So They Say – Antidote for Irony

Does the world really need another pop-punk band? I mean seriously, aren’t there enough of these running around? You can randomly flip to any song on So They Say’s album Antidote for Irony and expect to hear the exact same thing you’ve always heard from pop-punk: charging guitars, earnest high-pitched vocals, propelled drums, and simple song structures. It’s not that these guys are bad at what they do; they’re pretty adept at churning out the melodies, harmonies, and riffs. It’s just that what they do is exactly what every other cliche group is doing today.

The only redeeming quality in this band is drummer Justin Hanson. When he takes control of the sound (which happens exactly three times throughout the album), good things happen. “Act Like You’re Listening, Till it’s Your Turn to Talk” pits a quick, glitchy digitized drum pattern against a mellower backdrop, creating a layered, atmospheric effect that trumps all other efforts on the album. The vocals here sound much better than on the other songs, as within the relative calm there is more potency and tension. Another drum-led song is the reverbed, repeating “A Beautiful Plan,” which features an intricate drum beat and a dark, heavy mood not present in the rest of the album. The final up note is the outro to “Overexposed Photo,” which has some interesting drum patterns.

It’s true that this album is darker than most pop-punk outings, and there are occasional hardcore touches (and by occasional, I mean I heard two sections on the album), but that’s not enough to save this. If you like pop-punk, you’ll like So They Say. I’m tired of hearing the same old thing, though.

Five Mod Four – Whiskers

Listening to Whiskers was the musical equivalent of going on an uncomfortable date with someone you had hoped to be effortlessly compatible with. Imagine reading someone’s personal profile and becoming intrigued by their references to the DBs and Orange Juice, or to self-descriptions such as “sardonic,” “jazz-inflected,” and “lazy perfection.” So you agree to a rendezvous, but instead of an evening of jangly pop thrills, you get 12 songs of woeful vocals, plain-jane production, and melodies that pose no threat of distracting you from your chores by repeating endlessly inside your brain.

The Five Mod Four may be trying to conjure some kind of Beat Happening brand of loveable amateurism with their stumbling playing and tone-deaf singing, but no amount of preemptive self-deprecation can rescue these songs. The haphazard jangle, the limp jazz chords, and clumsy Farfisa-led rave ups might have worked if there were more than just a few scraps of melody to cling to. And though lead songwriter and vocalist Michael Wojtasiak may or may not be the witty and wise lyricist some of the band’s press makes him out to be, you’ll need to be mighty starved for wit if you choose to make Whiskers your source for it.

The fact that the best song on these Milwaukeeans’ first full-length is a cover doesn’t bode well. “Poor Old Soul” is a tune by the early-80s Scottish indie-pop forbearers Orange Juice, a good choice as there are similarities between the two bands’ shared disdain for flawless performances and their interest in classic pop songwriting and wobbly grooves. What Orange Juice had, however, was a singular front person in Edwyn Collins and catchy songs to go along with the clever and insightful wordplay. And for them, the lack of polish wasn’t an end in itself; it became part of their overall appeal. There’s no such alchemy occurring on Whiskers. Here the weakness of the writing, playing, and production remain unredeemed.

What’s especially odd is that material from earlier releases Portnoy and a 2004 split EP with the Wrens sounds far better than this latest stuff. While not especially great, those tunes had stronger hooks and more focused arrangements. Something has caused a backslide in the Five Mod Four’s abilities, apparently, because other than the OJ cover and the rollicking “Somebody Failed” (co-written, a fact of possible significance), Whiskers has very little worth recommending.

This is the part of the review where I lament having to trash a bunch of nice, smart guys – guys with the good sense (if their blog entries are to be trusted) to listen to great stuff like the Soft Boys, the unjustly ignored 12 Rods, and even early Genesis. But alas, it’s what’s gotta be done. The Five Mod Four need to shape up or shut down. Though their hearts are in the right place, listening to Whiskers is a difficult and unrewarding experience. Check, please!

Hamell on Trial – Songs for Parents Who Enjoy Drugs

Hamell on Trial, a.k.a. Ed Hamell, has been making music for years, but it wasn’t until he was picked up by Ani DiFranco’s Righteous Babe Records that he really began to get some much-deserved attention. The man, armed with his trusty guitar (a beat-up 1937 Gibson small body) is known for the acerbic wit, dark humor, and leftist politics that form the axis of his music. Hamell hasn’t changed this focus in the face of more exposure or for more recent developments – like the birth of his son Detroit a few years ago. However, Songs for Parents Who Enjoy Drugs, Hamell on Trial’s latest release, channels much of this energy into the direction of fatherhood, and the impact on his music is obvious from the first track.

