Archive for 2010

Alphabeat @ Santos Party House 3/23/2010

The Spell / Always Up With You / DJ / The Beat Is / Boyfriend / Heatwave / Hole In My Heart / Fascination

For a headlining gig, this set was way too short, and they skipped most of their best songs. (“What Is Happening?,” “Fantastic 6,” “Chess,” etc.) After a few years of waiting for Alphabeat to play NYC, these factors made it a disappointing show for me. That said, I can’t fault their actual performance, which was tight, high energy, and exciting. They’re wonderful hams, and they riled up an already-excitable crowd. They may not be playing all of their best material, but they are giving it their all, and I appreciated that. Also, I probably don’t need to say something so obvious, but “Fascination” is quite a thrill in concert.

Alphabeat “Heatwave”

Of all the late ’80s/early ’90s pastiches on the second Alphabeat record, “Heatwave” is the most successful, and the one I reckon would’ve been the biggest hit in that time period. It’s certainly the song that best flatters Stine Bramsen’s diva act, mainly because its assertive, high-energy arrangement matches the impact of her vocal performance. It’s the kind of song where the hooks just seem to explode over and over again rapidly, like the grand finale of a fireworks display. The lyrics suit the mood, describing the overwhelming feeling of being around someone you like so much that it makes every moment seem unreal and too good to be true. Alphabeat excel at creating this feeling of impossible excitement and romance, and this is one of their finest tracks to date.

Buy it as an expensive import from Amazon.

Casiokids “Grønt Lys I Alle Ledd”

In case you ever wondered, I don’t especially enjoy writing about songs that are not sung in English, mainly because I feel like I end up sounding like an idiot no matter what I say. The thing is, though — even if Casiokids were singing in English, I doubt whatever they are saying would really stand out or change the feeling of the song. This is so much about beat, groove, and atmosphere that the only vocal part that actually demands your attention goes “ya ya ya ya ya,” which is meaningless in any language. The keyboard parts carry the hooks, this guy is just there to softly murmur something that sounds melancholy but sweet. The feeling is the only thing that really needs to be understood.

Buy it from Amazon.

Joanna Newsom “Soft As Chalk”

1. If you’ve been scared off by Joanna Newsom in the past, “Soft As Chalk” is a good entry point. It’s relatively brief, and stylistically closer to pop music, or at least ’70s singer-songwriter music along the lines of Laura Nyro, Joni Mitchell, Carole King, and Judee Sill. Newsom has altered her phrasing somewhat, leaving behind a lot of the affectations that tend to aggravate a lot of listeners. She’s still extremely expressive and distinct, but there’s more “soul” in her voice now. “Soft As Chalk” rolls R&B, gospel and country saloon music in with elements of folk and classical composition. It sounds instantly familiar, but like no one thing in particular.

2. Actually, from the shape and style of the piece down to specific lyrics, it strikes me as something Matthew and Eleanor Friedberger would or could write, but a touch more sophisticated, and performed with far greater elegance than they could muster.

3. I am impressed by how full and tonally varied this recording is given that it’s just piano, percussion, and vocals, with no apparent overdubs. It never seems so simple or bare. Neal Morgan’s percussion puts weight and direction behind Newsom’s winding melodies, and at some points complements her words with illustrative sound: She sings the word “crickets,” and suddenly we hear them in shaking metal. She sings about restlessness, and it sounds like a house rattling in a wind storm.

4. Newsom is brilliant with language and stunningly precise in her selection of words and construction of verses. Her lyrics can seem overly dense, but much like her musical compositions, they reveal their charms upon repeated listening and close attention. Sometimes you only need one line to key you in, and with this song, it comes near the end: “Give love a little shove and it becomes terror.” That’s the gist of it, really — feeling vexed by the way love can be overshadowed by the turmoil it leaves in its wake.

Buy it from Amazon.

Twin Sister “All Around And Away We Go”

“All Around And Away We Go” may be thick with atmosphere, but everything else about it is light, almost entirely weightless. The piece is anchored by a sequences of bass grooves that have a slick, gestural quality that reminds me of fashion illustration — elegant simple lines with subtle, fluid variation of thickness. The rest of the song seems to flow out of or through that part. Clicking guitar, woozy synthesizer drones, breathy vocals, flourishes that are like sparkles in soft focus. It’s a gorgeous, incredibly sexy sound; very carefully arranged but seemingly effortless.

Click here for more music from the Twin Sister website.

