News Analysis
Agenda
June 6, 2011
Link (subscription required)
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
John Maus - We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves
Album Reviews
SPIN
June 2011
Link
8/10
Mighty, Modest: Ariel Pink pal finds human blood in android veins
Before he attended CalArts, before he befriended Ariel Pink and Panda Bear, John Maus grew up in Spamtown, USA. This iconoclastic one-man synth-pop band's roots in canned-meat capital Austin, Minnesota, bear consideration when approaching his deconstructed DIY new wave. From chintzy keyboards to karaoke-style performances, Maus exaggerates the stereotypically artificial to tap into something real.
On his first album for Ribbon, Maus does more than stay true to his bros. Watery analog fidelity and reverb suggest chillwave, but only on the surface. With bleakly detached baritone, anxiety-ridden bass lines, and vintage electronics, Maus works more like a steampunk novelist, imagining a cityscape where the discarded technologies of the recent past shed light on the present. Or, as he puts it on "Quantum Leap": "Heart to heart, mind to mind, we are the ones who seem to travel through time."
Reminiscent of obscure electroclash grand-daddy John Foxx, these retro-futurist trappings allow Maus to be scandalously, absurdly, and sometimes movingly honest. Noncover "Cop Killer" out-incites Ice-T, though its surreal coldness is more Grand Theft Auto than South Central. Stormy "Matter of Fact" describes what "pussy" isn't and "Hey Moon" waxes wryly on lonely hearts like Magnetic Fields. Between the baroque church-organ breakdowns of "...and the rain," Maus insists, "Somebody tell the truth." On transcendent finale "Believer," he sets you free.
SPIN
June 2011
Link
8/10
Mighty, Modest: Ariel Pink pal finds human blood in android veins
Before he attended CalArts, before he befriended Ariel Pink and Panda Bear, John Maus grew up in Spamtown, USA. This iconoclastic one-man synth-pop band's roots in canned-meat capital Austin, Minnesota, bear consideration when approaching his deconstructed DIY new wave. From chintzy keyboards to karaoke-style performances, Maus exaggerates the stereotypically artificial to tap into something real.
On his first album for Ribbon, Maus does more than stay true to his bros. Watery analog fidelity and reverb suggest chillwave, but only on the surface. With bleakly detached baritone, anxiety-ridden bass lines, and vintage electronics, Maus works more like a steampunk novelist, imagining a cityscape where the discarded technologies of the recent past shed light on the present. Or, as he puts it on "Quantum Leap": "Heart to heart, mind to mind, we are the ones who seem to travel through time."
Reminiscent of obscure electroclash grand-daddy John Foxx, these retro-futurist trappings allow Maus to be scandalously, absurdly, and sometimes movingly honest. Noncover "Cop Killer" out-incites Ice-T, though its surreal coldness is more Grand Theft Auto than South Central. Stormy "Matter of Fact" describes what "pussy" isn't and "Hey Moon" waxes wryly on lonely hearts like Magnetic Fields. Between the baroque church-organ breakdowns of "...and the rain," Maus insists, "Somebody tell the truth." On transcendent finale "Believer," he sets you free.
Various Artists - Rave on Buddy Holly
Album Reviews
SPIN
June 2011
Link
8/10
They don't sound much like him and that's okay
Rock'n'roll pioneer Buddy Holly was no stodgy purist, an idea the best of this all-star tribute adopts gracefully. Florence and the Machine's slinky, horn-spiced "Not Fade Away" seduces, Kid Rock's retro-soul "Well All Right" grooves brawnily, Justin Townes Earle's blue-collar "Maybe Baby" rollicks, and Lou Reed's psyched-out "Peggy Sue" floats downstream through orchestral fuzz. Modest Mouse's "That'll Be the Day" goes a twitch too far, but then there's Cee Lo Green ebulliently belting out "(You're So Square) Baby, I Don't Care," which is so good it'll give you hiccups.
SPIN
June 2011
Link
8/10
They don't sound much like him and that's okay
Rock'n'roll pioneer Buddy Holly was no stodgy purist, an idea the best of this all-star tribute adopts gracefully. Florence and the Machine's slinky, horn-spiced "Not Fade Away" seduces, Kid Rock's retro-soul "Well All Right" grooves brawnily, Justin Townes Earle's blue-collar "Maybe Baby" rollicks, and Lou Reed's psyched-out "Peggy Sue" floats downstream through orchestral fuzz. Modest Mouse's "That'll Be the Day" goes a twitch too far, but then there's Cee Lo Green ebulliently belting out "(You're So Square) Baby, I Don't Care," which is so good it'll give you hiccups.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
The Coathangers - Larceny & Old Lace
Album Review
Pitchfork
June 7, 2011
Link
7.6
When the Coathangers formed five years ago, as something of a party joke, the band's four members had little musical education to speak of. But they're no joke now, having since released a pair of riotous albums, plus about a half-dozen trashy, cheeky, shrieking 7" singles. They're also grizzled road warriors, headlining bars from Fargo, N.D., to Allston, Mass., in between supporting gigs with the likes of the Thermals, Mika Miko, and These Arms Are Snakes.
Somewhere in all that, the Coathangers must've learned how to play. Larceny & Old Lace, the quartet's third album and second for Seattle-based Suicide Squeeze, carries over the chaotically hooky vitality of their previous records. But here, they've added more varied songwriting, (relatively) tighter instrumentation, and-- for the first time-- a real studio, the Living Room in Atlanta, where the band reunited with producer Ed Rawls (Deerhunter, Black Lips, Zoroaster). Named after a Mickey Rooney-guesting "Golden Girls" episode that was itself named after playwright Joseph Kesselring's screwball comedy Arsenic and Old Lace, the Coathangers' latest finds a notorious must-see live band finally capturing some of the energy of its shows on record.
Just because the Coathangers are taking their game more seriously doesn't mean it isn't still a game. With all four members trading off idiosyncratic vocals-- ranging from guitarist Julia Kugel's Victoria Jackson chirp to drummer Stephanie Luke's full-throated roar-- there's still plenty of jagged, playful aggression, whether that involves damning the titular jerk of "Johnny" over gloomy post-punk or tearing off faces between stabbing guitar and whirligig keyboard on "Chicken: 30". But the Coathangers now pay more attention to detail, starting with first single "Hurricane", which veers from raspy shouts and brittle guitar riffs to zombie-apocalypse cheerleader chants and ominous whispers shaded by clacking drumsticks. They also try on more styles: Where "Call to Nothing" pledges ill-fated devotion through scratchy guitar and heavy bass recalling the Slits, "Well Alright" rides a demented roadhouse blues and "My Baby" slows down to a loping love groove-- for stalkers. These might not be the furthest-out ideas, but they're new for the Coathangers, and they're executed with badass charisma.
Still, from the band behind such shrill yawps as "Don't Touch My Shit" and "Gettin' Mad and Pumpin' Iron", there's no bigger left turn than a soft, sentimental ballad. "Tabbacco Rd." sees the Coathangers making the shift with surprising ease, poignantly following a relationship from its first Tom Collins to the wedding chapel, and finally to the last goodbye. Speaking of goodbyes, the kitschy-scary keyboard and cathartic howls of "Jaybird" make it a fine memorial even if you don't recognize the lyrical reference to the Coathangers' former tourmate, the late Jay Reatard. Most impressive of all, though, and a should-be single, is "Go Away", a perfectly structured midtempo rocker that turns the tables on every dude who ever sang a whiny song about wanting to be more than just friends. It may have started as a simple gag-- "Hey, I like you/ Go away"-- but it's as serious as you want it to be.
