The Badger King – Break Up EP

“I don’t want to be mediocre / and complain about my job / I want to have a bow and arrow / and do battle with evil” -from “Flee to Me, Remote Elf”.
I find describing the Badger King’s sound difficult. Using adjectives such as bouncy, light, and even-tempered is no good. If I choose to use the aforementioned adjectives, I’m then forced to explain how it is possible that two people armed with a computer and various implements of dance (drum machine, synth) are able to create a world in which those adjectives can coexist peacefully with their binary opposites, namely heavy, dark, and moody. But just like life, the different emotions coursing through the songs found on the Badger King’s Break Up EP make it what it is: alive (see track 3, “Strong Cherry Tree”).
“Vines twine about your skull / the birds build clean homes / the birds clean homes in your jaw / unhinged you are harmless” -from “I Am Ire”.
If you were to judge the new EP on lyrics alone, you would immediately find that the whole affair is somewhat darker than the band’s previous EP. The four new tracks (two other’s are remixes of previously released material) are fraught with emotion, backed up by music that somehow manages to be the focus and an afterthought. That said, the new EP shows amazing growth. From the melodies to the eccentric rhythmic variations, everything seems to have fallen into place for the Badger King.

Chris Moore – Joy and Abandon

This is the third solo release by Detroit artist and resident Chris Moore, and it’s one that may force you to look further into his career. Moore has been kicking around the Detroit area for years and had experience in the punk and indie scenes. Moore unleashes 11 cuts of folk that are very reminiscent of a more mentally slanted Bob Dylan or Neil Young. Some friends and acquaintances here help him out, and it is a lot of fun to hear some of the things Moore comes up with lyrically and musically.
Joy and Abandon starts off with a sparse little tune with “Derailed” that is very striking in its minamilism. Moore’s hoarse vocals sort of recall that of Dylan or Young, and, while not being the best in the world, they carry a special lilt that makes them very intriguing. The title cut continues the somewhat Dylan-esque vocal similarities, and once again the music here has a special lilt to it that makes it hard not to enjoy. Moore has the ability to totally go beyond his vocal limitations without causing a distraction, which is a rare feat. Boy does he use this very tactfully in his recording.
Another highlight here is “Plenty,” which has a fuller sound to it than the rest as it carries a little bit of a spare folk/glam hybrid. Moore’s style here reminds me a little bit of some recent Mercury Rev tinged with a more David Bowie-like excess. Those may seem like bad traits to have in a song, but surprisingly it comes off very compelling. “The Party” ends the disc with a nice slow rolling tempo that allows Moore the chance to drawl along a little bit of lite-rock mellow groove. Moore’s vocals work very nicely here, as his voice tends to drag out on some syllables that go along with the somewhat lazy groove.
This outing by Moore is quite eclectic and lends Moore the chance to stretch out with his ideas and gives him some freedom to express his artistic preferences. Moore shines brightly on most of the tracks here, and it’s a lot of fun finding the different nuances in his performances. Moore is an average vocalist, but he knows his strengths and weaknesses, and he uses them both to his advantages, as his vocals never seem out of place. This is definitely an intriguing record that fringes on the indie-folk genre, but also shares its roots in many other styles as well.

John Larsen – Kismet

“Saint Sebastian” opens Kismet like an invocation. The simple, haphazardly strummed acoustic guitar and drawling, slightly lazy vocals float through as though in a another room. You’re lured in and find yourself rising on a swell of music and voice straining to lift the entire mass up to – to . . . to what? Another level, a new state of consciousness? Maybe, but maybe it’s a slacker roll call. Gather round with your wagons, all ye indie fans, you’ll see something special here.
Listening to this disc leaves no doubt that John Larsen has found his voice. Rock, punk, and folk are all blended together under the indie flag, but on each track there is no doubt it all flows from the mind, hands, and mouth of Larsen. This album’s title may be more prescient than most, because it does certainly seem as though all the elements came together just right to give this CD a distinct identity and cohesiveness. Not that it was all necessarily blind luck. The Portland, OR native has been recording his own albums for a long time, and clearly he has learned his craft well. There are little touches to be found such as snippets of dialogue from movies and television programs that are like intercessory chapters adding ambience to an album that’s already dense with personality.
The songs themselves? It would be very hard to single any out. Some dishes are better devoured whole and this is one of those tasty concoctions. “A Rose in Reverse” is a raw blast of energy; “Venus of Willendorf” is a delectable slice stolen from Lou Barlow’s pie; “On an Ice Block” steals its flavors from several different recipes to create something entirely new; and “Medicine Cabinet” is a lovely plate of melancholy and infectiously catchy vocals. Grab a fork and dive in, but don’t forget your bib.

Staring Back – On

There are times when you can listen to an album – I mean really listen to it – closely scrutinizing all of its individual parts and elements, and still come away with no clear opinion about it whatsoever. There are some things that you may really like and others that you don’t, but, mostly, the music just comes and goes without leaving any sort of impression, good or bad. The more you listen, the more you try to conjure up judgments just so you can kind of let yourself know where you stand, but in your heart you know those thoughts to be provisional and half-hearted. For a reviewer, it is the most frustrating of dilemmas – trying to come up with something to write without having any strong inclinations to guide your words. In these situations, it is best to stick with what you know for certain.
On is the new album from Staring Back, an up-and-coming pop-punk/emo quintet from Goleta, California. The band’s music is sharply played with plenty of high-octane energy to hurry along the jagged, churning guitars and boisterous, punk-laced rhythms. The songwriting is not overly sophisticated, but it is strong in parts, with sudden flurries of stop/start riffs, clever breaks, and strong drumming throughout. Vocalist Matt Evans puts some bite into his sweeping melodies and soaring harmonies, peppering them with catchy, sing-along hooks that are meant to get the adrenaline pumping. But for whatever reason, this album never really congealed for me; the parts didn’t seem to ever lock together to form a complete whole, and I was left with only a vague, undefined feeling in my gut.
Perhaps, in the end, it is a question of style over substance. Staring Back spends too much time straddling the line between sugarcoated mainstream punk/emo and something much more daring, inventive, and hard-edged. The result is an album that sounds at its best fierce, dynamic, and passionate, and at its worst bland, hesitant, and unconvincing. In those moments when the band incorporates some more rugged rock into its repertoire (such as the slowly-simmering fury of the opening “Version 2.0,” a visceral scorcher that combines powerful angular rhythms with taut, well-tempered melodies), the music can be electrifying and exhilarating. The turbulent “X.Out” is another prime example of the explosive potential of Staring Back with tense, driving guitars and rapid-fire drumming laying the foundation for Evans’ anthemic vocals. On songs such as “Haunted” and the blistering “A New Method of Expression,” the five young musicians manage to work themselves into quite an emotional frenzy, generating wave after frantic wave of furious guitars, grooving bass, and pulsating beats that threaten to boil over into something more urgent and pulverizing.
Still, despite the short-lived pyrotechnics, it’s all kind of, well … ordinary. There is nothing on On that is going to blow you away too much and – aside from the band’s technical precision and the occasional flare up of fiery potential – there is not much that is going to separate them from the burgeoning pop-punk/emo hordes. Every time the band launches into something fresh, innovative, and invigorating, they promptly retreat into some standard, overdone, overhyped radio punk as if all that unrestrained, cathartic ingenuity is just too hot to handle. Neither terrible nor great, On is a mediocre and harmless album that left this listener at times intrigued but ultimately unfulfilled. Hmm, maybe I do have an opinion after all.

