Reader's Choice: Fan Mail

Thought I'd take advantage of Lolla ticket day to pop in with some recommendations not from the fabled chaos of Bobby Sunshine's brain for a change, but from a few of you -- the three non-familial readers of this site. From time to time the three of you are kind enough to shoot me feedback ("Hey dummy, you're way off base about [Band X] -- they suck almost as much as your semi-millennial posts!"), and sometimes they soften their shots with a touch of sugar and a band they think is worth the attention I'm currently squandering elsewhere.  So the below represent three of their best suggestions from recent months -- the indie trio Good Old War, the duo Blind Pilot, and solo artist Gregory Alan Isakov.

The first offering comes from my buddy Mr. 50 (per) Cent, a lover of terrible metal and some bands like these guys who are actually quite nice.  Good Old War -- a mix of Philly-based Keith Goodwin, Tim Arnold, and Daniel Schwartz's names and notes -- conjure a mellow vibe on this, their eponymous sophomore effort. Full of songs about life ("Sneaky Louise"), love ("My Own Sinking Ship"), and the pursuit of happiness ("My Name's Sorrow") the band rides along on Goodwin's bright vocals and Schwartz's fingerpicked guitar.  It works well -- the band manages to thread the needle on songs whose tone or lyrics easily could tip towards schmaltz, but they maintain an earnest, sincere tenor throughout.  It's a lovely Sunday afternoon album, and none shines brighter (or combines the aforementioned three pots better) than "That's Some Dream," which you can check out here:


Next comes an offering from a total stranger, so courtesy of Silent Observer, meet Blind Pilot. Comprised of singer/guitarist Israel Nebeker and drummer Ryan Dobrowski this Portland, OR duo arrive with another Sunday morning special on their debut, 3 Rounds and a Sound.  Similar to Good Old War, this one exudes a warmth and sweetness that works nicely across the album's eleven songs. Nebeker's voice is a little deeper and fuller than Goodwin's, and he adds a few more notes of melancholy to the proceedings to round things out, but the effect (and enjoyment) is largely the same.

A languid, almost stately feel abounds -- from "Paint or Pollen" and "Poor Boy" to "Two Towns from Me" and "I Buried a Bone" -- each stretches lazily like a cat in the sun alongside Nebeker's classical fingerpicking and hushed croon.  His lyrics are more obtuse than Goodwin's ("make music with the chatter in here, and whisper all the notes in my ear" from the lush opener "Oviedo"), which keeps you coming back to parse the mystery while the melodies usher you along.  The closing title track shoots a little more clear, with lyrics on love in the hard times and a quiet resolve, which resonated lately -- check it out here:


Last up comes one from the reason for that resolve, the unstoppable hype machine that is my Commando.  She found this one and put it on during one of our roadtrips a few months ago and it stood out, so wanted to share the discovery.  Hatched from the talent of another Philadelphian (by way of South Africa and Colorado), Gregory Alan Isakov's latest The Weatherman, may be a first heard to me/you, but actually is his fifth disc. (And it came out two years ago, so we're late there too!) Despite being slow on the uptake, the minute you hear the opening strains of the regal "Amsterdam," you'll understand what others have likely known for years.

Isakov has a wonderful voice -- similar to the other bands noted today, he at times calls to mind Paul Simon, while others acts like Clem Snide, Bon Iver, or Jose Gonzalez -- and it lulls you into the warm stupor of a fireside nap.  If Good Old War sketch the sunnier notes and Blind Pilot the melancholic mid-tones, Isakov fills in the weary shadows to the same painting. (The fatigue on "Honey, It's Alright" is almost palpable, while the narrator of "Second Chances" sounds like a man who's handed out more than his fair share.) Perhaps that's why the brighter moments shine all the more -- "Living Proof" and "Suitcase Full of Sparks" provide some animated juxtaposition to the gutshot hush, but none top the lovely "Saint Valentine." A lush little narrative infused with Isakov's patented weariness marbling the lyrics. Check it out here:

Wintery Mix Advisory: Flakes, Mist, and Thunder

Finally shoveled a path from my couch to the computer, so figured I'd take a moment to stop in and highlight a few albums that have been the soundtrack to the snowfall lately.  We'll start at the beginning -- in this case the beginning of what turned into indie darlings The Shins and the re-issue of the 1997 album, When You Land Here, It's Time to Return, released under the moniker Flake Music.  All the original Shins are here -- most recognizably frontman James Mercer with his nasally voice and splendid melodies -- and from the onset it feels like you've stumbled upon a lost piece of their repertoire.  It's classic Shins -- Mercer's aforementioned voice and harmonies aim for the stars, while Sandoval and Co. give heft to his sharp lyrics. (The album's opening line, "use a pen to reflect what you've got left to protect on the old dusty shelves of your childhood room" sets the bar from the get-go.) There's even the requisite instrumental tracks that filled time on their subsequent releases, albeit a bit more plentiful here. ("Roziere," "Candy Dish of Diamonds," "Vantage")

If anything the Shins as Flakes are a bit more amped up and muscular than you'd expect, like a high school jock in his prime before the knee injury that will leave him more timid and tame a few years down the road. (Their classic debut Oh, Inverted World came out in 2001.)  "Deluca" roars from the gates while "Structo" has a classic grunge riff buttressing the chorus that works nicely. The aptly named "Blast Valve" is the most anomalous (in a good way), though -- Mercer's lyrics are still razor sharp ("there's a crowd that believes any lie that rhymes, rubs us better than our thoughts I guess..."), but what's different is the backing. Sandoval sounds like he's exacting his revenge for some unspoken slight as he punishes his kit and the band follows form, charging in his wake until things erupt at the end.  It's that high school kid exploding through the line and bowling over a couple linebackers en route to the end zone; a great side of the band to see, if only for an instant.

The highlight for me is the song that's the most telling foreshadow of what's to come, the song (I'd like to think) that first lit the lightbulb in their heads and convinced them of the path they needed to follow, the one that launched The Shins as we'd come to know them. (They even named it after their future selves, it was so convincing!)  It's vintage blend -- sing-song lyrics, great, shifting melodies. It wouldn't sound out of place on Inverted or Chutes too Narrow.  So close your eyes and enjoy -- check it out here:



Appropriately up second is the follow-on album from singer/songwriter Josh Tillman, returning from his 2012 debut as Father John Misty.  Similar to that outing (the fantastic Fear Fun), what immediately grabs you is his voice.  It's a warm, wondrous thing, and it's easy to lose yourself in the glow, but what really makes his stuff special is the counterbalance -- how he juxtaposes that honey-laden croon and lush production with snarky, at times wickedly funny lyrics.  It's easy to miss them if you're not paying attention -- he throws them off so casually he could be reciting his grocery list for all the emotion he's betraying -- but then you find yourself singing along and something in your brain clicks ("wait, did he/I just say...") and you start smiling because of how fucked up and excellent the lyrics are.