Songs for Parents Who Enjoy Drugs starts out with the upbeat “Inquiring Minds,” in which Hamell tells us how he’s going to answer all those questions his kid will eventually ask about sex, drugs, and other debauchery (“I’m gonna lie!”). From the beginning, Hamell’s style is hard to pin down – despite being a guy with a guitar, folk doesn’t fit what he’s doing. Perhaps no singular label could be truly accurate as Hamell moves between the lines of genres with ease. Consider “Wheels Pt. 1” and “Wheels Pt. 2,” a duet with his son that gives some new (and funny) lyrics to “Wheels on the Bus.” I don’t remember there being a wino or a floozy on the bus, but Ed and Detroit Hamell sing a few colorful verses about these characters.

Hamell on Trial’s family life shines through on other tracks like “Mommy’s Not Talking Today,” “Father’s Advice,” and “Values.” “Father’s Advice” includes gems like, “Your grandpa and grandma drank and drank and drank, now that I’m a parent I know why. That’s just a taste of my wicked sense of humor, you’d better have one ‘til you die.” “Values” is a darkly funny look into raising a child in today’s America. Hamell ponders the little stuff like getting his kid to pick up his toys in the face of the war in Iraq, 9-11, and George W. Bush’s religious crusades.

Hamell on Trial still devotes plenty of material on Songs for Parents Who Enjoy Drugs to things other than parenthood. “Pretty Colors” is a hilarious song about popping pills, and “Jerkin” is a tune about those long, lonely nights on the road. Beyond the purely comical songs, there is “Civil Disobedience” about Hamell and friend Jakie having a problem with authority and the over-the-top, but oh-so-fun “Coulter’s Snatch.”

Songs for Parents Who Enjoy Drugs is a fine album offering just under an hour of great music and tons of laughs. The only problem with the disc is that Hamell on Trial really is best experienced live for the full effect of his music. Each of Hamell’s albums has been quite good, but I find they just don’t quite live up to seeing him in concert. Still, Songs for Parents Who Enjoy Drugs is a great introduction to Hamell on Trial, and existing fan will find plenty to love here. Those tired of the current regime in the United States will also find a fresh voice in Hamell – and perhaps something to laugh about despite the seriousness of it all.

Chad King – Well, Hell

Chad King has the kind of voice other singer/songwriters surely dream of. While always sounding unique, King is able to change his voice to suit his song, sounding as comfortable in his country-infused tracks as moody singer/songwriter numbers, up-beat rockers, and even jazz- or folk-influenced songs. He’s to be commended, however, that he doesn’t fall prey to indecision, becoming a musical doppelganger in changing styles at a whim. This album remains cohesive, despite its variety of influences and musical direction, and while some of that is based on its theme, most is based on King’s songwriting sensibilities.

The theme of Well, Hell, King’s second solo album (he’s also the frontman of the slow-core-esque NYC band Hula), centers around women. With each of the 11 songs bearing a female’s name, it’s hard to say if Well, Hell is King’s ode to women he’s loved and lost or merely a narrative tied together by the women who flow throughout. Because there’s love songs here, songs of loss, and optimistic songs of hope, and they help the album feel cohesive even while King’s styles flow from song to song.

The album opens with one of its most striking tracks, the incredibly rich “Alma,” which has a deep sheen of reverb and studio effects to give it a slightly echoed, chiming quality. “Cecile” shows his country influences, using pedal steel to give the song a unique twang while still flowing along a gorgeous Nick Drake-ish style. Banjo brings out that sound on “Sandy,” and female vocals offer a moving accompaniment. The vocal style on “Angela” could stand up with the vocalists of decades come and gone, clearly shining on this track that feels like it could be an old standard.

The dark and rich “Heather” is a highlight, a stark and quietly evocative number that adds in some electric guitar (and well-placed whistling). On “Maria,” King infuses his song with a dark country feel that perfectly incorporates strings into the mix, perhaps bringing to mind artists like Calexico or Black Heart Procession, and “Naiomi” startles with a slow-paced but highly moving track deep with feeling. The album closes with another stand-out, the stark “Estelle,” which seems to strip off the studio sheen from King’s voice, showing a more world-weary feel that diminishes its effectiveness not a bit.

King is a highly effective and endearing singer/songwriter who has managed to fly under the radar, perhaps because he’s not simply aping the style of forerunners like Elliott Smith. Instead, he has his own style, his own powerful and evocative voice, and he uses it effortlessly, spinning lovely and moving songs with grace and passion. Here’s hoping he finds a wider audience to enjoy these songs.

