Anti-Flag – The Terror State

I’ll be straight with you. This is the first time that I have ever listened to Anti-Flag. With album sales numbering in the hundreds of thousands and high-profile tours with the likes of ex-FM radio giants Rage Against the Machine and hardcore-punk juggernauts Thrice and Strike Anywhere, as well as collaborations with socio-political luminaries such as the Reverend Jesse Jackson, Howard Zinn, and Noam Chomsky, the outspoken quartet have come a long way from their early roots as working class heroes from the gritty industrial sprawl of Pittsburgh. Yet, through it all, they have somehow managed to fly below my musical radar, which I suppose, in the end, is really not that surprising. To be honest, with the notable exception of Bad Religion, I’ve always been more of a Touch and Go / Revelation / Dischord aficionado than anything stemming from the punk-rock bastions of Epitaph, Lookout!, or Fat Wreck Chords, so, as a warning, some readers may choose to take this review with a grain of salt.

The Terror State is Anti-Flag’s fourth proper LP, and it is intended to be a scathing political commentary on the many injustices and inequities of America’s post 9/11 foreign and domestic policies. But the immediate problem that I ran into is that the band’s oftentimes sugar-sweet pop-punk is, in my opinion, not really suited for the potent anti-war/pro-activism message contained in their lyrics. In fact, at times it is difficult to imagine – especially in the early going – that Anti-Flag’s music has any sort of political or social agenda at all. This point should not necessarily be taken as criticism, but more as a mere personal observation. High-strung opening salvos “Turncoat” and “Rank-N-File” are torrid whirlwinds of guitar-fueled punk bombast, but they are so sticky sweet, so sunny, so sing-along catchy that it is easy to forget that, at their heart, these compositions are viciously poignant assaults on the imperialist intentions of our current administration. The method, it would seem, does not fit the message.

Yet, not everything on this LP is candy-coated. Songs like “You Can Kill the Protester, But You Can’t Kill the Protest,” “Tearing Down the Borders,” and the turbulent “Death of a Nation” are loud, aggressive, strident corkers that slice through your speakers like blazing bolts of punk-injected lightning, with an arsenal of blistering guitars, breakneck rhythms, and a relentless backbeat driving home the message. But even at their most visceral, there is nothing overtly abrasive, nothing too grating or punishing to ward off the casual listener. Indeed, there is a wealth here of lashing, anthemic pop-punk scorchers that rely on the band’s spirited energy and heartfelt convictions to pull them through, but none of it is going to blow you away with its creativity or ingenuity. For the most part, this is pretty standard pop-punk fare that is nonetheless tense, tight, and solidly played.

Surprisingly, The Terror State was produced by Tom Morello of Rage Against the Machine and Audioslave fame; a man who shares the same leftist ideals as Anti-Flag, but who, musically, has little in common with the punk upstarts. Morello is a long way from his own Black Sabbath/Led Zeppelin-by-way-of-Fugazi riff mongering, but he wisely keeps things simple, adding little frills to the proceedings. Still, this is not the incendiary, rebellious, dangerous punk-rock document it is intended to be. There is certainly a bevy of thought provoking statements and the whole thing is brimming over with fiery passion and genuine enthusiasm, but the overwhelming let’s-start-a-riot attitude and sense of desperate urgency are sorely missing. All in all, this is a worthy effort that falls short of its promise.