Take the opening single, "Chateau Lobby #4 (in C for Two Virgins)", a lovely tune about the early throes of a relationship, which also showcases the line, "I wanna take you to the kitchen, lift up your wedding dress someone was probably murdered in." Or "Nothing Good Ever Happens at the Goddamn Thirsty Crow," a stately, shuffling dirge that tosses out lines like, "Livin' it up, have it all, pull more women than any two men or train can haul," and immediately follows it with, "but my baby, she does something way more impressive than the Georgia crawl, she blackens pages like a Russian romantic and gets down more often than a blow-up doll." Or "Strange Encounter," whose opening line -- "[You'll] only ever be the girl who just almost died at my house, half-naked looking through your telephone, run you a bath and try hard not to freak out." -- sets the scene for a song about the awkward, ungraceful origins of our relationships.

Every song has at least a couple lines that are sharp enough to pierce stone.  The title track would be great enough for the line, "I brought my mother's depression, you've got your father's scorn and wayward aunt's schizophrenia," but then tosses off the immaculately cynical, "Everything is doomed and nothing will be spared, but I love you, Honeybear," which I might adopt as my mantra. Nothing tops "The Night Josh Tillman Came to Our Apt," though, which is so chock full of brilliance I could quote any of its lines and still be leaving out a dozen winners. Beautiful melody, withering sarcasm, and the thing that brought you there in the first place -- Tillman's lovely voice.  Check it out here:



Finally, we'll close with the decimating return of the legends -- Sleater-Kinney's ten years in the making return, No Cities to Love.  I've had this thing on repeat almost non-stop since its release last month; 33 minutes of sheer, unbridled excellence. Like a prizefighter, it works on you in waves -- the initial killers were lead singles "Surface Envy" and "Bury our Friends," which are jabs probing your defenses that I bounced between for weeks until the album was released. When that finally happened (rejoice!) you're immediately greeted by the blistering opener "Price Tag," which is a hammer shot to the jaw. "Fangless," "A New Wave," and "Hey Darling," are shots aimed at your legs (or more specifically your feet, as all are bound to get you moving), while "No Anthems" is the body shot that breaks three of your ribs and ruptures your spleen.

Their last album The Woods showcased the ladies stretching out a little, thundering over you like a bear through that titular locale.  This offering replicates the effect while concentrating the power -- instead of going ten rounds with a bruiser and barely making it to a decision, this is that hook to the temple that catches you unexpectedly and leaves you flat for a first round knockout. There's not much new you can say about these gals -- they're simply one of the best bands out there, male or female (damn that stupid GRRRlpower label), and they do nothing to tarnish that reputation here. As always, Corin's voice remains the litmus test -- you either love it or hate it the first time you hear it -- but as I always try to encourage people before knee-jerk writing them off, if you can force your ear to focus on the other two elements for a second -- Janet's thunderbomb drumming and Carrie's singular, stellar style of guitar playing -- Corin's siren's wail begins to make sense and shine.

That's part of what's always struck me about this band -- how perfectly balanced they are, far more so than any other I can think of.  Most bands have got one, maybe two, elements that really shine -- a killer guitar player or an insanely good lead vocalist, say.  The rest of the elements aren't bad, mind you, but what grabs you by the heart and/or ear and keeps you coming back are those one or two things.  This band, on the other hand, is pure gestalt.  You can't focus on Carrie's ever-shifting guitar runs without seeing how well Janet's drums drive them along, or how Corin's voice punctuates a guitar line or drum fill and takes the song (and mood) to the stratosphere. (Or how her lyrics drive things forward -- whether working you into a lather on anthems like "New Wave" and "Surface Envy," or exhorting you to focus on what you have in the closing "Fade." ("If we are truly dancing our swan song, darling, then shake it like never before."))  Each of them on their own are exceptional -- no bullshit, you're not likely to find many (if any) people better than them at their respective roles -- but together they're out of this world.  (And somehow they're even better live -- I paid double point five over face to see them and it was well, well worth it.)

Another flawless outing from the Lady Led Zep, check out "No Anthems," a song that is a mindfuck of the highest order and hands down my favorite track on the album. Janet's drums are irresistible, Corin's lyrics and delivery are pure menace ("seduction, pure function --it's how I learned to speak. Steal your power, in my hour, I will change most everything...), and Carrie's guitar sounds absolutely possessed, like some demon-spawn slowly murdering the Matrix.  I've listened to it dozens of times and it still fucks with my brain (I honestly cannot comprehend her guitar...) -- check it out here:

The Devil's Workshop: The Best of 2014

Well, it's that time of year again, folks -- the season of Black Fridays, Green Mondays, and Purple Thursdays that also happens to be the time your often absent narrator (as well as real-life husband and friend) finally steps away from the office to collect his thoughts on the year and its soundtrack in music. It was an eventful year.  For as many things stayed the same -- unending frustration and hours at work, no matter one's title, logic, or efforts; chronic lack of sleep and relief, no matter the hour of repose or amount of bourbon -- a lot of things changed for the better.  The lady and I joined the ranks of the land-owning gentry (next up country clubs and luxury sedans), there were trips to scenic environs like Portugal and Pittsburgh (sister settings, to be sure), and there were infrequent (but quality) outings with friends and family on both sides of the (common law) marital fence.  I also wrote more this year than in either of the last two years combined, which hopefully kept all three of my faithful readers busy sampling music as I found it.

For while there wasn't as much as last year -- that was a bumper crop that appears once every five to ten years -- there was plenty to keep me occupied (if not outright happy) over the year.  So what follows is the top 21 albums I stumbled upon over the year, including an Arby's five for five -- five bands who've previously made the year end list, and five that were discovered at the annual pilgrimage home to Lolla. It also includes two sophomore returns from two of my all-out favorites -- one ten years in the making -- which also happened to be the two albums I listened to more than every other album on this list combined. It's a typically expansive and diverse list -- albeit lighter on electro, rap, and Southern than in recent years, in lieu of brash, raucous punk in several cases -- but hopefully there's still enough for everyone to pick on. It's Bobby's annual musical tapas -- take a nibble of this and that and let me know what you think.  Until next year, my friends...

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1. Parquet Courts - Sunbathing Animal; Death From Above 1979 - The Physical World: Figuring out who would sit atop the list this year was easy -- both of these hit like lightning in a dry field and left embers that quickly built into an inferno; an uncontrollable, obliterating fire that raged for months.  And like the aforementioned, the impact of their arrival comes instantaneously.  Whether it's the slight feint of "Bodies Made Of," which sets the tone and intent for the Courts, momentarily brandishing the hammer before pummeling you to death with it three minutes later with "Black and White," or the immediate sledgehammer of "Cheap Talk" for DFA, the effect of these albums is immediate.  Powerful, visceral, and absolutely undeniable.

