A Weather: Everyday Balloons

Jeff Laughlin, March 11, 2010 in Music Reviews. 0 Comments Tags: , .

The telling trait was me talking to myself after my third listen to this album.  I was walking to work and said, “Fuck my balls. I like this album. Fuck.” It’s New York City. Millions of people and no one to talk to most of the time. You see, there are albums that, upon first and continuous listens, should have flaws. Even someone into new folk records as much as me knows that, on paper, a band like A Weather should annoy the shit out of me.  Male-female lead singers, little or no musical tension, and sprinkled-in lines like the one at the beginning of opener “Third of Life”:  “And the small birds make cute shadows on the white pond and the brick wall and the woodshed.”  I normally hate bird imagery and cute singing. Normally.

But Everyday Balloons is not normal.  It’s dark and twisted at times. It’s cute and disarming at times. It’s beautiful and wispy at times. It’s harsh and painfully honest at times. And it is painstakingly good most of the time.  Sure, there’s off-putting moments like nonsense-nature-talk or relationship-rock, but it all moves toward a better end. By the end of “Third of Life,” it is clear that wincing moments like the aforementioned bird line are few.

Still, A Weather takes a minute to get going. I’m not hooked, even at the end of the reviewing process, until the Aaron Gerber and Sarah Winchester come together to sing “All that I need is/ to steadily breathe in/ and let it out slowly” as the chorus of the second song. “Winded”  is a straightforward chamber-folk number and it leads nicely into the delicate “Ducks.”

None of the songs, separately, are impressive at first, “Ducks” being no exception.  This may not make any sense, but connections aren’t formed through the sound of one song.  I was never, at any point, jolted (with one exception) into being a fan of Everyday Balloons.  Instead, I was impressed at the ability to string together quality songs until my epiphany on 12th street.

That epiphany came after listening to “Seven Blankets” followed by the one exception I referred to (”Midday Moon”).  “Seven Blankets’ is a slow-moving song, but one that gathers speed like the storm it references.  There is an ice storm, two people with a past and the explanation of change.  All of it is so delicate, that the inclusion of a second guitar late in the song threatens the fragility of the story.  The storm itself arriving rattles the listener more than the storyteller, however.  Preparations were made: “We have enough food saved up for weeks.” “Just before the pipes froze/ I ran the faucet/ and filled up the tub.”  The passing of the storm is just as easy as the arrival, preparing the listener for the jarring, “Midday Moon.”  A song about a nosebleed and a seemingly failed relationship, it begins “You once were a dish sponge/ now you clean tile/ in the bathroom/ where sponges go to die.” This is, without a doubt, one of the most original metaphors ever, right? The second verse defines her problem: “You can hit me again in the nose.” She even jokes before singing, “It’s not funny/ in the end/ but it helps to laugh/ until then.” I can’t stop quoting this damn song (song of the year thus far?). “A Broom sweeping up it’s own bristles… I’m so much stronger than anyone knew.” The only song that goes solo, it is only Winchester and a piano.  And it is the most dynamic on the album.

The second half of the album features more of the same. And it is all solid.  “No Big Hope” builds into disaffected clarity with heavenly verse: “God has his hands in every stand of trees that offers shame/ You couldn’t love me with the buzzing that drove peace away.” It leads into the devastating chorus: “It will. Someday it will. God willing, it will.”  The song hinges on this line and delivers.  Upbeat, “Fond” is a reminder that love is terrible, even when wrapped in pretty packaging.  “Giant Stairs,” the penultimate track and the single, has a dark melody and uses landscape and imagery to lead into a big ending line: “It’s not the fall should be afraid of/ it’s the quick stop.” The entire song is fear and dread, so the vagueness of their closing is merely a product of the whole.

