News Analysis
Agenda
August 15, 2011
Link (subscription required)
Monday, August 29, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
Jacuzzi Boys - Glazin'
Album Reviews
SPIN
September 2011
Link
7/10
If these goofy Miami garage punks ever come to your town, be there with beer money. After a 2009 album, assorted seven-inch singles, and a recent live recording for Jack White's Third Man imprint, Jacuzzi Boys have taken their place among the best sloppy racket-makers bashing out easy-boogie soundtracks to your next drunken night at the local rock dive. Led by singing guitarist Gabriel Alcala, the trio does little on its second album to reward closer, repeated listens. But between chugging good-climes opener "Vizcaya," scrappily Led-en stomper "Zeppelin," and spaced-out acoustic closer "Koo Koo With You," you won't be disappointed.
SPIN
September 2011
Link
7/10
If these goofy Miami garage punks ever come to your town, be there with beer money. After a 2009 album, assorted seven-inch singles, and a recent live recording for Jack White's Third Man imprint, Jacuzzi Boys have taken their place among the best sloppy racket-makers bashing out easy-boogie soundtracks to your next drunken night at the local rock dive. Led by singing guitarist Gabriel Alcala, the trio does little on its second album to reward closer, repeated listens. But between chugging good-climes opener "Vizcaya," scrappily Led-en stomper "Zeppelin," and spaced-out acoustic closer "Koo Koo With You," you won't be disappointed.
Stephin Merritt - Obscurities
Album Reviews
SPIN
September 2011
Link
7/10
Stephin Merritt never has lacked for ideas. Under various guises, but mostly as the Magnetic Fields, the wittily morose indie-pop maestro has issued or reissued a dozen or so records. This well-curated compilation dusts off a few more previously unreleased tracks that play like castoffs, but the rarities -- including an unintentionally moving Patsy Cline parody, a Moog-warped "I Don't Believe You," and an alternate version of "Take Ecstasy With Me" sung by longtime cohort Susan Anway -- are prime Merritt. Perfect for Magnetic Fields fans let down by 2010's concept-heavy Realism.
SPIN
September 2011
Link
7/10
Stephin Merritt never has lacked for ideas. Under various guises, but mostly as the Magnetic Fields, the wittily morose indie-pop maestro has issued or reissued a dozen or so records. This well-curated compilation dusts off a few more previously unreleased tracks that play like castoffs, but the rarities -- including an unintentionally moving Patsy Cline parody, a Moog-warped "I Don't Believe You," and an alternate version of "Take Ecstasy With Me" sung by longtime cohort Susan Anway -- are prime Merritt. Perfect for Magnetic Fields fans let down by 2010's concept-heavy Realism.
Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks - Mirror Traffic
Album Reviews
SPIN
August 2011
Link
8/10
"No one is your perfect fit / I do not believe in that shit," Stephen Malkmus confides over lightly distorted electric guitar on "Forever 28," from the 45-year-old father of two's fifth album since his former band, Pavement, split more than a decade ago. Then, coloring those chords with jazzier notes, he warbles, "Don't you know that every bubble bursts / Kill me." His current band, the Jicks, soon join in with a sunny bounce that recalls Electric Light Orchestra's "Mr. Blue Sky."
It's a moment that epitomizes Mirror Traffic, a patient, inviting album that feels like a fresh start from a guy whose recording career spans multiple boom-and-bust cycles, both for indie rock and the economy. Pavement's best-of compilation and globe-trotting reunion tour last year left the perennially underachieving group finally resembling what some critics had been calling them all along: the preeminent band of the '90s. Produced by another of that decade's so-called slackers -- Beck Hansen -- Malkmus and the Jicks' latest responds to all that success, in true Malkmus fashion, not with blatant nostalgia, nor with some pathetic stab at timeliness, but with a thoroughly beguiling roll of the eyes.
Malkmus and the Jicks may reside in Portland, Oregon -- where, per Fred Armisen and Carrie Brownstein's Portlandia, "the dream of the '90s is alive" -- but unlike, say, Billy Corgan, both Malkmus and Beck have continued to evolve since their Clinton-era commercial peaks. Over the course of his four post-Pavement albums, Malkmus has toyed with electronics (2005's Face the Truth) and explored 1970s gnarled-guitar workouts (2003's Pig Lib, 2008's Real Emotional Trash). And Beck? Since wrapping up his major-label deal a couple of years ago, the 41-year-old Los Angeleno has been in the full bloom of a career revitalization, most recently producing Thurston Moore's superb Demolished Thoughts.
Where Real Emotional Trash began on a quasi-autobiographical note, Mirror Traffic opener "Tigers" leads with a farcical scene worthy of Will Ferrell: "I caught you streaking in your Birkenstocks / A scary thought / In the 2Ks." And where that last album was Malkmus and the Jicks' most stylistically unified, Mirror Traffic is both more varied and more focused. Malkmus dismisses sit-ups as "so bourgeoisie" over Wes Anderson-ready chamber pop, revels in "putzing 'round the Internet" over spidery guitar and warm keyboards that inexplicably crackle with cellphone distortion, and condemns himself as a mortally doomed "one-trick pony" over pedal-steel-drenched, Updike-referencing alt country.
Millennials who chafe at Generation X's shrugging anti-dominance and Pavement's mocking of arena-rock idols, take note: Malkmus and Co. are not half-assing it here. Pavement, even at their best, never had anything like the Jicks' adroit nonchalance. Captured here mostly over two days in L.A., after the completion of a 2009 world tour, the band have the punchy, relaxed assurance of a group of pros who know exactly how many beers they can drink and still hit their marks.
If Mirror Traffic has an overriding theme, it's not the coming-of-age goose bumps of new-school '90s acolytes Pains of Being Pure at Heart or Yuck. It's impending death. "I know what everyone wants / What everyone wants is a blowjob," Malkmus howls on stoned romp "Senator." How can he be sure? "You are fading fast / You are fading fast / You are gone." The album's last words are "fall to dust." At least Malkmus prefaces them with a blaze of ragged guitar glory.
SPIN
August 2011
Link
8/10
"No one is your perfect fit / I do not believe in that shit," Stephen Malkmus confides over lightly distorted electric guitar on "Forever 28," from the 45-year-old father of two's fifth album since his former band, Pavement, split more than a decade ago. Then, coloring those chords with jazzier notes, he warbles, "Don't you know that every bubble bursts / Kill me." His current band, the Jicks, soon join in with a sunny bounce that recalls Electric Light Orchestra's "Mr. Blue Sky."
