Monthly Archive for October, 2009

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Polvo: In Prism

Tedd, October 7, 2009 in Music Reviews. 2 Comments Tags: , .

Nostalgia is a drunkenly slurred monologue delivered by the friend-of-a-friend that is stumbling around your living room and making liberal use of your beer can as an ashtray. It will ruin what was a refreshingly current situation, and no one wants to hear about it except the person doing the talking.  And such is the problem with tackling indie-rock’s crowded house party of the last two years—Nostalgia slid in the side door and has issues with pacing the Coors Light.

It is no surprise then, that amidst the din of conversation and overly-affected clamor for reunion tours, album-formatted performances, and carefully-curated outdoor weekend festivals, that a band from Chapel Hill, NC is able to quietly—and without pretense—sit in the corner of this denim-clad gathering and be the most relevant members in the room.  Why can I say that?  Because there’s a strong argument to be made that Polvo was always that band in the 90’s, and if the guy drinking all the hosts’ Coors would shut up for a minute, he might learn something.

“I killed my creation to right the relation,” is the lyric that forces itself to the forefront as In Prism begins, and this is as true of the aforementioned situation in Living Room X as it is of the improved production value that is pummeling you.  Polvo’s guitar dexterity and off-kilter sense of structuring has not waned, and In Prism’s opener, “Right The Relation,” leaves little to the imagination on the question of tight, group continuity and technical ability in the ten years since they broke up.    And it is the spidery, vein-like, guitar riff threading and strong-armed rhythm section that simultaneously made Polvo a name with 1993’s Today’s Active Lifestyles or 1996’s Exploded Drawing, and placed them firmly in the “underground,” which the grunge behemoths of the time so thoughtfully claimed to champion.

What is perhaps most impressive with In Prism is its ability to reward repeated listens.  “Beggar’s Bowl” is easily the heaviest, accessible, and most direct track on the album, but it is the looseness of  “D.C. Trails,” and “City Birds” that bookend and contextualize it, while “Dream Residue/Work” bridges the claustrophobic and exploratory with a precision and enthusiasm that is akin to Fugazi’s “The Argument.”  Latter half songs “Lucia,” “The Pedlar,” and particularly “A Link In The Chain,” indulge the classic rock undertones that Polvo has leaned on in the past, but with a fresher perspective allowing the clean to sound cleaner, and dissonant more purposeful—purpose being something too many bands have seemingly forgotten as they take you on an 8-minute meandering rock quest.

At first listen In Prism can be easily taken as an album that starts stronger than it finishes, but in an era where Nostalgia is standing around telling anyone in earshot about the golden days of independent music; Polvo is not only acknowledging it: they’re moving on.  So what then, does Polvo have to say for themselves?  I’m not sure that they, or me, or anyone who has now moved to kitchen to escape the Nostalgia Factor in the next room, can really hazard an answer.

Simply put, In Prism is a great rock record that has nothing to do with the college radio station, the snobbish guy from the records store, the firmness of the “indie-credibility-handshake” that was exchanged between two dudes at a basement show in 1996, or the robustness of Nostalgia’s 7-inch collection.  Now, if you’ll excuse Polvo, they’re going to have a quiet cigarette on the porch and then head home—they have things to do in the morning.

Califone: All My Friends Are Funeral Singers

Kris, October 6, 2009 in Music Reviews. 1 Comment Tags: , .

10Listens approval rating: 100%

For the past 3 weeks I’ve lived with Califone’s “All My Friends Are Funeral Singers” in the same way I’ve lived with the haze that accompanies the first few minutes of being awake. And the last few seconds before you fall asleep. And every other sensation that’s instantly familiar but blurry and shrouded. It happens to be one of the finest records of 2009.

Califone has always occupied that dusty critical corner where the words “experimental” “americana” and “post-whateverthefuck” get tossed around to make it sound like the band is some sort of tough nut to crack. It’s obfuscation– whether intentional or unintentional I am unable to say, because what has lied at the heart of all their records are songs. Rusty old songs, with buzzing strings, low harmonies and hooks. Califone is a pop band for people that like tumbleweeds and cough syrup. They were on the soundtrack for Stranger Than Fiction for christ’s sake.

Ostensibly, “All My Friends Are Funeral Singers” is itself a soundtrack. Singer Tim Ritilli has directed a film of the same name, and they are companion pieces to each other. Without having seen the film yet, I can tell you that this record does as fine a job of rendering places, feelings and classic mystery as well as anything with or without a visual element can.

Opener “Giving Away The Bride” stutter steps it’s way into your headphones in a way that on first lesson sounded distant and mechanical. By the tenth listen, the opening crack of the drum machine and Ritilli’s stretching of “bride” into a nine syllable word conjure the kind of dark and warm atmospheres that mark the rest of the record. If you’ve already heard it, the first few seconds of the record allow you to hear it all again. It’s the most fitting lede for a record you’ll hear.

Second track, “Polish Girls”, is a straight ahead detuned stomp. Well, straight ahead except for the cryptic lyrics that mark much of the record and the band’s catalog as a whole. Polish Girls in ruins? There are spiders involved? Of course there are. And you’ll sing along.

