If last year was all about rebuilding, this one was about staving off collapse. If last year was about rediscovering yourself and what made you tick, this one was about pushing those things to the limit and hoping like hell they held together long enough to get the job done. This was the year of living on the run -- the year of sixty or seventy hour work weeks; the year of skyrocketing work and diminishing tools with which to accomplish it; the year of the endless hustle and living out of a suitcase. It was the year where often times the only thing scarcer than common sense and logic around the office was the patience to keep fighting against their permanent demise.
This was the year of percussive therapy and narrowly avoided breaks.
If it wasn't for the release of boxing, drumming, and the indefatigable efforts of a bashful belle from Jersey, this was the year I might have lost it. As it was, those three things (plus the surplus of great new music detailed below) were enough to keep Humpty together, and more or less in his right mind. While a lot of things remained the same -- the insults and inefficiencies of work foremost among them -- there were tremendous new discoveries for the intrepid explorer.
Amidst the collapsing global economy and seemingly endless amounts of bad news in the papers (entrenched unemployment, the tragicomic US congress, etc), these pockets of joy and goodness hidden in the rubble unsurprisingly often took us back to simpler times -- the retro soul of Fitz and Penate, the folk sunshine of the Dodos and Decemberists, the unabashed heat of the Kills and Graveyard. For many, this year was about finding a little shelter from the rain; a little break from the mental anguish; a little reason to sing or dance amidst the flames threatening to engulf you.
Thankfully, these albums provided that, time and time again. In a year that was so uniformly taxing and so super-sized in its burdens, we, too, have outdone ourselves and taken this thing to 11 rather than stop the party at ten. Hopefully you'll find some of what you need inside, as I did. There's plenty of goodness to follow, and hopefully more like it in 2012. Until then, here we go:
1. The Kills -- Blood Pressures: For the second time in four years, these guys top the year-end review, and this time it's by a landslide. As cool as Midnight Boom was when it won in 2008 (barely edging out the Black Keys' enormous Attack & Release), this one is somehow several orders of magnitude better, like taking a Mini Cooper and giving it a tank turret and the ability to fly. The band's fourth album is all gritty swagger and malicious intent -- from the scalding opener "Future Starts Slow" through similar scorchers "Satellite," "Heart is a Beating Drum," and "Nail in my Coffin" (as good an opening salvo as you'll find this year), the disc doesn't slow down until the sweet "Wild Charms" nearly twenty minutes in. (Which is only a momentary respite at 1:15 long.)
Guitarist Jamie Hince remains one of the best examples of why you should pick up a guitar, all raw, explosive emotion instead of technical virtuosity, while the band itself remains the epitome of cool, bringing a sexiness and danger to everything they touch. Seeing them live only intensifies the effect, with lead singer Alison Mosshart writhing around Hince's slinky, black atmosphere. Nobody else is able to tap into our most primal instincts like this and force you to succumb to their song's imperatives. Even after repeated listens, the spell this casts remains -- this is serious business, and the Kills remain its most skilled purveyors. Highly recommended.
*1.5. See Below.
2. The Raveonettes -- Raven in the Grave: Showing that age doesn't have to mean diminishing skills, on their sixth album the Raveons follow the blueprint of their previous ones -- angelic vocals, walls of wildly distorted guitars, and simple, primal drums -- while adding a new wrinkle of synthesizers, giving the proceedings a shimmery, new wave feel that wouldn't sound out of place in the 1980s. The band has always managed to sound like a throwback to earlier eras -- be it early 60s doo-wop for the vocals, mid-40s biker gangs for the noir imagery and atmosphere, or late 60s proto-punk for the distorted guitars -- but they've always incorporated the best elements of those eras and added something new, rather than sounding like hackneyed knockoffs.
The same holds on this album, with its atmospheric reverb, hazy silhouettes, and cigarette embers smoldering in the dark. "Evil Seeds" and "Apparitions" strike hard, all swirling guitars, black atmosphere, and loud-quiet-loud dynamics, while "Summer Moon," "Forget that You're Young," and "My Time's Up" provide the counterbalance, with sweet, hushed harmonies and bits of surfer-style guitar riffs bursting out of the calm. "War in Heaven" remains the centerpiece, a near five minute gem representative of the remainder of the album -- at turns dark and menacing, others sweet and innocent, like the two sides of your psyche at war with themselves. Solid as ever, this one gave my divided brain its soundtrack.
3. The Dodos -- No Color: The fourth offering from this San Francisco duo follows up their more sedate sophomore album, Time to Die, with an unmitigated rocketship to exhilaration and a return to form that rivals their classic debut. From the opening "Black Night" to subsequent gems like "Don't Stop," "Going Under," and "Don't Try and Hide it," the album takes off at full speed and you're strapped in for the ride.
And what a blissful ride it is -- singer/guitarist Meric Long and drumming maelstrom Logan Kroeber again cram a seemingly endless array of rhythms, melodies, and sing-along choruses into the album's too-brief 45 minutes, seamlessly hopping from one tune to the next like frogs across the lilypads. Tying everything together is the devastating songstress Neko Case, who sings backup to the boys' exuberance on half the album's tracks. Despite best being enjoyed in its entirety rather than iPod shuffle nuggets, I came back to this album time and again over the year -- whenever I needed a boost, a smile, or a chance to sing to the heavens. Here's to regularly finding all three...
4. Fitz and the Tantrums -- Pickin up the Pieces: Easily one of the year's highest energy offerings, lead singer Michael Fitzpatrick and the rest of his LA bandits exploded onto the scene this year with this spot-on blast of 60s soul. The band pulls off a neat (and by no means easy) trick with their debut, paying homage to a well-worn era (that of such titans as Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding, and the Supremes), while still modernizing and updating the sound. That they do it so effortlessly and with such panache speaks volumes about their potential, making them definitely one to watch the coming years.
As I wrote back in April, the album makes you feel like you've stumbled onto an oldies radio station loaded with Motown classics -- "Don't Gotta Work it Out," the title track, "L.O.V.," "Dear Mr. President," and the lead single "Moneygrabber" all crackle with that generation's pop-timism and lushness and make you smile for a time since passed. And despite repeated, repeated listens, that sensation of familiarity and joy has only intensified the subsequent six months. Each time a track comes on shuffle, I'm blasted back to 1964 and singing along like a teenager before the Sullivan show. Somehow the band has managed to do the impossible -- create an album full of songs that, like that radio station of old, makes you happy and sing along no matter how many times you've heard the tunes. A great time at the jukebox, every time...
5. The Vaccines -- What did you Expect from the Vaccines?: Along with the previous entry, the debut from this gang of Londoners is an all-around blast and one of the best times of the year -- a cheeky return to the joyful days of rock's early days where songs were fun, full of sing to the rafters choruses, and guaranteed to make you dance. There's nary a bad tune to be found. Lead singer Justin Hayward Young (formerly Jay Jay Pistolet of the pitch perfect 25 Songs) and company hold court with a 35-minute blast of 60s era sock hop rock that captures that period's energy well and will have you dancing and pumping your fist in the air like a teenager.
From the album opener "Wrecking Bar (Ra Ra Ra)" to subsequent tracks "If You Wanna," "Blow it Up," and the lead single "Post Break-up Sex," your feet will start moving and your body will be compelled to follow. It's all high-energy stuff, which is not to say it's superficial or cheap, as pop so often is -- Hayward Young's lyrics continue to be full of subtle sweetness and sarcasm. (Check out the lead single or the similar blast "Norgaard" for two stellar examples.) "Wetsuit" remains a favorite, showing how the band shines even when they slow things down a bit and let their songs unfold. All in all, a total winner. This album was endless amounts of fun this year, providing a much-needed release after my endless toils at the office. I can't wait to see what they've got in store for us next...
6. Graveyard -- Hisingen Blues: An absolute atom bomb of an album, the second offering from the Swedish masters of retro hard rock detonates your speakers with their uncanny blend of Cream and Black Sabbath, to say nothing of your brain and eardrums. From the thunderous opener "Ain't Fit to Live Here" to fellow juggernauts "No Good, Mr. Holden," "Ungrateful are the Dead" and "Uncomfortably Numb," the band deftly navigates the time honored quiet-loud dynamic and builds the pressure until songs explode, with lead singer Joakim Nilsson growling and shouting like a revved up Ozzy one minute, then crooning like Jack Bruce in his heyday the next.
In a year full of fantastic discoveries, this was the one I obsessed over most -- I must have listened to this album (as well as their debut) at least fifty times since I first heard them this summer. Something about how they combined the heaviness and force of the 70s best hard rock with the slinky bluesiness that so often tempered its bludgeoning attack was irresistible. I suppose when you're working 60-70 hours a week for the entire year, it's not surprising an album that's catacombs dark, sledgehammer heavy, and ready to steamroll whatever comes your way will be resonant. This one definitely hit the spot, and will likely continue to in the coming year.
7. The Decemberists -- The King is Dead: After the utter debacle of their last album, the prog rock nightmare The Hazards of Love, this album definitely had its work cut out for it. Thankfully, this album is a simple, straightforward delight -- ten songs, forty minutes, and not a forced phrase or complicated conceit to be found. It just bursts with heart from the blissful opener "Don't Carry it All" to the soulful gem "Dear Avery" at its close.
Along the way you're treated to bouncy winners like "Calamity Song," which sounds like early-era REM (a fitting memory as guitarist Peter Buck helped out on several tracks here), the stolid, resilient "Rise to Me," which is belt it to the rafters inspiration, and the twin shot of "Down by the Water" and "All Arise!," which are such country fried goodness you want to don your Ariats and learn how to line dance. All in all, it's a great return to form, made all the more poignant with the band announcing an indefinite hiatus with its release. If they end up not regrouping, it's a heck of a way to go out, all boot stomps, hand claps, and heart.
8. (tie) Feist -- Metals: After the monster success of her sophomore album, with its infectious iPod anthem "1 2 3 4," it would seem difficult for the Canadian songstress to come even close to measuring up with her follow-up. Thankfully she doesn't aim to top herself in search of commercial success, heaping dozens of additional instruments and studio polish over her signature stripped-down sound. Instead, she makes like all aspiring actors, accountants, and lovers should and keeps it simple, letting her glorious voice shine through the album's 13 tracks.
That voice remains a thing to behold -- as delicate and austere as an eggshell in volume, but as beautiful as a Faberge in sentiment. Listening to tracks like "Graveyard," "Anti-Pioneer," "Cicadas and Gulls," and the devastating "Caught a Long Wind" showcase the duality, her voice softly gliding alongside restrained guitar or piano with the emotional weight of a velvet sledge. Throughout it all, Feist remains true to her earlier work -- weaving a slinky sensuality ("How Come you Never Go There," "Comfort Me") into even her quirkier fare ("A Commotion," "Undiscovered First") to create an album that's at turns bright, beautiful, and winning.