It's a moment that epitomizes Mirror Traffic, a patient, inviting album that feels like a fresh start from a guy whose recording career spans multiple boom-and-bust cycles, both for indie rock and the economy. Pavement's best-of compilation and globe-trotting reunion tour last year left the perennially underachieving group finally resembling what some critics had been calling them all along: the preeminent band of the '90s. Produced by another of that decade's so-called slackers -- Beck Hansen -- Malkmus and the Jicks' latest responds to all that success, in true Malkmus fashion, not with blatant nostalgia, nor with some pathetic stab at timeliness, but with a thoroughly beguiling roll of the eyes.
Malkmus and the Jicks may reside in Portland, Oregon -- where, per Fred Armisen and Carrie Brownstein's Portlandia, "the dream of the '90s is alive" -- but unlike, say, Billy Corgan, both Malkmus and Beck have continued to evolve since their Clinton-era commercial peaks. Over the course of his four post-Pavement albums, Malkmus has toyed with electronics (2005's Face the Truth) and explored 1970s gnarled-guitar workouts (2003's Pig Lib, 2008's Real Emotional Trash). And Beck? Since wrapping up his major-label deal a couple of years ago, the 41-year-old Los Angeleno has been in the full bloom of a career revitalization, most recently producing Thurston Moore's superb Demolished Thoughts.
Where Real Emotional Trash began on a quasi-autobiographical note, Mirror Traffic opener "Tigers" leads with a farcical scene worthy of Will Ferrell: "I caught you streaking in your Birkenstocks / A scary thought / In the 2Ks." And where that last album was Malkmus and the Jicks' most stylistically unified, Mirror Traffic is both more varied and more focused. Malkmus dismisses sit-ups as "so bourgeoisie" over Wes Anderson-ready chamber pop, revels in "putzing 'round the Internet" over spidery guitar and warm keyboards that inexplicably crackle with cellphone distortion, and condemns himself as a mortally doomed "one-trick pony" over pedal-steel-drenched, Updike-referencing alt country.
Millennials who chafe at Generation X's shrugging anti-dominance and Pavement's mocking of arena-rock idols, take note: Malkmus and Co. are not half-assing it here. Pavement, even at their best, never had anything like the Jicks' adroit nonchalance. Captured here mostly over two days in L.A., after the completion of a 2009 world tour, the band have the punchy, relaxed assurance of a group of pros who know exactly how many beers they can drink and still hit their marks.
If Mirror Traffic has an overriding theme, it's not the coming-of-age goose bumps of new-school '90s acolytes Pains of Being Pure at Heart or Yuck. It's impending death. "I know what everyone wants / What everyone wants is a blowjob," Malkmus howls on stoned romp "Senator." How can he be sure? "You are fading fast / You are fading fast / You are gone." The album's last words are "fall to dust." At least Malkmus prefaces them with a blaze of ragged guitar glory.
Fool's Gold - Leave No Trace
Album Reviews
SPIN
August 2011
Link
6/10
Not to be confused with Fool's Gold Records, this Los Angeles quintet distilled a refreshing blend of African influences and Hebrew-language vocals on their 2009 self-titled debut. Featuring three members of indie-rock vets Foreign Born, Fool's Gold sidesteps here toward shiny '80s pop -- sung in English -- on their sophomore album. Synths glimmer on "Street Clothes"; the title track has that Smiths/R.E.M. jangle. Though still sunny and hooky, Leave No Trace lacks the enigmatic spark of its predecessor, especially now that the words are more readily understandable.
SPIN
August 2011
Link
6/10
Not to be confused with Fool's Gold Records, this Los Angeles quintet distilled a refreshing blend of African influences and Hebrew-language vocals on their 2009 self-titled debut. Featuring three members of indie-rock vets Foreign Born, Fool's Gold sidesteps here toward shiny '80s pop -- sung in English -- on their sophomore album. Synths glimmer on "Street Clothes"; the title track has that Smiths/R.E.M. jangle. Though still sunny and hooky, Leave No Trace lacks the enigmatic spark of its predecessor, especially now that the words are more readily understandable.
Soft Metals - Soft Metals
Album Review
Pitchfork
August 3, 2011
Link
7.5
All pop music is love and theft, and Soft Metals are particularly upfront about both. The arty Portland electronic duo formed in early 2009, with singer Patricia Hall and keyboardist/programmer Ian Hicks becoming a romantic couple not much later. The two recently did a mean cover of Throbbing Gristle's 1979 "Hot on the Heels of Love", a techno-predicting cult classic that mixes robotic arpeggios and steamy vocals (recalling Donna Summer's rapturous "I Feel Love" from a couple of years earlier) with the industrial pioneers' own creepy foreboding.
Soft Metals' self-titled album extends that combination of lovers' intimacy and retro-futuristic ominousness, which Hall and Hicks previously introduced on the 2010 EP The Cold World Melts. With Hall's detached, often-indecipherable vocals over Hicks' pulsating configurations of vintage synthesizers and drum machines, Soft Metals bears traces of virtually every bleakly gliding descendant of Kraftwerk's O.G. synth-pop grooves, from gothic early-1980s new wave to house, techno, and electroclash. But it's somewhat telling that this blurrily beguiling debut-- which reprises two tracks from the EP, plus eight new ones-- arrives on Brooklyn-based Captured Tracks, a label better known for the lo-fi noise-pop of Blank Dogs, Beach Fossils, or Wild Nothing.
As with their labelmates, Soft Metals' aesthetic is born not of lavish studios but in the bedroom. The songs on Soft Metals have a foggy, surrealistic shimmer rather than the clear-cut precision of many of their electronic forebears. Where Ariel Pink cohort John Maus uses like-mindedly retro trappings as a jumping-off point for experiments with ideas about art and artifice, Soft Metals concentrate instead on the type of subtly evolving textures you might be more inclined to play when you're drifting off to sleep than when you're throwing a dance party. Even the most lucid songs here, whether echo-besotted EP cut "Voices" or swelling first-meeting reminiscence "Do You Remember", stake their appeal on their glistening, ever-changing surfaces, not traditional songcraft.
