The Halcyon Brothers – A Dusty Bible Leads to a Dirty Life

Let me tell you about a bird named Kingfisher. This bird is jay-sized with a distinguishable crew-cut. Its plumage for a male is a bluish-gray with a white collar and blue band across the white breast; the female proves brighter than the male and has a chestnut brown band below the blue band. They have cleft beaks with short yellow legs and can be found all over the lakes, ponds, rivers, and streams of North America. As their name suggests, these birds are the kings of catching fish. So why am I giving discourse on this bird? Well, apparently, the poetic name of Kingfisher is Halcyon. Slap a “the” in the front and “brothers” on the back and you will get the pop-country-rock-and-roll of The Halcyon Brother’s debut album, A Dusty Bible Leads to a Dirty Life.
Essentially a duo by the names of Sean McNamee and Kelly Anderson, The Halcyon Brothers bequeaths an unrelenting hodgepodge of music that touches on snot-rock (“Slap”), punk (“Selling Crank”), classic rock (“I Can’t be Counted on”), slap-happy country (“Sleeping on the Futon”), and everything in between. The album is incredibly engaging. The capricious attitude and fickle variations aid its overall hedonistic decorum, tugging you in like the evil McAdvertisements.
However, where the Kingfisher’s plumage is, more or less, beautiful, the Halcyon Brothers has more difficulty in presenting itself. Although the album is extremely fun to listen to, it is ultimately lacking focus and cohesiveness. Comparing the cheesy “And Then the Shove” to the album centerpiece “On the Radio” can be disorienting for listeners, even though the latter song is the most substantial track on the album. In other words, there are some really great songs indicating loads of potential that is just itching to burst out; then there are some really awful songs that undermine the creativity of the more unique tracks.
But when you get right down to it, The Halcyon Brothers has created a debut album brimming with a charming personality that so many bands lack on its first couple albums. They truly capture the essences of rock, country, and classic rock with little fault. Plus, the fact that they named their band after the ugly Kingfisher with a phallic-like beak is pretty fucking funny.

Various Artists – Love & Rebellion

Thick Records is home to a wide variety of Chicago-area bands, most of which can be loosely categorized as “punk.” Love & Rebellion is a 21-track compilation that showcases a variety of bands on the label. Thankfully, the disc is not one long blast of guitar noise, and instead jumps confidently between punk, ska, indie rock, and even space pop. While some of the bands on this disc (Blue Meanies, Haymarket Riot) are familiar to anyone who’s killed time flipping aimlessly through record store bins during the past decade, others (Bitchy, Vortis) are relatively new up-and-comers.
The compilation opens with some straight-ahead, traditional punk (if punk can ever be described as “traditional”!) courtesy of Bitchy, The Arrivals, and The Gadjits. As expected, all three are loud, rude, and raw. Before tedium can rear its ugly head, however, the sounds become more varied. The Tossers provide their take on Celtic-punk, and while you couldn’t fault anyone for thinking “Dancin’ Shoes” was a Shane McGowan leftover, the song is well worthy of inclusion. Calliope slows things down with “Detroit Girl,” a quirky track that starts somewhat conventionally before building with layers of melody and turntable trickery reminiscent of “Loser”-era Beck. Indie-rocker Tom Daily contributes “World of Yawns,” an infectious road-trip song that provides additional contrast to all that punk angst.
Love & Rebellion works as intended: it is a great introduction to a variety of bands. Many of the artists appear more than once, which gives new listeners a chance to pass personal judgment based on more than a single song. The best part about this compilation, however, is that it makes for a great listen on its own. Highly recommended.

