Rock
Under 500
By Brian Whitney Fun fact: In my pre-teens, I subscribed to Disney Adventures magazine, perhaps fulfilling a secret craving for pictures of the voice actors from Beauty and the Beast or Andrew Keegan’s thoughts on his three minutes of screen time in Independence Day, though I honestly don’t remember. One thing I do remember is a DA story about the potential for the nascent internet, which discussed in great detail how we would be doing homework, playing games, “instant messaging” friends and watching movies all at the same time, all on one computer. I immediately equated the article with stories about flying cars and personal space travel. We all know what happened next. Five years ago it would have been difficult to think of a world without the internet. Now it seems difficult to picture the internet without YouTube, the video sharing site that consistently averages about 14 million hits daily. YouTube makes it possible to fluster or celebrate – but ultimately publicize – anyone, almost instantly, from the insanely famous to – well, someone like me. It, and its budding counterparts like Google Video and Hulu, are the new, great playing-field levelers, and nowhere are their effects more manifest than in the music industry. Observe the case of OK Go, a marginally successful major label band who raised the stakes in the music world when they posted a video for the song “Here It Goes Again,” featuring a choreographed dance on treadmills. The video vaulted them to fame, earned them a performance on the 2006 MTV Video Music Awards and ultimately won them a Grammy for Best Short Form Music Video. Not too shabby for a vid filmed by the singer’s sister on a borrowed camera. So, have local bands embraced this brave new world? Most web videos in general end up looking like local television commercials, replete with poor lighting, shoddy audio and bad performances all around. But several Milwaukee musicians have made compelling pieces of cinema on the cheap and utilized internet video technology for personal gain, notoriety and perhaps even minor fortune. Like Juiceboxxx. The Milwaukee rap wunderkind has made quite a name for himself on the national stage, performing frantic, sweaty shows around the country and appearing on MTV2’s Subterranean with the video for his song “Thunder Jam III.” While “Thunder Jam” cost more than some musicians make in a year ($11,000+, according to producer Lew Baldwin), the shoot for his follow-up video “I Don’t Wanna Go Into The Darkness” was a wildly unglamorous affair. The premise is simple enough: Juiceboxxx rocks a crowd with his usual stage antics. He packed sometimes-venue the Vault with various Milwaukee music scene mainstays and supplied them with free PBR. The production crew erected a makeshift stage that probably cost about $30, depending on how much duct tape they purchased. After the free beer was consumed and the crowd was visibly buzzed, Juiceboxxx took the stage, performed the single a few times, then blasted out a couple more songs. […]
Nov 1st, 2008 by Vital Archives
The Celebrated Workingman
Putting a sparkling veneer on struggles and giving them buoyancy takes chutzpah. Adversity in music has mostly been relegated to the sad, dark corners of the mope-ish and the forlorn, with abundant minor chords and enough terrible renditions of proverbs to make even a schoolteacher blush. The Celebrated Workingman’s Herald The Dickens is a joyful example that ups and downs can be positively high-spirited. The almost non-existent minor chord, exuberant use of slide-guitar and glockenspiel, shared vocal duties and driving percussion contradict the words prominently and emotively displayed by front man Mark Waldoch. “Now, I’m no bird who’s battered …you’ll get better offers / I’m your worst, and I’m rehearsed,” Waldoch announces on “Islands,” his Morrissey-on-steroids vocals displaying no signs of cracking or caving, but retaining the hope that propels each song on the album forward at industrious speeds. Rough times are a powerful catalyst for the driven and triumphant displays of musicians, yet taking those rough times and creating some of the most sparkling indie-pop to grace the Milwaukee musical landscape since the recent likes of Maritime and Testa Rosa is admirable. Not only does it contain the same sparkle, but also it manages to have a bit of brawn behind all the pretty bells and whistles. The band that’s six people strong sounds like it, and then some.
