I'm quite pleased by the sensual tunes coming from the new collaboration between the Stroke's Fab Moretti and Rodrigo Amarante of Los Hermanos. Little Joy boasts a strong concept: musically talented (somewhat famous) friends live in LA's Echo park together and play laid-back pan-American pop. Even better than a strong concept, is the incredibly agreeable product, an album that is slick, nostalgic, and mysterious without breaking the surface tension of pretence. Unsurprisingly, the band is friendly with the likes of Devendra Banhart and Noah Georgeson.
Both Fab, Rodrigo, and the possibly even the band's third member, Binki Shapiro, have roots in Brazil. Something like a Brazilian flavor enters the album, available November fourth, but I feel more like drinking with friends than traveling across borders when I listen to a elegant, mournful song like "The Next Time Around." Little Joy has a major-market club tour scheduled for November.
A friend recently asked me about the shelf life of the Crystal Castles phenomenon. Honestly, I have no idea if they can hang on to the buzz, but I want them to last for as long as possible - mostly to keep my own buzz going.
Harsh 8-bit distortion, bouncy post-dub bass lines, nods to Gothic fashion, and dark feelings make up Crystal Castles' trick-or-treat bag of pop culture. If you haven't been forced by a hooded, angsty teen or twenty-something to listen to this band, than count yourself in the minority. The question remains: will all this hype last?
Last night a few hundred drunk young people converged on a medium sized club in the Capital Hill neighborhood of Seattle. When I arrived at 9:15, the floor was almost full. Maybe it doesn't matter at the end of the night, but the opening bands were terrible. Lymbic System sounded like the Album Leaf circa 2002. David Wolf sounded like Justice smoking crack in the bathroom of a suburban middle school.
Finally after much tension building, Alice, the singer, comes on. She wears her usual corpse make-up and modest suit of dark street clothes. Strobes start going off and producer/multi-instrumentalist Ethan Kath, slouched and unshaven, begins bouncing up and down behind his Microkorg. The crowd skips a beat and then explodes into a mass of floor-bouncing wildness.
Exuding a kind of epileptic/narcoleptic confidence, Alice spends the majority of the show draping herself around the stage and front rows of the audience. Ethan's posture is unchanged. The audience, including my self, is drenched in sweat. When a friend of mine complained about the sweat, I explained that she should justify the abject grossness by imagining herself having sex with everyone in the room.
Afterwards, walking to the bus stop, I realized that Crystal Castles in the new mainstream punk: loud, physical, and curiously nihilistic. I can't put my thumb on what the band is supposed to mean culturally except that the kids are not alright.
I've seen Crystal Castles three times now and I notice no substantive change to their live show. It only gets louder, better rehearsed, and more terrifying every time. I eagerly await any interesting changes they make to their sound in the future. Realistically, it would be unreasonable to expect musical growth from a band whose main selling points are a synthesizer and a Gothic opera screamer.
It is so wrong that the film Eight Mile came out so many years before a movie about Biggie Smalls. Will a Hollywood treatment ruin the lovingly-tended media image of my all-time favorite party-jammer? Find out in January 2009. Interestingly, the actor who plays the big man, Jamal Woolard, looks as much like Biggie as the guy who played Ian Curtis in Closer looked like the deceased member of Joy Division. Playing dead famous people has to be a little creepy when you look exactly like them.
Though I've been listening to Microcastle since the beginning of June, I'm not exactly sure if I'm behind with this review. See, the original release date was October 28th but, as suggested by how long I've had this record, it leaked a little prematurely. Just a little. Rightly disappointed, Deerhunter chose to sell it on itunes in the interim so as to generate a little capital for what is one of the year's better albums.
Their last effort, Cryptograms,generated lots of critical praise. Alongside a thunderously intense live show, Deerhunter rose quickly to the top of the indie radar for creating what lead singer Bradford Cox coined as "ambient punk." Not as aggressive as its predecessor,Microcastle still employs heavy distortion and ambience, although both elements are seemingly more upbeat and positive. When listened to as a whole, there is a palpable sense of a band emerging from its shell of angst and channeling dark imagery in an illuminating way. As an example, standout "Agoraphobia" is about a fear of being trapped, a lonely existence in the modern world. But, set to the upbeat drums and winding guitars, when Bradford croons "I want to fade away, fade away," it feels more like a plea to be taken into the sunset after a perfect summer day than a desire to be released from an overbearing life. Another track with persistent drums, constant bassline, and steady strums, "Nothing Ever Happens," deals with, as the title surprisingly suggests, boredom and a fleeting life.
