Four Square – Three Chords…One Capo

11:43 PM – Put on the headphones, ready to check out Four Square’s Three Chords…One Capo. Not really sure what to expect. Let’s just take a glimpse at the promo that came with the disc. Hmm…these guys are from Canada, so maybe they’re some sort of a post-rock collective or something. Wait, what’s this? They played shows with The Weakerthans, Sum 41, and Reel Big Fish. Pop-punk? Oh, man, I dunno about this. Buckle down, press play.

11:44 PM – I should have known…it’s emo. Of course, that’s not very descriptive. I suppose in some sense, everything is emo. OK, it’s not whiny-emo or emo-core. It’s got some energy, I’ll give it that, but it’s a harmless, VH-1 type energy, like if the Gin Blossoms stayed up all night listening to Jimmy Eat World records and got really antsy from the fatigue. At first, I was thankful that lead singer Simon Head’s voice wasn’t another angst-ridden Get up Kids clone, but after hearing him sing “When did this become a game? / When did this become so lame?” Matt Pryor’s teenage girl laments seem almost endearing. When did this become so lame, Simon? About 30 seconds into it, dude.

11:46 PM – Taking a break. Deep breaths. Don’t get too worked up. Emo is music too. Let’s find something positive for all the heart-on-your-sleeve emo-kids. Well, for one thing, this stuff is catchy, but so is West Nile Virus. I only made it through two songs, and they’ve been ingrained into my psyche so deeply that they’re probably going to rattle around my skull for the next month or so. It seems as though Four Square has stumbled onto the magical catchy-tune spell first discovered in Spain by the Moors during the early 8th century. If only Four Square would use these powers for good, not evil. Let’s put it this way, if you like emo, you’re in for a treat, cause you’re only gonna have to listen to this album once, and it’ll just keep replaying in your head. Over and over and over…

11:48 PM – Putting on the headphones. Not going to take them off until the album is finished. It’s go time…

12:23 AM – I have the sudden urge to start a Blog and write poetry about ex-girlfriends. OK, no more emo jokes, I promise. I don’t think it’s fair to emo bands to lump Four Square into the genre. This is more corporate power-pop if anything. Lyrically, yeah, its emo. Without question, the lyrics are the worst part of the album. Laughable, really. A few choice moments: “When will the work pay itself off? / life just isn’t fair…” and “Think about you every day / Wondering do you think about me just the same? / If I could I’d be the one who’d never be / Letting go.” Huh? Whatever happened to lyrical subtlety? It’s like that time in junior high when you started rummaging through your friend’s closet and found the weepy, melodramatic love letters he wrote to some girl he had a crush on.

It’s a shame, too, ‘cause the music ain’t half bad – for pop-punk. It had all the requisite bouncy guitars and synthesizers to give it a kick of quasi-rebellious energy. Sure, it’s derivative of every single power-pop/emo song ever written, but if the formula works, why change it? Against my better judgment, I almost found myself rocking out to the first couple of super-poppy guitar riffs before Simon Head came in and ruined everything by “singing.” Now, I’ve gotta go buy some Q-tips to see if I can physically scrape “You took her out and stayed out late / She told her dad not to wait” out of my ears.

Dan Friel – Sunburn

Setting up sonic exploration through the limitations of faulty hardware and machinery is the paradigm most often favoured by bedroom noise enthusiasts. What often results in compelling and uncompromising sonic structure is the very same thing that can be alienating to the listener. With that in mind, there’s an inherent slippery slope between sublime noise and self-indulgent wankery that can seem like a precarious pursuit of ideals. The idea of setting up technical limitations in order to create unlimited results is the main ingredient that Dan Friel of Parts & Labor seeks to accomplish on Sunburn, his second solo outing and first for the Velocirecords label.

While his main gig as member of Brooklyn’s Parts & Labor is comparatively rooted in a more raucous and drone-rock capacity, Friel relies more on the knob twists and turns of aural happenstance. Happenstance is the inevitable working method that Friel seems to employ here, as he coaxes the last vestiges of signal output from a Casio keyboard on its last legs. Sunburn serves up a mixed grill of lo-fi futuristic walkie-talkie static, keyboards that seem to be processed through the rotted wiring of old Texas Instruments components, and shrieking guitars that break up on re-entering the earth’s core.

