Women – Women

This self-titled album from the band Women will certainly be contending for the title of best indie-rock album to come out this year. It covers quite a bit of musical ground, so calling it indie rock itself is something of a cop-out. That said, it’s an impressive debut.

Where to start with this one? We have ambient instrumentals (the creepy “Woodbine”); gently affecting cum dark pop (“Upstairs”); pounding martial noise (“January 8th”). And that’s just the beginning. Every track feels like a surprise in the context of the album because little that comes before or after prepares you for what’s happening right then.

When you hear the lovely, guitar-driven instrumental “Sag Harbor Bridge,” with its deft fretwork, you can’t reconcile it with the Grifters-like closer “Flashlights.” “Flashlights” has that same loose, shambolic feel of The Grifters’ first album So Happy Together, where you experience an unhinged band exploring its instruments as though they’re just discovering how far they can be pushed into semi-structured noise. Jumping from there to “Lawncare,” you start to sense that this is a band that actually has complete control of its songwriting and that everything it does is intentional, even at its noisiest. “Lawncare” takes a pop structure and melody, layers it with melancholy, puts it through a Cabaret Voltaire noise machine, and arrives at something quite unlike what you were ready for when the song started.

The most immediately clean and direct tracks would probably be “Group Transport Hall” and “Black Rice.” Both mix early Shins with something vaguely 60s, like the Kinks around the time of Village Green. That first Shins album had a magic about it that Women captures effortlessly when it hits on these two tracks. “Upstairs,” likewise, takes this approach, before devolving into some sort of cough-syrup fever dream.

For my money, it all comes together on the amazing “Shaking Hand.” It’s peaceful, frenetic, relaxed, odd, familiar, and just stunning. There are 10,000 bands that would all sell their souls to have written just one of the passages that this song goes through. It’s like a short story unto itself.

The pop fans might be put off by the noisy, experimental parts of the album, while those who favor the avant-garde might be flummoxed by the sincerity of the more standard tracks. Taken as a whole, though, this record’s Bee Thousand approach to just putting all of its ideas out there and taking its listeners on a joyride through the minds of its creators will strike a chord with music fans who are tired of the same old same old. It’s remarkable for its breadth as much as its depth.

Flipsides & Otherwise: FAO #9

With some artists there is no such thing as a ‘definitive’ version of a song. For them, songs are there to be stretched, sped-up, slowed-down, stripped-back, blown-up, chilled or reheated. Just check out the bewildering self-stocked sonic libraries of Howe Gelb, Will Oldham, Johnny Cash, Lee Hazlewood, The Fall, Spiritualized and Bob Dylan if you want to seriously confuse yourself about which of their compositions sound better in different studio and non-studio contexts and with which collaborative players or producers. Whilst it can be a maddening fan-bruising game to be sucked into, it does at least keep loyalist audiences divorced from staid and repetitive facsimiles of the same old stuff, as the following and wildly different approaches testify.

The Fiery Furnaces - Remember (2CD/3LP, Thrill Jockey)

Never before has a sleeve note been so self-deprecatingly apt than on this gargantuan 50+ track live release from The Fiery Furnaces. “Please do not attempt to listen to all at once” reads as both a health warning and constructive suggestion for neophytes and the previously converted alike. Failing to observe such an astute recommendation – even in review-laboratory conditions – will indeed lead to headache-inducing disorientation. This is primarily because Remember is a far from conventional live collection, that needs to sampled in small doses or dipped-into at random for any of its broiling anarchic alchemy to make any sense. Drawing selections from every corner of Matthew and Eleanor Friedberger’s already overwhelming canon, using multiple tape sources from multiple venues over several tours with varying line-ups, Remember is a bravely/insanely ambitious celebration of the two siblings’ mind-boggling attitude to their restless repertoire. Searing carnivalesque keyboards clatter into loose plangent percussion and gnarly guitars throughout, whilst Eleanor’s endearingly strange vocals spool through words like an excitable human telex machine. It’s tricky to pull out individual highlights, as so many tracks blur and bend into each other with irreverent splicing. However, buried in the mania-gripped mélange you will find a soaring post-punk rebuild of “Ex-Guru” that improves on its ‘official’ studio take; a playful two-part reconstruction of “Clear Signal From Cairo”; the prolapsed-funk of “Japanese Slippers”; and two newly-savaged incarnations of the joyfully jittery “Single Again.” Ultimately, this a fan-centric affair first and foremost, but as an exercise capturing the thrill of pure undiluted on-stage liberation, Remember certainly possesses a lot more power and purpose than many less-justifiable live products.

