of sparkly notes on the bridge solo take me back. At the same time, the track has a more modern indie rock drum beat. The chorus falls back to a kind Supertramp-like lushness, filled out with harmony vocals.

On the other hand, frontman Nick Johnston's vocals are more Robert Smith than Morissey. Several of the songs bridge pop and post punk like the Cure's post Gothic phase. The opening track, You Should Do Better injects an uptempo, rolling snare beat, but it's not too far from Friday I'm In Love. The bass line is vintage Cure, as well. It's a strong start for Hollow. The lyrics and guitar hook are catchy without being fluff. As Johnston recounts his failings as a boyfriend, the beat moves on insistently.

Several tracks break the post punk pattern or at least extend it. The Beach Boys harmonies on By Your Side offer a retro sense of the '60s, filtered through Tom Petty chord changes.

Staying with the '60s vibe, Fooling No One kicks off with a strong Byrds feel: a driving beat and Roger McGuinn style guitar jangle. The thick reverb here takes on that Spector vibe, making the track sound ready for a vintage AM radio. The backing vocals are subtle but very interesting.

Despite the retro feel, this song offers the best sense of Cut Off Your Hand's voice. The pop sensibility and anthemic music are juxtaposed with resigned lyrics, settling into a hopeful middle ground. It fits in well with Hollow's consistent sound rooted in old school reverb and post punk.

CD review - Guano Apes, Bel Air (2011)

Hard rockers reunite to revive retro '80s sound

Guano Apes broke up 5 years ago and drifted in several directions. They've coalesced again and released Bel Air, not to pick up where they left off but to show us where they are today. While the German band's roots favored Euro metal, Bel Air fuses a hard rock drive with an '80s, post punk theatricality and modern pop aspirations.

This musical direction reflects lead singer Sandra Nasić's solo album The Signal (2007) the most, but it's also a natural outgrowth of Rain, from their first album, Proud Like a God.

Nasić's voice is the centerpiece. In contrast to Guano Ape's metal era, her vocals on Bel Air are unequivocally feminine, recalling Pat Benetar's husky strength. The opener, Sunday Lover, lays down a synth backed rock beat somewhere between Benetar and Missing Persons. The dynamics are well executed, with softer moments to emphasize the insistent drive.

This approach continues on Oh What a Night. Here, Nasić's voice combines with the modern rock drive to recall Heart's harder songs. The synth is lower in the mix, letting the guitars and solid drumming own the instrumental side.

The thrashier tracks on Bel Air hit my sweet spot. The edgy tension on She's a Killer's verses is sharpened by crunchy guitar throb and devil-may-care vocals. Tiger tosses away subtlety to pound out a punky, garage rock simplicity. All I Wanna Do starts with a pop sounding call to action before kicking off a Barracuda style punch.

Those songs aren't outliers on the album, but the overall sound favors a lush vocaled, post-rock sound integrated in with the hard rock. Guano Apes offer no irony, investing every note with theatrical intensity. Long-time fans might miss the solid metal drive from the past, but Bel Air is anything but soft. Vodka shooters all around.

CD review - Art Brut, Beautiful! Tragic! (2011)

Frank Zappa asked the musical question, "Whatever happened to all the fun in the world?" Finally, Eddie Argos and Art Brut have answered on Brilliant! Tragic!: it was here all the time. Art Brut's new album walks a line between pop punk thrash and post punk cool while majoring in dead pan observational humor.

Argos' hoarse, choked off vocal style works perfectly on tracks like Clever Clever Jazz. Everyone who's ever played in a band (or suffered through having a friend do so) can appreciate this sardonic take on artistic endeavors. "I'm still nervous on the way to the bar. We rehearsed the set in the back of the car" leads into "I hope my friends will come tonight, so they can see what I'm really like" which collapses into "You could say 'amateur hour' but you'd be wrong. We play for 9 minutes. We go two songs." The energy is driving and the playing is tight, which plays strongly against the tongue in cheek chorus:

Clever clever jazz, man
I'm sorry that it doesn't sound it's planned
Clever clever jazz, man
Can't you see we're doing the best that we can?
Stop shouting, "play what you know"
And let us get on with the show
Clever clever jazz, man
We' re working in a genre you don't understand

The biggest problem with Brilliant! Tragic! is that almost every song stands out. Catchy tunes, amusing lyrics, and perfect pop arrangements dominate the album. It's the kind of writing that plays to their audience's sense of cleverness, with not-too-obscure cultural references, and musical cues (like referencing the Stones' Satisfaction on Lost Weekend). Even if you tune it out and play it as background music, the songs are infectious. It's not particularly subtle as Argos emphasizes his sneering schlemiel persona, but it's all about headbanging fun.