Mark Schwaber – The Killing Card

Crafting an album is an art that some musicians forget once they’ve finished their individual song recording. A well thought-out sequence can create an experience that holds on to the listener from beginning to end, pulling them into the world of the artist, helping them to not only listen but to experience the music and the emotions therein. From the children fleeing a raging inferno “At Sunbeam Creek” on the cover art by Mark Darger to the song progression, Mark Schwaber has built an “exact replica of an anxiety attack” with his latest album The Killing Card.

“Home” opens the album with a minimalist fuzzy electronic beat mixed with piano, setting the slightly uneasy mood which blends into “The Pressure it Feeds,” a more agitated yet amazing pop song. Clocking in just under six and a half minutes – the longest track – it features clever lyrics sang by effortless Elliot Smith-like vocals. The last half feeds the growing pressure with guitar-lead instrumentals of a layered Maserati taste. Along with a few sounds that seem to emulate what I kept thinking was my cell phone vibrating on my coffee table.

“Everyone Is Gone” is a mournful ballad filling with depression as the verse “Everybody’s gone / Gone to a better place” cycles through the song backed by minimal piano, percussion, and acoustic guitar. Following with track four, “Torture Ground” picks up the pace a bit with driving acoustic guitar, filled with distress and panic until it bursts at the end with a scream that releases the emotional buildup, to fall into “The Coming of the Bottom of the Sea,” a vocally absent track with heavy electric guitars unlike anything else on the album.

From the energetic harshness of “Combing,” Schwaber moves into “The Drugs Have Shaped the Angles,” a beautifully crafted song that feels like it borrowed some instrumental emotion from A Perfect Circle. This moody style blended with Schwaber’s Smith-inspired vocals works very well for the artist, making this one of the standout tracks on the album. Schwaber has a knack for creating both brilliantly sparse and intelligent tracks while also shaking it up by introducing different instrumentation, keys, and varying levels of emotional intensity blended with his favorite artistic influences. Songs like “Man Down” and his album closer “You are Just Like Me, You Will Never be Free” speak to the influential Smith, while more upbeat songs like “Island of the Burning Trees” will circle through your head long after you’ve put down your headphones. If you are looking for intelligently crafted, emotional pop with solid rhythms and laid-back harmonies then this is an album you could easily get hooked on.

Stereophonics – Live from Dakota

The front cover is unassuming enough. Plain gray text declares the band name and album title, while a minimal black and white photograph makes no obvious effort to grab attention. If one was to cast a quick glance over Live from Dakota in a record store, there’s a prime chance that no consequential reaction would follow. Such modesty, however, is only superficial. Packed inside the case is a whopping 90 minutes of live songs packed on to two CDs. I had not devoted my invaluable fanhood to Stereophonics before popping this bloated monstrosity of a release into my CD drive, and I’d only be lying if I said this compelled me to go out and pursue the rest of their catalog. But, wait! The only real reason for this is that that it manages to feel like such a complete experience that it’s hard to fathom needing anything more.

Live from Dakota is a fine enough offering to stand on its own; it escapes the frustrating tendency of live discs to be alienating to anyone with isn’t already a devotee of the group in question, which is a massive relief. The group’s fame may be lost on American audiences, but in the UK the ‘Phonics have had four out of five albums top the charts, and the songs show just why they’ve been able to conquer the way they do: each track is an endearing pop confection of the best kind, riding comfortably on waves of quick riffs and easy-to-digest subject material communicated through lovably coarse, British vocals.

The songs hold up well live, and the recording quality is terrific (the band is quick to note that it made no use of overdubs for the release). The spacial sound elegantly captures the full arena experience, and it’s easy to don a pair of headphones, sit back, and find yourself in the company of a few thousand screaming fans. On-stage theatrics are kept to a minimum, generally with Kelly Jones interjecting solely to introduce a song or thank the crowd. For the most part you get straight-ahead rock, but there’s plenty of songs dictated by a slower tempo to mellow things out. “Maybe Tomorrow” deals out a solid dose of melancholy through solitary, simple chords. From the leading line of “I’ve been down,” the crowd erupts with familiar joy and begins singing right along to consummate a stellar song by means of an equally touching moment. The band picks back up the pace with one of its biggest songs, “The Bartender and the Thief,” and ensures things never reach a boring pace. It’s surprising how little filler take up space during the show, nearly giving merit to the decision to put it out as a double-disc set. Things close with the delectably lovelorn “Dakota.”

