Whitman – Anhedonia Falling EP

The best that can be said of Anhedonia Falling, the debut EP from Austin, Texas-based Whitman, is that it is perfectly titled. In this emo-core/punk-rock group’s transparent attempt to feign anguish and wisdom, it has inadvertently delivered a delicious slice of irony. Defined as “the inability to feel pleasure,” “anhedonia” could be humorously interpreted as an earnest caveat to listeners: brace yourselves for sonic agony. The “pain” of Whitman’s music is nothing like the acquired taste of the Jesus and Mary Chain’s artful fuzz or the piercing noises of Melt Banana’s hardcore. Whitman’s music offends ears – and sensibilities – not through jarring sonic displays but by being, in short, simply bad. Lest readers quarrel with such a vague and unsubstantiated characterization, I will endeavor to describe Whitman’s faults as painstakingly as its members have worked in vain.

Just what makes Anhedonia Falling worthy of such scorn? Of the record’s trio of faults, the music itself is, incidentally, the least glaring. Though the group’s crunchy guitar work often sounds pedestrian, several clean introductions display hints of promise. The opener “The Ruins of Time” begins auspiciously with the ominous sounds of a howling wind and clean, minor chord arpeggios that could come from likes of Placebo or even Joy Division. The introduction to “Rockets” is even pleasant – eventually culminating in a bit of clean guitar interplay that sounds like emo’s equivalent of elevator music. Yet while these and other openings quickly give way to cluttered, uninspired arrangements, it is the dreadful vocals and trite, predictable lyrics that truly doom the record.

“And history spins on a wheel of pain / And everything’s burning and everyone’s falling apart by now / Anhedonia falling,” proclaims the first of the EP’s six tracks. From the first words of “The Ruins of Time,” it’s clear that as a group, Whitman lacks both the musical and vocal strength to support such heavy-handed ruminations on humanity. The lead vocals are far too ridden with youth and teenage melodrama (and too frequently out of tune) to support faux-revelatory music and lyrics. The squeals of the lead singer as he tries to belt out the words “Anhedonia falling” – on both the opener and final track – sound like bad American Idol outtakes.

On the basis of its debut EP, Whitman appears to be little more than a bunch of whiny college-aged kids with affected angst, purveyors of dime-a-dozen couplets over run-of-the-mill punk-rock. Lines like “Alone in this life I can’t escape / Exiled in a cell only death awaits” and “Is this all that you wanted? (Blood on your hands) / Is this all that you needed? (Blood on your hands)” sound terribly inauthentic in this context. Even more aggravating than the group’s clichés and moody posturing is the sense that it takes itself entirely too seriously. After enduring the 25-minute record enough times to sufficiently digest Whitman’s failings (and search meticulously, yet largely in vain, for any redeeming qualities), I can’t decide whether to feel worse for the group or its fans. While the former is devoid of the self-awareness needed for quality control, the latter are the ones who gobble up the group’s tawdry attempts at poetry. My advice to impressionable youths looking for honest, world-weary insight: check out the real Whitman.

Count Zero – Little Minds

We in the greater Boston area tend to scrutinize our music scene and local bands a little closer than most, much like we do our sports teams. But not only does Count Zero pass the sniff test, the band delights the senses with some imaginative, intelligent, and catchy music. Yes, those RIYLs are correct! Little Minds, Count Zero’s third release, contains all of these influences and more that will slowly reveal themselves with repeated, close listens. While this disc has enough pop hooks and crisp arrangements to instantly grab your ear, it will demand you pay closer attention. When you do, the diverse inspirations, initially obscured by the alternative radio-friendly beats, are exposed in clever ways, making each song a unique rock experience. This is prog-rock without being pretentious, indie rock without the whimsy, Brit-pop without the glam, and electronic pop without the sap.

The first three tracks are indicative of the way the members of Count Zero, with their not-so-little minds and superior musicianship, meld their own innovative melodies with the smart pop style of Elvis Costello, hooky choruses of Blur, and tight XTC-like rock arrangements. But it is not until the fourth track, “My Little Mind,” with frontman Peter Moore doing his best Peter Gabriel impression, that the sound transforms into an expansive musical tapestry.

These spirited songs evolve to include artful passages that allow the other band members to show off their worthiness, from Elizabeth Steen’s skill on an assortment of keys to Will Ragano’s crafty guitar work and Brendan Downey’s occasional lap steel to the excellent rhythm section of Izzy Maxwell (bass) and Eric Paul (drums). Songs like “May,” “Marigold,” and “Schizoid Astroplane” borrow from such diverse genres as 70s prog-rock, 80s synth-pop, and 90s Brit-rock, to which Count Zero’s artists add their own shimmering pop and then mold and shape the music in a new and catchy way.

Moore coaxes intensity and emotion from his voice to fit with the mood of the music as he conveys his insightful social commentary and abstract humor. While he has his own style, at times he sounds like Gabriel or Costello, which boasts of his versatility and not a lack of consistency. Will Ragano with his only vocal appearance on “Behold” is a dead ringer for George Demarest (ex-The Solefish), and with its mature prog sound and hooky vocal tags, the song is one of the better tracks.

“Little Minds” was three years in the making, and it seems that was just the right amount of time the band needed to refine its sound. Count Zero’s strategy of extracting various pop and rock elements from the last three decades to create tunes that push and cross many boundaries yet somehow remain fresh has paid off and should garner these folks some national attention, especially on the college-radio scene.

The Catch – Get Cool

So it’s come to this: me, alone, watching Less than Zero, and wondering why I can’t get into the Catch? Why? All the elements of an awesome band are here; after all, the Catch is an all-girl band, and everybody knows girl bands, especially girl-rock bands (as opposed to girl vocal groups, a la Destiny’s Child) rule. The Catch is also from Seattle; Seattle rules. So why don’t I love the Catch?

Exhibit A: “Nothin But Time,” song one on the debut album from the quartet. “Nothin But Time”? More like nothing but bad rhymes. No, more like nothing but bad timing, as in the music just isn’t that good. It’s a mix between poppy jerk-chords and poppy blues chords that don’t make sense. The singer’s voice is good, but overall, it’s a little, well, high school.

Exhibit B: “True Romance.” Enough already of movie title reference songs! Enough!

Exhibit C: “All About Me.” It’s true, this is the Catch’s world and we”re just living in it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Alright, I’ve presented my case, but I will admit there are a few holes. “Nice” is just that: nice. The drummer seems to have gotten loads better, and the guitars are kinda rocking. The same goes for “After Party.” But if you’re looking to rock out, try the Go-Go’s instead.

Cadacross – So Pale is the Light

Let’s travel back in discography time machine for a moment. So Pale is the Light is Finnish band Cadacross’ debut album from 2001, and back then the group consisted of five members. In the four years since, the lineup has completely changed save founding member Georg Laakso, and Cadacross released a second full-length album. Lots of fans of Nordic metal have already heard So Pale is the Light, but for some reason Crash Music decided to license the disc from Low Frequency Records to give the band more exposure in the United States. While I’m of the opinion that Cadacross already had a decent buzz among American metal circles, I’m sure that extra push from a bigger label can’t hurt.

Regardless of the timeframe, So Pale is the Light proves just as good today as it was when first released. The group plays a unique brand of power metal that borrows its vocal style from death metal and mixes it up with folk, classical, and thrash. The disc opens with a lovely instrumental called “Lit the Heart of Night” – which draws heavily on the folk aspect of the group’s music and sounds almost like a medieval minstrel’s tune before moving into some fairly laid-back power metal. The listener is immediately introduced to the group’s heavy use of keyboards, and this is an important aspect of whether or not you will like Cadacross’ music.

The keyboards are what give So Pale is the Light its orchestral feel, and when combined with two guitars, the keys serve to enhance the band’s already melodic songs. If you prefer the guitar to be the center of attention for a power metal band, you may be disappointed with Cadacross. If this isn’t an issue, then Cadacross will not let you down. As expected, So Pale is the Light packs a lot of technical prowess into just seven tracks, and there is no doubt that the lineup at the time was tight and played flawlessly together. The album contains a wide variety of songs, like the epic “Battle of North” and the 14-and-a-half-minute monstrosity “Turmion Taival,” which has a carnival-type feel. The lyrics are impossible to understand due to that death-metal growl and also because they are likely sung in Finnish. The lyrics are even more garbled because the vocal track is the one thing less than stellar about the production, getting lost in the mix. Fortunately, this vocal issue isn’t as predominant on the band’s sophomore release.

Melodic power-metal fans or those interested in learning more about Nordic metal should definitely check out So Pale is the Light if they haven’t already come across this album in the past four years. Though the group has changed and grown a lot since this album was originally released, it is a good introduction to Georg Laakso’s songwriting abilities – not to mention it’s an all-around fine collection of songs.

Michael Columbia – These are Colored Bars

There are probably a lot of dudes out there who are toiling away in their high school marching bands and orchestras, and they could use Michael Columbia (actually two dudes and a chick rather than a solo artist) as inspiration for turning the mastery of goofy instruments into instant indie street cred.

Michael Columbia isn’t the first to do this though. Cerebus Shoal, whom the band thanks in its liner notes, has been doing the very same thing in a very dark, post-Doors sort of way for the last 10 or more years.

I digress: the songs you’ll find here are driven primarily by clairinet, sax, and violin (not to mention keyboards, drums, and electronics) and run the gamut from funk, jazz (“Hobart”), and ambient electronica to noise (“Unknown Shape”).

All in all, this is a very interesting listen, although it can also be an acquired taste for those of us who’ve never set hands on a woodwind instrument.

Tall Grass Captains of Greater Chicago – She Moved Through

Tall Grass Captains of Greater Chicago is a tongue twister of a name, especially for a band. In fact, you would think a band with such a long name would be made up by a collective of artists. Wrong. TGCOGC is Jim Matteson, a troubadour of sorts. And on She Moved Through, this troubadour touches on a little of everything from remorse, regret, and happiness on a psych/power-pop release that might be one of the better albums overlooked this year.

She Moved Through is a collection of songs inspired by, in some part, recent deaths in his extended family, all who had been young women. Yet, as melancholic as this sounds, Matteson delivers with a beautiful album that’s worthy of reflection and enjoyment. As I was listening to this album and realized that it is quite possibly an ode to these young women, I couldn’t fathom the pain of creating such a beautiful album.

She Moved Through opens up with “Something Else,” a power-pop masterpiece musically and lyrically. Throughout the album, I couldn’t decide which part I enjoyed the most, the music or the lyrics. For instance, on “Queen of a Million Blinking Eyes,” Matteson gets poetic (“She rides the sky when she climbs, queen of a million blinking eyes, you lead our stray selves back, down your shining path”), and brings in some background vocals with some catchy power-pop guitars. The title track is a touching song of love lost, an Amazing Grace sort of song whose music and lyrics work together that seemed to be inspired by a bundle of instantaneous and untimely emotion.

I predict this album will go on my list as most under-appreciated album for the year. To say this album is one of the better albums I have heard all year is probably an understatement. A musician who can create an opus filled with death, despair, and happiness, yet give it a power-pop-influenced backdrop deserves to be noticed. Add this album to his peers listed to the left, and it will hold it’s own.

Orthrelm – OV

There’s a brief passage in the John Fahey story “The Center of Interest Will Not Hold” that always comes to mind when I think of the best way to describe the inviting and, in its finest moments, intoxicating methods of minimalist composition. It’s a description of Fahey seeing Hank Williams perform on a Potomac River excursion boat back in 1953, and it goes like this:

“And then he started playing, not singing, ‘My Bucket’s Got a Hole in It,’ a 12-bar blues in E. And he played it and played it over and over again. For about 10 minutes. Then he started singing. But when he did sing he only sang a few verses and then he came to an abrupt halt. It was so incredibly surprising and intense that it was frightening. After he stopped there was a silence for a long time. We were all hypnotized.”

I would not be surprised in the least to find out Mick Barr and Josh Blair, the respective guitarist and drummer of Orthrelm, knew the Fahey passage (taken from the must-own book How Bluegrass Music Destroyed My Life) by heart. On the duo’s blistering, one-song epic OV, everything hinges on the way patterns and repetitions can lull a listener into submission and then pull the rug from beneath them, only to seduce them into another series of patterns and repetitions. At first blush, the record — all 45 minutes of it — is a dense and impassable jungle of droning and clattering and rolling noise. But repeated listens reveal alarming depths and a manner of composition that, like the pen-and-ink maze scribbled alongside the handwritten liner notes inside OV, is frighteningly complex in its simplicity.

The record isn’t so much a 45-minute composition as a series of performance segments with a massive, 17-minute introduction. During that lengthy but tightly scripted intro, the band does everything to dissuade the meek or unwilling or uninitiated from journeying further within, throwing seemingly endless loops of fingernail-on-chalkboard guitar shrieks over rumbling, kick-drum-crazed, warp-speed percussion. No bass, no voice, no verse, no chorus, no escape — this is an atypical mass of thunderous rock adrenaline, and Orthrelm wants to make sure you’re ready for the ride. Around the 17:40-mark, it’s meltdown time, the drums abruptly peeling back for a machine-gun slash and burn over a single guitar string. The moment really lasts only a few seconds — a blink of the eye given the length of the entire recording — but it carries a momentum and a punch that shifts the force of the whole damned record, like a planet being thrown out of its numbing rotations around the sun.

The loops and clattering passages continue in a series of right-to-the-gut bursts and expansive drones, but there’s a more organic pace to them, a sense that the musicians are in control of the noise (and not vice versa) and they’ve now completely trapped the listener in the proceedings. At 19:45, the shrieking treble-heavy patterns are buttressed, on every fourth and then third note, by the crunch of a power chord that could force the Steve Albini of Shellac’s At Action Park to crack a smile. Before we hit 22:00, there’s the repeated hit of an open note and then a full breakdown, a roll of almost-tribal tom hits interrupted sporadically by a hammered four-note Space Invaders measure. At 23:05, everything erupts again and we’re back into the shrieking repetitions. At 23:30, your wonder how the duo can hammer out the refrains without their fingers spontaneously bursting into flames. By 24:30, the borderline furious and nearly frenetic 4/4 march speeds up to the point where it’s hard to tell if Barr — his guitar now almost echoing the avant-rock/metal tones of David Pajo on Tweez — is even plucking out notes with a guitar pick or just madly sliding his fingers all over the frets, whatever it takes to get that viscous delivery.

The record continues unfolding with these bizarrely dramatic moments and passages to its closing hurrah (the curtain drops with a bang, not a whimper, and is trailed only by about eight seconds of deathly silence), but the point of diagramming only a few of them illustrates their alarming impact. This is a difficult record, no question about it, and even those open to structurally challenging rock/metal noise (a la Don Cab or much of the Ipecac catalog) might be turned off by the commitment one has to make before the band delivers the release to that epic practice of tension-building. It would be unfair, ridiculous, and even blasphemous to say Orthrelm is in a league with Fahey or the Hank Williams that Fahey envisions/recalls/constructs in “The Center of Interest Will Not Hold.” But when it comes to that passage, they definitely get it. And your ears will be all the better for tuning in. It’s hypnotism time.

Andi Camp – Magnetic

This is the third Andi Camp album I’ve had the pleasure to write about, and it’s the artist’s fifth since leaving piano-pop band Ribbon Fix, and still I can find nothing more online other than other people’s reviews and the stores that sell the albums. It’s odd these days to find an artist with little or no web presence, beyond an e-mail address. But I’m content to let Camp’s music speak for itself.

Magnetic comes beautifully packaged, a fact I now expect from the artist who used to hand package each of her releases and tie them with ribbon (and perhaps she still does the work herself). This one is quite nicely designed and has a magnet to keep it closed. It’s a nice little flair for a musician whose music itself is so beautiful.

With just a breathy, starkly beautiful voice and amazing piano work, with a drum set as accompaniment, Camp does so much. I’ve drawn comparisons before to Tori Amos, only because of the beauty of female voice and piano, but I’m more reminded of artists like Jen Wood, only the chosen instrument being a piano instead of a guitar. The songs here are rich and flowing pop songs, never too morose or moody, and through them all, Camp’s voice croons and soars, sweet and personal and so deep in emotion.

Each track here is lovely, from the upbeat and storming beginning of “Magnetic,” – a personal song with lines like “Don’t pretend to know how I like to be held” – to the breathy and sweet “Offhand,” which has a kind of desperation to Camp’s voice as she sings “Why can’t I open your eyes?” “Billy” proves the piano can lead an upbeat and fun pop song, and “Motorboats” proves what you already know: that it’s the perfect instrument for a sweet and softer tune. Don’t be surprised, though, when you hit the last track. “Moonshiner” is an alt-country song with male vocals (from Anderson Rice; Camp sings backup) and guitar, and it stands out like a sore thumb, but it’s still a pretty good song, mellow and heartfelt.

Camp is truly one of those artists who should be heard to be believed. Her voice is so beautiful, and she does so much with a piano (and the accompanying drums) that the songs convey more depth and emotion than most big bands. On Magnetic, and in fact each release, she sounds even more confident and sincere than the last, always developing her strong songwriting skills. This is a wonderful album from an amazing artist.

The Young Tradition – Northern Drive

I’m sure it seemed like a good idea for Swedish multi-instrumentalist Erik Hanspers and Japanese-American singer Brent Kenji (ex-The Fairways) to incorporate the rich melodies of 60s pop with the precious orchestrations of contemporary twee and form a new, sophisticated pop mix. But Northern Drive, the duo’s debut album, comes up short and is neither rich nor precious and contains nothing new.

While the songs do include some nice jangling guitar strumming reminiscent of 60s psychedelic pop, they lack the edge and freshness of their heritage. The twee pop orchestrations that are attempted are nice enough but do not cover anything that hasn’t been covered before and are completely ruined by jazzy bursts of brass. The vibraphone and the hushed drumming and cymbals on top of the saxophone and trumpet pulses sometimes border on fusion rather than rock or pop.

The breezy songwriting and the meshing of styles has resulted in something resembling 60s pop bubblegum with a hint of twee. The jazzy keyboards and the inclusion of short brass rhythms sounds like an attempt to create a new brand of dull adult contemporary rock-lite that swings with a tempo like “The Girl From Impanema.”

Before physically meeting to record this album, the duo released the three-song EP California Morning, which was created entirely through the international postal service. Northern Drive contains 10 songs, including the “California Morning” single, none of which are as good as the music that influenced their creation.

The Deadly – The Wolves are Here Again

Most notably containing ex-members of Turmoil, Philly based The Deadly has recently dropped its hardcore debut. The Wolves are Here Again exhibits good musicianship, but this fact is tarnished by repetition and poor vocals – two common issues with hardcore these days, and they really prevent me from fully enjoying this.

It’s not rocket science to figure out why this becomes repetitive. Generic riffs fly by too fast to have any recollection of what just happened. One saving grace of the music is that it’s fairly melodic, so it’s not complete torture to digest. A few guitar lines demand your attention, like you’re listening to a These Arms are Snakes song. These are probably the best moments on The Wolves are Here Again, like in “Minor Acts of Misbehaving” and “We are the Technology.”

The aforementioned quips don’t singlehandedly taint the album, because the vocals are worse. Rich Lippold handles the screaming duties, which sound the same in every song. His dried-out, raspy screaming is like Give Up the Ghost minus the personality. At some points, there’s some higher-pitched singing snuck in, and it’s better than the abrasive screaming. Just listen to the last outbursts from Lippold in “Ringfingers” to witness why he should not possess the mic.

If you’re a fan of Turmoil, that could possibly be the only reason to track this down. For others like myself who are unfamiliar with that band, just skip this one altogether.

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