The Lonely H – Hair

Straight out of the Seattle neo-rock scene comes The Lonely H; a group of newly graduated high-school seniors with the same sound/influences as Wolfmother. Combining the epicness of Led Zeppelin with the dramatics of Fall Out Boy, The Lonely H create a sound which is very hit and miss; either rocking you to the end of midnight or wiping the tears off their leather bound diaries. While early tracks may turn the casual listener off, the band picks it up later on starting with the AFI intro, Gang of Four chorus, hall pounding verse orchestration called “For Barbara”. After that Lonely H seems to shake off their – oh what’s the word? – funk – that’s it – and kicks out the jams with the album titler “Hair”, David Bowie’s grandson “Captain” and the elegiac “Hope”.

The initial notes of “For Barbara” evoke the desperate strummings of AFI on their last great LP The Art Of Drowning, containing a tinge of longing laced with the logic of Despair. With lyrics like “All I need is good behavior” this sets the tone for this rock operatic prison ballad. The sounds is tossed off as the Lonely ones drop into a bouncy disco instrumental reminiscent of the Marxist kings of swing Gang of Four, or their modern day disciples Bloc Party. Unable to justify the upbeat pleasantries with the despairing lyrics, Lonely H drops into a grungy verse allowing vocalist Mark Fredson’s voice to soar into the grand stadium filling octaves of Robert Plant and Jim Morrison.

Bottling up the energy of the aggro-pop chorus, guitarists Eric Whitman and Colin Fields bring the noise for the bluesy escapade “Hair”. Drawing off some failed inter-scene dating finagle, the band comes together in excellent form. The song starts off with a curving guitar-based intro and smooths it’s way into a blase chorus. Continuing their support of non-genre based romances, the Lonely ones smash into a bridge with chants of “HEY!” backing up Fredson’s uncaring chant of “You’re not making no sense it’s all nonsense”. The segway comes to a barn-burning end with an egg smacking guitar solo, sending the heavy rock fan into a spiral of epic orgasms. With stifling guitar licks, don’t give a fuck vocals and pounding drum rolls, “Hair” is one for the record corporati; this could easily be a hit single on any number of charts – soon to be overplayed on commercial radio.

Swaggering up to the speakers, “Captain” has the feeling of a Frank Sinatra song of Freddy Mercury’s steroids – making it today’s equivalent of an instant glam rock classic. The opening aaah’s combine with a scat vocal nonsense chants to make for an alien sound, fitting the space-cruising atmosphere strung throughout this song. Synthesized horns and laid back guitar riffs give this song a smooth flavor, something to swish around your gums for awhile before chasing it with bourbon and a half-shot a’ whiskey. While the piano licks are usually more fitting of a Ben Folds Five or Ben Kweller single – isn’t it weird that they both have the same first name? Well I thought so at least – they fit this song with a eerie sincerity fitting of some 70′s crime story. The bounciness of this song begs the question: which one of them listens to ska? The off-beat guitars, drab distortion and ultra-brassy horns make the open minded listener ask if more than a healthy touch of swing and glam rock influenced this distinct mindwarp.

While the dramatics of the opening half make a come back, the elegiac qualities of seem to take the whine-ness out, turning “All Hope” into a sort of lighter waving lullaby – fitting of a generation born of arena rockers; were they not so young I might say they were rocked to sleep by the last notes of Hendrix’s Woodstock set. Sliding along a near acoustic guitar riff, the whole band fills in vocals in a manner fitting a barbershop quartet on mescaline; the rumbling drums and math-rocking chorus give proof that Lonely H are more than just a group of rehashers, throwing out old Doors riffs and half-rate Moon drum rolls.

All things equal, the Lonely H do a decent job; while the first tracks may cause buyers to blast the CD off the roof ala Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitters Dead, the second half of this record is loaded with hits and diverse sounds sure to make listeners turn an ear. Between the start-stop balladry of “For Barbara”, the non-stop blasts of “Hair” and the spacy “Captain” – not to mention the near acoustic “All Hope” – the Lonely H are bound to have a single. With a bombastic live show and a tolerance for criticism, the Lonely H could make it and I mean that; that’s not necessarily a good thing – I mean that too – but who’s counting? Fans of Wolfmother, the Doors and Pink Floyd will appreciate the Lonely H’s schooled riffs and learned drumbeats, as well as devotees of Gang of Four and glam rock god’s David Bowie and Queen.