Not forgetting the drone and ambiance which garnered them fame, Deerhunter still uses dissonance to its advantage by knowing where to intermix the fast with the slow, the soft with the heavy. As on the title track, the song breezes around Bradford's voice for a few minutes until things pick up and the rest of the band speeds through the song's remaining bars. Following is the couplet (Update: The band refers to this series of songs as the suite. More info found here) "Calvary Scars," "Green Jacket," and "Activa" that are drowned in sound and keep things short and sweet, the longest peaking at 2:09. Though not necessarily the most ambient of tracks, "Saved By Old Times" features vocals from fellow Atlantan, Cole Alexander of Black Lips, and modulated samples from old movies.
Markedly positive, Microcastle is the effort of a band that has matured musically, lyrically and individually. And such changes have allowed for growth that should find Deerhunter on everyone's lips, not for their behavior, but for their music. Hopefully though, they haven't changed the decibel levels at their shows and you'll still be able to feel the bone-rattling bass.
A dark man - in shape and texture, not color - once fell in love with a woman from other side of the world. She grew up in the pine forests of Southern Oregon, amidst nothing but the sound of the sky, the wind in the trees, and the warm lights of an imagined city, so remote.
The dark man could feel himself wrapped up in the quilt of their new home together . She had moved for him, to the North, and his great manor on the green coast. Together they ate shellfish and tasted the warm winds of tropical vacations from the pages of travel fiction. Staring into the sea at sunset, their saw their futures, floating just above their physical bodies.
Their cool, perfect marriage split off from the wet coast when he decided to follow his deployment to Denver Colorado.
Such a dry and airless place, she exclaimed, but nonetheless came along. They drove across America and lived in condo in the brand new downtown. They stayed together until the fleshy sensation of mountain drugs took the dark man too far into his own mind. He wondered into the forest and never returned. The amphetamine buzzards picked both sets of bones dry, where they lay, atop the highest mountains of Cyprus. Those parched peaks shriek jealously at the green opacity of the watery States.
Look at that! It's cover art...that moves! Animal Collective, you never cease to amaze me. Merriweather Post Pavilion comes out on January 20th via Domino Records, and they've found a way to keep me occupied until then with this trippy ass optical illusion.
Matt Wolf's Wild Combination, the highly acclaimed biopic on Arthur Russell, is a moving look at one of music's most creative personalities. Enigmatic to the fullest capacity, Arthur approached pop music from an avant-garde background, trying simultaneously to reach the masses and retain his independence from outside opinion. The latter proved to be the mightier of forces, with Arthur receiving extraordinary little media or widespread notoriety during his lifetime, especially with his solo efforts.
Around the start of the 1980's, Russell began participating in early disco groups that helped foster the movement's growing appreciation for unconventional compositions. Perhaps the most famous of these being "Is It All Over My Face?" which he recorded under the pseudonym Loose Joints. Equally as crucial were "Go Bang," as Dinosaur L and "Wax The Van," this time filled under Lola. All of these tracks represent an acute sense of what makes people dance, yet they also mix in unconventional elements such as ambient vocals and cello parts. It was these unorthodox undertones that dominated Arthur's recording sessions, many of which were done in isolation in his New York City apartment which he shared with his partner, Tom Lee, until his untimely death from AIDS in 1992. Lee is one of the main reasons for Arthur's recent resurgence. As Wild Combination sheds light on, Arthur was a terrifically difficult person to deal with in any sort of business or musical way and it took an intermediary like Tom to help present the music to ears that would be willing to spread the material. Such was the case when the owner of Audika Records contacted Tom sometime soon after Arthur passed away, and Tom gave access to the myriad tracks, outtakes and rarities that had been meticulously tinkered with right in his very apartment.