Still, just because your brand of old-school electronics has more in common with mood-oriented Italians Do It Better producer Johnny Jewel (Glass Candy, Chromatics) than with song-driven nu-disco princess Sally Shapiro ("I'll Be By Your Side") doesn't mean the wordless repetitions of "Celestial Call" or "Hold My Breath" fully reward our attention. Then again... Soft Metals might wince at this comparison, but it's not such a leap from their album's prelude-to-a-kiss cover art to the Cosmo-copped sex scene (speaking of love and theft!) that adorns Washed Out's latest. Soft Metals' "Eyes Closed" may have a faster tempo, a more dangerous charge, and one fewer title syllable than languid Within and Without opener "Eyes Be Closed", but they're both headed toward a similarly sensual place.
If Soft Metals are nostalgic, however, it's less for lost innocence than for a lost idea of the future. Where are the flying cars? The album's use of analogue synths isn't a regression, but an attempt to find a new way forward. On instrumental finale "In Throes", they finally do, as eerie buzzes and disjointed rhythms chart a course somewhere near the Knife's still-unmatched 2006 dark-electronic landmark Silent Shout. In the end, the more important love on Soft Metals isn't necessarily between Hall and Hicks; it's between them and three-plus decades of synthesizer music. And wherever that leads next.
Pitchfork
August 3, 2011
Link
7.5
All pop music is love and theft, and Soft Metals are particularly upfront about both. The arty Portland electronic duo formed in early 2009, with singer Patricia Hall and keyboardist/programmer Ian Hicks becoming a romantic couple not much later. The two recently did a mean cover of Throbbing Gristle's 1979 "Hot on the Heels of Love", a techno-predicting cult classic that mixes robotic arpeggios and steamy vocals (recalling Donna Summer's rapturous "I Feel Love" from a couple of years earlier) with the industrial pioneers' own creepy foreboding.
Soft Metals' self-titled album extends that combination of lovers' intimacy and retro-futuristic ominousness, which Hall and Hicks previously introduced on the 2010 EP The Cold World Melts. With Hall's detached, often-indecipherable vocals over Hicks' pulsating configurations of vintage synthesizers and drum machines, Soft Metals bears traces of virtually every bleakly gliding descendant of Kraftwerk's O.G. synth-pop grooves, from gothic early-1980s new wave to house, techno, and electroclash. But it's somewhat telling that this blurrily beguiling debut-- which reprises two tracks from the EP, plus eight new ones-- arrives on Brooklyn-based Captured Tracks, a label better known for the lo-fi noise-pop of Blank Dogs, Beach Fossils, or Wild Nothing.
As with their labelmates, Soft Metals' aesthetic is born not of lavish studios but in the bedroom. The songs on Soft Metals have a foggy, surrealistic shimmer rather than the clear-cut precision of many of their electronic forebears. Where Ariel Pink cohort John Maus uses like-mindedly retro trappings as a jumping-off point for experiments with ideas about art and artifice, Soft Metals concentrate instead on the type of subtly evolving textures you might be more inclined to play when you're drifting off to sleep than when you're throwing a dance party. Even the most lucid songs here, whether echo-besotted EP cut "Voices" or swelling first-meeting reminiscence "Do You Remember", stake their appeal on their glistening, ever-changing surfaces, not traditional songcraft.
Still, just because your brand of old-school electronics has more in common with mood-oriented Italians Do It Better producer Johnny Jewel (Glass Candy, Chromatics) than with song-driven nu-disco princess Sally Shapiro ("I'll Be By Your Side") doesn't mean the wordless repetitions of "Celestial Call" or "Hold My Breath" fully reward our attention. Then again... Soft Metals might wince at this comparison, but it's not such a leap from their album's prelude-to-a-kiss cover art to the Cosmo-copped sex scene (speaking of love and theft!) that adorns Washed Out's latest. Soft Metals' "Eyes Closed" may have a faster tempo, a more dangerous charge, and one fewer title syllable than languid Within and Without opener "Eyes Be Closed", but they're both headed toward a similarly sensual place.
If Soft Metals are nostalgic, however, it's less for lost innocence than for a lost idea of the future. Where are the flying cars? The album's use of analogue synths isn't a regression, but an attempt to find a new way forward. On instrumental finale "In Throes", they finally do, as eerie buzzes and disjointed rhythms chart a course somewhere near the Knife's still-unmatched 2006 dark-electronic landmark Silent Shout. In the end, the more important love on Soft Metals isn't necessarily between Hall and Hicks; it's between them and three-plus decades of synthesizer music. And wherever that leads next.
Mike Simonetti - Capricorn Rising EP
Album Review
Pitchfork
July 28, 2011
Link
7.1
Earlier this year, Mike Simonetti released a limited-edition picture disc of disco re-edits called I'm Getting Too Old for This Shit. Age has nothing to to with it, but the New Jersey-based founder of the labels Troubleman Unlimited, Italians Do It Better, and, most recently, Perseo, has without a doubt enjoyed a lengthy and meandering role in the world of relatively underground music. For all the many releases Simonetti has overseen at his labels, ranging from hardcore to Italo disco, Capricorn Rising is the first record of original material to appear solely under his own name.
On the evidence here, Simonetti is definitively not too old for this, though like many artists with full creative control he can sometimes be a bit indulgent. At nearly 39 minutes, the EP is longer than plenty of albums, but 21 of those minutes are given over to a single song, advance mp3 "Third of the Storms", which appears in three separate instances. Mesmerizing chill-out disco that sets an innocently chiming melody atop handclaps, driving krautrock bass, droning washes of synth, and occasional idyllic sound effects, the song makes a fine bookend to the record: On the opening, vocal version, Australian electro-R&B smoothie Sam Sparro adds multi-layered, chant-like repetitions conveying a sense of joyful fatalism, while the closing, instrumental take leaves more room for the track to breathe; each is excellent depending on your mood, though as with disco singles like this since time immemorial, you probably won't want to listen to both cuts in the same sitting (that's not a criticism). As a centerpiece, though, "Third of the Storms (Acapulco)" disappoints; more or less five minutes of Sparro's already-familiar incantations over sparse, monotonous backing, it almost could have been called "Third of the Storms (A Cappella)".
Elsewhere, Capricorn offers another four cuts in a similarly hypnotic, synth-based mold. The best is the title track, with pulse-raising electronics and wisps of breath that suggest a mechanically precise jogger; Blade Runner would be too obvious a reference point for a crate digger like Simonetti, but given this track's sci-fi synthesis of chilly electronics and thriller suspense, a comparison to that classic film (and its equally classic score by Vangelis) can't be too far off the mark. Just as seamless is pounding synth workout "Song for Luca", the longest non-"Third of the Storms" piece here, building to a climax that belies its Balearic calm. Simonetti also detours into humming ambient textures, on "Dust Devil", and a mournful keyboard reflection, "Renko's Theme", which has a rich, yacht-friendly pomp. The end result is a worthwhile stepping-out EP from a longtime behind-the-scenes player, and if its worst crime is excess, well, we're talking about a record with an ice cream sundae on the cover.
