Rock
Story of the Year
By Kyle Shaffer Defining one’s sound on a passing trend can prove a death blow for most acts. But, perhaps even more daunting a thought is that of trying to reformat a band’s sound to remain relevant. Story of the Year’s heyday was the release of Page Avenue amidst an explosion of screamo bands. Two albums and a few Warped Tours later, the St. Louis crew emerges with The Black Swan, a supposedly seamless integration of the catchiness of their debut with the heavy riffing of 2005’s In the Wake of Determination. While this album may mark the group’s ability to survive without major-label support, it’s full of enough generic guitar riffs and less-than-inspiring lyrics to make the dudes in Avenged Sevenfold hold back chuckles. Throughout, this record is shaking with the fear of committing to a sound. Opener “Choose Your Fate” attempts Thrice-like energy and lands somewhere between 30 Seconds to Mars and whatever “band of the week” Vagrant Records is promoting. This is not a giant step forward in Story’s growth. Lyrically trying to tackle more serious subject matter, songs like “Message to the World” struggle to articulate communication problems between the U.S. and the rest of the planet. Even more painful is listening to lead singer Dan Marsala feign his concern for racial equality in “We’re Not Gonna Make It.” These are serious issues in the modern world, but Story of the Year’s contrived sound minimizes their importance. For a band that left a major label for ethical reasons, The Black Swan sure sounds like a record written for a paycheck.
May 1st, 2008 by Vital Archives
The Gutter Twins
Saturnalia arrives amidst some very high anticipation. The stellar careers of Greg Dulli and Mark Lanegan, each spanning decades, evoke lofty expectations. They certainly need no historical introduction. All 12 songs on this CD are incredible. Taken as a whole, the aesthetic – from songwriting to production to track listing to artwork – is exceptionally crafted, with a cohesiveness that shows the true strength of this pairing. Individually, every single track connects to and transports the listener. What makes this more remarkable is the depth of subject matter and the emotional mining that must’ve gone on during writing. Both voices not only weave with one another effortlessly, but both actually carry the weight of the dark lyrics and melodies. Within these dozen songs, rock, blues, soul, folk and spiritualism are stripped to the core: naked, confused, perhaps weary, searching for warmth and shelter, utterly vulnerable. “Stations” starts things off with immediate mood, while “All Misery/Flowers” is outstanding with Dulli’s drumming providing ample groove. “Who Will Lead Us?” is Lanegan’s search for the here & now as well as the eternal. The last track, “Front St.,” doesn’t tie everything together, but it does leave you with the understanding of exactly what muse inspired these two artists. Simply stated: lay down your ego and let the songs possess you.
Apr 1st, 2008 by Troy Butero
The Matches
An enigma is rare in the present state of predictable punk pop music, but A Band In Hope, the third release from Oakland quartet the Matches, will mystify. Just as easily as he can change holiday costumes—duke one year and James Dean the next (“Between Halloweens”)—vocalist Shawn Harris slips between musical identities from a dead-ringer for Chris Carrabba to a channeler of Freddie Mercury. Though the Matches’ influences are eclectic and apparent, the album is seamless from track to track. Yes, shockingly, 90s ska revival-revival “If I Were You” and Andrew Lloyd Webber aspirant “Darkness Rising” are like peas and carrots. The acoustic coming-of-age number “Clouds Crash” is succinct, pleasant, and a fast favorite. “Yankee in a Chip Shop,” a playful rally song about curing a hangover (“get greased to sober up”) while across the pond, is too. But along with the highs, according to “To Build A Mountain,” you also “gotta dig a hole.” One-liner “We Are One” and hot air “Point Me Toward the Morning” meet the low bar, which must make “Wake the Sun” and “Future Tense” rolling hills. They are great actors, but it’s hard to put a finger on who the Matches are and whom this ageless, faceless, music without borders is for. A Band in Hope is mysterious, interest-peaking, and most importantly a call to action for a more distinguishing and less evocative follow-up release.
