Recording review - Ambrosia Parsley, Weeping Cherry (2013/2015)

Pervasive sadness is softened into dreamy surrender

^3.75/5.0

The timeless, unanchored feel of Ambrosia Parsley’s music reflects the narrative for the reissue of her 2013 solo album Weeping Cherry: both are hard to pin down to a particular moment or linear progression. The former lead singer for the moody Shivaree had plans to release a solo album as far back as 2008, but it never came together. Eventually, she released the tune “Rubble” in 2010, sparking renewed interest, but the album took another three years before it came out on France’s Fargo Records label. Now, another year and a half later, it’s finally getting an American release on Barbes Records.

Parsley has said that Weeping Cherry is rooted in a hard year of loss, which comes strongest in her lyrics. There is a pervasive sense of sadness in these songs, but her arrangements and singing soften the songs into dreamy surrender, rather than outright depression. Even when the undercurrent of loss rises to the the surface, like her line in “Catalina”, “Another tear/ Salt the butter on our daily bread,” the music keeps the emotions from overwhelming the songs.

There’s a lot of her former band’s retro sound in these songs, above and beyond the continuity of Parsley’s ethereal voice. But her writing shows other strong influences, particularly Radiohead and Elvis Costello. Like those artists, she’s more than just a talented singer/songwriter; each of these tracks feature arrangements that add depth and complexity. It’s interesting to hear her swing from retro pop to more modern styles, but she maintains a kind of languid delivery that creates a siren-like seductiveness. At the same time, her voice reminds me of Jill Sobule, with a vulnerable surface around a strongly grounded center.

That Jill Sobule comparison shines on “My Hindenberg”. Part of it is the simple, restrained acoustic guitar that complements the clear, folky vocal. It has a similar historical perspective to Sobule’s “Vrbana Bridge”, but rather than a snapshot story reminiscence, Parsley builds a moving metaphor for her own loss. She ties the iconic images of the Hindenberg disaster, full of helpless impotence, to her lyrics and makes them deeply persona. The bridge is particularly poignant, “On the ground, we almost can’t believe it/ You were out of time and we were all out of place.”

Most the music on Weeping Cherry is more layered than "My Hindenberg". Parsley’s Radiohead side turns up on that first single, “Rubble”. The warm bassline and guitar interjections are tethered to a deliberate drag beat rhythm. Think “Creep” mixed with a stripped down version of “Airbag” from OK Computer. Like “Creep”, Parsley locks into a low sense of self-esteem and fear that is drained of direct emotional weight. The arrangement leaves plenty of space to fit in a host of details. The guitar textures are especially sweet, rawly expressing the feelings that her vocals seem too scared to voice.

The Costello influence is more pervasive. Often, it’s her thoughtful phrasing, like on the title track, or a similarly handled chord run on “Only Just Fine.” But it’s most obvious in the dark, moody music and sardonic lyrics of “Make Me Laugh”. From the very start, the tune is unsettled, with stark percussion and eerie echoed tones. The mood abruptly shifts context, though, when the vocals come in with the evocative lines, “Make me laugh / When it's 'goodbye'/ With a bill and a body count so high." The verses match Costello at his introspective best, full of musing defiance, but the walking bass and Parsley’s breathy delivery cut the creepiness and make it more like a disoriented dream. I love the jazz standard feel to the progression with its tremolo guitar accents. On the original release, this was a perfect ending for the album. This 2015 reissue tacks on “The Answer (Tim and Becky’s Wedding)”, which is more of a love song, albeit with hint of a 'beautiful disaster' vibe. While this bonus is a pretty song, it’s not as powerful an ending for Weeping Cherry.

While most of these songs would be at home on a Shivaree release, they do cover a wide sonic range. "My Hindenberg", "Rubble", and "Make Me Laugh" each show different facets of Parsley's writing style. Fortunately, her voice provides the common thread to tie these disparate pieces together.

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.

What's Cool - Young Guv, Crawling Back to You

Never judge a book by its cover (or the publisher's hype)

I never saw it coming. Digging through the pile of promo emails to find a gem to share, I came across the most over-the-top, hyperbolic sell job on behalf of Young Guv's new album, Ripe 4 Luv. The last paragraph reels through some crazy comparisons: Cheap Trick produced by Jimmy Jam,  Drake's producter 40 engineering Hall and Oates...it was obviously tongue in cheek, but the hype was so thick that I almost blew it off. Not only that, but the title, "Crawling Back to You", promised a sad whine about unrequited love, which is seldom worth the trouble. For some reason, though, I decided to give it a minute's listen.

Thirty minutes later, I had replayed it a half dozen times, because Young Guv had me hooked. The opening anarchy of scraping strings collapses into a strong indie rock groove worthy of Big Star or Too Much Joy. It builds up before receding behind tightly harmonized vocals reminiscent of the Byrds. The tune is packed with familiar sounding DNA, but somehow transcends any of its inspirations. The jangly walls of guitar and the slick pop vocals combine to form a hook almost as big as the hype from their label. The off-kilter lyrics are also a pleasant surprise, comparing the bygone relationship to the womb. I can honestly say I've never heard the phrase "Placenta sleeping bags for two," before, but I was fairly amused when I teased that line out from the opening verse.

The back story offers its own surprise. Young Guv aka Young Governor aka Ben Cook had his start with hardcore punkers No Warning and then played guitar with the progressive punk Fucked Up. Along the way, he wrote  "We're All To Blame" for Sum 41, That paints a relatively clear picture, but he also claims to have ghostwritten songs for Taylor Swift and Kelly Clarkson and he's celebrated '80s style pop with a side project, Yacht Club. Maybe that makes Young Guv a nice median persona for Cook. In any case, Ripe 4 Luv is due to release on March 10.

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 - 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)

Recording review - The Moondoggies, Adiós, I’m a Ghost (2013)

Formless album doesn't fly

It’s a flippant title but Adiós, I’m a Ghost sets the mood for this collection of disparate songs. But rather than cheekiness, abandonment is the unifying thread as the Moondoggies drift from proclamatory indie rock to ruminative folk sounds and beyond. On the surface, the songs work the idea of loss, from the girlfriend leaving in “Red Eye” to the singer who “can’t take it anymore,” on “Back to the Beginning”. But the theme runs even deeper within band’s psyche. Guitarist Kevin Murphy summed up the group’s intention behind the project, “I hope this album relays our want to have no form.” Turning away from their Americana roots, the Moondoggies accomplished their goal, but the net result is disappointingly uneven.

The songs themselves aren't bad, taken in isolation, but the group maintains their distance and rarely commits to the tunes. The lack of flow makes it harder to take any particular turn very seriously. “Pride” is a great example; it’s a melancholy folk tune that tells a dark story of isolation, suicide and self-recrimination. It’s a powerful piece that could anchor the project. Perhaps thinking along those lines, the Moondoggies bookend the album with samples from “Pride”: “I’m a Ghost” and “Adiós, I’m a Ghost” each use a piece of the ethereal choral moan from the track. It’s a bit clever, but that cuteness undercuts the poignant depth of the tune. They also shortchange the song’s punch by sticking it between the breezy oldies sound of “Midnight Owl” and the trippy rock of “A Lot to Give”.