Via Audio – saysomethingsaysomethingsaysomething

When Chris Walla of Death Cab For Cutie is raving about you, you know you’re doing something right, but you’re not off the hook yet. Via Audio’s saysomethingsaysomethingsaysomething is a fun album, full of cute rhythms and bouncy melodies, but it’s lacking some intangibles that are the difference between a good album and a great album.

It starts off interesting enough. “Developing Active People” feels like a song Hellogoodbye would write if they weren’t so generic and shitty. It has some subdued, floating, Postal Service verses with a driving bass line that pushes some rock into the pre-chorus and chorus. “Modern Day Saint” has a great reggae beat with sharp guitars and moaning vocal harmonies, but meanders around for too long and loses focus. “Harder One Me” cooks with fiery drums and Jessica Martins’ deep, seductive voice.

Those three songs are great- the rest of the album tends to falter. The songs start dragging, the lyrics get a little too sentimental (“if we try / I know that we can be good” and “I need friends / family / and security”), and all the subtleties are lost. the tone becomes either tinny and forced or swampy, much too big, and boring- such as the closing track, “I Can’t Focus”, which is a Cat Power-y plod that while nice, doesn’t belong on the album that produced the first three songs. I would be lying if I said there was nothing worthwhile- there are some real gems of riffs, an inspired phrasing or two, but they are scattered, and scarce.

Via Audio is poppy, in that Mates of State, Death Cab For Cutie kind of way, and don’t get me wrong – I love both those bands and I want to love Via Audio. But they need to tighten up their song structures and cut down a lot before they live up to their potential.

Ryan Anderson – The Garden Path

Ryan Anderson is bad. The kind of bad that makes you re-evaluate your love of music. He can’t really sing all that well, his songwriting is needlessly complicated and his lyrics are TERRIBLE. However, with that being said, there’s something endearing about this guy I can’t quite put my finger on.

Anderson might be endearing because he tries so hard. He’s like a musical underdog. You want him to succeed, but he fails at every turn. Take, for example, the first song “Railroad Killer Stomp.” The first time you hear his voice is an obnoxious “5-6-7-8″ count off and the chord changes are unnecessarily difficult right off the bat. However, once you get through the terrible chord structure and awkward phrasing of the verse, the chorus crashes through with its singalong vocals and kicks your ass. After that, it’s right back to the shitty verse and the line “the man that put a hole in Reagan had bad aim/but I’ve got faith in my friends.” WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?

This continues throughout the album. Any time Anderson does anything listenable, he immediately ruins it. It’s like in Rocky or Major League, when the underdog heroes ultimately lose in the end. They learned a lesson and came back to win in the sequels though. Hopefully Ryan Anderson does the same.

Darkest Hour – Deliver Us

Since the release of the first single “Demons”, I have been eagerly anticipating Deliver Us. Hell, since their last release Undoing Ruin I’ve been waiting to see how they were going to top themselves. With “Demons” they peaked in their melodic sensibilities, and though I was worried that they had softened out, Darkest Hour prove on the rest of the album that they have not lost any steam. Their no holds barred approach to their winning combination of death, thrash, and melody is still present, yet it left me wanting just a tiny bit more growth in the process.

The production value of this record is very consistent with their last effort, thanks in part to David Townsend, the perfect producer to bring out the best in this band. In fact, this time it feels just a little more raw than their last which is not a bad thing at all. The most distinct contrast between this and past efforts is the development of Henry’s vocal delivery. This time around it is more refined and he even sings in some parts, though his singing isn’t the typical super pretty contrast to his brutal growls. His singing is just as visceral and intense as his brutal counterpart.

Darkest Hour have taken the phrase “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” to heart. They still manage to deliver a killer onslaught of guitar sounds from Kris and Mike. Listen to “Full Imperial Collapse” for a killer breakdown, and their biggest tribute to thrash comes in the form of “Stand and Receive Your Judgment”. Here they prove they can put together a tight politically driven song wrapped in a fast and unforgiving guitar assault. It is probably the song most reminiscent of their Victory debut Hidden Hands of a Sadist Nation.