Oct 30th, 2008 by Erin Wolf
IfIHadAHiFi
Fidelity is a concept by which we measure our pain, to paraphrase John Lennon. For music enthusiasts, there are numerous thresholds: melody, musicianship and production chief among them. In those aspects, Fame By Proxy, Milwaukee band IfIHadAHiFi’s third release proper, is a resounding artistic success. First of all, it’s damn exciting. Virtually every song is a rhythmic treat, with the drums not only laying down some nifty beats, but (in true post-hardcore fashion) actually serving as a lead instrument. Second, it’s well-executed, as opener “Defenestrate Me” demonstrates in tone and template: repetitive phrases tucked within some beautifully captured guitar and bass, overdriven to the max, with drums up the wazoo. Finally, it’s well-crafted. “Paradise by the Paulding Light” is the closest they actually get to full-on fucking a pop hook, otherwise flirting with it for the other 11 tracks. One, “Get Killed, Get Noticed,” is so breakneck and loose it feels like it’s about to just fall apart. Another, “Science Depends On Us,” is downright crafty in its self-realization. With touches of Fugazi (if they’d ever drink and loosen up) and many of Steve Albini’s projects, IfIHadAHiFi show that though they love to dress their music up in glorious noise. Their talents in the three above-mentioned thresholds are just too strong to be denied.
Oct 30th, 2008 by Troy Butero
John the Savage
Six-piece John the Savage ain’t afraid of no ghosts — the ghastly and sinister are this debut full-length’s bread and butter. From Mexican standoff (“Me & the Warden: Standoff”) to murder ballad (“Ballad of a Killman, pt. XI”), it’s thematically dark, and though the vocals are most often indecipherable wailing, the band’s ability to incarnate stories instrumentally and transport listeners to distinct settings is just genius. In “Sinking Ship,” for example, a near-eight minute epic noisy with trumpet, violin pizzicato, accordion and then some, panic pools at the first sight of leakage, the crew yo-ho-hos like rum-filled pirates and the vessel plunges deeper and faster into oblivion. Similarly, piano-driven “Market Day” vividly recalls art squares of Paris and “Dope-Ass Fade from Jose” could have been just another dinner at Chi-Chi’s had the funk guitar and cowbell not keenly come into play. Their musicality isn’t a fluke — Kitchen Voodoo was largely recorded live to capture the spirit of a John the Savage performance. But within that good idea is vulnerability: all opportunity for nuance is lost. Players are on the same plane, all equally determined to be heard. Under relentless uproar, the arrangements suffer. Why blanket over hard work? Had they explored musical dynamics beyond just “loud,” even more of the band’s competence could have shone through. John the Savage may not be particularly restrained in subject matter or sound, but the year-old band has victoriously created its own genre-bending authenticity. Too many cooks or not, Kitchen Voodoo is still spellbinding. Disagree? A plague of locusts is probably already on the way.
Oct 30th, 2008 by Amber Herzog
Various artists
By Eric Lewin While college-rock (for lack of a better term) graduated into grunge and alternative-rock in the early ‘90s, Milwaukee has maintained an interesting relationship with the subgenre: the city’s biggest export is still the Violent Femmes, its most popular record stores are the size of bedrooms and its independent radio stations maintain an army of devoted local listeners. So while Activities Compilation: Volume 1 might play elsewhere as a futile effort to fit ‘88’s sound into ‘08 in another market, its context makes it a refreshing throwback, echoing a citywide love of independent music and its roots – notwithstanding an uneven collection of tracks. For a compilation that features more than 20 local bands, each contributing no more than two songs, Activities is sonically consistent: that is to say, lo-fi as it comes. Whether purposely as a production technique or the result of limited resources (common sense suggests the latter), the results are mixed as to which bands sound charmingly sparse and which just sound unfinished. Farms in Trouble’s “Empty Arrows and Exit Signs” is a wonderful, psychedelic folk romp, and the male-female harmonies of the Candliers’ “Bird Eyes” plays like The Vaselines-meet-Tom Waits’ Rain Dogs. On the other hand, Crappy Dracula barely miss exceptional sleaze-rock with “No Chance with the Mermaid Queen” by cheating themselves with a too-small drum sound. And on the other other hand, “Area Man” by Nothing in that Drawer is simply unlistenable. While the majority of the songs included are rather forgettable, most of them don’t suck, and a few are actually pretty good. That might not seem like high praise, but it’s a claim that most local scenes across the country can’t make. Activities might not stack up against legendary Wisconsin/Milwaukee compilations like Badger-a-go-go, but it certainly holds its own.
