John Weise – Magical Crystal Blah Volume 3

Experimental noise is usually a tricky genre to try and break down for any sort of review process, and John Weise’s Magical Crystal Blah Volume 3 is not helping with the procedure. Most of the time, I feel that people either love or hate this type of production, but in this case, Weise creates a boring noise album that I neither like nor dislike, and that does not give me a lot to work with.

While I have dabbled into noise and noisecore a little in the past, it never got me excited enough to delve much farther into the bowels of production capabilities. I understand that this type of experimental work is very detailed and takes a large amount of skill, yet this record falls very short of being full-on annoying or being more of a soundscape. It is literally just noise. The concept was to create a project of recycled sounds, and that is why this album is volume three. All the work was done reusing what was done on volume two, which I suppose was all done reusing volume one. While the concept may be clever, the end result is not.

Made up of 37 untitled tracks, each clocking in at a few seconds, this album might as well have been one long composition. There is not a lot of difference between any of them, and the whole thing is a droning output of screeches and fuzz. In fact, I actually forgot it was on, and then all of a sudden it was over. I feel like I just wasted my time on it, and instead would have been more excited to lay sub-flooring.

What it really comes down to is this: if you want to eat acid and sit in the dark, listen to this album. If you are actually into experimental noise, I wouldn’t recommend this. I feel you will be disappointed. If you are not into experimental noise, this record is not going to change your mind. While certain releases in this genre are interesting, this is not one of them.

Lokbrá – Army of Soundwaves

I’m not old enough to be able to speak on the “Golden Age” of rock music with any type of credibility. From what those of appropriate age have to say, the dinosaurian creature known as “rock ‘n roll” has been extinct for some time; all my generation can do is examine the fossils and figure out how the valiant being met its end. For some time, I’ve approached this appraisal – basically a harsh critique of contemporary rock, much of which I hold dear to my heart – with requisite opposition, marking the naysayers of current music as ignorant traditionalists, too stuck in an era past to have a valid opinion on present-day happenings. But now I’m not so sure they’re completely wrong. That singular term – rock ‘n roll – and those who helped originally define it once embodied a fierce independence (I’m sure that Iggy Pop’s defunct consciousness is violently tossing in its grave while his physical being collaborates with Green Day), but anymore it’s abused and adulterated for its style and social merit. The later brings me to Lokbrá and Army of Soundwaves.

Arrogance, misogyny, hedonism, and naïveté – essentially and unfortunately what “rock ‘n roll” is viewed as nowadays – permeate the lyrics on Army of Soundwaves to corrupt the creations with a definite bad taste and dilute nearly any positives to be found in the messages. I’ve heard all too many poorly-written songs, whether their shortcomings be juvenile subject matter, poor transitional elements, or clumsy diction, but few have driven me to the Next Track button as quickly as “The Kings of the Night,” sixth song on the album. “We had a rockstar party, with astronauts and hip hop ho’s / My head is spinning like million, got a hundred up my nose” commences the second verse, and then the following chorus consummates an obviously smashing party with “Rock ‘n roll, bitches and alcohol.” Such crude outbursts perform only to assert the band as a gang of gluttonous neanderthals. Embarrassing lines flourish on the album: all of “The Kings of the Night,” “Stop the Music” (“If you like rock and roll, we might save your soul”), “Ride the Walrus” (“I have the right to be violent / So please be silent while I whoop your ass”), and “Lucky Luke in the Sky” (“I’m all alone on the phone in a zone”) serve as fitting examples, but exhaustive pursuit isn’t necessary to find many, many more.

To their credit, most everything besides lyrical content in Army of Soundwaves is rather enjoyable. Taking cues from 70’s classic rock, the group hits high points as they indulge in wonderful jams complete with provocative guitar work and organs that send the listener back a few decades to the aforementioned Golden Age. The drumming is versatile, making transitions from subdued work to high hat-heavy dance beats effortlessly. “Ride the Walrus,” which sounds like a cousin to an Elephant 6 track in the chorus, showcases a playful, spirited bass. Closer “Nosirrah Egroeg,” refreshingly sung in Icelandic, is a psyched-out adventure soaked in Indian influence. Hazy female vocals (though no Björk) make “Óskasteinar” an interesting affair. The pleasing elements of such songs exemplify the fact that this album would have been much easier to appreciate were it not for the bogus machoism that seems to litter the songwriter’s mind. With that said, even the greatest frosting can’t alter a cake made from rotten ingredients into a confectionery masterpiece. As bands like Lokbrá perpetuate adverse stereotypes, I feel stranded, desperately attempting to convince others (and oftentimes myself) that music really isn’t as far gone as critics make it out out be.

South – Adventures in the Underground Journey to the Stars

Since the demise of James, the masters of effusive and aesthetic Brit-rock, fans of the genre, myself included, have had to look in a different direction for sweeping, timeless, and sublime rock. That direction is South. The UK trio of Joel Cadbury (vocals, bass, guitar), Jamie McDonald (lead guitar, vocals, drums), and Brett Shaw (drums, keyboards, guitar) has managed to combine the hazy ambience of their first release, From Here on In with the driving rhythms and brooding indie-rock of their sophomore album, With the Tides, and have fashioned an new album that Cadbury sums up perfectly when he describes Adventures in the Underground Journey to the Stars as the “balance between both previous albums, without being the same as either.”

The expectations were that South would press ahead following the logical progression of their first two releases and expand upon their complex yet lush rock arrangements. So the first impression of Adventures was that the band had stumbled. But first impressions are often wrong. Especially when the expectations are completely off the mark. So while the tunes on Adventures may be a bit more nebulous and a bit less intricate than those found on From Here on In and With the Tides, they are by no means any less engaging, and in some cases are even more resplendent.

In order for the listener to fully appreciate South’s music, this disc needs and deserves repeated spins, some with the volume cranked. But not because it is an acquired taste; in fact most of the tracks have elements that are immediately fetching. It’s because each track contains subtle textures that are creatively and artfully interwoven into the indie-rock backbone and are slowly revealed over time. This makes for a very satisfying listening experience since the album gets better each time you play it.

Accompanying the refined indie rock on standout tracks like “You are One,” “A Place in Displacement,” “Safety in Numbers,” “Up Close and Personal,” and opener “Shallow” are abundant quantities of New Order-ish bass lines, waves of U2-like guitars, layered with echo and feedback, and taut, polyrhythmic beats that rivals the best of what Travis has to offer and often approaches the lofty Brit-rock territory of James.

The vocals are equally entertaining and provide the melody on many of the more upbeat tracks. But what hooks you is the way the backing vocal harmonies furnish a poppy little three- or four-word catch phrase chorus that you can’t help but sing along with and can stay in your head for days. Even slower tunes like “Habit of a Lifetime” and “What Holds Us,” with their not-quite-Coldplay sensitive new-age guy lyrics, are realized with aplomb. Mostly due to the atmospheric rock orchestrations and the way Cadbury sings with a hushed passion that comes across as Tim Booth of James fronting the bliss-pop outfit Hood.

An added benefit of Adventures in the Underground Journey to the Stars is the way the warm melodies and introspective lyrics allow the album to work on several levels that can mimic the moods of those that care to listen, be it bright and sunny, gloomy or whatever. Although not quite as ethereal as some of James’ later work or as artful as U2’s best Eno-influenced experimental rock, South certainly has that potential. So when it’s time to look for someone to produce their next album, the pioneering Eno would do well.

Kover – Assembly

My last run-in with Engineer Records were some mediocre metalcore splits. I’m glad this isn’t deja vu. The label was home to Hot Water Music back in the day, and Kover must be personal fans. The Canada-based band follows in the path of HWM and Samiam, but it’s just not the same.

Regardless of their intentions, most of the song titles on here just look terrible. Names like “It Girl,” “Light the Sky,” “Frozen,” and “Buying Time” suggest the worst. Don’t judge all the songs on Assembly according to their cheesy names, I’m just being harsh.

“Asphalt and Stone” becomes interesting with a cleaner vocal approach and super melodic guitar. The instrumental simply called “Intro” does a fine job layering smooth ascending parts over mellow acoustic playing. I really hate to say this, but the opener is probably my standout (see: non-derivative) track.

Both “It Girl” and “Can’t Hide the World” signal a decline of energy about halfway through the album. It was bound to happen, Kover’s consistant sound doesn’t bring forth much creativity. It’s not totally downhill from there though, as “Givin’ In” returns some momentum with gritty riffs and shouted vocals, which are all completely reminiscent of HWM.

I respect Kover for paying tribute and doing a fair job at it. However, the originals still reign supreme in this instance.

Pretty Girls Make Graves – Elan Vital

The first point that will appear in any discussion of Élan Vital is the considerable development that the four years since the release of Pretty Girls Make Graves’ debut, Good Health, have traced on the band’s disposition (the qualitative direction of this progression is, I think, up to the individual). Critics will call it maturation and point to the departure of guitarist Nathan Thelen and subsequent addition of keyboardist Leona Marrs in 2004; the casual listener will likely point out that the newest release lacks the ornate guitar work that marked earlier works. This is fortunate, because to ignore the stylistic development of the band would be to do the band and its oeuvre an injustice. That said, it is difficult to overlook the fact that a larger palette does not necessarily yield a more complex or agreeable product; at no point on Élan Vital does the band match the righteous indignation of “Speakers Push the Air” or the sheer exuberance of “The Tooth Collector.” Sure, there’s an accordion on “Selling the Wind” and strings dominate “Pearls on a Plate,” but increased sophistication here is a poor substitute for the intensity of Good Health or the melodic overload of The New Romance.

For those who prefer to evaluate a record on its own merits, however, there is still a good deal to be enthusiastic about. “The Nocturnal House” opens the album with reverberating guitar delay and gym-class whistle blasts and boasts a chorus that stands out as one of PGMG’s best to date: singer Andrea Zollo draws out the three syllables of “magnetic” beautifully as a coarse voice shouts “there’s static in our skin” at the bottom of the mix. Similarly, “Pyrite Pedestal” places one of the most beautiful vocal melodies of the album over a marching snare and electric piano as Zollo declares optimistically that “things are going to change / that starts today.” I feel obliged to note that pyrite (iron disulfide) is a component of fool’s gold; the title’s correspondence with the song’s lyrical content is impressive.

These initial songs are noteworthy by any measure; the remainder of the album, then, is a bit of a let-down, especially on first listen. It is impossible to hear “The Number” without thinking of a bunch of lame guys doing the robot (“Because I want, and I don’t know what I want, but when I want it I want it”), and “Selling the Wind’s” accordion and marine metaphors are no less affected. “Bullet Charm” caps the album on a high note, but even this song is inexcusably long, and the weakness of the middle passage remains.

In this context, the title of the album is almost too ironic. Wikipedia gives two versions of an élan vital, neither of which can honestly be applied to this LP: roughly translated as “vital force,” the phrase refers to a mystical characteristic of life driving evolution onward. The evolution might be present to some extent, but, as far as I can hear, the force is absent. I am inclined to be generous and state with honesty that Élan Vital is still quite a bit better than the crock produced by other somewhat progressive bands, but even this admission fails to hide my disappointment.

Don Peris – Go When the Morning Shineth

The album cover displays an image of a bunch of kids happily playing amongst inner tubes in the water with the sun bouncing off the ripples in the distance. The slightly washed-out tones and brownish tinge give the photograph an old-timey look that suggests a memory of the past. It is this image or feeling of a joyous time that is the basis for Go When the Morning Shineth, the solo effort from the man behind the shining guitar in The Innocence Mission.

I can relate to this album, since my childhood summers consisted of spending every waking hour out at the lake in my small, secluded home town. Those were happy, carefree times back in the days of running to the corner store to see how much candy I could buy with my mom’s spare change and roasting marshmallows over a campfire by the waters edge. I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything, because, as Don Peris’ music suggests, those times are special and should be cherished.

This album not only attempts to express the joy of one’s youth but also wishes to create a feeling of contentment in the listener. When I no longer had the opportunity to spend my summers at the beach from sun up till sundown, I found myself waiting tables in a small cafe. The shelves overflowed with knick knacks, lace curtains adorned the cherry-framed windows, and flowers were found in every available corner. Everyone was a regular, and there was no such thing as a quick meal. When people entered the door, they acted as if time didn’t matter and they had no place to be but right where they were. Soothing guitar melodies wove through the air and invited them to sit and have some tea. If I hadn’t had to make drinks, bus tables, and take orders, I almost certainly could’ve fallen asleep in one of the booths.

Like a bed and breakfast getaway, the first part of the album is a wash of fresh air and much-needed peacefulness in a hectic world, but just as time away from the everyday can become dull, these tracks begin to blend together and lose their emotional pull. It is tough to hold on to an audience with floating, layered guitar that changes very little in tone from track to track. Luckily, Peris doesn’t fall into the trap of letting his songs continue on into oblivion but rather keeps the majority right around the three-minute mark. “North Atlantic Sand” with his wife Karen and “Young as You Feel” with Dennis Witmer provide the only tracks to feature vocals. These help to break up the album and keep it from floating away. While the guitar is beautiful, his talent on the cello in “Recital” is a welcome addition, and while he is successful at creating an album based on happiness and nostalgia, it lacks in the ability to hold one’s attention for the full duration.