Prins Thomas “Ørkenvandring”

To a large extent, this is a straight-up Neu! pastiche, but with a slightly more raw and “organic” tone. That’s sorta selling it short though, as this is an exceptional take on the motorik aesthetic. You get that wonderful infinite-horizon feeling, but also the sensation that the keyboard and guitar parts are spiraling outward in all directions. Compared to other songs in this vein, the endlessness seems to be all around you, as opposed to just right in front of you.

Buy it from Amazon.

Free Energy “Free Energy”

Free Energy are all about the type of rock and roll that sounds like a promise of a better life to come. Fun is around the corner! Freedom is imminent! Optimistic anticipation, wrapped up in sweet hooks and driving grooves. “Free Energy,” the song, works well as a statement of purpose. It sounds like the world coming alive with excitement and meaning, if just because you will it to be that way. It’s a song about escape, but as much as these guys talk about the big city, this is more about getting away from feeling trapped by circumstance and hesitation, and saying “Hey, it’s our time. Let’s go!” There’s always a welcome place in the world for rock tunes like this.

Buy it from Amazon.

Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti “Round and Round”

I’m constantly writing about songs about anxiety. I’m not actually a very nervous person! I know people who deal with some serious problems, full-on anxiety attacks. Luckily, I’m not one of them. I’m mostly just responding to the good music that comes my way, and a lot of it deals with these emotions for reasons that are fairly obvious and perhaps a little mysterious too. “Round and Round,” a fairly polished song from the typically lo-fi Ariel Pink, cycles through a series of grooves and is essentially a meditation on living with anxiety. It never sounds especially tortured, though. If anything, it seems medicated — mellow, spaced-out, dimly aware of its own dread but trying to “hold on” and keep it together. There’s more beauty in this song than ugliness, and more pleasure than pain. Nevertheless, there’s a resignation to it, this feeling of “Oh, this is how my life is, so I have to just learn how to deal with it.” It’s a mixed-up mess of barely-defined emotions, but it’s very potent and evocative.

Buy it from Amazon.

White Hinterland “Bow & Arrow”

The new White Hinterland album is a creative departure for Casey Dienel, whose music had previously been focused on jazzy piano chords and fairly obscure lyrics. The piano is almost entirely missing now, replaced by synthesizers and a variety of percussion, and her words have taken a refreshing turn toward direct, economical language. She’s opened up emotionally, and her high voice has more room to emote in arrangements without as much treble and far more negative space. “Bow & Arrow” is one of the most successful of the new songs, and one of her best arrangements to date. As the music shifts between clattering nervousness and a forthright yet placid groove, Dienel sings from the perspective of a woman trying to navigate a difficult patch with her partner. It’s a very mature and sensitive song, avoiding hysteria and owning up to her own complications without seeming weak.

Buy it from Amazon.

Caribou “Odessa”

Dan Snaith’s style shifts considerably from album to album, but somehow he manages to have a consistent, identifiable core aesthetic. However, it’s not easy to explain what that aesthetic is — it’s something intuitive about his tones and song structures, and the way he balances an icy exterior with a subtle warmth. Andorra, his previous album as Caribou, was mostly spaced-out harmonic psychedelia, but this time around he has gone deep into an apparent Arthur Russell fixation. It’s in his voice, which has taken on a similar soft, sensitive affectation (you may also hear a bit of Erlend Øye in there), but more importantly, it’s in the music, which has absorbed the atmosphere and grooves of Russell’s disco work. It’s not a total clone of Russell’s music. Snaith’s compositions include a lot of modern and classic house influences along with elements of freestyle, ambient music, and psychedelia, but there’s a similar sense that the songs are musical microclimates cut off from their surroundings. “Odessa” layers its rhythms and textures into a careful lattice of sound, rich in detail but abundant with negative space. It feels like a very specific space — either a particular time and place, or state of mind. I get a bit of déjà vu just listening to it.

Pre-order it from Amazon.

Liars “Scarecrows On A Killer Slant”

There are a lot of guitar parts on Liars’ Sisterworld that are genuinely frightening and startling. The band have not reinvented the wheel — their parts lift from horror soundtracks, hardcore punk, art rock — but they’ve mastered the textures and dynamics, resulting in amazingly vivid and visceral music. “Scarecrows On A Killer Slant,” the album’s centerpiece, is bleak and extremely violent. It sounds like you’re being chased down by maniacs, adrenaline pumping in fight-or-flight survivalist mode. Or it could be that you’re the predator stalking the prey. In the middle of the track, the violent fantasy kicks in: We should punish the creeps! Drag them out in the street and kill them! Retribution! When the chorus kicks in again, it’s even more deranged, and it’s hard to tell the difference between random violence and street justice. It’s just this bloodthirsty cycle of power and aggression. The song seems to burn itself out, collapsing into a wreck of smoking rubble at the end. The rage dies down, but doesn’t go away.

Buy it from Amazon. Here is my feature-length interview with Liars on Pitchfork.

Gonjasufi “Duet”

I’m not going to front, okay? When I first heard about Gonjasufi, I was being told the name out loud and my immediate thought was “Oh, that is ridiculous and definitely not for me, as I am not some ridiculous stoner.” But you know what? I really like a lot of stoned music, and in actually listening to the album, I was a sucker for its slo-mo grooves and dubby atmosphere. Gonjasufi’s voice has a cool, bitter soulfulness. Rather than disappear into head-nodding oblivion, he always comes across as sharp and lucid, and just a bit aggrieved. “Duet” floats over its percussion, but as much as it feels comfy and relaxed, there’s no getting around the tension and frustration at the core of it, and in his voice. It’s like trying to patiently out-wait aggravation.

Buy it from Amazon.

Ted Leo and the Pharmacists @ Knitting Factory 3/9/2010

The Mighty Sparrow (with the director of the song’s video on vocals) / Mourning In America / Ativan Eyes / Even Heroes Have To Die / The Stick / Bottled In Cork / Woke Up Near Chelsea / One Polaroid A Day / Where Was My Brain? / Bartolomeo And The Buzzing Of Bees / Tuberculoids Arrive In Hop / Gimme The Wire / Last Days

The karaoke portion of the night included most of the songs listed here, plus a number of TL/RX tunes like “Ballad of the Sin Eater,” “Me and Mia,” “Where Have All The Rude Boys Gone?,” “A Bottle Of Buckie”, “Shake The Sheets”, “Timorous Me”, and “Counting Down The Hours”. I got to do Fugazi’s “Merchandise” with Brendan Canty from Fugazi sitting in on drums, which was, as you can probably imagine, both totally crazy and extremely awesome. I hope I did okay! This entire show was a thrill. Ted and his band are as talented as they are friendly, charming, and entertaining. Which is saying a lot.

Ted Leo and the Pharmacists “Bottled In Cork”

It’s rare that a song so inviting comes in such a strange shape. “Bottled In Cork” is like a Ted Leo greatest hits album boiled down to one perfect three minute tune, switching up between a series of immediately ingratiating hooks before settling on a perfect chorus in rounds at the end. It’s basically a travelogue in the tradition of “Ballad of the Sin Eater,” with its hero zipping around the globe and accruing experience and wisdom, all to end up with that delirious, out-of-nowhere digression: “I tell the bartender, ‘I think I’m falling in love.'” I really like how that conclusion is not at all foreshadowed by the rest of the lyrics — it opens with the line “there was a resolution pending on the United Nations,” for crying out loud! — but it is hinted in the brightness and swing of the music. The final rounds are gorgeous, floating up and out over chimes as the song fades out, and maybe the character blacks out. It’s so appropriate that this song ends so elliptically. It’s not as if the story is actually over, you know?

Buy it from Amazon.

Gorillaz featuring Lou Reed “Some Kind of Nature”

Plastic Beach is an album about junk, but it somehow avoids being shrill, judgmental, or dogmatic. It’s mostly colorful and groovy, with an undercurrent of melancholy and dissatisfaction cutting through the bounce of the beats. “Some Kind of Nature” contrasts the old crank voice of Lou Reed with an especially perky track, but here’s the great part: Reed comes across like a slightly weird guy making sense of a world overflowing with garbage and spiritual bullshit, drawing connections between things and finding the joy in absurdity, while Damon Albarn is the one sounding sad-eyed and world-weary. Reed isn’t exactly playing against type, but it’s a brilliant aspect of his style and persona for this context. It’s halfway between a “fuck it” shrug and a kook imparting incoherent wisdom.

Buy it from Amazon.

My (10.0!) review of Quarantine the Past, the new Pavement retrospective compilation, is up on Pitchfork today. As a supplement to that piece, I’m re-running one of my favorite posts from my R.E.M. catalog review site in which I wrote about Pavement writing about R.E.M.. For yet more Pavement, here is my in-depth interview with Stephen Malkmus from last year, and here is a tumblr I’ve put together tracking the band’s activities on their current reunion tour.

Pavement “Unseen Power of the Picket Fence”

Before I ever owned a copy of Reckoning, I was obsessed with a song called “The Unseen Power of the Picket Fence” from the No Alternative compilation. It was the very first song that I ever heard by Pavement, who would eventually become my all-time favorite band, and it just happened to be a tribute to R.E.M. in general and Reckoning in specific. On a very basic level, it’s a song about the magic of discovering music without knowing all that much about it, and the way enthusiastic, imaginative fans can rush to fill in their own history and meaning to art when they are not weighed down by the baggage of a shared culture.

