Soul Food and Secrets: A Day at the Beach

Thought I'd pop in after having my heart dashed against the rocks again this week with the latest installment of my Cubs' trademark collapses to offer up two happy accidents.  Both were found completely by chance in unlikely locales -- one the gas station at Costco, the other some hipster giftshop at the beach -- but both have been heavy in the rotation ever since.  First up is the reincarnation of singer-songwriter Nathaniel Rateliff as a bonafide soul man after years of offering delicate, lovelorn acoustic numbers as a solo act. (Check out "I Am" for one of his best.)  This time he's come to town with a posse, the Night Sweats, a gang of six equipped with horns, strings, and a boatload of swagger, that're hellbent on making you move -- and move you shall.

For while Rateliff's songs have always been easy on the ears (if not on the heart, due to his poignant lyrics), thanks to his lovely voice and melodies, this takes those strengths to a whole new level, channeling them through the vintage soul and gospel of acts like Sam Cooke and Otis Redding (who Rateliff sounds uncannily like at times).  Fittingly enough, Rateliff and Co. are signed to the legendary Stax, who know a little something about those forebears and the art of getting you to move, and they've captured the fabled lightning once again.  This is a Sunday morning revival captured when the crowd is at full lather, and you will be powerless to resist.  From the opening slam of "I Need Never Get Old," to fellow barnburners "Trying So Hard Not to Know," "Look it Here," and the juggernaut of "S.O.B.," these guys can conjure up pure, unadulterated joy in no time flat.  They do a nice job balancing the fervor with slower, more soulful tunes like "Howling at Nothing," "I've Been Failing," "Wasting Time," and the blissful closer "Mellow Out," which really call to mind the Cooke references and his sweeter, simpler vibe.

It's an impressive debut, and one I hope Rateliff is able to replicate again soon, if for no other reason than these ten songs aren't going to last long at the rate I've been listening to them.  None moreso than the aforementioned juggernaut, the tune that got things going that day at the gas station.  It's a monster song -- the once in a lifetime type song I always talk about here -- and is as good the 50th time as it is the first.  Part plantation spiritual, with nothing more than Rateliff, hums, and handclaps on the verses, and pure New Orleans on the chorus, with horns blazing and drinks flying, it's an amazing track, easily the best thing on an equally impressive album.  Check it out here:



The second discovery was unearthed from the background music of that hipster shop at the beach and it turns out it's from an album that's eight years old and a band that's been defunct for nearly half that, Voxhaul Broadcast.  The band hailed from Orange County, CA when it was still intact and what caught my ear was how much they reminded me of the Features (a personal fave, as long-timers here know) on that first listen -- both are four pieces deploying a mix of keys, guitars, and big chorused winners (keyboardist Anthony Aguilar and bassist Phillip Munset II form the backbone here), both have deceptively skillful drummers (Kurt Allen is the wildman on cans), and both have an incredible yeller at the mike who will have you howling along at the top of your lungs whether you know the words or not (David Dennis is said frontman/instigator).

It's uncanny as you move through their debut EP, Rotten Apples -- from the title track to equally excellent "Flickering Sparks," "Why Not," and "Too Much Thinking" -- it sounds like a lost album from the boys from Tennessee it's so familiar.   Which speaks to its quality, as those boys routinely end up on the year-end list here.  This album is chock full of winners, too, that makes it all the more lamentable the band's no longer around.  (And that I didn't discover them until four years after they'd broken up!) They only put out a single full length after this, in addition to a couple more EPs (including one recorded at my beloved Elliott Smith's studio), that had some winning stuff on it, but nothing compares to this debut, which is an instant fave.  The best remains the first tune that hooked my ear that day in the shop, the effervescent "Why Not." Check it out here:



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We'll close with a buoyant little single from Vampire Weekend bassist Chris Baio (under the penname of his surname), "Sister of Pearl."  It bears some of the characteristics of his alma mater in its lightness and zip, while calling to mind 80s era Talking Heads and Bowie at times, too.  The jingling riff that runs throughout honestly calls to mind Wes Anderson who could (and hopefully will) use this to the climax for any of his movies.  (You can almost picture Gene Hackman chasing Owen Wilson on a velocipede while Bill Murray peers down at them from stilts...) It's catchy stuff that's worth a listen -- check it out here:

