Barry Adamson – Stranger on the Sofa

Musically, Stranger on the Sofa is a dark collection of spoken word, instrumental, and pop- and jazz-infused goth. Lyrically, Stranger is like listening to Thomas Pynchon channeling Charles Bukowski.

Former Bad Seed Barry Adamson’s Stranger begins with “Here in the Hole,” and that begins with a single note repeated; it’s a note that, were it coming from your garage, you’d shoot it. But then the darkly sexy female European voice speaks, and you’re pulled into Adamson’s world… yet you’re thankful when you can finally leave. Strangely, 10th song “Deja Morte” is, despite my extremely limited high school-honed foreign language abilities but my vastly more expert detective skills (the liner notes give the vocalist translator credit), the same lyrics as “Hole” in French. Musically uninteresting, “Deja” would’ve worked better bookending the album. Instead it’s buried two songs before Stranger’s conclusion — an unusual and poor choice.

“The Long Way Back Again” that follows “Hole” is a lackluster pop number compared to the predecessor, but post-“Long Way” is the cinematic, eight-minute “Officer Bentley’s Fairly Serious Dilemma,” an extended, largely nonvocal track that combines classic 1960s effects-pedal guitar work and police radio recordings structured around an insistent rhythm section. It’s easily the second-best song on Stranger next to the piano-centered Mission-style rocker “You Sold Your Dreams.” If Adamson’s considering a single from Stranger, “Dreams” is it. Although it, too, suffers from lyrical obscurity (“I think that I need an extra piece of chicken”), and it clocks in at a reasonable four minutes

The other tracks are more challenging. “Theresa Green” is helped by an unobtrusive slide guitar but hurt by lyrics both banal (“But when you haven’t got a lot / All you’ve got is a lot”) and icky (“Now I pull my skin off / And give it as a gift to you”). I’m thankful the CD booklet has no pictures of Adamson or else I don’t think I’d be able to picture the man with skin. With its stage-whispered vocals, “My Friend the Fly” begins with heavily synthesized beats and builds to a stressful stop-and-start jazziness. Again, the combination of goth-meets-jazz works well here, especially by way of subtext. The idea of fly-as-creativity metaphor — undeniable and unkillable — is an interesting one, and it carries what could have been a mere novelty track to greater heights. “Inside Your Head” seems to initially mirror the instrumental “The Sorrow and the Pity,” but then it drifts into American Music Club slowcore. Although, again, lyrically bizarre, I’ll buy into any song wherein the vocalist sings, with absolute sincerity, “The monkeys have drunken all the gin.” Although the song’s remainder is trite (the chorus from which comes the title runs, “The battle in your head / Is that battle you can’t ever win”), the booming David J-style cabaret arrangement near the conclusion is worth the whole song.

A third of the album is instrumentals, two interspersed among the regular vocal tracks and two concluding the album. “Who Killed Big Bird?” will sound familiar to anyone who remembers the pinball machine segments on PBS’s long-running children’s show Sesame Street — the bass-dominated instrumental sounds perfect for watching pinballs hit flippers and bumpers. All that’s needed is well-timed shouts of letters and numbers (“B!” for the song title or “12!” for the number of songs on the album would be good choices — there’s even a good spot for chanting during the bridge). Unlike the fun “Big Bird,” “The Sorrow and the Pity” has a slow-burning opening with distant bass drums, and atmospheric keyboards, and it builds to an impressively dark soundtrack for love scene in a film that doesn’t exist… nor do you want it to. It’s montage music of a breakup or breakdown.

“Dissemble” sounds so much like Cabaret Voltaire, when the guitar part started, I could imagine Adamson stage-whispering “Sensoria” in his best Stephen Mallinder. Instead, it’s a dark, wholly instrumental track, and unlike the “The Sorrow and the Pity,” I don’t know what scene in the film this is for. It shifts radically from its Cab roots to a quiet middle that makes it an impossible dance track. Saxophone redemption — serious saxophone redemption — comes in near the song’s end, saving it from being a loser. “Free Love” is again keyboard-heavy and could be totally synthesized (although I might exempt the bass line that cuts through half the track). Even the saxophone, which has been the saving grace of this album on multiple tracks, is run through a distorter to sound synthesized. I don’t know why. It’s a dull, repetitive ending for an otherwise fascinating album. Four and a half minutes in — with two and a half to go — the song melts down into a pile of random synthesizer flourishes. We’ve reached Squarepusher territory, wherein random noises mean something to the artist but are nonsense to the listener. I try to imagine producing a song like “Free Love” and find myself at a loss as to how the booth conversation would go. What does the artist say? “I want that clang over there, and that keyboard shimmer a little louder, then I want a three-second pause, and another clang”? I just can’t imagine.