Apr 1st, 2008 by Amber Herzog
The Felice Brothers
Recalling early Dylan and Woody Guthrie is certainly laudable; vacuously mimicking them, however, isn’t. On their self-titled debut release for Team Love Records, the Felice Brothers craft laid-back, charcoal-mellowed drinking chanteys that recall the earthy backwoods Americana of Dylan and Guthrie, right down to the nasal whine of the vocalist. Unfortunately, instead of bringing a new take to the genre, they prefer to coast on what came before them, choosing to supplement their sleepy delivery with equally lazy songwriting. The blueprint is followed so closely that it begs the question: why bother writing songs? Why not just become a Dylan cover band? At least then the material would be stronger. All the elements that bring the over-50 NPR set and the under-30 last-week-I-was-listening-to-metalcore-but-now-I’m-dating-a-Decemberists-fan crew together in charming “historic” table-seating venues are here: midtempo sentimentality, premature world-weariness, and plenty of those “unconventional” instruments (banjo, accordion, horns, Wurlitzer organ) that are losing their novelty faster than the 2003 post-punk revival (hey, remember The Rapture? Whatever happened to them, anyway?). No doubt, this stuff is big business right now, and the Felice Brothers are likely to blow up bigger than their Haystacks Calhoun-esque accordionist (a recent high-profile opening slot with the Drive-By Truckers was an obvious win). But instead of expertly painting with the varied palate of their heroes, the Brothers swirl and mix their colors until they emerge a homogenized, taupish brown—all earth tones and no variety. In today’s musical climate, it’s easy to imagine the Felice Brothers with huge bags of cash being thrown at them, like Ron Howard at the end of that episode of the Simpsons where he steals Homer’s movie pitch. Like Ron, the Felice Brothers are capitalizing on someone else’s ideas. Who knows what’ll happen once they run out?
Apr 1st, 2008 by DJ Hostettler
New Releases
April 1st Anti-Flag The Bright Lights of America RCA Dave Barnes Me + You + the World Razor & Tie Black Francis Svn Fngrs Cooking Vinyl The Black Keys Attack & Release Nonesuch Lili Haydn Place Between Places Nettwerk Kathy Mattea Coal RED Moby Last Night Mute Van Morrison Keep It Simple Lost Highway R.E.M. Accelerate Warner Joe Satriani Professor Satchafunkilus and the Musterion of Rock Epic Sevendust Chapter VII: Hope & Sorrow Warner April 8th Eric Avery Help Wanted Dangerbird The Breeders Mountain Battles 4AD Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds Dig!!! Lazaruz Dig!!! Anti-/Epitaph Clinic Do It! Domino Meat Beat Manifesto Autoimmune Metropolis Melanie C This Time Red Girl Gavin Rossdale Wanderlust Interscope Tapes ‘N Tapes Walk It Off XL Recordings April 15th Asia Phoenix EMI America The Brian Jonestown Massacre My Bloody Underground a recordings Mariah Carey E=MC2 Island Everclear The Vegas Years Capitol/EMI Frightened Rabbit The Midnight Organ Fight Fatcat The Kooks Konk Astralwerks The Little Ones Morning Tide Astralwerks M83 Saturdays=Youth Mute Phantom Planet Raise the Dead Fueled By Ramen The Plastic Constellations We Appreciate You Frenchkiss Dianne Reeves When You Know Blue Note Ashlee Simpson Bittersweet World Geffen Supergrass Diamond Hoo Ha Astralwerks Thrice The Alchemy Index: Vols. III & IV – Earth & Air Vagrant Jordan Zevon Insides Out New West April 22nd Tab Benoit Night Train to Nashville Telarc Blind Melon For My Friends Adrenaline Billy Bragg Mr. Love & Justice Anit-/Epitaph The Cat Empire So Many Nights Velour Music Michael Doucet From Now On Smithsonian Folkways Recordings Elbow The Seldom Seen Kid Fiction/Geffen Flight of the Conchords s/t Sub Pop Jeff Healey Mess of Blues Ruf Kerli Love Is Dead Island Def Jam Whitesnake Good to Be Bad SPV April 29th Mark Chesnutt Rollin’ With the Flow Lofton Creek Def Leppard Songs from the Sparkle Lounge Universal Madonna Hard Candy Warner Nerf Herder Nerf Herder IV Oglio Portishead Third Island Carly Simon This Kind of Love Hear Music Steve Winwood Nine Lives Columbia
Apr 1st, 2008 by Vital Archives
Stükenberg