After pioneering through both discs of Live from Dakota, the sense of accomplishment I felt was only overshadowed by the immediate surprise that I had just really enjoyed something I would have otherwise just written off as trite Brit-pop. Oftentimes the “live” tag carries with it implications of being fan-only (though I would go as far to call this essential to fans), but I could see anyone in search of inoffensive, easy-going rock to be happy with it.

Ten Words for Snow – D-NA

If you took the newer Queens of the Stone Age material, slowed it down, ran it through a synthesizer, and made it boring, you’d end up with this. Ten Words For Snow (awesome name, right?) is the guilty party with the release of D-NA.

I feel like I’m hearing vocals copied from Rivers Cuomo, with that annoying “I’m not trying” attitude. “You Can’t Catch Me, Cop” features a trainwreck of synth use with piercing vocal static as the result. This vintage whining was already done by The White Stripes, and it still sucks! Added singing from the female keyboardist tends to clash with the frontman. Vocally, it seems like she wanders off-key at points. I vote that her microphone is confiscated on future musical efforts.

Typical riffs are another large reason for me to dismiss the band. Much of the music I receive that is presented as “artsy” or “indie” ends up to be a load of bore. These folks attempt catchy territory, but they end up as repeated lame melodies. It just seems like a cry out for an additional (better) guitar player to me. The “amplifier stolen from an antique store” tone embodies all that is dull. I don’t even care to go in depth about the keyboards. Think quirky, odd pieces that are too independent of the songs.

I have nothing but intense dislike for this music. On a lighter note, fans of boring indie music rejoice!

Victory at Sea – All Your Things Are Gone

Boston’s Victory at Sea has been at it for years. The band has undergone some lineup changes over the years but now consists of three accomplished players: Mona Elliott, Mel Lederman, and Dave Norton. The sound hasn’t changed much with All Your Things are Gone, though, so diehard fans will be pleased with this latest release.

The piano- and guitar-driven songs play like tunes you might hear in a lonely bar after the crowd has thinned and the regulars have remained. The melancholia hangs all around these minor-key works, infused into the piano chords and the Ms. Elliott’s often low-register vocals. Fans of Shannon Wright will find something to like here, for sure, even if Wright’s compositions breathe less than do those on All Your Things, where the songs are given a more spacious treatment. Victory at Sea’s sound is more Nick Cave than Shannon Wright, come to think of it.

So, the piano and drums really drive most of the songs here. The playing is sharp and the instruments have been captured faithfully. “Turn it Around” opens with piano and drums; its first few measures alone will convince you of the band’s prowess. Halfway through the song, you get a loud guitar blast that just hangs in the air, proving that you don’t need to play fast to add some drama and tension to the music. The song’s ending is a little unusual – it sounds like the band is getting ready to launch back into the refrain, but instead it just stops.

Balanced with the rock-oriented approach of “Turn it Around” and “Undesirable” (which sounds like a good set-closer at a live show) are the slower, almost torch-song theatrics of “Four Leaf Clover,” “No Reason to Stay,” and “No Such Thing as Hearts.” For this type of song, the band can only keep itself quiet for most of the tune. Eventually there’s the louder passage to wake you up and keep things lively.

Perhaps the most memorable track is “Cecille,” whose chorus has hook written all over it. Rivaling “Cecille” for memorability, however, is the next track, “Bored Otherwise.” It gives the band a chance to show its June of 44 side as it builds into a drum-driven exercise in power and control. Its refrain, “I never saw anything before you / I never saw anything but you,” isn’t directed from one paramour to another, but instead from a child to its too-young parent. It’s the kind of inversion most lyricists wouldn’t think of, and it’s probably one of the reasons Victory at Sea has a kind of staying power that others might lack. Sometimes the lyrics are a little cloying or maudlin, but sometimes they hit you just right.

Chevreuil – Sport

Chevreuil’s members don’t want to use up their musical ideas too quickly. It seems the French duo are hoarding their riffs and drum fills in the event that pandemic Francophilia requires they muster some immense lasting power and the ability to churn out tens of albums on which the afflicted can feast à bouche ouverte. The debut album Sport, originally released on French label RuminanCe in 2000, is a relatively brief affair that finds Chevreuil wasting no more than one good riff per track, filling the subsequent space with swirling, multi-amplifier produced guitar tones and drones and the incessant clatter of Hella-nized drumming.

