Recording review - Tree Machines, Tree Machines (2015)

Diffident emotion can't quite stick

^2.5/5.0

Humor me for a moment as I take us back to the early ‘90s and revisit alternative darlings Blind Melon. If it weren’t for 1993’s “No Rain” catching fire on MTV, they probably would have sunk without a trace, but that single pushed their eponymous debut album into everyone’s CD collection. I still have it myself and it’s a decent album. Personally, though, it hasn’t turned out to have true staying power. Maybe if lead singer Shannon Hoon hadn’t died of a drug overdose, they might expanded their sound and impact, but his voice -- plaintive and a bit self-absorbed -- is what anchored their songs, and that alone is just not enough to push it into my rotation anymore.

The problem with Tree Machines’ debut EP is that it’s an indie pop version of Blind Melon, without the hyped single to pump it up. It’s easy to draw the comparison because Douglas Wooldridge’s disengaged whine seems to favor Hoon’s distinctive tone, but it’s also due to a similar songwriting style where the songs get wrapped up in themselves and shut out the rest of the world. Like Blind Melon, Tree Machines create some dreamy moments, but their songs don’t really connect, much less stick. Wooldridge imparts some emotion, but it’s delivered in an offhand, diffident way, lacking urgency or immediacy. As a result, these songs don’t make enough of a statement to rise above the already familiar sound.

"At the Wheel" is a perfect example, because it borrows from Blind Melon with a dram of Jane's Addiction thrown in for good measure. Wooldridge turns in one of his stronger emotional performances with lots of overwrought slurring and the arrangement is theatrical with thick reverb and cymbal wash accents. The hazy music and moody lyrics have a lot of potential; if they had accentuated the contrast between calmness and threat, this could have evoked a sense of sleep paralysis or a dream state of being powerless in the face of fate and trauma. The band shoots for this, with the words painting the shadowy part of the picture while the music remains almost idyllic, channeling a blend of The Youngbloods' "Get Together" and "If You Could Read My Mind" by Gordon Lightfoot. But any tension from the dark imagery is undercut as Wooldridge settles with, "It's dark out here / But I feel no fear at all." The swell of noise at the end is the best part, but it comes too late to add any real weight and I’m left wondering what the point was.

The best songs on Tree Machines come late in the playlist. "The Fire" summons more energy and features the most interesting arrangement here with a strong bass line and nice electronic touches in the background. The song also delivers some good dynamic swings, although the vocals blunt the power with dragged out syllables buried in echo. Still, if the whole album had been like this, it would have been something to get excited about. Similarly, "Black and Blue" effectively balances soft and loud sections to make a bigger impact, and it  features more interesting instrumentation.

Even if Tree Machines is a bit of a disappointment, I’m not ready to write the band off yet. Those two peak moments suggest that they do have some more promising directions to explore.

Recording review - KDH, Piedmont Rose (2015)

Kaleidoscopic swirl of psych pop, rich bass, and acid etched guitars

^4.25/5.0

Bands don’t form in a vacuum; the best ones build on their inspirations and find their own signature voice. KDH (AKA Kill Devil Hill) come to the table with a distinctive mix of ‘60s psychedelic pop, sharp power pop, and a strong current of alternative rock. The songs on Piedmont Rose feature all of those influences, but jiggered together in a constantly shifting balance. The kaleidoscopic swirl.of styles tosses out one intriguing surprise after another, but the changes are rarely jarring. In large part, that’s due to Alex Smith’s rich bass work, which stands forward in the mix, leading the way. Smith is a relatively busy player, but his lines are tightly woven with the guitars.

It only takes four and a half minutes to become a true believer. “Beloved Devote” leads off the album and it shows just what kind of ride KDH can offer. The opening guitar strum sets up a riff lifted from The Rembrandts’ “I’ll Be There For You” (AKA the Friends theme), along with a hyperactive tom tom pulse. The bass jumps in with earnest and kicks Friends to the curb in favor of a mod power pop drive with the classic rock posturing of The Guess Who’s “American Woman”. Smith’s bass alternates between steady simplicity and looser excursions. The song drops back into the chorus with the title tag, “Beloved devote, Beloved devotion,” which boomerangs off into a new wave bridge that sounds like The Pretenders crossed with The White Stripes. After locking into a series of staccato chord jabs, the song cycles back into the opening riff. After all of the quick tempo punch of the first three minutes, the band finally relaxes into trippy freefall to catch their breath, but it’s a modest pause as they dive into a couple of hard rocking guitar solos to push to the end. There’s a natural flow from one moment to the next and familiar sections flash back, but the evolution of the song is more in keeping with a longer, more expansive piece.

“Time to Die” follows up with a similarly novel arrangement. It starts with some country-tinged rock guitar playing that would be right at home on The Rolling Stones’ "It’s Only Rock n Roll (But I Like It)", but soon enough it falls into a hard rocking avalanche and Smith’s bass slips into a Krautrock throb. The song will eventually run through psychedelic folk, moody rock, and acid etched guitar rock before crashing into a speedy ramp up ending. Where “Beloved Devote” had a plastic sense of genre, this tune ups the ante with strong tempo changes.

The sweetest track on Piedmont Rose is the instrumental, “Lettuce Rest (Appalachian Spring)”, which starts out with a mellow, jazzy vibe. The slow fade in wash intro reminds me a little of Copeland's piece, but that doesn't really justify the sub-title. Instead, it references other more modern songs like Supertramp’s “Goodbye Stranger” and Alice Cooper's "Only Women Bleed". Once again, the bass is stunning with warm, open ended lines. In contrast to the earlier song arrangements, the course here is to ramp up the tempo and reiterate through the changes until it snowballs. At peak intensity, the tune falls into a repeated descending bass riff that's ornamented with broken shards of shadowy guitar klaxon. which eventually subsides into a disjointed, restive finish.

Aside from Smith’s stellar bass work, the band’s new guitarist, Ian Lockey, invigorates the album with strong contributions on the thrashing centerpiece, “Ratchets”. Long time members Drew Taylor (guitar) and Leen Hinshaw (drums) round out the group. Piedmont Rose is a testament to how well all of these guys have collaborated to create an album that never rests on a single point, but still maintains a consistent energy and tone. What pushes this up a notch is how well they transcend the scattered musical allusions they casually drop.

What's cool - They Might Be Giants, Erase

Not yet available on wax cylinders

In my mental map of musical genres, They Might Be Giants is almost alone in the category of "alternative steampunk". That is to say, their music has a kind of temporal dissonance that is hard to pin down to a real era, they are unselfconsciously nerd-core, and ultimately, they take their amusement extremely seriously. John Linnel and John Flansburgh struck a nerve for two big reasons: their quirky songs offer a delightful novelty and they manage to convey a sincerity that touches their audiences.

Starting back in the early '80s, they shared a wild mix of unreleased music through their Dial-A-Song service, which got its start as a bizarre way to promote the band. The service migrated to the web at dialasong.com back in 2000 and the original number was disconnected in 2006 or so. The idea of making a long distance call to get a random bit of music was strange enough when it started, but now seems completely quaint. But after years of relying on more normal online channels to connect with their fans, TMBG has resurrected the Dial-A-Song service, promising a new song a week for all of 2015. Drop by the website to listen, or you can call (844) 387-6962 for the classic, lo fi experience. This has already garnered new attention for the band, but it's just the kind of oddball move that fits in with their aesthetic.



The inaugural song is "Erase", which has that classic TMBG sound. It's a solid alt-rocker, with off-beat guitar stabs that contrast against the solid driving beat. They deliver the dark lyrical theme with bravado, happily contemplating a world where the unpleasant past can be casually erased, "When your heartbreak overrides the very thing you cannot face." Of course, it's the inevitable collateral damage that underlies that comforting thought.

