Rock
Emilíana Torrini
Icelandic songstress Emilíana Torrini is not Björk, but she certainly sounds like her. It’s not just her heritage or soprano, but her irreverence and eclecticism, too. Torrini’s voice is quirky and youthful, yet emanates street-smarts, which also brings anti-folk singer Regina Spektor to mind. Unfortunately, Torrini is best known for contributing a track for the Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers ending credits. Not a Peter Jackson fan? Then Torrini has probably already slipped two full-length critically acclaimed releases over your head. Hopefully her third release to the U.S., Me And Armini, will reach an audience beyond geek. To the effect of “Gollum’s Song” from LOTR, “Birds” and “Bleeder” are moody and stunning, but what makes Torrini worth listening to is her affinity for the weird and witchy. Though “Gun” features a riff so close to the O’Jay’s “For the Love of Money” that it sounds like Donald Trump is at the door, its breathy almost-barks and hostile finger snaps carry it and give it edge. Likewise, “Jungle Drum,” a scat about the thrill of new love, and “Ha-Ha,” a scoff at a washed-up former lover, are extravagant originals that make it apparent that Torrini is not in denial about her onomatopoeia obsession. Less extreme opener “Fireheads” and the sexy island-vibe title-track still show Torrini in good form, but “Big Jumps,” which plays like Jack Johnson, is too radio-friendly. If she wants to keep her cred, and comparisons to Björk, Torrini should dial down the pop and keep barking, snapping, scatting and scoffing though her next release.
Sep 1st, 2008 by Amber Herzog
The Silent Years
By Kyle Shaffer Maybe it’s time pop music got a little more contemplative. It’s all in good fun to keep the party going, and no one wants to be a walking rain cloud, but maybe the only frontier left for the genre lies in the gap between metallic truth and blinding possibility. To muster all your courage and face up to your existence, greeting it with “Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met,” seems a task for the theologians and philosophers. But The Silent Years make this a mission for the common folk, binding melody to wonder with their most recent release, The Globe. There’s depth in the simplicity and quirky straightforwardness here that will no doubt invite comparisons to Nada Surf or the Shins. Lead singer Josh Epstein makes bizarre observations and realizations that evoke everyday conversations without sounding like a burnt-out Malkmus-ian knock off. Whether in the sunny bounce of “Someday” or the almost withdrawn folk of closer “Lost At Sea”, The Silent Years present an outlook of comfortable uncertainty, never pressing agendas and always looking for input. And for all its accessibility and spunk, there’s not a single note played to be a selling point. There’s a candor in the songwriting and a purpose in the band’s delivery that’s undeniable. The Silent Years are the real deal, and they invite us all to search for meaning beyond our doorsteps. “May we all find something in this. Hallelujah!” Amen, dude.
Sep 1st, 2008 by Vital Archives
Static Thought
Here’s a secret about music reviewers: a lot of them are incredibly lazy. It’s easy to understand sometimes; there are only, for example, so many hardcore and street punk bands one can hear before one reads a press release with quotes like “this album is ultimately about unity [and] deals with a lot of important topics such as sexism in the punk scene” and automatically assumes that they’re in for a cast-off from the glory days of Maximumrocknroll. Heck, why bother to listen to the CD when the review writes itself? That’s part of why The Motive for Movement, the second album from (MRR homebase) Bay Area punks Static Thought, comes off as surprisingly refreshing. Instead of sounding as musically predictable as their politics, the album leads off with a blistering sub-two-minute jam (“Faces”) that evokes the Rollins Band (if Hank had done time in Fugazi first), then ends by referencing early (Bay Area predecessors) Metallica on the shredtastic “Conquest of Saints.” The two tracks bookend a mish-mash of punk-centric musical styles (even throwing in an appropriate ska outro on “Third World”). At times Static Thought seem to be throwing every genre at the wall to see what sticks, but effectively enough to hold the listener’s attention during the few times the album veers dangerously close to stale punk riffs and shout-alongs. The album clocks in at a brisk 30 minutes, long enough to make its point, throw the kitchen sink at you, and get the hell out. The Motive for Movement is a solid take on punk rock in an age where its conventions have nearly been exhausted. It’s engaging, intelligent, thought-provoking rock ‘n’ roll. Good thing we reviewers actually sometimes listen to the CDs, eh?
