One You Should Know: Kings of Leon

Roaring out your speakers from the little town o' Nashville come the Followill clan -- three brothers and one cousin -- set to save old-fashioned rawk and roll, one deadly shotgun song blast at a time. Looking like set extras from a 1970s TV movie, all long hair, skinny mustaches, and skinnier jeans, the boys sound like a Southern-style cross between the Strokes' sharp twin guitar assault and Skynyrd's barroom drawl and swagger. Truthfully, though, there is only one way to describe the Kings -- they fucking rock. HARD. And they do it so completely and unabashedly it's amazing they've only been around for a shade under five years.

Despite their relative nascence, the Followills have so thoroughly destroyed almost all other rock offerings in that span that it's virtually criminal how unknown they remain here at home. (Their reception in the UK has been much like that of their aforementioned NY brethren, which borders on deification.) But don't let the obscurity or meager sales numbers fool you -- the quality is absolutely unparalleled.

The band touches something primal within, to the point you lose all composure or restraint while listening to them. (And don't give a damn while doing so.) It's like a tent revival -- wild hand claps, pistoning arms and legs, an almost total loss of control and inhibition. (Which hearkens to the boys' similar upbringing, traveling the country with their evangelist pa.) You'll find yourself singing along to songs you don't know the words to, aping Caleb's mumbled slurs and cocksure swagger while throwing rawk signs and bobbing your head like the baddest hombre you can conjure.

Half the time you wonder if Caleb knows what he's saying, but at the end of the day that's not what the music is about. (Even when you do figure out the lyrics, they often don't make any sense, but ultimately that doesn't matter. I've listened to "Wasted Time" and "Spiral Staircase" umpteen gajillion times and still don't know what the fuck he's talking about, but I'll be damned if that stops me from squawking along at high volume every time they come on.) It's all about the attitude -- these songs bleed it, and you will too. (To varying degrees of success...)

It doesn't matter where you are -- at the cube at work, driving in the car, or walking around in public with the Pod -- you'll be convulsing like a born-again when you hear them and just won't care. You'll know you look stupid (and will likely get your share of befuddled looks from coworkers and strangers as a result), but won't be able to help yourself -- it's utterly irresistible.

I first caught these guys live at Lollapalooza last summer and have been a fervent acolyte ever since. (Hell, you KNOW they're good when EdVed comes out on stage to rock along with them. That's one hell of a stamp of approval...) The songs below represent the best tunes off their first three albums and are a sonic freight train, hitting with every bit of impact that locomotor implies.

The tracklist below starts out with the first three tracks off their 2003 debut, Youth and Young Manhood -- "Red Morning Light," "Happy Alone," and "Wasted Time," as good a 1-2-3 combo as any band can hope to have, let alone a bunch of newcomers -- and continues midway through with another undeniable triple play off their 2005 sophomore effort, Aha Shake Heartbreak. ("King of the Rodeo," "Taper Jean Girl," and "Pistol of Fire.") All the songs off these first two albums are rapid-fire assaults, with all but two clocking in at three minutes or less. It isn't until their third album, 2007's Because of the Times, that the boys stretch things out and loosen up a little, culminating in the sprawling gem "Knocked Up." (The first track off that album, the closer here.)

There are songs of pure perfection here, songs I could listen to dozens of times (and do) with no depreciation in quality or impact. "Genius," "Soft," and "Happy Alone" are every bit as good now as they were the first time I heard them and will have you shouting nonsensical lyrics with pure relish and abandon. ("I'll be prancing around in my hiiiiigh heeels, yo' cherry red liiiipstiiiick, look out yo' window, I'm on yo' streeeeet..." "Yo' coo-coo-coo-creepin', creepin' undahneath mah skeeeen. Fuck you and yo' flashbulbs, takin' mah pick-cha again..." "Oh ya paint mah fingahs and ya paint mah toes, ya let yo' perfect nip-pulls shoooooow!") "The Bucket," "Black Thumbnail," and "Ragoo" are blissful, shimmery jubilation, and songs like "Camaro" and "Pistol of Fire" are meant to be blared from a car stereo charging down the highway at 100mph.

