Considerably brightening my day today is the NPR 'First Listen' selection from a few weeks ago, which is Givers' life-loving, effervescent debut album, "In Light." I first heard the impossibly cheerful single "Up Up Up" on a mix made for me by my musically attuned pal Chris Cook a few months ago. It was all the more of a stand-out because he'd cleverly nestled it amidst a mix otherwise dominated by a bunch of lo-fi drone pop, and noisy non-chorus-sporting tone poems, so when the good folks of Givers wound up with an "Ohhhhhhhh we up up up up above love. Yeah we down down here on the ground" I gave the old Scooby Doo double take at my speakers.
No secret here that I often like my music cheerful and sing-along-able, sunny, and sort of guileless, so I'm pretty happy to report that the rest of the album, in my opinion, is even better than the kettle-drum tropical shine of the single. Songs become layered with harmony and shimmering guitar riffs, and are devoid of the fuzz and reverb that is drenching and obscuring so much of their peers' music nowadays. Givers aren't afraid to sing it loud and proud.
Listen to the whole album here at NPR while you still can. "In Light" will be available for purchase tomorrow.
As a vinyl nerd, suffice it to say that the annual Record Store Day spate of limited releases is much better than Christmas morning for me. Honestly, who can really compare slicing the shrinkwrap off gleaming discs of aural licorice and smelling the press of the ink on the sleeve to unwrapping yet another gift of socks and Old Navy gift cards while watching my nephew get all the good stuff? Yeah, sure, Christmas is about giving, not getting, but Record Store Day is about both - GETTING myself a bunch of records and GIVING them to my turntable. Magnifique.
This year, as always, I have compiled a list far longer than my wallet can support of things that get my heart ticking. Here are a few items that top the list:
1. Cults: Abducted/Go Outside (remix) 7" I recently saw Cults at a very sweaty outdoor day show at SXSW, and they lived up to and surpassed all I'd hoped to see from them based on the limited songs they have thus far released. "Go Outside" has been a mix CD staple for me for more than a year now, so it's nice to be able to snag it in some version on vinyl finally (because I don't feel like paying 6 of my fingers and an eyeball for the way out of print original version 7").
2. Fleet Foxes: Helplessness Blues 12" I'm not gonna lie to you, the harmony break in the middle of this song ("If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore...") gives me a lump in my throat every time. It could be, as Stereogum readers seem to assert, that Fleet Foxes isn't "cool." But, personally, I am totally that person that always seeks out that whitebread American vocal harmony in my record collection (Simon & Garfunkel, CSNY) when I've had a little too much to drink and am feeling sentimental for old road trips. So, really, I think this needs to take its place in the queue.
3.Go! Team: Rolling Remixes 12" If you have read much of this blog, you probably know that I don't really love remixes. But in this case, it seems that the Go! Team is ripe for some fun ones. If I can already convince myself to do just 10 more minutes on the elliptical at the gym so I can keep listening to Rolling Blackouts I figure the remixes might get me going for another 15.
4. Growlers: Gay Thoughts 7" Now here's a fun little band that I've recently gotten wind of. I don't know much about them, but I'm game.
5. Javelin: Canyon Candy 10" Javelin crafted this EP as a tribute to a road trip across the Western USA, and all the songs have this amazing cowboy twang meets electro beat that I'm really feeling right now. I love some old time front porch music, and Javelin's spin on it is fresh and fun.
6. Joy Formidable: Whirring/Chwyrlio 7" Whirring, from what I've heard of Joy Formidable's repertoire thus far is the most sing-along-able, poppiest offering by a long shot. It has that big soaring chorus that just makes your ribs ache. I could slay dragons to this song.
7. Shuggie Otis: Inspiration Information - World Psych Classics 2 LP I've long had the cd version of this release from Luaka Bop, and the smooth soul tracks are reminiscent of Curtis Mayfield at his most laconic. Sunday afternoon music for sure, and worth the whole price of admission just for Shuggie's definitive version of "Strawberry Letter 23" made more popular by the Brothers Johnson.
8. Wild Flag: Future Crimes b/w Glass Tambourine 7" Since I missed this quasi super group (Carrie Brownstean of Sleater Kinney collaborates with Mary Timony of Helium) at SXSW, I still have no real notion of what they sound like, and full disclosure - I sort of missed the boat on the Sleater-Kinney/Carrie Brownstein fandom, but the inclusion of one of my 90s ultra-faves Mary Timony will get my money any day. I can't imagine how the relatively straightforward power-chords of Brownstein will meld with the creatively tuned string-bending of Timony, but we'll see.