And that is the mainstay anyway.  This is not an album that hinges on one song or line.  It’s a complete album that needs to have time set aside to evaluate it.  It’s not a traveling album. It’s not, as you can probably tell, a party album, background noise or a passing thought.  Everyday Balloons is a well-orchestrated letter from a former lover or a slow-developing and depressing movie.  It needs to be heard in silent contemplation.  Even as “Lay me Down” trudges toward seven minutes, it commands a full hush. “Why should we rely so much/ on new things to replace the old/ and strong light/ from the giant lamp/ that warmed us/ as we went to sleep?” Even in a passing image, A Weather reminds us that simple thoughts can feed into a greater relevance.  Much like their album, A Weather beckons without commanding attention.  Even when I resisted them, they had to be heard. Perhaps they said it best: “What should I keep and what’s worth letting go?” It’s the question none can answer so boldly as they have tried to.

First Listen: The Marsh Hens’ Filth Rattle EP

Jeff Laughlin, March 11, 2010 in Initial Response and Music Reviews. 0 Comments Tags: , , .

I love vinyl. So, immediately, these dudes get an A+ for giving me their 7″ for review.  They also get high marks for making a fantastic first impression.  Jangly, yet precise guitar riffs resonate over loud and fierce rhythm.  It may sound sloppy at first, but these songs are rockers through and through and they are as tight as it gets.  Passionately yelled vocals temper each track, and the overall aesthetic falls somewhere between the Dead Milkmen and Dead Kennedys.  Either way, this could prove to be a winner.  Al of this and it is under twenty minutes.

I’ll explain more after nine more listens, but until then, the EP is out and available for streaming here.  Expect a review really soon, since this is short and sweet.

The Besnard Lakes: The Besnard Lakes Are the Roaring Night

Jeff Laughlin, March 10, 2010 in Music Reviews. 0 Comments Tags: , .

The Besnard Lakes are getting a raw deal from this review.  How am I supposed to appreciate an album so sprawling in a scant couple of weeks?  I was up and down on each song, each layer, each voice.  One night, I was ready to quit listening to certain songs, other nights I was hitting repeat on my “least favorites.”  I feel like I need another week to really dig in. Then again, I don’t want to listen to it for at least a month.

Having said that, the album holds my attention.  And it is really well produced.  The noisy intro track “Like the Ocean Like the Innocent, Part One” leads delicately into part two of the same title.  And the vocals take over from there.  Jace Lasek’s high-pitched caterwauling is drawn-out and beautiful much like the song itself.  As he and Olga Goreas back-and-forth their way through the echoing choruses ” You’re like the ocean./ You’re like the innocent./ What’s in your empty eyes?” the repetition is heavy and slow.  But the listener does not slog through without a bridge to backing lyrics “Take it off/ Take this noose around my neck,/ take it off.” As the vocals drop out, a guitar solo leads to the finish of the two-part epic.

Then Lasek takes over again.  His falsetto rings over the first 2:30 of “Last Train to Chicago” with a simple, textural melody underneath him.  The song doesn’t exactly detonate, but it rollicks along to a nice finale– the initial melody working into their layers with minimal effort.  Goreas gets her chance to lead in “Albatross,” the albums most dynamic song (and the single to boot).  Her even-handed vocal style is a stark contrast to Lasek.  The band’s sense of melody is on full display here– horns and bursting bass lines create a sense of importance as Goreas delivers her aural simplicity: “And I scream for you/ There goes my man.”  She delivers the final line several times in a deadpan manner– no holding notes or changing things up, just an easygoing mantra-like precision as the instruments expand behind her.

The biggest strength of The Besnard Lakes, as seen above and in my favorite track “Glass Printer,” is the calmness in the face of big, garbled sounds– the vocalists are merely there to further the ethos.  There is no need to show off– even in falsetto-dominant songs– since the vocals are really just another instrument.  Regressing the point, however, are the monochromatic swells of spaghetti western guitars in “Land of the Living Skies Part 2: The Skies.”  The Besnard Lakes Are the Roaring Night hits an apex it cannot possibly contain in another epic two-parter.  There’s too much going on and not enough.  The beautiful keyboard overshadows the lyrics.  The guitars swell and fade.  Yet, nothing makes sense.  Honestly, I was amazed and horrified as the song forged ahead, vocals  overdubbed as the troops descend to their knees (lyrically) and the solos begin and it’s all happening.  The biggest strength concedes to the weakness of more.  And it continues in “And This is What We Call Progress.”  Everything is perfectly placed, but there’s no relenting to needed simplicity.  It’s all so epic that they lose their strengths in the din of expansion.  They sound like the American 1800s they inhabit in their songs.