For the Courts, they come back a year after their sterling (and Sunshine chart topping) debut with an album that is quintessentially New York, the perfect distillation of some of that city's best (and my favorite) bands.  Tracks like "What Color is Blood" and the aforementioned opener are pure Television; "She's Rolling" and "Instant Disassembly" are vintage Velvet Underground; while "B and W" and the blistering title track are classic Ramones. (Their recently released EP Content Nausea continues the thread and channels the Velvets at their more excessive and aimless, at times.) It's an impressive array, both in terms of execution and how effortlessly they shift between the influences.  Lead singer Andrew Savage snaps from doing his most disaffected Lou Reed to his most agitated Joey Ramone without blinking, switching from matter of fact narration to frenzy the troops incitement, often in the same song. And it works perfectly -- the album guilelessly dances between the feels, taking you to the edge of control and back multiple times over its 45 minutes.

DFA, on the other hand, has one thing on its mind -- your total and complete annihilation.  Minus one song -- the slightly more subdued "White is Red" halfway through -- this album is pure, unadulterated destruction. And you fucking LOVE it, like a junkie loves a hit. It's primal, all-encompassing, and utterly overwhelming. And when it's done you can't WAIT to go back for more.   Despite last releasing music ten years ago -- the pitch-perfect (and all-time fave) You're a Woman, I'm a Machine -- lead singer/drummer Sebastian Grainger and guitarist Jesse Keeler have lost none of their fire.  The album's opening triple is devastating -- the buzzsaw riff and metal drums of "Cheap Talk;" the backbreaking climax of "Right On, Frankenstein!;" the mindfuck drum break at the end of "Virgins,"which is easily the album's best song. (Though that's akin to calling drafty gazebo the best position in bed -- they're all pretty fucking good...) Everything in the aftermath is equally on par -- fast, catchy, and so fucking heavy -- but this had earned its spot at the top by the close of that third song.

As noted above I listened to these two albums more than every other album on the list combined this year and haven't stopped doing so despite months of repetition.  Part of it might have been the relentless frustrations at work (and occasionally at home) that made these the perfect counterpoint for my reservoirs of rage.  Even without that incitement, though, I think I'd have done (and will continue to do) the same -- they're just that good.  Brash, punky, rough -- they're everything you want out of music.  It snaps something in your brain and demands you respond physically, whether it's drumming along on your desk, shouting along in your car, or thrashing around in a frenzy in the comforts of your room. This isn't passive, introspective headphone music or background music for while you iron, this is active, aggressive, punch you in the face type stuff that forces you to react and engage. And it's just as good live -- I saw both bands live again and they were two of my top three performances this year.  Hands down two of my absolute favorite bands, far and away. Bottom line -- download this music. Listen to these bands. Change your life forever.

2. The Black Keys - Turn Blue: The Keys tip the mood on this one with the title, but despite being recorded in the wake of what sounds like a pretty horrific divorce for front man Dan Auerbach, this isn't mopey, weepy stuff.  Rather it's a more concerted exploration of the band's bluesier side, stretching some of the songs to let things breathe a little more and forsaking some of the poppier, more radio-ready polish of recent albums. (Which is by no means a knock -- their last offering, El Camino, was near the top of my best of 2011 list and still plays great.)

Auerbach mines the rubble of his personal life and turns out some great songs/lyrics -- the heavy, expansive opener "Weight of Love," the soaring "In Time" and "Year in Review," the thudding jungle of "It's Up to You Now" and the resilient classic rock gem "Gotta Get Away."  There's no denying these are songs about love, loss, and a relationship gone through some seriously bad times.  But rather than sound sappy or maudlin, Auerbach and his ever-reliable can man Pat Carney do it the old fashioned way, with honest, unadulterated blues.  It's a testament to Auerbach's ear for a hook/melody and his strength as a songwriter (and Carney remains one of my favorite drummers).  These guys continue to turn out solid album after solid album without getting boring or repeating themselves.  This one's another winner for the boys from Akron.

3. Alt-J - This is All Yours: British darlings Alt-J return with the follow up to their Mercury Prize winning debut (and top five finisher here) and produce another batch of intricate, lush beauties for us to enjoy.  While perhaps a slightly less Awesome Wave than their debut -- if only because we expect the torrent of styles and influences that are held within this time around -- this is still an incredible album.  The band has smoothed some of the frenetic shifts and jumps of the first album and created a more cohesive, restrained affair here, one that almost induces a catatonic trance when played in its entirety. (Which is precisely how it should be played.)

The album opener reminds folks what the band is capable of (it's actually the perfect answer to the question "What does Alt-J sound like?"), with its haunting melodies and vocal harmonies, thudding hip hop/electro percussion, and random outbursts of militant chanting and shouts.  It then sets off on a blissful run of songs that deepen the hypnosis --the one-two setup of "Arrival in Nara" and "Nara," which complement each other perfectly before building to the magisterial gravity of "Every Other Freckle," a track that I listened to obsessively over the year.  It's among the best things the band has recorded -- there's SO much going on inside it borders on insanity: frantic cow bell, cover girl choruses, hand claps, gorilla grunts, manic repetition of the song's title -- and the result is absolutely mesmerizing. The only thing that comes close is the hypnotic lead single, "Hunger of the Pines," which manages to mix ethereal "oohs," brash horn blasts, monastic chants, and a Miley Cyrus hook into four minutes of magic.

It's an amazing display.  What sets this band apart, aside from the incredible range of sounds and influences they draw on and sew together in their songs, are the drums and the details.  Thom Green is the band's percussive genius -- he's not a sit at the kit legend like Bonham and Grohl, but rather a wizard of the modern era, layering in a range of percussion electronically, feathering in everything from hip hop boom-baps to electro break beats and congo flourishes.  It's understated, original, and intricate stuff, and as a result easy to overlook -- but once you start listening for it it's impossible to ignore. Listen to the frenzied cowbell in "Freckle" or the machine gun ride in "Hunger;" the bongo blast of "The Gospel of John Hurt" or the wild flurry of styles in "Bloodflood, Pt II."  It's subtle stuff -- lead singer Joe Newman and Gus Unger-Hamilton's harmonies still captivate the ear -- but once heard you can't imagine the songs without it.

It hearkens to the band's other aforementioned strong suit, their ability to place these little details in that take songs to the next level and complete the transportive effect -- listen to the fly buzzing at the end of "Arrival in Nara;" the muted church bell gonging in "Nara;" the bird chirps and breeze blowing in "Choice Kingdom;" the hissing steam and intercom squawks of "Leaving Nara."  They're tiny things that add to the overall richness and give the ear something new to latch onto with each listen.  A really impressive follow-on to their equally stellar debut -- beautiful, beautiful stuff.

4. Run the Jewels - Run the Jewels 2: This one wasn't a guarantee -- when New York rapper/producer El-P teamed up with Atlanta rapper Killer Mike last year for their debut, it was an experimental side project borne out of the rapport built during El's production of Mike's last album.  Ten songs -- a mere trial balloon more likely to serve as a memento of their time together in the studio. Only the songs were really good -- easily among the best rap put out last year (it landed on my year end review) -- and the album took off.  Largely on the back of the pair's live shows, which were sweaty, heavy affairs that disproved the adage that ALL live hip-hop/rap has to suck.  All of which led to this follow-up, turning an intended one-off into a hopefully repeat affair.

