Brad Hoshaw
Midwest Dilemma
Peasant
The Living Room
May 20th 2009
The miserable venue—cynically named The Living Room*—was cold and covered with stickers and fliers advertising upcoming and past shows. Songwriter Justin Lamoureux of Midwest Dilemma sat in the back corner, humbly offering his merchandise while Brad Hoshaw completed his brief sound check. Hoshaw, a folk singer from Omaha, sang songs that recounted low life moments and hurtful memories. It isn’t that these songs were uncomplicated because they were thoughtless or uninteresting; they were uncomplicated because they dealt with the “oh fuck” moments of every individual who has drank in bars too long and made bad decisions with clouded and deluded minds. Some may say these states of bar stool savagery are rooted in some inner turmoil born in childhood and thus are necessarily complicated, but Hoshaw isn’t a damn psychologist. He has a formidable voice and a sharp stage personality. While many might criticize his attachment to the stagnant genre of whiskey pickled folk music, he could just as easily explain that this music has existed forever and will continue to exist as long as there are local watering holes willing to cater to the legions of eager drinkers roaming the mother-fucking world. Oh and that Blue Bicycle song was so damn cute.
Justin Lamoureux took stage, traveling to New York under his pseudonym Midwest Dilemma. He explained to the folks listening that he often feels conflicted when playing the City. He comes here wide eyed and wondrous, but he sees people move through New York without awe or interest. Do they know where they live? Is he supposed to expend every ounce of energy and soul, playing in a city where people are despondent and unimpressible? Should he sing his guts out for a few navel gazers? The thing is, Mr. Lamoureux is good enough that he can ask these questions. He can have these expectations. His record Timelines & Tragedies is simply incredible. Despite all his ambivalences, Lamoureux picked up his high-action, nylon acoustic guitar and told his family’s stories with piercing emotional expenditure. His lack of accompaniment did not detract from the songs, which are typically performed by a multitude of musicians. This is not to say that the 22 other musicians heard on Timelines & Tragedies are unnecessary or superfluous, rather simply that the heart of Midwest Dilemma can be defined by the narrative told by Lamoureux. The stories are without question prime.
Peasant began his set without so much as a peep of a sound check. For those who have not been hip enough to know who Peasant is, take some time and do yourself a damn favor. Go out and buy, steal—whatever—Peasant’s latest release On the Ground. As Frederick Foxtrott has been mentioning for nearly two years, Peasant, aka Damien DeRose, has a voice that is as tender and contemplative as they come. He simply began his set performing his material chronologically, singing some old dusty songs. Peasant’s stage presence continues to be unassuming. Another Brooklyn musician sitting in the audience mentioned to me that he couldn’t believe DeRose’s voice was coming out of his body. The dude’s voice is flawless. His set of love damaged ballads was a great match up with the other voices and stories in the night’s line-up. Musically, the night was well worth the trip to the Lower East Side.
* The Living Room is the worst fucking venue in NYC. Okay this may be a bit of hyperbole at work, but here is what you need to know about this shit hole. The shows are free, but the catch is that every audience member has to buy one drink every set in order to stay in the venue. Now I have to say, I am not one to go to a show and lay off the sauce, but for fuck’s sake! My 5’4” girl had a beer and wasn’t exactly ready for a second when the waitress approached. She asked what she could bring Hills, who naturally declined. Hills was then informed that she’d have to leave. I had drank 2 pints during the last set, you would think that the boyish bodied waitress would have had enough brains to put this all together. So I kindly ordered two more beers, both of which I drank. This fucking bar is so insecure about their ability to sell alcohol that they mandate a drinking schedule to their guests. I suppose Hills should have had to drink 5 pints in 3 ½ hours. I count the days until The Living Room goes out of business.
Arthur Killroad
The things you should know how to do
July 30th 2008
Unigned
Arthur Killroad- This is Something Witty
Arthur Killroad-Breaking Everything in Sight
I’ve listened to this record over and over again and I can’t help think about my little brother, a two time Iraq War vet who loves to sing and wears his heart on his sleeve. He has steeped himself in the idiosyncrasies of indie music, while still harboring his guiltless pleasure of belting out every note from The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most while driving to get a burrito from Amigos. Similarly, Arthur Killroad’s 2008 release The things you should know how to do (the most?) captures the definitive sense of familiarity, intimacy, and disappointment. The music is steadfastly structured in acoustic pop—forceful open chords decorated with a voice that is gruff and masculine, yet sincere and emotionally wrought with plain spoken pleading. Sounds great eh?