The album winds down on the last two songs.  “Light Up the Night” and “The Lonely Moan” round out what feels like an excellent and dynamic album.  Somehow, though the songs seem like the welcomed end of a battle.  They are both wonderfully epic, like so much of Roaring Night.  They are so dreadfully epic like so much of Roaring Night.  I enjoy each and every song on this record so long as I am given a break after every three.  After being barraged for nearly 45 minutes, the ears and brain seek respite.  This record is brilliant and burning like a bonfire, but after awhile, I am tired of inhaling smoke and heat.  As much as I love the invention of fire, my ears crave the silencing of it’s crackle.  “The Lonely Moan” provides it, sure, but a touch too late.

Again, I feel apologetic.  This album is well-constructed, well-maintained and brilliant.  It’s just too much of a good thing. I’d recommend this record to anyone, but I’m happy to bury it for awhile. I’m sure its rediscovery will come with a fresher perspective and a clearer head. Until then, I hope the Besnard Lakes will accept my humble apologies.  They got shorted on this one.

National Skyline: Bliss and Death

Jeff Laughlin, March 10, 2010 in Music Reviews. 2 Comments Tags: , .

A lonely Saturday night is what it is.  A little over a week ago, I sat down with 18 Tecates and set sail for drunj.  Not drunk, drunj.  And upon my arrival, I found the need to hear Jeff Garber sing.  I’ve always enjoyed his voice– whether it was the warbling storyteller he was in Castor or the more high-pitched, staid version in National Skyline.  When I went to itunes to search for the Castor album I have never owned, I noticed that the the reviews mentioned a National Skyline song I have never heard.  Enter “Revenge.”

Two hours later, I was immersed in an album I never thought I’d be able to hear.  With their “permanent hiatus” status, I had stopped hoping for a new album or even new projects.  As the title track started the album, the piercing piano hearkened me back to albums past. Then, “Edge of the World” forced me forward.  Seems the break Garber took from this project changed his thinking about the band a bit.  Where the swells of looped pianos and groovier bass lines reigned, now they’ve been reigned in.  “Edge of the World” is a vocally-driven gem to begin with– the first three minutes being easy digestible and laid back– before turning toward layered excess.  The track builds toward a fiery finish, but Garber keeps the controls down.  Ultimately, the song is a subdued reminder of what layers can do without being overdone.

In fact, the entire record is an exercise in subdued top-heaviness.  “Revenge,” the single for an album no one seems to know exists, staggers at the start with a stilted beat. The melody follows shortly after and Garber’s vague lyrics croon a chorus of oohs and ahhs.  Once he actually crests (”You and I were born/ to be alone), the song builds to a crescendo that greatly overpowers his already powerful voice.  Soon after, the song wanes into radio static– a chorus of unimportant voices.  To think, all of this was washing over me 10 beers in.

Then, another change.  “Bloom” is a straight-ahead rocker in the exact vein of Failure. Nearly a carbon-copy.  I hate making comparisons.  It’s a lazy reviewing strategy that is all but disallowed here, but I had to go back and make sure this wasn’t a cover.  The song stays at crest for 7 minutes before letting up for “Glimmer,” my favorite track on the album.  “Glimmer” relies on a steady, even flow of acoustic guitar, keyboard swells and  Garber’s perfect sense of building vocals. The chorus dials in a beautiful melody on electric guitar into a swirling solo accompanying Garber belting at his loudest and most vulnerable part of the album.  Needless to say, I love it.

