Lolla 2016: Bigger Than Kanye's Swimming Pool

It's been an eventful couple of months -- in addition to recovering from the disaster that was our kitchen renovation, which spawned additional projects almost literally the minute it was completed -- projects that required me to punch more holes in the walls, damaged our fancy new cabinets, and otherwise brightened my day -- I've been dodging possums hanging from our front door, mice that somehow snuck into our new kitchen, and rats that have apparently set up shop in our backyard.  Since we were supposed to be flying to a wedding today and that instead devolved into a monster hurricane, I figured I'd take a minute to check in before any more stupidity got in the way.

It hasn't all been bad at the Palazzo Rodentia, though -- in the midst of all the nonsense I've been processing all the music and positive memories acquired in my annual pilgrimage back home for Lollapalooza.  This year was a little different than the previous ten -- despite adding an entire new day to the festival, this was hand's down the weakest lineup in years.  The headliners were actually some of the best parts of the concert for a change and not take em or leave em throwaways like normal -- Radiohead was its usual amazing self and a rare treat to see this side of the pond (it'd been four years since their last appearance), the Chili Peppers put out a solid set of singalong songs for everyone gathered around the campfire, and LCD had one of the best sets of the entire weekend as folks went hellbent for leather and threw everything they had left into a gigantic danceparty before jetting out of town.

In between there was a lot of dead space, though -- a lot of first or second year bands still sharpening their teeth, stretching to fill their hour long slots with material, in addition to the unfortunate creep of monotonous DJs outside the confines of the electro stage ("ONE! TWO! THREE! GO!" and then cue monster sounds and plodding bass lines, over...and over...and over again), which for the first time affected almost every stage at some point or another, if not multiple at once.  It was a little unfortunate and felt like a missed opportunity for a 25th anniversary -- no big reunions, no special guests or appearances from bands that were there at the beginning (minus the Peps).  All in all, though, it was still a great time despite the mediocrity -- Foals destroyed their set in the middle of a monsoon and rocked so hard they stopped the rain (probably earning my vote for weekend champion), Danny Brown was a riotous good time as he ran back and forth whipping folks into a lather, and Silversun Pickups were pure fire in a blissed out set several years in the making.

There were some new discoveries of note, too -- first of which is Lewis del Mar, a duo from Rockaway Beach, NJ, of all places, who mix a swirl of thundering drums with a more laid back, trippy vibe to positive effect.  Frontman Danny Miller's honey-dipped voice and the songs' sauntering tempo give things an almost tropical feel, while drummer Max Harwood keeps you awake and moving as he rides the loud-quiet-loud tempo shifts into the sunset. The pair haven't released a ton, but what they have is pretty great -- "Loud(y)" was the single that took off earlier this year and is a combustible four minute ride (whose opening line is now one of my favorite things to "sing" at people, whether at concerts or at the office), "Painting (Masterpiece)" is a sunnier sounding jam with a great vocal hook, and "Memories" is another delectable spiral of sound effect snippets, juggernaut drums, and lyrics of a busted relationship.  "Malt Liquor" is the one to check first, a smoldering gem that ebbs and flows like the waves of the duo's name and waterfront home.  Check it out here:


Next up is the folksy three-piece from Boston, Honeysuckle, who kicked off day three in the shaded tree-lined cool and slowly woke the crowd from their heat and booze induced stupor. The band isn't doing anything fancy, just belting out song after song of warm three-part harmony, banjo, and plinking mandolin, but it works nicely.  Frontwoman Holly McGarry's voice meshes wonderfully with drummer/guitarist Benjamin Burns' and mandoliner Chris Bloniarz's, and the warm glow at times conjures memories of Out of Time-era R.E.M. and Rumours-era Fleetwood Mac. (With more banjo!)  Songs like "Large Regardless" from their Arrows EP and "Canary," "Skincolor," and "Waking Up" from their self-titled debut are all lovely and the perfect soundtrack to a lazy Sunday afternoon. "It's Getting Late" is one of their strongest -- McGarry's voice and the overall melody are great, and when the trio pauses to bellow the title in unison you can feel your heart swell.  Check it out here:


Finally, we'll close with maybe my favorite discovery of the weekend, the snot-nosed skatepunks of FIDLAR.  Their set was a contender for the most fun I had during the festival and a strong contributor to why the last day was definitely the best.  Noisy, brash, "if you don't like us, we don't give a fuck" -- they may have been slightly out of place on such a big stage in the middle of the day in a park, but their attitude and the sloppy excellence of the songs put you in the dark, crappy bar in your head where it needed to be so you could thrash around without worrying. These guys absolutely killed it, tossing out track after track of irresistible punk -- "Got No Money," "Cheap Beer," "Stoked and Broke," "Blackout Stout," "40oz on Repeat," "Punks," "Why Generation..."  Time and again this  four piece from LA throws down three minute blasts about booze, drugs, surfing, and skating, calling to mind everything you want a garage band to sound like.  It's loud, it's messy, but damn if it isn't also a fucking blast.  For me, nothing tops their debut single "Cocaine" -- guitarist Elvis Kuehn's surf rock riff slowly lures you into the buzzsaw of his brother Max pummeling the drums, Brandon Schwartzel's thudding bass line, and frontman Zac Carper's unhinged wail thirty seconds in and you're paste after that. It's three minutes of punk perfection that'll have you pumping your fist and flailing in unison -- just crank it up and check it out here:

The Bitch is Back: Tats, Spaceships, and Shoegaze

Well -- I had been waiting to post until after the eight months long and counting nightmare that is my kitchen renovation was done, as for most of that time I've physically been unable to get to my computer behind the towers of boxes, cabinets, and other chaos clogging the arteries of my house like a hoarder's wet dream.  Unfortunately I'm worried that day may never come (it's been a week and a half since my contractor last returned any calls/texts about what exactly he's fucking doing -- but who's counting!), so wanted to take an opportunity before I dip home for my annual Lolla pilgrimage to toss out a couple recommendations that've been keeping me company amidst the relentless cuntpuntery.

First up is the self-titled debut from Prism Tats, which I discovered by complete accident a few months back.  I normally don't show up early for shows, usually opting to catch the last song or two of the opener to focus on the headliner, and if my timing's off and I miss the opener completely, that's the cost of doing business.  This night, though, because the art of posting accurate set times on your website or social media fora is too difficult for some to master (#2016isthenew1984 #whatsaTwitter #fuckyouandyourplans) we got there at the time for the headliner and instead got to see all of the opener's set first.  Thankfully that happened to be these guys, the normally solo lead singer/lyricist Garett van der Spek and a couple of onstage pals, and they were great.  Van der Spek sounds a little like Ours frontman Jimmy Gnecco at times, or even a punkier Jeff Buckley, with his soaring falsetto on songs, but it works -- both live and on the album.