Perhaps the film's most intriguing undercurrent was how intensely connected Arthur was with his music and his knowledge of the power that it held, both as a performer and listener. One interviewee made the claim that "music has a healing power," which is manifested through the determination and idiosyncratic approach Arthur took when writing music. Salient also was how impacted people who had interacted with him were, and indeed still are. Arthur was the type to make an impression that lasted long after his introduction. Tom was initially drawn in after merely seeing Arthur talking on a phone on the sidewalk. His parents, an adorable elderly couple from Iowa, demonstrated that although their son was different in most ways from them, he was still too important to them for communication to be completely severed after he ran away from his home in high school, and his death still wears deeply on them.
Touching indeed, Wild Combination is probably the best movie I can recall seeing within the past few years, if not already one of my favorite selections. And, as a documentary, I think that speaks volumes. Like most geniuses, Arthur was taken prematurely and never garnered the respect he deserved. However, thanks to numerous cd releases within the past few years - including Love Is Overtaking Me, which comes out next week - and Wolf's movie, Arthur is finally seeing the respect he deserves, both as an artist and a luminary. That his music still sounds incredibly futuristic fifteen years past its inception gives major credibility to the exclusive talent that only comes one in a lifetime.
Masters and Johnson are Neil (vocals + guitar), Nick (drums, also in SEAHOUSE), and Spencer (bass, also Generifus). These young dudes look like they grew up in a Ballard tavern circa 1978. They sound like a grungy, fuzzy, northwest take on experimental post-punk. The band was less poppy than the last time I saw them. With any luck, there will be a grand west coast tour soon.
Holy Mountain is a seedy art space in the tradition of the SS Marie Antoinette, a well-loved Lake Union venue that closed after the summer of 2007. It's dark, it's damp, and sometimes people smoke inside. I saw Japanther there last winter/spring. DIY-phobes need not attend.
From Special Correspondent Ben F. On Friday, October 3rd, I left my ridiculously boring drivers ed. class at 6PM. I walked across 52nd ave in the U-District, into my friend's van, drove half a block, picked up my other friend, and left for Anacortes. The traffic was dismal, and all we have in our van is a tape player. Luckily, I brought with me some sweet tapes; Fugazi, Seahouse/The Last Slice of Butter, and a mix with Pinback, Hella, Portrait and Orchid. That got us through the hour and a half drive up to Washington's prettiest ugly place. We arrived at the Department of Safety around 8:20, fifty minutes after the scheduled beginning of the show. It cost $ but I only had seven, so I was let in by the cheery people who worked there, telling me not to worry. My friends and I walked past the art galleries (which I will describe later) and into the showroom, where we immediately noticed the couches and cushions everywhere. There were teenagers, adults and even a very small girl who knew some Karl Blau lyrics (good parenting). Though it was cold out, I felt pretty comfortable at the D.O.S. Around 8:45, Karl Blau began his set. His intention was to play through his entire new album, Nature's Got A Way. Although he succeeded, it wasn't easy. Two of his friends were playing with him, a pianist, who had never played any of the songs before, and performed quite well for his lack of experience, and a "drummer" who had a floor tom and a snare covered in blankets. Karl Blau's heartfelt, rootsy folk music warmed everyone up for an excellent show. I thought that his set was a little too long, but nevertheless it was excellent. A highlight was watching that same little girl singing along to several of his songs. Next up was Ponytail, a band who I was most excited for. Ponytail had travelled from Baltimore and comes from the same citywide scene as Dan Deacon, Adventure, Future Islands and Beach House. As I had expected their set was excellent. They played one song with acoustic guitars, which must have been incredibly challenging due to the fast and technical nature of their songs. Once they picked up their electric guitars, I was almost too pumped to breathe. Just kidding, but I was super excited. They opened their set with my favorite, a song called "Beg Waves" that incorporates guitar loops, crazy shredding and animalistic noises from the groups vocalist, Molly Siegel. She squeals and screams and makes a ton of noise, and man it could not sound any better. In a way, they remind me of 1977 Television with the crazy guitar riffs and erratic but steady drums. Their set was near perfection; by the end, everyone was up dancing, including my usually stationary friends. At the end of the set, we walked out to the van, dumbfounded. My friend Jake pulled out his giant water, took a swig, and breathes heavily. "I judge the awesomeness of shows by the closer I come to death." He is very asthmatic. That just tells you how amazingly intense Ponytail's set was. Next up was Brooklyn's High Places, a electronic duo, who's signature sound included a lot of drums and percussion. The duo, a short woman in a ponytail and a tall man in short cutoffs and tie dye, set up on the floor, and played to the tired crowd. While they were excellent, they couldn't follow Ponytail, in energy or in musical prowess. I began to fall asleep, and the show was over. They sounded like a super cute Black Dice, but with less harsh noise and more tropical vibes. I took sometime after the show to talk to Ponytail, suggesting all-ages and DIY locations for them to play next time they came to Seattle. They turned out to be really nice, awesome and nerdy folks. We got in the car, drove off, stopping only twice. Once to try and steal a giant McCain/Palin sign off of a local fence, failing, and a second time at 12:30 am at a rest stop, to get coffee and cookies from a Lutheran man and his wife. We felt horrible that we had no money to donate. I got home and crashed, thinking about one of the best shows I'd ever been too.
