The Black Keys – El Camino

Is it me, or did the Black Keys’ popularity all but explode in the past two years?  For a good long run through most of the century’s first decade, the pride of Akron garnered a sizeable fanbase by pumping out consistently formidable blues-rock, brittle and brash enough to distinguish itself from that other Midwestern blues-rock duo, but not quite idiosyncratic enough to step outside of their candy cane-colored shadow.  Then, Danger Mouse jumps on board to produce 2008’s critically acclaimed Attack & Release, and a mere three years later, Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney are taking home gramophone statues, playing arena gigs, and making two SNL appearances in less than 12 months.

Perhaps bringing in half of Gnarls Barkley to produce an album wasn’t as much of a game changer for the Keys as I’m positing, but it’s hard to refute that the band’s current status as a marquee act is a far cry from where we found them in 2003, circa Thickfreakness.  Most recently, the band willfully opted out of streaming their new El Camino record to buzzworthy sites like Spotify, apparently out of deference to their Warner Brothers-owned record label, Nonesuch.  It appears indie rock has hit the big leagues.

Since nearly all of media attention directed at the group as of late has concerned itself with the promotional side of the Black Keys’ enterprise, it’s become easy to overlook the music itself – that swaggering, sweaty fusion of garage rock attitude and bluesy vehemence that is their stock in trade.  The grooves are propulsive, the guitar riffs are memorable, and the melodies all but perspire with commercial appeal.  Attack & Release was a moodier affair than previous Keys albums, sporting a dash of ominous atmosphere, whereas last year’s follow-up Brothers LP harkened back to the friends’ raucous early records.  Riding that record’s continued wave of momentum, we now have El Camino a mere 18 months later, a record that – true to claims – is a concise “all killer no filler” amalgam of rousing classic rock and burnished pop production.  With lead single “Lonely Boy” excepted, there aren’t any standout tracks here, but nor are there any duds.  The result is 38 minutes of fiery and freewheeling fun, designed by two guys who actually make a road trip in a 1992 Dodge Caravan sound like a delightful idea.

Every song on El Camino comes with a certain level of bravado.  The aforementioned “Lonely Boy” melds rootsy lyrics (“I got a love that keeps me waitin’”) with twangy guitar stabs and a two-step dance appeal that should already be obvious to anyone who’s seen the tune’s accompanying music video.  “Dead and Gone” sports plenty of lo-fi fuzz, wiry guitar licks, and Auerbach’s soulful croon.  “Don’t you drag me along,” he pleads over a thumping bass drum and tambourine rhythm.  “Gold on the Ceiling” connotes a Stevie Wonder influence with its synthesizer harmonies and female backup vocals.  “Little Black Submarine” takes unabashed direction from both the Beatles and Tom Petty, going from Macca-styled acoustic balladry (“But everybody knows / a broken heart is blind”) to distorted catharsis faster than you can say “Mary Jane’s Last Dance.”

And so it goes.  There are moments of unexpected nuance – the “Thriller” synths of “Sister” and Auerbach’s talk box solo in “Money Maker” come to mind – but all in all, El Camino sticks to a tried and true template of brazen impulsivity that’s been explored by generations of rock bands, often with the same commercial viability the Keys are now experiencing.  When the boys decide to either take their foot off the gas or let the fuel run out, it will be interesting to see where we find them on the map.

Tomorrows Tulips – Eternally Teenage

A simple approach is sometimes the best option. When dealing with aspects that cover everything from relationships to art to life, the simplistic divide is definitely a well-versed topic. Still, no matter how basic, or rudimentary for that matter, something appears to be: simple never automatically means subtle. Tomorrows Tulips’  Alex Knost and Christina Keyes approach simple with ideas that are born and bred with the most pure of intentions: faded, stone-drenched, wall-fuzzed rock/pop that reverbs with calming steam. Their debut, Eternally Teenage, is a starkly simple-approached success that finds the duo fleshing out garage rock with a dose of guitar-drenched sunlight that optimistically pierces through.