Recording review - Thurston Moore, The Best Day (2014)

Meditative drones and thrashing dissonance - a return to electric form

In the beginning was not the word, but a drone: a tone to form the backdrop for all the sounds that followed. Some of those later voices may vie for attention, assert their individuality against the cosmic hum, but eventually they surrender and rejoin its embrace. The Best Day is a celebration of that drone and the rich textures that surround it. While Sonic Youth long used feedback and resonance to build cathartic walls of ecstatic noise, Thurston Moore distills that approach here to create a set of sonic meditations.

Amid the rich jangle of alternate tunings and ringing dissonance, it would be easy to imagine this as a new Sonic Youth album, to pretend that the band was back together. The Best Day breaks from Moore’s last couple of solo records where he explored cleaner acoustic guitar tones, and this project is certainly closer to Sonic Youth’s 2009 finale, The Eternal, than Moore’s Demolished Thoughts (2011). Even so, Moore isn’t trying to recreate the past or falling into old habits. More than just missing Kim Gordon’s distinctive voice and bass work, this music has a different intent. Where Sonic Youth harnessed chaos and cleansing discord for its own sake, Moore captures an idée fixe spawned from static and nervous energy and nurtures it until it transcends its roots. Just as the Velvet Underground painstakingly created their own musical language to convey their experiences —a burning itch, a seductive languor, or a glimpse of oblivion—Moore uses his guitar to search for the patterns that express his current mental space, with ideas like the acceptance of outside forces and the release of expectations. Sonic Youth fans have already trained themselves to surrender to the swirl, and they’ll find plenty to enjoy here, but The Best Day is ultimately more coherent and less nihilistic than the band’s classic material.

The first track, “Speak to the Wild”, invokes the album’s meditative mood with opening harmonic chimes that invite us to center ourselves. Then the song launches into the rhythmic two-cycle flow of the verse: strumming broken by brief pauses, the guitars providing the focusing breath. Moore’s terse lines have a Zen clarity (“Remove your rings/ And meet us near the fire/ Extinguish things/ Of earthly desire”) immediately followed by cryptic allusion (“The King has come to meet the band”). The guitars are arranged as foreground and background voices that are locked into near unison and the piece has plenty of open space to let them ring. The solo break is restrained, starting with simple phrases against a buzzing drone, and then it slides into a staccato meandering riff before locking into a crystalline Robert Fripp-style section. The intensity builds but finally collapses into a variation on the chimes from the start. Instead of signaling the end, the song kicks off all over again to remind us that time is a cycle and everything repeats.

As The Best Day develops, Moore varies the sonic palette, but the album maintains a taut drive that never allows for complacency. They aren’t all as meditative as the first couple of songs; the title track, for instance, leaps between a thrashy deconstruction of jug band music and a motorik, upbeat alt-rocker. But the shift in tone still isolates a clearly identified mood to settle into. While most of these tunes take their time to fully soak into the listener’s consciousness, there is one tight little morsel that doesn’t even reach three minutes. “Detonation” would have fit well on The Eternal, with sloganeering lyrics and a snappy new wave edge. The contrast between the jabbing verses and the accelerating instrumental spiral creates a strange sense of disconnection for such a short tune. While this fun bit of fluff easily fits into Moore’s oeuvre, it feels a bit out of place in this context. If nothing else, though, it provides a counterbalance that shows how well the rest of the album holds together.

If “Detonation” is the shallowest point, the peak is the seven-minute instrumental, “Grace Lake”. First, a fluttering sprinkle of notes proves that Moore’s acoustic experiments were worthwhile as they suggest the glint of sunlight on the lake surface. In counterpoint, a purposeful motif arises, giving the song direction. The band effortlessly navigates through a series of changes, accreting momentum and meaning along the way. Finally, they break through a barrier, moving the track into full-on psychedelia. The bass throbs, fractured delay-box echoes gurgle, and a guitar hangs on a single, modulating tone. As it swells into feedback whine and everything else slips away, it’s like we’re at the beginning of everything. This is Moore’s love song to the everlasting drone. Then the spell breaks and we’re back on the lake, but the memory of that tone lurks at the edges, like background radiation.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Cheatahs, Cheatahs (2014)

Shallow reading of retro shoegaze - not bad, but not enough

I may be a little out of touch – does ProTools have simple push-button production filters for classic sounds of the past? Instagram has settings for 1970s snapshots (1977) and washed out Polaroids (Earlybird), so it’s not that far-fetched to imagine virtual knobs for dialing in “1983 new wave” or “metal power ballad”. If it were that simple, it would explain why Cheatahs have saturated their sound with “late ‘80s British shoegaze”, maybe tempered with a light dusting of ”early ‘90s alt rock”. Their eponymous debut leads off with a brief flirtation with feedback that serves as a prelude to the first real song on the album, “Geographic”. This muffled, low-fi wash of sound liberated from Teenage Fanclub serves as an introduction to what you’ll be listening to for the next 45 minutes. If you’ve ever stepped out for a smoke break while a thrashy wall-of-guitars band is pounding through their set, this is what you’d hear from the sidewalk. It’s thick and compressed, packed with echo and distortion. This is not a bad thing. The parts can all be distinguished and they fit together well. Nathan Hewitt’s voice has a nice mix of rawness and whispery intimacy and it’s not completely buried by the self-absorbed guitars or urgent beat. True to Cheatah’s inspirations, the guitars offer a spectrum of textures: detuned jangle, chiming tones, crunching down-strokes and light howls. I decide that I like them, but the sense of déjà vu keeps me from committing fully.

The song ends a bit suddenly, but the next track, “Northern Exposure”, attempts distraction with a jarring guitar strum that echoes from somewhere deep within a tin-walled warehouse. Soon enough, we’re underway again and this is the moment I distinctly fall out of love with Cheatahs. This piece is completely different – new riffs, a fresh set of chord progressions and a more earnest vocal tone – and yet the song remains the same. Just like everyone’s Instagram photos come to be indistinguishable, the production is so lovingly heavy handed that it pancakes the band’s character into two dimensions. The light variations in tempo and rough sonic color never quite grant the tunes enough zing to stand out. It’s interesting that one of the tracks, “The Swan”, dates back to the band’s SANS EP from late 2012. Packaged here along with the newer material, it demonstrates an aesthetic continuity in how little they’ve evolved.

The band draws particularly heavily on My Bloody Valentine, especially the album Loveless (1991), but they don’t really understand their source. Cheatahs locks onto the thick smear of sound of tracks like “When You Sleep” or “Come In Alone”, but where Loveless was full of Kevin Shields’ idiosyncratic character and perhaps flawed artistic vision, this album meanders from one hazy thicket of muddy fuzz to another. It’s frustrating, because there are plenty of moments that do click: a tsunami of resonating distortion crashes over ringing strings or a dynamic breath of tom-tom inhale and kick drum exhale is accompanied by the labored panting of guitar crunch. But those high points aren’t anchored to pieces that connect. After several times through the album, it’s clear that the songs aren’t bad, they just melt together. Maybe by their sophomore effort, Cheatahs will develop some more depth or at least learn how to throw a change-up.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Uncle Tupelo, No Depression (Legacy Edition, 2014)

Spawning a genre and mining musical truth

It’s a bittersweet pleasure to listen to Uncle Tupelo’s debut album No Depression with 24 years of hindsight. You can hear the band discovering themselves and developing their sound. It’s a snapshot from before the rancor set in. Their label, Rockville Records, hadn’t screwed them yet and the power struggle between Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy still lay ahead. Even though the acrimony and split would lead to Farrar’s Son Volt and Tweedy’s Wilco, each of which have made some great music, it’s painful to listen to the band bare themselves in these raw songs and think of what would follow. Their simple sincerity and naïveté made this big impact that the band itself could not outlast and their debut remains fresh and relevant. No Depression captures the beginning of a groundswell that had its roots in the cow punk sounds of X, the Blasters and the Beat Farmers. Tempered by firmer leanings toward folk rock and country, this album has been largely credited with spawning a new genre that never came up with a good enough name; alt-country, Americana or the eponymous “No Depression” have all sat in as labels, but none quite satisfy. Less than a name, it all comes down to the music and attitude.

