Minus the Bear – Planet of Ice

Minus the Bear’s 3rd release, Planet of Ice, comprises one of the band’s most serious efforts to date: showcasing a genre-defying array of influence and technique, as well as a newfound political dimension in addition to the band’s often silly-yet-humorous lyrics, this album pushes further into the realm of progressive experimentation than any of its predecessors. Furthermore, loyal fans hopeful for a little more of a hard-rock edge to the band’s sound can rest at ease, because it is more than accounted for on this album.

Planet of Ice opens with “Burying Luck”, a more relaxed track which is reminiscent of the band’s gravitation towards indie pop-rock on their previous album, Menos El Oso. However, gears are switched for songs like the 9th track, “Double Vision Quest”, which delivers a fusion of gripping syncopation and winding guitar melodies; the song blasts into outer space around 2:20, delivering rockability which almost seems to touch upon Pink Floyd and the Mars Volta, at certain points. The fifth track, “Dr. L’Ling”, is available for download at http://www.myspace.com/minusthebear

“Dr. L’Ling” strikes me as one of the weaker songs to be found on this album, despite the highly ingenuitive guitar work which drives the middle minutes of the song. At just under seven minutes long, the hazy, atmospheric verses and chorus become slightly repetitive, and fail to retain their edge. Furthermore, the song’s lyrics are utterly embarrassing: “Don’t give me your hand-me-down love / it don’t wear the same / I want love that looks good on / with a fit that screams my name” and “once you get in the taxi / your hands on another man / you must be crazy / if you think I’ll stand back / yeah”.

The true gem to be found on Planet of Ice is “Lotus”, an epic exposé “…about the influence religion has on our secular government and how the combination of God and guns leads to wars of false righteousness,” according to singer Jake Snider. For those of you who are politically apathetic, have no worries: nothing is ’sacrificed’ through this song’s creative concision of spectral, almost apocalyptic imagery with a somewhat trenchant criticism of the current government: Minus the Bear is only following a long trajectory already established by the earliest pioneers of indie-rock.

In fact, the Seattle-based band is constructed from many indie-rock veterans itself; gathering members from cult-esteemed bands such as Botch, Sharks Keep Moving, and Kill Sadie, Minus the Bear compounds a hefty serving of experience upon a high-level of talent. Yet one key substitution distinguishes the band’s current lineup from older assemblies: Alex Rose, previously a sound engineer for the band, has replaced Matt Bayles on keyboards. Bayles left the band with the intent of focusing on his career as a music producer, but the parting-of-ways seems to be more specifically centered around the band’s desire to embark upon long-distance tours as frequently possible. Needless to say, Rose’s performance on this album outdoes Bayle’s previous efforts, replacing what often sounded like mere noise with increased melody (and even several keyboard-solo’s!). Granted, Rose already substituted for Bayles for the majority of the Menos El Oso tour anyways, perhaps signifying that the band has had plenty of time to adjust to their new keyboardist.

Planet of Ice is worth several listens, at the very least. However, what I am unsure about is whether to grant this album as much praise as was recently attributed to it by Suicide Squeeze Records, who describe the album as “showing the band not so much transforming their sound as transcending it.” It seems to me that the precise opposite is true: rather than transcending or radically transforming their sound, it seems to me that Minus the Bear has once again extended their sound in a powerful way, cleverly re-invigorating what lies at the center of their musical efforts. With longer songs, louder words, and catchy-as-hell guitar parts, this album is both immediately gratifying and deceptively interesting.

Low – Columbia – Merriweahter Post Pavilion, Maryland – 2007-06-21

Several times throughout Wilco’s set at their stop in Columbia, MD Jeff Tweedy made reference to aging. Once about them getting older, the second about their fans getting older. And dying. While their fan base isn’t necessarily Rolling Stones age, from where I was sitting it was a reasonable statement. When the band took the stage, like any good respectful fans at a rock n’ roll show, my friend and I stood. Unfortunately we were the only ones, at least in my particular section. Two songs into their set I was poked in the side and asked to sit down. Not an unreasonable request however the reasons given to me by the middle aged folks behind us were this: 1) they didn’t feel like standing up, and 2) we were the only ones doing so. Should I dare conform at a rock show? Well, granted it wasn’t the Sex Pistols but my reasoning was this: 1) it was a rock n’ roll show, not the symphony, and 2) I sit for 9 hours a day, I’m gonna stand and do some rocking out. (Sitting 9 hours a day also gives me the income to afford a forty dollar seat not to sit in to see Wilco in the first place.)

