Joan of Arc – The Intelligent Design of Joan of Arc

To invoke the witless passion of the Intelligent Design argument in reference to a collection of B-sides and compilation tracks is an irony worthy of the legacy of Joan of Arc, a band that has made a career out of the very backbone of solid, Godless science: experimentation.

The beauty of Joan of Arc, an aesthetic that seems to be lost on many who judge the band harshly, is that no experiment is a failure, simply because of the fact that the musicians always achieve what they set out to do, whatever the result: the testing of a musical idea. Often with little rhyme or reason, Tim Kinsella and co. have liberally applied key tenets of the scientific method to their music making, testing whatever fleeting musical hypothesis enters their minds and faithfully reporting the results, no matter the outcome. For the conservative listener (the creationist, if you will), it becomes far easier to dismiss Joan of Arc than give way to the band’s unique approach to music, and soon any animosity extends beyond simply missing the point to the far more dangerous territory of inventing a point, often conveniently antithetical to one’s own position. Perhaps the title The Intelligent Design of Joan of Arc is a playful jab in the direction of those who reel at Joan of Arc’s blasphemous take on indie rock.

The Intelligent Design of Joan of Arc chronicles a band that seems to have slowly pulled itself together, beginning as a string of sparse, oft-directionless experiments before gradually becoming a fleshed-out ensemble comfortable with its own voice. The collection begins with several tracks from the band’s early 7″s on Jade Tree and Southern Records. Spacious, minimalist tunes like “Didactic Prom” and “Trial at Orleans“ change their minds often, filled with archaic electronic effects and displaying Kinsella at a vocal low point. Still, early songs like “Busy Bus, Sunny Sun” hint at the more mature mix of song writing and experimentation that would shine on later albums such as Joan of Arc, Dick Cheney, Mark Twain.

The progression of the band as tracked by The Intelligent Design on Joan of Arc is lurching, but for the most part linear. The pre-2000 tracks are good but are certainly artifacts of a young band that was just starting to stumble onto something special. The collection is essentially split in half by two tracks taken from the Japanese import of the How Can Anything…EP, “I’m Sorry I Got So Drunk Before My Solo Set in Tokyo” and “My Girlfriend Dumped Me After the Free Trip to Japan.” Both tracks are rather eerie electronic experiments that almost serve as an exorcism of the juvenile, angsty tendencies found in the songs preceding them. At the conclusion of the haunting female vocal samples and ambient bass of “My Girlfriend…,” Joan of Arc returns reborn, jumping three years into the future with “Please Don’t Mistake My Arrogance for Shyness,” a despondent piano ballad steeped in a refined cool that is shocking compared to the band’s earlier songs. Kinsella’s voice sounds pleasant, the song has a steady direction, and it’s all emotionally affective and tuneful, never jarring or meandering like the band’s early work. A new era of Joan of Arc had dawned.

The collection winds down with several tracks that sound exactly like Joan of Arc B-sides should. There’s a not-fully-realized version of “A Half-Deaf Girl Named Echo,” similar sounding tunes “Kissinger’s Lament When Some Young Bunny or Bildeberg Whore Kicks Him Out of Bed for Snoring (In the Key of Me)” and Lungfish cover “The Evidence,” and a bunch of particularly odd audio experiments. To Joan of Arc’s credit, the only blatant misstep is the bizarre “You Say Tornaydo I Say Tornahdo,” which, despite humorous lyrics (“Oh rats! Where are the pets?! / Little kitty litter specks bite us on the necks / You’d be a puss in boots too if the wind made you flew / Your skull cracking lunch tables from the high school”) is an entirely unsuccessful foray into the no-no realm of white boys and hip-hop. Other oddities include the electro-twee “Violencii or Violencum,” which sounds like an Asthmatic Kitty hairball, and the upbeat chanting mantra of closer “Song for Josh.”

Love him or hate him, Tim Kinsella has to be applauded simply for the sheer breadth of his musical vision. The Intelligent Design of Joan of Arc doesn’t quite hold together like a studio full-length, but what B-side collection ever has? Likewise, The Intelligent Design of Joan of Arc suffers in the way that almost all rarities collections have in that it paints a mediocre picture of the band it chronicles, hardly showing the band at its worst but sadly never celebrating it at its best. It’s not surprising that the strongest track included, “For a Half-Deaf Girl Named Echo,” is the only track that was included on one of the band’s full length albums. The collection also proves to be a poor platform for Kinsella’s seemingly afterthought political jabs, with the Bush-sampling “George, oh Well (Stand and Clap)” and a sizeable portion of the liner notes dedicated to the “14 Points of Fascism” making vacuous and unnecessary political statements.

