Naim Amor – Soundtracks Vol. II

Having moved his musical activities to Tucson, Az. in 1997 to be with fellow French native and filmmaker Marianne Dissard, Naïm Amor has done the utmost to immerse himself in the city’s rich cultural repository. Inviting across, in turn, fellow Parisian multi-instrumentalist Thomas Belhom, Amor has covertly driven himself into making music the Tucson way, having collaborated with the Howe Gelb-Giant Sand-Calexico fraternity on a series of interrelated projects as well as relentlessly recording/touring as one half of the Amor Belhom Duo. Whilst some may maliciously have suggested that Amor, and indeed Belhom, are globetrotting plagiarists, all too eager to drain ideas from Tucson’s musical melting-pot, the twosome undoubtedly brought in just as much as they have borrowed. Although the Amor Belhom Duo may now have disbanded after two ‘official’ albums, a handful of tour-only releases, and an acclaimed joint-album with Calexico’s Joey Burns and John Convertino (2000’s Tête à Tête, under the ABBC moniker), Amor has taken to a creatively prosperous solo career. Having begun his solo endeavours with a well-received instrumental mini-album in 2001 (Soundtracks Vol. I on Film Guerrero Records) and looking set to continue things on a new vocal-led album (produced by regular Giant Sand/PJ Harvey cohort John Parish) later this year, the first half of 2004 sees the low-key launch of Soundtracks Vol. II, on Howe Gelb’s OWOM label.

From just one spin through this superbly crafted collection, it’s abundantly clear how well Amor has woven his own global influences into Tucson’s musical tapestry. Within its 12 tightly constructed tracks, Soundtracks Vol. II provides an engorging smorgasbord of styles and ideas, all deliciously displayed with wide-screen ambition. Beginning with the wondrous “When They Were Happy,” we are transported into a parallel-universe where Tortoise play regularly with local musicians at downtown Paris jazz clubs instead of at Chicago’s Empty Bottle or Abbey Pub. By “Breakfast at Datura,” we’re moved over into moodier territory with doomy double-bass, woozy organs, and skittering drums recalling Calexico’s The Black Light or Travelall. Come the tempestuous swooning swing of “Tap Room,” Amor smuggles the listener into Issac Hayes-flavoured Stax soul land, albeit without quite so much of the smouldering sexual undertow that is.

Midway through, a sprightly yet soothing Charles Mingus-meets-Giant Sand style cover of John Coltrane’s curiously christened “Naïma” reminds of us Amor’s happily acknowledged sonic roots. By the time “Vivre De L’Ortf” slides into the speakers, we find ourselves in a late-night underground club where a vocal harmony troupe, accompanied by a theremin and an electric piano, delivers something strangely similar to the closing credits music to the original Star Trek TV series. As the lilting finale of “Generique” drifts into earshot, Amor has us imagining ourselves riding on horseback into the desert sunset with French cigarettes wafting in the breeze.

If the strength of music was solely measured on its ability to transport us to places we could never imagine or realistically hope to reach, then Soundtracks Vol. II is a mighty success. Whilst it’s true that Amor’s likeminded collaborators involved here – notably erstwhile Giant Sanders John Convertino (drums) and Noah Thomas (trumpet) – invariably lead Amor’s ideas to full fruition throughout proceedings, this record would not have found its true life-force and passionate persuasion without Amor’s amorphous musical capabilities. His versatility as a composer, arranger, producer, and multi-faceted player make the most of his no-doubt limited resources in a way that puts others with grander budgets and lesser visions to shame. Moreover, if no one else besides Howe Gelb has the guile to give Amor the necessary support needed to be a solo recording artiste, then others will no doubt put his services as an adroit studio masterdom to extremely good use. Hopefully, though, if justice prevails, this won’t be the last we’ll be hearing from the very talented Naïm Amor, because Soundtracks Vol. II is a seriously inspirational masterstroke that we’d all be fools to miss out on.

My Morning Jacket – It Still Moves

Southern rock is generally assigned two distinctly different stigmas: dirty, uneducated music made by rednecks, or over-polished, riff-recycling, Hallmark-card-quoting CMT fluff. Fans of math-rock or post-rock usually overlook an album, or worse a band, immediately because of these hasty generalizations. So lest you, my faithful reader, be swayed by the first two words of this review, I urge you to read on.