So with that it’s official that Sky Blue Sky has pushed Wilco into NPR rock, granting them the stuffy shirt, pseudo-liberal, Blackberry toting audience. Because of this, and you heard it here first, SBS will be nominated, and most likely even win, a Grammy for album of the year. Think about it. The folks who decide these things are constantly chided for choosing the wrong albums for great artists and each year they try to become at least slightly more hip. Even when they make the attempt to get it right, they fail, often giving an award to something by an artist that wasn’t their best work. Elvis won a Grammy for a gospel album, Brian Wilson won for an instrumental performance, (and that was just a few years back,) and we won’t even bother with the Beatles getting hosed. So leave it the academy, or whatever the hell they’re called, to grant A Ghost Is Born “ best liner notes” and leave summerteeth and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot in the dark.

Before I even get to the performance of openers Low and the new favorite band of boring white people everywhere, it should be noted that not once have I had a completely wonderful experience at Merriweather Post Pavilion. Granted it is one of the oldest outdoor amphitheaters in the country (parts of Jackson Browne’s Running On Empty were recorded here. How’s that for Volvo rock?) nestled into the woods and as of yet, hasn’t had its name changed by some mega-corporate sponsor. (Although it’s location in Columbia may have something to do with insulated winter jackets, I’m not sure.) But inside, well that’s a different story. Aside from the lowest priced beer running eight bucks, and only available in sizes of 24 ounces or larger, the need to rob you of your money was everywhere. There was a Starbucks, (wonder if I could have picked up that new Paul McCartney album?) and I was on the lookout for a Baby Gap and a T-Mobile stand. So was the actual concert enough to make it worth it? I keep coming back, don’t I?

Surprisingly Low’s set went over better than I imagined. Relying heavily from their latest, Drums And Wires, the 3 piece didn’t completely alienate the crowd. Alan Sparhawk’s voice and guitar filled the pavilion and for only using the bare minimum of a drum set, Mimi Parker was clearly heard as well, which is important when you’re singing songs about murder to a half interested crowd. What made their set remarkable is the fact they faced the daunting task on their own terms. They could have gone the easy route, playing their louder and/or shorter songs but instead they did what they normally do. Nels Cline joined them on “Dragonfly” stretching the song out for close to 10 minutes, the last 8 of which were walls of noise which was a pretty great fuck you statement. This put their set at about a half an hour and I had figured that that was the end. But they forged ahead with 3 more songs, including a shimmering version of “In The Drugs.” Classic comment over heard of the evening: “Well you’re not going to hear this on the radio.” Indeed.

Any negative opinions regarding Sky Blue Sky can be laid to rest when put in the context of the live Wilco setting. Overall the album is a slick sounding affair but when interspersed with songs from the last 3 albums it’s easy to see they’re not much different from summerteeth’s more pop moments. Something like “Walken” fits in nicely with “Kamera” and “War On War” while “Shake It Off” extends on some of A Ghost Is Born’s more esoteric moments. It was however the YHF songs that actually got people to their feet & earned the biggest applause.

Of the many times I’ve seen Wilco the formula has been the same. As a band they come out strong, this time opening with “A Shot In The Arm”, but it takes a while for Tweedy to warm up his personality. Lately he seems more than happy to let the rest of the band step into the spotlight. Nels Cline has taken on a larger role, accentuating older songs with his trademark bursts of noise and pushing the new material into uncharted territories, creating beautiful waves of sonic textures. As great as Jay Bennett was for Wilco it’s been far more interesting to watch them evolve with Cline. Drummer Glenn Kotche has also come into his own, breaking out of the quiet new guy role, as seen in I Am Trying To Break Your Heart, (which began filming literally days after he joined the band) and now he smashes away at his kit like Animal from on loan from the Muppets band.