The faults of the album lie in the filler material between tracks.  Songs like “Golden Daggers,” “Solid Cold” and album-ender “I’m A Ghost II” are beautiful in-between songs in their own right.  I’d even say they were necessary if the album weren’t so short.  It’s as if Garber were trying to fill out an EP to be a full-length.  I’d accuse him of as much, but he’s released two EPs of material he didn’t use on the album. This is his vision– a myriad of instrumentals and simple lyrics intertwined with commercially viable electro-rock.  I’m totally fine with it.  Others may not be.

“Kingdom,” the last vocally-endowed track, is National Skyline at its best and most friendly. The acoustic guitar and keyboards return and Garber is at his echoing best.  The effects overshadow the simplicity of the track and thus it goes for Bliss and Death. As the electric guitar layers chime in, Garber carries his voice over everything.  “Without hope/ you can never feel good.”  Yeah, it sounds cheesy, but 12 or so beers in, it also sounds damned good.  Then, in the morning hungover.  Then on the train ride into town to meet up with friends.  The more I listened, the more I knew this record would be a staple in my collection.  It will join all the other National Skyline releases in that regard, at least.  Admittedly, I’m a fan.

Titus Andronicus: The Monitor

Kris, March 9, 2010 in Music Reviews. 0 Comments Tags: , .

When we received the press release and promo copy for the new Titus Andronicus record, The Monitor it featured a stream of the song “Four Score & Seven.” Going out of their way to point out that the song is 8:39 seconds long, the stream was split into two parts. Not totally shocking from a band who’s first record, The Airing Of Grievances featured a some shamblers that hung around the 6 minute mark. The tune is as nakedly grand as it’s title, with sections demarcated by what sound like drum rolls done on an actual Civil War snare drum. Patrick Stickles words and delivery are chanty, ragged and earnest (the mostly good kind). In other words, it’s what you may have been expecting form the second TA record. And with the emphasis on it’s length in the press release, I imagined it to be the grand statement of said record. Imagine my surprise, when downloading the whole thing to find out it’s only the third longest song on The Monitor. And it looked to have a Civil War theme.

Without even listening to another track I had the sinking feeling that I was going to find this sophomore effort “overambitious.” Which made me feel like a total dick.

There isn’t an opinion I find more worthless than the critic’s evaluation, not of an artist’s actual work, but their worthiness in undertaking its scope. If one wonders what exactly a critic is allowed to judge (especially in pop music), know at least that whether an artist’s ambition of meaning/message/style outpace their perceived artistic station aint one of em. Loathe was I to have that filthy O word pop into my head.

But that’s why they play the games, and that’s why we listen to stuff 10 times around here. After living in it for a couple weeks The Monitor plays like a statement not of ambition, which by definition looks to address the future and achieve a certain end, but of the immediate present. The record is a portrait of Stickles’ voice, and of his worldview. It’s full of chants, witticisms and yes, some 8, 9 and 13 minute songs. It’s not perfect but any moments of rote sloganeering are outnumbered by its moments of affecting and effective bottle raising and fistpumping.

And man, some of these refrains stick with you. Please assume all lyrical excerpts from here on out end in an exclamation point. “Four Score And Seven” has “You won’t be laughing so hard” and the tried and true “It’s still us against them.” Pair these up with the emphatic “The enemy is everywhere” from lead single “A More Perfect Union”** (there goes Pat addressing the American People again), “You will always be a loser” from “No Future Part III: Escape From No Future” and The Monitor is a drawing of battle lines between that ubiquitous societal enemy and the kids he’s singing to. The ones described in “A Pot In Which To Piss” as “never a virgin, you were fucked from the start.” In that light allusions to bygone political rhetoric seem quaintly fitting, not overstated or overblown. Them is us, and Us vs. Us is what a civil war is all about.

Washed in guitar swells, screeching horns, E-Streety keys, ripping drums and barroom chorus backup singers, this style of earnestly (mama, there goes that word again) pissing off a soapbox is a proven formula for dredging up old battles, but it’s one that Stickles and company employ with a junkyard dog authenticity. There are kids out there that need and will love this record, made now. And I liked it, so I guess I’m not a dick. The Monitor may not be your favorite record but there is little doubt in listening to and getting to know it, that it surely will be someone’s. And that’s a pretty decent ambition to have.

