Ween – Quebec

It seems like Ween has done it all: released nine studio albums, had a lengthy major-label record deal, toured the world, had a MTV hit, appeared on numerous movie soundtracks, cameoed in a movie (even if it was It’s Pat: the Movie), written songs for TV shows and commercials, have their own Internet radio station, and the list could keep going. But there’s one thing that Ween hasn’t done that most bands half their age have done, and that’s to throw in the towel.
For those not in the know, Ween’s core creative force is made up of Aaron Freeman and Mickey Melchiondo, aka Gene Ween and Dean Ween, aka Papa Gener and Deaner. (They also have a few key helpers like Dave Dreiwitz and Claude Colemen who play bass and drums respectively when Ween is in live mode, Kirk Miller who massages the live sound, and Andrew Weiss who provides studio wizardry.) The brothers Ween have been putting music out together since their middle school days in the mid-80s. To say they are a novelty or parody outfit is the furthest from the truth, though it would get you going in the right direction. Sure, Ween’s songs can sometimes sound very similar to other band’s styles. And their lyrics are quite often hysterical and nonsensical to the untrained ear. They’ve done a nautical themed album and a whole release of country songs with a full-scale backing band featuring The Jordanaires and many other Nashville greats. To classify Ween is tough to nearly impossible, but therein lies the beauty that is Ween. The band is an ever-evolving work in progress. This is what keeps the band fresh, where the normal course of a band is to follow their chosen trajectory and eventually implode into a state of blahness.
When compared to Ween’s first studio release, God Ween Satan, Quebec could be quickly classified as the band’s most “accessible” album to date. Where the last record, the 2000 release White Pepper, had an even-keeled vibe that said “I’m pretty happy with life,” Quebec seems to be saying “I’m not sure if I’m so happy anymore, but these meds could sure help.” However, before we get to the second track, which is in fact an ode to Zoloft, we get a little taste of old school Ween with “It’s Gonna be a Long Night.” This is a straight-ahead, heavy rocking cut that would make Motorhead proud. “Transdermal Celebration” is the third song, and be careful because it’s going to grow on you like a trippy fungus. You could totally see the video for this song set on a cliff in New Zealand with swooping helicopter shots and throngs of on lookers covered with their transdermal patches.
From there we get “Among His Tribe” which is a mellow, acoustic ditty that could get things going at your next peyote ceremony. “So Many People in the Neighborhood” sounds like a freaked-out send-up to the Sesame Street classic “People in the Neighborhood.” “Tried and True” is a pretty little tune sung with a beautiful, mush-mouth delivery. I happened to catch Ween performing “Happy Colored Marbles” on (I’m embarrassed to say) Last Call with Carson Daly, and it sounded crazy there, but it’s even crazier on the album. (Probably the suckiness of Mr. Daly’s show brought the band down a bit that night.)
In the mood for a 1920s gay-country-musical number? Well then “Hey There Fancy Pants” has got what you’ve been looking for. “Captain” is a lazy song that could be background music from a Pink Floyd track with Gener echoing over and over, “Captain, turn around and take me home.” “Chocolate Town” is reminiscent of Ween’s 12 Golden Country Greats, complete with a snappy “the train is a comin’” drum beat. “I Don’t Want It” is a pretty little tune with a kick-ass sounding guitar ending. Straightforward stuff.
“The F**ked Jam” describes it nicely – picture what the enemies in Space Invaders would say if they talked. “Alcan Road” is a very slow, sparse song with vocals that sound like they’re being recited from a Monk. Creepy! Then things round the corner with “The Argus,” which is a bizarre mix of Squeeze and foretelling of a new deity that might be giving Boognish a run for his money. Then again, maybe the Argus is just Ween’s camera brand of choice or their favorite Wishbone Ash album. Quebec ends with “If You Could Save Yourself (You’d Save Us All),” which is a swooning, passionate ode to big business sung from the point of view of a working stiff who gave it his all and still got the shaft.
So what does it all mean? Who the fuck knows when you’re dealing with Ween? What I do know is that Gene and Dean Ween have been busting their balls – and brain cells – for nearly two decades to give us fresh and exciting music, and they’ve delivered the goods every single time.