8. (tie) The Rapture -- In the Grace of your Love: The return of Luke Jenner and his band of Brooklynites feels like a trip to the gospel choir more than the gritty urban dance floor of his youth (with one major exception), and the change seems to fit them nicely. It seems Jenner had begun to tire of the New York club/punk scene and fighting with his bandmates, so left and joined a choir in an effort to decompress and find a little tranquility. Based on what came out of it, it seems the time away did him well, as the threesome return with an album that's more sunshine and smooth edges than the jagged, gritty pulse of the dark that came before.
Album opener "Sail Away," "Blue Bird," and "Children" are borderline giddy with their soaring positivity, all hand claps and harmony, while tracks like "Can you Find a Way?," the title track, and "Miss You" retain some of the band's edgy charm, hearkening back to their previous classics Echoes and Pieces of People we Love. ("How Deep is your Love?," the aforementioned exception to the church-dappled vibe, is pure youthful fire, six-and-a-half minutes of sheer dance fury and one of the year's best tracks.) Jenner and Co. weave in left field outliers, too -- the Brazilian samba of "Come Back to Me," the odd glam jingle of "Roller Coaster," the languid float down the river of "It Takes Time to be a Man" -- they make a somewhat motley crew, but manage to hang together on the back of Jenner's earnest positivity. As noted before, in a year that so uniformly sucked on the good news front it was nice to have at least one source of unabashed sunniness, warranted or not.
9. (tie) Young the Giant -- Young the Giant: Winner of this year's unbridled sing-along competition is the self-titled debut from this quintet of Californians, an album bursting with sunshine, heart, and big, big choruses. I can't tell you how many dreadful days at the office were cured by one of this album's tracks coming on shuffle, nudging me back to center as I belted out every note on the drive home. The opening quartet is a flawless batch of pure pop magic -- "Apartment" and "My Body" are nifty little love songs, while "I Got" and "Cough Syrup" inject a little introspection and melancholy without turning down the dimmer.
Songs like "Guns Out," "Strings," "12 Fingers," and "Garands" keep the energy up, while "God Made Man" shows the band slowing things down before building to a satisfying summit. Only occasionally do they veer too close to Coldplay-like territory, but even these fleeting moments of weakness are forgiven on the strength of everything around it. This is just a great little album -- a hearty dose of happiness that continues to shine. I caught the tail end of their set at Lolla this year and was won over by their jubilance -- here's to betting you will as well.
9. (tie) Jack Penate -- Everything is New: Serving as chaser to the above dose of California sunshine comes this solo effort from London, which defies its country of origin's traditional dryness and offers a perfect compliment to that debut -- a near-flawless batch of pop songs that blends tropical rhythms and soul-style flourishes to keep the party going. Opener "Pull my Heart Away," lead single "Be the One," and the title track start things off strong, and the album doesn't let up until "Body Down," which draws things to a smoldering, raucous close.
There's an undeniable sexiness to it all -- Penate's echoing croon and reggae guitar dance provocatively over the full, throbbing bass and jazz drums, and I've had more than my fair share of dancing around the apartment with my Jersey girl to the album's tracks. In fact, if there's a knock against the album it's that there aren't more of them -- its nine songs, clocking in at a scanty 33 minutes, are far too brief. If you're going to hit on every song, though, I suppose it's a fine critique to incur. And hit he does -- songs like "Every Glance" and "Give Yourself Away" are brilliant, and like the rest of the album leave you wanting more. Here's to hoping he doesn't make us wait long.
10. (tie) Wild Flag -- Wild Flag: The debut from this Portland female supergroup reinforces the rule half its members regularly bludgeoned into peoples' heads with their previous outfit (the band features two-thirds of former bomb factory Sleater-Kinney) -- just 'cuz they're ladies doesn't mean they can't bring some serious rock. Anyone who thinks differently, besides being a fool/sexist, is just missing out. Lead singer Carrie Brownstein thankfully sets aside her NPR headphones and Portlandia scripts to once again shred on guitar, leading the charge with former bandmate Janet Weiss in tow. (Every bit as devastating a drummer as Bonham and long the Bonzo to Brownstein's Page in that one-time Fem Zeppelin.)
The two, along with fellow indie lasses Mary Timony and Rebecca Cole, wage war through 11 songs of epic rock bliss, sounding like a more melodic version of Heart -- think RiotGrrrl, only with three-part harmonies. They run roughshod through gems like the opening "Romance," "Future Crimes," "Black Tiles," and "Glass Tambourine" (which could easily have been released in 1974 without sounding out of place.) Brownstein's vocals still slightly grate (I was always more a Corin Tucker fan in their old three piece), but the music is what matters most here -- after minor lyrical offerings, the gals repeatedly break away into epic little jams, with incredible guitar runs and "ooh/aah" harmonies swirling throughout Weiss' increasing fury.
That the bulk of the songs somehow stay under four minutes speaks to their amazing ability at compression. (The major exception being the jaw-dropping "Racehorse," which is nearly 7-minutes of pure fire and easily the album's best track.) You will not feel cheated, though -- this disc is dense and hearty like cassoulet, so fire it up and get ready to rock until you drop.
10. (tie) Kanye West & Jay-Z -- Watch the Throne: Filling the male end of this supergroup slot comes this monster from the Chicago/NY titans. The album's release was as close as this country ever comes to a communal cultural event anymore, and was very simply requisite listening. It had people from every walk of life lining up to see what the current king of rap and his precocious kid brother would cook up -- an epic jam or an utter failure. The fact that it wound up being the former when the bar was SO very high (and the desire for many to see the much-maligned Kanye fall flat on his ever-jabbering face equally, if not more, pronounced) is nothing short of remarkable.
Rather than it being a divided album like latter-day Outkast albums had become, where each of the tandem's diametrically opposed halves gravitated to their own songs, sections, or entire discs instead of melding with their counterpoint, this allowed each man to play to their strengths while still forming a cohesive whole. Jay-Z was able to drop the ultra-materialistic verses I normally abhor, rapping about things most one-percenters would have no idea about (Audemars, Margiela, Miele -- I felt like a hayseed from Kansas, I had to look so much crap up), while Kanye offered his from-the-heart, emotional (some say delusional) lines while exploring his seemingly endless inspirations, creating another album that's chock full of divergent interests and styles.
The album just FEELS big -- and that has nothing to do with the amount of money spent or the cache of its participants. (Which are obviously rather elephantine.) There's something here for everyone -- the smoldering opener "No Church in the Wild," the soul-sampling single "Otis," the haunting and hard "Gotta Have It," the thuggish "That's my Bitch," the social consciousness of "Murder to Excellence." The album seems to draw from everywhere, but like Kanye's masterful My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, doesn't sound weaker or harried as a result. Hell, one of the songs -- the positively gonzo "Ni**as in Paris" -- samples the Will Ferrell ice skating laugher Blades of Glory and winds up being one of the best party jams of the year. When you think of how titanic a bust this could have been, with all the hype, egos, and expectation behind it, even the album's more mediocre tracks shine. Proof positive of the benefits of taking risks and setting your sights high.
11. (tie) Radiohead -- The King of Limbs: Released with relatively little pomp and circumstance from their website, British giants Radiohead sent forth their ninth disc in a similar vein to their previous two albums, In Rainbows (I & II). Those albums built upon the elements of their predecessors -- lots of nervous energy and twitchy electro beats intermingling with Thom Yorke's ethereal moan -- while cutting in a new-found warmth and sexiness. This album continues the trend, combining that sensuality with an ever-intensifying complexity as the band piles layers upon layers to their songs, leading you incrementally towards that glorious moment where it all snaps into place.
This one grew on me over the year, as I think it did with the band -- once they figured out how to play these songs live (as in their fantastic performance on the Colbert Report, for example), the songs really came to life. Opener "Bloom" and "Feral" began to positively pulsate with nervous energy, while "Morning Mr Magpie" solidified its spot as the epitome of what this style can achieve, crackling with anxious urgency. Juxtaposing these tracks with the album's back half (and some of its best overall songs) worked even better than on first listen. Songs like "Separator," "Give up the Ghost," and "Lotus Flower" became redolent, filled with Yorke's soaring voice and the band slinking along in lockstep, while the muted gem "Codex" remained king with its simple beauty -- just Yorke alone at his piano with his wounded wail, pouring his heart out to the heavens. Like the band, this album just kept getting better with age.
11. (tie) Wilco -- The Whole Love: The twin to the former entry's venerable veterans, my hometown heroes return with their eighth disc -- right in line with their one on, one off annual production rate -- and show off why they remain one of the best bands in the country. Finding that sweet spot between their more experimental impulses (as on the 2002 classic Yankee Hotel Foxtrot) and their more blissed out, Sunday morning sweetness (as on 2009's top Wilco (the album) or 2007's Sky Blue Sky), the album marks those boundaries firmly with the opening and closing tracks. "Art of Almost" represents the former, a seven minute serpent that coils and strikes as it leads towards its arty freak-out, while "One Sunday Morning" handles the latter, a twelve-minute dose of sunshine folk perfect for a drive down the coast.
The intervening 12 tracks are a dance between those goalposts -- the smoldering "Black Moon" and delicate "Rising Red Lung" and "Open Mind" shy toward the band's quieter, more insular tendencies, while "Dawned on Me," the title track, "Born Alone," and "Capitol City" are all bright, poppy blasts. Substantively, some of the band's signature lyrical impact is gone -- Tweedy seems to have muted his autobiographical (or at least more baldly emotional) impulses on this album, opting instead to write more generic, impersonal lyrics -- and the album lacks some emotional resonance as a result.
This is not to say the songs are flimsy or phoned in -- it wouldn't be on here if they were -- but rather evidence of a band opting to flex their muscles and have a little fun, rather than work out their emotions and anxieties in public. (Check out the tracks "I Might" and "Standing O," which are pure swaggering showtime, for proof.) Considering all the bad news permeating our everyday lives this year, choosing not to dwell in the darkness is an excusable sin, especially when it sounds so good. Let's just hope Tweedy doesn't wall off his introspective side forever --we need artists with voices like his to help make sense of the things around us, good and bad. In the meantime, I'm all for a little play...
***WINNER, THE JUST A SECOND TOO LATE AWARD*** 1.5. The Black Keys - El Camino: The latest installment from Ohio's prodigal sons -- who've since picked up stakes for Nashville after years in the Rust Belt's tender belly -- is yet another gem. I've listened to little else the two weeks it's been out, and if it'd come out even a month earlier it would likely be fighting with the Kills for the top spot as during their 2008 showdown on my year-end list. (Even so, let's call their final placement 1.5 -- it's that good.)