“Deadbatteries” starts off the record with a sputtering cacophony of ring tones gone awry and guitar squelch filtered through disjointed envelope filters. “Greenlights” is the sound of two disparate radar signals battling for supremacy, while an old Atari video game provides a sputtering backbeat as its wires are ripped out. The fun really starts on track three with the unfortunately titled “Death.” This is a head-on collision that resembles the guitar sound of no-wave glitch-metal trio Sightings, a borrowed Pixies riff, and the early primitivism of Cabaret Voltaire – the real standout on this record. “Tractorcalls” has moments of real poignancy and tunefulness as an arpeggiated riff approximates an electronic deconstruction of Aaron Copeland’s “Hoedown” played by Jackie-O Motherfucker.

For the uninitiated, Sunburn can be a taxing listen; however, within seven tracks and just under 20 minutes, Dan Friel has constructed bite-sized palatable morsels of noise and melody. While Sunburn can be easily dismissed as electronic hedonistic debris, there is a tuneful and playful side to this record that bridges any gaps between self-indulgence and lucid sonic art terror.

Dungen – Ta Det Lugnt

When I brought home Dungen’s new LP Ta Det Lugnt, my friends gawked at my eccentricity. When I defended the merits of the music, my friends replied with “But he doesn’t even sing in English!” So much for music being the universal language.

Yes, Gustav Ejstes, the 24 year old multi-instrumentalist creator of Ta Det Lugnt, sings in Swedish. I can’t understand a single word he’s saying throughout the entire disc (except the cognate “festival”), and unless you’re majoring in Scandinavian culture studies, neither will you. Now that that’s out of the way, it’s time to talk about the music.

Dungen’s music sounds impossibly old; Ejstes takes lo-fi recording a step earlier and managed to open up a wormhole between the 60s and the oughts. But once the dust is blown off the surface, the ingenuity, creativity, and general newness of Ta Det Lugnt shines through brilliantly. Ejstes crafts songs where throwback psych-pop melts effortlessly into cascading soundscapes, jazz interludes, and epic instrumentation.

The opener, “Panda,” starts off with a rattling drum fill, introduces a Hendrix-esque opening riff, segues into classic rock with soaring, aggressive solos, and finishes with acoustic plucking. “Festival” features a forlorn Ejstes majestically crooning over a galloping drum line and sparkling guitar. A minute and a half in, the song turns into a soundscape that wouldn’t be out of place on Explosions in the Sky’s The Earth is Not a Cold, Dead Place. A vaudeville piano line guides the song into its exit.

The middle of the record features two mini-epic tacks, “Du E For Fin For Mig” and “Ta Det Lugnt,” both expanding well past the seven-minute mark and transcending genres fluently. “Du E For Fin For Mig” starts off as a tribal chant, gradually gaining momentum into a pop anthem and finally into a roaring jam session replete with towering guitar solos. The opening minute of “Ta Det Lugnt” sounds like a mix between the Beatles and Circulatory System, but later the song morphs into an easy-jazz piece.

Already, Ejstes has covered almost as many genres as I have in my CD rack, and we’re not even past track six yet! But it’s not just the experimentation and genre-melding that makes Ta Det Lugnt so incredible; rather, Ejstes’ uncanny attention to detail and sonic layering takes center stage throughout the album. At any given time, five or six instruments will be sounding off at once, and though the recording sounds antiquated, no one sound overpowers another. Instead, everything blends together into a dense, orchestrated jungle of reverberation. Such incredible and successful intertwining could only be the result of a single brain and musical vision maintaining control of every part of each song. It’s a daunting task, to be sure, but it’s one that Ejstes pulls off beautifully.

Perhaps it’s a good thing that we can’t understand what Ejstes is saying. Maybe that just eliminates the distraction of verbal language from the enjoyment of a higher form of language: melody. Without our ability to comprehend it, the voice simply melts into the music, until it’s all the same and the vocals are just another instrument again – its effect is similar to that of Animal Collective’s use of primitive grunts and coos to inject another layer of emotion into their music. In the end, Ejstes’ work elicits a very different reaction from that of any other album; Ta Det Lugnt appeals not to our higher frontal lobes, but to something more basic, innate, and ancient; this is music in its most purely impressive form.

