Once More Before the Lull

Decided to squeak one more in under the wire before I leave tomorrow, so you kids have something to satisfy that musical hunger chawin' away at yer insides while I'm gone. This week's story is simplicity, which I wanted to highlight through three excellent EPs that translated into merely mediocre full-length debuts.

First up is Voxtrot, the little band from Austin that was the Belle (& Sebastian) of the blogosphere for their similarities to said band on their first two EPs -- the pitch-perfect Raised by Wolves and its solid follow-on Mothers, Sisters, Daughters & Wives, Your Biggest Fan -- before dropping their full-length last year. And up until that point, the praise was warranted -- there was a joyfulness and innocence on those first two EPs that was very much reminiscent of Belle & Co., right down to lead singer Ramesh Srivastava's fey (and faux) British accent and cutesy lyrics of love and loss. But it wasn't mere aping, devoid of passion or creativity -- the emotion and exuberance were there, and the band delivered a blast of pure Britpop that was all the more powerful for each of the EPs' short five-song duration. It was short, simple, and irresistible.

On the full-length debut, though, it seems like the pressure got the better of them and they began fussing with things too much -- the emotion feels constrained, the production feels hackneyed, and the overall experience is one of slightly overwrought desperation; the overly earnest kid in school who tries just a little too hard to be liked. Which is not to say it's all bad -- there are moments that capture the old fire, such as the delicate opener "Introduction," the jaunty "Stephen," and the pure gem "Kid Gloves" -- but overall they fall far short of their earlier efforts.

As a result, we'll just have to luxuriate in the brilliance of those first two offerings. And to be honest, Wolves is as close to perfection as you can over the course of five songs -- the bouncy title track, the sing-along chorus of "Missing Pieces," and the stately beauty of "Long Haul." All make for an exuberant half-hour, but none moreso than the following, the pristine "The Start of Something," which is just a purely perfect pop song. Enjoy it here (with an unintentionally hilarious fan video by Nina):





The second faulty EP-to-LP conversion comes from Syracuse's Ra Ra Riot, who sound something like the Shins with a string section, almost as if they talked Andrew Bird into dropping by the studio with a cello and violin. Their self-titled 2007 EP was a rush -- from the smoldering "Ghosts under Rocks" to the aptly imposing "Everest" and the sweet lovenote "Can you Tell," it was a rollicking good listen. (Which could explain why four of its six songs show up on the full-length.) While recording the debut, though, their drummer drowned and it seems like that weight -- naturally so -- bogged down their finishing the project.

Which is probably why what's left feels sort of rushed -- the new material seems not fully formed (two exceptions being "Oh, La" and "St. Peter's Day Festival," which capture the magic of their first release) and the strongest songs by far are the ones that already appeared on the EP -- sort of like the band just wanted to get out of the studio and put something out on the street. Not that that's a bad thing (or that you can blame them) -- with 75% of their EP showing up and the couple of new songs that pass muster you've still got a pretty decent ten-song debut, it's just not the fully-formed blast you were hoping for. Check out the best thing on both of them, the shuffling bounce of "Dying is Fine." (And are those the dudes from the Rembrandts?! Looks like THEEEEEY walked...five...hun...dred...miles right into the Riot's video...)





Last up is Jets Overhead, a nifty band from Canada who deliver both the best debut AND, more importantly, all their music for free on their website so you can see whether they're your cup of tea or not with no penalty. Sounding like a cross between the fuzzed up rock of early, not-yet-crazy Dandy Warhols and the reverbed harmonizing of the Vines, these guys make the transition from a raw, sparse EP to a more polished and refined full-length without suffering some of the same pitfalls as the aforementioned bands.

There are a couple songs that don't quite get off the ground (or jets that don't quite get overhead, if you will), but on the whole it's a solid appearance on everyone's radar screen. "Killing Time," "Shadow Knows," and "Seems so Far" all swoop confidently out of the speakers, while down-tempo tracks like the titular "Bridges" help balance out the attack. And you have to respect a band confident enough to put all their music out for free. (Before Radiohead and Nails got all the ink for doing so.)