The Great Depression – The Sargasso Sea EP

Music is all about feelings. Often our subconscious reactions run counter to our civilized know-how. Sometimes our subjective emotions trump our objective reasoning. Some things can’t be described by a formula or a five-word sound byte. I’m awash with the subjective after giving some solid listenings to this three-song CD single by the Madison, Wisconsin-based The Great Depression. This teaser feels like the tip of a vast iceberg of potential, particularly when considering the single itself, “The Sargasso Sea.”

I have to laugh, because the track stands in stark contrast to the band’s name. “The Sargasso Sea” is a rollicking jaunt of sweeping, dreamy pop propelled by Chadwick Nelson’s joyfully exuberant backbeat. Angelic horns blare into the sun, pitching a glorious melody towards the heavens. Todd Casper’s lazy baritone belies a surprisingly strong voice, while the group as a whole makes all the right musical choices, decisively catching that elusive lightning in a bottle. Repeated listens are par for the course with this masterful song.

I can picture the band members sitting around, enjoying a few adult beverages, and talking about the track listing for this single: “OK, so “The Sargasso Sea” is the single, and it’s really, really poppy, so. we should definitely have a completely inaccessible track to keep our artistic street cred.” Enter “Loraine Called, She Wants You to Work.” As if the title didn’t clue you in, this track features self-indulgent Gregorian-esque monk chants that don’t offer much in the way of enjoyment. “Yeah, people will totally appreciate that track, even if it is a bit. weird,” one of them probably said. Uh, wrong guys. Sure, the thick soup of sound resolves itself in modest increments and certainly fits into the “interesting” category, but it could really only work as a bridge between two giant songs on a proper album.

The other track, “Danger at Make-out Pass,” is an also-ran as well. Layers of synth flow like slow-moving molten magma over boulders of Nelson’s excessively post-rock beat as dancing guitar arpeggios rain down from above. Sounds great, right? Wrong.

Despite the emotional failings of the accessory tracks, there is no denying that musically they’re still good. And coupled with “The Sargasso Sea,” The Great Depression makes a show of these musicians’ skills without throwing them in your face. Go ahead, take me back to 1929. I’m a believer.

From Ashes Rise – Nightmares

Jade Tree, better known for post-punk and emo, has released another good hardcore album hot on the heels of the new Paint it Black and Strike Anywhere records. When I say hardcore I mean it; no emo-metal crap on this record.
From Ashes Rise is a four-piece from Portland by way of Nashville. Brad Boatright and John Wilkerson share both guitar and vocal duties, while bassist Billy Davis and drummer David Atchison lay the rhythms. Honest vocals coupled with socially aware lyrics, intense guitars, pounding drums, and plodding bass lines has been done before, so FAR don’t break any new ground on Nightmares, but the band plays a tried and true genre quite well.
Opting for a more fluid sound, FAR rarely breaks down into choppy riffs, but rather relies on elegant grooves. More often than not, the guitars are fast and the yelling is brutal, except for a few slower segments that act as an oxygen tank on this wild ride. The lyrics displayed here are definitely hardcore-oriented without sounding over-done and cliche. I found the lyrics “We are the ones who tell the sun to shine, tell the rain to pour, to keep your broken mind on the fray,” on stand-out track “On the Fray,” particularly good.
For better or worse, the production on Nightmares is really clean. Don’t get me wrong, it sounds good, even great, but if it were up to me I would have gone for a more raw sound. Rawer production values really seem to add to the intensity of releases such as this one.
Despite a played-out genre, From Ashes Rise really dishes out some intense hardcore, and these guys are obviously very talented musicians. Nightmares hints at greatness here and there, but usually just stays in the “damn good” realm. I’m really interested to see where these boys have in store for our wanting ears in the future.