As a result, the more self-contained rockers like “A Lot to Give” are the songs that fare best. That particular track is my favorite because it stands strong even in the emotional wake of “Pride”. The opening moments immediately clear the slate with a quick drum fill and an intriguing instrumental intro. The bass lays down a pensive, trudging line while the guitar accents the off-beat and a retro organ chord mortars the gaps. The psychedelic feel builds when the vocals come in. The first line is sung together, “I forgive and I forget the ones that I love most,” but then individual parts fall like dominos: “Even though,” “do you suppose?” “I don’t know.” It’s a cool technique that reminds me of Jefferson Airplane’s old arrangements. It doesn't hurt that one of the boys could easily pass for Marty Balin, which evokes the Airplane and mid-‘70s Starship on several of these songs. “A Lot to Give” overcomes the directionless feel of the playlist by creating its own space over the course of six minutes. In fact, the bombastic chorus is theatrical enough that I've forgotten “Pride” within the first two minutes. The bridge intensifies the Jefferson Airplane effect: the instrumental lead resurrects a touch of “White Rabbit”, while the vocal melody borrows from “Come Up the Years”. The lengthy outro sets a more modern tone that pushes the song beyond its influences. I can appreciate that the Moondoggies want to reject form and predictability, but an album of material like this would have made my top of the year list.

The more I listen to Adiós, I’m a Ghost, the more I want to dissect its tracks into a set of playlists. Then “Red Eye”, “Start Me Over”, “One More Chance”, and “Back to the Beginning” could coalesce their indie jangle and “Midnight Owl” could better complement “Stop Signs” in retro goodness. If the band refuses to give me context, I’ll create my own.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

History lesson - The Refreshments, The Bottle & Fresh Horses (1997)

The band developed their Southwestern sound while their label looked the other way

It was just another case of Mercury poisoning, although, at the time, it looked like natural causes. In 1995, the Refreshments signed with Mercury Records. Their first album, Fizzy Fuzzy Big & Buzzy, came out the next year and “Banditos” became their breakout, unavoidable single. The attitude – “Everybody knows/ That the world is full of stupid people” – was delivered with tight, power-pop harmonies and the guitar hook was immaculate. Fully hyped with a whirlwind tour, the band made the rounds until Mercury pushed them back in the studio. The resulting album, The Bottle & Fresh Horses, came out in 1997 and undeservedly became their sophomore slump. Much as Graham Parker complained in his 1970 song, “Mercury Poisoning”, “Their promotion’s so lame/ They couldn’t ever take it to the real ballgame,” the Refreshments found themselves neglected by the label and the album quickly sank. By the end of ‘97, they left Mercury and lasted a few months before they broke up later in 1998.

Common wisdom dismissed the band as a one-hit wonder, but despite its rushed recording and chaotic roots, The Bottle & Fresh Horses was a solid follow up to their debut. The rhythm section still delivered crisp, catchy progressions and Brian Blush’s guitar fills struck the same balance between retro rock and hyped-up alternative pop. Where their first album had some outlier songs, like “European Swallow”, this time, the band focused on the Southwestern sound that Roger Clyne and P.H. Naffah would later polish when they regrouped as Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers. There’s no particular reason why songs like “Preacher’s Daughter”, “Wanted”, or “Broken Record” couldn’t find the same success that “Banditos” did. But with Mercury unwilling to promote any of these, the album was trapped in a self-fulfilling prophecy of doom. Maybe part of the problem is that many of the songs reflected a maturity rooted in the pressure that the band was under. There were still plenty of clever lines and charming losers, but the Refreshments also let their swagger slip and reveal their weariness.

The album leads off with one of these more serious tracks, “Tributary Otis”. The music splits the difference between a Bruce Springsteen Everyman anthem and Western-flavored Americana while the words are grounded with quiet confidence:

Well, I’ve traveled and I’ve seen the things I build, working
Working to bring me down
And I may be thirsty now but I will go beyond this thirst
And the tears I cry for you will all go dry

Clyne builds on the foundation of his earlier work, crafting and singing sincere lyrics just as carefully as he had with his lighter material.

Later, on “Fonder and Blonder”, the band emphasizes the contrast with Fizzy Fuzzy Big & Buzzy. It’s a response to the only other single from their debut. Where “Down Together” defiantly proclaimed, “Cars break down/ And people break down/ And other things break down, too/ So let’s go down together,”the follow up is from the perspective of a relationship that faded away rather than flaming out. This time, Clyne sings those same words with a rueful tone and tags them with, “I felt something slip when you left on your trip/ And now I think I’m breaking down on you.” The band uses the lyrical continuity to create a sense of wiser acceptance replacing youthful denial. The simple guitar jangle and light harmonies are close to the sound of their fellow Arizona band, The Gin Blossoms.

Even with these grown up themes and heavier songs, this is not a morose album. Right on the heels of “Tributary Otis”, “Preacher’s Daughter” lays down a classic Refreshments narrative of poor judgment and bad luck. After apparently doing time for scoring with the preacher’s daughter, our hero comes home to tempt fate yet again. Nonchalantly taunting her father, he finds that his temptress has married the sheriff while he was gone. Seems like the perfect time to rekindle passions, at least briefly. The band runs through the tale with a ballsy John Cougar feel and Blush’s singing guitar tone.

The schmuck on “Broken Record” is a different flavor of loser. Like a sad puppy, he can’t seem to settle for being just a friend. He tries his best to ignore how the object of his affection continually uses him and he consoles himself that at least he could have any girl in Japan. The logic may seem twisted, but he’s probably the same kind of fool that accepts the fairness in the assertion, “I got the pistol, so I’ll keep the pesos,” from “Banditos.”

Did Mercury make the right call to let The Bottle & Fresh Horses languish? The implosion of the band suggests that they might have. But the slow-building success of Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers challenges that idea. Refining this album’s musical direction, they built a strong grassroots following without the support of a major label. These songs became a crowd-pleasing staple in their repertoire, validating the quality of the material. While the band may have been destined to fall apart, they held together well on these songs. Poor sales and obscurity in the ‘90s have been balanced out by countless Peacemaker fans trawling through The Refreshments back catalog for The Bottle & Fresh Horses to hear the originals after enjoying Clyne’s powerful versions in concert.

(This first appeared in Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Mark Mulcahy, Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You (2013)

Band versions of singer-songwriter material, but punctuated with perfect lyrical moments 

Mark Mulcahy and his band Miracle Legion made a small splash on the college rock scene back in the 1980s. They developed a small coterie of dedicated fans and opened for a number of well-known bands, but their most lasting ripple in the national consciousness was when they reformed as Polaris to do music for the 1990s Nickelodeon series “The Adventures of Pete & Pete”. After the show was canceled, Mulcahy continued as a solo artist, still opening for larger acts and releasing the occasional stripped down album. He patiently recorded his latest project, Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You, over the course of a year, with a rotating cast of friends backing him. Just like his Miracle Legion days, he still writes a very catchy tune, but these songs feel like they were intended to be solo singer/songwriter pieces. His ever-present acoustic guitar keeps one foot in that space even as the tracks are scaled up by his band buddies. The resulting album is almost a period piece, channeling early ‘90s indie rock and evoking artists like Dada and Michael Penn.