When you consider the heavy amount of blissful noise that is mixed in – albeit with the method that the less fidelity the better – Eternally Teenage is often, a myriad of solid ideas all swelled into one massive role. Songs like “Livingroom Sensative” melt around the sonic landscapes Knost creates and while Keyes’ style of drumming is surely reminiscent of Meg White’s fundamental sensibilities, it’s easygoing nature is a sure-fire winner for Knost’s heady, engulfing textures. The music shifts in and out of focus throughout sections at a time and on the aforementioned background taps and clatter is all intentionally left in. The realized fruition is an album that flexes at just the right time while maintaining a sturdy stance on variable qualities.

The title track firmly presents a dissimilar vibe and it acts as the album’s proper introduction. Acting somewhere in between the take-it-or-leave-it mist of No Age’s even-tempered style and the surging, yet lax sense of Real Estate, the music is surely influenced by some of indie’s forerunners in noisy / relaxing rock. Knost’s voice is somewhat of a hindrance in the way it never seems to really amount to much more than a serious quantity of warble, it’s a subtle leap that allows the attention to lay solely on the music. Songs like “Roses” taper with more subdued drums before rolling into an atmospheric fusion of cluttered harmonies and disjointed reverb. Guitars are allowed to fold into each other and the vocals carry throughout in an almost ghost-like delivery. There’s never a moment where everything sounds absolutely grand but there’s more than enough to warrant further attention.

There’s a strong resonance to remark on the sheer fact that it is a simple style of music that Tomorrows Tulips are attempting to tackle – all with the same amount of standardized tools. However, music has always been about displaying a strong resonance for sincere movements and Eternally Teenage does just that. If nothing more, it successfully conveys the tower of sounds that encompass one’s adolescent times and how nothing ever seems positively sure of itself. Maybe that’s the point and ultimately how one should approach life, keeping it simple and surely, strong.

Galaxia Records

JEFF the Brotherhood- We Are the Champions

Take one part good Weezer, one part Wavves, one part Nirvana and you might get the picture on what JEFF the Brotherhood is like. A high-octane garage rock duo from Nashville, Jake and Jamin Orrall are a lot of damn fun. Jake has a bit of Rivers Cuomo in his vocals, both in voice and melodic style. Hooks are what will win you over with JEFF–Jake is a master of hammering hooks out of this DIY punk aesthetic.

The duo carry a reckless abandon in the way they play their instruments without precision or painstaking complexity. Like Kurt Cobain or Nathan Williams (Wavves), JEFF shreds fuzzed-out guitars, while the drums pound away at a fervent pace. Jake’s lyrics are amusingly simple, like rhyming “sun” and “fun.” This works because again, this is a rock band doing things very raw and very off-the-cuff. “Stay Out Late” is a buzzsaw of an anthem, no frills garage rock. “Hey Friend” “Endless Fire,” (which is right in Weezer’s wheelhouse) “Health and Strength,” (a pretty sweet Indian weirdo song) and “Diamond Way” are four out of the eleven songs that carve out enough space to keep this album from being too much of blaze. These breathable songs do so much for the cohesion of the album, to ensure the listener doesn’t choke on the power chord overload.

JEFF the Brotherhood, as I’m sure you can gather, won’t win you over with technical skill the way more polished bands will. But for thirty-four minutes, JEFF is entertaining as goddamnit. It goes to show, scuzzy hooks will always be a way to make engaging music, even if the genre is well-worn. So, do yourselves a favor and check out We Are the Champions, an endlessly rewarding firecracker of an album.

Ty Segall – Goodbye Bread

While there’s something to say about great music, there’s also something absolutely astonishing in being able to churn out great music so consistently. Through his tenure as one of rock’s stellar musicians, Ty Segall has continued to impress with album after album of tremendously, again, great music. Where Lemons left off, Melted pushed it further and now, only a year removed, Segall returns with Goodbye Bread. In what is an album clearly meant for everyone, the grunge and lo-fi tendencies sparkle – if possible – against the sweet backdrop of gracious vibes.

For years now, Segall has gradually developed an impressive ability in being able to hone his strengths. On album closer “Fine,” he drains his vocals against the bleeding strain of an electric guitar that rumbles with irresolute focus. Many have come to regard the effortless style Segall portrays as the defining reason why his songs are so good. Still, the confidence comes from years and years of outstanding work on various LPs, split 12”s, multiple 7”s; not to mention that this is now his fifth album to date. At just 23 years young, Segall has already accomplished quite a bit – he creeps into the beginning with a slight croon before the drums pound away. Goodbye Bread is definitely an evolution that bridges many of Segall’s eclectic styles, while still maintaining its lo-fi rock appeal.