Putois – The Thinking Fireplace

The acoustic guitar is a brilliant instrument. It will never cease to be played, and it will never cease to sound wobbly, insecure, and beautiful. To be frank, it is the essential instrument for people who like to be sad. Bob Mason (The man who is Putois) takes this idea and runs on The Thinking Fireplace, making an album that is, above all else, sad.
The instrumentation here isn’t really that complex: it’s 90% acoustic guitar and 10% occasional percussion, keys, and second guitar. The vocals aren’t too crazy either, as Mason’s range is nearly identical to the one John Rzeznik of the Goo Goo Dolls possesses. This makes for a very simple, straightforward album.
But sometimes simple is good. Most of the songs here are slow ballads that churn with emotion, and unless you’re Switchfoot, ballads are best when they’re stripped down to bare minimums. There are occasional louder songs here and there, but the best work here is slow and drifting. A perfect example would be the delicate “River,” which is an honest, pure outpouring of emotion on both the vocal and musical front. If you were listening to it during a sunset (which I am), it creates a pristine moment. “Sometimes I” is another perfect example of sad glory, as the darker, brittle guitar sets off the delicate, simple lyrics coming from Mason’s throat.
It would be totally wrong in the eyes of the music world to call this emo, but this is a lot more emotional than most of the ‘emo’ out there today. Bob Mason and his acoustic guitar can make you mellow and sad. But it’s a happy sort of sad, the one that you can’t really put an explanation to. This album makes you feel good. And isn’t that what music is supposed to do?

The Bellakun – Cantar Para Espantar la Soledad

The Bellakun’s debut album is a large circle. From the lush opening piano to the last fading chord, all these songs virtually run together to create one long song. In fact, if you put the album on ‘repeat’ it will flow perfectly from the end back to the beginning, making an eternal loop of remorseful sound that’s extremely mesmerizing.
It works that way because of the type of music that is being played: lush, dreamy piano-rock soundscapes. The whole album is built around a piano core with the bass, guitar, drums, and vocals added to flesh out the sound. The band applies to the shoegazer school of vocals: they’re just another instrument in the mix. This is especially true on the opener “Gut Geruset, Fur Den Kampf, Gegen Den Westen,” where two vocalists mingle random vocal lines above the serene pounding of the rest of the band.
The most spectacular moment here is “Accumulated Moments,” where a seemingly angelic hum is played throughout the entire song at a constant volume, and the band uses dynamics beautifully to incorporate it into the song. Another brilliant moment is the haunting “Challenger (I’m Sinking),” which boasts the best piano line Coldplay never wrote and the most beautiful vocal performance present here.
You can’t really understand the Bellakun’s lyrics, but these mournful dirges aren’t really meant to be sung along with. This is moody, melancholic music, but if you’re in that mood, it’s perfect.

Depressive Art – When Spirits Surround

If there is one thing I can say about Depressive Art, it’s that the band has potential. As this Swedish band professes, “Almost a year has now passed since the five gringos of Depressive Art started their time travel to the late 60s and the sonoric landscapes of psychedelia.” Okay I admit I had to look up sonoric and I think they mean sonorous. Sonorous: Having or producing a full, deep, or rich sound. That looks right, right?
Well if in fact sonorous is what was meant, it is certainly true. When Spirits Surround, the band’s new three-song demo is a simple yet thorough late 60s psychedelic-influenced work. For the most part, the songs move without going too far, leaving a feeling that this isn’t a forced demo trying to be something it’s not. What it is, is a work in progress.
The first track, “Solar System,” encompasses all of the great things about psychedelia: handclaps, organ, a dream-inducing guitar solo, lyrics about “drifting through the system,” and, last but not least and to my enjoyment, an opening riff resembling The Beatles, “Things We Said Today,” (a much overlooked Fab song). My only qualm with this song lies in the misappropriate vocals. Klas Bohlin has an incredibly unique voice that is put to so much better use on the next two tracks. Bohlin seems to be trying something out on this one and reaching a tad too far. If Kermit the Frog and The Coral’s James Skelly were to sing a duet and then play it back at a really slow speed, that would be the vocals on “Solar System.” But, as I’ve said, this album is a work in progress. In fact, Bohlin’s vocals on the next two songs prove just that.
“My Own Little Hell” and “Breastfed Lies” depart a bit from the upbeat shaking of “Solar System” and move into a darker and more emotional slowdown. Bohlin brings down his vocals a bit, which is just enough to fit the dreary and lo-key mood, and in doing so goes from being the band’s detriment to the important and connecting lead singer. The guitar, bass, and drums are all kept at a steady pace, never trying to outdo one another and always remaining in a harmony that allows the lyrics to be the fitting piece. It all works together so well and so simply on these next two tracks, which may also be accredited to the lack of heavy production. You can tell that these guys could just play together in their sleep.
My only request, from a production standpoint, is that the end of “My Own Little Hell” would fade into “Breastfed Lies,” as the two songs really have the same feel. Not usually a fan of the long drawn-out epics, there are times when it works. These songs are so low-maintenance that a little fade in between the last two songs would really knock you over the edge with a modest kind of power. Nonetheless, “Breastfed Lies” is a beautiful song, not only in the moaning cries of Bohlin but in the addition of Henrik Malmberg’s cello, which adds a little “Knights in White Satin” touch without that in your face false “poeticism” of The Moody Blues.
It is refreshing to see demos that really are trying and pushing to achieve a winning formula. When Spirits Surround wasn’t a work slopped together in two hours. It was hours and hours of creative experimentation, writing, playing, and dreaming. Though it has its pitfalls, the mistakes are more proof of a band willing to take chances and ultimately trying to make emotional and enjoyable music. Finally there’s a Swedish band not trying to play fast American garage-pop. Finally there’s a Swedish band not riding on the coat-tails of The Hives. Depressive Art is the real thing, and this band is by no means Howlin’ Pelle sings Nuggets.