The first single, “She Makes the World Turn Backwards” (non-album version), is easily the album’s strongest track. While the title and chorus music rework various snippets of Roky Erickson’s garage psychedelia, the verses have a fatalistic desperation borrowed from Penn’s sophomore album, Free-for-All (1992). Mulcahy captures the same mix of acoustic guitar and bass decorated with tripped out electric guitar fills. His relaxed vocal phrasing also echoes Penn’s, with off-beat pauses that oddly emphasize particular words. The call-and-response section of the chorus, “Where does it hurt?/ Everywhere!,” is heavy-handed, but the piece is powerful enough to overcome the melodrama.

This collection of songs reflects the loosely directed flow of the recording sessions; each of the 11 tracks stands alone, without any real relationship to the others. This juxtaposes the strained surrealism of the Pavement-like “Let the Fireflies Fly Away” with the stripped down synthpop of “Bailing Out on Everything Again” and the Tom Petty Americana of “Poison Candy Heart”. Despite the odd transitions, Mulcahy consistently throws out lines that stick. Deceptively simple, it’s immensely satisfying to savor lines like, “Creeping toward the end/ Waiting on my man/ All I can do is what I do best/ And that’s taketh away” (“I Taketh Away”) and “You’re happiest when I’m not/ I can live with that” (“Poison Candy Heart”).

Sometimes, like on the Dylanesque “He’s a Magnet”, the initial lyrics promise more than the song can deliver, in this case opening with, “It all starts with the alphabet/ ‘A’ is for all I can get” before drifting into a mishmash of disjointed ideas, from Bible-readers to the cliché that “…weed will get you through times of no money.” But it’s a good-natured, drunkard’s walk and the closing assertion that “I’m positive we’re the ones that we’ve been waiting for” somehow wraps the song up with a non-Euclidean bow. On the other hand, “The Rabbit” is near perfect as it sketches out a tale of codependence, but for all his cynicism about his lover’s motivations and ambivalence about their dysfunctional relationship, Mulcahy tags the chorus with desperate longing.

Over the years, Mulcahy has collected a core of well-known supporters, like Thom Yorke, Dinosaur Jr. and Michael Stipe. They even pulled together a benefit/tribute album, Ciao My Shining Star (2009), to raise money for Mulcahy and his two daughters following his wife’s sudden death. His scattered fans will undoubtedly embrace Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You and its return to something more like Miracle Legion’s sound. Hopefully, the album will swell their ranks.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Peace, In Love (2013)

Remember early '90s Brit-pop? You will.

Isaac Newton said, "If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants." Peace's Brit-pop influences may not quite reach such colossal heights, but the band certainly takes the boost and enjoys the view. The British music press has hyped the band as the Second Coming, but cynics could easily interpret them as a rehash of the past. Indeed, song by song on In Love, it's easy to pick out inspirations and appropriated parts that read like a recap of popular British bands dating back to the early 90s: Blur, The Stone Roses, The Cure, and Oasis, to name just a few. Jim Albiss, who produced The Arctic Monkey's stunning debut, also managed to infuse a fair amount of that album into this project. On paper, this makes In Love a sort of Frankenstein's Monster amalgam of scavenged parts, but, surprisingly, Peace lives up to their reputation and overcomes knee-jerk dismissal. It helps that their playing is solid and they fully commit to the material, but it's the strong pacing between the tracks that largely distracts listeners from picking the songs apart.

A particularly good example is the flow between "Lovesick" and "Float Forever". The cheery bounce of "Lovesick" essentially reworks The Cure's "Friday I'm In Love" with manic energy:

Stay awake or go to sleep
Trust me, Baby, I'm a creep
And I'm lovesick with you

It makes me so happy, my mascara runs just a little. But just as the emo pop becomes slightly cloying, the song throws in the towel and the reflective pop of "Float Forever" provides a palate cleansing antidote. The sparse arrangement at the opening creates a late night, confessional feel. It's every bit as false as "Lovesick", with vaguely philosophical lyrics, but the balance is sweet. The band's metaphors are a bit strained, but catchy enough to work:

Hold on to your headlight
They hold your skin to your bones
Fold in fear in the white lines
You know you float forever
You know we'll float forever in the tide

The song gradually builds into a rousing affirmation, before subsiding to reprise the first verse with a wistful feel. Then, rather than let the energy drag, they lay down a set of upbeat, indie funk tracks, starting with "Wraith".

The contrast between In Love and their live show is stark. I saw Peace last month with Team Spirit in Denver (review). In preparation, I listened to several of their tunes beforehand to get a sense of their sound. The gulf between the funky "Wraith" and their spacy cover of Binary Finary's "1998" (from their 2012 Delicious EP) made it hard to pigeonhole them and their setlist delivered on that eclecticism. While their performance was raucous and intense, the studio gives them the bandwidth to develop some more nuanced arrangements.

One of my favorites is "Follow Baby", which kicks off with a discordant psychedelic guitar riff and then retreats to the fringes with a halo of feedback to give Harry Koisser's diffident voice some room. Call it Brit-grunge, but subtle details hide in the shadows of the verses: wah wah chuck-a-chuck rhythms, tremolo arpeggios, and keyboard-like chimes. Later, on the Blur-flavored "Waste of Paint", Koisser and fellow guitarist Douglas Castle each take their own approach to rhythm and melody. The two guitar tracks sound completely independent, but their funk strums interlock before splitting apart into nicely contrasting fill lines.

All in all, I like In Love, but I can't quite say I love it. It succeeds as a well-crafted pop album, but after a few times through I find myself wanting a stronger personality to come through. In that way, I'm not sure they measure up to their Brit-pop idols. Hearing them channel Oasis channeling the Beatles doesn't really satisfy. Despite that, I'm not ready to give up on Peace. Their enthusiasm on "1998" suggests that they could still find a stronger voice of their own.

Concert review: Peace with Team Spirit and Twin Peaks

3 June 2013 (Larimer Lounge, Denver CO)
After meeting the guys from Team Spirit at South By Southwest (read the interview) and catching two of their sets, I was excited to see them again. I wasn't familiar with Peace before the show, but I listened to a couple of songs online and liked the polished post-punk sound.

My only regret for the show was that the crowd was awfully sparse. They made up for it with enthusiasm, especially a couple of guys that drove up from Texas.

Twin Peaks

The first thing to keep straight is that there are at least two bands out there called Twin Peaks. The heavy pop version hails from Chicago. This show featured Denver's indie-rocking four-piece. They were a good fit for this show. Their embrace of noisy, classic rock drive and close-formation guitar riffs warmed up our ears for Team Spirit's twin guitar attack, while the heady new wave jams occasionally drifted towards an art rock feel, foreshadowing Peace's set.

While quite good, their studio work doesn't begin to represent their live sound. On stage, the cathartic clash of guitars dominates the mix, showing some fairly heavy influences. Additionally, their drummer gets a freer range to explore some inspired syncopation. I was impressed with how fluidly they surfed between hard-hitting classic rock and trippier, layered wanderings.