Whether it's the polished garage rock of Sexy Sometimes ("Everybody want's to feel sexy sometimes. I can make it happen with a voice like mine") or the indie wail of Martin Kemp Welch Five A-Side Football Rules!, Art Brut invests themselves fully into each track. The thrash-fest love letter of Axel Rose is my favorite song. The execution is brilliant...and the subject is a bit tragic. "Nobody understands me or even comes close. Who've I got in my corner? Axel Rose".

The irony gets thick, but Art Brut has timed out Brilliant! Tragic! so they don't overstay their welcome. Forty minutes is short compared to the sprawl of some albums these days, but the band crams a lot in that time. The songs all sound different, which some pop punk bands can't seem to manage. The shorter run time means that you can start it over sooner and hear it all again.

Brilliant! Tragic! is due out May 24. As a bonus, Art Brut also has a separate new track, Unprofessional Wrestling, available for free download. Slam some ironically named shots and dive on in.

CD review - Eternal Summers, Prisoner (2011)

I shared a taste of Eternal Summers in my March Singles post, but they deserve another sample. The dream punk duo is releasing a new EP, Prisoner, in a couple of weeks on Forest Family/Kanine Records. The EP is a scant four songs, but they've also announced a scattershot of tour dates, including a West Coast sweep (see below).

The tracks on Prisoner are more lively than Safe at Home. Tight post punk grooves are flogged forward with thrashy guitars. The dreamy element comes from the girly ethereal pop vocals. Like sweet and sour or yin and yang, the complementary elements emphasize each others strengths. The choppy guitars and steady drumbeat seem poppier because of the nice simple harmonies. Similarly, the pretty, bouncy vocals pick up an edge from their post punk setting.

It's hard to remember sometimes that this is a duo. Nicole Yun's guitar lines are bass heavy and appropriately full sounding. The drive doesn't leave a lot of time to dwell on it, though; it just sounds like a stripped down band. Looking for comparisons, Eternal Summers sound most like early Liz Phair, maybe Glory (Exit From Guyville) or Dogs of L.A. (Whip Smart), but with less vocal spunk.

The verses in Cog lay down a straight pop vibe, but the staccato guitar on the chorus is where the song finds its feet. This leads well into the title cut, which cuts straight to the new wave vibe. The bass line is simple as sin, but just as compelling.

Child's Mind swirls in a power pop drive. Daniel Cundiff's drums are tight, setting a hectic pace. But there's still time to fit in some economical fills. Finally, the duo catches their breath with the lazy psychedelic start of Pure Affection. The vocals resonate in a dreamy haze as the guitar ebbs and swells. Imagine Julee Cruise singing for an indie rock outfit. Yun's voice is like sunlight glimmering through the trees. This sweet moment contrasts with the edgier rhythms of the other songs, but it's just as satisfying. Even without the choppy punch, Pure Affection has some strong dynamics as it teases with an indie pop bridge before subsiding back into the loose groove.

Catch Eternal Summers if you get the chance.

Eternal Summers tour info:

4/10 - Ottobar - Baltimore, MD *
4/11 - DC9 - Washington, DC *
4/15 - Record Release Party @ Glasslands - Brooklyn, NY %
4/16 - Cake Shop - New York, NY
5/18 - Beachland Tavern - Cleveland, OH $
5/19 - Magic Stick Lounge - Detroit, MI $
5/20 - Empty Bottle - Chicago, IL $
5/21 - 7th Street Entry - Minneapolis, MN $
5/22 - Aquarium - Fargo, ND $
5/24 - The Badlander - Missoula, MT $
5/25 - CRAFT House - Moscow, ID $
5/26 - Media Club - Vancouver, BC $
5/27 - Healthy Times Fun Club - Seattle, WA $
5/28 - East End - Portland, OR $
5/29 - San Francisco Popfest @ Hemlock - San Francisco, CA $
5/31 - Free Instore @ Origami (5pm) - Los Angeles, CA $
5/31 - Echo - Los Angeles, CA $
6/1 - Casbah - San Diego, CA $
6/4 - Chaos in Tejas - Austin, TX $
6/5 - Free Press Summer Fest - Houston, TX $
6/6 - The Saint - New Orleans, LA $
6/7 - The Nick - Birmingham, AL $
6/8 - The Earl - Atlanta, GA $
6/9 - The Milestone - Charlotte, NC $

* w/ Cloud Nothings
% w/ Dream Diary, Golden Dogs, and Lyonnais
$ w/ The Beets

Concert review - Wye Oak with Callers

2 April 2011 (Larimer Lounge, Denver CO)
Sonically, Wye Oak and Callers have staked out different ground. But even though Wye Oak offers more raw energy and catharsis than Callers, both acts feature a heightened truth in their performances. The subtle intensity of Callers contrasts with Wye Oaks enthusiastic drive, but fans of either band can appreciate the dynamics and depth of the other.