Summer's Solstice: Landmark Festival

Thought I'd take a minute on a glorious little mental health day to pop in and offer up some discoveries from the recent Landmark Festival that took place right in my backyard. It was a pretty great little two day affair, the lineup a good balance of smaller regional bands getting an opportunity to shine next to some household names like headliners Drake and the Strokes.  (Neither of which disappointed.) Similar to my beloved Lolla (it was run by the same promoters), the BMI stage offered up some of the concert's best moments, from the lush glow of some vintage soul with The Suffers, to the howling fuzzbomb of the London Souls (whose technical prowess was almost as impressive as the amount of noise the two generated), or conjuring Mardi Gras in the park with the Rebirth Brass Band. And then there was the multicultural mayhem that was Red Baraat, with its primal Indian drums, New Orleans style brass band, and lunatic punk spirit (they had a rapping sousaphone player, among other things, whose instrument was distorted like a deranged barge horn) that whipped the crowd into an absolute lather. It was the place to be, offering shelter from the cold and rain by way of shaking your ass with fifty of your frothy friends.

Some other noteworthy performances came from TV on the Radio, who dusted off several of their older tracks and reminded people that they weren't always a pretentious art rock band, but one of the cooler gang of misfits around, and the Southern-tinged twin bill of Houndmouth and Band of Horses, who offered up warm, inviting goodness like a pot of your grandma's grits.  Overall festival champion was easily Alt-J, who were absolutely -- and somewhat unexpectedly, due to their precious, precise studio offerings -- mindblowing live.  Forget the state of the art light display that accompanied their performance, the band sounded amazing and the combined effect of the two was utterly mesmerizing.  No kidding, people after their performance were shuffling around the field as if they had just woken up from total hypnosis.

It was a great weekend, made all the moreso by picking up a few new discoveries, including these three local offerings -- Ex Hex, the Hunts, and Avers.  First up is Ex Hex, an all-lady threesome helmed by DC-native Mary Timony  Similar to her last band of lasses Wild Flag, Timony specializes in channeling the snarled lip sneer of Joan Jett at her finest.  The lyrics may not knock you over, but the attitude and hooks will, and Timony throws out some pretty nifty solos to top everything off. From the opening "Don't Want to Lose" to barnburners like "Beast," "You Fell Apart," and "Waterfall," it's an upbeat, raucous affair.  Cars-style "How You Got that Girl" and "Hot & Cold" round things out nicely on what is all in all a fun little listen.  "Waste Your Time" captures the band's strengths -- Timony's aforementioned talents, with drummer Laura Harris and bassist Betsy Wright thundering alongside.  Give it a listen here:



Next up is the seven-piece brother and sister combo from Chesapeake, MD, The Hunts (actual last name, Lavendopoulos* -- go figure!), whose combined age may barely clear triple digits, but similar to Lolla young'ins Hippo Campus they sound far more polished than bands twice their age.  These guys evoke a Head and the Heart, Of Monsters and Men type sound, full of rich, swelling harmonies and big booming emotions, and they do their predecessors proud.  The songs are all winners -- from exuberant gems like "Valentina" and "Just for a While" to more melancholic beauties "Illuminate" and "This is Love" -- the kids cut to the heart of the matter, playing everything from violins and guitars to bongos and chairs, and hit yours in the process. ("Douse the Flame" is an absolute stunner.) Nothing tops "Make this Leap," though, which is one of those once in a lifetime songs for a band -- pure, unadulterated joy.  Check it out here:



Last up is the Richmond six-pack Avers, who march in with a wall of sound onslaught that -- similar to kindred sounding Jesus and Mary Chain or BRMC -- sounds good on their album, but sounded absolutely amazing live.  They blew the 150 or so of us that managed to stagger out of bed early Sunday away with a five vocalist, four guitar attack that had even the peewees in the audience rocking around. Similar to the aforementioned forebears, this one's best digested in total for the fuzzed out haze it fills the room with rather than tiny nibbles and bites.  The band seesaws nicely between British invasion ("The Only One," "Girls with Headaches," "Hangman") and the shimmery noir of their psychedelic offspring ("White Horses," "Mercy"), the latter of which really calls to mind those former bands.  None moreso than "Harvest," which they build to a nice crescendo before slinking out the back.  Crank the volume and kill the lights before giving it a whirl here:



(*Actual last name not Lavendopoulos - I just like the idea of these kids coming from a clan of Greek importer/exporters, singing their heads off below deck on some giant cargo ship with their swarthy, mustachioed patriarch refusing to give them approval, over the din of engine and the clanking of wrenches)