The Amygdaloids
Theory of My Mind
Knock Out Noise
June 15th 2010
Imaginate by the Amygdaloids
In the Fall of 2005 I walked into Union Hall in Brooklyn to catch a public lecture given by Dr. Joe LeDoux, professor at NYU’s Center for Neural Science. While I have many interests, I always fell short in the sciences, so you can imagine I was quite certain I wouldn’t understand a word of Joe’s discussion of the world of neurons, memory, fear and that little nut shaped region in the brain called the amygdala. But Dr. LeDoux’s lecture was entirely accessible and served as testament to his ability to communicate the business of neuroscience. He has written two books aimed at a general readership, offering not-so-science-savvy folks an avenue towards understanding how their brain works. So one might say that Joe has embraced his role as neuroscience’s public intellectual, ensuring that what goes on in the realm of his discipline does not become too far removed from the questions and curiosities of the people. Think Ted Talks. But LeDoux’s connection to the complex world of neuroscience is not the end of the story. After the lecture, the audience joined LeDoux and a few of his fellow scientist friends up to the first floor of Union Hall where they performed as The Amygdaloids. Right before my eyes I watched these scientists shatter every stereotype concerning the “right brain-left brain” dichotomy. But that was 2005; The Amygdaloids have come a long way since that Union Hall show, releasing their latest record in June called Theory of My Mind.
The two clearest influences that inform The Amygdaloids’ music are the distinct styles of lead guitarist Tyler Volk and LeDoux. Through Volk’s guitar flow accents and power riffs reminiscent of the Monterey Pop Festival of 1967 and the immortal Woodstock that followed two years later. He celebrates the work of Jimi Hendrix and Carlos Santana with his blues laden psychedelia. LeDoux for his part writes songs that project the giest of 60’s dream pop, his songs are products of an ethic that demands good pop be, as Jack Tatum from Wild Nothing said, “catchy but not cheap.” LeDoux is a story teller who, with regard to lyrics and music, is guided by the path set out by the likes of Bob Dylan and The Byrds. The two band members’ influences combine to make a whimsical explication of neuroscientific import embedded in the form and fashion of rock and roll. The lyrics present in Theory of My Mind all hail from the band’s public intellectual ethos. Crime of Passion is a track that explores the question of how much responsibility individuals have when they commit crimes during heightened emotional states. The narrating character of the song croons from a prison cell, recalling the reasons he committed murder and his regrets, singing, “If I could go back, I wouldn’t have killed for you. You’re not worth what I am going through.” Appropriately, to accompany this morose contemplation, Rosanne Cash (daughter of Johnny) sings backup, imbuing the track with a strong sense of sadness.
Itis clear from the various titles of the songs that theme of Theory of My Mind is brain science, with all titles in some way referring to motifs of memory, fear, and individual will. Rhythmically, Tyler Volk’s Automatic Mind is a very creative endeavor that diverges slightly from the overall cohesion of the record. This side item song has a style of its own, mixing the choral melody of 60’s pop with the grim and gothic verse of early 80’s British post-punk. The song succeeds as an unexpected amalgamation.
The CD’s title track, Theory of My Mind explores a psychological question concerning when individuals begin to impute mental states such as desires and beliefs to others, and in turn believe that other individuals impute such mental states to them. In essence, when do we feel empathy; when do we recognize the hopes and fears of others and when do we believe they know or think about ours? Often the answers to these questions have been idealized as representative of our most human emotions, but these emotions are not so easily understood. These questions have diffused over a broad field of disciplines including anthropology, primatology, philosophy, etc. Theory of My Mind is a record that explores these and many other questions. Using the language of love, regret, and all the other entries in the lexicon of rock and roll, Theory of My Mind translates the inquisitiveness of the laboratory onto the forceful expression of the stage.
Worst Case Ontario
Smallcraft
Self Released
Spring 2010
Once again Sam Weisberg and company have sucked our faces back to the summer of 1994. Worst Case Ontario and their fan base may get tired of people saying this, but it is meant in the best possible way. The epic two part guitar melodies juxtaposed with Weisberg’s gas huffing garage rock voice shuttles me back to the sidewalk out of Duffy’s Tavern to listen to the Flaming Lips sing Pilot Can At The Queer Of God. This is the stuff of geniuses; it was a time when you either sided with Pearl Jam or Nirvana; it was a time made for Little Bastard, Semisonic, Sponge, and all the other pop wrought bands that emerged mid-decade, after the descriptive “alternative” no longer referred to otherness or alterity, but rather the very essence of the mainstream. Slacker culture had won out on top. The only thing known about irony came from that damn Alanis Morissette video. This was a time for Mall Rats and Swingers; a time for being money. Tucked within those days of corduroy and flannel, were debates pitting Doolittle against Surfer Rosa, or Slanted and Enchanted against Wowee Zowee. Worst Case Ontario cannot help but evoke these memories. This isn’t the same thing as the Williamsburg music scene or the Bushwick art scene. Who had time for fine things? This band might circulate within the New York music scene, but they do not supplicate the trends of the day.