It’s post-cliche to refer to albums as their “whole,” as if not having any singles on it is an artistic statement. But as each track bleeds into the next, the sequencing here is indeed part of the art. The album’s first peak is the 1-2 whiskey punch of “Funeral Singers” and “Louis Bunuel.” The former packs a rambling lyric sheet best described as urgent. Coupled with detached TV like voices it’s tune that in lesser hands would come across as cliche. “All my friends are keeping time/all my friends just quit trying,” is a line so evocative and its static imagery so opposed to the driving nature of the tune that the 6 seconds it takes to sing are some of the best I’ve heard all year. The latter is a tribute to “The father of cinematic Surrealism” (thanks wikipedia), that interestingly is one of the most straight forward story songs on the record.

And so breaking down each track, while possible, is ultimately futile. “Krill” rules. “Better Angels” is an epic closer that does its job as well as “Giving Away The Bride” does its. But if there is a way that Califone can recommend itself it’s with the line from “Bunuel” in which Ritili sings “every whorehouse and every sycamore/knows a better way to make you wait.” There’s a cross between those kinds of shadiness and that kind of majesty that’s been tried many times, but at this point in their career and on this record Califone has shown their mastery of the craft.

Since they’ve mastered such a hazy craft, “All My Friends…” is a perfect record for the 10Listens experiment. The common notion of a record that grows on you is that through repeated spins, the record’s themes expand and you hear things you haven’t previously heard. What makes “All My Friends Are Funeral Singers” great the 10th, 20th, and 30th times is that the bands vision for the record becomes more precise. Clearer. You know exactly what to expect from it each time you listen. And it’s a singular pleasure.

Author’s note: Califone is touring for the record by playing along to the film. I’ll be seeing them here in Boston on 10/22 and will report back.

The XX: XX

Paul, October 1, 2009 in Music Reviews. 4 Comments Tags: , .

The XX – “XX” One of the basic philosophies here at the Foreign Desk of 10 Listens is that backstory has little value in critical evaluation of a recording. Does the fact that the latest “it” band formed as schoolmates really add that much to the listening experience? Would the guitar tone sound any different knowing that the lead axe man spent two years in a psychiatric institution? These tidbits sure do make for good promo copy but they tend to taint the perception of otherwise underwhelming music, or at best they elevate good music to almost mythical status. A much more rational approach would be to take the album at face value, the notes for what they are, the songs merely as compositions and not acoutrements to a greater expository narrative.

That said, London’s The XX have gained quite a bit of indie hype recently for one particular aspect of their band bio–each of the members is a mere 20 years old, still quite an early age in a genre where it’s not uncommon to have relative superstars approaching 40. On first listen I wanted to rid myself of this knowledge, but with each subsequent go-round it became an inescapable fact. That’s not necessarily a positive thing, however.

What you should know: “XX” is a competent debut album, regardless of the age of those who created it. It is a dark, sleek, stripped down blend of that ubiquitous style of rock (angular) and soulful male/female singing hasn’t been readily heard on either side of the Atlantic.  At least, not heard with the recent trendy 80s-revival and folk-tinged introspection. What we’re presented with is a very modern record, one that takes influence from a spectrum of lovelorn songs spanning decades. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume these youngsters have dabbled in Prince as much as they have New Order. There is a repetitive nature to each track on “XX’. An MPC takes the place of a traditional drumkit and with each precise, identical handclap or snare hit, something of a pre-fabricated foundation takes the place of what would otherwise have stood alone as an integral instrument. Willowy, simple guitar lines heavy with reverb string along through each track, assuming higher notes in counterbalance to darker, sweeping synth accompaniments. One such thread saves “Basic Space” from being the awkward dancer at the party; just when hope is lost an ethereal yet syncopated fingering of notes transforms the song from FM radio fodder to sensual mixtape essential.

Would it have killed them to use a couple of different pedals, though? One wonders whether the repertoire of the two guitarists should be chalked up to inexperience or deliberate minimalism. Jonny Greenwood won’t lose any sleep or find any inspiration from these guys but hey, everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right?

Perhaps where the youthfulness of The XX is most apparent is in the lyrics. There are the typical metaphors found in darkened love songs: months passing, objects on fire. This is par for the course and possible within any band’s vocabulary. More troubling are repeated references to “giving it up” to someone, presumably euphemistic allusions to sex that while attempting to lend some sort of modern cache end up bordering on cringe-worthy. What ends up working much more effectively are basic statements repeated in just the right amount–the band can craft a memorable hook as well as any NME chart topper.  Sometimes they’re not even coherent words! Take the irresistible “highyighyigh” of single “Crystalised”.

The album opener “Intro” remains, after ten listens, the best ambassador for The XX’s ambition and ability. With sharp yet flowing guitar lines needling along at a mid-tempo rhythm, a robotic sawtooth keyboard hums above complex, jagged drumming. Each of the singers’ remarkable and wonderfully casual voices get a nice warm-up without the bother of any mash note romanticist lyrics getting in the way. It’s a vivid statement to start a solid showing; “Darkness is what’s hot and we do it quite well.” Perhaps this trend away from the day-glo spatters of Nu-Rave and Post Punk are here to stay, or maybe they’re just easily noticed in the current British music climate. Either way, The XX prove that they have promise, albeit one that only will grow with time. Here’s to hoping that a follow-up record will retain the keen ear for mature sound palettes, along with an adventurousness that can only come with age.