The Keys are somewhat akin to Hall & Oates in how vastly their sound differs from their look. To only use your eyes you'd see two sets of somewhat nerdy looking white boys up on stage -- close your eyes and engage your ears, though, and you're treated to a relentless parade of songs that make you want to move and shake. Songs that are at turns sexy, soulful, and -- if you're the Keys -- blissfully fuzzed out rockers. Neither duo does anything complicated -- both take the most traditional song forms of the urban experience (R&B if you're Hall & Oates, the blues for the Keys) and funnel them through what appear to be a couple of guys on break from the nearest suburban Staples.
It once again proves the folly in surface assessments, though, because what a string of songs it is -- the buoyant opener "Lonely Boy" with its surf rock-style guitar and jubilant one-man dance party video; "Little Black Submarines," a perfect modern day Zeppelin cut with its delicate, finger-picked start that abruptly explodes into percussive fury two minutes in; "Run Right Back," with its howling guitar line sliding over Carney's thudding tribal drums; "Sister," with its irresistible metronome and straight-up blues swagger. There's not a bad song in the bunch. And as with every great album, your favorite shifts the more you listen. (My current fave is "Hell of a Season," with its skittering high hat leading you into the glorious flail of the chorus.) A promising sign for an album I'm already wearing the hell out of. (The HELL!) These guys just continue their onslaught...lucky us.
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We'll close with a couple of singles, the first an absolutely gonzo mashup of Johnny Cash and Eazy-E -- that's right, the prince of Nashville and the gangsta from Compton -- who collide on this track from DJ Topcat. The result (other than possibly causing cerebral hemorrhages) is a roll down the windows and crank the stereo jam that works in spite of the lunacy of its pairing. Check it out here:
The second is a debut from the latest young Youtube ingenue, Lana del Rey, a twenty-something pop belle who has issued a couple of 60's style retro soul singles, including the fantastic "Video Games" below. Del Ray's voice seesaws between sweet delicacy and sultry huskiness, and it works to haunting effect on the sun-dappled lead single. Coupled with the video and its home movie-style footage, there's something eerie and nostalgic about the song, and it had me listening to it on repeat for the first dozen or so times I heard it. The follow-up single "Blue Jeans" causes a similar effect, but this one remains the most potent. Check it out here:
Until next time, amici...
Friday, December 9, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Summer Slam: We Got the Beat
As things have raged out of control at work lately with nothing but 12-13 hour days to keep me company (who knew working 10-12 hour days the last two years made me lazy?), I wanted to pop in with a couple things that've formed the soundtrack to the insanity and kept the energy high before I disappear completely. Both offerings are from world-class DJs I've written about before who offer the musical equivalent of tapas or Old Country Buffet on their sites, depending on your socioeconomic status. First up is Diplo, who releases all sorts of hour-long mixes at his label site under the cover of Mad Decent radio -- they've had everything from New Orleans rap to hardcore/punk hours by himself and his DJ buddies. They're a hit or miss affair at times, but always give a nice taste of the disparate musical styles and varieties so you know what's out there and can maybe pick up a new strain or two for your rotations.
They've done close to 70 so far, but the one that's been blowing my brain apart the last month is the one he did on Moombahton, a style itself that's been hypnotizing me all summer. For those that don't know, Moombahton was invented by DJ Dave Nada here in DC this year when -- according to the story -- he had to spin at a party for reggaeton-heads and didn't have any of those records in his crates. To save the event he decided to slow down what he had to the reggaeton range of 108 bpm and cross his fingers, starting with Afrojack's remix of "Moombah." It obviously worked (hence the genre name -- moombah+(reggae)ton), and gave us the latest electro genre to grapple with, taking the best part of reggaeton (that undeniable, sensual beat) without the shitty Spanish rapping.
The genre keeps the Latin feel by cutting in various Portuguese/Spanish lyrics, depending on the DJ (Dillon Francis, Diplo) in addition to hip hop for the urban edge. (David Heartbreak) Diplo does a great job showing off what the relatively-new style has to offer -- including the song that got me hooked on the style in the first place, Dillon Francis' "Que Que" -- and if you aren't sold by the time the remixed version of Adele shows up around minute 17, there might be something wrong with you. Check out both the mix and the style's perfect introduction here:
Diplo's Moombahton Summer Mix
MDWWR #67 Diplo's Moombahton 2k11 Mix by diplo
Dillon Francis
Next in line is a similar smorgasboard from Belgium's 2ManyDjs, the godfathers of mashups and masterminds of the legendary Radio Soulwax mixes. I first got introduced to these guys when I was living in London and they'd have their weekly show on Radio One. We'd have it on in the background as we were getting ready to go out, chock full of the then-unheard-of mashups and killer dance tracks, and it got the party started for us every single weekend. I got to catch the live version of their show a couple years ago at Lolla, and it was every bit as good as I remembered, only now it had the excellent addition of their visual wizardry, which cuts together the cover art of the tunes they're spinning, creating a whole new layer to their technical prowess.
Both are on display at their website (2manydjs.com), but even moreso on their free iPhone/iPad app, Radio Soulwax. (The website only lets you stream one of the mixes and doesn't let you select which one.) There are a dozen or so mixes that are available for free download at any given time, ranging from an all-cover mix and "bad rappers" mix to a Chicago house retrospective and a set of spacy instrumental sets, all of which the duo makes eminently listenable. They add new mixes every month (the iPhone/Pad apps send push notifications when they're available) and each of the sets come with custom visuals, too, that the duo does themselves, which adds another layer of enjoyment to the experience. (Especially on the iPad's crisp HD display...)
Two of the mixes stand out from the rest, though, and are required listening/downloading. The first is a version of their live show mentioned above, Under the Covers: Volume I, which has lots of the pieces they did in their Lolla show and comes complete with the cover art visuals too. It's a great set even without the other tunes they'd normally cut in and has been running on repeat for several months now. The second is a hometown affair (for them), an hour-long mix of Belgian techno music that they grew up hating, but have now fallen in love with as they've slowed the beat down. (I guess that's the message for the week -- if things aren't working, slow it down. A good suggestion for the guy working 60 hour weeks non-stop...) Titled This is Belgium, Pt. II: Cherry Moon on Valium, it's a slamming straight up electro set that's made all the better by the visuals -- they got friends/natives to do the "official" dance for the song/style that was popular at the time, so it's a fun mix of standard pogoing and strangely complicated leg kicks, all by people wearing 80s-era garb as is appropriate. It's streaming now at their site, and is available on demand on the iPad/Phone apps. So get downloading! You won't be sorry...
Radio Soulwax: For a good time, click here.
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We'll close with one more tune that's been battering my brain of late, the surprising collaboration between Clipse's Pusha T and Odd Future's Tyler, the Creator, "Trouble on my Mind." It's a surprise mainly because of the seemingly incompatible styles and subject matter of the two -- Pusha T is known for incredibly smooth, clever lines (often about selling cocaine) spit with a nonchalance that would make Obama look stressed; Tyler (and the entire OFWGKTA crew) is known for their raw lyrics (often about sex and violence) and rougher beats and delivery. Yet somehow they gel well here on the single. (A point acknowledged by Pusha when he raps "who else could put the hipsters with felons and thugs...two different worlds, same symmetry.")
Pusha again shows why he (and his missing Clipse mate Malice) remain the best thing going in rap the last ten years (sorry Jay), and Tyler provides an effective foil to his ultra-smooth delivery with his gruff voice and street corner lyrics. I have to admit, I've been resistant to the growing "Odd Future are gods" movement that's been cropping up -- because while their DIY style and homespun beats are at times irresistible, the ultra-violent and -crass lyrics they throw on top seem lazy and unnecessary, and in the end distract you from the other positives.
I'm sure part of it comes down to immaturity (the group as a whole is relatively young age-wise and has only been rapping for a year or two at most professionally) and will hopefully mellow with age (group mate Frank Ocean has already showed his maturity on Kanye/Jay-Z's Watch the Throne, showing up on and/or writing multiple tracks), but even on this track the juxtaposition of Tyler's verses with Pusha's highlights the gap in sophistication. That said, it still works -- and while the crew as a whole hasn't quite caught my imagination yet, if they keep throwing down doses like this, I might be hooked soon. Until next times, my friends...
They've done close to 70 so far, but the one that's been blowing my brain apart the last month is the one he did on Moombahton, a style itself that's been hypnotizing me all summer. For those that don't know, Moombahton was invented by DJ Dave Nada here in DC this year when -- according to the story -- he had to spin at a party for reggaeton-heads and didn't have any of those records in his crates. To save the event he decided to slow down what he had to the reggaeton range of 108 bpm and cross his fingers, starting with Afrojack's remix of "Moombah." It obviously worked (hence the genre name -- moombah+(reggae)ton), and gave us the latest electro genre to grapple with, taking the best part of reggaeton (that undeniable, sensual beat) without the shitty Spanish rapping.
The genre keeps the Latin feel by cutting in various Portuguese/Spanish lyrics, depending on the DJ (Dillon Francis, Diplo) in addition to hip hop for the urban edge. (David Heartbreak) Diplo does a great job showing off what the relatively-new style has to offer -- including the song that got me hooked on the style in the first place, Dillon Francis' "Que Que" -- and if you aren't sold by the time the remixed version of Adele shows up around minute 17, there might be something wrong with you. Check out both the mix and the style's perfect introduction here:
Diplo's Moombahton Summer Mix
MDWWR #67 Diplo's Moombahton 2k11 Mix by diplo
Dillon Francis
Next in line is a similar smorgasboard from Belgium's 2ManyDjs, the godfathers of mashups and masterminds of the legendary Radio Soulwax mixes. I first got introduced to these guys when I was living in London and they'd have their weekly show on Radio One. We'd have it on in the background as we were getting ready to go out, chock full of the then-unheard-of mashups and killer dance tracks, and it got the party started for us every single weekend. I got to catch the live version of their show a couple years ago at Lolla, and it was every bit as good as I remembered, only now it had the excellent addition of their visual wizardry, which cuts together the cover art of the tunes they're spinning, creating a whole new layer to their technical prowess.
Both are on display at their website (2manydjs.com), but even moreso on their free iPhone/iPad app, Radio Soulwax. (The website only lets you stream one of the mixes and doesn't let you select which one.) There are a dozen or so mixes that are available for free download at any given time, ranging from an all-cover mix and "bad rappers" mix to a Chicago house retrospective and a set of spacy instrumental sets, all of which the duo makes eminently listenable. They add new mixes every month (the iPhone/Pad apps send push notifications when they're available) and each of the sets come with custom visuals, too, that the duo does themselves, which adds another layer of enjoyment to the experience. (Especially on the iPad's crisp HD display...)