Pitchfork
July 28, 2011
Link
7.1
Earlier this year, Mike Simonetti released a limited-edition picture disc of disco re-edits called I'm Getting Too Old for This Shit. Age has nothing to to with it, but the New Jersey-based founder of the labels Troubleman Unlimited, Italians Do It Better, and, most recently, Perseo, has without a doubt enjoyed a lengthy and meandering role in the world of relatively underground music. For all the many releases Simonetti has overseen at his labels, ranging from hardcore to Italo disco, Capricorn Rising is the first record of original material to appear solely under his own name.
On the evidence here, Simonetti is definitively not too old for this, though like many artists with full creative control he can sometimes be a bit indulgent. At nearly 39 minutes, the EP is longer than plenty of albums, but 21 of those minutes are given over to a single song, advance mp3 "Third of the Storms", which appears in three separate instances. Mesmerizing chill-out disco that sets an innocently chiming melody atop handclaps, driving krautrock bass, droning washes of synth, and occasional idyllic sound effects, the song makes a fine bookend to the record: On the opening, vocal version, Australian electro-R&B smoothie Sam Sparro adds multi-layered, chant-like repetitions conveying a sense of joyful fatalism, while the closing, instrumental take leaves more room for the track to breathe; each is excellent depending on your mood, though as with disco singles like this since time immemorial, you probably won't want to listen to both cuts in the same sitting (that's not a criticism). As a centerpiece, though, "Third of the Storms (Acapulco)" disappoints; more or less five minutes of Sparro's already-familiar incantations over sparse, monotonous backing, it almost could have been called "Third of the Storms (A Cappella)".
Elsewhere, Capricorn offers another four cuts in a similarly hypnotic, synth-based mold. The best is the title track, with pulse-raising electronics and wisps of breath that suggest a mechanically precise jogger; Blade Runner would be too obvious a reference point for a crate digger like Simonetti, but given this track's sci-fi synthesis of chilly electronics and thriller suspense, a comparison to that classic film (and its equally classic score by Vangelis) can't be too far off the mark. Just as seamless is pounding synth workout "Song for Luca", the longest non-"Third of the Storms" piece here, building to a climax that belies its Balearic calm. Simonetti also detours into humming ambient textures, on "Dust Devil", and a mournful keyboard reflection, "Renko's Theme", which has a rich, yacht-friendly pomp. The end result is a worthwhile stepping-out EP from a longtime behind-the-scenes player, and if its worst crime is excess, well, we're talking about a record with an ice cream sundae on the cover.
Iceage - New Brigade
Album Reviews
SPIN
August 2011
Link
9/10
By the time you read this, Iceage will be here. Before kicking off their North American summer tour, the Copenhagen four-piece were already generating the kind of awed praise a noisy young guitar band just can't buy anymore. The group's thoroughgoing blog, with its images and videos from bloodied, chaotic live shows, certainly helped. But so did this jagged, visceral debut album, now receiving a proper U.S. release after emerging last year on Danish label Escho.
From its trudging ambient intro to a cathartic shout-along finale, New Brigade is a 12-song, 24-minute call to arms. On behalf of what cause nobody seems to agree. Early online reaction has been intense and wide-ranging, from highbrow (The New Yorker) to hipster (Vice) to DIY punk (Maximumrocknroll). Comparisons have spanned Wire's inspired punk clatter, Joy Divison's splintered post-punk brooding, the bipolar post-hardcore of San Diego label Gravity, and even Liars' ethereal art-scrawl -- plus lesser-known European genres such as D-beat and anarcho-punk.
Whatever. Equal parts dizzying and galvanizing, New Brigade is a dissonant cry to seize the moment, though the band seems to acknowledge that moment will soon be gone. The English-language lyrics take time to decipher, but they're still stirring, delivered in a brusque, boyish bellow. And with their ingeniously disjointed almost-anthems ("Broken Bone," "Remember") Iceage shouldn't lack for recruits, among either punk devotees or rubbernecking dilettantes.
SPIN
August 2011
Link
9/10
By the time you read this, Iceage will be here. Before kicking off their North American summer tour, the Copenhagen four-piece were already generating the kind of awed praise a noisy young guitar band just can't buy anymore. The group's thoroughgoing blog, with its images and videos from bloodied, chaotic live shows, certainly helped. But so did this jagged, visceral debut album, now receiving a proper U.S. release after emerging last year on Danish label Escho.
From its trudging ambient intro to a cathartic shout-along finale, New Brigade is a 12-song, 24-minute call to arms. On behalf of what cause nobody seems to agree. Early online reaction has been intense and wide-ranging, from highbrow (The New Yorker) to hipster (Vice) to DIY punk (Maximumrocknroll). Comparisons have spanned Wire's inspired punk clatter, Joy Divison's splintered post-punk brooding, the bipolar post-hardcore of San Diego label Gravity, and even Liars' ethereal art-scrawl -- plus lesser-known European genres such as D-beat and anarcho-punk.
Whatever. Equal parts dizzying and galvanizing, New Brigade is a dissonant cry to seize the moment, though the band seems to acknowledge that moment will soon be gone. The English-language lyrics take time to decipher, but they're still stirring, delivered in a brusque, boyish bellow. And with their ingeniously disjointed almost-anthems ("Broken Bone," "Remember") Iceage shouldn't lack for recruits, among either punk devotees or rubbernecking dilettantes.
Death Cab’s Chris Walla On UGGs, Nine Inch Nails, and Bacon as the New Vegan
Feature
eMusic
May 31, 2011
Link
May 31, 2011
Link
Chris Walla is best known as the guitarist for Death Cab for Cutie, but the Pacific Northwest musician is also a solo artist and veteran producer in his own right. But while Walla produced Codes & Keys, Death Cab’s first album since 2009′s chart-topping Narrow Stairs, he delegated the mixing duties to someone else: Alan Moulder, whose name has appeared in the liner notes to many of the greatest alternative-rock albums from the past 25 years (Depeche Mode,Smashing Pumpkins and My Bloody Valentine, to name a few).
Shortly before the release of Codes & Keys, eMusic’s Marc Hogan got on the phone with Walla during a brief tour stop in Edmonton, Canada, ahead of the band’s headlining slot at the Sasquatch Music Festival.