Jolie Holland – Catalpa

In all of the generally accepted musical nomenclature common today, it’s possible that no terms are more widely misunderstood than “folk music.” Where they once inferred a culture and a way of life, representing the tradition whereby people lived with their songs and passed them down to their children as an expression of their shared heritage, now the words are little more than shorthand for “acoustic music.” As such, most anyone can be a folkie today; just get an acoustic guitar, make a harmonica holder out of a coat hanger, and sing through your nose. And you can blame lots of people, but most fingers should probably point at Bob Dylan, as it was his profoundly insightful pen that made the bold strokes that severed contemporary music off from the folk tradition and pushed it into the singer-songwriter era. To his credit, Mr. Zimmerman was smart enough to know what he’d done; he always corrected those that called him a folk singer, because he knew he wasn’t. Even when his repertoire was largely comprised of songs snagged from the American folk tradition, he knew he hadn’t grown up with those songs in Minnesota, having been born of a culture where radio and electricity had eradicated the need for a folk song tradition to fill up the empty hours in the day. To that extent, folk music, at least in this country, is largely dead (or if still kicking, only showing vital signs in such obscure enclaves that they haven’t been snooped out by ethnomusicologists). So, what we’re left with are folk recreationists, and even more interestingly, those who take the essence of the music, imbibe it, and pour it out of themselves into something contemporary and vaguely ringing with the tone of a lost way of life. Jolie Holland represents the best of this tradition.
A truly enigmatic figure, having founded the Be Good Tanya’s and split before they reached the quasi-notoriety of their folk-inspired albums, leaving to roam the country and presumably live the life that inspired these songs, Holland ostensibly seems to be surrounded by as much myth as fact. Whatever the case, it seems that Catalpa was never intended for release, at least not in the scattershot way in which its tracks were recorded, most consisting of little more than Holland and a guitar. As such, the album has a definite demo-esque quality, yet its extremely plaintive and uncluttered sonic palette clears the way for everything Holland does over the course of its 12 tracks. And it’s genuinely amazing what arises from that no-frills setting.
Opening with the murky, far off thudding and faint guitar phrase of “Alley Flowers,” Holland deconstructs Appalachian folk with her odd meter and otherworldly chirp, wobbling back and forth over a disembodied melody that seems lifted out of a long lost field recording. At once, it’s both exotic and strangely inviting, a siren call from another era, half Native American rain dance and mountain lament. And while the songs that follow aren’t quite so hypnotically ruminative and downright evasive, the weary and lonesome feel persists through the nimble sweetly vulnerable “All the Morning Birds” and the enchantingly sing-songy simplicity of “Roll My Blues.” Their charm is subtle, but the fact that you’re listening to something truly rare in the realm of folk-inspired music is immediate.
Her voice, aching with the mystery, vulnerability, and honesty inherent in the human condition, especially that spirit not often found in music since the taint of commerce became so pronounced, consistently forms the perfect foil for the nakedly weary arrangements. Half Billie Holiday and half Maybelle Carter, that voice is the brush that makes the album’s boldest and most brilliant strokes, with jazz intonation adding swagger to the deep resignation and loneliness that marks the best Appalachian folk. Whether stating bluntly what only the most of her predecessors only hinted at over the muted banjo and guitar finger-picking of “I Wanna Die” or lifting a few lines from Syd Barrett and dropping them in the eerie “The Littlest Birds,” Holland is the rare talent big enough to create human bridge between the traditions from which she draws.
Unfortunately, at least for Holland, the album has the feel of one of those career-defining works whose offhand charm an artist spends the most of her life trying to recapture. But I wouldn’t bet against her, either, as her total lack of contrivance and cliché already aspires to the most elusive standards reached for by the proponents of the forms in which she works. In short, she cuts to the essence of the music with an incredibly straight line, working well within the themes and sonic traditions generally associated with it, but neither obtrusively superimposing herself on the form nor doggedly holding to its conventions to the detriment of her unique expression. Whether through first-hand experience or an innate ability to channel the spirit of a past way of life, she understands what the entire school of academic folkies never did: that the essence of the music is found not in technical virtuosity nor note-perfect revivalism but in the spirit of the performance.
So, yeah, we probably are somewhat deprived of not living in a world where every town and region has its own music that represents its unique cultural expression and way of life. We live in the age of microwaves and hot showers, and only the most naïve idealist can say with a straight face that they’d go back to killing their food and carrying their water for a few songs. But that we have lost something shouldn’t be questioned. We have. Artists like Jolie Holland exist, at least in part, to address that loss, straining, however vaguely, to grasp the honesty and integrity that seems to have been covered up by layers of diversion and distraction in our modern lives. We may have more in ease of life, but sometimes it seems that our affluence owns us as much as we own it. More than anything, Holland offers us escapism, the freedom found in despair and loss, in recognizing the right to follow life reduced to its naked vulnerability. With Tom Waits already growling her praises and critics across the world proclaiming her as the latest savior of the form, for Jolie Holland, the hype is most definitely coming. Save yourself some time right now and believe it.