Shimmer Kids Underpop Association – The Book of Mirrors EP

If the rise and fall of the Elephant 6 empire has taught us anything, it’s that psychedelic pop is a cruel and fickle mistress, enticing its practitioners with the genuine hope that rock and roll has remaining frontiers, allowing them a glimpse at the promised land, and turning them back out into the proverbial desert. The very fact that psychedelic pop is a genre whose artists are at least somewhat defined by its being in a constant state of conceptual flux seems to necessitate this; the very nature of the movement seems to require that its bands burn themselves out after a few albums, either remaking themselves as a new kind of band once the strictures of rock are revealed to be more suffocating than originally thought or plowing the same piece of conceptual ground until it can be raped for no more resources. Thankfully, and possibly misguidedly, there are still true believers, and when the creative stars align perfectly, a band can still get a few resplendent shoots to poke through the soil.
Only six songs long, two of which are comparably slight instrumentals, The Book of Mirrors is one such moment of hope. Opening with an acoustic guitar groove undergirding toy flute and sleigh bells starts the album off in a gleefully playful note, like one of Brian Wilson’s half-finished Smile outtakes. The mood doesn’t hold entirely, though, with the thoughtful melody and rising dramatics of “Mythology,” again built on acoustic guitar strums but overlaid with soft organ and some admittedly ugly space guitar solos. As such, the album (like all good psych-pop records, really) is caught in the constant push and pull between pop immediacy and slightly off-putting dissonance, with the squealing synths devolving into a sparkling gurgle over a welcoming bed of saxophones in the mid-tempo and surprisingly bitter “Revenge is Sweet,” sounding like early Elvis Costello in the midst of a fever dream.
Unexpected, then, is the following “The Last Joke in Town,” a groovy organ rocker that plays like a lost Rubber Soul track, the group harmonizing around irresistible quasi-staccato rhythms and pulsing saxes for one of the year’s most undeniable sing-alongs. Add on the gorgeously lush melding of sighing melodica, clonking piano lines, bittersweet melodies, and arresting imagery of “Tell Your Story Walking,” a dead ringer for Dusk at Cubist Castle-era Olivia Tremor Control, and it’s obvious that the Shimmer Kids have arrived at the rare position where they understand restraint as much as excess, where they have mastered their muses without muzzling them.
If history is any indication, this EP is probably the precursor to their definitive work of ambition and audacity, where all of the songs and ideas congeal into perfect unison, perhaps even falling under the arc of a concept album. After that, lineup splits and experimentations with drones, ethnic instrumentation, and layered abstract rhythms are more likely to follow, when it is realized that rock and roll, no matter how durable and downright exhilarating, does have limits.
Ever since Brian Wilson went famously and brilliantly mad, rock and roll has come with the warning that if you stare too long at the sun, you will go blind. That bands continue to take cursory glances at the great glowing behemoth of inspiration is not surprising, that they can imbibe enough of its light to make albums like this is. More than anything, The Book of Mirrors proves that the Shimmer Kids have graduated into the upper echelon of psych-pop bands. Where they go from here will prove just how great they are.

Primus – Animals Should Not Try to Act Like People

There’s a sample that turns up a few times on the newest record from Primus, their first offering since 1999′s dark and vastly under-appreciated Antipop: the low, bassy slurring of audio tape being looped in reverse. Slight as it may seem, it may just be one of the biggest defining traits of the record, which hit the streets earlier this month. After the departure of recent drummer Brain, much chatter about a break-up and more Les Claypool side projects than some would think possible, Primus has returned to its familiar, incredible form on Animals Should Not Try to Act Like People. And they’ve done it all with the help of longtime drummer Tim Alexander, who parted ways with the band shortly after Tales From the Punchbowl was released in 1995. Ladies and gentlemen, much like that looped tape, we are being pulled backward in time.
To capitalize on the ballyhoo of Alexander’s return to the band, the trio not only cut an EP with five new, amazingly addictive tracks, they decided to combine it with a DVD offering all sorts of visual goodies for the Primus aficionado – and the completist – in each of us. The DVD features all 12 of the band’s music videos, from early classics like “John the Fisherman” to the quirky, comic book two-dimensionality of “Tommy the Cat,” from the surreal long-take narrative of “Mr. Krinkle” to the colorful rubber suits and bouncing lyric ball of “Wynona’s Big Brown Beaver.” (You’ll also find on the DVD the clay-mation moral lesson of “Lacquer Head,” which was banned by MTV.)
Not to be outdone, though, the band also included the award-winning clay-motion short “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” previously only available as a hidden feature on 1998′s Rhinoplasty. And films like “Cheesy Home Video,” promotional pieces like “Horrible Men,” featurettes on the making of music videos, band commentaries, and photographs. And live performances dating from even before the band’s Sausage lineup of Claypool, Jay Lane, and Todd Huth. And bootleg footage taken at concerts and during radio sessions. In short: There’s more than three hours of material here for you to digest. Wading through the familiar images on the DVD’s title menus – nice use of the sculptures, Gus – only one question really remains: What about the band’s appearance in Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey?
While the thrill of having all of Primus’ inventive videos in one place – and not just taped off MTV – is surely worth the corn you’ll kick down for the disc, though, some of the greatest moments on the release are on the new recordings, put to tape in June. Sonically, the new tracks feel like a marriage of the long-form jams and pseudo-narratives from Punchbowl and the heavier rock ruminations of Antipop. The fifth song on the EP, “My Friend Fats,” is a perfect example of this sound: one of Claypool’s more direct but angular bass lines wraps itself around the repetitive crunch and scales of Larry Lalonde’s guitar as Alexander keeps a stomping but elastic pace. What’s surprising, though, is the scope of the song, which hints at something like “Eclectic Electric” (from Antipop) as much as it does Tool circa Aenima. You wouldn’t call the song contemporary prog-rock, but it also has a weight and volume to it that separates it from the more radio-friendly tracks of the band’s career, like “Jerry is a Race Car Driver” or “My Name is Mud” or “Too Many Puppies.”
There’s another key detail that keeps Animals from feeling like B-side quality material – I dare you to find any – from Pork Soda or Sailing the Seas of Cheese. The use of digital delay is all over the new songs, lending a trippy and atmospheric air to Claypool’s textured noodling and Lalonde’s beautifully timed guitar rhythms and interjections. You can hear it on “The Carpenter and the Dainty Bride,” where Claypool builds tension through the repetitions of the delay tool, or on “Mary the Ice Cube,” where Claypool and Lalonde create interweaving figures so spacey, dreamy, and atmospheric, they could make Pink Floyd sound like The Sex Pistols. On “The Last Superpower, a.k.a. Rapscallion,” the delay is still present, but it takes a back seat to a more direct and funky groove, complete with choppy, reverb-soaked offerings from Lalonde that would work if they were backing James Brown.
But the finest track among the primates’ latest is “Pilcher’s Squad,” which crams into less than two minutes some colorful observations about Sgt. Pilcher’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (you may have heard of them before, if only under a slightly altered name). The song is an energetic blast of verses and choruses, which borrows from The Residents and Devo as much as it might hint at the jazz-rock cooked up by Claypool, Anastasio, and Copeland in the much-discussed Oysterhead. It should not be taken lightly to suggest that “Pilcher’s Squad” belongs in the Primus canon right alongside the band’s most renowned – and referenced – work.
According to reports on the web, Primus is slated to take to the road in coming months to play live and support Animals Should Not Try to Act Like People. It’s a great idea, and it will give audiences the chance to see the trio in the form – and with the players – for which it is most known. But the next step could be an even bigger one: what does a band like Primus do to keep moving forward when they can already rest on the laurels of their celebrated back catalogue? You know what they say. It’ll be a crusade only of the brave. It sounds, though, like Primus is game.

Cerberus Shoal – The Ducks and Drakes of Guapo and Cerberus Shoal

I have this friend. Let’s call him John. Now, everybody who I introduce to John seems to love him. He’s got a great personality. He’s intelligent, but not in that condescending or threatening way. He’s got a good sense of humor. He has interesting opinions and incredible stories. And so on. You get the idea. Now, John started dating this girl a while back. Let’s call her Jane. Jane’s cool in her own way. A little quirky and I don’t know much about her, but she seems friendly and down to earth, a good person. And John seems to really like her. The bottom line, though, is that, for as cool as the two of them might be independent of each other, John’s kind of lackluster when Jane’s around. He’s still John, a great guy and a good friend. Don’t get me wrong. But the discussion when it’s the two of them is just, I don’t know, flat. For lack of a better way of describing it, Cerberus Shoal is my friend John and his relationship with Jane is what is documented on the recently released The Ducks and Drakes of Guapo and Cerberus Shoal.
Following on the heels of a breathtaking collaboration earlier this year with Alvarius B, Cerberus Shoal teamed up with the British quartet Guapo for the third in their split EP series with Northeast Indie. The result can be interesting but nowhere near as fascinating or engaging as what the Shoal has done in the past.
The record begins not with a bang or a whimper, but with the slow expanse of a primordial drone, Guapo’s “Idios Kosmos.” The piece is a well-crafted slice of Minimalism with a capital M, and the band manages to shape an organic mass of sound around the incredible subtle tonal inflections of guitar, bass, organ, electronics, percussion and cello. But the swells and frozen mountains of pure sound that greet the listener in “Idios Kosmos” tend to lack a driving force, as if the quartet lacked some sort of incentive to get you to the very end of the nearly 18-minute track. There are some incredible moments here – for example, the way an electronic pitch gradually shifts among a slowly rising tide of tribal drums around the 14-minute mark – but it takes a lot to come along for the whole journey.
Instead of following this up with more immediate or more easily digestible fare, Cerberus Shoal offer “A Man Who Loved Holes,” a self-proclaimed “never to be realized opus” that cuts up and reworks 16 separate one-minute composition abstractions. I think William S. Burroughs would agree that, on paper, the idea seems enticing: little disjointed bursts and newspaper clippings of songs to offset the compositional Mount Everest of Guapo’s epic-minded drones. Sadly, though, the piece lacks some key unity in places, and it’s tough to become interested in the sequence of manipulated noises, random band experiments, and choral bridges. To top off this sense of disorder is the fact that the only thread that seems to tie together the song – which also clocks in around 16 minutes and change – is a distorted, computerized voice spouting disconnected stream of consciousness verse. When the band toyed with a similar sense of surreal lyricism on “The Real Ding” – from The Vim and Vigour of Alvarius B and Cerberus Shoal – it created an oddly welcoming sense that the song was unfolding and we were invited to take part in the reversal of entropy. Here, it makes the listener work too hard to get into the folds of the song to enjoy any one part of it.
That’s not to say there also aren’t exceptional parts in the Shoal’s piece on Ducks and Drakes. There are jazzy verses of voices at two and nine minutes (and elsewhere), some ear-scraping found sounds at five minutes, and well-recorded jangly percussion repetitions near 13 minutes. But, in the end, these are just occasional highlights.
The closing track on the EP – a performance by “Guaperus Shoalo” called “Kdios Iiosmos, He Two Loved Holes” – is a kind of marriage of its two musical predecessors, though it bears closest resemblance to the Guapo composition. Here, like some chain-smoking abstract expressionist, the two bands lay down a canvas of drones and pulses over which they splatter occasional drops of drums, trails of found sounds, and little shadows and figures of electronic noise. The end result is more ominous and atmospheric than Guapo’s initial Minimalist composition, but still sometimes lacks the expansive warmth of someone like Tony Conrad. But, so what? “Guaperus Shaolo” put down a hard-hitting (electronically enhanced?) drum track in their little opus that would have never seen the light of day among the Dream Syndicate, right?
Then again, maybe both of these bands have constructed works of genius here and critics will fail to see how good they were because they were too busy waiting for a musical follow-up to the bizarre acoustic narratives of the vim and vigor of the Shoal’s last split. Maybe John and Jane are perfect for each other and we’re the ones who refuse to change or open our ears and eyes, our feet grounded in self-laid cement. Maybe the two of them have stories to tell that are worth hearing. Maybe we should stop dwelling on the beers we used to share with John last summer. I, for one, am not convinced.

The High Llamas – Beet, Maize & Corn

With Beet, Maize & Corn, The High Llamas prove that tunes that take you to both a personal mood and a societal setting are hard to create but more rewarding when done carefully. Although “careful” often carries an ugly connotation when applied to musicians, Sean O’Hagan, his band of Llamas, three more brass players, and four string specialists have taken full care to present an exquisite album of soft songs with substance on the lyrical end that brings you to a decades-old house few artists have the guts or skill to enter.
Beet, Maize & Corn opens with trombones on “Barny Mix,” which evokes images of warm days by the shore in the 20s of the last century. O’Hagan’s suggestion that you “Close the gate, make the ocean wait / Hold the sea at bay” is a reflection of the album’s relaxed nature. “Calloway” is an especially strong track, with the string quartet hired for the album shining. O’Hagan wisely starts off the song in a low volume before picking up the pace and vocals. You feel like you’re progressing through a house with a party of classy intellectuals and making your way to the room where the band and most guests are.
“The Click and the Fizz” and “Porter Dimi” both flow with the smooth vibe of flutes, banjos, violins, and light percussion that typifies this album. Lyrically, these two tracks focus on changing seasons, especially the summer and fall, and country homes for the city folk. Male and female backup singers trade vocals between instrumental pauses on “Porter Dimi.” Imagine a group of suburban 40-somethings getting together by the fireplace to sing light tunes. Of particular note to Stereolab fans is that “Porter Dimi” features some of the last recorded vocals by Mary Hansen before she was killed while riding her bicycle.
“Leaf and Lime” starts off with a dreamy bed of guitars and violins that brings to mind a hammock and the lightest comfortable breeze. This track and its instrumental epilogue, “Alexandra Line,” progress from summery afternoon moods to more insular sentiments. By the end of “Leaf and Lime” and beginning of “Alexandra Line,” I had visions of Terence Stamp in The Collector. The High Llamas’ ability to naturally merge the orchestral sweep of the 20s with the sensibilities of the early 60s is evident on further duos like “Rotary Hop” and “Ribbons and Hi Hats,” the latter instrumental completing the declaration of the former: “Have others known, we are leaving the communal home / We’ll head for the coast a day at the most for somewhere new.” Hollywood and Beverly Hills serve as reference points for “The Holly Hills,” and the song sounds like it’s missing from the soundtrack for Picnic, with William Holden and Kim Novak. “Monnie” finishes what “The Holly Hills” starts in grander style without verbal contribution.
Beet, Maize & Corn is a pleasant album of calm, beautiful pop with a touch of class that’s rare. The serenity projected by this album is not without effort. Tension through the tracks is minimal, but none of the songs meander or continue ad nauseam. There is a purpose to every note on Beet, Maize & Corn. The High Llamas use pianos, banjos, violas, cellos, and trombones, to name just a few of their varied instruments, in a complementary manner that yields organic, sweet ear-candy. The cavities are worth it.

Clearlake – Cedars

It’s sort of a shame that there isn’t more theater in indie rock. The underground music scene is not only devoid of publicized dramas, but there are precious few bands capable of creating a bombastic, showy sound that can shift imaginations as well as bob heads. Benjamin Gibbard may be an outstanding lyricist, but his stories lack the wide-screen ambition of a steamy soul ballad or a ridiculous, overproduced rocker. Now, many of you would argue that this is a good thing: who needs that over-dramatized bullshit anyway? “Give me something I can relate to!” you shout. Fine fine. But you’re missing out. Because every once in a while, you need to be hit over the head.
Clearlake, a British quartet, is awfully good at delivering these sort of knockouts. The band has an uncanny knack for transporting the listener, putting them in a mood or situation that leaves subtlety completely behind, instead favoring over-the-top character and emotions. This is not to say that Clearlake’s music is fake or somehow not genuine. Quite the opposite, in fact: singer/guitarist Jason Pegg seems as sincere as they come. That being said, his vocals are somehow infinitely more theatric than your average indie frontman. His voice is strong and loud, arching up and back down again with a clarity most singers couldn’t fathom.
Though Pegg’s vocals are the focal point of most songs, his bandmates do an admirable job of framing his voice. Equally capable of snotty guitar bursts and serene, pattering ballads, they specialize in the sort of art-rock that Brits before them – Radiohead, the Verve – turned into expansive, captivating masterpieces.
The album opens with the speedy, melodic riffing of “Almost the Same,” with an impressive rhythmic push as tiny stabs of guitar echoing Pegg’s even wail. “Wonder If the Snow Will Settle” is a masterful, martial ballad, and when Pegg croons “I wonder if the snow will settle on the ground this year / I wonder if losing you was such a good idea / I can’t seem to remember the last time that it snowed “round here,” it carries all the weight of an actor traversing a tiny stage, battling with decisions, each one magnified by the solidarity of his voice.
“Keep Smiling” is a nice change of pace, its uplifting lyrics contrasting gorgeously with the cynical pluck of the guitars behind them. “I’d Like to Hurt You” is by far the band’s most dramatic moment. Pegg assumes the role of a sympathetic assaulter, warning his victim out of love and compassion, yet unable to stop himself. The music is spectacular, highlighted by a cascading guitar line the sounds as evil and confused as the narrator. “The Mind is Evil” is a similar jaunt. Pegg sounds arrogant, unable to admit his wrongs but finding nothing better to blame them on than his mind. It sounds like a smoother Tom Waits waltzing his way through a half-hearted apology letter. The album closes on a sympathetic note, with the psychedelic guitar haze of “Treat Yourself With Kindness” bleeding into “Trees in the City,” an undeniably pretty hymn that finally forgives, cleanses, and moves on.
Clearlake hasn’t quite moved into Radiohead/Verve territory yet, but on Cedars, only the second album, the band leaps much closer. Pegg’s strong, confident croon sounds majestic over the band’s baroque pop arrangements, and the results are often stunning. A lot has been made in this review over the theatric tone, but all that would be meaningless without strong songwriting, which Clearlake has in spades. This is one of the most unique, inviting, and ultimately thrilling song cycles released this year. Sometimes pop music takes unimaginable, hard-to-cope-with experiences and humanizes them. Cedars does the opposite, taking very real, mundane feelings and experiences and pushing them towards previously unimagined heights. Bravo.

August Premier – Fireworks and Alcohol

From the first song to the last, there is no mistaking that August Premier is a pop-punk band. It’s a genre I shy away from, but one I’m all too familiar with from flipping through radio stations looking for something good. Pop-punk in general is one of the reasons I don’t listen to the radio much at all anymore, because between that and bubblegum pop doesn’t seem to be much of anything else on the radio these days. What I’m getting at though is pop-punk is everywhere, and I think most people either like it or don’t, with little middle ground.

If you aren’t fond of pop-punk like me, it pretty much all sounds the same from band to band. The hooks and melodies are the identical for the most part, and sometimes even the vocals tend to be delivered in the same half-whiny way. The songwriting is sophomoric, and there are few distinguishing characteristics to be found anywhere. However, if you like pop-punk, which clearly many people do, then I imagine it’s simply fun music that doesn’t take much effort.

August Premier does sound much like every other pop-punk band to me, which makes it hard to look past the obvious formulas in place here. If you are normally rabid over this sort of thing, rest assured that August Premier will please. The band members maintain all the catchiness of their peers and throw in just enough crunchy guitar work to keep them tipped toward the side of punk as to not be labeled simply a pop group.

These guys are competent musicians, but they don’t seem to be extending any great effort. The album sounds extremely polished and studio perfect, enough so that there isn’t much personality shining through the gloss. All the songs are plenty upbeat with one more serious number thrown in for good measure. Perhaps a more raw sound would help set August Premier apart from the masses a bit more, but as it stands there isn’t anything extra special happening here.

If pop-punk makes you drool, look no further, because August Premier is your next darling of the genre and will soon to be hitting a radio near you. This group will fit right in with the roster of pop-punk groups you already love, so don’t hesitate to pick up Fireworks and Alchohol.

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