Visit: www.thrilljockey.com

 

Loudon Wainwright III - Recovery (CD, Yep Roc)

If there is a fringe-benefit to the media spotlight being over-shone upon Rufus and Martha Wainwright, then it’s the chance that more attention will belatedly be given to their father’s far richer, warmer and funnier wares. But where do you start with such a dense discography that stretches intimidatingly back to 1970 across innumerable record labels and which varies in quality from the sublime to the occasionally ridiculous? Well, in the continued of absence an all-encompassing retrospective compilation, perhaps this is Loudon’s own answer to that conundrum; re-recording a set of songs from his first four formative albums.

Whilst others might have opted for a more deconstructed line of re-attack, here Loudon actually embellishes the originals’ far more spare acoustic settings with the help of a skilled but subtle session band. This turns out to be somewhat of a masterstroke, refracting songs from his precocious beginnings into warmer, wiser yet not-overly mature new dimensions. Pieces pulled from 1970’s Album I and 1971’s Album II certainly gain significantly from the new furnishings, especially given that Loudon’s earliest recorded vocals were thinner and less inviting. Hence, “Black Uncle Remus” benefits from its fresher jubilant Cajun swing rendering; the serene “School Days” and “Motel Blues” seem to have been born for older and more romantically rueful readings; and the early-Tom Waits flavoured reframing of “I Saw Your Name In The Paper” now makes the lyric flow more like a letter of paternalistic advice from Loudon to his increasingly showbiz progeny, rather than a satirical missive on the fame game.

Material revisited from 1972’s less-austere Album III puts greater focus on to Loudon’s better-known dry-wit side, although he prudently avoids re-cutting his infamous and only genuine ‘hit’ – “Dead Skunk” – from the said long-player. Thus, there’s a highly-strung acoustic-blues stomp through “The Drinking Song” and a rambunctious rockabilly romp through the ode-to-writer’s-block that is “Muse Blues.” Despite the first-four-records remit, there is sadly only one thing revisited from 1973’s largely great Attempted Mustache. But at least it’s a good one – the masterful “Man Who Couldn’t Cry” – that closes proceedings with stirring strings enveloping the twin impulses of pathos and profanity, which have characterised Loudon’s lengthy ongoing career. Inevitably, a couple of the vintage tracks don’t quite make the translation effectively – giving us a slightly-overwrought “Old Friend” (previously found on Album II) and a rather too tasteful “Needless To Say” (originally on Album III). Overall though, as oblique retrospectives go, Recovery is a resounding success. If you’re hooked with this, then the aforementioned Attempted Mustache, 1992’s heartwarming History, 1993’s live Career Moves and 2001’s lovely Last Man On Earth should be next on your shopping-list from the catalogue of – as my long-suffering partner succinctly puts it – “another old man to get obsessed with.”

Visit: www.yeproc.com

Applicants – Life In The Bus Lane

Technology, right? We take it for granted. Buttons do what they’re meant to when we press them, plugs empower our household goods, that tv control is useable from more than one corner of the room, great steel constructions cut swathes across our country horizons carrying 80.000 volt cables with which we can make hot drinks and watch cartoons, overhead lighting optional. Without this technology, our civilisation would collapse in the time it takes a microwave oven to defrost and cook a frozen lasagna, about the same time it takes to listen to Life In The Bus Lane in its entirety.

In the mid-80s, the first samplers started appearing and the initial results did sound a lot like novelty records, or just a bit cheap and nasty. Adding sound effects to dance tracks had its moments but it was a year or two before anyone working in that particular area really came up with anything groundbreaking. Then there was all that ravey dance bobbins that had an entire generation of otherwise normal Anglo-Saxons hopping about like martians. We needed Britpop in a hurry that weekend. Which is where Applicants begin to emerge.