Who Are...Cults
Feature
eMusic
June 6, 2011
Link
eMusic
June 6, 2011
Link
If people join cults to escape adulthood, what Madeline Follin and Brian Oblivion started looks like an exception. A little more than a year ago, the Cults leaders — who met when both lived in San Diego and then, later, moved to New York — were just a couple of 21-year-old film students haphazardly posting a few demos online. Now they’re major-label artists promoting a hotly-anticipated album, with all the grown-up demands that entails: constant travel (SXSW! Coachella! Buffalo, NY!), innumerable phone calls (um, guilty) and precious little free time.
But Follin, whose stepfather co-founded White Zombie, knows it’s nice work if you can get it. “I feel so much more free than when I was going to school and I would go to a party and people would be like, ‘Oh, so what are you doing after college?’ and I would be like, “I have no idea — still trying to figure that out!’” she explains. “But you know, don’t really have to deal with that anymore. We’re really lucky.”
That spirit of freedom extends to Cults’ self-titled debut. Like the initial demos, Cults is a rare mixture: There’s sunny indie pop with the heart-grabbing hooks of ’60s girl groups, sure, but it’s all built meticulously, from the beats up, with a note of darkness at the edge of every silver lining.
eMusic’s Marc Hogan reached Follin — who, boyfriend Oblivion has joked, “is quickly becoming the Nicki Minaj of indie rock” because of her numerous guest appearances (DOM, Fucked Up, Guards) — at a rest stop in Ontario, at the height of Cults’ first-ever headlining tour.
Cults - Cults
Album Review
eMusic
May 23, 2011
Cults aren't the first group to rise from anonymity to buzz-band status, and they certainly won't be the last. More remarkable than how Madeline Follin and Brian Oblivion crashed the major-label party, however, is the distinctive neo-retro pop style they've brought along with them. Born partly out of a youth spent listening to an especially eclectic oldies station and a nine-hour drive bonding as a couple over an iPod stacked with Lesley Gore, Jay-Z and Justin Timberlake, Cults' aesthetic is one of the most refreshing developments in pop music since the aggro-bubblegum of Brooklyn's own Sleigh Bells a year ago. Put simply: Nothing else sounds quite like this.
Self-produced with only minor polish from engineer Shane Stoneback — who worked with Sleigh Bells, and with Vampire Weekend, too — these 11 songs make good on the substantial promise of last year's sole single, "Go Outside." Follin's lilting, girlish voice soars over blithely chiming glockenspiel, trebly guitar, shimmery synth, funk bass and computer-sculpted beats, a slight patina of lo-fi haze still intact throughout. Equally integral are the sampled quotes, which include disturbingly resonant words from cult leaders and psycho killers.
Stylized samples aside, though, Cults can always fall back on songs that effortlessly capture a rich palette of coming-of-age feelings. The previously released material still sparkles: "Go Outside" embodies millennial ambivalence about offline existence; "Oh My God" longs for a life less humdrum and "Most Wanted" explores why we crave what hurts us. The new songs match the quality of their predecessors, from Stockholm syndrome romance "Abducted" to "Walk at Night," which is "Killing Moon"-bleak, on through to "Bumper," a lovers' duet that's something like the "Give Him a Great Big Kiss" by way of "Irreplaceable" by way of "Young Folks."
"So fuck you," Follin enthuses cheerfully, rejecting self-improvement advice amid a squall of shoegaze guitar noise on "Never Heal Myself." Running away from other people's expectations leads Cults someplace wonderfully their own.
courtesy of eMusic.com, Inc., © 2011 eMusic.com
eMusic
May 23, 2011
Cults aren't the first group to rise from anonymity to buzz-band status, and they certainly won't be the last. More remarkable than how Madeline Follin and Brian Oblivion crashed the major-label party, however, is the distinctive neo-retro pop style they've brought along with them. Born partly out of a youth spent listening to an especially eclectic oldies station and a nine-hour drive bonding as a couple over an iPod stacked with Lesley Gore, Jay-Z and Justin Timberlake, Cults' aesthetic is one of the most refreshing developments in pop music since the aggro-bubblegum of Brooklyn's own Sleigh Bells a year ago. Put simply: Nothing else sounds quite like this.
Self-produced with only minor polish from engineer Shane Stoneback — who worked with Sleigh Bells, and with Vampire Weekend, too — these 11 songs make good on the substantial promise of last year's sole single, "Go Outside." Follin's lilting, girlish voice soars over blithely chiming glockenspiel, trebly guitar, shimmery synth, funk bass and computer-sculpted beats, a slight patina of lo-fi haze still intact throughout. Equally integral are the sampled quotes, which include disturbingly resonant words from cult leaders and psycho killers.
Stylized samples aside, though, Cults can always fall back on songs that effortlessly capture a rich palette of coming-of-age feelings. The previously released material still sparkles: "Go Outside" embodies millennial ambivalence about offline existence; "Oh My God" longs for a life less humdrum and "Most Wanted" explores why we crave what hurts us. The new songs match the quality of their predecessors, from Stockholm syndrome romance "Abducted" to "Walk at Night," which is "Killing Moon"-bleak, on through to "Bumper," a lovers' duet that's something like the "Give Him a Great Big Kiss" by way of "Irreplaceable" by way of "Young Folks."
"So fuck you," Follin enthuses cheerfully, rejecting self-improvement advice amid a squall of shoegaze guitar noise on "Never Heal Myself." Running away from other people's expectations leads Cults someplace wonderfully their own.
courtesy of eMusic.com, Inc., © 2011 eMusic.com
Overlooked Records 2011
Feature
Pitchfork
July 22, 2011
Link
Clams Casino
Instrumental Mixtape
[self-released]
Mild-mannered physical therapy student by day, producer of lumbering, luminescent backing tracks for rising rappers by night, Clams Casino didn't even ask money for his creations until a couple of highly limited, vinyl-only releases earlier this year. The first and more comprehensive of these was the suburban New Jersey beatsmith's Instrumental Mixtape, originally available in March as MP3s. With slowed-down, blurred-out samples of sighing songstresses from Imogen Heap to Björk, the record shows Clams' intricately glazed PC productions are even more fascinating without rhymes over them.
