Half-Handed Cloud – Halos & Lassos

Before I put this album on the other day, I honestly (ok, not honestly, but for the sake of crappy humor) would have thought “twee pop” referred to the sound a Keebler Elf made after eating too many chocolate sandwich cookies. It was a word that wasn’t an active entry in my lexicon and a genre I hadn’t the foggiest notion about. Apparently it’s the choice phrase for classifying Half-handed Cloud, and I think I now have a pretty good conception of what “twee” might mean, even without the help of dictionary.com.

Pointless intro aside, Half-handed Cloud is a unique thing indeed. Halos & Lassos is almost so sophomoric and playful that as someone not aware of its brand of pop music, it’s hard to not take it as a joke. John Ringhofer’s voice is so high and childish it’s like playing a James Taylor song through a pitch shifter. With the average length of a track on Halos & Lassos being slightly under two minutes, the first listen through the album can be disorienting and largely forgettable, especially if you have no prior knowledge of Ringhofer’s modus operandi.

However, the next time through, maybe even towards the end of the first listen, you start to notice just how much Ringhofer has packed into what seem to be, at first impression, mere fleeting thoughts. Ringhofer reveals himself to be a masterful arranger, and the subtle touches in each of his songs are a testament to how seriously he takes his craft, no matter how immediate and whimsical they may sound when he finally unveils them. Even if you’re not a fan of simple, drum machine-driven two-man pop (the other man being recorder and mixer Brandon Buckner), it’s hard not to appreciate Ringhofer’s musically flamboyant writing style and ear for instrumental interaction. Here and there a bell tinkles, a banjo twangs out a little diddle, an accordion playfully wheezes. In addition to these and the ever-present acoustic guitar and Omnichord utilized by Half-handed Cloud, Ringhofer is a touring trombonist with Sufjan Stevens, and the instrument makes many appearances in his own songs.

A lot of press about Half-handed Cloud makes mention of its inherently Christian message, though opinions seem to scale it anywhere from some wholesome communication delivered by a man who receives free board for caretaking a church to some confused, intensely personal, twisted introspection on faith á la a mysterious figure like David Eugene Edwards. Lyrically, Ringhofer is certainly a faithful Christian, and it is easy to understand that Half-handed Cloud is a way of exploring his own faith and forging a deeper connection with the religion that permeates his life. However, it is not a soapbox from which to preach his sermon, it is not a witnessing tool to the faithless, and it certainly is not concerned with pleasing an exclusively Christian audience. It is John Ringhofer working with something he knows well and dearly and is comfortable with, and frankly, with his ear for musical arrangement, it wouldn’t matter much if his lyrics were Buddhist, sung in Chinese, or recitals of Satanic occult spells. Ringhofer is sincere and unconcerned. Though it may not appeal to everyone, he makes music for the very reason music exists.

On Halos & Lassos, as on all of his releases, Half-handed Cloud takes a laundry list of influences and eccentricities that, when combined, could potentially turn a lot of people off to his music. Yet with care and passion, Ringhofer crafts these oddities into something truly unique, utterly sincere, and, most importantly, full of life. I don’t take Ringhofer’s message to be predominantly Christian in nature; it’s something a little more grand and that many people can call their own. It’s about enjoying life, whatever it may bring, and, to borrow from the words of Portuguese neurologist Antonio Damasio, to always remember that “you are the music while it lasts.”

Various Artists – Take Action! Volume 5

The Take Action! Volume 5 compilation is a double-disc collection of bands most people should be familiar with. The material is found mostly in the Warped Tour realm, covering the whole screamo pack to the punk-rock side of things. The included demo, acoustic, and unreleased tracks amount to only six out of the 45 total songs. Odds are you won’t require owning this compilation because it brings nothing new to your ears.

Rather than bash the music on here that I don’t listen to, here are some highlights. Underoath’s “I Don’t Feel Very Receptive Today” is the angriest song on the band’s new CD, I’m a little surprised that was chosen over more popular songs. Someone should have edited out the sampling at the end which is meant to lead into the next Underoath song. An Saosin demo called “Sleepers” is a racing emocore track that’s previously unreleased. I’m definitely impressed by Cove’s consistent voice, and it’s the best new song I’ve heard from the band yet. It reminds me of the EP’s heartfelt rock-out attitude instead of the studio sheen of “Bury Your Head.” Although a lot of people have dismissed the new Boys Night Out effort, I think it’s catchy as hell. “Medicating,” the clap-happy single off of Trainwreck, is included on here. Armor for Sleep has a spot on here also, with “The Truth About Heaven” from What to Do When You are Dead. The riffs slide with graceful form, and the chorus is one of Armor’s most epic. Probably the only surprise on this side is Horse the Band with “Birdo.” The staple vocal spasms and keyboard touches occur, but the best part is the wacky breakdown at the end.

The latter half has Strike Anywhere and A Wilhelm Scream tracks early on, which suggests the punk-rock focus. Philly’s The Loved Ones have “100K” on here, but I wasn’t sold on that EP the guys put out. I Am the Avalanche (ex-The Movielife singer) makes a rallying pop-rock appearance on “Dead and Gone.” This compilation was my first exposure to that band, and I think fans of the late Movielife material would enjoy. The most surprising addition is Solea, a band that’s under the radar and not very active lately. Comprised of Samiam members and Texas is the Reason’s singer, Solea comes off as midwestern emo-rock meets Brit-pop. “Leaving Today” is an alright song, but there are easily better representations of Solea’s talent on the full-length.

There are plenty of worse compilations (aka Now That’s What I Call Music), but still, I wouldn’t buy this. The fact that it contains stinkers like Hawthorne Heights and Amber Pacific is why. I do respect that these folks went with a different musical direction on each half, and I do enjoy a handful of the songs on both of them.

UHF – All Our Golden Tomorrows

All Our Golden Tomorrows is Portland-based pop rockers UHF’s fourth full-length release. Continuing the progression from 2002′s If it Was Easy, this release further explores atmospheric, almost psychedelic elements in addition to the band’s sunny pop-rock sound.

At first listen, All Our Golden Tomorrows seems like merely a fun, summertime power-pop album, but as the album wears on, the listener can pick up on some more experimental elements in band’s sound. It isn’t that the album is all that experimental or progressive, it’s just there’s a more adventurous sound compared to past UHF releases.

The album’s opening one-two punch, “Disconnect” and “Battery,” are both sun-soaked power-pop anthems, both energetic and catchy. The middle parts of the record are all fairly interchangeable, which is the main reason the album suffers. However, the last two tracks, “Goodbye Hello” and “A Flight of Stairs,” slow things down just a bit and the most atmospheric tracks herein.

All Our Golden Tomorrows is a solidly written album. The sound UHF goes for on this album isn’t the most groundbreaking in the world, nor is it really all that memorable. Other than a few tracks, these guys seem to be lacking that big hook to really solidify the songs.

The Cherry Valence – TCV3

The Cherry Valence’s one and only innovation may be in having not one drummer/frontman (relatively rare, though not freakishly exotic) but two. That, I believe, is a first. This factoid, coupled with the bands’ taste for muscle flexing riff-rock from the halcyon days of the early 70s, leads one to expect a mightier battering than is served up on TCV3, the Raleigh, NC band’s third release.

First of all, no band needs two drummers. It’s like that sixth blade they just crammed into your favorite disposable razor, or the pizza they stuffed into the pizza they stuffed into your pizza. It’s overkill. Although, to be honest, it’s hard to even tell. Either Nick Whitley and Brian Quast are playing their kits in unison, in which case what’s the point of having dual drummers, or they’re playing different patterns, which may be why it often sounds so sloppy. And why have two drummers and then record the drums so disinterestedly anyway?

But never mind the gimmicky line-up, the primary problem facing TCV3 is the difficulty it had in convincing me that there was much rocking of any significance going on at all. Which isn’t to say that it doesn’t rock; I don’t believe I ever said that. There are more than a few impressive bluesy, Aerosmith-type riffs delivered here, served up with MC5-style fire and a Kiss-esque stomp. But something crucial is missing. The punchless production is part of the problem, as are the sometimes weak vocals. Primarily, though, it’s the overabundance of songs that sound merely like genre retreads (“My Little Piece of the Pie,” “Low Class Warrior,” “Two Steps Forward,” etc.), rote lyrics set to forgettable refrains.

And though the Cherry Valence’s members distinguish themselves far too infrequently, the opener “Sunglasses and Headlights” at least starts the disc off right. This song is no-nonsense, keg-kicking rawk, exactly redolent of the type of early-70s wrecking crews the majority of the disc tries in vain to match. Unfortunately, that pinnacle comes early and is not equaled, leaving the listener stuck through a rash of sweaty but unmotivating odes to staying out all night and getting hassled by the boss. There are bits and pieces that work, a couple of tough choruses, but the rush doesn’t last.

The indie world got over its ambivalence to classic rock long ago, so it’s not enough to merely reach back to that era and adopt its attitude and lyrical postures. The unconvincing vocals and flimsy sound of songs like “333” and “Only Game in Town” leave too much to be desired, and though one doesn’t need to resort to tongue-in-cheek jokers like the Darkness for their cock-rock fix, neither does TCV3 satisfy that desire. It’s kind of a shame, because the playing is really good, and even if the music isn’t exactly genuine the enthusiasm surely is.

Initially I thought the one other unique characteristic of the Cherry Valance was in being the only band I could recall that was named after a type of curtain. Turns out that Cherry Valence is a character from S.E. Hinton’s classic youth novel The Outsiders, a fact I might’ve been aware of had the book been set in a Ringworld, Dyson Sphere, or hollowed-out asteroid. But see, maybe I’m just not earthy enough to fully appreciate what these hard-living Carolinians are laying down. If it’s 4 am and you’re just getting home, you may be better equipped to appreciate the Cherry Valence. Your weakened state may be just the advantage TCV3 needs to gain a foothold in your brain. Otherwise, wait for them to show up near the bottom of a quadruple bill at your local university’s spring fling. They’re the band with two drummers.

The Elected – Sun, Sun, Sun

In a land filled with iPods, cell phone cameras, and wireless Internet, it’s hard to believe that rustic, roots-oriented music could still exist on this planet, but if you search long and hard enough in your town you’re sure to find a group of shaggy-dudes in 70s replica western shirts purchased at the Gap (and manufactured by 12-year old boys and girls being held at gunpoint on a remote South Pacific island nation) kicking out the Burrito Brothers, mofos. I guess as I once heard David Bowie say (quoting from either Charles Darwin, Gandhi, or Karl Marx) “people will eventually become so overwhelmed with technology that they will feel the need to come home and be surrounded by the look and touch of wood.”

The cover of The Elected’s second release, Sun, Sun, Sun, certainly replicates that wooden feeling what with its picture of a pristine natural lakeside cabin surrounded by California Redwoods. However, that’s the only thing about Sun, Sun, Sun that conjures up cozy vibes and lumber-inspired ambience. The record is as down-home and authentically country as a flight on the Concord. When David Bowie created “plastic soul” in the mid 70s, the listener could still sense his love and appreciation for classic R&B, despite his ironic detachment. The Elected may have invented “plastic country” (otherwise known as “iPod country”), but the band appears to lack any true appreciation for the music (perhaps they do, but you wouldn’t tell from the songs, and that’s all that really matters).

Part of the problem lies in Blake Sennett’s voice. While it’s well-suited for the whimsical pop of Rilo Kiley, it lacks the rough edges needed to sing country and folk-inspired material. The results are insipid tracks like “The Bank and Trust,” “Would You Come with Me?,” and the flat-out embarrassing attempt at soul “Did Me Good.”

The music itself isn’t quite as bad as the singing, but it still lacks the sincerity needed to keep Sun, Sun, Sun from sounding like a collection of Eagles’ outtakes. No matter how many harmonicas or steel guitars are thrown into the mix, The Elected still sound like they are performing at a Hollywood pool party comprised of aging child actors and not at a Hickory smoke barbeque in rural Georgia.

The final outcome is a smarmy, inconsequential mess… and about as American as a trip to the electronics store.

The Bonapartes – S/T EP

The Bonapartes’ self-titled (and apparently self-released) EP shows a DC band making music that doesn’t sound DC-based. Instead, it sounds like a lot of what’s coming out of New York these days, which is another way of saying that it sounds like an update of what was coming out of Britain in the 80s and early 90s… in a good way.

Lead track “Russia” begins by showing a little bit of DC and a little bit of Britain. The low-fidelity intro that gives way to the full-fidelity verse follows the recording pattern of Minor Threat’s take on “Stepping Stone,” while the drum beat can be found on U2′s “With or Without You” (itself copped from Disco Inferno’s criminally neglected In Debt opener “Entertainment”). On “Russia,” the lead guitar line switches nicely from dirty atonality to bright melody at the transition from verse to chorus. It’s a catchy song, but then all of the songs here are memorable.

“Domino Theory” again starts off with a rhythm and guitar line that wouldn’t have sounded out of place on an early U2 record. Its three-chord chorus, though, packs a kind of nervous energy that is much more Stiff Little Fingers or Undertones than it is U2. Even when the band goes “rock,” though, frontman Scott continues to sing, where others might have turned to screaming. Each of the five songs here break into rock-type choruses that would have tempted other singers to start yelling, but instead the band often conveys its breakaway energy by launching into double-time (or is it half-time?) playing. Drummer Dex does a really nice job of anchoring and animating the band’s overall sound, often moving from using the toms during the verses to the brighter high-hat or cymbals during the choruses.

On “Achilles,” perhaps the most punchy (and shortest) track, The Bonapartes go for a Buzzcocks/Compulsion type of sound. It’s a pretty straight-ahead rock song without the modulations in playing and intensity in the other songs. “Achilles” closes the EP and follows from the intensity of its predecessor “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow.” The real gem of the five songs has to be “Concentric.” As claimed by the band, its signature guitar line will stick with you. Even though that same overtone-driven hook is played in both the verse and the chorus for the first half of the song – and picked up again for the ending – you don’t really notice that fact or grow tired of it. The structure of the song doesn’t vary much from that of the others, which might be my only real wish for this EP.

As much as I enjoyed listening to these tracks, I also was hoping to hear the band play around or experiment a little, maybe change things up a bit or throw in a curveball. The good news is that the band has a confident sound, thoughtful songwriting, and solid execution, and given the chance to record a full album’s worth of material, these guys might do just that: expand their sound or formula a bit. That said, this EP makes a strong case for The Bonapartes – let’s hope that the band does give us a full album sometime soon.

Gist – Diesel City

Gist’s Diesel City is mostly composed of mid-tempo guitar rock with a traditional guitar, bass, drums, vocals set-up. There are occasional flashes of songwriting brilliance, but most of the time this album is just alright. Never do these songs actually stink, but they usually don’t excel either. Diesel City is a very middle-of-the-road album.

There is variation here: “Asunder” is darker and faster than their usual fare, and title track “Diesel City” is an acoustic-based drinking song (complete with tipsy audience in the background). “On the Road” is nine and a half minutes long, and while its bass groove and ticking drums propel the song to above average coolness for five minutes, the back half of the song (which is mostly extended guitar wankery) drags immensely.

The vocals here are usually pretty solid – one of the finer points of this album. They do go astray on “Diesel City,” but I think that’s intended, as it fits with the song’s mood. Vocalist Nayan Bhula has an easy-going, laidback voice augmented with a nice falsetto, and it makes these songs work very nicely.

The best track here is the highly ornamented “Lull in the Conversation,” as Gist augments its sound with violin and trombone, producing an extremely dynamic, unique sound that I wish would’ve appeared much more often on this album.

If you like straight-up guitar rock that doesn’t pull out too many tricks (other than the brilliant “Lull in the Conversation”), then Gist’s Diesel City is for you. This isn’t groundbreaking by any means, but it doesn’t suck either. I would love to see Gist explore the possibilities of ornamenting its sound with other instruments; that’s what will make Gist’s sound into something great. Right now it’s thoroughly average.

Green Milk from the Planet Orange – City Calls Revolution

As introductions go, the beginning of the first track off Green Milk from the Planet Orange’s City Calls Revolution is cloaked in deception. It starts with a faint, echoing electronic pulse, the almost distant flutter of a mutated telephone isolated in outer space, and slowly unfurls to include a pensive bass figure, plucked out with an almost muted sense of calm and no foreshadowing of the fury that lies ahead. More than three minutes in, the spreading pulse-scales and bass are greeted only with chiming guitars cluttering the foreground. Then, without so much as a farewell, the whole sequence is kicked to the rear as the trio launches full-throttle into the scorching, wah-fueled jazz/prog-punk of the record’s nearly 20-minute-long “Concrete City Breakdown.” From here on out, Green Milk from the Planet Orange seems to be telling us from the outset, it’s not a matter of how suddenly we can bring a curious brew of progressive rock, acid-laced jazz freakouts, and grindcore spasms to a boil. It’s about how long we can sustain an eruption.

The answer will impress – and maybe even amaze – you. The Japanese trio, whose three members all work under curt pseudonyms (dead k, A, T), perform with a vitality and calculated abandon often injected into songs far more abbreviated than the four epic tracks on City Calls Revolution, but their ability to prolong that sense of explosiveness can feel almost uncanny. There’s a clear depth to the proceedings, an attention to pace, structure, and craft that calls to mind some prog-rock greats and ambitious jazz precedents, but, above it all, the energy is like a drug. And Green Milk from the Planet Orange damn well knows it.

Once the disc stops spinning, you’ll be able to trace evidence of the sustained eruption back to every corner: from the way extended riffs of Hendrix guitar noodling or bullhorn barking return to the same aggressive hooks in “Concrete City Breakdown” to how dead k punches out the guitar refrains, mimicking both Steve Albini and the jazzy post-punk of Giddy Motors, over a slinky bassline that may be the definition of viscous in the pummeling “OMGS.” The opening three minutes of “Demagog” could knock the angular surf-punk of early Hunchback and like-minded acts clear into next week. And, just when you think the trio can’t wrap itself around the verses and segues any tighter, they do just that and then some, calling to mind the high-octane jazz exercises of PAK’s recent Motel as much as the stop-on-a-dime attacks of Melvins and Melt-Banana or, well, King Crimson on massive doses of amphetamines.

The record-closing “A Day in the Planet Orange,” clocking in at some 38 minutes and change, is an epic monster in every imaginable sense of the word. It starts as a dirgy blues-rock workout complete with fuzzed-out Fender Jazz Bass scales and almost weeping Stevie Ray Vaughan-tinged guitar solos and then bubbles over into an angular prog-rock jam meltdown. (If these moments are predetermined or scripted beforehand, I demand to see the transcription.) More than 20 minutes into the track, the trio collapses into a repeating lullaby of single bass notes, screeching guitar lines filtered through digital delay, and trembling cymbals before wandering through a fragile post-rock segue. Then, a sudden departure into spoken-word narration and found sounds. And, finally, a few violent and bizarre eruptions before the closing reprise. It is, true to what the trio lays out on City Calls Revolution, a strange and inviting end to a strange and inviting album. If you want to know what planet these guys are coming from, you’re just going to have to hear it for yourself.

