Speed to Roam – Later Days

If you’re into non-poppy music that at times sounds kind of like Morphine, sometimes like a punked out Lowenstein-pinned Sebadoh, at others an early Butthole Surfers, maybe a spattering of some very early Sonic Youth minus the drumstick in the guitar, and all the while with lyrics recited more than sung in a Southern-fried version of Cypress Hill’s nasally whiner B Reel, then get your mouse a clickin’ to the Speed to Roam website and order Later Days, because they only pressed 500 and they’ve gotta be movin’ faster than a waxed snake on a marble floor.
Still need some more convincing? Then here’s a little history lesson. Speed to Roam hails from Shelbyville, Kentucky, which is about 40 miles East of Lexington, as the crow flies. The King Pin of this farm team is Paul Oldham, who served in the musical outfits Palace and Royal Trux. He’s also the proprietor of the popular recording homestead called Rove Studios. You might have heard of Paul’s older brother and indie-rock legend, Will Oldham. He’s headed up various Palace incarnations and most recently, Bonnie Prince Billy. Another older brother, Ned, fronts the Baltimore-located Anomanon.
Paul’s other musical cohorts in Speed to Roam are Dave Bird (Out) on guitars, Jason Hayden (Endpoint, Crain, The Web) on more guitars and vocals, and Peter Townsend (The Quiz, Palace) on drums and vocals. Frontman George Wethington seems to be the only one without a musical past, because when their bio says he’s from “Lebanon Junction,” they mean the town of Lebanon Junction. (He also may, or may not, be the same George Wethington who donated a box of heavy duty garbage bags to Camp Crescendo last September, according to my Googling.)
Instrumentation wise, Later Days‘ sound is simple and relatively unadulterated, similar to the likes of Jon Spencer Blues Explosion or the White Stripes. It’s as if the whole band got into a nice-sounding room, plugged in, and let it fly. However, the songs themselves are quite a different mater. There’s quite a medley of musical directions, yet everything fits together nicer than biscuits and gravy. The first track, “TV Queen,” is pretty straightforward, if you call Wethington’s manic crooning straightforward. And there’s a nice female vocal touch courtesy of Ms. Rebecca Brenzel. The second song “Return” carries a little country-fried, Beat Happening-sounding riff. Then comes the slow dirge of “Easy,” followed by “Shoot the Three” that treats the ear to a Morphine-like bass line.
“Later Days” starts off as another slow one, accented with some random saxophoning. At this point you start to think you have this instrumental, and maybe even Later Days, pretty much figured out. Not so fast, City Slicker (or Hay Seed). Then it breaks into a lone guitar ripping through bar chords like about a zillion hardcore tunes that have graced our world, but instead of blowing up the shit-house, it slips back into the dirge for a while longer. Again the bar chords come in, and this time they know what Pa likes. The whole band dives into the crazy free-for-all swimmin’ hole, saxophone and all. At this point you start to realize that something is up with these good “ol boys from the Derby state.
“Waspinator” breaks loose with a Sabbath-y riff that’s full of Southern comfort. It then morphs into a Sebadoh-ish free for all. An eerie guitar and bass thing accompanied by the sounds of rolling waves and recitings of some H.G. Wells makes up Time Machine. “Storm” is a little number that’s slightly repetitive, but just the perfect length. Neil Young’s “Cinnamon Girl” vibe inspires “Kingslayer,” but Wethington puts it into a whole new perspective. “The Crow Bonzos” is another return to Black Sabbath and makes a few detours towards the end. The final track, “Sub Rosa,” completes the Morphine sound by combining the distorted bass with some more saxophoning.
Later Days is not for everyone. However, this might be my Ozark Mountain blood a talkin’, but I reckon if you’ve made it this far in the review, Later Days is gonna make you happier than a hog in slop.