They opened the former the same way they do the latter, with the drunken kazoo sounding intro of "Pacifist Masochist," which sets the tone well with its driving beat, catchy hook, and sharp lyrics.  Follow on tracks like "Never Been Shy," "Death of Fame," and "Haunt Me" all shine too, harnessing the band's brash energy and van der Spek's snarky, sometimes biting lyrics. ("I don't know where I'm going, but it's nowhere with you" on "Shy" or "sometimes I'd rather lose myself than prove myself alone" on "Pacifist.") Half the time you think he's kidding as he tosses them out with his high pitched delivery, but there's an acidic sincerity to the words that rings true and makes you wonder.  It's a great little album and definitely something to keep your eyes on moving forward.

Nothing tops "Weird Guilt" for me, though, which captures it all in a tight three minute package -- a killer riff, thundering drums, and those cryptic, catchy lyrics. ("I don't want to be your lover again, if being your lover means being your friend (no I no I no I don't), well does that make me just a little insincere?")  Pure sizzle -- check it out here:


Next up is a new layer to the continued obsession that's plagued me the last few years, that of Guided by Voices and their unrelenting frontman Bob Pollard. A buddy first introduced GBV to me fifteen-odd years ago when he gave me a copy of their classic Alien Lanes.  And while there were tracks on there that I instantly loved ("Game of Pricks," "Motor Away," "Blimps go 90") the album as a whole sort of overwhelmed me -- 28 tracks, some seeming afterthoughts ending almost as soon as they'd began ("Cigarette Tricks," "Hit"), others noisy oddities that seemed to be useless throwaways ("Gold Hick," the snoring overlay that drowns out "Ex-Supermodel"). It seemed too scattered and disjointed to me at the time, like it was rushed to market before an editor could get their hands on it and tighten it up.

It wasn't until Pollard put out the band's greatest hits compilation in 2003 that I really started to get into them -- killer tracks like "Everywhere with Helicopters," "Bulldog Skin," "Glad Girls," "Tractor Rape Chain," "Teenage FBI" were all over the album.  Those gems surrounded tracks I remembered from Alien Lanes, which gave me a new appreciation for the earlier material and the band itself.  You could hear the unmistakable influences more clearly now (The Who foremost among them) as well as the army of bands they inspired since I'd first been exposed (everything from Stone Temple Pilots and REM to Pavement and Neutral Milk Hotel).  When they broke up the following year (in what I'd come to learn was the beginning of a trend for the restless Pollard) and said farewell in an epic New Year's Eve marathon in Chicago (four plus hours, something close to 75 songs) I was fully on board.

I spent the intervening months downloading tracks from their seemingly endless supply of albums and EPs (well over 50, depending on how you count), and slowly started picking through Pollard's equally prolific solo efforts and side projects.  And I realized that while my initial assessment was still partly correct (Uncle Bob most definitely needs an editor from time to time), some of my favorite tunes included the ones that could initially seem like throwaways ("Tropical Robots" being but one example that leaves you wanting more).

Keeping up with the ever-burgeoning GBV catalog was enough to keep me busy for a long time, dabbling in some of his solo stuff if I had a few spare cycles, but it wasn't until I got a chance to catch them again when they came through town a month or so ago that I found the latest layer to my addiction.  They were here in support of their latest album, Please Be Honest (I've lost count with what number this one is -- somewhere in the high twenties) and the show was brilliant as always -- two and a half hours, two encores, easily fifty-odd songs (including a pretty great cover of The Who's legendary "Baba O'Riley" to close things out), several of which were from this band he kept referencing, the Boston Spaceships.

They were good tunes, very in line with vintage GBV -- sort of British invasion style songs, brash and poppy -- and I made a note to investigate more once the show was over.  As I'm sure is no surprise at this point, it's yet another Pollard side project that I'd somehow missed the bead on, and it instantly became the food for my obsession since the show.  Like later-day GBV lineups, the band recorded with a rotating array of excellent musicians (John Moen from the Decemberists, Mick Collins from the Dirtbombs, J. Mascis of Dinosaur Jr.) and together managed to reel off a slew of equally excellent tracks.  Check out the greatest hits album as a starter -- there were the ones I recognized from the show ("Come on Baby Grace," "Tabby and Lucy," "Question Girl Alright"), as well as several other winners -- "You Satisfy Me," "Earmarked for Collision," "Make a Record for Lo-Life," the unsettling drone of "German Field of Shadows." It's a great addition to the repertoire and will keep me going back to the well (as well as the original albums) for months to come.  Check out "Come on Baby Grace" for a taste:


We'll close with a track from a fun little lo fi discovery I stumbled on from another band I'd been introduced to years ago, but also let drift in the intervening years.  I'd first heard this London band back when it was a quartet for its self-titled debut and really dug on their fuzzy style of shoegaze. (I swear I caught them at Lolla that year but can't seem to confirm that so maybe I'm making it up...) Their follow-on was a bit of a let down so it was by chance I heard their new album, Stranger Things, was out and gave them another try.

I'm glad I did, because despite losing a member (original guitarist/vocalist Daniel Blumberg) the remaining three respond nicely on this tight little eleven track effort.  The band continues to call to mind Smashing Pumpkins and Built to Spill at times with their fuzzed up guitars and meandering melodies, but they do so without sounding derivative.  From tracks like the charging "Cannonball" and "Only Silence," to more dreamy downtempo ones like "As I Walk Away," "Like a Moth," and the epic closer "Yr Face" (which could easily be in either the Pumpkins or BTS' catalog) the album shifts styles nicely over its 45 minute duration.  "Hearts in Motion" is the purest distillation of the band's strengths -- solid riffs, all fuzz and thunder, while lead singer/guitarist Max Bloom's melodic coos hover over the din.  Great little track -- check it out here:

Do You Like American Music: A Winning Debut, A Stellar Return II

Thought I'd take advantage of the early spring weather and temporarily pause my weeks-long war with contractors (at home, not work -- THAT war's been waging for years...) to come in with a couple recommendations that've been keeping me busy after the fervent holiday season.  First up is a debut from a little West Virginia five-piece, Ona, that I stumbled on appropriately in the midst of a road trip.  We were driving north, but the album conjures imagery of the American south -- places like Amarillo, Louisiana, and Texarkana all get name-checked, and the tone is as warm as that region's middle months, part early Wilco alt-country, part early Wallflowers indie rock. Lead singer Bradley Jenkins' voice has the same inviting, gravely rasp as the latter band's Dylan, while the lyrics and Made in America mentality are reminiscent of the former's ringleader Tweedy.

