Recording review - Mazes, Wooden Aquarium (2014)

Energetic buzz and saturated colo(u)rs

Just as LSD differs from peyote, psychedelic bands each offer their own kind of trip. Syd Barrett’s earnest naïveté is worlds away from Thee Oh Sees’ sweaty swirl of garage echo and grind, and neither has much in common with the exotic sound of Dengue Fever’s Khmer-flavored surf. On Wooden Aquarium, Mazes goes for an upbeat, energetic buzz. More ecstatic dance than disoriented drifting, they keep the rhythm tight, but they never let their motorik focus become oppressive. The band’s post-punk drive infuses most of these tunes with a nervous energy, but it’s a sweet, anticipatory feeling.

Wooden Aquariums sets the pace early on with the paired opening tracks, “Astigmatism” and “Salford.” A brief, distracted guitar riff tosses out a chain of notes before dissolving into an insistent groove piloted by a steady-handed drummer and a nodding, hypnotic bass line. The guitar locks into place and Jack Cooper’s lyrical flow catches the mood, with a rolling cadence and ornate phrasing: “Oh, I want to see but I don’t know why/ But my optic nerve would lie/ It fades and blurs at the edges.” “Astigmatism” streams forward, zipping through a delightful back-masked guitar solo before reaching its finish line and stumbling to a halt. But there’s no real respite as “Salford” rises from the ashes and resurrects the first song’s rhythm line. This time around, out of sync vocals push the feeling into a spacier direction. The loose singing and clockwork beat play off each other and culminate in a thrashy punk ending, implying that détente has ended and it’s time to come to blows.

Mazes takes that cheery, altered-perception vibe and finds different forms of expression to get there again and again. They branch out from the initial restless-leg new wave beat to explore Supertramp-inspired pop-psych ( “Explode Into Colo(u)rs”), sunlight dappled trails (“It Is What It Is”), and detached but fraught alt-rock (“Universal Me”). The change-ups keep Wooden Aquarium from devolving into a navel gazing exercise. Instead, the experience turns outward, embracing a world of experience where colors are super-saturated and vivid.

Even through rose-colored glasses, a few tunes shine a little brighter. “Vapour Trails” offers a particularly nice mix. The calculated pace of the verses, accented by angular guitar grind, suggests Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks. This alternates with the looser bloom of the chorus, creating a balance between pensive thought and renewed resolution. The song is hardly sparse, but it has an innate simplicity, each part fulfilling its purpose without excess baggage or production trickery. Too often, heady groups get caught up in a “more is more” aesthetic, erecting rococo layers of detail to bedazzle the listener. Mazes rejects that formula, trusting that a mere pair of dependent guitar lines can create a sufficiently rich context. They avoid the sin of self-indulgence, refusing to surrender to fears that their tunes aren’t shiny enough.

If there’s a downside to this album, it’s that Mazes have assembled a motley mix of inspirations. Krautrock rubs elbows with Pavement and Guided By Voices, but even if the influences seem a bit obvious, the full impact carries the project. It comes back to the album’s pervasive upbeat feel. Each listen sets up the same openness and sense of conscious acceptance. The irony is that Mazes has every right to sound introspective on this record. Their recording sessions in upstate New York were snowed in, leaving them pretty well isolated as they pieced it together. Instead of succumbing to cabin fever, they launched out with a firm sense of direction.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Michael Franti & Spearhead, All People (2013)

Anti-depressant, feel-good pop

"What's so funny 'bout peace, love, and understanding?" (Nick Lowe)

It's hard to remember Michael Franti's bitter side, when his righteous anger vented with the Beatnigs, Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy, or even the early Spearhead albums. As he has crossed over into wider popularity, he's tamped down his indignation and embraced his inner neo-hippy. All People continues the trend away from political frustration and hard edges; now, he and Spearhead are extending deeper into jam pop and eclectically bringing in more modern electronic dance elements.

More than his anger, I miss the nuanced depth Franti brought to songs like "Crime To Be Broke In America", "Positive", "Gas Gauge (Tha World's In Your Hands)", and "We Don't Mind", all of which had emotion and strength. All People,which carries on the easy affirmation of 2010's The Sound Of Sunshine, feels more superficial by contrast to his earlier work. Franti says, "These songs are about the power of unconditional love," and Nick Lowe's right, there's nothing funny or wrong with that. The problem is that, while unconditional love is a beautiful idea, it's hard to write about it and avoid cliche or settling for blissed-out gratitude. As a result, the album's lyrical themes don't measure up to the musical arrangements, which benefit from partnering with external production. The differences between the self-produced tracks and those by The Matrix or Adrian Newman are pleasantly striking, but with the updated pop sound across the album, Spearhead's old school fans won't find much of the band's reggae and funk roots.

Spearhead draws that line early on, opening with the title song, where glistening electro-pop gilds the otherwise soulful track. Franti's acoustic guitar part follows the band's more recent formula, but the dance beat thump vies for domination. With an escalating synth line, the electronic half of the this cyborg track wins. As last flickering arpeggios fade, "11:59" comes in on the soulful chorus, "It's 11:59 and 59 seconds/ If I'm gonna die tonight I want heaven/ Hey-ey, hey-ey, with you." The Matrix contribution is obvious as the layers of detail build on top of the solid tension of the beat, but the first lines of hip hop verse reach back to Franti's older chops and characteristic cadence. His words shine a light on a multitude of ills facing the world, but keeping to All People's party line, he remains steadfast in his optimism. Given that the song is inspired in part by the Trayvon Martin killing, I'd rather see the peacenik facade drop a little, but this is still my favorite track.