Pitchfork
June 7, 2011
Link
7.6
When the Coathangers formed five years ago, as something of a party joke, the band's four members had little musical education to speak of. But they're no joke now, having since released a pair of riotous albums, plus about a half-dozen trashy, cheeky, shrieking 7" singles. They're also grizzled road warriors, headlining bars from Fargo, N.D., to Allston, Mass., in between supporting gigs with the likes of the Thermals, Mika Miko, and These Arms Are Snakes.
Somewhere in all that, the Coathangers must've learned how to play. Larceny & Old Lace, the quartet's third album and second for Seattle-based Suicide Squeeze, carries over the chaotically hooky vitality of their previous records. But here, they've added more varied songwriting, (relatively) tighter instrumentation, and-- for the first time-- a real studio, the Living Room in Atlanta, where the band reunited with producer Ed Rawls (Deerhunter, Black Lips, Zoroaster). Named after a Mickey Rooney-guesting "Golden Girls" episode that was itself named after playwright Joseph Kesselring's screwball comedy Arsenic and Old Lace, the Coathangers' latest finds a notorious must-see live band finally capturing some of the energy of its shows on record.
Just because the Coathangers are taking their game more seriously doesn't mean it isn't still a game. With all four members trading off idiosyncratic vocals-- ranging from guitarist Julia Kugel's Victoria Jackson chirp to drummer Stephanie Luke's full-throated roar-- there's still plenty of jagged, playful aggression, whether that involves damning the titular jerk of "Johnny" over gloomy post-punk or tearing off faces between stabbing guitar and whirligig keyboard on "Chicken: 30". But the Coathangers now pay more attention to detail, starting with first single "Hurricane", which veers from raspy shouts and brittle guitar riffs to zombie-apocalypse cheerleader chants and ominous whispers shaded by clacking drumsticks. They also try on more styles: Where "Call to Nothing" pledges ill-fated devotion through scratchy guitar and heavy bass recalling the Slits, "Well Alright" rides a demented roadhouse blues and "My Baby" slows down to a loping love groove-- for stalkers. These might not be the furthest-out ideas, but they're new for the Coathangers, and they're executed with badass charisma.
Still, from the band behind such shrill yawps as "Don't Touch My Shit" and "Gettin' Mad and Pumpin' Iron", there's no bigger left turn than a soft, sentimental ballad. "Tabbacco Rd." sees the Coathangers making the shift with surprising ease, poignantly following a relationship from its first Tom Collins to the wedding chapel, and finally to the last goodbye. Speaking of goodbyes, the kitschy-scary keyboard and cathartic howls of "Jaybird" make it a fine memorial even if you don't recognize the lyrical reference to the Coathangers' former tourmate, the late Jay Reatard. Most impressive of all, though, and a should-be single, is "Go Away", a perfectly structured midtempo rocker that turns the tables on every dude who ever sang a whiny song about wanting to be more than just friends. It may have started as a simple gag-- "Hey, I like you/ Go away"-- but it's as serious as you want it to be.
Marissa Nadler - Marissa Nadler
Album Reviews
SPIN
June 2011
Link
7/10
Eerie hymns that won't leave you in the morning
This New England painter turned songstress has distinguished herself from other neo-folkies with dark gothic imagery and hypnotic, reverbed arrangements, but the refined results often have felt too coolly distant. Nadler's fifth album benefits from a newfound directness. Over acoustic fingerpicking, splashing cymbals, and languidly twanging steel guitar, Nadler inhabits her strongest set of songs yet, pining in a barely adorned soprano for both lost loves and a conjoined twin ("Daisy, Where Did You Go?"). Despite casting herself as an "Alabaster Queen," Nadler exudes vitality.
SPIN
June 2011
Link
7/10
Eerie hymns that won't leave you in the morning
This New England painter turned songstress has distinguished herself from other neo-folkies with dark gothic imagery and hypnotic, reverbed arrangements, but the refined results often have felt too coolly distant. Nadler's fifth album benefits from a newfound directness. Over acoustic fingerpicking, splashing cymbals, and languidly twanging steel guitar, Nadler inhabits her strongest set of songs yet, pining in a barely adorned soprano for both lost loves and a conjoined twin ("Daisy, Where Did You Go?"). Despite casting herself as an "Alabaster Queen," Nadler exudes vitality.
The Vaccines - What Did You Expect From the Vaccines?
Album Review
Pitchfork
May 31, 2011
Link
6.2
Late last summer, months before the Vaccines had gone on to grace the front of the NME above a cover line heralding "The Return of the Great British Guitar Band," the magazine's website was already reporting concerns about the London band getting over-hyped. After the feverish debate that quickly ensued in the UK music press, such talk has come to sound like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Among the Vaccines' detractors, meanwhile, hardly a review deadline goes by without some pun on the quartet's debut album title, What Did You Expect From the Vaccines?
The Vaccines, much to their credit, are savvier about expectations than their champions and critics alike. Led by singer Justin Young, who previously played indie-folk under the name Jay Jay Pistolet, and guitarist Freddie Cowan, whose older brother is in the Horrors, these guys know firsthand how hype can be a double-edged sword-- one that has already propelled their meat-and-potatoes pub rock near the top of the UK album charts, to uncertain impact on their long-term reputations. The real joke of the album title, after all, is that it raises the same question the band posed of "Post Break-Up Sex" on their bombastic, pleasant-enough second single.
The answer, on that song, is that we should expect a chance to forget our past loves for a little while, followed by a sense of overwhelming guilt. For better or worse, there's nothing here that warrants either such reaction, let alone the paroxysms of hyperbole going on in the British press. Sure, the band's buzzing guitars, thick reverb, and bouncy rhythms lack any particular spark of originality that might help listeners avoid compulsively thinking of names like Ramones, the Jesus and Mary Chain, or, yes, the Strokes. Then again, there's no shame in catchy, concise, sharply executed tunes that communicate mildly fresh takes on relationships, either-- and this album has more than a few.
The Vaccines are at their best when they're upbeat, flecked with surf, and surprisingly hard to get out of your head. Take "If You Wanna", which bops likably along like a somewhat higher-fidelity Best Coast as Young warbles about an ex he'd take back in a second, or "Nørgaard", a playfully loutish ode to a Danish model. But there's also "Blow It Up", which borrows from the Beatles' "I Should Have Known Better" a little too blatantly to enjoy in its own right. "Under Your Thumb", for its part, appears to take critic Ellen Willis's argument that the Rolling Stones' similarly titled tirade actually isn't sexist as a challenge to write a song about a man completely submitting to his (presumably, female-- name's Eleanor, anyway) lover.
It's easy enough to imagine the Vaccines' slower songs going over well with an outdoor crowd drunk on sun and beer. Previous NME favorites Glasvegas already have the "swooning anthems with girl-group beats" thing pretty much covered, but the Vaccines do it here twice: over droning organ on "Wetsuit", which again recalls the U.S. beach-pop crowd, and then another time on the dreary "All in White", which occupies much the same U2-echoing expanse as lesser bands the Temper Trap or White Lies. The most awkward moment is slo-mo finale "Family Friend", which builds to an embarrassingly neutered wall-of-noise crescendo. In a final possible reference to Best Coast, Wavves, and their stoned sunshine set, Young wonders aloud if everybody really feels "as high as a kite": "Well, I don't really know if they do, but they might." An old "MADtv" sketch comes to mind: "Lowered Expectations".
