Thought & Memory
Time EP
Unsigned
January 1st 2010
“Man is a wolf to man” (“lupus est homo homini” Plautus: Asinaria, 495). This quotation from Though & Memory’s myspace embodies the reflexive and philosophical frame through which their debut EP ought to be absorbed. Referencing the atrocities man inflicts on man, Thought & Memory have built and self-released an epic four song EP titled Time, a record wrought with an animistic serenity, ruptured by the thunder of collided sheet metal and the feral intensity of natural violence. Song titles like Wing by Wing, Sixty Sunsets, and What Are We Now, are the only words attached to the music. They are also indicative of the thought put into every moment of the EP. The music is both beautiful and obscure, sophisticated and primal, calming and destructive. The band sprouts from the post-rock genre, finding fraternity with the likes of Explosions in the Sky, Mogwai, or early Pelican, but the cutting juxtaposition of instrumentation on the record reveals a unique and compelling band who do not wear the tag of “knock off,” rather they have orchestrated a brilliant mélange with considerable energy, which culminates in the sixth minute, fifty-sixth second of the fourth and final track What Are We Now. The EP is short and definitely leaves the listener wanting more. Having seen a few of their live performances, I know that more will be released soon enough.
Upcoming Shows
January 23rd 8PM – Mr. Beery’s – Bethpage, NY
February 14th 1 PM – Sinclair’s Pub – West Babylon, NY
February 27th 9PM – Bartin – Babylon, NY
Color Radio
Be Safe, Be Aware
September 2nd 2009
Unsigned
Not to contradict the legions of intelligent and insightful music critics who have commented on the worth and wonder of Color Radio’s newest EP Be Safe, Be Aware, but the best you can do is compare these kids to Coldplay, Arctic Monkeys, Doves, Travis, and Radiohead?! Let me set the record straight, if they must be compared to something or someone, let’s talk about Matt Johnson, Morrissey, and Tim Kasher smoking reefer in an alternate universe where 1984 and 2009 collapse into an eternal nightclub in Manchester. In this sense I can see why some might compare them to Doves, but not necessarily because they sound alike, but because Doves actually used to hang out at The Haçienda in Manchester in 1984. Some may say Tim Kasher, really? And I say yes, he is there, at least for a moment or two. But that would only be if I wanted to compare them to anyone at all.
Color Radio’s music is modern-it is heart felt-it is a topographic tour of dreamscape melody. Jonathan Ifergan and Tohm Ifergan, are an excellent guitar drum duo charmed by the familial fact that they are indeed brothers. The two are only increased in beauty by Matthew Thomas and Joel Chasco who in infuse the intense ambiance with their respective contributions of keys and bass. I would be excited to have this group meet and pair up for a couple of nights in New York City with another great Midwestern band Eagle Seagull. Color Radio are what their band name says they are. They pulse with color, attitude, and passion. Better yet, they are having a three date stint next week in New York, so December calls people, let’s go…
Other Music
Newest News- 2009
Feeling Like You Used To EP- 2008
Tour
December 11th 9PM Skully’s w/ Loyal Divide Columbus, Ohio
December 12th 8PM TBA Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
December 14th 8PM Arlene’s Grocery New York, New York
December 15th 8PM Midway Cafe Boston, Massachusetts
December 16th 8PM Glasslands Gallery Brooklyn, New York
December 17th 9PM Lulu’s Village Pub Port Jefferson, New York
December 18th 9PM Cranky’s Manatee Pub Cleveland, Ohio
December 19th 8PM TBA Fort Wayne, Indiana
For those of you looking for incredibly loud walls of melodious majestic sound with which to deafen yourselves The Sunshine Factory has confected a sugary short-list of songs. The band offers the Sugar EP at a name your price bargain on their website thesunshinefactory.bandcamp.com. The music is highly orchestrated power shoegaze replete with pedaled ambiance and seraphim vocals. They hail from Mobile, Alabama and will be driving northward in March to play Trash Bar, a local Williamsburg bar in Brooklyn. Trash Bar is located South of Metropolitan of Grand between Roebling and Driggs, and conveniently across the street from my apartment and my favorite restaurant, so I really have no reason to miss this one. Of course these guys have a heavy dose of My Bloody Valentine influence, and they’d do well to seek out the likes of Chicago’s Airiel, that is if they are still making music-I need to check in with them, or local NES shoegaze outfit Depreciation Guild. Here is a taste…
Black Hat Brigade
Fathers EP
May 29th 2009
Unsigned
Black Hat Brigade- Zombie City Shake
Far from the cavernous sprawl expressed by earlier recordings, Black Hat Brigade has recorded an EP that will be described as one of the best releases of 2009. Their Fathers EP kicks so much ass, they aren’t permitted to tour in America for fear that their presence will make the heads of residents in Williamsburg, Greenpoint, and Bushwick explode. This really is a national security thing. It is worth noting that the religious right and Billboard magazine have rigorously lobbied INS to approve visas for the band—clearly an attempt to silence northern Brooklyn’s pesky music scene. You know what I say? Fuck it’s worth it! Get your asses to NYC! Sure Robert Haughey’s vocals might remind some of fellow Canadian Dan Boeckner, but who really gives a damn?