Oct 30th, 2008 by Vital Archives
Canyons of Static
The impression one gets from Canyons of Static is that their instrumental shoegaze jams would be perfect for a stylized horror film about hyper-fast zombies infected with rage. Sure, that’s a fancier (and nerdier) way of saying that they sound like Godspeed You! Black Emperor, but after repeated spins of the disappearance, the new Canyons disc, it’s clear that the impression goes beyond a superficial band reference — such a film’s driving sequences across washed-out video-contrast countrysides would be a perfect complement to the dreamy soundscapes offered in tracks like the 11-minute “Shelter.” The compositions follow the Godspeed template of theme, variation, but mostly theme. The band establishes a mood and slowly adds layer upon layer as they build to a crescendo a few minutes down the road. Guitars interweave with violin, bells and each other, weaving a patchwork quilt of sound the listener can wrap themselves in to keep warm when the car heater conks out in December. Canyons of Static hail from West Bend, a town with red state politics and poor economy (one of my most recent memories of hanging out there involved punks who had government-issue ham in their kitchen) that doesn’t exactly seem like a breeding ground for quality shoegaze. Then again, Milwaukee isn’t exactly known as a shoegazer town either, yet we have plenty of excellent examples (Brief Candles and White Wrench Conservatory, in addition to the Canyons). But maybe it’s more appropriate than we’d think — after all, the hypnotizing rhythms and melodies on the disappearance are wintery and desolate, yet small-town cozy. In that respect, Canyons of Static are more Wisconsin than zombie-controlled Britain after all.
Oct 30th, 2008 by DJ Hostettler
The Sea and Cake
The latest album from Chicago’s The Sea and Cake finds the band mid-lap on the race begun on last year’s Everybody, in which the jazzy, poppy, light post-rock was more ebullient than the band’s debut material in 1993. The mid-lap shows whether the participants are capable of following through. The Sea and Cake have produced a fluid group of songs, most likely because these are their most quickly-penned compositions to date. Last year’s album had an effervescence it might not have claimed without the four years between it and 2003’s One Bedroom. That lifts the burden of the element of surprise from Car Alarm, which takes much of its attitude from the less-than-ayear-old Everybody. Sam Prekop – more Chet Baker than Stephen Malkmus – builds on the momentum of the previous release, which reached for the roots of Nassau-esque jazzy-pop and abandoned the more electronic leanings of One Bedroom. What the band had abandoned at that point is what makes Car Alarm kick in. A noticeable element of urgency gives a spark to opener “Aerial,” with driving drums and strong but fuzzy guitars making way for hints of electronic noodling. A driving tempo and smooth, steady instrumentation is tailored for natural electronic inclusions in the run of the album. This occurs in the oxygenated “CMS Sequence” – one minute and eight seconds of straight-up electronica, and a genre precursor to “Weekend,” which mixes the jazz-pop and electronic flavors nicely. Think of Everybody and Car Alarm as participants in a relay race consisting of two people: the strong and steady starter followed by a substantial and sparkling finisher.
Oct 1st, 2008 by Erin Wolf
Grails
Some folks label the Portland, OR band Grails instrumental. I deem it ambient or Narada metal. The prolific (and I use this term with a large measure of chagrin) quartet’s 9th release this millennium, Doomsdayer’s Holiday, really is just more of the same, and all the more agonizing because of it. The seven songs within dabble in a few textures, but all of it just blows wind (literally, in many unfortunate instances) and is entirely forgettable. Many have come before Grails, and to much better results. There’s “doom” metal (just grubby blues licks) on “Reincarnation Blues” and “Predestination Blues.” Then there are the aforementioned wind samples, high-fret guitar chimes, and recycled “large room” percussion on the opening title track. The only creative touch or compelling moment of any kind comes at the very end, with the Pink Floyd-apeing “Acid Rain.” All of these songs are frustrating in their sheer lack of direction and overall dullness. Virtually everything here is pretentious: the artwork (perhaps an homage to Danzig: naked breasts, check; power animal, check; fog, check; ominous trees, check), the songwriting (with ho-hum musicianship at best) and the production (will Steve Albini get royalties?). I can best describe this (and in fact, their entire output) as merely different joints all rolled from the same bag of weed. Now, I must ask you … have you ever smoked eight-yearold weed?