Two of the mixes stand out from the rest, though, and are required listening/downloading. The first is a version of their live show mentioned above, Under the Covers: Volume I, which has lots of the pieces they did in their Lolla show and comes complete with the cover art visuals too. It's a great set even without the other tunes they'd normally cut in and has been running on repeat for several months now. The second is a hometown affair (for them), an hour-long mix of Belgian techno music that they grew up hating, but have now fallen in love with as they've slowed the beat down. (I guess that's the message for the week -- if things aren't working, slow it down. A good suggestion for the guy working 60 hour weeks non-stop...) Titled This is Belgium, Pt. II: Cherry Moon on Valium, it's a slamming straight up electro set that's made all the better by the visuals -- they got friends/natives to do the "official" dance for the song/style that was popular at the time, so it's a fun mix of standard pogoing and strangely complicated leg kicks, all by people wearing 80s-era garb as is appropriate. It's streaming now at their site, and is available on demand on the iPad/Phone apps. So get downloading! You won't be sorry...
Radio Soulwax: For a good time, click here.
-----------------------------
We'll close with one more tune that's been battering my brain of late, the surprising collaboration between Clipse's Pusha T and Odd Future's Tyler, the Creator, "Trouble on my Mind." It's a surprise mainly because of the seemingly incompatible styles and subject matter of the two -- Pusha T is known for incredibly smooth, clever lines (often about selling cocaine) spit with a nonchalance that would make Obama look stressed; Tyler (and the entire OFWGKTA crew) is known for their raw lyrics (often about sex and violence) and rougher beats and delivery. Yet somehow they gel well here on the single. (A point acknowledged by Pusha when he raps "who else could put the hipsters with felons and thugs...two different worlds, same symmetry.")
Pusha again shows why he (and his missing Clipse mate Malice) remain the best thing going in rap the last ten years (sorry Jay), and Tyler provides an effective foil to his ultra-smooth delivery with his gruff voice and street corner lyrics. I have to admit, I've been resistant to the growing "Odd Future are gods" movement that's been cropping up -- because while their DIY style and homespun beats are at times irresistible, the ultra-violent and -crass lyrics they throw on top seem lazy and unnecessary, and in the end distract you from the other positives.
I'm sure part of it comes down to immaturity (the group as a whole is relatively young age-wise and has only been rapping for a year or two at most professionally) and will hopefully mellow with age (group mate Frank Ocean has already showed his maturity on Kanye/Jay-Z's Watch the Throne, showing up on and/or writing multiple tracks), but even on this track the juxtaposition of Tyler's verses with Pusha's highlights the gap in sophistication. That said, it still works -- and while the crew as a whole hasn't quite caught my imagination yet, if they keep throwing down doses like this, I might be hooked soon. Until next times, my friends...
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Found Treasures: Lollapalooza '11
After forcing myself to break away from the endless churn of work for a couple days, I completed my annual pilgrimage to the musical mecca back home known as Lollapalooza last weekend. As with previous iterations, it was a weekend chock full of expected excellence (from bands you know and love) and surprising discoveries (from those you don't). Below mark the highlights after one week of reflection -- I'm sure as time wears others will rise to the surface, as I'm still digesting the surfeit of new bands I came home with. Here are the immediate hits, though, for your introduction and enjoyment:
First up is the aptly named two-piece Little Hurricane, a guy-gal blues duo from San Diego in the vein of the White Stripes. The band was a last minute addition to the lineup that we happened upon while waiting for other hometown heroes the Cool Kids to take the stage. (The band may be from San Diego, but the drummer hails from Sweet Home Chicago.) And it turned out to be a happy accident, one we realistically probably should have missed -- the band is so new they don't even appear on Allmusic.com, the authoritative music reference site par excellence.
Since it appears I'm scooping even the masters here, here's the band in a nutshell. The comparisons to the Stripes are inevitable -- attractive girl drummer, bluesy guitar guy and lead vocalist, beguiling chemistry between the two when on stage. And while guitarist Anthony Catelano lacks Lord Jack's raw guitar fury and garage fuzz, he more than holds his own on their debut with a playing style that shies more toward classic blues than Jack's unbridled bolts of lightning. Catelano's more restrained playing and melodic vocals mesh nicely with drummer Celeste Spina, who earns the comparisons to the estimable Ms. White -- strong drum beats, ghostly (and slightly off-key) backing vocals, serving as a calming, quieting presence to balance the band's fierier other half.
If Lord Jack and Ms. White represent the musical equivalent of Hurricane Katrina in their size and destructive force (which they very much do), Catelano and Spina are more of a storm in a teacup at this point. (Like I said, aptly named.) Which is not to knock their passion or prowess -- there's plenty to sink your teeth into on their debut album. Homewrecker is a tight 40-minute affair, full of smoldering slow-burners ("Crocodile Tears," "Lies," "Tear Bucket") and their harder charging kin. ("Trouble Ahead," "Haunted Heart," the title track) It's a nice mix, one that shows why they've shot to success so quickly. (They won Best New Artist at the San Diego music awards and a slew of other awards this year -- album of the year, record of the year, etc.)
And while they may not obliterate your senses like Jack and Meg so regularly did, that's ok -- not every band should level your head they way Katrina did cities and lives. So take the more contained fury presented here -- a stormy cup of darjeeling, say -- and enjoy. A good first sip is the below, a performance of "Shortbread" from the concert:
Next up is the Australian band Boy & Bear, a similarly new quintet from Sydney that showcases beautiful layered harmonies and a three acoustic guitar attack that will leave you swooning. We stumbled upon these guys immediately after the Cool Kids (Sunday was quite a day) and immediately fell in love with them, as they mixed wonderful songs with a touching and sincere gratitude for having people come check them out. (Lead singer Dave Hosking must have thanked the crowd at least a dozen times in their set, each time somehow sounding more heartfelt than the last.)
The band formed in late 2009, but are just starting to break out off the strength of their debut EP, With Emperor Antarctica. And if those five songs are any indication of what's to come (their debut LP hit this week and has yet to be reviewed by yours truly) their star will continue to rise. Songs like "Blood to Gold," "Rabbit Song," and "The Storm" all glow, with Hosking & Co's stacked vocals, finger-picked guitars (and banjo), and singable choruses warming like a fire after a rainstorm. (Say, the monsoon that came immediately after their set closed, for example, which raged for 40 minutes and would have even made a fish feel waterlogged.)
Their cover of Crowded House's "Fall at your Feet" is another heart-slayer, but for my money nothing tops "Mexican Mavis," a folksy gem that sounds great on the EP but even better live and showcases what the boys can do. Check it out here:
Finally, the last find of the weekend was one I'd been turned onto right before we left (thanks to my research for this site's previous post), but was looking for confirmation of their capabilities live. The band was the new British act The Vaccines, and the reason I stumbled onto them is because their lead singer happens to be the man formerly known as Jay Jay Pistolet, author of that absolute gem 25 Songs I discussed last post.
The difference between these two bands and personas couldn't be more stark -- Pistolet was heart-breaking, soft introspection; the Vaccines are cock-sure, tongue-in-cheek swagger. Their debut What Did You Expect From the Vaccines? is a 35-minute blast of 60s-era sock hop rock that captures that period's energy well and will have you dancing and pumping your fist in the air like a teenager. (More on emphatic fist pumps in a bit.) From the album opener "Wrecking Bar (Ra Ra Ra)" to subsequent tracks "If You Wanna," "Blow it Up," and the lead single "Post Break-up Sex," your feet will start moving and your body will be compelled to follow. It's all high-energy stuff, which is not to say it's superficial or cheap, as pop so often is -- Hayward Young's lyrics continue to be full of subtle sweetness and cheek. (Check out the lead single or the similar blast "Norgaard" for two stellar examples.)
None highlight this more than the following, "Wetsuit," a song that shows how the band shines even when they slow down a bit and let their songs unfold before building to a crescendo. This one was stuck in my head for days before the concert and was easily a favorite of the live set -- Hayward Young's vocals shimmered like his guitar licks, there's great lyrics, a great melody -- it's just a great tune. Check it out here:
-----------------------------
The two main highlights of the weekend were from a pair of acts I already loved and were extremely eager to see, including one I'd scribbled about here before. Towards the latter, Fitz and the Tantrums took the stage early Saturday and positively BUSTED it. They were hands-down the hardest working band we saw over the course of the weekend, blitzing through almost their entire album with a couple of killer covers thrown in along the way -- a souled-up version of the Raconteurs' "Steady as she Goes" and a funkier version of the Eurythmics' "Sweet Dreams, much to the audience's delight. They even managed to debut a new song, the uber-cool "Wake Up," shown below. By the time they start cutting loose towards the end of the song (right around the 3-minute mark) they've long since established the groove. A great new track, and a sign of more great things to come, I hope.
We'll close with what easily was the high point of the weekend, Dutch DJ Afrojack's blistering set Friday night. While other genre headliners Girl Talk and Deadmau5 were disappointments, Afrojack positively killed it, whipping the 15,000 strong crowd into a unbridled dance frenzy during his hour-long set. For the third year in a row the electro tent represented the best part of the festival -- previous years had major league DJs Diplo, 2manydjs, and MSTRKRFT, among others -- and this year continued the Jeffersonian trajectory as the party moved on up to an airplane-sized hangar for 15 thousand of your closest friends. That the tent was almost constantly full and overflowing into the adjacent fields shows I wasn't the only one clued into this reality.
For a taste of Afrojack's set and the mayhem that ensued, check out the below clip, which shows the mess of humanity in the tent dancing like the ship's going down. Not visible is the fact that the inside of the tent is easily over 100 degrees at this point, which made it feel a bit like dancing in the middle of a Bikram yoga studio. Not that anyone cared -- we left the tent soaked to the bone and itching for more. (Special Easter egg of the video is my girlfriend making an appearance at the 1:07 mark as the fist pumping lass pogoing in the spotlight next to the soundboard.)
For a fuller appreciation of his work, check out Afrojack's mix from Radio 1 last year, which is a two-hour long jam. Check it out here:
--------------
One last non-Lolla bit before I jet is the lead single from dance rock favorites The Rapture's upcoming album, which has been captivating my speakers since I heard it last month. If this is a sign of what's to come, the boys haven't lost a step in the five years since they released the stellar Pieces of People we Love. Check out their return to glory here, and mark your calendars for the album's official release soon. Until next time, amici...
First up is the aptly named two-piece Little Hurricane, a guy-gal blues duo from San Diego in the vein of the White Stripes. The band was a last minute addition to the lineup that we happened upon while waiting for other hometown heroes the Cool Kids to take the stage. (The band may be from San Diego, but the drummer hails from Sweet Home Chicago.) And it turned out to be a happy accident, one we realistically probably should have missed -- the band is so new they don't even appear on Allmusic.com, the authoritative music reference site par excellence.