Mclusky – Mclusky Do Dalls

Nobody will ever accuse Mclusky of being too subtle. On their second album, Mclusky Do Dallas, the Welsh punk-rock trio rips through 14 songs with a screaming ferocity that hasn’t been matched since Kurt Cobain recorded the second half of Incesticide in a heroin-induced haze.
From the moment vocalist Andy Falkous kicks things off with “Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues” you know that Mclusky ain’t emo-rock. In general, the songs are short, fiery, and … good. In fact, the band pulls off the hard rockin’ schtick so well they could single-handedly bring integrity back to the whole nu-punk/garage “scene”. The White Stripes, Vines, and Strokes should be quaking in their stylishly unstylish footwear as we speak. That said, Mclusky would probably retch at the thought of being mentioned in the same sentence as any of those scenesters.
Contrary to what they might like you to believe, however, Mclusky are no underground amateurs. Far from it. Mclusky Do Dallas is produced by none other than Steve Albini, the wizard behind countless alternative chart-toppers, including Nirvana’s In Utero. The fact that these guys have managed to snag Albini shows that not only is the band serious about success, but someone in high places likes them – and likes them a lot.
Indeed, there is a lot to like about Mclusky. The music is fast and furious, but it’s also fun. A quick listen to the lyrics proves that the band doesn’t take themselves, nor their chosen profession, too seriously. On “To Hell with Good Intentions,” for example, Falkous brags “My dad is bigger than your dad, he’s got eight cars and a house in Ireland.” And hey, I have a soft spot in my heart for any band that writes a song called “The World Loves Us and is our Bitch.” Intentionally sloppy arrangements, meandering basslines, and piercing five-note solos rule the day. The album contains only a few breaks in the high-volume action, including the excellent “Fuck This Band,” a mellow tribute to style-over-substance in the music industry.
The time is right for Mclusky. All that remains to be seen is whether or not the band will be able to break into the nearly impenetrable US market, and whether they’ll be lost in a sea of less-worthy contenders.

VR – Quiet Contest

There are certain artists or albums that a person should never listen to while in a depressed frame of mind. The musical offerings I speak of are the type of thing that will only worsen such a situation by bringing you down further. Initially, this may sound like some form of a vague insult, but I assure you, at least in this case, it is not. It is this sort of musical landscape that forces you to reflect, whether it be on the day, the past year, or your entire life. This is not mindless fun, and it is far from angst-ridden aggression, but it resides somewhere far away from all of that, where ambiance, folk, pop, and various other creative forms melt together into one.
But enough of my rambling. Just have a listen to “Ohio,” the instrumental opening track on the latest effort from VR (aka Vehemence Realized) and the above paragraph will make complete sense. Its essence lies in its simplicity, consisting of nothing more than multiple layers of acoustic guitars and a viola, with the end result standing out as achingly beautiful. A similar approach is taken on the lovely “Snow” and “J. Redland,” but with deeper textures created by piano and various guitar effects. Songs like “Lafayette,” “Nevere,” “Aquarium,” “Cardinal,” and “Bast” are slightly more upbeat offerings, but remain downtrodden folk at heart, utilizing the vocals that are shared throughout the album between band members Michael, Oura and Gabe. The pretty voice of Alica Wade offers support on “Lafayette” and “Cardinal,” later taking the lead on “Supervision,” during which she switches back and forth between singing and speaking.
“45 Degrees” is slightly darker and a little less exciting, marred by a tendency to drone until the lovely piano enters a bit too late to save it. “Supervision” and “Aquarium” are the only two songs on the album with any use of drums, which should give you an idea of the sullen vibe the songs emit. As a result, some songs just plod along without any peaks or valleys to mark any sense of progress, and this even goes for those two tracks with percussion. The lengths of the tracks don’t make matters any better, with a handful of the songs overstaying their welcome by several minutes.
It is all quite minimalist and lo-fi, stripped down to the barest essentials and offered up with its heart on its sleeve. Fans of coffeehouse folk will be pleased, as will a handful of mopey shoegazers. Lengthy and unremarkable at its worst, emotional and beautiful at its best, Quiet Contest is filled with gems if you’re willing to do a little digging.

Locke – Relevance

Hip-hop has been in a state of flux the past several years. Many of the groundbreaking godfathers of the genre have lost their hold over the music, and the trail that they laid down has been tread over, leaving nary a trace of their existence. The majority of what has been left behind, at least in the mainstream, lacks originality, and the music has suffered in the long run. With that said, the past few years have been bringing about some changes.
No, Locke is not the second coming of Rakim, but he is one of many from the crop of talented underground hip-hop artists that seem to be bringing back the spirit of the days of old. Like several other recent discoveries, Locke seems to have a feel for the elements that make up “true” hip-hop. His songs aren’t about cars, blunts, and hoes. They are, however, well thought out, nicely flowing and “relevant” – essentials for a good hip-hop record.
One of the best things about this release is the tight production that is showcased on nearly every track. The background that the producers provide brings a laid-back yet slightly raw atmosphere that nearly any hip-hop fan would find appealing. Nothing is too over the top. The bass doesn’t overload speakers to their breaking point. Simply, the samples, rhythms, and overall ambience come together to bring out Locke’s talent.
“Clear Signal” begins the album with samples of light piano, flutes, and tight, rhythmic drumming. This sound provides a nice background for Locke as he casually flows in and out over the top of the instrumental. His style is mid-paced – not rapid fire, yet not ultra slow. This flows nicely into “Like it or Not,” which has a head-nodding, body-moving groove that even throws in some brass instrumental samples for extra measure.
“Round the Clock” starts off like a time bomb ready to explode. The echoes of a clock ring and Locke is off to the races. Typically of this record, the instrumental is very good, however Locke doesn’t seem to quite have a grasp of the pace on this one. At times it comes off rough. However, by the end of the song, he turns things around and makes it worth a listen. “Objects of the Senses,” featuring Ohmega Watts and Smoke, is one of the best cuts on the album. The beats are tight, raw, and East-coast sounding, and they exude a feeling of aggression unlike some of the other more laid-back songs on the record. The guest MCs represent nicely and also do their part to make this one a winner.
Locke’s Relevance is a very solid first effort. While nothing on this release will blow anyone’s mind in terms of originality, it is a tight, easy-to-listen to record that should please fans of underground hip-hop.

The Prom – Under the Same Stars

This is the second full-length and first on Barsuk, from the Prom who hail from the state of Nebraska but reside in Seattle. This piano-based three-piece is led by James Mendenhall who is adept at writing and heart breaking melodies and lyrics. The band crafts melodically building and emotionally challenging songs that combine with the band’s evident songwriting skill. And the songs are fleshed out by a flute, various horns, and strings to create a different touch when needed.
“An Introduction to (Under the Same Stars)” starts the disc off on a very somber and orchestral note. The violin and cello add a nice touch to this down-tempo song that sets a distinct mood right off the bat. “Guarantees aren’t Easy” sports a brighter melody with Mendenhall’s twinkling piano work and the roaring and crashing accompaniment of the rhythm section. This song has a cascading beauty to hit sported in the harmony of the vocals and performance. “A Note on the Kitchen Table” is a good example of how clear Mendenhall can be with his lyrics that add an extremely recognizble force to what he is saying. This song is about a husband trying to think about what to say in a note to his wife explaining why he is about to leave the relationship in the middle of the night. There are some great flute and violin performances caught on this song that sound great next to Mendenhall’s aching and somewhat confused vocals.
“Brighter than the Moon” has Mendenhall being accompanied sparsely by piano playing a drowsy melody for the greater part of the song. The rest of the band chimes in with crashing drums and repetitive bass while they add solemn backing vocals. “The City Gets Lonely” is a bit of a romping number with some up-tempo piano work and bouncing bass lines. There is some very nice trumpet and trombone work to accompany this song about finding a way to try to enjoy life. “A Note on the Kitchen Table (reprise)” has the husband picturing his wife reaction to his letter explaining his reason for leaving. In the end there is a picture of both parties realizing that what happened is for the better of both, and a new beginning.
The Prom has a very full, almost orchestral sound to their music even when they are at their most stripped-down as the basic unit. Mendenhall’s heart-on-his-sleeve lyrics and laxy vocals hit home on most occasions, which can be quite moving. The accompaniement on this disc deserves a round of applause for adding another dimension and different flavor to the melodies. Sometimes the strength of the lyrics on paper can seem a little overdone, but the music and vocal stylings of Mendenhall can overshadow that and make it work to his advantage. This recording is full of aching sentiments at a slower pace, but it has an up-beat feel that make this disc work well and makes it a worthwhile purchase.

The Cassettes – S/T

The Cassettes are led by Shelby Cinca who was formerly of the band Frodus and is joined by the rhythm section of Dead Meadow, along with Jennifer Potter on guitar/vocals/and keyboards. I was a fan of Frodus and had been looking forward to this release since I found out about it. This band shies away from the ominous music of Frodus and instead carries poppier melodies. Cinca’s vocals take on a sweetic melodious tone, while his guitar can throw out some dirty licks or play in a fuzzed-out manner. The songwriting is very poppy, while there is underlying grit and energy in all the performances.
“How Can It Be So Bad” starts the disc off as the first full song, which follows a quick intro that is very groove-based. Cinca’s vocals on this song are very sweet and mix nicely next to the guitar tracks that go from dirty to spacy and fuzzed-out. It has a rolling manner to it with some very strong drumming and Cinca’s different guitar style. “The Good Times” is a drowsy pop instrumental with Cinca humming over the top of the soundscape being layed down by the band. It just floats around with its captivating melody and unique guitar work by Cinca.
“The Sound” has a stronger crunching melody with more force to it than the other songs on this recording. There is a good psychadelic distorted guitar break in the middle that reminds me a little bit of the Screaming Trees. “Ghost In a Lost World” has Cinca being accompanied by guitars that repeat the same formula throughout the song. This style works well with the slight unforced vocals that lend a haunting feeling to the song. “Miracle of Birth” is a hazy little acoustic-driven piece with some overflowing moans and different keyboard effects, to end the disc.
Cinca and company have created a new direction, seperating themselves from their other bands. Cinca’s songs usually hit a groove and make thier progressions from that aspect. When everything hits its mark it is rather trance inducing and very captivating to hear what is unfolding. There are a few missteps here that tend to just stay a little stagnant and won’t catch the casual listener. This is a disc full of pleasant melodious songs worth a listen, but it doesn’t have anything mind blowingly incredible.

Rescue – Volume Plus Volume

This CD has one of the coolest intros I have heard in a long time. It actually starts with a four-second track of a squeaking instruments, then, on the second track, it explodes into rolling drums and one of the coolest screams I have ever heard. It’s hard to follow such a cool intro, but Rescue manages rather adequately.
The lead singer’s voice will immediately remind you of Chris Carreba. Soon after, however, he distinguishes it with a more chaotic, less organized sound. It works well for the band, suggests urgency, kind of like sloppy diary entries you make when you are mad.
I’m very impressed with the ease of handling such a tricky tongue twister (say that three times fast) on “Shoes and Chairs.” “Shoot that suit sure suits you” bellowed out at least three times, and fast. “Hey Guy, Story of My Life, Ya Know?” is a nice depressing song, with lucid lyrics, which I like. It talks about the need to pay the bills coming before the need to maintain a relationship and the urge to play music even when you can’t support yourself with the indie musician’s paycheck. Problems I’m sure other musicians can relate to.
My favorite song, “A Rescue Mission: The In-Prison Decision,” is a really cool song, showing off some experimentation that works well. It has some really neat lyrics too: “In this fighting crime gig, you can be my sidekick / We’ll bring order back to this place.” The next track, “You Should Go Into Politics,” has some really cool vocals. A darker guitar playing, taking up most of the sound, as you barely hear the yelled vocals, “Oh wooden boy, don’t let your nose grow / truth has stole the show.” This song is solid, until the end, when for some reason it switches to 10 seconds of hellaciously irritating feedback. Experimental significance? Some content significance? I don’t know, but it certainly made me reach for the volume knob. The last song, “Word From the Man,” is as honest as you can get. Songs about suicide are never fun, this one is no exception. Not wanting to end on such an unhappy note, the guys thankfully added a bonus track, and they even included lyrics for it!
These guys definitely have got the emo genre under wraps. To separate themselves from the crowd, however, they like to tinker around with things. This experimentation works nicely for them (Excluding the end of track nine). The vocalist’s voice also goes together well with the music; its all pretty cohesive. It kind of reminds me of what the Strokes would sound like if they were an emo band. Wouldn’t that be fun? Well, these guys are good, if you like emo, you will like Rescue. And if you have a chance to see them live, consider it; I bet they really rock out.

Of Montreal – Aldhils Arboretum

Although it’s a fact that can easily be lost when considering indie rock bands, as the great majority never receive any significant radio play and, therefore, rely on the album format as the main vehicle for their music, there is still a distinction to be made between the indie rock bands who excel at writing an album of individual songs and those whose skill is in crafting an album. Obviously, being an album-oriented band isn’t dependent on something as overt as making concept albums, as the true masters of the craft of album making, the Beatles, proved time and again. Their run of albums had the special dual feature of producing outstanding singles that both served as moments of genuine brilliance and still fit together into the fabric of the larger mood of the album. Revolver was as hazy and pensive as Sgt. Pepper’s was psychedelic and exotic. The White Album was as moody and contradictory as Abbey Road was wistful and slick. The mood and aesthetic of the album run through all the songs, uniting them as one bigger statement. On the other extreme are artists like the White Stripes or Guided by Voices, churning out albums featuring songs that are undeniably great but that could fit just about anywhere in the band’s catalogue of albums, as the songs seem to hang together as individual entries more than interconnecting pieces. Some bands, like Weezer, start out more focused on albums and then transition to focusing more on singles. To this point, Of Montreal has been solidly in the album-oriented band category. With Aldhil’s Arboretum, we see their first departure from that ethic.
Charting the artistic growth of the Athens popsters has yielded an irrefutably meteoric rise, with four increasingly ambitious full-length albums (as well as EPs and rarities compilations) arriving in roughly the same amount of time it took Weezer to produce their follow-up to Pinkerton. From the wonderfully effervescent lo-fi guitar rock of Cherry Peel to the heady carnival of sounds in The Gay Parade and the complexly constructed narratives of last year’s Coquelicot Asleep in the Poppies: A Variety of Whimsical Verse, their profoundly enjoyable sense of melody and the childlike awe with which they approach their work has clearly placed them at the fore of the great modern psychedelic pop bands. That they’ve decided to now release a less conceptually ambitious album of individual song units is somewhat surprising. As such, there are no tracks devoted solely to spoken word or surreally rendered story lines, just a group of decidedly giddy songs that are stamped with all of the usual Of Montreal trademarks – barbershop band-on-acid melodies, sharp instrumentation, and bizarre songwriting.
The swirling giddy Beatles circa-1965 guitar hooks, warm keyboards, and loopy melodies of the opening “Doing Nothing” are matched by the strange mid-tempo vignette depicting old people waiting to die in cemeteries while visiting friends’ graves. “Isn’t It Nice?” seems to be a tribute to a rural home, recounting tales of alcoholic neighbors and deer darting in front of vehicles all tied together with wistfully naïve charm. Throughout, the gorgeous arrangements and unstoppable melodies hit in rapid succession, with tracks like transcendentally saccharine “Jennifer Louise,” a song about being united with an estranged cousin, and the intensely joyful “Kid Without Claws” reaching for the heights attained by their previous standards of excellence.
Of course, the lack of an overhanging thematic arc doesn’t keep Kevin Barnes from writing some truly strange narratives, whether tracing the travails of a disgruntled uncle and scheming aunt in “The Blank Husband Epidemic” or the courting of an imaginary girl in “A Question for Emily Foreman.” Further, tracks like “We Are Destroying the Song” or the show tune-ish piano pop of “Natalie and Effie in the Park,” although not landmarks in either songcraft or lyricism, show the band at their absolute tightest, maneuvering through various tempo changes and never missing a gear change. Still, as Kevin Barnes truly excels in crafting dourly elegant balladry, it’s somewhat disappointing that the band seems to be pulled a little more strongly toward driving rock arrangements, with the exquisite “Predictably Sulking Sara” ranking as the only true ballad on the album.
In all likelihood, Of Montreal will again return to the album-oriented format that had worked so well for them with their next release, as it isn’t likely that Kevin Barnes and his comrades aren’t going to need another concept album to track down and account for all of their muses. With only 14 tracks and less than 40 minutes of music, this almost feels more like a B-sides and rarities set than a fully conceived album, although the slimmer more streamlined approach ensures that everything included is first-rate. For everyone who thought the conceptual excesses of the previous releases went a bit too far or simply didn’t have the patience to tie together all the musical loose ends, this may be the Of Montreal album they’ve been waiting for. No doubt, even for those who prefer the sprawling chaos of their former work, this album has a place within the Of Montreal canon, as it certainly ranks as their most immediately accessible and carefree release. All in all, it may not be their hallmark statement, but if Aldhils Arboretum’s greatest fault is being a set of fantastically conceived and blissfully executed songs, then more bands should be so guilty.