And if the quality remains this high, let's hope it's an annual affair. The only hiccup here comes at the start-- after a clip of Mike frothing at the mouth, getting amped up before recording, they segue into the lethargic "Jeopardy," which jarringly lets the steam out as if Rage Against the Machine followed "Killing in the Name of" with some Spandau Ballet.  Thankfully it's a momentary blip, as everything that follows is 40 minutes of blistering rap.  Tracks such as "Oh My Darling Don't Cry," which is an absolute headbomb with a beat that is hypnotically heavy and the true follow-on to Mike's introduction. Or its successor, "Blockbuster Night, Pt. 1," which not only reaffirms what transpired on their debut ("Last album, voodoo -- proved that we were fucking brutal. I'm talking crazy, half past the clock is cuckoo"), but also the way I'm tempted to start every day ("Top of the morning, my fist to your face is fucking Folgers.")

Each stand up to relentless repeat, along with other gems "All My Life" and "Early," the fast and furious drive-by "All Due Respect," and the back from the dead appearance of Rage frontman Zach de la Rocha on "Close your Eyes (and Count to Fuck)," which finds this phantom of the past still rapping about the factories (sigh) on top of an insanely hypnotic loop of him shouting the name of the band. Nothing tops the aforementioned "Don't Cry" and "Love Again (Akinyele Back)," the latter of which is an absolute spot-on homage to the titular 'yele's grime.  The two serve as pillars for the album and perfect distillations of what this pair is about -- sharp lyrics, wrecking ball beats, and a grittiness that edges on filthiness at times, but is nearly impossible to turn away from.

5. Papa - Tender Madness; Vance Joy - Dream Your Life Away:  This slot's for the bleeding hearts, with two swing for the fences, sing for the heavens winners for two first-time artists. (Who also happen to have equally stellar preceding EPs released earlier in the year.)  First up is the debut from LA twosome Papa, whose album (as I wrote last month) is chock full of earnest little gems, with lead singer Darren Weiss seductively crooning tunes that dance between lovesick tenderness and unbridled passion. High points remain runaway train anthems "Put Me To Work" and "If You're My Girl, Then I'm Your Man," in addition to the buoyant "I am the Lion King" and the flat out pretty "If the Moon Rises." The duo roll out a load of blissful melodies across the album's 45 minute duration, and frontman Weiss' golden baritone melds nicely with bandmate Daniel Present's harmonies.  Both this and their EP A Good Woman is Hard to Find helped provided some reliable sunshine to cut through some of the year's storm clouds.

As did the back half to this twinning of  EP-LP offering ingenues, Australia's Vance Joy. As I wrote about a few months ago, Joy's name is indicative of what his music evokes, as each track builds upon the warmth and exuberance of the last, which leads to more than a few sing like no one's listening gems. From opening tracks "Winds of Change" and "Mess is Mine" to later offerings "Who Am I," "First Time," and the gutshot beauties "Georgia" and "Red Eye," Joy turns out one great song after another. (Songs like "Emmylou," "Playing With Fire," and "Snaggletooth" shine off the EP as well.) His warm voice, heartfelt lyrics, and lovely ukelele create an irresistible mix, none moreso than on the once in a lifetime "Riptide," which will likely remain the best thing he ever records, even if he sticks around for another 20 years -- it's that good.  Let's hope he and his fellow slotmates keep trying to top themselves, though, as we'll be the ultimate beneficiaries.

6. Royal Blood - Royal Blood; Bass Drum of Death - Rip This: This slot goes to the unabashed; the simple, unadulterated garage rock of two relatively unheralded twosomes-- one new, one four years old but virtually unknown -- that deliver payoffs far greater than their name recognition and far louder than the proverbial 11. First up are the newcomers, a British twin pack I got to catch at Lolla that built on their appetite-whetting EP (Out of the Black) and offered a devastating preview of what turned into this, their full-length debut. (Three of Black's four tracks make the cut and appear again here.) Chock full of scuzzy, sludgy bass and bludgeoning drums that hearken back to inspirations like the Keys and White Stripes, lead singer Mike Kerr and drummer Ben Thatcher throw down ten songs that hit your chest as hard as Thatcher hits his kit.  (Which is obviously not lightly -- during their set at Lolla he actually stood up several times to better punish the cans.)

On tracks like "You Can Be So Cruel" and "Ten Tonne Skeleton" (as well as each of the EP tracks showing up here) Thatcher sounds like me at the end of most days, beating the living piss out of the heavy bag (or drums) as if his life and sanity depended on it. (Which it probably does, at least in my case -- here's to percussive therapy, keeping me from frenzying on people for five years and counting now.) The pair do a nice job changing tone and pace every now and again, and Kerr throws out some nimble solos on the tracks to further lighten the bludgeoning.  His runs at the end of "Figure it Out" and "Loose Change" spice up the pause before the sprint to the songs' finishes, while songs like "Blood Hands" and "Better Strangers" are bluesy, smoldering affairs.  The latter being one of the standouts on the album and a good representation of the band's strengths -- scuzzy riffs, thudding drums, and an aura of slinky danger throughout.

If Royal Blood's signature is its heaviness, then BDOD's is speed -- the former the gorilla that grabs you and pummels you to death, the latter the tiger that sprints after its prey and mauls it in a frantic, frenzied flash. As mentioned above, BDOD's been around for four years and released nearly an album a year in that span, each gloriously loud, gritty batches of visceral, primal rock.  Which is not what you'd expect for a duo from Oxford, Mississippi, a town better known for....desegregated universities during the flashpoint of civil rights? Southern literary god William Faulkner? Archie Manning?  Regardless, these guys bring it like it's the town's stock in trade and decimate any possible resistance.  Between frontman/lead guitarist John Barrett's scorching runs and reverb-laden yowls, guitarist Len Clark's howling power chords, and drummer Colin Sneed's sledgehammer percussion, these guys serve up Borg-level imperatives -- resistance is futile.  You WILL submit. You WILL start riling.

And you'll love every second of it -- I caught these guys playing in the back of a ping-pong pizza parlor this year and had an absolute blast.  (The third entry to my aforementioned three best shows of the year.) From sizzlers like the opening "Electric" and "For Blood," to Ramones-style anthems like "Left for Dead" and "Burn's my Eye," these guys are cooking with gas for the entirety of the album's brisk 30 minutes.  Even the molten burn of "Sin is in 10" and protest song "Better Days" work well, giving a slight ease to the throttle on what is otherwise an all out sprint for the gazelle. "Black Don't Glow" is the perfect taste test for those looking to see what the fuss is about -- spunky, melodic, and plain fucking cool, this should more than allay any fears about these ominously named boys from the 'Sip.


7. White Denim - Corsicana Lemonade; Woods - With Light and Love; Sacco - Sacco; While last year's list was laden with throwback bands that pulled you into a time warp, this year's offerings were much more limited.  So this slot's for the few I found, the Sunday morning specials that would have been right at home at those Sundays of my childhood where Mom's cooking in the kitchen and Pops is shuffling between soul, the Beatles, and his classic rockers on the stereo. Like those memories, each of these albums are bathed in warmth and sunshine and they invite you right in.

