The Mendoza Line – Fortune

The more I listen to it, the more I come to believe that alt-country is to music what romantic comedy is to film: formulaic, predictable, but enjoyable if you’re able to look past the cookie-cutter nature of the genre. While there are some rare alt-country bands that are willing to push sonic boundaries and create wholly unique and mesmerizing works within the framework of their style (namely, that ubiquitous, genre-bending musical powerhouse from Chicago…Wilcox or Wilmer or something…), most alt-country bands are comfortable to stick to their guns and churn out standard-issue countrified rock. For the sake of the romantic comedy comparison, if Wilco is The Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, then The Mendoza Line’s new album, Fortune, is, say, The Wedding Singer. It pokes around with lo-fi indie-rock and even a tinge of (heaven forbid) emo, but make no mistake about it, it’s your typical rootsy indie-rock record. Nothing new, nothing surprising.

Fortune opens with “Fellow Travelers,” a piano-driven ballad that could very well be a B-side from Being There. Even though, to quote that same album, “it sounds like someone else’s song / from a long time ago,” it’s a great tune, teetering along with part-time singer Timothy Bracy’s worn, slightly off-key vocals. His voice strengthens the Wilco comparisons, as he sounds eerily like Jeff Tweedy doing an impersonation of Stephen Malkmus doing an impersonation of Bob Dylan. When paired with depressing lyrics (a Mendoza Line trademark) and a morose melody, Bracy’s voice works perfectly. Thankfully, Fortune features several of these songs (“Metro Pictures” is a good example), and they represent some of the album’s high points.

Unfortunately, The Mendoza Line’s other vocalists don’t succeed as admirably as Bracy. Shannon Mary McArdle, The Mendoza Line’s resident female vocalist/songwriter, delivers a mixed performance. Her songs are rather hit-or-miss, though with the exception of the hook-laden “Faithful Brother (Scourge of the Land),” they tend to fall more regularly in the miss category.

Not all of The Mendoza Line’s catalogue is as “country” as Fortune, and a few tracks on the current album lose the twangy Telecasters in favor of straight up, old-school, Pavement-style indie rock. On the album’s best song, “The Road to Insolvency,” Bracy and Co. kick out a richly textured rocker chock-full of percussion claps and wobbly synthesizers. It’s a welcome change from the rest of the album’s occasionally dolorous pace, and it hints at The Mendoza Line’s older, rather different — and arguably better — style.

Despite Fortune’s several throwaway tracks and sometimes generic alt-country feel, it serves as a reminder that The Mendoza Line’s prolific songwriters are still capable of churning out catchy, accessible pop songs. If alt-country/indie rock isn’t your thing, you can probably skip out on Fortune without wondering if you passed on a worthwhile record, but if you subscribe to No Depression, be sure to pick up a copy of The Mendoza Line’s latest effort. It won’t surprise you, but it almost certainly will entertain you.

Funeral for a Friend – Casually Dressed & Deep in Conversation

Funeral for a Friend: emo kids brave enough to include Elton John in their list of confessions? Apparently not; while their name is indeed (half) the title of a soft-rock staple, Funeral for a Friend claims instead to be named after a song from post-hardcore band Planes Mistaken for Stars. The musicians wear their influences on sleeves (literally — an inner booklet photo captures the drummer in a My Chemical Romance tee), unabashedly proud to be a ninth-wave emo band… from Wales!

Yes, Funeral for a Friend is from South Wales, which, in a time of overwhelming homogeneity, guarantees the band at least one distinction from the plethora of American counterparts – the novelty of being Welsh. Other than that, nothing really sets these folks apart, and as for being located across the sea from emo-land, for the most part, there’s nothing in their music to suggest it. (Ah, but if only they had switched “She Drove Me to Daytime Television” to “She Drove Me to Daytime Telly”…)

Having toured the UK with such like-minded groups as Boy Sets Fire, Finch, and the Juliana Theory, impressing the British press well enough, FFAF recently gave a stateside release to last year’s debut album, Casually Dressed & Deep in Conversation. In the US, the band had already built a dedicated fanbase through a tour supporting Lostprophets (also Welsh) and a compilation of two UK EPs entitled Seven Ways to Scream Your Name.

Casually Dressed suppresses the screamo tendencies of FFAF’s previous work in favor of the band’s more melodic side, which works quite well. Early-morning yearning, teenage longing, aggressive undercurrents – they’re all present in abundant quantities, and FFAF maintains a careful but effortless balance between them. There are no real highlights, but consistency only makes Casually Dressed more coherent and effective as a whole. The only anomaly is “Your Revolution is a Joke,” an acoustic ballad with an accompanying cello part that counterbalances the album’s more aggressive side.

The album’s lyrics are neither clever nor cringe-worthy. Though typical emo stereotypes are present – the word “heart” finds its way into half the songs – the result is surprisingly innocuous. The focus is clearly on the music; the lyrics merely act as mood supplements and are thankfully never obstructive.

Funeral for a Friend comes across with all the intensity and sincerity expected of a current emo band. A bit trite? Sure, but these folks have got it down comparatively well. For a teenage audience, that’s all that really matters… along with the coolness of them being Welsh, of course.

The Race – If You Can

“So you want to build the ark again / You say you want to start again / Go ahead go,” Craig Klein sings amid softly plucked guitar and bass notes on “Ark Again,” his voice revealing both the hurt and the resolve of someone who’s walked home to find a loved one walking out. That sense of predetermined isolation, embodied perhaps by the drifting ark, looms large on If You Can, the latest full-length offering from Chicago’s The Race. The ark, with all its biblical insinuations of devastating storms and gradual rebirth, even gets a more prominent place in the record’s cover art than the band itself, floating amid a patchwork — literally — of colored tides. In many ways, the narratives of If You Can could be judged by that cover.

But, if you ask me, it’s not the ark that’s at the record’s foundation. It’s the stitches. The sea on which the record’s ark floats is a sea of multiple cloths that retains its strange, yellow-brick-road glow despite the starry night and dark horizon that surround it. And it’s a sea held together with colorful stitches, little nicks and notches that create patterns all their own. (See the inside for further dimensions.) Apply those sentences right to the audio content of If You Can and you’ll have a pretty good sense of the sonic landscapes The Race is trying to create here.

Though The Race favors the careful pulse/whispers and slowly unfolding songcraft of post-rock acts like Bedhead, the band clearly has pop-rock ambition and the punch to back up the weight of a good melody. Case in point: “Safe and Sound,” where isolated whispers and moans over a strummed electric guitar line lead to a full-band ascent, vocal harmonies and all, where Klein sings, “It’s nothing new, that’s true / Duck, duck, goose and you / Pop like a little balloon.”

This balance between post-rock structure and pop-rock sentimentality seems sustained throughout the record’s nine tracks. But The Race also seems to enjoy fixing its attention on these little, unanticipated stitches and flourishes, whether it’s an unexpected interlude, an added layer of texture and tone from an electric guitar, a semi-buried vocal harmony, or a little electronic buzz or beep provided by Telefon Tel Aviv, who produced If You Can.

The most transfixing part of the record, though, remains the songs themselves. The plodding balladry of “Can Get Home” and glassy Sonora Pine-isms of “Ark Again,” with subtle layers of sound lurking below their guitar-and-voice strata, are engaging — and almost devastating — in their simplicity. The near-silent interludes juxtaposed with choppy, barbed-wire guitar, clever backing vocals and persistently imaginative drumwork in “Rose” are alarmingly good and do more to sink into your skin than their roughly two-minute running time would suggest. The same could be said for the three-and-a-half minute “Sinking Feeling,” where measured piano and bass lines gradually give way to hip-hop-influenced (and electronically assisted) backbeats.

Some moments on the record are just plain goddamned breathtaking — take the Radiohead-esque “The Hours Eat the Flowers,” where descending measures of piano and double-timed percussion line up with the digital delay of a guitar wash, or the record’s majestic closing tracks, “Seed” and “Out Like a Lamb,” which could get even the highest-strung and tightest-wound among us to take a deep breath and let the approaching night flood over them. (Worth noting is a bridge on “Seed,” which has some of the softest and most sweet vocal harmonies I’ve heard on a record this year.)

The Race will no doubt cause some headaches for reviewers stumped on where the group falls in the indie-rock hierarchy. Is this a pop rock group with Radiohead visions? A post-rock descendant that knows when to abandon the calculated rhythms and repetitions of a guitar line for the impact of a masterfully recorded pop hook or a memorable refrain? Are these indie avant-gardists trying to sneak their careful melodies onto the radio and the charts? There’s probably evidence to nail them to the spot on all three charges. But, on If You Can, the band seems more content to ring sincerity from all three approaches and then some, to craft songs that are beautiful for all the elusive reasons you can’t quite seem to define and to thrill at the seams and stitches that hold together their tracks, rather than the obvious sentiments on which too many of their peers rely. It’s a sea you wouldn’t think a listener could navigate on an ark built for one. But it’s one definitely, definitely, definitely worth exploring, if you can.

Blow Up Hollywood – Fake

I highly recommend, even if you never have a chance to hear this album, that you visit this band’s website. The flash intro and flash site itself are highly impressive, providing subtle philosophical commentary mixed with interactive sound and visual components. Bits of the band’s music are mixed in nicely, crafting the mood to this evolving site that is already drastically different from when I viewed it while reviewing the band’s last album.

Beyond the impressive site and stellar design for the album itself, the music is suitably impressive. This band of anonymous members claims that “Blow Up Hollywood is a metaphor expressing our willingness to eradicate all the hype,” thus the reasons for not listing any artists. Even the band photos on the website are anonymous, somehow, with faces in shadow or blurred just a bit. It’s a bit overkill, perhaps, but instead of hitting us over the head with their philosophies of death, life, politics, and social injustices, they hint at them and have lyrics intricate enough and dealing with love and human interactions.

The music itself is by far the most impressive quality of this band. Like their previous album, the artists in Blow Up Hollywood shine most in their intricate instrumentals, combining ethereal electronics with rock guitars, drums, and bass. The vocalist no doubt has a strong voice, perhaps a little too domineering for some of these songs, but by and far the vocal approach is better than on the band’s debut.

The ultra-moody music on “Born,” coupled with the more subtle vocal approach, makes this perhaps the best song. On the title track, the band has a more folky touch from the acoustic guitar and vocals, while “Oceans” feels a tad too mainstream for my personal taste. “White Walls” is soft and moody, a more slow-paced album that puts nice focus on the electronics, and It’s the instruments, though, that I enjoy the most, from the string-driven “Just Before Dawn” and “Darkness Falls” to the soft and moody “Being There” and ultra-dark “DMK.”

There’s something intrinsically accessible about Blow Up Hollywood, and while you’re unlikely to hear this band on the radio, the more traditional songs here wouldn’t sound too out of place. That may be my own prejudice, for these songs seem more rock-based and use less of the strings and other instrumentation on the band’s debut. But the music here is so good, it would be a shame if people didn’t take notice.

Pedro the Lion – Achilles Heel

I have little to say about Pedro the Lion. This band has never been bad, but it has never been good, and for that reason its always frustrated the hell out of me. Achilles Heel, like all over Pedro releases I’ve heard, is a perfectly acceptable pop record that fails to engage me on pretty much every level. Nothing here is horrible, but nothing here is great. I’d rather listen to a colossally awful fuck-up of an album than something as competent but tired as Achilles Heel.

Pedro leader David Bazan works with a very limited pallet. Every song on Achilles Heel is a mid-tempo chunk of morose pop-rock that resembles Tom Petty on downers. Bazan grunts lyrics of tempted faith and lost love in a gruff, monochromatic moan that sounds like air slowly escaping from a monster-truck tire. Bazan’s voice frequently bears an uncanny resemblance to monumental burn-out Evan Dando. That voice is not without its charms, but like the rest of the Pedro sound, those charms are overwhelmed by the all-abiding lack of verve and stylistic variation.

The songs themselves are generally melodic without making too big a deal of it and without utilizing many memorable melodies. They sort of amble about for a few minutes, striking the appropriate ratio between verses, bridges, and the chorus, and then give way for another song that sounds pretty much the same. And that’s the Pedro the Lion formula; every song on Achilles Heel is similar enough to sow great confusion among the casual observer. If you don’t pay attention to the track-listing, you might think this record is just one song repeated 11 times.

From the sound of it, David Bazan makes records whenever his buddy TW Walsh can wake him up long enough to. His latest bout with consciousness has brought us this nonetheless somnolent pop record, released courtesy of Jade Tree Records, those grand Ocean State purveyors of youthful emotional punk and empathetic navel-gazing. Achilles Heel is whatever number full-length in the PtL canon, and although I haven’t necessarily heard a substantial amount of the back catalogue, I already knew exactly what this one would sound like before I ever slid it into my disc-changer. The tuneful, tasteful pop of Achilles Heel is the stagnant work of a technically talented but largely unimpressive singer/songwriter type.

Clinic – Winchester Cathedral

Experience has taught me to be wary of seemingly interesting, arty types. On several occasions, I’ve been so captivated by a person that I had pegged as compelling or wholly unique and chock full of insight, humor, and ideas hitherto unknown to myself or anyone else I’d associated with that I’d dive headlong into a friendship I hoped would at the very least provide some gripping conversation, though all too often, after a series of increasingly disappointing interactions, it became clear that this “interesting” person had, either out of excitement or a lack of self-control or both, used up all of their “interesting” material at the outset, and had to rehash the same stories that, once invigorating and thought-provoking, now seemed tired and obvious.

Initially, Clinic’s latest full-length, Winchester Cathedral, smacks of the same kind of recycled material. However, unlike with my faux-intellectual friend, I feel a certain nostalgic connection with Clinic; how could I turn my back on these folks after they so graciously gave us Internal Wrangler (and its pathetically underrated follow up, Walking with Thee)? I owed them more than that. So, I sat down and played it again. And again. And again. And with each successive listen, I became more and more impressed by the depth and consistency of this album. Tired and obvious, this certainly is not.

Because Clinic has such a distinct, unmistakable style, it’s easy to interpret Winchester Cathedral as an example of a band suck in a rut. It’s got the same jangly art-rock, odd instrumentation, and half-choked/half-hissed vocals as the two previous albums, but while Internal Wrangler peddled in energetic minimalism, and Walking with Thee explored more dark, ominous territory, Winchester Cathedral finds Clinic in a melodic and patient mood. Gone are the debut’s exuberant electronics and raucous, short-lived explosions of sound, replaced by steady, driving (and almost dolorous) rhythms and melodies that grow consistently and organically. Instead of evolving out of the band’s unique style, Clinic has decided to enhance it and deepen it.

“Country Mile” and “Circle of Fifths,” the album’s nearly identical opening tracks, bounce along with an almost White Stripes-esque rhythm, though never quite breaking into the garage-rocking fury that the song hints at and Clinic does so well. (Fear not: the band kicks out the freakin’ jams later on “W.D.Y.Y.B.”). Though Winchester Cathedral starts out fairly slow, it gets significantly better in the second half, starting with “Home,” a patient, quiet little groove of a song. There may not be a more affecting, eerie voice in music today than the one possessed by Clinic frontman Ade Blackburn. “Falstaff,” the best track on Winchester, utilizes Blackburn’s gargled lyrics to perfection. The lounge-y clarinet line takes on a decidedly off-kilter tone when Blackburn sings “As you know, you’re still needed / and we’re hammering at your door / just over and over and over.” It’s exactly this sort of subtlety that makes Winchester Cathedral slightly different from other Clinic discs.

Unfortunately, “slightly different” doesn’t seem to cut the mustard for most critics, and Clinic’s latest disc has been tossed off in the same way that people dismissed Radiohead’s Amnesiac as nothing more than a replay of Kid A’s brazen experimentation. Clinic draws a lot of comparisons to Radiohead, but I think it’s unfair and silly to demand from Clinic the same kind of album-by-album change found in Radiohead’s oeuvre. In doing so, people might pass over a fantastic album that, upon close examination, reveals a more focused and developed take on Clinic’s already original and impressive style.

Burning Brides – Leave No Ashes

My initial stab at college was a blur of parties, hung-over lectures, and cheating on a girlfriend I had back home. Burning Brides’ latest offering forms a soundtrack for those nights when, to paraphrase the almighty Jesus and Mary Chain, you’re taking yourself to a dirty party of town where all your troubles won’t be found. Full of bombast and attitude, Leave No Ashes has the raw power sparked by 70’s rock behemoths. Unfortunately, it also carries some of the excess too.

The songs hit with all the force of a cranked-up truck driver barreling his 18 wheeler into the Dodge Neon that is your head. On the drop of a needle, Dmitri Coats can switch from the chained up ghost of Alice (“King of the Demimonde”) to channeling his inner Oasis (“Come Again”). Unlike the two polar opposites he seems to reference, Dimitri keeps his tongue firmly entrenched in his ashen cheek. For example, just when “King of the Demimonde” threatens to become a retread of well-treaded junkie sludge territory (and with lines like “oh no / you copped at the show / and now you’re gonna get high,” it is difficult to not see the song spiraling off into a Dirt B-side), the track begins to pummel with such intensity that one can’t help thrashing about with a violent grin. Right before knuckles get bloodied, the song slams back into THC-laced Sabbath riffs and all is right with the world.

As seen in the band’s debut release, Fall of the Plastic Empire, Burning Brides can and will bring the rock. However, on this sophomore album, Coats and company are making a valiant attempt to flesh out their sound. While the 70s punk riffs being hauled out of the garage on “Alternative Teenage Suicide” will no doubt have fans racing for the pit, tracks like “Dance with the Devil” exist for the sole purpose of getting one’s sexed-up groove on.

This is where the album breaks down. Fall of the Plastic Empire stayed heavily rooted in the shadows of the Stooges, MC5, and the 70s RAWK sound. Leave No Ashes experiments on several tracks to varied results. “Pleasure in the Pain” starts out with some acoustic guitar more reminiscent of standard classic rock fare before Dmitri enters his best Liam Gallagher impression into the mix. Complete with harmonica and a distinct twang, the song comes off as stoner country (if such a thing exists). “Last Man Standing” wrapped up in piano and minor chords plays the ballad card to mixed results. While the lyrics are aptly gloomy and goth enough (“all that I remember about that day / hangs inside a black picture frame”), the cheesy 70s-esque backup vocals conjure up images of “Dream On,” and really no one should ever have to be forcefully reminded of the Steven Tyler’s existence. The album makes up for all the bad things about 70s rock with the final track. “Vampire Waltz” is a slow-burning torch song, perfect for lowering the lights, lighting some candles (red of course), and snuggling up with that special someone met while dancing drunkenly to Iggy Pop. When the song opens up at the end, a chorus of the damned pushes you into the night with a smile on your face.

In the end, Leave No Ashes is an admirable record. While the latter half of the album is possibly overloaded with ballads, songs like “Heart Full of Black” and the title track will fulfill your rock fantasies. Stick around for “Come Alive” and “Century Song” to hear a band not afraid to embrace its poppy fetish. Just steer clear of the awkward ballads where the Gallagher brothers go to bed with Aerosmith.

Minus the Bear – They Make Beer Commercials Like This

In the band’s first release since its oft-acclaimed full length “Highly Refined Pirates,” Minus the Bear expands upon its already solid sound.

If you’ve been living in a cave and haven’t heard of Minus the Bear, this is an up-beat band comprised of a veritable group of all-stars from the Seattle indie music scene. Singer Jake Snider of Sharks Keep Moving gently croons along with the slightly “mathy” finger-tapped guitar work of ex-Botch guitarist Dave Knudson. The lyrics are generally fairly shallow, not straying too far from the topic of girls, drinking, and drinking with said girls. There is also an ongoing tendency towards using the now painfully cliché nonsensical song titles.

The CD starts out with what is probably its strongest song, “Fine +2 Points.” It is a bouncy, very danceable song with a bit of a 70s feel to it. Like all of the band’s songs, it has great guitar work and a catchy-as-hell chorus. It is followed up by the noteworthy yet tragically titled “Lets Play Clowns.” The song picks up the pace right where the last one left off, with bubbly guitar work and a driving chorus that you can’t help but sing to.

One thing fans of older Minus the Bear will find on this album is that the musicians use electronics much more, which is a very positive step for them, adding yet another dimension to the already busy music. There are a couple slower songs thrown into the mix, which are solid as well. The album comes to a close with another great song, “Pony Up.” Here is where Dave Knudsen really shines on the album. His beautiful guitar work steals the spotlight.

All in all, what we have here is a very solid EP that delivers on every song. If you liked Minus the Bear’s past efforts, you’re going to love this, and if you haven’t heard the band before, there’s no better place to start. Sure the lyrics aren’t deep or profound, but if the song titles are any indication, I doubt that’s the artist’s intent. They Make Beer Commercials Like This is a scenic, beautiful, albeit slightly shallow EP that is purely a fun listen from start to finish.

Astronaut – Times New Romance

Rarely does music give me such a physical reaction as Astronaut’s Times New Romance. Almost immediately after the first track, “Leaving the Scene,” started to play, I felt myself relaxing. Astronaut plays a slow-core kind of dream-pop, with wide-open expanses of music, dream-like melodies, and expressive instrumentals. Brimming with emotion and dynamic style, Times New Romance is like a musical dream come true.

Lush instrumental arraignments abound on this album. Strings, flutes, pianos, and horns all give the tracks the an expansive, wide-open feel. With a flute, bells, acoustic guitar, and Rebeca Gargallo’s sweet vocals in “Empty Rhymes,” the track takes on the feel of an old English folk tune, light and dreamy. Likewise, horns on “Buried” help to expand the song’s melancholy mood into a dreamy tone. Assorted strings and flutes hypnotize with a simple rhythm and complex layers in “Midwinter.” Times New Romance overflows with these lolling, sliding melodies and enveloping ambiance.

Emotion loses nothing in its translation from Spanish to English, as Astronaut proves. Lost love ballad “Silent Hill” reminisces about old love with twin vocals by Rebeca Gargallo and Eduardo Guzman giving the song a sweet yet sad melody. Rebecca Gargallo’s vocals act as almost an instrumental accompaniment, giving as to the tone and musical mood of each track as the violin and flute arraignments do. The lyrics float through the listener, giving them a translucent quality, enhancing the music wholly.

Times New Romance affected me physically, almost instantaneously relaxing me with Astronaut’s dream-pop melodies and slow, melancholy rhythms. The lyrics float smoothly, sweetly, and sadly throughout the entire album, and lush instrumental passages fill out and give the album an expansive, wide-open sound. With the beauty of Rebeca Gargallo’s sweet vocals and assorted flutes, strings, and horns, this is an emotion-filled dream.

Ruth Ruth – Right About Now

I love it when a band has its heart in the right place. Ruth Ruth has been on a rollercoaster ride of labels, going from the indie mainstay Deep Elm to punk paradise Epitaph to even BMG. Guess where the band is now? You got it: independent. Ruth Ruth wanted to make an album free of pretentiousness, label influence, pressure, and the like. They did it, and they’re very proud of it.

While I love it when a band has its heart in the right place, it’s still not going to influence my opinion of them. My opinion of the band lies somewhere along these lines: okay, but seriously, how did you get to BMG?!

The sound is a hook-laden pop-rock sound, which isn’t a bad thing; the bad thing is the angle from which these musicians approach their sound. Right About Now gives me reason to believe that the guitarist in Ruth Ruth is deficient, as the bass player carries 75% of the melodies, and the guitar provides auxiliary noise for much of the album. This is a quite innovative sound, but it doesn’t pan out as well as it sounds on paper.

While I adore the bass guitar as an instrument, the bassist in Ruth Ruth can not do it alone. Although “Jim Baio” sports enough amazing bass lines to pull the whole song through, most of this album seems thin and uninspired. It’s as if the guitarist just forgot to show up for some takes, and they released the album anyway. “Every Time We Go to Bed” is the perfect example of this. This anemic wonder is supported solely by relatively simple bass riffs – even after a huge crescendo into the chorus, the chorus uses guitar sparingly, giving off a mixed message to the listener (is this supposed to be a let-down, or did they forget something here?). There is one universal theme in the guitar sound besides minimalism: the guitars have a reggae-ish quality to them. Does the guitarist want this sound, or is it a byproduct of his minimalism? It’s impossible to tell.

This isn’t to say it all sucks; there are a couple (two) songs that use guitars to a good extent, “Electric” and “Bishop Ground, NY.” The better of the two is “Electric,” a song that uses bass more often than guitar, but Ruth Ruth throws in the right amount of guitar at the right times to invoke a genuine mood to the sound.

I’m not opposed to Ruth Ruth’s sound, it’s just that it seems unfulfilled. The bad thing about writing this review is that this album is written in direct protest to reviewers, so not only is the band expecting this review, these folks are waiting to tout it as the evilness of the system coming to get them. Sorry, Ruth Ruth. I support your ideals, but I just don’t get your music.

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