In 1984, R.E.M. was a mystery for Stephen Malkmus to solve, just as his band would become a puzzle for me in 1994, and I’m certain that both bands benefited enormously from withholding information the public, and forcing the listener to develop their own context based on what they could glean from the records and whatever made it into the mainstream press. As usual, imagination allows for greater drama and insight: “Unseen Power” starts off with Malkmus identifying with the band’s southern roots despite having spent his own formative years in California, and ends with him imagining R.E.M. as stoic defenders of Georgia who confront General William Tecumseh Sherman at the end of his devastating March to the Sea. It’s all rather colorful and strange, but in an intuitive way, it summarizes the band’s appeal in the early ’80s than most anything else I’ve ever encountered.

In the second verse, Malkmus provides a quick recap of R.E.M.’s discography as of 1984, with a decided focus on Reckoning and its tracklisting. Though I knew “So. Central Rain” and “(Don’t Go Back To) Rockville” at the time because I had a dubbed copy of Eponymous, some of the titles were warped by my adolescent ears, i.e., for some reason Reckoning came across as “Black Honey.” Through the verse, Malkmus seems awed by the songs, and so when I finally heard “Camera,” “Harborcoat” and “Pretty Persuasion” for myself, I was acutely aware of their legendary status, at least in the mind of the guy from Pavement. However, he made one thing very clear in that verse: “Time After Time” was his least favorite song. “TIME AFTER TIME” WAS HIS LEAST FAVORITE SONG!!!

R.E.M. “Time After Time (Annelise)”

“Time After Time” is not my least favorite song on Reckoning. Not even close, actually. Bill Berry and Peter Buck shine on the album version, with the former filling out the space between the latter’s loose, trebly notes with a variety of light percussive textures. The song gradually builds up to a rather majestic peak, but even still, the tone remains decidely mellow and understated. This is in part due to Michael Stipe’s cool, reserved vocal performance, and an airy arrangement that seems to evaporate into the atmosphere just when it rises into the sky. In a way, it’s the song on Reckoning that comes closest to what Malkmus achieved on his records with Pavement — it presents an extraordinary and specific sensation in a disconcertingly casual sort of way. In other words: “Time After Time” is slanted and enchanted.

Buy Quarantine the Past and Reckoning from Amazon.

Society of Rockets “We”

The Society of Rockets build their futuristic psychedelic pop songs out of the scraps of previous artistic visions of tomorrow. The sound is comforting and familiar, but there’s also a vague sense of disappointment in the subtext: Our utopian concepts never work out. Nevertheless, the dream of progress does come true, at least in ways compromised by reality, so optimism is justified. “We” charges headlong towards some endless horizon, buzzing with excitement and courage. The band lifts its sound from Stereolab and Neu!, the vocal harmonies owe more to the Beach Boys. The song is simultaneously ominous and sweet, a tribute to every future we can imagine but could never exist.

Buy it from Amazon.

Spiritualized “Come Together”

Is there anyone else who can self-flagellate with as much elegance, wit, and grandiosity as Jason Pierce? “Come Together” is a masterpiece of over-the-top self-loathing, a thunderous mass of shrieking guitars, blaring fanfare, and gospel bombast all at the service of a scathing lyric sung by Pierce in the first person, tearing himself apart for being a junkie. As always, Pierce’s vocals are a shell-shocked deadpan, but he can barely hold back his self-directed venom when he spits out lines like “Little J’s a fucking mess, but when he’s offered, he just says yes.” On other tracks from Ladies and Gentlemen, We Are Floating In Space, the waves of sound are comforting and numbing, but in this, it pounds down on you, like he’s trying to beat some sense into himself. It’s futile, though — as the song tapers off and bleeds into the woozy opening section of “I Think I’m In Love,” it’s like slipping back into a stupor.

Buy it from Amazon.

Spoon “The Mystery Zone”

What is a mystery zone?

1. It’s a liminal state. Neither here nor there, but on the threshold of something new. Everything is uncertain, opportunities abound. It’s exciting and terrifying.

2. It’s the period of time before you really get to know someone, but you’re aware of each other’s existence. You had no idea you’d be significant to one another. It’s back when all there was to it was attraction, curiosity, and possibility.