Although I’ve grown fond of Barry Adamson’s Stranger on the Sofa, I’m angry that it isn’t even better. It’s obvious Adamson possesses some serious musical vision, but Stranger on the Sofa takes so many musical missteps and is so laughable lyrically, I have trouble recommending it. Not much trouble, mind you: it’s a great deal better than anything you’ve heard on the radio recently, and it is imminently professional in a way that I can’t help but admire, but unless you are unusually tolerant of an artist who is still finding his way, buy this only after you’ve tired of everything else that sounds the same in your sound-alike life.

Various Artists – Paupers, Peasants, Princes & Kings: The Songs of Bob Dylan

I don’t encounter many tribute albums in the field of reviewing. Paupers, Peasants, Princes & Kings: The Songs of Bob Dylan is self-explanatory enough. The roster of familiar participants helped spark my interest. I’m not going to pretend that I’m a Dylan junkie, because honestly I’m more familiar with the artists doing the covering.

The majority of the songs I was looking forward to met my hopes. Jim Ward, frontman of Sparta, has a role with “Lay Lady Lay.” It sounds like Sparta during its light hints of distortion, but it also has a midwestern flare to fit the material. Alt-country outfit Limbeck adds “Tonight, I’ll Be Staying Here With You” to the tribute. The band’s heartfelt rendition could easily pass for a Limbeck original. Read Yellow’s angular and frenetic version of “If Not For You” is proof that band deserves some recognition for its strides in post-hardcore.

There were a couple surprises I encountered near the end of the 13-song tribute. Unfortunately, Gatsby’s American Dream fumbles with a quirky translation of “Don’t Think Twice, it’s Alright.” The band’s past cover attempts (The Cure) outshine this rushed disappointment. On a happier note, my other observation was a Wes Eisold (American Nightmare) project that I’d never even heard of, called Panama Jerk.

For a tribute to Bob Dylan, this has serious crossover appeal. I must say that Doghouse Records did an excellent job assembling this compilation.

Ministry – Rio Grande Blood

“And now, a message from the President of the United States, George W. Bush… I have adopted sophisticated terrorist tactics and I’m a dangerous, dangerous man with dangerous, dangerous weapons… I wanna drain the coal resources in America and foreign sources of crude oil… I am a weaopon of mass destruction… I am a brutal dictator… and I’m evil.”

The combination of that opening sample, the cover art, and the knowledge that this is a Ministry album really ought to clue you in as to what you are getting yourself into. Politcally volitile industial thrash is the order of the day, and Jourgensen and company are dishing it up in large proportions.

Rio Grande Blood is easily the heaviest, most inspired Ministry album since 1992′s Psalm 69. The riffs are faster and meatier, the electronics have been significantly stripped down, and the drums are as heavy as ever. It’s not quite as “industrial” as the band’s past work, but it’s significantly more interesting than the last few Ministry releases.

Although Bush-bashing is nothing new, the anger and hatred really gushes forth from this album. The album runs the gamut of Bush-related topics like oil, war, lies, the media, and fear. By now, most people realize the Bush administration has issues, but Jourgensen’s pointed lyrics really nail these ideas home.

Those who lost faith in Ministry, rejoice. The band is back and filled with as much vitriolic hatred as ever.

Interview with Adam Gnade

You don’t just ask Adam Gnade a question or plot a sure-footed route into the familiar territory of the Q&A back-and-forth, that sometimes-fluid, sometimes-stilted dance between the interviewer and the interviewed.

Speaking with Gnade – the traveling indie-musician and wordsmith whose Run Hide Retreat Surrender was one of 2005’s unanticipated gems – is more like opening a door or unfolding a scrap of hand-pressed paper to discover an encrypted novel tucked within it. Even the most casual asides suggest deeper truths are lurking around the corner, the wandering tangent instead transformed into a subconscious narrative arc.

Gnade’s casual conversations, then, are much like his music: stream-of-consciousness story-songs that unfurl like photographic sequences, like a panoramic landscape seen in passing from a passenger window. Delusions of Adequacy recently spoke with Gnade by e-mail, over the span of several weeks, about his knack for storytelling, “experimental-folk,” and the deconstruction (and reconstruction) of American music.