While their last record Burning Politely was noted to have had the same effect, Worst Case Ontario has made a shorter more concise EP trimming off much of the fat that weighed them down in the past. Like Burning Politely, Smallcraft is both endearing for its saturated musicality of the late 20th century, and inspiring for its display of rawness and earnestness. Particularly salient in this regard are the songs The Complainer and Starve, which encapsulate the very spirit of the band, though the other tracks on the EP are not nearly as interesting. The entirety of the Smallcraft project is displayed a marked improvement. The band has harnessed that space in the garage, that love affair we have with our slacker selves, and has added to it the slightest promise that they aim to be better, that they aim to be more. This is at no time more apparent than the 5:22 minute marker of the concluding track Capricorn every member of the band draws their instrument out full throttle, it is the very second where an otherwise bland track is given life and the band asserts themselves, that they aren’t exactly about not giving a fuck about life. Though the band does need to figure out how to find their sweet spot a little more often….the EP is so far from perfect…it doesn’t need to be perfect.
Good video for the season…although as I am sure everyone would agree, the whole concept of a band playing in a field, with the camera circling around is a bit played out. The cynics like me can’t help but think about how much they’re faking…I mean they are being filmed pretending to sing and play their instruments. It’s kinda weird….contrived…But the band is good and it’s seasonal so it plays on Foxtrott. I like the pumpkins…nice touch…
My first instinct would be to say screw AOL’s spinner.com. But they are distributing Darla Farmer’s live Mercury Lounge album for free, so suppose I can’t disrespect them too much. The show is a product of a collaboration between the band, Magic Hat Brewing Company, and vancar.tv. Below is some video of the show and a link to download the music.
“The burlesque attitude of Darla Farmer is delicious. The bright eccentricities sound as if they were lifted out of a carnival sideshow. Rather than overcompensating for the inherent problems that come with recording horn sections, the loose and live feel of the horns was captured and exploited very tastefully. Too often these types of recordings come off sounding like metronomed midi files, but the dirt is left on and the atmosphere is kept thick.”
Upcoming Tour Dates
9/11 – Nashville, TN @ Cannery Ballroom (Rabbit Release Party)
10/1 – Montreal, QB @ Syndrome (Paper Garden Records music & art party)
11/14 – New York, NY @ 3rd Ward (Paper Garden Records presents: Multiverse Playground)
Beirut
March of the Zapotec EP
Realpeople: Holland EP
January 27th 2009
Pompeii Records
Using his trip to Oaxaca, Mexico as fodder, Zach Condon has brought home March of the Zapotec, the first disc of a double EP released in late January. Mr. Condon inserts roughly 30 seconds of what sounds like a street marching band as an intro to the record. The track is aptly named El Zócalo after El Zócolo Plaza in Oaxaca. The two names are permutations of the same word referring to an open, public square—a space where music, rhythm and public life can unfold. This voyeuristic reference perfectly captures the records inspirational center. Oaxacan traditional brass bands, who possibly share roots with Balkan traditional music as a result of European military expansion into the region in the 18th century, are a perfect appendage to Beirut’s already rustic appeal. The Band Jimenez, a 19 piece band from Teotitlán del Valle in Oaxaca, backs Condon as he synthesizes a genealogical connection between the two worlds of Mexico and Eastern Europe. It is quintessential Beirut, whose somber tone is accentuated with a marvelous old-world beauty fused with indigenousness and romantic antiquity.
The second half of the double EP is released in part under Zach Condon’s pre-Beirut name Realpeople. The five track disc is essentially Mr. Condon and a drum machine. Though his signature baritone vibrato is anchored in an Ernest Hemingway novel, with the Holland EP, he extends his hands forward. Rather than join two points on an atlas he marries two different eras, allowing the double EP, in its entirety, to comment on both time and space. Make no mistake, songs like No Dice and My Night With a Prostitute From Marseille have a Casio-tone, early house quality that many may not appreciate, especially those who gravitated toward Beirut because of the band’s authentic musicianship. In all, Holland proclaims to committed fans and critics alike that Zach Condon will not be boxed in by anyone. Even if what he does best is what we have come to know as Beirut, we should not believe he has no other aspirations or prospective direction. Condon appeals to the most saccharine elements of electronic music in a way that recontextualizes and renews his creativity. It was not a misstep so to speak, but it was dangerous. Lucky for us all, Condon’s newest proclamation is nearly as relevant as those that came before.
Tomoroh Hidari
Also Spoke Zerothruster
January 23rd 2009
Record Label Records
Oliver Strummer, as he is known to his mother, put out a 12” with one of our favorite electronic labels Record Label Records. His 4 track beat graffiti called Also Spoke Zerothruster is a versatile soundscape. Its function and form has the twitchy clicks of acidic electronica, but these rhythmic sequences are enveloped in the ambient spaces of white noise and clipped vocals. Nothing is perhaps the most tempo-regular track of the record. While it might be too cavernous to be played by itself in a club setting, like other tracks on the record, these beats will be attractive to disc jockeys looking for perfect production of abstract sequencing. It will add a unique mélange to any standard set, disobeying the cookie cutter formulations of so much of electronic music.