9. The return of Wake to public consciousness. Since I'm being honest, I'll admit that I'd never heard of this band prior to seeking them out based on the RSD list. Wake is a female-fronted post punk band along the lines of Josef K or Orange Juice, contemporaries of that time period in the UK. Record Store Day via Captured Tracks Records is offering up a 7" combo pack that has three records and and some buttons - featured are the singles "On Our Honeymoon" and "Crush the Flowers." But that's not all - Captured Tracks is also releasing a split 7" of Wake covers by the label's prime movers, Wild Nothing and Beach Fossils.
Here's a track by Wake to whet your appetite:
So, on April 16, I'll be in Vegas seeking out the best independent record store I can find to cull some of these treasures from the shelves. Where ever you are, don't forget to support your independent record stores every day of the year.
I'm choosing a band that's been around for more than a minute for today's Daily Bomb, because their recently released third album "Rolling Blackouts" continues to evolve their incredibly unique sound into better and better sonic territory.
I first saw The Go! Team play live at South By Southwest 2006, just a few months after their first album, "Thunder, Lightning, Strike!" was released. I'd heard a few tracks from the album before I caught their live show at the Spin Magazine party, and had mixed feelings. I wasn't initially sure that I quite got their music. It felt like what could best be described as high-energy hip hop chanted by a squad of cheerleaders on a sugar high. Only after I saw the translation of that music to a mind-reelingly aerobic live show did I get just what an interesting and singular fusion this music really was. There were classic soul samples (Shirley Ellis seemed to be a favorite to borrow from on this album) mixed in with horns, beats, singing, chanting, rapping...and it all came together in a way that probably inspired a lot of people to rethink their aversion to running for exercise. I'm seriously not kidding. As someone who generally asserts that she is saving all her running for when the zombies start chasing her, I dusted off my trainers, put in my earbuds and attempted (and failed) to run around the block. Probably, there were fist pumps and impromptu jumping jacks involved.
Second album "Proof of Youth" increased the thickness of production, proving that the band was anything but a one-minute-man. There was a more indie-slant, with more sing-songy numbers that nonetheless never sacrificed any of the super-soul-party edginess of the first album. There's a lot to be said for a band that understands inherently all the qualities that makes them one-of-a-kind, valid and unique, and evolves around them rather than away from them.
With the release of "Rolling Blackouts" today, they do more of the same type of evolution, and this time they invite a couple of guests along for the ride. Adding elements of 60s West Coast twang, and throwback AM gold to the mix, the first song previewed a month or so ago was an offering called "Buy Nothing Day" which featured Bethany Cosentino from Best Coast on vocal duty. "Secretary Song," a slanted little popster, features Satomi Matsuzaki of Deerhoof. The other songs alternate between lush,pastoral instrumentals and floorshaking sing-alongs that combine the chant-worthy choruses of classic Go! Team cuts with a surprisingly rich, layered vocal harmony.
Below is the video for "Secretary Song." The band promises a new video each day this week. Most excellent!
Vivian Girls sideprojects seem to be ruling the net nowadays - you can't type "w" three times without hitting one. Vivian Girls...hm...let's talk about this, shall we? The band forms in 2007 to the raves of college music fans all across Brooklyn and some of the other places where lesser humans receive transmissions in "hipster." Two albums and one drummer later, we must assume that the Vivian Girls' creative output is simply not enough for these overacheiving ladies, because that creativity springs a ship-capsizing leak into other bands last year. Original drummer, Frankie Rose, pokes her head out of the scene like an ethereal bang-coiffed groundhog, and casts a jangly springtime shadow in the form of new band Frankie Rose and the Outs. Meanwhile, replacement drummer, Ali Koehler leaves for the pacific pastures of Best Coast. Not to be outdone, however, still-active members Cassie Ramone and Katy Goodman use their free time to record offerings by bands called The Babies and today's Daily Bomb, La Sera, respectively. All this while awaiting the release of Vivian Girls' third hotly anticipated album.
Honestly, Vivian Girls I can take or leave. I feel like they have a solid place at the forefront of lo-fi girl-group-loving return to simple pop that has been trucking along for the last couple of years, but I never really felt terribly connected to their musical output. On the other hand, I feel that these spin-off bands are pushing a few more buttons and expanding the style of the individual members of the band. As such, I'm curious about how this will effect the upcoming Vivian Girls release. Positively, I have to imagine.