Basically this album is 30 minutes of sampled noise and guitar tomfoolery sprinkled with a dash of blatant idiocy of the kind that clogs up church halls in Edinburgh every August. It is the sound of
a group of musicians whose ambitions are not only to entertain and enlighten, but also dazzle us with their technological know-how, handing out free lessons in ProTool usage and putting a bunch of silly words on top. It is the kind of album that doesn’t get heard or for that matter released anything like often enough, and if “Pigbag” doesn’t accidentally make the top 40 as a download then this world lacks even the remotest semblance of justice.

Life In The Bus Lane is worth it for the accompanying booklet alone, and the music quite seriously displays the type of invention and manic uncool that ought to find all three Applicants proper jobs in the advertising industry. Buy a copy of Life In The Bus Lane today and amaze your friends in 2011, when you will be able to say ‘I knew then when they were famous’ without fear of contradictions or even arguments. No-one’s made synthesisers this much fun for ages, really.

Statehood – Lies and Rhetoric

The Dismemberment Plan is one of those great, disregarded bands who released a couple of terrific albums, including 1999’s Emergency & I. And for some reason their bassist, Eric Axelson, seems unsatisfied with the success they have garnered. Not only did he help form the maligned Maritime but he has now started a new band in Statehood with fellow Dismemberment Planner, Joe Easley. But instead of following in the footsteps of what worked for them on the aforementioned Emergency & I, Lies and Rhetoric is plain and simple, another failed side project.

Though it tries to be produce a freely constructed but energetic experience, its failure comes in the lackluster music. Singer Clark Sabine’s vocals are forced, simplistic and tedious in their delivery and overall feel. The production doesn’t help either; the band tried to make a jumpy, catchy album but with somewhat muddled sound and equipment. A lot of times, Sabine sounds like he is singing inside of a cardboard box.

“Disconnect” longs to be one of the album’s saving points but it’s neither captivating nor vibrant enough to salvage anything. The instruments are messily scattered throughout the song — everything from a menacing guitar to a caterwauling bass are unevenly mixed and Sabine’s shouts are almost unbearable.

If the band hoped to re-create the experience of what it would sound like to make an album “in a basement with some coffee and a soccer ball” (like the press release states) well, they definitely succeeded. The opener, “A Story’s End” starts the album off decently with some crunchy guitar interplay and edgy bass playing but the album falters and skitters from here. “Save Yourself” begins well enough with a scaled-back ferocity and the chorus is one of the best moments on the album but it ultimately dies down because of its almost five-minute length.

A song like “Transfixed” is cramped by screeching guitars that try too hard to sound like Bloc Party’s and Sabine’s disingenuous, trite lyrics of revenge and love loss. It’s a duplicitous approach that only hinders the music’s already absent energy and drive. The guitars are repetitive and lifeless, Axelson’s very own bass is plodding and lumbering and the drums are almost nonexistent. Who would have thought that accomplished musicians like these could make such a insensible record?

The Unholy Two – "Kutter" b/w "Porkys"

Somewhere between the aural assault of noise rock and the unabashed sloppiness of garage rock lay The Unholy Two. This is a band that is too primal for the new crop of noise bubbling under the surface of the indie “mainstream” but too chaotic for the confines of a basement. It is a sound that could only be born in the wasteland of ennui that is Columbus, Ohio. It’s as if their sole purpose is to offend or confound. Coming in a DIY black and white photocopied sleeve of a naked woman to the self deprecating myspace address of “theunholytwosucks”, this is a band that just does not care what you think.

Some distant shouting is barely heard over top the opening squeals and squalls of “Kutter” and frankly I’m not sure if it’s the singer or just some hapless victim we’re hearing. Just as something resembling a pattern of noise emerges after a minute or so the group of delinquents slams into a thick fuzzed out groove with a healthy dose of unbridled feedback over top. It’s fierce and sloppy makes you want to break stuff in a manner of debauchery Fred Durst could only dream of. It all ends, and not a moment too soon, with what sounds like a half hearted attempt to circle back around to the minute long intro, but ultimately ends up falling apart in more glorious noise. There’s some more screaming of some sort but it’s too late. The damage is done, stuff has been broken, and the Big Muff riff is to powerful to ignore. Did I mention these guys may not care so much?