Austin-based Denim is up first with their fifth studio album, Lemonade, and it's a wonderful mix of throwback tunes that at times call to mind Winwood-era Traffic jams and others funky, soulful Stevie songs as the Mellotron- and organ-infused guitar rage. Lead singer/guitarist James Petralli is a chameleon on the mike who bridges those two influences well, effortlessly switching from bluesy yowl to subdued croon as the album progresses.  It starts out with a bang and the irresistible "At Night in Dreams," which could have been a hit in the early 70s (and should have done much better now). Petralli's and Austin Jackson's guitars fly around the room while drummer Josh Block (the unheralded star of the album) unleashes a slew of syncopated rhythms until everything catches fire at the end. A great tune that sets the tone for everything that follows -- the funky shamble of the title track and "Cheer Up / Blues Ending;" the honey-tinged "New Blue Feeling," "Distant Relative Salute," and "A Place to Start;" the bluesy romp of "Come Back" and "Pretty Green." This album screams 70s AM radio -- and there ain't nothin' wrong with that.

Brooklyn boys Woods evoke similar images and moods on their sixth album, WLAL. As I wrote about earlier this year, this one hearkens back to early Americana with 60s era Brit rock like The Byrds and a little 70s era The Band or Neil Young cut in for good measure. Lead singer Jeremy Earl's high-pitched falsetto holds everything together, wrapping each song in a golden glow only augmented by the nostalgia evoked by the album's influences.  Highlights remain the blissful honkytonk of album opener "Shepherd," the elegant and stately "Leaves Like Glass," and the overall standout "Moving to the Left," which could calm an agitated badger. Warm, bright, and instantly familiar, this one's as inviting as Sunday sweatpants on a cold winter day.

Last up is the self-titled debut from Gotham duo Sacco, who I caught opening for Band of Skulls earlier this year and was impressed enough to check out their album.  Despite the grit and frenzy of their current base of operations, this album exudes open ocean tranquility, all warm sunshine and slowly rolling waves as you laze on the deck.  From album opener "Carnival Ghost" and "Kerosene," to "Driving" and the aptly named "Sunny Afternoon," bandmates John Fredericks and Andy Breihan capture everything but the breeze actually blowing in your hair here.  It's a great debut -- one that reminds me a bit of  Minneapolis trio Night Moves -- and one that will definitely keep me interested in what they deliver next.

8. Manchester Orchestra - Cope; The Orwells - Disgraceland: This slot's home to a couple of albums that could easily have fit into my high school rotation and immediately take me back to my pimple-bedazzled formative years.  Balancing a boatload of angsty lyrics and sludgy guitar (Manchester), with a flippant "GOFY!" rebelliousness and raw garage feel (Orwells), these two represent the soundtrack to roughly ten years of my life.  I can almost see myself sitting at my desk drawing comics or moodily slouching in my pappasan with the speakers cranked.  Thankfully these two bands handle the pains of adolescence far better (and cooler) than I did. 

Manchester drops in on their fourth album with a host of ultra-catchy songs that counterbalance frontman Andy Hull's nasally vocals with some sledghammer heavy riffs.  The band evokes Jimmy Eats World and Silversun Pickups at their best -- big heart and big hooks delivered with soaring vocals and punishing guitar and drums.  It works nicely -- what could have wound up sounding like a sludgy, monotonous mess is instead brightened with Hull's voice, his sharp lyrics, and some truly top shelf melodies. Tracks like the aptly named opener "Top Notch," "Girl Harbor," "The Ocean," "Every Stone," "All I Ever Wanted" -- hell, virtually the entire damned album -- will have you belting out the choruses in unison with Hull. The sole outlier is the album closer, "After the Scripture," which brings things to a smoldering, beautiful close.  The Georgia boys continue to impress here.

While Manchester's hook is its heart, the key to the Orwells' charm is their oversize attitude, their rough (sometimes gloriously sloppy) performances, and some killer snotty lyrics that front man Mario Cuomo spits into the mike. All of that would be useless without some solid songs to bring you back, though, and the band thankfully continues to deliver them in spades.  Which is no small feat for a band only a year out of high school, already on their second album.

Despite their young age, these boys from my beloved city by the lake seem like they've been doing this for years.  As Cuomo shouts on the album opener -- and probably my favorite track of the year -- "Southern Comfort," "Eyes on the prize, eyes on her thighs, I'm not that old but I'm getting pretty wise."  That insouciant attitude is everywhere on the album -- from the horndog grime of "Dirty Sheets" to the stop-start buzz of "Blood Bubbles," and the tremendous triple from the album's middle of "Gotta Get Down," "Let it Burn," and "Who Needs You."  You hear the sneer in Cuomo's voice and practically picture the middle finger that comes with it -- and will find yourself shouting his directives along with him. ("I can't walk, and I can't dance, gimme a smile and then TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS!"/ "You wanna save the country, you better pass the flask; you better join the army, I say NO THANK YOU, dear old Uncle Saaaaaam!")  Great stuff from a band that continues its precipitous rise. They're making our hometown proud.

9. Rural Alberta Advantage - Mended with Gold; Roadkill Ghost Choir - In Tongues: This slot's for the holy rollers, a pair of bands who build their sound to gospel heights and get the entire congregation to bask in their glorious glow.  First up is the unjustly obscure Canadian trio RAA, back for the first time in three years with their third studio album, who show that the time away hasn't tarnished their skills in the slightest.  Appropriately enough, I discovered RAA a few years ago when I was in Canada  -- Ottawa, not Alberta -- when I heard them on the stereo of this tiny shop in the main market downtown.  They sounded then (and still do) like a north of the border twin to Neutral Milk Hotel, with frontman Nils Edenloff's reedy voice at times being indistinguishable from Neutral's mastermind Jeff Mangum. And similar to that latter doppelganger, RAA is known for its unabashed earnestness, playing and singing each song as if their lives (and your future) depended on it.  It makes for a thrilling listen (particularly live), but what keeps you coming back is the heart and melody that beat underneath.

I've always thought of RAA as quintessential cabin music -- in part because, in my head, Canada is a vast landscape of cabins and lodges full of high-necked sweaters and hearty mugs of piping hot cocoa, but also because RAA sounds like something you'd sing in one of those aforementioned locations, huddled around the fire with your closest friends and family, belting out these songs with your heads tilted towards the rafters.  It's protection from the cold, as well as pessimism and despair.  Their songs are invigorating, lovely affirmations (though with a touch of melancholy and trepidation laced through the lyrics this time) -- there's the wild opener "Our Love...," the cloud over the sun winner "On the Rocks," the see-sawing exuberance of "Terrified," and the flat out lovely "To Be Scared" and "The Build."

They highlight two of RAA's biggest weapons, outside of its energetic earnestness -- how perfectly Edenloff's voice pairs with bandmate Amy Cole's (similar to Andrew Bird's and Nora O'Connor's, or Mates of State's heavenly husband-wife vocal marriage), and how great drummer Paul Banwatt is. (He calls to mind Dodos drummer Logan Kroeber, both for his encyclopedic inspirations and his Animal-like enthusiasm in executing them.) You'll find yourself humming this one long after you've left it -- another solid outing from an underappreciated gem.