Delusions of Adequacy: Your narratives differ a great deal from your contemporaries, in form and tone and initiation. Tell me, what came first for you when you started working as a spoken-word artist/musician — the texts or the ideas for the music that accompanies them? Did you develop in both forms and disciplines simultaneously, or did the written word come first?

Adam Gnade: Before I say anything, I should mention that I don’t consider this stuff spoken-word, a genre I’ve never had much love for. I’ve always just been a fan of non-traditional vocals. “Singing” for me never meant what singing is traditionally thought of as. I think of my vocals as normal vocals. I call this music “talking songs” and think it fits into the experimental-folk a lot of my friends are making right now. I spent last week in Texas with Ray from Castanets, Jana Hunter (who’s got an incredible record on Devendra’s label), and Red Hunter from Peter and the Wolf. (The thought of it hurts and makes me miss them and makes me nostalgic, something I’ve never been before. Always considered nostalgia a dead emotion and a waste of time.)

Talking and wandering and drinking with them reaffirmed for me that things like singing and folk music and music in general don’t have to sound a certain way. Doing something different always polarizes people (look at the great love/hate divide people have for Devendra or Joanna Newsom’s music), and I get a lot of people that really hate what I do, which hurts me pretty intensely. But the rewards are so much greater, the rewards being the feeling that you’ve got a process ahead of you, something to try to attain.

I don’t know where this music is going, but my idea of what it is and what it needs to be changes every day. The new EP will be closer to standard song structures since I’ll be playing guitar on most of it, and since the songs don’t connect in a linear narrative like Run Hide Retreat Surrender. (I see this new EP as deconstructed American music: rock ‘n’ roll, old blues, folk, noise, everything pasted together and then knocked down again and set back up and stuck together with scotch tape and pieces of shoelace.)

I have a month to do it (for Drowned in Sound in the UK, who just signed me and that band Metric, crazy), but I’m already terrified of what lies ahead and absolutely paralyzed about taking the first step and laying down the first tracks. (Without many reference points on making music like this, I’m more or less adrift and held together only with confidence in my ideas, which comes and goes. A big daily battle. Some days everything seems hopeless and I want to die. But others the sun shines and I feel light inside me. Those days it comes right out your eyes and it’s blazing and apparent to everyone.)

So, most of the EP is written. The lyrics and music come at the same time, at least acoustic versions, anyway. But there’s a lot I need to do with it before it’s done. I want the record to have the feeling of organic decay, of being lost in a wine bottle, of celebrations, and of ice melting and cracking in spring and the raw, empty feeling you get when you wake up in a new town and aren’t sure where you are or why you’re there. I’m writing this novel and the EP at the same time. They share characters, so I’m neck-deep in this story, and in the character’s lives. Sometimes it feels like being at the bottom of a well. Sometimes it feels like being surrounded by friends that love you and understand you and believe in you unquestioningly.

DOA: Writing and recording that new EP sounds like a tall order. Tell me more about how you’ve developed these ideas about deconstructing and reconstructing American music. Do these sorts of structural approaches come from writing experience and exercises like the novel?

Don’t mean to keep trying to blur the lines between disciplines if you see them as wholly separate, but it’s interesting to hear you speak in sometimes-interchangeable terms about your musical texts and your written texts.

AG: Yeah, I definitely see the writing and music as interchangeable, which was a big problem when I was first starting out. I wanted to do music and writing, but the things I was writing about – my themes and characters – were so different from each other I felt like I had two separate people inside me, two separate voices, that I had to get “into character” to do either one, and that if I wasn’t ready to make the switch, everything would come out awkward, phony, and skewed. It made me feel crazy and horrible and I thought for the longest time that I was losing it, that I was finally going off the deep end.

But I realized quick that wasn’t an honest way of making art and that anything I’d do would be forced and fictionalized and too thought-out. So, I quit music. For a long time. Actually up until we recorded this record and a little while afterward, when the thing was done and I was sitting around in Kansas thinking, “What the fuck am I going to do with this?”

Getting signed to Loud + Clear gave me some faith, because before that I’d just made records for friends. I didn’t think anyone would ever give a shit. As soon as they got a hold of me last year and we talked about me signing with them and doing a US tour, it all made sense. I realized that I could do music and writing and do them both prolifically, if I just let them intermingle as much as possible, let the stories cross over and let the characters mix, and not try to define myself as a “writer” or “musician” or “artist.” Art is so much about being a spectator, but I can’t live that way. I’d rather just be a “guy” that lives out in the world, lives as unconsciously as possible, doesn’t intellectualize anything, puts myself out there, and doesn’t worry about “the story.” The story will come later. It always does. And when it doesn’t, it’s time to move onto something else.

My ideas about deconstructing American music came because I was dissatisfied with genres. I didn’t think my stuff was spoken-word, and, just the same, I didn’t want to make traditional vocal/instruments music. But still I wanted all the normal things too: a band, regular ol’ instruments, elements of all the American music I grew up loving: folk, blues, ’50s rock ‘n roll, jazz, punk rock, mountain music, bluegrass. So a rewriting of the model was in order. It needed to be familiar but also off-putting. My newer stuff, the singles and the EP are getting there. They’re close. The sound that exists in my head, the proverbial “in-my-head” thing most music makers have, hasn’t come out in reality yet, but I think it will soon. God, I hope it will. If it doesn’t, I dunno. Shit. It’s scary. I don’t want to fight and rethink everything all my life. When I’m writing or playing music, I’m trying to bring it to its realized version and learn about American music, co-opt its aesthetics, but articulate it differently. I want to give people something new. I’m not doing that yet. It’s not near where and what it should be, but I’m trying.

But, to answer the other part of your question, I don’t think the structure I’m working towards came from any writing experience. It’s from listening to a lot of old music and having friends that play new forms of American music and being inspired by what they do and their big, weird brains. Also, traveling around the country created a lot of my ideas because I want this music to sound like America, the speech of people in rural towns, regional music, city rhythms, kids feeling like they need to get the fuck out of their dead-end hometown, evocations of weather and smells and earth sounds and nature. When you’re traveling America, you hear a lot of people say a lot of things. Radio is there, too. Music is there, too. Singing is there, too. But my songs might be seen as something you hear at a party or in a living room or bar or restaurant: people talking, ambient noise, nature noise.

DOA: An interesting question, though perhaps one that’s a bit more concrete than intellectual or emotive. What sort of work do you do day in and day out? Your “work” – as in, I suppose, the content of our conversations – seems to engulf you (and the constructed/public “Adam Gnade”) in so many ways and to tap deeply into your personal experiences. How or how much does this figure into day-to-day routines and life? I guess, in the most direct way, how full-time are your adventures as a writer and musician?

AG: For the past couple years, I’ve been living off freelance writing money and either traveling full-time or keeping a house or an apartment somewhere and traveling half the time, but since getting back from our first tour in November, I’ve moved to Portland and have been working for the Portland Mercury, writing about music. Besides the fact that they don’t give a shit about standard, AP-style, objective, by-the-numbers journalism, which makes it a fun environment to be a part of, it’s also a great position to be in because they’re fine with me taking off time to travel or tour and are more or less into me doing whatever I need to, as long as I get my work done. It’s a weekly paper, and I’m only in charge of the music section, so the workload isn’t as inhumanly intense as the magazine I talk about in Run Hide Retreat Surrender, where I was the editor and spent all day at the fucking thing. So they treat me well, really well.

I work there for a while everyday – in and out of the warehouse we work out of – and then we’re usually either practicing, “we” being my regular band-mates, whom I live with, writing songs together. Or I’m working on book stuff or related writing. Weekends, work-wise, are either record or book. I used to freelance a lot, but I have a hard time writing for magazines I don’t believe in, so I’ve cut a good bulk of that out. But I’m very much into artistic discipline and make myself work whenever I’m home. I don’t watch TV or have any other big, real hobbies or anything like that. My home life, besides living with my band, which can be a strange endless party sometimes, is very monastic.

DOA: How do you balance the time between the music, freelance writing (or financial means of sustenance), and your novel? And, while we’re on said subject, tell me about this novel of yours.

AG: There isn’t much of a balance to tell the truth. I don’t have a schedule per se. It’s more or less what feels right at the time. At the moment, I’m not freelancing much at all because we’re getting this record ready for Drowned in Sound. Lately it’s been all songwriting and messing around with instruments to find riffs and changes. But as soon as this is done, who knows? I’d like to take a break, but most likely the break won’t involve art of any kind.