It’s to be expected that someone adept in the art of moving from city to city as a kid should not only need to look to music as an escape hatch, but in turn, to have that music be as far-flung as his own hometown track record. David Stükenberg, the kid with suitcase always in hand (he was the veritable “son a preacher man”), finally landed in southeastern Wisconsin after hanging out in the South for many years, getting schooled in a wide range of subjects and what one might loosely term as “diversity studies.” It translates nicely into his music. Mountain of Pieces, Stükenberg’s full-length debut, sounds like something many musicians hatch after many, many more years. It’s no doubt that Stükenberg’s life-schooled, gospel-tinged pop is an after-effect from his upbringing. Vocals are the centerpiece of the music – equal parts jazz and soul, Stükenberg’s boyishly pleasing voice adding a winning element to the between soft soul revival and bouncy piano pop. Rhodes piano, harmonica, cellos, banjos, toy pianos, trumpets and guitars populate the songs backed by solid gospel choir vocals, creating a jaunty effect. Mountain of Pieces comes off as a Spoon-ish-sounding work, minus the smarminess, turning more into folk and soft soul revival tendencies. Remember the Milwaukee rock band Hudson? There are elements of their style of funk here, too. The best songs on Mountain of Pieces make use of the energetic youthfulness Stükenberg, at 21, naturally falls into encapsulating, such as his solid opener “Don’t Mind” with it’s crunchy organ lines and horns. The relaxed percussive soulfulness of “Hypothesis” is a sonic study of a sunny afternoon, but nicely clouds over with acid lyrics. Only slight tendencies to become too dear in some spots cause Mountain of Pieces to falter, letting the acoustic, singer-songwriter moments drag down an otherwise buoyant album.
Apr 1st, 2008 by Erin Wolf
3/20/2008
“The last time we played here, we didn’t play here,” bassist Joanna Bolme reminisced, referring to The Jicks’ 2003 “Milwaukee Show,” where they unexpectedly played an entire set pulled strictly from the Pavement back catalog. Their March 20th show at the Pabst Theater, the second stop on the Jicks’ spring 2008 headlining tour with John Vanderslice, didn’t make such history. This time, the band did what they were supposed to: supported new release Real Emotional Trash. Nine of the disc’s ten tracks were included; “Elmo Delmo” wasn’t. Three songs into the set, someone vocally demanded that Malkmus turn up his guitar (“Down? Or Up?” Malkmus clarified, somehow confused. “Guitars aren’t important to this band,” Bolme joked), but generally, the audience of mostly white male 20-somethings was complacent. “This record was made for playing live, not for listening,” a friend criticized in the lobby at a beer break during the tame “Out Of Reaches.” Though true that something like “Baltimore,” busting with bass-lines and lots of opportunity for Malkmus to prove his guitar fluency, is win-win, 2003’s Pig Lib brought the show’s most stellar point — and some looseness — with “(Do Not Feed the) Oyster.” The second half of “Real Emotional Trash” was also easily climactic; its throbbing energy lured even more of those mostly white male 20-somethings away from their theater seats and toward the pit of the stage. The band bottomed out in a cheap attempt to score points during “Hopscotch Willie.” They lifted their drinks while emphasizing the lyrics “underneath the pier/with BEER!” but didn’t get the reaction they anticipated from Brew City. The crowd had one repeated request throughout the evening, and the lively “Baby C’mon” (Face the Truth, 2005) was finally played as the set’s last word, leaving the audience stomping and howling for an encore. The Jicks returned with a cover of “Run to Your Lover,” and Malkmus confessed that his singing manner (no, nothing to do with cowbell) made him feel like a Will Ferrell impersonator. It took some consideration before finding another encore song new Jick, drummer Janet Weiss (the Bright Eyes tourmate formerly of Sleater-Kinney), would consent to. “We’re not playing “Troubbble,” Malkmus said, to audible disappointment. “We played that last night [in Minneapolis].” They settled on “Animal Midnight” and sent everyone packing before twelve o’clock. One couldn’t help feeling that what Minneapolis hadn’t already spoiled was being spared for Chicago the next night. There’s only space for one “Milwaukee Show” in the books, after all. VS
Mar 27th, 2008 by Amber Herzog
Pink Martini brings elegance and mystery to the Pabst Theater
Sometimes you need a little reminder that you are living in a city capable of sophistication and intrigue. Inside the intimate yet lavishly gilded atmosphere of the Pabst Theater in Milwaukee, right down the street from bawdy St. Patrick’s Day revelers on Water Street and Bruce Springsteen rocking the Bradley Center, an elegant woman in a black designer dress saunters on stage. Her necklace and earrings twinkle in the spotlight while her lowered face reveals dark eyeshadow with sparkles mixed in. Her face rises and dark red lips part. The 11-piece band crescendos and pauses. Out of singer China Forbes comes fluent musical Portuguese. In another number it is Spanish. Then English. Then French. Later Italian appears and even Arabic for a little Egyptian number that translates to “Tomorrow and the Day After.” It’s clear within the first five numbers (in two hours this “little orchestra” will perform 22 songs with no intermission) that Pink Martini falls within the depth-defying genre known as ‘world lounge’ music. What began as a four-piece performing at political events, founded by artistic director and pianist Thomas Lauderdale, was later expanded with fellow Harvard alum Forbes into a jazz orchestra. Pink Martini recalls the golden age of cabaret showstoppers in samba, salsa, cha-cha and any other number of arrangements influenced by outposts of sound from around the world. The crowd at the venerable music hall is decidedly older for the most part, but the enthusiasm of the crowd – frequently so loud that they interrupt Lauderdale and Forbes’ witty banter – pleasantly startle the band. After ten years recording albums and performing around the world, the pack of mostly under-40 musicians onstage still seemed flummoxed by their avid fans. Some songs illicit cheers at the first notes when they are recognized as revered classics, once sung by the likes of Henri Salvador and Eartha Kitt. Other compositions of original nature such as Pink Martini’s current hit “Hey Eugene” – a song Forbes wrote almost action-for-action about a one-night encounter with an enthusiastic guy who never called her back – garner even more praise from the audience. While the cheers and frequent standing ovations are justly deserved this evening, it sometimes feels like the crowd is so hungry for culture and music not heard outside the realm of occasional NPR programs that they threaten to consume the orchestra whole. When Forbes cryptically dedicates final number “Brazil” to a couple that seems to follow the band on tour dates, it’s obvious that the older-but-energetic woman who runs down the aisle and starts a conga line is the one described by the singer. It’s an odd sensation, watching older people jump out of their seats and start dancing with abandon – but that’s just the power of Pink Martini’s living music, and it must be seen, heard and felt to understand. VS
Mar 19th, 2008 by Brian Jacobson
Leah Jee rocks the BBC
Talking to Leah Jee is a cheerful experience; you get the impression she spends a great deal of time happily rocking out. She has carried this attitude with her from her home in sunny California, moving here in 2000 with a scholarship to Marquette. Jee plays an infectious, energetic, pop-punky Orange county-y sound, a ray of South Cali supersonic sunlight that blinds the frozen no-fun-niks of the local scene. Leah Jee and The Boys (her back up band: Jim Sinicki, bass, Lior Dar, drums, Bryan Burch, guitar) have played it all, from the sweat-soaked, beer-swilling masses at Summerfest to intimate serenades on a stormy night at the Riverwest Commons. The band toured in November, playing dozens of gigs in home, sweet home, California, from San Francisco to San Diego. “The California music scene was absolutely receptive to us, and we had a great fan response every show we played.” Jee told me. The band will hit the road again in May for a mid-Atlantic and East Coast tour. On March 8, Jee will rock the BBC, celebrating the release of her new EP, All The Things I Forgot To Mention, recorded at Studio Z in Milwaukee over several months. Leah Jee and the boys always give an ebullient live performance, and if the audience is lucky, they’ll hear a rockin’ cover of Paula Abdul’s “Straight Up” which wowed the crowd so much at one performance that they demanded the band play it a second time. Speaking of Paula Abdul, Miss Jee will be one of three guest judges for the Alverno College Idol contest, a replica of American Idol. Jee will certainly bring a healthy dose of Vitamin C to the contest. Leah Jee’s CD release is March 8 at 8PM at BBC, with Evenstar, The Identity Theft, and Now You Have Audio. The CD is available online.
