The Atlantic Manor
The World Beneath This World is Brightening
Do Too Records
Spring 2010
“The Captain’s Name Was Death” by The Atlantic Manor
“I am proud to be lo-fi. I know of no other way.”
The above sentiment offered by R. Sell, the Miami based singer-song writer known as The Atlantic Manor, has so much heart it inspires. He rightly suggests that no matter your resources, you can find a way to record and circulate your music amongst a community of listeners. Over the last decade R. Sell has released 11 diy, lo-fi records under the The Atlantic Manor moniker and from the looks of it, this dude has no intention of stopping anytime soon. Sell strongly identifies with the American underground music scene whose beauty and authority comes from the pure motives and raw energy of those artists that dare to do something out of the ordinary. With complete disregard for the monotonous expectations of the cacophonous clamor of the music industry’s crony-capitalist regime, Sell envisions the American underground as a community and a movement that is required in order to maintain any semblance of genuine and authentic artistry within America’s broader music economy. Simply said the shear volume of work and the grit and guts with which this project has been engaged is awesome. But it must also be said to be problematic. Any record from one moment to the next can be said to have varying degrees of relevance, but I am unsure if this can be said of The Atlantic Manor’s 11th release The World Beneath This World is Brightening.
The record opens with lackadaisical strumming and a twisted child like voice singing what seems to be a satanic version of Old McDonald Had a Farm. The second track Vessels somewhat resembles Joy Division’s Atmosphere. It is a 14 minute long cyclical and meandering progression with muted and indistinct lyrics. The strategy of the track is the same as Velvet underground’s Heroine, a simple structure with vocals littering the staccato guitar notes, though the track never builds, it does not crescendo, and it does not really move a muscle from the first note until the last. The next song, Failing By the Second, begins with a muted strum subtly sounding in the background, and a metronomic back beat that is upfront and unwavering, save the occasional fill. The song is minor and brooding; it is haunted by guitar distortion that mimics the sound of a depressed whale song or the moan of steel beams that shift back and forth in some post-apocalyptic wind.
Like the majority of The Atlantic Manor’s music, The Captains Name Was Death is structured by the cyclical pattern of a few strummed chords. R. Sell’s voice is bloodshot with humility. The track just rolls along as tremolo accents and an inartful clean tone guitar solo dance with the synthesized sound of a wood saw song. The drums for DeathCrown, the epitome of diy recording, have Stephen Morris all over them, but it is at this very moment that R. Sell’s formulations become tired. The songs run into to each other, making it difficult to decipher one from the other. While Apple Dreams definitely has wistful qualities, these qualities are mere replications of what was heard for 14 minutes in Vessels. The songs may not be exactly the same, but some might say that one’s existence makes the other obsolete.
The World Beneath This One is Brightening, like the record itself, is out of sync and out of tune; it is a mélange of minor chords and baritone mud sack sadness that never really translates into anything. At this point it becomes clear that the record is limited in its depth. The transition from The World Beneath to The Good Son is astounding in its sameness. The closer is a 12 minute depressant that perhaps encapsulates Sell’s best effort. Black River Runs’ attempt to infuse various unorthodox sounds into the haphazardly strummed guitar backed by a syth drone is quite appealing. I have received much of Atlantic Manor’s back catalog and am eager to peruse the collection of songs. Like a second-hand store, The Atlantic Manor conceals the occasional diamond in the rough, but that gem is all too often embedded in throw away tracks. I understand that The Atlantic Manor wants to be profoundly productive—11 albums in 10 years—but I would say that the band/the song-writer would be very well served if they or he or whomever was more selective of the parts of themselves that they choose to exhibit; that is if they would like their community of listeners to grow.
Other Music
Slow Drugs and Other Sorrows (2009)
On the Wrong Side of Saturday Night (2008)
All the Best Girls Have Winter Hearts (2007)
Sneaking Up on the Death Scene (2006)
The Trouble that You Left (2006)
Special is Dead (2005)
Failing by the Second (2004)
The Desperate Vibe of Emotional Devastation (2002)
The Hate We Get Going (2001)
When I am a Viking (2001)
Animal Collective
Merriweather Post Pavilion
January 20th 2009
Domino
Two of my favorite things come from Baltimore, Maryland, the setting for The Wire and Animal Collective. Now living in New York City, Avey Tare (David Portner), Panda Bear (Noah Lennox), Deakin (Josh Dibb), and Geologist (Brian Weitz) make up what is easily one of the most dynamic bands celebrated by popular music’s enlightened underclass. To be sure, 2007’s Strawberry Jam was not perfect, but it was an infectious collection that had everyone’s ears aflutter. Animal Collective’s follow up, Merriweather Post Pavilion has only improved on the band’s innate sense of melody, creativity, and freakishly impressive composition.