Lying in States – Most Every Night

More than a few bands have probably tried to release their best work late in the calendar year to ensure more consideration as music critics the world over – those writers of strange discipline and even stranger complexions – compile their annual top ten lists. Well, Lying in States has a much different battle plan. With December not yet even in the past tense, this Chicago quintet looks like it’s already claiming ownership of 2004 with Most Every Night, a record set to hit the streets on Jan. 13.
Formed in 1999, Lying in States seems incredibly aware of the mantle it’s inheriting by aligning itself with Chicago, a city that’s produced more than a fair share of the inventive guitar-driven indie rock pressed to vinyl during the last two decades. The band’s full-length rings with that familiar Touch and Go vitality, the punch of aggressive but smart guitar work, the natural rhythm and rumble of a well-constructed musical bridge between verses.
But, as much the band owes – and pays homage – to The Windy City, they also hint at a number of acts on Most Every Night while not sounding like they are aping any one of them. The closing half of “Vie Capital Ponk,” where scorching guitars fade to reveal carefully patterned and lilting melodies, could be pulled from Rodan’s Rusty. The album-opening title track and “Return of the Cornea” feature vocals that are vintage Fugazi but also offer interesting asides, like an unexpected keyboard line that reminds you of the edgy 60s rock of Question Mark and the Mysterians. You can almost draw line between the down-and-out-at-closing-time acoustic sadness of “We” and the slightly more polished sentiments of Brit pop. Sections of the long-form (even at six minutes) “In All of Christendom” reveal shades of Radiohead.
References aside, though, what Lying in States seems to do best is play tightly and play loudly, as evidenced by tracks like “Tackle Me I’m on Fire.” There, guitars dart between crunchy, palm-muted figures and short bursts of punctuated sound, as Lying in States follows cues laid down by drummer Mark Benson and vocalist Ben Clarke. While the band collectively exhibits a sharp sense of chemistry and timing, Clarke is an interesting front man, offering added dimensions to songs like the swaying “Fat Hawk” while not making the rest of the band seem like backing players merely there to produce feedback to complement his crooning.
Most Every Night, though, is far from a one-man show. Keyboardist/vocalist Jeremy Ohmes grabs his fair share of the spotlight on “Know it All,” where jazzy fills of piano surface among the angular stops and starts of the two-guitar arsenal from Fergus Kaiser and Clarke. The rhythm section of Benson and bassist Justin Trombly shine through on “Yep,” which could make Girls Against Boys a little jealous for its ability to generate some tension through a simple bass-and-drums build-up.
What is ultimately the most refreshing detail of the record, though, is – and this may sound out-of-place – its strange and largely unspoken commercial viability. While Lying in States could no doubt be admired by fans of countless Chicago and DC-area indie-rock acts, they have something to them – maybe it’s the songwriting, maybe it’s the recording – that would make them accessible over FM airwaves, should they make their way onto them. In a new year, maybe anything’s possible.

The Cansecos – S/T

The credits for The Cansecos’ self-titled debut LP state that the album was “recorded between September 2000 and September 2002 in various bedrooms in and around Toronto.” I live less than three hours from Toronto and listened to the album in my bedroom, which was a rewarding experience, with a lot of good songs, some great tracks, and rare misses. The Cansecos fiddle with lo-fi tones, chopped-up rhythms, and crunching beats to realize their melodic, computerized ambitions, and they do so with originality and excitement.
The album opens with the catchy “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” Featuring distorted, robotic vocals by Bill Halliday and Gareth Jones that recall Simon LeBon singing some of Duran Duran’s less popular tracks from the Fab Five’s eponymous 1981 debut album, “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” shifts from four-track cuteness to effective breakbeats toward its end. Unfortunately, the momentum dissipates somewhat with the second track, “In Bloom.” There isn’t enough singing, as we’re offered metallically accompanied talking that’s light on vocal diversity. The Cansecos recover with “Faster Than You Go,” as they echo their voices and heighten the human element with more emotion. This is a great song.
“The Shore” sounds like tropical new-wave and has a striking equatorial quirkiness. It’s a fun song that ends with surprising tranquility. The consistent drone and horn-like chorus of “This Small Disaster” give it a spacey feel; you’re curious to know what Brian Eno would think of this stuff. “This Girl and This Boy” is marvelous; a twisted, in-your-face creation that sounds like bombastic Christmas music for shopping malls from the 60s. With the chorus, “I think that we’re alike / That’s right girl you and I / Two satellites sharing an orbit right across the sky / “Till our paths converge and destroy this girl and this boy,” the song is synthetically successful, a definite highlight of the album. “What it Was You Said” features The Cansecos in an angrier mood, but you still think Halliday and Jones had to exert great effort not to smile during the track’s recording.
The lyrics and prominent acoustic guitar of “A Common State of Being” remind of Ben Lee, but the LeBon vocal style pops up again. “Blue Whale” has a restrained, melancholic chorus between slight touches of horns and deeper keyboards that will find favor with fans of Air. The lyrically surprising and funky 70s-like chorus of “Another Ordinary Day” saves the song’s stanzas from dragging. “Sawtooth” suffers from the same droll singing and lack of hooks that plague “In Bloom.” Thankfully, the song is over in less than three minutes. The album closes with the eerie, atypically aggressive “Stop, Breathe, Repeat.”
On their eponymous debut, The Cansecos mash up bleeps, tweaks, and lo-fi computer tricks to the point that it sometimes seems they’re more concerned with experiments than results. Give each song a chance and a complete listen and you’ll likely discover heart and soul behind the material. Recently, Torontonian post-poppers like The Russian Futurists and Manitoba have released synthesized, minimalist works to significant acclaim. At least as far as I’m concerned, similar praise should be bestowed upon The Cansecos for their unique, engaging debut album.