It's a winning mixture -- Jenkins and Co rattle through ten tracks of increasing excellence, from the muscular title track "American Fiction," "Ides of July," and lead single "World at War," which are pitch perfect Americana, to more subdued emotional numbers like "Lemon Sea" and "I Will Wait," whose harmonies are absolute kneecappers. Nothing tops "Pipestem," though, which represents the culmination of both aspects -- a propulsive down home groove courtesy of guitarist Zack Owens (along w/ bedrock-solid rhythm section mates Max Nolte, Zach Johnston, and PJ Woodard) alongside a beautiful melody driven by Jenkins harmonizing with the band. There's not a ton written about these guys yet, but with a debut as fantastic as this that's sure to change soon.  Check out "Pipestem" here:



Next up is the return of an old friend, one I'd lost track of and somewhat forgotten over the years, the Midwest legends Violent Femmes. They stumbled from the edge of memory rather unexpectedly, catching them by dumb luck on Colbert a few weeks ago, and it was like having a high school friend (which these guys very much were) show up unannounced on your doorstep.  They're back with their first album in sixteen years, and it's the best they've done in twenty five, capturing the rebellious charm and magic of classics like that year's Why do Birds Sing? and their legendary self-titled debut.  I spent hour upon hour with those two albums growing up, awkwardly singing along with frontman Gordan Gano's nasally whine and chunky acoustic guitar, and they're front and center again here, leading the way through the blistering thirty minute, ten song salvo of We Can do Anything. From lead single "Memory" to instant classics like "Issues" and "Foothills," the album is a return to form for the folk-punk trio.

The band's always been at its best when singing about love and teenage angst, filtering those topics through Gano's irreverent, flippant, and at times darkly humorous lyrics, and they do so again masterfully here.  In addition to the aforementioned trio, there's the lovely 50s-era ballad "What you Really Mean," the smirking "Travelling Solves Everything" (with its laughingly satisfying chant of "STEW! STEW! STEW!") and "Big One" (whose double entendres and twist ending are vintage Femmes), and the snarky, sarcastic venom of "Untrue Love," all of which sound instantly familiar and will quickly have you singing along.  There's nary a bad song to be found -- even when they veer a little too close to kid pop on tracks like "I Could be Anything," there's a winning charm and infectiousness that grants them an exemption.  All in all it's a fast, fun way to spend half an hour and a welcome reunion for these beloved old friends.  Get reacquainted the same way I did, with the lead single "Memory," which would sound at home on either of those aforementioned classics.  Check it out here:

At Least It's Friday: The Best of 2015

Well, it's been a heck of a year.  Easily the most consistently frustrating and infuriating year of my professional (and at times personal) life, this has been a year about testing resolve and one's belief in the bigger picture.  That for every battle lost on a day to day basis -- which at times seemed to number in the dozens -- the broader expenditure of energy and investment (and pain suffered as a result) would not only pay off, but was worth it. For everything from how to stand up (and then run) an enormous new venture to far more simple things like basic communication and requests, this was a war with a thousand fronts and no seeming end to the hostilities.

It was the year of the dick punching machine -- a fabled contraption that came to be emblematic of the struggle -- and standing in front of its fury for 12-15 hrs a day, sometimes longer, to get the ever-loving piss knocked out of you. You did it because you had to, you did it because it was unavoidable, you did it because you were too stupid (or tired) to find any acceptable escapes.  The phrase referenced in the post's title was a tragicomic refrain initially uttered at the end of one's wits on the appropriate day, but then gradually uttered earlier and earlier in the week until you found yourself muttering it by 9AM on a Monday and disbelieving the fact you had five more days to go.  Yes, the DPM was legion, and there was (and still is) no identified cure. 

That said, there were still bright spots hidden in the muck (I wouldn't be Bobby Sunshine if I couldn't find em!) -- I took more days off than in previous years in an effort to avoid as much punishment as possible and don't forfeit any leave at year's end for a change.  I built retaining walls and ornamentally decorated others with tiles.  I hand placed and leveled eleventy billion patio bricks. I designed kitchens and watched hockey (world champs, baby!). I read books (discovering Harry Crews and his masterful A Feast of Snakes and diving deeper into Neil Gaiman never disappointed) and watched movies (Whiplash and Interstellar blew me away as I caught up from last year). I bought expensive drums and relaxed with Ladypants.

And above all I listened to music.   I got to two festivals, a ton of shows in between, and burned through even more albums at home, the best of which are detailed below.  Some you'll recognize as I wrote about them earlier in the year, others will be completely new and appear here for the first time.  There's 29 in all, which is up a bit from last year and potentially a good reason for me taking more time off so I can find even more next year.

Similar to last year the top slot features an offering from an all-time fave that was ten years in the making, and the list is also a little lighter than previous years on electro and rap again (there's only three of the former and NONE of the latter (though I listened to "Hotline Bling" almost enough to warrant an entry), which has only happened once before on these year-end reviews).  What remains, though, truly is the best of the best.  For while the extra free time gave me the opportunity to find a lot more music, it also allowed me to scrutinize what I found even more than usual.  So what shows up below has withstood some pretty withering scrutiny (exacerbated at times by a unabashedly crappy mood), which hopefully is an indicator of its quality.  So take a walk through the forest of the unfamiliar with me and see what calls out to you -- you may not like every thing suggested below, but I guarantee you'll be able to find something.

Until next time, my friends...enjoy! (And Merry Christmas!)
--BS
---------------------------------------------------------------

1. Sleater-Kinney -- No Cities to Love: This one had the top spot from the first listen and never looked back. Similar to a few others in the top five, this came out nearly an entire year ago and has managed to stand up to an unbelievable amount of listening, which would have exposed flaws in far lesser fare.  That it hasn't after this much time and punishment speaks to its exceptional quality -- ten songs of undeniable, irresistible listening that will leave you a breathless, spent puddle by the end of it. There's the hammer blow of the opening "Price Tag," "Surface Envy," and "Bury Our Friends," the rollicking "Fangless," "New Wave," and "Hey Darling."  There's the growling thunder of the closing "Fade" and the mindfuck of the year, "No Anthems."  There isn't a bad one in the bunch -- hell, there's barely one that's not "outstanding" -- and the fact that they were away one year for every song here is amazing.  To be gone that long and come back this potent speaks to why this is one of the best rock bands out there -- period.

I listened to this album more than any others this year by far, and in a year that was as infuriating and frustrating as this one was, it was the perfect accompaniment -- to either blow off some steam and shred (as a firm believer in the merits of percussive therapy, Janet Weiss' work is one of the best to thrash along to) or to muster the resolve to pick myself up and keep punching back. No other album had as many mind melting "holy F#$K!" moments as this one, and none were even remotely of the same magnitude.  This will fry your neighbor's brains when you put it on, it's that powerful.  These ladies remain one of my overall faves and true titans of rock. I can't think of anything more to say about them than I did earlier this year, other than they continue to blow me away ten months later.  Put this one on again and turn it up -- WAY up.

2. Alabama Shakes -- Sound & Color: This one didn't miss the top spot by much, representing the most surprising, vibrant, and at times difficult album -- both to categorize and digest, based on the expectations set on the debut -- but also the most continuously rewarding.  It's an absolute masterpiece, one I turned to relentlessly over the year and was never disappointed.  As I wrote before, the band took a huge risk putting out an album so different from their first, but it pays off magnificently.  What we get in return is an album that hits harder, registers deeper, and stays with you longer, shifting effortlessly from vintage soul, R&B, and blues, to their brand of Southern-tinged rock.

It's difficult to capture just how good they are here.  The blissfully warm title track, the powerhouse lead single "Don't Wanna Fight" (which was a personal, if not also professional theme song this year), the unbelievable "Dunes" and its Stax-style siblings "Future People," "Gimme All Your Love," "Miss You, and "Guess Who."  They all continue to amaze after repeated listens, and they give the more contemplative, quiet numbers like "This Feeling" and "Over My Head" even more power. Seeing it performed live was an almost religious experience, one that actually brought a tear to my eye at one point.  Frontwoman Brittany Howard and the boys have gone WAY above and beyond here.  This is one for the ages...

3. Built to Spill -- Untethered Moon: This is another one I wrote about earlier in the year (this will be a trend, as you might already have noticed), and another that's more than held up to some heavy listening.  Idaho legends Doug Martsch and Co. charged back after a six year hiatus (their longest to date) with their eight album, and it's a seamless addition to their already impressive catalog.  There are some bands who you might want (or tolerate) changing their sound and pushing the boundaries of what they can do as a unit, just to see what comes back. (See the Shakes above for one example of how it can go really well.)

This isn't one of those bands.  BTS is SO good at what they do -- smart, thoughtful indie rock, full of incredibly intricate guitar parts and melodies, constantly shifting tempos, and an array of thoughts and moods -- that I don't want them to change a thing.  They already find so much variety within the lines of such high quality that I don't want them to color outside of them. (I'm sure it would be amazing, but I don't want a Doug Martsch R&B album anytime soon...) They're essentially the pigs of the music world -- the best, most delectable and versatile being that I want every time it's offered to me, and more of every time I'm done.

That they've been doing so at this level for 20 years is pretty remarkable, and they don't show any signs of slowing down now.  They throw down the gauntlet with the first song, "All Our Songs" (honestly, there's not a band out there that does tone-setting, monster openers better than these guys), and don't slow down much from there.  "Living Zoo" and "Another Day" are among the best things they've recorded (I must have listened to both of them nearly a hundred times this year), "So" and "Some Other Song" slowly build towards explosions, "C.R.E.B." is a shape-shifting juggernaut, and "Never the Same" and "Horizon to Cliff" show Martsch's softer, sweeter side.  There's nary a note out of place (I still think "When I'm Blind" could use a slight trim in the middle, but its bookends are great).  Add this one to the pantheon of greatness.

4. The Districts -- A Flourish and a Spoil: The sophomore album from the boys from Philly gets off to a sizzling start with "4th and Roebling" as an expectant bass line and kick drum thump along, building incrementally as singer/guitarist Rob Grote comes in with the verse, and then exploding in full flourish with the second verse.  (When Grote sings what was often a piece of inner dialogue this year, "Sunshine, I believe we're headed the right way, but then again I can't quite tell for sure...") It shows right away what the band does so well -- build songs to frantic explosions that're so fulfilling you'll find yourself circling the room punching the air or drumming along in tandem.

These guys are hands-down one of my favorite bands to come along in the last few years, and I worked the shit out of this album from the time it came out in February and it hasn't diminished an iota since. The payoffs in tracks like "Hounds" and "Bold" are still irresistible, the singalongs for tracks like "Peaches," "Sing the Song," and "Heavy Begs" are still exuberant, and even the two hushed solo moments on "Suburban Smell" and "6AM" work nicely. Grote's lyrics continue to improve, as well, with notes of bitterness and anxiety whose origins (or target) may not always be clear, but that feel honest and true, allowing you to take them as your own from song to song. (Not that I have anything to be bitter about...)

Whether you pay attention to the lyrics or not, though, these guys just flat out slay -- this is an album chock full of gems from a band that should be twenty times bigger than they are. They're even better live, and never moreso than when they play their ready-made encore epic, "Young Blood," which remains nine minutes of pure perfection. They closed both shows I saw them at this year with it, and it destroys every time (as it does every time it comes on in my car). The shouted refrain at the end felt like a mantra of mine many times this year -- "it's a long way back to the height from where I am" -- but you're pumped to go smash back into that wall every time after listening.  Another killer album from a band that hopefully has half a dozen more like it in them.

5. Father John Misty -- I Love You, Honeybear: This is another one that came out really early in the year and that has spent more than a few spins on repeat on the stereo since.  Similar to the above, it's the second album for Misty, but unlike the Districts' follow-up effort that kills you with its climaxes, what kills you here is Misty's withering lyrics.  (His amazing voice and the lovely melodies don't hurt either.) As I wrote earlier this year, every song has at least a couple lines that are sharp enough to pierce stone, and that's what makes his stuff special -- how he juxtaposes that honey-laden croon with his snarky, at times wickedly funny lyrics. 

The potency hasn't been diluted at all in the intervening months -- lead single "Chateau Lobby #4 (in C for Two Virgins)," "Nothing Good Ever Happens at the Goddamn Thirsty Crow," and "Strange Encounter" still kill, while more subdued tracks like the opener and the last three on the album only got better with more listens. (I still hate the dancy "True Affection," which just sounds out of place, and skip it every time it comes on.) The album ages really well and rewards repeated listens, particularly on those last few songs.  When this first came out my brain was fried by the time I reached the halfway point of "Crow" and I'd just go back and listen to those opening tracks again, to see "did he just say that?" or to immerse myself in the brilliance of tracks like "Chateau" or "The Night Josh Tillman Came to Our Apt.," which remains my favorite song on the album and the best song that came out this year.

As the year went on, though, and I got to sit with some of those quieter numbers -- particularly the last three -- I saw that they were every bit as good as the early obsessions. I especially love "Bored in the USA," which is both hilarious and so perfectly representative of the bitter cynicism and malaise that Misty radiates (and I sometimes share) it should be a national anthem. (The opening line is "How many people rise and say, 'My brain's so awfully glad to be here for yet another mindless day?'" -- and it only gets better after that.) It's a hell of an album and worth every ounce of effort to sit down and just listen to it (and nothing else).

6. Shakey Graves -- And the War Came; Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats -- Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats; Black Pistol Fire -- Hush or Howl: This slot's for my Southern soul and a couple albums that kept it going this year.  First up is Shakey's sophomore outing, which marks a dramatic leap forward from his uneven debut, Roll the Bones.  This one's borderline perfection, with songs so winning and melodies so infectious you're all but powerless to sing along.  He doesn't change the recipe -- it's still primarily him on guitar with his suitcase kickdrum and tamb -- but the songs that pair him with a full band (or better yet, his knee-buckling harmonies with Esme Patterson) give the songs an extra oomph that was often missing on the debut.  There's nary a bad track to be found -- "The Perfect Parts," "Dearly Departed," and "Big Time Nashville Star" all are rollicking, big-hearted singles, while "Only Son," "Hard Wired," "Pansy Waltz," and "House of Winston" all hit the softer, more sentimental side.  The effect overall is an unqualified success -- a little bit of heart and a little country swagger, like ole Sunshine after a couple sazeracs.  Fantastic album.