As mentioned in the lead, the key to all three of these write-ups is simplicity -- in trusting your instincts and releasing the music that's nearest to your heart, while blocking out the chorus of voices second guessing your every move. This isn't to say there aren't alternate ways of doing these things or suggestions that may yield a better, more refined product, but in at least two of these cases it seems the early innocence, exuberance, and confidence got muffled in a sea of nay-saying and turned into something it shouldn't really have been. I guess the moral is to trust your gut and trust what got you where you are, and not treat every newcomer's word that you pick up along the way as gospel. So check out the sampling of at least one band who did just that and check out this track off their EP, the Kinks-y guitar riffed "Addiction" here:




Until next time, my friends -- see you in a couple months...

--RdS

Modern Guilt, For You & Me

Well, since I'm about to disappear for several months I wanted to pop in to give a brief recap of two discs that have been getting solid playback on the 'Pod of late. First up is Beck's latest, Modern Guilt, his tenth full-length (and if THAT doesn't make you feel old, fair readers, for those of us who remember his big label debut in '94 with the "Loser" wave, I don't know what will) produced with the red-hot Danger Mouse. What results is an album that brings the best out of both parties while continuing their recent explorations and creative growth.

Front and center are Beck's dreary, mush-mouthed mumble and Mouse's quirky (and irresistible) percussion -- two of their respective signatures -- while Beck continues to move away from his nonsense lyrics of old, delivering a bleaker batch of meditations that's more in line with the drained sentiments of Sea Change than the hipster doofus of Guero or The Information. Mouse echoes these efforts as he continues to flesh out his marriage of driving beats and sweeping orchestration, delving deeper into the 60's-era sound he first experimented with in the Beatles--Jay-Z mashup, The Gray Album, and continued in this year's Gnarls Barkley effort, The Odd Couple. And the album shines as a result. Both parties seem to have realized that oddity with no emotion yields a far more perishable product -- pure pop confection, like aural cotton candy; more volume than actual substance -- and instead sought to resonate in the listener's heart and mind.

What's left behind is a batch of extremely strong songs -- the fuzzed out strut of "Soul of a Man," the go-go pop of "Gamma Ray," the psychedelic-twinged opener "Orphans," and the driving rock of "Profanity Prayers." All sound like little slices of 60's heaven, depending on the particular vantage point, and that breadth makes a far more lasting impact upon repeated listening. Overall, though, nothing packs a bigger punch than the album's closer, the slow-burning gem "Volcano," which is the perfect realization of everything mentioned above -- the shuffling beat and emotional sweep, the kicked-to-the-curb lyrics and delivery, the little idiosyncratic flourishes. It's hands down the best thing on the album and an appropriate reflection of everything that preceded it -- solid, from head to toe. Check it out here:





The other CD of note is The Walkmen's latest, You & Me, another smoldering classic from this band of DC-cum-NY misfits. Following close on the heels of 2006's A Hundred Miles Off, there's really not much to quibble with here. (Or there, for that matter.) It's chock full of everything you expect from the guys -- murky, middle of the ocean organs and echoey guitars, dreary, despondent lyrics, all juxtaposed with Hamilton Leithauser's saintly, ethereal voice, a voice so heavenly it could raise the dead and make them give thanks for disturbing their eternal sleep. There's no panicked experimentation or need to raze everything in order to justify their credibility, just confident, defiant execution from beginning to end.

From the stately "Donde Esta la Playa" to the shambling "If Only It Were True," you're grabbed from the outset and know exactly where you're heading from the album's first line -- "It's back to the bad old days..." What lies in between is a mix of beautifully moody music that improves with every listen -- the building power of "On the Water" and "Postcards from Tiny Islands," the 4-in-the-morning weariness of "Red Moon" and "Long Time Ahead of Us." The album is pure smoldering brilliance, epitomized by this track midway through, "Canadian Girl," which encapsulates everything said above. Try to resist its siren song, if you will.