That being said, My Morning Jacket’s It Still Moves is a fine piece of work and manages to transcend both stereotypes of Southern rock. From the beginning, the band’s technicality and overall songwriting skill is apparent. “Mahgeetah” centers around what seems to be thousands of plucked guitar strings and Jim James’ soaring vocals. “Dancefloors” employs jazzy, rocking horns over a rollicking guitar riff. “Golden” is a subdued, picked lament. It’s a narration of a lazy day made extraordinary by the imaginative powers of the mind: “Watchin’ a stretch of road / miles of light explode / driftin’ off / a thing I’d never done before.”

So far, so good. In fact, but for James’ obviously Southern accent and the loud guitars, it seems pretty, well, sophisticated. My Morning Jacket has a rural charm that isn’t off-putting to a city-dweller and independent music fan. Traditional picked guitars and solos are drowned in reverb and effective breakdowns. It’s nothing groundbreaking, but it’s really not like anything I’ve heard before.

The best example of this dualistic aesthetic is “One Big Holiday.” The song begins with a feverish hi-hat, percussive bass, and hushed guitars. In fact, it sounds quite a bit like the beginning of a post-punk piece. Later, the familiar solos and James make their entries, grounding the song with a small-town vibe. “One Big Holiday” is the album’s single and is the best introduction to the band.

It Still Moves is alternately rural and urban, rough and refined, blaring and soft. It’s a dynamic creature, perhaps one of the best examples of the unification of a number of things: North and South, city and country. This is probably My Morning Jacket’s best and is a perfect introduction to the band’s career.

Say Hi to Your Mom – Numbers & Mumbles

Say Hi to Your Mom is a band with just one member: Brooklynite Eric Elbogen, playing crafty, cleverly sardonic tunes that will skulk around in your head. His soft, lo-fi, indie pop sound has been spinning on my player for some time. Elbogen appears to be one of those artists who shuffles down the street, not making eye contact and scribbling notes to be used later in his sometimes clever, always interesting point of view put to music.

I don’t know if he plays alone because his vision is one that he can’t share or if he’s just a loner incapable of having anyone question his ideas and direction. Either way, most of the music on Numbers & Mumbles has a hipster – in a good way – New York feel. I am particularly fond of “Super,” with its heavy organ intro and its oh-so-snarky lyrical content.

Barely rising above a horse, raspy whisper, Mlbogen seems to be attacking a fellow hipster who clearly brings out his worst, most sarcastic side: “You’re super / you really are / like your t-ball trophy says / you’ve come so far.”

“A Hit in Sweden” has a Cars riff and feel, and is perhaps one of Mr. Elbogen’s more radio-friendly tracks. “Pop Music of the Future” is facetiously hilarious and is another goof on the hipster-poseur crowd. Elbogen’s lyrics cover many things – women, relationships both good and bad, pop culture – all the while offering some fairly satisfying riffs and hooks.

But some things are better left alone, as is the case with the somewhat disturbing cover of the Beatles “I’m So Tired.” Someone should have mentioned that you might not want to cover a song unless you like it, and I get the feeling that this was a throwaway, a song that the guy in “Super” liked and he wanted to ruin. Too bad.

Horns of Happiness – A Sea as a Shore

Horns of Happiness is coming soon to a mix tape near you – either one you create or one given to you by your most in-the-know indie hipster friend. The fuzzy space pop-rock songs on A Sea as a Shore seem custom made for inclusion in such endeavors, but they work equally as well together as one album. The group is a side/solo project by Aaron Deer of the Impossible Shapes and John Wilkes Booze and finds him testing out the waters with a variety of instruments. He is joined by Impossible Shapes bandmates Chris Barth, Jason Groth, Mark Rice, and Peter King, but the vision here appears to be largely Deer’s.

A Sea as a Shore is bound together by only the slightest threads of consistency. While most of the tracks float somewhere around dreamy, vaguely psychedelic pop territory, there are random style changing bursts of sound that lead you from one plane to another. These abrupt movements aren’t as irritating as might be expected; rather, it’s like watching the seasons change at high speed. This is true of almost all of the 15 tracks on A Sea as a Shore, including the fair number of instrumentals.

Although there are quite a few things to satisfy on this release, Horns of Happiness is at its best during a few songs where an earthy, almost folk-music vibe is reached and this is where the group is reminiscent of work by the Fruit Bats. One such song is “Of Whistling & Wine” – an acoustic guitar-led piece with softly sung lines like, “don’t look back you’ll see someone you burned right through.” The folky ambiance is continued through tracks like “Autumn Breathes East” and the instrumental number “Put Reins on My Mind” which begins with some lovely guitar work before segueing into a series of hand claps and gentle banjo plucking.