But, the nucleus of these side projects aside, both The Babies and La Sera have released some really pleasing singles in 2010 and early 2011. Of the two, La Sera seems to have kept a little more of the bricks and mortar of the Vivian Girls structure, but somehow come off softer, cleaner, and sweeter. The fuzz of the Vivian Girls has cleared away like a fog to reveal something altogether prettier, yet more solid at the same time.
Next week, La Sera's single "Devils Hearts Grow Gold" will be released on Hardly Art in a limited 7"in advance of a full length that will ship in February. Both "Devils..." and the previous single, "Never Come Around" bode well for what's to come from Ms. Katy and crew.
Where bloggers were once extolling the virtues of the Vivian Girls, Dum Dum Girls, and Best Coast for bringing back a distinct Brill Building, 60s girl group sound filled with happy harmonies and sweeping reverb, they are now pooh-poohing the derivative nature of the bands' follow ups and followers. So, which is it? You, bloggers who keep telling me how Weezer's new (and still terrible horrible trite) output is the best thing since Pinkerton (an album all of you loathed at the time of release). You bloggers who did backflips over the stripped down Goffin-King-like redux of 2008. Do you now hate what you used to love? Love what you used to hate? You're so confusing! Up is down, down is up...
Ah fuck it. I'm not afraid to say that I still like the stuff. As far as I'm concerned, if the world of indie music were to pattern itself eternally on a history coming out of girl groups, 60s soul and R&B, and California Sunshine Psych music, and learn to do it really WELL, I'd be just as happy as any kid who accidentally found mom's stash of GHB.
But, alas, this isn't a rant, this is a celebration. This is a celebration of me catching the fever on a rainy Sunday in Amoeba Records and spending more money than I should have, on more music than I should have gotten for that price. Yeah, so the double vinyl copy of Portishead's third album that I got had one pretty good scratch on one song. But, still, it cost $1.99, so who am I turn that kind of deal down? REO Speedwagon for a buck? Yeah, sure. There'll be a time in my living room when I'm drunk and there are people over that "Keep on Loving You" will sound like a hail of sonic gold. But, better still, I found an advance CD copy of Gigi's first and only album "Maintentant" for less than $5.
I sought it out, because my girlfriend who normally refuses to sing out loud in front of me, belted out their song "Alone at the Pier" and deemed it to be one of her favorite sing-alongs on the collection of mix CDs I've foisted upon her. Well, since we were jumping up and down on the bed in our room at the Maritime Hotel in Chelsea at the time, beery and bleary after a seemingly endless wait for a room after a punishing red-eye - her inhibitions may have been shot. But she sang for me, and I wanted more.
As for the actual album, "Maintentant" is filled with sparkling gems and a rotating cast of Canadian talent that you've probably never heard of, but might hope to hear again. 15 songs of alternating girl and boy singers guarantee you'll get your money's worth. I could pick out at least 8 of them that I love, and each makes that maligned 60s throwback sound fresh and vital as though the decade was only just taking its first breath.
It's been a long and busy absence from posting here on The Daily Bomb, making the blog title look like blatant false advertising to say the least. Writing, editing, photo acquisition, and promotion of a book I just wrote, made me want to punch the written word right in the gerunds. Were it possible, I would have only communicated via sign language for months to give myself a rest.
But, I just couldn't stay away forever. The persistence of The Love Language's song "Heart to Tell" made me return. I don't even remember where I first heard this song. It was just one of those things that kind of reached up behind me and put the chloroform over my mouth and said, "You will submit to my lilting beat...shhh...think about Summertime and dancing like a marionette in your living room..." And I was out like a sack of sweet potatoes.
Months later, this song has infiltrated my afternoons like you wouldn't believe. I suddenly realize that I've been singing it in my head for hours, and whenever it comes into rotation on a mix, I react like I've just snorted a line of Fun Dip. I love it like I love cotton candy at a baseball game. Like I love sneaking booze into a matinee. Like I love a brand new pair of socks.
Okay, I'm gonna do something I have never done and will never do ever ever again. I am going to hand you this band via the words of Pitchfork. Normally speaking, though I'm not one of the supreme haters of that site, I'd still prefer not to namecheck it in my own blog. But in this case, frankly, there's really nothing more apt and perfect that I could really tell you about Gauntlet Hair that they didn't already. I will only add that I really really really like the song of which they write, and that while you may not be able to snag the Cults 7" that I mentioned yesterday anymore, you can keep your eyes on the very same label for Guantlet Hair's up and coming release of this song as an A side. Preorder info not yet available, but it will likely be posted soon, and will likely follow a quick dash to buy what limited copies they make available. Will one be yours? Not if I beat you to it, jive turkey.