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And since I'm leaving for awhile, we'll close with two tunes from Sunshine Radio that give an update on its owner's mood lately. First up is this track from the aforementioned Walkmen gem, A Hundred Miles Off, which effectively sums up my feelings of work these days. Pretty self-explanatory. Suffice it to say it's been getting HEAVY play in the rotation this week...




Second is a track from my beloved Mates of State that serves as a little FU to those around me who continually assume I'm more like the song's subject than someone with a valid explanation for my disdain for things right now. Be it towards work, my "home" life, or being stuck in DC in general, the initial assumption people seem to have is that I'm being unreasonable -- a rash, impetuous baby -- rather than someone rationally responding to events. But what do I know, they're probably right. Actions don't seem to matter much around here, and neither does how you treat people -- it's all about the here and now and how you can spin things.

Past events are irrelevant, as are patterns of behavior and performance. What matters is the immediate present. That way everyone is equal and there are no previous or future considerations to get bogged down in. Fool (or fuck) me once, no big deal because you've never done it before and would never do it again, right? Wipe the slate clean and move on. Next time it happens, it's the exact same -- first time's a freebie, but don't let it happen again. And so on. 1 + 1 = 1 Whatever. I'm the asshole, and we're all the same. I get it...

Lolla and Leaving

Finally back from a grand week's vacation that included Lolla and getting locked out for nearly a week (who says church isn't fun?) and while this year's incarnation wasn't as explosive a good time as last year's, thanks to muffled sound on certain key acts and unnecessarily cruel scheduling conflicts, it was still a blast. Some highlights were sitting watching Mates of State with my lady, drinking ice cold white wine while the sun set behind the skyline backdrop, Jeff Tweedy playing an acoustic set at the kid's tent, and finally getting to see the National live. All were great, as was Gogol Bordello, who are absolutely batshit insane live -- go-go dancers, whistles and screams, drummers with Indian headdresses and shirtless Ukrainian lead singers with spectacular mustaches running around in a whirl -- they hands down win the award for most entertaining act caught over the weekend, and are an absolute must to see live. (So keep your eyes peeled for when they're coming to your neck of the woods.)

One nice discovery was Rogue Wave from the Bay Area in California, who sound a little like Band of Horses live -- beautiful melodies, plinking treble guitar lines, and the soaring voice of lead singer Zach Rogue. Really cool stuff -- check out the tune Lake Michigan off their newest album here:




The main thing occupying my time since my return has been Whit's departure to Spain for a year, which has naturally left me in a state without my best friend at my side. As a result, the tunes captivating my ears have been ones that resonate in the ole ticker, part sadness, part soaring hope, and I'll leave you with a little medley in case you find yourself in similar straits. First up is a little acoustic ditty from Bright Eyes from a couple years back, Lua. It's a simple melody (believe me -- I've been playing it on guitar endlessly lately) with beautiful melancholy lyrics and Conor Oberst's hushed vocals -- perfect for those bruised moments where a soft whisper's all you can muster.




Next is another track off the new Coldplay album -- I'm telling you, I want to hate them as much as everyone else, but there are just some damned good songs on there, no matter how annoying Chris Martin is with his British whine and faux-militaristic garb. This one's part of a great run at the end of the album and has all you could ever want from the band -- pretty guitar lines, resonant lyrics, and Martin's soothing croon. Its soaring emotion helps you off the canvas a little bit and convinces you that things just might not be that bad after all.




The final track in this medley is an old Decemberists favorite of mine, As I Rise, a song that completes the cycle from bludgeoned despair to buoyant hope and the certainty that things are going to be just fine. This one is pure prettiness -- Colin Meloy's voice and lyrics, finger-picked banjos and guitars, and an old saloon piano shuffling along in the background. Turn this one up and sing along, for things truly will be just fine -- la di dah, la dah...