The Audiofiles

2005-08-03T00:19:00.000-04:00

The only hit on camera (note the ball about to strike the ground).

2005-08-03T00:12:00.000-04:00

Barrett takes his base after the IBB.
Aramis and Neifi looking in.

Cubs v Phillies, 8-2-2005

2005-08-03T00:03:00.000-04:00

A good shot of MVP-to-be Derrek Lee watching a ball in the first.

What a game! Check out these seats.

To do it again?

2005-07-15T00:20:00.000-04:00

Wow, a blast from the past. And look at our rippling left legs!

Here's to buckling

2005-07-12T00:11:00.000-04:00

I just came upon this again. I always wish I had more pictures of my races. Not so much out of vanity, but more because I wonder what they look like from the outside. I know the inside of my own races intimately. I'm sure they look both smoother (as in easier) and rougher (as in less elegant) at the same time. Throwing down, throwing punches in a runner's sense, all seem so graceful and cinematic in retrospect, but who knows. I like to call it a compensatory mechanism, one much like that developed for women to forget the actual pain of childbirth. Otherwise, there'd be many fewer pregnancies and orders of magnitude fewer races. To remember each step of a race would be torturous, but I'm left wishing I could hold on to more of each.

We just got word

2005-06-08T18:13:00.000-04:00

It's true!

"From New York to New Delhi and Back Again (in 17/8)" - In PSF: Pure Sound Forever

2005-06-02T22:58:00.000-04:00

A newly published, but old interview and biography with the wonderfully talented musician Mark Nauseef. My Uncle.

Architecture in Helsinki - In Case We Die

2005-06-01T21:18:00.000-04:00

As some of us wait for the pot to boil on the word "collective", counting the days until we can cry "told you so" as it becomes a widely respected dirty word, others keep close to their instruments and make engaging music. Bands come and go, be they father/son combos of Shaggs-like novelty or garage power trios, and I find myself asking for more, more than the merely hum-able or the interesting: I desire the compelling. Architecture in Helsinki walk the fine line between interesting and compelling. The Microphones come to mind, but Phil Elvrum possesses the crown jewel of the unusual: earnestness. In Case We Die vacillates between the catchy and the inaccessible, whereas Elvrum oscillates from his pop triumphs and his moving overtures to a world of the past. A world that probably never existed for the listener. That or a not so distant future, beautiful in its terrible bleakness.

Drawing comparison with the obviously great or abysmal is a pitfall of criticism. It is easy, but, more importantly, is also dangerous. It misleads the reader and draws firm lines of possible (probable?) fallacy and inaccuracy. Cliches abound, caveats proliferate: there are some wonderful songs on In Case We Die. "It'5!" resounds with nervous teenage sexual energy and a songwriting that Fiery Furnances and Mr. Bob Dorough would both be flattered to have attributed to their names. What makes it all the more beautiful is its execution. The song ends as a string bass elephant lumbers into the room and takes a seat on "Tiny Paintings." The elephant in the room, however, is the keys and the accompaning bass drum and hi-hat marching along. This transition is like many others on the album.

Remember Beck? His opuses, veritable homages to the word hodgepodge, were filled with seemingly incongruous fragments, yet are generally regarded as wonderful, watershed, or angular (just kidding). Take "Maybe You Can Owe Me." As one listens to it, they are reminded of Arcade Fire or YHF Wilco. Do you know what these two artists have in common? They share the characteristic of not being named Architecture in Helsinki. This album, like those of Mr. Hanson, is where the unexpected is at home (this work, however, is not quite so outlandish or groundbreaking, it is important to note). Refreshing is the listening experience that leaves characterizability at the door and the mundane by the wayside. Epic title track "In Case We Die (Parts 1-4)" is a journey into intensive and intentional creativity. Absent is any bitter aftertaste of the pretentious or mod. The listener has yet to exhaust the album and continues on to the quasi-frenetic "The Cemetery" and "Frenchy, I'm Faking." The latter copped out of any youthful musical. As the horns blare, the drums patter, and the circular saw (yes, the circular saw) whine, the protagonist is running and leaping as black-clad pimply-faced stage hands move the rickety tri-color set. The vocalist barks, out done only by the horns which punctuate his lines.