Front man Addison Friesen conveys intensity and focus during the songs and a looser self-deprecation between songs. Actually, the whole band came across as fairly earnest without any affected naïveté.As the final song built to a peak, the whole band radiated a simple happiness. The band's stage presence was relatively static until the big ending; then, Friesen flopped onto his back in front of the drum kit, still wringing waves of noise from his guitar.

Team Spirit

Team Spirit's EP and associated videos offer a good sense of the band's irreverent attitude and musical mindset, but can't quite encompass the wild exuberance of their live show. In constant motion, front man Ayad Al Adhamy would fall back from the mike, then hunch forward over his guitar. All of his movements were played large, as if he was on a grander stage. Every time I've seen the band, Al Adhamy has found one big gesture to serve as a climax, like crowd-surfing as while singing. At this show, he kicked some beers out of the way and came out into the audience as one lucky fan played human mic-stand.

The other three guys may have shown a little more restraint, but they were hardly wallflowers. Bass player Toby Pettigrew held to a Zen calm when he was just playing, but he confronted the mic during his backing vocals. Tightly coiled, he pounded out a staccato punch of notes. Guitarist Cosmo DiGuilio's casual confidence reminded me of Johnny Ramone as he swapped between ringing guitar riffs and a rapid-fire downstroke rhythm.

Team Spirit's songs are best described as pop-infused garage rock, played with an emphasis on classic rock era twinned guitars. Playing live, they amped up the songs with punk bravado and barely constrained thrash. They kept the crowd on edge as they whipsawed from rhythm shred to perfectly aligned guitar passages. Mike Addesso's drumming pushed the extremes, supporting the changes with his own shifts between flashy cymbal/tom work and syncopated phrasing that echoed the guitars.

Team Spirit continues to be one of my favorite bands to see live. I'm looking forward to watching the band grow into their potential, with longer set lists and bigger crowds to inspire them. The band is already working on extending their set list. They pulled out a couple of new tunes and talked about their recent recording sessions.

Peace

Birmingham band Peace has already garnered a ridiculous level of hype from the British press, with The Guardian suggesting that they're the future of Indie and gushing write-ups from NME. Trend-spotting press here, like Filter, have also climbed on board. The band's debut release, In Love, satisfied expectation without triggering a backlash, so they're on track to tackle the rest of the world with a club-level tour of the U.S.

As I mentioned, I had listened to a couple tracks before the show. "Wraith" reminded me a bit of the Arctic Monkeys' danceable indie rock with a funkier guitar riff. "1998", their cover of Binary Finary's trance classic, reinvented the robotic beat as a Pink Floyd space jam. The divide between these two songs suggested a diverse set. Peace delivered on that promise, with bandleader Harry Koisser giving many of the songs a psychedelic edge, his stereo guitar mix mutated with heady echoes and other effects. In contrast, the band's rhythm section anchored most the songs with a steady, driving beat.

Peace had a chameleon-like sound, appropriating bits of U2, the Cure, as well as The Stone Roses and a host of other retro Britpop bands. The set list meshed well, but kept the audience engaged with a shifting palette of styles. Their live version of "1998" emphasized the Pink Floyd "Careful With That Axe, Eugene" bassline and the processed sound of Koisser's guitar took on a keyboard role. Drummer Dominic Boyce was phenomenal, taking the beat into jazz experimentation with prog-style bombast. Rattling echoes, guitar ululation, and the enveloping throb of bass made this a peak moment in the show. The rumbling bass set up the transition to the next track, "Toxic", which had an early Radiohead sound.

After the thrashing playfulness of Team Spirit, Peace's stage presence did seem a bit mild mannered, but both bands found noisy islands of catharsis that made the Larimer Lounge feel like a full concert hall.

More photos on my Flickr.

Recording review - Alkaline Trio, My Shame Is True (2013)

Decent music dragged down by banal lyrics

Midwest punkers Alkaline Trio have had a restless career since their start in 1996, bouncing between record labels and taking a few years to settle on their line up. My Shame Is True marks a return to new material after 2011’s Damnesia, which was a more acoustic romp through their back catalog as a gift to their fans. Looking for a change, the band teamed up with Bill Stevenson (Descendents), recording at his Blasting Room Studios in Ft. Collins, Colorado. Stevenson’s punk credentials have attracted a roster of clients like Rise Against and NOFX, which sets some high expectations for Alkaline Trio’s latest. Musically, the mix of indie rock, punk and pop-punk stands up well, but the pacing and the lyrics undercut the project.

My Shame Is True starts out with misdirection. The catchy and humorous “She Lied to the FBI” is a blatant appropriation of the Ramones’ “The KKK Took My Baby Away”. Despite the lack of originality, the clever story line and syllable-perfect phrasing manage to charm. The smart-ass attitude, chunky guitars and tight chorus harmonies make a strong beginning, but the facade cracks when it becomes clear that they don’t have much more than the initial premise as they run through the set up a second time. Joey Ramone could sell this with spastic indifference while his band dared anyone to call them on it. Alkaline Trio may have been inspired by the Ramones, but their amateur-hour send-up proves short-lived. The album quickly moves away from fun-loving pop-punk to beat its chest with confessional rockers. The snark isn’t completely abandoned, but it’s hard to find.

The second song, lead-off single “I Wanna Be a Warhol”, ramps down the wit significantly. From the perspective of a medicated, spoiled child, they alternate between surrealistic observations and begging for attention. The title says it all — maybe even more than they intended. They want the recognition of being controversial art and revel in how special they’d be, but they seem to miss the point that much of Warhol’s work was about elevating the mundane. As the rest of the album unfolds, Alkaline Trio is dragged down by their unremarkable themes of dissatisfaction, challenging relationships and the power of love.

Given that bandleader Matt Skiba describes My Shame Is True as “an apology note set to music” in the wake of a romantic breakup, it would have been better to push these first two songs to later in the playlist. Leading off with the driving power pop of “I’m Only Here to Disappoint” would have at least nipped any bait-and-switch accusations and framed the catharsis better. In this context, the group hits their stride with “The Temptation of St. Anthony”. The uptempo punk-pop beginning tries to channel Green Day, especially with lines like, “My tender carrion/ The damage has been done/ From the depths of your heart/ To the tip of my tongue.” Alkaline Trio draws on this energy to jumpstart the punk intensity of “I, Pessimist”, which features whipsaw vocals between bass player Dan Andriano and guest singer Tim McIlrath (Rise Against).