Though the truth is that just like our bipolar moments of mania and displeasure, we are sometimes caught in an unflattering light. Rather than tactically avoiding looking contrived, Killroad seeks to make the telling of mundane moments his anchor. He criticizes the motifs and worn tropes of classic romanticism instead favoring the tactile objects of relationships—gifts, guitars, and shaving blades—trinkets of those quick moments between the archetypical peaks and valleys, unions and break ups. Known as Mike Petruccelli to his mother, Arthur Killroad is extraordinarily adept at addressing these experiences.
Like any Midwest punk cum everyman’s troubadour, Killroad can be confronted with his fair share of criticism. The metaphors can be dumb and the vocabulary can be dry. He runs the risk of forever being attached to the inexperience amassed during college. Some might say that the novelty of the scenester with sad eyes and sad words wore off somewhere around 2001, or that the verbal marshmallows created by Killroad’s songs may be everyman, but they are not important…they are notBukowski—just a kid bitching about a life short lived. Is it arrogance that he expected real happiness before he even graduated college?
Killroad then confronts this abasement by, what else, writing a song about it. The Starving Artists Convention is a reflexive monologue asking if Mike, Killroad the person, is truely a douche bag. The answer taken away from The things you should know how to do is no. However, along with his noble attempt at emotional exposure, he gets caught in uncomfortable moments. The opening words of Robots and Zombies, speaking to a deep sense of alienation, sets up and unravels a trivial metaphor. Killroad is at his best when he writes about common things in plain terms. Two songs particularly stand out among the rest. This is Something Witty, which ironically tells the critics to take a long walk, is Arthur Killroad‘s manifesto.
“I’m not apologizing; I’m only describing things and saying how I feel about them.”
This track distills what is best about Killroad, both in attitude and style. Breaking Everything in Sight succeeds because of the technical recording choices, from the simple introduction built upon with layers of vocals and an epic grand piano, making a powerful aside to the acoustic power pop tracks.
In all honesty, I have to write about this record from a measured distance because I simply would never have picked it up on my own. The record’s range of artistic value is great. In contrast to the remarkably well arranged songs mentioned above, others like Harvard on the Hocking come so close to Eve 6 that I am convinced Killroad just wanted to make his track list reach 10, no matter the consequences. Who would do that to themselves without a good reason? While I may just have to take a long walk, I know that Arthur Killroad has defined a specific place for himself and is comfortable with his songwriting methodology, and he obviously loves the process of recording his music as documented on his Myspace page. In all Mike Petruccell’s song writing skills are his greatest asset. While the use of an alias cannot insulate him from the criticism he duly receives when he takes the road most traveled, he certainly makes it clear that he is capable of going anywhere he pleases.
Overdub Bootleg- Five Step (Radiohead vs Dave Brubeck)
While I am on the topic of remixes, I thought I’d pass along this remix of Radiohead’s 15 Step and Dave Brubeck’s Take 5, creating the amazing, yet predictably titled 5 Step. The piece was created by Overdub, an artist who makes many so-called mashups. I hate that term…but I love this track. Down load It Here. Thank TJ Broockerd for the tip.
This track from Great Bloomers’ forthcoming full length is well worth a listen. The track is called The Young Ones Slept and the new LP has been named Speak of Trouble. It is being released on Maple Music Recordings, a tip of the hat to Canada’s burgeoning music scene. The recording and production of their new material is much more polished, possibly a sign that they have left behind some of the more Pavement-esque song structures that require a calculated measure of unevenness and low fidelity. Of course we will have to wait and see when the record is released in April. If The Young Ones Slept is any indication, we eagerly anticipate another taste of this indie-pop confection.
A note from the anticipation inducers about their upcoming record, Year of the How-To Book. We have been looking forward to this record for…well…for-fucking-ever… Below as posted on their Myspace and Facebook pages:
Our album WILL come out this year!!!
Hey all -
We haven’t been very good about updates and such over the past 8 months or so. So what have we been up to? Long story short, some utterly depressing things have happened to us and, obviously, our long overdue album “The Year of the How-To Book” has yet to be released.
That said, the album is coming out this year! Perhaps we should change the album’s title to “The Years of the How-To Book”…
Anyway, more updates to follow soon. Our heartfelt thanks to those of you still anticipating the release of this album. We hope you’ll agree with us (when the time comes) that it’s well worth the wait.