With the kind of rock that swells with each passing note, Segall finds a way to ensure the music is always fantastic. On “You Make the Sun Fry” a thriving combination of drums and sludging guitars clash away to the cymbals’ crash. Tumbling on towards the bottom, Segall is composed as he describes a sordid, incendiary situation. The song’s menacing noise is partly all swagger and heart but the emotion on the guitar solo is a terrific final topping. The album’s ensuing song and lead single, “I Can’t Feel It,” quickly juxtaposes the previous brashness with a calming introduction and Segall’s troubled lyrics. While there’s the presence of the blues with so much regret, Segall chugs away to an enveloping melody that encompasses everything from the sing-along words to the heartbeat stomp of the hand claps. Each song feels like a brand new jewel to inspect and, while the music is your basic ‘ol’ rock-n-roll’, the substance is infinite.

Just in passing, when hearing the open, classic sound of the opening strums on the title track, you’d assume it was an old Beatles’ song. That is, until Segall’s voice shines as the guitar rouses, louder and louder. It’s obvious that for Segall and his band, endless touring has aided in fusing a fluid chemistry. When his voice quakes and relishes, the drummer knows just when to add in the flourishing sounds and when Segall’s voice quivers to a halt, the band around him enables terrific releases. It’s definitely about the attack with Goodbye Road but most of what Segall has done continues to impact well after the songs have started and passed.

And like the dog on the cover of the album, through all of its hissing imperfections, the solid rock and roll that Segall has newly patented is alive and well. Goodbye Bread is a fitting development on an impeccable path. The depth accomplished through five albums is obviously grand and it’s definitely as if Segall is purely improving with every passing year.

Drag City

Le Butcherettes – Sin Sin Sin

When confronted with things that you don’t understand, how do you handle it?  Do you simply dismiss the art as stupid, or misguided?  Or do you attempt to weather your mental storm and try to reach a deeper understanding?  In the event of the debut album by Le Butcherettes, Sin Sin Sin,  it is a combination of both.  While leader Teri Suarez is clearly a provocateur in her lyrics and stage antics,  the album as a whole leaves one wondering what the fuss is about.  Clearly from what I have read, Le Butcherettes are an absolute must see live act.  Ms. Suarez has been known to spend as much time in the crowd as on the stage and her use of props to complete her statements is well documented.

Any discussion of Le Butcherettes begins and ends with lead singer/guitarist/songwriter/keyboardist Teri Gender Bender (Suarez being her birth name).  A ball of fire wrapped in a lithe frame, she wiggles and brays all over this album with a star’s sense of the moment.

But what about the album?  Sin Sin Sin is an amalgamation of the last 40 years of punk and heady feminism, wrapped up in a spry 35 minutes.  Opener “Tonight” is a good indicator of what is to come with its keyboard blasts and primal drums.  The tale of a woman feeling incredibly objectified is chilling, yet Gender Bender makes it empowering as well.   The snake driven riff of “Henry Don’t Got Love” is a winner, then it’s all power chords cranked to 11.  “Leibenz Language” is another early highlight, acting as almost a mini suite featuring different sections.  “All You See in Me is Death” is a short smooth synthy number, that works remarkably well in its brevity.  “The Actress that Ate Russou” is another highlight that works with Gender Bender’s vocals taking on a more traditional turn.

Sin Sin Sin, produced by Omar Rodriguez Lopez, is an album that shouldn’y have a tough time living up to the hype, but it does.  There is a lack of consistency, often credited as ambition, running throughout the album.  Sin Sin Sin, though running well under 40 minutes, isn’t tight in the way you want it to be.  Clearly, Teri Gender Bender is a superstar waiting to burst upon a huge audience.  Sin Sin Sin is an okay start to that journey, but the truth is what’s next will be better.

Rodriguez Lopez Productions

The Pear Traps – s/t EP

Lo-fi music can, to some extent, be viewed as a reactionary gesture to the slick and meticulously produced recordings of mainstream pop music.  Though the subgenre’s roots can be traced back to The Basement Tapes by Bob Dylan, its crude and occasionally cacophonous textures began to enjoy broader appeal in the 1980’s while commercially viable artists like Madonna and Paula Abdul were embracing the sonic capacities of studio multi-tracking and overdubbing.