However when Tweedy opens up and begins a rapport with the audience the energy level of band and crowd increases. About three quarters of the way through the show, the surrounding AARP members finally rose to their feet, permanently, and finally it felt like an actual rock concert. The feeling carried over into the encores, all 3 of them, igniting the band. Opening the first encore with “California Stars” was a crowd pleaser but it was the 1-2 punch of “Poor Places” and “Spiders (Kidsmoke)” that was the evening’s most transcendent moment. As that beautiful noise grew louder an even more present Krautrock rhythm than normal bubbled before all 6 members hit the intro of the latter song running. In the space of these 3 songs they managed to show how a range of influences from Dylan and Guthrie can coexist beside Kraftwerk and Neu. Even during “Spiders” before the final onslaught of those power chords, they paused, silence filling the evening, stopping everyone dead. And at the right moment it was unleashed again.

The second encore was devoted entirely to the more popular, and I use that term loosely, numbers in the Wilco catalog. “Heavy Metal Drummer”, with some adlibbed lyrics, coaxed Kotche into humorously twirling his sticks mid performance like Tommy Lee, as Tweedy watched on. “Outtasite (Outtamind)” is perhaps one of the greatest 3 minute sing along pop songs ever, no different this time around, and “I’m A Wheel” is now making a place for itself in this context as well.

Encores are the rock equivalent to the intentional walk. Just as a pitcher shouldn’t waste his arm throwing 4 unnecessary pitches, crowds shouldn’t have to stand there applauding like idiots when we all know the band is coming back. But in this case it was worth it, coaxing them out for one more song, eliciting Tweedy to call us all nuts. Perhaps, but by this point the crowd was on its feet and dammit, we wanted more. What we got was “What Light” and it was a stunning way to end the evening. Now, if only everyone could have been that enthusiastic for the whole night.

Birds of Avalon – Bazaar, Bazaar

Like a phoenix, Birds of Avalon rose from the ashy corpse that was The Cherry Valence. Where as the latter band could not transfer its live energy to tape, BOA has no trouble rocking on record and onstage. Throughout Bazaar, Bazaar, BOA dawdle in many genres, from Indian twangs to power pop to Zeppelin rock, and though it breaks no new ground, BOA plays passionately and with chops to the heavens, or at least to the melting skies.

Bazaar, Bazaar boasts no filler to its name, and all eleven tracks rock ready beats and flapping guitarmonies. “Bicentennial Baby” starts the disc with arena-made fist pumping crunch. Muted guitars ascend the verse’s ladder and then fall to the ground in a crunching chorus. “Superpowers’” melodic guitarmonies fight in the air like two mating raptors, beautiful yet slightly mean.

Husband and wife guitarists Cheetie Kumar and Paul Siler mesh together like foam and beer, and the guitar riffs never fail to carry the songs. Lead singer Craig Tilley wails like Cheap Trick’s Robin Zander, and his vocals sail above the music, lifting it from “just tunes” to complete songs. “Taking Trains’” minor chord chorus showcases a confident vocalist who isn’t afraid to step up front, but he ain’t no glory hog. Though some songs border on ridiculous, what with all the seemingly standard rock star poses and sailing riffs, the instruments don’t battle for the spotlight; rather, they hoist each other up. The sum is greater than the parts, but the parts justify the hoisting in their own right. BOA rocks without cock strutting, but make no mistake, the music does strut. Thank drummer Scott Nurkin and bassist David Mueller for the propulsion- they are the meat and potatoes rhythm, but they add the salt, pepper, cheese, butter, and sour cream themselves, and the skins are extra crispy.

Bazaar, Bazaar provides an excellent representation of the live show, perhaps due to Mitch Easter’s hand in the production. I welcome this aural improvement, and kick myself for missing BOA live the last time it rode through town. Never again, I say. I need some more fist-pumping psyche/pop/rock in my life, and Bazaar, Bazaar swaggers enough to keep me satisfied and salivating until the next gig.

Tammany Hall Machine – Amateur Saw

More 60s obsessed pop, this time from the five-man Tammany Hall Machine who hail not from the infamously corrupt Boss Tweed’s old stomping grounds of Manhattan but instead from the dusty, famously incorruptible Austin, Texas. At first, Amateur Saw seems notable primarily for its welcome use of a brass section and the band’s wanton eagerness, but songwriter/vocalist Joel Mullins is a craftier writer than might first seem, and the band plays these ditties harder than one might expect, to good results.