The back half of this slot is the debut from this Florida quintet, yet another Lolla discovery (the fifth on this year's list) and the sole album that came out this year that spoke to my country-fried sensibilities.  Coming across a bit like early Band of Horses with a touch of Dylan sprinkled in for good measure (lead singer Andrew Shepherd sounds like BOH's Ben Bridwell and a less twangy (and inscrutable) Dylan), Roadkill offers up ten smooth Southern gems on their first full-length. (As well as six more on their late 2013 EP, Quiet Light.) There's rollicking jams like album opener "Slow Knife," "Down & Out," and "No Enemy," and closer to the vest numbers like "Womb" and "See You Soon" over the album's roughly 45 minutes. Songs like "Hwy" show the band at their best, though, as they bridge the two styles in the same song, starting slow and building to a raging fire four minutes later.  ("Beggars' Guild" does the same as the opener to the EP.) They sound great live, too, turning the dingy club (or open park, as it was for us) into an almost sanctified space.  Impressive stuff from this gang of panhandlers -- worth keeping an eye on.

10. Kevin Morby - Still Life; Nick Mulvey - First Mind: This slot's for the soloists, one a Yankee and one a Brit, one a sophomore, the other a freshman.  We'll start with the soph, the second album from New Yorker come Californian Morby, who got his start working with fellow listmates Woods a few years back. Similar to that band's entry on the list this year, this album captures a bit of the throwback Laurel Canyon beauty with 10 songs that glimmer and shine like sun-soaked stones in a cool canyon creek. Morby channels his inner Dylan and spins out some beautiful tunes here, including classic folk narratives "The Jester, The Tramp, & The Acrobat" and "The Ballad of Arlo Jones," the somber ballads "All My Life" and "Bloodsucker," and the sprawling epic of "Amen." Each highlight Morby's skill as a songwriter and exude the warmth of his recent relocation.  A promising sign of things hopefully to come.

As for the debut from newcomer Mulvey, it's an equally lovely affair that's a perfect companion to the former on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Mulvey learned how to play guitar in Havana and you can immediately detect the Latin, at times Flamenco, influences in his songs, which lends the album a lush and bright feel.  Coupled with Mulvey's warm voice it calls to mind Jose Gonzalez's solo efforts, all finger-picked classical guitar and heart-tugging melodies. Standouts include the Junip-y "Juramidam," the lullaby "Cucurucu," the urgent "Meet me There," and the gutshot ache of "I Don't Want to go Home." Best in class goes to "Fever to the Form," though, which puts all Mulvey's strengths on vivid display -- beautiful melody, great vocals and guitar, and a languid, stately intro that builds to a fevered climax like those classic Flamenco ballads of his classroom. Great stuff that will definitely warrant monitoring for a follow-on.

11. Spoon - They Want My Soul: Poor Spoon. I'm not quite sure what it is about this band, but for whatever reason no matter what they do, I remain immune to their undeniable talents and refuse to fully succumb to their charms.  They're like the perfectly lovely girl you've known for years that your Mom secretly wishes you'd buck up and marry, but instead remains squarely in the fabled friend zone for you.  It's nothing against her -- she's smart, funny, attractive, you enjoy her company when she's around and don't need to fuss about putting on airs or entertaining her when she is.  She's just not what you go to bed dreaming about.

Same goes with these guys -- you can't ask anything more from them.  They're the definition of consistency. They've released nine studio albums over the past 18 years, including this one, each better than the last.  Front man Britt Daniels has a killer voice, all gravel and GOFY attitude, and writes sharp, solid lyrics.  He's also got an ear for hooks and melodies, and the songs are often catchier than you'd expect, riding along on solid riffs from Daniels and backing guitarists Eric Harvey and Rob Pope. Add to that Jim Eno's flawless drums and you've got what seems to be a flawless recipe.  For whatever reason, though, as I wrote this summer these guys remain the sonic equivalent of apple pie, for me -- a beloved favorite of millions, and something I'll probably never turn away if offered, but not something I'm going to think to hunt down.

Which is by no means a critique of this album.  True to the previous metaphor, every time a song from this album came on, I turned the volume up and enjoyed myself.  Lead single "Rent I Pay" and later tracks "Rainy Taxi," "Knock Knock Knock," and the title track all sizzle (honestly Daniels' voice has never sounded better -- more urgent, insistent, and utterly pissed off than ever, it's a thing to behold on these tracks), while songs like "Inside Out" and "Outlier" are dreamy breezes.  "I Just Don't Understand" is a threadbare, bluesy favorite, too -- you can picture Daniels playing this after closing time at some dive bar in their native Austin, all raw emotion and knee-buckle fatigue. You can practically smell the bourbon in the air.  Another solid offering from this relentless band of Texans -- maybe Mom's on to something...


12. The Allah-Las - Worship the Sun; Jungle - Jungle: This slot's for the way back machine and two more albums that will get you out of the present quick.  First up, the second album from the LA four pack Allah-las that's a surefire time warp set to blast you to the late 60s from the opening note.  Similar to their 2012 debut, this one's a flawless mix of British psychedelia and vintage American garage akin to early Animals or countless bands on the Pebbles collections. It's uncanny how out of time the band sounds -- lead singer/guitarist Miles Michaud's nasally reverb-laden voice is the perfect balance of snide attitude and soft-spoken sincerity, while his and lead guitarist Pedrum Siadatian's surf-tinged guitar riffs run rampant over the album's spartan 35 minutes. It's an intoxicating mix, one sure to spark nostalgia like a hearty bowl of holiday punch. Tracks like the opening "De Vida Voz" and "Artifact" shimmer like the air above hot sand, while "Had it All" and "Buffalo Nickel" are lost hits from 1967. Even instrumental tracks like "Ferus Gallery" work, gliding along like a summer breeze.  They sound great live, too, and if you close your eyes you feel like Johnson has to be in the Oval Office and Vietnam raging overseas. They may not break much new ground, but they sure honor and preserve the terrain they're retreading.

Last up is the disco debut I wrote about last month, another blessed discovery from the annual pilgrimage home. In a year where I barely had time to recover from the day before heading back to work for more frustration and abuse, the opportunities to relax and have fun like before -- late nights at the Cat or dancing in the basement of the Hall -- were virtually non-existent.  Thankfully albums such as this had the ability to transport to simpler times, if not spark up a good old fashioned dance party of the era, all polyester, gold chains, and cocaine (minus the cocaine, of course). This one's chock full of smooth, soulful disco that whips you into motion for the album's 40 minute duration. The vocals set the tone, shifting from a Justin Vernon/Marvin Gaye croon ("Lemonade Lake," "Accelerate") to an exuberant Bee Gees style falsetto ("Julia," "Crumbler"), sometimes in the same song.  It's a rich, luscious affair, and there's still nothing better than lead single "Busy Earnin'," which has a grandiosity to its groove that belies its scant three minute timespan. Another one to keep an eye on going forward...