This is not the first time the album has been reissued. In 2003, after the band had recovered their rights to their albums from Rockville, Uncle Tupelo re-released them with Columbia/Sony Legacy. The 2003 version tacked on some covers and alternate recordings along with liner notes from drummer Mike Heidorn. This Legacy Edition is geared for the completest fan. It includes two CDs loaded with 35 tracks. In addition to all of the songs on the last reissue, it includes the full set of songs from their 1989 demo, Not Forever, Just for Now, along with several songs from their 1987 cassette demo, Colorblind and Rhymeless. Although that seems like a lot, most of the demo material consists of earlier versions of the same set of songs. Although No Depression benefited from production work by Sean Slade and Paul Q. Kolderie, there wasn’t a lot of record label interference to reshape the tunes from the band’s demo. Not Forever, But for Now made such a strong impression, that most of the changes were in the mixing and engineering, with a few instrumentation tweaks. The downside is that these demos don’t generally shed a lot of light on the group’s development. Still, Slade and Kolderie did tone down some of the rootsy elements and give many of the songs a heavier drive.

In particular, they did a fine job of capturing Farrar’s weathered voice and fattening the songs with a stronger bass response. Comparing the opening track, “Graveyard Shift”, with its 1989 demo version, the two follow the same arrangement, but Farrar’s performance has more emotional depth on the album recording and Tweedy’s bass line jumps out. The title cut shows a bigger difference. The album take is a simple folk rendition, with Farrar slurring his way through the words like Shane MacGowan of the Pogues. By contrast, their demo digs down into a front-parlor bluegrass feel, with banjo and crowd harmonies.

But it’s “Whiskey Bottle” that shows the producers’ heaviest influence. The song opens with the sweet lowing of pedal steel guitar following the acoustic progression. It’s the strongest track on the album, belying the title completely. No depression? Hardly. This is a song about hitting bottom and dealing with the damage. Farrar wearily lays out his situation, “Persuaded, paraded, inebriated, in doubt.” But the chorus is defiant with cathartic distortion as he growls, “A long way from happiness/ In a three-hour-away town/ Whiskey bottle over Jesus/ Not forever, just for now.” The dynamic drop from overdriven chorus to singing steel guitar verses is perfect. The 1989 demo is also powerful, but doesn’t hit as hard. On the album, Slade and Kolderie chose to swap out Farrar’s harmonica for pedal steel, which was an interesting choice. The silky smoothness adds a patina of distance where the harp is more wistful and overtly maudlin. The tempo on the demo is also a bit more hesitant. On their own, Uncle Tupelo evokes some of Bruce Springsteen’s respect for a lowly, everyman character. The album take sharpens the emotional load by tightening the arrangement and coaxing a stronger performance. The live acoustic version, which was included on the 2003 release, leans towards the demo, so this isn’t a completely new revelation. But hearing the difference between the demo and album shows how, even though both are playing the hard chorus against the vulnerable verses, the album production nails that dynamic punch.

Aside from all the alternate versions filling out the second disc, there are a pair of tracks that haven’t been associated with No Depression before. The first is the raucous “I Got Drunk”, presented here in three flavors: the 1990 single, the 1989 demo take and the 1987 cassette version. The bigger surprise is the psychedelic instrumental, “Pickle River”, from Colorblind and Rhymeless. It’s an odd outlier from Uncle Tupelo’s canon. As a part of that earliest demo, it was probably intended to indicate a greater range of what the band could do.

Listen to the two CDs in order or playlist them together to hear the songs evolve over the three years of recording. Either way, No Depression still stands as an iconic album. But it’s not so important what came out of it – the alt-country genre, inspiration for other acts or spin-off bands – instead, it’s all about what Uncle Tupelo sought out and accomplished. They blended the grounded sound of country and folk with restless rock energy to find a musical truth. Not forever, just for now.

(This review first appeared in Spectrum Culture)

Concert review - Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks with Tyvek

Wednesday 12 February 2014 (Gothic Theatre, Denver CO)

This was a mid-week show, which limited the attendance a bit. The openers played to a thin crowd, but the venue filled up by the time the Jicks came out.

Tyvek

Step one for rock show domination: soften up the crowd a little. Detroit punk trio Tyvek took on the task with ferocity. Despite the sparse crowd, they thrashed their hardcore hearts out. While the rhythm section held down the throbbing darkness and frantic beat, frontman Kevin Boyer flailed away at an old Silvertone guitar that had been to Hell and back.

Boyer provided most of the dynamic for the band, nervously pacing and making sure that every screaming note was physically wrenched from his guitar. Although the bass and drums were more introverted, drummer Beren Elkine brought a tight focus to her playing, making every heavy strike count.

The audience swelled over the course of their set, but seemed patient enough to appreciate the fresh young blood and their noisy assault.

Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks

The obvious second step for control of the show would be for Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks to come out and ride Tyvek's energy, maybe digging deep in their back catalog for something suitably punchy, like “Dark Wave” from 2003’s Pig Lib. Instead, the band followed a Jujitsu strategy and led off with “Tigers”, a quirky pop gem from their last album, Mirror Traffic (2011). From there, they quickly moved into material from their newest release that came out in January, Wig Out at Jagbags. Over the course of the show, they’d eventually play most of that album, only skipping a couple of tunes (“Chartjunk” and “Surreal Teenagers”). The new material continues tempering the wilder experimentation of the band’s earlier work, but that shouldn’t be mistaken for formulaic dullness. While the studio versions are polished, their live arrangements took plenty of liberties with the songs to transform them, whether by slipping into jam band digressions or letting the solos drift off the reservation into off-kilter dimensions. That was most evident on their performance of “J Smoov”; it captured the recording’s restrained ballad feel, beginning with a similar jazzy guitar intro, but the second solo mutated the piece with a trippy post-rock jam of heavily echoed guitar and dreamy keyboards.

It’s become a common refrain to note that Malkmus has been playing with the Jicks for longer than he was with Pavement. All of that time could explain why he seemed so much more relaxed and content on stage in Denver, but the more likely reason was that he has created a perfect home for himself with the Jicks. Rather than a posturing as a rock god, he was content to shrug into the role of ironic slacker.

His stage patter was improvised and occasionally awkward, but delivered with equal amounts of sincerity and nervous diffidence. He had clearly picked up on some local character, so he could strain for connection with the crowd, “Cherry Creek is cool. Do you all skateboard there?” Of course, it was arch enough to showcase the irony. Still, Malkmus was most comfortable in the middle of a song, whether bouncing on his toes to the beat or slinging his guitar behind his head for a flashy solo. As the controlling pivot point in the band, he could abandon himself in spinning angular riffs or spiral in on an echoing melody, confident that the other players would provide the structure and the balance.