Unfortunately, these two tracks provide the best pairing of lyrics and music while the rest of the songs struggle to make their mark. From the platitudes of “Only Love” to the avuncular advice of “Young Lovers”. Alkaline Trio hardly has anything to say. Sure, “In the end, there is only love,” but the head-banging rock and dynamic shifts deserve better revelations. Suffering is supposed to inspire great art and confession may be good for the soul, but too much of My Shame Is True turns out to be banal.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Strokes, Comedown Machine (2013)

Sloppy pastiches brings down the band

Nobody wants to be typecast. After a band has a couple of albums under their belt, it’s appropriate for them to develop and try new ideas. If the changes are too big or sudden, they may alienate some of their original fans, but an evolving artistic vision is vital for creating fresh inspiration. Dylan went electric, Wilco abandoned their Americana roots and Radiohead drifted into abstract electronic sounds. Each one challenged their audience to follow as they reframed their music. So, kudos to the Strokes for not trying to recreate Is This It (2001) all over again. But where is their creative compass pointing now? Unfortunately, it’s aimed at “sloppy pastiche”. Rather than charting a new musical direction, Comedown Machine is a mish-mash of derivative, retro references. They borrow bits of Radiohead, a-ha, Flaming Lips and others, but lack the conviction to forge the eclectic mass into a coherent statement. In the turbulent wake of their last release, Angles (2011), the Strokes decided to work together in the studio, but it still feels like they’re fighting one another.

Despite the album’s lack of a musical center, some of the songs manage to stand out a little. The two strongest are baby steps away from their home base. The solid punch of “All The Time” sets a tight beat, drawing on the band’s roots. The interplay between the two guitars pits staccato chop against arpeggiated phrases. Locking into the album’s ‘80s aesthetic, the fluid guitar solo avoids self-indulgence, leading straight back into the chorus. Lead singer Julian Casablancas also stays in his lower register, saving his newly discovered falsetto for the other tracks. The riff-driven “80s Comedown Machine” falls into the same slot and the band happily runs with the headlong pace. But the next most interesting track strays further outside the band’s comfort zone. “Welcome to Japan” channels Beck’s stylized fake-funk. The disco bass line and ska-flavored chop-beat emphasis positions the tune as a contender for the next Grand Theft Auto game or maybe an action movie soundtrack. It’s a fun song with catchy, ironic lyrics:

I didn’t want to notice
I didn’t know the gun was loaded
I didn’t really know this
What kind of asshole drives a Lotus? 

Intriguing as the track is, it’s a sonic outlier on the album, although it’s still closer to the median than the jazzy dream-pop of “Call It Fate, Call It Karma”.

If “Welcome to Japan” owes a debt to Beck, “One Way Trigger” ought to split its royalty checks. The keyboard melody – or is it just a brittle guitar emulation? – inverts the signature line from a-ha’s “Take On Me”. Worse, the first chorus blatantly appropriates Radiohead; the melodic reference to “Karma Police” is pretty obvious, despite being sped up to fit the up-tempo pop. It’s no surprise when Casablancas pulls out his best Thom Yorke falsetto on the tag line, “Settle down, out of town/ Find a dream, shut it down.” After that, every high vocal seems to evoke Yorke, even if the music strays from Radiohead territory. The worst thing about “One Way Trigger” is that it kicks off a game of I-Spy, where every tune has a set of references hidden in plain sight. “50 50” evokes a taste of Psychedelic Furs crossed with New Order. “Partners in Crime” borrows synthesizer washes and slapback vocal echo from the Flaming Lips’ more recent pop explorations, before the chorus reworks Phoenix. But in the absence of a strong personality, the game grows old quickly.

If there’s a handle here to be found, it’s a watered-down synth-pop. But the genre isn’t nearly as important as the attitude. It’s okay that the Strokes have deserted the simple rock sound of Is This It; the problem is that they’ve lost their immediacy and raw energy. They don’t seem to care much about these songs and I don’t see why we should either.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Sirsy, Coming Into Frame (2013)

Unapologetically pop duo share their earworms

The rock/pop duo Sirsy has tried working as a larger ensemble, but guitarist Rich Libutti and drummer Mel Krahmer have found their own wavelength that's hard to explain to others. They're renowned as a touring act, but until now they've never successfully translated their stage energy to the studio. On Coming Into Frame, they decided to break the pattern of their earlier release. Instead of self-producing, they brought in the production team of Paul Kolderie and Sean Slade (Hole, New Collisions, Dresden Dolls). The pair followed a "Rick Rubin" approach of understanding Sirsy and letting their sound come through. As a result, the album showcases Krahmer's strong voice and captures Libutti's subtle, retro guitar vibe. Kolderie and Slade found the right balance, where the engineering is fairly polished, but the album's not over-produced, maintaining a more organic feel.

The clean mix works well for the band.  While there are plenty of indie rock duos out there, Sirsy bucks the low-fi trend and favors a lush, textured pop sound. They embrace the pop label, but on their own terms. In an interview with RUST Magazine, Libutti is proud of making pop music but isn't comfortable being lumped in with Lady Gaga, "...our whole approach is so different, yet it's hard to differentiate ourselves." Despite hitting the pop jackpot - the songs are full of catchy hooks and earworm melodies -- Sirsy does stand out because of their depth and personality. A track like the thoughtful "Picture" starts out following an indie pop formula: a simple guitar figure repeats, building to a ringing chorus. But where their peers might favor a soft, delicate girly vocal, Krahmer's womanly voice demands respect. On "Brave and Kind", her singing pushes through with ringing power. The simple guitar riff has a touch of Radiohead's "Creep", especially on the chorus. As it grows in intensity, Libutti adds warmly distorted accents that seem to propel the vocals.

My favorite track is "Gold". It's light pop chord changes sound incredibly familiar, but the details make it more interesting. The guitar work is absolutely beautiful. The brief interlude after the first chorus is a masterpiece of elegant simplicity. Libutti's hollow, retro tone sets an introspective mood that fits the regretful feel of the song. Krahmer's lower register has a bit of Karen Carpenter in the lush verse vocals, but her voice is ballsier than Carpenter ever strove for. The lyrical flow is smooth and the phrasing ties the lines together:

And I suppose forgiving doesn't end it
Cause we're bound to screw it up again but
Just know I never meant to let you down
I guest it was so hard for me to see since
You've been the anchor, keeping hold of me then
That you would be the one of us to drown.

It's a very tasteful arrangement. Heavier handed producers would have gone über-pop and Auto-Tuned the vocal, but Slade and Kolderie recognize that the programmed rhythm loop takes the song exactly where it needs to go and no farther.

Sirsy also used their play order to good effect. "Lot of Love" and "She's Coming Apart" seem like companion pieces. The first features an old school '60s pop feel, with tremolo guitar and Nancy Sinatra-style singing. Krahmer's vocal is very expressive; she's jaded and tough, but also hopeful:

Maybe it's all a bluff
This happy ending sort of stuff
When I see you smile, it makes me want to try, oh

The chorus is positively saucy. "She's Coming Apart" initially seems to continue the same musical changes, but quickly jumps into edgier territory. This time Krahmer is the narrator, cynically finishing the tale from "Lot of Love":

Annie's on automatic
No one seems to know
She says it all went South
Since they hit Mexico

The guitar-grinding chorus reminds me of the Runaways hard-rocking pop.

This would have been a good song to end Coming Into Frame. The actual last tune, "The Cost of You" is good and belongs on the album, but its moodier feel belongs earlier in the track list. I like the mix of electro-pop keys and violin accents, but it sacrifices too much energy. Sirsy tries to overcome this by building the tempo and volume to a climax, but it's not enough. That's a small complaint, though, for an album full of perfect pop moments.