Frank Jordan – Milk the Thrills

I threw on Frank Jordan’s sophomore release, Milk the Thrills, and, boys and girls, I don’t know which hit the ground first, my left cheek or my right! What’s amazingly obvious is that the singer (this is a band, mind you, not a person named Frank) can really sing. I’m not talking urban yodeling, à la American Idol, but like (it sounds a bit strange to say) – Sting. Not the pseudo-sensitive, pithy, “my Mom digs him,” Sting, but the fronting the Police, Ghost in the Machine-era, breaking some new ground, Sting. I must add though, this comparison just covers his tonal qualities and the way he delivers, because it goes way beyond that.
Vocalist Mike Visser’s lyrics are very stream of conscious, and his phrasings are very unexpected. When you listen to the CD and read along with the lyrics, you wonder how he’s going to sing to fit all those words in, or even make it sound decent. Try to wrap your lips around a line like this from “Looked Around”: “We tell them hell and show them how to be right creating climate from points of view, opinions and push off’s and all the while we are looking away to busy pointing a finger making sure that our backs don’t get talked behind.” Whew! Does that guy ever breath.
When you start to soak in all of Milk the Thrills, you realize that you’re in the presence of not just a commanding singer, but a really rock solid band. As well as delivering the goods in the vocal department, Visser’s guitarmanship is note worthy. He’s not the monster solo type, but more of a layered, filling in all the cracks type. The rhythm section, Devin Hurley on drums and Matt Ontjes on bass, are super tight and help guide Mr. Visser to where ever he wants to be. All combined they are quite a formidable group.
Maybe to compare Frank Jordan to a modern day Police isn’t quite on the money. Their music is much deeper, and the production on Milk the Thrills is superb. With all the musical layers and little twist and turns, you can hear that they took full advantage of the studio experience. Perhaps a more apt parallel is of another excellent trio, Pinback. On “Circles,” you can hear similarities in touches like the “Ahhhs” and background shouts toward the end. Also, “Looked Around” has that nicely moving, mellow pop vibe that’s reminiscent of Pinback.
After a full listen through, you can really hear that Frank Jordan is working on something. There are hints of experimentation all throughout Milk the Thrills. You can hear why the band has been compared to the likes of Fugazi and Radiohead. For example, “To Never Have Without” starts out with a hypnotic Ride-like bass line, and everyone follows along with soaring vocals out front. Towards the end, they get into a lengthy, super-reverbed meandering guitar solo. They then switch over to some kind of full-band, slightly crazed groove for awhile longer, and out of nowhere the song makes an abrupt switch to a melodica and mandolin duet that fades out the song.
Similarly “Headaches” starts out with a laid-back acoustic guitar riff with a slow ska-ish groove. (Kind of Police-y.) Then, towards the end, this chainsaw like guitar drops in, everything fades out, long pause, they come back in with the same music, but abruptly it switches to a completely different instrumental until the end. The last song, “Z,” has to many crazy switches to even keep track of, and all the while Mike keeps delivering vocal acrobatics that will give the hairs of your cochlea a workout.
All of this is not say you need a Ph.D. in music to appreciate Milk the Thrills. The opening cut, “Could’ve Been,” drives with the same catchy groove nearly the whole song, once again with Visser’s vox leading the charge. “Fumble” is a nice, off-kilter Beatles-esque pop tune about feeling awkward around that special someone, yet there’s still no better place you would rather be. Then there’s “Funnyhead,” the CDs lightweight in clock time, coming in at under two and half minutes. This straight-up power pop cut could get any Lollapaloozaian pogoing into cardiac arrest.
The only disappointment about Milk the Thrills is now we have to wait some extended period of time to see what Frank Jordan’s going to do for their third album. Let’s hope that they keep going down the path of crafting innovative music like a Radiohead, versus one day hearing a modern-rock, Visser solo hit as the music bed for a feminine hygiene ad. Then again, that would probably make your Mom happy.

Snapcase – Bright Flashes

Snapcase was mixing the sounds of Fugazi and Black Flag long before today’s “post-hardcore” bonanza, and with the recent explosion of post-hardcore and emo-core into the mainstream media via Thursday among others, I wonder why Snapcase hasn’t garnered more big media attention through the years. Perhaps it’s because as the genre developed, adding melodies and lyrics about heartbreak, Snapcase stayed true to its hardcore roots. Snapcase stuck with heavier arrangements and massive tempo shifts, as opposed to melodic structures; Daryl Taberski never abandoned his signature wail for clean vocals; the lyrics maintained personal and political ideas rather than the band members’ latest crushes. For this, I respect Snapcase, but I can’t seem to get into the band. Bright Flashes certainly isn’t doing it for me either.
Bright Flashes sees Snapcase collecting odds and ends and thrusting it into record stores with reckless abandonment. I say this because all the typical boring bullshit you would expect from a collection like this is in place, including remorseful remixes and convoluted covers. Although Snapcase chose some fairly interesting bands to cover (Helmet, Devo, Jane’s Addiction), these covers still fall terribly short. Vocalist Daryl Taberski does a particularly horrible rendition of Devo’s “Freedom of Choice.” The remixes presented here are terrible. Under no circumstances should Snapcase’s sound be coupled with electronic beats.
I often wonder what it is that makes bands release shitty collections like this. I’ve mulled over it several times, and my logic tells me their reasoning falls into one of three categories: contractual obligations, money, or pure laziness. Regardless of their motives, this release does little to impress me.
If you are a longtime diehard fan of Snapcase, I’m sure you will love this, and chances are you already own it. For you passive Snapcase listeners, buy 1995’s Lookinglasself instead. And for those of you who dislike Snapcase, I’m sure you stopped reading this a while ago.