This doesn’t mean that they were delegated to mere supporting roles, though; the other three musicians each made strong contributions to the show. Aside from Joanna Bolme’s solid bass work – she anchored the dangerous shadows of “Shibboleth” and drove the time signature changes on “Spazz” – she had a strongly grounded presence, offering the occasional sarcastic remark or well-timed flash of amusement as commentary.

Opposite Malkmus on the stage, the versatile Mike Clark effortlessly shifted from guitar to keys, often during the same song. He maintained a casual aplomb whether locking in with Malkmus on intricately aligned twin guitar leads or contributing a fluid synth run. He also added his own humorous touches. At the end of the closing song, “Forever 28”, the band was winding down and Clark shifted his keyboard part into the familiar changes for Styx’s “Come Sail Away”. Drummer Jake Morris immediately picked up on this and started to sing the refrain, inspiring the crowd to join in. Morris had already provided most of the backing vocals during the set.

The encore featured “Asking Price” and “Stick Figures In Love”. which Malkmus described as their own two-song equivalent to “Come Sail Away”. Then they covered Steve Miller’s “Swingtown”, building it into a Southern-fried jamfest. The last entry on the set list just said “Pavement”, which was another sign that Malkmus has come to terms with his old band. For this night, they rocked their way through “Box Elder”. With the crowd clamoring for more, the band had a quick meeting to pick one last song to close out this first show of the tour. They took their positions and counted it out. The whole hall recognized “Baby C’mon” from the opening riff and swayed along. It was a perfect “Happy Ending” from the Jicks.



More photos on my Flickr.

Concert review - Surfer Blood with Team Spirit and Andy Boay

16 October 2013 (Larimer Lounge, Denver CO)
This was my fourth time this year to see Team Spirit play. I caught two sets at SXSW and interviewed the band and then I saw them open for Peace in June. I guess my next step will be to follow the tour van to Salt Lake City or wherever. It was great to see them again and catch up on the changes. Compared to Peace, Surfer Blood was a much better fit. The headliner had a more dynamic stage presence and thrashy flair that complemented Team Spirit's over-the-top energy.

Andy Boay

The only clue I was offered was to imagine Laurie Anderson jamming with a Led Zeppelin 12-string. I had never heard the opening act, Andy Boay, the alter-ego of Montreal's Andy White before catching his surreal performance. With a small table in front of him, covered in technology, he hovered in the darkness. The only stage lighting was a projected pattern splashing off his face to hit the ceiling.

The Laurie Anderson connection quickly became clear as he pitch-shifted his voice, looping it into thick layers of harmonized sound. A drone synth note slipped into alarm tones as he wove his vocals into heavy curtain of noise. As he took a moment to strap on his 12-string, the wall of sound was relentless. I expected him to add a chiming guitar cacophony to the mix, but instead, he scattered a sweet spray of notes. A touch of organic spirit within the electronic machine.

He writhed and grimaced, caught in some kind of artistic seizure. It was a highly stylized, experimental noise-fest, with little direct crowd interaction, but the audience was remarkably attentive.

Team Spirit

I arrived at the Larimer Lounge in time to hear the soundcheck drifting outside the venue. "MRDR It's Ok" sounded as tight as ever. The doors hadn't opened yet, but frontman Ayad Al Adhamy stepped out a little later and walked over to say hi. Almost immediately, he broke the news that he had lost his other bandmates and had drafted some friends to keep Team Spirit rocking. Rock 'n' roll lineups can be as ephemeral as fashion, but there's always a worry about losing the chemistry. Fortunately, the new team quickly ramped up and found their places without disrupting the core sound of the band.


The roster includes Kieren Smith on lead guitar, Daniel Domingo de Lara on bass, and drummer Alex Russek. I had heard de Lara and Russek before, when they played on Emil & Friends' Lo & Behold (2011 - review here), but Team Spirit is a far cry from gentler pop sound of that band. No problem: Russek's precise, energetic drum work seemed to push the tunes even a bit harder than before and de Lara covered the bass with ease. Smith's guitar style is somewhat edgier than Cosmo DiGuilio's, but he still nailed the dual guitar riffs at the heart of Team Spirit's sound.


Russek kicked off the show with an extended drum beat that thundered as Al Adhamy greeted crowd before it all settled into a speedy version of "Teenage Love". During the breakdown, "Oh, Baby, come here and move closer/ It's ready to spark away/ My head's spinnin', is it supposed to?/ Relax, breathe in, and walk away," Smith ornamented the spaces between lines with a looser set of riffs, asserting his own voice for the piece.


As always, the set was too short, even thoughTeam Spirit had time to nail the tracks from their EP and a couple of extras. Al Adhamy was in great form, reacting to a larger crowd than he had during their last visit here. As the band kicked off an uptempo "Jesus, He's Alright!", he exuberantly vaulted down off the stage and into the crowd. Surrounded by his fans, camera flashes in his eyes, and ringing guitars in his ears, Al Adhamy was perfectly in his element.

Surfer Blood

I caught part of a Surfer Blood set at SXSW earlier this year, where they were one of the much-hyped bands of the festival. They had a solid sense of themselves, anchored by frontman John Paul Pitts' matter-of-fact demeanor. They looked a bit fresher at this show than they did at SXSW. After setting up their equipment, they ran through a quick soundcheck, laying down some driving, classic sounding grooves and twinned guitar instrumentals before stepping backstage to regroup for the official set.


The band led off with the instrumental "Neighbour Riffs", which featured a throbbing post-punk bass line and chiming guitars. When the two guitars came together and executed the rapid-fire melody line, it was a thing of beauty. They jumped from that into another older track, "Twin Peaks". Pitt's earnest vocal and simple singing imbued the pop groove with a high school, garage-band innocence. The music split the difference between late '60s San Francisco pop and XTC's quirky new wave, with maybe a hint of They Might Be Giants in the guileless delivery. The mix favored the instruments over the vocals, though, so the tunes lost some of their impact.


The contrast between Pitts and Al Adhamy was striking. Each defined the presence of their band, but where Al Adhamy surrendered to the thrashy joy of the music, Pitts remained more focused. He took his own jaunt into the audience to sing "Take It Easy", making it more of a stroll than an ecstatic rite as he explored the far corners of room. He sang clearly and calmly, but the music sometimes jangled and jostled against that control. He could cut loose on his Strat but still maintain that balance to his singing. Pitts' go-to stage move was a brief, pro-forma pick scrape up the guitar neck, delivered with deadpan irony.


Near the end of their set, Surfer Blood launched into my favorite track, "Demon Dance", the lead single of their latest album, Pythons. Pitts sang like Morrissey on anti-depressants while the band laid in the harmonies and made the dynamic leaps before they all slid into the heavy grind section of the song. After that, they filled the stage with dancers from the audience for "Swim" and one final tune before walking off. The crowd chanted, "One more song!" for a few minutes until the band came back out to give them another three before calling it a night.

More photos on my Flickr.

Recording review - Califone, Stitches (2013)

A search for meaning finds only an occasional touch of chaotic noise

As the famous phrase goes, some men just want to watch the world burn, not necessarily out of malevolence, but sometimes because they never let themselves hope for anything more. On Califone’s new album, Stitches, front man Tim Rutili makes this explicit on “Frosted Tips”: “In the old, watching the new world die.” His voice is resolute, if a bit detached; swept along by a powerful tide, all he can do is observe. By the end of the tune, he seems to be pleased about the impending destruction. The song rides through a glitched out interlude before he closes on a memento mori mantra, “Bee-stung lips, your frosted tips are never growing out.” Like many of the other tracks, the tune appropriates a ton of Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot vibe, mixing a forthright simplicity with undercurrents of chaos. In this case, driving alt rock is tempered with an acoustic folk aesthetic and crowned with a messy aura of low-fi psychic noise. For better or worse, “Frosted Tips” serves as a high water mark for the album, with an energy that is unmatched by the other songs.

