Various Artists – A Gift From a Garden to a Flower: A Tribute to Donovan

In a music business that likes to reinvent itself every five to 10 years, it’s hard to imagine certain bands living on past their signature periods. Could the Beatles have thrived into the decadent and funky 70s? Could Led Zeppelin have endured next to the overproduced refuse that littered the 80s? Since both those bands broke up at the turn of decades, we’ll never know the answer to that question, but with Donovan, it’s another story altogether. By proclaiming his hippieness with more gusto than perhaps any other high-profile figure, Donovan benefited from the meteoric rise of the peace ‘n’ love crowd, but he suffered mightily from its ugly crash. Rather than owning up to the cavernous emptiness of flower power, Donovan went right on espousing its virtues (even though he did speak out against drug use after a trip to – who else? – the Maharishi), continuing to hitch his hopes to the hippie star even after it had turned into a sinking boulder. Consequently, time has not been kind to him, and aside from his small handful of oldies staples, his most common entry into American consciousness comes through his position at the butt of Bob Dylan’s jokes in Don’t Look Back.
It comes as no small surprise, then, that the peachy people at Darla Records have put together a tribute album to the big D, A Gift From a Garden to a Flower. A whopping total of 18 bands were cajoled into publicly proclaiming their affection for a love-him-or-hate-him figure who receives a lot more hate than love. Together, these performers trace out the lines of Donovan’s influence into places both obvious and unexpected, sometimes admirable and sometimes embarrassing. Those in the latter category tend to be those who fail to see Donovan’s weaknesses for what they are, namely self-seriousness and self-indulgence. The first of these is made most explicit through the folk songs, and if the original version of “There is an Ocean” wasn’t already on your discard pile, Pale Horse and Rider‘s take would prompt you to put it there. Similarly clueless is Color Filter‘s “Hurdy Gurdy Man,” changed from spooky fun to a new age/post-rock travesty. Still, nothing runs quite so afoul as Ciao Bella‘s “Mellow Yellow,” soaked positively rotten with a self-conscious irony from which the object of their purported tribute would have recoiled.
Other performers seem to get it, though. My Morning Jacket deserves an upwardly-extended thumb for “Wear Your Love Like Heaven.” Greater California‘s run through “Jersey Thursday” is great fun, as well. And while no one takes on Donovan’s wonderful “Sunshine Superman,” Watoo Watoo does the most to make up for the disappointment. Their “Jennifer Juniper” is by far the sharpest interpretation on display. By turning the original’s Baroque pop into a piece of low-key, skittering electronica, they show why albums like these are worth the trouble.
They also show, along with the rest of the best, that Donovan’s influence has spread farther than he himself could’ve ever reached, and that that’s not such a bad thing at all.

