The summer of 2009 is barely breathing yet I have already found the song that will forever serve as its soundtrack. “Two Weeks” is such a perfectly conceived single that you can scarcely believe Grizzly Bear, of all bands, is the one to have delivered it to us. After all, the closest thing 2006’s Yellow House came to this kind of mass appeal was “Knife,” a woozy, long-ish bit of high art melodrama with weird-o alien harmonics that was captivating, sure, but radio ready? Ha! “Two Weeks” begins with a Sesame Street bouncy-ball piano riff, is soon joined by a perfectly positioned wordless vocal, and then slams home with an amazing, off-time cymbal-kick drum pattern. Lead singer Ed Droste’s rich tenor gently emerges from the zeal, cooing through the first verse before fronting the other four guys in the group for the track’s incredible sing-along chorus. It’s obviously Veckatimest’s standout track – it would standout anywhere – but the good news for those of you who haven’t already downloaded the leak (ahem) is that it is but one of a batch of amazing new songs from this beguiling band. The band qualifies as indie rock in look and age only, as hardly any of their songs (“Two Weeks” excluded) follow any kind of traditional verse-chorus-verse structure or have any distinguishable narratives. They use non-traditional chords, diminished sevenths and other jazzy constructions that don’t necessarily endear them to the skinny tie set. Or at least you wouldn’t think so. Surprisingly, and perhaps encouragingly, the hipsters have really taken to the Bear. Many of these new songs, tracks like “Southern Point,” “Cheerleader” and “While You Wait for the Others,” will do much to solidify those relationships; the brilliant vocal arrangements and increasingly colorful musical palette in these sessions indicate a willingness by the band to at least flirt with the world of pop music, if not completely dive into it. Few bands working command the kind of respect among other musicians that Grizzly Bear does. Give it a chance and be patient. Rewards will follow.
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Andrew Watson
The rap on this album so far has been that it’s Akron/Family’s “most accessible,” or their most “fully realized,” work to date. I’ve heard it referred to as “transitional.” Maybe that’s true. I’m certain, however, that Seth, Miles and Dana, the Family, once a four-piece, now a trio (we miss you, Ryan), could give a toss. This is not music made by people who are in any way in tune with what’s hip, catchy, or transitional or whatever. Akron/Family is the rare rock band that creates real art – art that is completely unaffected and beholden to nothing. Buy this new album or the last one or the first one or whichever one you stumble across first. All are exceptionally and blissfully rendered, completely foreign to anything else going. Highly recommended.
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AW
The similarities 21st Century Breakdown has to American Idiot are its biggest strengths and biggest weaknesses. Emphasis on the word big, because everything here is huge – the guitars, the drums, even the three-act concept. While Idiot redefined Green Day as strikingly more serious, political concept-album arena-rockers like one of their icons The Who, rather than the So-Cal pop-punk brats they started as, Breakdown only expands on that sound. Lacking the same level of surprise, the songs suffer slightly, mostly the anti-climatic closer “See The Light,” but the beauty of the better ballads (“Last Night On Earth”), and vocalist/guitarist Billie Joe Armstrong’s ability to brave through them, support what’s some of the band’s best playing of their career (“Before The Lobotomy”).
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Eric Mitts
Tool guitarist Adam Jones likes Isis enough to lend both his signature guitarwork (“Hall of the Dead”) and guest keyboards (“Wavering Radiant”) to the band’s fifth album. That should say something to prog-metal fans who missed Isis’s 2006 tour with Tool in support of their incredible previous effort, In The Absence of Truth, or any rock fan looking for something that truly rises above the horizon. Longtime fans should know Radiant shines as Isis’s most triumphant moment, and six months in stands as the year’s best metal release. All seven songs emerge as magnificent examples of how gorgeous and powerful the band’s expansive guitar sound gets, but for downloaders looking for an entry point, “Ghost Key” opens eyes and minds.
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EM
A track title like “4 Songs & A Fight” really sums up the fist-pumping confidence of Swedish new millennium new-wave band The Sounds. Their third album feels like more of a return to the streetwise energy of their 2002 debut than their previous 2006 outing, with punked-up electro-rock cuts like the already mentioned “4 Songs,” and single “No One Sleeps When I’m Awake.” Frontwoman Maja Ivarsson once again commands the most attention, so, regardless of whether an upcoming summer stretch opening No Doubt’s reunion tour helps break The Sounds to more mainstream U.S. audiences, those who have loved Ivarsson’s, and the band’s, distinctly European elements (the synth-dance swirl of “My Lover,” “Underground,” etc.) still have lots to enjoy on Rubicon.
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EM
By the time Iron & Wine’s Sam Beam sings through the air on “The Trapeze Swinger,” the grand finale of this comprehensive two-disc set of demos, b-sides, and other recordings, everything else recedes into the background for one perfect, precariously dangling moment. Beam’s deep, hushed voice has a transporting quality, so naturally it gets showcased on the first disc, focusing more on his early material and his previously released acoustic covers of songs like The Postal Service’s “Such Great Heights” and New Order’s “Love Vigilantes.” The second disc does a nice job of showing the transformation from man to band Iron & Wine through for its last disc, The Shepherd’s Dog, and the alternate takes of songs off that album mesmerize.
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EM
Annie Clark is trying to trick you. You see her face on the cover of her LPs, her soft, cutsie-doll features and curly-q perm, and you expect sweetness. You expect Lilith Fair. What you don’t expect, almost certainly, is dark and twisted schizo-pop, littered with Disney flashbacks and angry, scraping guitar passages. When Annie Clark plugs in her axe (she plays her own guitar!! yes!!) she becomes St. Vincent, and if we are to believe tracks like “Black Rainbow” and “Marrow,” St. Vincent ain’t all too holy. This record, along with her outstanding debut Marry Me, all but enshrine Ms. Clark as the culmination of riot girl mythology. Self-deprecating, frustrated, bored and often beautiful, Actor probes the soul of its creator.