If you’re a big fan of Joan of Arc, this collection is certainly worth checking out. It’s probably not the best place to begin a Joan of Arc journey for new comers, for all of the obvious reasons. Despite its wide-range of sounds and occasionally rough edges, as far as I’m concerned, The Intelligent Design of Joan of Arc has succeeded in the way all good B-sides collections should; even in illustrating a band in its arguably weaker moments, it reminds one of the genius of the band when it truly shines. I know I’ve dusted off all of my Joan of Arc albums and given them each a listen with new ears.

The Setup – The Pretense of Normality

Belgium would be the last place I would look for my hardcore, but The Setup is pretty legit. I’ve heard less-than-optimistic things about the overseas scene, but these guys are no amateurs. The musicianship is rock solid, full of dark melodies and harsh vocals. The Pretense of Normality is also not a stranger to the word “heavy.”

It’s true that the songs conform to a constant formula, but the breakdowns are a larger concern. They’re too generic and open-ended compared to the more intelligent discordant parts that they interrupt. “Nails” has another “what the fuck?” moment with clean vocals that belong locked up in the nu-metal era. The fact singing appears on this isn’t the problem, it’s the terrible quality of that singing. The closing track (“Black Water”) integrates samples of a conversation that don’t really add anything except cheese. Still, some of the record’s shining moments liken the band to The Minor Times, with less regard for the start-stop aesthetic.

A few bumps in the road are forgivable. Domestic comparisons to The Setup would be the dissonant riffs of The Hope Conspiracy and brute force of The Promise. If you’re friendly with that niche of hardcore, I’m fairly positive you could tolerate this Euro offering. The Setup is a good export, but for great hardcore I’m sticking with America. These colors don’t run.

The Late Cord – Lights from the Wheelhouse

“Lila Blue,” the lead track from the Earlies’ John-Mark Lapham and solo performer Micah P. Hinson’s new collaboration the Late Cord, spends six minutes on what sounds like CD skipping noises — artfully arranged, of course — with a bit of keyboard and mumbled vocals through a distorter then transitions for the remaining three minutes into a deadpan acoustic number. It’s all very quiet, very mystical, and very stupid. If I want to hear a CD skipping, I’ll jump around while one that I like is playing.

It’s only fitting that venerable alternative label 4AD would release something as inaccessible as this. The home of quite a few dark, somber acts, this, I guess, fits in well with the remainder of the 4AD roster. “Lila Blue” will sound just fine in the middle of a 4AD compilation.

But, as whole, Lights from the Wheelhouse is total hogwash. In fact, calling it hogwash gives hogwash a bad name. Let me continue.

“Lila” is followed by “The Late Cord,” which is three bass notes, some keyboard trickles, and more mumbled vocals, punctuated by the occasional guitar note. Then comes “Chains/Strings,” which is, well, strings. It’s nice, I guess, but, really, if you’re buying music to hear pop musicians write for the violin, I can suggest alternatives (like, I dunno, classical music?) that you might find more appealing.

“My Most Meaningful Relationships are with Dead People” would be deeply ironic were the song title shouted at a sold-out stadium gig, but, alas, it never will be because it’s a miserable song centered around a piano line that never ends and never changes for the entire five-minute song, and the depressed, unsexy, moaned lyrics of remorse are limited to about four lines repeated six times. The whole thing would almost be reminiscent of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds… if Cave had writer’s block and a piano with only three keys.

“Relationships” is followed by the thankfully concluding track, the uplifting “Hung on the Cemetery Gates.” This is four minutes of more depressed, unsexy moaning (but this time dispensing with lyrics entirely) accompanied by what sounds like random harmonica. The moaning, by the way, continues after the harmonica ends. Yes, it’s a merciful release when the harmonica ends, and then you realize it would’ve been a merciful release if the moaning had ended instead, and then you realize it would’ve been an even more merciful release if Lights from the Wheelhouse just wouldn’t play in your CD player 20 minutes ago.

I’ll give Lights credit for “Lila Blue.” On first listen, I thought it was tolerable. Unusual, yes, but acceptable. But upon hearing the remainder of Lights, I can only assume 4AD signed the Late Cord sound-unheard, thinking to turn the success of its individual members into some sort of super group. Congratulations, 4AD, because this is super bad.

I’m sure there are people who really dig tuneless groans, three-note pianos, and all of the other junk that Lights entails. They must be out there. But I would only recommend this to my worst enemy after he gets fired from his job sponge-bathing the lepers in the hopes that he would hang himself…because all along he could have been getting paid for making noise like this instead.