Mike Uva – Hook Boy

Cleveland based singer/songwriter Mike Uva compiled this collection of enigmatic tunes from several years of home recordings. Those expecting to hear a mopey, brooding bedroom pop record will be pleasantly surprised to discover instead a catchy and hook-laden effort that does a good job of exploring various sounds and styles without dragging you too far into the outer reaches. Uva, who performs and records under the moniker Hook Boy, has his sights set on something a bit more ambitious than your average acoustic guitar and candles soul-search; Hook Boy is an LP stacked with quirky but inviting humor and colorful observations of everyday life.
Working without a band, Uva weaves a surprisingly complex web of music, contrasting his warm acoustic foundations with swirling waves of effects-soaked electric guitars. His lazy, plainspoken vocals have a way of wrapping themselves around you and drawing you into a trance; one moment you are listening attentively and suddenly it’s 20 minutes later and you are staring blankly at the walls wondering where the time went. And while it is the clever interplay between the guitar and vocals that makes his music flow, Uva manages to inject plenty of texture and color by lacing these songs at various points with harmonica, bass, drums, keyboards, programmed beats, and tape effects. The moody, mournful opener “Reunion” finds Uva at his most naked and personal, with just some jangly blues strummings and his sing-song vocals guiding the way through a series of nostalgic musings and coming-of-age reflections. “If you care to explain I’d like to see what’s going on below the frozen stare, behind the burning ears, what’s been eating you for all these years?” he asks tentatively in the second verse like a young man compelled to pose a question he fears the answer to. But it’s the tension building chord changes leading to the chorus and bridge that really sucks you in on this one, leaving you transfixed until Uva wallops you back to your senses with a killer harmonica solo that is pure Neil Young.
Unfortunately, Uva never regains the superior form he shows on the opening track. However, the remainder of the LP, while falling short of that rarefied stratosphere, is still quite an impressive display of songwriting prowess. With its awkward fuzz-tone rhythm track and winsome lyrics, “Shar (Rhymes w/ Car)” remains oddly invigorating, while the harrowing “Like Water You Press” settles in ominously with Uva’s resplendent acoustic guitar slicing through the foreboding harmonic atmosphere of his echoing electric. For its part, the delightful, bouncy, new-wave romp “Magic Marker” is as close as Uva gets to a straightforward rock song.
Like most home recordings, Hook Boy is not without its peculiar quirks and oddities. Some of these songs don’t really seem to be songs at all, just snippets of ideas that either fade away or get cut off completely. “The Best Love” starts off sounding like vintage Fleetwood Mac, guitars glistening with a chorus effect, but less than a minute later it disappears without warning into the dysfunctional family life tale of “Hook Boy (Pt.2),” which itself is reminiscent of Bright Eyes’ early home recorded material. “Manuva Redux” is another head-scratcher, a full 28 seconds of jazz chords that never build or lead into anything. However, some of these fragments do seem to be more constructive than others. “Hair of the Dog” opens with ambient feedback drifting in and out of earshot like whalesong, followed by some melodic finger picking that cuts right into the electro-jazz pop of “Karoke Fingerflip,” a spright and upbeat tune that sounds an awful lot like Sea and Cake. The transition, while abrupt and unexpected, is effective nonetheless.
Given the obvious limitations of the circumstances, Uva does a stellar job of recording and producing his own material. There is a warm and welcome intimacy that resonates throughout the proceedings, a homespun honesty that is both comforting and compelling. But there are also moments where the music seems to be constrained, where too much is packed into too tiny of a space resulting in cramped, claustrophobic listening. It would be unfair, however, to point the finger at Uva. Get this boy into a proper studio and these technical issues would most likely be resolved rather easily. Overall this is a rock-solid effort from an up-and-coming artist who might one day make his mark. Hook Boy is certainly a step in the right direction.

Faris Nourallah – I Love Faris

Firmly entrenched in the canon of cult films, it might be somewhat surprising for most to realize that the classic Ferris Bueller’s Day Off was actually a bit of a commercial dud when it was originally released in 1986, long before it became the feature of day-long marathons and worked itself into the daydreams of bored kids everywhere. With the VCR boom approaching just over the horizon, however, it was only a matter of time before the movie would be discovered, and word of mouth created a generation of teenagers who enjoyed watching a smart-alecky kid skate through life with the Midas touch. And while he spells his name a bit differently, Faris Nourallah and his classicist approach to pop songwriting places him clearly out of step with most of those releasing albums in the contemporary indie rock underground, but also makes him a likely candidate to be discovered some day by a wider audience, as word of mouth spreads the truth of his considerable melodic gifts. I Love Faris offers convincing evidence that Nourallah might be blessed with such a fate.
Utilizing his light, slightly nasal croon to narrate songs of love and nostalgia, Nourallah immediately brings to mind the Kinks’ Ray Davies, both for his wistful melodies and his cleverly unpretentious persona. Everything about Nourallah is pure pop bliss, from the pastel keyboards and welcomingly lush arrangement of the opening “Brogadiccio” to the goofy steel drums and farting electronic bass line of the farcically quirky “I Like to Go to Parties,” that closes the disc. Accenting his songs with falsetto and impossibly engaging melodies that rise and fall and weave themselves around his plaintively simple verse, he’s equally conversant in piano tunes as the acoustic balladry and understated electro-pop. As such, there is a constant back and forth between the more straightforwardly serene textures of acoustic guitar and piano and the undercurrent of processed beats and stereotypically synthy-sounding keyboards, impressively adding up to create an notable mix of textures that never sounds nearly as unfocused as it could. In fact, the consistency of the record end up being its most notable feature, as he hits nary a stray note over the course of 14 tracks.
His Wall of Sound by-way-of ProTools ideology works again and again, creating an aesthetic not entirely different than what Stephin Merrit’s more electronic-leaning work (minus the biting lyricism, of course), with his inexhaustible resource of melodies inform the prancing harpsichord chamber pop of “A Famous Life” and the icy piano balladry of “The Road.” Still, under-girding the complex pop sensibilities of the arrangements and melodies is a truly innocent songwriting persona. Whether singing a paean to the man in the moon in the song of the same name or offering sentiments of fidelity and faithfulness in the nearly awkward “Let’s Get Married,” Nourallah fits snugly inside the guise of a vulnerable and sensitive balladeer.
Overall, Nourallah’s careful songcraft and effective theatricality act as the perfect foil for some of the strongest melodies and compellingly elaborate song structures to emerge among pop-minded songwriters in recent years. Without a doubt, he has yet to rise above being a star pupil in the school of the masters, but I Love Faris is a great first step for an artist who aspires to eventually carve out his own niche in the rock canon. As the class of smart, tuneful songwriters is always fairly crowded, Faris Nourallah will probably need a considerable amount of luck to accrue enough attention to rise to the top of the competitive field. Still, most good songwriters eventually find their audience, and like the movie that shares his name, his music might have to wait until word of mouth gives him the credit he deserves.