Flipside “Porkys” sounds as though Steve Albini never stumbled across “Roland,” the drum machine used on the Big Black albums. The vocals are a tad more comprehendible, (“Left my babies/playing in the backyard/left my babies/playing with a shovel”) in that you can hear what’s being said, but you still won’t understand it. It’s a tighter, and shorter, piece than “Kutter” but no less rifftastic and abrasive.

The Unholy Two have made a record of urgency; concerned more in getting the point across, whatever it may be, than the execution. It’s the execution however where the fun is to be had. Kudos to Columbus Record Discounters for if it wasn’t for them sending this record out, it may never be heard. Which I’m sure would have been just fine by The Unholy Two. They’re already off raising up more of a ruckus to notice.

Slow Dancing Society – Priest Lake Circa ‘88

Brian Eno is one of those rare and unique artists whose influence on today’s music is only beginning to be fully realized. Not only did he help shape the sound of some of the best albums of the past twenty and thirty years but his own solo endeavors have proven to have a large impact on many of today’s musicians. He believed that “Ambient music must be able to accommodate many levels of listening attention without enforcing one in particular; it must be as ignorable as it is interesting.” Whether or not you agree with that statement, it’s certainly one to be reckoned with and one that Drew Sullivan’s Slow Dancing Society entity has taken to heart.

Sullivan is one of those musicians whose music is heavily influenced by Eno and his music is justly, ambient. Throughout many times — depending on the time of the day — I found myself dozing off to its gentle and warm tones. Not because it was boring but because its utter calmness and gentle demeanor were far too prevalent to fight. Other times, especially with the headphones, I found myself catching the small intricacies that Sullivan included. Whether it was the almost wind like sound on “The Red Summer Sun” or the warbling effect on “Glimmer and Gleam,” these are distinctly exclusive pieces.

The music on Sullivan’s latest effort, Priest Lake Circa ‘88, treads the very same water that Eno’s aforementioned statement enforced. This is slow-moving, slow-growing, reflective music that is meant to be heard alone. And it’s the kind of music you can put on, lay down and simply wash over your thoughts with.

A song like “Sun Spots” is filled with blissful sound-scapes that encompass a misty, obscure skyline with reverb, feedback and lots of droning experiences. The song is minimalist at its core with only a signature guitar occasionally appearing and a sometimes emerging, rugged bass line.

I’d be lying if I said that this is the kind of music I go for but the bottom line is that good music can still be appreciated in any shape or form. One thing is for sure, Sullivan knows how to create lush, varied walls of sounds that are both inviting and engaging. The album’s chief highlight is with “A Warm Glow,” a compelling, richly layered and radiant song. Sullivan prevails with sparkling keyboards and magnetic chords that swell with every downbeat. It results in the album’s triumphant reflection; a wondrous, uplifting listen.

Sullivan surely took what Eno said to heart and he has attempted to follow in his teacher’s footsteps. With his third album in, Sullivan still has a way to go but he has firmly cemented himself as an artist to watch, not just in the ambient field but for music in general.

Giant Sand – proVISIONS

Whilst much of the immeasurable pleasure of Howe Gelb’s immense recorded repertoire – beneath the umbrellas of Giant Sand, OP8, The Band of Blacky Ranchette, Arizona Amp & Alternator and as a solo artist – comes from its ear-foxing diversity and untamed sprawling, it still periodically needs a solid ‘standalone’ album to help make sense of it all. A record that has a consistently strong sound, powering songs that will stand-up to rewiring on future releases. Such enduring staging-posts have previously included 1991’s Ramp, 1994’s Glum and 2000’s Chore Of Enchantment from Giant Sand; 2003’s Still Lookin’ Good To Me by The Band of Blacky Ranchette; and 2006’s ‘Sno Angel Like You as Gelb trading solo. Now here comes another to add to that bounteous list; the perplexingly-named proVISIONS.

