Del Rey – Darkness and Distance

The best advice anyone can give you in regards to this album is not to attempt listening to it unless you have a bit of free time on your hands. The shortest track is over five minutes long, and the longest stretches out for more than nine. But it isn’t just a matter of having the time to sit down and actually listen to the entire song, because you also need a fair amount of time and energy to be able to digest and appreciate everything that is going on within the structure of each track.
For example, the opening “Asmiov,” which is the longest track on the disc, clocking in at over nine minutes, takes the listener on quite a ride. It begins with some atmospheric and almost eerie electronic swirling, and almost a minute into things a big echoing guitar chord stomps its way in and signals a new portion of the song altogether. From there we are lead into one of the catchier portions of the track, as throbbing basslines and driving rhythms almost force you to move around, whether it’s just tapping your toes along to the beat or getting out of your chair and doing a little dance. The guitar plucks out a pleasant little melody, and things continue to build in terms of both volume and energy. Suddenly, you’re stopped dead in your tracks by a metal-tinged chug, then empty space, then another chug, then more empty space, and so on, until the band breaks into a darker section that begins with some infectious rhythms courtesy of the drums, bass, and additional percussion, and then the song erupts into a bottom-heavy beating. Things start to fade again as those conga-based rhythms return, and the band continues playing the loud/soft game for a little while, bouncing between the two styles with ease. Then things come to a screeching halt just before being started up again by a bit of spacey electronics, cymbal crashes, and a dash of guitar. Those elements are quickly joined by the aforementioned infectious rhythms, which creates a space age jam band feel that is toyed with briefly. An enormous gong sounds and things go quiet for a moment, but then the electronics really step into the spotlight. Synthetic beats and spacey melodies play cat and mouse with each other as the actual live instruments slowly ease their way back into the mix and eventually regain control. The band then returns to the same heavier chugging theme it used earlier in the track, eventually winding things down and leaving listeners with a look of mild confusion on their faces.
Why did I bother going into such detail about a single track? Because if you can begin to wrap your mind around all of the twists and turns taken within the course of this song, you should be able to digest the remainder of the album with greater ease. Another reason is that it serves as a good example of what this disc is all about, which is sprawling out and taking some time to create some of the most twisted rock songs around.

The Lucksmiths – A Little Distraction EP

The Lucksmiths are back. On their new EP, A Little Distraction, listeners are given everything they’ve come to expect from the Aussies. Added to the mix (glockenspiel, guitar, drums, bass) are two guests, Craig Pilkington and Richard Herbert, on additional guitar and piano. The result? A much richer and fuller sound than that of some previous Lucksmiths releases, but no less charming.
“Transpotine” and “Successlessness” are both gentle, bringing to mind the last days of summer. The latter is also the pop equivalent of a blues tune, with harmonica and bass keeping the song moving. “Little Distraction” starts out with guitar and vocals, joined later by drums and bass played with such soft touches that you hardly notice the additions. “Moving,” what I would consider the standout track, is a cool ode to playing music, drums and bass at the fore. “After the After Party” is straight up rocking and finds the boys doing what they do best, playing a love song. The closer here, “Honey Honey Honey,” finds the band lamenting the rockstar life style and wishing they could go to bed at a reasonable hour.
The whole EP is solid and, while not a departure from their other material, could win the band some new fans (with some help from college radio programmers).

Lazarus – Songs for an Unborn Sun

Ever had an encounter with a person who insisted on exposing every single one of their flaws to you? Ever had to listen to someone as they droned on and on about the subtle shades of grey their depressed and one-dimensional emotional life is colored with, all the while inching closer and closer to you with a total disregard for personal space? You can smell the melancholy and woe reeking from every pore in their body like the musk of the damned. Flecks of spittle bounce from lugubrious lips and an oppressive tongue as their mouth and vocal chords hit overdrive in an attempt to spew forth every draining detail. Finally, when they are mere inches from your face, making it impossible to avert your eyes or turn your head, they tailspin into full-disclosure mode, fully recounting every pockmark and scar that adorns their twisted, shattered, smoking-wrecked-hull of a soul. You are left reeling, compassion and empathy destroyed and desperately seeking the solace of brightly umbrella-garnished alcoholic beverages with tropical sounding names and Of Montreal’s The Gay Parade.
Sound like fun? Then Songs for an Unborn Sun is right up your alley. Lazarus is Trevor Montgomery (post Tarentel and The Drift) and Marty Anderson (Howard Hello, Dilute), and they have recorded one of the most quietly uncomfortable albums of 2003. The negative emotions leap from the speakers, grab your ears, and force you to listen, connect, and examine them as you hear lazily strummed guitar and woefully delivered vocals. The lyrics and music are so impregnated with antagonistic and deleterious vibes they gain a bleak consciousness of their own and somehow leave the impression that they voyeuristically enjoy the discomfort they cause the listener. Occasionally accompanied by even creepier background vocals, keyboard, and samples, these bedroom macabre songs are an exhaustive exercise in down-tempo beats and feelings.
While Montgomery and Anderson do a wondrous job of achieving their dark goals, they also manage to outdo themselves and ultimately detract from the album’s effect. That’s because by the end of this psychotherapeutic CD so much adverse lyricism has been thrown at the listener that it becomes a large indistinguishable mass of weepy white noise. Just like alcohol, you can build a tolerance to codependent empathy.
Just as Journey and Air Supply hold cachet amongst certain crowds, this meticulously descriptive exploration of negative emotion will probably hold cachet amongst a certain crowd. If you’re one of the members of that crowd, then grab your headphones and your razor blade and pick up Songs for an Unborn Sun.