Cobra Verde – Easy Listening

Although it might not rank as one of life’s greater paradoxes, it is more than a little ironic that the genre known as “easy listening” is usually just about the most torturing form of music to listen to for those of us who don’t consider Barbara Strieshand and Barry Manilow to be the gold standard of pop performance. Still, even if much of the music found in that vaguely innocuous genre is fairly diverse, it’s probable the one thing that most artists found within its confines have in common is a sense of stability and predictability – the kind of music you listen to if you don’t want to be surprised. Even though it’s most likely that Cobra Verde named this, their fourth album and first for Wayne Kramer’s MuscleTone Records, after that much-maligned music industry categorization with an intended sense of irony, the charge of lacking creativity and being artistically vapid can be rightly leveled at the rock world as often as it can at the more pedestrian pop singers. And as rock has now been kicking for just about 50 years, it’s getting harder and harder to do anything that would be considered even vaguely innovative, meaning that a band that works as snugly within the confines of the form as does Cobra Verde has a substantial task to overcome in producing something of interest. Something that doesn’t amount to more “easy listening.”
It’s possible that there has been no better time for Cobra Verde than now, with rock again a presence on the Top 40 charts and a go word among record buyers, meaning that a band whose trade is largely in loud guitars and big choruses should be at their zenith. Additionally, as lead singer/songwriter/rock theorist John Petkovic has long lamented the passing of the legitimate larger than life rock star, it would seem that the climate for his decidedly anti-indie rock vision would be close to coming to fruition. And from the opening seconds of “Riot Industry,” it’s obvious that the aesthetic of volume and muscular riffing will rule the day, with the unrepentantly loud guitars and brashly hoarse vocals carrying a chorus that repeats itself enough times that you’re singing it by the end of the track. They continue from there, from wicked solos and sentiments like “I was a vampire sucking on your dream” to the caustic bounce of the darkly glammy “To Your Pretty Face.”
Obviously, the men of Cobra Verde don’t have to do much to prove their rock pedigree, already having had it confirmed on them by everyone from Bob Pollard (who enlisted them as his backing band) to J. Macias to the aforementioned Wayne Kramer, but the question of whether they allow the true spirit of rock and roll to act a little strongly as the controlling metaphor of their music begs to be asked. The lumbering riff and rather redundant chorus of “Modified Frankenstein / I’m living on borrowed time,” goes a long way to counteract the actual catchiness of the T. Rex-ish hook. Similarly, the scorched earth guitar solos and repetitive riffing from the tough guy playbook of “Terrorist” wear a bit thin. Luckily, the final third of the set strikes a more even balance between rock star bluster and songwriting craftsmanship.
When mitigating the incessant riffing with subtle elements like church organ and multi-part harmonies in tracks like “Whores,” the need for extra variation, both texturally and lyrically, is realized. Further, the ruffled piano hook of “Here Comes Nothing” proves that they could probably find a second life as a power-pop band should they grow tired of the dogmatic rockishness that informs most of these tracks. In fact, Cobra Verde is ultimately at their best when they allow a little bit of finesse into their attack, with the wistful keys and acoustic strum of the closing “Don’t Worry (The Law’s Gonna Break You)” being an entirely effective departure from the unrelenting stomp of the rest of the album.
In the end, there is nothing on this disc that would ever fall into the contemporary category of “easy listening,” but the overall essence of the album generally goes down very easily for those with a modicum of affinity for rock music. In fact, it all might go down a bit too easily for those who don’t like to have choruses solidly pounded into their psyches by their repetition. Ultimately, rock and roll is about instant gratification, and Cobra Verde found their music upon giving you, the rock fan, what you want in generous measures. And it’s all pretty good, the riffs are sharp, the choruses don’t let go once they’ve sunk their talons into the fleshy part of your memory, and the essence of the music spread over 11 tracks is entirely consistent. Still, as half of the fun of an album is trying to figure out what the artist is trying to do creatively, having the artist essentially tell you what they’re going to do and then watching them do it, is somewhat less interesting.