The Curtains – Flybys

Made up of members of Deerhoof, Natural Dreamers, and Open City, the Curtains create a style of music which could be described as a video game music soundtrack for a game designed for preschoolers where there are glowing mushrooms, smiling snails, rainbows, ladybugs, pots of gold, and nobody gets killed. Sounding like if Brian Wilson recreated Stan Kenton’s City of Glass for the Commodore 64 platform, Flybys is full of sweet accidents and big ideas in small packages. What you get are 23 compact, highly personal compositions, neither hot nor cold, but whimsical, lighthearted, portable, and idiosyncratic – the warm inventions and cool abstractions of the thinking man’s casual imagination on the move.
If Forever Changes, Martians Go Home, and Captain Beefheart’s Tropical Hot Dog Night were summarized ala Masterplots on musical 3×5′s, it might sound like Flybys. The songs are like a stream of musical memos. It would seem nonchalant if it weren’t so personal; it would seem almost warm if it weren’t so scientific. The Curtains present a muted music that never reaches the proper conclusion. Aloof and alert, the music is sitting right on the edge of hot and cold.
The Curtains have no modern musical peers that I can think of. When I first heard the record, I checked to see the year that it was released and even then I wasn’t sure if the Curtains had looted the vaults of the Frank Zappa estate. If you want to hear insane video game music without burning out your eyes and getting carpal tunnel syndrome, this is the record for you. Highly recommended.

All the Dead Pilots – Steady Not Static

Named after a William Faulkner short story, Baltimore’s All the Dead Pilots return with their second release in as many years. Steady Not Static is a cool mix of punk, pop, and rock that is both inventive and crisply original. Great harmonies mesh sweetly with crunchy guitar, bass and metronomicaly askew drums to create short, punchy songs that are both complex and easy on the ears.

Steady Not Static has the same self-destructive yet beautifully melodic sound of Jawbox but adds a pop-rock feel into its already interesting musical stew with a vocal style reminiscent of Sunny Day Real Estate and Far.

The album kicks off with the title track, demonstrating All the Dead Pilots’ remarkable vocal and guitar melodies that are jarring and catchy at once. The band switches things up by including the brooding track, “All the Dead Pilots,” where moody and peaceful music backs-up a reading of the Faulkner story of the same name.

While All the Dead Pilots is a young band, the musicians have certainly produced a mature-sounding album. It should be interesting to see where their next record takes them. Rock, emo, post-hardcore, whatever you want to call it, Steady Not Static manages to capture the sound that fans who miss Jawbox could quickly latch onto.