Next comes one of my accidental, but probably most prized, discoveries this year, the outstanding debut from Rateliff and his band of merry men.  Rateliff has been doing the solo singer-songwriter thing for several years now, but was struggling to break through (which is a shame because his solo stuff has some beauties tucked away), so he decided to take one more swing at it, this time ditching the melancholic man on stage and replacing him with a raucous gang of ruffians to see if that resonated.  The result was nothing short of a bomb blast, as the band offered up some of the most ebullient, uplifting music of the year -- part Mardi Gras second line, part tobacco fields spirituals, this is revival music at its finest, food for your heart and soul.  Both sides will go away more than nourished here, the former from tracks like "Howling at Nothing," "Wasting Time," and "Mellow Out," the latter from booming tracks like "I Need Never Get Old," "Trying so Hard Not to Know," "Look it Here," and the irresistible "S.O.B.," which is a close second for my favorite track of the year.  It's an infectious blend, one that'll get you moving early and often, no matter how many times you listen to it.

Last up is one that came out late last year and got lost in the shuffle of prepping for the holidays and processing the year's worth of music that came before it, but luckily wasn't lost completely.  That's because once I got around to it, it completely knocked me on my ass -- I put it on regular repeat and haven't stopped since. This is only the second album for the Austin-based blues duo, yet they sound as confident and self-assured as a band with three times as much output.  The album's brisk 30-odd minutes are chock full with some monster songs (at 9:2 it's a lot more "Howl" than "Hush") -- the opening trio of "Alabama Coldcock," "Dimestore Heartthrob," and "Baby Ruthless" are an irresistible onslaught that pauses only momentarily before thundering through another sterling triple -- "Hipster Shakes," "Run Rabbit Run," and "Honeydripper."  "Show Pony" is the album's final major assault, and it's every bit as good as its predecessors, with breaks that could smash concrete.

The band (and album) are reminiscent of the Black Keys/White Stripes with glimmers of Zeppelin (who they weave into their mixtape-like live sets, along with Marley, Springsteen, and others) as guitarist Kevin McKeown and drummer Eric Owen thrash away, but don't write them off as derivative.  This is a fantastic album, one that somehow manages to sound even better live. I've caught the guys twice this year and it didn't matter whether I was in a field with hundreds of people or a living room with a few dozen, they absolutely shredded the place.  Pop this one in and crank it up to eleven -- it's about to get swampy.

7. Astral Swans -- All my Favorite Singers are Willie Nelson; Foals -- What Went Down: This slot's for strange bedfellows -- one a strange, hypnotic debut, the other a much awaited return from a recent fave -- but a duo that worked in tandem to keep the Sunshine Express moving this year.  For the former, in a year that was a brutalizing as this past year was, little pools of solace were often all I had to keep going.  So like a shimmering pond and palm tree in the desert, I found myself pulling my bloodied husk towards the refuge and relief of things like this album time and again.  Calgary native Matthew Swann's hushed voice, fractal lyrics, and the resulting foggy, fuzzy atmosphere formed the sonic representation of my emotional resolve this year.  When he sings "it's a teeeeeeeeerrible state" over and over on "Please Don't Leave me Strange" or things like "I will never forget, even when my mind is gone" on "Holly Drive" in scarcely more than a whisper, you can picture him lying there battered on the floor, croaking out the lines that way because a whisper's all he could muster. (And that may or may not be how/where I would be listening to it, in a very similar state.)

It's a great, strange album -- part 60s folk and psychedelic, part 90s grunge -- that's tough to categorize and even tougher to turn off. The album's twelve songs fit together perfectly to create this warm, intoxicating haze, as Swann's voice and his catchy melodies reach out from the speakers and envelop you.  High points remain the opening "There are Ways to get What you Want," the punky "Let Their Faces All Blur Out," and the plaintive "What Calms you Down, Freaks me Out." And for the busted up listener on the mat, the versatility of Swann's cryptic lyrics will keep you coming back for more, as they at times seem like fragments of your own thoughts. ("Let's have the weekend, until the beginning of the end" from "Beginning of the End" or "when my mind broke to the point of not feeling" on "Grass Girl.") A strong debut, which hopefully has a near-term follow on.

The back half picks up where the former leaves off, getting me moving once I've finally gotten off the floor, completing a ritual I performed hundreds of times this year. It's the fourth album from the British five piece and it finds them sounding better than ever after a couple years off, continuing the momentum from that strong last outing. (2013's Holy Fire) It's their fullest assault to date, showcasing the band's numerous strengths -- the knotty, jaunty guitar parts that crisscross and swirl like dive-bombing birds ("Birch Tree," "Albatross," "Night Swimmers"); the insurgent rockers that trample forward like charging bulls (the title track, "Snake Oil"); the blissed out, downtempo numbers that stretch out into the black ("Give it All," "London Thunder").

All of them are propelled by frontman Yannis Philippakis, whose intensity helps lend a number of the songs a grandeur and urgency not previously seen.  The band's always had a raw, buoyant energy, but it's tended to tip more towards the cerebral side in years past.  Here Philippakis and Co. seem to be aiming more for the heart, with more unadorned lyrics and his plaintive wail, which gives the album an anthemic feel at times. It translates well live, too, with lead guitarist Jimmy Smith gleefully singing along mike free to each of the album's tracks while drummer Jack Bevan uncorks some utterly head-scratching rhythms. (I was intently watching him and still don't know how his movements match up to the sound on some tracks.)  It's a potent mix, and the band does a nice job shifting between the moods and colors to keep you off-balance.  It gives the album a rich, varied feel that keeps you coming back for more.

8. Cold War Kids -- Hold my Home;  Modest Mouse -- Strangers to Ourselves: This slot's for the bald, bearded guys who work as quality control technicians for the DPM, and a return to form for two of their favorite bands (though not necessarily their ladies'). First up are the Cold War Kids whose fifth album finds them continuing the resurgence they found on their last, Dear Miss Lonelyhearts, and stepping ever further from the overwrought mess of a middle album.  It's a welcome sight -- I'd all but written them off after that album, and it wasn't until the swing for the fences earnestness on "Miracle Mile" that I decided to give them another shot.  And I'm glad I did -- Lonelyhearts was a solid return to form, if a bit meek at times, almost like the band itself was testing the waters and seeing how it felt. This album shakes off all the shyness and is far more self-assured, as evident on songs like "Drive Desperate," "Hotel Anywhere," the title track, and "Flower Drum Song," which crackle with energy.  They shift seamlessly to slower songs as well, tracks like "First," "Nights & Weekends," and "Harold Bloom," where lead singer Nathan Willett breaks into a convincing croon. It's an eclectic mix, which is what the band has always offered at its best, and this marches them a whole lot closer to the greatness of their debut.

Speaking of eclectic mix, next is the return of Modest Mouse, six years since their last EP (the middling No One's First, and You're Next) and eight since their last studio album (the masterful We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank).  Thankfully it tips far closer to the latter, a characteristic smorgasbord of weirdness and charm as only frontman Isaac Brock could offer up. There's straightforward winners like lead single "Lampshades on Fire," "The Ground Walks, With Time in a Box," "Be Brave," and "The Best Room," slower fare like the lovely "Coyotes" and the lurching "Shit in Your Cut" and "The Tortoise and the Tourist."  And then there's the vintage Isaac weirdness -- the carnival soundtrack of "Sugar Boats," the indecipherable fragment "God is an Indian and You're an Asshole," and the serial killer on the phone vocals of "Pistol (A. Cunanan, Miami, FL 1996)," which is infectious insanity and what I imagine a clown's inner monologue sounds like. Somehow it all hangs together, though, and what would sound like an unholy mess in less skilled hands sounds like a carefully crafted monument in Isaac's. Here's to him not taking the better part of the decade off again and coming back soon.

9. Bear's Den -- Islands; James Bay -- Chaos and the Calm; The Hunts -- Those Younger Days:  This slot's for pure prettiness, with a couple of bands whose debut albums offered some of the year's lovelier tracks.  I found all of them at festivals -- the first two at my annual pilgrimage home to Lolla, the last one at the party in my backyard that was Landmark -- and each of them has stayed with me in the months since.  On paper there are a couple stark differences -- the Lolla ones are comprised of four unrelated lads from London, the Landmark one seven siblings from Maryland; the first two are mid/late twenty year olds singing of love and loss, the last one kids in their late teens/early twenties singing with the unvarnished optimism to which their relative youth typically subscribes -- but each aims for the heart and routinely finds their target.

Wielding a mess of acoustic guitars and supplementary strings, the bands offer up albums full of top notch melodies that'll weaken the knees and wound the ticker -- for Bear's Den it's tracks like "Agape," "Isaac," "Bad Blood," and "Above the Clouds of Pompeii," which still draws blood half a year later; for the Hunts it's ones like "Valentina," "Illuminate," "Douse the Flame" and "Make this Leap," which still borders on pure jubilation with every listen. 

And then there's Bay, whose album (and age) walks the line between the two, as the title implies  -- full-throated pop songs like "Craving," "If You Ever Want to be in Love," "When we Were on Fire," and "Get Out While You Still Can," each of which will have you belting the words out alongside him. He mixes these with slower gems like "Hold Back the River," "Let it Go," "Move Together," and "Need the Sun to Break," which smolder with Bay's voice and honest lyrics. In a year that was filled with frustration and fury, I often found myself turning to these for solace, to bask in the warmth of their hearths and find quarter from the unrelenting storm.


10. Chemical Brothers -- Born in the Echoes; Skrillex and Diplo -- Skrillex and Diplo Present: Jack U; Major Lazer -- Peace is the Mission: This slot's for the electroheads, and despite not being in the mood to boogie much this year thanks to my relentless friend the DPM, there were a few selections that managed to punch through the punishment and get things moving.  First up is the latest from the veteran Chems, their first studio album in five years and their eighth overall, and as I wrote earlier it's a perfect summation of their previous offerings.  There's the hard charging "Sometimes I Feel so Deserted" and "EML Ritual," the hypnotic "Under Neon Lights" and title track, the big beats of "Go" and "I'll See you There," and the spacy "Reflexion" and "Taste of Honey." It's a wide ranging affair, one that culminates with the buoyant "Wide Open," which serves as the equivalent of daybreak after the album's soundtrack to a night in the club.

Next comes the ballyhooed pairing of two of electro's biggest names, the EDM equivalent of Kanye and Jay-Z teaming up a few years back.  And similar to that offering (which also ended up on the year end list) it lives up to the hype, showcasing the strengths of each of the participants without sounding dissonant or disjointed.  Which is saying something, as I'm normally not the biggest fan of Skrillex -- his monsters-fucking-a-space-station sound can be grating at times, but here it blends nicely with Diplo's more motley assortment of tones and influences, sometimes seamlessly as on tracks like "Beats Knocking" and "Febreze."  Other tracks tip more towards Diplo's style, and actually call to mind his work on the Major Lazer album that would come out several months later (more on that in a second).  Tracks like "To U," "Mind," and "Take U" (particularly the mind-fryingly good version with Missy's verses) all soar and wouldn't sound out of place on that album. Even the track with Justin Bieber ("Where Are You Now") works well. (Bieber hands to the sky!)

It's a perfect companion to the third Lazer album, which as I wrote earlier shows Diplo and Co slowing things down a bit to powerful effect. Similar to those last few tracks on Jack U, the best moments here are the half steppers, the ones that glide along on the backs of some killer female vocals and even better beats.  Tracks like the opening "Be Together," the closing "All my Love," and the monster duo of "Lean On" and "Powerful" in between outshine almost everything around it. The uptempo tracks still sizzle, though -- maybe a little more so for the juxtaposition -- "Blaze up the Fire" and "Roll the Bass" are pure dancehall grime, while "Too Original" is the track that would burn the dancehall to the ground; an absolute fucking monster. Diplo keeps his title as electro's Midas with two more notches in the win column here.  Crank it up.

11. Catfish and the Bottlemen -- The Balcony; Hippo Campus -- Bashful Creatures/South; Atlas Genius -- Inanimate Objects: These three represent the poppier side of things, a mix of big hooks, bigger choruses, and more synth than I usually allow myself close to, but it works so I'm not going to fight it (or apologize).  First up are a couple of debuts from bands I found back at Lolla -- Catfish and company come our way from across the pond, Hippo and the kids from Minnesota -- and both were instant faves at the festival.  They've held up well in the intervening months, Catfish on the backs of their insanely catchy tunes (the opening trio of "Homesick," "Kathleen," and "Cocoon" are absolute whoppers, followed by equally winning tracks like "Pacifier" and "Business"), while Hippo does so on their pure effervescence.  (Songs like "Sophie So," "Little Grace," and the seal barking "Suicide Saturday" are pure sunshine, as are later releases "Dollar Bill" and "South.") Pop either on to put a kick in your step -- you'll be dancing around and singing in no time.

Last up is the follow-on album from Aussie synth pop dynamos Atlas, whose first album was an infectious blend of jangly guitars, shimmery keys, and big pop choruses, and this one's no different.  From the opening one-two of "The Stone Mill" and lead single "Molecules," to latter gems "Stockholm," "A Perfect End," and "The City we Grow," the band shows they can still wallop a pop hit like the best of 'em. They show some respectable range as well, on tracks like the smoldering "Where I Belong" and the lovely duo of "Balladino" and "Levitate," the latter of which closes the album on a blissful, serene note.  It's a solid showing for a band trying to stand up to some serious pressure thanks to their hit maker of a debut.  They handle it nicely, though, and keep us interested in what round III will hold.