And the Worst Bandname of the Week award goes to... these guys! I don't know what Gauntlet Hair is, but it sounds like something people used to get diagnosed with in the 1820s when the docs were more creative. Not a big deal-- hey, you'll remember it. What matters is that "I Was Thinking..." is a delirious, fire-spewing stomper from this Denver-based avant-pop duo affiliated with Rhinoceropolis, the Denver DIY space which local heroes Pictureplane and Hollagramz call home.
The song's central figure is a hyper-rhythmic guitar that repeatedly slides up, then snaps like a rubberband into starbursts of perfect chordness. You might also enjoy the firecracker-loud handclaps, trunk-rattling bass hits, and battle-cry shoutsinging. Whoever mixed this thing is-- to steal a phrase from my Pitchfork penpal Joe Tangari-- definitely a soldier in the loudness war. But at the song's center is an unstoppable melodic heart that beats like it just ran an Alaskan winter mile in short-shorts, and all you want to do is douse that fucker in Gatorade when it breaks through the finish line."
Well, needless to say, it's been a while since I've bothered to update this blog. There are a few reasons for that. The pertinent one is that I really haven't heard too many bands that are curling my toes, and therefore have just simply lacked the fire to put fingers to keyboard. But over the months, I've collected a few in my pockets that I'd like to share, so I'll see if I can get them up here in the next few weeks.
I'll start off with a lovely little band called Cults. Two weeks ago, the band released a 7" through Forest Family Records, a new label collaboration by the Gorilla vs. Bear guys and Weekly Tape Deck. And in a turn of events that proves beyond argument that, if you are a collector of the vinyl, you'd better be a quick motherfucker when it comes to snatching it up. The 7" sold out faster than hashish hotcakes. Luckily, you can still download all the songs for free on Bandcamp.
The A side, "Go Outside," is proof positive that we're entering another indie rock spring. This sweet, jangly, tinkling little confection that follows in the tradition of other recent retro-inspired pop acts like Best Coast, is bound to end up on a whole lotta sing-along road trip mixtapes. I've already road tested it on a trip down to San Diego and can say with confidence that it totally deserves a slot in the playlist. The song is turning up on a lot of blog lists, so I'm hoping demand will prompt a new issue of that 7".
Here's two things I'd like to get goddamn straight right now: I don't like hippies. And I don't like Ugly Betty. So, when you take a band that looks like a convoy straight out of Jonestown via Woodstock, and factor in the fact that I heard their most popular single when I accidentally fell asleep on the couch and woke up to the horror of Betty la Fea on my tv.
And on further research evidence, it turns out that the band was founded by Alex Ebert, late of the grating band Ima Robot, after he apparently lost his girlfriend and lost his damn mind in A.A. "Edward Sharpe" is a "messianic figure" he invented that was apparently sent to earth to save mankind, but got distracted by girls. One can only hope, considering all this grade-A hooey, that this is not his attempt at misunderstood autobiography.
But, there's a sliding scale for everything, and apparently, you can't always judge a hippie by the smell of his patchouli, a kind of creepy quasi-crazy by his rhetoric, or a good band by the crappy tv show or retarded car commercial they've been inclined to sell their song to in order to make at least one or two dimes a piece in this fucked economy. And you don't always have to like the mind to like the music. Fact is, my very thoughtful girlfriend made me a sweet little "hey, I like you!" style mix CD this Christmas, and "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros is one of the first songs on it. It makes me feel all fluttery like a 13 year old at her first dance. And, you know? The rest of their music is pretty terrific as well.
It brings to mind, for me, one part Antonioni's failed psychadelic political opus "Zabriskie Point" and another part Polyphonic Spree (minus the colossal repetition, and plus actual structured songs). The comparisons with the latter are a little inevitable, given that the group dresses like a cult and has seemingly about 6000 members playing various instruments and providing lush choral vocal backing. They also fit snugly in that vast multi-cultural cinematic sweep that bands such as Arcade Fire and Beirut are bringing to the musical table. However, ES&TMZs pitch in a handful of caked-on desert playa and blistering dry heat. They are able to wrap their arms around you and bring you in, but are just as easily able to strand you in endless space without an oasis in sight. And it's all beautiful to me.
A couple of weeks ago, the SXSW 2010 organizers released their first 200 confirmed bands out of what will eventually grow to about 7 trillion for the festival. About three seconds after finding the link, I seem to have invited a few squirrels to live in my stomach the way it started twitching with nervous excitement. Time to bust out the spreadsheet! When do I start RSVPing for free day shows?! I need to buy a plane ticket and borrow a bike! I must have a plaaaaaannnnn!! But, yeah, that's a few months off, and I'm really hoping that even I can keep my anal retentive tendencies to over-schedule (and then eventually completely chuck all semblances of said schedule after about 4 free Southern Comfort and Pepsis at the Fader Fort) in check for at least another month or two.