What sells the album is not its similarities to other works. It is not the fact that it is distinctly "indie radio" rock, nor not the multitrack orchestration or the clever album art. It is what sold The Unicorns'Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone?: utter and dumb-struck conviction. (Yes, and the irony of resorting to another comparison is lost on none.) For the multitudinous members of Architecture in Helsinki this is not a way to make music, but music itself. On first listen I was unsure of the quality of the album. Turns out that appropriate appreciation requires considerable effort. Compelling works don't come easily to the listener or the artist.

The Line

2005-04-14T10:37:00.000-04:00

6.0 IP, 4 H, 0 R, 0 ER, 1 BB, 6 K, 0.00 ERA, 0.83 WHIP
and the W

Mr. Prior, can you hear me?

2005-04-13T01:45:00.000-04:00

Today, with the bated breath of a pot-watcher, I stared at the screen of the read-out for the Jasco spectrophotometer wondering (a) when will the curve crest, yielding a no-longer linear function and (b) how is Mr. Prior doing in his big league debut for the 2005 season. I had little doubt that he was pitching a solid game. Maybe, at that point, 4.2 IP, 5 H, 2 ER, 5 K, and 4 BB. Be no means stellar for this man, but an auspicious start for one so recently malgined. Be it on fantasy baseball updates or in the general MLB press, Mr. Prior's optimism with regard to his team has been criticized in the most tongue-in-cheek manner. No easy feat with all of those sunflower shells in there. His outlook on his up-coming campaign is nothing but inspiring to a fan.

I pulled myself away from progressing activity of beta-galactosidase on ONPG to check the score in the computer and balance room. PPD. By no means a favorable abbreviation (or, a common one, frankly), but I remember a magical fall day in 2003. A double-header against Pittsburgh where our fate (yes, our fate) was in our hands. They did it. We did it. Remember Pat Riley? Remember Moises? I do, and I think the Cubs fans nationwide do, too. There's another double-header tomorrow. I hope and believe it'll turn out in magical Wrigley Field fashion. It should not be forgotten, to return to Mr. Prior, that upon returning after injury in the 2003 season those boys going tomorrow were lights out. All for that ancient cub with the bat over his shoulder or the more junior cub poking his head out what appears to be a porthole.

As Billy Williams always says: "Let's play two."
The epitome of baseball the Chicago Cubs way.

ZZZZ - Palm Reader

2005-04-10T22:51:00.000-04:00

Gets you outs your Klezmer records and make a, how do you say, “mash up” with British Sea Power’s “Apologies to Insect Life” and you’ve got the thing closest to “Assassination Polka” (1). Brian Howe’s plebian bitching about saxophones aside, there is a taste of Meridian Arts Ensamble in Palm Reader that shouldn’t be in every work, but I welcome with open arms (and swivelling hips, side-to-side in an isometric bastardization of the twist) in this work.

Although many bands and labels consider themselves independent (mostly in the sense of genre), originality is too unusual. ZZZZ give me something I was seeking. There’s complexity and care. There is an attention to detail which seems to follow Steve Stosak, formerly of the killer Sweep the Leg Johnny, with it’s traveling mate: jazz sensibilities. Although I can see the copies of Hot Rats and The Snake Music on Stosak’s record shelf, this isn’t a dated work. The drum machine in the middle of the glorious “2nd Hand Smoke” (4) and the mixed vox are fresh and exciting. I recently reviewed Jennifer Gentle’s Valende and was excited by the Zappa and Boulez sounds (Civilization Phase III, woot woot), but I don’t think that this album will be as well received although, strictly defined, it’s more straight-ahead than that Italian pair.

The songs circle like so many gypsy wagons, resolving around a driving, yet musical, drum beat, and the honking, tootling alto saxophone, each doing an equal part to move the sudden changes and odd time signatures forward. This isn’t technical wizardry, done merely for the sake of justifying all of those endless hours working on counting and fingering in your buddy’s apartment. This is a beautiful craft.

Play Med/High 4.10.05

Bloc Party - Silent Alarm

2005-04-10T22:05:00.000-04:00

I know that Bloc Party is supposed to be good, but I still didn’t give the EP more than a single listen. Why? I wasn’t impressed. A lot of free records come in the mail and not all of them can be listened to. Fish in the sea, lots of them, never give up, blah blah. Sometimes a band can survive on its reputation alone, but Bloc Party had a chance and failed. Or did they? The full-length, Silent Alarm, arrives and comes highly recommended by a reliable source: Swass.

At the foundation of any band is the drums and in an age of dance drums, with their sexy, greasy open-n-close hi-hat slide, making your tight jeans and hipper than thou t shirts shimmy and shake, a rock-n-roll drummer is a welcomed treat. This is a sad reality. Silent Alarm isn’t with out that disco jump on the snare and bass, but the point is that it isn’t only that. The album seems equally driven by each component in the band. I don’t want to suggest that this is an album devoid of intention and obvious influences (All right, I’ve had it. Sound the silent alarms. Enough of comparing serious sounding bands to the Pixies – this album isn’t cheesy self-righteous bullshit. There I’ve said it, again). It’s just an album with a good mix. Take “Banquet” (4) for example. The disco beat is there and also the violent yawning guitar as the song ends, but it’s within its own context. The guitar wails, not squeals. The hand-claps are more organic than you’d expect and the song, although easily a dance tune, does indeed rock in earnest by the end. How very compelling. This could all be a case of being from South London. Let me explain.

It’s sort of like if a band is from New York City instead of Boston. It’s usually automatically cooler. Now New York is trumped by the UK (preferably Manchester, but this time London). I’d argue that being a band from Montreal may slip in there in between anywhere in the States and the UK, but that’s really Professor Paley’s game and I’m sure he’ll gladly toe the line.

Bloc Party seems to be comfortable enough with their goals to unabashedly walk dangerous lines. “Blue Light” (5) may smack more of Travis than many bands would dare to attempt. Elsewhere you’ll hear Joy Division (especially in the drums on “This Modern Love” (7), the Smiths, and certainly The Stone Roses. There are many cool details in the work. I mean, are those marching feet on “Price of Gas?” Do young British hipsters typically worry about fuel costs? I know that the Brits are supposed to be more prudent and responsible, but this is ridiculous. Perhaps I won’t scrap my balanced budget song just yet. Of course, their track is closer to Radiohead’s “Fake Plastic Trees” than is mine.

Being on Vice records suggests to be the utmost in being stylized, hip, and brash. Silent Alarm may be hip, hiply stylish, brashly hip, or utmostly suggestingly Zack Braff, but I don’t really care. I don’t find that baking powder taste of pretenion fouling my mouth. The album is serious. The song structure is not revolutionary, but interesting. The tightness and high production quality of each track reminds me of the Constantines. Overall they fellows of Bloc Party have polished product and they should be proud. I formerly would raise a ‘brow and prepare to ignore anyone for suggesting that I check out this band. Now, proven wrong, I wish I had accepted my invitation to this (bloc) party long ago.
(note: also check out the shots of Copenhagen in the liner notes).

Play High 4.10.05

British Sea Power - Open Season

2005-03-31T14:56:00.000-05:00

There are no bands like British Sea Power, a point only reiterated and underscored by their upcoming release Open Season. The papery flip-case is back as well as the simple Naturalistic album art, as they've traded their leaf silhouettes for that of a bear and some iteration of the Alaskan flag.

My relationship with BSP started upon release of 2003's The Decline of British Sea Power and began on cool terms, frankly. A Rough Trade sampler came my way and my finger invariably found the "seek" button as "Carrion" began. Then I got a hold of the full length and I found what my finger was seeking. BSP doesn't make albums of singles, or singles at all, really. This new album, like the last, was conceived of collaboration and came to fruition through live birth; a whole album came to be. Their progeny is equal parts of each band member, it seems. Despite having witnessed their period-clothing, real flora, and fake fauna on stage at the Roxy in Prague last spring, they come across as their album does: holistically.

My mental conception of the album isn't unlike the instrumentation itself: the bass is always a little loose around the edges, like a treble-less Joy Division. The vocals are genuine as they come, made more plain to see by the lyrics. BSP has a message to send. I can't help but return to the live birth image. Their work is organic to the utmost. The guitars and drums are just being played, as if they don't have a distinct band-specific sound. They like the members of the band, not members of the band playing instruments. That's inarticulate to say the least, but I'm somehow reassured that there is elusiveness to the music. I want badly to possess it, hold it close, and really understand it, but, alas, I can't. I can, however, love it. And I will.

There isn't an "Apologies to Insect Life," but "Please Stand Up" (#5) is this album's "Carrion," I feel; although, I don't know what the official single will be. There are plenty of dark brooding numbers that blossom into shimmering climactic peaks. There's a lot of love. "Be Gone" (#2) combines their craft for clever writing with a Cure-like sound, and their lyrics suggest they know it: "I love your irridescent sheen/ as it reflects you/ and reflects me." It, like other tracks on this album and the last, are obviously reflections of being a working band. The pressures and problems associated with drinking, girls, and music coalesce as the bandmates get together in a place of comfort and camaraderie. Narratives of everyday life seem to pop more with BSP. I wager this is another case of them having what/being what I want. Their attitude is evident in the music, but became concrete with their live show. Although their show was a spectacle to see, throughout I had the feeling that they didn't need me or the stocky fellow with his Echo & the Bunnymen button. They're going to go out there and make beautiful music despite the crowd, because that's what happens. I saw only one smile on stage the entire show and no between-song banter. Why? Because what the members of this band are is a band, nothing else. They function as a unit. In any case, who'd want to be more than that?

Play V. High 3.31.05

The Holy Ghost - Welcome to Ignore Us

2005-03-31T13:17:00.000-05:00

They say it best themselves on "Commercial:"

I'm so bored of the skinny ties and fat absolutes/I'm so tired of the fresh hoodies and worn-out suits.

I still can't believe this band is from New York! Borrowing Chicago flavors of horn hits on "Genghis Khan" and swaggering as and because they rock, not because they're rockers. Their unassuming sounds is belied in their newest album's title Welcome to Ignore Us ("neighbors, policemen, lawyers!").

Holy Ghost isn't to be ignored. With lyrics like "Shut up and play," the ablum's conceit of being for and about the music is whipped to the finish. There are derivative elements to the music, but, like DFA1979, it is from the heart and endearing for it. There are shout choruses and youthful exhuberance about last nights and next mornings over shuffled drums. Guitars chomp away on the As and sing on the Bs as the drums open up into a half-time feel.

It's true, the music is good. I also like the attitude. I should say, though, that most of this is somewhat predicated on the assumption that these guys (and Ms. Webster on drums, vox, and percussion) are a little younger and without pretense. For a while, I thought the lyric on "40 Winks" (#7) was "I'm a dead shot/I'm a greenhorn all the same," which, understandibly, would be appropriate. The lyric is actually "dehorn" instead of "greenhorn." So, maybe that's fitting too. Perhaps I'm underestimating the band, misunderstanding them, if you will.

It is rock and roll and I commend that. If they are tired of the scene, this is one approach to addressing it. I imagine it can be hard to be a band in New York who sounds like a veritable mutt of non-trying. The album may slip somewhat as it goes on with the best at the start or it could just seem that way as it gets tiring. Is it anything new? No. Must you listen to it? See the album title.

Play High 3.31.05

M.I.A. and Hollertronix @ UACA: March 20th

2005-03-25T14:07:00.000-05:00

Sunday was a particularly long day. A short list of the activities included would run long. I saw three men in a deserted New Jersey town, sharing coffee, swapping verbal jabs, and shooting shit. I saw a bike crash that resulted in an injury and an ensuing infection of said injury to the index finger of a teammate bystander. I saw two aging Ukranians, the man in baggy military fatigues, sitting at the bar enjoying a Pepsi and a basket of fried goods as an import of Sri Lanka by way of London waved her hands and hips as she performed vocal slides the likes of which only the Alkaline Trio have seen.

A mist-covered queue of Philly’s finest hipsters gathered on North Franklin in a surprisingly punctual fashion, likely a consequence of Mr. Agnew’s pedantic email. When the doors opened the crowd exited the figurative shadow of the enormous orthodox church across the street and streamed into the basement of a Ukranian community center which looked more amenable to backgammon and fried white fish than to the hotter than hot M.I.A. The crowd knew their place. There were fans of the distributed “Piracy Funds Terrorism” and the leaked then downloaded “Arular,” there were Hollertronix fans, there were dancers who wanted to party, and then those who had just read the press in some New York-based publication and wanted only to say they were in attendance.

The house emcee barked out short phrases from the hip-hop that was spinning and made lascivious remarks pertaining to the women dancing near the stage. He also had original instructions like “hold up your bottles” and “let’s get drunk.” Despite what must apparently be conventional wisdom, shouting about "M.I.A., ya'll!" does not a performance by her make. More than two hours after the needle dropped on the first record, M.I.A. took the stage during "Big Pimpin'" with little fanfare. She shared the stage with a howling, hoped-earring wearing woman who proceeded to sing many of the hooks.

The animated spraypaint stencils projected behind the stage onto a sheet suspended by duct tape was interesting: militant, abstract, hip. She sounded good, but I left the throng after a couple of songs to sit down at the bar when I realized there’s a large part gimmick in her sound, which, in her defense, doesn’t seem uncommon in the world of hip-hop. Her whooping vocal slides shredded my ears. She also plummeted into the nearly impossible to avoid pitfall of female emcees. Whereas a male emcee can cough out the words in a low register so that the listener can understand, a female is stuck using the shrill quality of her voice to enunciate. The words don’t fly out with bombast, but just squeak out with treble up.

As I drove back on I-95, I decided that M.I.A. makes good party music and had I been drunk I would’ve likely had a good time. However, M.I.A. without Diplo would be an awful party. She’s got her sound and whenever someone sounds only like themselves, that person deserves certain respect, but it’s Diplo that makes everyone jump. I wonder if she is an unfortunate product of circumstance; I wonder if her background (Sri Lanka) plus the ever-so-cool Londoner lilt plus being a female emcee is what makes her good or if the cynics win. Maybe her background, accent, and gender are what makes her stand out. She may be the black NFL coach, the girl in a rock band, or the handsome ugly guy. What a tough row to hoe.

Jennifer Gentle – Valende

2005-03-22T17:33:00.000-05:00

From 91.5fm WSRN playlist review:

Two young Italian fellows, self-confidence, a few Mothers records, and a little glockenspiele do a Jennifer Gentle make. I love this pair for what they have made and knowing little about the scene for young men in Northern Italy, I almost feel that only these two guys could have made it. It’s just like how British invasion all those brits wanted to sound like black American bluesmen or how Aussie’s want to sound like derivate rock from a couple of decades ago, these Italians are removed just enough. Of course they have, like, teevees, newspapers, and the all powerful internet, but it’s as if they received a package from the rock gods. In a neatly wrapped box they found some Frank Zappa, some Syd Barrett, some acid, and a tiny sack of whimsy. The album opens and the stage is set for dreamy, psychedelic pop. Their sound is serious, though, and it makes the songs all the more engaging. “Circles of Sorrow” (#4) is a beautiful springtime, breezy, sun-toasted wash out, clocking in a six and a half wonderfully melodic minutes. Tracks 1, 2, and especially 6 (which could be a b-side for We’re Only in it for the Money) are more representative of what I think Marco and Alessio want to make and those tracks are really great. Hessesopoa (#6) is definitely not what you think it is, but I think there will be a Meridian Arts Ensemble cover in the near future (or I hope). The Garden Pt. 1 (#5) and The Garden Pt. 2 (#7) are fantastic. The plod and strain in their elegance and understated beauty. I’m smitten!

Play High! 3.14.05

Broken Spindles – fulfilled/complete

2005-03-21T17:40:00.000-05:00

From 91.5fm WSRN playlist review:

It’s taken me embarrassingly long to review this album. When I first heard it, I was fairly excited about it, but on subsequent listens, I found it dead. After nearly a month of not hearing it, I tuned in again over break and was excited about what I found. There is an awful lot of “ambient” music out there, electric or otherwise. I find much of it to be pleasant enough, yet not compelling. Much of Joel Petersen’s (The Faint) album could be classified as ambient or the significantly different electro. The highly produced nature of this music is not damning in this carefully crafted work. There’s rarely too much and never too little on any of the wonderfully diverse tracksI think my fluctuating ambivalence can be attributed to a now abandoned suspicion that Petersen was trying to get away with something. For whatever reason, I find it now genuine. To be specific, on “song no song” (#3) I now feel that the piano and marimba lines are being played not because the sound pretty or will be construed as soulful, but because it was something that, dare I say, came from his heart. Tracks 2 and 5 are fantastically dark and brooding, but still rock and roll at their core, I’d say. This rock basis grounds the album as listenable. Although instrumentation varies throughout, all the parts feel driven by a guitar sensibility in rhythm and style. Maybe that’s what keeps it from joining the ranks of computer-based self-indulgence.

Play High 1.17.05

Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy & Matt Sweeney – Superwolf

2005-03-21T17:38:00.000-05:00

From 91.5fm WSRN playlist review:

The combination of two icons of such magnitude is dangerous business, if you ask me. And most do. Typically, these joint albums are of rock superstars and therein lies their damning ambition. Sweeney (Guided By Voices) and Oldham (Palace, Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy) combine their respective areas of expertise to synthesize a wholly new creature. A wolf of super proportions: Superwolf. Superwolf is meticulously created. The first track is the works thesis. “My home is the sea” announces that the music to follow is entirely new and the product of their combined artistic visions. The misty, mystical, and mysterious lyrics are still there with a newfound depth that is welcomed, lending a literal and figurative foundation to the songs and leaving any brittleness found in some of Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy’s work. Sweeney brings with him tomahawk guitars and more noise, again adding dimensions to Oldham’s pained Rick DAnko-vox. I couldn’t be more pleased with the album, really, as not really a fan of GBV and rarely sitting through an entire B‘P’B album. My main complaint with Oldham’s other work still springs up with Superwolf: none of the songs strike me as particularly memorable, although each wonderful, particularly together. That might be a good thing, for if I got songs this good stuck in my head, I’d either go crazy or never need another record as long as I live. In any case, this is a triumph for daydream collaborations.

Play High 2.14.05

M83 – Before the Dawn Heals Us

2005-03-21T17:35:00.000-05:00

From 91.5fm WSRN playlist review:

Dead Cities was recently added to the playlist long after its add date. The note on this album from “The Syndicate” reads “This is M83. You have met him before.” This is true. I liked that album a lot, but the one you’re holding now is better. Why? Guitars. This album is deeper. The Phil Collins drums are still there and that’s still just fine. The added instrumentation takes the soundscapes fully into the realm of very compelling and scrapes oh so much more cheeze off of the top (thankfully). I’m still not sure how he gets it done, or should I say, gets away with it. His albums are the soap operas of the indie rock world and one of the best ways to get your pop fix (the other being Twilight as played by The Twilight Singers – which is really great, if you haven’t heard it). Just to make sure you don’t miss it: “Don’t Save Us From the Flames” (#2) is great and you ought to play it.

Play High 2.24.05

M83 – Dead Cities, Red Seas, & Lost Ghosts

2005-03-21T17:34:00.000-05:00

From 91.5fm WSRN playlist review:

They call Montana "Big Sky Country" and if you've ever been to there, either in the plains of the east or the mountains of the west you can understand why. Dead Cities is like that. The sound is huge and expansive and it's not to difficult to imagine traversing vast landscapes in a silent aircraft when M83 loops together their rising, forever climaxing soundscapes. I know that soundscapes is a dirty word, one employed not infrequently in advertisements ending in words like "Time/Life" or abbreviations such as "C.O.D.," but Dead Cities is full of direction. It's not ambient in that there's something to listen to, something going on. They have successfully avoided sounding like their making this electronic-based music just because they can. There's enough variety and direction in each song. I love the brassy organ on songs like "Cyborg" (disc 1, track 9). In fact, "Cyborg" is a good example of how a compelling electronic or ambient pop song sounds, particularly with the transition into the following track ("0078h"). Although with a certain element of cheez, the second and third tracks of disc one ("Unrecorded" and "Run Into Flowers," respectively) are great and a good place to start.

Play High 1.21.05

Bright Eyes – I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning and Digital Ash in a Digital Urn

2005-03-21T17:26:00.000-05:00

From 91.5fm WSRN playlist review:

Performing what seemed to be commercial suicide Bright Eyes (née Conor Oberst) released two albums at once. For most artists, this just wouldn’t add up. I mean, even Radiohead balked at the prospect with Kid A and Amnesiac. However, the zeros were carried and the lower-case Js dotted with this pair. How fitting for a move described as suicide is in reality brilliant and beautiful for a guy like Conor. The former album, especially when paired with the latter, cements Oberst as one of the best, whether you like him/it or not.

I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning

When I first turned on the first album, I was so excited. I considered smashing my copies of Lifted as I heard “At the Bottom of Everything” (#1, with Jim James). Pardon me, but that song is really fucking great and you and your complaints about his little spoken word skit can go to hell. The way Conor and I see it is if Big Boi and Andre 3000 can do it, so can he. As long as you will-fully suspend your self-consciousness for a moment, the introduction frames the song and is even, gulp, touching. After the first track, the realization that the whole album can’t be so boldly bombastic. It is reassuring, though, that the album is bold in a different way. It’s robust in it’s strength of message. It’s a beautiful folk album and without the strangling lo-fi quality of so many other records in the genre. As always, Oberst has a wonderfully produced album, not too much, not too little, with all the instrumentation sounding appropriately full. Check out Emmy Lou Harris on tracks 2, 4, and 7. “Road to Joy” (#10) holds the title and ends with broad sound (yea, more bombast).

Digital Ash in a Digital Urn

Unlike its folk counterpart, I wasn’t much interested in this album initially. I might like it more now. It’s so intricate. “Arc of Time” (#3), for example, is filled will tiny wonderful details such as the shuddering bass drum and the Sugar Ray guitar riff. This album is more compelling, I think, which is surprising for a studio baby like this. There is greater variety on Digital than Awake which is welcomed. There’s fast, there’s slow, and, again, it’s all fantastically assembled and arranged. Some tracks really do smack of previous work (#2, 8), but others don’t at all (#3, 4). Track 5 is the single, so for whatever that’s worth, but it is quite good. I heard it on 103.1 in LA over break. How ‘bout that?

Now I’m not the biggest Bright Eyes fan you’ve ever met. I’m never sure what to make of him. I remember getting a burned copy of Every Day, Every Night from my buddy Austin when I was in, maybe, 10^th grade and being so out of the loop that I thought this was our special secret as I sat amazed by the vocals and lyrics. Ooh, I love that album. In all honesty, though, that is my favorite album of his, but these two albums finally convince me that the praise he has always received is due.

Play High 3.13.05

Bloodthirsty Lovers – The Delicate Seam

2005-03-20T17:39:00.001-05:00

From 91.5fm WSRN playlist review:

The old indie adage falls short again: their older stuff isn’t better. This, the Bloodthirsty Lovers newest album, is excellent and certainly better than their self-titled (2003). The duo setup is conducive to well-crafted music that reflects the unified vision less frequently seen in larger combos, and this is no exception. As the album progresses more influences and similar artist spring to mind. This is not to say that there is, say, a Flaming Lips song or a John Vanderslice song, but that Mr. Shouse and Mr. Selvidge have used the shoulders of these artists and others (Wilco) to hoist their own ingénue and synthesize something new. It’s catchy in a way most catchy songs are not. Like JV et al., you’ll sing along because the song follows an exciting, yet logical progression with just enough of an epic sound—strained vox and wide-diameter crashes—for you to not go the way of so many Ashlee Simpson opuses, deflowered and tossed aside. Songs of childish wonderment and Modernist terror are balanced by motifs of travel and searching. On “Now you know” (#6), they cry out, “gimme drop dead rock and roll” and, whereas there is certainly substantial rocking (particularly in the drums), I feel that their struggle to accept that the music inside them isn’t going to be all kicking out jams and bloody noses yields a mature, complete album. Like so many figurative and literal journeys, the intended destination is forgone for a better locale. These two fellows have succeeded and discovered their sound.

Play High 1.17.05

Mouse on Mars – Wipe that Sound

2005-03-20T17:39:00.000-05:00

From 91.5fm WSRN playlist review:

I have to say, I didn’t really know what to make of this, despite the extended explanation on the front. Maybe I’m not as hip as everyone (I) thought? In any case, the first remixed track with Mark E. Smith (The Fall) is great. I defy you to listen to it and not sing a powdery and mysterious “in my garden” either in your head or out loud. If I were to find myself in a “club” and furthermore on the “dance floor,” I’d like to hear this rather than any techno pop, and its laissez-faire groove would be particularly refreshing after the relentless swagger of dance rock. Of course, this is an extensive hypothetical situation. The second track is more aggressive and a fair bit of fun. Excuse me for a moment: The Muffin Man serves up a delicious, vibrant, and fruity delicious flow that borders on out of control and is certainly ridiculous. There are more songs. They’re more of the same, except that track 6 is pretty cool. A further remix of Muffin’s contribution it seems. Take a listen.

Play Medium 1.17.05

Death from Above 1979 – You’re a Woman, I’m a Machine

2005-03-19T17:42:00.000-05:00

From 91.5fm WSRN playlist review:

Yes, their name is Death from Above 1979. Kick ass, huh? The album is too. I was excited about the album, due to the good press. I was still surprised and listened to it heavily over break. (note the worn case). From the lithe tambourine jingle on the opener, you know something dangerous, violent, and deliciously creative and catchy is pouring down (say, from above?). Prometheus (Jesse Keller) and Ares (Sebastien Grainger) meet to produce an unabashedly dance-punk rock album about girls-who-needs-‘em-but-I-still-miss-‘em. There has been some definite femme related pain and we’re all the better for it, so good in fact that we’re going to stay right here in the studio. The lyrics are direct and could be cringable if it wasn’t for their earnest delivery. Be warned: this is a sexy, sexy album, for better or worse. It drips from Grainger’s Josh Homme (QOTSA) vox and the fuzzed out bass and synth. Some tracks (#4, #7) rely too heavily on the soundscapes of his wailing and suffer, but maybe that’s a difficult pitfall to avoid in a duo. That being said, most tracks are a full-bodied fist-pumping, foot-stomping good time. I’m reminded of Kyuss in the intense faith in straight-ahead rocking and the cocky swagger of the Fucking Champs or a less political Panthers (playing with DFA1979 on Thursday at Silk City!). “Turn it Out” (#1) and “Romantic Rights” (#2) are fantastic starts and don’t miss the furious sexual (two words you rarely see or want see side by side) innuendo “Pull Out” (#10). The album’s sing-along, dance-along song, “Blood on Our Hands” (#5), reveals prideful bitterness, but still a sense of responsibility in what has happened. The not too unfamiliar sentiment of wishing to return to the idyllic start seems particular poignant when shouted over relentless drums. “Black History Month” (#6), title ignored, is the most mature track; you’ll either welcome it with the chorus or go listen to “Blood” again. The best lyrics on the album are in the verse and the bass/synth line is indomitably cool.

Play High 11.29.04