Going back to the more melodic tunes, the two (besides “Demons”) with the biggest choruses, “A Paradox With Flies” and “Tunguska” are also two of Darkest Hour’s best. They include everything a Darkest Hour fan wants, taking elements from the near flawless Undoing Ruin and adding beautiful choruses perfectly delivered by John Henry. The melodic tendencies on the first two songs, “Doomsayer” and “Sanctuary” are only fully developed on the later tracks mentioned before, and they are great songs nonetheless.

As I mentioned before, the only problem this album has is its reliance on old ideas. Not much has changed besides the vocals, which are heading in an interesting direction. They are melodic and brutal all at the same time, without being obnoxious at all like other metal acts. But then again, these old ideas are working just fine for Darkest Hour and there’s no sign of them slowing down any time soon.

Thurston – Trees Outside The Academy

For all of Sonic Youth’s acclaimed and misunderstood experimentation, it’s rare – especially on the band’s regular studio albums – to find the foursome stretching themselves instrumentally beyond an amplified guitars/bass/drums configuration. Even with the temporary input of the ambidextrous Jim O’Rourke, Thurston Moore and co. barely gave themselves over to less electrically-powered impulses or unconventional rock apparatus, leaving many tempting possibilities on the shelf. Perhaps the most accessible and alluring option that the quartet has only vaguely taken-up – fleetingly on the lesser-known likes of “Winner’s Blues”, “Razor Blade” and the rare BBC Radio session rendering of “Purr” – is the electro-acoustic route. And on 2006’s Rather Ripped, Sonic Youth seemed as loyally welded to default construction settings as ever, leaving the likelihood of any true reinvention hanging in the air. Until now that is, as Moore unveils his first song-based solo LP since 1995’s fuzz-rocking Psychic Hearts, which could, were it not for the technicality that Kim Gordon and Lee Ranaldo aren’t on board, be the closest that we’ll ever get to ‘Sonic Youth Unplugged’.

Built predominantly around his own insistent acoustic guitar-playing, melodic bass lines and laidback tones, Samara Lubelski’s versatile violin and drums from Sonic Youth’s Steve Shelley, Trees Outside The Academy may still be far from being a strictly organic or non-rock affair (especially with guest guitar-mangling here and there from Dinosaur Jr.’s J Mascis and Sunburned Hand of The Man’s John Moloney) but it is a firm step diagonally for Moore’s slowly-maturing muse.

The opening triumvirate of tracks is worth the admission price alone. Underpinned with a sinewy blues motif and a pretty harmonised-chorus, “Frozen Gtr” could be a more muscular Iron & Wine. The graceful violin and hard-strummed guitar shades of “The Shape Is In A Trance” glide along like less a discordant John Cale-era Velvet Underground or maybe even a more fluid Tindersticks. The gorgeous “Honest James” – with Charalambides’ Christina Carter on balmy backing vocals – is the loveliest thing Moore has even let become a borderline ballad, in a Neil Young/On The Beach vein that is. The fact that Moore successfully sustains his new approaches (for most) of Trees Outside The Academy makes for a solidly engaging and enjoyable album.

Other key highlights include the euphoric folk-rock flow of “Fri/End” (which recalls Yo La Tengo’s cherishable acoustic reading of “Cherry Chapstick”), the eerie piano instrumental “American Coffin” and the radiant almost-baroque shimmering of “Never Day”. Diehards worried that Moore has ‘gone soft’ will be strongly reassured by the presence of the Goo-meets-Dirty scuzz of “Wonderful Witches” and the thunderous string-bending excesses of the title-track. This still being a side-project of sorts however, does predictably (and ponderously) permit access to a few in-jokes and pointless interludes; hence the silly self-descriptive 30 or so second squall of “Free Noise Among Friends” and a slice of vintage spoken-word oddness from a (literally) juvenile Moore, in the shape of the closing “Thurston@13”.

Whilst Trees Outside The Academy isn’t quite as breathtaking as it could/should be, especially given the niggling-feeling that Moore didn’t give the album 100% of his attention, even when he had a fresher formula at his disposal, it does contain some consistently strong material that complements as well as outshines his best latter-day Sonic Youth wares. Now, if only Moore can introduce some of these new recipes to his ‘day-job’ colleagues, then when the time comes to cut the next piece of the Sonic Youth cake, we could have ‘old-dog-can-be-taught-new-tricks’ renaissance to feast upon.