Also Spoke Zerothruster continues with Extinction Event, a broad combination fast paced bass beats, even faster tweeter piercing accents, and pitch oscillating noises. The track fluctuates between steady, danceable rhythms and individualistic synth melodies. At times Extinction Event reminds me of Peter and the Wolf as conceived of in the world of Tron. The final track, Who Shot the Jazz Drummer, is Tomoroh Hidari at his most ethereal. This dream-state recollection of some jazz moment is almost completely devoid of rhythm. There is virtually no drum, save the occasional bass jimbay and iron pot and spoon dull chime. As short as it is, Also Spoke Zerothruster is a multifaceted, multifocal collection.
Darla Farmer and Wintersleep are starting 2009 with bright proclamations.This week Wintersleep are #26 on the College Music Journal‘s Top 200 chart. They released Welcome to the Night Sky last November and have toured with a number of great acts including Wolf Parade. Their mix of calculated, guitar driven rock gives Canada a good name. They left us wondering, what is in their water… just how many bands can Canada export? They are now touring their homeland and will zip over to Europe February 10th. They will be back in the US soon enough though, and we’ll be happy to welcome them.
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.
The Real Tuesday Weld
The London Book of the Dead
August 28th, 2007
Six Degrees
London Book of the Dead is a noir dream. When met with heavy eyelids it imagines a world of midnight blacks and Jessica Rabbit reds. It emotes the warmth suffered under the lights of a burlesque stage, and the nostalgic chill of a near empty bar—dimly lit for the sake of confidentiality. A symbiosis of electronic accents and vinyl imperfections, this dose of art and sex isn’t so much conceptual as it is invocative, shuttling between clarinet swing and sampled sound bytes. I can’t help but imagine that Stephen Coates considers himself a fan of Matt Johnson’s eclectic style. Although this should come as no surprise; both men are clearly influenced by the myriad of soundscapes carved from the social soil of the early to mid twentieth century. It is a project that reaches back to an already immortal era to inflict the markings of post-modernity on what some would claim to be the golden age of music. It refuses the paradigmatic egocentricity of generational degeneracy. The jazz/rag era was not the end of history.
London Book of the Dead is medicated schizophrenia. Among the collage of gypsy strings, cabaret, and Brit pop, Coates sometimes sounds as if he is trapped in a Steamboat Willie world, contained by a two-dimensional, cartoonish fantasy. The record’s most manic moments can be uneven and discomfiting. But if the project is properly understood, it reveals a beautiful and sentimental creation that acknowledges the compromises we make against our own character and the distance we are from our idealized life. Self-inflicted wounds are often the rule rather than the exception. The music of London Book is dense and rich with acute attention to detail. The textural mapping of electronic beats over organic instruments is not necessarily the newest approach to music making, but Coates is effective nontheless. While every song on the record may not be appropriate for every mood, every song has its proper context; and in that context it succeeds, sometimes with stunning perfection— often a most gorgeous sedative.
Other Music
At The House Of The Clerkenwell Kid- 2001
I, Lucifer- 2002
Les Aperitifs et Les Digestifs- 2004
The Return of the Clerkenwell Kid- 2005
“Dreams That Money Can Buy”- 2006
At the End of the World- 2008
The Volunteers
Spectrophilia
October 23rd 2008
Unsigned
The Volunteers- FckMyGhost
It seems as though Volunteers front man Dan Goddard took on a wager. I imagine he boasted, with inebriated mettle, that he could write a song about anything…just name it. In this concocted explanation of mine, a whiskey pickled friend shouted back a reply, one that would truly challenge the stature of Goddard’s authorial prowess… “Ghost fucking; write a song about ghost fucking!” Not one to go back on his word, Goddard took pen to paper and rattled out the little masterpiece FckMyGhost. In usual style, the song is laden with debauchery and the most splendid male chauvinism. In terms of rock ethics, Goddard makes it clear that he fucks even when he is dead. My favorite thing about this band, other than the punchy, expletive laden folk-rock, is their videos. Featuring scantily clad women always wins in my book. I don’t know what is going on between Death and Mr. Goddard, but I know I like that bikini. The Volunteers exude a particular hedonistic aura that will always be appreciated. They embody Dov Charney’s work ethic to a tee.
The Brooklyn band released their newest record Spectrophilia in late October. Topically, the band branches out. They explore the art of political diatribe in Danger Everywhere You Turn and mention their amusing scenester woes in Namedropper, but these sincere moments are sparsely strewn between gravelly expressions of booze adulation. The Volunteers occupy an interesting space between idealized maturity and recklessness. They are a worthwhile slice of New York Americana. I can’t wait for their next video…