Swissfarlo – Boxed

Imagine that you’re in high school again. You’re making a mix tape for some acquaintance and decide, among the usual favorite selections, to toss on a song from a local band who’ve just self-released a demo tape. You’ve heard the band play live a bunch of times at local venues, and they always seem to get the crowd moving and engaged in their songs. Why not? When you play back the tape, though, the band and their catchy songs seem to pale in comparison to the work that surrounds them. Sound familiar? This is the tragedy of Swissfarlo’s Boxed.
What may be the biggest let-down about Boxed, the debut from the Cincinnati-based lo-fi quartet, is that some strong indie pop and rock songs seem to get lost in a recording that’s poorly executed and inconsistent. Swissfarlo seems to have a good handle on the two-guitar pop formula, and during their finer moments, they sound like a rougher, more lo-fi version of Weezer. But these finer moments are often surrounded by lackluster transitional material and muddy, flat sound levels that keep the proceedings just a half step above a hometown demo tape.
On most of the songs, the band’s entire rhythm section is dropped so low into the mix that you sometimes will find yourself straining to hear anything but a hi-hat cymbal and an occasional bass note floating somewhere beyond a wall of fuzzy guitars. While some bands can convey the emotional weight of their work despite recording limitations, Swissfarlo seem to lack the necessary lo-fi charm that their debut frequently demands.
This doesn’t mean, however, that the record is a disaster. The direct but tender acoustic approach of “Roman Candle” is alarmingly sweet, even moreso because it is surrounded by distortion-drenched guitar pop. It is here that the band’s core members – vocalist/guitarist Tim Heyl and guitarist Andy Kroner – display an engaging chemistry, something that will speak to musicians who know what it feels and sounds like to paste together emotive pop-rock songs in a basement or garage.
Elsewhere, sugary-sweet pop moments prevail where you wouldn’t expect them. Things like the “wo-oh-uh-oh” vocals of “And I Digress” (the only track on the record written solely by bassist/vocalist Matt Gossett) may be one of the small details of the record that keeps it moving. What follows “And I Digress,” though, is another indication of how the record lacks consistency. While the sloppy pseudo-punk of “Yr Mine,” “Simple Faults,” and “Expect Finer” is an interesting antithesis to the band’s more poppy tracks, it makes Boxed feel like the document of a band still searching, still trying to find itself.
Between the verses of “Coil,” Swissfarlo launches into a two-guitar instrumental assault, bending distorted high notes into a frenzied give-and-take guitar solo that hints at both surf-punk and rockabilly. On the album-closing “2nd or 3rd,” there are similar points where everything falls into place, points where Heyl’s vocals float above two wandering guitar lines and hit the mark dead-on. It’s moments like this, however, that illustrate how incomplete and inconsistent the record can be.
Hey, Kroner and company can clearly write a sharp indie pop, song and that – despite concerns with the pros and cons of a lo-fi recording – is documented on Boxed. If nothing else, the band’s Datawaslost debut will hopefully be a warm-up for some great material in the future.