Pitchfork
May 31, 2011
Link
6.2
Late last summer, months before the Vaccines had gone on to grace the front of the NME above a cover line heralding "The Return of the Great British Guitar Band," the magazine's website was already reporting concerns about the London band getting over-hyped. After the feverish debate that quickly ensued in the UK music press, such talk has come to sound like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Among the Vaccines' detractors, meanwhile, hardly a review deadline goes by without some pun on the quartet's debut album title, What Did You Expect From the Vaccines?
The Vaccines, much to their credit, are savvier about expectations than their champions and critics alike. Led by singer Justin Young, who previously played indie-folk under the name Jay Jay Pistolet, and guitarist Freddie Cowan, whose older brother is in the Horrors, these guys know firsthand how hype can be a double-edged sword-- one that has already propelled their meat-and-potatoes pub rock near the top of the UK album charts, to uncertain impact on their long-term reputations. The real joke of the album title, after all, is that it raises the same question the band posed of "Post Break-Up Sex" on their bombastic, pleasant-enough second single.
The answer, on that song, is that we should expect a chance to forget our past loves for a little while, followed by a sense of overwhelming guilt. For better or worse, there's nothing here that warrants either such reaction, let alone the paroxysms of hyperbole going on in the British press. Sure, the band's buzzing guitars, thick reverb, and bouncy rhythms lack any particular spark of originality that might help listeners avoid compulsively thinking of names like Ramones, the Jesus and Mary Chain, or, yes, the Strokes. Then again, there's no shame in catchy, concise, sharply executed tunes that communicate mildly fresh takes on relationships, either-- and this album has more than a few.
The Vaccines are at their best when they're upbeat, flecked with surf, and surprisingly hard to get out of your head. Take "If You Wanna", which bops likably along like a somewhat higher-fidelity Best Coast as Young warbles about an ex he'd take back in a second, or "Nørgaard", a playfully loutish ode to a Danish model. But there's also "Blow It Up", which borrows from the Beatles' "I Should Have Known Better" a little too blatantly to enjoy in its own right. "Under Your Thumb", for its part, appears to take critic Ellen Willis's argument that the Rolling Stones' similarly titled tirade actually isn't sexist as a challenge to write a song about a man completely submitting to his (presumably, female-- name's Eleanor, anyway) lover.
It's easy enough to imagine the Vaccines' slower songs going over well with an outdoor crowd drunk on sun and beer. Previous NME favorites Glasvegas already have the "swooning anthems with girl-group beats" thing pretty much covered, but the Vaccines do it here twice: over droning organ on "Wetsuit", which again recalls the U.S. beach-pop crowd, and then another time on the dreary "All in White", which occupies much the same U2-echoing expanse as lesser bands the Temper Trap or White Lies. The most awkward moment is slo-mo finale "Family Friend", which builds to an embarrassingly neutered wall-of-noise crescendo. In a final possible reference to Best Coast, Wavves, and their stoned sunshine set, Young wonders aloud if everybody really feels "as high as a kite": "Well, I don't really know if they do, but they might." An old "MADtv" sketch comes to mind: "Lowered Expectations".
Blue Sky Black Death - Noir
Album Review
Pitchfork
May 24, 2011
Link
7.5
Blue Sky Black Death may want to do without guest vocalists for a little while. West Coast producers Kingston and Young God teamed up with a different low-key singer on each of their last couple of albums, but the real allure was still in the duo's layered, expansive instrumentals. Then there was the drama a few years back over Jean Grae team-up The Evil Jeanius; the New York MC went on Craigslist and MySpace to protest the "unauthorized" use of her rhymes (she said it wasn't the beat-makers' fault). BSBD have collaborated with plenty of other indie rappers, most recently including tourmates CunninLynguists, but their latest album suggests they can acquit themselves just fine on their own.
As Clams Casino's first beat tape earlier this year demonstrated, some of the best rap instrumentals these days can work equally well as moody electronic music, drifting naturally between the worlds of hip-hop or R&B and ambient, post-dubstep, or chillwave. Noir has a similar way of wringing strangely affecting emotional grandeur from the rudiments of sound, though BSBD's style relies less on glitch or drone and more on starry-eyed orchestral vastness. Using an impressively naunced deployment of strings, piano, and guitar as well as drum loops and hazy synths, the album has a patient, steady beauty, ranging from glowing panoramas evoking M83 to the classical-informed abstraction of Anticon acts like Dosh and Son Lux.
The duo's acronym is apparently skydiver slang, popularized in the 1994 thriller Drop Zone. It implies, "Sure, appreciate the majesty of nature all you want, but if something goes wrong you'll leave a grisly corpse." If Noir can't quite fully embody that essential paradox-- it's not particularly noir-ish, either-- it still succeeds in communicating incomprehensible hugeness through sonically detailed tracks with an almost narrative-like structure. There are several standouts, but a good place to start is "Sleeping Children Are Still Flying", which uses a humid Southern-rock guitar solo and languidly triumphant drum programming to support a string section, a children's choir, and a snippet of dialogue from classic 1986 coming-of-age drama Stand By Me: River Phoenix is talking about dreams, and missed chances. While the kids and the symphonic elements would have no trouble fitting in on an indie pop beach fantasy by Air France, those blues-drenched licks could just as easily soundtrack one of the Weeknd's dangerous liaisons.
Noir isn't completely instrumental, then, and in fact uses sung samples as well as the spoken-word variety. But the strongest voice here is BSBD's own-- wide-screen and Technicolor, to mix sensory metaphors. An aching soul vocal from Solomon Burke's "Don't Give Up on Me" is secondary to a sighing, silvery arrangement and pulsing bass on brief interlude "Falling Short"; Dusty Springfield's version of "The Windmills of Your Mind" complements the hypnotic repetitions and emotional anguish of "Farewell to the Former World", which despite its melancholy theme has a snare-heavy rhythm track fit for blasting through car windows on hot days. Or for rapping over: Three years after BSBD's last proper instrumental album, Babygrande release Late Night Cinema, Noir again proves the duo don't need singers or rappers to make their music felt. But that doesn't mean an aspiring MC or two might not be able to make use of their services anyway.
Pitchfork
May 24, 2011
Link
7.5
Blue Sky Black Death may want to do without guest vocalists for a little while. West Coast producers Kingston and Young God teamed up with a different low-key singer on each of their last couple of albums, but the real allure was still in the duo's layered, expansive instrumentals. Then there was the drama a few years back over Jean Grae team-up The Evil Jeanius; the New York MC went on Craigslist and MySpace to protest the "unauthorized" use of her rhymes (she said it wasn't the beat-makers' fault). BSBD have collaborated with plenty of other indie rappers, most recently including tourmates CunninLynguists, but their latest album suggests they can acquit themselves just fine on their own.
As Clams Casino's first beat tape earlier this year demonstrated, some of the best rap instrumentals these days can work equally well as moody electronic music, drifting naturally between the worlds of hip-hop or R&B and ambient, post-dubstep, or chillwave. Noir has a similar way of wringing strangely affecting emotional grandeur from the rudiments of sound, though BSBD's style relies less on glitch or drone and more on starry-eyed orchestral vastness. Using an impressively naunced deployment of strings, piano, and guitar as well as drum loops and hazy synths, the album has a patient, steady beauty, ranging from glowing panoramas evoking M83 to the classical-informed abstraction of Anticon acts like Dosh and Son Lux.