Through a series of calculated moves, band likes Pavement, Blur, and Yo La Tengo would go on to partially define their careers by low fidelity music, championing its devotion to authenticity and humanness while never abandoning the focus on melody that was the paramount concern of pop culture’s reigning stars.  But that was the 90’s; living in the prevailing Pro Tools/Auto-Tune era has brought about a whole new lo-fi insurgency, one hell bent on dismantling the digital trickery that has resulted in the vapid yet wildly popular music of starlets like Katy Perry and Ke$ha.  Listening to the likes of current noiseniks such as No Age or Rogue Wave, it becomes readily evident that lo-fi aesthetics are alive and well in 2011.  Affirming though this is, the genre’s 21^st century practitioners must also heed the fine line between a genuine commitment to organic sound and a mere replication of sepia-toned nostalgia – the recently piqued interest in Americana music is an example of this.

So it goes with Chicago’s Pear Traps, a five-piece that recorded its new eponymous EP in a bucolic cabin and whose vocalist/guitarist (Bryant Lee Howe) constructs most of the band’s amplifiers himself.  Though the group waves its DIY flag proudly, its music is more in line with acts like My Morning Jacket and Wilco than anything to which T-Bone Burnett’s name might be affixed – 6 warbling tracks of homespun alt-country, infused with a little garage rock grit and plenty of psychedelic echo.

Lead single and album opener “Come Home” announces the Pear Traps’ M.O. immediately with a warm composite of strummy rhythm guitars and crystalline leads.  The grainy timbres of Howe’s vocals peer through the mix, singing with a world-weary sigh, “Through these dreams and plastic hopes / we tie them up with elastic ropes / kinda hurts yeah / but I don’t choke.”  The vocals excepted, the song recalls any number of songs from Sonic Youth’s catalog, where sparkling guitar patterns and a moderate rock groove generate a decidedly hypnotic atmosphere.  “Honestly” shows traces of a surf-rock influence, with a shimmying drumbeat and buoyant guitar riffs not unlike the territory frequented these days by acts like Surfer Blood and Best Coast.

“Safer Than You” highlights the Pear Traps’ unpolished veneer even more, where the muddied production on the guitar and bass lend everything a nebulous haze.  As with the previous tracks, Howe’s vocals stand in isolation from the rest of the mix, his soft-spoken murmurs as cavernous and hollow as the PA system in a 40,000 capacity baseball stadium.  The juxtaposition of such opaque instrumentation and haggard vocals is a sharp one, entrancing in mood but also frustrating in its ability to accentuate the often unintelligible lyrics.

Elsewhere, the EP takes more lighthearted turns; “They Are Not Ours” sports a fetching country jangle while the chiming guitar melodies of “Predictable Kinds of Thoughts” evoke golden memories of summers at the beach.

On a purely textural level, The Pear Traps EP is a joy to take in – it possesses all the same warmth and richness prized by those who still swear by vinyl records and tube amplifiers.  It’s shoegaze music without the bevy of effects pedals, country music without the maudlin twang, and pop music without any bravado.  Sadly though, most of the melodies also get lost in the mix.  It’s not that they’re not there; you’ll just need to listen a little more intently to fish them out of the mix.  In this sense, this is where the Pear Traps are at their most lo-fi, eschewing fastidious studio craft for a product that sounds more like it came off a home recording of buds jamming together back in 1991.  I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t something satisfyingly wistful about it.

The Two Koreas – Science Island

The driving force of influences is probably the most engrossing aspect about any one band. And furthermore, the way influences are able to mask and appear in the most subtle of ways is always the best kind of musical progression. For many bands, finding a happy medium between what your influences have gifted and what you’re capable of is a tricky situation; however, once the balance is corrected and delivered, the results can be some of the best. There’s always bands that, of course, are influenced by The Beatles; who can actually take that and turn it into something refreshingly different?