The other song that collaborates with The Matrix, "On And On", is another standout. The big pop sound is packed with uplifting strings, filigrees of electronica, and lightly camouflaged Beatlesque turns. Franti's lyrics sound autobiographical as his verses step through touchstone moments in a laid back reinvention of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire". At some points, like when he name-drops the White Stripes, it sounds like he's downshifting his age to better connect with his current fan base, but his flow is smooth. On my first listen, I had a reactionary moment, "This isn't the Spearhead I know and love." But, on its own terms, the pure pop perfection transcends the idea that the band should be trapped in amber.

That mental shift provides a better perspective to appreciate All People, from the New Order infused synth-pop of "Closer To You" to the 'Tom Tom Club does reggae rap' feel of "Earth From Outer Space". In that more liberal view of the band, the positive tip they've always had has bloomed. Peace, love, and understanding may be hard to find in the real world, but that doesn't mean we should cynically reject them. Spearhead's philosophy might be a bit simplistic, but their album is packed with feel-good pop that sticks in your brain. The Sound Of Sunshine may have started this happy march to optimism, but as All People follows the same path, it's easy to envision a full audience singing along on tracks like "I'm Alive (Life Sounds Like)" or "Show Me A Sign".

CD review - Justin Levinson and the Valcours, This Side of Me, This Side of You (2012)

Optimistic acceptance and effortless hooks

Like Ben Folds and Fountains of Wayne, Justin Levinson has an intuitive sense for cheery, uptempo pop and effortless hooks. The production on This Side of Me, This Side of You is slick and polished to a shine that primarily reflects Levinson's singer-songwriter style and open personality. Where Folds or FoW can never resist throwing in their trademarked irony, Levinson delivers each track with a direct simplicity.

This imbues the album with an optimistic acceptance. Even when the songs wander familiar trails of breakups and loss, Levinson's breathy vocals never engage the pain. On Water Wears the Rock, the title line serves as a philosophical bandaid:

Love isn't what you thought
Because eventually the water wears the rock...

All the while, the music bounces to a retro poppy groove with hints of easy listening jazz. The bridge music builds into an affirmation that promises it will all work out, even if the lyrics aren't quite sure. The contrast suggests a Buddhist resolution, allowing for the conflict but not being tied to it.

My favorite track, You Became a Ghost, covers similar ground. The chorus talks betrayal but the music isn't burdened:

So cue the spot light and strike a pose
Blame the ones you love, hide behind your vintage clothes
In my darkest hour, when I needed you the most
You became a ghost

The synth strings soften the blows and the production almost sounds triumphant. This mix of light and dark seems to be Levinson's sweet spot.

For all of the poppy sweetness, Levinson's music has a nice depth to it, avoiding cliched 1-4-5 structures. So the songs stand up to repeated listenings. His band, the Valcours, don't inject a lot of personality to compete with the vocals, but like a good set of studio musicians, their competence and tasteful additions round out the arrangements. The songs aren't locked into a formula. One can pair a simple piano with a light Americana guitar and add a dusting of strings to set up a clean ballad feel (Let You Go). Another has the perfect jaunty bass and horns to match Levinson's vaudevillian vocals (I'll Be Ok).

Maybe Levinson is hiding his anguish, but his unapologetic cheer sounds fresh. Give him a listen and see what you think.

CD review - Terror Pigeon Dance Revolt!, I Love You...(2010)

The full title of the new Terror Pigeon Dance Revolt! album is I Love You. I Love You. I Love You And I'm In Love With You. Have An Awesome Day! Have The Best Day Of Your Life!, which serves as fair warning: the songs all have a stream of consciousness feel with little filtering. TPDR has an earnest sense of naivete in their lyrics and vocal intonation that recalls They Might Be Giants or Freelance Whales. The effect is quirky, but pleasantly engaging.

Each track on I Love You... is centered around the vocals. The music is low fi, with most songs sounding crowded with keyboard layers over a simple beat. There are no leads or much in the way of melodic changes, so the album occasionally takes on a sort of electronic dance music feel. The vocals are often free sounding group chants with repeated phrases. The combination is somewhat experimental, but the band is so open, that you get pulled in, wanting to hear more. There's a joyous feel, even when the lyrics don't really fit that mood, giving TPDR an optimistic vibe.

The opening song, Snakebites, starts out with a They Might Be Giants approach. It's weird and a little bit dorky:

Someday we’ll explode.
We’ll be tiny particles soaring through the air
Away from the problems and it'll be fine.
It will be fine.

As the tempo picks up and the layers of music build, the lyrics become the singer's attempt to win back his lost love. The musical contrast lets the song avoid any whiny feel. This is interesting because TPDR seems so offhand about the music, but it buoys the song perfectly.

My favorite track is the affirmation, iotdwykiyhtbr ("It's okay to do what you know in your heart to be right"). The music is reflective as the group chants the title line repeatedly. The repetition builds, with cross-chanting and riffed lyrics in an improvised jam. The vocals here sound like some of Too Much Joy's work. Falling into chaos, the chant shifts to:

You're allowed to be scared, you're allowed to be frightened
But we're almost there, we're nearly enlightened.

The improvisational flow is sort of like a vocal drum circle: everybody finds their little niche to fill and use as a meditational focus.

This is followed by the unfiltered lines of My Favorite Hair. The contrast between the earlier uplifting song and this gushing plea for attention is stark. Despite the rhymes, the lyric here is delivered in a long free form stream. The music takes on a bit of a Supertramp sound, but it's so direct, personal, and soulful.

I Love You... is full of positivity and fun, which makes it a great summer time album. Pour some raspberry lemonade and feel young.

(Their MySpace page has some songs and here's their first single, Ride Friendship.)