This is a slow-moving, sentimental album full of joy and childhood memories, and while it may never mean as much to anyone as it does to Don Peris, whose heart and soul are wrapped up in each track, it is likely to bring out those long forgotten memories of fleeting carefree moments in any listener.

Boyracer – A Punch up the Bracket

For their latest release, A Punch up the Bracket, the ever-shifting line-up of Boyracer has settled on core members Stewart Anderson and Jen Turrell. Helping them out on these 21 new tracks of fast and fuzzy pop-punk are Ara (Saturday People, Castaway Stones), Chuck (Bright Lights), and Martin (Javelins).

Yes, you read it correctly: 21 fast tracks. Not only are the rhythms fast, but the tracks themselves tend to fly by. That’s 21 tracks in 45 minutes, 21 tracks of which only eight break the two-minute mark and only five are more than three minutes. So, like the weather in New England, if you don’t like it, wait a minute.

What’s there to like? Well for starters, Boyracer serves up a high-pressure system of the band’s trademark bare-bones and rowdy indie-punk, recorded in classic, and tinny, lo-fi style. When the pleasant and poppy three-chord fuzz-pop is coupled with Turrell’s riot-grrrl vocal stylings, the results are downright toe-tappin’ and head-bangin’ at the same time. Tracks like “The Toilets of Northern Europe,” “Geordie Lout,” “Normal,” and “More than Most” hit like a quick thunderstorm as electrifying and thrashy rave-ups.

But too often the music lulls as Boyracer’s artists temper their aggressiveness with the calming influence of the expansive and dry American west, resulting in something that resembles an accelerated but less complex Meat Puppets, especially when Anderson takes to the mic. Unfortunately, several more tunes have less rhythm, much more noise, and not nearly as much pop as the aforementioned tracks.

Ultimately, 21 tracks of quick-tempo, mostly genre-specific, and formulaic indie-punk is a little too much for this writer to take all at once. But a couple of these tracks will fit quite nicely on one of my workout playlists in my iPod.

Mouthus – The Long Salt

Hot damn! Mouthus returns with a much better record than last year’s Slow Globes. This one’s called The Long Salt, and not only is it devoid of Fleetwood Mac covers, but it is a significantly stronger release overall than its predecessor. Mouthus comes off sounding like a mess of broken cassette tapes warped from the sun of one too many hot summers left lying in the back seat of an automobile sitting in a junkyard. Somebody must have found that shit and put it back together for your listening enjoyment. Those fools are Nate Nelson and Brian Sullivan.

This is the fourth “official” Mouthus album following the aforementioned Slow Globes, Loam, and one self-titled full-length. These dudes also collaborated on last year’s excellent White Rock record Tarpit that saw them teaming up with one of my personal favorite noise groups, Double Leopards, for a long, drawn-out exercise in scrape and drone.

The Long Salt isn’t what I’d call “punishing” in the general sense of how some noise records try to pull out all the stops and go for the most horrifying sounds they can muster. Instead, what we have here sounds like some lost analog tape clatter being chewed up in the jaws of a Tyrannosaurus Rex (no reference to the Marc Bolan fronted glam band of yore}. It almost sounds like this used to be an all-out aural assault but was recorded and then someone damaged the master tapes (maybe dropped them in a bathtub would be an accurate description) and then played the tape back at half speed. Sure, there’s percussion, but it doesn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense. It certainly isn’t rhythmic, and moreover it adds to the general chaos of the album. There’s plenty of hiss and decay here too, and over it all some vocals that come off like the yawn of lumbering beasts echoing in a tunnel.

It goes without saying that records like this will not appeal to everyone. The murky recording actually complements these compositions but it’s sure to turn more than a few people off. Regardless, The Long Salt is a phenomenal record deserving of more attention than it will get. For those that enjoy harsh noise of the Harry Pussy school of rock, Mouthus does not disappoint.