Since it appears I'm scooping even the masters here, here's the band in a nutshell. The comparisons to the Stripes are inevitable -- attractive girl drummer, bluesy guitar guy and lead vocalist, beguiling chemistry between the two when on stage. And while guitarist Anthony Catelano lacks Lord Jack's raw guitar fury and garage fuzz, he more than holds his own on their debut with a playing style that shies more toward classic blues than Jack's unbridled bolts of lightning. Catelano's more restrained playing and melodic vocals mesh nicely with drummer Celeste Spina, who earns the comparisons to the estimable Ms. White -- strong drum beats, ghostly (and slightly off-key) backing vocals, serving as a calming, quieting presence to balance the band's fierier other half.
If Lord Jack and Ms. White represent the musical equivalent of Hurricane Katrina in their size and destructive force (which they very much do), Catelano and Spina are more of a storm in a teacup at this point. (Like I said, aptly named.) Which is not to knock their passion or prowess -- there's plenty to sink your teeth into on their debut album. Homewrecker is a tight 40-minute affair, full of smoldering slow-burners ("Crocodile Tears," "Lies," "Tear Bucket") and their harder charging kin. ("Trouble Ahead," "Haunted Heart," the title track) It's a nice mix, one that shows why they've shot to success so quickly. (They won Best New Artist at the San Diego music awards and a slew of other awards this year -- album of the year, record of the year, etc.)
And while they may not obliterate your senses like Jack and Meg so regularly did, that's ok -- not every band should level your head they way Katrina did cities and lives. So take the more contained fury presented here -- a stormy cup of darjeeling, say -- and enjoy. A good first sip is the below, a performance of "Shortbread" from the concert:
Next up is the Australian band Boy & Bear, a similarly new quintet from Sydney that showcases beautiful layered harmonies and a three acoustic guitar attack that will leave you swooning. We stumbled upon these guys immediately after the Cool Kids (Sunday was quite a day) and immediately fell in love with them, as they mixed wonderful songs with a touching and sincere gratitude for having people come check them out. (Lead singer Dave Hosking must have thanked the crowd at least a dozen times in their set, each time somehow sounding more heartfelt than the last.)
The band formed in late 2009, but are just starting to break out off the strength of their debut EP, With Emperor Antarctica. And if those five songs are any indication of what's to come (their debut LP hit this week and has yet to be reviewed by yours truly) their star will continue to rise. Songs like "Blood to Gold," "Rabbit Song," and "The Storm" all glow, with Hosking & Co's stacked vocals, finger-picked guitars (and banjo), and singable choruses warming like a fire after a rainstorm. (Say, the monsoon that came immediately after their set closed, for example, which raged for 40 minutes and would have even made a fish feel waterlogged.)
Their cover of Crowded House's "Fall at your Feet" is another heart-slayer, but for my money nothing tops "Mexican Mavis," a folksy gem that sounds great on the EP but even better live and showcases what the boys can do. Check it out here:
Finally, the last find of the weekend was one I'd been turned onto right before we left (thanks to my research for this site's previous post), but was looking for confirmation of their capabilities live. The band was the new British act The Vaccines, and the reason I stumbled onto them is because their lead singer happens to be the man formerly known as Jay Jay Pistolet, author of that absolute gem 25 Songs I discussed last post.
The difference between these two bands and personas couldn't be more stark -- Pistolet was heart-breaking, soft introspection; the Vaccines are cock-sure, tongue-in-cheek swagger. Their debut What Did You Expect From the Vaccines? is a 35-minute blast of 60s-era sock hop rock that captures that period's energy well and will have you dancing and pumping your fist in the air like a teenager. (More on emphatic fist pumps in a bit.) From the album opener "Wrecking Bar (Ra Ra Ra)" to subsequent tracks "If You Wanna," "Blow it Up," and the lead single "Post Break-up Sex," your feet will start moving and your body will be compelled to follow. It's all high-energy stuff, which is not to say it's superficial or cheap, as pop so often is -- Hayward Young's lyrics continue to be full of subtle sweetness and cheek. (Check out the lead single or the similar blast "Norgaard" for two stellar examples.)
None highlight this more than the following, "Wetsuit," a song that shows how the band shines even when they slow down a bit and let their songs unfold before building to a crescendo. This one was stuck in my head for days before the concert and was easily a favorite of the live set -- Hayward Young's vocals shimmered like his guitar licks, there's great lyrics, a great melody -- it's just a great tune. Check it out here:
-----------------------------
The two main highlights of the weekend were from a pair of acts I already loved and were extremely eager to see, including one I'd scribbled about here before. Towards the latter, Fitz and the Tantrums took the stage early Saturday and positively BUSTED it. They were hands-down the hardest working band we saw over the course of the weekend, blitzing through almost their entire album with a couple of killer covers thrown in along the way -- a souled-up version of the Raconteurs' "Steady as she Goes" and a funkier version of the Eurythmics' "Sweet Dreams, much to the audience's delight. They even managed to debut a new song, the uber-cool "Wake Up," shown below. By the time they start cutting loose towards the end of the song (right around the 3-minute mark) they've long since established the groove. A great new track, and a sign of more great things to come, I hope.
We'll close with what easily was the high point of the weekend, Dutch DJ Afrojack's blistering set Friday night. While other genre headliners Girl Talk and Deadmau5 were disappointments, Afrojack positively killed it, whipping the 15,000 strong crowd into a unbridled dance frenzy during his hour-long set. For the third year in a row the electro tent represented the best part of the festival -- previous years had major league DJs Diplo, 2manydjs, and MSTRKRFT, among others -- and this year continued the Jeffersonian trajectory as the party moved on up to an airplane-sized hangar for 15 thousand of your closest friends. That the tent was almost constantly full and overflowing into the adjacent fields shows I wasn't the only one clued into this reality.
For a taste of Afrojack's set and the mayhem that ensued, check out the below clip, which shows the mess of humanity in the tent dancing like the ship's going down. Not visible is the fact that the inside of the tent is easily over 100 degrees at this point, which made it feel a bit like dancing in the middle of a Bikram yoga studio. Not that anyone cared -- we left the tent soaked to the bone and itching for more. (Special Easter egg of the video is my girlfriend making an appearance at the 1:07 mark as the fist pumping lass pogoing in the spotlight next to the soundboard.)
For a fuller appreciation of his work, check out Afrojack's mix from Radio 1 last year, which is a two-hour long jam. Check it out here:
--------------
One last non-Lolla bit before I jet is the lead single from dance rock favorites The Rapture's upcoming album, which has been captivating my speakers since I heard it last month. If this is a sign of what's to come, the boys haven't lost a step in the five years since they released the stellar Pieces of People we Love. Check out their return to glory here, and mark your calendars for the album's official release soon. Until next time, amici...
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Bon Bon Pistolet: Songs of Love and Sunshine
In the midst of the unrelenting chaos that is my work life of late (or perennially, if I'm not being self-delusional), the following two albums have provided shelter from the storm, one an incredibly happy accident, the other a much-awaited follow-up. The former refers to what I still worry is a sign of my ever-fragmenting sanity --an album that was never released by an artist that seemingly never was. Honestly, if I didn't have a copy of it and hadn't been playing it on endless repeat the last month, I'd be sure I'd made the whole thing up. I don't even remember how I heard about him to first start sniffing around -- all I had was his name scribbled on one of my myriad Post-It notes, an apparent message from Providence written during a divinely inspired blackout. If this is the price of losing your mind, though, it's one well worth paying.
The album is 25 Songs and the artist is Jay Jay Pistolet (British folk singer Justin Hayward Young), but dig around on the internet and that's about the extent of what you'll be able to find. The album is not available commercially, and it appears the extent of Pistolet's official catalog is a lonely pair of singles released over two years ago. Yet somehow this magnificent album exists -- 25 songs of sheer and utter perfection. Songs about love, ladies, and the finer things in life (the few that exist outside those first two categories, that is); songs so peaceful and pretty they make your heart ache and knees weak with every listen.
There's folk songs, honkytonk pop blasts, whispered confessionals, and tiny electro raves. The last album that packed so much variety and heart into a single offering is the one that feels like this one's big brother, the Magnetic Fields' masterpiece 69 Love Songs. Like that album (one of my absolute favorites), this one is busting at the seams with charm and emotion, routinely leaving you on the edge of smiling or crying from the all loveliness. Songs like "Friend, We Weren't Even Lovers," "I Can't Let Go," "The Secrecy of Mon Amie," and "Holly" are absolutely devastating, shotgun blasts of beauty straight to the chest.
Then there are the songs that sound like they were unearthed from a time capsule or the ruins of some ancient civilization. "Saint Michel," "Vintage Red," "Come On," and "Postmodern Blues" sound like they should be coming out of the window of some house as you walk on the bank of the Seine in early century Paris or out of the dusty horn of a gramophone in some Victorian-style lounge. The effect is beguiling -- they feel antiquated, and yet immediately recognizable. For these reasons and others, the album feels like a found treasure; like having the password to some backalley speakeasy or your enemy's invasion plans the week before the attack. You feel lucky for what's been acquired and immediately want to share it with those closest to you.
So you should -- keeping something this good to your self feels greedy, so finish your old-fashioned and launch a preemptive strike. You can download the album here (don't worry, it's safe, and if it was available commercially I'd say you should buy it -- but it's not, so don't deprive yourself any longer) and check out two of its gems below, the folksy charmer "We Are Free" and the beautiful "Emily's Book."
The second album capturing my mind of late is the much-awaited follow-up for Bon Iver, the eponymous sophomore effort for the honey-voiced songster from Wisconsin. As is so often the case, the task at hand is daunting -- release something that can match or surpass the masterful debut, in this case the wonderful For Emma, Forever Ago. (An instant classic, one of the best albums released the last five years.) Rather than try to compete with that, though, lead singer/guitarist Justin Vernon rather wisely took the side door and went in a different direction.
Vernon seems to have realized that Emma was the product of a particular (and particularly painful) moment in time, one that happened to coincide (both in timing and content) with one of my own. For my part, I discovered that album at the beginning of my descent -- when my job situation was becoming untenable and I couldn't find a replacement; when the girl I was going to marry was growing more and more depressed and suicidal and our relationship began to implode; when savings dwindled and debt piled up in its stead; when life decisions were questioned and then abandoned; when the family I had long waited to reunite with had to be left again after seven short months.
For me, the album was catharsis -- by exploring it throughout my life's continued destruction, I found clarity, hope, and renewal along with hearty helpings of sadness and pain. By the time that chapter in my life was over I had been reduced to a broken, battered pile on the floor and the old version of me was gone, but I was still kicking. And it sounds like the process surrounding Emma was similar for Vernon -- he had been bludgeoned and was questioning where he was heading, and set about picking up the pieces by writing and recording those songs. While that album was a hushed, heartfelt affair, the product of a broken heart and a retreat to the isolation of a wintry cabin in the woods, this album is full of optimism and light. That album was Vernon with an acoustic guitar and a recorder; this album is Vernon plugged in with an entire band surrounding him. That album was love, loss, and recovery; this album is hope, joy, and sunshine.