With Panda Bear’s solo, Person Pitch, upstaging critically Strawberry Jam, it is no surprise that Merriweather Post Pavilion is a softer, more relaxed, and sober album. Person Pitch, winning a shack full of accolades, is a hyper ethereal and subdued record that never approaches the measured schizophrenia exhibited on Strawberry Jam. Merriweather Post Pavilion draws at least part of its genealogy from this release. The guttural rantings of Peacebone and For Reverend Green are tucked away deferring to harmonious vocal polyrhythms. There is an air Paul Simon’s usage of South African melodies and music that recalls Graceland in the most flattering way possible.
Merriweather Post Pavilion is Animal Collective’s most vocally accessible record. While its sedated character makes for easy listening and demonstrated maturity, the band has reserved their most vibrant songwriting for another day. Every flaw bitched about off of Strawberry Jam was attended to and corrected. But the heart and soul of the two records are far from one another. An apologist would argue that this obviously stems from the fact the they are indeed two different records, but even they would deep down inside feel the cold void caused by the absence of Animal Collective’s most delicious attribute—madness.
Other Music
Spirit They’re Gone, Spirit They’ve Vanished- 2000
Danse Manatee- July 2001
Campfire Songs- 2003
Here Comes the Indian-2003
Sung Tongs- 2004
Feels- 2005 Strawberry Jam- 2007
Tour
Jul 16 2009 8:00P Cigale, Paris
Jul 17 2009 8:00P Dour Festival, Dour
Jul 18 2009 8:00P Melt Festival, Grafenhainichen
Jul 19 2009 8:00P Jarocin Festival, Jarocin
Jul 20 2009 8:00P Postgarage Graz
Jul 21 2009 8:00P Bands Apart Festival @ Piazza Castello, Ferrara
Jul 22 2009 8:00P Rock in Roma @ Ippodromo, Le Capanelle Rome
Jul 23 2009 8:00P Jazzaldia at Kursaal San Sebastian
Jul 26 2009 8:00P Fuji Rock Festival, Nigata
Aug 8 2009 8:00P Lollapalooza, Chicago, Illinois
Aug 8 2009 8:00P Lollapalooza DJ Set, Chicago, Illinois
Aug 14 2009 8:00P Prospect Park Bandshell, Brooklyn, New York
Aug 15 2009 8:00P Prospect Park Bandshell, Brooklyn, New York
Aug 20 2009 8:00P Brixton Academy w/ Gang Gang Dance, London
Aug 21 2009 8:00P Green Man Festival, Crickhowell
Sep 12 2009 8:00P All Tomorrow’s Parties, Monticello, New York
Sky Picnic has certainly chosen their niche. Any and all critical exposition of this band must inevitably dissect its work into multiple points of contention concerning what the band is, what it aims to be, and the marked difference between the two.
Psychedelia—a genre of music that is often slandered for its trite obsession with squirrelly questions like, “What if we are all dreaming and reality is like the effervescent foam of the shark infested sea,” and “LSD, mind expander or time vehicle?”
Psychedelia—characterized musically by extended “trippy” solos mostly written in a minor key and saturated with reverberation, tremolo effects, and oscillating time signatures.
Sky Picnic seeks to embody this genre, claiming that they recreate “the unique psychedelic experience that has been absent since the era of Sgt. Pepper and Piper at the Gates of Dawn.” Wow! And listen to this—they will take you to the “outer fringes of the universe.” The over-the-top promises of mind blowing enchantment and the band’s very name invite skepticism. Simply put, Sky Picnic’s biography is a caricature of late 60’s early 70’s psychedelic rock and roll. This is not a band that maintains its innocence concerning direction or purposeful marketing. They whole heartedly embody the anachronistic phrase, “far out,” and their music does them no favors. The album opens with a sitar…
As far as their instrumentation, it is clear that only Chris Sherman knows his way around the studio. I understand the frustrations that come with limited time and budget. You can’t do everything in Pro Tools, especially when recording an album meant to convey the nostalgia of classic pychedelia. Everything I am about to say I am willing to bet is known by the band members themselves. The drums are poorly recorded, giving the entire affair a dull matt. LSD is not a sedative. The bass is often out of sync with the drums, which is often out of sync with the guitar, which seems to be the only constant talent in the band. It is clear that before these cats take me anywhere, much less the outer fringes of the universe, they have to learn how to play together. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of bands I love who haven’t a clue how to play their instruments, but these bands are all equal partners in their cacophonous crimes, Sky Picnic struggles too much with who goes where, when. Synesthesia is a collection of 5 songs that because of structural, thematic, and stylistic problems would have been best left in the “ideas” stage of creativity.