The initial whiff of mediocrity from this follow-up to their self-titled 2004 debut is soon dispersed once these strong, solid songs begin to assert themselves. Weaving together elements of happy-go-lucky whimsy with spiky guitars, rudimentary piano hammering and blaring horns, Amateur Saw’s consistency is laudable even if none of the material is exceptional, and Tammany Hall Machine does a very good job of being bright and bouncy while remaining simultaneously rough-hewn and muscular.

The band does a little sunny good-vibratin’ (“The Jesus Chrysler”), some piano banging rave-ups {“You’re All I Want from You,” “Anti-Gospel”), a dreamy ballad (“There I Begin”), even a little Krautrock-ish droning (“Don’t Know Which Side We’re On”), each time turning what initially seems forgettable into something impressive. The unpolished nature of the recording works in its favor too, with a loose roughness in the drumming and the barbed guitars giving Amateur Saw a bit of a bite even when the tunes are just boppin’ along.

Fans of fellow Texans Spoon would definitely dig Tammany Hall Machine’s mix of old and new, along with their appreciation for a more visceral delivery than the material might seem to imply. Amateur Saw is a grower, a solid set of songs with a good sense of the fun to be had with a few decades of pop history and some machines of your own.

ORESKABAND – Ore

Look at some of you sitting there, with your good taste intact, sniffing diffidently and turning your nose up at the idea of ORESKA, but you and I both know the dirty truth; a lot of you will continue reading this review based solely on the following magic words ~ “The hottest teen girl sextet from Osaka, Japan…”

I knew I’d hook you. Now, let’s talk about ORESKABAND. Have you ever eaten Pocky, watched Naruto, or attended an Anime Convention? If so, chances are you might already know about these girls. At the very least, you’ll be in a position to appreciate their hyper brand of Pop Ska Rock. Drink a lot of coffee, eat a lot of sugar, and pop it on.
Despite having only formed in 2003 (while still in middle school, no less) ORESKA managed to get themselves signed by SonyMusic in 2006 and have since taken Japan by storm. They’ve done commercials for the famous candy Pocky, ending themes for the Naruto and Bleach anime, and now intend to cause a stir over here in the states.

They’re on iTunes now, so you have no excuse for not at least giving them a try. ORESKA have been hitting everything from conventions (SXSW, Anime Expo) to night clubs in LA, and are now playing this year’s Warped Tour. ORESKABAND played with Rico Rodriguez on a tribute album – talk about not wasting any time!

What with all the hullabaloo surrounding the group, I was waiting to be blown away. Admittedly, I’m still waiting to be swept off my feet, but wouldn’t be surprised if by the time they release a full length album the group at least impresses me.

Needless to say, I was expecting girlish energy the way only Japanese girls can bring it; I braced myself for high pitched cheering and squealing, but was surprised to find myself actually enjoying the music.

The vocalist, Ikasu, can actually sing! The girls can actually play their instruments. It’s an all girl J-POPSKA band actually not built solely around the fact that the members are pretty darn cute up on stage, in their school uniforms. Sort of surprising, in a way.

Their debut mini album ORE might not be the most original thing you’ll ever hear, but you could do a lot worse. The opening track, “PANTIME,” might put you off. It certainly gave me a bit of concern as it is basically a barrage of aforementioned high pitched cheering to energetically open the album, presented along with your run of the mill ska horn arrangement. They quickly temper down the over the top energy and Ikasu’s voice presents itself as pleasantly light and cheery.

This is definitely the sort of album to call out to that secret Pop-Center in your brain. You know, the one that makes you sing along with Cindy Lauper when you think no one is listening? It’s all ska-pop-ska, the horns, the drums; catchy but you’ve heard all this before, and done better. Still, it is pretty darn catchy. You probably wouldn’t put it on when your friends were over, but it makes great background music for cleaning up your house or riding around on a sunny summer afternoon.