Marissa Nadler
Marissa Nadler
[Box of Cedar]
If you measured artists' popularity by the devotion of their cults, Marissa Nadler wouldn't exactly be overlooked. After four finely wrought neo-folk albums, the Massachusetts-based songwriter got by with a little help from her fans in making this self-titled, self-released album. That successful Kickstarter funding campaign bears deeply rewarding fruit on Marissa Nadler, an uncommonly detailed album that's full of otherworldly romantic melancholy, whether in country-glinting "The Sun Always Reminds Me of You" or synth-touched "Baby, I Will Leave You in the Morning". Nadler's patient, often-elliptical songwriting shines through clearly enough to welcome a whole new crowd of rabid supporters.
Peaking Lights
936
[Not Not Fun]
It's a long way from Madison, Wisconsin, to Kingston, Jamaica. Though Peaking Lights' hometown may be better known for its Big Ten university, abundance of beer and cheese, and recent political protests, their new album's warm, dub-wise psych-pop should convince plenty of coastal music fans to stop ignoring the rich, inventive sounds coming out of the heartland these days. Where last year's vinyl- and cassette-only Space Primitive was an exercise in fuzzy abstraction, on 936 the band's busy percussion, ambling bass, drifting keyboards, reverb-drenched guitar harmonics, and chant-like female vocals strike a deft balance between languid tropical atmosphere and no-nonsense Midwestern hooks.
Pitchfork
July 22, 2011
Link
Clams Casino
Instrumental Mixtape
[self-released]
Mild-mannered physical therapy student by day, producer of lumbering, luminescent backing tracks for rising rappers by night, Clams Casino didn't even ask money for his creations until a couple of highly limited, vinyl-only releases earlier this year. The first and more comprehensive of these was the suburban New Jersey beatsmith's Instrumental Mixtape, originally available in March as MP3s. With slowed-down, blurred-out samples of sighing songstresses from Imogen Heap to Björk, the record shows Clams' intricately glazed PC productions are even more fascinating without rhymes over them.
Marissa Nadler
Marissa Nadler
[Box of Cedar]
If you measured artists' popularity by the devotion of their cults, Marissa Nadler wouldn't exactly be overlooked. After four finely wrought neo-folk albums, the Massachusetts-based songwriter got by with a little help from her fans in making this self-titled, self-released album. That successful Kickstarter funding campaign bears deeply rewarding fruit on Marissa Nadler, an uncommonly detailed album that's full of otherworldly romantic melancholy, whether in country-glinting "The Sun Always Reminds Me of You" or synth-touched "Baby, I Will Leave You in the Morning". Nadler's patient, often-elliptical songwriting shines through clearly enough to welcome a whole new crowd of rabid supporters.
Peaking Lights
936
[Not Not Fun]
It's a long way from Madison, Wisconsin, to Kingston, Jamaica. Though Peaking Lights' hometown may be better known for its Big Ten university, abundance of beer and cheese, and recent political protests, their new album's warm, dub-wise psych-pop should convince plenty of coastal music fans to stop ignoring the rich, inventive sounds coming out of the heartland these days. Where last year's vinyl- and cassette-only Space Primitive was an exercise in fuzzy abstraction, on 936 the band's busy percussion, ambling bass, drifting keyboards, reverb-drenched guitar harmonics, and chant-like female vocals strike a deft balance between languid tropical atmosphere and no-nonsense Midwestern hooks.
Words and Music: Our 60 Favorite Music Books
Feature
Pitchfork
July 11, 2011
Link
Hip: The History
by John Leland
"Hipster" may be one of the most overused epithets of the 21st century. As this 2004 book argues persuasively, the concept of hip also happens to be one of the uniquely defining characteristics of American culture: a complex and contradictory social nexus that shapes how we view the world to this day. If anyone is suited to take on the fool's errand of answering Tower of Power's immortal question, "What Is Hip?", it's John Leland, former editor-in-chief of Details and an original columnist at SPIN. Rather than provide a how-to manual for trendies, Hip: The History exhaustively explores how this strange force works, how it has come to dominate over the past several centuries, and what all that might mean, with incredibly provocative results.
The history of hip, Leland discovers, is about the unequal exchange between outsiders and insiders, with African-Americans foremost among them. Drawing a direct line from the coded language of slaves to minstrel shows to the exaggerated "post-hip" whiteness of Ashton Kutcher in a trucker hat, Leland defines hipness in terms of not only Charlie Parker and the Velvet Underground, but also Mark Twain, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Walt Whitman. Hip, he sees, can be a progressive force, as in the civil rights movement, but it can also allow privileged whites to substitute enjoying the most stereotyped elements of African-American culture for actually ending racism. And, nodding to Thomas Frank, he acknowledges that the pursuit of hipness is inextricable from 21st-century corporate capitalism, too. Unfortunately, the fact that there's just a single chapter set aside for women further reflects hip's ongoing problem with gender equality.
At the time, some critics complained that Leland hadn't written in some would-be hip argot-- his prose is painstakingly intellectual, overflowing with knowledge and ideas-- but that only underscores how far ahead of them he really was.
Love Is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time
by Rob Sheffield
Music is made to be shared. In a time of torrents and Google-friendly file-transfer sites, the mixtape has maintained an improbably prominent place in popular culture, from Nick Hornby's High Fidelity and its movie adaptation to Thurston Moore's Mix Tape: The Art of Cassette Culture, Jason Bitner's Cassette From My Ex, and the many online-only "mixtapes" spanning Dirty South rap and Berlin techno.
In concept, Rob Sheffield's Love Is a Mix Tape could have been unbearably affected: The longtime Rolling Stone writer organizes his book around 15 mixtapes made by him and wife Renée Crist, herself a fellow music critic. In execution, though, Sheffield's memoir is wonderfully poignant-- funny but also deeply moving, and less about mixtapes than about the joy and pain of being human. "Renée died on May 11, 1997, very suddenly and unexpectedly, at home with me, of a pulmonary embolism," we learn in the opening pages. "She was 31."
Sheffield is self-deprecating and unsentimental in setting out the facts of his story, but the man's love for his late wife radiates from the page, and by the time the book is over, many readers will feel it, too. Love Is a Mix Tape reveals how music-- especially the music of the 90s, and especially the music of indie-rock icons Pavement-- brought together a "shy, skinny, Irish Catholic geek from Boston" and a "hell-raising Appalachian punk-rock girl," deepened their bond, and finally accompanied Sheffield through his lonely, miserable months as a widower. The first night Sheffield met Crist, he offered to make her a tape. "Except this time, with this girl," he writes, "it worked."