Over the Rhine – Ohio

The double album – for many it’s the crowning moment (or is intended to be) of an artist’s career, one great encapsulating moment that summarizes, extends, and perfects everything that the artist has done in his or her career. Next to the concept album, it’s probably the project that comes loaded with the most potential for collapse, holding as much possibility for exposing its creator as being blinded by his or her own grandiosity in lieu of enough ideas to fill up two discs of music.
There’s nothing worse than a double album dud, a work of pretentious and excessive personal expression that fails to justify its length or price. As far as I can tell, Bob Dylan was the first artist in the rock canon to decide that his work was too expansive to fit on only two sides of molded wax, with his 1966 release of Blonde on Blonde setting the bar unconscionably high for those who would follow. Before long, though, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, the Clash, and just about all who saw themselves as prolific and profound used and abused the format. In fact, the format is steeped in so much lore that Wilco made 1996′s Being There one song over the length of a single disc just so they could mark “double-album” off on their checklist of things to do as rock stars. And even though it’s a dying breed at this point in rock’s singlecentric focus, at its best, the double-album can still become an artist’s defining statement. Even though they’ve been around quite awhile and have been notably prolific over the course of nine albums, Over the Rhine never seemed the types to have a double-album in them, if only because they were too humble to think themselves capable of it. Ohio proves, if they did believe that, they were wrong.
Having held to a fairly consistent standard as the prototypical under-the-radar Americana band, the husband-and-wife duo of Karin Bergquist and Linford Detweiler has accumulated an almost unimaginably rabid fan base, leaving a trail of perplexing soulful heartland pop and post-modern Christianity. Evocative songwriting, rich textures, and Bergquist’s soothingly vulnerable croon, however exceptional, still never seemed to add up to a 21-song, 90 minute release, but in such cases the results justify the means, and this release more than justifies itself.
Opening with a McCartney-esque piano ballad, with a perfectly sighing, string-laded bridge, the album is impeccably balanced into its two constituent halves, the first taking on a distinctively ruminative feel that allows the duo to display their increasingly polished chops as Americana-pop arrangers. Immediately, their deftness with delicate, yet earthy, balladry is evident, humbly layering piano, guitars, pedal steel, violin, and dobro to create lazily swelling arrangements, and Bergquist’s disinterestedly sultry voice never sounding more achingly soulful in delivering loaded confessions of faith and loss.
“First time I saw Jesus, I was drinking Bloody Mary’s in the South,” Bergquist slurs on “Jesus in New Orleans,” using the line as a springboard for a swaying sing-along chorus that chides human nature’s tendency to rub out their best and brightest. As such, the disc largely finds its protagonists looking out at the world with regret and doubt, turning such feelings inward in wondering if they, themselves, aren’t part of the problem. The second disc, despite indulging in a few less starkly introspective arrangements such as the snaking psychedelic guitar groove of “How Long Have You Been Stoned” and the roller rink organ and Caribbean slide step of “When You Say Love,” largely continues in the dejectedly resigned, yet cautiously hopeful, ethic of the first half. More gorgeous open space is produced, with Bergquist’s vocals locking in step with solitary piano notes in the reprimand of “Remind Us,” counterbalanced with the show-stoppingly classy “Fool,” a song predestined to be covered by the next generation of soul balladeers.
Those who have claimed that this release is a bit difficult, claiming that it incorporates a higher proportion of sonic mood pieces and heavy-handed confessions, are missing the point. Further, the album boasts hooks and choruses as accessible and memorable as anything in Over the Rhine’s extensive catalogue, with the rich electric guitar and rainbow arc chorus of the gratuitously head-bobbing “Show Me” and the sweeping pedal steel of “Long Lost Brother” carrying melodies as irresistible as anything on Americana radio.
What’s completely astounding is how Bergquist and Detweiler skirt the edges of so many potential songwriting perils and sonic clichés and never succumb to any of them. Christ-haunted songs about sin and redemption? Yep. Introspective and self-referential themes that reach back to a childhood lost? Uh-huh. A rousing gospel-flavored soul ballad calling for peace and love as a bonus track? You bet. And it’s all essential and first-rate material, breathing with authenticity and personality, despite the fact that the songs are so simple and straightforward that their nuances will be missed without careful listening. Ultimately, if they can be blamed for calling plays out of the classic rock and roll rulebook, at least they’re smart enough to do it with so much distinction and vigor that few could ever claim to do more with the rudiments of the form.
In the end, Ohio is the rare double album that manages to hold up under the weight of its conceptual arc, which is even more impressive when considering the profoundly introspective and exploratory nature of this record. This far into their career, one in which they could have been more than excused for simply coasting on the good graces earned through years of exhaustive touring and recording, few could have predicted that Over the Rhine had an album this epic, this far-reaching in their future. All in all, it’s the best record they’ve ever made, the best double album in recent memory, and quite possibly the best Americana album released this year.