Various Artists – Stepping Stone, Vol. 1: The Best Bands You Have Never Heard

Laughable. If this was one band that had written 15 songs and put them out as an album, there still wouldn’t be enough creativity or diversity to warrant a good review. I would say things like this: “Standard emo schlock. Songs sound the same. Laughable wordplay.” As is, I’m still going to say those things, but let’s get one thing straight: this is not an album by one band. It is a compilation, the first of it’s kind, if the “Volume: 1″ portion of the title is to be believed. How The Militia Group managed to find 15 bands that sound, literally, almost exactly like one another is beyond me. So here goes: this is standard emo schlock, with indecipherable differences between bands and songs, all of which contain laughable emo wordplay.
Let’s go through some song titles, shall we? “May I Have This Dance,” “If Dreams Were Real,” “A Part of Me Died,” “And it Kills Me,” and, my personal favorite, “How Can it Be So Sad.” How do the songs actually sound? They range from laughably bad to kind of OK. The bad ones sound exactly like you’d expect. They’re filled with simple two-guitar parts and singers who sing out of their range. The lyrics are more formulaic than the songs. The aforementioned “If Dreams Were Real” actually contains the line “why must dreams become nightmares?” Holy shit.
Since I’m a nice guy, I’ve scoured this disc for moments of redemption, and perhaps it would be constructive to share my findings. Watashi Wa, a five-piece from California, actually puts together a strong melody on their contribution, “The Fleeting.” Copeland‘s “May I Have This Dance” sounds like Jimmy Eat World if…ah, who the hell am I kidding? It sounds exactly like Jimmy Eat World. The disc enjoys its best stretch between songs 11 and 14. “One of a Kind,” by Chicago band Much the Same, is a blast of old-school punk. It’s nothing new, or particularly exciting, but it’s fist-pumping riffing sound like a revelation amidst this comp. The Cassettes, clichéd band name and all, present another breath of fresh air, sounding much like mid-90s pop-grunge, a la The Gin Blossoms. It’s the comp’s strongest melody. The Reaction dig into early punk – think Misfits – for their song, “Horror on Highway 95.” It’s an absolutely ridiculous song, but it’s kind of fun.
For descriptions on the rest of the comp, please see the first two paragraphs. I can’t say anything nice about those songs, so I’ll refrain from saying any more. Even for fans of the played-out-to-hell emo scene, this will sound stale. It’s that simple.

Chin Up Chin Up – S/T EP

Chicago’s Chin Up Chin Up takes the prize for best song titles of the year so far on their self-titled EP: “Collide the Tide,” “Fuck You, Elton Hohn,” “For All the Tanning Salons in Texas,” “The Soccer Mom Gets Her Fix,” “I’m Not Asking for a Tennis Bracelet,” and “Pillage the Village.” With these humorous titles, I was expecting some funny pop-punk or something of the like but instead was surprised by understated songs that feature layering hushed vocals over chiming guitars and subtle keyboard flourishes from current/former members of Tekulvi, Nymb, and Punjab.
The music itself, does nothing to reflect the humor in the titles, which is a good thing. Chin Up Chin Up take a page from the Pavement songbook, but their guitars are actually tuned. While the songs have a laid back feel to them, they are not lazy or sloppy; in fact they’re very tight. The result are songs that covey a sentimental feeling akin to an 80s John Hughes movie soundtrack, but with a contemporary sound.
Chin Up Chin Up have a sound that is mature, melodically rich, and textural, having managed to combine linear pop songs with nontraditional instrumentation such as theremin. With the lack of screaming and distortion, the emphasis is on the songs themselves, which is a good thing when the songs hold up and Chin Up Chin Up have certainly pulled it off here.

Fairburn Royals – From a Window Way Above

From a Window Way Above is an indie-pop record that’s sincere and well-conceived, but the Fairburn Royals are still trying to climb out from beneath their indie-pop rock influences.
The influence of Pavement’s Stephen Malkmus and Spiral Stairs comes across in many ways on this Athens, GA, band’s second release, from the wry playfulness in “Japan” to the lyrical levity of songs like “The Cheer” and “Be My Punk Rock Friend.” In the latter, singer Matt Lisle attacks the sometimes all too close-mindedness of the punk-rock aesthetic with humor and does so in a very punk-rock two minutes. But while Pavement’s voice was new and revolutionary, the Fairburn Royals are just imitating a hero without adding anything new to the mix. In “Anti-Drug,” a rocking tune, the band even manages to borrow from the theme song of the television show Batman.
Some songs don’t work: “Paint the Night,” “Don’t Force It,” and “These aren’t Mistakes” are so slow and dirge-like that they become a drain on the listener. But when the band does hit, you get a glimpse of their potential. For example, one of the finest pieces on the album, the instrumental ”La Fuerza del Destino” works because of Jason Eshelman’s exceptional drumming and its fractured riffs. On “The Cheer,” the band can be angry and resentful as well as pithy: “You’re just a cheerleader / you don’t matter / no matter how high you jump / the score don’t change.” “Lonesome Townie Blues” is one of the messy, lo-fi songs that also hits the mark. The songs on this album will appeal to listeners into early Pavement records like Slanted and Enchanted and Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain. This somewhat derivative album may, however, be a passing phase, as the Fairburn Royals look to launch their own sound, beyond the gravity of the bands that influenced them.