——
**I am writing this review without any specific reference to what appears to be Stickles slamming Boston for most of this track. He mentioned living here in Somerville last time I saw them. Go easy on us, dude, we’re cranky.

Ted Leo and The Pharmacists: Brutalist Bricks

Justin M., March 9, 2010 in Music Reviews. 0 Comments Tags: , .

After a forgettable first album to review on 10Listens, I was anxiously looking for something to cleanse my musical pallet.  Something consistent and enjoyable enough to make me forget the back-and-forth that dominated my last reviewing experience.  Ted Leo and The Pharmacist’s latest effort, their sixth full length album as a group, was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Some might say that Ted Leo’s sticking with the same general technique throughout his career represents an inability to evolve as a musical artist. He can very easily be written off as “always sounding the same” and “unmemorable.” These antagonistic people have nothing but my unmitigated scorn. In truth, this new album, Brutalist Bricks, is an accomplishment because of the fact that it’s Ted Leo playing a game he knows how to play very well. Brutalist Bricks is self-contained, and it certainly  doesn’t overreach to try to be something that it actually isn’t.  Unoriginal? Maybe. But it’s entertaining and fun. Even if  the vast majority of the album does sound like other Ted Leo efforts, why would this be a bad thing?

If pressed to respond using only two words, I would go with “playful” and “energetic” to describe the album. I really can’t think of two better terms. I cannot help but feel that the now-pushing-forty Ted Leo had an immense amount of fun putting this together. From the very first track, entitled “The Mighty Sparrow,” Ted Leo’s guitar is leaping out of the speakers with an immeasurable energy and pace, backed by steady drumming replete with more than enough cymbal play to maintain the overall mantra of the track. This song sets the tempo for the whole album, which rarely deviates from the fast-paced scheme.  If anything, most of the album seems to be an exploration by the group to see how fast they can go before they’re forced to stop to take a breath, a stylistic decision that makes the more mellow, thoughtful guitar play by Leo shine through in moments where the tempo is lessened and the vocals are given pause.

Brutalist Bricks really hits its stride in tracks three through seven. The first of these, “Ativan Eyes,” might be my favorite on the whole album.  The song is quite chorus-driven, accentuated by echoing from backing vocals that highlight perhaps the best guitar sound on the record. I use the term “playful” above, and this song is the epitome of it on this album from a guitar perspective, as Ted Leo ventures from the bold  sound that made “Me and Mia” so awesome, to an almost whisper-like string picking with no vocals to end the track, all while Leo asserts that he “wants your eyes here” because he is “so sick of cynics” and “wants something to trust in.”  I easily exceeded the requisite ten listens on this particular track, and I can see myself coming back to it in the future.

Another instance of the “playful” quality of this album can be seen at the 2:40 mark of the second track, “Mourning In America.” Here Leo employs what I can best describe as “the airhorn sound effect from that Drake song.” It’s out of place in a Ted Leo song,  assuredly, but so out of place that it works perfectly to achieve a unique sound and level of humor not often seen.  Well done indeed.  The song “Tuberculoids Arrive In Hop” is the only song that can be seen as a radical departure from the others.  Driven by hauntingly simple acoustic guitar, only a few notes dominate the majority of the song. Ted Leo shows no lack of ingenuity here as he pairs moments where he sings like Phil Collins with the occasional helium-high falsetto.  At least, for a brief song before we explode back into the typical sound of the album with “Gimme the Wire.”

This album is a far cry from “best album ever,” but it is fun and extremely enjoyable as a result. With Brutal Bricks you have forty-one, awesome, energetic minutes that will be over before you even know it.

First Listen: ArpLine’s Travel Book

Jeff Laughlin, March 8, 2010 in Initial Response and Music Reviews. 1 Comment Tags: , , .