Hemstad – S/T EP

Indie kids really do like to dance. With the number of indie bands coming out of Sweden these days (doesn’t it feel like an avalanche of Scandinavian guys with guitars?), it is safe to say that nearly 85 percent of Swedes are in indie bands. The remaining 15 percent? They’re in black metal bands … or Ace of Base. Hemstad, eight guys armed with synths and tambourines and maybe even a cello, are pushing themselves to the top of the heap, past the Sounds and the Cardigans and Jens Lekman, past the guys in corpse paint, past “I Saw the Sign.” And tight in the grip of their teeth is their promising self-titled debut EP. Finally all these Swedish indie kids have something to dance to. Sorry, Ace of Base.

The dance party commences with “Kaserntorgets Charkdisco,” a song that, if I were a film reviewer, I would call “rollicking fun” and “a romp.” Homemade synths sing out catchy melody after catchy melody, floating over Göteborg, inviting everyone to get to this party. Yeah, even the guys in corpse paint can come, if they promise not to throw buckets of blood on the dance floor.

Hemstad somehow understands “catchy.” These guys will take a brilliant, la-la melody and feed it to the synths, then throw it to the guitars, let an accordion take a wheezy bite out of it, let a cello take it for a swing. They never even bring in a singer or lyrics; lyrics add context, and who needs context when you’re at an indie dance party in Göteborg?

The catchy melodies follow each other, one after another. “Sommar I Götteborg” shimmers like the Göteborg sea that the members of Hemstad sail during the summer, and like that summer, it’s light and sweet and damn, if only it could never end. “Patrik Sjöberg,” while catchy as hell, errs slightly by repeating its catchy riff a few too many bars. It’s an annoyance that’s unexpected, as Hemstad seems to demonstrate that when they’re getting tired of one melody, they’ll move onto another equally catchy song.

The naysayer in my head argues, “Hey, don’t we need something more than just catchiness? And wait, aren’t accordions and cellos, like, so Arcade Fire?” I answer to myself, “No, we don’t, and yes, they are, but who can argue against an expansive display of timbres? Especially when those timbres are so godamn catchy?” The naysayer resigns to the back of my head.

The sweet melodies continue for 23 minutes. My dancing feet are almost getting sore. The head bobbing is making my neck feel tense. I’m almost getting glad this is an EP, because 40 minutes of this and I would wear the sheen off of my hardwood floors. But still, the music comes, and, inexplicably, I welcome it, suck it in through my quivering legs. Why didn’t this band play at my house parties?

Evangelicals – So Gone

To make music that one might characterize as energetic is an interesting thing. There usually needs to be incredible amount of energy associated with the performance, which is difficult, although not impossible, for a small group. Evangelicals, a trio out of Normon, Oklahoma, try to follow on the psychedelic tip of the Of Montreal boys but are reaching for more of an energy level like that of Aussie super-group Architecture in Helsinki. Like Arcade Fire, what makes Architecture in Helsinki so successful is not only their size but the fact that each member is heavily contributing in every way possible, vocally and instrumentally, with an infectious enthusiasm that is practically bursting at the seams.

Fronted by Josh Jones, Evangelicals have created more of a joyfully dreamy album than one boiling over with vivacity. The album also seems to lose its zip as it progresses through the track listing, as if the boys are getting tired of pretending they have twice the band members. In “What an Actress Does Best” during the chorus line “I need some help,” even though it is being yelled, it feels like the vocalist is tired. And with album-filler “Into the Woods,” the vocals have been set aside and the dream-like quality is the complete opposite of anything lively or bouncy. “My Headache,” one of my favorites, takes on a similar abstract feel but is lead by Jones’ soft voice that floats above the electronically-enhanced landscape, similar to the style of Plus/Minus.

Tracks like “Another Day (And Your Still Knocked Out)” and “Goin’ Down” bring forth more of the AIH-like energy they seem to be striving for, but to me these seem like the weakest points in the album. They try to pack in all sorts of chaotic sounds that are more distracting than anything. Then immediately switching over to the more calming “Diving,” Jones’ vocals soar and the softer yet catchy harmonies make the band sound more at home. And then, to further prove my point that the Evangelicals need to adjust their sights, the album closes with “The Water is Warm,” which features John Jones and an acoustic guitar weaving a musical story that is a treat for the ears.

It sounds like more of a case of mistaken identity where the band is trying in some cases to be something it just is not. Instead, these guys should ditch the attempts to follow in the footsteps of bands much larger than themselves and further explore the more fitting, dreamy, electronic sound they have stumbled upon and see where that takes them.

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