So load up the Itunes and get ready to roll -- the Kings are about to show you how it's done.


Kings of Leon:

1. Red Morning Light
2. Happy Alone
3. Wasted Time
4. Molly's Chambers
5. Spiral Staircase
6. Genius
7. Holy Roller Novocaine
8. King of the Rodeo
9. Taper Jean Girl
10. Pistol of Fire
11. Razz
12. Soft
13. The Bucket
14. Ragoo
15. Black Thumbnail
16. My Party
17. Camaro
18. Knocked Up

Who Likes To Rock The Party?

As much as it must break Bret and Jemaine's hearts (a reference to the Kiwi-duo Flight of the Conchords for those who have thus far avoided this addictive habit), I've recently fallen for the group of Aussies behind Cut Copy. Watch out all you ladies with your babies shakin' their booties: these guys most definitely know how to rock the party, even if they are the descendants of criminals.

It's rare that I listen to an album in its entirety, but Cut Copy's new album In Ghost Colours is a well-deserving exception. Started by DJ Dan Whitford in 2001 and now on their second album, Cut Copy manages to seamlessly blend transitions from gleaming rock guitar melodies to Daft Punk style techno segments all while keeping you moving and humming along to their upbeat 80's and punk-inspired tunes. The whole album has a certain lightness and a bit of whimsy to it all, which has made it one of my top picks for capturing that carefree beginning-of-summer feeling without all the attitude. It's a cheery album with a great deal of depth, and has successfully avoided the trap of being annoyingly pop-y or screaming fun in that sorority girl sort of way.

They'll be at the Black Cat Thursday, 15 May, which I'm really looking forward to, and hopefully back again soon. In the meantime, check out their music video for their song "Lights and Music" below to hold you over 'til their next trip from down under.

jonny d

Consolers of the Odd Couple

Greetings, cherubim! As I sit here on the couch with a rather prodigious hangover (met the lass' parents for the first time last night and ended up getting lit with them and the chef who cooked our meal after a monumental feast -- just another night in the land of Bobby Sunshine...), watching Inter piss away yet another chance to clinch the scudetto, I thought I'd pop in to do a hybrid "songs of the week" and "CD review" edition. First up on the pallet is the title track off the Raconteurs' new disc, Consolers of the Lonely. The song itself shows the band at its best -- dueling guitars, stop-start tempo shifts, Brendan Benson's golden AM radio voice juxtaposed against Jack White's rapid fire wail -- and the lyrics mimic my life the last few months with all this time spent on my project at work:

Haven't seen the sun in weeks,
My skin is getting pale.
Haven't got a mind left to speak
And I'm skinny as a rail.
...

Haven't had a decent meal
My brain is fried.
Haven't slept a wink for real,
My tongue is tied.

Unfortunately the rest of the album doesn't hold up to the strong start.

What worked so well on the band's first album was the tension between its key parts -- Benson's pop tendencies and the gritty blues-rock mayhem of White -- and the richness that gave the bulk of the songs. It was the sound of a band still getting to know each other, and it brought the best out of both men, leaving a debut that had the teeth of a rock album and the pretty sing-along qualities of a pop one. What we've been given this time, though, seems like the product of a happy marriage -- both members are comfortable now and know each other so well that they start to take on the characteristics of the other -- but that stronger bond doesn't yield as strong a product.