In the meantime, I can at least build up some excitement for some of the far-flung bands that're already queuinig up to play for my enjoyment. One of those being the buzzworthy Danish lot, Oh No Ono.
Oh No Ono's been lounging around the Denmark music scene for several years now, and by all appearances have done rather well for themselves there, but with their recently released album at the end of this year, they are starting to generate a little hype Stateside, too. With a mix of pensive, plaintive indie finesse and an undertone of theatrical glam, it's hard to see how they could go wrong on the merit of that alone. But, on top of this, they seem to have infused their latest album with a much warmer, thicker tone. And they also have a real knack for making some WOW videos. Take, for instance, the below video for their single "Swim." The song is dreamy as hell, and the video both excites me and makes me profoundly uncomfortable. What lives in the minds of Danes, anyway?
And this one for "Icicles" is awfully pretty as well:
Hey fellas and ladies who scooped up all the copies of the Best Coast "Make You Mine" 45 before I could molest it with my grubby little Mastercard...well, thanks for nothing jerks.
My laptop, tired of just breathing through the (expensive) life support of a brand new hard drive, committed violent suicide last month and took all my music with it. So long old friends, I thought,waving goodbye, Golden Filter I will miss you most of all. I've decided to turn lemons into some wicked alcoholic limoncello and take the opportunity to spend MUCH MORE money on MUCH LESS music by almost exclusively exhausting my wallet on mail order 7" records from bands I either have written about or will one day write about right here. While I will say that waking up in the morning shuffling over to the turntable in my new onesie striped pajamas to drop the needle has been pretty nice (Baltimore's Teen Beat a Go Go album reprint, I'm totally looking at you my friend), I do miss the simplicity of my days as DJ Pressplay.
Had I a computer, for example, I might be waking up listening to Best Coast. Best Coast referring, of course, to the West Coast no matter what you Yanks may say to the contrary. Best Coast is a fairly recent product of Los Angeles - one of the many bands who've tenured in the hallowed halls of The Smell downtown (a puzzling venue for it's jankiness and all-ages utter lack of alcohol...boo!), and who will return there February 2nd as part of a tour with Brooklynites the Vivian Girls. If you like what you hear and just can't wait for that match-up, you can also catch them this Friday, December 18th at Spaceland with the excellent band Foreign Born. Best Coast is a boy girl duo - Bethany and Bob. Apparently, they met when Bob used to babysit Bethany. Being that Bob is a large Asian dude with straggly long hair, I have to smile imagining what his possible qualifications as a babysitter might have been. I give both of them an A+ as a band, though. I'm hoping that soonish we'll be seeing a full length from these up-and-comers.
Tell me this fan-made combination of "When I'm With You" and a scene from "The Young Girls of Rochefort" doesn't make you smile your cheeks off.
And here's a nice version of "The Sun Was High (So Was I)" live from a bathroom. Witness how gloriously the guitar reverberates off the bathtub filled with Budweiser!
Since I mentioned Wolf Gang's "Pieces of You" in the previous post, I have to add an entry for Wolf Gang himself. Unfortunately, the excellent Baby Monster remix has evaporated from both their and Wolf Gang's myspace players to make way for WG's new single "The King and All of His Men," which is good, but not nearly as sublime as "Pieces of You" in both original and remix forms.
Wolf Gang is most frequently compared to David Byrne in his vocal delivery, but what I really enjoy about his work is the layering of unconventional instrumental sounds under driving, catchy and memorable melodies. The almost banjo or mandolin-esque string sound that accompanies the vocal come-on to "dance to the beat now, honey, yeah!" in "Pieces of You" is exactly what makes a good pop song transcend to greatness. It's that creative instrumentation that is the cherry on top.
I've been holding Portland, Oregon's Baby Monster in my headphones like a precious diamond for the last month - shining and shimmering brighter in my ears every time I give it light. Here is a rare example (for me) where you have a group who not only make their own popperfection, but also lend remixes to other artists and actually significantly improve those artists' original songs. To me, in a world where all electronic artists long to put their treatment to the dials on others' tracks, I find that remixes rarely pan for the gold in the heart of the originals, polish it to a radiating glow and nestle it in a display of their own making (where the point of the display is to feature that gold rather than swallow it) in the way that Baby Monster manages to do with both Ellie Goulding's precocious "Under the Sheets" and Wolf Gang's already excellent "Pieces of You."