3. It’s everything that goes on in everyone else’s life when you’re not around, or when you’re lost in your own head.

4. It’s an alternate universe version of your life in which you made totally different choices.

5. It is the realm of the “information troll”.

6. It’s the moment before physical impact. What will it feel like?

7. It’s before you kiss someone, before you have sex with them. It’s all of the things you can’t know about a person just by talking to them, and everything you can glean by touching them.

8. It’s anywhere except for where you are or where you have been.

9. It’s the love you’ve never received, and the love you’ve never given.

10. It is whatever happens next.

Buy it from Amazon. Here’s my review of Transference on Pitchfork.

Wild Beasts @ Music Hall of Williamsburg 2/28/2010

The Fun Powder Plot / We Still Got The Taste Dancing On Our Tongues / Vigil For A Fuddy Duddy / This Is Our Lot / Two Dancers I / His Grinning Skull / Two Dancers II / Please Sir / Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyants / All The King’s Men / Hooting & Howling // The Devil’s Crayon / The Empty Nest / Cheerio Chaps, Cheerio Goodbye

Everything I wrote about Wild Beasts in concert a few months ago still stands. If anything, they’ve only gotten better and more confident with American audiences. Let’s talk about a song, shall we?

Wild Beasts “This Is Our Lot”

There’s a lot of violence and romance in the music of Wild Beasts. Sometimes the violence is very literal, as in the brutal gang rape described in “Two Dancers I” or the loutish behavior of the thugs in “Hooting & Howling,” and sometimes it’s more subtle or metaphorical, hidden in the peculiarities of social ritual or a character’s callous entitlement. Even when the band sing from the perspective of aggressive men, there’s an odd passivity in their language, as if their bold, selfish actions are something thrust upon them due to their relative status or physical power. Two Dancers in some ways seems like an album-length argument that humanity is doomed to both perpetrate and suffer violent action because we’re always living out some narrative based on our status relative to other people. We’re always stronger than someone else, and weaker than someone else. We push on other people as much as they pull on us. It’s all a vicious cycle, and sometimes it gets very grotesque.

“This Is Our Lot” is one of their more romantic songs, but it’s got a very potent sense of dread. The setting seems to be formal ball, the mood is celebratory but anxious. Sexual tension is everywhere in the room, but it’s all hemmed in by custom and ritual, making the character frustrated and agitated. The song builds to a climax in which he exclaims “I couldn’t be more ready!”, as if he’s about to burst. It stands out on the album as a moment in which aggressive desire is trampled by culture, and a character suffers for not being transgressive in his behavior.

Buy it from Amazon.

Quadron “Buster Keaton”

They used to call this sort of thing “sophisti-pop”, right? Immaculate, subtly synthetic versions of classic soul, with a bit of ironic distance contrasted with polite earnestness. “Buster Keaton” is a hard song to pin down — from moment to moment, the band is referring to totally different eras of R&B and pop, and though the basic structure and melody of the piece scans normally, it has an oddly vertiginous quality. I’m especially fond of the way the vocals and the horns in the chorus seem to swing like pendulums just out of synch with each other, though I could maybe do without the spoke “girl…” bit, though it is fairly cute.

Pre-order it from Amazon.

Mark Richardson is the managing editor of Pitchfork, and in my opinion, one of the site’s best writers. He’s consistently fair and thoughtful, and has a gift for writing about complex, arty works in layman’s terms, both humble and erudite. In other words, he’s the polar opposite of the worst stereotype of a “Pitchfork writer.” Mark’s first book, a volume about the Flaming Lips’ 1997 album Zaireeka for the 33 1/3 series, was just recently released. It’s one of my favorite books in the series, in part because it gets to the heart of what makes the Flaming Lips such a special and inspiring band, but also in that Mark goes on some very thought-provoking tangents about the way we engage with recorded sound as technology advances and how we are conditioned to listen closely to music alone. We get into some of that in this interview, but rest assured that this conversation only scratches the surface of what’s in the book.

(more…)

Serena-Maneesh “I Just Want To See Your Face”

“I Just Want To See Your Face” is basically a brief, catchy indie pop song, but its production and arrangement lend the piece an exaggerated depth of field implying that clusters of sound in the recording exist on overlapping physical planes. In some moments, you get the sensation of elements rushing suddenly into the audio equivalent of your field of vision, and in others, a sense of distance from musical elements that relate to and complete each other. The most dramatic overlaps remind me of how when you’d manually record television to VHS tapes, two different recordings would bump into each other, resulting in a fascinating and unique audio/visual glitch. The general effect of the recording makes the sentiment of the lyrics that much sweeter — it’s like trying to recreate a memory of someone, but not quite having your emotional impressions and visual recollection line up exactly.

Pre-order it from Amazon.