Let's Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste
by Carl Wilson
There may be no accounting for taste, but there's always a story behind it. For all the different approaches and musical genres on display in Continuum's 33 1/3 series of books about albums, almost all of their subjects have one thing in common: critics adore them. Former Pitchfork contributor Carl Wilson's entry on Céline Dion's Let's Talk About Love is different. When this book came out in 2007, Dion had just become the best-selling female recording artist of all time, but she was-- and remains-- anything but a critics' darling. "From the start," Wilson acknowledges, "her music struck me as bland monotony raised to a pitch of obnoxious bombast-- R&B with the sex and slyness surgically removed, French chanson severed from its wit and soul... a neverending crescendo of personal affirmation deaf to social conflict and context."
A music writer for the Toronto newspaper the Globe and Mail, Wilson is too conscientious to feel comfortable rejecting someone so globally beloved. So this erudite and eye-opening book attempts to explore not only Dion's polarizing appeal but also the very concept of "taste." Along the way, Wilson traces his loathing for Dion back to her Oscars performance alongside Elliott Smith, examines the meaning of "schmaltz" and Dion's French-Canadian roots, meets her adoring fans, sees her Vegas show, reviews the album (it's the one with that Titanic song), and analyzes theories on taste from David Hume, Immanuel Kant, and Pierre Bourdieu (turns out social distinction plays a big part). By the end, Wilson has set the blueprint for a kind of music criticism that "might put less stock in defending its choices and more in depicting its enjoyment, with all its messiness and private soul tremors-- to show what it is like for me to like it, and invite you to compare." In other words, let's talk about love.
Pitchfork
July 11, 2011
Link
Hip: The History
by John Leland
"Hipster" may be one of the most overused epithets of the 21st century. As this 2004 book argues persuasively, the concept of hip also happens to be one of the uniquely defining characteristics of American culture: a complex and contradictory social nexus that shapes how we view the world to this day. If anyone is suited to take on the fool's errand of answering Tower of Power's immortal question, "What Is Hip?", it's John Leland, former editor-in-chief of Details and an original columnist at SPIN. Rather than provide a how-to manual for trendies, Hip: The History exhaustively explores how this strange force works, how it has come to dominate over the past several centuries, and what all that might mean, with incredibly provocative results.
The history of hip, Leland discovers, is about the unequal exchange between outsiders and insiders, with African-Americans foremost among them. Drawing a direct line from the coded language of slaves to minstrel shows to the exaggerated "post-hip" whiteness of Ashton Kutcher in a trucker hat, Leland defines hipness in terms of not only Charlie Parker and the Velvet Underground, but also Mark Twain, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Walt Whitman. Hip, he sees, can be a progressive force, as in the civil rights movement, but it can also allow privileged whites to substitute enjoying the most stereotyped elements of African-American culture for actually ending racism. And, nodding to Thomas Frank, he acknowledges that the pursuit of hipness is inextricable from 21st-century corporate capitalism, too. Unfortunately, the fact that there's just a single chapter set aside for women further reflects hip's ongoing problem with gender equality.
At the time, some critics complained that Leland hadn't written in some would-be hip argot-- his prose is painstakingly intellectual, overflowing with knowledge and ideas-- but that only underscores how far ahead of them he really was.
Love Is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time
by Rob Sheffield
Music is made to be shared. In a time of torrents and Google-friendly file-transfer sites, the mixtape has maintained an improbably prominent place in popular culture, from Nick Hornby's High Fidelity and its movie adaptation to Thurston Moore's Mix Tape: The Art of Cassette Culture, Jason Bitner's Cassette From My Ex, and the many online-only "mixtapes" spanning Dirty South rap and Berlin techno.
In concept, Rob Sheffield's Love Is a Mix Tape could have been unbearably affected: The longtime Rolling Stone writer organizes his book around 15 mixtapes made by him and wife Renée Crist, herself a fellow music critic. In execution, though, Sheffield's memoir is wonderfully poignant-- funny but also deeply moving, and less about mixtapes than about the joy and pain of being human. "Renée died on May 11, 1997, very suddenly and unexpectedly, at home with me, of a pulmonary embolism," we learn in the opening pages. "She was 31."
Sheffield is self-deprecating and unsentimental in setting out the facts of his story, but the man's love for his late wife radiates from the page, and by the time the book is over, many readers will feel it, too. Love Is a Mix Tape reveals how music-- especially the music of the 90s, and especially the music of indie-rock icons Pavement-- brought together a "shy, skinny, Irish Catholic geek from Boston" and a "hell-raising Appalachian punk-rock girl," deepened their bond, and finally accompanied Sheffield through his lonely, miserable months as a widower. The first night Sheffield met Crist, he offered to make her a tape. "Except this time, with this girl," he writes, "it worked."
Let's Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste
by Carl Wilson
There may be no accounting for taste, but there's always a story behind it. For all the different approaches and musical genres on display in Continuum's 33 1/3 series of books about albums, almost all of their subjects have one thing in common: critics adore them. Former Pitchfork contributor Carl Wilson's entry on Céline Dion's Let's Talk About Love is different. When this book came out in 2007, Dion had just become the best-selling female recording artist of all time, but she was-- and remains-- anything but a critics' darling. "From the start," Wilson acknowledges, "her music struck me as bland monotony raised to a pitch of obnoxious bombast-- R&B with the sex and slyness surgically removed, French chanson severed from its wit and soul... a neverending crescendo of personal affirmation deaf to social conflict and context."
A music writer for the Toronto newspaper the Globe and Mail, Wilson is too conscientious to feel comfortable rejecting someone so globally beloved. So this erudite and eye-opening book attempts to explore not only Dion's polarizing appeal but also the very concept of "taste." Along the way, Wilson traces his loathing for Dion back to her Oscars performance alongside Elliott Smith, examines the meaning of "schmaltz" and Dion's French-Canadian roots, meets her adoring fans, sees her Vegas show, reviews the album (it's the one with that Titanic song), and analyzes theories on taste from David Hume, Immanuel Kant, and Pierre Bourdieu (turns out social distinction plays a big part). By the end, Wilson has set the blueprint for a kind of music criticism that "might put less stock in defending its choices and more in depicting its enjoyment, with all its messiness and private soul tremors-- to show what it is like for me to like it, and invite you to compare." In other words, let's talk about love.