Give a listen to Sirsy's wickedly hypnotic single, "Cannonball"

Recording review - The Mountain Goats, Transcendental Youth (2012)

Outsider stories of bad luck and poor choices are given a voice

John Darnielle and the Mountain Goats continue to conjure sympathetic connections to their outsider subjects. Darnielle gives these characters voice, with tones that are by turns resigned, challenging, or  occasionally defensive. While the stories dominate the songs on Transcendental Youth, the Mountain Goats continue to find the right simple backing to support the emotional feel of the narratives. One big change from previous albums is the addition of nuanced horn arrangements to several of the tracks, thanks to Matthew E. White. On earlier releases, the band has been labeled as folk rock, based on the central role of acoustic guitar, but the brass moves the band's sound further away from folk.

Transcendental Youth opens with a perfect message to match the title:

Do every stupid thing that makes you feel alive
Do every stupid thing to try to drive the dark away
Let people call you crazy for the choices that you make
Find limits past the limits, jump in front of trains all day
And stay alive

 "Amy (AKA Spent Gladiator I)" was inspired by Amy Winehouse's demise, but serves as an epistle to all the wild youth. It's not entirely clear whether Darnielle's advice is sarcastic or just telling his targets what they need to hear, but the tagline, "Just stay alive" is certainly heartfelt. Jon Wurster's steady beat anchors the processional chord progression, giving the track a post punk vibe. The clever lyrics and catchy hooks make this most likely to be covered by a hundred sincere garage bands in the coming year.

After such an affirmation, the next track, "Lakeside View Apartments Suite" takes on a tunnel-vision darkness. Simple piano and vocal build a wall against any sentimentality is this case study of hopelessness and addiction. The chorus hints at Bruce Springsteen's "It's Hard to be a Saint in the City", but with a desperate edge. Everything is falling apart, feeding the tension: "And just before I leave, I throw up in the sink / One whole life recorded in disappearing ink." These two songs measure the range of material on Transcendental Youth, from the jaunty "The Diaz Brothers" to the moody surrender of "Night Light".

Like their earlier releases, individual lines stand out: "Long, black night, morning frost / I'm still here but all is lost" from "Cry for Judas" or "Hold my hopes underwater / Stand there and watch them drown" from "Until  I am Whole". These simple phrases suggest back tales of bad luck and poor choices, but Darnielle's voice gives them an acknowledgement if not a whitewashed character study.

The title cut serves as a refreshing appendix to the album. White's horn arrangement is lush and Wurster's rimshot rhythm locks the tune into a jazz feel that buoys Darnielle's lyrics. The poetic lines are grounded with gritty imagery: "Cedar smudge our headbands and take to the skies / Soar ever upwards on air gone black with flies." The music plays a stronger role here than anywhere else on the disc, suggesting that however bad it gets, they're prepared to deal with it and move on.

Recording review - Passenger Peru, Passender Peru (2012)

Gentle indie psychedelia goes experimental

Justin Stivers and Justin Gonzales of Passenger Peru create a dense sound packed with rhythmic complexity and experimental decorations. The production on their self-titled debut emphasizes the percussive nature of all of the instruments. Stivers, who played bass on the Antlers' Hospice, seems to drive this half of the band's sound. His bass lines tend to drive the songs even as they integrate into the tight syncopation. Gonzales layers in interesting ambient samples into the mix. Several songs feature his sonic collage intros to set the mood. The vocals are often processed with a distancing echo so they're almost trapped in amber. When the song slides into Beach Boys style harmonies, this takes on a dreamier feel.

Passenger Peru leads off with Your Hunger. It opens with a nostalgic arrangement of samples before the bass kicks in with a snaky riff. Initially, the bass and tight rhythm sound like retro new wave, but the noise flavored fills shift that into more of an indie psych space. The low-fi, thick vocals and distorted drum sounds contrast with the clear stereo production. The steady beat glides through the whole song, but the breaks have an off-balanced feel due to the spooky bass line and detuned bits of sound packed into the track. The song takes an interesting twist as it slips into a hard rock/light metal grind.

This edgy ending pumps up the trippy happiness of In the Absence of Snow, which recalls Animal Collective's psychedelic obsessiveness and Freelance Whales' hippie earnestness. Like most of the songs, the lyrics are more sketches than carefully constructed messages:

Your naked memory sits on the floor
I just don't bother clothing you no more.

My favorite track was Weak Numbers. The sweetly retro guitar sound meshes perfectly with the indie pop shimmer. The lazy beat and high pitched vocals suggest Marc Bolan and T. Rex on downers. Over the course of the tune, the backing stays calm and constant, but that intro guitar gets more mutated and chaotic. It's a delicate balance between the gentle procession of the chords and the more expressive bad-trip guitar, but the net effect is somehow calming and accepting.

I don't always understand Passenger Peru's point. Occasionally, there's a cognitive dissonance that keeps the songs from full connecting. The upbeat, cheery sound of Health System doesn't really work with the pseudo political statement of the lyrics. I enjoy the music well enough, though. Similarly, the closing track, Life and Death of a Band creates a dark tension that doesn't match the kind of progression suggested by the title. Once again, the punchy drive and solid drumming sounds great, it just needed a better concept at its foundation.

Passenger Peru's overall sound suggests a pair that are still working out how to blend their visions together. Both men bring some interesting ideas to the table. The experimental elements add depth, while the rhythmic focus grounds the songs. As they develop their balance, I hope for more tracks like Weak Numbers.

Check out the uptempo experimental sound of Tiger Lilly on YouTube. Also, drop by Passenger Peru's Bandcamp page to sample and buy the album.

Recording review - Dinosaur Jr., I Bet on Sky (2012)

Philosophical  slacker ambivalence and cleansing noise

Dinosaur Jr.’s sometime rocky history has had its share of ego and anger. The original lineup split over control issues. Eventually, J. Mascis recorded a couple of effectively solo albums as Dinosaur Jr. After he retired the name, Dinosaur Jr. was just another old band that informed the grunge and alt rock scenes of the ‘90s.

When the band reformed with the original lineup in 2005 (and recorded in 2007), it was a major surprise, not only because the band seemed to have worked through their issues but more because their sound was closer to the later era Dinosaur Jr. work that Mascis developed without Lou Barlow and Murph. This second round has proven to be a stronger artistic partnership with two albums, Beyond (2007) and Farm (2009), that stand up well to the band’s earlier work.

On I Bet on Sky, Dinosaur Jr. continues this trend, offering up an album of grungy fun that still delivers the cathartic, cleansing noise that defines their sound. They hit hard right from the start. Don’t Pretend You Didn’t Know shows off the chemistry between Barlow’s bass and Mascis’ guitar. It’s distorted, but enough edges are worn away to leave a touch of Blue Öyster Cult’s smooth gloom. It’s a rich, full sound. The bridge kicks up the energy to hail back to the hard rocking ‘90s. The only real surprise is the light touch of piano comping that lurks around the changes. Mascis follows his usual melodic style on the solo, streaming the notes in a smooth, meandering flow.