Mood Elevator – Married Alive

Chris Plum and Brendan Benson, the heart of the quintet Mood Elevator, have chosen to open up Married Alive with a funny verbal introduction. One of the guys jokingly declares, “Dude, come on don’t get silly,” and that sentiment of not taking anything too seriously but putting forth sincere effort in writing and playing is obvious throughout Married Alive, with mixed results that offer more positives than negatives. As you’re smiling from the “Dude” comment, guitar riffs that recall 70s power-pop with an edge enter, and Plum sings loudly, “I’m getting bugged by your boycott / I’m feeling fragile as a flower pot.” Lyrical depth is not Mood Elevator’s major strength, but some of the verbal musings are ridiculously charming.
Plum and Benson follow the guitar noise of “Boycott” with “Watch Your Girl,” where the lyrics are comical, the beginning sounds British and decades old, and Plum’s lead vocals are complemented by more distant background singing courtesy of his band mates. The chorus is great: “Is that the best you can do / Try on these walking shoes / Yeah it’s alright with me / You watch your TV / I’ll watch your girl.” For more aural diversity, “Anglophile” features striking piano and gentle keyboards in an intimate ode to an adored girl. This is a good song, but it would have been great had the band kept the low profile intact throughout “Anglophile;” the raucous second half spoils the mood.
“Long Hard Look” is fast and to the point, one of the best songs on Married Alive. The opening lines are some of the catchiest written by anyone recently: “Up on a hill above a store in the glow / Of a sign that says, “Liquor’ and “We Sell Lotto!’ / There’s a pretty girl about twenty-five / With grown up eyes – teenage thighs.” Further tracks like “Life Line” and “Beginner’s Luck” sound like novelties that wouldn’t be out of place on Dr. Demento’s show, especially the latter song. “Something I Need” features a repeated chorus of “Baby get off my back,” so you can imagine Plum and Benson smiling throughout the recording sessions while singing about disastrous relationships. The band slows down the pace and comes off romantically suburban on “Everything’s In Place,” which is the undisputed highlight of Married Alive.
“Everything’s In Place” is unlike most of Mood Elevator’s melodic and lyrical approaches. Indeed, had this type of perfect pop song been one of several similar creations, the album would be stronger. Married Alive definitely has shining moments, but much of the album drowns in loud guitars and unnecessary noise, and some songs lack the necessary hook. Most songs are not sufficiently distinguished from each other in the way of melody. Married Alive is a good album with a few excellent songs. It’s not perfect for home listening but great for long drives when you have time to remember what went wrong in past relationships courtesy of Mood Elevator’s lyrics.