Additionally, though, Baby Monster shines on their own original songs - as seen in spades in their recently released first single "Ultra Violence and Beethoven." It starts off like a lost MGMT anthem, but spirals off into a moody falsetto chorus (yeah, really - moody AND falsetto)that feels like a vitamin shot. In the first days of crisp Fall, it's like the last gasp of Summer.
If I sound like I'm speaking in a lot of hyperbole, that may be the case, but I see big things ahead for this group.
Now, if only so many of these groups would kindly make their singles available in the US at non-extortion import prices... You can purchase "Ultra Violence and Beethoven" in a nifty turquoise vinyl 7" from Pure Groove in London, but it'll cost you about $14 to get it from there to your record player if you live Stateside. As of yet, none of Baby Monster's remixes or originals are available via any of the conventional download sources. The one saving grace of ordering from Pure Groove, however, is that they usually limit the production of the records to a few hundred, and often (as in the case of my recent Marina & the Diamonds "Mowgli's Road" 7") they will even come signed by the band/singer. So if you're going to spend the money, you may as well spend it with a shop that cares about good music and the people who listen to it.
Since I posted a Daily Bomb on the under-the-radar band Koko Von Napoo a few months ago, their vocal similarity to Altered Images' Clare Grogan (one of the best looking Brits of 80s New Wave, see below) has gotten me to blow the dust off my old Altered Images records and incorporate them regularly into living room dance parties.
It's pretty amazing how relevant some of these tracks still sound today. The band did a nice job of straddling pop and punk - with Grogan's distinctive love-it-or-hate-it voice assuring that they would never veer too far into the disposability of the former. The group disbanded in the late 80s after a modest string of successful singles, but have recently taken the occasional 80s revival tour opportunity with the likes of ABC and the Human League. And Clare's still damn foxy.
I was just thinking the other day about that time in the 1980s when Neil Young started experimenting with the "modern sound," and went almost avant garde. Or when the Rolling Stones went disco on Some Girls. And a few days ago my friend John and I were talking about the time in the 90s when Garth Brooks was the biggest thing on the airwaves, and all the money in the world bought him a whole lot of Yes-Men who failed to tell him that the Chris Gaines experiment (and that really silly soul patch) was a terrible terrible idea.
So, I got to thinking about the state of music today, where crossovers seem almost par for the course. Where no one bats an eye when rockabilly legend Wanda Jackson gears up to let Jack White "push her limits" in a new studio recording. Or where former Aussie quasi-West Coast Cosmic Country janglers from the Sleepy Jackson, can crank out a record like "Walking on a Dream" as part of the peppy-electro-club Empire of the Sun.
Plucking a little here and a little there, transmogrifying guitar riffs with beeps and boops and drum loops, a la post OK Computer Radiohead, somehow does the very opposite of challenging a musician's credibility. One year, I was driving across country to LA listening to Johnny Greenwood crunch out "The Bends," and a few years later I was falling asleep to droning electronic caterwauling and the incessant hum of the masses proclaiming new gods of mere men.
Today, shit, go electro. Why not? If you're in Brooklyn and you happen to have the equipement, why you're practically an electro outfit already.
Sometimes, maybe you're even doing the right thing. Elizabeth Harper, former coffehouse singer-songwriter earnest chanteuse-type, figured the remixes of her songs sounded cooler than the originals, so she tapped the producer and formed Class Actress with him and another fella. Taking cues, she claims, from early Madonna, Depeche Mode's "Some Great Reward" era, and the Human League, she layers her voice over the aforementioned beeps, boops and loops rather pleasantly. Songs are simple samples from analogue recordings, bolstered by the push-up underwire of vintage keys, and driven home by clear, precise, and warm vocals.
With friends like the fellows in Grizzly Bear, it's hard to go wrong. February 9th will see the release of an EP called Journal of Ardency which will feature Pitchfork-approved track "All the Saints" and "Careful What You Say," both synth-funk, Andrea True Connection worthy stacatto jams.
Video below is for an earlier, track that chronicles a transitional period between the coffeehouse and the coke den.
What has two thumbs and the worst audio memory ever? This guy! There are downsides to this, to be sure. For instance, I could never ever ever in a million years hope to be a competitor on "Name that Tune!" - even if I found the time machine that would take me back far enough to make that even a remote possibility. And, karaoke in my world is Japanese for "Holy Shit I Totally Don't Remember How This Song Goes!" But, it has its upside as well. It means that sometimes I get to hear songs for the first time at least 10 times before they'll stick. Think about that for a second. Imagine one of your very favorite songs, and think about what it would feel like to hear it for the first time all over again. What a great feeling! In that sense, audio amnesia can be pretty sweet.