The odd highlight of the album is their cover of “Monkey Man,” which must really be heard to be appreciated. I’d rather listen to The Specials cover this any day, but ORESKA manages to make this track interesting, despite slowing it down to a crawl and (no offense meant) somewhat butchering the lyrics.

All in all, it’s one of those albums you don’t want to admit to liking, but you’ll find yourself bopping along with and enjoying it if you’re not overly obsessed with holding on to your “good taste” with both hands.

Lubos Fiser – Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (Valerie A tyden divu)

Want to show your French New Wave friends up? Well, throw this Czech New Wave shit in their faces.

In 1970 Valerie and Her Week of Wonders premiered in the Czech Republic during an artistically fruitful time for Czech filmmakers (Milos Forman came from this group of filmmakers). Sadly, the fruits of these labors were starting to scatter about when the Soviets took over in 1968. The music for the phantasmagoric film “Valerie and Her Week of Wonders” sat in a crate somewhere with loads of other banned films. Thanks to a few Web hunters and Finders Keepers Records, who forged a ten year search for this haunting soundtrack, the score for “Valerie and Her Week of Wonders” reached mass distribution in 2006.

Valerie’s story (originally penned in 1932 by Vítezslav Nezval) is a bit demented, dreamy, beautiful and fantastic, according to the liner notes. The film presents the dreamy journey of its protagonist. The same actor that plays a rapist, plays the father, bishop and vampire. The hero, Valerie, drifts through a series of sexual temptations and faces the threat of death (sometimes accompanied by her poet brother) with an air of a dreaming faun. In the soundtrack her innocent dreaming (echoed about by bell chimes and gentle classical guitar riffs) creeps into the monastic, overbearing sounds of organs and violin strings. If the listener ever feels threatened, then the soft stuff comes in. And mirroring a classic fantasy story, chorales fit for a parade procession mark new points in the plot.

Ebbing and flowing, like most motion picture soundtracks, to the beat of a hero’s journey, “Valerie” is an engaging listen that one could see easily attracting the most fervent of Hobbit haters.

At Waterloo Records in Austin, Texas the lithographic looking cover sat curiously alongside of-the-moment releases by Albert Hammond Jr. and Okkervil River. A dark shadowy figure leers at center, there’s a green backdrop, an innocent, lithe, but maybe guilty looking girl giggling at the beholder and the Czech typescript promises the equivalent of an irreversible absinthe dose.

And it is a mysterious session, fit for the listener’s personal journeys of thought. Opening with jarring bell chimes, the overture “The Magic Yard” floats forward the score’s theme as harpsichord arpeggios sprinkle the background. This theme recurs most beautifully in the track “Brother and Sister” where the brother poet comforts Valerie with acoustic guitar and kind words. Valerie themed bell chimes follow a whirl of woodwinds. Picture a grassy labyrinth in the English moors somewhere during a full moon while listening to the traps and treasures of this record and proper hallucinations may occur. You don’t just have to know the film.

As it turns out, Lubos Fiser’s score is significant today. It has whispered as a muse to some of the most exciting folk and electronic artists (the kind of artists that the British praise in magazines and we hoard in secret like greedy winter bears). Before 2006 the soundtrack and the film were hard to find. But the release coincides with endorsements from Espers and Trish Keenan of Broadcast, who are highly influenced by the Lubos Fiser’s evocative soundtrack.

“For me the power of the score is the recurring dissonant bell that accompanies Valerie and her earrings,” Keenan says. “Pitched outside the key of the soundtrack, the bell symbolizes her ultimate power over the ceremonial pomp; over the indoctrinating religious chord movement. The way both sound worlds battle for central focus reflects the war of belief in the film and competing belief systems in Czechoslovakia in the late ‘60s.”

The listener need not venture further than “The Sermon” to find the emotional core of “Valerie.”

Opening with a jarring bell ring, The Sermon falls dark depths through choir singing, and finally a brooding organ. The bells come again after the Gregorian chant of “Sacrifice.”

Indeed it took a while for this music to find its way into record shops. What in fragments appears as harmless dream music is in theory a tenuous tug of war between art and the larger voices that silence its most sublime expression. Listening to the challenges that face the innocent girl Valerie, one could easily slip into ruminations concerning the war on art. Wherever an oppressive regime, petrified by dissenting opinions, art and debate, reigns over a people, you can be sure as sloth that the artists are the first ones to suffer. It is said artists were the first to leave Iraq.