I spent the weekend in San Fransisco and I listened to this band quite a bit, on their myspace page, right before I got on my outbound plane. I know nobody who has seen them live and I only found out about them by looking through the top friends of an SF DJ/Blogger named Cobain In A Coma. I think their sound is equally agro/gay/surf. Girls are a bit more commercial-sounding than a bands like, say Abe Vigoda or Ariel Pink, and bit more rad sounding than a band like say, the Fray.
SF, formerly Seattle-based, electronic jammer/slasher REFLEX makes a video that seems to embody the fastest, youngest, West coast life. The sun may be setting, but there's still time to make it big and throw down with style. Props dude.
I saw this trailer a few days ago and it gave me that shiver that really insightful art provides. It exists at the sublime juncture between life, video, and advertising. It makes the president out to be the profoundly Quixotic, troubled, absurdly powerful icon of a new gilded age, imbued with the darkest sense of comedy.
The movie looks heavy handed. But so was/is the whole era. I just hope it's emotionally and politically cathartic enough to be worth seeing in theaters. I wonder who chose the Talking Heads? As Stranger music editor Eric Grandy pointed out, it fits perfectly.
Sometimes the singer/songwriter dudes who add me on Myspace look so creepy I actually click to their profiles. This never yields any good music, but it does make me wonder what Bill Wren, and others like him, might be doing on Myspace, promoting their youthful, bloghouse-oriented music projects. To answer this question, one might read his helpful biography:
The Songs of the Wren Every bird watcher is familiar with the wren- a songbird that's disseminated extensively over the Northern Hemisphere. The wren is known for the splendid timbre it emits, ascending and plunging in a tuneful array. However, there exists a special type of melodic 'wren' that has migrated from Texas to Michigan- and back again! His name is Bill Wren and he composes exquisite melodies that flow in unbounded fashion from his heart to an ever-growing number of fans. Bill is an award-winning songwriter and musician who enjoys watching others take pleasure in his compositions. This is the story of the flight of one rare Texas songbird- Bill Wren
A Hatchling in Corpus Christi Bill Wren was born at the US Naval base in Corpus Christi, Texas in 1951. By the time he could walk he was already focused on music. Bill says, “My grandparents took me to a college football game. They took me to see the marching band up close and I was deeply moved… it was then that the spirit of muse entered me.” With his father in the Navy, Bill's family moved often, spending time in California, and settling for a while in Ypsilanti, Michigan. Bill spent his formative years in Ypsilanti, and it would be there that the muses would take a permanent hold on his life as a young, musical “hatchling.”
The part of that whole disaster that is most disturbing for me: "Bill is an award-winning songwriter and musician who enjoys watching others take pleasure in his compositions." Imagine a 57 year old guy (no longer a musical hatchling) writing that setence, about himself, on his myspace. I guess what I'm getting at is:
old guy + acoustic guitar noodeling + myspace + hair jell = sexually sketch