The house was fairly sparse when Callers took the stage, but filled out well by the end of their set. With no local opening act, the music didn't start until a little after 10:30.

Callers

I've been excited to catch Callers since reviewing their latest album, Life of Love. I was curious to hear how they would translate their rich, yet subtle studio sound to the stage. Life of Love is dreamy and introspective, so the risk is that their stage presence might be too inwardly focused. They dispelled any fears of that with their first song, by showing that they could channel their internal, centered energy without slipping into a shoe gazer performance.

They led off with Fortune, the title cut off their 2008 debut album. The song starts with drums and a bass line that recall the tightly controlled tension of Talking Heads' Psycho Killer. But instead of David Byrne's overly tight, edgy vocals dialing things up, Sara Lucas' voice soothed and caressed.

Throughout their set, Callers exploited the contrasts in their music. Their subtle playing hinted at a deeper power under its surface. The loose flow of the music fell out of the tight coordination of their parts. Each musician brings a vital element.

Don Godwin's drum playing framed the space of the tunes. His tom and kick work were thoughtful and intuitive, keeping the beat without needing to play each one. This jazzy approach allowed every stroke to decorate the open feel of the songs.

Ryan Seaton provided both the bass lines and much of the guitar for the songs. Seaton's finger style technique was amazing: his left hand stretching to lay down arpeggios while keeping the bass line moving and his right hand flurrying across the strings to pick both. Despite the heavy technique, Seaton's nuanced playing seemed to reflect his internal grasp of the music's soul.

That soul took shape from Sara Lucas' singing. Sounding like a succession of strong women singers from the past, Lucas went from lazy Phoebe Snow to powerful Joan Armatrading moments to give the songs a special depth. She brought a well deserved confidence to her parts as she also added keys or guitar to some of the songs. Her guitar playing meshed well with Seaton, accenting and filling out the sound on songs like Glow.

Together, the three assembled an elaborate balance of pieces into an effortless whole. A world of sonic textures and a loose, natural rhythm were ever present.

Their live sound showcased an even richer sense of dynamic than their studio work. Their Wire cover, Heartbeat, had a strong foot tapping start and then set up a tremendous sweep from dreamy mantra to a swirling wall of beautiful dissonance and back.

I also had a chance to talk with the band before the show and find out how down to earth and interesting they were.

Wye Oak

Wye Oak was a strong draw in Denver. The front row of the crowd were dedicated fans who sang along with every song. Like Callers, Wye Oak built a complex sound that seemed far larger expected from just a couple of musicians. Drummer Andy Stack usually reserved his left hand to play keyboard based bass lines and accents while he covered the rest of his rhythm parts. Guitarist/singer Jenn Wasner had a large dynamic range and dissonant approach that sometimes sounded like a couple of guitar parts at once. Wasner's singing style was different than Sara Lucas', but there was a similar expressiveness that fit well with the Callers' set.

Dissonance was a key element of Wye Oak's sound. While some of the songs began with an indie folk feel, by the second verse or so the distortion kicked up into a thick wall of sound. But this stayed in service to the music: the point was never to shock but rather express the inner turmoil or conflict of the song. Importantly, it wasn't over used. Wye Oak had a good sense of dynamic that allowed for raw, cathartic purging and earnest, confessional singing. The over all balance was more post punk than indie folk.

Jenn Wasner brought a brash energy to her playing and a deep honesty to her singing. She had a great stage presence: not chewing through the scenery but creating an electric spark as she bounced to her guitar slashes. Fully immersed in every song, Wasner was a master at using droning echo-laden guitar to set the mood. Her voice was strong and a little dark as she shifted from wistful to aching to assertive. She reminded me a bit of Chrissie Hynde from the Pretenders.

Andy Stack's versatility was astounding. With his left hand tied up playing keys, his other three limbs had to work extra hard on drums. His right foot worked the kick drum to cover some of the tom parts and his right hand covered cymbal and snare work. This wasn't quite the same as Rick Allen (the drummer from Def Leppard who lost his left arm) drumming approach, but it seemed similarly inspired by necessity. Stack was much more focused on playing rather than interacting with the crowd, but he and Wasner communicated well.

