Wax Fang
La La Land
Don’t Panic! Records
October 14, 2008
Wax Fang- World War II (Pt. 2)
It has been erroneously said that Wax Fang’s music is “otherworldly,” perhaps because of their Brian Eno and David Bowie fascination. No tastemaker’s descriptives can challenge the fact that neither Scott Carney’s voice nor the band’s high powered style is alien to our ears. It would not surprise me in the least if I were to turn the radio on while driving on N71 through Southwest Cork only to find Wax Fang blaring through the speakers. Carney has an imposing voice that is oddly reminiscent of a masculine Marianne Faithful. The music is a saturation of Irish invasion 70’s guitar driven rock, produced with the energy of the Pogues’ pummeling punk. The only reason I even dare to compare these magnificent musicians to anyone at all is because I have yet to read a satisfying description of the band that does not resort to non sequitur comparisons or to the false, though flattering suggestion that what they offer has never been offered before.
La La Land has the grandiosity of a carnival’s main event. Carney’s voice belts like a ring leader’s supplication to a timid crowd waiting to be brought to life by the theatrics of the Big Top. Wax Fang certainly do not lack originality, but their open display of influence is important when gaging who would or would not enjoy their music. One cannot claim Wax Fang to be a carbon copy of anything. They cleverly assemble their music on a foundation of hyper melodic power riffs and drum-line snare pops. The tired and tiring genre of indie-pop lacks Wax Fang’s controlled brashness. While keeping almost entirely away from the schizophrenia of bands like Animal Collective or The Annuals, Wax Fang exudes a vociferousness that is on par with any of indie rock’s more raucous acts. The defining aspect between Wax Fang and others would be that their brashness is contained; it is structured and constrained by their melody’s affinity for stability. The band never strives to make noise or involve themselves in cacophonous tangents that some might consider excessive, while other more discerning listeners might understand to be an unwillingness to take risks.
La La Land is a record worth the buzz that it has received. This Kentucky trio is destined to become one of the great pub rock bands of our time. If they live up to their destiny, we will soon be hearing Carney’s bravado as we down pints of Guinness. It strikes me as odd that the band does not consider their sound to be rooted abroad. I am excited to see the theatrics. When they visit NYC again I’ll certainly be there to watch the circus live. Wax Fang’s explosive energy is highly addictive. They are fist-in-the-air, scream-out-loud melody mongers whose force is focused and unapologetically deliberate. As a side note, drummer Kevin Ratterman comes to Wax Fang from his previous band Elliot, whose short lived career was extraordinarily influential to the indie scene. We are glad to know that life after Elliot can be so good.
HolySons
Decline of the West (Expanded Edition)
September 23rd 2008
Partisan Records
Let’s call it Emil Amos’ “occult personality.” It’s a personality that has little regard for the mainstream reasoning of independent music. While indie-anything might not be funded by multinational conglomerates or directed toward the average teenage yokel, like all trends, a normative pattern has developed that is definitively associative with the indie genre. It is always only a matter of time before the more subversive and respirating aspects of countercultural movements become consolidated and imitated, in order to produce an easily replicable fashion.
This annexation is not necessarily a phenomenon analogous to comodification, but the resulting product and transformative process occurs along similar lines. This is also not a difficult or novel observation to be made. New and innovative forms of expression always morph into what is more easily consumable, or in their most influential moments, such expressions affect public sensibilities, reformatting the public’s expectations and restructuring the capillarian flow into the mainstream. Notice Virgin Mega Store’s small side shelf labeled “Indie Invasion.” Cutting to the chase, Emil Amos’ upcoming release under the moniker HolySons has been genetically engineered to resist this phenomenon. The newly expanded Decline of the West simply does not seem interested in lying on anyone’s proverbial plate.
That is not to say that Amos is an avant-garde original with austere concepts of individualism. Indeed, the drum machine aided acoustic guitar with layered vocals shtick has already been introduced to us by The Beta Band. Somber and sinister voiced lyrics long ago came back to life with Beck’s Sea Change, and Amos’s musings of Satanic Androids would have felt at home on 1994’s Mellow Gold. The smooth lilts from tracks off Decline of the West like Gnostic Device even have undeniable moments that pay heavy homage to Nate Dogg.