If Don’t Pretend You Didn’t Know is a strong opener, Watch the Corners is a powerful followup. The dark, chunka-chunk intro sets a metal tone. The grinding distortion is sweet and cathartic. Mascis’ vocals, which often drone, sound weary, almost fatalistic:

I want you to be with us
And in time there’s no forgiveness
And the plan was set in stone long ago
There’s never not a time not to know
Can I run? But she’ll be there
Disappear, it’s never fair

The full sound during the singing drops back to repeat the intro crunch. In the past, J Mascis was compared to Neil Young, largely based on his vocal delivery, but the ballsy solo captures Young’s hard rocking guitar style. It shamelessly salutes the classic ‘70s guitar lead. Reaching for “epic”, this is an ideal sample of what makes Dinosaur Jr, so right. Murph nails the beat, but his fills stumble forward in a headlong rush. Barlow’s bass grounds the repetition and Mascis’ guitar channels a head full of frustration that his vocals never seem to deliver.

Despite the likely influence Dinosaur Jr. had on Nirvana, J Mascis is really the antithesis of Kurt Cobain. They share a certain slacker ambivalence, but where Cobain was tormented and bleeding, Mascis remains philosophical and detached. That comes through on Almost Fare. The backing music’s descending line has a touch of Flaming Lips, but the vocals immediately summon Nirvana’s Come As You Are. The dynamic shifts from soft to loud match either band’s style, but Mascis voice lack’s Cobain’s intensity. He may sing, “Come with me, come with me”, but he’s okay if you don’t.

These first three songs set the tone for all of I Bet on Sky. Despite some weaker songs, like the low-fi, simple romp of Rude or See It On Your Side, which relies too much Neil Young’s Cortez the Killer, I Bet on Sky is a strong offering for a band that rose from the dead with a renewed intensity.

(This review first appeared in Spectrum Culture)

History Lesson - Pixies, Doolittle (1989)

The unbearable blightness of dreaming: rage, noise, and surrealism

The Pixies sucked in the sounds of punk and post punk and transformed them into a new language of visceral frustration informed by the curse of self-awareness. Thus the distorted thrash of Hüsker Dü, the angular tonality of Television, and the demented experimentalism of Pere Ube coalesced into a  noisy melange that would later influence bands from Nirvana to the White Stripes.

Surfer Rosa was a strong offering as the band's first full length album, with a brutally primitive clarity, but Doolittle showcases a more fully developed sound. Punk energy and a willful embrace of surrealism made Doolittle a more ambitious project. A lot of bands aim to be shocking and only manage an affected strangeness. But I remember hearing Debaser for the first time and concluding that Black Francis was truly messed up.

Like Johnny Rotton on Anarchy in the U.K., Francis' voice on Debaser is gleeful as he riffs on the imagery from Luis Buñuel's surrealistic film Une Chien Andalou: "Slicin' up eyeballs, I want you to know." The music starts out with Kim Deal's note perfect bassline and a clean post punk feel that quickly picks up a thick layers of guitar. The raw drive of the song supports the increasingly manic vocals. Francis has talked about surrealism as an artificial, escapist form, but Debaser and other parts of Doolittle test that boundary. Like a self-cutter trying to feel via pain, Francis seems to be trying find morality and truth through transgression.

If Debaser makes me think Francis was out there, his howl on Tame seals the deal. The track's dynamic contrast is powerful. His intermittent explosions of rage are a kick to the teeth, but the softer syncopation between Francis' and Deal's vocalized breathing near the end of the track is more torturous as it builds a nervous anticipation. It's clear that they're catching their breath before the final confrontation.

If Doolittle only offered aggression, it would wear thin quickly. Instead, the album branches out with a dreamy version of surrealism (Wave of Mutilation), a sweet yin-yang mix of Deal and Francis vocals (I Bleed), and a surprisingly bouncy pop (Here Comes Your Man). This last track sounds like a rougher version of the Pretenders' earlier work, trading Chrissie Hind's brash tone for Francis' cryptic openness.

The magic, though, comes with Monkey Gone to Heaven. The social commentary and environmental message are only slightly oblique and there are a couple of lyrical gems there. But the arrangement is what makes it so special. The Pixies sacrifice none of their edge, but the soft-loud shifts are more controlled and the subtle strings add a rich depth. The staccato bassline holds the pace in check, imbuing Francis' raw build to "Then God is Seven!" with greater weight.

The second half of Doolittle is a bit of a roller coaster ride -- the campy fun of Mr. Grieve, the hyper thrash of Crackity Jones, La La Love You's upbeat Cure feel, and the funky groove of Hey -- the mix of sounds and styles throw some curves, but the Pixies' je ne sais quoi remains clear. Even if most of the second half doesn't quite deliver the power of Debaser or Monkey Gone to Heaven, it's easy to imagine Jack White wearing out his copy of the album, soaking it in.

Doolittle closes with another strong track, Gouge Away. The steady bass and calm vocal detachment of:

Gouge away
You can gouge away
Stay all day
If you want to

sets up the loud response, whose rhythm guitar part sounds like it's been passed hand to hand from sometime far back in Keith Richard's history. The surf tone guitar lead adds a psychedelic touch. The pauses and variable strings of notes are like cigarette smoke drifting across the room. Gouge Away serves as a fitting complement to the album's start. Worn down, Francis now sounds like the old hand who could probably offer some advice to the brash young man on Debaser.

Recording review - Zulu Pearls, No Heroes No Honeymoons (2012)

Stripped down sound distills songs to their essence

Following the popular trend, Zach Van Hoozer records under his band monicker, Zulu Pearls. Beyond that, though, Van Hoozer distances himself from the usual crowd. He's ditched Washington D.C. to settle in Berlin. Rather than tapping into the electronic music scene there, he focuses on his own rock vision, playing with a pan-European set of musicians.

Van Hoozer came back to D.C. to record No Heroes No Honeymoons with producer Nick Anderson. The two created a stripped down sound where guitars generally provide light accents rather than steal the show. The stark production and the slapback echo on the vocals give the songs a retro feel with a taste of late night ruminations. Most of the songs are bass driven with solid drumwork. The echoed vocals and bass playing are a bit like the Arctic Monkeys sound on Whatever People Say I Am That's What I'm Not, but more laid back. Van Hoozer's voice is expressive and occasionally weary.

Simple strums of reverbed guitar add highlights to the down tempo bassline and steady drumbeat on the opening track, Keep It Cool. The music is distilled down to it's purest essence. Van Hoozer's voice comes in like he's whispering secrets. He picks up some urgency and stronger expression on the chorus, matching the increased rock intensity. This track sets the tone for the whole album. Regardless of the tempo, the arrangements feature the same clarity where a gesture is preferred over bombast.

That's not to say that No Heroes No Honeymoons is an understated album; the sonic focus can create a powerful tension. On Two Thousand Whatever, the verse's hypnotic beat supports a seductive vocal. The stalking bassline adds a hint of threat or maybe temptation. But the chorus breaks the spell with a languid and expressive release:

Some want love, some want submission
You can keep your diamond ring
I'm on top, you're on a mission
And you want to take everything
But you say I waste my breath on rock and roll
Ain't nobody gonna save my soul

Those last two lines open the music to channel My Morning Jacket, with Van Hoozer reaching for Jim James' style of vocal self-flagellation. The chorus resolves and smoothly slips back into the verse groove with a renewed sense of anticipation.