It's only natural that some of the excitement that loaded the first release would be gone. The thrill of discovery has disappeared and what's left is satiated contentment, which is not necessarily a fatal flaw. (For either the music or the metaphoric relationship.) Just as with any relationship, though, allowing too much of oneself to be lost in the mix can lead to problems if there isn't any variety or change, and that's abundantly evident here. What was in perfect balance on the first disc -- the pop/rock friction -- has been followed by an album of disarray. Here we've got Benson sounding like White in a host of songs (including the lead single, "Salute your Solution"), adopting his machine gun vocals, and White aping Benson, either by doing nothing, vocally, ("Many Shades of Black") or by letting songs tip the balance too far towards cornball pop or run of the mill classic rock. ("The Switch and the Spur," "Rich Kid Blues")

Thankfully there are moments where everything is as it was -- perfectly aligned and exciting, like the first throes of that burgeoning relationship. Besides the aforementioned title track, "You Don't Understand Me" and "Old Enough" are a great one-two after the disappointing lead single, and "Carolina Drama" has wonderfully resonant imagery (Jack's favorite trio of colors -- red, black, and white) that takes what might be just another hum-drum narrative to another level. Unfortunately, they're too few and far between to save the album.

The band clearly has potential -- when it works, its formula of pitting rock against pop is quite winning -- but it dooms itself here by forgetting that the joy comes in the friction between those component parts. The strongest relationship is the one that allows both individuals to be themselves and come together to create something greater than that person on their own -- the same thing goes for good art and music. Hopefully Benson and White will rediscover themselves and remember that being who you are doesn't necessarily mean the music -- or the relationship -- will suffer as a result.

Check out a live version of the title track from their performance at Coachella (there were no album versions available -- I looked everywhere) here:



As for track number two, it's off another follow-up album, this one Gnarls Barkley's sophomore effort, The Odd Couple. And while this, too, is another uneven affair, it doesn't suffer from the same "subsuming of self" problem as the Raconteurs did. Here, the only problem seems to be the occasional bad song -- Cee-lo still alternates scattershot raps with a croon that soars for the heavens and Danger Mouse still crafts an unbelievably rich soundscape for him to play in. The album just isn't as immediately embraceable as St. Elsewhere was.

There is no blow your face off single along the lines of "Crazy" that's going to worm its way into your brain and infect every cell for weeks on end -- and that's not necessarily a bad thing. "Charity Case," "Surprise," and this week's selection, "Going On" are all immediate gems -- somehow calling to mind the Motown-flourishes of the 60s (albeit it hyped-up and jittery versions of them), and yet sounding completely different and new -- but the rest of the album is a bit tougher to digest. "Would Be Killer," "Open Book," and "Whatever" all grate at first, but on repeated listens slowly reveal their charms (well maybe not the last -- it still sort of annoys when it pops up on the 'Pod, but as Cee says, "whatever.")

And the rest of the album's the same way -- it takes some time to sink in, but ultimately rewards you for the diligence. "Who's Going to Save My Soul" is a good slow burning soul number, "Blind Mary" captures the exuberance of dating the titular sightless woman (just go with it -- this is the guy who sang a song on the last album about loving someone so much necrophilia was a possibility. It's Cee-lo's world, we're just payin' rent.), and the lead single "Run (I'm a Natural Disaster)" is a staccato blast in all senses of the word, sounding the warning bell about the dangers of knowing me/Cee.

This one's not going to grab you by the ears and shake you like the first one did, but give it some time and it'll please you just the same. Check out the track "Going on" -- which has a gonzo African video with Thriller and drumline undertones -- here:

Under Cloud Cover and Drifting Away

Well, I touched down from a brief retreat to Chicago this weekend for Greek Easter, but even my family and my fair city by the lake weren't enough to snap me out of my funk, so we'll keep it short this time, offering a sort of soundtrack to my moping around while I continue to make a mess of my life after hurting my Big Toe.

First up in this duo of covers -- sad bastard music, as Jack Black would undoubtedly say, but pretty nonetheless -- is a B-side from fellow Chicagoan Andrew Bird, covering the old Dylan tune, "Oh Sister." Besides showcasing his standard weapons -- the ethereal whistle, plucked violin, and soothing croon -- and being a nice reinvention of the original, this is another example from Bird of how perfectly some voices go together, the counterpoint coming again from Nora O'Connor, a woman whose voice sounds like it was created just to be paired with Bird's, as I've said so often before. A brilliant little tune that simply and stolidly marches along, this one's lyrics and pace hit the right notes to calm my melancholic edge. Check it out...here.