The New Mexican Disaster Squad – Split CD

This is a split album between two punkier bands: Destination: Daybreak and The New Mexican Disaster Squad. There is a big difference in the time when either band’s songs were recorded, Destination: Daybreak in 2002 and The New Mexican Disaster Squad in 1998, but they have both been released in 2002 on Breaker Breaker Records.

I had a friend that, at one point in time, wouldn’t listen to a band with female vocals. If something of that sort came on, he’d make a big deal about her voice. Mostly it just boiled down to pure personal taste, but there were definitely other reasons. There was the fact that as a girl, it’s obvious she must be writing about the world from that special feminine viewpoint. Currently, most bands are singing about the way girls treat guys. Girls sing about the way guys treat girls (or in this case, Texas). Maybe my friend just couldn’t comprehend what was being said. Or maybe it was just the higher voice. Either way, he learned to like female vocals through bands like Cast Aside and The Anniversary. Bottom line: what the hell is Destination: Daybreak thinking?

I have always loved hearing a band with female vocals. Sometimes it is soothing to hear that clear, melodic tone against a calm (or maybe strong) musical backdrop… after all, music is art, right? Destination: Daybreak doesn’t seem to get this. I can’t stand this general punk sound with rapid southern-rock female vocals. It IS different, I understand that, but it’s just hard to listen to (plain and simple). Every song seems to roll together in the same mud puddle of cliché punk sound and vocal melodies. The vocals have the potential to solidify the music, but almost never do. The only time the singer solidifies the sound is during the verses of “Zofo,” the first song.

Some may be attracted to the southern style of life and music, but I just don’t find punk songs about ‘ho downs’ and actual songs of engines starting entertaining. I think the band can, however, progress their sound. Then again, maybe they are comfortable with what they are singing about (‘the goddamn dirty south’).

How do you follow a band like Destination: Daybreak? You do it with feedback, a lot of screaming, and fast hardcore drumming, just as The New Mexican Disaster Squad did with “Bulimia Makes Me Want to Puke.” You can still feel a little bit of the southern sound leaking over to their side with small and quick guitar licks and bends in some songs, but it doesn’t overpower what they have going. The screaming really helped them out. It’s the hardcore tinge the music deserved. The Squad has an energetic rhythmic style that gives a feel of everything coming together in a dramatic uprising, and then while the driving riffs and sometimes clean guitars come to a climax, everything musically stops and drops to a calm after-the-storm feel.

The bands both have style – not the style most people are really looking for, but it is okay to give these bands a listen. Destination: Daybreak brought down the album too much for The Squad to pick up. I recommend looking into some of their solo stuff because somehow, the feel of the album doesn’t give me the satisfactory listen. It’s hard to get into something that doesn’t feel like it came together well. The sound of the album really could have been more solid.

Sylvie – I Wish I Was Driving

Sylvie is one of those bands that posesses that endearing recording quality. You can tell that they pooled together as much money as they could to record their album in a local studio. The musicality of this album is actually quite impressive. It is heavy and melodic, emotional and professional. The vocal harmonies are right on, this band is really really tight with each other. The vocals switch to a raspy shout at times and emphasize points in the song.
“Train Wreck” starts out with a jazzy drum intro that goes into one of the more mellow tracks musically. Vocally, however, it is a emotionally draining musical experience. The sadness and desperation soaks through the listener to affect a person in a way that only good music can.
Sylvie has a sense of musical schizophrenia, going from the manic high of “Four Days” to the melancholy mood of songs like “Park Bench,” “Pixel,” and “Grid.” The overall feel of the album is one similar to that of most “emo” albums, a sense of overwhelming sadness and heartache. Minor keys dominate the album, and the maturity of Sylvie’s time changes and dynamics is quite impressive.
Sylvie is one of those grown-up emo bands: they know how to rock, but they do so without using the stereotypical emo elements to an extreme degree. They take elements from a variety of sources, from Tool to Hot Rod Circuit, and turn them into something unique and exciting. Sylvie is a beautiful thing to listen to and easy music to enjoy. Lo-fi enough to be indie and polished enough to be emo.

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