Sep 1st, 2008 by DJ Hostettler
Stereolab
The avant-garde has always been the comfort zone for Stereolab, the lounge-y, psychedelic pop/rock outfit whose ardent fans are enamored with the untraditional krautrock sound, blending odd ‘60s-style department store music with fuzzy guitars, the famous ‘motorik’ time signature and the uninflected English/French vocals of Laetitia Sadier. Sadier and co-writer Tim Gane have paired with string and brass arranger Sean O’Hagan (High Llamas) for this release – an odd melding of styles that is even more symphonic, pastoral and spritely than ever. Still, there’s not much differentiation from prior albums. Like a run-on sentence with a giant semicolon after 2004’s Margerine Eclipse, Chemical Compound jumps back into the same subjects and the same quirky song titles (“Cellulose Sunshine,” “Daisy Click Clack,” “Vortical Phonotheque” and “Neon Beanbag”) – a tribute to Gane’s eccentric, electronic, surrealisticdreamland mind. Chemical Compound might be telltale, but it’s solid, with the excellent “Neon Beanbag” leading off the set, its fidgety organ buzzing insect-like in the background, the tempo uplifted into airy and snappy heights. The ore voluptuous, brass-induced follower, “Three Women,” is a brain re-charger after the nervous energy of the lead track. The rest of the CD equalizes itself in similar fashion, and its middle track “Valley Hi” possesses enough energy to carry the rest of the album, with bell-like guitars, uptempo percussion and a warbling but sturdy piano layer. Stereolab shouldn’t be faulted for not being innovative, but perhaps could be chastised for creating their own sticky mess by being too clever before their time and all too happy to stay put. Good for them that it doesn’t seem to be a conundrum, and good news for those who appreciate consistency.
Sep 1st, 2008 by Erin Wolf
Calexico
Someday, the members of Calexico will be considered trailblazers. While they travel through the terrain of Latin, folk, indie, country, western, film score and rootsy rock, they possess the uncanny ability to pick up pieces of these landscapes and simply bring them along to their next destination. They also possess a profound gift to weave all of these sonic threads into wonderfully cohesive textures, and Carried To Dust, their sixth collection proper, is their most ambitious tapestry yet. Opening with the Latin sprite of “Victor Jara’s Hands,” they deftly ease into “Two Silver Trees,” the first song to offer a faint whisper of vocal delivery. Unfortunately, this voice is used too much throughout the rest of the songs. “Inspiracion,” upbeat with bountiful horns, is a highlight among many, and “Contention City” is a beautiful lullaby soaked in melancholia. The production and instrumentation are exceptional, and a multitude of guest musicians – including the stellar Pieta Brown, Iron and Wine’s Sam Beam, and Willie Nelson sideman Mickey Raphael – add tastefully plaintive touches that pique the emotion. Erstwhile travelers, explorative craftsmen, and artisan weavesmiths: Carried To Dust is the embodiment of genuine expression that proves Calexico is all of these. It’s a recording of the highest caliber, featuring gales of dusty ruminations sun-steeped in experience and empathetic storytelling.
Sep 1st, 2008 by Troy Butero
Cordero
“Where are you from?” Brooklyn’s answer to Latin indie rock asks its listeners this question with its latest album, which encompasses guitarist/vocalist Ani Cordero’s own personal musings on recent misfortunes. De Donde Eres, the quartet’s latest release, sheds the band’s former bilingualism and plays for keeps with Spanish, creating a deeper authenticity and a more appropriate platform for Ani’s sweet voice, paired with soft but poignant nylon-stringed guitars, horns and keys. De Donde Eres was born from difficulty, but most of these songs are anything but contrite. “Quique” is a bouncy, feisty bass-thumping song with brassy undertones, Cordero singing call-and-response style with her male band counterparts about fiestas and “bailando” over a bubbly organ line. The album transitions into introversion with “Guardasecretos,” its lilting guitar and plaintive trumpet pairing beautifully with Cordero’s husky alto. The band doesn’t forget its indie-rock roots, churning out a boiler with “La Musica Es La Medecina” which, if sung in English, might be mistaken for early Denali. Cordero does it way better than Maura Davis ever could, though, breathing life, originality and culture into every square inch of each measure of her music, her band (including Chris Verene, formerly of The Rock*A*Teens) providing a gorgeously fitting soundtrack for Cordero’s tales of struggle and triumph. De Donde Eres is for Ani Cordero an affirmation; for her audience, it’s a testament to life’s ever-swinging pendulum, as pretty as it can be made.