Matt Marka – Good-bye Gracious

Someone once said, “The mediocre borrow; the great ones steal.” I don’t know if Matt Marka qualifies as a Great One, but he certainly has the stealing part down on “Skin Skeleton,” the song that kicks off his second solo release, Good-bye Gracious. Marka wails his pained lyric over loose, clanging percussion in a manner conspicuously similar to what can be heard on Elvis Costello’s recent effort, When I Was Cruel. In fact, Marka mimics almost exactly both the syncopated drums and the distorted, back-teeth-shattering wail on certain songs on Cruel, such as “Dissolve” and “15 Petals.” Marka’s treatment of “Skin Skeleton” certainly matches the pain of the words, but the song is so close to Elvis’s that it goes way beyond homage to outright thievery. Oh well, where would pop music be without good thieves?
The rest of the album is a quiet, thoughtful affair. Most of the songs are a tribute to Marka’s recently deceased father and grandfather. Marka delves into questions of life and afterlife with sensitivity and deftness. He articulates his grief in short, penetrating phrases, rather than with the wordiness common to many who fall into the singer-songwriter category. With that said, none of the songs, with their strummed acoustic guitars and subtle instrumentation, is quite as arresting as “Skin Skeleton.”
Musically, Marka shapeshifts, avoiding easy categorization within the alt-country, folk, or rock sounds that he flirts with throughout the record. His plays all the instruments except the drums, and his work is skillful, if a little bland at times. There are some very nice touches, like the quiet Vox organ on “Dance on Your Grave” and “I Come Home to You,” and the judicious use of vocal harmonies (Marka’s own voice, dubbed over) throughout the record. What is most arresting about the album, and strongest, is the immediacy and clarity of the vocals: “Oh son, oh son, I’m so afraid / No sight in my eyes / … / But I believe I will be saved.” The pain on the album is plainspoken, which is always more effective at communicating it than histrionics. The songs on Good-bye Gracious are sad, gentle, and well turned.