The duo's acronym is apparently skydiver slang, popularized in the 1994 thriller Drop Zone. It implies, "Sure, appreciate the majesty of nature all you want, but if something goes wrong you'll leave a grisly corpse." If Noir can't quite fully embody that essential paradox-- it's not particularly noir-ish, either-- it still succeeds in communicating incomprehensible hugeness through sonically detailed tracks with an almost narrative-like structure. There are several standouts, but a good place to start is "Sleeping Children Are Still Flying", which uses a humid Southern-rock guitar solo and languidly triumphant drum programming to support a string section, a children's choir, and a snippet of dialogue from classic 1986 coming-of-age drama Stand By Me: River Phoenix is talking about dreams, and missed chances. While the kids and the symphonic elements would have no trouble fitting in on an indie pop beach fantasy by Air France, those blues-drenched licks could just as easily soundtrack one of the Weeknd's dangerous liaisons.
Noir isn't completely instrumental, then, and in fact uses sung samples as well as the spoken-word variety. But the strongest voice here is BSBD's own-- wide-screen and Technicolor, to mix sensory metaphors. An aching soul vocal from Solomon Burke's "Don't Give Up on Me" is secondary to a sighing, silvery arrangement and pulsing bass on brief interlude "Falling Short"; Dusty Springfield's version of "The Windmills of Your Mind" complements the hypnotic repetitions and emotional anguish of "Farewell to the Former World", which despite its melancholy theme has a snare-heavy rhythm track fit for blasting through car windows on hot days. Or for rapping over: Three years after BSBD's last proper instrumental album, Babygrande release Late Night Cinema, Noir again proves the duo don't need singers or rappers to make their music felt. But that doesn't mean an aspiring MC or two might not be able to make use of their services anyway.
Music Critics Pick the Last Song They Want to Hear Before They Die
Feature
Flavorwire
May 20, 2011
Link
Gladys Knight & the Pips — “Midnight Train to Georgia”
I figure if I’m going to be dead anyway, I’m not going to remember what I listened to for my sonic last meal, so I might as well just pick a song I really like. I have “Midnight Train to Georgia” on a musty 45 I bought on a corner back in my old neighborhood in Brooklyn, and it always just sounds great. And if I have to go… wherever we go… who better to urge me on my way than passionate, passionate Gladys and her guardian-angel Pips? Alternate selection: Any version of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine.” (California Raisins not included.)
Flavorwire
May 20, 2011
Link
Gladys Knight & the Pips — “Midnight Train to Georgia”
I figure if I’m going to be dead anyway, I’m not going to remember what I listened to for my sonic last meal, so I might as well just pick a song I really like. I have “Midnight Train to Georgia” on a musty 45 I bought on a corner back in my old neighborhood in Brooklyn, and it always just sounds great. And if I have to go… wherever we go… who better to urge me on my way than passionate, passionate Gladys and her guardian-angel Pips? Alternate selection: Any version of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine.” (California Raisins not included.)
Sonny & the Sunsets - Hit After Hit
Album Review
eMusic
April 2011Link
Truth in advertising, and they just might stop to check you out
"Girls, don't despair, 'cause soon, I'll be there," Sonny Smith sighs almost exactly halfway through Hit After Hit. It's an apt midpoint for the San Francisco singer-songwriter's second casually stunning album with his band, the Sunsets. Filtering non-specific 1950s and 60s beach-party rock 'n' roll through the so-hip-they're-square minimalism of Jonathan Richman, early B-52s or Violent Femmes, these 11 tracks artfully plumb the teenage libido submerged just below every movie sock hop ever.
Though Hit After Hit lacks an obvious standout like last year's "Too Young to Burn," it lives up to its title with a cadre of songs that operate at nearly that same high level. There are songs about girls who are confusing ("She Plays Yoyo With My Mind"), girls who leave with some other dude ("Don't Act Dumb"), girls from the past ("Reflections on Youth"), girls who are up for a one-night stand ("Heart of Sadness"), and the scary tough guys who may be competition for girls ("Teenage Thugs"). Whether a heart-tugging ballad ("Pretend You Love Me") or a stormy instrumental ("The Bad Energy From L.A. Is Killing Me"), Sonny & the Sunsets nail it all with wry charm, never schmaltz or coldness. "I wanna do it," goes the hook from the first single. Girls' response: "Oh, yeah."
courtesy of eMusic.com, Inc., © 2011 eMusic.com
eMusic
April 2011Link
Truth in advertising, and they just might stop to check you out
"Girls, don't despair, 'cause soon, I'll be there," Sonny Smith sighs almost exactly halfway through Hit After Hit. It's an apt midpoint for the San Francisco singer-songwriter's second casually stunning album with his band, the Sunsets. Filtering non-specific 1950s and 60s beach-party rock 'n' roll through the so-hip-they're-square minimalism of Jonathan Richman, early B-52s or Violent Femmes, these 11 tracks artfully plumb the teenage libido submerged just below every movie sock hop ever.
Though Hit After Hit lacks an obvious standout like last year's "Too Young to Burn," it lives up to its title with a cadre of songs that operate at nearly that same high level. There are songs about girls who are confusing ("She Plays Yoyo With My Mind"), girls who leave with some other dude ("Don't Act Dumb"), girls from the past ("Reflections on Youth"), girls who are up for a one-night stand ("Heart of Sadness"), and the scary tough guys who may be competition for girls ("Teenage Thugs"). Whether a heart-tugging ballad ("Pretend You Love Me") or a stormy instrumental ("The Bad Energy From L.A. Is Killing Me"), Sonny & the Sunsets nail it all with wry charm, never schmaltz or coldness. "I wanna do it," goes the hook from the first single. Girls' response: "Oh, yeah."
courtesy of eMusic.com, Inc., © 2011 eMusic.com
Lenka - Two
Album Review
eMusic
April 2011
Cutely catchy Aussie finds love, doubles her fun
For pop songwriter Lenka Kripac, former singer and keyboardist with Sydney post-rock band Decoder Ring, good things really do come in pairs. On her second solo album, the recently-engaged Brooklyn resident savors couplehood, with enough sweetly hooky tunes to please fans of Kate Nash, Regina Spektor or even Adele.
Not that Two is just a lovey-dovey rehash of Lenka's self-titled debut. That album's big song was "The Show," a Broadway-ready production that compared life to a performance. By contrast, first Two single "Heart Skips a Beat" uses robotic vocal shadings to wrestle with a new love's anxieties. Lenka's latest not only ditches its predecessor's mild melancholy, it also sheds most of its theatricality, embracing electronics like a beaming fiancé. If Lenka was meant for the stage, Two feels like it was meant for the radio.
Lenka's Australian-accented voice still chirps winsomely over jaunty ivories, and sometimes the strings do stretch toward Phil Spector's Wall of Sound. But the production team here — which includes guys who've overseen albums for Bat for Lashes and Björk — rarely shies away from sleekly emotive electro-pop. Take late-album highlight "You Will Be Mine," harp-inflected Eurodance halfway between Saint Etienne and Britney Spears. For sure, Lenka's lyrics have little on her countrymen — and past collaborators — Darren Hanlon or the Lucksmiths. And she's hardly breaking new ground. As bubblegum-tinted pop goes, though, Two is pure Doublemint.
courtesy of eMusic.com, Inc., © 2011 eMusic.com
eMusic
April 2011
Cutely catchy Aussie finds love, doubles her fun
For pop songwriter Lenka Kripac, former singer and keyboardist with Sydney post-rock band Decoder Ring, good things really do come in pairs. On her second solo album, the recently-engaged Brooklyn resident savors couplehood, with enough sweetly hooky tunes to please fans of Kate Nash, Regina Spektor or even Adele.