Cold Cave has been the victim of my aural void for a while now. Some time ago, I read something somewhere about them, listened to them and bought some downloads. Then I put one on a mix, and every single time it comes up I say to myself (or to someone next to me), "Who is this? I like it!" Same answer every time - Cold Cave. Song: Life Magazine. And it rules. This week I heard it on a commercial and thought, "shit." But at least it reminded me to remind myself who sang it.
Cold Cave is from Philly, which is really not a place I would normally associate with frosty stygian soundscapes. Philly always seemed a little beefier to me. But Cold Cave has crossed to the West Coast pretty strongly given that the new hipster record store down the street from me had their new 12" displayed front and center with the kind of loving care usually reserved for the likes of Grizzly Bear. And in a startling turn of events, I can say that Cold Cave is the first band I've heard since the Knife whose name is the perfect description of their music.
They've been around for a while, but the herky-jerky electro fuzz of their earlier efforts has seen a very satisfying evolution in the new work. It's turned dark, stark and lush in only the best ways.
Disclaimer: This band used to be called Starfucker. Starfucker is a terrible name for a band, but the music was still good - in the way that it didn't sound anything like music that would be played by a band named Starfucker.
Lately, it may seem that I'm revealing a little snarky salt for these bands that I'm also declaring worth your while. For that I blame an excess of data entry and all those annoying little ghost spots that are floating in my vision lately. It makes me cranky. Or, it could be that, frankly, I'm not really finding a shit ton of terrific bands out there lately, short of older bands that I'm just coming around to, or recent bands that I've Daily Bombed, but haven't had much chance to really dive into headfirst and swim around in. So, when a band like Pyramiddd comes around, it is with a sigh of relief that something comes floating out of the Lady Gaga-tization of my beloved electro, and the Wavvves-itis of all these suddenly hot "bedroom minimalists" out there. I'm bored with that stuff. Bring me something with life, with virtuosity, that I can dance to without being so ashamed that I want to kill myself afterward, or that I can at least listen to while I read without thinking that the connection has gone all fuzzy and crappy on my stereo because my cat ate the speaker cords...again.
Pyramiddd's got a mellow electronic vibe to it, without sounding too drippy or too lo-fi. It's easy on the ears. Maybe not something you'll remember in a few years, but definitely something that'll get you through a few minutes of this bleak musical winter. But, if I sound a little hesitant to give a fully glowing review, it's really just because they made a really cruddy video that embarrasses me. There seem to be an inordinant amount of douchebags dancing around on bad quality video. Why would you do that to an otherwise decent song? Advice: Try to listen with your eyes closed, and ignore the philosophical pretentious junk at the end. Skip the end of "Medicine" and revel, instead, in the really really nice second offering of "Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second."
Here's a tip for all you young bands out there: Please name yourself something that is easy to search on Google. Go on, jj, try just typing "jj" in a Google search and see how fucking hard it is to find your band. Also, here's a second tip: don't be so damn mysterious. It's totally okay to tell people who is actually in your band. We probably haven't ever heard of you anyway. And given that fact, chances are that if you don't tell us WHO THE H-E-Double Hockey Sticks you are now, we never will.
That said, I suppose it merits mention that I found the musical output of said band called "jj" to be sufficiently intriguing to actually do the necessary legwork to find out, well, basically nothing about them whatsoever except for the fact that they seem to be another happy offering of the population of Gothenburg, Sweden - a place my disembodied spirit will one day go when I die, because I'm sure it must be heaven itself.
So, really, I've got nothing for you here but some non-videos of some nice songs. I kind of dig the floatiness (sure, that's a technical term right?) of the music, and the lush hint of a St. Etienne distant memory in the vocals. Like Sarah Cracknell is singing to you through some cups attached by a string. Soft as a cloud.
I just kind of want to call this entry OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod!!
Because it is technically flashback friday, I'll take a moment to expound upon my vast and limitless love for the Electric Light Orchestra, before I get to the glint of newly discovered love in my eye today for Music Go Music.
I've often put needle to an ELO record and had a solo dance party that involves a lot of unflattering arm flailing and skipping around, making me feel like a five year old the first time they hear the Hokey Pokey. And in those moments, I ask myself, "Why in the hell aren't there any modern bands that sound like ELO?!?" Or I should say that I scream that question to the sky, shaking my fist at the Heavens and reprimand any and all Gods that reside up there for giving us so much music that sounds like Mariah Carey and so little that sounds like it came from the gloriously convoluted brain of one Jeff Lynne.