Peace & Love,
Eli andEagle Seagull
While we wait for the record to find its way to our various music machines, we wish Eli and company the best of luck and a long period of mania to follow their troubles.
Walking along Grand Ave in Williamsburg, I spotted a street lamp absolutely covered with advertisements. There, among a what looked like thousands of posts for everything from 4 Men and a Truck to Spanish speaking attorneys, was a paper-bag-brown flyer with a bare bottomed vixen dressed in nothing but boots sitting over the words The Whiskey Go Go’s.
It was an ad for a show at an unknown location with Canadian band Inward Eye on February 18th. I suppose the only reason that I noticed the flyer at all was that I happened to see the Whiskey Go Go’s last week at The Trash Bar. They topped a list of bands that began with the beautiful and extraordinarily talented Cabiria, as well as the remarkably out of place Astronaut Down. The Whiskey Go Go’s are from Melbourne, Australia where they were signed to a major record label before they were dropped to fend for themselves in the most tumultuous of industry climates. This brought them to tour New York City where they are generating interest in their yet to be released record Whiskey Rain. They have fought a number of hardships in their endeavor. The importation of Americana to America from an Australian band is at once suspect; I cannot approve of the term southern-rock to describe this band. Certainly some unknowing person might believe them to be natives of Louisiana, but that only speaks to the worldly prism through which their take on American music is made. For Australian listeners, the love of Bob Dylan and Neil Young, himself a Canadian, cannot be supplanted by the intonations of a couple of upstarts struggling to combat poverty, free agency, and a sound that some have alleged is not their own.
I have resisted the temptation to call out other reviews that parallel Matt Hutchinson’s voice with another band, one that has so utterly disintegrated and removed themselves from the realm of good taste that they are not worth mentioning. To make my own comparison, I would have to say that the Whiskey Go Go’s love David Bowie’s Hunky Dory. While to some, this comparison may be as every bit as insulting as the one I just denounced, let’s be clear, there is no plagiarism at work here folks. Simply said, “Give these guys a fucking record deal!”
While I’ll have plenty of time to review both their debut, Proud Tales to Them of Us, and Whiskey Rain, it would be best at this point to tell all of New York to go see their show. Tonight the Whiskey Go Go’s play again at The Trash Bar and tomorrow, Wednesday March 4th, at Union Pool, also in Williamsburg. The band, particularly Mr. Hutchinson, have an extraordinarily unpolished performance style. His eyes are wide and terrifying, exerting every ounce of his presence toward the audience. The show is full of charming imperfections that belie the uniqueness of this act. I have much more to write in the coming days, meanwhile may I suggest attending their show either today or tomorrow…
Just two days ago on January 27th Peasant’s debut record was again released. Paper Garden Records continues to support this extraordinary artist, accommodating an ever growing fan base spurred by Damien DeRose’s touring and the music’s appearance on the television shows Kyle XY and Bones. He has also recorded live sessions for the impressive Daytrotter on-line music magazine and WOXY. Anyone who questions Mr. DeRose’s ability to translate his recorded material into a real and authentic experience is obligated to listen Peasant’s Daytrotter session. Click here. Peasant is somber, intimate, and melodic—infusing an appreciation of plain spoken poetry and honest emotional truth into music that can best be described as simply beautiful. In many ways I feel vindicated for having such faith in this guy. From the first day I saw him play at a 2007 CMJ loft show, it was clear to me that as long as people had the opportunity to hear him, they would continue to do so.
Dylan Connor
Breakaway Republic
January 20th 2009
Unsigned
It is strange what a mass gathering of hallucinogen consuming, dust bathing, barter-system campers can convince you to do. Conceived while wondering around the Burning Man Festival singing songs for the evanescent joy of gratitude, Breakaway Republic was born of legend and wild spirit. But to be honest I don’t have the stomach for another “record birthed from unusual circumstances” pitch. What is the record about, who made it, and is it any good? These are the questions that I want the answers to. A caveat, I hope those who fall in love with this record take my comments cum grano salis (from one Latin lover to another). For all others, you have been warned.