For the brand of rock that The Two Koreas create, one can easily find that bands like Pavement are strongly endorsed but somehow, the music is able to speak on greater terms than simply a resembling style. On Science Island, the band takes many of the same heady, ‘slacker’ mentality melodies and infuse them with an all-encompassing blend of various other grand influences. See, the aspect about The Two Koreas is that music is meant to be all-inviting and entirely inclusive of everything and, with their latest album, they’ve delivered a solid account of just that.

Promoting a new sub-genre they’ve playfully titled “glacier garage” (music that is built around the same premises of garage rock except with an added element of actual freeze to the layering) The Two Koreas sometimes sounds like a mix between The Cars and the aforementioned Pavement, but with a strong notion of 70s nostalgia added for good measure. On “Haunted Beach” you can almost hear a certain B-52s presence but when the bottom lets out to reveal a grunge guitar and pleading vocals, the style quickly adapts as well. Many of the songs travel through different modes and shifts before settling on an overall scope. And while the aspect of harmony isn’t one that is at the top of the priority list, there is always a great deal of atmosphere swirling around Science Island.

With the mentioning of dissimilar moods, “Majored in Swimming” perfectly depicts the translucent feel the water seems to have, and it’s on this song that everything seems to open a bit to reveal a much brighter sound. Sounding eerily close to Bloc Party, there is a minor dissonance that creeps in from behind and the music enthralls for a seven minute tour de force of sweeping gestures. The sounds always sound significantly important – as if everything needs to be positioned in its particular spot – but the band manipulates them in a way that they come off effortlessly clear. It’s a confident appearance and a winning combination.

It’s not the influences that make the band but there’s definitely a clear understanding of how the two go hand in hand. As two separate entities, as their name suggests, the opposite countries obviously have much more than they realize in common. And, in the end, Science Island is filled to the brim with underlying similarities and contrasts to everyday rock. There’s substance in going against the grain and The Two Koreas are capable of such occurrences, new genre and all.

Randy Vicar Records / Last Gang Labels

Kurt Vile – Smoke Ring for My Halo

Just freshly a year or so removed off his 2009 standout album, Childish Prodigy, Kurt Vile returns with a new set of music on Smoke Ring for My Halo. As one of the newly found rock artists of the year, Vile was able to wonderfully convey why a move to Matador was seemingly, the right decision. His second album for the label, Vile presents a strong showing of embracing songwriting and an incredible ear for melody. As much as one would assume that times have changed, Vile is able to supplement his strengths with newfound diversity and very simply, delivers a formidable sophomore album.

As you listen to the lead single “Jesus Fever” and through its wave of soothing guitars and percussion touches, you can’t help but notice the subtle sweetness of Vile’s music. The music shines even when the guitars seem to battle within each other and Vile’s voice is a tranquil escape. While the constant drive that each song maintains is always the steady beat of Vile’s brand of psych rock; it’s lo-fi with slight modifications and twists but always, incredibly solid. It suits the album’s reflective feel well and firmly highlights the understated skill behind Vile’s songwriting.

One of Smoke Ring for My Halo’s strongest points is the way Vile is able to showcase a wide range of styles onto the album’s ten songs. On “Society is My Friend,” he tends to the song’s atmospheres with a dark overtone and a strong chug of rhythm in the background; it’s obvious where people make the reference to Springsteen with a song like this and Vile is all the more recognized because of it. Influences aside, the album’s title track is probably one of the most earnest songs of Vile’s career with an acoustic guitar and floor drum in pure support of Vile’s vulnerable words. And the opening song alone, “Baby’s Arms,” introduces an enveloping and immersing sound to Vile’s arsenal and there’s no better way to open it all. While his previous album may have lumped him in with other ‘lo-fi rock’ artists of the same time, Smoke Ring for My Halo proves that Vile is a versatile musician and able to fully progress and adapt.

Where perhaps others would falter, Vile is even able to take a broken down ballad like “Ghost Town” and creates a U2-like stunner of exceptional depth. Chanting auxiliary, a droning guitar and an engrossing pulse drive the song towards a head changing moment on the album. It comes at the perfect time, too, as Vile has already gotten to the end and it’s definitely a mind blowing experience when you come out of it to only find Vile’s voice and guitar at the other end. The album churns to a stalling end with “(shell blues)” and it’s cryptic minute of imbalance – like something out of an old western film – as if there is uneasiness and still, final closure with it all. In the end, it’s Vile way of capping off what is actually his fourth album and already, a strong catalog at that.