Now what went right?
The post rock elements of Moons of Jupiter and the extended sprawl of Sequence IV are exceptional. The flavor tastes more of Godspeed You Black Emperor rather than the Beatles, but clearly this is a good thing. It is where Sky Picnic excels. In fact, I am going to rename the band. Sky…and just to give it that otherworldly aesthetic we’ll call them Caelum. Sky Picnic is hereby dubbed Caelum. The difference between the artistic direction of Moons of Jupiter and Half the Queen’s Face cannot be overstated. It is the difference between the rarely listened to, and thusly much cooler, Pink Floyd record Mettle, and Rocky Raccoon…bleeech! Of course Moons of Jupiter is the infinitely cooler song. Now this might expose a bias, some really love silly Beatles tunes and I hate them. While the dark tonal environment developed by Moons of Jupiter and Sequence IV do not justify the mechanical mistakes by the band- the errors are still present even in the best of moments- the tracks do set forth a vision of the band that is not amateurish or cartoonish. When they move into this cavernous space, the band demonstrates that they indeed can invoke images of the outer limits in a sincere and forceful way. Caelum (Sky Picnic) needs to vastly improve the production quality of their music, or at least use some more creative techniques in the recording process, and they need to continue to explore what is truly unknown about the human mind, rather than pursue a readily established and entirely exploited line of thought.
Shugo Tokumaru
Exit
September 2, 2008
P-Vine Records/Almost Gold
The stuttered waltz and whimsy that is evoked by Shugo Tokumaru’s latest sonic fable Exit infuses Japanese flourishes with Lennonesque imagination. The record captures the color of a fairy tale and the levity of short bedtime story. He never requires much of the listener other than an appreciation for the occasional appearance of odd instruments and an appetite for extraordinary music. The record never seems to overreach with its Eastern idioms and playful melodies. That Exit is sung in Japanese (I think) adds a level of open-ended intangibility; meaning always remains peripheral to the feel.
Live, Shugo’s plays the guitar as if it were his Siamese twin. His instrument at times seems as big as the man himself. There is an unmistakable element of bluegrass that flavors his live performance. Much of the other nuance present on the record becomes lost in the open space of the venue leaving the defined plucks and strums to fend for themselves. Perhaps this is because his music is so dense that the guitar becomes consumed by the disjointed tinkering bells and ethereal polyrhythm. During his 2008 CMJ appearance at the Bowery Ballroom, as understated as his presence was, he exceeded every other act that night with sheer creativity. As always, the Bowery’s CMJ show was over priced and underperformed; Shugo would have been served by a more intimate venue and a less preoccupied audience.
I am quite sick of the tendency for any musician who employs a whistle in their song structure to be labeled the next “Insert Nationality” Sufjan Stevens. Shugo seems to get shellacked with this honor quite often. His instrumentality relies on a menagerie of distinct sounds that have the sole intent of forming an effervescent ambience. I don’t imagine such a project can be said to be unique to Mr. Stevens. Indeed, Shugo Tokumaru’s Exit is one of the most original records released this year, and it is certain to endear many who listen. If you get the chance to see this guy upon his North American return, be sure to catch him at an appropriate venue, so that all the glorious array of whips and bobs don’t just float away.
