The Bravery – S/T

The Cure has been popping up in a lot of strange places lately. Robert Smith’s schizo wail can be heard in any Killers song, and now his face is plastered morose on every member of The Bravery. In many cases, this could be considered a bad thing, but since The Cure is probably the best thing to happen to the most criticized decade in music, there isn’t really anything to worry about. That’s what The Bravery is here to prove.

The Bravery masks conventional music norms behind mathematical synth beats and vocals that Morrissey has practically copyrighted. New-wave is coming back in a way that recollects the 80s in their prime, and The Bravery has taken everything good about the decade’s music and blended it into one accessible new wave smoothie. The vocals are a cross between Morrissey and Robert Smith, while the guitars and synthesizers scream “Killers.”

The band’s self-titled album kicks off with the best song, “An Honest Mistake.” It’s at this point that The Cure’s influence hits the hardest while the lyrics bring The Smith’s to mind from their Meat is Murder days (“I swear I never meant for this / Don’t look at me that way / It was an honest mistake”). Another standout is the warm and fuzzy “Unconditional.”

The Bravery treads the same well worn path as bands like The Smiths and The Cure but manages to avoid tripping on its roots by adding a unique personality. If new-wave has to come back, than it should be taking notes from these guys.

Bellafea – Family Tree EP

Family Tree puts me in a standoffish mood. I don’t know what it is about this album, but there’s something contained in it that keeps my mood very subdued and very angsty in a very low-key way.

Perhaps it’s the minimalism of it all. Bellafea is a White Stripes-ian drums/guitar rock combo (although the girl sings and plays guitar while the guy plays drums). This is used to their advantage in all possible places – the drums are much more aggressive and complex than Meg White’s simplistic banging, and the guitars don’t take after Jack White’s tendency of being dirty, manic, and wailing all the time. Don’t get me wrong though, these two do get fierce in songs like “While We are Still Young” and the furious freight-train that is “Tara.” It’s just that Bellafea has its moments (such as the outro of the spectacular “Thorn Bird”) where the artists are content to let minimalism run its course, creating an eerie, creepy mood as good as any created by fierce guitar explosions.

Perhaps it’s the vocals. In sharp contrast to Jack White, the female vocals here aren’t an acquired taste; you’ll catch them instantly and be sucked in by the enticing, simple tone. By the time you get to “Thorn Bird,” you’ll be haunted by the vocal arrangements and singing them in your sleep. You’ll simply not be able to get “Be Still and Know” out of your head. It’s not as if you can hum it either; it’s a pretty un-catchy song, in itself. It’s just so darn good that you’ll be thinking about it and thinking about it and thinking about it. Haunting.

Perhaps it’s the fact that Bellafea takes the best elements of the White Stripes and adds even more good things (mood shifts, as in – yet again – the standout “Thorn Bird,” aesthetics, occasional reliance on vocals rather than guitars). Yes, with all that in their sound, their style is undeniably current, but it gets even better. Songs such as title track “Family Tree,” with its lazy acoustic guitar strum, feel timeless in their production and songwriting. I can hear old soul singers singing “Family Tree” – I can hear slaves singing this, I could hear folk singers singing it, it’s just a universal song. Their style isn’t just a fad or a trip. Bellafea has discovered the best, most timelessly endearing elements of rock, pared them down to their minimalist best, and stuck them all together in one EP that barely covers 20 minutes.

Perhaps it’s that. Perhaps it is the fact that Bellafea is better in one tiny EP than most bands will ever be in their careers. Yes, that’s it, I think: the tragedy that Bellafea will never get the recognition they deserve. That’s what makes me so stand-offish when I hear this CD.

This album is the reason I stay in independent music, even when it seems that it’s a trade where someone’s always saying that your opinion sucks, that your writing sucks, and that you’re not ‘informed’ enough. No, I haven’t heard of your latest indie hipster band, but I have heard of Bellafea. And that’s good enough for me.