Leaving Rouge – Elsewhere

Have you ever found yourself in the local Starbucks, discussing the latest episode of The OC, digging through your messenger bag (the one adorned with the Bright Eyes and Death Cab for Cutie patches) for your iPod, and realized you were in an oddly contemplative, pouty mood? Pay attention, you will soon have something to put on the Now Playing section of your latest Myspace blog. You don’t know which? Oh, the one where you bitch about how life never goes your way and you’d give anything to be loved, so on and so forth. Yeah, basically all of them.

Leaving Rouge has been around for four years, and Elsewhere is the band’s second full-length. From what I’ve read, the first album was apparently highly textured and had hints of groups like Red House Painters and Low mixed in. I’d like to be able to comment upon this, as the first album and EP have received beaming reviews, but, unfortunately, the sample songs on the band’s website weren’t available at the time. What I do know, though, is that the band apparently wants to take a more song-oriented approach to music. This was not a good idea.

This album is straight-up power-pop, but it falls short by far of being charming, clever, sincere, or any of the other qualities the strongest bands in the genre usually have in spades. It begins on a misstep with “Skeleton Girls,” a juvenile diatribe based on wanting more from life and being constricted by your surroundings, etc. These same ideas pop up frequently on other songs. You know the kid no one really talked to in high school who consummated his angst by producing embarrassingly bad teenage poetry? It seems that the band sent him an invitation to write all the songs on Elsewhere. Take the dull themes found in the lyrics (retreads on recurring motifs such as relationship problems, alienation, anxiety, blah blah blah), mix with tame instrumentation, make misleading reference to bands such as The Smiths and The Replacements, stir well; the product of this abominable formula is a one-way ticket to Mediocreville. Meaningful, haunting, or affecting at all? No.

Redeeming factors? Many songs have rather enjoyable, driving riffs (“Airports” comes to mind), but they all manage to simply dissipate into the same-old boring structures after no more than 10 or 20 seconds. “Baby I’m Haunted” shows some semblance of good songwriting in sections with flowing guitar lines and an occasional memorable lyric or two such as “And so we learn / We’ve come from nothing and to nowhere we return.” Too bad the tracks sound a good bit alike and the vocals from frontman Sean Hoen sound just a year or two more mature than those currently flooding the likes of MTV and Fuse.

If Leaving Rouge was any more popular, chances are the songs would make random appearances on teen dramas and shoddy mix CD-Rs put together by those who watch said teen dramas. But, they aren’t, so it’s doubtful the band will ever rise from its restrictive obscurity. I would be lying if I saw this as anything to be sad about.

Stray From the Path – Our Oceania

Stray From the Path plays really boring, mathy metal-core in the vein of groups like Psyopus, Dillinger Escape Plan, and Ed Gein. I’d be willing to bet that if you like any of those groups then this record would be right up your alley. Personally, I find the growly vocals and noodle til’ you puke guitars a total turnoff. I have had my fill of this kind of stuff over the years; I didn’t like it when Dillinger Escape Plan was doing it in 1999, and I don’t like it in 2006 either. Okay dudes, we get it, you can play your instruments proficiently, but so can lots of other bands. Take Steve Vai for instance, or Yngwie Malmsteen. Those dudes can play circles around you guys, and it doesn’t make them suck any less. How about laying off the cheesy half-time breakdowns and double bass drumming for a change.

I like metal as much as the next guy, but this metal-core shit is killing me. There are so many other viable forms of metal out there that I really don’t understand what the attraction to this crap is. We all get it dudes: you’re young, angry, and wizards with a guitar. How about trying to do something “different” with all of that talent and not aping a dying style of music’s week old leftovers.

All seriousness aside, if you actually like tech-metal, math-metal, or metal-core in general, then Stray From the Path’s Our Oceania isn’t really any worse than all of the other clones. While I personally abhor this style of music, maybe you can find something of worth in it anyway.

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