So to try and recapture the thoughts and feelings of that time and replicate it on his new disc would be like a divorcee trying to write songs reflecting the joy of falling in love with their ex -- you might remember the specific events, but not the feeling or the sentiment; you're in a different place now. And it seems the place Vernon is in right now is a whole lot brighter. The lushness and beauty he's found beams from the album, a fact reinforced by all the new players around him. Saxophones, keyboards, and layered harmonies flesh out Vernon's quiet, ethereal vocals and create a serene, smiling atmosphere.
It admittedly takes a while to warm up to it -- especially the 1980s radio-ready closer "Beth/Rest" -- since you're expecting something more along the lines of Emma. (Though the three-song run of "Holocene," "Towers," and "Michicant" sound like extras from that era and are as good as anything off that album.) Once you take this effort on its own merits, though, it starts to make sense. Vernon's Auto-tuned voice still has the ability to make you want to curl up on the floor and cry, it's so pretty (see the aforementioned three songs, as well as the album's first single "Calgary" for proof), and his growth as an artist is palpable, from the seamless inclusion of all the new players and instruments to the various stylistic changes and shifts.
This is a man who's not afraid to take chances and switch things up -- I mean, who in their right mind would include a song like "Beth/Rest" on their album if they were worried about playing it safe? -- and that's something to be thankful for. To have someone who can take sadness and turn it into the beauty of Emma or capture the sunshine of its aftermath and give us this album is rare, and we're the definite beneficiaries of his doing so. Check out the joy on this one, the beaming, booming "Towers."
Until next time, mi amici...
The album is 25 Songs and the artist is Jay Jay Pistolet (British folk singer Justin Hayward Young), but dig around on the internet and that's about the extent of what you'll be able to find. The album is not available commercially, and it appears the extent of Pistolet's official catalog is a lonely pair of singles released over two years ago. Yet somehow this magnificent album exists -- 25 songs of sheer and utter perfection. Songs about love, ladies, and the finer things in life (the few that exist outside those first two categories, that is); songs so peaceful and pretty they make your heart ache and knees weak with every listen.
There's folk songs, honkytonk pop blasts, whispered confessionals, and tiny electro raves. The last album that packed so much variety and heart into a single offering is the one that feels like this one's big brother, the Magnetic Fields' masterpiece 69 Love Songs. Like that album (one of my absolute favorites), this one is busting at the seams with charm and emotion, routinely leaving you on the edge of smiling or crying from the all loveliness. Songs like "Friend, We Weren't Even Lovers," "I Can't Let Go," "The Secrecy of Mon Amie," and "Holly" are absolutely devastating, shotgun blasts of beauty straight to the chest.
Then there are the songs that sound like they were unearthed from a time capsule or the ruins of some ancient civilization. "Saint Michel," "Vintage Red," "Come On," and "Postmodern Blues" sound like they should be coming out of the window of some house as you walk on the bank of the Seine in early century Paris or out of the dusty horn of a gramophone in some Victorian-style lounge. The effect is beguiling -- they feel antiquated, and yet immediately recognizable. For these reasons and others, the album feels like a found treasure; like having the password to some backalley speakeasy or your enemy's invasion plans the week before the attack. You feel lucky for what's been acquired and immediately want to share it with those closest to you.
So you should -- keeping something this good to your self feels greedy, so finish your old-fashioned and launch a preemptive strike. You can download the album here (don't worry, it's safe, and if it was available commercially I'd say you should buy it -- but it's not, so don't deprive yourself any longer) and check out two of its gems below, the folksy charmer "We Are Free" and the beautiful "Emily's Book."
The second album capturing my mind of late is the much-awaited follow-up for Bon Iver, the eponymous sophomore effort for the honey-voiced songster from Wisconsin. As is so often the case, the task at hand is daunting -- release something that can match or surpass the masterful debut, in this case the wonderful For Emma, Forever Ago. (An instant classic, one of the best albums released the last five years.) Rather than try to compete with that, though, lead singer/guitarist Justin Vernon rather wisely took the side door and went in a different direction.
Vernon seems to have realized that Emma was the product of a particular (and particularly painful) moment in time, one that happened to coincide (both in timing and content) with one of my own. For my part, I discovered that album at the beginning of my descent -- when my job situation was becoming untenable and I couldn't find a replacement; when the girl I was going to marry was growing more and more depressed and suicidal and our relationship began to implode; when savings dwindled and debt piled up in its stead; when life decisions were questioned and then abandoned; when the family I had long waited to reunite with had to be left again after seven short months.
For me, the album was catharsis -- by exploring it throughout my life's continued destruction, I found clarity, hope, and renewal along with hearty helpings of sadness and pain. By the time that chapter in my life was over I had been reduced to a broken, battered pile on the floor and the old version of me was gone, but I was still kicking. And it sounds like the process surrounding Emma was similar for Vernon -- he had been bludgeoned and was questioning where he was heading, and set about picking up the pieces by writing and recording those songs. While that album was a hushed, heartfelt affair, the product of a broken heart and a retreat to the isolation of a wintry cabin in the woods, this album is full of optimism and light. That album was Vernon with an acoustic guitar and a recorder; this album is Vernon plugged in with an entire band surrounding him. That album was love, loss, and recovery; this album is hope, joy, and sunshine.
So to try and recapture the thoughts and feelings of that time and replicate it on his new disc would be like a divorcee trying to write songs reflecting the joy of falling in love with their ex -- you might remember the specific events, but not the feeling or the sentiment; you're in a different place now. And it seems the place Vernon is in right now is a whole lot brighter. The lushness and beauty he's found beams from the album, a fact reinforced by all the new players around him. Saxophones, keyboards, and layered harmonies flesh out Vernon's quiet, ethereal vocals and create a serene, smiling atmosphere.
It admittedly takes a while to warm up to it -- especially the 1980s radio-ready closer "Beth/Rest" -- since you're expecting something more along the lines of Emma. (Though the three-song run of "Holocene," "Towers," and "Michicant" sound like extras from that era and are as good as anything off that album.) Once you take this effort on its own merits, though, it starts to make sense. Vernon's Auto-tuned voice still has the ability to make you want to curl up on the floor and cry, it's so pretty (see the aforementioned three songs, as well as the album's first single "Calgary" for proof), and his growth as an artist is palpable, from the seamless inclusion of all the new players and instruments to the various stylistic changes and shifts.
This is a man who's not afraid to take chances and switch things up -- I mean, who in their right mind would include a song like "Beth/Rest" on their album if they were worried about playing it safe? -- and that's something to be thankful for. To have someone who can take sadness and turn it into the beauty of Emma or capture the sunshine of its aftermath and give us this album is rare, and we're the definite beneficiaries of his doing so. Check out the joy on this one, the beaming, booming "Towers."
Until next time, mi amici...
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Back to the Future: Soul, Sludge, and (as always) the Urge to Dance
Bom dia, meus amigos! Wanted to pop in during the momentary lull in the massacre that is work right now and highlight the latest 'pod bandits. Maybe it's because my life feels out of control right now that I'm thinking back to quieter times, or maybe it's mere coincidence from listening to the music, but these three albums are instant transports to those nostalgic days of old, when true or not things just seemed simpler. Maybe it's because we first hear music from those generations from the safety of our childhood that it feels that way when you listen (at least for me); maybe they really were soundtracks to a slower, sweeter slice of life -- who knows? Regardless, the below albums are the musical equivalent of that other legend of our youth, the hot tub time machine, and the minute you step in you're gone. So strap on the banana hammocks (or whatever you listen to music in), pop on these albums, and hop in -- the water's great...
First up is this cool blast from the 60s, Fitz and the Tantrums' debut album, Pickin' up the Pieces. From the first notes of the opener "Breakin' the Chains of Love" you feel it -- the strolling bass, skiffle drum lines, sax flourishes, female backing singers -- that old soul swagger grabs you and makes you wanna stand up and shake your tail feather. This style has, and forever will be happy Sunday mornings to me. (Our family's soul Sunday brunches, with Brother Ray, Reverend Al, and Stevie on the record player and waffles, bacon, and eggs on the plate.) Thus it always plants a smile on my face when I hear it, and this album is no different. It gets you grinning from the outset and scarcely lets up for the intervening ten songs.
"Don't Gotta Work it Out," the title track, "L.O.V.," and the lead single "Moneygrabber" -- they all crackle with that generation's pop-timism and lushness. Simple lyrics about love or well-mannered protest, a solid groove, and stellar harmonies. It's like you've stumbled onto an oldies radio station loaded with Motown classics -- which is not to say they sound derivative or stale. Lead singer Michael Fitzpatrick and the rest of his LA bandits have managed to breathe new life into the sound, reviving its best elements (like similar retro band Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings) and reminding a modern audience that certain elements never get old. Check out "L.O.V.," for example -- despite the millions of songs written about love to date, I defy anyone not to start singing along as the spelling bee leads into the big, booming chorus.
The best of the bunch is "Dear Mr. President," though. It combines the dark, cool mystery of a cocktail lounge, a dose of menace with its spiritual-style grunts and "huh!'s" from the background, and female vocalist Noelle Scaggs' incredible voice, whose urgent, plaintive cries punctuate an already excellent song throughout. Check it out here:
Skipping into the 70s comes the second offering from Swedish (that's right, I said Swedish) band Graveyard, the masters of retro hard rock, and their album Hisingen Blues. I don't remember how I stumbled onto these guys a few months back -- I think it might have been one of those NPR music samplers, surprisingly -- but have been obsessed with them ever since. They combine the heaviness and force of that era's best with the slinky bluesiness that so often tempered the bludgeoning attack. Pick any song from this or their first album and you'd think it was a cut from early 70s AM radio.
Sounding like a hybrid of Cream and Black Sabbath, these guys erupt from the gate like a pissed-off Viking and lay waste to the subsequent 45 minutes (to say nothing of your head). Catacombs dark, sledgehammer heavy, and ready to steamroll whatever comes in their way, the band nimbly shifts between those two inspirations -- one minute lead singer Joakim Nilsson growls and shouts like a revved up Ozzy, the next he croons like Jack Bruce in his heyday, often times in the same song.
Stellar examples include the thunderous opener "Ain't Fit to Live Here," whose percussion alone is enough to level small African villages (honestly, when drummer Axel Sjoberg somehow adds more elephantine kicks to the final sortie at 2:30, your brain is a puddle -- the only appropriate response is, "geezus F#$K! that is heavy...") and "Uncomfortably Numb," which deftly navigates the tried and true quiet-loud dynamic and builds the pressure until the song absolutely explodes at the 4:50 mark. The album catches its breath midway through with the instrumental "Longing" before launching into the final assault with winners like "Ungrateful are the Dead" and "RSS," an all-out marauding sprint to the fortress gates.