The rest of Stitches is more introspective, preoccupied with a need to make sense of things, like relationships, morality, or life itself. Califone’s folky Americana foundation clings to the hope that an explanation is possible. The songs are carefully arranged, generally leaving things sparse enough for a pattern to emerge. Instead, ambient and chaotic elements bubble through, denying any simple answers. That mix of low-key structure and mild sonic sabotage is what makes the album interesting and evocative. On “Movie Music Kills A Kiss”, Rutili tosses out observations in a laconic tone like Jeff Tweedy or Tom Petty. Thematically, it’s as though he’s trying to find acceptance by telling himself the story of their breakup yet again: “The ghost of you comes clear as day/ Emerging from the darkroom chemicals.” The guitar provides the glue for layers of unrelated instrumental gestures. A scattering of piano notes, an occasional ponderous bass note punctuation and faintly ringing organ fall together almost accidentally, suggesting the bones of a deeper narrative. Tellingly, there is no real resolution. Instead, a niggling organ line persists like a fact that still refuses to fit.

On the title track, a mechanical rhythmic foundation is dressed in pensive washes of organ, but the song is partially eclipsed by a background of buzzing static and a cicada chorus of humming. It feels like a defensive move, the band using the distraction to blunt the trauma of failure as Rutili helplessly recounts a codependent tale of loss: “Trying to stop/ Taking it out on you/ Cut the connection/ Just to stitch it together again.” Much like his relationship, the song seems to lose energy and fade before it reaches any firmer conclusion.

The search for meaning continues through the album, with rueful regret and references to Mary Magdalene and Moses, but it’s not until Califone embraces mystery that they come closest to finding peace. “We Are a Payphone” falls into a mellow jam with a percussive guitar part that meditatively repeats. Rutili sings like a reflective Paul Westerberg, quickly getting to the fundamental question of the album: “Is it too late to turn this around?” But the lyrics turn more oblique and philosophical as he sings, “We’re the horses wrist with/ Scratches on the record/ We are a payphone waiting.” I’ll be the first to admit I’m not enlightened enough to grok these lines, assuming I heard them right, but somehow they still offer a hint of meaning. They suggest that we don’t know who we will connect with or why, but that it’s our purpose to make a connection. The calm guitar strum slides into a trippier bridge which features glowing shards of electric guitar in a Pink Floyd groove.

It’s telling that the two best tracks on Stitches, “Frosted Tips” and “We Are a Payphone”, are the outliers. Whether the album as a whole holds together is probably in the ears of the beholder. I liked Stitches well enough, but after a couple times through, I found myself reaching for Wilco instead.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

History lesson: Liz Phair, Exile in Guyville (1993)

Vulnerable brashness is still transgressive

More than 20 years ago, Liz Phair drifted into Chicago’s indie scene and tried to find her place. Surrounded by bands like Smashing Pumpkins, Urge Overkill and Codeine, Phair shopped her home-made “Girly Sound” cassettes and built up some hype. After a failed attempt to develop her demos with John Henderson’s label, Feel Good All Over, she connected with Matador Records in 1992 and moved forward on what would become Exile in Guyville. The title referenced an Urge Overkill song, “Goodbye to Guyville” and reflected some of Phair’s distance from the testosterone heavy scene. But Phair borrowed that masculine energy to move beyond the classic female singer/songwriter trope. Her tight guitar hooks and catchy lyrics exuded rock credibility and she offered plenty of brazen words and hard looks. But even as she played the rocker role, she couldn’t bring herself to treat the songs shallowly. She wrote too truthfully and her vulnerability leaked past the sarcasm and defiant facade. From the opening song, she blended softness with a harder edge and set the stage for the whole album.

“6’ 1”” starts with smoothly meshed drums and guitar, supporting a soaring melodic bass line. Phair’s pitch drifts a bit as she whittles away her gigolo subject. Despite her relatively flat tone, her anger burns brightly, “And I love my life/ And I hated you”. This kind of personal reaction would make a great punk song, but the polish of the arrangement gives the tune a more nuanced impact. This defines one of the two thematic poles for the album. Stuck in rock ‘n’ roll Guyville, Phair can’t quite decide between psychologically dissecting her man-boy peers and playing drag king to beat them at their own game. Either way, she grinds her axe against a strawman stand-in. He’s the kind of guy that she understands all too well. In places, it seems a bit heavy handed to be effective, but too many real guys heard the frank girl in “Flower” and missed the commentary, reacting with lust. And it was songs like “Flower” that gave Exile in Guyville its power. The sharpest of these, “Dance of the Seven Veils”, came after the first few tracks of solid rock grooves. If those songs gave a sense of Phair’s independence, “Dance” shocked with the casual profanity of its chorus. The verses have a loose, sing-song feel made creepier by her low-affect vocals. Then she switches to her higher register to feign a kind of sweet femininity. In a dreamy tone, she sings, “I ask because I’m a real cunt in spring/ You can rent me by the hour”. Even 20 years later, this feels transgressive. Today, women may be overtly sexual and their language can be coarse, but this offhand use of the word “cunt” is still jarring. Her deadpan delivery makes the sarcasm clear, but there’s a subtext of accusation. This would come to influence a host of other performers like Mary Prankster and Alanis Morissette, but Phair’s complex mix of damaged weakness and uncompromising frankness remain impressive.

Phair’s songs resonated with national critics, taking high slots in a number of year-end lists. Her original blend of posturing and over-sharing made a strong impression and stood out from the crowd. In spite of the album’s commercial success, or maybe because of it, there was a fair amount of backlash from her fellow Chicago rockers. Phair describes that time as being “kind of at war with indie” where indie was fueled by sour grapes and anger at her criticism of Guyville. It may well have been the feminist challenge in her lyrics that triggered her most vocal critic, recording engineer/music pundit Steve Albini. Reacting to an article by Bill Wyman of the Chicago Reader, Albini seemed to take the album as a personal affront. Writing Phair off as overhyped, it’s telling that his choice epithet is to call her a musical slut, pandering to her audience. Regardless of Albini’s rantings, Exile in Guyville continued to do well with both alternative and mainstream music press.

The album has aged well as modern trends have embraced some of its aesthetics. Low-fi production values, challenging lyrical themes and raw vocals are pervasive in today’s hip, small-scale releases. But Phair’s music still stands out because her short, pithy gems remain tight and compelling. Producer Brad Wood deserves a fair amount of credit, in large part for the decision to record the bass and drums to fit Phair’s vocals and guitar. This gives the arrangements a Japanese perfection: each song is only as busy as it needs to be, allowing subtlety without excess. The weakest element is Phair’s voice – she has a tendency to drone and speak-sing – but this lack of polish contributes a perception of artistic sincerity.

The pace of the album is another factor in its success. The songs flow between catchy rockers like “Help Me Mary” and introspective musings like meditative swaddle of “Explain It to Me”. Phair has credited the album’s flow to its inspiration, the Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main St.. In numerous interviews, she’s drawn thematic and pacing parallels between the two albums, but the linkage seems tenuous at best. Even if that remains a better story than an analytic lens, she does bring a taste of Mick’s brash confidence and plenty of Keith’s guitar feel, especially on songs like “Mesmerizing”. This is one of the best tracks on the album. The choppy, repeated guitar riff of the opening sets up a “Gimme Shelter” groove. Later in the song, the comparison becomes even more apt. The guitar chords and the organ slide into place with a shaker rhythm and a sweet, savant guitar lead settles over the top. It turns out to be one of the longer tracks on the album, but it still delivers a punch with economy and grace.

Even after 20 years, Exile in Guyville is a staple in my listening rotation, along with Phair’s follow-up Whip Smart (1994). The mix of well-constructed songs, sly commentary, humor and surprise keep these albums relevant. Unfortunately, her later recordings haven’t done as well. The further she’s gotten from her Girly Sound days and close contact with Guyville, the less spirit her music seems to have. 2003’s Liz Phair proved to be critical downfall. After conflicts with Capitol Records, she bowed to the pressure to work with hit songwriting team, The Matrix. The resulting pop-oriented songs sabotaged her artistic credibility. Albini probably felt vindicated as many critics and fans decried her for selling out. But Phair’s later missteps don’t negate the magic of her debut album and vulnerable challenge she offered.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Front Range - Recommended shows, 9/3

This week we have a few smaller name groups coming to the Front Range, but it should still be a week of fairly interesting shows.

5 September (Gothic Theatre, Denver CO)
WHY?

WHY? finds an intriguing path. If They Might Be Giants were just getting their start, they might find a similar blend. WHY? has a similar quirky streak driven by their earnest, simple vocals and abstract lyrics. But their musical inspiration is more contemporary, with influences of dream pop, electronic washes, and indie rock. Their new album, Mumps, Etc. is due out next month.

6 September (Cervantes Masterpiece, Denver CO)
Oakhurst

Oakhurst fuses unbridled bluegrass with country rock elements. The bluegrass generally dominates, but the band still has a good sense of boogie. In any given the song, the flurries of mandolin notes may give way to the sweet pedal tones of the electric guitar. Rootsy rock bliss.

8 September (Larimer Lounge, Denver CO)
The Knux

Krispy and Joey Lindsey are loosely aligned with alternative hip hop, with solid rap skills. But their backing music is rock and pop focused, revealing a balanced collection of influences. Even on a rap heavy track like Bang! Bang!, the music makes a strong contribution, with jagged guitar riffs and an uptempo Cure style groove.

Recording review - Johnny Hickman, Tilting (2012)

Folky roots rock with country twang and new wave punch

Tilting is Johnny Hickman's second solo album. Plenty of people know the Cracker co-founder's rock side, but Hickman also has strong country-folk influences that he's shown with the Hickman-Dalton Gang. Tilting plays like Hickman's eclectic history. It's a melting pot of folky roots rock with moments of country twang and new wave punch, plus a few other surprises.

Cracker fans might prefer the rocking numbers, like the snide Elvis Costello post punk of Sick Cynthia Thing or the indie rock sneer of Takin' Me Back. This latter track could turn up on a Cracker album, but it really nails a Beat Farmers country rock groove. The lyrics are clever and clueless as Hickman sings from the perspective of someone who doesn't realize "she's just not that into you":

She needs a break for our relationship's sake
Takin' me back, takin' me back, she will be
So, I give her space, but I call her in case
She's takin' me back, takin' me back, she will be

Someone says she's missing me
Lost in her regret
Feels more like she misses me
Every chance she gets

Sharp and punchy, it's a strong contrast to Tilting's rootsier tracks that lean towards folk rock. Those songs lay down a simple sound to support Hickman's lyrical message, from calling out the greedy and venal on Measure of a Man to the his philosophical musings on Destiny Misspent. Hickman is comfortable with this stripped down approach and he gives the songs room to breathe.

One track, though, is a complete outlier. The jazzy blues of Papa Johnny's Arms has some great guitar work and it could easily fit on a Leon Redbone disc. It's a fun song, with a polished sound and smooth flow. The guitar solo is particularly nice - not quite Django, but with a taste of gypsy jazz. But as much as I like the laid back vamp, it breaks up the album's flow.

Even so, Johnny Hickman is confident in his choices and Tilting is anything but a single niche album.

(As a contrast from the link above, here's another track, Another Road.)

Recording review - Big Bang, Diez tragos (2012)

Spanish hard rock expands into expressive post-rock

Barcelona rockers Big Bang filled their last album, Sin renuncia a la esperanza (review) with a hard rock sound, gilded with a metallic edge. Their latest album, Diez tragos, shifts towards post-rock arrangements and throws in some synthesizer, but keeps the metal flair. Most importantly, Big Bang maintains the knife edge dynamic between punchy grind and reflective wail.

No soy un ángel starts strung with restrained tension. The solid beat, twisty synth line and throbbing bass recall Rush at their progressive best. The verses stay sparse with occasional eruptions of guitar, but that sets up the chorus shift. The guitar lurches first and drags the rest of the band into a heavier uptempo section. Near the end, the chorus extends into a more driving beat to support an angular solo. The alternation creates a rich balance of restraint and expressiveness.

Big Bang's industrial sound reflects bits of Nine Inch Nails and other hard rocking bands. On Soy inmortal, the jerky chop rhythm and progression is a bit like Living Color covering the James Gang's Funk #49. It's a thick, riff driven song. The spastic grind beat sets up a tripping, singing solo that offers a taste of Jeff Beck dipped in metal.

My favorite track, though, was the moody Crucificame. The meandering female vocal start has a Moorish feel, but the music quickly drops that stark, mournful sound to set a stalking rhythm. A wicked bassline runs through the song like a thick, heavy chain. The discordant crunchy guitar has a taste of Led Zeppelin's Kashmir, but the effect is more Soundgarden. The song sections flip by quickly like a post-rock slide show.

Aside from their technical skills, Diez tragos stands out because of the thread of experimentalism running through the songs. Where their last album featured some Adrian Belew style stunt guitar, Big Bang has gotten more imaginative. Watery reflections of guitar behind Sufrir, hypnotic Arabic rhythms on Ver llorar desiertos, or the experimental sound collage of Franco is dead - the band's creative approaches rely on an extended sonic palette.

Diez tragos has a lot to offer, even if you can't follow the Spanish: music, emotion, and tone are universal.

Recording review - Scott Lucas & the Married Men, Blood Half Moon (2012)

Thoughtful arrangements as the music ranges from alt-country to heavy rock jams

Scott Lucas was half of the alternative rock duo Local H, whose Bound For the Floor was a staple in 1996. Despite their bare bones drum and guitar line up, Local H's hard punching songs captured a perfect sense of undirected anger and frustration.

On Blood Half Moon, Lucas seems determined to push that history aside and make grown up music. Like Roger Clyne after the Refreshments, Lucas expands beyond his simple rock chops to bring in alt-country and Americana elements. He still has a straight-ahead rock sensibility and fuzzed out edges, but his backing band, the Married Men add a lot of sonic detail that Local H never mustered. In particular, the pervasive violin flavors the whole album.

Blood Half Moon opens with an epic piece, Lover, The Lullaby. The moody intro evokes Enrico Morricone's Western work with a drone organ and a reverbed guitar melody accompanied by a mournful whistle and touch of violin. After the first verse, the music kicks in with a vengeance. Crunched rhythm, pounding drums, and fluid violin drive the song forward with a Western/Americana feel, like The Ballad of Serenity from Firefly.

The bridge shatters that mood by punching into an acid rock jam complete with psychedelic guitar shred. Even here, the violin hangs in, adding a banshee wail. The music finally drops back to recap the main theme before calling it quits.

This resolution sets up the beautiful, sparse intro to Blood Half Moons. Its pensive expectancy showcases Lucas' surprisingly lush voice. The U2 influence is strong, from the echoed vocal to the subtle tonal textures.

Musical shifts like this, along with much more thoughtful arrangements make Blood Half Moon a huge departure from Local H. Later songs range further afield. Old Worries wanders into Beat Farmers' alt-country territory while Out of the Boat starts with a reworking of the theme from You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin' (Righteous Brothers) but shows influences from the Indigo Girls and Roger Clyne.