12. The Arcs -- Yours, Dreamily; Avers -- Empty Light: This slot's for the throwbacks and a couple of albums that winningly conjure up sounds from decades past.  First up it's Black Keys frontman Dan Auerbach's side project debut, a mix of 60s psychedelia and 70s soul that for some reason calls to mind spaghetti westerns and 70s cop movies to me. A number of songs/riffs seem tailor made for movie soundtracks of that era -- "Put a Flower in Your Pocket," "Pistol Made of Bone," "Cold Companion" -- they all crackle with that vintage feel that's part scuzzy fuzz, part shimmering sunlight. Tracks like "Velvet Ditch" (which switches from a Sergio Leone style whistle to a classic funk riff before the song even starts) and "Come & Go" (which sounds like the movie it's backing is already playing in the background) only deepen the effect.  More straightforward tracks keep things from going too far into the ether -- lead single "Outta my Mind" and "The Arc" are busting with energy rockers, while "Stay in my Corner" and "Rosie (Ooh La La)" are pure soul.  Auerbach's got a hell of an ear for melody, and as with his regular gig (and solo stuff) he doesn't disappoint here.

The back half's for the debut from the Richmond six piece Avers who I managed to catch at Landmark festival and was blown away -- in part by the volume (which with a five vocalist, four guitar attack was epic), but mostly by the killer mix of psychedelic haze and garage rock they conjure up.  As I wrote then, they shift effortlessly between British invasion style rock ("The Only One," "Girls With Headaches") and fuzzed up noir ("White Horses," "Harvest," "Evil") and the overall effect is a knockout.  Even slower, more ethereal songs like the title track, "Barrel to Mouth," or "Top of the Stairs" work with their smoldering moodiness.  With so many vocalists taking the lead throughout the album, each with a unique sensibility and tone, it leads to a wide range of textures and depth that's continuously fulfilling.  This is another debut that leaves you longing for a quick follow-on.

13. Ex Hex -- Rips; Honeyblood -- Honeyblood: This slot's for the lady killers -- not hunky slabs of man meat who'll melt your heart and captivate your dreams such as myself, but rather a gang of ladies who will knock those guys, and everyone around them, on their butts.  First up is DC-native Mary Timona's latest project, a three piece I discovered at Landmark and immediately dug as they whipped the crowd up with their Joan Jett-style rockers. As I wrote then, the lyrics may not knock you over, but the attitude and hooks will, and they've got ample helpings of both to do the job.  Tracks like "Don't Wanna Lose," "Beast," "You Fell Apart," and "Waterfall" all continue to invoke the album title and rip, while songs like "Waste Your Time," "How You Got That Girl," and "Outro" smother the sneer and show a little vulnerability.  It's just a flat out fun album, chock full of energy and hooks.  Pop it in and start pogoing.

Next is the Scottish duo Honeyblood, who I sort of stumbled into by accident.  Their lead single "Bud" came out a couple years ago and I'd really enjoyed it, but hadn't heard anything more from them.  Until, that is, I bought tickets for the wrong show and ended up catching their tour for their full length debut earlier this year.  (As with everything this year, reading was apparently too taxing for me so when I thought I saw "Houndmouth" was playing and bouth tickets, this was who actually showed up...)  It turned out to be a happy accident, though, because lead singer/guitarist Stina Marie Claire Tweeddale and drummer Shona McVicar offer up a bunch of catchy, punky songs that'll get stuck in your head. From tracks like "Fall Forever" and "Super Rat" to "Killer Bangs" and "All Dragged Up," the album is chock full of brash, pissed off songs about breakups and love that are as catchy as they are unguarded.  Slower tracks like "(I'd Rather Be) Anywhere But Here," "No Spare Key," and "Joey" round things out nicely, and Tweeddale's Glaswegian accent makes everything sound more alluring throughout.  Here's to intermittent literacy and strokes of fortune (and all things Scottish!)...

14. Two Gallants -- We Are Undone; Benjamin Booker -- Benjamin Booker: This slot's for some good old fashioned blues, the first by the San Francisco twosome on their sixth full length album, the latter a solo affair by the New Orleans-based newcomer on his first.  The Gallants offer more of what we expect here -- a hearty mix of uptempo stompers (the title track, "Incidental," "Fools Like Us"), smoldering gems ("Invitation to the Funeral," "Some Trouble"), and heartfelt, winning shufflers ("My Man Go," "Katy Kruelly," "There's so Much I Don't Know").  It's even better live, as lead singer/guitarist Adam Stephens and drummer Tyson Vogel fill the room with an unexpected amount of earnest noise for a twin bill.

Booker is even more unabashed and raw on his brash, unbridled debut.  From the punky opener of "Violent Shiver" to fellow thunderpunches "Have You Seen my Son" and "Old Hearts," there's very few missteps for the 26-year old.  Add to the aforementioned the hard charging "Always Waiting," "Wicked Waters," and "Kids Never Grow Older" and you've got an album whose winners more than outpace the minor detractions.  This one came out late last year and similar to BPF's latest got caught in the end of the year frenzy that kept me from discovering it until the snow was past the roof.  I'm glad I finally dug into it, though. Even the slower tracks work well -- "Slow Coming," "I Thought I Heard you Screaming," and "By the Evening" showcase Booker's raspy voice and unvarnished heart nicely.  It's a winning affair, rough edges and all.

15. Houndmouth -- Little Neon Limelight; Thunderbitch -- Thunderbitch: This slot's another one for my backwater leanings and two more fragments from my Southern soul. First up is the follow-up from the Louisville foursome I wrote about earlier this year. As I wrote then, it's an album that showcases the band's fantastic four-part harmonies and winning melodies, but what kept it from fully resonating with me (then as now) is a mix of false bravado and insincere (or overly contrived) lyrics. That still stands -- on the songs where it's most flagrant it still sticks out like the chick throwing her hair around and dancing like a pole dancer in a crowded club -- but in the intervening months my annoyance with those aberrations has diminished.

That's probably in part to seeing them live at Landmark this summer.  What came across as cloying and slightly annoying on the album seemed more sincere in person when the four bandmates seemed to honestly be enjoying themselves and the songs; it came across as more playful and earnest than artificial and engineered. I still maintain they're at their best when they ditch the posturing and sing what they know -- tracks like "Sedona," "Honey Slider," "Gasoline," and "Darlin'" still shine this many months later -- so you hope they find that sweet spot on their third outing and really take it to the next level.

If the knock on the first one is limited sincerity in the lyrics, the knock on the second one could be limited depth there.  In its brief ten song, thirty-odd minute duration well over half the songs make references to rock and roll, guitars, parties, and a leather jacket. If you take the album for what it is, though -- Alabama Shakes frontwoman Brittany Howard's unbridled id -- it's a more excusable offense.  Impulses of the id aren't supposed to be deep, they're supposed to be raw, primal, and fun.  And these are (or to steal a line from the song on the aforementioned jacket, "totally fuckin' awesome") -- said song of bovine backwear, "I Don't Care," "I Wanna Rock and Roll," "Eastside Party," "Wild Child," "My Baby is my Guitar," "Let Me Do What I Do Best" -- these tracks are loud, rough eruptions of Howard's reptilian part of the brain (or her ample pair of she-balls). It actually calls to mind what I picture the Shakes' early days sounded like, banging away in the back room of a bar, the crowd packed in, drunk, and sweaty, but loving every minute of it.