None are more punishing and primally satisfying than "No Good, Mr Holden," though, five minutes of near perfection. Nilsson shouts and swoons like he's possessed, Sjoberg's snare runs roil the pot til it threatens to boil over, and guitarist Truls Morck and bassist Rikard Edlund fly around menacingly until everything erupts in a frenzy in the song's final minute. Sick, sick stuff -- check it out here:
Last up on our travels is a trip to the trashy punk sound of the early 80s with New York's Radio 4 and their second album, the appropriately named Gotham. Sounding like early dance rock pioneers Gang of Four and their modern day proteges (and fellow Brooklyners) The Rapture, the band has a knack for lighting a fire under your feet and getting you moving. All nervous guitars, propulsive drums, and throbbing bass lines, this music is engineered to make you shake your ass.
They set the table with the opener "Our Town," an effective warmup to the absolute onslaught of the following four tracks -- "Start a Fire," "Eyes Wide Open," "Struggle," and "Calling all Enthusiasts." These are as good a run as you could ever hope for-- the rest of the album is good, but nowhere near as solid as these four -- and worth the price of admission alone. From the enormous fuzzed up bass line of "Fire" to the agitated, buzzing guitars on "Eyes" and "Enthusiasts" (whose conclusion is positively batshit -- I challenge any of you to stay still for the final minute), the urge to move is irresistible.
Never more so than on "Struggle," a three minute heart attack that will have you spasming like an epileptic. The bass and drums are undeniable, vocalist Tommy Williams's repeated injunctions to "get behind the struggle" gets you chanting like a robot, and when the guitar drone starts buzzing at the 2:30 mark your resistance is gone -- your head will be shaking with the rest of you. So stand up, do a quick stretch, and get ready for the party here -- until next time, amici...
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We'll close with two tracks that have been stuck in my brain the last few months for unknown reasons, both quiet gems that have provided the salve to my battered body after another arduous slog in the trenches. First is Neko Case's "The Pharoahs," one of many pretty gems by a woman whose voice is so knee-buckling beautiful it could make the heavens feel shabby and drab. Neko's one of my absolute favorites and this song has been on endless repeat since I saw her live a few months ago (something I urge everyone to do if at all possible). Something about when she sings "you kept me wanting like the wanting in the movies and the hymns, I want the pharoahs, but there's only men" is like a kick to the stomach every time. Which am I, and what do I have/want? Quien sabe? I have my thoughts -- figure out where you stand by giving her a listen here:
The backside to this twin bill of solitude is from the band everyone seems to love these days, Mumford and Sons. And while I've battled my fair share of resistance to these guys thanks to their overwhelming popularity (you know how much I love doing/liking what I'm told to), but there's no arguing with the quality of songs like this one. A beautiful little batch of hushed harmonizing and finger-picked guitar, this one's a soothing blast of cold air on a hot summer's day. The uplifting comfort of the lyrics ("you are not alone in this...") adds a nice layer of heart to the proceedings. Check out "Timshel" here:
First up is this cool blast from the 60s, Fitz and the Tantrums' debut album, Pickin' up the Pieces. From the first notes of the opener "Breakin' the Chains of Love" you feel it -- the strolling bass, skiffle drum lines, sax flourishes, female backing singers -- that old soul swagger grabs you and makes you wanna stand up and shake your tail feather. This style has, and forever will be happy Sunday mornings to me. (Our family's soul Sunday brunches, with Brother Ray, Reverend Al, and Stevie on the record player and waffles, bacon, and eggs on the plate.) Thus it always plants a smile on my face when I hear it, and this album is no different. It gets you grinning from the outset and scarcely lets up for the intervening ten songs.
"Don't Gotta Work it Out," the title track, "L.O.V.," and the lead single "Moneygrabber" -- they all crackle with that generation's pop-timism and lushness. Simple lyrics about love or well-mannered protest, a solid groove, and stellar harmonies. It's like you've stumbled onto an oldies radio station loaded with Motown classics -- which is not to say they sound derivative or stale. Lead singer Michael Fitzpatrick and the rest of his LA bandits have managed to breathe new life into the sound, reviving its best elements (like similar retro band Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings) and reminding a modern audience that certain elements never get old. Check out "L.O.V.," for example -- despite the millions of songs written about love to date, I defy anyone not to start singing along as the spelling bee leads into the big, booming chorus.
The best of the bunch is "Dear Mr. President," though. It combines the dark, cool mystery of a cocktail lounge, a dose of menace with its spiritual-style grunts and "huh!'s" from the background, and female vocalist Noelle Scaggs' incredible voice, whose urgent, plaintive cries punctuate an already excellent song throughout. Check it out here:
Skipping into the 70s comes the second offering from Swedish (that's right, I said Swedish) band Graveyard, the masters of retro hard rock, and their album Hisingen Blues. I don't remember how I stumbled onto these guys a few months back -- I think it might have been one of those NPR music samplers, surprisingly -- but have been obsessed with them ever since. They combine the heaviness and force of that era's best with the slinky bluesiness that so often tempered the bludgeoning attack. Pick any song from this or their first album and you'd think it was a cut from early 70s AM radio.
Sounding like a hybrid of Cream and Black Sabbath, these guys erupt from the gate like a pissed-off Viking and lay waste to the subsequent 45 minutes (to say nothing of your head). Catacombs dark, sledgehammer heavy, and ready to steamroll whatever comes in their way, the band nimbly shifts between those two inspirations -- one minute lead singer Joakim Nilsson growls and shouts like a revved up Ozzy, the next he croons like Jack Bruce in his heyday, often times in the same song.
Stellar examples include the thunderous opener "Ain't Fit to Live Here," whose percussion alone is enough to level small African villages (honestly, when drummer Axel Sjoberg somehow adds more elephantine kicks to the final sortie at 2:30, your brain is a puddle -- the only appropriate response is, "geezus F#$K! that is heavy...") and "Uncomfortably Numb," which deftly navigates the tried and true quiet-loud dynamic and builds the pressure until the song absolutely explodes at the 4:50 mark. The album catches its breath midway through with the instrumental "Longing" before launching into the final assault with winners like "Ungrateful are the Dead" and "RSS," an all-out marauding sprint to the fortress gates.
None are more punishing and primally satisfying than "No Good, Mr Holden," though, five minutes of near perfection. Nilsson shouts and swoons like he's possessed, Sjoberg's snare runs roil the pot til it threatens to boil over, and guitarist Truls Morck and bassist Rikard Edlund fly around menacingly until everything erupts in a frenzy in the song's final minute. Sick, sick stuff -- check it out here:
Last up on our travels is a trip to the trashy punk sound of the early 80s with New York's Radio 4 and their second album, the appropriately named Gotham. Sounding like early dance rock pioneers Gang of Four and their modern day proteges (and fellow Brooklyners) The Rapture, the band has a knack for lighting a fire under your feet and getting you moving. All nervous guitars, propulsive drums, and throbbing bass lines, this music is engineered to make you shake your ass.
They set the table with the opener "Our Town," an effective warmup to the absolute onslaught of the following four tracks -- "Start a Fire," "Eyes Wide Open," "Struggle," and "Calling all Enthusiasts." These are as good a run as you could ever hope for-- the rest of the album is good, but nowhere near as solid as these four -- and worth the price of admission alone. From the enormous fuzzed up bass line of "Fire" to the agitated, buzzing guitars on "Eyes" and "Enthusiasts" (whose conclusion is positively batshit -- I challenge any of you to stay still for the final minute), the urge to move is irresistible.
Never more so than on "Struggle," a three minute heart attack that will have you spasming like an epileptic. The bass and drums are undeniable, vocalist Tommy Williams's repeated injunctions to "get behind the struggle" gets you chanting like a robot, and when the guitar drone starts buzzing at the 2:30 mark your resistance is gone -- your head will be shaking with the rest of you. So stand up, do a quick stretch, and get ready for the party here -- until next time, amici...
----------------------------------
We'll close with two tracks that have been stuck in my brain the last few months for unknown reasons, both quiet gems that have provided the salve to my battered body after another arduous slog in the trenches. First is Neko Case's "The Pharoahs," one of many pretty gems by a woman whose voice is so knee-buckling beautiful it could make the heavens feel shabby and drab. Neko's one of my absolute favorites and this song has been on endless repeat since I saw her live a few months ago (something I urge everyone to do if at all possible). Something about when she sings "you kept me wanting like the wanting in the movies and the hymns, I want the pharoahs, but there's only men" is like a kick to the stomach every time. Which am I, and what do I have/want? Quien sabe? I have my thoughts -- figure out where you stand by giving her a listen here:
The backside to this twin bill of solitude is from the band everyone seems to love these days, Mumford and Sons. And while I've battled my fair share of resistance to these guys thanks to their overwhelming popularity (you know how much I love doing/liking what I'm told to), but there's no arguing with the quality of songs like this one. A beautiful little batch of hushed harmonizing and finger-picked guitar, this one's a soothing blast of cold air on a hot summer's day. The uplifting comfort of the lyrics ("you are not alone in this...") adds a nice layer of heart to the proceedings. Check out "Timshel" here:
Sunday, April 24, 2011
DC Easter Eggs: The Return of Greatness
Thought I'd take the opportunity of a sunny Sunday to offer a trio of Easter eggs dipped in black, a noir triptych that forms the soundtrack to a night on the prowl, all leather jackets, cigarette embers, and devilish intent. First up is the latest offering from the Swedish duo The Raveonettes, the husband and wife duo with strange names that continue to provide doo-wop style gems laced with menace. Their sixth album, Raven in the Grave, follows the blueprint of their previous ones -- angelic vocals, walls of wildly distorted guitars, and simple, primal drums -- while adding a new wrinkle of synthesizers. This gives the proceedings a shimmery, new wave feel that wouldn't sound out of place in the 1980s, all reverb, hazy silhouettes, and cocaine-induced blur.
The band has always managed to sound like a throwback to earlier eras -- be it early 60s doo-wop for the vocals, mid-40s biker gangs for the noir imagery and atmosphere, or late 60s proto-punk for the distorted guitars -- often times on the same disc. But they've always managed to incorporate the best elements of those eras and add something new, rather than sounding like hackneyed knockoffs. They've grown well past the limitations of their first two albums where they recorded every song in the same key (first B, then B minor, respectively), which led some to criticize them as gimmicky and similar-sounding. Now they seem guided by more creative (versus commercial) motivations and the music has never sounded better.