While Scott Lucas uses his work with the Married Men to express some richer musical ideas, Local H is still active. They have a new album coming out soon, which I'm sure will hit their old sweet spot of cathartic and clever alt rock. My advice is to balance perspectives and get both albums.

Drop by the band's website to stream Blood Half Moons.

CD review - Sleepy Sun, Spine Hits (2012)

Slacker psychedelic distraction

Sleepy Sun are back with their third offering, Spine Hits. Their last album, Fever (review here), featured a rich dynamic between Rachel Fanning's wistful playfulness and Brett Constantino's expressive weariness. Spine Hits continues the psychedelic vibe, but with Fanning out of the band, the balance has shifted away from its yin-yang of innocence and knowledge.

The new dynamic hasn't broken Sleepy Sun, but the feel is rawer and more driven. Several of the songs have a distracted undercurrent. Noisy upwellings fit the heady grooves, but also seem to seek the promise of oblivion. The folky elements from Fever are gone, but the psychedelic foundations remain.

Siouxsie Blaqq shows that Sleepy Sun can still summon the lazy rhythms of their past. With a haze of 1967 clinging to the changes, the bass line skips and the casual vocals drift by:

Ramble on, so they don't catch on
It's better to run than leave stepping stones
Tell me your secret, tell me before I ask
Where did you get yours? Where did you learn your tack?

The loose structure evolves, revealing little side rooms of tiny musical sections. The relaxed vibe leans towards Fever, but the building repetition of the bridge sprints into a Velvet Underground grind, opening the song for more modern noise to come in and dominate. It's an interesting little trip.

Sleepy Sun falls back to their Led Zeppelin influences on V.O.G. The opening guitar riff and throbbing beat are more modern, but Constantino evokes Robert Plant in his vocals and lyrics. The bridge interlude builds the energy then lets it dissipate into a Pink Floyd, open landscape jam.

Until now, Brett Constantino's comfortable flannel voice and personality have dominated Sleepy Sun's sound, but Spine Hits is just as anchored by Jack Allen and Brian Tice's playing. Allen's bass lines stand out on almost all of the tracks, not following the pulse so much as driving it. Even when he drops back to leave some space, it's like his gift to the guitars. Tice's drumming behaves much the same, throwing in tight fills and change ups to round out even the simple beats.

Sleepy Sun's recent shows have showcased these new songs in a looser form. That freer sound links back to their earlier sound. It will be interesting to see how the band moves forward from Spine Hits' slacker psychedelic distraction.

CD review - Roger Clyne & the Peacemakers, Unida Cantina (2011)

Familiar sounds with more lyrical maturity

Roger Clyne hit the scene fronting one of my favorite groups of "snotty boys with guitars", the Refreshments. With a sneering, know-it-all voice and tight, clever lyrics, Clyne and the Refreshments laid down songs like Banditos and Down Together that showcased characters who were victims of fate and their own bad choices.

As a solo artist, Clyne keeps those characters alive by playing the old songs, but his newer material shows more maturity. With less sneer and plenty of heart, he writes more about grown up problems and less about youthful irresponsibility. This reflects the sincerity and gratitude of his stage persona.

Unida Cantina reflects this with songs like Dinero, which keys on personal integrity and debt, or Marie, that offers an unflinching look at the cost of sin. But Clyne hasn't gotten soft -- the emotional regret in Marie has no self-pity, just a sad acknowledgment. My favorite track, Empty Highway, centers on a fringe character, but without the false bravado of Clyne's older songs. The story here is hinted at: a life has slid out of control and the singer is trying to figure out a next move. Meanwhile, the music sounds like a bluesy take on George Harrison's I Me Mine.

Alcohol, THC.
We're packing heavy
Be all you can be
Brown bag of $20s,
.45 ACP
A head full of Jupiter
And as we drive into the sun
And all the good we thought we did has come undone
In the end I find I'm back where I'd begun
I'm on an empty highway with a loaded gun

In a single song, Clyne sums up the story arc of Breaking Bad.

The mix of Americana, alt country, and rock on Unida Cantina will sound familiar to Clyne's fans. As always, the Peacemakers are the perfect backing band. The arrangements emphasize fills and backing elements more than pyrotechnic leads and the Peacemakers smoothly execute the songs with a sweet economy. From anthemic sing-alongs to stripped down reflections, the album's flow showcases Clyne's writing and expression.

If there's a fault with Unida Cantina, it's a lack of novelty. Unlike some artists, Roger Clyne is settling into himself rather than trying constant reinventions. The upside is that each new Peacemakers album will deliver more of what the fans love.

CD review - Todd Snider, Agnostic Hymns & Stoner Fables (2012)

The raconteur is back with more stories from the fringe

If there's a brief summary for the characters in Todd Snider's songs, New York Banker comes close: "Good things happen to bad people" and, of course, its corollary about good people. In this case, Snider uses his song to explain the whole banking crisis and add a human element. The sloppy, bar band alt-country rock music frames the song as if Snider is the slightly drunk high school teacher bitching about his fate. If the Occupy movement could settle on an anthem, it ought to be this.

Agnostic Hymns & Stoner Fables carries on Snider's tradition of using fringe characters and their stories to throw some perspective on our own lives. Sometimes the themes are big, like New York Banker or the cynical assessment of religion, In the Beginning. Other times, he closes in on smaller, personal stories. Either way, despite his casual speak-singing delivery, he lavishes attention on each track. Even on the most tossed off songs, like The Very Last Time, which promises that this last time is not like all the other last times, he still creates a moment of poignant perfection:

I had a dream where you came to see me
You asked if I was okay
That's how I knew that I was dreaming:
You asked if I was okay

The matter of fact tone and lack of self-pity combines with pig headed optimism to give the simple idea some depth.

Agnostic Hymns reaches back to the ramshackle feel of The Devil You Know. The unreliable narrator/scam artist of In Between Jobs is a younger brother of the confident construction worker in Lookin' For a Job. Snider's voice drifts across the dirty blues licks, spinning his web. His cocky attitude encourages distrust but also a grudging respect:

There's only one way to win this shell game
Be the one that gets the other guy to play
You think I'm not very bright and you might be right
I might have been born yesterday
But I was up all night...

The least direct song on the album, Brenda, paints Keith Richards and Mick Jagger as flawed lovers that offered each other redemption. While that probably shouldn't be read literally, Snider gets awfully close to a deeper truth. Whether or not the Rolling Stones' chemistry "was true love", Snider shares the true love in his heart.

Agnostic Hymns & Stoner Fables is another fine Todd Snider album. He doesn't really break new ground, but, like a great raconteur, Snider shows us what he does best without repeating himself.

Interview: Joe D'Agostino (Cymbals Eat Guitars)

I got a chance to talk to Joe D'Agostino from Cymbals Eat Guitars while they were crossing Texas. I'll be catching them when the tour brings them to the Hi-Dive in Denver later this month. I'm excited because their show in 2010 was incredible, with a looser wildness that contrasted with their album at the time (Why There Are Mountains).


Jester: The new album, Lenses Alien, does a great job of capturing your live sound. How did you nail that loudness of your shows?

Joe: We were playing really loud. I had my guitar amp in an isolation room while we were recording together. Anytime anyone needed to walk through that room, I had to stop playing.

You played some of the songs from Lenses Alien during the 2010 tour as I recall.