This lack of substance is not to say that Sport isn’t at the very least marginally enjoyable. Anyone who has felt joy and pride rather than the slightest bit mentally deficient after futile attempts at counting out the beats in American Don or The Devil isn’t Red will be in familiar, and at times idyllic, territory. Though it’s all sonically familiar, Chevreuil manages to circumvent the stereotypical math-rock twosome modus operandi simply by way of Tony C.’s bizarre guitar experiments. Utilizing one guitar fed through four amps and eons of delay, Tony creates odd soundscapes that run the gamut from tinkling, boring noodling (“Montacute”) to multilayered, groove-infested Frippage that is almost too slick for the math-rock stamp (“Untitled,” “Sport”). Heroically pounding through the squall, drummer Julien F. remains tasteful throughout, jazzily picking things up when required (though never with quite the fury and paranormal stamina of Zach Hill), but also taking it easy when it’s time to relax, at times so easy one forgets he’s even playing (see the aforementioned “Montacute”).

While Chevreuil may have an original method for tackling the music making, at times the thick miasma of Tony’s guitars wears thin enough for one to see just how frail the underlying song structures are, occasionally so thin and translucent that they’re no longer discernible, and it would not be surprising to find out that large portions of the album were entirely improvised. While there’s an undeniable charm to blindly jumping into things wearing only the skin of your musical abilities, there are moments when Sport’s apparent lack of visible structure is damning and very nearly overly pretentious, especially considering its fairly brief 34-minute running time (sorry, but the 10 minutes of silence tacked on to the end of “Uventene” doesn’t count). For the amount of tonal variety and quirky guitar lines unfurled by Tony, it’s a little disheartening how few times he and Julien actually lock in together over the course of the album, and though the very genre itself lends to a certain air of off-kilter disjointedness, there are instances where it can become hard to find anything complimentary in either of the members’ playing.

While certainly no bête noire, Sport is not the crème de la crème, either. Though the label of “math-rock” seems a given, at once it’s really not, as all said-and-done, Sport is less an exercise in actually “rocking” than it is a sampling of moods and subtle psychedelics, all riding on the back of an outtake from the Free Jazz drum sessions. Things certainly get interesting when Tony plugs in all his amplifiers and pedals, but they can also become quite boring too, such that Sport, while subtly innovating and wildly experimental, is a game for which many won’t have the patience to learn the rules.

Rock Kills Kid – S/T EP

Sweeping alternative guitar rock with 80s pop sensibilities is not something you would expect from a young band from Orange County, CA. But that’s exactly what you get with Rock Kills Kid’s newest release. This self-titled EP contains four tracks from the forthcoming album Are You Nervous? that, while not groundbreaking, contain enough catchy keyboard work and stylish guitars to please fans of adult alternative rock.

With the first note of the opener “Hide Away,” we are transported back to the 80s when Modern English’s hit “Melt With You” ruled the airwaves. Not only does the poppy bass lick, choppy drums, and melodic keyboards resemble the one-hit wonder, but Jeff Tucker, Rock Kills Kid’s vocalist and head songwriter, has the same smooth and calming voice as ME’s Robbie Grey. The shimmering guitars of Sean Stopnik bring the tunes up to date, as “Are You Nervous?” follows with Stopnik’s layered and atmospheric guitar textures. Borrowing a page from U2’s The Edge, the guitars swirl above the Interpol-sounding pop-punk melodies. The next track, “Paralyzed,” seems cut to form for a AAA radio hit, as it carries the swagger of a 70s album-rock single with tight rhythms and a catchy repeating refrain. Here Tucker sings with the flare of Bono’s style while sounding more like Grey. The closer, “Raise Your Hands,” is the most U2-like and has Tucker copping some of Bono’s signature squeals, as the music sounds like a combination of U2 and The Cure on speed.

These four pleasantly raucous songs are bolstered by the superior rhythm section of Shawn Daily (bass) and Ian Hendrickson (drums) and the colorful keyboards of Reed Calhoun. With the stylishly atmospheric guitars and Tucker’s emotive voice, all four sound great blasting from the car speakers while cruising on a sunny spring day with the windows down.

The music here transcends many decades of rock and somehow successfully melds sounds created by some of rock’s most innovative bands with the charming sweetness of the 80s. But while I don’t consider Rock Kills Kid to be imitators or followers of any particular genre-du-jour, I do prefer rock music with a little more ingenuity. Given the promise of their youth, quality musicianship, and their knack for extracting elements from some prominent bands to create sweeping guitar rock, Rock Kills Kid could leapfrog ahead of the pack with a little more innovation while establishing an identity of their own.

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