The work on the novel is pretty much continuous. I’ve always believed to do a good job at a bigger project, something that’s going to take an extended amount of time to finish, you need to let it consume you. So I work on the book all the time. While walking around town, late at night, in the morning, whenever it hits me. But as far as what it’s about, I’ve always been wary of talking too much about a story and letting it talk itself out. I’m superstitious about these kinds of things.

DOA: Wanted to end with the look forward. What’s next for you?

AG: As far as future stuff goes, I just recorded a track for this new band Dave Allen from Gang of Four and Danny Seim from Menomena are doing. Came out great. Also I’m working on a split LP with Argumentix and putting together ideas and demos with Thad Christian for our next full-length. Oh, and our split with Gang Wizard came out yesterday on DeathBombArc. I’ve also been doing some band bios for friends’ bands to take my mind off the book. Just finished one for Festival of Dead Deer and for the new Locust/Plot to Blow Up the Eiffel Tower/Friends Forever/Moving Units band, Ground Unicorn Horn. I did one for Castanets, and I’m just about done with one for Xiu Xiu’s new album, which is amazing, really beautiful and gentle. Reminds me a lot of the Dirty Projectors, who I think are making some of the best, craziest, smartest music around. (Been laying in bed a lot late at night and just listening to their shit in the dark and laughing my head off.)

Besides that, my friend Zach is moving to Mexico City tomorrow, and that’s all I can think about. Living out there. Maybe for a few months. He said once he gets settled, “show up any time” and all that, so maybe. My Spanish is good, and I’m ready for big city action. I saw Mexico City once, standing on the – what do you call that? – the stairs leading up to an airplane and looked out across it and fell in love. All those rooftops. Felt like home. So, I don’t know, maybe that’s next.

A discography:
Goodbye Drunken Ghost (1998, self-released)
Shiv Shiv Shake (2002, self-released)
Run Hide Retreat Surrender (2005, Loud + Clear Records)
We Are Bones and Ghosts Down Stone Walled Wells (2006, self-released)
2 CD single (2006, self-released)
Prince of the Confederacy (2006, split with Gang Wizard, DeathBombArc)
Shout the Rafters Down! EP (2006, Drowned in Sound)

Mellowdrone – Box

I had not heard anything about Mellowdrone before receiving its new album, Box, for this review, and after listening to the LP several times, I’m surprised and curious about that. With a record out on Columbia, support from industry veteran Tony Berg, and one perfectly crafted track after another, one would expect Mellowdrone to be all over late-night TV and possibly even have a video on e-M-p-T-y-V. Multi-instrumentalist Jonathan Bates – the primary compositional force behind Mellowdrone – and his mates have recorded a brooding modern-rock album with immense appeal.

The menacing drums and whispered title of the opening track, “C’mon Try a Little Bit,” signal the moody and exciting 40+ minutes about to conquer the listener’s ears. “Oh My” showcases Bates’ and fellow guitarist Tony De Matteo’s ability to mix high notes and wails with electric guitar solos and a massive, memorable chorus. The programmed beats that guide “Four Leaf Clover” and “Beautiful Day” blend with Bates’ lead and background vocals like the catchiest Nine Inch Nails recordings. Both songs are ideal for late-night spinning at a dark club.

The less electronically inclined songs on Box include the lush, anthemic “Whatever the Deal,” the intimate and introspective “Fuck it Man,” and the indecisive “And Repeat.” Visions of T. Rex come to mind with the earliest notes of “Amazing,” but the song progresses in a manner that oozes more understated sexual overtones than the typical fare from Marc Bolan and company.

With an album as strong as Box is, it’s difficult to select particular highlights among the 13 tracks, and this is a good problem for Bates and his collaborators. Multiple listens into my Mellowdrone experience, I determined my preferences as the crème de la crème of this delicious musical meal. “Fashionably Uninvited” fuses Bates’ lo-fi-like singing, wry lyrics, chilly ambience, and a soaring chorus. Consider the first half of the song: “All of these folks / On the TV have their reason / Like you on your hill / Consuming en masse with your buddies / Every time I watch them all go by / I take in a breath and let out a sigh / I don’t know how much of this I can handle / Excuse me, is my rant taking too long / Is it getting in the way of this lovely song / Just promise me that you’ll never leave / I’d die if you leave me.”

The other two Box tracks that shine in my top trio are the empathetic “Madison” and the gorgeous, heartbreaking “Orange Marmalade.” The lush melody and complementary guitars, bass, drums, and programmed sounds of “Madison” flawlessly surround Bates’ weary singing, recalling Radiohead’s high moments of the mid- to late-90s. “Orange Marmalade” floats slowly, with Scott Ellis’ patient drumming setting Mellowdrone’s mellow tone. Through its chimes, hazy approach, and verbal reflections on a dysfunctional relationship, “Orange Marmalade” seems like the less glossy cousin to Billy Idol’s “Eyes Without a Face.”

“Bone Marrow” and “Limb to Limb” expose Mellowdrone’s ability to masterfully shift from the loud synth-rock of the former to the piano-touched space rock of the latter, which closes Box. Bates’ tremendous skills and talents in arranging, engineering, and producing songs serve his band well throughout Box. The entire album proceeds like a superb film: attracting, stimulating, challenging, refreshing, and simultaneously satisfying while leaving a taste for more. Packed with a dozen and one treats, Mellowdrone’s Box will figure prominently in my year-end Top-10 list.

matt pond PA – Several Arrows Later

With more and more play in commercials and popular TV shows, indie music is quickly losing its outsider status. Putting all debates about the ebb and flow of its commercialization aside, Matt Pond PA is a prime example of indie in mainstream media: The New York Times, Rolling Stone, and TV’s The O.C. to name a few.

But finger-waggers take note – Matt Pond PA is not “selling out,” because the band still makes music in the vein of its 1998 debut, Deer Apartments. Unfortuately, this is probably why the latest effort, 2005′s Several Arrows Later, left me a little cold.

I first heard MPPA in late 2002 and immediately liked the brand of “chamber pop.” The music sounded refined but still grounded in the do-it-yourself tradition so vital to independent music. But 2003’s Emblems and each subsequent release has been redundant. For bands like MPPA, it’s a catch-22: you can change and possibly alienate your audience, or you can avoid change and risk stagnancy. But at this point in MPPA’s run, it would probably be unwise to change. New mainstream fans will surely find the band’s sound very appealing. But in a few short months, it will be up to MPPA to figure out how to hold on and avoid becoming an industry flash in the pan.

Bright spots on Several Arrows Later include the title track, a straight-ahead rock song in which Pond’s urgent lyrics and forceful delivery are a welcome change from his usual nostalgic ambiguities. And the album closer, “Devil in the Water,” brings a fresh vocal approach. The songs, as always, are simple but richly textured, and the production is solid throughout.

Matt Pond PA will likely keep gaining fans with the band’s easily palatable sound and increased exposure. But fans versed in the ways of Matt Pond may find the new material a little too old hat.

The Gersch – The Gersch

The Gersch is a little-known three-guitar sludge outfit from the mid-late 90s featuring current Isis/Red Sparrowes sound effects guru/multi-instrumentalist Clifford Meyer. The band recorded many songs that at last found their way to an official release on June 6th, 2006, thanks to California’s Tortuga Recordings.

The Gersch kicks off with the sonic assault of “Listwish,” a delightfully dirgey onslaught of doom and gloom upon the senses. Tortured Jello Biafra-meets-Ozzy Osbourne vocals complement the chaos and help to add atmosphere. Later songs on the album feature gruffer vocals reminiscent of the Melvin’s Buzz Osbourne. Each song is denser and more monolithic than the last, standing tall as monuments to the grizzled and thickly bearded Hessians that call sludge their home. Despite the constant wall of sound, there is some respite. “Residue Three” features more high-wailing vocals and a swinging, swaggering rock-and-roll riff that brings momentary relief from the sonic onslaught. As said before, the relief is only momentary, as the song eventually kicks into a Black Flag-esque hardcore riff that slaughters everything in its path.

In addition to the many Melvins and Black Flag moments throughout, there are musical similarities to bands as different as Neurosis and Converge. While The Gersch never comes close to the spiritual heights of Neurosis, the band’s more melodic moments echo a rawer, more visceral version of that influential band’s 1992 classic Souls at Zero. Tracks like “The Taker” and the comically titled “Your Lips are No Man’s Land but Mine” best exemplify the Neurosis influence. As mentioned before, The Gersch occasionally dips into Converge territory, and that means raw hardcore with nails-on-a-chalkboard vocal delivery and passionate precision. Songs like “The Face” best exemplify this influence.

The Gersch, despite the Isis/Red Sparrowes association, stands ably on its own as a fantastic sludge/hardcore release. The nine songs within should satisfy anyone looking for metal on the rawer side, especially fans of the aforementioned bands. The disc is consistently heavy throughout yet contains enough variety to sustain the listener’s interest.

Various Artists – Slaying Since 1996

Certain milestone anniversaries are always reason to celebrate, and Suicide Squeeze Records’ 10th anniversary is no exception. SSR are kind enough to allow us to join the fun as they celebrate their decennial in fine fashion with the release of Slaying Since 1996, a double-CD collection of new, rare, and classic songs from a plethora of artists that have worked with the label during its 10-year existence.

This assemblage is a veritable treasure chest of indie-rock goodies, with 34 tracks and over two hours of music. All the cuts were culled from SSR’s archives, spanning the 10-year period of 1996 to 2006 with at least one track representing each year. In order to entice consumers, the two discs contain a total of 13 previously unreleased tracks, with the icing on the cake being an additional eight tracks that are currently out of print and no longer available elsewhere.

It would be impossible to mention all 34 tracks here, so the following is a short synopsis of what this reviewer considers the highlights (the complete track listing is available on the label’s website):

The classics include the single that got it all started in 1996 from Seattle’s 764-Hero, “Now You’re Swimming,” the vintage “A Life of Arctic Sounds” by a brash and unseasoned Modest Mouse, the melancholic rock of Elliot Smith’s “Division Day,” and Pedro the Lion’s plaintive vocals and bittersweet melodies on “June 18, 1976.”

The rare includes the ghostly B-side single “After the Ladder” by The Black Heart Procession, the heavy-handed, post-punk of The Melvins on a live version of “With Teeth,” the dub-style, art-punk of Les Savy Fav’s rare B-side single “We’ll Make a Lover Of You,” and the neo-psychedelic “Voltaic Crusher/Undrum to Muted Da” courtesy of Athens, Georgia’s Of Montreal.

The new consists of many previously unreleased tracks, such as the sinuous avant-pop of Chin Up Chin Up’s “Trophy’s for Hire,” the ambient-flavored, instrumental post-rock on “Evergreen and Ivorbean” by Red Stars Theory, Earlimart’s smoky, murk-rock on “Caruther’s Boy,” and the dark, atmospheric guitar noodlings of Minus the Bear on “The Game Needed Me (Dälek REMIX).”

The rest of the two-disc set is rounded out by many diverse bands with equally divergent musical sounds, yet all are bound by the common thread that is Suicide Squeeze Records’ formula of providing great music made with great care and a punk-rock soul, be it the airy pop of Crystal Skulls, the lo-fi folk musings of Iron & Wine/Six Parts Seven, or the Sex Pistols-influenced punk-rock of Hint Hint.

In addition to all the great music, the limited-edition set is packaged in a sharp-looking, double digi-pak with creative cover art, informative liner notes, and with the slightly tinted red and green color scheme, it appears as though Suicide Squeeze Records are presenting indie-rock fans with a Christmas present in July that will surely make a cool Summer.

Thom Yorke – The Eraser

Thom Yorke has made it publicly known that he doesn’t want The Eraser to be considered a “solo record.” That works just fine for me, because at this point it seems impossible to separate the man from his work with Radiohead. Usually solo records are released when groups are already broken up or during inactive periods. Radiohead is not breaking up, and even without releasing an album in three years, the band has kept busy touring and working – however slowly – on a follow-up to Hail to the Thief. It only seems logical that a person of Yorke’s stature would eventually want to test his mettle, proving his worth beyond his highly praised band’s catalog.

If you’re an obsessive fan like the rest of us, you’ve probably heard Amnesiac B-sides like “Fog” and “Worrywort.” These two songs are the Radiohead tracks most similar to the material found on The Eraser. While it’s to be expected that Yorke’s album will sound at least somewhat like Radiohead considering that he is the band’s mouthpiece, in actuality the contrasts are quite sharp. In place of Colin Greenwood’s thick bass-lines, Phil Selway’s explosive drumming, and Jonny Greenwood’s acrobatic guitarwork, everything on The Eraser seems subdued in favor of Yorke’s elastic voice. The album doesn’t make the point that Yorke doesn’t need his bandmates to make a great record so much as it helps shed light on what each member of the band contributes to the overall equation. With production work from longtime producer Nigel Godrich, the album establishes an excellent case for Thom to work alone, making an album that resembles Radiohead at its most minimal.

The album’s title track cuts in mid-note on a cluster of broken piano chords underscored by down-tempo beats. His voice quiet as he sings lines like “Please excuse me but I got to ask… are you only being nice because you want something?” For a record of mostly electronic songs, this isn’t the cut-and-spliced Kid A-style vocal delivery of tracks like “Everything in its Right Place” but instead comes off as low-key crooning. On first listen, one keeps waiting for a heavier bass-line to appear or some scrappy guitar chords a la Hail to the Thief‘s “Where I End and You Begin,” but that moments never comes. Continuing in this style, it builds to a chorus of “The more you try to erase me the more that I appear,” aptly summing up the career of a man paranoid of being “erased” by forces beyond his control. Around the 2-minute mark, a phasered piano line swirls back and forth in the right and left channels before electronic blips enter similar to that end part of “Let Down.”

A crackling drum machine kickstarts “Analyse” along with more piano and blipperific electronica. Harkening back to songs like “Pyramid Song” and “Sail to the Moon,” it’s a nice addition to an already lovely album with Yorke lamenting about self-fulfilling endless prophecies and algebra. “The Clock” has a clicking drum beat with echoing vocals reminiscent of Hail to the Thief’s “The Gloaming.” The fourth track, “Black Swan,” is evidently the “single” from the album. This is the most perplexing thing of all, considering that according to the album’s publicity, this is the song that will be serviced to radio stations. It’s also the only song with any expletives, but it’s not just one, every time it comes to the chorus Thom states “This is fucked up, fucked up” about five times. Would someone explain to me how they intend to censor this and leave any part of the song intact?

“Skip Divided” needs its own paragraph for a reason. I keep trying to figure out how it belongs on an otherwise outstanding record. It comes in with some misplaced humming, not of machines but Yorke’s own voice. The skittering static in the background only highlights this track, which ends up sounding like some Peter Gabriel reject. It stands out like a sore thumb. I’ve spoken to several people who seem to love this track, but for me when it comes to the end and Yorke is singing “I’m a dog, I’m a dog, I’m a lapdog, I’m your lapdog,” it really hurt in one of those “I can’t help but feel embarassed for him it’s so bad” ways. The music itself isn’t bad, but the whole song seems built to carry the vocals, which end up dropping the ball big time. The biggest disappointment is that it’s just an average track from a record of otherwise excellent caliber.

Immediately redeeming itself, The Eraser comes back with its greatest moment, “Atoms for Peace.” This one is also built around Yorke’s voice, with only minimal electronic backing. Instead of mucking things up, Thom goes for the highest notes in his vocal range and succeeds in crafting one of the most beautiful tracks on any album this year. “And_it_Rained_All_Night” is interesting because the music seems to literally reflect what is going on in the lyrics. The initial percussion provides a slightly motorik beat over which Yorke sings about clicking train tracks.

The Eraser closes on a high note with back-to-back standouts “Harrowdown Hill” and “Cymbal Rush.” These tracks would have fit comfortably on Kid A and Amnesiac stylistically, even if it would’ve broken the superb continuity of those albums. A sense of dread fills both with the dark qualities found on those early 00′s albums. While the lyrical content shows Thom Yorke at the height of paranoia trying to save his house and his songs from the ever-impending doom of a world in the shadow of fatcats that rule unchecked with pockets filled with blood and oil, the dramatic shift from brighter tones to minor keys and slight discordance couldn’t be more prominent.

Before you know it, the album is already over, leaving you with that empty feeling that comes with knowing that next Radiohead album may be farther off than we originally thought. While Thom Yorke’s The Eraser is an excellent record in its own right, it only solidifies the legacy of Radiohead as a supremely powerful group comprised of five robot lions that only together could form “Voltron.”

This Day and Age – Second Place Victory

Something about the song that greeted me when This Day and Age’s myspace page loaded reminded me of church hymns. It sounded pretty and rich – and seriously spiritual. It also turned me off by connotation, but I clicked around a bit more, and listens to other tracks made me appreciate that one a bit more.

I chose “Second Place Victory” because it’s better than that first song, but it’s similar in vein somewhat. Centered around piano, light drums, and breathy, emo-style vocals, the song is quiet and simple and extremely pretty. Those who like Cold Play or Keane will enjoy this stuff, especially about half-way through when the drums and guitar kick in. But I like the opening part – the quiet part – better.

The Buffalo band says its songs are centered around stories and are meant to convey a mood that matches the story. In that, This Day and Age seems to pull off its goal. While the rocking style reminds me of countless other emo bands with talented vocalists, the quiet, piano-led moments are much more unique. There’s definitely some interesting things here.

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