It is a grace and a gift. This piece of Czech culture has found a home and packaging most comfortable and also reinvigorating. American and English music artists are breathing new life to the work with new translations to Fiser’s score. And with Fiser’s delicate score landing in the hands of a slob like me, one can easily advise starting any world history lesson with the music.

A wikipedia entry says, “In 2006 members of Espers, Fern Night, Fursaxa, The Bitchin’ Harp Babes, and other musicians formed the Valerie Project. The group performs original compositions in unison with the film.”

Private Eleanor – Sweethearting

The latest from Baltimore group Private Eleanor, Sweethearting is self-assured and lively, exhibiting both sonic depth and a multi-faceted, engaging lyrical style. It does all this with good reason: the album is the group’s fourth, and evinces a comfort and security within a group deeply settled into itself. At times Sweet Eleanor nimbly jaunt along with a Yo La Tengo-like deftness for melodious, uplifting pop (“A Better Way to Run,” “Weeds”), while at others (“Temporary Homes,” “Two by Two”) they shed sunlight for morosity and summon the shadows of introspection for a sound reminiscent of Elliott Smith or Red House Painters.

The sound on the album is spacious and accommodating, this due to unobtrusive yet affective and involved instrumental backing. The sounds of all instruments, from basic drums and guitars to organ and bells are crisp without being demanding, opting rather to float along only as long as needed. This allows the serene utterances of vocalists Austin Stahl and Marian Glebes to fill the crevasses of the soundscape like an ethereal snowfall, the emotional mass delicately growing until deliquescing daintily and without pretension in the light of contemplation to leave sweet, affectionate residue in one’s consciousness. Through its peaks and valleys Sweethearting expresses deep emotional movements, harmonious, hushed voices making bearable otherwise disconcerting subject matter like a blade sheathed in soft velvet.

Of course, the comfort with which the band approaches this dichotomy does lead to an unfortunate stasis, albeit an immensely calming one. There’s no struggle emerging on the surface, no agitation or desperation present when beckoning a third party, “You just go on out tonight / You just go on out and fight for me,” or, “But you don’t see that all I want’s a place to be / Where, I don’t mind, as long as it’s mine – yours and mine.” However, given the overall experience of the album, this equilibrium doesn’t rob it of too substantial an amount of its emotional punch.

Sweethearting is a calm, a space of time waiting to become a sheltering, private lull meant to cut through your most demanding of days to allow space in which you can relax and probe your own concerns. Definitely worth a listen.

MJ Hibbett & The Validators – The Lesson Of The Smiths/ The Gay Train CD Single

For a refreshing change from the glut of alt-country, folk, and Americana bands clogging the internet and headphones with their depressing, sad-sack vocals and toned-down instruments, check out MJ Hibbett & The Validators, a U.K. band with an upbeat sound and intricate, witty lyrics delivered by the talky, but cheerful MJ Hibbett himself.

If you’re feeling down ‘n’ out ‘n’ blue, slap their album, We Validate!, on the stereo for an instant pick-me-up. Their tunes are the antithesis of a morose Morrissey, yet still packed to the gills with detailed, slice-of-normal-life accounts, told with a realistic, but sweetly positive point of view and quick-witted lyrics.

The band’s songs are awash with pop culture and contemporary reference points. Make sure to listen with headphones to catch all the lyric details – you’ll be grinning from ear to ear and nodding along in no time. Talk about talky – MJ Hibbett is even more verbose than a summit between such superpowers as Morrissey, Jarvis Cocker, and Damon Albarn. He sing-talks with a clear, engaging British accent, spouting off verbiage like an unstoppable waterfall.

Speaking of Morrissey, “The Lesson Of The Smiths” starts off with the punchy, upbeat guitar dynamics of The Smiths’s classic “This Charming Man”, then focuses on MJ Hibbett’s vocals amid violins that sound like fiddles because they are so enthusiastically sawed. The pace is brisk, and this song, like all the songs by MJ Hibbett & The Validators, is lyrics-centric and dense with delightful lyrics.