Big Hearts, Bigger Grooves: Lolla Part II

Now that I've had a couple months to scurry around like a nut-hungry squirrel, buying property and touring foreign nations, it's time to catch my breath and check in again with a couple more bands discovered during the annual Lolla pilgrimage.  We didn't get to catch either band full on, but snapped up the tail end of their sets coming to or from other stages. What we caught was enough to warrant further inspection, though, and after spending more time with them the last few months I'm glad I did.

First up's the twosome from LA, Papa, whose late-year debut Tender Madness is a swing for the fences affair that connects almost without fail.  Chock full of earnest little gems, lead singer Darren Weiss croons tunes that dance between lovesick tenderness and belt it to the rafters passion.  It's a tightly assembled effort -- there are loads of blissful melodies to lose yourself in, and Weiss' honey-laden voice matches nicely with fellow bandmate Daniel Presant as they harmonize on a handful of tracks. "Put Me To Work,"  "Young Rut," and "If You're My Girl, Then I'm Your Man" are runaway train anthems, while "Got To Move," "Forgotten Days," and "I Am The Lion King" -- the only carryover from their debut EP, A Good Woman is Hard to Find -- capture a languid, confident groove, surfing atop sumptuous bass lines and sparkling, bright guitar parts.  The rest is just flat out prettiness -- "If The Moon Rises" and the title track chief among them -- but nothing encapsulates things better than the closing track from the aforementioned EP, "A Song for Mike Gigliotti."  This mini-epic ebbs and flows from hushed ballad to frothy, frantic embrace over its brilliant six minutes.  It, like the remainder of the band's efforts to date, shimmers with inviting warmth.


Next is Jungle, a somewhat mysterious collective of lads and lasses from London, who roll in with a breezy self-titled debut that smacks of all the glitz and glamor of a 70s coke party.  Similar to last year's offering from Daft Punk, this one conjures up the bygone era of polyester pants and butterfly collars, but without the arch or weird flourishes that stymied that album.  There's no documentary style Moroder narration, no Broadway style numbers here -- just smooth, soulful disco that whips you into motion for the album's forty minute duration.  It's not a simple dance party, though, but an album that rewards repeat listening to unearth its hidden layers.  There's the police sirens and talking voices backing the opening "The Heat," which brings to mind a street scene in 1970s New York with the steam coming out of the sewers and the breeze ruffling your fur collared coat under the subway tracks. There's the wind chimes chirping in the back of "Platoon" and the creaking door and floorboards of "Drops;" the finger snaps, record pops, and rolling waves of "Lucky I Got What I Want."  The vocals set the tone, shifting from a Justin Vernon/Marvin Gaye croon ("Lemonade Lake," "Accelerate") to an exuberant Bee Gees style falsetto ("Julia," "Crumbler"), sometimes in the same song.  It's a rich, luscious affair, and none better than lead single "Busy Earnin'," which packs a lot of magic into its scant three minutes. Check it out here:

Old Faithful: The Annual Lolla Roundup

As I digest the bounty of riches obtained during my annual pilgrimage home to the Temple of Lolla, wanted to offer up some initial observations for folks to try out and (hopefully) enjoy.  Here's the quick and dirty on some of the instant winners:

Best in Show (Newcomers Division): The Districts and Vance Joy -- Multiple power outages during their set couldn't stop this quartet from Lancaster County, PA who left absolutely everything they had out on the stage on Day II, closing their high noon set by smashing their guitars and toppling their drum kit and leaving a bowled over crowd of new fans in their wake.  Lead singer Rob Grote howled and flailed around stage, with power and without, taking the crowd through a batch of alt-folk songs that rise and fall like a country breeze before exploding into full-fledged storms.  There's a ton of great tunes for such a new band -- the soulful "Lyla" and "Funeral Beds," the combustible "Call Box" and "Long Distance" (both of which screamed live), but for me nothing's better than "4&4," which is a perfect mix of their jangly country vibe and their raucous howl. Keep your eyes out for these guys if they're coming to town, and take a taste of what they have to offer here:



Australian folky Vance wasn't a discovery like the Districts -- I've been in love with his debut EP God Loves You When You're Dancing since I picked it up a few months ago -- but his performance was a confirmation that love was well-deserved.  Joy's name is indicative of what his music evokes, as each track builds upon the warmth and exuberance of the last, leading to group-wide singalongs in the park.  Songs like "Emmylou," "Playing With Fire," and "Snaggletooth" shine off the EP, as do songs like "Mess is Mine" from the upcoming full-length.  At times, sitting in the sun in the park with Joy on stage felt like sitting around a campfire, all warmth and golden glow. With Joy's warm voice, heartfelt lyrics, and lovely ukelele, it's hard to find much to dislike, let alone not sing along with at the top of your lungs.  None moreso than on lead single "Riptide," a little over three short minutes of pure, unadulterated Joy:

 

Best in Show (Recent Favorites Division): Parquet Courts and Run the Jewels -- For the five of you that read my annual lists, you already know the Courts and RTJ are two of my recent faves (the Courts being one of the best in many, many years -- a sentiment not dissuaded by their new album, which will undoubtedly be making its way onto this year's list.  See me in January for precisely where...) RTJ was more of the unknown heading into the weekend -- only one album behind them, and the fact that virtually all rap performances I've seen are utter shit was making me a little nervous. Thankfully, though, these guys were anomalies and absolutely crushed their set in the rain.  El-P and Killer Mike sounded fantastic, had tons of energy and were bounding around stage riling the crowd (which is impressive as Mike is no tiny ballerina), and the beats were absolute sledgehammers.

Same goes for the Courts, who erupted on stage with a blistering string of tracks from their new album and their flawless debut before going on (for me) a too-long meander into their slower stuff, which killed the momentum.  I understand balancing your sets and wanting to give folks a breather, but they'd done such a great job working everyone into a lather this was a bit like stuffing a toddler full of cupcakes and sugar and then telling him to sit still in the corner for 30 minutes. Thankfully they ended on a high note, ripping off a string of high-octane jams that culminated in the moment I'd been most looking forward to for the festival, and a batshit crazy rendition of "Sunbathing Animal" off their new album.  Two huge sets from two of my recent faves.

Best in Show (Old-timers Division): Interpol and Spoon -- These two were surprises, one because I wasn't expecting that much from them, the other because they exceeded what I was.  For the former, Interpol is a band I've cooled on over the years.  I saw them years ago for a birthday show in Chicago in support of their debut album, which remains one of my all-time faves, and that remains one of my favorite concert experiences. (Partly because they were playing along with my favorite band no one has ever heard of -- buy me a drink sometime and maybe I'll clue you in to who they are...) Their follow-on album Antics was pretty solid, but Our Love to Admire was a little bloated and I didn't even buy their fourth album, so I was pretty floored when they gave one of the best top to bottom performances of the weekend.  There was a sense of urgency from them that I hadn't seen in years -- maybe it was partly because they were playing a greatest hits set that leaned heavily on their first two albums (I only recall one or two tracks off their forthcoming album), but they played with fire and sounded fantastic.  Absolute home run.