Spike Priggen – Stars After Stars After Stars

Perhaps Spike Priggen’s biggest coup on his new album of covers, Stars After Stars After Stars, is turning the Ramones’ already sublime “Questioningly” into a breezy, mid-tempo country ballad, complete with a rippling pedal steel solo that sounds like it came off an old Gram Parsons record, with some 12-string Rickenbacker thrown in for good measure. Discovering the original of that song was a revelation, but Priggen gives is new life by making it sound as little like the Ramones as possible. It works here because the song, even the lyrics, sounds perfectly at home in a countrified setting. You keep shaking your head thinking that this can’t possibly be a Ramones song, but it is.

It’s a path he should have taken more often. That is, not necessarily countrifying the songs, but taking some new approach to them. The songs he can’t hope to improve on – Alex Chilton’s stunning “Nighttime” is the best example – he could have tried more to rework. As it is, he fills the songs out with straight-forward rock instrumentation that serves almost all of them well but doesn’t reveal anything new about them. For “Nighttime,” Priggen eschews Chilton’s aching tremulousness for a more confident rock ballad sound. It beats trying to replicate Chilton, but the resulting version is destined to pale in comparison.

Of course, ‘paling in comparison’ is what every all-cover album has to contend with, isn’t it? Maybe the question isn’t how the songs stack up to the originals but how they work on their own on the new album. For the listener, though, it’s almost impossible to forget the original, if you know it already, and take the new version on its own merits. The best thing that can happen, and it happens again and again on this album, is that it leads you to discover or rediscover some wonderful songs, some obscure and some less so. For example, if you look past Priggen’s misguided version of “Eighteen” by Alice Cooper, you can find “Plainsailing,” a forgotten solo from Tracey Thorn’s only solo album. The former Everything But the Girl member’s original version is aching and wistful, and Priggen’s is a tasteful tribute to the original.

Most of the album is a nostalgic look back at the artist’s past, including the bands he’s played in as well as those he’s idolized, including the Hot Bodies, the Jacobites, and the Zombies. He works through these songs competently and respectfully, and in the end what he’s created is a tribute to his own musical development. But in doing so he’s also given us a window back into some forgotten moments in music from the 70′s and 80′s various indie, new-wave, and punk scenes.

The One AM Radio – On the Shore of the Wide World EP

Almost exactly one year ago, The One AM Radio received significant acclaim for its album, A Name Writ in Water by a fellow writer for this magazine. Let me state that there are no conspiracies at Delusions Of Adequacy; one critic’s favorite album may be an element of torture for another writer. That said, I agree with much of Tyler Wagnon’s praise for music by The One AM Radio. I haven’t heard the original tracks on A Name Writ in Water, but my interest in the band’s back catalogue developed after listening to the remixes of seven tracks from that album that form the new EP, On the Shore of the Wide World.

The opening track, “What You Gave Away (Alias Remix),” is lush, perfectly dipped in aquatic romance and stringed instrumentation. Hrishikesh Hirway’s softly sung lyrics give the song a cinematic sense of nostalgia. The terrific combination of synthesized beats and Jane Yakowitz’s violin is attractive from start to finish. Pleasantly surprising, Hirway’s vocal approach on “What You Gave Away (Alias Remix)” recalls some German synthpop from the late 80s and late 90s, particularly Camouflage and Wolfsheim.

“Under Thunder and Gale (A Black and Blue Sky by Daedelus)” is much more metallic, with fuzzy keyboards and varying levels of discord. Hirway talks his way through the track until female jazzy “doo-doo’s” appear from nowhere near the end. Hirway’s “Gasp and Sputter Remix” of “Buried Below” fuses his altered 60s-style sighs with light, leisurely drum-n-bass. The remixed “Buried Below” isn’t close to the opening track’s majesty, but it’s an enjoyable collection of manipulated vocal vibrations that recalls “The Lithium Stiffs” by Tortoise on It’s All Around You.

John Tejada’s remix of “Witness” continues the vocal tweaks and knob flicking that dominate “Buried Below,” but with more pronounced dance floor intentions. Between Hirway’s repeated line of “There’s nowhere that we would rather be / When night falls, there’s electricity” and the bleeps and tubular beats, Tejada’s remix sounds like a British garage track from five years ago. The multilayered, spacey murmurs of “I Didn’t Speak the Language (Caural’s Almost Lost Mix)” combine with driving keyboards and pounding drums to yield a mysterious new wave instrumental. The EP’s only mundane track is “Drowsy Haze (Jane’s Blocked Out Interlude).” Thankfully, this vocal piece lasts just 41 seconds.