The Slow Signal Fade – Steady

The Slow Signal Fade releases a debut album titled Steady. A deliberate play on contradiction or a careless stab at simplicity? The case could go either way, though the record’s content – itself painstakingly simplistic – seems to favor the latter. And, for all practical purposes, TSSF writes steady songs: four- to five-minute pieces that beat two or three guitar parts to death over a repetitious rhythm section. Well, you might argue, the band has only three instrumentalists and a vocalist – should orchestral complexity be demanded? Only if sound composition is of interest. The thing is, Steady is rife with the kind of segmented guitar parts that make for a fantastic backbone but aren’t sufficient to flesh out a functional album. A standardized concoction of reverb and chorus cannot revitalize an emaciated formula; this is particularly true of the psychedelic, multi-colored rock The Slow Signal Fade has elected to pursue.

Part of the problem might lie in Steady’s recording. The band is quick to boast of its hook-up with Steve Albini, but it is immediately apparent that there is no depth to the album’s production. Indeed, a talented engineer could have laid this down on a four-track. I can imagine the recording layout going like this: 1) mid-tempo drums, focus on the open hi-hat and the kick 2) bass–distortion or no? Moog on “Mary Lou Saw Birds”? 3) all guitar parts out of the Marshall Hot Rod, chorus and reverb up to 10, nobody’ll notice 4) Marguerite Olivelle’s vocals at the top of the mix–let her squeeze it a bit just like Alanis Morisette hell yeah.

A trusty formula indeed, but double check the algebra: poor production coupled with a lack of invention has never yielded a memorable result. This paucity of raw material necessarily yields an oppressively rigid record: the same elements that show up in the intro of “Departmental” persist unabated to the closing seconds of “That’s a Long Way Down.” Monotony is bad enough, but, at nine songs and 48 minutes, Steady really starts to show its stretch marks in the last quarter. Fortunately, the band’s best ideas emerge in “Mary Lou Saw Birds” and “The Same Song” – they actually comes close to jamming at the album’s finale – to round off a steadily deteriorating momentum. But over nine minutes of “At Least We’re Dancing,” arguably the album’s worst song? Excruciating.

Perhaps this is an insensitive appraisal, but it’s probably best for all involved. My baseball coach used to tell me that pain is weakness leaving the body, and I believed it. So, now that TSSF have arrived at the fork, maybe the guys will pick the road less traditional. As I see it, there are two possibilities: 1) they strip down completely and drop the psych-rock pretense, or 2) they decide that the most complicated solution is best and actually go for a guitar solo, or, at the very least, double track a few parts. Steady’s failure is all the more bewildering because the elements are there for a solid record: Olivelle’s vocals are more than strong enough to take over, Aaron Vishria is an immensely talented drummer, and the bass and guitar generate enough parts over 48 minutes to make a brilliant half hour. So, as with most first attempts, the conclusion is that the potential is there – it might simply take some steady practice to capitalize on it.

Interview with Koby Israelite

In what may have been the interviewer’s only constructive use of MySpace since signing up, multi-instrumentalist Koby Israelite was recently put to the test, answering a slew of questions for Delusions of Adequacy with all the flair and timeliness of a teeny-bopper reposting a bulletin survey under threat of dire consequences. Israelite, who is a proficient player of the piano, drums, accordion, and guitar among other instruments, has spent the last few years writing and recording on John Zorn’s Tzadik label, touring Europe with various side-projects, and generally causing a stir in the world music scene. Surfing the web somewhere just across the Atlantic, Israelite took some time out to address questions regarding his latest album, Orobas, the “idiots” that gather as his (anti-) muses, and why the BBC is full of a bunch of wankers.

Delusions of Adequacy: First thing’s first, how about a little background information?

Koby Israelite: I was born in Tel-Aviv, Israel, on Nov. 23rd, 1966. I started to study the piano at age 6, although I totally hated it and found it nerdy and boring. I never used to practice and gave my parents hell, because they were convinced that one day I would become a concert pianist. Actually, I wanted to be a football player, but soon enough I found out that some running is involved, so I gave up that idea. At 15, my parents bought me my first drum kit, and that changed my life. I knew that my future would be as a drummer.

DOA: An Israeli with the last name Israelite is a bit too much of a coincidence as far as I’m concerned. When it comes to “Koby Israelite,” what’s in a name?

KI: That is my real name. Koby is short for Yaakov, and Israelite is what it is. It was John Zorn that suggested I keep my surname, as I wanted my debut record to be under the name Koby alone. I feel that my name doesn’t help me at all. The current situation in Israel is horrible, and some people mistakenly associate my name with Israel and politics. My music is not political, nor religious.