After Wye Oak's emotionally powerful show, I now plan to check out their studio work. They have a new album, Civilian, that came out last month.

It was a great couple of sets -- like a smoky scotch followed by brighter shot of rye whiskey.

More photos on my Flickr.

CD review - UNKLE, Only the Lonely (2011)

UNKLE has roots in trip-hop, but now the group is effectively a name for James Lavelle and his partners to produce collaborations with various alternative artists. Only the Lonely is a brief but exciting 5 song EP, featuring Nick Cave, Leila Moss (the Duke Spirit), Gavin Clark (Clayhill), and Rachel Fannen (Sleepy Sun). The April 4 release coordinates with an extended reissue of last year's Where Did The Night Fall. The new version is called Where Did The Night Fall – Another Night Out and features Only the Lonely and a host of other songs as a second disc.

Only The Lonely's music is a mix of electronically influenced post-punk dream pop. Psychedelia and synth pop melt into the thick stew of sound, too. Taken as a whole, there's a sense of moody desperation that kicks in on the very first track.

Take the Money and Run could be the soundtrack for a scene in a Guy Ritchie action flick like Snatch. The dark, droning foundation sets up a desperate energy while Nick Cave's vocal adds the perfect Gothic edge. There's a deconstructed blues vibe at the root, but the thrashy grind and Cave's detachment create a psychedelic intensity.

The tension continues in The Dog is Black. The rhythm drives the song relentlessly. Leila Moss evokes Siouxsie and the Banshees with her arch vocals. At the same time, the chorus sounds like a harder edged version of Running Up That Hill (Kate Bush). Moss's work with the Duke Spirit often hits this space, but the production is smoothed and layered, providing the right level of distance.

The moody instrumental title cut is a mildly psychedelic take on a synth pop jam. Updating a New Order sound, the beat is more uptempo and electric. Only the Lonely takes the time to develop, breathing between steady beat sections and looser, more resonant parts. There's also an ambient quality reminiscent of Brian Eno.

This leads well into the droning dreaminess of Wash the Love Away. Gavin Clark infuses the down tempo groove with languid Bono-style vocals. The rest of the music also fits the U2 mold. The backing vocals expands the sound into its own character.

The hazy dreaming continues on Sunday Song. Rachel Fannen's vocals sound like an up tempo Tori Amos, especially on the chorus. The music, though, maintains the electro post punk sound that pervades the rest of the EP. It's distant and introspective.

I love the way Only the Lonely takes such disparate collaborators and forges a consistent mood and sound. The EP's tension is wrapped in a sonic distance that gives it a soothing, meditative quality. Grab it from UNKLE's online store or spring for the full Where Did The Night Fall – Another Night Out reissue.

CD review - Asobi Seksu, Fluorescence (2011)

Last month I reviewed Asobi Seksu's single, Trails. I loved Yuki Chikudate's ethereal voice and the experimental post punk groove. This got me excited to hear their upcoming album, Fluorescence, due out February 15 (Polyvinyl Records). The new album delivers on the promise. Asobi Seksu shimmery sound is rooted in a dreamy mix of indie guitars, synthesizer swirl, and post punk pop. It's a tightrope balance of retro and modern elements.

Trails was a good choice for first single, since it's the strongest track. But the other cuts pull their own weight. The lead off jungle drumbeat of Coming Up kicks off Fluorescence. The indie guitars and synth pop sounds blend well, especially in the dappled sunlight bridge interlude.

Another favorite track was In My Head. It has a subtle, busy mix of elements. The sound is retro pop dreamy, but the arrangement is fairly tight. The many textures of guitars make this track: rising swells, staccato picking, sweet little fill riffs, and alternating waves of clean strums. The mix is dense, yet sounds effortless. Chikudate's sweet voice is key to this as well.

The long Leave the Drummer Out There is one of the more interesting tracks. The lyrics are simplistic and repetitious, but the song takes simple layered parts to build a thicker sound. The achingly beautiful vocals have sparkly echoes. The surprise is when the song seems about to end, but instead transforms into a softer sounding laid back interlude. The vibe shifts again, though, as it builds into a post punk, power poppu groove that flickers with psychedelic bits of guitar.

Asobi Seksu's melange of indie rock, synth, post punk, and dreaminess is a potent cocktail. While Yuki Chikudate's singing is a defining part of their sound, the rest of the band's contribution is just as strong. Fluorescence is an absolute treat.

Polyvinyl Records is releasing Fluorescence on CD, black vinyl, and transparent pink vinyl (limited press of 1500).