"Evil Seeds" and "Apparitions" strike hard, all swirling guitars, black atmosphere, and loud-quiet-loud dynamics, while "Summer Moon," "Forget that You're Young," and "My Time's Up" provide the counterbalance, with sweet, hushed harmonies and bits of surfer-style guitar riffs bursting out of the calm. The album sounds a bit like your inner demons waging war with themselves -- at turns dark and menacing, others sweet and innocent, with neither holding sway for too long. Which side ultimately wins out depends on the mood and the track, but overall nothing tops "War in Heaven," a near five minute gem that builds momentum layer upon layer until its feedback-tinged close. Check it out here:
Next up is the 2006 debut from Austin's The Black Angels, Passover, which is appropriate today for the obvious associations of its title, but also the amount of time they avoided detection. The fact that it took me nearly four years to hear about these guys is something of a crime, as they're right up my alley -- all backlit black atmosphere, bluesy swagger, and solid, gritty rock. (The fact that they steal their name from one of the Velvet Underground's debut songs doesn't hurt either, and should give you an idea of both their aspirations and aesthetic.)
Like the band of their moniker's inspiration, the Angels have perfected the simple formula of droning, buzzing guitars, throbbing, thudding percussion, and psychedelic, stylized lyrics and vocals. From the ominous opener of "Young Men Dead" to the chugging locomotive of the closing "Call to Arms" there's not a lemon among the album's ten songs. The band at turns sounds like a Velvet's cover band and a sibling of The Doors with its dark imagery and cryptic (and at times corny) poetry. Alex Maas' baritone swirls around guitarist Christian Bland's and bassist Nathan Ryan's hornet's drone riffs, all three driven along by drummer Stephanie Bailey's pulverizing rhythms. (Organist Jennifer Raines provides subtler support to the witch's brew.)
"Better of Alone," "Bloodhounds on my Trail," and "The First Vietnamese War" are propulsive gems, while "The Sniper at the Gates of Heaven" and "Manipulation" are throbbing, simmering infernos. Nothing tops "Black Grease," though, which captures all these elements in a tight four-and-a-half minute stampede. For an album that is meant to be played in the dark of night, speeding down the highway on the way to the kill, this is the apex -- halfway through the album, halfway through your consideration of what's to come. There's no turning back after this point -- liquid fire guitars, a sledgehammer backbeat, and a chorus of "killkillkillkill" burn away all resistance, leaving you a slave to the remainder. Consider yourself lucky, here:
Finally, we'll close with The Kills fourth offering, Blood Pressures. If the Raveons represented your conscience warring with itself in this noir analogy and the Angels represented those darker impulses winning out en route to the crime, the Kills are the culmination of that coming to pass. This album is all gritty swagger and malicious intent -- from the scalding opener "Future Starts Slow" through similar scorchers "Satellite," "Heart is a Beating Drum," and "Nail in my Coffin" (as good an opening salvo as you'll find this year), the disc doesn't slow down until the sweet "Wild Charms" nearly twenty minutes in. (Which is only a momentary respite at 1:15 long.)
Guitarist Jamie Hince remains one of the best examples of why you should pick up a guitar, a point never more evident than on this album. Not because he's a technically gifted prodigy like Jimmy Page or Jimi Hendrix. You will find no Van Halen-style finger wreckers here that will inspire the various guitar rags to transcribe their every note. (He actually appears to fumble part of his solo in "Beating Drum.") Rather Hince makes you want to play guitar because, like similar deity Jack White, of how he makes that guitar sound. Hince's playing is all raw, explosive emotion -- his aforementioned flub in "Beating Drum" is actually one of the best parts of the album, as that solo melts your speakers with its incendiary heat.
Sexy, gritty, and raw, this album (as with each of the band's previous offerings) is not about a tender night of love with your significant other. This is intimacy of a different sort, of striding into your apartment, acquiring your target, and getting down to business with nary a word spoken. These guys remain the epitome of cool and the definition of why rock and roll will always have something over hip hop, electro, and all other forms of music -- for all the similar selling points the best of those genres have to offer (and they are plentiful), none of them will ever be able to tap into our most primal instincts like this and force you to comply. This is serious business, and the Kills remain its most skilled purveyors.
Check out "DNA" here, the killer backend to the aforementioned "Wild Charms," which forms a White Album-style soft-loud combo in the middle of the album. (And is every bit as skilled and diverse as that album's myriad offerings.) Sexy and self-assured, with Alison Mosshart's vocals practically writhing into your ears, if this doesn't get in your brain and start you salivating you officially have no libido. (You can stream it on the right side of the page at the below link...)
http://www.thekills.tv/index.php
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We'll close with a teaser, the lead single from French DJ dynamos Justice's new album. The proteges of Daft Punk and inheritors of their kingdom (you've got to hope those legends have something more in them than the lukewarm Tron soundtrack), this follow-up is something I've been fiending for for nearly four years, avidly checking the Interweb for any news of a release date or tour. Unfortunately only scanty live sets or DJ mixes were all that was available.
The fact that their debut hasn't gotten old in that span, despite repeated listens, is testament to its potency, and also a HUGE weight hanging over their return. Hopefully this single is a sign of what we'll find, as infectious as anything off that debut. (And one that wouldn't sound out of place on Daft's Discovery.) When the feedback drops in at 2:57, you're done -- ready to run through walls face first like Kool Aid. Crank up the volume and get ready for one of the summer's sure dancefloor igniters. Until next time, amici...
The band has always managed to sound like a throwback to earlier eras -- be it early 60s doo-wop for the vocals, mid-40s biker gangs for the noir imagery and atmosphere, or late 60s proto-punk for the distorted guitars -- often times on the same disc. But they've always managed to incorporate the best elements of those eras and add something new, rather than sounding like hackneyed knockoffs. They've grown well past the limitations of their first two albums where they recorded every song in the same key (first B, then B minor, respectively), which led some to criticize them as gimmicky and similar-sounding. Now they seem guided by more creative (versus commercial) motivations and the music has never sounded better.
"Evil Seeds" and "Apparitions" strike hard, all swirling guitars, black atmosphere, and loud-quiet-loud dynamics, while "Summer Moon," "Forget that You're Young," and "My Time's Up" provide the counterbalance, with sweet, hushed harmonies and bits of surfer-style guitar riffs bursting out of the calm. The album sounds a bit like your inner demons waging war with themselves -- at turns dark and menacing, others sweet and innocent, with neither holding sway for too long. Which side ultimately wins out depends on the mood and the track, but overall nothing tops "War in Heaven," a near five minute gem that builds momentum layer upon layer until its feedback-tinged close. Check it out here:
Next up is the 2006 debut from Austin's The Black Angels, Passover, which is appropriate today for the obvious associations of its title, but also the amount of time they avoided detection. The fact that it took me nearly four years to hear about these guys is something of a crime, as they're right up my alley -- all backlit black atmosphere, bluesy swagger, and solid, gritty rock. (The fact that they steal their name from one of the Velvet Underground's debut songs doesn't hurt either, and should give you an idea of both their aspirations and aesthetic.)
Like the band of their moniker's inspiration, the Angels have perfected the simple formula of droning, buzzing guitars, throbbing, thudding percussion, and psychedelic, stylized lyrics and vocals. From the ominous opener of "Young Men Dead" to the chugging locomotive of the closing "Call to Arms" there's not a lemon among the album's ten songs. The band at turns sounds like a Velvet's cover band and a sibling of The Doors with its dark imagery and cryptic (and at times corny) poetry. Alex Maas' baritone swirls around guitarist Christian Bland's and bassist Nathan Ryan's hornet's drone riffs, all three driven along by drummer Stephanie Bailey's pulverizing rhythms. (Organist Jennifer Raines provides subtler support to the witch's brew.)
"Better of Alone," "Bloodhounds on my Trail," and "The First Vietnamese War" are propulsive gems, while "The Sniper at the Gates of Heaven" and "Manipulation" are throbbing, simmering infernos. Nothing tops "Black Grease," though, which captures all these elements in a tight four-and-a-half minute stampede. For an album that is meant to be played in the dark of night, speeding down the highway on the way to the kill, this is the apex -- halfway through the album, halfway through your consideration of what's to come. There's no turning back after this point -- liquid fire guitars, a sledgehammer backbeat, and a chorus of "killkillkillkill" burn away all resistance, leaving you a slave to the remainder. Consider yourself lucky, here:
Finally, we'll close with The Kills fourth offering, Blood Pressures. If the Raveons represented your conscience warring with itself in this noir analogy and the Angels represented those darker impulses winning out en route to the crime, the Kills are the culmination of that coming to pass. This album is all gritty swagger and malicious intent -- from the scalding opener "Future Starts Slow" through similar scorchers "Satellite," "Heart is a Beating Drum," and "Nail in my Coffin" (as good an opening salvo as you'll find this year), the disc doesn't slow down until the sweet "Wild Charms" nearly twenty minutes in. (Which is only a momentary respite at 1:15 long.)
Guitarist Jamie Hince remains one of the best examples of why you should pick up a guitar, a point never more evident than on this album. Not because he's a technically gifted prodigy like Jimmy Page or Jimi Hendrix. You will find no Van Halen-style finger wreckers here that will inspire the various guitar rags to transcribe their every note. (He actually appears to fumble part of his solo in "Beating Drum.") Rather Hince makes you want to play guitar because, like similar deity Jack White, of how he makes that guitar sound. Hince's playing is all raw, explosive emotion -- his aforementioned flub in "Beating Drum" is actually one of the best parts of the album, as that solo melts your speakers with its incendiary heat.
Sexy, gritty, and raw, this album (as with each of the band's previous offerings) is not about a tender night of love with your significant other. This is intimacy of a different sort, of striding into your apartment, acquiring your target, and getting down to business with nary a word spoken. These guys remain the epitome of cool and the definition of why rock and roll will always have something over hip hop, electro, and all other forms of music -- for all the similar selling points the best of those genres have to offer (and they are plentiful), none of them will ever be able to tap into our most primal instincts like this and force you to comply. This is serious business, and the Kills remain its most skilled purveyors.
Check out "DNA" here, the killer backend to the aforementioned "Wild Charms," which forms a White Album-style soft-loud combo in the middle of the album. (And is every bit as skilled and diverse as that album's myriad offerings.) Sexy and self-assured, with Alison Mosshart's vocals practically writhing into your ears, if this doesn't get in your brain and start you salivating you officially have no libido. (You can stream it on the right side of the page at the below link...)
http://www.thekills.tv/index.php
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We'll close with a teaser, the lead single from French DJ dynamos Justice's new album. The proteges of Daft Punk and inheritors of their kingdom (you've got to hope those legends have something more in them than the lukewarm Tron soundtrack), this follow-up is something I've been fiending for for nearly four years, avidly checking the Interweb for any news of a release date or tour. Unfortunately only scanty live sets or DJ mixes were all that was available.
The fact that their debut hasn't gotten old in that span, despite repeated listens, is testament to its potency, and also a HUGE weight hanging over their return. Hopefully this single is a sign of what we'll find, as infectious as anything off that debut. (And one that wouldn't sound out of place on Daft's Discovery.) When the feedback drops in at 2:57, you're done -- ready to run through walls face first like Kool Aid. Crank up the volume and get ready for one of the summer's sure dancefloor igniters. Until next time, amici...
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