Monthly Archive for March, 2010

Page 2 of 3

Short Cuts: Do Make Say Think’s Other Truths

Jeff Laughlin, March 23, 2010 in Music Reviews. 3 Comments Tags: , , .

The mistakes pile up and skitter about on gravel driveways; the amount of space between houses is so… much.  From the train to the houses to the next houses and the dogs yapping, it’s all so… much.  If we learn truth, then what of the mistakes?

Yes, what do we believe in?  The strength of will? Of the blood being forced through our veins?  The mistakes themselves?  No, we believe in the power of four “long” songs building and breaking like a cleared out plot of land.  You see, they took down all of that forest before the housing bubble burst and now the trees gotta regrow.  No money to build the made plans.  This is New Bern, NC at its finest.  This is Do Make Say Think at their finest.  The pretty landscapes and the gritty downtrodden homes with decaying roofs, this is all so barren and filled at the same time.  They built a new strip mall and none of it sells.  None of it.

They built Other Truths out of the rust, the winter hymns, the landlords with untenable buildings on their hands and they created a masterpiece.  As it happens, I am here as a testament to it all and I couldn’t be happier.  The mistakes of our past can be balled into our artistic projects to be spit on and cried over but not before we really fall into line and listen.  If we are all surviving to spite ourselves, at least we have this album as an  artifact.  Even the unclaimed South can be torn down to rebuild and even our fathers can breathe easier with Do Make Say Think as our mental hospital.  They are the truth.

The Unthanks: Here’s The Tender Coming

Will, March 23, 2010 in Music Reviews. 1 Comment Tags: , .

heres-the-tender-coming-the-unthanks

In the first few seconds of Here’s The Tender Coming you begin to feel transported across the Atlantic Ocean and several decades—if not centuries—into the past. Rachel and Becky Unthank harmonize an a cappella opening to the traditional Irish folk song “Because He Was A Bonny Lad” that sounds like some tremendous long-lost field recording before the rest of the Northumberland band chimes in with a more modern chamber-pop arrangement. It certainly sets the template for this album, one that is full of (mostly) traditional folk songs gussied up by an indie-leaning sensibility that occasionally enhances the work but too often mires some great songs in drippy sonics.

In some cases, the updated arrangements work, as in “Living By The Water,” which sounds appropriately flowing, with its lovely guitar line constantly moving like a rollicking little stream. In others, such as “At First She Starts,” the Unthanks indulge their maudlin side, turning a gorgeous Lal Waterson song into a nearly atonal dirge. Perhaps the biggest disappointment is “Annachie Gordon,” a sort of trad Scottish version of Romeo and Juliet that, in the right hands, can become truly sublime. The Unthanks start off the epic brilliantly; what could become a cloying reading of the narrative is instead performed with real restrained grace. Until the final moments, that is; right after the words “They have married your Jeannie, and now she is dead,” the arrangement and song stop, becoming a near-silent drone that creates an almost-comical, too overt underlining of the song’s tragedy. It only lasts a few seconds, but those few seconds are enough to capsize a song that theretofore had been full of elegant aplomb, before finishing instead as a treacle.

The best marriage of traditional and contemporary occurs on a version of Frank Higgins’ “The Testimony of Patience Kershaw.” The Unthanks’ arrangement of rhythmically propulsive fiddles wonderfully ups the drama of the lyric, based on the real words spoken by the title character—a young girl working as a 19th century coal hurrier detailing the physical toil the job has wreaked upon her body. The greatness of the arrangement is that it lends a delicious edge to a song that could be turned, like other songs here, into something unbearably heartbreaking and more than a little dour. The churning, sharp fiddle instead elevates lines like “Great big muscles on my legs/A balding patch upon my head/A lady, sir? Oh no, not me/I should have been a boy instead,” which, combined with the terrific vocal, makes the song tinged with bitterness. And when the final lines are sung, “God bless you, sir/At least you tried,” it sounds seething and sarcastic rather than contrite.

The record could have used more of this sensibility; what gives the Unthanks an advantage is that they are working with a collection of songs as strong as these. There is no shortage of beauty among the traditional folk songs of the British isles, but a little of this does go a long way. The mournful melodies tend to become lachrymose before too long, and unfortunately the Unthanks indulge this side more often than they should. There is some exceedingly pretty music to be had here (Ewan McColl’s “Nobody Knew She Was There,” the title track), sometimes excessively so (”Flowers of the Town”).

But what do I know? I’m an American! These folk songs are our folk songs too, though; you hear these melodies throughout Appalachian music, for one, so these songs do form the bedrock of our country’s early folk music, whose narrative and melodic sensibilities only increased when it mixed with blues to become American country. Though Here’s The Tender Coming is flawed, it does contain the thrill of hearing these old songs with new ears. It certainly takes some fortitude to tackle the great folk songbook (though considering the only original here, “Lucky Gilchrist,” is a drearily monotonous affair, despite lines like “Lucky G was full of glee/a bit like Freddie Mercury,” perhaps it’s for the best), and the Unthanks here prove themselves up to the task, if not always completely worthy.

Surprises: All Dressed Up And Nowhere To Die

Dean Blumberg, March 12, 2010 in Music Reviews. 0 Comments Tags: , .

The persona of the music critic is one I’ve come to despise.  For some reason, I’m always asking myself, who is the real listener behind the façade?  They certainly have a knack for clever comparisons and quick, self-referential prose, but what do they honestly think about this album outside of the cultural quips and subtle in-jokes?  Maybe it’s because I associate music journalists with that abhorable breed of writers that find a way to obscure the true subject of writing (or analysis of the actual music) with a presentation of themselves as an intellectual consumer.  An opening paragraph like this is sort of proving my point.

In all honesty, I didn’t want to like Surprises’ debut All Dressed Up And Nowhere To Die.  When I first glanced at it, the cover art looked like David Bowie.  And upon first listen, I was dismayed that the music was fairly conventional, inoffensive acoustic pop-rock.  Out with the familiar arsenal of modifiers that most indie critics have come to rely upon (postmodern, angular, discordant, challenging—you get the picture).  The truth is that Surprises treads some pretty familiar and well-worn territory, and their debut is the closest to the mainstream pop-rock demographic as I’ve got in my current iTunes playlist.  So consider this a dropping of the persona.  I’m through being cool, and I’m smart enough to admit that while Surprises plays it safe in terms of pop-rock, there is plenty to enjoy.

Just for clarity’s sake, Surprises is the project of one guy, Brooks Paschal, a songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and music producer from Orlando, Florida.  Also of note, the album is being given away (pay what you want for it, like the Radiohead model) through his website, a move characteristic of Paschal’s connection to his fans and the community he helps create through a variety of social networking sites.

All Dressed Up And Nowhere To Die starts off on a high note. As an album opener, “Crooked Smile” sets off like a slow, meandering stream, engaging but patient.  Surprises eases in to the first verse with strummed acoustic guitar, piano accompaniment, and a slow ride-kick-snare backing, all complimented by sustained, reverb-laden notes.  Each time I play this one, I can’t disassociate it from the alt-country sounds I associate with North Carolina front porches. “Wooden child, he moves / And he measures the day by his wounds,” a wonderful opening line that conjures the transition of Pinocchio from puppet to boy with the iconoclastic imagery of Christ. So begins Brooks Paschal with a lilting melody building to a chorus of vocal harmonies before falling back into the second verse.  The track’s highlight is the room Paschal gives in the verses, not over-doing the piano or drums, but letting all the components fit loosely together.

“Crooked Smile” is followed up by “There’s A Light Outside My Room,” an exercise in simplicity.  While Paschal’s moniker implies a band behind the album, Surprises works best when it is a solo operation; a man finger-picking strings of a guitar.  This is Surprises at its best, intimate bedroom-pop conveying the recollections and faults of an unnamed character. Paschal sings, “But do you ever think of me? / Designs in the landscape of our failed symmetry.” His strength as a lyricist comes from his ability to reflect the emotion experience in the biblical imagery of Edenic landscapes.  Here it is the dew on the garden outside the window, but elsewhere it is in the trees and the skies where the secular and the religious mingle, and I’m often left with the impression that while faith is a source of power, renewal and comfort, it is also a place associated with heartache, missed opportunities and regrets.

It’s difficult to talk about Christianity and music as a reviewer with very few overtly religious albums in my collection (Do I count post-break-up Sunny Day Real Estate?).  It’s just not something I’m familiar with. On my first listen it was “Magnolia Tree,” the fourth offering, where I began to recognize the overt Christian overtones on this album.  Of course, the religious imagery is there from the beginning, but Surprises uses faith wisely, often employing it symbolically, and coupled with more familiar, secular themes prevalent in pop music: the transition of from one phase of life to another. However, a pop-rock album that is also a quasi-Christian album may be a deal breaker for some.  And I get that, especially with the conservative proselytizing of the genre.  All Dressed Up And Nowhere To Die invites faith-based interpretations, but not to the exclusion of others.

“Sinners and Saints” smartly plays with harmony and syncopated rhythms, and sees Paschal at perhaps his most expressive, abandoning the airy, whispery vocals which compromise much of the album for some comparably unrestrained emotion.  While aspects of the track are almost too theatrical for my taste, it is a welcome diversion from some of the other tracks making up the meat of the album.  Other high points include some of the latter selections like “The Park/Four Eyes” which unexpectedly shifts from the familiar guitar/piano formula for some electronic experimentation, one of the few moments of true surprise, and one that left me yearning for more unexpected changes like this.

One of my biggest criticisms deals with the blandness of some of the songs. “Don’t Tell Her Why” comes off a little flat lyrically and musically, and is representative of the handful of tracks that represent the weakest aspects of this album, one’s that fail to engage Paschal’s knack for less predictable harmonies and melodies.  While some of these tracks are well-suited for a mainstream audience, my ears were just simply bored.  Yet even a track like “Tom Runs This Town,” which I originally cast aside as too generic in its verse-chorus-verse structure and simple phrasings, have grown on me.

I feel weird reviewing this album because, like I’ve mentioned, it’s got all the trappings of a genre that I’ve largely ignored.  Giving this the full 10 listen treatment has been a good exercise for me. My enjoyment of Surprises has taken me by surprise.  Given that the album is being distributed digitally by a pay-what-you-want method via Paschal’s website, it may not be such a bad idea to give All Dressed Up And Nowhere To Die a try.

A Weather: Everyday Balloons

Jeff Laughlin, March 11, 2010 in Music Reviews. 3 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 huge shadows on the white pond and the brick wall and the woodshed.”  I normally hate bird imagery and cute singing. Normally. (Ed. note, one of the band members has corrected me. You’d think more than 10 listens would lend to being correct once in a while. Not so much. Thanks, Aaron.)

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. 1 Comment 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. 3 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.