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.
Various Artists
New Tales to Tell: A Tribute to Love and Rockets
July 28th 2009
Justice Records
Though I might be loathe to write a review about a freaking tribute record, which is often more or less a “best of” album sung by people who have no business doing so, New Tales to Tell: A Tribute to Love and Rockets is pretty damn cool. In some circles it might do you a service to be able to list off which Love and Rockets tunes to think are best, but let’s be honest, no one really obsesses over them. We recognize a song here and there, but the fact of the matter is we are far more likely to say, “Oh that’s who sings this song, I never knew.” They are like The The; a perfectly lovable band that music geeks know just to know, but are otherwise not excited…and I love The The.
The beauty of this tribute album is that the 99% of Love and Rockets songs you don’t know are given life by a myriad of artists who, while not necessarily improving on the original, have the sensibility to make the song relevant in context to modern music. It is not as if they are reissuing a stale post-goth, post punk Brit rock sludge, no this is a project of a different order. It is the reimagining of a body of work that has certainly thrived below the surface in the minds of many musicians, but has never really maintained itself in pop culture or geeky conversation. At best this release will reacquaint music consumers with a great band, at worst it will merely be a blip in a music world that has turned to simmer. Good music and those that produce it have after all become so ephemeral.
For those of you who don’t know Love and Rockets, here is a brief biography. Former members of Goth icons Bauhaus formed Love and Rockets named after a comic of the same name in 1985, releasing three records in three years (’85-’87), another in ’89, and far fewer records release periodically in the ‘90s. The band called it quits in 1999, only to do what every other 80s band has done, reunite for Coachella and Lollapalooza in 2008! Their best known song is So Alive which hit #3 on Billboard and #1 on Modern Rock Tracks. They are, as you probably guessed, from England.
Highlights of the albums are Snowden’s No Words No More, Lossy Coils’ and Ian Moore’s Sweet F.A., A Place to Bury Strangers’ The Light, Film School’s An American Dream, War Tapes’ Love Me, Pucifer’s Holiday on the Moon, Black Francis’ All in My Mind. Other artists that contribute include The Stone Foxes, Frankenstein 3000, Blaqk Audio, Dubfire, The Dandy Warhols, The Flaming Lips, Sweethead, Monster Magnet, VEX, Chantal Claret, and Better than Ezra, who scored the task of performing So Alive, but who also unfortunately decided just to blandly reproduce the original. Typically one shouldn’t try and fix something that isn’t busted. However, there is nothing wrong with reinvoking what has been forgotten using a modern medium and a modern voice.
Super 700
Lovebites
February 27th 2009
Motor Music
The darkly sensual style that is both consumed and created in Europe’s thriving electro-indie rock scene has sent another beautiful band stateside. Recorded at Planet Rock studios in Berlin under the supervision of Rob Kirwan of U2 and Depeche Mode fame, Lovebites is a supremely focused record by Germany’s Super 700. Ibadet Ramadani’s vocals nicely compliment the somber strings and opiate waves of the Marrakeshian melodies. Lovebites shuttles between a flurry of epic aesthetics and the slow, sexy romance of an Ian Fleming spy novel. One can imagine a kaleidoscopic image pouring a deep red velvet color over barely perceivable undressed bodies when listening to Super 700.
The band avoids the awkward distraction that sometimes occurs when German vocalists sing in English. They do this not by avoiding the language, but by perfecting it.Some might compareSuper 700 to Blonde Redhead, but this would be yet another lazy juxtaposition. While both bands have an affinity for thematically dark songwriting, Super 700 clearly aims toward the accessibility of Sade. As a complete work Lovebites flows from song to song, mimicking the motion of an oil filled hourglass; it is cohesive, each song belonging to the other. The record does not contain the most original or provocative material, but it excels as a mysterious and beautiful work, entirely worth our attention.
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.
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
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.