Richard Buckner - Our Blood
Album Reviews
SPIN
August 2011
Link (byline corrected in September issue)
7/10
"I guess I'm the one they warned you about," Richard Buckner acknowledges on Our Blood, summing up in one long-suffering moan his entire discography of dangerous romance. Brooding and oblique, Buckner's first album in five years again seeks its pleasures in the shadows beside the bar, framed by desolate electronics far removed from the singer-songwriter's '90s alt-country roots. With pedal steel by Buddy Cage (Dylan's Blood on the Tracks), ominous percussion by Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley, and Buckner's usual subtle craftsmanship, he creates wasted-night rhapsodies that demand you lean in close -- however warily.
SPIN
August 2011
Link (byline corrected in September issue)
7/10
"I guess I'm the one they warned you about," Richard Buckner acknowledges on Our Blood, summing up in one long-suffering moan his entire discography of dangerous romance. Brooding and oblique, Buckner's first album in five years again seeks its pleasures in the shadows beside the bar, framed by desolate electronics far removed from the singer-songwriter's '90s alt-country roots. With pedal steel by Buddy Cage (Dylan's Blood on the Tracks), ominous percussion by Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley, and Buckner's usual subtle craftsmanship, he creates wasted-night rhapsodies that demand you lean in close -- however warily.
Richard Youngs - Amplifying Response
Album Reviews
SPIN
August 2011
Link
7/10
During more than two decades spent honing a fiercely individual approach to minimalist, off-center folk, this Glasgow-based Englishman has amassed a small but steadily growing cult. Richard Youngs' 11th solo album on Indiana indie Jagjaguwar ditches the keyboards of his recent releases, instead relying on disjointed guitars, eerily overdubbed incantations, and the rich, multihued drumming of Damon Krukowski (Galaxie 500, Damon & Naomi). Evoking the moonlit tumbleweed vistas of an acid Western, Amplifying Host is unsettling but rewarding. "This is the time of fulfillment," Youngs exults. Right on schedule.
SPIN
August 2011
Link
7/10
During more than two decades spent honing a fiercely individual approach to minimalist, off-center folk, this Glasgow-based Englishman has amassed a small but steadily growing cult. Richard Youngs' 11th solo album on Indiana indie Jagjaguwar ditches the keyboards of his recent releases, instead relying on disjointed guitars, eerily overdubbed incantations, and the rich, multihued drumming of Damon Krukowski (Galaxie 500, Damon & Naomi). Evoking the moonlit tumbleweed vistas of an acid Western, Amplifying Host is unsettling but rewarding. "This is the time of fulfillment," Youngs exults. Right on schedule.
Holy Other - With U EP
Album Reviews
SPIN
August 2011
Link
8/10
Indie rock, R&B, electronic dance music, and hip-hop have all been converging in pretty fascinating ways lately, but Holy Other is on some whole other planet. With pitch-shifted vocal samples, yearning synths, and shuddering bass, this Berlin-via-Manchester producer's debut EP blasts through not only genres, but the divide between the otherworldly and the physical, too. Imagine if the flickering techno of the Field, the foggy rumblings of Burial, and the warped R&B of How to Dress Well or the Weeknd all headed toward someplace new. Your move, James Blake.
SPIN
August 2011
Link
8/10
Indie rock, R&B, electronic dance music, and hip-hop have all been converging in pretty fascinating ways lately, but Holy Other is on some whole other planet. With pitch-shifted vocal samples, yearning synths, and shuddering bass, this Berlin-via-Manchester producer's debut EP blasts through not only genres, but the divide between the otherworldly and the physical, too. Imagine if the flickering techno of the Field, the foggy rumblings of Burial, and the warped R&B of How to Dress Well or the Weeknd all headed toward someplace new. Your move, James Blake.
Court Strikes Down SEC's Proxy Access Rule
News Article
Ignites
July 25, 2011
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Ignites
July 25, 2011
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Gemini Flub Lets Fund Advisory Contract Expire
News Article
Ignites
July 22, 2011
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Ignites
July 22, 2011
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‘No’ Votes on Pay Are Sparking Lawsuits
News Analysis
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August 1, 2011
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August 1, 2011
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Fed Hands RBS a Reprimand, Clorox Rebuffs Icahn, EU Risk ...
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August 1, 2011
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August 1, 2011
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Campaign Finance Bill Raises Liability Concerns
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August 1, 2011
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August 1, 2011
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Campaign Finance Bill Raises Liability Concerns
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August 1, 2011
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August 1, 2011
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BSkyB Board Confirms James Murdoch as Chair
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August 1, 2011
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August 1, 2011
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Fortune Brands Chair to Leave After Company Split
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August 1, 2011
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August 1, 2011
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Banks Buy Controversial Clawback Insurance
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July 25, 2011
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July 25, 2011
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Dell’s Board Fends Off Shareholder Proposals
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July 25, 2011
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July 25, 2011
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Petrohawk Suit Highlights Golden Parachute Risks
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July 25, 2011
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July 25, 2011
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Chesapeake Gains From Oklahoma Law Change
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July 18, 2011
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July 18, 2011
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Group Calls for Probe on Pay-Ratio Disclosure
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July 18, 2011
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July 18, 2011
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RIM's board weathers a storm, Cincinnati Bell gets sued ...
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July 18, 2011
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July 18, 2011
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Corruption Risk Still Challenges Companies
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July 11, 2011
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July 11, 2011
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Big, Small Companies Clash Over IFRS
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July 11, 2011
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July 11, 2011
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Conference Board Forms Panel on Political Spending
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July 11, 2011
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July 11, 2011
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Performance Not a Factor in CEO Pay Rise: Column
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July 11, 2011
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July 11, 2011
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Campbell Plans CEO Succession Slowly, Publicly
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July 5, 2011
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July 5, 2011
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Pro-Investor Moves at eBay; Big Payday for Ghosn; Chao ...
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July 5, 2011
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July 5, 2011
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Comp Committee Chairs in the Hot Seat
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July 5, 2011
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July 5, 2011
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European Corporate Governance Seen Improving
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July 5, 2011
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July 5, 2011
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Big Companies Fight Pay-Comparison Disclosure
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July 5, 2011
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July 5, 2011
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Beware of Gifts... Made to Directors
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June 27, 2011
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June 27, 2011
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More on "proxy plumbing"; green proposals gain support ...
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June 27, 2011
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June 27, 2011
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US Bank Boards Little Changed: Study
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June 27, 2011
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June 27, 2011
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Exec Pay Cited for Role in US Inequality
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June 27, 2011
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June 27, 2011
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PCAOB Eyes Changes to Auditor’s Report
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June 27, 2011
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June 27, 2011
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