One track ignores Zulu Pearls' sonic blueprint. The first single, Magic Tricks opts for a more standard pop/indie rock approach. This time the drums and bass step back in the mix and let the guitar drive the song. There's even a guitar solo after the second chorus and some keys slip in on the third verse. It's a catchy song and I like it, but compared to the rest of No Heroes No Honeymoon, it feels like a compromise.

Despite this, the rest of the album's aesthetic offers a unique response to the usual indie rock sound. Zulu Pearls create a kind of power vacuum when they sideline the guitar without an obvious replacement. Letting the rhythm section take center stage gives the songs a different perspective.

Check out the drag beat title cut, No Heroes No Honeymoons. The album releases in the U.S. on September 18.

Recording review - Parlovr, Kook Soul (2012)

Theatrical and expressive, Parlovr's sound has matured

Montreal rockers Parlovr (pronounced "parlour") were scattered on their 2010 EP Hell / Heaven / Big / Love (review). Synth pop, indie rock, new wave, garage -- Parlovr defied genre and clarity of vision to offer a glimpse of their own schizophrenic internals.

Kook Soul's music still reflects a cracked mirror perspective of various influences, but Parlovr has found continuity in a theme of commitment and its occasional failure. Pleasantly, they manage to cover that trite ground without self indulgence. Along with their thematic coherence, the band has taken an evolutionary step and developed a theatricality that elevates Kook Soul's pop and provides an aesthetic link to fellow Montrealers, Arcade Fire.

On Just Marriage, an ambient start escalates into a shrill wail that culminates into a solid glam rock drive. Standing on Mott the Hoople and T-Rex's shoulders, the band pounds through the song, filling the cracks of the tune with fuzzy bits of whatever comes to hand. The kick drum and heavy bass provide grounding for the falsetto vocals. The wordy lyrics fit the tension of the song, offering little comfort in their wisdom:

Like a solid scream, the thought shot through her heart in the dream
And though it woke her up, the feeling became a real thing
And now the wedding she wanted so bad had all become a lie
Oh how the nuptials, they only pull the wool over your eyes

Parlovr mixes a matter-of-fact tone with punctuations of over-emoted expressiveness, which gives Kook Soul a confessional vibe. The glossy glam and new wave riffs suggest a slick veneer, but Parlovr's deeper feelings are often revealed. On I'm Holding on to Something, the verse starts out passively:

You promised you'd be home
I made myself available
Guess I'll just wait outside your door

But the truth of rejection becomes clear which leads the song to a simple chorus of raw, exposed desperation: I'm holding on to something. I'm holding on to you!

But rather than play drama kings, the band remains self aware and avoids taking themselves too seriously. Take the retro mod-pop of Amaze-Me-Jane. This goofy tune sets up a simple garage rock jam with tossed off lyrics. But the song's energy builds and the vocals veer towards anarchy while the music tries to keep up.

Kook Soul's maturity and coherence are an improvement over Hell / Heaven / Big / Love. Parlovr continue to develop their voice and it seems like they have interesting things to say.

Concert review - Ramona Falls with Deer or a Doe, Dan Craig

20 June 2012 (Hi-Dive, Denver CO)

Three good bands made the trip down from Ft. Collins worthwhile. I was especially interested in finding out how Ramona Falls layered sound would translate to a club like the Hi-Dive. It turns out the Brent Knopf's sister lives in the area and there was a strong contingent of local fans at the show. A good crowd makes a good show even better.

Dan Craig

Local opener Dan Craig brought his new band out for their maiden voyage. They were all well rehearsed, though, as the setlist flowed smoothly and the arrangements sounded casual but tight.

They didn't burn much of their 22 minute set on patter and Craig's vocals tended towards a sleepy, introspective sound. Despite these shoegazer qualities, the band was engaged and comfortable. Although their sound centered on a psychedelic garage rock feel, the band never fell into a rut of meandering jams or sonic repetition.

The opening song had the simple psych vibe of Staus Quo's Pictures of Matchstick Men. Within a couple of songs, the sound had shifted to a folky, down tempo rock that sounded like late night radio, talking-to-the-walls music.

The playing was understated, but precise. The best moments were little unexpected gems, like the low feedback moan lurking behind a quieter song moment or the tightly twinned bass and lead guitar lines of the final song.

Deer or the Doe

This Portland band is touring with Ramona Falls. Their indie rock groove had all the right elements: a solid, serious bass and drum foundation, vocals pushed out with a restrained intensity, great guitar textures, and a smattering of keyboard fill.

The chemistry between guitarist Aaron Miller and Cassie Neth showed in their vocals and staging. Miller stood sideways, facing Neth more than the audience. His jerky movements, awkward tension, and focus made him interesting to watch.

Neth, on the other hand stayed more buried in the music. Eyes shut, she seemed intent on hitting her parts perfectly. Her vocals were more assertive than her stage persona as she gave several of the songs an early Liz Phair vibe. The moments when the loosened control and danced along were the most endearing

Aside from Miller's sharp movements, the band stayed fairly static and self absorbed. The second guitarist wrapped himself around his guitar, while the bass and drums were more workmanlike: craftsmen casually building a strong rhythmic wall.

Ramona Falls

Listening to Ramona Falls recent album, Prophet (review), it's clear that the band spends a tremendous effort to create the perfect layering of subtle elements at the balance between pop and electro-prog. The sound shifts between lighter pop and heavier tones, but the sonic details are Brent Knopf's stock in trade.

Ramona Falls' transition from the studio to the stage was effective. The band members pulled double or triple duty, trading between instruments in the fairly intricate arrangements. But playing in a club forced a sacrifice of studio clarity and tonal depth. The band took that into account and seized the upside of the trade off to give the songs a heavier edge and deeper emotional investment.

I was glad that Ramona Falls preserved Prophet's sense of dynamics. The light percussive guitar on Russia backed Knopf's dreamy vocals, but the song built beyond the recorded version as drums emphasized a monster tom pounding. Ramona Falls' music has always conveyed the emotion of the lyrics better than Knopf's calm vocals and that was still true, but his physical response to the music countered any detachment. With each punch, Knopf pulled into himself then loosened to move the song forward.

The band hit most of the tracks from Prophet, opening the set with Bodies of Water. But they also played some favorite older tunes like Russia and Clover. At one point, drummer Paul Alcott announced, "This next song is arguably the best song we're going to play tonight," before the band launched into I Say Fever. With the music video projected behind the band, they evoked the same mix of sentimentality and tension. In addition to his keyboard work, Knopf strapped on a guitar to raise the necessary chaos to climax the song.

In all, the bigger arrangements favored the band's post-rock side. Songs like Sqorm blossomed into velvety darkness as the booming floor tom and heavy bass dominated the chorus. The visceral punch contrasted with Knopf's clearly enunciated vocals.

That balance between rational and emotional is the fulcrum point of Ramona Falls' recorded music. Even with a sharper edge, their set maintained that aesthetic.

More photos on my Flickr.