Thursday – A City By The Light Divided

A City By The Light Divided is the fourth full-length by post-hardcore band Thursday and it is an ambitious and complex work – a musical and emotional exploration that comes on strong with a sometimes overpowering mix of sonic textures and relentlessly pressing rhythm. Its sheer force and loudness (the massive, pummeling, rushing-forward sound of the guitars, drums, synths, and vocals) push the listener to the limit – some will resist it and get steamrollered and others will willingly go along for the intense and insightful ride.

The album was produced by Dave Fridmann and finds the band members stretching their wings, merging more melodic, pop sensibilities with their harsher, post-hardcore sound. Gone is the raw, awkward fusing of song structures of their breakthrough album Full Collapse (where all the pieces of the sonic puzzle didn’t seem to fit together smoothly) and the recorded-in-a-vacuum, downer vibe of their War All The Time album.

Songs are more layered and dense in sound and vocals, yet are still immediate and direct. While it’s not “Full Collapse – Part 2″ musically, the album does revisit the previous one through the lyrics, but with a more developed sound, cohesive song-structure, and vivid vocal delivery. This is a band that creates songs where the sound and the lyrics (the music and the meaning) hold equal weight and support each other.

Thursday have integrated varied elements from disparate musical genres – from their punk and hardcore roots (on songs “At This Velocity” and “Into The Blinding Light”), more pop-oriented constructions (on “Counting 5-4-3-2-1″), angular-guitar rock (“Telegraph Avenue Kiss”), instrumentals (“Arc – Lamps, Signal Flares, A Shower of White (The Light”)), the confessional singer-songwriter (“The Lovesong Writer”), 80s New Wave on certain keyboard segments in songs, blues notes (in parts of “The Other Side of the Crash/Over and Out(Of Control)”), rock ‘n’ roll and metal guitar riffs in parts of various songs, and church choir bits (“We Will Overcome”).

Geoff Rickly, the main singer and songwriter, pens lyrics with an impressionistic bent, stark and thick with imagery, like pages ripped out of a journal that take you on a journey with someone who is restless, and questioning, and still searching for answers and the meaning(s) of life – as most of us are. The themes of his lyrics delve into tragedy and loss, the past, memories and looking back, isolation and aloneness, the state of personal relationships (as well as the state of the nation and the world), spirituality (in the sense of believing in something, and believing in yourself), and that the world is pretty messed up, but there is still hope and it’s possible to change things for the better.

Geoff sounds sweeter and prettier than on previous albums (the angst-filled, screaming barks are mainly contained to the songs “At This Velocity” and “Into The Blinding Light”). He sings in an impassioned voice, emoting with a yearning urgency in clear, pure tones that bring to mind Robert Smith of The Cure (minus the whine and perpetual melancholy) and Matt Bellamy of Muse (without the British accent and grandiose vocal flailing).

The opener, “The Other Side of the Crash/Over and Out (Of Control)”, is a continuation of “Understanding In a Car Crash” from Full Collapse (about being haunted by memories of a car crash and how you keep re-living it in your mind) and it’s sonically divided into two halves. It starts with a distant noise speeding up, then slams right into fiery, full-throttle, guitars, bashing drums and cymbals, and pounding keyboards at an accelerated tempo. Geoff sings plaintively “I’ll meet you there – on the other side of the crash.”, while quickly adding “It’ll never be the same”, with airy touches within his vocal phrasings and high-note sighs, against insistent keyboard notes. About a third of the way in, the song downshifts to a slower pace, with a bluesy, sliding guitar riff and sustained, organ-like keyboard. An unwinding sound develops amid cymbal shimmer, then a faster-paced sound builds up again with stormy drumming, with Geoff singing as if in a dream “keep crashing this car (until it spins) out of control” – and at that precise vocal moment, a swirling, spinning, falling-down-the-rabbit-hole feeling takes over the senses, until a really fast tempo kicks in at the end of the song, with organ in the background, and it’s like you’re at the scene of the crash – you can hear the broken glass, crushed metal, hubcaps spinning dizzily (“keep crashing this car (over and over)”) and the relentless keyboard tones and unrelenting drumbeats intensify and overpower the sound.

The first single off the album is “Counting 5-4-3-2-1” and has its roots in another tragedy in Geoff’s life (a friend of his was killed on the tracks by an on-coming train), but it also encompasses the more general idea of wanting to escape and leave a physical or emotional location behind, but that the past will catch up with you (Geoff exclaims “Five, four, three, two – what are you waiting for? The train is catching up…keep on running, don’t look back”).