The second one should be no surprise as it comes from the subject of my last post, the ever-trusty Elliott, who is again being called on -- as so many times in the past -- to help tease a little prettiness out of my blue, blue mood. This one's a relatively recent find for me, compared to my years-old obsession for the rest of his tunes, as it's a rare live nugget that he occasionally played while on tour.

The song may not be his -- it's a cover of of his friends Quasi's tune, "Clouds" -- but the lyrics are quintessentially Elliott, cutting both ways depending on your mood. On one pass it can be read as a pretty little love tune, the song's two subjects floating away as one in the devastating titular lyric. ("I am mist, you are steam, we are clouds. And we are drifting away, drifting away...") On another -- like now -- it can be a bitter lament on loss and incompatibility. Either way, the song is another Elliott gem, one that manages to surpass its original -- like his equally heartbreaking cover of Big Star's "Thirteen." (An interpretation rivaled only by hometown hero Wilco head Jeff Tweedy's.) The video that accompanies this is utter schmaltz, and for that I apologize -- I couldn't find a good version of the song anywhere else online -- so just start it up and close your eyes so as to avert the cheesey damage.



That's all for now, kids -- thanks to Pie for breaking the curse and bringing another opinion to the collective. (I echo the Spoon shoutout -- they've been one of my faves for years. I'll have to post the tracklist from my "One You Should Know"-style greatest hits disc later on.) Let's keep it going...

RdS

Ode to Sp...oon.

...yet another brilliant product of Austin, TX. Yes, I do think I'm quite comfortable devoting my first submission to "Eyes" with an ode to perhaps one of the most under-appreciated indie rock bands of all time, Spoon. This band has mastered the art of blending the best of the 60's, tortured indie wails, sharp, punky riffs, and dramatic clamor of piano keys with good ol' pop rock crafted to perfection. ("Iron clad hooks," I once read.) And when I say "perfection," I mean it.

The band's frontman, Britt Daniel, is known for his obsession with detail. In fact, one may wonder if that obsession has made him a bit of a misanthrope...he's not known for self-indulgent interviews soaked with feeling, his ego needs no stroking, and rumors have it that he doesn't actually like to perform on stage. (From what I've witnessed, I'd beg to differ.) I'd say he likes interviews even less. Here, take this example of one hilariously bad "BD" interview:

LS: Have you ever felt like that, been so inspired by someone's art or talent that you developed a crush?
BD: Yeah. Malcolm X for instance.
LS: Really?
BD: No.

LS: So I was curious why you used to perform under the pseudonym Drake Tungsten?
BD: I think I just wanted a more entertaining name.
LS: I think Britt Daniel is such a rock star name, no?
BD: Yeah, well, I’m starting to come around to it.

LS: And you're from Texas originally?
BD: Yeah. I grew up here.
LS: How come you don't have an accent?
BD: Smart people don't.

LS: When you play live, do you inspire more schoolgirl crushes than hardcore groupies?
BD: Well yeah, I definitely don't see any girls that look like they should be at Motley Crue shows.
LS: No panties being thrown?
BD: No.
LS: Never?
BD: One time somebody lifted up her shirt and thought that would be a way to get us to play a song that she wanted to hear.
LS: Did it work?
BD: No.

Right up front on Spoon's MySpace page, it reads: "the higher the monkey climb, the more he expose." For the first time in the five years of my Spoon fandom -- I know, not nearly long enough--I realized this band finally has exposed its depth...emotional depth. Now don't get me wrong, I've adored such older diddies like "Jonathan Fisk," one of the best original rock songs ever to fall on my ears, "the Fitted Shirt," "Back to the Life," "Mathematical Mind" (that blew my face off with first listen) "The Beast and Dragon, Adored," etc etc etc. But all these brilliant tunes fulfilled one thing for me: they just made me feel gosh darn cool, a true bad arse behind the walls of my brain, for no justifiable reason. And that's rock and roll, dammit. That's what it does best!

But then came their latest album, "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga." And at the risk of being almost a year late in giving this album its proper credit -- perhaps reflective of most Spoon fans slow to come around--I think the first time I actually felt moved by a rock song was with "Little Japanese Cigarette Case." (Ok, "2+2 = 5" was the first but I digress...) Maybe it was the mood I was in, or maybe it was because I read an article explaining that Mr. Daniel wrote the song in the wake of a painful breakup with his ex, after having moved to Portland for her ("we tried and we tried," he said briefly in an interview that he actually took seriously), but all in all, that avalanche of guitars -- compounded by the classic Daniel wail -- that builds and crashes at the end in a tidal wave of cathartic sadness and well, a "letting go," so to speak, is just bella. The whole song is a few lines repeated:

"It's just my Japanese cigarette case,
bring a mirror to my face
let all my memories be gone

Bring me my Japanese cigarette case,
bring a mirror to my face,
oh, let all my memories be gone."

All this is to say Spoon is worthy of deep respect and a careful listen. They have much more to offer than a good ol' dancin in your room, singing with your Bic pen microphone, or driving down a windy road with your shades on, being the bad arse Spoon has helped you think you are. They are human beings struggling, living, and learning like the rest of us. It's all there, weaved in lyrics of superbly crafted-to-precision rock songs. Somewhere John Lennon is smiling for Britt and his boys as I type...

Miz Fitz

One You Should Know: Elliott Smith

Before I got locked up in the basement at work a month or so ago, I had the chance to read Benjamim Nugent's Elliott Smith and the Big Nothing, the first biography on my end-all, be-all fave of the same name. So I figured I'd take this opportunity to combine efforts and give a little recap of the book while also giving my rundown on the best of Elliott's earlier work.

Nugent's book is a frustrating read -- the first "official" biography to come out, it tries to tell the story of Elliott's life from youth in Texas to his wrenching demise in Los Angeles. (And for my tastes, spends far too long dwelling on those earlier years -- parents divorcing, poor relationship with his stepfather, possible, unexplained abuse. As a result, the first chunk of the book moves at a snail's pace.) The problem with this effort -- and one that compounds the aforementioned statement -- is that, despite being an "official" biography, the people closest to Smith refused to go on record and talk to Nugent themselves. His closest friends in the music community, his family, etc. They are all conspicuously absent.

Which makes reading this book (and Nugent's admittedly difficult task in writing it) a bit like a transcript of a game of Taboo -- there's a lot of talking around things and gaps in what actually transpired. You get a sense of what happened and what Nugent is getting at, but there's all these words he can't say (mainly because he himself doesn't know). It's an admirable effort -- and I've since heard that Smith's family and friends have agreed to talk on a true, "official" biography -- but it means that overall, the book leaves you feeling that you're no closer to understanding Smith and his life than you were when you began.

And part of that comes from the book's focus -- for me, when I pick up a book on Elliott Smith, I want to know how things in his life were translated in the lyrics and melodies of his absolutely heartbreaking music. What drove him to write the brilliant songs he did and to craft such devastating lines? (Like this example, from one of my favorites that appears in the tracklist below, "Pitseleh."

I'm not what's missing from your life now
I could never be the puzzle pieces
They say that God makes problems
Just to see what you can stand
Before you do as the devil pleases
Give up the thing you love...

*

The first time I saw you I knew it would never last
I'm not half what I wish I was
I'm so angry
I don't think it'll ever pass
And I was bad news for you just because
I never meant to hurt you...

It's rare for a songwriter to be as open about the problems he was dealing with as Elliot was in his lyrics and not have it come across as sappy and trite. He wrote about the drug use, alcohol, and depression that plagued him with astonishing honesty, so it's sad to see a somewhat diminished focus on the music that came out of him as a result. One of Elliott's immense gifts was in finding beauty in the sadness -- pairing his wonderful melodies to words that resonated far louder than his dual-tracked whisper of a voice.

One of the best parts of the book -- partly because it seemed like all of the people involved were there on record (Elliott had isolated himself from almost his entire circle of friends by this point, the ones who were so crucially mum earlier) -- was the latter portion detailing the recording process of what would turn out to be his final album, From a Basement on the Hill. His drug use and drinking had become worse than ever, as had his paranoia and somewhat manic behavior, but what comes across in this section is not a tawdry rundown of all his rock and roll excesses, but how immensely gifted and deliberate a musician he was, in spite of those things.

Despite not eating or sleeping much at the time, while still pouring a sizable amount of drugs and alcohol into his system, Elliott was consumed with the recording of the album. He was constantly fiddling with the sound of the album and the equipment used to capture it, doing multiple takes on his guitar parts and vocals just to get it "right," before passing out from exhaustion on the floor or the recording booth's tiny love seat. The album and his music were still the anchor -- some might argue life vest -- that he clung to in the midst of his burgeoning meltdown.

And it comes across in the music. I remember one of the most heartbreaking things about Basement when I first heard it was how happy and confident it sounded. How it finally seemed like Elliott was getting things together and had turned the corner on the darkness that kept threatening to consume him, which made the sadness over how his life ended that much more potent. Unfortunately, as you read about this time of his life in the book it compounds that gutted feeling, both because you realize how bad things had gotten and how fleeting and elusive that last victory was. (Elliott is thought to have stabbed himself in the heart only a few weeks later.)

And so sad biographies aside, what we're left with is the music -- the brilliant, brilliant music. The true gift of Elliott's music, besides the aforementioned descriptions, is in how versatile it is and how it fits such a wide range of emotions. You can listen to the same song dozens of times and the intent and tone of the song will shift with each listen. The nuance and subtlety of his lyrics -- one time thru you'll read a line as happy, the next time as a callous F.U. to whoever's in the crosshairs -- is remarkable and means the songs never get old, despite repeated listens. This list of songs below is the starter set I give people I really like -- I'm not going to betray such a jealously guarded part of myself, and such a brilliant musician, on just anyone -- when I want to introduce them to Elliott.

Comprised of songs off his first four albums (chronologically, this time) -- Roman Candle (songs 1-8), Elliott Smith (9-13), Either/Or (14-18), and XO (19-23) -- they take you from his formative years in Portland to his time in LA and New York. It's a bit heavier on his earlier stuff -- his entire first album (barring the instrumental outro track) is here, as I continue to maintain (as I do with Led Zeppelin) that despite later brilliance, nothing matches the perfection of his debut. Highlights from the rest include the amazing guitar work on "Angeles" (a flawless song -- I get chills every time), the thinly-veiled venom of "Everybody Cares, Everybody Understands" (a blistering middle finger written after a failed intervention by his friends and family), the bluesy blear of "Alphabet Town," the quiet menace and desperation of "St Ides Heaven" -- the list goes on. They're all jewels.

Every time I give this CD out to someone, I listen to it through again and still find myself struck by how gifted Elliott was. Initially I identified with the difficulty of his life and was captivated by what he made with it. Now I find myself constantly striving to do that which he so repeatedly achieved -- find beauty in the sadness. Enjoy, my friends...

Elliott Smith:

1. Condor Ave.
2. Roman Candle
3. No Name #1
4. No Name #2
5. No Name #3
6. Drive All Over Town
7. No Name #4
8. Last Call
9. Christian Brothers
10. Southern Belle
11. Coming up Roses
12. Alphabet Town
13. St Ides Heaven
14. Angeles
15. Alameda
16. Ballad of Big Nothing
17. Rose Parade
18. Between the Bars
19. Waltz #2 (XO)
20. Baby Britain
21. Pitseleh
22. Independence Day
23. Everybody Cares, Everybody Understands

Justice Awaits, Foolish Suckas

In one of the rare moments of freedom from work I've had lately, I escaped long enough to re-watch this little gem from New Zealand, Eagle vs. Shark, and felt the need to recommend it to the group. Starring Jemaine Clement -- of HBO's Flight of the Conchords fame (something else you should all give a watch) -- and adorable newcomer Loren Horsley, this one tells the tale of Clement's Jarrod and his fumbling attempts to secure love, happiness, and revenge in Nowheresville, New Zealand. I caught this when it first came out in the theaters last year, which didn't last too long, despite the popularity of Conchords at the time and the film's getting nominated for the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance. Touching, quirky, and laugh out loud funny, this one is like Napoleon Dynamite set ten years after graduation, and every bit as satisfying as that offering.

Jarrod is a Napoleon-style nerd who works at a tech store in the mall -- he is a video game aficionado, a conceptual candlemaker, and a student of faux martial arts, all played to their dorky hilts -- consumed with his quest for revenge against a former high school tormentor. Horsley's Lily is a sheepish sweetheart who works at Meaty Boy, a burger joint in the food court, and is madly in love with Jarrod. After several clumsy exchanges at the mall -- culminating with their hysterical consummation at the "come as your favorite animal" party that gives the movie its title -- the pair head back to Jarrod's hometown so he can exact his measure of revenge.

The film's heart (and comedy) comes from the pair's on again, off again relationship and their awkward exchanges in determining its outcome. Jarrod's obsession with his training and general dimwittedness continuously have things on the rails, but the charm comes in watching the two flailingly sort it out. Lily's sweetness and that of Jarrod's family -- his wheelchair-bound father, still mourning the death of his son; his sister and her husband, the failed (but try telling them that) fashion mavens who hawk custom track suits and makeup kits; and sundry other relatives who hang out at the house -- flesh out the romantic storyline and give you a host of characters to enjoy for the duration.

Just an all-around cute movie that embraces its characters' quirkiness like Napoleon and other personal fave Juno rather than make fun of it, this one's an underrated gem that's worth a look or two. Enjoy, cockhole...

-----------------------------------------------------------

For this week's entries in the song o' the week category, we've got another double bill for your enjoyment, a bluesy twosome from two bluesy twosomes, the Black Keys and the Kills. The front half is off the Keys' new Danger Mouse-produced album, Attack and Release, where the boys expand upon their formula of thunderous drums and fuzzed out vocals and guitar. For those unfamiliar with the band, the Keys sound like gritty Southern bluesmen of yore -- like the love child of Muddy Waters and the White Stripes, perhaps -- and make a glorious, glorious racket for two mere humans. But then you find out they're not from the South, and they're not grizzled old bluesmen either -- they're two white boys from Akron, Ohio -- and your appreciation/interest takes on a whole new level. More subdued than some of their other songs, this one's got some of the moodiness that's Danger's specialty and hooks to spare. A great little ditty on another strong album, this one's called "Psychotic Girl."




The back half is from the Kills' new album, Midnight Boom, which showcases the duo's twerpy electronic percussion, sexy vocals, and thunderbolt guitars. For those unfamiliar with these guys, the band is London native Jamie Hince on guitar/electro-beats and Floridian temptress Alison Mosshart on vocals, and they sound something like Yeah Yeah Yeahs-style punk rock (sexpot lead singer, laser beam guitars, gritty, dark mood), with a bluesier, electronic edge. This song "Sour Cherry" shows them at their best -- irresistible beat, punk rock attitude and stutter lyrics, droning guitars; it's bad ass do-it-yourself stuff from the depths of the garage -- and has a sweet little video to boot, so give it a whirl.




[And I'll actually throw this one in, too, because I like you (and because it's one of my favorites on the album). The lead track off the album, this one's got all of the above, with a cool looking viddy and sweet swirling guitar effect that you can't get out of your effing head. Check it here:]



BOTH of these bands are going to be at Lollapalooza this year, which has a ridiculous lineup to enjoy. Whereas last year the promoters picked some of my favorite new bands from the last couple of years, this time they've pulled some of my all-time favorites -- Radiohead, Nails, Rage, Wilco -- for what promises to be another brain-blowing experience on the lake. Check out the full lineup here, and get your tickets now...

--Bobby Sunshine