Some Girls – All My Friends are Going Death

Warning: Do NOT mistake this Some Girls with the Juliana Hatfield-fronted trio of the same name. Doing so could lead to serious side-effects, including nausea, vomiting, and sudden loss of hearing. If you’re searching for anthemic pop rock with soaring soulful vocals, then stay the hell away from this disc. There are no discernible melodies here, no big hooks to latch onto, no captivating moments of shimmering beauty. What you do get is plenty of pummeling old-school punk/hardcore in the vein of seminal bands like Judge and Sick of it All mixed in part with metalcore’s crushing tenacity. Indeed, this version of Some Girls is fast, loud, nasty, and mean.

However, if there is anything that the two Some Girls share in common, it’s that both are in some ways all-star affairs. Led by ex-Give up the Ghost/American Nightmare frontman Wes Eisold, this group also features guitarist Rob Moran of Unbroken and Over My Dead Body fame as well as Justin Pearson from The Locust on bass. With so much talent gathered in one place, you might expect something a bit more ambitious and innovative than some “retro-hardcore” affair, but closer inspection reveals a fresh take on old sounds, and the group’s genuine enthusiasm for the material shines through on the final mix resulting in a powerful, high-energy LP.

With 15 tracks (not including the hidden track buried at the end) clocking in at around 22 minutes, All My Friends are Going Death is an unrelenting onslaught, a vicious, visceral barnburner that seems thoroughly determined to knock listeners on their ass. There are a lot of clichés that I could throw out to describe this album – how listening to it is like getting struck with a sledgehammer in the stomach or being run over by 10-ton truck – but I’m not sure if any of them are truly representative of the kind of ferocious intensity that Some Girls wield. Eisold’s gruff, rumbling vocals are as brutal and indecipherable as ever, really more of a weapon than an instrument. Meanwhile, Moran and Pearson churn out air-tight, rapid-fire classic punk/hardcore riffs simmering with tightly-wound tension.

It should be mentioned that All My Friends are Going Death is comprised of some new material but is also made up of songs from two previous 7”s (The Rains and The Blues) released on Deathwish, as well as some demo recordings. Still, the album remains remarkably consistent in both its sound quality and general overall mood (dark and portentous, in case you were wondering). With this release, Some Girls have crafted a tenacious LP that remains true to the cathartic spirit of the pioneering artists who have so obviously inspired them. For my part, I’m hoping that these guys will find reason to continue playing with one another and, in the process, elevate Some Girls beyond “side-project” status.

Various Artists – This is Indie Rock, Vol. 1

“This is indie rock.” That’s quite a claim. Indie rock, as people reading this hopefully know, is really just music that’s not on a major label. But more than that, it’s come to describe a kind of uber-genre, something that encompasses a host of others (usually possessing the indie- prefix). When those not in the know ask me how to define indie rock, I have a hard time explaining it. “You know it when you hear it,” is my usual answer, and it leaves them as confused as I.

When we last left Deep Elm, the label was offering bands in all the various emo genres with its Emo Diaries compilation series. Now that the 10-volume series has met its graceful ending, Deep Elm moves on to an even more all-encompassing label. Of course, this gives the Deep Elm folks a comfortable out: you may disagree about what is or isn’t emo, but how can you possibly say any of these bands aren’t, in fact, indie rock?

The label isn’t trying to define indie rock (thank goodness!). Instead, Deep Elm puts together a compilation of 12 tracks you won’t hear elsewhere, as the label continues its policy of making sure all tracks are exclusive to this release. However, while there was a loose connection between the Emo Diaries songs (they were various shades of emo, after all, and didn’t we all like it when Deep Elm put a slower, more unique track at the end or as a hidden track?), there’s really no connection between these songs other than that they are, in fact, indie-rock tracks by indie-rock bands, and most listeners will probably find at least something to like.

Things kick off with fun, crunchy power-pop of Jerusalem’s The Pit That Became a Tower’s “I Must Save the President.” We get another track of uptempo emo from Clair de Lune with some nice piano parts at its end, spastic, dancey music that seems all the rage these days from Dino Velvet, and up-beat straightforward rock from Ireland’s Throat. Siva’s “G” is pretty standard hardcore, and then we get the knock-offs: Lakota’s “So Simple” reminds me eerily of ex-Deep Elmsters Red Animal War, and The Kidcrash offers a dose of Cursive-esque emo.

More rock than indie-pop, “Indie Pop Song” by The Blind King is nonetheless a standout here, a bit ironic and a tad lo-fi. Similarly, the lo-fi singer/songwriter feel of Second Hand Stories’ “Frontiers” is a very pretty and calm song. Winter in Alaska offers a nice mid-tempo but powerful track as well with “Puzzle: Part One.” Another standout, “Rooms” by Leaving Rouge has hints of alt-country to its nicely flowing rock. Joanna Erdos’ torch song, “Silver and Gold,” feels completely out of place here, despite how nice this traditional-feeling song is.

The sub-title to this compilation, The Best Bands You’ve Never Heard, is probably fitting. There’s some very good bands here, and the average listener has probably never heard most of them. There’s even merely one Deep Elm band this time around, which means even Deep Elm fans may be surprised. Still, the label has always been adept at picking new and obscure talent from around the world, and this compilation, while not perfect on every track, has some surprisingly strong talent that I’ve never heard before. And that’s always something to get excited about.

Dutch Kills – Nothing Was Ever the Same EP

Pretentiousness is a sin that runs rampant throughout the indie world; every band is ‘unlike anything else,’ or in the case of Dutch Kills, ‘…definitively un-garagey indie rock.’ Listening to Nothing Was Ever the Same, the band clearly falls short of being a ‘sound that breaks all indie genres,’ but I can still forgive Dutch Kills this transgression because Nothing Was Ever the Same is still a great EP, innovative yet familiar at the same time.

Dutch Kills’ sound is big, wide, expansive; layered guitars, woven tightly into sweet melodies feel huge when you listen to them. However, this isn’t the sterile, wide-open expansiveness of Radiohead, this is big, warm and personal music. “She’s a Star” is vaguely reminiscent of a Radiohead track, with those thick and distorted guitars and layered melody, the difference here being singer Nick Altebrando’s personalized lyrics and vocals. Altebrando’s emotional and intensely personal lyrics come through frequently on this EP, and his penchant for storytelling through song is obvious in “Semi,” the sad tale of a trucker.

Nothing Was Ever the Same bears the obvious marks of Radiohead, Bob Mould, and others. “Katherine” feels like a dream with its big guitars, ambience, and vocal distortions, leaning even more towards the experimental. Still, Dutch Kills didn’t completely leave that indie-pop genre the band seems to want to leave so much. “Superpowers” is a cheesy bit of cliché, and it differs in style from the bigger, more orchestral tracks on the EP.

The end result of Dutch Kills’ mix of Radiohead-like expansiveness and dreamy indie rock with singer Nick Altebrando’s personal lyrics is a big sound, large and enveloping at the same time. With dreamlike indie pop, sweet woven melodies of distortion, and vocals that go to the heart of things, Nothing Was Ever the Same is a great EP.

Kilgore Trout – Novocaine EP

Ugh. A mercifully brief three-song EP that can be summed up in as many words: stink, stank, stunk (apologies to Theodore Geisel).

Sounding like a thousand other bands nominally influenced by the Pixies (more likely Weezer) with a hard rock/metal guitar crunch and male/female vocal harmonies, Kilgore Trout has the distinction of being the most superfluous band I’ve heard since Damn Yankees. It isn’t necessarily bad – truly bad records are at least entertaining – it’s just deadly mediocre and has already been done and done and done and done.

I’ll charitably compare the verse of “Beautiful” to a Pernice Brothers afterthought and the chorus to an inspired Nickelback. I think that’s fair. Definitely could be worse, but I think I’d rather it to be worse, much worse preferably. “I’ll Make You Mine” begins with some promising howling and a riff Kula Shaker might have envied way back when, ultimately improving on the previous track if only for Jeremy Gray’s attitudinal vocals, a kind of drawling snottiness that I don’t really buy, but it sounds cool. At least they save the best for last. The title song periodically compels with its sharper hooks; it’s okay.

The band’s website is confusing, too. Click on shit and nothing happens. Not to mention the band copped the name of a Kurt Vonnegut hero for its handle. I’m not quite sure what a Kurt Vonnegut-inspired band might sound like, but I’d like to hear it. This ain’t it!

The musicians in Kilgore Trout have managed to peek their heads above the waters of pop success; that’s more that many ever accomplish, including me. “Don’t patronize me!” I hear them say. You’re right. Novocaine is boring and I never want to hear it again.

Neotropic – White Rabbits

What strikes one first when hearing about Neotropic is that she is among the leading female creators/recorders of ambient, dub-centric electronica soundscapes. Does Neotropic’s (real name Riz Maslen) gender factor into the substance of her recordings? Perhaps. Should her gender be her calling card in the male dominated world of ambient electronica? Certainly not; her music speaks for itself. So enough about her XX chromosome. Neotropic’s latest album, White Rabbits, is an overwhelmingly enjoyable collection of cinematic, mostly instrumental electronic music with usually subtle, significant beats and perfectly placed rare vocals.

White Rabbits has IDM touches, but Neotropic seems to resist any temptation to go into full-blown milder dance territory. The album opens with the sampled sounds of the sea and girls laughing on the brief “Girls at the Seaside.” It’s an organic way to start an LP just over an hour in length. “New Cross” proceeds with individual, spaced guitar chords and gentle beats that offer instant serenity. “New Cross” benefits from drowned samples of kids and female wails and, near its end, more dominant London Underground transport announcements. The aquatic ambience of the track combines blissfully with warm beats that can only be described as “chilled out” for genre association’s sake; there is nothing cold or impersonal about “New Cross.”

One of the more tense tracks on White Rabbits, “Inch Inch” is most notable for its progression from rolling drum ‘n bass lines to sparse, slow, liquidized tranquility. It’s a great piece that brings to mind Ultramarine’s work, especially on Every Man and Woman is a Star from 1992. “Magpies” ranks as Neotropic’s most vocally interesting track, with her altered voice, more dominant female moans, and other human cries that recall some of Enigma’s work on its second album, The Cross of Changes. “Magpies” is never cheesy, never less than fascinating and intensely attractive. It takes a completely unexpected turn near the end with an acoustic R’n’B inflection.

Neotropic records every sound so meticulously and naturally that each second offers increasingly clearer visual imagery for the listener. Footsteps, recorded announcements, human expression, everything on White Rabbits is genuine and delivered in the right amount. “Feelin’ Remote” features a delicious mix of folky/bluesy harmonica, percussive chimes, and more pronounced metallic beats. It’s like Bob Dylan jamming with Ultramarine for almost 10 minutes. White Rabbits seems to close with “If We Were Trees,” in which Neotropic repeats her frustrated plea, “Oh you’re doing my head in / Isn’t it time we called it a day.” Her words, pitch, and projection are slightly distorted with each repetition, and the track stretches out into ambient, open-field voice-free territory with live drummers and flutists.

The bonus, unnamed hidden track may shock listeners with its slicing keyboard lines and pounding drums. It doesn’t pierce ears, but there is definitely a menacing side to Neotropic that comes out only for the patient and devoted at the album’s end. The noisy bonus material draws Neotropic back to fiercer 90’s techno. Consistently stimulating and never formulaic, White Rabbits features brilliant manipulation of natural and artificial sounds with ever-present respect for the knob-flicker and her listeners. With its dramatic seven- to nine-minute-long tracks, White Rabbits is an ideal album for playing at a late night party or popping in the car disc changer for a long ride.

Cub Country – Stay Poor/Stay Happy

Once begun as a side project for Jimmy Chatelain, ex-Handsome and bass player for Jets to Brazil, Cub Country has evolved into a full-time gig, allowing this singer/songwriter to stretch his musical legs and fully develop his own strong voice. And Chatelain does have a strong voice, his words deeply moving and his delivery extremely smooth. It’s only fitting that he has his own project, and with Cub Country’s second full-length, Stay Poor/Stay Happy, Chatelain proves his impressive talents.

Equal parts Americana and mid-tempo indie-rock, Cub Country hints at older Wilco or Sun Volt, classic Willie Nelson, and more recent Jets to Brazil. Sparkling electric guitar solos mix with softly paced country-twang of acoustic guitar, and the result is an evolution of the Americana sound – not so much alt-country but indie-rock with country and folk influences. With beautifully written songs, the result is something extremely endearing.

The light strands of synths backing the sweetly country tempo of “Be Yer Own Hitman” gives the sense the album is going to be one big throwback, but “Missed the Train” is an up-tempo rocker. Think My Morning Jacket, with its catchy beat and guitar focus. “O Holy Bridge” feels more traditional, with its harmonica and stand-up bass, while “Leaving the Bar” is lovely, male and female vocals mixing over a soft pace. “The West” brings back the more up-tempo rock and electric guitars, and “The Sun” closes with a quiet, singer/songwriter style.

Without a single bad song here, some still shine brighter, from the gorgeous country-esque “The Salt Islands” with its melancholy story to tell to the pure brilliance of “If We Should Fall.” There’s no real country on the latter, just a stark telling of a bittersweet song. “If you’re lost along the way / I would try to be your light and help you on the way,” he sings a tad forlornly, before the most gorgeous classical-style guitar comes in. “59 Grand” is over eight minutes long and never feels it. It’s soft and quiet and moving in its own way.

We all know that Jets to Brazil was primarily the project of Blake Schwarzenbach, but having heard Jimmy Chatelain’s own project, it’s easy to hear the influence Chatelain had on that other band as well. This is pure songwriting at its finest, showing influences from the last 30 years but with a unique and strong voice all its own. This one’s highly recommended.

The Berg Sans Nipple – Play the Immutable Truth EP

So I know a lot of Phish fans. They’ve been proudly carrying the jam-band banner for years, hyping up Phish as one of the greatest, most groundbreaking bands of our time. “Come on,” I tell them. “Phish is nothing more than a bunch of mediocre musicians ripping off Frank Zappa. Go buy a copy of Hot Rats and learn a thing or two before you run your ignorant, hippie mouths.”

The most common retort to this rock solid logic was, “What’s wrong with that? Is it a crime to have influences?” For people with such questionable taste in music, they sort of had a point. I’m a big fan of the Strokes and Interpol, despite their quasi-musical plagiarism of The Velvet Underground and Joy Division, respectively. I’m not going to put either of those bands up on a pedestal, but I can appreciate what they’ve done within the framework of their redundancies. In light of this, how would I respond to Play the Immutable Truth from Radioheaditis-sufferers The Berg Sans Nipple? In short, plagiarism be damned: this record is great.

I’d never heard of The Berg Sans Nipple before, and after seeing on the band’s website that one of the band members was once in Lullaby for the Working Class and other like-minded Omaha bands, I assumed I’d be treated to a fresh cut of Saddle Creek-style folk rock. Naturally, the intricate, groovy post-rock that melted through my headphones took me somewhat by surprise. Once I settled into the album, I was a bit overwhelmed by the obvious Radiohead influence. These guys are obviously big fans of Amnesiac and Kid A. Even some of the samples that dot the expansive, ethereal landscape that is Play the Immutable Truth sound like they were ripped directly from those two albums. This is certainly no reason to write off The Berg Sans Nipple as a cheap imitation. Nearly every new band has some Radiohead in them, but few capitalize on that influence with such skill.

The four tracks that make up this 20 minute EP evolve in such an organic, engaging way, the result is an album that feels a lot longer and more complex than its actual length would indicate. The opener, “An Eternity in Purgatory,” weaves ambient synth samples with a funky drum beat, the whole package sounding like a rougher, more rock-oriented Air track. When they drop the rock rhythm and really start experimenting with the samples on “Swordfighting,” these musicians demonstrate their ability to navigate ambient territory with graceful aplomb.

In the hands of amateurs, experimental break-beat sounds pretentious, difficult, and generally “wankerish,” but executed by talented, forward thinking musicians like those in The Berg Sans Nipple or their forebears, Radiohead, it sounds nothing short of groundbreaking.

Next Page »