MJ starts off by saying he wasn’t into The Smiths at first, but eventually realized that “…from now on in life I’ll like the things I like with an open heart”. He comes to this conclusion while reflecting on his past – that he had a bad time at school and didn’t like the cool kids, so he hated their music too, which stood as a symbol of them.

But later on, when he went to “indie discos”, he decided he liked The Smiths and regrets never seeing the band perform live. The message of the story is that, “…if you’re dismissing things because they’re in with some other crowd, you will be the one who’s missing out” – so don’t wait – get into what you like right now and don’t let the idiots in life spoil your enjoyment of what you like.

You’d think that this kind of moralizing would be hard to swallow, but it goes down easy due to MJ’s cheeky, but pleasant vocals and fun story-telling. The chorus is perfect for a rousing pub sing-a-long and goes something like this: “Remember the lesson of Take That, if a pile of pillocks tend to like it, doesn’t mean it’s crap. And remember the lesson of The Smiths, just because a bunch of wankers like it, doesn’t mean that it’s shit”.

The other song on this single is “The Gay Train”, which looks back at the year 1994. It’s a long, sometimes lyrically-rambling, story of a friend of MJ’s (or is it MJ himself?) who is traveling with friends to a Gay Pride parade. On the train to the event he notices a passenger who “…looked very frightened, he wasn’t quite as enlightened as I was trying to be, with liberalism writ on my face, looking very hetero just in case, but no one even tried to get off with me”. The tune starts with sustained notes of distorted organ, then a drum beat, various noises, and fuzzed guitar.

The chorus builds up with strummed, noisy guitar and harmonica that sounds like a train whistle. At the end of each chorus bit, dynamic male and female vocals come in and also mimic the “Whoo, hoo, ooh, ooh!” of a train whistle. The tune is done in an exuberant style, and not in a preachy or sappy way, and it’s easy to believe MJ’s message that “…it doesn’t really matter if you’re straight or gay, all that matters is love”.

Grizzly Bear – Greensboro – The Carolina Theatre, North Carolina – 2007-06-14

Like the matron rising early to get properly outfitted for Sunday morning, the Carolina Theatre, a suitably historic building ensconced in downtown Greensboro and dedicated, of course, to “presenting arts and preserving history,” did not spare the pastoral gentility as Feist and Grizzly Bear swung through on the right leg of a national tour. “Ms. Feist goes on at 9:15 directly,” the usher informed me when I handed him my ticket, obtained with due ease at the will call counter. Ms. Feist? Directly? Is she making her debut on the stage, this principal of Canadian independent music? In a word, yes: one could argue, certainly, that concerts of this sort—attracting fashionable young people and the comfortably middle-aged alike—have assumed operatic importance here in the aughts. Those present on that evening, at least, would not have found it difficult to connect the performance—from setup to execution—with a nineteenth-century pastime.

That is, after Grizzly Bear finished skirting the avant-garde. My companions and I arrived halfway through opener “Lullabye,” entering the concert hall directly the harsh euphony of “Chin up, cheer up, chin up, cheer up” rose to the lofty ceiling, escaping, it seemed, the confines of Yellow House. Looking strangely small on that enormous stage, the young Brooklynites emphasized the bass and drums to make up for it, producing volumes and tones that humbled the recording and formidably occupied the space available to them. Four of them, all singing, with the aid of a looping pedal, in superlative harmony, swinging woodwinds, guitars, and keyboards, tossing out prize after prize—I immediately regretted the genial usher’s assertion. But openers must remain in their place, and after first-rate renditions of “On a Neck, On a Spit” and “Knife,” among others, Grizzly Bear departed the stage at the appointed time. Alas, no “Colorado.”

Full disclosure: I had only listened to The Reminder once before attending, and, as a result, I was mostly interested in Grizzly Bear. But I bought a copy of Let It Die a while ago, recalling the voice of Broken Social Scene’s “Almost Crimes,” that voice that some critic aptly deemed “one in a million,” and confronted it with the reserve with which I usually approach singer-songwriters who go by their given name. Now, eyeing a disco ball hanging from the ceiling and recollecting the bizarre space funk of “Inside and Out,” I only hoped they would turn that thing on. As, compared to other venues, I felt like we were at a production, I leaned back in my well-padded seat—amusingly operated like a rocking chair — and surveyed the stage with my lorgnette, wondering aloud if Ms. Feist would do us the courtesy of urging the young ones out of their seats and down to the stagefront.