This radio-friendly single (i.e., verse-chorus-verse, 3 and 1/2 minute format) is quick and catchy, cramming all the best hooks and high-energy into a fast-acting, rockin song, from the opening angelic vocal bits to the urgent, anthem choruses to the short, choppy guitar lines to the hurtling, express-train rhythms. At the ends of the chorus parts, Geoff’s voice echoes and spirals out, and just when you it comes close to a traditional verse-chorus-verse song, the break where the traditional guitar solo should be becomes a thick, churning miasma of guitars, cymbals, layered voices, and noise, giving off a feverish vibe before the abruptly-ending, final chorus.

“Sugar InThe Sacrament” is a slowly-building, elegiac epic of delicate tension and cathartic release (about questioning faith in general, and from what Geoff has said in interviews, about the inextricable link, for him, between sex, religion, and betrayal – and about wondering if you can be redeemed by love). The song opens quietly, with wavering background sound and synth notes, then a cantering drumbeat, and bright, ringing guitar lines (like U2) come in, and Geoff is all forlorn-sounding and crestfallen at the start of the verses, sounding like Robert Smith of The Cure (“There’s no one watching over me or over you.”).

Sharp blasts of guitar and cymbal shimmer break into the quiet, and a constant drumbeat on the chorus backs Geoff, who sings in a more anguished and intense tone against sustained, zig-zagging synth notes.

There is a respite, back to low-key, mournful, beautiful vocals, with continuing drumbeat (“…feel your body dissolving like sugar in the sacrament…”). Then the chorus builds up again, with little blip and other synth sounds and strummed guitar that turn into loping guitar sound and zingy, sustained keyboard notes, becoming louder and more intense, as Geoff sings in a more urgent, impassioned tone, until he finally reaches deep within himself, and with great effort, pushes out his vocals so that he’s on the brink vocally and emotionally. A big swell of sharp, distorted guitars surges forward and ends the song with distortion.

The next song, “At This Velocity”, changes the pace dramatically. It’s the least sonically-adorned song on album – a punk-fueled number of scatter-shot, thundering drums, scrambling, skeining guitar lines (like Queens of The Stone Age), bashed cymbals and cymbal shimmer, occasional amped-up, fuzzed-out, engine-like guitar blasts, with Geoff screaming his lungs out (harkening back to “Cross Out The Eyes” on Full Collapse).

There are three to four short vocal lines – one with death-metal-type guttural growls from Geoff, while the rest are of him shouting. There’s a break mid-way in song where it’s just the unhinged screaming of Geoff (“Just keep moving!”) and spare drums and cymbals, then a motor-like sound revs up and its all chaotic until the end of the song, where it segues into a dreamy bit, with Geoff singing sweetly – a reprieve from the primal, raw force of what came before – and it feels like you’re floating even-keeled among the clouds – but only for a moment – as the devastating lyrics sink in, spoken into the plane’s black box: “I’m not coming home. We’re never coming home…”, and the word “home” is repeatedly echoed, becoming ever more distant…a haunting refrain, against a bittersweetly lilting guitar line that just makes your heart plummet to the pit of your stomach.

The band members have said that they are about social consciousness and not politically oriented, but “We Will Overcome” is their anthem song, similar in theme to “Autobiography Of A Nation” from Full Collapse, with Geoff declaring sharply, defiantly that “…our fathers plant arms in foreign soil – our brothers die and no one knows where it ends (it ends between the crosshairs…”). It all comes off too stridently, with sing-songy lyric phrases, atonal keyboard notes, and stinging guitar lines, balanced partly by Geoff sighing angelically in the background and blending with his own vocals that are slightly buried in the mix on some verses.

At the end of the song, there is a rousing anthem chorus with the help of Amanda Tannen of Stellastarr* and Mary Fridmann. It’s a rally-cry mix of an exultantly shouting Geoff and strong choral voices – trying to push through and persevere – “We will overcome if no one sleeps tonight”.

The lengthy titled “Arc – Lamps, Signal Flares, A Shower of White (The Light)” is a short instrumental of bright sound and cooler tone at first, compared to previous fiery songs, that slowly turns into sharply sky-scraping guitar noise (like My Bloody Valentine) and organ. The tempo is steady, yet uplifting, with church organ synth in the background and occasional cymbal crashes, looming, high-pitched, feedback-drenched guitar lines like the more noisy shoegazer bands.