The Blue Series Continuum – Good & Evil Sessions

The Blue Series Continuum is an interesting idea for a musical group. The concept centers on a revolving cast of musicians and an ever-changing shift in style from album to album. The first Continuum effort features jazz heavyweights William Parker (bass), Roy Campbell (trumpet), Alex Ludico (trombone), Josh Roseman (trombone), and Matthew Shipp on synthesizer. The musicians were teamed up with production team GoodandEvil, whose formidable portfolio includes work with Elysian Fields, Liminal, Firewater, Felix da Housecat, and the B-52′s. It may sound like an improbable combination of styles, but the result is free jazz liberally balanced with electronic beats.
The nine tracks on the Good & Evil Sessions are purely instrumental, but the soundscape is one of rich imagery which speaks to me of spies and intrigue. With song titles like “The Hideout,” “On the Run,” and “Close Call,” there is definitely a theme running throughout the album that is hard to miss, lyrics included or not. The music is also extremely groove-oriented and could almost be one extended jam if not for the between song pauses and shifts in focus. This is the perfect album to slip on when you want to chill out but don’t want to be relaxed to the point of falling asleep.
While the programmed beats provide the foundation here, the horns play a vital role in each of the songs as does Matthew Shipp’s synthesizer. Many of the tracks on the Good & Evil Sessions take this approach, with opening number “Brainwash,” follow-up “Then Again,” and “Close Call” as prime examples. It is instances like these where the lines between jazz and electronica all but disappear. This group of musicians sounds perfectly at ease, and it is almost as though these two genres were created for this purpose alone. However, there are a few when this fusion of styles just doesn’t come together as well as it could and the result is discordant and borderline annoying. Fortunately, this doesn’t detract from the album as a whole though it does show how much of a work in progress the Blue Series Continuum really is.
I don’t consider myself much of a jazz connoisseur, nor do I lean toward electronic music, but I found the Good & Evil Sessions to be an invigorating collection of songs – just the perfect balance of styles with enough changes in pace to keep it appealing. Thirsty Ear Records has a good thing going here, and I look forward to checking out the next Blues Series Continuum release, whatever genre is the focus the next time around.

Raising the Fawn – By the Warmth of Your Flame EP

The Canadian band Raising the Fawn recorded a full album and readied to release it when half the band quit, leaving the remaining members – bassist/vocalist Scott Remila and guitarist/vocalist John Crossingham – unwilling to release an album without touring to support it and unsure what to do. Crossingham, a member of the recently acclaimed Broken Social Scene, went into the studio with Remila and that other band’s producer to record this EP, to release it as a tease to the album recorded nearly a full year before it, and in the process they found their new drummer and made plans for the future.
So this EP, recorded later, is a precurrsor for the album that has yet to be released, but it is by no means merely a stop-gap. The five songs on By the Warmth of Your Flame are beautiful, rich, and clearly demonstrative of a band worthy of acclaim in its own right.
After the eerie “Intro,” “Into Ashes White,” shows the band’s unique sound. There are equal parts moody instrumentation of other Canadian bands like Godspeed and Do Make Say Think, but with a more rock-focused approach that hints at bands like Low. This song has a kind of powerful ominous feeling to it. “The Chicago World Expo” is a slower affair to start, with some nice banjo and organ for effects, but it picks up with a kind of cacophonic release during its seven-minute length. The closer, “Country Home,” does feel a bit country, with its banjo and quiet contemplative mood. Crossingham’s lyrics lend to the feel, as he sings over the stark banjo, “Lord, we trembled so / through a land unknown / with only faith in our home.”
“The Common Cold,” however, is the shining gem here. A lovely and lighter song, it is more upbeat, catchy, and probably one of the best pure songs I’ve heard in the last year. It’s practically aching for a movie soundtrack, with some unique instrumentation, brilliant production, and catchy guitars. As the song builds into its mid-point, the vocals mix nicely, the guitars are even bigger, and the percussion crashes. It’s a phenominal song to be sure.
Raising the Fawn demonstrate nearly impeccable songwriting on this EP and a brilliant grasp for mood and style. These songs are lovely and rich yet also possessing a rock structure that shows they can be catchy and upbeat as well. Even though it was recorded before this EP, these songs make me salivate for the band’s full-length release, The North Sea. With some of the best and most original rock coming out of Canada, Raising the Fawn has thrown its hat into the ring, and Crossingham shows he can step out of Broken Social Scene’s shadow with something equally brilliant.