My Bloody Valentine
September 23rd 2008
Roseland Ballroom
There is a reason why people listen to My Bloody Valentine religiously, and we all heard it yesterday. Last night’s show was the last of their reunion trilogy in New York, which in their grander USA tour continues westward to end in Los Angeles on October 2nd. No one thought these shows would ever happen again since the band’s break up in 1991, which makes yesterday’s experience (and future shows) all the more surreal. Phenomenal would be an understatement to describe last night, though I don’t know if one word could describe what I felt as I watched in awe. It was a show that tested the human body and mind in the face of life-altering decibel levels. Boxes of earplugs were scattered around the venue as if one pair alone would not suffice. Some brave souls tempted to endure the show without these little saviors. Wikipedia’s entry for the band picks up on this observation of the sound magnitude of MBV’s past reunion shows in the UK:
“One visitor comments he saw a 130 dB volume on the mixing desk, another visitor comments he saw 132 dB at one moment, both louder than the Loudest Band in the World record before the Guinness Book of World Records discontinued the category.”
That makes me feel awesome.
The music was truly hypnotizing (I saw so many faces of honest devotion with eyes shut) and possessed the audience into some involuntary bodily movements that were aesthetically fascinating. But the hypnotic quality shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who listens to MBV. Neither should the fact that it was nearly impossible to discern any of the vocals. What impressed me the most was the sheer power from the drummer and bassist. The sound they produced together was the backbone of last night’s beastly performance. They even had a mirror installed next to the drum set for easy communication. All in all, I was more than satisfied with the show. I nearly cried when they played Cigarette In Your Bed.
Though there was also an opening band called The Lily’s, they were just that—a band you mention before you forget.
Some people brought up that the nostalgia effect as a factor that made this show more amazing than it really was. But for the younger generation like me, last night was not nostalgia, it was now. And hands down, it was my best show yet.
Tour
Sep 25 2008 Kool Haus, Toronto Ontario
Sep 27 2008 Aragon Ballroom, Chicago Illinois
Sep 30 2008 The Concourse Exhibition Center, San Francisco California
Oct 1 2008 Santa Monica Civic, Santa Monica California
Oct 2 2008 Santa Monica Civic, Santa Monica California
The night began with Peasant captivating a fairly populated crowd at New York City’s Mercury Lounge. As Frederick Foxtrott has mentioned numerous times, Damien DeRose has an incredible ability to command attention without begging for it. He is not desperate, even as he discusses even the most vulnerable of topics. The audience talks amongst themselves, waiting through their typical opening band annoyance, when something happens across the crowd; the conversations become muted; peoples’ eyes no longer look for an answer on the floor, or from their friend’s quips and shrugs. Applause reforms from obligatory to laudatory. Peasant plays and people listen. While the contrast with the night’s headlining act was sharp, I wanted to give the band I actually came to see a little credit for inadvertently tipping me off to Bodies of Water, whose recently released record A Certain Feeling is entirely worth listening to.
While Bodies of Water seem to focus on vocalist Meredith Metcalf in their live performance, A Certain Feeling has a much more choral arrangement. At Mercury, Metcalf was the center piece, and a mighty fine one at that. Her voice is strong and refined. She has an indie operatic melody maker that emanates impassioned words well beyond her thin frame. On the record, the band has a much more pronounced presence, supporting Metcalf, whose voice is embedded in the slightly vintage, entirely eccentric instrumental textures. Bodies of Water, from LA, are highly talented. At times they give me the impression that an ever so small, yet appropriate amount of the musical Pippen lays at the foundation of their music- an amalgamation of nascent-prog rock, psychedelia, and musical theater.
The awkward melodies generated by the prowling organ and commanding guitar are deliberate and precise. They accomplish what the Fiery Furnaces are rarely able to. Minute doses of discombobulating riffs blend with an epic sense of song craft. The vast space that the band seeks to fill with its projected strength is impressive. What is even more so, is their ability to never leave the listener hanging, left and abandoned as one movement yields to the next. While Bodies of Water have an air of something enigmatic, they make sense. While this could be a detrimental observation to some bands hoping to produce music that is new and different, Bodies of Water excel at knowing what is worth obscuring.
Hypatia Lake
Angels and Demons, Space and Time
July 15th 2008
Reverb Records
There is the band and then there is the music. It is immediately understood when listening to Angels and Demons, Space and Time that Hypatia Lake has put together a record of enormous depth. The band itself is much less a physical entity, as it is a concept. The record is diffuse and eclectic, a psychedelic feast of beautiful noise and exquisite ambiances. The reason for the music’s variance is that Hypatia Lake is not intended to describe a group of musicians, but rather a mythic town. The band conceives itself as somewhat of an abstraction, manifesting the narratives and ethereal space in which the citizens of Hypatia Lake exist. The band must be understood as a thick description, using music genres and style to reify the disparate personalities that go about their business within the township of Hypatia Lake.