Horns of Happiness tackles each change in approach – whether subtle or abrupt – with an ease second only to breathing. The album has quite a melancholy focus, but the songs are either airy enough or pop-oriented enough that it doesn’t weigh the whole production down. A Sea as a Shore seems to be a precisely, but delicately executed exercise in opposites – one that is well worth delving into.

The Rum Diary – Split CD

At one point, there was more of a similarity in sound between these two bands that would make this a seemingly destined split. The Californian band The Rum Diary uses lush, layered instrumentation with an emphasis on keyboards, and from New York City, Kilowatthours similarly plays lush music, driven by piano and keyboards and a unique, slightly ethereal style. The only difference, though, is that while The Rum Diary feels like a young band that’s at times overly eager, the five members in Kilowatthours sound like seasoned veterans at the top of their game.

The songs on this split are mixed, with one tremendously impressive collaborative effort, but as much as I like The Rum Diary, Kilowatthours clearly takes the prize, because this band has never sounded better. The extremely moody “Letting Go” is low, rich, and brilliant, dark even as the layers of electric guitar wash in. “King” is much lighter, more upbeat, and here the guitars are more the focus, while the keyboards provide a very rich underlying quality. But what hits me is the amazing vocals, reminding me so much of one of my favorite mid-90s bands Mystery Machine. “Halos” is low-key, lush, and beautiful, nicely subtle, and “Twenty Six” is another quiet, moody track, deep and dark in theme but with a resounding, layered chorus.

“{Ex}change” is the collaboration between these two bands, and it’s startlingly good. The deep vocals of Kilowatthours’ Chris Renn and Liza Stillhard’s keyboards mix nicely with The Rum Diary’s Daniel Mckenzie’s high voice and (I’m guessing) Jon Fee’s tremendously talented bass. This song reminds me equally of Black Heart Procession and Arab Strap, with a bit of Radiohead thrown in.

The Rum Diary’s songs are a bit more straightforward and upbeat and less layered. The bass on “The Electroencephalograph” is stellar, as is the conversely light drumming. The unique, high-pitched vocals are tempered a bit on “Memory Controls” with the use of nice effects, making this my favorite song here by the band. The chiming keys on “Poolside” are extremely nicely done, and the band closes the album nicely with the six-minute “In Attempt to Reach the Shore.” This shows off the band’s penchant for long, textured songs that I enjoyed on previous albums.

I certainly don’t want to sound like I’m knocking The Rum Diary, because I like this band’s music quite a bit. But Kilowatthours has never sounded better than on these songs, and I suspect any other band would be overshadowed. This one is definitely worth picking up.

Midtown – Forget What You Know

I’ll spare you the history of Midtown, and much like the band’s third full-length album does, I’ll get right down to business.

The slamming first track “To Our Savior” is energetic, hard-hitting, and multifaceted. Lead singer Gabe Saporta starts off the track by screaming “So hard to believe what you’re looking for!” as if he has something to prove. The guitars come with guns blazing, and a fuzzed-out bass line furiously thumps along in the breakdown towards the end of the song. What a great start! And just as I had hoped, this song sets the tone and energy level for the remainder of the album.

Showing a different side on “Whole New World,” Saporta reduces his generally abrasive vocal tone to a soft whisper during the verses, but he makes sure to kick it into high gear during the chorus. More serious and/or personal subjects are tackled in “Waiting for the News.” The lyrics are composed as a conversation between a father and son about the father’s separation with the son’s mother. Saporta shows yet another facet of his voice by singing in falsetto, and hitting the heart strings with revealing lyrics like, “Even though we sleep together we’re alone / Yes, we’ve all made mistakes.”

It seems as if Midtown is on the brink of hitting it big. Forget What You Know is filled with quality hooks worthy of heavy rotation. Although it was hard to place at first, there is something, albeit small, missing from Midtown’s picture: while the songs all have professional sound quality, there can be some rough edges. The sense of the basement pop-punk band is present in many of the songs. And although it isn’t a negative mark on this album by any means, the more raw sound is just something that differentiates Midtown from bands that have hit it big like Sum 41.

So, after most of the cards have been laid on the table about Forget What You Know, what is left is a hard-rocking album that isn’t monotonous but extremely entertaining from start to finish. Too many times bands in this genre hit the same chord over and over without showing any dynamics between songs. A good mix of pop rock, guitar hooks, and infectious lyrics, this album comes with a high recommendation.

Sharks and Minnows – The Cost of Living

Upon first listen, Sharks and Minnows’ newest release, The Cost of Living, seems to neatly fit into the power-pop genre. But only two or three spins later, the Georgia outfit divulges a few of its hidden secrets, as other incredibly well-integrated sounds find the surface. Just an album ago, the quartet found its niche in the CD players of emocore and pop punk fans, but after putting nearly three years into The Cost of Living, Sharks and Minnows admit that they are done swimming in the shallow end of the pool with the kiddies.

The album opens with a solid pop number entitled “Sunday Driver” that begins at a somewhat relaxed pace with all of the traditional elements of a standard, sweet pop tune including male/female octave doubling and a traditional four piece instrumentation. But, as all good songsters should, Sharks and Minnows hold their best back, and these cats kick the rock up a few notches as they sprint towards the end of “Sunday Driver” with an unexpected, but welcomed chord change into a driven minor melody.

“Slow Learner” picks right up with a drum machine intro reminiscent of Death Cab for Cutie’s subtle employment of electronics. Lead singer Christopher Simony implores listeners, “Take time, show me around, I’m such a slow learner,” as an Elvis Costello-esque piano outlines the song’s course in the background of this gentler track.

“This is My Final Offer” begins with an homage to the ensemble’s former sound as the lead guitar pulsates metronomically through the ostinato bass line in the manner of emo-rockers, Jets to Brazil. Simony’s double-tracked vocals, displaced by an octave, cleverly combine the edgier emo tone of his former days with his pop-friendly charm of present. The tune takes a stylistic turn in a decidedly poppier direction, when Sharks and Minnows bust out electronics and begin to sound more like Volcano, I’m Still Excited!!, which is always a welcomed sound to the ears of true pop lovers.

Though Sharks and Minnows assemble their collective sound from a variety of influences, the foursome eke out their own style while only paying subtle tribute to their musical godfathers. In the intense process of assembling this long-awaited album, the group auditioned 40 compositions and ultimately left 24 behind in the shallow end, keeping only their very best for The Cost of Living. With their third full-length, Sharks and Minnows prove they are indeed swimming in the deep end.

The Green Pajamas – Essence of Carol EP

The Essence of Carol EP could be considered The Green Pajamas’ latest release, of sorts, even though it’s actually a re-release. These three tracks from a long-out-of-print 7” have been bundled together with a few extra goodies (two new tracks and a live performance), and amply demonstrate why the Pajamas have been around as long as they have: they’re very good at what they do.

“Essence of Carol” kicks off this nice little gem with the trademark fuzzy bass we’ve come to expect from the band, and this is an excellent vehicle for vocalist/songwriter Jeff Kelly’s smooth vocals. The bridge features some bouncy organ and some tasteful soloing (something not heard in many of today’s releases). The band wastes no time getting into “Missing Miss MacColl,” which uses a slide guitar to give the song a slightly country feel. Oddly enough, the chord progression used here is one step away from “High Waving Heather” (from an earlier album of theirs, Seven Fathoms Down and Falling). Thankfully, the band avoids plagiarizing…well, themselves (is that even possible?), and the song continues with a beautifully sweet chorus (another thing The Pajamas excel at).

“In a Lonely Way” brings a little more of the fuzzy rock we’ve come to expect, adding a nice tambourine and minimal guitar work to the mostly fuzzy, bass-led song. Also notable here is the nice piano chords (which is used as a replacement for guitar strumming) and handclaps that give the song a swaggering, funky feel. “Dreams of Rhonda” starts out stealing a page from Simon and Garfunkel, sounding somehow more “classical” before breaking into a snappy chorus. “What We Have” continues to showcase the rocking side of the band, as does the live cut of “Matilda,” which shows what great energy and aggression these guys can pull off in a live setting.

Look, if you like The Green Pajamas, you already know what you’re getting, so do yourself a favor and pick this up. For the uninitiated, however, I would recommend this tidy little EP as a starting point, and then follow that with Through Glass Colored Roses: The best of The Green Pajamas for the maximum demonstration of what this extraordinarily solid (and fabulous) band can do.

Eluvium – An Accidental Memory in the Case of Death

Listening to Eluvium is like hanging out in a fancy schmanzy hotel lobby listening to a pianist busting out the somber tunes while thunder rumbles and reverberates within the building to shake the chandellier. On top of the grand piano is a tip jar stuffed to the brim with dollar bills and prozac, both valued equally by performer and audience. The rain bleats down against the window pane and doesn’t show any signs of letting up during the artist’s 30-minute set.

Yeah, it’s rainy-day music that I feel could be the backing track of a book on tape of Wuthering Heights or the sound of those ‘why-me’ moments that only rainy Sunday afternoons can provide. That’s just one man’s interpretation, but there’s no denying that this is somber and, as much as instrumental music can be, introspective.

It’s just one man and his baby grand, and just one take straight through for these seven pieces. It all appears to be played flawlessly. Matthew Cooper makes some music that is moving and touching. It all seems like it could be the background music to some sort of movie or some dramatic moment. His pieces are weighty, but they don’t really get over melodramatic.

There’s not much sunshine on this disc, but, conversely, it’s pretty captivating how Cooper is able to capture melancholy moments and reinterpret them for his piano. It’s probably not what you’re used to, but if you’re any normal person with highs and lows in life, you could find some way to relate to this album.

The Gurus – S/T

There are so many bands that worship at the altar of Lennon and McCarthy that it’s easy for lazy reviewers and cultural critics to toss the term “Beatlesque” at every pop-rock quartet that drops vocal harmonies over carefully crafted hooks. In doing this, it could be argued, the enduring genius of the Fab Four continues to be watered down by the lackluster (or formulaic) recordings of those bands dubbed its “successors.” It also could be argued that countless bands become stigmatized as carriers of The Beatles’ ever-growing legend, a weighty responsibility that could crush the ambitions and talents of even those rightfully dubbed The Next Big Thing. The debut recording from Barcelona-based The Gurus tackles both these arguments, somewhat unknowingly, giving critics a reason to celebrate the trio’s obvious debt to John, Paul, George, and Ringo — and others — while not limiting the record’s greatness in its own right.

That being said, it’s quite a spectacle — and occasionally downright frightening — to hear just how good The Gurus sound on this record and how closely the band resembles and echoes acts like The Beatles, The Beach Boys, The Grateful Dead, and other rock luminaries. The album-opening “Big Sea” may say it all: over shimmering pop-rock guitars, skittering drums and a simple, pulsing bass beat, Emili Ramirez and Sergio Bartel carefully multi-track their harmonies to sound like they were pulled right from the old vinyl grooves of Revolver or Sgt. Pepper.

This song alone could prove the band’s prowess but the listener is treated to 14 more. We get choppy, head-bouncing pop-rock (“Kamala Pt. 2,” “Good Morning,” “Sleeping Girl”), shiny pseudo-ballads (“My Beautiful Home”), psychedelic-rock wanderings (“Kamala Pt. 1,” “Hard Work”), and smooth, almost-funky pop ruminations (“Fly So High”). And then there’s tracks like “Let’s Have a Change,” a song whose psychedelic intro and addictive march of a verse you’ll swear you’ve heard elsewhere. (The same goes for the incredible “Silver Rain” or “Falling I’m Falling,” both of which should raise the hairs on the back of Paul McCartney’s head.)

Occasionally, The Gurus walk so closely to the material that inspires them that they feel like they’re bordering on mimicry (consider “It’s Only Love,” which is incredible but sometimes feels eerily like a B-side from Meet the Beatles). But they seem to realize this proximity and toss into the mix slightly more daring and original variations on the material, such as the mysterious spy-theme guitars of “Purple Blue” or the strange samples that break into the otherwise straight-forward verse/chorus/verse bubblegum of “Feeling Afraid.” Only once does going out on a limb prove slightly dangerous for The Gurus. On the record’s closing track, “Gerdundula,” the trio abandons the smooth facades it has spent the preceding dozen or so tracks building in favor of LSD-laden electronica, something that works — or works effectively — only in the song’s quieter parts.

Much could be said and written about what The Beatles (and Brian Wilson and Jerry Garcia and …) have done to the contemporary landscape of pop and independent rock. Their legacy is substantial and not without reason. The Gurus not only tap into this legacy but walk amazingly close to claiming it, to a degree, as something they’re seeking to inherit. To point this out may be unfair or reductive — the band, after all, isn’t The Beatles, I know — but it may also be somewhat necessary. There are Beatles purists who may discard The Gurus as obvious and sophomoric, claiming it borrows or apes the once-revolutionary popscapes Lennon, McCartney, Harrison, and Starr refined to near-perfection. There are others who may listen to this record and start shipping off copies to Paul and Ringo, as proof that not every pop-rock band is clueless when it comes to referencing some of the best their forebears put on the airwaves and on vinyl. It could be argued both ways. But it’s not every day a new band comes along to trigger that sort of discussion. That alone may be reason enough to hunt down this disc.

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