Although proVISIONS is the first official Giant Sand set in four years – being the follow-up to 2004’s somewhat scrappy Is All Over… The Map – Gelb hasn’t been idle, as solo and other side-projects have testified. Yet, it feels as if he has deliberately stalled returning to his base camp band, perhaps sensing that the Giant Sand discography needed something more considered and substantial after straining itself in the wake of the shadow-casting peak of Chore. Some of this downtime may have come from Gelb’s need to finish training-up musicians worthy of filling the gaping void left by Joey Burns and John Convertino (after the duo ditched their Giant Sand rhythm section duties in favour of full-time Calexico commitments around the turn of the millennium). More than anything perhaps, Gelb just had to find himself in the right frame of mind to cut another milestone with the group he has led since the early-‘80s; as his accompanying press release statement surmises more succinctly, “Giant Sand is a mood.”

proVISIONS is certainly a collection marinated in an atmospheric mood but it is also one refreshingly locked into newly-moistened grooves. Whilst it is undoubtedly blessed by generous guest appearances from several outside contributors, the LP scores highly due to the relatively new core unit of Gelb, bassist Thøger T. Lund, drummer Peter Dombernowsky and slide guitarist Anders Pedersen tightly-galvanizing into weaving yet sturdy arrangements. With such strong frameworks around them, Gelb’s compositions are guided gently back into both the purring nocturnal dustiness of Glum and the serene romanticism of Chore.

The tantalizing opening twosome of “Stranded Pearl” and “Without A Word” – with sultry vocals from Isobel Campbell and Neko Case respectively – sets the scene with magnificently graceful gravitas, raising the bar high for most of the ensuing tracks. Thus, soon after we’re provided with a truly seductive cover of PJ Harvey’s “The Desperate Kingdom of Love” and the plaintive piano-led ruminations of “Spiral,” which both bathe in the same waters as magisterial Chore classics like “Bottom Line Man” and “Way To End The Day.” Elsewhere, welcome curveballs come with the loping rubbery rhythms of “Muck Machine” and the ‘50s rockabilly twanging of the M Ward-assisted “Can Do.” More unruly and perverse is the expansive finale of “Well Enough Alone,” which rewrites the beatific gospel-ballad “Nail In The Sky” (from ‘Sno Angel Like You) as a guitar-mangling Neil Young epic.

There are a few acts of self-sabotage that prevent proVISIONS from true transcendence though. “World’s End State Park (Wordless)” is a directionless discordant instrumental that jars with the overall sense of craftsmanship and restraint, as does the slightly meandering messiness of “Saturated Beyond Repair.” The most unfathomable faux-pas is however, the last-minute decision to replace a sublime nine or so minute Krautrock-like re-rendering of Ramp-gem “Romance Of Falling” (as still featured on this writer’s promo copy) with the likeable but less revelatory “Belly Full of Fire” (previously attempted on Gelb’s solo tour-CD, Upside Down Home 2002).

Curiously awkward sequencing selections aside, proVISIONS is certainly one of the most compelling entries in Howe Gelb’s vast sonic library. Although it dodges near-perfection almost deliberately, it confirms that Gelb’s maverick creativity has an astute methodology in its benevolent madness.

The Torn ACLs – Cedar-by-the-Sea EP

In the sea of CD submissions I love to read all of the hand written notes from bands. Sometimes something catches my eye – a turn of phrase, how flattering the note is, the handwriting, or, in the case of one member of Seattle, WA based The Torn ACLs the number of exclamation points in relation to total punctuation usage. Three to one, to be exact. Who ever wrote this note just seemed to be so earnest, and the group’s debut EP Cedar-by-the-Sea is only four songs so I figured what the hell.

It seems this disc was recorded in a house when the band was a duo (William Cremin, Miles Ranisavljevic). Said house has since burned down, but the recordings were saved from the fire. Way to go guys! Although Cedar-by-the-Sea doesn’t blow me away, there’s something special brewing here. The first track, “Reputation”, has a jaunty stop/start rhythm and features back and forth vocals of a conversation that goes something like this: “I swear I’m good for it” / “Why don’t you pay me back?” / “The check is in the mail” / “I’m going to break your legs”.