Color me shocked. I got an email from a band asking me to review an album I was looking forward to, and I actually like it. Arpline has undergone lineup and name changes in the past few years and a total reconstructive sound surgery, of sorts.  Their synth-driven rock lends less to the dance sound and more toward a thoughtful reconstruction of what new music can accomplish.

In other words, it’s lazy to call this “retro.” It’s even lazier to dismiss them with a label or moniker. There is some interesting shit going on here, and I am going to get to the bottom of it.  Expect a review in a week or so.  The album is out now, and available at your own price at their website. Free swag, dudes. Get used to it.

First Listen: Serena Maneesh’s S-M 2: Abyss in B Minor

Ben W., March 8, 2010 in Initial Response and Music Reviews. 0 Comments Tags: , , .

The words in the title of this post are a mouthful. More specifically, a mouthful of eighteen syllables that seem better suited to a review for the soundtrack of a Bollywood horror musical. Thank god there is a hyphen in there, otherwise this post would have read like this: “First Listen: Serena Maheesh’s Serena Maneesh 2: Abyss in B Minor.”

If it’s not obvious by now, I didn’t know anything about this band before I gave S-M 2: Abyss in B Minor a First Listen. Sure, I could have Wiki-ed the shit out of them and pretended to myself like I knew what was up, but I figured I would save that for later. Why not just dive right in? All I had to go on was the press release that accompanied the promotional download, which told me that they were 1) Norwegian and 2) a good band. Like… a really good band. Okay, the press release fucking loved them. I guess I missed the boat (the Knarr?) when their self-titled debut came out in 2005. I haven’t listened to it yet. But I might.

First, though, I’m going to give S-M 2: AIBM a Second Spin. I didn’t love it, but god damn is it one strange album. Just all over the place with songs that stopped, stuttered, started and merged in to one another. They did that thing where the next song started at the end of the song you were listening to. It seems kind of gimmicky (and really, it is) but they pulled it off. In large part because everything is so batshit weird.  The album is a foggy cloud of textural noise with clear bubbles of melody, lyrics, and grooves that occasionally float by as you stumble around, kind of lost. It’s a lot like Can. And I really like Can. The real question is whether or not those moments will be enough to sustain multiple listens, especially when you know they are coming.  The album comes out on March 23rd.

Broken Bells

Joe O., March 3, 2010 in Music Reviews. 5 Comments Tags: , , .

“Every time a bell rings,” goes one famous quotation about bells, “an angel gets his wings.” Another one says, “Never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” So then what happens if those bells are broken? Do new angels just hang around Earth, flummoxed and wingless? Will mere mortals no longer know when it’s our time to die?

Chances are, James Mercer of The Shins and Brian (Danger Mouse) Burton of Gnarls Barkley didn’t have these exact questions in mind when they named their collaboration “Broken Bells.” But their self-titled debut most definitely exists within a bemused realm between life and afterlife. Mercer sings about ghosts, specters, vaporized beings, messages from the dead, phantoms of lost time, and that ever-elusive highway to heaven. Burton’s production is haunted by supernatural voices, dusty pianos, and shadowy synths. The atmosphere, while frequently frisky and elegant, is persistently unsettling, as if it’s always on the verge of revealing some bubbly, non-threatening mindfuck.

Perhaps the most shocking revelation of Broken Bells is simply how well it works, considering the widely disparate styles of its members. Burton built his career on making the past reach out to the future- think The Beatles adapting to fit Jay-Z’s rhymes on The Grey Album, or the spirit of the ’60s hauling ass to catch up with Cee-Lo Green’s 21st Century sizzle in Gnarls Barkley. Mercer, on the other hand, has typically retreated from the ultramodern world through his old-fashioned folk-rock. The collision of these two opposing forces could have easily resulted in a disastrous clash. Instead, Broken Bells creates a bold and timeless sound straight out of the 3rd-and-a-half dimension, at an intersection of hip hop, folk, and experimental pop.