Oct 1st, 2008 by Troy Butero
Jolie Holland
Things don’t always turn out as they should, but Texasborn singer/songwriter Jolie Holland has no desire to turn life’s lemons into anything but woeful songs. With addiction, depression, and both shattered hearts and dreams rampant, the fine line between dead and alive is often indistinguishable. It’s not ideal listening material for those with suicidal tendencies, but fans of the country-blues will find Holland’s fourth studio release relaxed and fluent. Holland’s warm fiddling on “Sweet Loving Man,” which could play on any smoky small-town bar’s jukebox, makes it a favorite. Though her warbling vocal style borders on annoying when it’s too ambitious (is there a tongue depressor in her mouth?), her whistling on the disc’s two most traditionalsounding folk songs, “You Painted Yourself In” and “Love Henry” is beyond impressive, and could easily be mistaken for singing saw. Portlanders M. Ward and Rachel Blumberg (formerly of the Decemberists) make notable contributions — Ward’s rock-influenced guitar on “Your Big Hands” adds pick-me-up spunk to sad-sack lyrics, and Blumberg’s drumming, particularly on “Corrido Por Buddy” and “Mexico City,” has just enough heft and meter to keep the arrangements from dragging. Dishes clang behind the giggly acoustic cover of “Enjoy Yourself” (“it’s later than you think”), and though it seems like an unnecessary, tack-on closing track, it seals in the admirably pragmatic outlook Holland has been singing about throughout: “I’ll dance at your funeral/if you dance at mine”(“Palmyra”).
Oct 1st, 2008 by Amber Herzog
In which I Attend the Forward Music Fest, Day 2, Part 1
fig.1: The two Nicks from The Box Social yowl some words or something I spent the night at my pal Norah’s place a hop, skip, and barely a jump from the Capitol square area, which was just too damn perfect. She had met me at the Corral Room Friday night and we stood outside and chatted while the boys in Brainerd closed things out (yeah, um, sorry i missed you guys, John!). This was a good thing, as i had not seen Norah since March, when we played that very same Corral Room. The next morning she treated me to a Red Baron 4-cheese pizza breakfast (i sort of saw this weekend as an opportunity to get my digestive system in shape for our tour, which starts Friday) and a private screening of Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, which, for frak’s sake, where have i been? Joss Whedon rules at nerd musicals, as the sixth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer obviously demonstrated. I should have downloaded this weeks ago. Anywho, you don’t care about nerd shit; you care about rocker shit (which is essentially nerd shit, but louder. Face it). As the final credits rolled i made my way from Norah’s pad to the Stage Door, the side theater of the Orpheum on State Street. I got there just in time to check out my pals in the Brewtown pop-punk power party The Chinese Telephones throwing down a fairly solid set, despite some sound issues that were beyond ridiculous. Seriously, if there were a Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares for sound dudes, these yahoos would have qualified for a season finale. The Telephones got off easy compared to Things Fall Apart, who i suppose had it coming, what with naming their band that after all. During portions of their set, the PA threw out filling-rattling bass at inopportune times and cut out entirely at others. Completely ridiculous. Things seemed to get back to some level of competence for Canadia’s Brutal Knights, who played some killer Zeke-tempo speed punk. They were followed by a band called Star Fucking Hipsters. Now, ok. When you name your band something like “Star Fucking Hipsters,” your band is going to either destroy so much that it’s the best band name ever, or your band is going to suck so badly that your name reads like a desperate way to get people to pay attention (i mean, if i see a band called “Adolf Hitler Raped My Grandfather” on a flyer, i’m going to the damn show, ya dig?). In this case, the name turned out to be a case of “oh, you’re on Fat Wreck Chords and playing the exact same music they’ve been putting out for the last 500 years, but because you dress like New York gutter punks and have neck tattoos, you need just the MOST BADASS NAME POSSIBLE, don’t you? Awwwww, so cute.” Which basically meant it was time to head to The Frequency for some rippin’ Indie Rock. After a more […]
Sep 24th, 2008 by DJ Hostettler
In which I Attend the Forward Music Fest, Day 1