South Pacific – Constance

Rock music’s greatest talent is the ability to instantly summon up emotion with a couple of chords and a basic drumbeat. It is visceral, and the best musicians know how to cut to the quick most effectively. From …Trail of Dead’s all-out bleeding-throat assault, to David Byrne’s square-peg-in-a-round-hole anthems of discomfort, to Sleater-Kinney’s fist-pumping three-minute Molotov Cocktails, there is no denying that any of these bands – or any number of bands – incite immediate reactions, whether your tastes are inclined towards them or not.
And this is what is so surprising about South Pacific – they have the same viscerality, the same gut-yanking tangibility as the loudest and most desperate-sounding bands on the circuit, but their music is slow. And droning. And entirely instrumental.
The difference lies in how one listens to this album as opposed to, say, a Spoon album. I find that the album gets my attention the most when I let it surprise me; when I am writing something else, for example, and pause to think of an appropriate word. That’s when the band does their damage. The shuddering, gasping feedback that starts off “Stay Ahead, Far Behind,” the strident bassline that runs through “Parallel Lines,” or the ghost-vocals of “Built To Last” – they’ll all sneak up on you. And you’ll be glad – because once each song establishes its theme, you won’t want it to end. They are compact soundtracks to car rides and rain over cities, and so perfectly encapsulate these scenes that you need to pause to mull it over. And did I mention that there are few tracks between which the sound stops entirely? It might take a minute to realize that one song has stopped (“Parallel Lines”) and another has started (“E10 @ 182″). This only adds to the effect of the album – sometimes it feels like a piece with movements, instead of an album with songs.
As such, it’s hard to critique individual songs. They don’t differentiate in structure much from one to another, and there’s no song which sticks out from the rest as being particularly better or worse, with the possible exception of the yawning, rhythm-less “Pintail Gate,” which outstays its welcome after two and a half minutes. It’s an album you should really take in all at once, during downtime, that you should let slip in between the cracks, and take in subconsciously. If you don’t need to have a band shove its riffs and hooks in your face all the time – and I’d wager that few of you really do – you’ll find this album immensely rewarding.

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