As each song passes, it gives way to the next with a deliberate disregard for consistency in tone or structure. There are heavy elements of early 90’s Seattle rock as well as shoegaze pop and classic psychodelia. I would love to hear this band cover War Pig. Every element of the music successfully invokes a particular mood without the jarring shuttle so often accompanied by medleys. I’ll not bother with a laundry list of musicians from which Hypatia Lake surely derive their influence, that list is assembled with such ease that I’ll save you the splendor of hearing all your guitar heroes amalgamated into a fluctuating pallet of raw heart. This band is ultra art rock; they are not progressive or excessively original, but they have had the divine pleasure of assembling a rare and intensely well written record. Not only was each song excellently conceived, but as a group they were assembled with attention and care.
Hypatia Lake recorded with Scott Colburn, an engineer who has worked with the likes of Arcade Fire and Animal Collective. His experience with experimental recording likely added to the record, but the talent exhibited on Angels and Demons, Space and Time by the band is tremendous. Even though the music serves an abstract function, the risky project proved to be entirely worthwhile. This record is excellent. Period.
Bella Noir
Premonitions EP
March 7, 2008
Avow Records
Rarely does a band’s name seek to so completely describe its music. Bella Noir’s brand is dark and beautiful; it is atmospheric and heavily ambient with dim melodies of vampiric proportions. Vampiric in the sense that Bella Noir creates an intoxicating hybridity of sensual romanticism and tremolotic shades. The distorted reverberations blend every peak and valley, allowing coherence but refusing pomp and excess. The heavy set bass lines are the progeny of The Cure’s 1981 Faith, while rooted in gothic psychedelia, skin deep there is a sense of pop that prevents Premonitions from falling victim to obscurity.
Premonitions is a relatively short EP consisting of 6 songs totaling 22 minutes. This brevity owes impart to the extension’s fifth track Bellow, which clocks in at 42 seconds and merely serves as an intro to the closer Distraction. The EP is extraordinarily even in mood. I have not heard a record so flauntingly androgynous since Elliot’s 2004 sea change Song in the Air. As sad as I was to see Elliot go, I am thrilled to see Bella Noir emerge. Their lack of irony is a much needed contribution to Brooklyn’s independent music scene.
Incidentally, Bella Noir will play R Bar in Manhattan July 9th at 8 PM.
Given the breadth of contributors, it is difficult to describe the myriad of styles that reform Martin’s work. What makes this record so excellent is the consistency provided by the base that Jeff Martin has constructed. While nearly every track is laden with electronic beats and celestial atmospherics, the meat of the music is rooted in the organic, natural sounds of the acoustic guitar, banjo, piano, mandolin, violin, and cello. Indeed, most of the tracks are instrumental, flowing into the limbo that is post-rock. A few songs include Jeff Martin’s voice which has a surprising smoky quality that contrasts sharply with the velour texture of the music.
The most outstanding track off the Spoons remix record is its first. Shuttlecock is energetic, voluminous, and expansive. It comes to us remixed by Bristol’s Minotaur Shock from 4AD. The song begins with a beautiful interplay of strings and xylophone, which is then mixed with a syncopated acoustic guitar riff, a clarinet, and brass. As Shuttlecock accelerates and builds, it perfectly exemplifies the beauty that electronic/organic fusion achieves; the fast paced beats layer the spaces between the chimes of a dozen other rhythms; it increases in velocity, but remains measured and deliberate. This track is simply ridiculous.
Spoons: RCI has many other gems as well. Strange for a Tuner by Chequerboard is sequenced perfectly. Balancing Act by Decal has a latent retro 80s structure that becomes fully born as the track concludes. Some tracks lack many of the electronic elements that are so prevalent throughout the record. Plays Music by Mice Parade and the impassioned Augustine by the Dublin Guitar Quartet are both gorgeous instrumentals. For those of you who love multi-instrumentalists like Sufjan Stevens and Tortoise, the beats of the Album Leaf, or even if you are a listener of the more ambient songs from God Speed You Black Emperor, Spoons: A Collection of Remixes, Collaborations, and Interpretations is a perfect addition to an ever growing and diversifying, nameless genre that flees moment to moment and movement to movement, renegotiating our expectations of complexity and simplicity, tonal dialectics and the subtlety of repetition.