fig.1: Screamin’ Cyn Cyn and the Pons tear it up at the Majestic Theatre So here i am, blogging for VITAL Source for some reason. Because, hey, i sure don’t do enough blogging elsewhere. Nothing like spreading yourself too thin, right? Look, i won’t lie—I’m not here to be entertaining, and I’m not here to inform. I’m here because Matt Wild told me that blogging for VITAL nets you crazy mad tail.* For my first Cultural Zero assignment, i was sent by my benevolent overlords to Madison for the first ever Forward Music Fest. A crapload of venues hosting an assload of bands for what amounted to be a shitload of bargains ($25 general admission pass plus a $10 VIP guaranteed access pass to the High Noon Saloon on Saturday night for the mighty and reunited KILLDOZER? Sign me the hizell up). Note: by “was sent by my benevolent overlords,” i mean that i said, “well, benevolent overlords, i bought a pass for this thing like two weeks ago; i suppose i could write it up for you guys.” So off i was, driving toward South Central Wisconsin (yo) in my badass Kia Optima blasting the Albini re-recording of Cheap Trick’s In Color, which knocks the original on its ass, in case you were wondering. Upon my arrival i was immediately hit with a dilemma, as often happens at a music festival of this magnitude–do i head to the Frequency to see my pals the Skintones? It turns out the answer was “no,” because i was instructed by the internet to be sure i did not miss Israel’s road warriors Monotonix, who are gaining a reputation as one of the best live bands anywhere. So it was off to the Majestic Theatre with me. The less said about the first band i saw at the Majestic, High Places, the less entertaining this entry will be, so let me consult the notes i wrote myself in my phone (take a notepad to a show? When i can send myself text messages? I am the future of music journalism!). Let’s see, what did i send myself…ah yes: “High Places: two white douchebags from New York sing over their half-assed cover of the Akira soundtrack.” Seriously, it’s a rule these days: when two people set up some boxes of noisemakers, call themselves a “band,” and then say they’re from NYC, you’re pretty much guaranteed some sort of “arty” self-indulgent bullshit which automatically commands respect simply because it’s from New York City. Sorry, i don’t buy salsa made in New York City, and i don’t buy artsy duos not named “Suicide” from there either…especially when one of them is dancing around like goddamn Robin Goodfellow playing a few electric drum pads and a woodblock. Gah. Let’s consult my phone again: “The high point of the set was when Shane from Cyn Cyn patted my ass and said ‘good hustle.'” fig.2: Make sure that woodblock is properly miked, asshole “Cyn Cyn” would be Screamin’ Cyn […]
Sep 23rd, 2008 by DJ Hostettler
Spiritualized @ Turner Hall, 9/9/2008
Spiritualized @ The 2008 Pitchfork Music Festival in Chicago About a decade ago, Spiritualized all but tore down The Rave with an evening of musical pummeling and a head-shearing light show. The several dozen other fans in attendance will back me up. Anyone at Tuesday night’s show realizes how fortunate we are that Jason Pierce and band came back to Milwaukee. Emerging from the fog, Pierce — along with his four bandmates and two backup gospel singers — set the stage with a riveting, heavy version of “Amazing Grace”. With that they set the controls for the dark side of Turner Hall as the band’s modus operandi built on chaotic, driving crescendos and walls of sound only to bring songs back down to stark vocal arrangements. Even the sound man played the board like another instrument. There have been few musical nights like this since the U.S. Government took codeine off the shelves. Touring in support of the album Songs in A&E, whose back story might have been Pierce’s brush with the reaper during a nasty bout of double pneumonia, except the material was writ beforehand. Thus tunes like “Death Take Your Fiddle” (which sounded like an ancient Appalachian ballad) or “Soul on Fire” (which could rival anything on the modern hipster radio stations) already fit like a glove. And incandescent wailing vocals at the end of “Come Together” sounded less like a wake than a Baptist revival meeting down by the river. In the beginning (well, the ’80s at least) there was Spacemen 3, a Rugby, England band that pillaged the best of American music (Velvets, Elevators, Bo Diddley, Suicide, MC5, Sun Ra, Red Krayola), dipped it in morphine and created a quiet storm. Following an acrimonious/not acrimonious split (take your pick) with co-leader Sonic Boom, Jason Pierce (aka J Spaceman) formed Spiritualized in order to take the next logical steps. These days, Pierce’s voice has weathered to a fine, weary patina, reminiscent of Peter Perrett of the Only Ones, a fellow traveler familiar with the power of a script. Never straying far from the twin towers of spiritual transcendence and escapism, at Turner Spiritualized’s take on “Lay Back in the Sun” (“Good dope and good fun”) – something of an homage to Brian Wilson and Beach Boys — made groups like The Jesus and Mary Chain and The Raveonettes seem like kids who just got a fuzzbox for Christmas. “Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space” was transformed in to an elegiac waltz that segued into just Pierce and the gospel voices singing a stunning last verse of Elvis’ “I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You”. Thought it’s doubtful that many from the religious right were in attendance, Pierce’s affinity for blending rock and religious themes was well represented on “Lord Can you Hear Me,” as well as Spacemen 3’s “Walking With Jesus” and “Take Me to the Other Side.” All good things must come to an end as the evening’s finale built to a maelstrom […]
Sep 10th, 2008 by Blaine Schultz