She obliged, referring to the unoccupied space before it as the “piranha pit.” Playing sit-down auditoriums like The Carolina Theatre every evening, she probably grows accustomed to this routine. The crowd, in turn, obliged by “dancing like hell” in response to the opening chords of “My Moon My Man,” and thenceforth it was clockwork. Ms. Feist, easily the most attractive performer I’ve ever seen, strode about the stage in heels, a black dress, and a sequined arm sock, exhorting the dancers in front while deferring to those closer to her age in the back, occasionally acknowledging the crowd’s undisguised adulation. Her band executed their duties solemnly and irreproachably, even throwing a lively instrumental epilogue into “Mushaboom.” Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that, as talented as Feist is, as spot-on as her band is, conviction was wanting; not in a half-assed way, certainly—more as if she weren’t quite sure how to proceed. Her connection to the audience hung tenuously with each guitar tuning. After a somewhat hasty encore—including, fortunately, a spellbinding “Let It Die”—everyone immediately departed. And, as if I had just attended Le Nozze di Figaro, I was left certain that I had heard something beautiful, inimitable; the meaning, however, flew with the congregation.

31Knots – The Days and Nights of Everything Anywhere

The Days and Nights of Everything Anywhere could just as easily have been called The Days and Nights of Anything Everywhere as the fractured musical landscape on 31 Knots’ 4th long-player includes an undefinable hodgepodge of rock forms that comes as close to the band’s own description of “post-apocalyptic Vaudevillian punk” as you can get.

Other apt hyphenated descriptions include indie-prog, experimental indie-rock and math-rock with attitude. As with most music in these genres, there are no real pop hooks and not very many hummable melodies, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any cool and melodic passages lurking under the rough exterior of The Days and Nights of Everything Anywhere. In fact there is ample substantive music here, borne out of challenging expressions and executed with skill.

This Portland, Oregon trio of Joe Haege (guitar, piano, vocals, samples, lyrics), Jay Pellicci (drums) and Jay Winebrenner (bass), use sharp bass lines, pointed guitar riffs, turbulent piano beats and glitchy sound effects to establish shifting moods that emulate the onslaught of excessive information we are constantly confronting in the digital age. Meanwhile, singer and frontman Haege alternates between sounding like a blend of Isaac Brock (Modest Mouse) and Jake Snider (Minus the Bear) or a cross between Rod Stewart and Sting (The Police) which may not sound great but neither does it sound bad since he sings with conviction and an emotional intensity that fits the music. The lack of production wizardry ensures that every track retains the natural fervor and original ideas the band intended and allows the precision and dexterity of the players to provide the listeners with a multi-faceted, sonic thrill ride, although at times an angular and abrupt one.

From the choppy piano, quick thumping beats and Man Man-like vocals of opener “Beauty”, 31 Knots deftly plow through the aforementioned hyphenated rock styles with ease while pouring their emotions into each song, occasionally sacrificing style for substance but always producing something interesting. The jagged rhythms and irregular tempos take some getting used to, but once the gritty outer layers are shed, the various catchy bits arouse a certain curiosity that will have you wanting to listen again and eventually these unconventionally stimulating rock songs will stay in your head. Be it the crafty guitar licks and chanting vocals of “Man Become Me”, the rolling drum snaps and cool piano chops on “Savage Boutique”, the crunchy prog-rock riffing on “The Salted Tongue” and “Imitation Flesh”, the trilling keys and driving horns of “Everything In Letters” or the haunting dirges of “Sanctify” and “Walk With Caution”, The Days and Nights of Everything Anywhere is a manic and demented modern rock junket.

The intriguing sounds and the many taut instrumental passages on The Days and Nights of Everything Anywhere are played with a visceral intensity, creating an urgent tension throughout that is momentarily relieved by short, piquant abstractions and can be quite rewarding for those willing to put in the time and who enjoy engaging math rock.

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