“Running From The Rain” opens like a Sigur Ros soundscape, full of slow, mandolin-type, wavering reverberations and thundercloud booms, then U2-like ringing guitars and galloping drums, cymbal crashes and echoed keyboards come in and Geoff starts off singing in a low-key tone, but then changes to an intense keening, as the song quickly peaks with an immense, ascending swoop of guitar sound (like a concentrated, sped-up “Souvlaki Space Station” by Slowdive) an expansive, spacey sound.

Geoff sings his heart out, all yearning desperation and the song peaks a second time with big, ringing guitars. Near the end of the song, Geoff channels Bono of U2 at his most sincere and unaffected, while some of Geoff’s vocals are murmured in the background and pushed further down in the mix. The guitars take on a brighter, softer sound, like The Cure. This song is similar in theme to “Counting 5-4-3-2-1″, where the focus is on the loss of Geoff’s friend through a train accident, and the idea of running from your past, running away from the memories.

“Telegraph Avenue Kiss”, an energetic, upbeat song with a mix of different musical styles that somehow fit together (possibly due to producer Dave Fridmann smoothing out the edges). It starts off with whispery vocals and background tape-played-backwards vocals, then a gamut of genres are run through, including late-70s/early 80s, British, wiry, angular guitars, bopping, ska-rhythms that keep changing tempo, and driving, loping 90s guitar sound (a la Interpol). A catchy chant glues it all together: “K-I-S-S, I’m in distress, I need someone to spell it out: you know our love’s not unconditional.”

There are a ton of words packed into the next song, “The Lovesong Writer”, and Geoff sing-talks in hushed tones, with piano accompaniment, until a huge crash of guitar and burnished cymbal frisson, and Geoff starts vocally wringing himself in sharp and regretful tones. The guitars are all grimy, fuzzed, and bashing and a spiraling-down bass guitar note weighs in between the choruses and verses. Assorted sounds are piled on, and the song spills over into fiery chaos for a time, like a melting spool of film, and the end of song is very early-Sigur Ros-like, flaming like a phoenix out of the still-burning embers, all growling, low-bass sound and noisy distortion a coming apart of sound until Boom! the sound of a door slamming shut, possibly, and the song ends.

“Into The Blinding Light” is an intense, tightly-wound song that just doesn’t let up, with slammin’ drums, crashing cymbals, dark synth lines, pummeling guitar sound (very Muse-like), and Geoff shouting. There are quick, dynamic tempo shifts, but the sound is still always ascending in tone it keeps reaching out, higher and louder, trying to reach a crescendo. Geoff’s shouting at one point morphs into a short siren wail. Three to four mixed vocal lines interplay, sometimes twinned for a more grand effect and one line where Geoff sings in a calmer tone under the yelling.

Near the finish, Geoff comes in with an urgent, desperate plea: “please someone help me – take away my loneliness, please someone fill me – take away my emptiness, please someone touch me – take away my longing…please someone show me the light…” and keyboard runs start to build up, blotting out of all other sounds at the end until its just ear-shredding keyboard arpeggios that reach a breaking point – then ‘Voosh’ – it stops and there’s dead silence. This song would be a fine closer to the album, but it’s followed by…

“Autumn Leaves Revisited”, a homecoming of sorts back to “How Long Is The Night?” from Full Collapse, except that this time there is a feeling of hope to the lyrics by the end of the song. A lulling, simple refrain of strummed, acoustic guitar and Geoff’s far-away, low-key vocals start it off and it almost sounds like an alt-country lament without the twang. Then drums, cymbals, guitars, and bass shake it up and the song becomes a showcase for the intricate interplay of the instruments (and the musicians).

A calm-before-the-storm lull sets in again, and there is a slow build-up of sound, almost like the band The Church – everything weaving together – melancholy, but aspiring, ascending, reaching out with a spacey sound. There is more space in this song than all the previous ones there is room to breathe and contemplate.
Then its back to slightly calmer vibe and simple guitar line with Geoff singing low-key as drumbeat, other guitars, and keyboard come into the fore and Geoff strains and sings achingly and passionately – “the sky is clear and the summer never ends – won’t you take me there?” against a low-end, bottom-heavy rumble (like Depeche Mode) and surging-forward guitars and drums.