Like the morose joy of Eagle Seagull, Black Hat Brigade’s music is entirely different and in many ways better than Wolf Parade. Fathers is defined by a paradox. Dark lyrics that speak of blood, guts, and zombies are cradles inside of some of the brightest and most expansive dance music written for the small club stage. Or maybe it is just that I can dance to anything, but we all know this to be untrue. While there is not a bad track on the 7 song + 1 reprise EP, there are certainly a few standouts. Zombie City Shake, Castlevania, and Vera are all exceptional. These songs not only have the pop sensibilities that provoke inebriated jigs, but they throw back to the epic layers common on their first EP. Here, the voluminous multifaceted interplay is harnessed to produce ridiculous crescendos, the heights of which truly press the limits of grandeur.
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.
Kinase Moves the Audio After Silence Part 1
December 24th 2008
Unsigned
Kinsase Moves the Audio- The Flawless Veil
Scientific moments, measured and compartmentalized, structure the expansive debut EP from Lansing Michigan’s Kinase Moves the Audio titled After silence Part 1. However, the aesthetic projected out of that structure is proto-science; it is alchemy in the sense that the band transforms regulated units of time and sound into something else, something that reaches beyond its natural parameters. The ubiquitous Ryan T. Johnson, producer of the EP, writer of much of the music, and band member, has taken up a project of ambiguity. Perhaps stemming from his academic interest in the sexual dimorphism of the amygdala, Kinase Moves the Audio transverses the categories of masculine and feminine. They are at times brooding, while other times deeply melodic. The music shuttles and negotiates the boundaries between mechanistic synthetics and the natural elements of Afro-Latin rhythms, which are themselves an instantiation of music as mestizo. Even the track titles reflect an interest in hybridity. Anthrobotic, Idiology, and A Flawless Veil, are all titles that imply subtraction, compromise, and impurity.
“Fancy Cars and wine and women. Flashy clothes and gold and fashion. Now you sport a freshly sculpted face. Now you stand out in a crowd.”
The music is a garden bed expressing the pollination of an unmentionable number of influences from Maynard James Keenan to Bowie’s short introduction to Diamond Dogs. John Gapp’s vocals are impressive, exuding a noir romanticism and Aristotelian condescension. Modulated effects are woven through a mesh of organic drums and accenting Brass instruments. The orchestration skillfully assembles layer over layer without digressing into a cacophonous annoyance. This skill is a product of exceptional recording and production, as well as the ability of the numerous musicians to coalesce. Kinase Moves the Audio takes disparate parts and makes them one. The energy accumulated and exploded throughout this process is epic.
While it might be true that After Silence is conceptualized and anchored by a specific objective, the self-proclaimed genre that Kinase Moves the Audio operates within allows for an exceedingly large range of sounds. Mod prog—can we move on to post prog yet?—is a tricky genre to attach one’s self to. As a simple label it does little to describe the mode of music production, except to say that the songs are probably long, experiential, and mathematical in terms of composition. After Silence, while containing these components, is an EP that does not commit the foul sins of pretension and hyper-convolution. The aside comment being that prog often misunderstands the nature of music; it is not a collection of notes and time signatures; complication alone is not art. It should also not be contrived, having artificial meaning clumsily masking a clearly blank expression.Kinase Moves the Audio understands this and have sought to produce an opus that stands monolithically unified. The music is the album art.
Perhaps it is mere proximity that has me talking about Canada as if it were the hydroponic greenhouse of good music. Whatever the case, Black Hat Brigade, from somewhere-or-another Ontario, has penetrated into New York, prompting me to tell you how great they are. They are like a nine-headed hydra, with each viperous head representing an enduring tradition of independent spirited stylistic wisdom. What the fuck does that even mean? It has been said that these guys are post-rock, which can be deduced from the lyricless sprawls, cavernous reverberations, and extended buildups, as in the song epically titled Swords. But the outfit has no problem shifting to into an indie dance beat that approaches the realm of Eagle Seagullor Talking Heads; the specter of late seventies Mancunian music appearing throughout.