Oneida – Secret Wars

Boil my brains, this IS good. Just when 2004 seemed destined to become a fallow uninteresting year for independent-minded sonic mavericks, with another glut of singer/songwriter dullards clamouring to fill the void, along comes Oneida’s seriously fucked-up and seriously stunning sixth album. Although limeys, like your writer, have been slow to stake an interest in the Brooklynites blistering brand of pysche-rock, Secret Wars (the first Oneida LP to get a full European release via Rough Trade) seems like more than a good enough place to start.
Fusing a desperately uncompromising mix of 60s garage-pysche, 70s prog-metal, 80s post-punk and 90s post-rock, Oneida is truly putting the potency back into the concept of bands working with a collective brain, as opposed to being a vehicle for an overbearing songwriter. The eight mind-exploding nuggets gathered here simply couldn’t have arrived from the pen of just one musical mind. Secret Wars is the product of three men who couldn’t give a flying rhino about commercialism or fashion, breaking down sound barriers in a way that makes genre boundaries feel redundant. This is a trio that has rediscovered the long lost joy of merging melody with utter mind-scrambling mayhem and the power to be harnessed from locking three streams of thought into one dambusting tidal-wave of sound.
Focusing in on individual songs is a somewhat reductive process, especially given the way that Secret Wars rolls along like a flaming juggernaut stuck in fifth gear, but we’ll try anyway. The opening “Treasure Plane” does a brilliant job of cranking the album into action, with its dissolute mix of Yo La Tengo-ish organ fuzz, Dinosaur Jr-like guitar-mangling and clattering cymbals, but it’s the double-whammy of “Caesar’s Column” and “Capt. Bo Dignifies the Allegations with a Response” that gives Secret Wars such imposing presence in its first half. The two tracks twine together a corrosive clash of Clinic-flavoured vocal jabbering with the hypnotic hypertension of Suicide and early-Gallon Drunk, leaving the listener punch-drunk and in need of very long lie-down. “Wild Horses” may offer a respite from tempo-busting keyboard playing, but the woozy Sonic Youth string bending is hardly relaxing in its place. “$50 Tea” soon returns us to the grinding bass/drums/organ triangle, this time imagining how Stereolab’s “French Disko” would sound after being remixed by Atari Teenage Riot. “The Last Act, Every Time” brings in the only momentary lapse in amplification, sounding like Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci on an especially heavy acid trip. However, anyone expecting that Oneida might close this album with a soft tender stroke instead of a long hard vicious thump, will be “reassured’ with the violence and brutality of “The Winter Shaker” (essentially Black Sabbath vs. Big Black) and the closing cacophony of “Changes in the City” (more or less Mercury Rev’s epic “Very Sleepy Rivers” as redone by Girls Against Boys).
Baffled, confused and disorientated just reading about it all? Wait until you actually hear Secret Wars - it will rewire your brain, and then some. Sublime.

Various Artists – Miami Sound: Rare Funk & Soul from Miami, Florida 1967-1974

In 1999, a friend of mine urged me to listen to an unlabeled CD-R he had, claiming it would change my life. For the next 50 minutes, I sat enraptured, listening, smiling, even laughing at points, as DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist regaled me with their collagist masterpiece, Brain Freeze. The disc is a two-track, live DJ set of rare soul and funk 45s from an erstwhile era of call and response, block parties, and boogie-down beats in hip-huggin’ pants. After listening to it for a number of weeks, I undertook a mission…from God, or Berry Gordy, whichever. I would find all of those rare tracks, compile them onto mix CDs, and be the envy of all my friends. Keep in mind, this was 1999, the bygone era of AudioGalaxy, Napster, Morpheus, and the like. This was a golden age of free music downloading without fear of crucifixion. When a young man such as myself could waste away the hours of his precious life scouring the Internet for rare funk and soul 45s, and not only feel satisfied, but taste the sweet nectar of vindication, by God!
Imagine my surprise when one of those tracks, Gwen McCrae’s “90% of Me is You,” made it onto the latest compilation from those sterling Brits at Soul Jazz Records. I was immediately taken back to those fevered, halcyon days of Brain Freeze, funky DJs, passionate threesomes, and booty-shaking romps until 4 am, proving to me that those record bin bandits from across the pond had compiled something truly wonderful.
From 1967 to 1974, Miami and T.K. Records’ owner Henry Stone experienced an Age of Percales in regards to the production and release of quality, pre-disco funk and soul. Artists such as Helene Smith (“the first lady of Miami Soul”), Gwen and George McCrae, James Knight, and Little Beaver paid their dues in an effort to put Miami on the map next to other musical focal points such as Detroit, Philadelphia, and Memphis. Despite the relative obscurity of many of these artists, Miami Sound proves that their efforts did not go unheeded. Benefiting from Stone’s business savvy and the combined songwriting talents of Richard Finch and Harry Casey (later KC of the sequined Sunshine Band), the Miami scene blossomed, although remaining mainly insular, which would explain these song’s relative obscurity in comparison to the impressive cannon of Motown and Stax.
Helene Smith’s sultry vocals propel the funky riffs of “You Got to be a Man,” while James Knight and the Butler’s “Funky Cat” would make even a paraplegic get up on the good foot. The proto-disco groove of George McCrae’s “I Get Lifted” makes it easier to believe how the singer went on to record arguably the first crossover disco track, “Rock Your Baby” (not included on this comp). Arkansas-native Willie “Little Beaver” Hale employs blues-style guitars and Jackson 5-esque funk strumming in “Funkadelic Sound,” and Joey Gilmore’s “Do it to Me One More Time” is pure, breezy, effortlessly groovy Motown. The scratchy production of Helene Smith’s “A Woman Will Do Wrong” does nothing to undermine the singer’s vocal prowess. And the compilation almost takes a turn for the jungle/drum n’ bass with Timmy Thomas’ “Funky Me.” Spare horns, keyboards and a thin, snapping beat foresee a future of post-punk and industrial techno. Also, it’s interesting to note that the track was a B-side to Thomas’ wildly popular “Why Can’t We Live Together,” making it one of the comp’s more welcomed inclusions.
If I hadn’t felt the touch of God five years ago, I might have waited for this compilation’s release rather than wasted my precious time cyber-crate-digging for those elusive tracks. After listening to the expertly assembled Miami Sound, I realize it’s better to wait for Soul Jazz’s kaleidoscopic compilations to do all the work for me. Then maybe I can spend more time in the sun.