HolySons however, cannot be reduced. The loose nature of Amos’ recording process along with the choice of instrumentation and layering, as with the addition of the squeeze box on Bleakest Picture or the banjo on Things You Do While Waiting for the Apocalypse create an atmospheric quality that is perhaps perfectly fragile. To detract from any one element of HolySons would be to collapse its worth entirely. The record is grim and unclean, enigmatic but engaging. HolySons is a sometimes difficult to swallow pill that mollifies the aches and pains induced by the doldrums of scenester rock and roll.
Other Records
Decline of the West- 2005
I want to Live a Peaceful Life- 2002
Enter the Uninhabitable- 2001
Staying True to the Acetone Roots- 2001
Lost Decade- Recorded 1994-1999
The Black Ghosts
The Black Ghosts
July 8th 2008
IAMSOUND Records
Theo Keating and Simon Lord formerly of The Wiseguys and Simian are a British duo that has coalesced to form The Black Ghosts, an energetic outfit that seeks to rejuvenate the transatlantic electro-rock scene. The fuzz pulses and snappy beats have a decidedly disco structure that proves independent pop does not have to be relegated to those who feel what has worked on the dance floor for decades must be reformed or reinvented. Pop, no matter the budget and marketing power of its label, can still be easy and pleasurable.
That being said, The Black Ghosts‘ self titled record certainly has moments that resemble various outputs from The Faint, but they have not taken their independence as a requirement to lower the fidelity of their dance tracks. This record will not remind you of anything brought to us via The Rapture. Indeed much more polished influences can be inferred, Prince and Jamiroquai to name a couple. Keating and Lord have entrenched dance pop into a context much more analogous to their new wave predecessors, instead of accentuating the punk roots from which many early 80’s pop acts claim their heritage, and which might have scored them more brownie points with some in the media.
It is worth noting that Blur’s Damon Albarn does guest vocals on Repetition, and that the album is full length, which these days means at least 10 tracks. The record comes out July 8th and is sure to make a good impression on dance floors across New York City. For those who typically enjoy an evening at the discotech, The Black Ghosts are sure to please. If, like me, you traditionally despise such outings, you might still give them a listen, even if only to gauge all the ironic possibilities.
Los Campesinos!
Hold on Now, Youngster…
April 1st 2008
Arts & Crafts
If Kids Incorporated were to return to the pop cultural radar screen, they would blip to the tune of this unabashedly juvenile band. Los Campesinos! are a group of 7 Welsh youths that have generated what could turn out to be the future prototype for indie pop, or their fifteen minutes may have passed so fast that their influence came and went before the record ever hit the shelves. Hold on Now, Youngster… is a collection of high energy multi-instrument explosions that have been in the works for the better part of 2 years. It is without a doubt one of the most saccharine records I have ever heard. But to its credit, Hold on Now, Youngster… induces excellent spirits as well as that ever elusive urge to dance. It is contrived and trite, sung poorly, harmonies and violins out of tune with the shallowest appeal to be described as punk rock. It is like seeing a 3 year old with a Mohawk on the hip of a Prada draped mother. That having been said, perhaps their naivety is their most attractive aspect.
If Kids Incorporated fails to return then Los Campensinos! should seriously consider their own show. The assembled appearance and style found everywhere from their scratched out and then rewritten lyrics in the album art, to the deliberate branding of their name in their music videos. Hell I even received a baggy of mini-pins with their logo all over it when I bought the record. Their lyrics are clever enough and the instrumentation is really interesting. But there is a youth factor that has been to good effect exploited by bands such as Tokyo Police Club and Born Ruffians. However Los Campesinos! have formulized the attitude and spiked it with a little overt Go! Team Britishness, truncating the ultimate appeal of their music. Another exclamation point? Despite of all of this nose thumbing, Los Campesinos! succeeded in making an extraordinarily fun and energetic record, which complicates much of the criticism levied.
There is a history here, a Montreal history that I don’t understand. The accolades that have pushed Island’s second disc onto the shelves of every major record retailer must be rooted in the friendships the band enjoys within the tightly knit music community of Montreal. With the support of members and former members of Arcade Fire, The Unicorns, and Wolf Parade, Islands recorded and released their debut Return to the Sea. Now they have come at us again hoping that some of that earned cachet and the fostered connections will provide a favorable lens through which to judge their newest effort. I just don’t have it in me to see it their way.