It all goes quiet again at the end of the song, with just guitar-strum and Geoff’s soft voice: “the leaves will fall and so will you – when you do bury me under them too – seconds pass, we’ll make it through – eventually we are all going home”.

Mus – La Vida

On what is possibly their last album, Mus, the Spanish duo of singer Monica Vacas and composer Fran Gayo, have opted for a brighter, dreamier sound. The plaintive melodies, hazy arrangements and syrupy sweet vocals resemble the reflective, textured indie-rock of Mazzy Star but with a more old-world folk influence.

La Vida is filled with slow, bittersweet songs whose reserved tunes sound more like indecipherable lullabies than any type of twee-rock. Ms. Vacas croons in Asturian, an old Romantic language, so the listener doesn’t have the slightest idea what the songs are about. But it’s this little bit of intrigue, along with an occasional stroke of strings, that imparts a neo-classical vibe on the proceedings. Some tracks are void of a rhythm section and let the drowsy calm of the vocals lead, while others employ bass, drums and even some sunny, poppy synths and approach the amiable indie-rock of Trembling Blue Stars. Leading the pack in this domain are the full-band sounding “Cantares de ciegu” and the glazey pop of “Una sabana al vientu”

But these vibrant tunes are too few and far between. Most of the tracks are more plodding, folksy frameworks colored in with autoharp, viola and pandeiro. Some gleaming electric guitars add a bit of hum, but even the honeyed, atmospheric vocals can’t keep this collection of lullabies from being considered underwhelming folktronica over the course of the album’s twelve tracks and fifty minutes.

Child Bite – Gold Thriller

Although Child Bite might describe its music as “dance-punk,” the cuts on Gold Thriller share more in common with acts like The Stnnng and Ten Grand than that phrase would lead you to believe. This isn’t much like The Faint, after all, or !!! – bands that have appropriated that tag. Child Bite actually rocks more than it shimmies.

Right from the start you can tell that these guys don’t take themselves too seriously even if they do take their sound seriously. “I Like Friends” has a title that pretty much sums up the lyrical content, while the music falls somewhere between Les Savy Fav and The Stnnng, two bands whose wry wit belies their rock/punkish aesthetic. “Borrow clothes, help you move / Loan you money, watch your dogs” represent the sentiment of the song.

If you look hard for a dance influence, you might turn one up on the cryptic “Gudavia.” Its 8-bit video game keyboards eventually get overtaken by the rock guitars and dramatic pauses, but at least it starts out resembling something disco. But this track is the exception. “Ape Along” fairly pummels by comparison, and its on this track that the singing perhaps most perfectly recalls that of Matt Davis from Ten Grand. It’s almost unsettling how close the resemblance is. On “The Muscle Chalet,” Child Bites sounds like a punk version of The Eternals, with its absurdist lyrics and unusual melodic sense.

Across these tracks you do detect a certain no-wave influence. Sometimes its an atonal guitar riff or a jerky rhythm. In that sense, too, there’s a certain dance-like quality to the music, insofar as people did dance to this kind of thing.

The other cuts on Gold Thriller also pack a punch. Although featuring only six actual songs (plus one interlude), the band has shown that it can fit right in with some of the leading post-punk acts of the past few years. Yeah, there’s some humor but this isn’t a simple joke band. Add to that recommendation that the disc’s packaging is artful (inlaid cardboard, complete with pocket for liner notes) and you have a winner of a release.

Vulture Whale – s/t

From Birmingham, Alabama comes Vulture Whale, a quartet of experienced musicians who mix contemporary punk rock with more classic, southern roots. The easy-going guitars and intelligent, personal lyrics on this self-titled debut make Vulture Whale an exciting band to watch out for.

The album starts slowly with “Baby In The Oven”, but the pace soon quickens with “Who Knows It” and “Shoulda Been Rockin’”, which are both outstanding tracks. Singer Wes McDonald sounds like a mix of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah’s Alec Ounsworth and Coldplay’s Chris Martin, and it works perfectly. Drummer Jake Waitzman is spectacular, managing to stand out on the mostly guitar-driven tracks. One of the best songs of this album is “Take It Easier”, but “Rainbow Lies” is also great, with its markedly southern sound and some of the best guitar work. The slow closing tune, “Rita”, is reminiscent of very early Wilco. The only missteps are the obvious similarities in “Older Younger” and “Born Again”. They both sound good, but a band with this much potential shouldn’t be afraid of some variation. Minor mistakes aside, this straight-forward, engaging album shows that Vulture Whale could be a band that has a long career ahead.