Kid Icarus – Maps of the Saints

David Pearce has had a nice little career. The driving force behind an English psych-drone outfit, Pearce has built his reputation on his understated prolificacy, and a solid catalog. Despite several fantastic releases – including FSA’s stunner debut, Rural Psychedelia – Pearce remains mostly anonymous, even on the underground music scene. Kid Icarus’s Eric Schittler has escaped widespread exposure despite plenty of releases.
The comparison is somewhat fitting, as Schittler spends at least part of his time aiming for the murky lo-fi miasma of FSA. Maps of the Saints was originally released on cassette in 1999, and it sees official release on Summersteps records now only after 2002′s Be My Echo introduced Kid Icarus to a wider audience. Multi-instrumentalist Schittler heads the project, which is a pleasant mix of pastoral folk and careening, white-noise guitar work.
Maps of the Saints opens spectacularly with “Last Chance for a Painting.” A simple guitar plucks away as fuzzy electric works looms overheard. The track pans the guitars from left to right, and the effect is a swirling, shimmering mess of noise. This is a sound Schittler mines well. “Bicycle Spokes” follows a similar path, though it adds vocals and a guttier guitar attack.
Schittler’s work becomes less consistent when he mines the whole “singer/songwriter” vibe. “Matchsticks Dance,” for instance, is a humble little Guided By Voices ode that sounds fantastically cool, but the very next track, “Kafka Song” is typical coffee shop shit, complete with some terribly contrived lyrics. “Ice Queen” fares a bit better, as its arrangement relies on a shimmering organ. “Bells and Whistles” lays scraping white noise over the acoustica, but it fails to transcend a weak set of lyrics.
Despite a long history of releases, it appears Schittler still has quite a bit of work to do. His jammy, psychedelic guitar work is awfully interesting, but his folk music is plain, boring, and two-dimensional when set next to his best work. There’s quite a bit of talent here, but Schittler might be better off finding a band, to act as a board of editors, if nothing else. Until then, it’s likely that inconsistency will mar his work.

Arab on Radar – Queen Hygiene II / Rough Day at the Orifice

After four full-lengths, four seven-inches, and four compilation appearances, Providence, RI’s Arab on Radar officially broke up due to “irreconcilable differences” because “these differences have compromised the creative process.” However, the record label Three.One.G has put two of Arab On Radar’s long out of print CDs, Queen Hygiene II and Rough Day at the Orifice on one CD.

For those readers who are unfamiliar with the sound of Arab on Radar, here’s a bit of a description: the singer sounds like he’s being forced to sing with a clothespin over his nose while being pulled apart in some medieval torture device. The lyrics are very random and foul, yet somehow it flows together. This band would be good background music for watching someone mentally insane prance around in a straight jacket in a padded cell.

Queen Hygiene II was originally released in the summer of 1997 by Heparin Records and includes the original bass player Andrea Fiset. It is a very danceable and musically much akin to Erase Errata’s new album, At Crystal Palace. However, the lyrics are another story – they are extremely dirty in a high school honor student type way. For example on “St. Patricks Gay Parade” the lyrics are “I just want to glance at her nipples. They are getting bigger, bigger and bigger. Wow, her nipples have tripled in size. I was a normal guy but now I am turning into a Peeping Tom.” Great song titles abound, like “Attack on Tijuana,” “Capt. Mouth,” and “Rubber Robot.”

Rough Day at the Orifice was originally released in February 1999 by Op Pop Pop Records and was recorded by Weasel Walter of Flying Luttenbachers infamy. It has a rougher production value than Queen Hygiene II, and it seems to have more of a no-wave approach with less of the danceability factor. More great song titles on this set include “Biggest Little Prick in the Union,” “Don’t Call Him a Retard,” and “Red Panties at Night… Sailors Delight.”

While Arab on Radar’s sound may not be for everyone, it certainly could have room on your shelf next to your Lightning Bolt, the Locust, or Erase Errata albums. Give it a listen if you’re tired of hearing the same crap on MTV or the same tired, punk redundancy. Truly unique.

Joe Mannix – White Flag

New York City underground artist Joe Mannix has crafted a folk-pop jewel with White Flag, his third album as a solo performer. Don’t confuse him with the TV character Joe Mannix played by actor Mike Connors, which ran from 1967 to 1975 on CBS. That Mannix was a rough-and-tumble loner with his heart on his sleeve and a loaded gat. This Mannix also wears his heart on his sleeve but pours it out in his music.
This collection reminds us of those sounds of the 60s and 70s. Folksy melodies, pleasing harmonies, and a scattering of electric guitar (“White Flag,” “Moving On”) make this an enjoyable listen that would please even jaded folk purists. While Mannix doesn’t have the most powerful voice, it is impressive and at times, even remarkable, such as on the pop ballad “Silver Girl.”
The radio-friendly track, “Higher Intervention,” as well as “White Flag” with its REM-esq quality are standouts, as is the roots-driven pop tune, “Bellerose Hill.” “Everyman” has a Woody Guthrie/Bob Dylan/Springsteen man-with-a-guitar-out-to-change-the-world feel to it. Lesser tracks (“Last Gang in Town,” “Bamboo,” “The Echo”) still provide warm, soft arrangements but tend to be lesser versions of the stronger cuts.
Overall, the record would have been better served with just 10 to 13 songs. It feels a bit long at 16 tracks in 49 minutes. But this effort shows a maturing singer/songwriter with an expanding range that should soon expand his audience.