I mean just take the simple categorization of the music on their Wiki page: Rock, Progressive Rock, Pop Rock, Symphonic Rock, Cello Rock.
I'm sorry? Cello rock? I guess it must have been big in Bulgaria.
But there you have it - ELO, music's glorious blender. And what a smoothie it created!!
Just feast your eyes on this:
Did you hear that keyboard saying "ba boo biddy be boo boo?" With all these synth acts out there, you've gotta wonder how a 100 million album-selling "mainstream" act like ELO can trump them in weirdness.
Let's just summarize by saying that there is not a possibility on earth that I can listen to more than one minute of an ELO song without being instantly transported to a great mood.
And speaking of good moods (and awkward segues), today's quite a pretty day here in LA. It's 75 degrees and sunny, and hell, it's Friday, so there's not much to complain about in the world. Well, not in mine at least.
And today is the day that my prayers to the musically vengeful gods have been answered. The answer to those prayers is Music Go Music. Hyperbolic much? Actually no. If you were watching my face when I first heard this band, you probably would have seen me the way I got the first time I heard Olivia Newton-John's "Have You Never Been Mellow" after 15 years of radio silence. That is to say - big smile, hidden with my hands giggling Japanese Schoolgirl style, and a little moisture in my eyes.
Oh yes. This is it. Dripping with strings, beats like a rubber ball, and vocals as earnest as ABBA and plaintive as Blondie. It would be disco if it wasn't so...undefinable. It's huge, shamelessly happy, dramatic...ELO-esque, but unique unto itself to the point that comparing it to other bands feels slothful and lazy.
For the record: Music Go Music is an LA band. An LA band I've never seen (idiot!) nor heard of (damn it!). The singer who bills herself as "Gala Bell" is actually named Meredith, and she does double duty for another quite good LA band called Bodies of Water. Bodies of Water is kind of a nouveau-chorale folk rock act with nary a rubber ball beat in sight, but plenty of ear-grabbing guitar, which makes for an truly interesting range to straddle between the two bands. Music Go Music has their first full-length CD available now from Secretly Canadian. So go buy it and come have a dance party with me.
Nope, the title of the blog is not actually a description of how my brain has felt for the last month or so - and apologies to anyone who has missed me. Especially if you were trying to run me over with your car - because there were probably a few days I was totally ready for that in lieu of computer generated eyestrain and the carpal tunnels that goes along with typing somewhere in the ballpark of 50,000 words in a month. Hey, guess what? Turns out that writing a book is fucking hard! What!?!
But, this blog isn't really about me - not directly anyway - so let's get to the meat of it, shall we?
In the grand tradition of one guy with a mixer, a synth, and a drum machine calling themselves a band (what's with that anyway?), Washed Out is a fella named Ernest Greene from Georgia. He plays what that clever Pitchfork calls "bedroom synth," another term that I'm not I know the meaning of. I'll take a stab at it:
Bedroom synth: n. Music played by one guy with the name of a band that sounds like one guy with the name of a band playing into a microphone muffled with sweat socks, filtered through pixie dust and Sunday Hangovers and teeming underneath with really pretty layered melodies and soothing vocals.
Because here's the deal - Washed Out (and Memory Tapes, and Toro y Moi - two bands always mentioned with Washed Out) has really lush, gorgeous vocals that are buried under all that bedroom mess. The production is pretty low fi, but the songs are, kids listen to grandma here, a hell of a lot like what we used to call "shoegaze" or "dream pop" back when people made the same kind of sounds with guitar pedals.
In fact, if I was half asleep on a cocktail of codeine and Tylenol PM, I'd swear on my mother that "Feel It All Around" was some Slowdive song I'd never heard. Which, if you ask me, is actually a GOOD thing. England, apparently, practically ran Slowdive out of the country with ire and hatred, but down in sleepy old Austin, Texas in a dorm that looked like a prison, there were a whole lot of us ladies who thought they were pretty damn great.
And after a few listens, it starts to feel like the through-a-sweat-sock sound over all those vocals is really just a ruse to get you to bend your ear RCA-like a little closer to the speaker and go, "What are you whispering to me, you sensitive boy with the name of a band?" And your reward isn't small for doing so. It's actually pretty great.
Washed Out - you sound a little like Slowdive. And then sometimes you sound kind of like OMD covering Howard Jones (yeah, I said Howard. Jones.). You are a great soundtrack to a long bath. And I like you.