The album starts with two of the strongest tracks of either artist’s career. Both “The High Road” and “Vaporize” overflow with superb melodies, seductive beats, and a Tears For Fears-ish vibe where the songs sound like polite but passionate protests into the cold, indifferent void. “The longer we wait around, the faster the years go by,” the chorus of multi-tracked Mercers reminds us in “Vaporize.” During the bridge, the voices practically cry, “Make our escape, before we start to vaporize,” and they sound like they just might. On paper, such things may not seem like the freshest insights, but on record, the resonance of these passages tingles my hide.

The third track, “Your Head Is On Fire,” glides into mellow, trippy territory that’s most effective when you’re buzzed in a steamy late-night bath. The offbeat disco of “The Ghost Inside” follows, providing one of the album’s most charming moments as the traditionally non-funky Mercer suddenly gets his Prince on. And with the sinuous and spellbinding “Sailing To Nowhere,” Broken Bells‘ fantastic first half draws to a close.

Unfortunately, the second half gradually reveals that Burton and Mercer front-loaded the album with most of their A-material.  ”Trap Doors” and “October” are the two least adventurous tracks here, and they’re anchored by some of the record’s most lethargic hooks. At least these tunes are broken up by the super-villainous grime of “Citizen,” even if it’s the one spot where Mercer seems out of his element. “Mongrel Heart” initially sounds like a pretty cool Morrissey tribute, until a Morricone interlude lifts the whole thing to the level of sublime; it’s the clear standout of side 2. “The Mall And Misery” is catchy and groovy with a sharp, rusty guitar hook, and it’s a satisfying way for the album to zoom off into the cosmos.

Despite Broken Bells‘ top-heaviness, the record as a whole wields an eerie power over me every time I listen. Not just because it’s one of those records where you’re still discovering its bells and whistles even after a dozen spins. It’s all about the alchemy, the aura, and the sense that some strange intelligence is at play here…some alien presence, disturbing but friendly, peering at us from behind an intergalactic veil…something trying to tell us the end is always near, but now is never the time to panic…we are alive, and we are dead.

Short Cuts: Rogue Wave’s Permalight

Jeff Laughlin, March 2, 2010 in Music Reviews. 0 Comments Tags: , .

Fittingly, Rogue Wave begins their album by asking, “Will I follow you down the line?”  It’s the question I asked as the album continued the trek toward desperate.  As a Rogue Wave fan, I’ve ignored transgressions in the past: shoddy lyrics, strange effects, cheese, and dialectical oddities, but nothing like Permalight.  This album asks too much with its opening question and seemingly knows it has.

That isn’t to say the entire album is bad.  Rather the opposite, I refuse to apologize for liking slow number “Sleepwalker” despite it’s ridiculous, plot-based lyrics.  “Fear Itself” is a good mid-tempo jam with awesome hooks.  “We Will Make a Song Destroy” accentuates the bands strengths while going a step beyond their normal rockers.  Even “You Have Boarded” and “Right With You”  are pretty good despite being annoying.  Hell, I like nearly half the album. Problem is, I can’t say I love any of it.  And what I don’t like? It’s too critically awful to ignore.

The genuine spirit and soul that made the band one of my guilty pleasures has dissipated after some tough times.  I won’t go into those problems here, since it would probably be kind of patronizing for the dude trashing their record saying they have an excuse.  Instead, I’ll cut everything a little short and say that Permalight feels more like a band trying to hang on to status than it does a band experimenting with their sound.  Songs like “Good Morning,” “Stars and Stripes,” and “Solitary Gun” venture haphazardly into the fracas of popular drivel and decimate the forward-moving idea of a band through their tragedies.

I will say this: through it all, they can still write catchy, likable songs. “I’ll Never Leave You” sheds the ulterior motives and combines their penchant for poppy folk mixed with an ability to use delicately simple lyrics. “Your pain is my pain./ We’ll go out of this just the same./ We’re better when our paths combine./ I nearly drove past the sign.” It’s simple, in the moment and worth it to know that everyone is still trying to get out alive.  I just wish the music had survived their pitfalls unscathed too.