Death Cab for Cutie – Transatlanticism

The secret’s out on indie-pop darlings Death Cab for Cutie. Embraced by indie fans and more mainstream outlets alike, with good reason, Death Cab has released three strong albums and a handful of EPs, not to mention some side projects such as The Postal Service. The band is forming the kind of cadre that new and old fans can’t help but respect, and they’re doing it with stellar songwriting and the brilliant production skills of guitarist/keyboardist Chris Walla. The band’s latest effort, Transatlanticism, is undoubtedly the best year, sure to earn this band even more widespread notice.
Walla has honed his production skills on a number of other releases, and he gives Transatlanticism a glossy shine, keeping the guitars surprisingly crisp, the sweet vocals of singer/songwriter Ben Gibbard light and heartfelt, allowing the rhythm section to alternately crash or flow. Gibbard’s songwriting is better than ever as well. If there’s been one minor flaw with the band’s past efforts, it’s that the songs, while flowing together perfectly, never allowed one or another to leap to the fore and have a listener singing it for hours later. Still staying away from the hooky kitchiness of much pop, there are brilliant songs on Transatlanticism that will definitely swirl in your head for days at least.
The opener and suitable single from Transatlanticism is “The New Year,” a song about renewed expectations and hope in the new year that features crashing guitars and drums and Gibbard’s sweet voice. My favorite track may be “Title and Registration,” with its opening lines about renaming a car’s glove compartment in Gibbard’s best storytelling mode and featuring a light, slightly fuzzy beat that mixes nicely with the starkly picked guitar.
The upbeat feel of “The Sound of Settling,” with its chorus of “ba-ba / this is the sound of settling” and hand claps nicely contrasts the more personal nature of the lyrics. The nearly eight-minute title track is a good example of a band putting its indie sensibility first, as one of its best songs is far too long for typical media. This song starts soft and builds nicely, as Gibbard repeats the most meaningful lines, such as “I need you so much closer,” and the whole band chimes in with “so come on…” It’s a gorgeous track, perhaps the best the band ever recorded.
The band doesn’t forget its pop roots, though, with the playfully head-bobbing “Expo ’86″ and the light, cheery “Death of an Interior Decorator.” “We Looked Like Giants” just rocks, with much more emphasis on the guitars. Then there are the band’s softer moments mixed in to offer variation without bringing down the whole affair, like the melancholy “Lightness” and the stark, piano-led “Passenger Seat.”
Transatlanticism is sure to bring new fans into the fold while still pleasing longtime supporters. Without a doubt, this is Death Cab’s best effort to date and well worth the two years since their last album. This is a highly accomplished group of musicians at the top of their game, so a fine release should be expected. Still, it’s highly welcome, and it’s an album that quickly found its way on my best-of-the-year list.

Lamont Skylark – Love Poems and Fight Songs

As a Southerner recently exiled to New England, I’ve seen more snow in the last eight days than in the rest of my 26 years combined. When the great white dunes of snow that cover the sidewalks and parking lots grow gray and hard, like sand at a volcanic beach, and when the slush and sludge soak through the first pair of socks and begin to overtake the inner stockings, then one can begin to understand and appreciate why the people of the north are believed to lack the courteousness found in their Southern brethren. There’s little time for niceties and petty civility when it’s freezing out. But during weeks like these, when my environment turns so foreign and hostile that I might as well be living on the moon, it feels good to lie back, the arctic blast sloughed off, and listen to the warm, enriching, and decidedly Southern sounds of Lamont Skylark.
Hailing from Wilmington, N.C., that beautiful coastal town near Fort Fisher, Cape Fear, and the Jolly Dolphin, Lamont Skylark produces jangly power pop suffused with the echoes of country and Western. It’s not quite country and not quite classic rock, but it does have that country spirit, and it definitely rocks in the classical sense. Generally alt-country and modern-day power-pop leaves me sort of cold, but the Skylark possesses a bit of roughness that provides character and a vividness frequently lacking in such music.
Love Poems and Fight Songs lacks the gloss, soullessness, and rote mimicry of much contemporary power pop or country; I would credit the group’s rugged Southern element with nipping that bland shrinkwrapped quality in the bud. The rusticity of the pedal steel and the soul of a good Hammond crop up from time to time, enhancing the Skylark’s traditional instrumentation in predictable yet positive ways. Singer and songwriter Lincoln Morris writes good, if not remarkable, songs, songs that push most of the right buttons and that could foreshadow an eventual period of genius. As is, songs like “How Do You Know,” the rockabilly trot “Daisy,” and the hill country folk of “7 Stills (29)” have to settle for being merely pretty damn good.
Love Poems and Fight Songs gives us a look at a young band with a great deal of potential. I would say that already Lamont Skylark isn’t too far off the level of the Old 97′s or even Uncle Tupelo, and they could one day perhaps grow into a band superior to either of them. Who knows, maybe Morris even has a Yankee Hotel Foxtrot in him somewhere. Wherever their future takes them, however, with their debut album Lamont Skylark has already made a record I’ll be listen to for years to come.

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