Making a playlist of my favorite Canadian bands would take hours, but I know that Islands probably would not be on the list. There are very few things I like less than an album, which shows all the signs of greatness, is striped of its pretty packaging and exposed as a fraud. I loved the psychedelic loving images from the cover of Arm’s Way, framed by what looks to be a hacked open chest cavity. The pink flesh color reveals a stylized Eden complete with a mushroom cloud and burning car, the outer edges of which, when looked at closely, reveal a wound composed of suggestive yet ambiguous pink parts. But even when you tear away that cellophane wrapping, the disc never looses its status as a packaged product.
Islands’ style is an amalgamation of everything pop. It is hard to deny their song writing abilities. Nicholas Thorburn’s, former vocalist of The Unicorns, brings tons of energy and talent to Islands. The song Abominable Snow, written prior to the formation of Islands, is a great tune with dense textures that allow the sounds of every instrument- guitar, violin, keys- to ebb and flow in volume. Kids Don’t Know Shit is a passionate track that lyrically walks the balance beam between sarcasm and sincere judgment of the supposedly oblivious youth. There are many elements of Arm’s Way that naturally lend it to a favorable review.
The record’s flaws do not come from the writing aspect, although I might suggest that many if not most of the lyrics are uninteresting. No, Islands’ problem comes in the production and conceptualization of Arm’s Way. The maturity that they sought to express ended up painting their project with a veneer of contrivances, caricaturing a style that they and others popularized previously. Songs like The Arm fail to reach the level of epic depth that they overtly are attempting. You do not achieve anything simply by adding a violin run here and there. J’Aime Vous Voire Quitter begins well conceived, but the chorus jolts the listener from good to poor taste before it pulls another punch to the senses when it erupts into La Bamba.
For all it lacks, especially in the first half of the record, Arm’s Way still has enough buoyancy to make a listen worth while. Vertigo closes well. Although it plays lyrically with the often appealed to image of being picked up just to fall down again, the somber vocal melody and full guitar orchestration generate genuine moments of grandeur. But the excellence of this track does much to remind the listener of how little the record offered in its introduction. Islands may be forever but cachet can be exhausted like any other currency.
Great Bloomers
Great Bloomers (EP)
May 27th 2008 (iTunes)
Grifter Records
Canada has yet again dipped into the time tested tradition of folk rock. It is a beautiful sight to behold. The blank and too often standard canvass that the folk genre has become has allowed for heaps of redundancy, monotony, and predictability to seep onto record shop shelves everywhere. In the past as now, folk rock shines when musicians recognize this tendency and confront it head on, sometimes resulting, through experimentation, in music that on its face has little resemblance to its initial root. Acts like Pavement, Broken Social Scene, Eagle Seagull, Modest Mouse, The National, and Wilco all share this readiness to experiment beyond the initial structure of verse/chorus. Toronto’s Great Bloomers have endeavored to contribute to this style with the same reflexive perspective.
In less than 20 minutes, the Great Bloomers’ new self titled EP smears their biography thickly. Lyrically this EP serves as a collection of letters, never annoyingly saccharin, yet caught up in nostalgia and idealism. Catching Up opens the disc with an upbeat, high spirited pop track dressed in a symphony of feedback and speckles of unimposing harmonica. Black Rising Fire continues the EP with an awkward melody that seems lifted directly from early 1990’s pop rock, but as the song teeters it transforms into a bass walking Americana jig, which then descends into a choir of feathered voices.
The energy and musicianship of the Great Bloomers is to be commended. A criticism they may have to overcome would involve their flirtation with sing-song simplicity as in the intro to Market of the Night. However every time a song approaches catastrophe they pull it out of the water. The changeups are not schizophrenic; rather they are subtle shifts in pop sensibilities from banality to the road less traveled. This modal awareness is what makes the Great Bloomers a promising troupe. Look for their full length LP coming soon.
Beach House
Devotion
February 26th 2008
Carpark Records
Beach House’s dreamy pop fills a dim room like a 25 watt bulb. The duo keeps things mysterious and ethereal, and their music balances between heartrending melodies and bitter but sweet ambiances. Brightness is not found in Beach House. While Devotion is yet another album that lacks peaks and valleys, the differential between songs is gauged by its listenablity. Put it in and let it play, again and again. Victoria Legrand’s keyboard emits a variety of quiet and unimposing sounds, as the rhythm, guitar, and vocals are all washed together with the same treatment of deep reverberation, positioning them somewhere cavernous and distant.
In their videos, Beach House visually represents an upbeat caricature of early 70s mainstream bubblegum that served as a precursor to the styles of Studio 54 disco, the commodification of the countercultural movements from the late sixties that led to the more bizarre episodes of The Partridge Family. Their music on the other hand does not sound manufactured. The organic elements that constitute Beach House’s work seem curiously out of step with the visual images. Legrand’s low alto voice has been compared to Mazzy Star and Nico, but in truth there is very little similarity. Beach House is less dynamic than other dream/ether artists likeImmovable Objects, with which songs like Turtle Island have affinity, but there is no denying that Devotion has plenty of replay value, for what particular song however, I am not sure.
White Hinterland
Phylactery Factory
March 4th 2008
Dead Oceans Records
To succeed in getting their names on the lips of people who give a fuck about music, singer/songwriters of the piano sort, or any sort for that matter, have their work cut out for them. With the reemergence of Beth Orton as a name to drop here and there, or the certainty of Cat Power’s legacy in the annuls of indie music, artists like White Hinterland, aka Casey Dienel, are getting a second look; sometimes a second look they deserve, sometimes not. Every label wants their Chan Marshall, right Dead Oceans?
I found Phylactery Factory in the used music section at Sound Fix. Being that that record came out only a few weeks prior, I was curious as to why it had been returned to the shelf so quickly. Giving the CD a second lease on life, I picked it up and was happily surprised. The piano is often up beat and structured with standard melodies, and songs are given flesh with strings and bass, producing a light euphoric rhythm that provokes a tap of the foot, but requires nothing more.
Casey Dienel’s voice is nice and croonish, belonging to one of the more common styles, reflecting a kinship with Beth Gibbons, Beth Orton, Chan Marshall, and Björk. Phylactery Factory was worth the second look, but even as it is easy going and light in spirit, it suffers as a blatant middle-of-the road record, whose highs and lows are barely perceivable and typical when apparent. There is nothing particularly special about the music other than I like it. I suppose that is as much as any singer/songwriter can ask.
Silje nes
Ames Room
March 11th 2008
FatCat Records
Ames Room is not a complicated record, but it contains an elemental beauty and depth that is rarely ever captured by the deliberate and dogmatic procedures that often accompany music writing and production. Silje nes has assembled a broad spectrum of sounds with the sole purpose of creating soft and tender textures that evoke an ethereal space in which all who hear can exist for the short moments that each song lasts. The songs were meant to be listened to in your living room, in the Spring with the windows wide open and the Sun illuminating every particle in the room. With Silje nes, even the dust that floats in the Spring Sun becomes hovering orbs that accentuate the sprightly, feminine music.
Though released in America on March 11th 2008, Silje recorded Ames Room between the Autumn of 2004 and the Summer of 2007. She took the time to compile songs that reflected different moments during the evolution of her music. Before 2004 she sent tracks to FatCat to demo her work. The label began to recognize the possibilities and worked with her to compile Ames Room. The record is layered with guitars, synthesizers, drum machines, as well as the rich and organic tones of the cello and drum kit. The light percussive aspect of Ames Room gives the entire record a music box quality complete with tinks, bells, clicks, and chimes.
This Norwegian voice and textural style has a pure naturalistic sound that would fit nicely into a multi-disc CD player withMúm, Sigur Rós, and The Album Leaf’s In a Safe Place. While Múm and Silje nes are both signed to FatCat, I do not think that this is because of Múm’s long coat tails, rather because FatCat, XL, and others are beginning to delineate a mode of music production that is separate from the doldrums of that vast chasm that is the “post rock” genre. It just seems to be happening in Iceland and the Nordic North. I am sure that a catchy name will soon be circulated to describe the sound’s style and emphasis on the purity and innocence that music can achieve. Silje nes’ Ames Room is imperfect and has much room to improve, but we can only hope that more music comes our way from this grand artist.
The Raconteurs
Consolers of the Lonely
March 25th 2008
Third Man Records (Warner Bros.)
Who doesn’t love it when bands spontaneously release records all over the world at the same time? Want to own it, album art and all? Order a copy from the website or check your local retailer. On March 25th The Raconteurs released a new full length record called Consolers of the Lonely in a trend that seems to be on the rise. They released their record with only a week’s notice, leaving little time for subpar leaks and pesky record reviews to act as intermediary between the music and its audience. Importantly they have not abandoned their record label, or should I say they have not taken refuge from WB’s oppression in the style of Radiohead and Nine Inch Nails (disingenuous or not Trent).
This emerging trend is not necessarily defined by bands that buck the system and self-release records. The Raconteurs have shown that while they may not get all the pioneer credit of Yorke and Co to which NIN tried successfully to dip into, by releasing music in an innovative way, a band can capture the respect and favor of tastemakers everywhere. Consolers of the Lonely’s release was an event. Many month long marketing campaigns and media filtered previews only serve to make the actual release date of a record completely anticlimactic. I am not arguing against singles and the like, I just remember going to the record shop at midnight to get records whose release seemed to be worth remembering. Everyone by now knows the evils of the modern day big record company. The Raconteurs have no intention of addressing these perils, rather they intend on confronting the changing way that records are interfacing with their intended listeners. With the advent of new technology and adjusting big business models, which have largely been kind to Jack White, The Raconteurs have chosen to keep their innovations inbounds and in house.
As for the actual music on the record, it is great. Not only does Jack White have access to a more liberated drummer, but he has a co-captain named Brendan Benson, who has the pull to dampen some of the more appalling song ideas that Jack might have. The Raconteurs have released two records, both of which overtake their White Stripes counterparts. Not to say that Get Behind Me Satan and Icky Thump weren’t great in their own respect, but as Jack White slowly moves from the strict ethics of garage recording to the more colorful production of the refined studio, it seems that when Jack’s music is put in the larger context of multi instrumentation and the benefits of collaboration, The Raconteurs only makes sense. The White Stripes are at their best when they are ripping off Orson Wells from Citizen Kane; they are at their best when they are raw and uncluttered by artful distractions. But this article is not about The White Stripes.
Consolers of the Lonely is a bit of a mixed bag when it comes to both music and lyrics. The personalities of both Jack White and Brendan Benson are evident throughout the record. The title track’s lyrics are questionable. It seems as if the words are simply a slew of common phrases that have been strung together.
“…I’m Skinny as a rail…” “…My brain is fried….
My tongue is tied” “…I’m board to tears…”
I suppose that could be the point, but the song isn’t really that interesting. Salute Your Solution has a great, albeit typical,Jack White melody. What comes as a surprise is when Brendan’s voice picks up the verse. The forging of the signature was audible. You Don’t Understand Me has a lame chorus and its piano line sounds lifted from Fiona Apple. More exactly it sounds like track 5, The Rowan Tree Trilogy, off the Target release Scottish Moors, which doesn’t sound like Fiona Apple at all, but we’ll split the difference. Songs like Many Shades of Black pull White out of his element. Even out of his element, he impressively thrives.
Consolers of the Lonely is certainly a great follow up to their debut. It is a pleasure to hear Jack White use an outlet that challenges his own conventional wisdom. His music is filled out and expanded. This is especially true for the final track. Carolina Dream, the title a possible reference to TheMarshall Tucker Band’s sixth album Carolina Dreams, is the worth the price of the entire record. It is a well textured song with a perfect balance of instrumentation and vivid storytelling that lives up to the band’s name. White redeems his sometimes off lyrical style. The song makes apparent the organic negotiation between the band’s determination to stand on its own legs and the 1,000 lb gorilla of White’s prior association and success with The White Stripes. Carolina Dream is an excellent example of White’s great words, melody, and vociferousness. Consolers of the Lonely makes clear that no matter what lop-sided talent Jack White brings to the table, it is The Raconteurs that allow the full range of that talent to be expressed.