DOA: You started your journey as a musician at a very young age. What was the catalyst for that? Were your parents musicians?

KI: My parents are not musicians at all. We always had a piano, and as a very young child I used to play songs that we sang in kindergarten. I guess my parents realized that I had some sort of talent, so they decided that six years of age would be the right time to start my musical education.

DOA: What are some of your favorite albums? You know, the ones that really made you decide, “music is what I want to do with my life?”

KI: There are so many, but I guess it would be Led Zeppelin that really got me into music big time, and then all those bands that came after that I really dug, like Rush, Van Halen, Judas Priest, etc. I also got into a lot of prog-rock bands like Yes and Electric Light Orchestra. Then I got into jazz and fusion, bands like Weather Report and Jack Dejohnette’s Special Edition. I started listening to some classical music as well, especially the Romantics.

DOA: Once you started playing drums, you began playing in a lot of metal bands, including the first speed metal band in Israel. What started your interest in the genre?

KI: [Nirvana’s] “Teen spirit”? For a 15-year-old like myself, I thought it was the coolest thing. My friends were also into Led Zeppelin, and they got me into them. Later on I got into the double bass drum. I thought it was the coolest thing ever.

DOA: Why do you think so many people don’t take metal seriously? Can the majority of human beings really just be a bunch of pussies?

KI: Some of the most unbelievable drummers are metal drummers. I can not speak for others, but it’s something to do with taste maybe? I know loads of great musicians who do not like metal at all. I think that if you listened to metal in your teens, you will always have a warm place in your heart for it, even if you’ve since moved on.

DOA: A few years back, you began focusing on the accordion as a primary instrument. In your opinion, what is the appeal of an instrument that’s usually viewed as awkward and archaic in these times of down-tuned guitars and bumpin’ bass beats?

KI: A few years ago, I discovered a Romanian gipsy band called Taraf de Haidouks. They changed my life and made me go out and buy an accordion and start learning about five years ago.
I still play the drums and love it, but to me the accordion is something even more than the drums. For the first time in my life, I actually practice. I hardly ever practiced the drum kit. In Eastern European music, the accordion is one of the main instruments in the ensemble. It’s not viewed as awkward at all.

What I try to do with the accordion in my music is, I hope, fresh and unusual. That appeals to me very much, although I read in a review of Orobas that accordion shouldn’t be used along side distorted guitar (???). Sometimes the combo creates a musical collision that appeals to me in a great way, and I think that collision is one of the strongest elements of my aesthetic. Saying that though… I do play in a more traditional Middle Eastern group as well, and I love that also.

Man… I fuckin’ love the accordion. IT IS THE NEW GUITAR!!!

DOA: You served in the Israeli army for several years. Did your experiences from that time factor into your philosophy of life or music in any way?

KI: I served the army because I did not have a choice. I hated it. The experience, which in my case was three years in the army, really does affect one’s life, but with regard to my music, maybe only subconsciously, but I’m not sure. My philosophy or commonsense tells me that the army and killing is bad. I am not a great believer in the human race; I guess I’m a bit of a misanthrope. I just do not see us ever living in peace with each other as long as religious fanatics and basic human greed exists. At this moment, I am worried.

DOA: Had you put out any albums, either solo or as part of a band, prior to signing to your current label, Tzadik?

KI: Prior to signing to Tzadik, I was mainly a session player. Dance of the Idiots was my first release as a solo artist.

DOA: I read in another interview that before signing to Tzadik, you had never had much experience with or interest in traditional Jewish music, and that you were a little caught off guard when Zorn offered to release some of your work under the Radical Jewish Culture series. What made you decide to give it a shot?

KI: The desire to have something out, and John Zorn’s willingness to give me as much freedom as I wanted.

DOA: In person, is John Zorn 10 feet tall and surrounded by a faintly glowing aura?

KI: Abso-fuckin’-lutely.

DOA: You’re very talented on multiple instruments and draw from many different genres when creating your music. What is the writing process like for you? Does demonic possession have any hand in it?

KI: Nothing like that. I just do what I feel like doing. I’m not trying too hard to make a statement or trying to show off or anything like that. If I’m in the mood to write a beautiful lyrical ballad, I will. If I’m in a fucked-up angry son-of-a bitch mood, the music will come out reflecting that. I don’t write music to shock or impress. I hope my music is touching people.

Playing many instruments is great. I am grateful that I can do that. Maybe for my next recording, I’ll record an album with my band, and I’ll stick to only one instrument.

DOA: Like I said, you’re a master of many, but what’s a genre you can’t stand, and what makes it so terrible?