No matter what their slightly schizophrenic style choice is for any particular moment, Black Hat Brigade makes great music. They are asking for donations to self-release their newest EP Fathers due out May 29th. Of course a donation of $10 or more gets you a copy of their EP. This sounds to me an awful lot like they are selling the thing for $10 (or more if you really like it). With the industry as saturated and volatile as it is, it seems everyone is finding creative ways to fund their projects. But I say if they want to be bums, it is time they travel to New York and pander in the clubs of Brooklyn.
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.
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.
In recent memory there has not been a band that has so succinctly captured the deep meaning and purpose of voyaging toward something unknown as the Whiskey Go Go’s. This is not only represented in their music, but also in their recent movement through New York City and LA. As the industrial malaise suffocates the broad sea of creativity and talent, some have made it their mission to ensure that their extraordinary presence in independent music is still felt. Vocalist/guitarist Matt Hutchinson and drummer Michael Noonan have exhibited their affinity for Brooklyn, playing multiple venues over the past two months. After their stints at The Trash Bar, the Whiskey Go Go’s played a set at Union Pool withParlor Grand whose MySpace quote says it all, “There are some Indians, There are some Whites.” Parlor Grand had a Crazy Horse aesthetic and a joy for performance that made their set entirely worth showing up for. Of course Union Pool’s delicious outdoor Taquito stand and wood burning fire pit didn’t hurt.
The audience at Union Pool was markedly different from that of The Trash Bar. I am not sure if this resulted from the particular type of punter each venue attracts, or from the high volume of random sophisticates and eager girls that decided to attend Union Pool that night. In any case, Union Pool’s show was somewhat more subdued. This is not to say the show as any less impressive; Hutchinson still had that same dramatic intensity. His eyes began tightly shut and his hands spoke with subtle movements. As the show continued he became ravenously wide-eyed and his hands seemed to reach out and extend past the crowd. He abused the whammy bar and scrapped the strings of his guitar along everything he could find, from the microphone mesh to the cymbal’s edge.
Mr. Noonan also played exquisitely. He is a disciplined drummer with excellent chops, which is important being that there are limited permanent members touring the U.S. There would be no room on this tour for an impressive front stage presence hampered by the dulling baggage of mediocrity. It was a privilege to get to see a second showcase of their new project Whiskey Rain, which is the title of their yet-to-be-released record. While unmastered, I have had the opportunity to listen to the new record. Though the record is largely influenced by various strains of Americana, it contains an authentic voice of its own. That voice contemplates love, loss, and ways to pacify the clutter of an unkempt mind…namely drinking…a lot.
The record is assembled with precision. The opening track, titled Whiskey Rain, is a collage of barely comprehendible exhortations, a wish list of affection set over amazing pop guitar. It is easily one of the most well written songs released this year. The following track, Wooden Hearts, is a bass driven, distorted soliloquy, narrating events with descriptions of natural elements and of violence, erupting into the refrain:
“You are the lady that I love…You are women that I adore”
This marks a defining feature of the Whiskey Go Go’s work. Hutchinson has written phrases that when heard are nearly impossible to suppress from being repeated over and over again in your head. Bang Shot is another incredibly well written track that begins with a simple and soft guitar melody joined by a perfect hum from the band. The song builds as Noonan’s snare pop makes the song onomatopoeic. The crescendo has all instruments at fever pitch as Hutchinson croons a new take on the old adage that it takes two…
“I held the gun, but she pulled the trigger.”
As a whole, the record succeeds almost immaculately, with only a few subjective missteps occurring. Every track is creative—undeniably a product of a band that benefits from the momentum of charisma and determination. Songs like Devil’s Banquet and Love Song round out the record, ensuring that it has balance and weight. Even White Angel and Yours Sincerely, the record’s most problematic tracks, have moments of stunning beauty and imperfect charm. The Whiskey Go Go’s have made a nice addendum to 2007’s Proud Tale to Them of Us, which itself boasted plenty of great songs like Rodeo and True Love. Hutchinson’s hollering madness and rustic sophistication is impressive. It is only a matter of time before they receive wider recognition. We are glad to have seen them when we did.