Howard balances these songs nicely with three key emanations from her softer side, the side displayed more nakedly (and to masterful effect) on the Shakes' follow on, as noted above. Tracks like "Very Best Friend," "Heavenly Feeling," and the sledgehammer of a song, "Closer," are all perfectly positioned to break up the blitzkreig pace of the songs around it.  They're the equivalent of a tall glass of water in the midst of a night-long bender. (Shot! Shot! Shot! Water. Shot! Shot! Water.) Overall it's a fun sidestep from her day job and the soundtrack to a solid evening on the tiles for you and yours.

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:



-------------------
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)

Postcards from the Pilgrimage: Lolla 2015

It's been a few weeks since the annual trip home and I've had time to process the glories and digest the slew of new tunes that I brought back with me, so wanted to stop in and share some of the highlights.  Unsurprisingly it lived up to all the anticipation, remaining my favorite weekend of the year for ten years running now. And while in previous years the excitement came from lineups that seemed like I handpicked them myself, this year was a little different as it was largely a bunch of newer bands, ones whose catalogs often weren't much larger than the number of years most of the concertgoers had been out of high school.  For every Metallica or Paul McCartney with decades under their belts, there were twice as many bands working off their debut or sophomore albums, which made this year all about discovering the next wave, with more hopscotching between stages than ever.

And all the hustling paid off -- I got to catch some or all of the sets for forty-odd bands, with high notes including hearing one of the two living Beatles sing Blackbird under a full moon by the lake, seeing Austin's Black Pistol Fire absolutely detonate the stage in the mid-afternoon heat, and seeing acts I wouldn't normally pay to see (like Sam Smith and Florence + the Machine) and being truly impressed with their sincerity and showmanship.  Overall, though, the weekend came down to the number three -- three sets from bands I knew all about and was excited to see (in some cases for the fifth or sixth time), three sets from newbies that instantly won me over, all shared with three folks who tagged along and made the weekend even more enjoyable.

For the oldies, they shook out nicely, with one mindblowing performance per day.  Day One winner (and maybe overall weekend champion) were the Alabama Shakes.  This was their second time on the Lolla bill, but their first time actually performing, thanks to the monsoon that shut the festival down three years ago and wiped out their set.  Brittany and the boys came ready to wow this time, though, and wow they did.  The band's new material sounded fantastic live, like a Stax-style revue of old with Brittany she-cocking across the stage and whipping the crowd into a lather with her bright, flowing burgundy and orange getup and electric yellow mohawk. For a minute it looked like the band might be cursed, as the power blew out midway through and it looked like they might not get to finish the set they'd been building so steadily to a climax.  Thankfully, though, they got things squared away and unleashed an amazing finish, including a version of "You Ain't Alone" that brought tears to the eye.  Unbelievable stuff for a band only on their second album.

Day Two's winner was one of my overall faves, the juggernaut that is Death From Above 1979, who I actually ended up seeing twice over the weekend.  Between the two sets, the boys played pretty much every song they've recorded over their ten year (and two disc) existence, and it left the main stage at the south side of the park a smoldering ruin.  There's nothing complicated to what they do -- drums, a distorted bass, and Sebastian's strangled wail (the latter piece being what usually determines instantly whether you love or hate them) -- but once they get going, they are unstoppable.  They are so loud, the grooves so irresistible, I can see them (or listen to them) a hundred times and never tire of them.  And they surely didn't disappoint here -- I think they made more than a few new fans in the scorching heat this year.

And speaking of not disappointing (or not tiring of a band no matter how many times you've seen them), that brings us to Day Three's winner, the Lolla stalwart of Eugene's band of merrymen, Gogol Bordello.  I've seen these guys probably a dozen times (half of them here at Lolla) and they are always a blast, but this year was one of their best.  They unleashed their usual brand of Gypsy-infused punk and got people into a frenzy, but it wasn't until the end of the set when they surprised even me.  That was when Eugene threw a bass drum into the crowd, paused for a moment, and then pounced like a Ukrainian panther on top of it, where he stood and sang the remainder of the song -- on top of a drum held up by the crowd. ?!?@?!##! Holy. Crap. Seeing the band live remains one of the things every human should do before they die, and this just proves another reason why.  Incredible.

The three new discoveries may not have had the jaw-dropping impact of the previous three's performances, but they make up for that with plenty of potential.  All three are debut bands, both at Lolla and in their broader recording count, and all three have been on constant shuffle in the month since the show.  First up is Catfish and the Bottlemen, a UK-based band of Welshmen, Englishmen, and an Aussie, whose debut, The Balcony, (and their Lolla set) are crammed full of belt it to the rafters indie pop.  Lead singer Van McCann (whose name sounds like a cartoon villain or porn star) has one of those great rock voices that can go from melodic croon to gravelly yell without breaking a sweat, as he shows off routinely in songs like "Homesick," "Pacifier," and "Cocoon."  The songs are catchy as hell, none moreso than "Kathleen," which will have you yelling along in tandem as it blazes from your stereo.  Check it out here:


Newbie #2 comes from a St Paul four-pack of kids who aren't old enough to drink from said beverage caddy, the delightful lads of Hippo Campus.  And while these kids may have just graduated high school, they sound more polished and confident than bands twice their age.  They've only released a six-song EP thus far, but it (and their Lolla set) are chock full of jaunty, bright little tunes that evoke an island vibe similar to Vampire Weekend (without all the esoteric literary or grammatical references...) At times lead singer Jake Luppen sounds so much like Vampire's Ezra Koenig it's uncanny, but these boys aren't a knockoff of VW, more like inspired proteges.  Songs like "Sophie So," "Souls," and "Suicide Saturday" are all winners, as is "Little Grace," which was an instant favorite during the show.  The band was pogoing up and down at the release, as was the crowd, and the effect still works on repeated listens.  Check it out here:


The final discovery of the weekend came in the middle of the unrelenting heat on Day Two when I shuffled over to the refuge of the BMI stage (which remains the best stage at the concert year after year, both for its lovely shaded view of the lake and the number of bands I've discovered there) and caught a magical set from the London trio Bear's Den.  It was a deja vu experience to when I first heard Boy & Bear a few years back, both because of where they were playing and how similar they sound (as well as the animal in their names and the beautiful harmonies they set free). From tracks like "The Love we Stole" and "Isaac" to "Magdalene" and "Agape," the band wins you over from the minute you hear them.  They're beautiful tunes, and their debut Islands is full of them, none better than the knee-buckling beauty of "Above the Clouds of Pompeii," which builds to a lovely three-part harmony at the end.  Check it out here: