Dolly Parton – Halos and Horns

To end all the speculation that might be going through your head right now, let me get this out in the open and totally clarified: yes, Dolly Parton is worthy and deserving of coverage in an indie rock e-zine. For far too long now she seems to have been tossed off as some humongous-breasted blonde-wigged caricature who is only surviving on her “aww shucks” reputation and novelty status, when she happens to be one of the most genuinely gifted singers, songwriters, and musicians to emerge in the realm of popular music in the last 50 years. After all, when everyone from the White Stripes to Whitney Houston has covered your songs, you must be doing something right. And while there is no denying that she has made heartbreaking concessions to commerciality in her career, at heart, Dolly Parton is as close to the genuine roots of Appalachian folk music as you can get. Growing up in the Appalachian mountains in a house without electricity, saturated in the music and lifestyle that would enchant so many of the country’s original ethnomusicolists and folkies, one has to suspect that she knows a lot more about the true roots of American music that she has generally displayed in her music over the last 20 years. In short, if you dig Johnny Cash, Emmylou Harris, or Hank Williams records because of their “authenticity,” you better make room for Dolly because she’s veritably bursting with it.
Her third album in a trilogy of back-to-basics, stripped-down recordings, Halos and Horns is steeped in the traditions of American roots music yet doesn’t completely break free of some of the elements that have marred Parton’s recordings since she broke away from Porter Wagoner and found mainstream success. Although she’s always been known for having stronger singles than albums (which are usually packed with unnecessary filler), she has experienced quite an unexpected renaissance with a fairly straight bluegrass album (1999’s The Grass is Blue) and another largely acoustic one (2001’s Little Sparrow). The problem is, Parton seems hesitant to just go ahead and continue to make the kinds of albums that will attract hardcore folk and roots enthusiasts, instead tempering her material with apparent attempts to hold appeal to a wider audience. So, at best, the final results are a bit mixed.
Largely comprised of acoustic instruments, with mandolin, dobro, and banjo rising to the fore and dominating the mix, the album’s best tracks are truly exceptional. The title track, a classic gospel-tinged cut fits well beside the bluesy re-recording of “Shattered Image” and the folk-gospel strains of “John Daniel.” Even as her approach seems to be quite formulaic, when all those elements in the formula are perfectly balanced, tracks like the heartbreakingly earnest “Dagger Through the Heart” can be the result. Give her credit, she still writes the great majority of the tracks on her albums, not content to rely on the Nashville songwriting factory even though she does indulge in a few (albeit baffling) covers. Of those, Bread’s “If” is stripped to its foundation and given a slightly more rustic, pastoral pop veneer. A revamped rendition of “Stairway to Heaven” (with altered lyrics to present a more traditional Judeo-Christian bent approved by Page and Plant) doesn’t fair as well, as it probably just isn’t the type of song that makes a good candidate for a bluegrass makeover. Sadly, the elements seem to go awry somewhere in the mix just as often as they go right.
In light of September 11th, Parton seems to want to reach out and address the tragedy, giving us songs like the overblown “Hello God” (complete with swelling power ballad chorus and a soaring choir) and the similarly over-reaching “Raven Dove.” And while you never doubt her sincerity or honesty, as she always writes her songs in the common vernacular and in an entirely humble voice, the sentiments are just a bit too trite to stand on their own. When she goes for novelty, as on the downright obnoxious narrative of an outcast fortuneteller in “These Old Bones,” during which Dolly slips into a faux-old lady voice to deliver snippets of dialogue, the results are almost unbelievably misguided.
Overall, the majority of the tracks inhabit ground somewhere between the two extremes on the spectrum, making the album pretty average in the final estimate. Her melodies all seem to be vaguely familiar and you can probably name a few tracks that jump to mind that could have inspired parts of certain songs, but her voice, although she bends for cheap nostalgia and tired sentiments too often, is undeniably her own. But, if you happen to hold dear some crusty old recordings because they happen to have been marketed to you as genuine “folk” music, remember, Dolly is the kind of folk who lived the life described in those songs that hold so much anthropological meaning. (Although it is sort of sad that California-born Gillian Welch can play that role more convincingly than Dolly can anymore). I just wish she’d cozy up to another set of Appalachian standards and make an album any folk snob would love.

Joe Coffee – Bright As the Stars We’re Under

For many hardcore fans, the name Paul Bearer is immediately associated with seminal New York band Sheer Terror. Most don’t know that the outfit’s former frontman has a new group called Joe Coffee that just released their first album, Bright as the Stars We’re Under. It’s hard not to compare this venture with old Sheer Terror albums, but fans would be amiss to think Joe Coffee is the second coming of Paul Bearer’s previous band. Though Bearer is the link between the two, nothing else is the same, and one must remember this fact to truly appreciate Joe Coffee’s sound.

Singer Paul Bearer is accompanied in Joe Coffee by the standard guitarist, bassist, and drummer. The foursome is solid and offer listeners an album full of melodic post-punk and borderline hardcore that, while not breaking any new ground, tantalizes the ears without being overpowering. Previous associations aside, Bearer and his ever-enigmatic personality really are the focal point here, and it’s his lyrics and vocals that make a lasting impression. The songs run the gamut of styles and emotions, but one thing is clear throughout – Paul Bearer isn’t trying to sugar-coat life and he isn’t interested in being something he’s not. In a time of musical clones and bands created for mass-marketing appeal, it’s nice to find something this real.

The eight tracks on Bright as the Stars We’re Under barely seem like enough – especially since the first, “Intro,” is little more than the sound of a bunch of cows mooing and doesn’t contain any music. Highlights include “3 a.m. and 4 again,” which provides a mighty catchy melody and showcases Paul Bearer’s appealing singing voice. The near-screaming vocals of yesteryear are all but nonexistent on this album as a whole and it’s mighty refreshing. “Pretty in Pinko” falls in this same upbeat vein but with a more tongue-in-cheek approach. Leave it to Bearer to write a song that laments the loss of a Marxist girlfriend with lyrics like, “I was far too dumb to tell the difference between the Revolution and a piece of ass.” Other tracks, like “Coke and Sympathy” or “Rooftop Rendez-vous” present the harder side of Joe Coffee that will appeal more to punk/hardcore purists with crunchy guitar, louder vocals, and a tough guy attitude.

Bright as the Stars We’re Under definitely shows a sense of musical maturity for Paul Bearer and company that only comes after years in the industry. I find it rare for a first album to be so flawless these days, but these guys have clearly packed everything they know into each song. That doesn’t mean the album is overproduced or pretentious, it just has the right combination of bravado, humor, integrity, and passion for music to make fans out of the most skeptical of listeners. My only hope is the band’s next release contains twice as many songs to satisfy all their new fans.

Blue Noon – Party in a Box

Usually, when I hear “lo-fi, electronic,” I tend to think of love-lorn yet cute acts such as Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, early Beat Happening, etc. Blue Noon on the other hand does not embrace you with a kitschy escape, as their music fails to ever fully rid itself of a deep and underlying anxiety. This theme was pervasive throughout much of the 80s as even the most flippant pop acts never seemed to fully rid themselves of doubt. The 00s are proving to be an uncannily similar decade of uncertainty and War Without End. Blue Noon take their strength from the knowledge that there is something sinister about pretending everything is fine while walking on the brink of destruction. “All Right” is a fine example of this: as the verse explains the hopeless hum-drum nature of the low-income individual, the refrain “It will be all right, tonight” is repeated as a hollow mantra, suggesting that “all right” can only refer to a numbing effect. One will never be happy, but perhaps one will be free of pain. The effect of geography (Blue Noon is from Saskatoon) can be felt in the expansiveness of the instrumental music, perfectly crafted for long road trips at night, as your car eats up road from horizon to horizon of black vacancy. In somewhere most consider to be quite remote, it must be easier to contemplate the demented and absurd nature of the world around us, since society might not make its demands in such an immediate way like it would if you were unemployed and without prospects in the streets of Chicago or New York City. This might explain the lurking quality to the music that denotes reflection, instead of the maniacal desperation which gripped synthpunk bands like Suicide, The Screamers, or their modern progeny. Even though Blue Noon rarely seem hip, or psychotic … their music has a tension that reels you in and a bargain-basement beat that is equally infectious.

“Party in a Box” begins with a loping one-string (detuned) guitar melody, which repeats for several measures before a drum machine enters with its insistent canned bass and toms. Soon, a synthesizer chimes in with a countermelody, and then the instruments are reduced to a bass drum and guitar while glitch effects shimmer throughout. The earlier arrangement returns with the addition of the aforementioned noises before the piece comes to a quick closure. The song title gives this instrumental track the suggestion that it is a product one could purchase. In a way the song comes together with such precise unfolding and addition of layers that it seems like a carefully assembled yet automated toy … the breakdown in the middle of the song suggesting cheap construction before the song begins again with the regularity and insular nature of a music box.

Balanced, varied, and inventive – yet cohesive – Blue Noon will defy your expectations, and with pieces like “Party in a Box,” they are a worthy keepsake for many a mixtape.

The Nougat Fiasco – Carousel

The Nougat Fiasco have a song about people who ‘take the fun out of music,’ and another about teenagers who ‘take their problems too seriously.’ The irony in these songs is that they have such a “serious” tone themselves. Stranger still, the band sounds more focused and lost in their music during their “fun” compositions (which while containing elements of pop, never sound all that upbeat) than those which attempt to get some sort of message across to the listener. While their sound fails to challenge, it does put together some rock influences that are difficult not to like. Their thick warm guitar sound could have come from a magazine interview with Hum on distortion pedal settings, while the occasional accent or melody recalls …and Justice for All-era Metallica. The vocals straddle the line between nasal SoCal pop-punk and the self-consciously menacing sound of James Hettfield or a stoned Dave Mustaine.

In “Carousel,” The Nougat Fiasco seem dedicated to getting the audience moving, and while the production is quite lavish here, I bet it fails to capture the physical impact of this song in a live context. The romping breakdown that frames and permeates the song drives the listening experience. Towards the end of the song, a bass line runs a line of 16th notes that eggs on the group to get in an even more intense groove. Its not so much that this section is so strong, except that it is well contrasted by the reserve of the verses in which the guitar mirrors the vocals with harmonics instead of stampeding chords. The change in dynamics accents the more lively chorus, which gives the illusion that the song is reaching a more terminal point than it actually is. In reality, the riffs are quite contained, and the communication between instruments is pretty much seamless – there is no danger of the carousel dropping some bolts and shooting off the track.

While their sound is saturated, The Nougat Fiasco have yet to develop the confidence (at least on record) that epitomizes the fuck-you attitude that is so affecting about the style of music they are playing. Rather than giving the impression that they are in control of their techniques, the band seems owned by the clichés they utilize, making their originals sound like life-sapped half-hearted covers. Fans of Silverchair/Candlebox/Creed, check ‘em out.

Robyne Dunn – Live at the Basement

In the frenetic paced world of CD reviewing (you there – stop snickering!), some CDs are declared amazing after one listen, only to be pawned off at the local Mr Moneybags after a few weeks when the riffs have grown unbelievably stale. Other CDs can be safely declared crap after half a rotation through the player, and they too will join the former. A small portion of CDs can and do remain favourites, never dull, every listen a new puzzle opened. And other CDs like this, the first from Australian vocalist Robyne Dunn in four years, can be played and played, then left alone, then returned to, and yet they never quite provide the answer you look for. However in what they show, you can see the power, the smoky beauty of a jazz club at 3 a.m., and maybe answers aren’t that important anyway.
Remember though folks, this is jazz pop, so don’t be surprised when that sweet saxophone splits “Sleeping Dogs” in half but do not expect any atonal trawls through an Ornette Coleman number. It’s not all sax and roses, and “Valley of Tears” is where Dunn’s voice joins Matt McMahon’s piano, forlornly telling the tale of an artist who has woken “up one morning and found his creativity had died.” Australian listeners will be most familiar with “History,” Dunn’s lyricist talents offering irony as she chimes, “another generation fighting through the white wash … in the future, these will be the good old days.”
The other side of all this is that in focusing on ballads and melody, some of the intensity and variety of improvisation can be lost, and it can be difficult at times to tell the difference between songs. But then again (and this is the reasons I’m swinging here, between calling the songs on Live at the Basement gorgeously and magnificently tragic or just very pretty) when Dunn’s voice dives through a line like “Pleasure is a privilege, enjoy it while you can” it’s a momentary point of bliss that few singer-songwriters have a chance to deliver. Complex, confusing, and it’s 69 minutes of songs until the bar closes. You decide.

Panty Lions – So Dang Rad

Simplicity is often mistaken with plainness. It’s a shame, because some of the most beautiful songs owe their natural, divine bearing to simplicity. Over the course of a few decades, simple rock music has taken a backseat to the pompous songwriting flooding the airwaves; however, there seems to be a quiet resurgence in simplicity lately. And it’s about time (not every band has to sound like Sigur Ros and The Flaming Lips– just some). So when a band like Panty Lions comes around, we use them as a cathartic release from the chains of complexity.
Ariana Murray and Ashod Simonian are responsible for creating So Dang Rad, the duo’s debut album, and it’s warm, natural, and incredibly refreshing. It’s like they handed you a tall glass of lemonade, sat you in a rocking chair, and set up fans blowing cool air all around you. Consisting of a Telecaster, a nylon string guitar, and a couple humans, Panty Lions craft an album that wears simplicity like a tight piece of underwear.
Each song has its own hook, but they all seamlessly blend into one another. Imagine Phil Elvrum and Stephen Malkmus collaborating to record Grandaddy’s Sophtware Slump, and you’re getting close. Though experimenting with sound is not the band’s forte, their use of counterpoint with both the guitar and vocals discern the album from the rest of the crowd. Also worth mentioning is their nonchalant style of recording: missed notes here, strained notes there – I don’t think either of the guitars are ever in tune throughout its brief 35 minutes. I have always welcomed this type of style with open arms, but it’s getting to the point where some of these sloppy recordings seem forced and you don’t know what’s truly authentic anymore. All I know is that when I listen to the Microphones, I never question its authenticity, whereas it’s harder to gage with Panty Lions.
Trivial theories aside, So Dang Rad is a good record. It shows the band at their most intimate, leaving hints of their influences in every note. They even cover Pavement’s “Baby Yeah,” a bold move that ends with a great imitation of Malkmus’ quirky vocals. But the most remarkable asset the band has is their ability to get your attention with their simplicity. The band doesn’t need loud distorted guitars, weird time signatures, or strings sampled from 25 ft above the ground to get your attention; all they need is a chance. And though they’re not the type of group you would state as one of your favorite bands or engage in a debate about their lyrics on message boards, they’re the type of group that you can enjoy whatever mood you are in, which is more than you can say about a lot of music out there.

The Weakerthans – Left and Leaving

The Weakerthans have proven that it can be done. With little media exposure or radio play, the band has built a solid fan base in a rather unusual way: they’ve written great songs, released an outstanding album, and toured relentlessly to win over hoards of Canadian fans. Left and Leaving is the band’s second full-length effort, and although it’s been out for some time, it is still the perfect showcase for their intelligent lyrics and boatloads of artistic integrity.
At first listen, Left and Leaving could be dismissed as just another pop album, despite the singer’s background with the political punk group Propaghandi. On the surface you’ve heard it all before: jangly guitars, exploding choruses, and introspective ballads. By the second listen, however, you begin to realize that there is more to this band than the average alt-rock outfit. By the third listen, you realize you’ve only scratched the surface and this disc will be residing in your player for a long, long time.
The Weakerthans are the Little Guys (for lead vocalist and songwriter John K. Sampson, this is true both literally and figuratively), and the upbeat guitar-pop of some tracks hides a deep undercurrent of anger and frustration. “Forty-hour work week weighs a thousand kilograms,” sings Sampson on the album opener, “so bend your knees, comes with a free fake smile, for all your dumb demands.”
A quick browse through the lyric sheet shows that Samson’s writing could stand alone in a book of poetry. In “Pamphleteer,” Samson is “weary with right-angles, abbreviated daylight, and waiting for winter to be done,” as he takes on the role of a lonely protester freezing on a street corner and ignored by pedestrians too busy to listen to his cause. While even most rocking tracks (“Aside,” “This is a Fire Door Never Leave Open”) are layered with depth, the album’s slower ballads expose the band’s brilliance most effectively. The title track is heartbreaking, as is “My Favourite Chords,” a song that seems to perfectly outline the plight of the little guy in most eloquent terms: “the mayor’s out killing kids to keep taxes down, and me in my anger sit folding a paper bird, letting the curtains turn to beating wings.”
The Weakerthans are a rare and precious treat for those who are lucky enough to have stumbled across their music. On Left and Leaving, the band stands head and shoulders above the crowd.

Six By Seven – The Way I Feel Today

Filled with aggression and armed with guitars, the four men of Six By Seven let it all hang out on their third album, The Way I Feel Today. Sometimes the result is pretty, and sometimes it’s a little ugly. Sometimes it’s astounding, and sometimes it’s uneventful, but it is always cleverly blending British indie roots with a big wall of modern guitar rock. With influences and comparisons ranging from Radiohead to the Clash to My Bloody Valentine, the band has quite a range to it, both musically and lyrically. There are the whispy pop songs and the fast-paced punk outbursts, or there are songs about the beauty of love and those about misery and self-loathing.
Sounding on this album as though they could easily compete with many of their better known comrades from across the sea, Six By Seven are far from being mere copies of the British bands you’re used to hearing about these days, but there are certainly moments worthy of comparison. The fuzzy and heavy bass mixed with the building piano line, wall of guitars, and emotional yet apathetic vocals make the excellent opener, “So Close,” sound a bit like earlier and more straightforward Radiohead, while the acoustic-tinged and breezy pop vibe of “All My New Best Friends” wouldn’t sound out of place in a Coldplay or Travis setlist. That particular song, however, is quickly countered by the snotty Clash-esque punk burst of “Flypaper For Freaks.”
The almost sickeningly sweet “I.O.U. Love” seems primed for radio airplay and stands out as a little misplaced amongst the other heavier songs on this album, while the shouts and reverb-drenched guitars of “Speed is In, Speed is Out” give you the opportunity to thrash around and bang your head a bit, starting what appears to be the grittier second half of the album. The bone-rattling bassline of “Karen O” is a bit much for the rather uneventful tune, followed by “American Beer,” a slowly building and sprawling epic of sorts that shows off the sneering anger that flows consistently throughout the vocals. “Anyway” and “The Way I Feel Today” tend to just plod along without any sort of peaks or valleys, as does “Cafeteria Rats,” but with a bit more spite, and closing things out is the more frantic punk of “Bad Man.”
There are definitely hints of genius here, but there are also moments worthy of passing over. It seems as if The Way We Feel Today is a major catharsis, but some of the energy released via the exorcising of whatever demons the band may have tends to be lacking in direction or purpose. If the excellence of the opening track, “So Close,” could have been carried out through the remainder of the album, this could have been an amazing album, but it isn’t, and so instead the effort is just plain good.

Thirty-two Frames – S/T

When reviewing the latest hardcore release, it’s easy to dismiss the record before giving it a chance. Hardcore is a genre in which the majority of bands seem to thrive on using tried and true styles that come off like old hat. Knowing this, one often doesn’t expect to be blown away when taking a listen to the latest release from the genre. At the same time, this form of expression is not usually about the music. It’s about feeling, passion, having a voice, and speaking one’s mind. Many times the music is merely a background for the ideas from the members of a band.
Thirty-two Frames falls under the same category as the majority of hardcore acts. Nothing truly separates them in terms of style. The band does not get many points for originality. They sound like pretty much every other modern hardcore band with a melodic twist. Think By the Grace of God meets Bad Religion. However, their lack of musical invention doesn’t mean that their work should be dismissed.
The band performs their material with vigor and punch. One can sense that these songs come from the heart of the group and that feeling comes through loud and clear throughout the recording. The songs tend to deal with the lives of Native Americans and the corruption of religious institutions. With titles like “Chippewa” and “Saints Stolen,” the band’s topical choices are up front for the listener to see.
“Crow/Sioux War” opens the record with a powerful burst of guitar and rhythm that builds quickly to an explosion of fast-paced, old-school hardcore chords and breakdowns. The vocals kick in shortly after the rapid intro. They are sung in the mold that one would expect for this type of group – loud and energetic, yet melodic. “Saints Stolen” pulls back the pace a bit and allows the anger expressed by the band to come off even more ferociously. The vocals have a rougher feel on this number, and the other members of the band match that tone with their raw playing. The rest of the tracks fall somewhere in between these two. None of them stray too far from the basic hardcore structure.
Thirty-two Frames is a band that definitely has potential. Their lyrics are thought-provoking and angry, even if some of the topics have been well covered in the past. Nonetheless, they translate their frustration into their music very well – something of a must for a good hardcore group. What matters the most is that these tunes come from the heart. With the backing of a label like Revelation, expect big things from these guys.

Dropsonic – Belle

Let me just start out by saying that Atlanta, Ga’s Dropsonic have put out one hell of a record. The opening cut, “Stolen,” will give you an idea what you’re about get: fantastic drum, guitar, and bass sounds. Melodic vocals. Wonderfully arranged songs. A drummer that lays down some of the most solid beats this reviewer’s ever heard. Quite frankly, it’s one of the best records that’s come across my desk in a while, and I’ll tell you why. This band is not afraid to write powerful, catchy pop songs. If I could wake up in the morning, turn on the radio, and hear music like this on the modern rock station instead of those nu-metal bedwetters subjecting me to their therapy sessions, I’d be a lot happier person. Thank God for the advent of car CD-players.
I’ve digressed. Let’s get back to “Stolen.” Unabashed, glorious slide guitar, a la Keith Richards or the Black Crowes. Totally thunderous, massive drum sounds. On vocals is Dan Dixon, who has fabulous, fragile, yet cocky vocals. I can’t quite place who he reminds me of, but believe it or not, it seems to be Thom Yorke. I know Thom has a lot of classic glam influence, as evidenced by his contributions to the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack. But imagine someone with his range and taste, singing over music that isn’t trying to destroy rock or reinvent it, but indulge in all it’s pre-college rock glory. They just nailed it, ladies and gentleman, a perfect rock anthem.
But wait, there’s more! Track two, “Eyesore,” is a meandering musical wonderland. Featuring clean, chiming guitars and the same massive drum sound from before, the time signature shifts in a math-rock fashion on the verses. However, unlike 90 percent of the bands in this genre, an actual song is written with a catchy melody. After a well-placed bridge, the band full-out rocks in a massive arena-ready style before bringing it down to a whisper at the conclusion. Stunning and intelligent, the song manages to be emotional without coming close to what could be considered emo.
The hits just keep coming. “It’s a Living” is a beautiful epic that stretches to almost six minutes. So much thought and care has been put into these songs. It’s great to hear a band that pays so much attention to arrangement these days. And “Good Intentions” sounds like it could a lost Zeppelin riff, perfectly combining the tight-as-fuck rhythm section on the verse and a soaring melody on the chorus. These guys know what makes good rock, and they aren’t afraid to mix up several different styles in the blender in search of that perfect rock sound.
I could go on and on because the rest of the record is similarly strong. But that would only be wasting valuable time that you could spend tracking down this record and buying it. This record should renew your faith that there is a LOT more that can be done with this lady we call rock and roll. And having said that, I’m going to go out and play some guitar!

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