Not that Two is just a lovey-dovey rehash of Lenka's self-titled debut. That album's big song was "The Show," a Broadway-ready production that compared life to a performance. By contrast, first Two single "Heart Skips a Beat" uses robotic vocal shadings to wrestle with a new love's anxieties. Lenka's latest not only ditches its predecessor's mild melancholy, it also sheds most of its theatricality, embracing electronics like a beaming fiancé. If Lenka was meant for the stage, Two feels like it was meant for the radio.
Lenka's Australian-accented voice still chirps winsomely over jaunty ivories, and sometimes the strings do stretch toward Phil Spector's Wall of Sound. But the production team here — which includes guys who've overseen albums for Bat for Lashes and Björk — rarely shies away from sleekly emotive electro-pop. Take late-album highlight "You Will Be Mine," harp-inflected Eurodance halfway between Saint Etienne and Britney Spears. For sure, Lenka's lyrics have little on her countrymen — and past collaborators — Darren Hanlon or the Lucksmiths. And she's hardly breaking new ground. As bubblegum-tinted pop goes, though, Two is pure Doublemint.
courtesy of eMusic.com, Inc., © 2011 eMusic.com
Rise of No-Loads Highlights Distribution Shift: Study
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Ignites
May 31, 2011
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May 31, 2011
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Industry Profit Margins Rebound in 2010
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May 9, 2011
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May 9, 2011
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Ernst & Young Absorbs PGI; HSN Overrides Shareholders
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May 31, 2011
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May 31, 2011
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Chevron, Exxon Hear From Investors on 'Fracking'
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May 31, 2011
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China's Workforce to Shrink, Deutsche Bank Warns
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May 31, 2011
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U.S. Reliance on Internal Probes Raises Fraud-Fighting Stakes
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May 31, 2011
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Big Fund Companies Are Saying ‘Yes’ on Pay
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May 23, 2011
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Directors Should Thank Dodd-Frank: Column
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May 23, 2011
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Fair-Value Guidance Anticipates Convergence
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CEO Turnover Falls as Governance Trends Solidify: Study
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What to Ask IT Providers About GRC Systems
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Rising CEO Pay Masks Shift Toward Performance
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Bixby Shake-Up Shows Risk Extends to Boardroom
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More Boards Using Video to Hold Meetings
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Tuesday, May 3, 2011
I'm From Barcelona - Forever Today
Album Review
Pitchfork
May 2, 2011
Link
6.1
One of the guys in I'm From Barcelona's latest video is wearing an A Place to Bury Strangers T-shirt. To anyone familiar with either the sunny Swedish collective or the gnashing Brooklyn pedal-mongers, this juxtaposition ought to be a little strange, maybe even funny. Sure, A Place to Bury Strangers issued their bleakly pummeling debut the same summer Emanuel Lundgren and his beaming band of Swedes were charming the crowds at their first-ever Lollapalooza, which proves-- actually, it proves absolutely nothing. But just making the comparison underscores how much has changed since 2007.
I'm From Barcelona, to their credit, have tried to change, too-- no easy task for a group peaking at 29 members. On the probably inevitable sophomore slump, Who Killed Harry Houdini?, they added nuance, melancholy, and an orchestral-pop epic finale that begins with a "giant silver labrador" and ends with Lundgren achingly insisting, "In my heart, I'm still a kid." Limited to 200 vinyl-only copies, 2010 triple-LP 27 Songs From Barcelona flipped the group's communal script on its head, giving each band member a song to sing solo, resulting in a wider variety of styles.
The band's third proper album, their second for the storied Mute label, generally shines with much the same chorus-of-your-pals friendliness as the debut. If you didn't like I'm From Barcelona when they first introduced themselves, probably no use catching up with them now. For listeners who saw in the group's Broadway-sized tweeness a way to convey indie pop's intimacy on a massive sing-along scale-- to teach the world to sing "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding" in perfect social-democratic harmony-- well, there's good news and there's bad news.
Taken on its own terms, Forever Today offers plenty of upbeat, jingle-ready tunes with universal themes and a now 27-member band's worth of voices, handclaps, strings, horns, guitars, keyboards, bass, and so on; think Ra Ra Riot with some extra Swedish polish. The album grooves a bit more than before, particularly on the synth-poppy first single "Get in Line" (paradoxically, a sing-along about anti-conformity) and the "Heart of Glass"-shuffling "Skipping a Beat". And there's more insight into the music that makes these guys tick: a song that lists off different types of birds is named after maybe the greatest Bird of them all, "Charlie Parker", while "Dr. Landy" frets to a shrink about how Rubber Soul and "Be My Baby" changed the narrator's life. In a festival context, with such an unusual group (the Polyphonic Spree and Danielson are both different; so's Broken Social Scene), this stuff should still be enough to turn a few heads.
What's ultimately confounding about the album is how one-note its euphoria can be. The songs are almost interchangeable; the lyrics rarely stray beyond the easy cliché ("You gotta stay true to your heart" may be nice advice, but it's dull). Worse, I'm From Barcelona appear to be subtly shifting from artists who illuminate the problems of growing up by using childhood as a metaphor to artists who sing songs that might be best loved by, well, children. Then there's the fact that where I'm From Barcelona, the Boy Least Likely To, and others typically emphasize cuteness and sing about a protracted childhood, some of the most compelling voices on deferred adulthood in recent years have sampled hazily remembered 1980s pop and sung about a sort of protracted adolescence. But evolving trends aren't really the problem here: Younger acts like Cults, for one, definitely haven't been shy about brandishing their glockenspiels. "Do what you do, and do it all the way," sing I'm from Barcelona on Forever Today's closing title track. Again, a pretty good recommendation, but sometimes it still won't be quite enough to please everybody.
Pitchfork
May 2, 2011
Link
6.1
One of the guys in I'm From Barcelona's latest video is wearing an A Place to Bury Strangers T-shirt. To anyone familiar with either the sunny Swedish collective or the gnashing Brooklyn pedal-mongers, this juxtaposition ought to be a little strange, maybe even funny. Sure, A Place to Bury Strangers issued their bleakly pummeling debut the same summer Emanuel Lundgren and his beaming band of Swedes were charming the crowds at their first-ever Lollapalooza, which proves-- actually, it proves absolutely nothing. But just making the comparison underscores how much has changed since 2007.
I'm From Barcelona, to their credit, have tried to change, too-- no easy task for a group peaking at 29 members. On the probably inevitable sophomore slump, Who Killed Harry Houdini?, they added nuance, melancholy, and an orchestral-pop epic finale that begins with a "giant silver labrador" and ends with Lundgren achingly insisting, "In my heart, I'm still a kid." Limited to 200 vinyl-only copies, 2010 triple-LP 27 Songs From Barcelona flipped the group's communal script on its head, giving each band member a song to sing solo, resulting in a wider variety of styles.
The band's third proper album, their second for the storied Mute label, generally shines with much the same chorus-of-your-pals friendliness as the debut. If you didn't like I'm From Barcelona when they first introduced themselves, probably no use catching up with them now. For listeners who saw in the group's Broadway-sized tweeness a way to convey indie pop's intimacy on a massive sing-along scale-- to teach the world to sing "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding" in perfect social-democratic harmony-- well, there's good news and there's bad news.
