Young People – Washington – The Black Cat, DC – 2004-04-16

Explain to me why every show I go to, no matter where I stand, a triumvirate of annoying, drunk, and unnecessarily brazen hipster girls always seem to set up camp a mere three inches from my person. Don’t get me wrong, I like tight-T-shirted/white-skirted/messy-haired/sleepy-eyed hipster girls as much as the next red-blooded American (or Asian American). But when they do that “let’s rub each other and hug and fall all over the place like we’re on ecstasy even though we’re not but it’ll give guys boners so who cares” routine, I find it as erotic as my grandmother waxing the hood of a Camaro in short shorts. And when Liars-frontman Angus Andrew gave them free beers when they shouted and slurred at him for attention, I could only think to myself, “No, you stupid Aussie! You’re only encouraging them!”

Luckily, Angus and Co. are a bunch of super-nice, awesome lads who happen to play loud-as-shit and abrasive post-punk, so I won’t hold it against them. The new record, They Were Wrong So We Drowned, may have polarized the indie subculture with its 180-degree deviation from 2001’s They Threw Us All in a Trench and Stuck a Monument on Top, but it still found many advocates who saw glimmers of retarded genius in abrasive gems like “There’s Always Room on the Broom” and “They Don’t Want Your Corn, They Want Your Kids.” So Saturday’s performance at the Black Cat was less about three obnoxious girls constantly spilling beer on my kicks, and more about the three nice lads on stage performing the sonic equivalent of a lobotomy without anesthesia.

Openers Young People dove into their set of off-key/off-kilter folk with a certain degree of lacklusterness, to no fault of their own considering there were maybe a third of the people there that would eventually see the Liars perform. After a couple of droning, minimalist numbers, I lost interest and retreated to the back corner of the club and drank large quantities of ginger ale in an attempt to stave off an encroaching sickness. (I feel better now, thanks for asking.) After Young People, Get Hustle adequately injected the show with a healthy dose of avant-garde, preparing participants for the impending drone-a-thon of the Liars. Decked out circa-1920s threads (think vests, glittery flapper caps and straw boater hats), Get Hustle was the best percussive/cacophonous, atonal organ/shouting female vocals outfit I’d ever seen this side of the Atlantic. Way better than the Obnoxious Shouting Band in Vintage Clothes Project (who don’t exist, but should). All sarcasm aside, I respected their sound and their approach, but as someone smarter than me once said, “Noise will never trump melody.” Wait, I said that! Damn I’m smart.

Eventually, Liars took the stage for what was to be a memorable show, if not annoyingly short and markedly less explosive than past shows (from what I’m told – this was my virgin Liars experience). Aaron Hemphill elicited agonized squeals from his bass in what was his signature style – that is with his back to the audience and his head bent into the on-stage amp. Recent addition Julian Gross was a picture of deranged beauty, with his porn-star mustache, American flag halter top, and one glittering, ladies earring dangling delicately from his ear. He had written “Burn Me” across his chest in marker with arrows pointing to the patriotic halter top.

Music wise, the transition from Gang of Four standard bearers of the new funkcentury to coven-obsessed acid casualties seems to have deadened the Liars a tad, but not nearly enough to make Saturday’s show any less insane. Six-foot-seven (approx.) Angus danced on stage bedecked in a red hunter’s cap, neon-green blazer and a vintage nurse’s uniform, making him out to be a Holden Caufield/the guy from the “Money For Nothing” video/Nurse Ratched amalgamation. On the back of the nurse’s uniform was scrawled “Weapons of Ass Destruction,” which is both clever and topical! The band buzzed through They Were Wrong’s tracks confidently, if not a bit too fast, and completely eschewed anything from They Dug a Trench, which I can understand that a band would want to distance themselves from past successes in an attempt to avoid being pigeon-holed, but those songs rocked and I couldn’t help but to feel a tad disappointed. “There’s Always Room on the Broom” was beat-heavy enough to squeeze a little shake out of the audience, and Andrew’s manic performance definitely kept any potentially wandering eyes trained directly on him.

The Liars’ ability to blend the psych-electronica of Silver Apples with the coarseness of Throbbing Gristle elevated them to a position occupied by few in music today. Also, when the boys from Brooklyn thanked Black Cat-owner Bernie and local DC faves the Apes for their hospitality and friendship, the band’s courteousness drew many smiles and cheers from the crowd, which contrasted nicely with the buzz saw attacks of distorted vocals and abused guitars. That was nice of them. Ultimately, I left that night with a new-found appreciation for earplugs and stun guns (both of which I neglected to bring). Also, I departed into that good night with a curiosity about what these lunatics could possibly be doing next. I say, in the immortal words of our commander-in-chief, “Bring it on, you fucking Liars!”