Malachai – These Sounds of the Spirit World

I’ve really been dreading doing this review for the simple fact that Malachai is, in all likelihood, the most schizophrenic band I’ve ever laid my ears upon. Musical schizophrenia can be a beautiful thing if all elements are mixed in proper proportions. However, Malachai prefers to keep its multiple personalities separate from each other, rarely rearing their ugly heads at the same time.
On the spine of the jewel case in small lettering it reads “4xB 001″ indicating that this is the first release from this record label; and it really shows. These Sounds of the Spirit World reeks of unprofessionalism. The back of the jewel case has the title of track five listed as “The Dumbest Girl in Town,” whereas the sleeve refers to the track as “Can’t Find Waldo.” In addition to this, there are several typographical errors throughout the insert. This isn’t a review of the artwork though, so I’ll move on to the album.
Where do I start? This record plays more like a mix tape than a single cohesive album. Pop rock, glitch pop, hip-hop, straight-up barroom rock, among other genres all make appearances on These Sounds of the Spirit World, but rarely at the same time, if ever. Perhaps the strangest characteristic of this record is that a good portion of the randomness represented is done fairly well. Each song has a memorable hook or melody that makes the album listenable.
Ignoring its awful lyrics, “O’Amy” is a very well-crafted pop-rock song reminiscent of the more accessible Pixies songs, complete with falsetto backing vocals and bouncy bass line. “Draw These Legz” finds Malachai dropping the stringed and percussive instruments and picking up the synthesizer. “Love a Man” has a rock/hip-hop feel similar to some of Beck’s earlier material; minus the witty lyrics.
I’m really not sure what Malachai hoped to achieve with These Sounds of the Spirit World. Perhaps they wanted a reaction like “Wow, these guys are really versatile,” but more often than not it made me say “What the hell?”

The Darkness – Permission to Land

Please excuse my excessive use of the word “rock” in this review, but there’s really no other way to describe The Darkness.
Remember when “rock” bands used to be proficient at their instruments, wrote well-crafted songs, and actually had confidence? Frontman for The Darkness, Justin Hawkins, turns back time, exuding enough confidence for the whole band by using banshee-like vocal levels and shredding up his guitar, all while wearing Freddie Mercury-esque open-chest suits. While bands that strictly stick to power chords and lyrics about getting dumped are still enjoyable at times, it wouldn’t hurt my ears to hear a guitar “lick” or “riff” every once in a while.
When I listen to this British band’s debut album, Permission to Land, it feels like I stepped into a time machine and went back anywhere between 15 and 25 years. The first time I saw the video for “I Believe in a Thing Called Love,” I thought that this band was a joke. But I was quick to realize that this band can truly rock.
It seems like The Darkness meticulously studied all the clichés from rock ‘n roll history and rolled it up into one big super-cliché, but in the process the band makes rock fun again. The single “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” pulls it all together by incorporating a powerful rock-you-like-a-hurricane intro, falsetto vocals, a drum and vocal breakdown, and multiple guitar solos, including an outro guitar solo that Jack Black would dub a “face-melter.” If this isn’t the classic recipe for a hit single, I don’t know what is.
The rest of the album won’t disappoint either. For 38 minutes and 10 tracks, Permission to Land has its share of hard hitters (“Love on the Rocks with No Ice,” “Get Your Hands Off of My Woman”), pure rock songs (“Growing on Me,” “Love is Only a Feeling”), and even throws in a ballad (“Holding My Own”) for good measure. So put your qualms aside about being made fun of for liking The Darkness and break out your air guitar and air drums, because it’s time to have some fun rocking out.

Benway – Long Drive to Rhome

Benway is a three-piece from Fort Worth, Texas. The titular “Rhome” is a small town situated 27 miles north of Fort Worth, Texas. One of Benway’s songs is entitled “Long Drive to Rhome.” Now, I’m no Colombo, but I feel there may be some connection between these three facts. Maybe…but then again, maybe not.

Let’s consider the evidence. Exhibit A: distance traveled. Who apart from agoraphobics and those over the age of 85 think that 27 miles is a long drive? A long walk, maybe. A significant stroll. But a long drive…non. Exhibit B: there are approximately 551 people in Rhome. How many people turn out to see the average indie band in your neck of the woods? On a good night in a decent sized burg (say pop. 1 million), you might get about 300 people (I’m being generous) crammed into a piss-yellowed pit drinking flat ferment. A quick calculation tells us that 300 out of 1 is 0.0003%. That means that, in Rhome, you’d get 0.0003% of 551 people at your gig. This is a number less than one, though more than zero. What would it be like to play in that town? What would a riot at the gig look like? Here’s a quick Zen paradox: what is the sound of less than one hand clapping? You could say ‘just go to Rhome and listen to Benway play, mate.’ End of paradox. Lots of Zen monks pissed off.

Did any of that make sense? No? Well, what I’m really trying to say is that I’d rather spend my time thinking about the title of Benway’s track, than ever have to listen to it again. It’s well played and recorded, but is about as original as an action movie featuring two mismatched protagonists who learn to overcome their differences and become friends.

Jenesis – O Passageiro da Madrugada

Fluffing hell! It’s the Brazilian Stone Roses! No, surely it’s Beck, having a holiday in Rio de Janeiro? Hang on, hang on, I know a borrowed Stones riff when I hear it – its those Scottish reprobates Primal Scream, trying to get a tan? Right? Right?!?

Wrong. It’s Jenesis, Rio de Janeiro’s favorite sons, comin’ atcha from a time and a place where using the drum loop from James Brown’s “Funky Drummer” never went out of fashion. Add a large dollop of ‘tude straight from the Exile on Main Street-era Rolling Stones, garnish with assorted yelping and basso profundo spoken word, and serve to a bewildered Scotsman. Strap yourselves in and pass the butter, captain.

Actually, I rather liked it. Especially the bit where the lead singer/speaker goes “yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa” while the rest of the band/loops/computers/samplers/no idea sound as though they’re about to explode. It’s a bit disposable, the kind of song that reveals its shallowness after a few plays, but like the Constitution, it’s nice while it lasts. This is the kind of song that sounds good after a few beers and even better after a few more: it does well to peak one’s interest in Jenesis. Certainly a song worth checking out, maybe even a song worth sticking on your Friday night mixtape.

Funeral Diner – Difference of Potential

Difference of Potential is Funeral Diner’s first full-length after a number of split 7″s with notable hardcore bands such as The Shivering and Dead City. While it is important to note that there is an ex-member of the almighty Portraits of Past in this band as well as members of Yaphet Kotto, Funeral Diner’s members easily stand on their own. They play a mixture of mid-tempo, mid- to early-90s style hardcore in the vein of bands such as Rites of Spring, Indian Summer, and Shotmaker.
“Syncope” starts with a cleanly strummed guitar before building into a frenzy of high pitched screams and wall of sound distortion. “Direct Hit” comes smashing down on you as if your face were being gnarled by a lawnmower. The intensity of this record is almost unbelievable as these musicians flail away through songs like “There Are No Todays Today, So There Will Be No Yesterdays Tomorrow,” “Chalk Angels,” and “Fire…Death.” One can only imagine how this band comes across live. Screaming, sweating, bottles breaking, keys jangling, and light bulbs in a damp basement fizzling out are all images that come to mind when listening to Funeral Diner.
One of the most rewarding aspects of Funeral Diner’s sound is that it is well produced but not overly done. The guitars sound full without getting blown out, and the vocals aren’t overbearing in the mix. The drums sound like a tightly oiled machine as they pound out the rhythm for every heartbreaking moment. There is even a song in which the guitars cut out for a few notes, and the bass does an interesting break before they come crashing back, seemingly louder than before, if that is at all possible. Essentially, this is the kind of music that could be the soundtrack to a nervous breakdown.

Blonde Redhead – Misery is a Butterfly

Forget everything you thought you knew about Blonde Redhead. The Sonic Youth comparisons are tired and haven’t been apt since before Melody of Certain Damaged Lemons, which came out four years ago. It seemed that Blonde Redhead was on its way down a completely new path when disaster struck. The band had already been on hiatus when singer/guitarist Kazu Makino was in a bizarre accident. She fell off of a horse and it trampled her face, crushing most of the bones in one side of it. This made it nearly impossible for her to sing. It took months of training and reconstructive surgery before she was able to sing again. Most bands would have given up at this point, but not Blonde Redhead. They persevered to make what is arguably the best album in their career.
During the hiatus there was a label switch from Touch and Go to 4AD, and after listening to Misery is a Butterfly, it is easy to see that this is where the band belongs. Its songs have a lush, orchestral quality not heard on any of the previous recordings. Instrumentally, the album sounds very Cocteau Twins-influenced. The vocals are up front in the mix, and Kazu’s voice sounds more beautiful than ever. Keyboards and a string section make up a good portion of the music. The guitars sound similar to End Hits- or Argument-era Fugazi when they can be heard at all. The sparseness of the guitars provides the perfect bed for the strings and vocals. There is also a very melancholy element to the songs that reminds me of The Cure’s Disintegration.
The album begins with the lyric “Angel I can see myself in your eyes.” This song is called “Elephant Woman,” and one can imagine that Kazu may have written this song about herself after the accident. It also contains the lyrics “Angel won’t you feel for me from your heart” and “lay me down on the ground, softly, softly, don’t remove my head, hurts too much.” It seems to portray a sense of personal tragedy that comes from seeing oneself disfigured after such an incident. There is a recurring theme of being broken throughout the album on other songs such as “Anticipation” which includes the line “you’re broken, like me, like me before.” The title song and “Pink Love” portray the mindset of someone whose world is crumbling beneath them. This is apparent in the lines “I won’t bind my strings to you but build my world beside you,” “with a knife I want to bleed out distress,” and “remember when we found misery, we watched her spread her wings.” The song “Equus,” which means “horse” in Latin, seems to be about dealing with the accident and moving on with life.
Not every song on Misery is a Butterfly reflects the thoughts of Kazu though; several of the songs were written by members and brothers Simone and Amadeo Pace. “Messenger,” “Doll is Mine,” and “Falling Man” have nothing to do with horses, disfigurement, or accidents. They do fit well with the other songs because they also portray a sense of longing and desolation.
Misery is a Butterfly is a truly amazing record in many aspects. It astounds me how much Blonde Redhead has progressed from its early works. The band has turned a personal tragedy into a group triumph. Every single part of this record is a juggernaut of awesome beauty. Blonde Redhead has spent four years perfecting a craft and now it has more to show for it than some bands that take even more time between albums. This is certainly a contender for best record of the year.

Ozma – Spending Time on the Borderline

I’ve been listening to Ozma for about three years now, since the band’s first full-length album with Kung-Fu Records, Rock and Roll Part Three. And in the two following albums, these musicians have managed to successfully mature as a band, from Weezer clone to purveyors of unique and wonderful indie pop-rock. Spending Time on the Borderline is a great album full of upbeat, catchy, and melodic tracks.
Throughout this release, the one thing which impressed me the most was Star Wick’s keyboard, which is best showcased on the soaring last track, “Light Years Will Burn.” The keyboard provides a great melodic base for the howling guitar and gives the songs that distinct pop sound that makes Ozma, well, Ozma.
One of the best things about this album, and the thing that impressed me the most, was the versatility that Ozma shows in switching from one style of song to another. Track two, “Your Name,” is slow and melancholy, very laid back, and ending in the sound of a bus stopping and birds chirping, but on track four, the band busts right out with an almost keyboard-less, Weezer-like “Bad Dogs.” Even “Bad Dogs,” which sounds the most like Weezer and the band’s older stuff, showcases another strength of the album: the lyrics.
None of the lyrics on this album are especially profound; this whole CD is very light, but that doesn’t stop the songs from being very well written. Track 10, “Eponine,” alludes to classic literature to describe a love gone bad. Even though most of the songs on the album are all about love – love lost, love found, and almost everything to do with it – each song describes it in a totally different way, be it with the allusions of Eponine, or with the somewhat off-beat “Bad Dogs,” with the lines “all bad dogs go to doggy hell / all bad cats go to kitty hell.”
Ozma has matured over the course of their last three albums, and the music is much better off for it. Spending Time on the Borderline is a fantastic album, full of all things that Ozma apparently does best. Stellar keyboards give each track that pop feel, and the accompanying guitars help to make this entire album not just melodic, but at times forcefully so. Lyrics full of allusions to classic literature, strange metaphors, and even sappy love clichés help to round out this album. With Borderline, Ozma has shown that it can – and will – continue to produce fantastic pop rock.

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