KI: Techno music I cannot stand. Trance and club music. Once, my girlfriend dragged me into a techno club (fuck knows why I agreed to go), and after five minutes, I really started to feel so sorry for myself. I nearly cried. But on a serious note, I try to keep an open mind to many kinds of music.

DOA: All of the songs on your latest album, Orobas, are credited to John Zorn, yet they carry a lot of your signature sound. Was it hard to apply your own musical approach to Zorn’s compositions, or did you find that they suited your style well?

KI: It was so easy. To me, the music felt like a blank canvas. It was very raw and flexible. I (in retrospect) noticed that after I finished recording, I was quite loyal to the Zorn sound, like the surf guitar type stuff. Of course, Zorn is one of my biggest influences, so that explains it as well. I also was free to add stuff of my own or take some stuff out. He gave me total freedom.

DOA: The songs on Orobas are from Zorn’s Masada series, which have been described as “improvisational starting points.” In what form was the music delivered to you, and how much of it was already clearly defined? There are some killer solos on various instruments throughout the album. Would it be more accurate to say they were your improvisations or lines that were meticulously mapped out by Zorn ahead of time?

KI: Zorn sent me only the melodies/riffs in some tunes, and for some he sent me the chord changes (like in the song “Nisroc,” for example). The solos were improvised by myself or by the trumpet player Sid Gauld, recorder player Stewart Curtis, and bass player Yaron Stavi.

DOA: Humor seems to be a reoccurring undercurrent in your music. Why do you think humor is important in music, and why do so many people seem to believe that it can have no place in “serious” music?

KI: Humor is important to me as a person. I consider myself to be a funny person, so probably if one’s music reflects one’s personality, then the humor in my music shows that it is a big part of who and what I am. But I also think that you find in my music a melancholy aspect as well. As a human being, I am complex – troubled, happy, sad, funny, unpredictable – and these are all strong and important elements.

DOA: You’re currently living in London, so when can we expect your album of BBC sessions to come out?

KI: Great question. I’ve been trying for years now to get my tracks played on the BBC, but the motherfuckers won’t play them. The BBC sessions? You are funny, mate! I even wrote a track titled “The BBC Won’t Play My Shit.” Fuckin’ wankers.

DOA: Is “wanker” really a legitimate insult?

KI: See my answer above.

DOA: Is music currently a full-time undertaking for you? If not, what do you do for employment or with your freetime?

KI: Music has been my full-time job for the last 15 years. In my free time, I write music about the BBC.

DOA: A question just for instrumental artists like yourself: How do you decide what to name your songs?

KI: Sorry to go to the BBC again, but with that track it was easy. (First I came up with the name, then the tune followed). Actually, I’ve never really thought about it. Some titles suit certain kinds of compositions. For example, my track from Dance of the Idiots, “If That Makes any Sense.” Cantorial shit over heavy metal? What else can you name a track like that? (“The Rabbi at the Deicide Concert” didn’t sound very good to my ears). Or the song titled “Psychosemitic,” that’s another one where I came up with the name first and tried to write music that fits the title.

DOA: Who exactly are “The Idiots” who are dancing and returning on your albums (Dance of the Idiots and “Return of the Idiots” on Mood Swings)?

KI: Choose your own. Mine are: G.W. Bush, the Israeli government, celebrities, the BBC (of course), Tony Blair, reality TV, commercial music, my gold fish, people with no curiosity, the neo-conservatives, people with bad taste, people on pills dancing to techno (actually, they probably belong with the ‘people with bad taste’ category), people that have been abducted by aliens and came back to tell us about it, traffic wardens (I’m not sure if they exist in the States), people who say “I don’t believe in God, but I know that there is something out there that takes care of us,” bad bass players, skinny guitarists that hold their guitar really low, just under their balls (except for Jimmy Page), TV chefs, game show hosts, people who buy self-help books, people who write them, people who don’t take metal seriously (just for you), the entire British royal family, football players that publish their autobiography, people who buy them, people who are late, people, people, and fish (gold).

DOA: Is MySpace really corrupting our youth and a sign of the impending apocalypse?

KI: MySpace is great. I’ve discovered so many great musicians and interesting people. I really dig it.

DOA: What’s a question you wish people would ask you more? How come I didn’t think to ask it?

KI: This one! You did!

DOA: Heard any good jokes lately? And no British humor; if it’s not Monty Python, we Americans just don’t get it.

KI: I’ve got loads of them, but I’m too lazy to type. But here’s a relevant one – “Welcome to heaven, here is your harp. Welcome to hell, here is your accordion.”

Don’t you like British humor? What about Borat?

DOA: Finally, what’s on the horizon for Koby Israelite?