Girlboy Girl – Forget the Ladder, Climb the Wall

You know what they say about first impressions. Well, I’ll admit my first impressions of Girlboy Girl weren’t all that good. Not being a huge fan of off/on/off key singing, imprecise drumming, and generally slack jangle, my initial reaction went something like this: “Sing on key! Sack the drummer! Aaaargh!” and so on. And while I stick to my contention that the indie proclivity for wavering, bleary-eyed vocals ultimately detracts from the overall impact of the music, I also suspected there was a deeper appeal to Girlboy Girl, and repeated listenings confirmed it.
To be fair, each member of GbG’s male and female vocal tag-team suffers from this malady to different degrees. Rupert Taylor has the more distinctive and emotive voice, while Paula Knight’s is a diffident, mousy instrument that sounds like she’s singing from behind a book. Although this initially obscured the fact that the songs are pretty decent, by the third or fourth go “round I began to see past the shortcomings. Clearly these guys would be right at home among the more tame bands on the influential C-86 comp put out by the New Music Express back in the days of yore. The roughly strummed guitars and the pure pop melodies are there, though even among kindred souls I’m afraid Girlboy Girl might sound a bit wan.
Still, there’s nothing wrong with a song like “Don’t Shout” or “Trying,” the latter sounding like a poorly rehearsed Bats motoring along on happy energy and a snappy little guitar melody. It also features a standout lyric nicely detailing a significant other who just doesn’t know when to shut up. Again though, I’d rather hear the Bats sing it.
Really there isn’t a shortage of good songs on this disc. “Ignition” is a plaintive number that I found quite haunting as the two addled vocalists chase each other wondering whether “reading and bathing may stop this craving.” Reading and bathing? Who takes baths? Similarly, “Enjoy Yourself” is a wistful shut-ins lament with a mournful violin that put me in the mood of the Go-Betweens. Like that band, the mature and sadly wise lyrics add to the appeal of the song and Girlboy Girl helpfully provide them in full on their website.
To half-heartedly misquote Yogi Berra, if this is the sorta thing you like, you’ll like this sorta thing. Girlboy Girl certainly can write a song that has both a winning hook and a lyrical gravitas that’s neither too self-pitying nor too arty. That says quite a bit about their skill. I don’t think it would kill them to polish the vocals a bit, nor does it have to sully their obvious respect for the DIY ethic to snare a capable drummer from whomever in Bristol may actually still play the things. But if you insist on doing it your way Girlboy, then go right ahead.

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