Taken on its own terms, Forever Today offers plenty of upbeat, jingle-ready tunes with universal themes and a now 27-member band's worth of voices, handclaps, strings, horns, guitars, keyboards, bass, and so on; think Ra Ra Riot with some extra Swedish polish. The album grooves a bit more than before, particularly on the synth-poppy first single "Get in Line" (paradoxically, a sing-along about anti-conformity) and the "Heart of Glass"-shuffling "Skipping a Beat". And there's more insight into the music that makes these guys tick: a song that lists off different types of birds is named after maybe the greatest Bird of them all, "Charlie Parker", while "Dr. Landy" frets to a shrink about how Rubber Soul and "Be My Baby" changed the narrator's life. In a festival context, with such an unusual group (the Polyphonic Spree and Danielson are both different; so's Broken Social Scene), this stuff should still be enough to turn a few heads.
What's ultimately confounding about the album is how one-note its euphoria can be. The songs are almost interchangeable; the lyrics rarely stray beyond the easy cliché ("You gotta stay true to your heart" may be nice advice, but it's dull). Worse, I'm From Barcelona appear to be subtly shifting from artists who illuminate the problems of growing up by using childhood as a metaphor to artists who sing songs that might be best loved by, well, children. Then there's the fact that where I'm From Barcelona, the Boy Least Likely To, and others typically emphasize cuteness and sing about a protracted childhood, some of the most compelling voices on deferred adulthood in recent years have sampled hazily remembered 1980s pop and sung about a sort of protracted adolescence. But evolving trends aren't really the problem here: Younger acts like Cults, for one, definitely haven't been shy about brandishing their glockenspiels. "Do what you do, and do it all the way," sing I'm from Barcelona on Forever Today's closing title track. Again, a pretty good recommendation, but sometimes it still won't be quite enough to please everybody.
What Boards Are Talking About Now: Cyber Risk
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April 25, 2011
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Thursday, April 21, 2011
Various Artists - Benefit for the Recovery in Japan
Album Review
Pitchfork
April 21, 2011
Link
7.7
On March 11, a devastating earthquake and tsunami hit Japan, killing at least 13,000 people and spawning an ongoing nuclear crisis. In the month-plus since that tragedy, musicians worldwide have been trying to help. Along with benefit concerts, charity auctions, and other fundraisers, the music world's Japanese relief efforts have also included a few compilation albums, including the classical-oriented Classics for Japan - Music for Healing and hit-parading Songs for Japan.
Benefit for the Recovery in Japan is a different kind of benefit compilation. Clocking in at nearly five hours, this sprawling 64-track set sees no contradiction between disaster relief and musical adventurousness. Credit Antiopic label co-heads David Daniell and James Elliott, experimental electronic musicians who picked the album's tracks with help from Regina Greene (whose Front Porch Productions books shows for many of these artists), fellow electronic experimentalist Greg Davis, and Thrill Jockey founder Bettina Richards. Their choices span ambient drone, fleet-fingered folk, and leftfield rock, with an artist lineup that should have many a music nerd drooling on their tattered back issues of The Wire.
Every cent of the $15 you spend on Benefit will go to Civic Force, a Japanese nonprofit emergency responder, so the cause is clearly worthy. At less than a quarter per track, this mp3-only album offers pretty good value for the money, too, and if you're skeptical you can stream the whole thing. As for musical enjoyment, I definitely don't recommend trying to digest it all in one sitting, and the collection sometimes lapses toward seemingly aimless minimalist exercises more likely to please formally educated musicians than typical music listeners. But if you're looking for a thoughtfully conceived survey of the avant-garde underground, please, look no further.
A somber electroacoustic instrumental from Austrian composer/producer Christian Fennesz opens the compilation, which gives you a pretty good indication of what's to follow. These are thickly textured tracks, sometimes orchestral in scale, which often achieve their emotional effects more through their incredibly detailed sonic palettes than through anything you can transcribe in a songbook. It's a lot to take in, but give it time and the best part about this release is how it allows you to stumble into so many different, miniature sonic worlds, one after the other: the hypnotically layered vocals and bass-heavy pulse of School of Seven Bells, the barely there piano and whispery singing of Grouper, the heavily fucked-with 1980s soft-rock vibes of Matthewdavid, the squalling lushness of Lawrence English, the icier hum of Ben Frost, the articulately jagged punk of the Ex, and the shaggy improv of Jackie-O Motherfucker. Benefit is an appropriately cosmopolitan affair.
The names perhaps most familiar from the indie rock festival circuit are not necessarily the ones responsible for Benefit's most rewarding tracks. An arty contribution from TV on the Radio's Tunde Adebimpe, working with Stars Like Fleas' Ryan Sawyer under the cheeky moniker Stabbing Eastwood, is probably best left for completists (and fans of hilarious growling). Deerhunter/Atlas Sound man Bradford Cox, collaborating with White Rainbow's Adam Forkner as Bradley & Geofrey, gives Das Racist fodder for some future update of their reggae-voice satire "Fake Patois"; you get the sense Cox has a hard drive full of casual little experiments like this he could post on his blog. Then again, there's an appealing frailty to the Arthur Russell-ish chamber-pop of "In the Hollows", by Dirty Projectors bassist Nat Baldwin. Akron/Family's "Deep Kazoo" does, indeed, get in deep with kazoo; Bear in Heaven's tenderly plainspoken "The Days We Have" is a glistening electro-folk pleasure that could warrant a Cornelius remix.
But Benefit isn't really about cherry-picking hits. There are other compilations for that. It's best if you let this one wash over you, accepting the breadth and depth of its varied sonic experiences with, yeah, an open mind and open ears. Plenty of listeners could get their first exposure to luminaries like Rhys Chatham (who closes the set's first half on an ambient, meditative note), Sam Prekop (though the Sea and Cake frontman's blips and bloops here are certainly no Oui), or the Boredoms (leader Shinji Masuko's airy, ethereal "Botsuon"). Or they could be introduced to much-loved younger talents, from the densely intricate guitar playing of James Blackshaw to the hauntingly immersive sound fields of Tim Hecker to the spaced-out electronic innovations of Oneohtrix Point Never. Look, I'm dubious about benefit compilations in general, and the wanky wind-chimes avant-garde scene in particular. But if good things can ever come out of horrible events, what Antiopic has accomplished here is surely worth getting behind.
Pitchfork
April 21, 2011
Link
7.7
On March 11, a devastating earthquake and tsunami hit Japan, killing at least 13,000 people and spawning an ongoing nuclear crisis. In the month-plus since that tragedy, musicians worldwide have been trying to help. Along with benefit concerts, charity auctions, and other fundraisers, the music world's Japanese relief efforts have also included a few compilation albums, including the classical-oriented Classics for Japan - Music for Healing and hit-parading Songs for Japan.
Benefit for the Recovery in Japan is a different kind of benefit compilation. Clocking in at nearly five hours, this sprawling 64-track set sees no contradiction between disaster relief and musical adventurousness. Credit Antiopic label co-heads David Daniell and James Elliott, experimental electronic musicians who picked the album's tracks with help from Regina Greene (whose Front Porch Productions books shows for many of these artists), fellow electronic experimentalist Greg Davis, and Thrill Jockey founder Bettina Richards. Their choices span ambient drone, fleet-fingered folk, and leftfield rock, with an artist lineup that should have many a music nerd drooling on their tattered back issues of The Wire.