Mar 5th, 2008 by Tea Krulos
The Mars Volta
Popular consensus holds that The Mars Volta reached their creative summit with their debut Deloused In The Comatorium. I would argue against this with the notion that creative masterminds Cedric Bixler-Zavala (vocals and melodies) and Omar Rodriguez-Lopez (guitar and creative direction) aren’t reaching upward – they’re reaching outward. These gentlemen are essentially a protean entity, constantly moving and shapeshifting within their own limits (a term one must use loosely). And while The Bedlam in Goliath, their fourth full-length in five years, doesn’t quite have the impact of their debut, it’s still effective and highly praiseworthy. Their melodies in particular cover new terrain. Album centerpieces “Wax Simulacra,” “Goliath” and “Tourniquet Man” contain Cedric’s most streamlined phrasings, even taking on a pure pop-couplet form at times. The music is still rhythmically aggressive – poly-Latin with a hardcore lean – with signature emphatic punctuations. The instrumental interplay is dynamic and cohesive throughout. Bedlam might not be their definitive work, but I’m not sure that’s the goal. They’re still a “tight as a mosquito’s ass” group of confident and explorative musicians, songwriters and sonic sculptors. “Definitive” implies a destination, and I don’t think they want to have one. (Though I’ll probably lose cool points, I strongly urge you to pick up the Best Buy edition, as it comes with a live DVD that showcases their fiery initiative, muscular chops and their definitively brilliant cover of The Sugarcubes’ classic “Birthday.”)
Mar 1st, 2008 by Troy Butero
Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks
Despite his reputation as a weirdo, Stephen Malkmus’s fourth solo record plays like the work of an average dude hashing out life’s universal kinks. That’s right — even beatniks like Malkmus struggle with the same “sometimes it feels the world’s stuffed with feathers, table-bottom gum just holding it together” thoughts that we all do – though maybe he does have a more imaginative vocabulary. The instantly relatable “Gardenia,” a tidy pop song about the dissipation of a relationship’s honeymoon phase, actualizes how easy one can flip from doted-on (“I kinda like the way you dot your Js with giant circles of naiveté”) to damaged goods (“Are you just a present waiting to be opened up and parceled out again?”) and delivers some of the record’s best lines. Malkmus’ savvy lyrical poetry is recurrent with the former Pavement front man’s previous Jicks releases, as are his percussive vocals and gritty, southern-Calfornia guitar noodling. Composed of multiple movements that host peppery prog-rock interludes, the 10-minute title-track, which documents a trek through the southwest, and the single “Baltimore” are elaborate epics. The unfussy “We Can’t Help You” is accompanied by ragtime piano and a coy female harmony, while “Wicked Wanda” is curiously redolent of the “lemon drops” bridge of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” It’s the clincher that brings Malkmus, “the Grace Kelly of indie rock,” and now a dad in his 40s, closer to the ground. All 10 tracks are indispensable and fully realized, making Real Emotional Trash a treasure. VITAL Source welcomes Stephen Malkmus and The Jicks to Turner Hall on March 20 with John Vanderslice. For more information call 414-286-3663 or visit The Pabst Theater online. And check out Erin Wolf’s interview with John Vanderslice.
Mar 1st, 2008 by Amber Herzog
The Mountain Goats
There’s something truly romantic about the solo-artist-with-guitar archetype — the tortured balladeer who can only express feelings through song. Of course, the inherent populism of that simple formula (anyone can pick up a guitar and learn three chords — you can too!) attracts scores of aspiring amateurs who lack the personality to realize the conceit. All you’ve got is a guitar and your voice, pal; if you have nothing interesting to say, the coffee shop isn’t going to ask you back. Thank god for John Darnielle, the man who began the Mountain Goats with a guitar, a boom box and the most charming disquietude this side of Danny Torrance. The Goats’ latest, Heretic Pride, showcases everything that makes a great singer/songwriter — driving guitar work, fictionalized lyrics that paradoxically, chillingly bare the artist’s soul — and everything that’s not-so-slowly turning Darnielle into a borderline cult hero. The lyrics are Darnielle’s real strength, as they expose him for the confidently awkward acoustic nerdsmith he is. Who else would drop lyrical references to H.P. Lovecraft and former NFL running back Marcus Allen into a song about suspicion and paranoia (“Lovecraft in Brooklyn”)? While nothing on the slickly-produced Heretic Pride quite achieves the sing-along triumph of early low-fi classics like “Cubs in Five,” the presence of a tremendous supporting cast – including Superchunk drummer Jon Wurster – makes up for it. Erik Friedlander’s cello resonates with a warmth that recalls the immediacy of those signature boom box recordings, if not the aesthetic. But production aside, Darnielle’s broken, optimistic personality is what sets the Mountain Goats apart from your everyday jerk-off at the open mic. For Pete’s sake, he cribbed the album title from a lyric by a black metal band. Don’t you wanna just pinch his cheeks and snuggle?
Mar 1st, 2008 by DJ Hostettler