Deep Insight – Ivory Tower

It’s difficult to fault a band for wearing its heart on its sleeve, but when it’s worn as melodramatically as Finland’s Deep Insight, the criticism just flows like a juiced-up bowel movement. The band’s newest LP, Ivory Tower, is pregnant with howling, angsty, overly poetic lyrics and radio-friendly guitar rock, stale and mind-numbing enough to make this reviewer want to curl up in a corner for a little “alone time.” Lovers of TRL/Top 40 sanitary rock will immediately identify with Deep Insight’s deep insight into music.
Take the title track for instance: standard radio-rock faire with what could have been an interesting, social twist that ends up just pushing all my negative buttons. Socially conscious lyrics like “Let’s build an ivory tower, it would be nice to see / As terror collapses making room for peace” and “You don’t have to see their pain, when you’re miles away” have potential to mean something important, but when they’re delivered in such a laughably emotive style, and when its framed with uninspired guitars and pratically irrelevant rhythm, Deep Insight’s words are drained of all…well, insight, which ultimately makes me want to do what all bands fear their listeners will do: STOP LISTENING.
Other instances of squashed potential include the opening salvos of “Oceans.” A melancholic string section and skittish drum beat predict real musical promise, until the unimaginative guitars slide into the mix and make you forget you were just listening to something halfway decent. On other tracks, it seems like it may just be the band’s poor grasp of the English language that’s the culprit behind their baffling homogeneity. “Stockholm,” a song obviously relevant to Deep Insight with its tale of a friend’s problems with drinking, suffers from by-the-books Pearl Jam balladeering and a smattering of out-right confusing lyrics: “He told him all about sex, drugs and rock’n roll and to mess around with alcohol.” “And to mess around with alcohol”? Is their target audience a bunch of 3-year-olds? Why is everything being spelled out for us? And to describe the unfortunate lush as a “slave to the drunkenmaster” conjures up more images of Jackie Chan reeking havoc than a homeless, despondent wretch crying out for help.
Songs like “Superficial” and “Vessel Embodied” make it easy to imagine potential music videos. Come, my friend, sit back and imagine with me…an abandoned warehouse/empty parking lot/rain-washed underpass is our setting, and the Deep Insight lads come walking onscreen, in slow motion of course. Frontman Jukka Nikunen flicks his shoulder-length dark hair, sending a spray of rain water into the camera for that desired effect (read: foreign sexiness). Johannes Ylinen untangles his guitar from his wallet chain and begins to strum with measured intensity (emphasis on intensity). Eventually, the rhythm section realizes that the key to today’s performance is intensity and they lay into their instruments, their muscles flexing beneath tight black t-shirts. Lips are pouted, eyes are closed in sincere expressions of faith, studded-leather wristbands are prominently displayed. Eventually, a waterfall of fiery sparks cascades over the band from some unseen source (a passing trolley car? traditional Finnish smelting?), bathing them in an orange glow. Their eyes set in determination, their work visas in hand; Deep Insight is ready to make love to you.