These musicians not only sound practiced and professional, but also like they’re having a great time playing music. Vulture Whale gets it right with this self-titled debut, and their future releases will undoubtedly be just as exciting.

Parts and Labor – Mapmaker

There exists no fine line between classic punk and noise. Though both share basic characteristics – abrasiveness, a ‘fuck you’ attitude, and a willingness to challenge the audience with extreme sonics (doesn’t all good music?) – both vary widely in execution. Punk, though sometimes sloppy, marches, as instruments lock together, distinctive verses and choruses distinguish themselves, and a conclusion looms in the near future. Noise, on the other hand, is usually unstructured, made up on the spot, and rarely does the audience know when a piece’s conclusion comes, if it ever comes at all. Bands in each genre examine each other and steal each other’s tricks, but rarely do bands excel at combining the two as masterfully as Parts & Labor.

Admittedly, Parts & Labor’s sound is more punk than noise. The music bursts from the speakers like a car through a gas station window, propelled by Chris Weingarten’s half hardcore/ half tribal drumming, while Dan Friel’s and B.J. Warsaw’s guitar, bass, and keyboard slabs rain down like a downpour of sheet metal. Throughout the album, ethereal static and bubbling stompbox ticks pepper, if not dominate, many of the tracks. These aren’t samples, but subtle knob tweaks performed by Friel and Warsaw on “effects desks” they set up before themselves, covered in wires, AC adapters, and pedals. Run though god knows what homemade, custom built, cheapo pawnshop equipment, Friel and Warsaw switch between their traditional instruments and their desks with ease, adroitly blending flurried downstrokes with beautiful white-tinged noise. You’ve heard noise like this before, but not atop a blast beat.

With Mapmaker, the trio did little to alter its signature sound it mined on Stay Afraid, instead opting to expand by adding different instruments to the mix, as evidenced in lead off track “Fractured Skies”’s triumphant horn bridge. The effect is akin to a marching band stomping through the middle of the song, supported by the music but not tromping it into the earth. The momentum continues through “Brighter Days,” opening with a brutal avalanche of rock before collapsing into a simple keyboard line, serving the melody on a pretty plate. The reprieve is short lived, though, as the remainder of the band jumps in at the chorus, leaving the keyboard struggling to gasp for air above the foaming waters.

Though Friel and Warsaw split vocal duties, their voices sound remarkably similar. The lyrics are virtually indecipherable, but the album thankfully comes with lyrics in the liner notes (“I thought that’s what he was saying!”). Instead, listeners must depend on the strong vocal melodies to carry the tunes to new, anthem-like heights. Fortunately, both men stretch their vocal chords to bring ladder-climbing notes from their straining throats, and because the vocals live in a whirlpool of reverb, Friel and Warsaw’s voices sound like they could have been recorded in the bottom of a cave or the apex of a mountain. The vocal styling and accompanying effects give the impression that every song is a momentous occasion.

Mapmaker’s powerful middle, however, sucked me into the album. The octave-jumping speed picks of “New Crimes” comes second only to some of my favorite lyrics of year: “You and I we are like two necks in one noose/ the ground is not high enough to reach our boots/ so we must swing here until someone comes/ to cut us down.” It reminds of any bad relationship you may have had with someone, slowly killing each other while refusing to part ways. “Unexplosions”’s epic drums and war-strewn lyrics paint the picture of a grim trudge through a remote jungle, with “pieces of clothing hanging from trees” as “weapons only rearrange.” It’s not preachy in the least, the darkness of the jungle amplified by the odd noises buzzing in and out of the guitar notes like giant mosquitoes,

The first few times I listened through this album I was unimpressed. It seemed a bit too simple. But the deceptive simplicity is the pudding, and the passion and sweat that went into writing these songs and sticking them to tape translates very well. Some tracks are better than others: “Vision of Repair” is just too damn cheesy, the chorus ringing more like a song about home improvement than rebuilding a nation after its rape and pillage by other, more sinister forces. The only cringe-worthy track on the album, this misstep can be easily ignored (you have a skip button, don’t you?). Besides, with Mapmaker, Parts & Labor solidified itself as a brutal force with a heart of gold. Plus kids, blasts beat with noise! Very cool.

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