Carrion – The Crime of Idle Hands

Carrion is a band I’ve actually had the pleasure of seeing live when the group opened for the Hidden Hand at the Ottobar in Baltimore a few months ago. It was my first trip to the Ottobar, and I’ll fully admit I was there to see the Hidden Hand, Scott “Wino” Weinrich’s (of Spirit Caravan, Obsessed, and St. Vitus fame) new outfit. Carrion caught my attention with an interesting mix of metal and hardcore with hints of math rock and jazz. It was a different mix of styles than I’m used to finding on the metal scene, so this is a band that easily sticks out in my memory – in fact I can’t recall anything about the third band that played that night. Although I enjoyed Carrion’s set, I recall thinking they played too long, and this feeling carries over somewhat to this album, The Crime of Idle Hands.
Carrion’s music is best described as simply being heavy. At first listen, you might think this is straightforward stoner rock or some sort of doomy metal, but there is more going on here. Sure, you get the deep grooves and relentless rhythm section that you expect from that style of music, but Carrion is much more cerebral than your average stoner-rock or doom band. While not overly technical and tip-toeing on progressive territory, this trio definitely infuses a level of intricacy that, coupled with the already cerebral nature of the music, makes me think of math rock. The sum of its parts equals an intense, emotional listening experience sure to please fans of all things heavy.
The 10 tracks on The Crime of Idle Hands fit together almost seamlessly. Though not repetitive by any means, the band’s sound tends to blend to the point of sounding similar from one track to the next. You really have to pay rapt attention at times to notice some of the nuances that set one song apart from another. As such I can’t easily pick out any favorite tracks from this album; they are all decent. I can, however, say without difficulty that I wish Carrion had trimmed a few songs and gone for more of an EP length. Perhaps someone just a tad more floored by The Crime of Idle Hands would feel that ten songs is the perfect length for this release.
Carrion is certainly a band to keep an eye on. The Crime of Idle Hands is the band’s first full-length effort, so their momentum is just beginning to really build. This album is well worth picking up if you lean toward the stoner-rock/doom side of music, but I think aficionados of hardcore and math rock will enjoy this too if approached with an open mind.

North Sea Story – Rebuilding Season

What started as a full band of friends in the Brooklyn area has, oddly enough, turned into a sort of one-man project and a collective of friends. It could be enough to dissuade any musician from recording, but Chris Standish (aka Dish) has plowed on as North Sea Story, enlisting as many as 12 friends to accompany him on the band’s latest album, Rebuilding Season. Most of the original band – Dave Brown, Pablo FitzGerald, Rance Piatt, Josh Weil – still contribute, but the end result is what appears to be Standish’s project, and with a host of string- and key-based instruments in addition to his vocals, he’s proved capable of carrying on the band.
The album opens with “You are Falling Down,” a catchy rock song with some nice mixtures of vocals, yet it feels a bit odd with these warbling electronics mixed over top, far in the front. It’s a tad distracting, but less so on repeated listens as the high-energy rocking track begins to come out. This is a sign, though, of North Sea Story’s faults. Every track here is good, but they don’t always sound quite finished. If the electronics in “You are Falling Down” were mixed a bit lower, the track would be a fantastic piece. “The Finest Old Crow” is a country number tried and true, with some warbling guitar and vocals that perfectly fit the laid-back style, but the song’s periodic quieter moments break the pace unfortunately. (The electronics at this song’s end work nicely, however.) The oddly timed “Impressive Collection” uses distorted vocals and a kind of frenzied collection of instruments and ends out sounding merely noisy.
That’s not to say that every song suffers from these problems. “A Cough that Lasts” has a killer chorus with some blistering electric guitar and drums. The layered vocal approach on the chorus of the rocking “Dry Creek” is a great touch, and the quiet, moody “Rotting Hill” makes a nice use of keys and strings and an echoey quality. “Silvertone” is a very cool song, possessing a light, almost bird-like electronic flourish and thick, fuzzed-out guitars, ending with a blistering Neil Young-like solo on the album’s most intense track. The whole album finishes with a nice romp, “Lythousize,” that can double as a Guided By Voices number.
As on the band’s last album, North Sea Story likes to change styles, and you can’t fault the band for that because these musicians can pull of quieter country numbers as easily as more energized rockers. They fit nicely in with genre-bending bands like Wilco and Lucero. And other than a few unfortunate choices in production, Rebuilding Season is a very strong rock album and one worth repeated listens.

« Previous Page — Next Page »