Breakaway Republic, named for the particular camp that Dylan Connor resided at for the duration of his Burning Man experiment, is a saccharine pop album with shoddy lyrics and easy melodies reminiscent of lesser loved Gin Blossoms records. For all intents and purposes this is Mr. Dylan’s therapy—his catharsis—and that’s cool, but it is no excuse to expect an uncritical response to obvious Elvis Costello impressions. Breakaway Republic is pop—plain, non-nuanced, unchallenging, contrived pop. The music is well performed, and well recorded. The record has what could be called high points; Blood Like Fire is some pretty damn good Americana, and Have a Little Dream is an excellent melody over and simply strummed guitar. It has the beauty of a signature Marc Cohn tune and the soft sound of James Taylor. That having been said, Breakaway Republic lacks gravity. It is simply too deficient to qualify as even approaching relevant.
Tour Dates
January 16th – Bridgeport, CT – The Field
January 17th – Philadelphia, PA Secret – House Party
January 30th – Brooklyn – NY Bar 4
February 18th – Philadelphia – PA O.N.E.
Never one to talk up other music websites, I am uncharacteristically compelled to spread the word aboutPeasant’s live recordings with Daytrotter. The so-dubbed Daytrotter Session is an excellent illustration of Damien DeRose‘s stature as a performer. Sure his songs are good, but can he recreate the aesthetic outside of the studio? The answer is of course a resounding yes. The session is available at Daytrotter free for download. Think of these tracks as a precursor to Peasant‘s upcoming record On the Ground, which is being re-released January 2009. Frederick Foxtrott has been very interested to watch this artist and its seems that as yet another winter comes, Peasant‘s music will reach even more people.
Zephuros
The Drowned Coast
August 23, 2008
Unsigned
Over the last month or so, I have been trying to settle my opinions of a lone singer/song-writer from Athens, Ohio named Kevin Meyer, known to the music world as Zephuros. He makes no secret of his man-love for Chicago musician Andrew Bird; and I can’t say there isn’t a sort of apprentice quality to Meyer’s newest release, The Drowned Coast. The album unabashedly revolves around the animal kingdom. Every song lauds the bucolic life of feathered critters among or some other doey-eyed tree or sea dwellers. It is as if Zeph imagines his arranged flutes, clarinets, and strings have the ambiance of Peter and the Wolf. He wanted to produce something intrinsically beautiful. The album is segmented by instrumental movements meant to melodically capture the soft pink shades of sunrise, sunset, and all the waking life in between. This grandeur is only reinforced by comparisons from friendly home media.
“By the impression left by his music, Meyer comes off as the type of person who, despite eye-rolling annoyance from certain friends (read: the articles author), would just feel wrong setting up mouse traps or squashing a bug.
Perhaps what feels wrong above all, however, is that The Drowned Coast‘s seemingly simple acoustic songs about animals can, and at some point probably will, bring listeners to tears. The reason for this is simple: Zephuros’ wildlife lyrics reflect more insight into human nature than those of many young singer-songwriters today.”
Hyperbole permeates every letter of the above review—and I love hyperbole. However, this does a severe disservice to Zephuros’ most attractive attributes. Zephuros doesn’t need another review that explains to the C.S. Lewis reading, coffee house egos why they should listen to him.
This record says very little about human nature.
This record will never make me—or any of you—cry.
The lyrics are interesting, ranging from nondescript platitudes to observational non sequiturs. Seeing a snowflake on a leopard’s spine is an image of novelty; it is one among many that work to create a folksy sense of Earth-as-Art. Oceanic emeralds and tender touches from the brisk breeze exemplify a body of lyrics concerned more with aesthetics than content. But that is the extent of Mr. Meyer’s troubles. If only the rest of us were lucky enough to be flawed only by an absurd obsession with form.
Zephuros’ collection of crystalline melody is near perfect. The orchestration is at once humble and gigantic. The opposing forces of The Drowned Coast underscore Zephuros’ most exceptional quality. He is able to write and arrange with depth and charisma, while maintaining an aura of wonderment and innocent ambition. When I hear this man and his band, I am reminded ofSchroeder, or an unsure, unsteady Nick Drake. The likeness comes not from any obvious influence, but from an underlying spirit of contemplative adventure. All of Zeph’s worth is invested in that spirit—what is unknown and inquisitive to human nature. The Drowned Coast does not reveal anything to us. Rather more descriptively, it comforts our lost and inextricably incomplete sense of self. His words are not experiential, they are observational. Zephuros does not write about wildlife, he writes about the most mundane and beautifully banal humanlife.