Aug 1st, 2008 by Erin Wolf
The Melvins
The Melvins have done it again, folks. If you’re already an admirer of this legendary experimental band, which has spawned many a Cobain in its two and a half decades, this is a masterful return to the rock. If you aren’t a fanatic, but enjoy any percentage of the underground metal, alternative, hard rock, noise, punk, hardcore, post-core, ambient or art-wave bands inspired by these eternal originators, this recording is the perfect initiation to the fraternity of Melvinites. Nude With Boots is easily up there with their incredible early ‘90s string of Bullhead, Houdini, and Stoner Witch. Since that holy trinity, the band’s creativity has spread past all previous horizons (read above), but here the emphasis is on nothing but riff and impact. Lead track “The Kicking Machine” is a Zep-boogie riff with a buzz-throated vocal melody (that’s right, melody) that’s downright catchy (that’s right, catchy). Dale Cover’s drums are monstrous throughout, per usual. But he especially shines here with some nice footwork that keeps the beat firmly at the boundary of the pocket. After this opening salvo, they steer us into the noise-scape they do so well for a few songs. But they get in and get out seamlessly, and once they light into the title track, things are back at a locomotive sound and pace, slamming it all home.
Aug 1st, 2008 by Troy Butero
Beck
Beck Hansen, indie/pop/rock’s most accomplished Cancer, has just created his most original – and perhaps most sophisticated – guise. From songwriting to production to subject matter, Modern Guilt has a subtlety that separates it from his other work and serves as its greatest charm, no doubt influenced by his full-on collaboration with Danger Mouse in its making. Examined next to his prolific, excellent, yet somewhat muse-on-sleeve output (which includes one of the greatest break-up albums ever, Sea Change), this one is certainly his most intangible. The funk, the folk and the sonic collage are all reserved by a measure from his norm, and it’s all the more intoxicating as a result. True, lead single “Chemtrails” does carry more than a few strains of Serge Gainsbourg’s “Melody Nelson” chemistry in it, but it also has faint touches of Brian Wilson at the apex of his powers. “Youthless” is anything but, and with the title track and “Soul of a Man,” this trinity serves as a microcosm of the entire collection; within these touchstones, he’s searching for the soul of our times – today’s “meaning of it all.” In the past, you could put on a Beck record and know, within the first few moments, what to reach for: your dance shoes, a handkerchief, perhaps even a spliff. This one has all the hallmarks of great Beck rolled into a fleeting 30 minutes, with exceptional songwriting and well-crafted production. But there’s a veiled something extra to it … within the jam, perhaps, is a gem. The fun this time around is finding it.
Aug 1st, 2008 by Troy Butero
The Scenic
A few months back, SPIN ran an article on what they dubbed “emo voice” – the nasal, artless vocal style of approximately 56,000 soundalike mallpunk bands whose sense of musical history goes no further back than Saves the Day and the Promise Ring. While Victory Records has been responsible for inflicting many a tuneless warble about a relationship gone bad on the music-buying populace, they’ve baked the whitest white bread to date with The Scenic, who have to be the blandest of the bunch by far. Find Yourself Here brings all the standard junior-high target-market tropes to the table: slightly Weezerfied sensitive-boy harmonies (the opening “Lights Out” actually calls to mind Weezer’s far superior songs); that one “the guitarist is playing through a telephone” effect in the breakdowns; lyrical references to adolescent takes on love and obsession that would get normal people arrested — “I watch you from your bedroom/I’m liking what I see” (“Notice Me” — does that sound like a stalking reference to you too? Don’t people realize that MySpace stalking is safer, less obviously creepy – and legal?). Like most of these Warped Tour bands, their greatest crime isn’t that they’re untalented — it’s that they’re not particularly memorable. The Scenic could be swapped out onstage with any number of polite lip-pierced boys prepackaged for meeting Mom, and the teenage girls they’re singing to wouldn’t know the difference. Find Yourself Here advertises itself as pop-rock, but this is a boy band with guitars, O-Town learning to play instruments. The Scenic are that first group your 30-year-old friend in the good local band was in right after high school. His old band gets nostalgic wisecracks; Victory hands today’s version record deals. Dare I say it? Kids these days.
Aug 1st, 2008 by DJ Hostettler
The Faint
Despite Omaha boys The Faint’s efforts to shock on 2004’s unsubtle Wet from Birth – an overzealous, not-so-scientific take on biology – it was the popularity of a subsequent internet game (allowing haters to drop-kick the dance-punk five piece — for points!) that landed them on the cultural radar. Though the boys have shown strong stomachs in past releases in regards to, say, bodily secretions (“Fish in Womb” satisfies the gross quota here), their fifth full-length’s opener “Get Seduced” draws a clear line of disgust at tabloid mania, where “hot lights” are cast on celebrity hook-ups and cellulite snapshots can turn a pretty penny. Steady single “The Geeks Were Right,” Chopsticks-esque “Mirror Error” and mechanical “A Battle Hymn for Children” concentrate on similar culture-obsessed ground. The first imagines a world dominated by pasty-legged eggheads; the second contemplates face trading (Travolta v. Cage, anyone?); the last satirizes American children’s sense of privilege and their unrestricted access to violent playthings. After beating a few dead horses, The Faint think cross-section and bring focus to relationships and memories. Transforming a tree stump and a 12-foot-plank into a one-way transport to an alternate universe, tightly coiled “Fulcrum and Lever” draws flashbacks to terrifying 80s claymation short Inside Out Boy. “Psycho” (“Forget the words I said/I was not myself/I never really thought you were psycho“) enlists a rock bass-and-drums backbeat to create one pleasurably guilty spree – so guilty, in fact, methinks The Faint doth protest, but still check perezhilton.com as regularly we do.
Aug 1st, 2008 by Amber Herzog
Into Arcadia
Horace Walpole, the 18th century English writer/historian/politician, oh-so-properly pointed out that “this world is a comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those that feel.” Walpole had a point, as those who are bound by the heart are usually more prone to the pathos that life dishes out. Milwaukee’s Into Arcadia have transformed their fair share of dark days into earnestly exuberant songs, rooted in tragedy, yet propelled by a sound that is anything but dreary. Their five-song EP Maps for Children, according to Otto Ohlsson (vox, guitar), was based on his childhood experiences growing up in Manchester, England. The title, Ohlsson explains, comes from “the struggle between childhood’s innocence and the corrupting nature of coming of age;” Ohlsson added that the band doesn’t plan to dwell on this theme for the duration of their musical careers, and that he believes that their next writing ventures will be “more upbeat … more dance-y.” Whatever direction the future holds for Into Arcadia, their debut EP is a pretty study in absolution from past wrongs, with beautiful driving guitars from Ohlsson and Kenny Buesing solidified by Wes Falk’s bass and Zac Weiland’s percussion. Joy Division, Doves, The Fall and early Coldplay are all familiar sounds for Maps for Children. “Time is no best friend of mine,” Ohlsson sings on “Distance Equals Time,” guitars chiming and percussion punching the wall of lyrics built to give the songs strength, even in their vulnerability. What would Walpole say about what the world holds for those who think and feel after hearing this record?
Jul 1st, 2008 by Erin Wolf
The Black Ghosts
In my lifelong predilection to condense a review to one word, this one would garner more of an escape of breath: “Eh.” Honestly, there just isn’t enough originality (or for that matter, anything compelling) within these 11 tracks to elicits more than that. Their moniker itself is groan-worthy: how many bands do we need with the “Black” adjective or “Ghost” subject, really? Oh, and their aim is to haunt and disquiet the listener with gothic eeriness. Whatever you say, guvnor. Obviously, these two Brits know what to do with the equipment. They’ve studied their Beck, Madonna, and early ‘90s Madchester scene. There are beats galore, with the requisite samples and sonic candy thrown in right where they should be. The tracklisting is near-perfect, with the moodier numbers spacing the upbeat disco and the (all too few!) fat-bottomed jams, which are without a doubt the highlight of the recording. Both “Until It Comes Again” and “Something New” are truly funky, with basslines that make me salivate. “Full Moon” features the collection’s best production, with acoustic guitars and strings that build to a nice crescendo. Unfortunately, the vocals never go anywhere: they don’t lie inside the instruments, nor illuminate the forgettable melodies. Although I’ve been highly critical of the templated songwriting and aesthetic, this is not a bad disc – I’ll just listen to my Codebreaker over it any day.
Jul 1st, 2008 by Troy Butero