“Jesus Fever” by Kurt Vile

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The Capstan Shafts – Revelation Skirts

Dean Wells is approaching Robert Pollard levels of ridiculous prolificacy at this point. He’s averaged about two records a year for the past decade, all of which have gone more or less unnoticed by the indie press bloodline. His music has stayed constant, a tuneful, increasingly clear-channeled garage-pop structured in modest guitar/drums/bass arrangements, all played by Wells himself. He wears his GBV influence proudly on his sleeve and his songs hardly ever make it past the two minute mark. So naturally, this deep in a career an album like Revelation Skirts is going to have a few drawbacks for the uninitiated, and it tends to get by more on the lore and myth behind the production than the actual songs.

That’s not to say the songs are bad, but there’s nothing even in the same galaxy as groundbreaking here. Skirts alternates between commonplace mod-rock staples; acoustic, swinging melodies (“Little Burst of Sunshine”) and power-stance mid-tempo guitar jams (“Heart Your Eat Out” and plenty of others) none of which exactly jump off the record into your brain, this is an album of mostly forgettable niceties that somewhat manage to make up for their own boringness by just how charming of a personality Mr. Wells is. He has no delusions of triumph (or even adequacy *ba-dum tish*) and sings mainly about not being in love, and ramps up one of his more energetic choruses with a repeated “the sky’s the limit.” It’s all wrapped up in a package that he’s graciously priced for about five bucks. Is Revelation Skirts great? God no, I wouldn’t even call it good, but despite its awful first impression it gives off a specific charm that might make it worth paying attention to.

Nobunny – First Blood

From the opening riffs of “Ain’t it a Shame,” it’s clear that for Nobunny, life is nothing more than a collection of ups and downs that never seem to end. And although he’s singing about jauntily stringing her along, his crunching guitar pumps the song with his trademark energy. On First Blood, Nobunny tenders to a wide palette of varied sounds and styles that never leave the overbearing umbrella of rock music. Through a mixture of happy-go-lucky lyrics and scruffy remarks, it’s yet another great 30-minute rock and roll session.

On “Live It Up”’s ear-bending riffs, Nobunny’s succumbs to the splashing sense of optimism: “Ain’t gonna waste my time, I’m gonna see the world…I’m gonna talk to that girl.” Nobunny has no problem switching from psycho-rockabilly to spunky garage rock in an instance and this might just be his best effort yet. Ironically, through all of his playful scenarios and anecdotes (even re-counting a moment [“I Was On (The Bozo Show)”] from his childhood where he shared the stage with Bozo the clown), First Blood is a roaring collection of uplifting pop/rock songs.

With a musician like Nobunny – one who has created a solid fanbase through nothing more than unusually appealing showmanship and simplified roots – the music always remains the focus. Here, the songs contain a tremendously catchy melody with a tight rhythm section and switchblade guitars. Nobunny’s goal is to have you shaking your hips for the entire ride and there’s no reason not to. “Gone For Good” rattles like some kind of Queens of the Stone Age-drive and “(Do the) Fuck Yourself” is just another example of Nobunny’s kooky comedy. As expletively ridiculous as it sounds, it is, and yet it’s something that you find yourself singing along with – inherently or not.

And it’s because of such relatable material that Nobunny is able to propel himself from some kind of recluse into a bona fide artist. The frenetic pulse of “Never Been Kissed” is the rockabilly side of Nobunny: singing and playing as fast as he can. Through the Jerry Lewis piano mash, he also has time to reflect, like on “Breathe.” A slow-rolling stomp that features an introspective look at Nobunny’s soft side, it’s no surprise that its presence is in the middle of the album. Like one of The Rolling Stones’ smoother ballads – arguably the longest song – it’s an entirely different side of Nobunny that showcases dimension and skilled musicianship.

Like previous cassettes – it should be noted that this is on a CD now – there were always the singular traits that prevailed in Nobunny’s music and First Blood is no different. If one could make a case for Nobunny it be himself, and his music does all of the talking. He sings about the little things in life – like going on burger runs – and attests that the whole is more than the sum of its parts. Look past the floppy-eared, battered and beaten mask and there is a marvelous garage rock musician.

Goner Records

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