Every cent of the $15 you spend on Benefit will go to Civic Force, a Japanese nonprofit emergency responder, so the cause is clearly worthy. At less than a quarter per track, this mp3-only album offers pretty good value for the money, too, and if you're skeptical you can stream the whole thing. As for musical enjoyment, I definitely don't recommend trying to digest it all in one sitting, and the collection sometimes lapses toward seemingly aimless minimalist exercises more likely to please formally educated musicians than typical music listeners. But if you're looking for a thoughtfully conceived survey of the avant-garde underground, please, look no further.
A somber electroacoustic instrumental from Austrian composer/producer Christian Fennesz opens the compilation, which gives you a pretty good indication of what's to follow. These are thickly textured tracks, sometimes orchestral in scale, which often achieve their emotional effects more through their incredibly detailed sonic palettes than through anything you can transcribe in a songbook. It's a lot to take in, but give it time and the best part about this release is how it allows you to stumble into so many different, miniature sonic worlds, one after the other: the hypnotically layered vocals and bass-heavy pulse of School of Seven Bells, the barely there piano and whispery singing of Grouper, the heavily fucked-with 1980s soft-rock vibes of Matthewdavid, the squalling lushness of Lawrence English, the icier hum of Ben Frost, the articulately jagged punk of the Ex, and the shaggy improv of Jackie-O Motherfucker. Benefit is an appropriately cosmopolitan affair.
The names perhaps most familiar from the indie rock festival circuit are not necessarily the ones responsible for Benefit's most rewarding tracks. An arty contribution from TV on the Radio's Tunde Adebimpe, working with Stars Like Fleas' Ryan Sawyer under the cheeky moniker Stabbing Eastwood, is probably best left for completists (and fans of hilarious growling). Deerhunter/Atlas Sound man Bradford Cox, collaborating with White Rainbow's Adam Forkner as Bradley & Geofrey, gives Das Racist fodder for some future update of their reggae-voice satire "Fake Patois"; you get the sense Cox has a hard drive full of casual little experiments like this he could post on his blog. Then again, there's an appealing frailty to the Arthur Russell-ish chamber-pop of "In the Hollows", by Dirty Projectors bassist Nat Baldwin. Akron/Family's "Deep Kazoo" does, indeed, get in deep with kazoo; Bear in Heaven's tenderly plainspoken "The Days We Have" is a glistening electro-folk pleasure that could warrant a Cornelius remix.
But Benefit isn't really about cherry-picking hits. There are other compilations for that. It's best if you let this one wash over you, accepting the breadth and depth of its varied sonic experiences with, yeah, an open mind and open ears. Plenty of listeners could get their first exposure to luminaries like Rhys Chatham (who closes the set's first half on an ambient, meditative note), Sam Prekop (though the Sea and Cake frontman's blips and bloops here are certainly no Oui), or the Boredoms (leader Shinji Masuko's airy, ethereal "Botsuon"). Or they could be introduced to much-loved younger talents, from the densely intricate guitar playing of James Blackshaw to the hauntingly immersive sound fields of Tim Hecker to the spaced-out electronic innovations of Oneohtrix Point Never. Look, I'm dubious about benefit compilations in general, and the wanky wind-chimes avant-garde scene in particular. But if good things can ever come out of horrible events, what Antiopic has accomplished here is surely worth getting behind.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Holy Ghost! - Holy Ghost!
Album Review
SPIN
May 2011
Link
6/10
New York scenesters debut with smooth anticlimax
The birth of the extended disco mix, legendary producer Tom Moulton recalled recently, came when he wondered if he could keep a song "going up and up and up." Like Moulton, Brooklyn's Alex Frankel and Nick Millhiser are hot-shit remixers (MGMT, Moby, Phoenix) who often keep their analog synths pulsing past the six-minute mark. They also seem to have peaked early with 2007's eerie Italo stunner "Hold On"; the duo's debut full-length boasts top-shelf guests (Michael McDonald!), but its cut-copied hooks and sleekly pleasant grooves mostly stay earthbound.
SPIN
May 2011
Link
6/10
New York scenesters debut with smooth anticlimax
The birth of the extended disco mix, legendary producer Tom Moulton recalled recently, came when he wondered if he could keep a song "going up and up and up." Like Moulton, Brooklyn's Alex Frankel and Nick Millhiser are hot-shit remixers (MGMT, Moby, Phoenix) who often keep their analog synths pulsing past the six-minute mark. They also seem to have peaked early with 2007's eerie Italo stunner "Hold On"; the duo's debut full-length boasts top-shelf guests (Michael McDonald!), but its cut-copied hooks and sleekly pleasant grooves mostly stay earthbound.
Guillemots - Walk the River
Album Review
Pitchfork
April 20, 2011
Link
5.9
In a recent video, Guillemots lead singer Fyfe Dangerfield and drummer Greig Stewart play live "in a little woodland, by a disused railway line" in north London. Wrens and robins chirp. Standing against a graffiti-emblazoned gray brick wall, the scruffily bearded Dangerfield strums an acoustic guitar casually, almost haphazardly. Stewart, wearing a pair of white-rimmed shades you might see on one of Biff's henchmen in Back to the Future, runs his drumstick along the bars of an iron gate-- gently, almost tenderly. Dangerfield's formidable falsetto soars through the space's cavernous reverb, dexterously communicating heartache. If you're in the right mood, it can be powerful stuff: an affecting mix of traditional earnestness and experimental impulses.
This uneasy balance between balladeer sentimentality and avant-garde adventurousness runs through the Guillemots' discography. On 2006 debut Through the Windowpane, which earned the four-piece a Mercury Music Prize nomination, these competing urges resolved themselves gloriously in songs like fragile opener "Little Bear", romantic ode "Made-Up Lovesong #43", and northern soul shimmy "Trains to Brazil". But 2008's Red meandered through ambitious yet unremarkable Britpop. And Dangerfield's 2009 solo nod, Fly Yellow Moon, suggested the band's schmaltzy side had conquered all. Never mind that Billy Joel cover: Walk the River shows Guillemots still have a few eccentricities up their sleeves, though they remain a long way from their mid-2000s peak.
Guillemots' third album is mournful, lushly arranged, and conflicted as ever about whether it wants to be singer-songwriter comfort food or forward-thinking pop. The song from the video, "I Don't Feel Amazing Now", feels overdone, muddling its unspectacular, melancholy lyrics with the full studio gamut of strings and choral backing vocals. But first single "The Basket" is a lot more effective, simultaneously a cryptic love song ("You knock me over/ Come on and do it again") and a propulsive, kaleidoscopic assault on a culture where there's "a masterpiece that no one bothered painting/ Everybody's too busy with those baskets of theirs." Think of a grown-up Supergrass (there's theremin). The ominously ornamented title track is a sample-ready testament of survival, while the electronic sunshine of "I Must Be a Lover" offers a needed break from all the gloom.
For a band that once stood out for its too-much-ness, Walk the River now gives us too much of the wrong things: too many midtempo songs, too many minor-key acoustic strums, too many codas that outstay their welcome without really connecting. But Stewart's bustling drum work, MC Lord Magrão's rippling guitar, and Aristazabal Hawkes' sensuous bass-- even Dangerfield's supple voice, which might suit the band's namesake seabird-- ensure there's something interesting happening beneath even the most mawkish sentiment or the baggiest quasi-epic. Just not always something particularly new or vital, the way Through the Windowpane and its predecessor EP felt. That woodland video comes closest so far, so maybe the fresh air will do them some good.