Yeah, we had Tunguska, Plainclothes, Wavelengths, and Definite Darkness. Plainclothes and Wavelengths were about the same. The other two changed a lot. Especially Tunguska. There was a whole intro that we ended up cutting…this big acoustic intro. So it’s much more direct and poppy. It works better, I think.

That leads me to one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. How did you develop "Rifle Eyesight (Proper Name)"? It’s epic, there are so many sections.

That song took forever to finish. We labored over it for many months. There was always some sticking point, some part, some transitions that just didn’t work well. For me the whole thing coalesced when we decide to extend the noise, to really ride that out and make it very confrontational and exploratory. The rest of the song fell into place after that because we had our pop song section for the first minute and a half, then blown out Flaming Lips stuff right before the noise. The flow came after we were less guarded about the whole thing.

I think the first thing that we had for that song was the end section with the Spiritualized style sound. We sort of built it around that.

It reminded me of Trail of Dead, too

That’s a cool comparison. I love Source Tags and Codes and that first one, The Secret of Elena’s Tomb. They're a really good band. Epic, ambitious guitar music.

It's cool how they take psychedelic into a progressive space or vice versa.

We have the same kind of bombast. On our first first record, I guess I really had ambitions. We had a string section and horns -- a lot of orchestration. We kind of dropped that for this album but I think it's equally grand.

Plainclothes stretches out nicely, too.

Yeah. I love the end of that song -- the distorted loud speaker screaming. It's cool. That's one of my favorites on the album. It's kind of the centerpiece, almost.

There's some like a visceral howl kind of feel.

Yeah, definitely. That song has some of my favorite lyrics on the album, too. I'm really glad how it turned out.

I liked it, but I didn't fully understand it all.

I don't think anybody possibly should. It's about a number of different things. It's about a psychedelic drug experience and being scared of police officers and law. That kind of permeates every song.

It's got a stream of consciousness feel like Jack Kerouac.

That's cool.

Now that Lenses Alien is out, have you started thinking at all about new material?

No. We're not really working on anything while we're on the road. After we finish an album, I go into hibernation for 7 or 8 months. I don't pick up a pen or try to write anything on guitar unless it happens accidentally. We'll probably start writing again when we get an extended break from touring.

I know you guys have opened for the Flaming Lips. Who would your dream artist be to share the stage with?

That would have to be either Wilco or Sonic Youth. Getting on Wilco's tour or I would love to get on a Sonic Youth tour. It would also be cool to tour with Deerhunter.

Who's opening for you on this tour?

On this tour it's Hooray for Earth. They're very loud. Guitar heroics, but also really touchy, sugary melodies. They're a great band.

CD review - Big Bang, Sin renuncia a la esperanza (2010)

Spanish rockers mix up modern and alternative influences

Big Bang from Barcelona may share a name with bands from Norway and South Korea, but their sound is a unique mix of alternative and modern rock along with a metallic aftertaste. Hearing Sin renuncia a la esperanza, it's easy to imagine the band growing up on a weird mix of Rage Against the Machine, Soundgarden, and Frank Zappa veterans like Steve Vai and Mike Keneally. That Zappa-inspired modern rock is a fundamental part of Big Bang's iconic sound, but it's always leavened by a hard rock edge. It's a seamless transition that exercises both the inner headbanger and appreciation of what Zappa called "stunt guitar".


Take a song like Hay sueños: the initial groove is a jazzy laid back jam, rooted in an exercise of whammy bar guitar chords, a la Mike Keneally . The vocal is appropriately restrained, almost spoken. The bass accents add a nice counter rhythm. Then, with a short drum count, the song abandons the relaxed vibe and erupts into a Rage Against the Machine grind. A thick, throaty guitar tone drives the heavy metal sound of this section.

The beauty is in the effortless transition. That drum count and a touch of choppy guitar chord make it seem natural. Even better, Big Bang finishes out the heavy section and uses a stutter beat drum fill to take us back into the original groove. The see-saw shift between the sections creates a wonderful tension. During one of the softer sections, the band throws in a brilliant Vai style solo. Evocative and moody, the fine phrasing shows off technical chops ranging from speedy runs and whammy dives.

While each song finds its own path, that balance between these musical approaches is present on most the tracks. While the guitar parts emphasize the sonic differences, the strong drum and bass work are key to the transitions.

On No fue por error, the pattern is similar. Once again, the track starts off with a spiky, angular guitar, this time reminiscent of Adrian Belew's work. We get some lyrics, but the hard rock drive creeps in, with a sound like Head Like a Hole (Nine Inch Nails). The solo resurrects the Belew style guitar, complete with singing harmonics, whammy bar tricks, and bits of chaos. This slips into a funky bass line accompanied by a Latin percussion groove. Within a handful of measures, the song subsides back into the chorus grind. This time, instead of a see-saw, it's like a whirlwind tour.

The music on Sin renuncia a la esperanza is so impressive, that I don't mind the Spanish lyrics. I can follow occasional phrases and the lyrical flow is smooth, but I know I'm missing a facet of Big Bang's performance. Regardless, Big Bang is worth the listen.

CD review - Thurston Moore, Demolished Thoughts (2011)

Sonic Youth frontman continues acoustic exploration, finding exotic sounds

Sonic Youth has a distinctive approach to their noise driven sound. With alternate tunings and prepared instruments, they seem obsessed with odd instrumental harmonies and pulling new sounds from the chaotic edge of dissonance. Key founder, Thurston Moore is central to that exploration and much of his work outside of Sonic Youth has pushed the borders of experimental noise rock.

Moore's last solo album, Trees Outside the Academy, broke the pattern to wander into more acoustic realms, especially on songs like Silver Blue. Demolished Thoughts continues that trajectory into a softer sound, based on acoustic guitar accompanied by strings, harp, bass, and the occasional horns. The guitar parts still connect to Sonic Youth, expanding on some of the guitar from the opening section of Massage the History (The Eternal, review here), for example.

The songs on Demolished Thoughts feel thoughtful, but sometimes unsettled. The introspective mood is prone to drift into slightly darker spaces, not so much threatening, but shadowed and probing.

Most of the songs rely solely on percussive guitar or bass, leaving out the drums completely (Benediction is the exception). This organic, flowing sound sets up some intricate interplay between Moore's guitar and the backing instruments. Musically. Moore offers a twist on the acoustic jam vibe of bands like It's a Beautiful Day or some of Hot Tuna's work.

Blood Never Lies shows off that musical cooperation, featuring a chiming guitar paired with a violin line. The counterpoint harp fills and subtly buried bass combine with a sense of inevitability to mesh into an edgeless whole. Moore's guitar has a touch of John Fahey, whose acoustic polish is quite distant from Sonic Youth's normal fare. Moore's relaxed, breathy vocals add a dreamy veneer. The mood is soft and reflective with brief intimations of shadow.

Circulation is a closer relative to Thurston Moore's normal sound. The driving beat, accusatory tone, and dark, obscure lyrics all shape the sound of an acoustically arranged Sonic Youth song.

The perfect lights are backwards
Reflected cries
Needle hits black lacquer
Speakers forgive lies
I'm not running away
Circulation makes her crazy
She's my "here-to-stay"
She just came by to shoot you, baby

The percussive strumming covers the drum part. The guitar's alternate tuning sounds like sometime off a Velvet Underground song, but the cool harmonic structure builds a mountain of subtle tension. Soothing violin and spooky echoed harp contrast to create a moody complexity.

Each song sets its own stage, from the staccato, angular melody and hypnotic scales of Mina Loy to the whimsical lyrics filling out the reverie of Space. Demolished Thoughts serves as wonderful example of Thurston Moore's versatility. Tonally distant from Sonic Youth, his voice and aesthetic sense remain intriguing.