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AW
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Originality, while prized and admirable, is becoming more and more of a foreign concept when it comes to rock and roll. Everything, as they say, has been done. Consider then, the options for a young aspiring songwriter from northern Canada. His voice is average at best. He fears that, while his songs are engaging and strong, his tone and style will come across as somewhat derivative – a kind of semi-transparent reflection of an adolescence spent hollering along to Elephant 6 bands and old Violent Femmes LPs. Luckily, none of this deters him from making a record. Why should it, really? Hometowns is an album that, thankfully, makes no tired claim to greatness. Nils Edenloff is not a particularly strong lyricist, often favoring cheap sentiment and tired clichés over the well-crafted poetry and sly humor that constitutes great songwriting. What makes this a required spin is simple. These Songs Are Fucking Awesome!! They won’t change your life, they don’t try too hard. They’re perfectly-sized nuggets of gooey goodness. Edenloff isn’t about to make you forget about the truly gifted modern writers, guys like Oberst, Sheff, and Oldham. What he has figured out, rather early I’d say, is how to get you reaching for the “repeat” button on your iPod or your car stereo or whatever. “The Ballad of RAA” starts the record on a modest note, soft house beat, simple synth pattern, and distant high-hat. It’s classic Canadian understatement. When Edenloff does enter with his nasal bleating, highly spirited and railing away about the northern prairie, you’re already well enough committed to forgive the very obvious Jeff Mangum comparison. Isn’t everyone copping off Neutral Milk Hotel these days anyway? I’m giving the guy a pass on that one. RAA’s strength, and what will end up distancing this from many other debut records this year, is the incredible tunefulness and delicate harmonies that glide so effortlessly in and out of the ragged acousti-punk anthems and little folksy bits throughout. It is, melodically, a near-flawless album. Sure, it’s an easy one to play the “Sounds Like…” game with, and sure the lyrics are a bit cringe-worthy at times, but with genius like “Drain the Blood,” “The Deadroads” and “Edmonton” at nearly every turn, it’s really, really hard to dwell on the faults. One of 2009’s most welcome discoveries so far...
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AW
Freaky, super-psychedelic images aside, Black Moth Super Rainbow makes some pretty chill, trip-out music. Those unfamiliar with the Pittsburgh band’s underground scene might find compulsory comparisons like calling BMSR a dark acid trip version of Thievery Corporation or a trip-hop take on the French duo Air helpful. However, allotting the prominent basslines and the mostly mid-tempo, always relaxed grooves so much emphasis overshadows the band’s two most unique elements: frontman Tom Fec aka Tobacco, whose eerie vocoder vocals really give BMSR their sound, and the full spectrum of electronic effects cascading down from outer space at any moment during their music. Eating Us devours the universe like a mushroom at midnight and distills it like syrupy moonshine best poured through headphones.
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EM
If the art of falsetto didn’t remain one of the most divisive techniques in music, Passion Pit would be bigger overnight sensations than they already are. Having considerable hype for this first LP fueled by the blogosphere thanks to last fall’s debut “Chunk of Change” EP, the Massachusetts-based indie-dance brainchild of frontman Michael Angelakos gets loose while going deeper. At its best, Pit bounces with an elastic groove washed in early ‘90s dance sounds (“The Reeling,” “Sleepyhead”) and leaps with the semi-symphonic choral joy of a Sufjan Stevens ensemble number (“Little Wings”). Twenty-one-year-old Angelakos’ boyishly high vocals stretch the strong sonic layers for the stars, adding a sense of ambition comparable to a new millennium update on Pet Sounds.
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EM
The Hard Lessons have done more than move to Detroit from their original hometown of East Lansing – they’ve steadily adopted the city’s bluesy garage rock. Vocalist/guitarist Augie Visocchi has always brought good ol’ guitar grit to The Hard Lessons’ grab-bag, but now it seems to slightly cover everything they touch. Vocalist/keyboardist Korin Louise Visocchi still gets her moments, both vocally and with her keys (“Roma Termini”), yet even she seems more mired in the blues (the piano-bar confessional “Talk It Over,” the duet “Wedding Ring”). The band’s more mature, more seasoned as performers, but also more certain to get categorized with a scene, something they scrutinized on their past, and best, song, “See and Be Scene,” and something their creativity could circumvent.
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EM
This record made me ill. Dizziness, fever, nausea; I had to force my way to the end of the damned thing, determined as I was to deliver a thorough and comprehensive review. Am I concerned that this seemingly innocuous, low-level British rock band was able to provoke such a powerful physical response in me? Might I finally be getting too old to keep up with the new? As if! The real fault lies within the insect-mating-call guitar trauma that infests these miserable songs – a howling, off-key ringing that worms its way into your brain and frazzles your equilibrium, leaving you confused and disoriented. Or it did me, anyway. If you like having your teeth drilled, this is the band for you.
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AW
Mocku-metalers Psychostick do so much on their album, they basically review the thing themselves. Pointing out, on record, how they have too many songs about food, as well as an inability to write a serious song, the guys make it impossible to hate on them, even when they proclaim themselves the greatest band ever (“P Is The Best Letter”). Still, completely overstuffing their creation – closing track “We Ran Out of CD Space” literally cuts off at the 76-minute mark as a gag – makes this metal parody, heavy on the System of a Down sauce, too much to chew and impossible to swallow whole. Taken in bites, Psychostick doesn’t sound like they’re trying too hard for laughs, so consume in moderation.
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EM
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