“The Audacity” is a much moodier tune, and the various instruments are used here. The Torn ACLs list a saw in the liner notes and I wonder if that is what is used to give the eerie backdrop to this song. “Brother Twelve”, the band’s six and a half minute opus tells the story of a 1920s religious cult, and lends the EP its name. “Obsessively, Compulsively” rounds out the four pack of songs with a repetitious melody that gently sways its way to a cleansing chorus.

Cedar-by-the-Sea is definitely too short. I’d love to see what the group will come up with now that it is a quartet. I imagine new songs will be more expansive, more deeply textured. But the four tracks on this EP are a great new beginning for a young group. Maybe not quite a phoenix rising from the ashes, but a batch of songs to be proud of for sure.

Empire! Empire! (I Was A Lonely Estate) – Year Of The Rabbit 7"

Upon first listen of “Year of the Rabbit” I was afraid of making the comparison to Death Cab For Cutie, thinking Empire! Empire! (I Was A Lonely Estate) has probably heard that one plenty enough. But after preparing their entry into the massive DOA database it became clear that the band is more than fine with that. In fact, they are proud to wear the DCFC influence as well as any early 90’s emo band as a badge of honor. Instead of the Hot Topic/black eyeliner emo that runs amuck in every mall these days, Empire! Empire! digs deep to build patient songs more akin to Sunny Day Real Estate than to Panic! At The Disco.

After releasing his debut album as the only member, singer/songwriter Keith Latinen has fleshed out the sound on this single by utilizing a full band. The A-side “Year of the Rabbit” takes its time getting started, opening with ringing notes before the rest of the band comes in, drums tapping away at a martial beat. It creates a dark feeling and not for the only time will recall SDRE’s debut Diary, specifically “In Circles.” The band moves fluidly through many sections which fool you into realizing there isn’t a climactic explosion at the end. Where the power comes from are in the lyrics and anguished cries backing Latinen up on the choruses.

Right off the bat points are taken away from the B-side for the title alone, “idk, my bff Jill.” Surely this is an in-joke amongst the members but by using a line from a commercial which uses text message lingo, they would have been better off with “Can You Hear Me Now?” Titles aside Empire! Empire! waste no time in getting into it. Right out of the gate they explode and Latinen is in full tortured emo voice mode, somewhere between Jeremy Enigk & Conor Oberst. Any climax that was missing on the A-side is made up for with the entirety of “idk.” The same dark mood prevails with a melody that runs similar to Lotions’ “Paas,” another great forgotten gem from the early 90’s.

The only similarity that Empire! Empire! (I Was A Lonely Estate) has in common with modern day emo is in silly punctuation, which believe you me is a good thing. Limited to 550 copies this slab of white vinyl is destined to become their “Thief, Steal Me A Peach.”

The Foxglove Hunt – Stop Heartbeat

Do you, or did you, miss the 80s? Well, The Foxglove Hunt is here to make sure that you get what you’re looking for. Stop Heartbeat unapologetically takes you back to 1985′s synth takeover. Disco never dies!

The band has captured and repackaged – without modern updates – the spirit of that time. Electronic beats, synth runs, hooks, lost-love male vocals: this album has it all. You could spin any of these tracks at a dance night between later Ultravox and Belouis Some and nobody would blink an eye. The duo apparently has not adopted the haircuts and the fashion sense that played such a part in making the scene 20 years ago, though, which comes as either a disappointment or a relief depending on where your allegiances lie.

If there were any doubt about its intentions and influences, you need only listen to the band’s take on The Psychedlic Furs’ “Love My Way.” This faithful rendition puts more dance into the beat and smooths out the rasp of Richard Butler’s vocals, but other than that captures the feel and mood of the original exactly. Stop Heartbeat has to be the most irony-free recapitulation of the new-wave synth movement that I’ve ever heard. Its verisimilitude is uncannily pitch perfect. Behold the new Petshop Boys?

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