Spoon, on the other hand, is the definition of consistency.  They're one of those bands that I've always really liked, but for whatever reason never gone CRAAAAZY over, the way I have for Parquet Courts or J Roddy, say, to pick two recent headbombers. They're the sonic equivalent of apple pie, for me -- tons of people love it, and I'm probably not going to shove it away if I find it in front of me, but I'm not going to go hunt it down because IGOTTAHAVESOMERIGHTNOW!  So I was surprised at how good these guys were live.  They balanced their set a bit more, sampling from almost all of their eight albums while being sure to give equal footing to their most recently released material.  And it all sounded great -- lead singer Britt Daniel was diffident and cool as always, but retains his killer gravelly voice, and the rest of the band played with a ton of energy, too.  Maybe I will have a slice of pie, Margaret...

Best Time: Joywave and Gemini Club -- These two gave great performances on the side stages, starting dance parties in the rain, and sparked the biggest sense of deja vu from the previous year.  Both gave buoyant, upbeat performances, showcasing their 80s style brand of synth pop nicely to get people moving, and because of their stages and sound called to mind two discoveries who did the same last year, Wild Cub and Atlas Genius, respectively.  It's a complimentary comparison -- like those bands, these guys keep it simple, but execute it well.  The NY-based Joywave offer bouncy tracks like "Golden State," "True Grit," and "In Clover," which all ride along on frontman Daniel Armbruster's high-pitched falsetto. (Who looks uncannily like a mustachioed Noonan, making it even more difficult not to love them.)  "Tongues" is the standout track, both for its quirkiness and catchiness.  You'll find yourself humming the melody hours after, and not hating that you are.



Hometown boys Gemini Club offer similar batches of joy and gave one of the more memorable sets of the weekend, keeping people dancing and happy in the midst of an utter deluge. Lead singer Tom Gavin belted out winners like "Sparklers," "Nothing but History," and "By Surprise," jumping out into the crowd to dance with folks in the middle of the rain.  Having listened to their albums, I think they actually sound better live, as the synths were more in balance than on the recorded offerings, but still a good time however you hear em.  Check out "Show my Hands" (a winner in both arenas) here:

 

Best Discoveries: Fly Golden Eagle and Royal Blood -- These two are slightly different, sonically, but both gave killer performances that left the tree-covered BMI stage (perennially the best at the show) a singed, smoking heap.  First up are Eagle, a four-pack from Nashville that hearken back to 70s AM radio with a great classic rock vibe.  Wild maned lead singer Ben Trimble's nasally falsetto flies high over the proceedings, which is an amalgam of gritty blues and redolent soul.  Tracks like "Far Out," "Devil's Eye (Basilisk)," and "Bed of Roses" smolder live, while "Psyche's Dagger," and "Need Some Money" bathe you in warmth. "Violet Crown" shows them at their overall best, mixing the two to potent effect -- see for yourself here:



On the other hand, the only thing British duo Royal Blood bathe you in is a wall of scuzzy, sludgy bass and bludgeoning drums.  Coming from a long line of bluesy twosomes of late (White Stripes, Black Keys, etc) what these guys do isn't complicated, but it also isn't easy to ignore.  Lead singer Mike Kerr and drummer Ben Thatcher offer up a range of heavy riffs and melodies that were absolutely irresistible live. (Thatcher came off his stool several times throughout the set to more effectively annihilate his kit -- fuck. yes.) They've only released a four-track EP so far, but the rest of the material they played was equally excellent, so will definitely keep my eyes peeled for their formal debut. Tracks like "Hole" and "Out of the Black" ebb and flow nicely, while "Come on Over" is a freight train rolling downhill.  Lead single "Little Monster" shows their potency well, though, building to a thunderous climax that's sure to have you thrashing.  Check it out here:

A Quick One, Before He's Away

Wanted to take a moment to scribble one more entry before my annual pilgrimage home for a glorious weekend of musical tapas in my beloved city by the lake.  I'll check in afterwards with my usual Lolla roundup, but for now wanted to offer a bit about the great new album by Brooklyn quartet Woods, With Light and Love.  The album's touchstones span genres and eras -- early Americana with some country-fried crumbles sprinkled in, 60s era Brit rock like The Byrds with a little 70s era Band or Neil Young there as well -- which lends the affair an immediately recognizable vibe.  Across the album's ten songs and 40 short minutes, you'll find yourself slipping into riffs and progressions as easily and invitingly as a well-worn shoe.

Much of that has to do with lead singer Jeremy Earl's high-pitched falsetto, which wraps each song in a golden glow only augmented by the nostalgia evoked by the album's influences.  The band effortlessly shifts between the latter, running through all three of them in order on the album's opening trio -- from the blissful honkytonk of "Shepherd" to the taut psychedelia of "Shining" and the smoldering jam of the title track, the band showcases an impressive range on this, their sixth album.

They continue the shifts across the remaining tracks, with high points being the radiant "New Light," whose harmonies kick in halfway through and elevate things to the atmosphere; the languid and lovely "Full Moon," which glides along on a shimmering slide guitar riff; and the elegant and stately "Leaves Like Glass," which sounds like a long lost outtake from The Last Waltz, one every bit as worthy of that legendary band's performance.  Nothing tops the below track, "Moving to the Left" for me, though -- beautiful harmony and melody, simple, solid lyrics, and an overall feel that is warm, bright, and instantly familiar, much like the album that contains it.   A great track on an equally great album -- check it out here:

Nothing Ordinary: Lucius

Wanted to take a minute in between Cup games to throw a new log on the fire, the debut from Brooklyn quintet Lucius, Wildewoman. I've been listening to this one for months now and haven't been able to fully shake it; woke up humming a couple tracks from it again this morning, in fact. It's a beguiling mix -- at turns 60s-era girl group pop (the title track and "Hey, Doreen"), at others quiet folk spirituals ("Go Home" and "Two of Us on the Run"). Still others find you falling victim to some strange Santigold-style drive-by (the propulsive "Nothing Ordinary," for example).

What makes them all hang together -- and what makes the album so eminently memorable writ large -- are the impeccable vocal harmonies of lead singers Jess Wolfe and Holly Laessig. No matter the style, the pair's voices wind together so beautifully it's impossible not to enjoy. Guitarists Andrew Burri, Peter Lalish, and drummer Danny Molad lend to the polish and the evocative 60s atmosphere, crafting some likeable hooks and rhythms, but the ultimate draw are Wolfe's and Laessig's voices. It's a thing to behold, and an exciting sign of things to come, hopefully.

The band shows a facility moving between the disparate styles, equally at home with the more stripped down numbers as the quickfire pop blasts, and I'm looking forward to checking them out next month live at Lolla. For me, the band is at its best when it's sampling across the influences, with tracks like "Until we Get There" and "Turn it Around," which shine as amalgamations as varied as the patrons of a DC barroom. My favorite is the album's midpoint, the excellent "Tempest," which dances along on 80s synth, a simple strummed guitar, and the resonant vocals of Wolfe and Laessig. Simple, yet effective. Check it out here: