MP3: Twin Shadow – When the Movie’s Over

In following up his superb 2010 debut Forget, Twin Shadow’s George Lewis, Jr. had little reason to abandon his admiration for ’80s post-punk and new-wave, or their tendencies to seamlessly alternate between emotionally-charged ballads (“When We’re Dancing“, “Tyrant Destroyed”) and thumping rock (“Shooting Holes at the Moon“, “Castles in the Snow“). Forget was an instantly unforgettable debut due largely to its fluctuating song tones and structures, as well as Lewis’ boldly personified delivery – which showed a range of personalities, from knees-deep in love to self-absorbed prick. With his new album, Confess, we find much of the same gritty realism and ’80s nostalgia, though with a slight and generally welcome increase in synth-pop sentiments. We know what to expect from Lewis at this point, so Confess isn’t initially as striking, but the level of quality is comparable enough.

Early parts of Confess are forcefully infectious and instantly accessible, whereas the second half presents a form of synth-pop more aware of vintage atmosphere, like on his debut, and with a resounding emotional core that reminds of synth-pop legends like Erasure and Depeche Mode. Erasure may be known more for upbeat tracks like “Always” and “A Little Respect”, but look toward darker trips like “The Circus” and “Ship of Fools” and the comparison will be more evident. Somewhere in the middle spectrum, Confess closer “Be Mine Tonight” is more in line with the darkly seductive twang of Chromatics, while the memorable likes of “I Don’t Care” and “When the Movie’s Over” remain some of the album’s strongest pieces. Though due to strong developments and twists, the influence o aforementioned ‘80s synth-pop embracers is difficult to remember at conclusion of each.

The initial radiance of opener “Golden Light” suggests Lewis may be heading in a softer direction, but several twists prove otherwise; an introductory kick drum and wavering synth pad murmur in the background as Lewis gently croons over a marimba-like bounce, which is then enhanced by a stuttering synth arpeggio. The righteous chorus initially appears as a jarring contrast to the delicately melancholic initial verse, but the verse – “it’s been so long” – and its effervescent build-up eventually makes for an enjoyably fluid track. It’s less of a punch than “You Call Me On” or “Five Seconds”, but those are lofty gems for comparison’s sake.

“You Call Me On” expands from quick guitar swipes reminiscent of The Police into electro-rock exultation for its majority, pushing halted drum patterns and wavering synth pads as Lewis’ snide suaveness comes through; “I don’t give a damn about your truth, or a world that’s foaming at the seams,” he sings, its directness being particularly effective right before the two-minute mark, when a bombast of noise stutters into a momentarily serene lull. The track is exciting from start to finish, thanks largely to unpredictable percussive stomps and Lewis’ powerful lead, which helps in projecting the emotionally insecure themes throughout the album. A nice-guy protagonist isn’t exactly required, especially when several sounds remind of ‘80s leather-clad bad-boys (nice album cover) or rebels with some melodic cause, as it is on some tracks here.

Moving to a more straightforward yearning for love, standout single “Five Seconds” begins as a grimy rhythm guitar gives way to an acoustic sprinkle; it’s a subtly gracious lead-in to the album’s most explosive effort, a hook-filled example of Twin Shadow’s greatest strength: turning ‘80s nostalgia into an inventively sleek audible representation, that retains an addictively hook-filled repertoire despite idiosyncratic percussion choices and creative structural maneuvering. Excluding “Five Seconds” and “You Can Call Me On”, atmospheric trips into rhythmic-heavy post-punk are generally abandoned in favor of fluttering ‘80s new-wave and punchy funk hybrids.

The somewhat odd “Beg for the Night” has synth-string stabs and light guitar strums reminiscent of The Style Council, while “Patient” is a swanky and flamboyant ballad with striking synth work ranging from warm and gauzy synth pads to Afro-tinged keys and percussion. “Patiently waiting for you to say just what you mean, and give up everything,” Lewis sings, with the sort of polished yearning and sexualized undertones you’d expect from a group like Hercules & Love Affair.

Though its lead hook pales in comparison to the inventive R&B/synth-pop allure of “Patient”, “Beg for the Night” and its ceaseless bass stomp works particularly well over the lock ‘n’ loaded percussion, which rotates like a revolver. It tends to rely too much on the brass pushes to establish its central hook, which is weak relative to other tracks on Confess. Extending the instrumental outro, led by twinkling synths and more brass stabs, would have been more interesting than repeating the chorus verbatim. It’s not clumsy by any means, just a bit dull.

“I Don’t Care” has the understated brilliance of a piano-laden ballad, though with percussive grunts and guitar smatterings which help solidify its status as a heavy-charged brooder. The prancing Victorian-style keys during the chorus – “Long as I can dance you ‘round the room while I lie to you” – increases in prominence each appearance, by the final chorus emerging as a force. The one-two-three punch of “When the Movie’s Over”, “I Don’t Care”, and “Be Mine Tonight” is absolutely brilliant

The album’s best overall effort, “When the Movie’s Over”, is a beautifully intimate effort that revives several components from synth-pop legends Erasure, whose fusing of Andy Clark’s soaring dramatics and Vince Clarke’s tightly constructed arrangements made for a consistently striking sound. The weeping synth pad in the background helps aid an exceptional vocal performance from Lewis. His hushed whispers, and whistles alike, stir up an infectiously melodic reflection on a relationship’s imminent demise. “You hang on to the falling leaves / Like the leaves themselves you were born to claim,” he sings. The song’s atmosphere fits the album’s themes with perfection, flawlessly embodying the fates of crumbling relationships and tragedies of narcissism. Following graciously in the steps of a phenomenal debut, Confess continues Lewis’ emergence as a talented songwriter and performer with a penchant for dark, ‘80s-inspired pop.

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Sindie 4 tread everywhere from Wire’s concise punk to Roxy Music’s sophisticated touch of glam, from swirling organ-led psychedelia to hazy British Invasion. The trio turn their pocketful of influences into fiercely infectious art-rock gems with quick innovation. Originating from Chelyabinsk, Russia, Sindie 4 are currently unsigned. It must be out of preference; they’re one of the most exciting unsigned acts I’ve heard in some time. Their debut, Inside! Inside! Inside!, isn’t even ten minutes long, but manages to leave a lasting impression comparable to how the one or two-minute bursts of brilliance on early Wire albums – like Pink Flag and Chairs Missing – left an audible imprint.

One unique conceptual take is the infusion of Chelyabinsk, specifically the city’s sounds and atmosphere, into their music. The ominous industrial-tinged synth backing of “September”, along with its quickly trickling percussion and keys, would synchronize well with the bustling of the city’s square. Yet the concept is much more prominent is on a track like “The Hive”, with its blaring sirens and administrative PA output. On the vocal end, there’s a reoccurring bark from militaristic vocals, which aligns with furious yet tactful percussion that would fit well in a drum line. Here and throughout the album it makes sense that drummer Artem Loginovsky played in a military band with bassist Nikita Tyurin; their chemistry is evident, and the rhythm section’s importance on the album is impossible to overlook. Lead vocalist Anton Sheludko is a force in himself, with a presence similar to a Damo Suzuki or Mark E. Smith, but like all great post-punk acts the rhythmic collaboration is essential. And here, it’s a phenomenal one.

“September” divvies up the album appropriately, as the first half plays closer with elements of traditional Russian music and punk. The second half of “Biotechnologies” is particularly indicative of their Russian influence. Keys and brass combine for an exotic sound; keys drip over an ominous guitar reverb, the melody enchanting but also slightly unnerving. For a track barely over two minutes, the number of ideas here is remarkable. They’re all worthwhile ones too; the duration doesn’t allow for filler, and Sindie 4 are entirely aware of this. “Antisleep” is the album’s longest at three minutes, but its organ-led psychedelia warrants development, especially as it transitions into an exceptional chorus. Here sound is extremely similar to Edwyn Collins and Orange Juice, matching his emotional vibrato and resonating jangle.

Closer “Sorry Sindie” is a fun farewell in the vocal tradition of Nick Cave and Tom Waits, intertwined with bouncy art-rock in the more contemporary vein of Arctic Monkeys. Though not as distinctive as other efforts, it’s another success that manages to tout energy and creativity, even if some influences are impossible to mask. Sindie 4 are going to break out eventually. It’s just a matter of when. Another new album, that one being over ten minutes, would help. Using a solid debut like Inside! Inside! Inside! to work off of should make the process less daunting.

Download Inside! Inside! Inside here, or stream the tracks below:

Sindie 4 – Antisleep

Sindie 4 – Sorry Sindie

Sindie 4 – The Hive

Sindie 4 – Biotechnologies

Sindie 4 – September

RIYL: Wire, Edwyn Collins, Orange Juice, The Fall, Can, Kraftwerk

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Mr. M is Lambchop’s first album since OH (Ohio), which is now four years old. They are one of the most consistently extraordinary bands currently producing music, so it comes as no surprise that their new record is entirely worth the wait. It is a touching album which is dedicated to the late Vic Chesnutt, a man who inspired and influenced Lambchop more than anyone else.

Mr. M opens with the lushly orchestrated slow number “If Not I’ll Just Die”. It’s an expressive song sung from the deep heart of frontman Kurt Wagner. Every syllable he sings is delivered with a vital clarity; you can hear every murmur he makes. After another mellow song, the record moves to lead single “Gone Tomorrow”. This is a relatively up-tempo song for Lambchop, and they pull it off extremely well. Being the lead single, it’s the most immediately accessible song on the album. Its catchy chorus is superbly carried by Wagner, who seamlessly manipulates the words each time the chorus is heard.

The fifth track on the album, “Gar” perfectly illustrates that Lambchop’s signature sound is not solely indebted to Kurt Wagner’s voice, as it is (apart from some female vocals) an instrumental track. Even without the frontman’s signature vocals, this bass-driven composition is clearly the work of Lambchop. It, like the majority of the band’s songs, possesses a soul of its own, which really does give the unique character of a trademark Lambchop track.

In “Nice Without Mercy”, Wagner’s voice is put to excellent use; he harmonizes with himself through multiple layers to create what can only be described as a beautiful dissonance. This is an effective accompaniment to the plodding music beneath. The next track on Mr. M is a personal favorite, “Buttons”. Hardcore Lambchop fans will recognize it from the band’s 2010 Daytrotter session. It tells the tear-jerking story of an unnamed protagonists who goes off the rails. The lyrics “I used to know your girlfriend, back when you used to have a girlfriend / She was nice and you were not, but I was the big prick back then” always stand out, and seem to be deeply personal for Wagner. Throughout the record, his lyrics leave the listener asking questions about the album and its beautiful songs. Despite the words of the songs being extremely abstract and at times hard to make sense of, it is clear they mean a huge amount to Wagner.

Mr. M really does demonstrate the fact that Lambchop are an evolving band. They have come so far since the country songs on How I Quit Smoking in 1996. People who say they peaked with 2000’s Nixon need to realize that Lambchop are almost a different band now; they do not retrace their steps, but instead continue to explore in different directions, all the while retaining their signature, lush sound.

MP3: Lambchop – Gone Tomorrow

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It feels like decades since The Explorers Club released their stunning debut, Freedom Wind. Truth is, it only came out in 2008, but its timeless sound and remarkable consistency made the wait seem much longer than that. Until last year it looked like The Explorers Club might be a one-and-done group, who like some of their ‘60s and ‘70s influences would release a masterpiece or two before disappearing into thin air. That couldn’t be farther from the truth now. Their follow-up, Grand Hotel, finds the Charleston collective at a peak in terms of energy and stylistic ambition. It’s an incredibly polished effort that’s a throwback to the past in more ways than one. Bands simply don’t make albums like Grand Hotel any more.

Freedom Wind was, on many accounts, the best contemporary Beach Boys tribute you’ll find – without those tributes being covers or close replications. The contrast between nasally rockers like “Forever” and delicate West Coast ballads like “Safe Distance” was evident, but there was a relatively strict abidance to the surf-rock and surf-pop formula. The sound never wore thin, but found its most outspoken followers in fans of surf music. The highly accessible nature of the tracks, with gorgeously overlapped vocal harmonies and conventionally structured pop hooks, brought plenty of outside recognition; their songs appeared on The O.C. and How I Met Your Mother. Yet some would argue that their surf tributes were so pure that it isolated a certain contingent of listeners, some of them used to more stylistic variety in pop and others with an odd bias against surf-fixed music in general.

Grand Hotel keeps fans of surf-rock (and Freedom Wind) very happy, as well as branching out to a different horde of pop fans. Whether it’s the lush folk-pop on “Bluebird”, Scott Walker-inspired orchestral-pop of “Open the Door”, or the ingenious infusion of southern-rock on “Anticipatin’”, there’s such a great assortment of material here. This stylistic outreach is partly thanks to their striking group chemistry; there is no distinctive frontman, as instruments take turn in the spotlight in addition to lead vocals. Jason Brewer, David Ellis, and Wally Reddington III alternate lead most of the time, with everyone chipping in on harmonies. This variety in performance has bled into their songwriting. When I saw them perform live, the multiple abilities of each member was prevalent. It was evident in their own material, of course, but also on a medley of Beatles covers they did mid-set, where everyone took turns flaunting their ability like an old-timey supergroup. It was one of the better sets I’ve seen in awhile, making it easier to see why Grand Hotel turned out so well.

Both “Acapulco” stand-ins are pure tastes of the West Coast, with a side of Hawaiian folk. The first sounds on the album are the crashing of waves, courtesy of opener “Acapulco (Sunrise)”. The chirping of tropical birds follow, along with an arrangement fitted for a ‘70s West Coast leisure activity. You could just see them flying from one palm tree to another on a balmy summer day, or summer night. Then comes “Run Run Run”, the best pop single I’ve heard this year. It’s a contagious effort that should do exceptionally well on the radio, with a chorus that revs up like a vintage engine – though one that still works extraordinarily well.

The only effort I feel stands up strong to “Run Run Run” on the single front is “Anticipatin’, which is pure pop genius. Rockabilly and southern-rock collide with suave vocal stylings reminiscent of Glen Campbell’s country twang. The best bit of the track is Ellis’ falsetto, which provides a sharp contrast to the deep and husky lead. It’s an outstanding effort that, in my opinion, should be their next single. The fleet keys of Paul Runyon provide a solid backbone during this section, as does the entire band’s backing vocals as they lead to a swanky blue-inspired bridge headed by bass and organ. You won’t forget this one easily.

Another one of the strongest tracks is closer “Open the Door”, which takes on a cinematic feel due to climactic drums and swelling strings. It’s easy to compare this to The Walker Brothers, with the sort of depth and gorgeously suave hooks that’s easy to expect. This is Explorers Club at their most mature, temporarily pushing aside their knack for accessible pop in favor of atmosphere and raw emotion, which they succeed in just as brilliantly. They prioritize similarly on the less morose “Bluebird”, complete with twangy guitars and lush organs. It appears to start out as a psych-pop ode, but abruptly evolves into a warm folk ballad with quick acoustic trickles and joyous harmonies. It’s not quite Donovan soft, but more in the vein of Hall & Oates’ classic Abandoned Luncheonette – mellow folk-pop but not without the bursts of excitement.

Like all albums, some tracks on Grand Hotel are stronger than others; the repetitive but still fun “Any Little Way” and “I’ve Been Waiting” rank among the weaker ones. But everything remains a recommended listen nonetheless. This especially includes simple yet resoundingly effective pop songs featuring acoustics and keys, like “Sweet Delights” and “Weight of the World”. Don’t forget the enjoyably indulgent self-titled cut either. It borrows the Latin vibes from the album cover, veering into mariachi-like horns over clamoring percussion. The actual melody is more reminiscent of classic Brit-pop, not too far from Blur or Dogs Die In Hot Cars.

While Grand Hotel is more of vast adventure than Freedom Wind, that’s not to say Explorers Club abandoned some of their classic debut’s sounds. Ballad “It’s You” is a gorgeous display of what they did more of on Freedom Wind: delicate yet soulful surf-pop anthems. Its brothers would be “Don’t Forget the Sun” and “If You Go”, two cuts from the debut that continue to stun me every listen. Some tracks that nod to Burt Bacharach, like “Go for You” and “Open the Door” to some extent, achieve a similar status. Nothing captures his essence more than the verses in “Go for You”, where the vocals have the suaveness and gradual vocal build-up. This progression evolves into a more original Explorers Club fusion of surf and classic pop. You half-expect it to kick back to “Run Run Run” during the mid-bridge.

In terms of mixing emotional ballads with exciting pop hits, there hasn’t been a better album this year than Grand Hotel. Four years later, The Explorers Club have matched their criminally overlooked debut Freedom Wind, a feat impressive to longtime fans as well as the new ones Grand Hotel is bound to earn.

Download it now for an amazingly cheap $5 on Amazon.

Top Tracks: “Anticipatin'”, “Run Run Run”, “It’s You”, “Open the Door”, “Sweet Delights”

The Explorers Club – Anticipatin’

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Silver Swans are a duo from San Fran that excel in tightly constructed, electro-leaning pop gems. Despite the West Coast leanings, they sound like natives of the Swedish electro-pop scene, a highly versatile breeding ground for both brooding atmospheric builders (The Radio Dept.) and punchy pop magic (Lo-Fi-Fnk). Yet there are also those that tread the in-between. Comparatively, at least in the case of Silver Swans’ gentle female vocals, The Knife and Sally Shapiro are also suitable. Electronic-pop and dream-pop are two familiar forces, the instrumental arsenal reflecting the former and the overall production encompassing the latter. The use of synth in this hybrid can resemble a series of icicles falling like dominoes along a glacier, and seamless transitioning from bare repetition into majestic quasi-anthems is to be expected.

Ann Yu and Jon Waters describe their songs as the result of late-night bedroom recordings, though the production on their new album Forever doesn’t suggest any constraints. While the percussion is often simple enough and electronically engineered via Waters, there are rarely moments where the staleness lasts. It’s very much akin to vintage electro-pop acts like Erasure and Scritti Politti, where technical skill is passed over in favor of consistency and tightness. Take the mobile “Arrows”, for instance. It travels from barren synth pads into an exotic blast of Afro-pop, as if a hazy desert turned into a colorful jungle.

“Arrows” is more in line with the vintage synths of Scritti Politti, allowing for the ever-expanding structure that transitions from awkward synth stabs into a complex Afro-beat concoction. Yet unlike many tracks in this vein that wander astray too long, “Arrows” promptly recovers. The shift is exceptional in how it goes from sounding stale and colorless in its initial verses to an infectious grandiosity of clashing Afro-beat and synth-pop nods. Several other efforts, like “Diary Land” and fellow Afro-pop influence “House of Blood”, require a similar amount of patience before reaching the meat of the track, but there are no tracks on Forever lacking hooks. Some verses and build-ups need work to capture the listeners’ attentions, but nothing’s overly grating or contrived.

Silver Swans are at their best when incorporating exotic synth sounds, like the twinkling quivers on “Let It Happen” or Afro-pop influenced “Arrows”, but they also excel at straightforward synth-pop with few frills. The best track on Forever is the chirpily infectious “Around You”, which contains as much Swedish electro-pop influence as anything on here. “Let It Happen” is a great single, but I wouldn’t be surprised if this is the next one – and it does even better. Despite a great bass-led melody with apt synth placements, much of the melody rides on Yu’s exceptional vocals. She really turns this track into a tour-de-force performance; her movement from whimsically suave verses into angelic cooing during the chorus is planned wisely, and serves as an essential component of the album’s best effort.

Many independent electro-pop artists with dub-heavy bass and twinkling synths also tend to employ funk bass lines, if only for the fact it sounds so fitting. Like how Memory Tapes’ Dayve Hawk experimented with this mix-and-match with previous project Hail Social, a Silver Swans effort like “Karen” makes efficient use of this padding. Others opt for a poppier rhythmic structure, like the sugary and irresistible “Around You” or anthemic “Let It Happen”, but efforts like “Karen” do just as well. They’re all fairly anthemic in a relative sense; Silver Swans never release obnoxious synths or percussive clamoring simply to make them heard, but one can always expect something more grandiose to come in the chorus, whether it’s an uptick in tempo or a tonal shift.

Sounds reminiscent of Cults and St. Vincent are found on “Diary Land”, where a doo-wop percussive beat evolves into a futuristic marching procession of lush synth pads and piano twinkles. Melodic whispers are laced under a chirping piano progression, with Sally Shapiro comparisons arising both here and the lush “Around You”, also one of the album’s best tracks. “And every time I look at you, you’re only acting,” Yu sings here; she eludes to heartbreak over secrecy on the album more than once. On another epically constructed effort, the barren landscapes envisioned in “Actual Pain” are wonderfully constructed with guitar stabs jabbing at a sitar-like resonance. Twangy effects are heard in the distance, but only occasionally. It hints at more ambitious territory for Silver Swans, more along the lines of Portishead.

Two other efforts take the simplicity of “Around You”, but with more forceful dancefloor-ready tone. “On the Quit” could be another Röyksopp-Robyn collaboration, with futuristic sci-fi twinkles and club-ready synth-bass propulsions. It’s one of those tracks you’d expect to hear in a club, circa 2300. Similarly, “Mother of Pearl” begins with a heavy dub bass and fluttering synth tremolo, complete with reflective guitar strums (high reverb on) typical of dream-pop. “You hide it so well, I can’t tell,” Yu sings. It might as well be about robotic rejection.

Forever is a very satisfying release that shows why the collaboration of vocalist Yu and DJ/producer Waters has a chance for great longevity. As it stands, Silver Swans are as good as any of the Swedish electro-pop groups they sound eerily similar to. Still, their music is not entirely reflective of anyone’s but their own, regardless of how much they sound like Sally Shapiro, The Knife, or Lo-Fi-Fnk at times. This is a fun record with tons of replay value, making it one of the best electro-pop albums of the year so far.

Key Tracks: “Around You”, “Let It Happen”, “Arrows”

Silver Swans – Around You

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Plumb, the fourth full-length from brotherly duo Field Music, sounds like one of their liveliest releases for two reasons. One is its clear and playful homage to traditional British rock greats like XTC, Pink Floyd, and even Queen. Tracks like “Sorry Again, Mate” and “Guillotine” reap benefits from the influence, which for the Sunderland-based group is to be expected. The other is typical of every Field Music release, that being its breathless progression. Tracks flow into each other without a pause; large chunks of the album would sound like one song if not for the ceaseless variation, both in rhythmic tempo and alternations between lively prog-rock, psych-pop, and orchestral-laden chamber-pop. Without noticing the track listing, it would be easy to mistaken the fifteen tracks for thirty or perhaps forty separate entities. There’s just that much content here, the majority of it quality.

Grandiosity is apparent from the very beginning. Opener “Start the Day Right” is complete with a twinkling orchestra. Disney-time strings serve as a precursor to prog-rock fireworks, which boisterously erupt in the form of swift guitar arpeggios and the group’s renowned rhythm section. Field Music have always crafted approachable and tight pop songs on a singular level, but the production on their albums make it sound restless for a reason. Plumb is a continuation of that. Rarely does a song meander in one place too long. Stylistic twists and turns are always around the corner, whether it’s creepy psych-rock (“Guillotine”) or lavish orchestral interludes (“Ce Soir”) lurking there.

“It’s OK to Change”, apart from showing off the band’s consistently excellent rhythmic chops, is an apt separator between “Start the Day” and “Sorry Again, Mate”, both grandiose and high-scaling songs in their own right, but with distinguishable difference. “Sorry Again, Mate” is a stunning  Queen/XTC hybrid that matches operatic pop with intricate prog-rock. The chorus and bridge arrive after a gentle piano lead and guitar trickle, injecting an arsenal of strings and booming kicks and snares. “Can I afford another day on my own? / Sat in the kitchen with the radio on,” Brewis sings during the song’s peak. It’s a majestic track serving as one of Field Music’s best.

The bubbly “Choosing Sides” plays like an oddball Todd Rundgren recording, like one of his squeaky synth experiments on the ’73 classic A Wizard, a True Star. The synth minimalism subtly expands into moody psych-rock, more in the vein of ELO, before reverting to their squeaky-clean indie-rock arsenal. Apart from the intro, the song’s most interesting component is the delivery of its chorus. Here, the Brewis brothers assume Kevin Barnes’ tendency of nodding to psych-pop through overlapping pop harmonies of varying pitches. It’s an interesting and somewhat new approach for the band, but provides seamless results as expected. When you specialize in a schizophrenic vein of prog-rock, it’s no big deal.

On the other end, “A Prelude to Pilgrim Street” works like clockwork, literally. An actual tick-tocking comprises the initial rhythm as Brewis lifts his airy vocals over piano and echoing bass. It sounds quintessentially English, like something Paul Weller or McCartney would put out in the ‘90s, with the colorful pop of XTC thrown in for good measure. Then there’s “Guillotine”, which sounds like Syd Barrett in more than just the title alone. An ominous feel is brilliantly captured through sliding guitar twangs and key-laden atmosphere. Field Music have never been hesitant to trace back to classic British rock, and Plumb is the most eclectic example of that.

“Who’ll Pay the Bills” has a nice refreshing chorus, but doesn’t offer much else to anticipate. The verse’s jangle is almost painfully straightforward, but its place as a breather after “A Prelude” and “Guillotine” is wise. Simplicity is sometimes an example of sequential brilliance, and this is one of those instances. The ominous feel of the latter returns quickly, though, with the brooding “So Long Then”. The intro is somewhat deceiving, as is its return after the first verse. But the main pop appeal isn’t hard to find, like most Field Music tracks. A playfully awkward piano flows to graceful places, even touching the Old West in its arrangement.

“Just Like Everyone Else” is a stripped-down, bass -led track that sounds like (very) early Field Music material, when orchestras were relatively absent. The emotive sound of stringy guitars and pulsating bass brings to mind the days of Manic Street Preachers when Richey Edwards was still around. It’s a simple yet resoundingly effective song, a mellow traveler that does well to lead into the boisterously upbeat closer “(I Keep Thinking About) A New Thing”.

Field Music have not released a bad or even middling album yet, and Plumb has no intention of stopping that run. While certain British homages are more evident, the band sounds more creative and invigorated than ever. Unlike many critically acclaimed British art-rock groups of the ‘00s, Field Music are getting better with age — both with their new releases, and when looking back at their spectacular previous three albums. There remains a timeless quality within their music, indebted to influence as well as stylistic cohesion; they grapple the best aspects of prog-rock and combine them tastefully with traditional British rock greats of the past. If there’s ever a time to celebrate this relatively overlooked group, it’s now.

MP3: Field Music – (I Keep Thinking About) A New Thing

MP3: Field Music – A New Town

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The selling point and historical significance of Karen Dalton has rested entirely on the uniquely haunting timbre of her voice and the restrained brilliance with which she employed it, bending melody and finding hidden meanings in seemingly straightforward pop and folk songs. To her, the American music canon lay as palimpsest, with something as inescapable as the jaws of a bear trap and as the lure of new and old love, sometimes at the same time, to be transcribed from beneath the apparent banality of it all.

Take, for example, her rendition of “Cotton Eyed Joe”, the first appearance of which was on the earlier set Cotton Eyed Joe. Most are familiar with this song as the Rednex bar mitzvah dance-floor abomination, yet Dalton manages to bring out the regret in the song with lulling banjo picking that matches the insight her voice brings to bear. It appears in both a live rendition on the collection bearing its name and on another recording unearthed for this new set of recordings, 1966. “Where did you come from? Where did you go?” The haziness of a recollection, and the strangely common intersection of regrets and the warm feelings that happen anyway, come through with an aching clarity. Time passes, sweet in its inevitability, yet with the sadness of the missed opportunity that comes with living only one life. The listener is wrecked.

Dalton’s genius as a performer makes her multiple forays almost as much, if not more, of a blessing than new numbers in her song book, since we can see the active process of thought by comparison and she can say many things within one song. The archaeological nature of her discography makes for lots of overlap, but not in the nature of the endless repackaging of The Smiths. It’s more in the spirit of digging through Lenny Bruce bootlegs. There is no struggling toward completeness or a finished product, but simply an eye-level engagement of the material by someone with a depth of insight, a multiplicity of viewpoints depending on the day and the setting. With 1966, we get another lazy afternoon spent in the company of one of the 20th century’s true musical geniuses.

The singularity of Dalton makes 1966 an especially shocking discovery, as much of the set is devoted to duets, something entirely absent from any of her other discs. Her voice isn’t allowed to stretch out as much in these, though the scattered burying of her voice in the mixes brings out the distinctiveness of her banjo and guitar picking. The presence of friends gives 1966 a warmth and lighthearted quality, lacking in Cotton Eyed Joe or Green Rocky Road. What is interesting, though, is that she has a much richer register of despair than of contentment. It makes for oddly inferior renditions of songs already known from other recordings. “A Little Bit of Rain”, in particular, feels oddly disengaged. A lack is felt for, of all things, the robust bass line it was given on It’s So Hard to Tell Who’s Going to Love You Best.

A vibe of good feeling and a thin quality to what admittedly is a 45-year-old home recording makes this set, while still essential, perhaps the least so of the Dalton sets so far unearthed. It’s still a must-have, and the Tupac barrel-scraping is a long long way in the distance. Start with either of the two studio albums and I can almost guarantee you will work yourself to this in almost no time at all.

MP3: Karen Dalton – Blues on the Ceiling

MP3: Karen Dalton – Green Rocky Road

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On his tenth studio album, nearly 20 years after he first hit the scene, Common is back with his best work since 2005’s Be. Some weak acting gigs and the abysmal Universal Mind Control in 2008 put Common out of most people’s musical sights and minds. Listening to these new tracks, it’s as if Universal Mind Control never even happened. By invoking Common’s own unique delivery, conjuring some awesome guest stars (Maya Angelou, John Legend, and Nas), and taking a more laid-back approach, The Dreamer / The Believer reminds its audiences that R&B doesn’t have to be idiosyncratic (Janelle Monae) or pompous (Drake) to achieve success. All it needs is the talent of a truly gifted lyricist.

This album focuses on duality – most obvious through its title – and how the two states of mind, dreaming and believing, can share or differ on similarities. It’s hard to believe in a dream before it becomes a reality. But if you don’t believe, can you ever achieve your dreams? Philosophical quandaries such as this are rife throughout the album, helping to keep the music grounded in Common’s penchant for asking philosophical questions. The album opener, “The Dreamer”, features Maya Angelou and heavily plays on Common’s signature vocal style; he sweetly and tenderly weaves words within a rather uplifting melody. The penultimate track is “The Dreamer”s foil: “The Believer”, with John Legend on board. These two songs are meant to be connected and compared. Each track features an artist of the opposite sex, each has a distinctive tone and mood, and these partners in philosophical crime act as bookends to an album that highlights the best of what Common has to offer.

Of course, the award for best track on the album goes to “Blue Sky”. Sampling Electric Light Orchestra is nothing new, but it’s something so genuinely characteristic of Common it’s almost too good to be true. And while modern technology allows us to bend and stretch samples to our liking (see Kanye’s “Stronger”), Common’s use of “Mr. Blue Sky” is elegant, minimal, and effective. Unlike some sampling work that falls flat or doesn’t ever mesh with the intended vocalist, the simplicity of “Blue Sky” is its greatest strength.

The Dreamer / The Believer isn’t perfect. “Sweet” is just too weird. If you’ve ever had a hankering to hear Common scream out “Fuck it, I’m the greatest!”, then you may get some satisfaction out of these barbaric ramblings about how great he is. But even then, you’ll probably want to skip this track. Common sounds so uncomfortable it’s practically cringe-inducing. His normally smooth style is chopped up and smeared tirelessly across an overproduced beat.

“Cloth” most closely resembles tracks from Be, which is no small feat. The piano-driven melody, coupled with a notably catchy choral backing evokes the best emotions presented on Be, though it never feels like Common is trying to hard, a drawback rampant in today’s hip-hop scene and on some tracks here.

It’s been a few years since faith in Common could be justified. And frankly, it seems like Common lost faith in the game for those same few years. Obviously, he released material and performed, but the albums since Be have felt like extremely poor filler. The Dreamer / The Believer finds Common back in the space he’s most comfortable, rhyming with confidence and crafting a polished and creative sound.

MP3: Common – Ghetto Dreams (ft NAS)

MP3: Common – Blue Sky

Official Site / BUY

The post Common – The Dreamer/The Believer (2011) appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

Human Switchboard’s Who’s Landing in My Hangar? is one of the few tenuously Cleveland connected punk/new wave classics to lack a proper reissues. Bar/None Records thankfully rescues this great album from a future of shitty YouTube vinyl rips. The reissue includes close to everything the band released. A droning John Cale type synth drones over tracks much more fleet-footed than anything the Velvets would dare to play.

Yet the sound is still distinctly Velvet-y, unlike some of the Velvet Underground speed-ups that came directly in their wake (here’s looking at you, Mott the Hoople). Their keyboard, guitar and drums less build upon each other as awkwardly accumulate like acquaintances walking down a narrow sidewalk or young lovers who can’t quite keep in step. Lots of toes are stepped on and correspondingly small apologies are given. There is something reminiscent of the Shaggs about the whole affair, and I mean that in the absolute best sense possible. The wobbly and off-kilter, if it’s not all wobbly and off-kilter, is better than a prairie oyster to restore the drifting rock critic to some semblance of sensitivity to contour and nuance.

Having owned Who’s Landing in My Hangar? for a while now, the main joy of this anthology is to see the loose ends and detours gently trod then forgotten. Who knew the Human Switchboard had made an attempt at alt-country? The anthology does, and puts it perhaps rightfully, at the end. Bob Pfeifer’s voice is too wild and unhinged, think Chris Stamey after a couple Red Bulls, to convincingly pull off “Always Lonely For You”.

However, at other points, Pfeifer and Myrna Marcarian use this genuine sense of the unhinged in their voices to great effect. Pfeifer is too anxious to be the Lou Reed doppelganger much of the rock press has attempted to paint him as. When the two of them figure out how to make their voices complement each other, either in non-harmonies or in snaking responses such as on the epic “Refrigerator Door”, the results are stunning.

Marcarian is a grown up, assured Moe Tucker, without any of the fake ‘feisty’ posturing that is so endemic to these ’80s records. “I Can Walk Alone”, not the comment on muscular dystrophy it threatens to be, is in fact an anti-love song. Marcarian throws little details about wedding rings to heighten the drama and imply narrative. The song even has a sequel on the flip side, “Don’t Follow Me Home”.

Half the fun of Who’s Landing in My Hangar? is in the dangling narrative loose ends. What other album would have a line like “I think I’ll go back to dry humping cigarette machines”? For that line alone, “In My Room” would be a standout track, but it’s got a bell groove too. Pfeifer dangles precariously from the top of the bell groove. The narrative of the lyrics suggests alcoholism, lost love, lost intellectual pursuits, improper use of the drop slot… pretty much everything a song needs.

It even has one of the few urban decay anthems to stack up with The Pagans’ “Street Where Nobody Lives”: “In This Town”. While many records of the period have musical nods to traffic congestion and construction work, these two are among the only ones to directly address the issue.

This is a ready-made cult item, the missing item to complete what is, at least on my shelf, the Cleveland new-wave trifecta with Dub Housing and All the Wrong People Are Dying. Grab it before it slinks back out of print.

RIYL: Felt, The Velvet Underground, The Styrenes, Pere Ubu, Moe Tucker, Television, The Raincoats, The Shaggs, The Monks

MP3: Human Switchboard – In This Town

Human Switchboard – Refigerator Door

Human Switchboard – (Say No To) Saturday’s Girl

Human Switchboard – Prime of My Life

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The post Human Switchboard – Who’s Landing in My Hangar? (2011) appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

Haven’t we all gotten tired of that generic tinny lo-fi garage guitar sound? Upward and onward to newer and more glorious fuzz, I say. Down with the old! Appreciate the garage records of yore only for what made them good, or what was awful to the point of being interesting. The b-side rave-up is not a folk tradition that needs any sort of mummification process by each progressive tribute record.

This bears stating because Wax Idols are a band with definite appeal and a some knack for hooks, yet their debut No Future too closely recreates the feeling of putting six or so hopelessly obscure garage 45s on a stack spindle and just letting it run. Yes, there are fresh nuggets; “Dead Like You”, “Nothing At All”, and “Gold Sneakers” have all earned a number of repeat rotations. But they only come sporadically through generic rave-ups like “Hotel Room” and “Dilno”.

The vocals are straddled between a Joan Jett swagger and Shaggs-damaged naiveté. The feisty delivery aids the energetic vibe on display. However, on a track like “Hitman” – a story of dismemberment that reminded me of the horrific shock stories I read helping grade middle school creative writing papers – it brings the silliness of it to the forefront. Though a feeling of professionalism and polish has killed many garage records, this shouldn’t be taken so as to confuse the lack of wit or lucidity with a self-justifying primitivism.

It seems the Idols themselves recognize when they’ve stumbled on a good hook, and play with an extra exuberant fervor, such as on the soaring chorus to “Gold Sneakers”, which features one of the few musically interesting textures here: the wiry angular line full of sharps that guides the “I-I luh-luh-love you”s along like a roller coaster. Something frantic and not wholly self-determined is brewing there, and I wish it could’ve been explored more than the grade school nihilism of tracks like “Human Condition”.

The group’s single, also released this year, “All Too Human b/w William” is the catchiest thing they’ve recorded yet. When a singles compilation drops a couple albums down the road, it’ll be an item to watch for. For now though, it remains a constructive process. If you want a garage fix, you could do worse.

RIYL: C or G chords

or

RIYL: Black Kites, Grass Widow, Wooden Shjips, Joan Jett, The Runaways, Cats and Jammers

Wax Idols – Dead Like You

Wax Idols – Gold Sneakers

Wax Idols – Hitman

Hozac Records / BUY

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