On the Shore of the Wide World closes as affectingly as it opens, with the stunning, meticulously distorted “Fever Dream,” reinterpreted by The Wind-Up Bird. This gorgeous instrumental soundscape brings the EP to a soothing, bittersweet end; sweet because quivering notes have rarely hit the heart and mind so directly with images of oceanic tranquility, bitter because this is the final track. Much like Wagnon ended his review, I strongly recommend adding On the Shore of the Wide World to one’s CD collection. Until Hirway releases new material, I plan to quench my desire for more of his music by exploring his past recordings.

Lagwagon – Live in a Dive

Direct from Fat Wreck Chords’ Live in a Dive series comes a release from a band that everyone had to know was coming, eventually – Lagwagon (a band that’s seemingly been on Fat Wreck since 1765 or something).

There’s really not much to say about this particular Live in a Dive release, though. By this point, it’s pretty well set that one either enjoys Lagwagon/Fat Wreck releases or doesn’t. This disc isn’t going to change any minds or knock down any existing mental blocks associated with listening to this band. Lagwagon fans will color themselves impressed, however.

The sound quality of the recording is completely top notch (Joey Cape’s voice is in fine form throughout, actually sounding a bit stronger/more capable than on the band’s studio releases), the stage banter between band members is hilarious, and the actual concert showcased on this disc is tight and energetic. “Making Friends” comes off very subdued partway through the set, thought it makes for nice moments when the song breaks down a bit and the crowd is audibly singing along in the background (a cool bit that actually happens earlier in the disc as well, during Cape’s acoustic intro to the set opener “Alien 8”).

The inclusion of “Beer Goggles” sets the crowd off the most (especially after Cape’s introduction for the song that states, “We never play this song anymore because we think it’s really stupid … but we’re playing it because people always wanna hear it”); still, the most absurdly entertaining moment of the set comes when the band members switch instruments and guitarist Chris Flippin leads a childishly amusing metal-cum-rap “Mama Said Knock You Out” knock-off about using the restroom called “Back One Out.”

As an added bonus, six-and-a-half minutes of CD-ROM footage adds complete live footage of “Mr. Coffee” (not included on the setlist, and complete with Cape doing calisthenics during the musical break), as well as a faux-interview of Lagwagon as conducted by Fat Mike of NOFX.

This isn’t the best place in the world to start listening to Lagwagon (Double Plaidnum or Trashed would be best), but it’s certainly an interesting release for longtime fans of the band. As far as live albums go, Lagwagon’s Live in a Dive release is fun, tight, and loud – and it sounds great, as well. What more could a music fan ask for?

Emperor X – Central Hug/Friendarmy/Fractaldunes

From Lou Barlow’s cathartic electro-folk musings to Beck’s sometimes experimental freewheeling to Iron & Wine’s A.M.-fuzz soundscape, lo-fi deals with everything from simple pop to free-form song structures. Lo-fi champions – often dorky kids with too much free time, too many instruments crammed into their bedrooms, and a pawnshop 4-track machine to record every one of their dorky utterances – tend to drown their songs under layers of tape distortion and obtuse lyrics. And while this scenario is habitually catastrophic (intelligent lyricists who minimalize tape-fuzz, like Pavement and Neutral Milk Hotel, withstanding), the appeal of the musical genre is undeniable: it’s for dilettantes, and it’s expected to be bad.

When Emperor X, né Chad Matheny, emerged from the Gainesville marshes in 2004 with Tectonic Membrane/Thin Strip on An Edgeless Platform (Snowglobe) – his debut album of Dictaphone-grade yet stylized synthetic pop – everyone called him a champion of a dying genre. Lo-fi was kicking the bucket not because the aforementioned dorky kids traded in their 4-tracks for studio sessions, but because hardly anyone was producing lo-fi recordings worth mentioning. Emperor X and his unique, winsome brand of electro-jamming jangle pop, was needed.

On Emperor X’s second album, Central Hug/ FriendArmy/ Fractaldunes (And the Dreams That Resulted), he continues to carry the torch for the lo-fi believers. Each track sounds divorced from the one that preceded it. From the retro-futuristic jam “Shut Shut Up,” to the folk-inspired “Raytracer,” to “AloalocularL.A.” – a ballad with reverberating electrified harpsichords – to the whistling and melancholy ballad “Rinseley,” to the outer-worldly ambience in “Coast to Coast” (it’s as if Mogwai went lo-fi), Emperor X is not afraid to explore the synthetic sonic boundaries offered by his computers, delay, and pedals. And the album is a thematic grab bag as well, finding inspiration from mass transportation, love letters, the Marshall Plan, La Brea tar pits, and even Wichita. On the delicate and enchanting “Citizens of Wichita,” Emperor X takes a “bus to the mountains and the labyrinths,” a destination he calls home. Considering the jumbled and complex sources from which he derives his musical offerings, how fitting that he finds recluse in a maze. And while his labyrinthine lyrics and cosmic soundcraft don’t always make sense, what is clear is that Central Hug delivers some of the best lo-fi tracks of today.

Unlike many of the lo-fi rockers of his generation, Emperor X has found a recipe that works, and he offers little in the way of distractions: his lyrics are engaging and interesting, the synthetic feedback that plagues the wannabes is hardly overwhelming here, and each track is sonically varied. In fact, the only disturbance might be in trying to remember the inanely longwinded titles of both his releases, titles that don’t seem to have any relation to the songs themselves. How are you going to tell your friends to go buy it?

Colonel Rhodes – This is Public EP

“No depression! No depression!” Those words shot through my brain like a rallying cry as I listened to Colonel Rhodes’ debut EP, This is Public. I could smell the ghosts of rusting silos and abandoned factories escaping from these five songs, hear them frantically scrambling for the mythical Midwest heartland popularized by Uncle Tupelo and their insurgent country peers. This isn’t just indie rock with a twinge of ol’ Americana thrown in for good measure; this is full-on alt-country, barreling straight and true from that brief period in the 90s when Bloodshot Records ruled the roost and Jay Farrar still knew how to write a good song.

Don’t know what the hell I’m talking about? Couldn’t tell the difference between a Blood Orange and a Bottle Rocket if your life depended on it? If so, you should probably stop reading this and move on. This is an album for the converted, aimed squarely at the folks who can’t let go of their tattered issues of No Depression and hold Gram Parsons with the same regard that Catholics reserve for the Virgin Mary. The boys (and girl) in Colonel Rhodes will probably garner no love from the indie fashionistas ardently trumpeting the latest PiL-core revivalist; however, anyone who likes country music is in for a tasty treat.

This is Public falls on the poppier side of the alt-country spectrum: imagine a slightly more boisterous Whiskeytown without the faux world-weary urbanity, or Uncle Tupelo without the scorching slash-and-burn guitar aesthetic. Each track is a sterling example of solid songwriting, wonderfully paced and leaving enough breathing space for each instrument to express itself. And even though most of the songs hover around the five-minute mark, they never drag or linger on longer than needed, offering enough variation to keep the listener’s attention. A large part of their sparkling sound is likely due to Adam Schmidt’s clean production; each instrument sounds clean and distinct, without ever being buried or lost in the mix.

Even though each of the five songs holds up pretty well by themselves, the definite highlights are the tracks that bookend the EP, “Setting Sun” and “Saint Paul.” The former begins with a typical country shuffle that eventually gives way to a raucous, toe-tapping instrumental outro; the latter is a driving, near-anthemic rootsy rock song vaguely reminiscent of Old 97’s at their prime, complete with dueling guitars and huge arena-rock drums. “Saint Paul” is undoubtedly the best track on the album, and it’s the one that will most likely appeal to those who remain ambivalent to alt-country; it’s filled to the brim with delicious little instrumental hooks, each one effortlessly shrugged off as quickly as it’s introduced.

If there’s any fault to be found, it’s with the vocals; the melodies, while catchy, hinge on an unmistakable Nashville flavor. Vocalists Seth Hubbard and Elizabeth Holt sing most of the songs in a duet style that should be familiar to any country fan, inflecting their voices with an earnest, yet affected mountain twang that can either be endearing or extraordinarily annoying, depending on your mood. They’re certainly an acquired taste, and not likely to win over anyone who doesn’t like country music to begin with.

At the band’s best, Colonel Rhodes seems just about ready to break free from the alt-country constraints; at its worst, the artists veer a little too closely to the radio-friendly young country jangle that is so often (and rightfully so, I might add) maligned by the music press at large. But the years are long and the future uncertain, and this is most certainly a promising debut from a young and talented band. Again, This is Public will probably only appeal to alt-country fans, and Colonel Rhodes is perhaps merely preaching to the choir; however, they’re serving up one hell of a sermon.

Eleven Minutes Away – Arson Followed Me Home

Arson Followed Me Home is the latest addition to the emocore category, which is essentially pop-punk with heavy elements. Describing this band is going to be relatively cut-and-paste, as these guys are practically a carbon copy of Boys Night Out. This is pop-punk on steroids, injected with hardcore screaming, and all served in a melodic manner like their Canadian counterparts. The resemblances to Boys Night Out benefit Eleven Minutes Away, because Make Yourself Sick is a solid collection of screamo, and this debut follows in its footsteps.

“Athrophy Acetylene” is the bellowing opener that drives home the band’s hardcore influence the hardest. The track busts open with beating drums and a metallic lead guitar hook. The jumpy notes ascend higher and higher, adding melody to the heavy background. There’s both singing and screaming on the track, and like the majority of songs, this one contains both. Unlike the more uneven vocals of Boys Night Out, these guys sing flawlessly. The vocal harmonies couldn’t sound any more pleasant, like when they’re in front of a clean guitar backdrop (“Purpose is Distraction”). The vocals are contributed by all but one member of the quartet, drummer Steve Valentini.

While the CD has plenty of screaming fare, it doesn’t quite dominate the entire disc. Constant mood swings throughout the album bring welcome shifts in dynamic. The two really short songs, “Purpose is Distraction” and “I Am Tragedy,” are completely sung and are still memorable. “Danger Inc.” stomps open in Every Time I Die fashion, just some straight up Southern fried ‘core. Within 30 seconds, pop-punk vocals completely redirect the song into an enormously catchy one. Eleven Minutes Away further avoid one-trick pony status with the last two songs, “Alias: Grace,” and “Drilling Holes in His Head is Not the Answer.” These songs concentrate on singing, with sparse screaming, and succeed through a cathartic tone.

Every song on this CD is extremely catchy, but you may skip tracks depending on your mood (hard songs in the beginning, soft ones near the end). All of these songs would make strong singles, as they all display the band’s impressive musical talent. This is my first exposure to Eleven Minutes Away, and it’s not only a promising debut, it’s one that I will play frequently. If you’re a devout fan of Boys Night Out or The Sleeping, this one’s a sure shot.

NeverTheMore – S/T

At a time when emo seems to have pretty much run its course, with little innovation or variation coming from bands making this kind of music, its harder and harder to distinguish yourself in the genre. Your album will probably have some really rock-sounding passages with impassioned vocals and lovelorn lyrics. There will probably be some choppy passages where the guitars and drums march in lockstep. And your album will probably balance these with some quieter moments that wistfully recall some sort of lost opportunity, some sort of loneliness or despair.

In these regards, NeverTheMore meets all expectations. However, NeverTheMore almost never seems to want more for itself than to follow the leads of its predecessors. This self-titled debut doesn’t have much in the way of challenge or surprise. It feels like an exercise more than a novel statement.

The band does know how to rock, as demonstrated on “The Warning Signs” and “Before You Breathe.” The former begins with some rolling drums and tight guitar, sounding like Red Animal War. It proceeds predictably, with some power chords and an energetic rhythm section. Things open up a little in the middle, where the drummer does some quick high-hat work against some guitar picking (which is welcome on a song, or album, where the standard mode of expression is the power chord). “Before You Breathe” breaks things up a little with shout-along chorus of “la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-l-la” (sorry for the transcription) delivered unexpectedly and punctuated by the chime of a ride cymbal.

“Whitewash” shows off the band’s compositional skills. Its many passages keep you wondering what will come next. It starts off mid-tempo and relaxed, if a little moody, but soon enough it turns up the pace and volume. Next come the slight wah-wah and tremolo of the guitar (one of the few places where the guitar effect is something noticeable apart from distortion). The songs veers back into a quiet passage before the assault begins again. It is here that the drummer really lets loose, quite effectively (even if the double bass drum is a little much).

“Easy” slows things down to a crawl. With its quiet guitar, rolling bass, and sung – not shouted – vocals, this song shows more depth than expected. It’s an indication that NeverTheMore has more ambition that the rest of the album lets on. In a way, it recalls Radiohead or the Church. Couple that with the fact that the CD artwork resembles that of Radiohead’s OK Computer and you get the impression that NeverTheMore has the potential or desire to expand its sound. (Radiohead started out pretty formulaic and only later broadened its palette too, remember.)

There’s that old saying about learning the rules before you start breaking them. If there’s any meaning in that aphorism, then it’s time for NeverTheMore to start breaking some rules. I’ll bet the band could really develop some personality if it would let its imagination take it outside the confines of this debut.

Bloc Party – Silent Alarm

You have to admire the British in all their self-conscious hipness and bolshie attitudes. It’s hard to deny their position and inevitable appearance at the epicentre of most of the pop cultural phenomena that have taken place over the last 30 odd years. So whether it’s the swinging London of 1967 personified in Antonioni’s arty thriller Blow Up or Brit-pop’s various incarnations—that have seemingly sought to reinvent itself every two years since the early 90s — you have to give them a certain amount of benign yet jaundiced credit at being arbiters of taste. Within this context, however, is a conceit that skates a fine line between style and the ability to deliver on the promises of its own bravado. Musically speaking, Oasis is probably the best example of this conceit.

In many ways, you want to believe Oasis’ naïve claims as saviours of rock ‘n roll; certainly the brothers Gallagher are a somewhat entertaining pantomime romp in a Spinal Tap vaudevillian way. But they also illustrate the consistent and painful bottom line for many British bands: beneath the haughtiness and designer haircut and togs lie a disastrously mediocre take on the legacy and insurmountable shadow cast by whatever influence and antecedent they are seeking to re-make and re-model. In the case of Oasis, no amount of ersatz Beatles channelling or preening Stones rebellion can mask the plodding mid-tempo melodic sludge and hackneyed lyrical simplicity heard in its entire recorded output (fookin’…ell).

On Silent Alarm, Bloc Party recognizes this conundrum, seeking instead a far more humble and realistic proposition. That is to knock your block off with 14 bold songs packed with youthful and ambitious angular shards of Gang of Four staccato funk, caffeine-fuelled percussion, and melodic left and right hooks that draw decisive lines in the sand and dance floor.

What is truly magical on Silent Alarm is how it astutely grafts the accoutrements of wiry post-punk austerity to pop hooks fortified with soulful melodic intent. Bloc Party understands that the grains of sand in the post-punk, angular funk hourglass are finite and quickly running out. In response, Bloc Party comes up with its own adrenalized composite with a healthy dose of new romantic pop that has the audacity to cop earnestly from Duran Duran — without a hint of irony — as much as it does from early Cure. Album opener “Like Eating Glass” stretches the neo-romanticism of Duran Duran circa-“Planet Earth” over taut, syncopated guitar and bass interplay, while frenetic drums walk a Benzedrine-fuelled tightrope.

That starry-eyed tracks like “So Here We Are” and “Blue Light” can coalesce so seamlessly with the robotic jagged contours of tracks like “She’s Hearing Voices,” “Price of Gas,” and “Luno” is precisely why Silent Alarm is so fucking special. Bloc Party deftly and artfully represents a hybrid of opposing elements to incredible effect. This is personified in singer/guitarist Kele Okereke’s emotive strain that continuously arches over the metronomic bursts of Matt Tong’s insidious drumming throughout the album.

Bloc Party is brave for its apostate confidence to forego the surface familiarity of “lad-ish” classics like the Beatles, Stones, or Pistols. Instead Silent Alarm professes love for the grooving vertebrae of Gang of Four’s Solid Gold album, A Certain Ratio, and the spiky art pop exuberance of Magazine and Wire. And along the way, Bloc Party re-wires the heart of this pedigree into the fabric of its own DNA with the stealth and maturity that belie its neophyte status. This year’s nostalgic model has never sounded so refreshingly modern.

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