From Bubblegum to Sky – Nothing Sadder than Lonely Queen

When I first put on Nothing Sadder than Lonely Queen it was a case of wrong record, wrong time. Actually it was leadoff track “Operation Big Beat” and its McCartney-esque piano froth circa “Your Mother Should Know,” kinda cute but a shave too twee. Not as silly but possessing that same mincing manner that’s borders on novelty. Actually it’s a fine song in its own right, but the mood just wasn’t working for me on that drear night, and the disc went down, down, down to the bowels of the CD stack, beneath alt-country, beneath indie-folk. If I had stuck around for just one more song I might have learned something. Like give a guy a chance maybe, jeez. If I hadn’t been in such a rush to judgment I might have stuck around long enough for “Sign the Air” to disco away the doubt with its reserved breeziness and muted house pulse. A stylist! Much better.
From Bubblegum to Sky is largely Californian Mario Hernandez, a Marine’s son who spent his first decade in Japan, soaking up the native AM sounds before discovering the larger world of Westernized pop. Wherever his musical education left off in Japan, it obviously picked right up in California, the perfect home for his sunny, 70s-influenced songs. McCartney, Rundgren, the Brothers Gibb, and T-Rex all leave their mark, though Hernandez is natural enough a melodicist not to be subsumed beneath his influences. It’s odd that this took so long to grow on me; it’s really designed to be an immediate kick, with rich ballads like “My on Call Nurse” and the limpid “Holland” offset by clap happy sunbeams like “Some Kind of Fantastic.” The lyrics may be darker than the music would lead you to believe, but this isn’t a disc to ruminate over; it’s for singing along to – and clapping. But the basement-fi production threw me at first, and I feared a flimsy affair was ahead. Even after revisiting Lonely Queen, two of its weaker tracks were the one’s I got hung up on as Winamp’s shuffle feature seemed to prefer frontloading the lowlights. After finally getting at the rest of the disc, let me say that Mario Hernandez hits at least four of these songs out of the park. What he doesn’t hammer still gets a pretty good whack.
“Catherine Was My June” is definitely one of the fence-clearers though. With full piano chords recalling pop geniuses Carole King and Todd Rundgren, Hernandez and his DIY enablers build a near perfect little tune. Best of all, after softening you up with the one-two of its chorus/verse, the song delivers the knockout in the modestly anthemic bridge. I like a song confident enough to save its money shot until halfway in. Another winner, “The Gurls & Shoo Be Doo Wop” comes on kinda Style Council with a brisk Motown beat and some synth brass. I don’t remember the Style Council being cool though. I do remember a drum kit emblazoned with the Union Jack, that’s certainly not cool. Whatever, it’s a fun song that makes me feel like I should be racing a bicycle through friendly urban streets. Actually, I may be thinking of a Style Council video. Whatever.
Imperfect production, nasal vocals, an ugly cover, and a dumb band name, all these factors and more conspired to ruin my appreciation of From Bubblegum to Sky, but I got it anyway. In your face! Now that From Bubblegum to Sky has brought a little California to my Pennsylvania, the impending summer won’t lack for a soundtrack.

Katrina and the Waves – The Original Recordings 1983-1984

Anybody remember Katrina and the Waves? They had that ubiquitous feel-good jangly slice of pop-music wonderfulness, “Walking on Sunshine”? Well, guess what? The band had other songs, too. A lot of them. I’m serious. All right, enough sarcasm. The Original Recordings collects all the tracks off the bands’ first two albums (Canada-only releases), adds a live DVD, and then sticks them all together with a handful of previously unreleased live and bonus cuts for a nice retrospective.
For most of us (those who have only heard “Walking on Sunshine”), this compilation is a refreshing introduction to one of the 80′s more unsung acts. Kicking off the funky “Dancing Street,” a nice tune with a classic feel, the compilation speeds through 24 tracks of pop-rock excellence. “Spiderman” is an early highlight, a well-written ode to the web-slinging wall crawler of Marvel Comics fame. “Going Down To Liverpool” is equally catchy, Katrina Leskanich’s falsetto-swooping vocals pointing the way for Dolores O’Riordan’s (of The Cranberries) later work. “Machine Gun’s” propels itself along with straightforward, four-on-the-floor beats and jangly blasts of guitar, sounding not unlike a female-fronted version of The Smiths. “Brown Eyed Son” continues this feel, adding superb harmonies before meshing nicely with the much lower-key “Que ti Quiero,” which adds a slight southwestern flavor through its use of castanets as background percussion and a chorus sung entirely in Spanish.
The previously unreleased tracks showcase a slightly different side of The Waves, as “That’s Just the Woman in Me” shows a slightly more country feel and the “River Deep Mountain High” adds some dirty bluesy riffs at the beginning before morphing into an altogether more new-wave flavored track. “Heartbeat” is more of the typically upbeat, slightly retro pop that the rest of the compilation brings you to expect.
Altogether, this is a nice introduction for someone who’s never heard the band before, although perhaps next time around, one would wish for more bonus tracks.

Harris – New Morning Pulse

Harris is trying to start a trend of naming your band after a last name. Yeah, probably not the best idea but it’s infinitely better than naming your band The Stills, The Pills, The Swills, The Kills, etc. Wouldn’t you agree?
The group doesn’t play garage rock or anything like that, it’s more like power pop that’s bouncy and upbeat, but a little bit more off-kilter than straight forward. Take for instance the opener “Tip of My Tongue” – at first it seems pretty non descript pop song, but there is a bit of bite and dissonance lurking beneath the surface. It’s like a lot of pop with the slightest bit of a DC sound. Each track features a bit of angular guitar work that takes off a bit of the sugary taste of the songs.
A vague comparrison could be made to Q and Not U. However, Harris is more concerned with putting pop at the forefront than the Dischord band. Harris’s meshing of dissonance is a good thing. It makes the group more unpredictable and imaginary than your average pop band. With six songs, the group has found a good balance between pop and bite.
While the formula is a good start, the disc is not without shortcomings. “Burn this Mother Down” is the exception to the band’s pop style. It’s an oddball sleazy, spazzy rock number, and it must be considered a joke. And for a band that claims an affinity for pop and wears this influence proudly on its sleeve, there’s often a lack of hooks and some thin production.
The quirky pop Harris plays will win some hearts in the indie-rock underground because it is fresh enough to command some attention. Though this debut is only six tracks, final judgment might prove premature. The jury is still out on this one. There’s definitely some promise, and there’s definitely some room for improvement.

Daniel G. Harmann – The Lake Effect

I think it’s fall. I think it’s sweater weather, even though its on the cusp of 70 degrees right now. I think its one of those days where I should lock myself in my room and gaze out the window at leaves falling from the trees. I listen to Daniel G. Harmann’s The Lake Effect, and I feel like being sad and rocking myself back and forth. These are all good things, as Harmann’s debut is intensely touching and sincere, and could be the new soundtrack to your sadness. If I chose to lock myself in my room, while on the verge of tears and muttering to myself, The Lake Effect would surely be playing in the background. It’s an album perfectly crafted for those moods. Not that this is bad, because we all have those moments, and the results can be therapeutic.
I’m not quite sure where Daniel G. Harmann came from, but he’s released an album of poignant bedroom rock. It’s thoughtful, sad, touching – but, perhaps most satisfying, it is good. It’s emotional and vulnerable without being over indulgent or whiny. Don’t get the wrong idea, you would be grossly mistaken to call this emo.
Touches of Red House Painter’s and Pedro the Lion enter Harmann’s soundscapes of sorrow, but his orchestrations are certainly fuller than those two. Though his primary weapon is an acoustic guitar, the sound is flushed out with vocal overdubs, strings, reverb, and other assorted atmospherics. This lush vibe and soaring melodies call to mind British shoegazers Ride almost instantly.
Though it’s full of melancholy, if you thought this might be a monotonous and unrelenting assault on your heartstrings you’d also be mistaken. There are some upbeat (though still sullen) numbers that move towards pop. “Broken Will, Bleeding Heart” is the would-be standout radio hit.
This album is good. After listening all the way through, you may feel the sorrow of a solitary autumn day, but you wont have the emptiness that goes along with it. Harrman’s music easily fills that void.

Madvillain – Madvillainy

Following Madlib’s disappointing Jaylib release, the future of Madlib collaborations looked rather dim. Madlib is a prolific artist, to say the least, but he seems to rush his works on before he’s really thought them through. There was only one thing that could offer instant salvation, a quick fix, a 180-degree turn in one album: a hot, brilliant MC. And, in all honesty, there is probably none so hot and brilliant as NYC rapper MF Doom. This album is Doom’s sequel to the last two albums he’s released, King Geedorah and Vaudeville Villain, both incredible discs. So would a struggling producer and an MC in the prime of his career meet somewhere in mediocrity, or would the MC elevate the producer’s game to once-realized heights?
That’s the question a couple thousand hungry hip-hop fans have been asking themselves ever since the collaboration was announced. In the months before Madvilliany‘s release, anticipation was at a fever pitch. With all the talk surrounding the album, Doom and Madlib were going to have to release a flawless album to keep up. So did they? Well, no. Madvillainy is far from perfect. But wait, before you turn your head in disappointment and put away your hard-earned cash, let me announce that it is a fantastic disc.
The pair starts out with the obligatory super-hero-themed intro piece. The topic: villains. Following the intro is “Accordion,” a trippy, accordion-themed dirge of a rap song. Immediately noticeable is Doom’s altered delivery: he’s slowed things up and lost some of his trademark grit and spit to better fit Madlib’s beats. The delivery is inferior to his work as Viktor Vaughn when held in direct comparison, but in the context of Madvillainy itself, it works quite well.
“Meat Grinder” is a perfect microcosm for the rest of the album: a quirky intro occupies the first 20 seconds of the track, then a notably short but fantastic beat kicks in: here, a thick, rolling bass with hand drums. The whole thing lasts only two minutes, but its brevity serves it well; the song continues for just as long as the beat sounds fresh and then promptly retires. It’s frustrating when beats are as good as those on Madvillainy run so short, but if nothing else, it keeps the listener coming back.
Other standouts include “Raid,” a bouncing, piano-led tune about firearms. “Curls” is a silly, melancholy short song featuring guitars, xylophones, and cheesy keys. “Money Folder” is an old-fashioned drum-n-bass romp. “Strange Ways” features a dramatic, apocalyptic doomsday beat and a cynical, pensive Doom. The production is coherent, and nearly every track is a standout. Unfortunately, a few tracks are stuck in between the full songs which don’t really need to be there. For example, “Do Not Fire!” is meandering, uninteresting, and disruptive of the flow of the album. “Bistro” is just an excuse to introduce the cast of the album with no real musical offering.
Of course, one of the draws of anything Doom touches is his lyrical skill. Thankfully, the album includes a lyric sheet, because anything the Villain says on this disc is worth reading. Trademark Doom puns like “What a call / what a real butterball / either I throw a strike / or strike out / gutter ball” make appearances throughout, but he also makes some incredibly clever indirect social commentary while punning. See: “Don’t mind me / I wrote this rhyme lightly / off of two or three Heinies / and boy was they fine, G / one black, one Spanish, one Chinee” or “Spit so many verses, sometimes my jaw twitches / one thing this party could use is more… / ahem, booze.” Here, Doom plays with our assumptions about hip-hop culture. Of course, the next thing we expect him to say is “bitches,” but the Villain is one step ahead and embarrassingly outwits us. The only lyrical misstep is when Madlib steps to the mike and embarrasses himself with an awkward and thoughtless rumination on the past, present, and future.
The chemistry between Doom and Madlib is also of note. In “Curls,” Doom says “Spliff made him swore he saw heaven,” conjuring a euphoric xylophone swell from the beat. “Meat Grinder”‘s beat pauses to let Doom take a deep breath (or a big hit) before his flow. Doom was even so inspired by Madlib’s work on “Accordion” that he named the song after the beat. The two work flawlessly together, making it seem as if one man produced and wrote the whole thing.
The only reason that Madvillainy perhaps hasn’t lived up to fan’s expectations is because they were unreasonably high. We couldn’t really have asked any more out of two first-time collaborators; their flawless chemistry and spectacular on-mike relationship brings to mind another recent first-time duo, Non-Prophets (Sage Francis and Joe Beats), and nearly out-steps their success. In the end, it’s easily one of the best pieces of work of both participants’ careers and a mark of the incredible talent both possess. With an album as fantastic as Madvillainy, MF Doom and Madlib have set the bar high for hip-hop in 2004.

Hero Pattern – Cut You Out

If you’re looking to get your rock on but the over-the-top metal stylings of The Darkness causes you to giggle, the posturing and machismo of Good Charlotte makes you gag, and the under-razor’s-edge nihilism of A.F.I. leaves you drained, Hero Pattern might be your rock saviors. They nail down the tireless themes and energy of classic power pop without messing around.
All the essential elements of rock are present on Hero Pattern’s debut full-length, Cut You Out: big rock beats (Mike Kundrath), big rock bass (Rob Fitgerald), really big rock guitars (Pierre Marceau), and lovelorn-yet-still-rockin’ vocals (Jason Kundrath). No messing around, no beating around the bush, HP just cuts straight to the heart of what is essential when crafting rock songs with infectious pop melodies full of major-scale goodness and lyrics about relationships about to begin, those long gone wrong, and those quickly on their way there.
For a little afternoon pick-me-up, dish up a plate of tasty tunes like “Monster,” “Cut You Out,” and the energetic “Invincible.” Feeling a little blue? Just cue up “What Do You Have To Say?,” and “Save My Soul” and sing your way out of the dumps. Acres of crunchy guitars, aching vocals, bouncing bass, and pounding drums will remind you that even when it’s sad, rock can be fun.

Kitchens and Bathrooms – Vehicles Beyond

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from Kitchens and Bathrooms, a math-rock trio that hails from Hamilton, Ontario. Lately, when I hear the term math rock being thrown around, I tend to think of dense, highly cerebral music that is focused more on intricate song structures and high-wire instrumentation than on well-developed melodies and emotional subtleties. Admittedly, I’m not a big fan of the sort of cold, clinical, overtly technical rock that seems to rely on abstract algebraic formulation rather than good old-fashioned blood, sweat, and tears. Personally I like to feel my music, not solve hidden equations. However, I do have a large soft spot for the more melodic Midwest math rock that arose to such prominence in the mid- to late-90s when bands like Braid, June of 44, and Shellac were composing some of the most interesting, dynamic, emotive music in recent memory. Luckily for me, Vehicles Beyond is a sincere attempt to pick up where those tremendous artists left off.
Consisting of Phil Williams on guitar, Adrian Murchison on bass, and Lee Penrose on drums, Kitchens and Bathrooms plays a taut and heavy brand of highly rhythmic angular rock that is dark, eerie, and foreboding. Sharp, wiry, nonlinear guitar lines careen and spiral off of muscular bass grooves and relentless syncopated-to-scattershot drums. Little distortion is employed on this recording, but the sound manages to remain thick and propulsive, even as the band shifts and turns from one mind-blowing time signature to the next. The vocals, provided by Williams and Penrose, are sparse but engaging, utilizing introspective Slint-style spoken word ramblings or the occasional burst of mesmerizing melody to complete an atmospheric wall of sound that is breathtaking to behold.
However, Vehicles Beyond is not without its flaws. Originally envisioned as an EP to be released in between full-lengths, the album suffers at times from a disheartening degree of sameness. One cause of this may be the way in which each track flows into the next without any kind of pause or separation. Rather than being left to examine the album on a song-by-song basis, the listener is forced into the position of taking it in as one continuous whole. While I have nothing but respect for anyone undertaking such an ambitious venture, too many of these tracks seem to be cut from the same cloth. Although I can find no specific fault with any of the 11 tracks delivered here, only the glorious, spine-tingling opener “First One in, Last One Out,” and the ominous “Australian Council,” truly differentiate themselves from the rest of the pack. Indeed, it seems that group would have been better served trusting their original instincts by releasing a shorter, more cohesive EP.
With all that said, this is still an extremely worthy effort. From what I have been told, Vehicles Beyond is a much mellower departure from the band’s two previous releases, which relied more on artful bombast and punk-infused energy. While I’m not in a position to make any sort of comparisons, I will say that I was thoroughly impressed with what I was presented with here. It’s obvious that these guys have talent and imagination to spare, as well as the songwriting skills to back it all up. A little variety, however, would go a long way.

The Hurricane Lamps – Sing Me a Song

The end of every Hurricane Lamps track on the band’s fourth release, Sing Me a Song, may be a masterpiece but you wouldn’t know, because it can feel so difficult sometimes to get there. Like many bands of the sunshine indie pop-rock variety, Hurricane Lamps have toyed with the airy playfulness of a quickly strummed electric guitar – the shuffling chucca-chicca/chucca-chicca of a pick scraping over six strings – to great effect. But the resulting songs seem to lack the weight and gravity to illustrate passage or much movement. Even with bridges and choruses and the familiar guitar solo here and there, the tracks lack something. In short, as the songs toe-tap and wind their way to completion, you sometimes feel like the band hasn’t really taken you anywhere.
All of this, though, is not for lack of trying. The playing on the Sonic Boomerang release is refined and the recording/production is crisp, placing the vocals at just the right nook in the mix to make them particularly appealing to radio. And the CD is not without its interesting and engaging moments – a dissonant instrumental bridge in “Dive,” the more crunchy two-toned electric guitar work that kicks off “Judge You All Night,” the 60s-speckled guitar solos and cooed vocals that close “A Promisee,” or the a cappella refrains three minutes into “A Home.” But, again, the songs fall to familiar tricks, the verse, the chorus, the verse, the bridge, the solo, the chorus again, and so on.
Guitarist/keyboardist/singer Eric Tischler has a voice that will no doubt be appealing to some, a nasal but emotive delivery that fits the record’s colors. Bassist Greg Bennett and drummer Jason Merriman also perform admirably, each serving as an inventive rhythmic anchor to Tischler’s pop-rock frontman routine. The formulas, though, don’t grab hold of you so much as they entertain you for a few minutes and then fade from memory as quickly as they introduced themselves.
Devotees of 80s pop and contemporary pop fare of the beaming variety may be drawn to the record, and for good reason. Tischler – the Lamps’ songwriter and clear driving force – has a knack for crafting pop melodies and displays a collection of hooks and lures that could make a fisherman blush. But, in an attempt to place the jangly guitars and smooth, commercial radio-ready vocals in the forefront of most the record’s 35 minutes, he underplays some of the free spiritedness of the band, some of the lingering weight of their chemistry, and some of Sing Me a Song‘s finer moments. It’s a perfectly fine record for the right audience, but, for many, Tischler and company may feel like they’re offering to sing a tune that can’t manage to entice the listener to follow along from refrain to refrain.

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