KI: Well, I just formed my new band, a five-piece. At the moment, I’m occupied with trying to get some gigs and hopefully tours in Europe and beyond. I am also in the process of writing a new project titled “King Papya.” It’s a fantasy story, like a cartoon for adults, about the rise and fall of King Papya. My wife Charlotte writes the story and does the illustrations, and I write the music. It is a very ambitious and challenging thing, and it’s currently in the very early stages, but I get the feeling that you will dig it.

The Lucy Show – Mania

For a brief time in the mid 80s, The Lucy Show enjoyed some measure of critical and alternative-radio success. Those were the days when the phrases “alternative radio” and “alternative rock” had yet to be co-opted into the language of the major-label press kit. Mania, The Lucy Show’s second album, hit in 1986. Bands like U2, The Cure, and Simple Minds had already started breaking from alternative to mainstream channels by that time. MTV was kingmaker, and big-name labels were starting to scout for breakthrough acts.

For The Lucy Show, widespread success and recognotion always remained out of reach. Could it have been that Canadian bands didn’t have access to the resources and promotion afforded the favored British bands of the time? The band’s simply amazing first album, Undone, had come out about a year before Mania, and with these two records, The Lucy Show proved that it could hold its own against the heavywieght acts of the time, even if it couldn’t outlast them. Fans of the band have always been without a CD version of Undone and had to hunt for the out-of-print Mania CD until now. Words on Music has continued its tradition of finding and re-releasing gems from the mid-80s with Mania.

The Lucy Show’s sound combines basic pop structures and harmonies but usually darkens them somehow, usually giving them a sadness that wouldn’t be possible without singer Rob Vandeven’s vocals. There’s something about his voice and lyrics that carries a sincerity bordering on naivete. The music is rich and varied – lush at times and stripped-down at other times. Always present, though, is The Lucy Show’s unerring sense of melody. The two singles from the album prove this: “A Million Things” and “New Message” stand out as spectacular examples of Let’s Active-like shots of what it meant to write a catchy alternative-rock song that was bound not to be fully appreciated until decades after its release. And one benefit of this reissue: both singles have alternative versions collected in the CD’s bonus tracks.

“Sun and Moon” has an uptempo but downcast take on the Lucy Show formula. Its Comsat Angels influence is apparent in the guitar work as much as anything else. The song is taut and driving and constrained. Its reverbed and crisp sound deserves mention, as the album was produced by John Leckie – whose resume includes work with Stone Roses, Radiohead, and Felt. In some ways, The Lucy Show brings together elements from these other bands’ sounds (the pop aspects of the Stone Roses, the occasional dark experimentation of Radiohead, and the lonesome detachment of Felt). “Shame” and “Sad September” exemplify that lonesome detachment musically and lyrically – excellent work. “Melody” has spartan, unwavering drum and bass lines whose contribution to the sound help give it a Pornography-era Cure tinge. And although I haven’t even mentioned the guitar work for any of these songs yet, you should know that it is fantastic. Not that it’s ever especially technical, but it always defines its own place in the sound and gives the songs a buoyancy (for the pop matters) or a backing mood of solitude (for the songs of desolation) in just the right way.

“Part of Me Now” has a directness and simplicity that recalls the first China Crisis album. Its keyboard-and-drum-machine instrumentation dispenses with the guitars and drums – and even horns, as on “New Message” – and forces your attention almost exclusively on the vocals. Its four minutes of confession and vulnerability and resignation and promise still captivate. “I’ve been shot / I’ve been wounded somehow / Weave your web / You’ve got a part of me now” observe the vulnerability aspect of being in love, while those first two lines alternate with “I’ve been hit / I’ve been smitten somehow” to remark on the joys of the same.

Every song on this album matters, and fans of the genre who haven’t been lucky enough to hear The Lucy Show until now should grab a copy of Mania and thank Words on Music for continuing to serve up these reissued gems. For those like me who already had Mania on CD, you’ll want to get a copy of the reissue to hear the alternative takes, live cuts, and “unreleased” tracks (the driving, near-perfect “Invitation” came out on the “New Message” 12″ and “Civil Servant” I’d never heard before). Plus, you get the video of “A Million Things,” which MTV did play quite a bit. As much as I love Mania, I still feel like the band’s true impact on the music of its genre cannot be fully appreciated until more people can get their hands on the misunderstood and underappreciated Undone. Until then, though, this reissue of Mania alone will do a lot to further the band’s until-now neglected legacy.

Between the Buried and Me – The Anatomy Of

I am going to start off letting everyone know that I really don’t know what to say about this release. I have always been a huge fan of Between the Buried and Me and have always felt that the band did an excellent job pushing the boundaries of heavy music. Every release so far have been awesome – that is, until now.

The Anatomy of is all covers. I don’t like albums made up of covers. I think cover songs should be reserved for secret tracks on albums made up of otherwise new material. For whatever reason, BTBM decided to take a bunch of songs from the likes of Metallica, Motley Crue, Soundgarden, Pink Floyd, Pantera, and others and then redo them. I have no clue why. The band didn’t even bother to rework the songs very much. And call me old-fashioned, but I am appalled at the attempt to cover a Pink Floyd song in the exact way it was already done. You can’t match up to Pink Floyd, so if you are going to cover anything from that band’s collection, you better make it interesting. Not here. It sounds like these guys were just trying to recreate the Floyd sound. Bad idea.

I am literally getting angry writing this review. This whole album should have never been recorded. It’s just stupid. If you want to hear any of the songs on it, just listen to the real deal, because BTBM didn’t do a thing to make this exciting … except the artwork, which is pretty cool.

The Long Winters – Portland – Doug Fir, OR – 2006-07-21

There are many things in life that you do without question, like feed your dog or buy your mom flowers on Mother’s Day. Add going to see The Long Winters to your list. You haven’t heard any of the band’s music you say? Don’t question me, just go; it’ll be a good time.

It also helps if the band is playing at a good venue. With a great sound system, wood paneling, and far too many mirrors strategically placed to trick those who have had a bit too much gin, the Doug Fir Lounge in Portland is one of the best.

Joining a beardless John Roderick were bass player Eric Corson and new TLW members Nabil Ayers on the drums and Jonathan Rothman on keys and a whole bunch of other stuff that kept his hands, feet, and mouth continuously moving at all times. Since it was an album release show for the third full-length, Putting the Days to Bed (due in stores Tuesday, July 25th), they played mostly new stuff despite the crowd’s continual shouts for old favorites. Even though they call Seattle their home, Portland was the lucky city to be first to hear the album live and get their own personal copy.

The TLW boys were totally on, and not only did the songs sounds great, but the musicians looked like they were enjoying every minute of it, even though it was the hottest day of the summer to date and it was arguable as to whether the air conditioning had been turned off halfway through the show. Singer John Roderick was dripping buckets and had to constantly take off his glasses and wipe them off with his pant legs due to the fact that his shirt, he informed us, was not 100% cotton.

By the time they launched into “Cinnamon,” a track from their sophomore release When I Pretend to Fall, the crowd had been wound up so tight that they exploded. There were some seriously die-hard fans in the audience that threw their hands in their air as if Roderick were God himself. They were shaking their bodies so violently at times and having such difficulty respecting the personal bubbles of others that I realized why flip flops could perhaps be a poor choice in footwear. There’s always someone in the crowd that everyone is glad they aren’t standing next to, yet it was my unfortunate luck that he was right next to me and my exposed toes. Although I wasn’t about to let a drunken dancing fool scare me away from the front row. Roderick also seemed to get a kick out of the mouthy group and kept conveniently forgetting the lyrics, which the fans quickly stepped in to yell in his place.

As a teaser to TLW’s latest effort, the Ultimatum EP was release last year with a more stripped-down, acoustic feel than the band’s two more pop-oriented full-lengths. For the last portion of the show, Roderick pulled out his stool and showed off the emotional side of the band. An indulgence that he described as “Bellingham em. So emo that it doesn’t even have an O.”

While I was sad not to witness any of the extravagantly entertaining guitar solos, I was delighted to hear one of my favorite songs, “Scared Straight,” as one of the few older songs the band chose to play that evening, including “Blue Diamonds.” Someone from the crowd also was hoping for guitar solos and was even bold enough to yell out for the drums to drop out and just have the audience clap the beat while Roderick graced the stage with a solo performance.

John Roderick is obviously a born entertainer, and with his quick wit, he didn’t skip a beat as the audience continually egged him on. While he kept trying to say that he was the world’s biggest asshole, he was nothing but nice as he handed me a little penguin button at the end of the evening. He’s really just a class clown that loves what he does and gets a kick out of pulling his audience in to the show. He’s not just there to entertain you; you are there to entertain him as well.

Lisa Papineau – Night Moves

Opening the solo debut Night Moves with “Out to You,” the minimal, atmospheric mood is set with simple trip-hop-inspired sounds but with a more relaxed attitude. The breathy voice sweeps across the musical landscape before gracefully sliding into the chorus. You can feel muscles starting to relax and your eyes getting heavier as you begin to slip away with the soft sounds. Your bed looks awfully inviting right now. But then you are suddenly jolted by “Shucking, Jiving,” the obligatory upbeat tack with laughable electronic washes and beats along with filters that twist Papineau’s vocals into a piercing, noisy mess that is nearly unlistenable.

This is an unfortunate fate for such a lovely voice. Just allowing such a horrific thing to take place at all has me questioning the artist’s judgment. But one thing the song does provide is a peak into what Papineau might sound like when she doesn’t allow her voice to follow the typical breathy direction that she normally takes. The last minute of the track leaves the vocal distortions out, and this is a promising sound that is a refreshing change from the rest of the album. Too bad most people will likely not make it past minute one.

Lyrically speaking, the album is just as minimal as the instrumental parts. For a good portion of the time, the lyrics don’t offer much to the listener. Oftentimes, her effort in creating simple poetic lines are nothing more than statements of the obvious like in “What are We Waiting For” with the chorus lines “What are we waiting for? / one thing then one more.” Moments of vocal subtleties are few, and even when they are presented, they are often skipped over, because by the time they arrive, the listener has likely started in on something else to keep them entertained, like playing Scrabble, cleaning, or sleeping.

I can appreciate Papineau’s attempt at minimalism; however, the songs just aren’t strong enough to carry their own weight. With barely there electronically based music and monotonous breathy vocals that offer little in the way of lyrics, the listener has little to focus his or her energy on. Aside from background music, the singer from Big Sir and Pet fails to provide a distinctive record that will set her apart from others in her realm. It is a shame, because while she does have a beautiful voice, it’s hard to appreciate it on an album that tries to experiment in areas where many artists before her have not only attempted similar feats, but done it much better. Perhaps she should stick to prividing guest vocals, like she has done with M83 and Air.

The Long Winters – Putting the Days to Bed

Coming up with RIYLs is extremely difficult for such a unique band as The Long Winters, so the ones listed here should not necessarily be taken literally but used more as a point of reference. For example, musically speaking, John Vanderslice and The Long Winters may not be synonymous, but like his Barsuk labelmate, The Long Winters’ mainman John Roderick eschews the rules of commercial rock and instead uses music as more of an art form to express his literate narratives.

But don’t expect any snooty-nosed art-rock here. Instead, The Long Winters, like World Party, serve up these narratives with charming and up-tempo grooves accompanied by expressive guitar hooks and smooth vocals. The supremely peppy and perfectly placed vocal harmonies inject a burst of emotional energy into the songs by creating powerful and magnetic choruses that will undoubtedly get stuck in your head. And the good news is, you’ll enjoy having them there.

It’s apparent that great care was taken in the making of this record as the meticulous production radiates through the music on every song. Whether it’s the rich guitar textures, tight bass lines, catchy rhythms, or intoxicating guitar solos, Putting the Days to Bed is near flawless indie rock that can burn the house down yet has a resonant warmth about it that keeps it fresh. The album is further brought to life by Roderick’s wry and charming wit at the mic. Although he doesn’t have the most polished voice, Roderick sings with such honest emotion and intense enthusiasm, the listener is immediately drawn to the song – if the music hasn’t already done so.

The Long Winters saturated Putting the Days to Bed with sunshiny melodies using a variety of keyboards and styles that are strengthened by sumptuous guitar licks and tight rhythms, while the vocals and lyrics add just the right amount of melancholy. They have perfected a formula of composing songs that are both down to earth and intimate while at the same time soar into the indie-rock atmosphere, occasionally reaching into the luminiferous ether, often creating a feeling akin to the thrill of a roller coaster ride, while believing you’re safe.

The highlights of the album include the first four tracks that are all engaging and excellent, with the fourth song, “Hindsight,” rising above the others with some sleek, twangy guitars and slick organ pulses, but it’s Roderick’s singing that gives it that extra pizzaz. “Sky is Open” follows and changes the mood somewhat with some minor chords and a heavy-hearted bass lick, then effortlessly transforms to a beautiful chorus with tinkling keys and dirging guitars that sound similar to some of James’ best pop anthems. It then shifts back to the melancholic cadences only to finish with an atmospheric flourish that is simply exquisite. Although the rest of the tunes don’t quite attain the blissful rock status as the first five tracks, they are all stylish indie-rock tunes filled with vibrant pop melodies, captivating vocals, and crafty guitar rhythms that round out the album nicely.

As hard as it is to come up with RIYLs, it is equally hard to describe The Long Winters’ music. But just like some athletes get in “the zone” or start “feeling it” during a game, it’s apparent from listening to Putting the Days to Bed that in the world of rock music, The Long Winters have “it,” and even though there are still a lot of releases yet to come this year, I know there will be none good enough to knock this one off of my top-ten list.

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