Pitchfork
April 20, 2011
Link
5.9
In a recent video, Guillemots lead singer Fyfe Dangerfield and drummer Greig Stewart play live "in a little woodland, by a disused railway line" in north London. Wrens and robins chirp. Standing against a graffiti-emblazoned gray brick wall, the scruffily bearded Dangerfield strums an acoustic guitar casually, almost haphazardly. Stewart, wearing a pair of white-rimmed shades you might see on one of Biff's henchmen in Back to the Future, runs his drumstick along the bars of an iron gate-- gently, almost tenderly. Dangerfield's formidable falsetto soars through the space's cavernous reverb, dexterously communicating heartache. If you're in the right mood, it can be powerful stuff: an affecting mix of traditional earnestness and experimental impulses.
This uneasy balance between balladeer sentimentality and avant-garde adventurousness runs through the Guillemots' discography. On 2006 debut Through the Windowpane, which earned the four-piece a Mercury Music Prize nomination, these competing urges resolved themselves gloriously in songs like fragile opener "Little Bear", romantic ode "Made-Up Lovesong #43", and northern soul shimmy "Trains to Brazil". But 2008's Red meandered through ambitious yet unremarkable Britpop. And Dangerfield's 2009 solo nod, Fly Yellow Moon, suggested the band's schmaltzy side had conquered all. Never mind that Billy Joel cover: Walk the River shows Guillemots still have a few eccentricities up their sleeves, though they remain a long way from their mid-2000s peak.
Guillemots' third album is mournful, lushly arranged, and conflicted as ever about whether it wants to be singer-songwriter comfort food or forward-thinking pop. The song from the video, "I Don't Feel Amazing Now", feels overdone, muddling its unspectacular, melancholy lyrics with the full studio gamut of strings and choral backing vocals. But first single "The Basket" is a lot more effective, simultaneously a cryptic love song ("You knock me over/ Come on and do it again") and a propulsive, kaleidoscopic assault on a culture where there's "a masterpiece that no one bothered painting/ Everybody's too busy with those baskets of theirs." Think of a grown-up Supergrass (there's theremin). The ominously ornamented title track is a sample-ready testament of survival, while the electronic sunshine of "I Must Be a Lover" offers a needed break from all the gloom.
For a band that once stood out for its too-much-ness, Walk the River now gives us too much of the wrong things: too many midtempo songs, too many minor-key acoustic strums, too many codas that outstay their welcome without really connecting. But Stewart's bustling drum work, MC Lord Magrão's rippling guitar, and Aristazabal Hawkes' sensuous bass-- even Dangerfield's supple voice, which might suit the band's namesake seabird-- ensure there's something interesting happening beneath even the most mawkish sentiment or the baggiest quasi-epic. Just not always something particularly new or vital, the way Through the Windowpane and its predecessor EP felt. That woodland video comes closest so far, so maybe the fresh air will do them some good.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Gruff Rhys - Hotel Shampoo
Album Review
SPIN
May 2011
Link
7/10
Pop prankster turns travel-size suds into mellow gold.
This madcap Welshman collected 15 years of complimentary cosmetics, displayed them in an art gallery, and then released a companion album of whimsically rewarding, mildly schizophrenic psych-pop. Of course he did: Whether driving a military tank through Glastonbury or recording a synth-pop tribute to playboy '80s auto mogul John Delorean, Super Furry Animals' frontman makes the gimmicky sublime. Pilfering lounge, folk, and Tropicália, Rhys sumptuously accommodates Swedish songstress El Perro Del Mar and -- metaphorically, at least -- "Christopher Columbus."
SPIN
May 2011
Link
7/10
Pop prankster turns travel-size suds into mellow gold.
This madcap Welshman collected 15 years of complimentary cosmetics, displayed them in an art gallery, and then released a companion album of whimsically rewarding, mildly schizophrenic psych-pop. Of course he did: Whether driving a military tank through Glastonbury or recording a synth-pop tribute to playboy '80s auto mogul John Delorean, Super Furry Animals' frontman makes the gimmicky sublime. Pilfering lounge, folk, and Tropicália, Rhys sumptuously accommodates Swedish songstress El Perro Del Mar and -- metaphorically, at least -- "Christopher Columbus."
Federated Settles Fee Suit on Brink of Trial
News Article
Ignites
April 11, 2011
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Ignites
April 11, 2011
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Dodd-Frank Debate Continues as Greenspan, Frank Spar
News Analysis
Agenda
April 11, 2011
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Agenda
April 11, 2011
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Shareholders Target Dendreon, Goldman, Zions
News Analysis
Agenda
April 11, 2011
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Agenda
April 11, 2011
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Hurd: IT Security Will Join Boards’ Duties
News Analysis
Agenda
April 11, 2011
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Agenda
April 11, 2011
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Corporate Library Tapped for Diverse Directors
News Analysis
Agenda
April 11, 2011
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Agenda
April 11, 2011
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Cisco CEO Signals Potential Shake-Up
News Analysis
Agenda
April 11, 2011
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Agenda
April 11, 2011
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Monday, April 11, 2011
tUnE-yArDs - w h o k i l l
Album Review
SPIN
May 2011
Link
8/10
A uke, a wildly versatile voice, and a frisky attitude
"I am not beautiful," Merrill Garbus hollers near the end of 2008's BiRd-BrAiNs, her no-fi pop-folk debut as tUnE-yArDs. Jury-rigged from ukulele, field recordings, and Garbus' own powerhouse, Afropop-influenced voice -- here a twee murmur, there a soulful honk -- the record reveled inits inadequacies. Adding bassist Nate Brenner, fancier mics, and augmented sonics, this sophomore album cleans up without sacrificing charm. The songs are more consistent, too, flashing a certain lyrical swagger, careening from terrific sex to celebratory violence to uncomfortable cultural realities.
SPIN
May 2011
Link
8/10
A uke, a wildly versatile voice, and a frisky attitude
"I am not beautiful," Merrill Garbus hollers near the end of 2008's BiRd-BrAiNs, her no-fi pop-folk debut as tUnE-yArDs. Jury-rigged from ukulele, field recordings, and Garbus' own powerhouse, Afropop-influenced voice -- here a twee murmur, there a soulful honk -- the record reveled inits inadequacies. Adding bassist Nate Brenner, fancier mics, and augmented sonics, this sophomore album cleans up without sacrificing charm. The songs are more consistent, too, flashing a certain lyrical swagger, careening from terrific sex to celebratory violence to uncomfortable cultural realities.
Ameron Shareholders Elect Dissident Board Candidate
News Analysis
Agenda
April 4, 2011
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Agenda
April 4, 2011
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Consultant: Link Succession Plan to Comp
News Analysis
Agenda
April 4, 2011
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Agenda
April 4, 2011
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Renault Snafu Shows Risks of Whistle-Blower Probes
News Analysis
Agenda
March 28, 2011
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Agenda
March 28, 2011
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Goldman Board Remains Under Spotlight
News Analysis
Agenda
March 28, 2011
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Agenda
March 28, 2011
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Hay Group Raps Big Pharma Incentive Model
News Analysis
Agenda
March 28, 2011
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Agenda
March 28, 2011
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Directors Concerned About IT Risk Oversight
News Analysis
Agenda
March 28, 2011
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Agenda
March 28, 2011
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How Boards Are Rethinking Risk: Study
News Analysis
Agenda
March 28, 2011
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Agenda
March 28, 2011
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