No, faithful readers - yes, I'm addressing all five of you (hi, Mom!) - I have not gracefully stepped down from my independently-labeled soapbox. If you've seen me walking in the dining halls, you'll know that first, gracefulness is not my forte, and second, I am not able to pass up an opportunity to pontificate on the social importance of the entire campus knowing what currently plays on my iPod. In fact, you should not only care what I listen to, you should spend the time to download it as well - college is a period of broadened horizons and self-improvement. So get thee to a music blog, post-haste. Not to say that my predecessors haven't done a fantastic job. And I'm sure that most of you are pleased to read about music from artists who are not white 20-something males armed with high-pitched voices and acoustic guitars (in my defense, I did write about 20-something females). But in their attempts to break out of a certain mold of "indie-music," my male counterparts have made a grave oversight that cannot go unheeded. Hey Jason and Alex, ever hear of someone named Andrew Bird? I'm sure you have, in your enlightened upperclassman status. But we have some freshmen - excuse me, "first-years" - who missed out on the Sepomana of yore when Andrew Bird took the McCullough stage and awed an audience with a whistle and an untucked button-down.
Since then, Bird has experienced if not mainstream fame, then at least a fan base extending beyond hyper-literate undergrads. In 2007 the cohesive "Armchair Apocrypha" cemented my love for the one-man band from Chicago - an adoration that started when a man behind a counter handed me a copy of "Weather Systems" five years ago. This long-term love affair hasn't blinded me to his imperfections, however. In fact, I wanted to dislike January's "Noble Beast," bitter at Mr. Bird for canceling his Higher Ground show and demolishing my hope to have my folk-pop hero as the last concert of my college career. But you can't deny greatness - and "Noble Beast" isn't just great, it's inspired.
His fifth full-length release and second record with the Fat Possum label, "Noble Beast," like the album cover itself, shows a return to a simpler, cleaner, more natural sound. It's not that the electronic presence of Martin Dosh on "Armchair" detracted from Bird's feel - in fact, Dosh's collaboration gave the album its polished, catchy feel and subsequent popularity. On "Noble Beast," however, it is refreshing to hear the classically trained violinist return to his roots. He continues to manipulate the strings, crafting a genre-bending style ranging from the swing jazz of "Not a Robot, But a Ghost" to the almost Caribbean feel of "Nomenclature." Hell, "Fitz and Dizzyspells" may even have those indie-kids dancing. In addition to showcasing his versatility, "Noble Beast" offers listeners Bird's finest musicianship to date: either by picking at the strings or by forming sprawling chords, Bird's talent for the violin on such tracks as "Masterswarm" and "Anonanimal" eclipses his reputation as a peerless whistler. And no, not all of the cuts from the album are groundbreaking: "Privateers" proves downright boring and the opener "Oh No" I could take or leave. But even if every other song was like "Privateers," Bird's crowning achievement, "Tenuousness," would be enough to gain my endorsement. With a steady clapping undertone and solid violin foundation, "Tenuousness" is classic Bird: clean, catchy and flawlessly crafted. Actually, my review could have been just one word - "Tenuousness" - but I thought 499 exclamation points were a bit much.
On "Anonanimal," Bird sings, "I will become this animal/Perfectly adapted to a music hall." And in response to his claim, we will answer back, "I know this song, I love this song." If Andrew Bird couldn't be my final college concert, I'm grateful that at least he could be my final column.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Bands of Summer
I am trading brown sweaters for worn linen, retiring Columbia boots for Madden flats, tired jeans for cotton dresses and my work ethic for three-hour meals on Battell Beach. And as I am restructuring my mood from hibernating bookworm to GPA-murdering social butterfly, I find myself deleting playlists such as "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground," and facelifting my iPod with mixes boasting the promises of "Why Ponder Life's Complexities When the Leather Runs Smooth on the Passenger Seat?" While your Belle and Sebastian catalogue may be where you instinctively turn to, just because you have a favorite t-shirt doesn't mean you never update your wardrobe. Try these three artists on for size — they will at least keep you covered until the new Death Cab release on May 13.
Besides awesomeness, the tying factors between the French duo M83, Baltimore childhood couple Beach House and Liverpool vixen Candie Payne is nostalgia. M83's fifth full-length release Saturdays=Youth is aptly named — playing itself as the ideal soundtrack for idyllic afternoons and windows-down windy roads. The first cut, "Graveyard Girl," incorporates the lushness of acclaimed 2003's Dead Cities, Red Seas and Lost Ghosts, but updates some of the duo's earlier shoegaze aesthetics with poppy percussion. Unfortunately, it drags me back to high school in a bad way with a cheesy spoken interlude including the gem, "I'm 15 years old and I already feel like it's too late to live." The '80s-inspired synth-pop tracks like "Kim and Jessie" and the more subdued "Too Late," however, more than make up for it, evoking simpler times scripted by John Hughes. Throw in lines such as "Kids outside worlds / They are crazy about romance and illusion" sung in Anthony Gonzalez's stylized vocals, and I feel exhilaratingly infinite after 20 minutes into the disc. The Phil Collins of our generation, M83's April 15 release is pure pop, masterfully memorable in its reconstructed musical memories of a past decade.
Fittingly enough, Beach House is the perfect vacation from joint-rolling jam-bands, ghetto-gyrating Young Jeezy and even the plastic punch of the material girl's new single "4 Minutes" (no disrespect, Madge). From the opening harpsichord harmonies of "Wedding Bells," their second attempt, Devotion, blends the catchy chamber-pop of Matt Pond PA with the inebriating ambience of Tegan and Sara. The languid organs, wistful waltzes and the steady vinyl vocals of Alex Scally on standout songs "You Came to Me" and "Gila" add a '50s flavor and '60s sensibility to the Baltimore duo's sophomore release — the warped warbles on "Home Again" even evoking The Beatles at times.
Despite the reemergence of peppy-girl group The Pipettes, the sugary sounds of Lucky Soul and Amy Winehouse's R& B revamp, Britain's Candie Payne purred and slinked her way into the critical eye with her freshman endeavor I Wish I Could Have Loved You More, slated for a May 21 release. Payne's seductive voice tangos with a guttural guitar and cheeky brass on the opening title track which has all the sex appeal, flair and intrigue of a classic Bond flick. The singer/songwriter sustains the tempting tension with "Why Should I Settle for You" — her adoration of Billie Holiday evident in her measured, smoky vocals while the perky percussion of "One More Chance" and "All I Need to Hear" reinvents Motown as modern. Although over-produced and forcibly a period piece at times, Payne's first album looks back and glances forward to a strong career for this Liverpool lady.
So grab a blanket and a couple blank CDs and set about inventing some summer memories of your own. Visit http://www.hypem.com to download any of the above-mentioned tracks, and don't forget the sunscreen — only music is fun when it's burned.
"Gila" Beach House
"Too Late" Gila
"All I Need to Hear" Candie Payne
Besides awesomeness, the tying factors between the French duo M83, Baltimore childhood couple Beach House and Liverpool vixen Candie Payne is nostalgia. M83's fifth full-length release Saturdays=Youth is aptly named — playing itself as the ideal soundtrack for idyllic afternoons and windows-down windy roads. The first cut, "Graveyard Girl," incorporates the lushness of acclaimed 2003's Dead Cities, Red Seas and Lost Ghosts, but updates some of the duo's earlier shoegaze aesthetics with poppy percussion. Unfortunately, it drags me back to high school in a bad way with a cheesy spoken interlude including the gem, "I'm 15 years old and I already feel like it's too late to live." The '80s-inspired synth-pop tracks like "Kim and Jessie" and the more subdued "Too Late," however, more than make up for it, evoking simpler times scripted by John Hughes. Throw in lines such as "Kids outside worlds / They are crazy about romance and illusion" sung in Anthony Gonzalez's stylized vocals, and I feel exhilaratingly infinite after 20 minutes into the disc. The Phil Collins of our generation, M83's April 15 release is pure pop, masterfully memorable in its reconstructed musical memories of a past decade.
Fittingly enough, Beach House is the perfect vacation from joint-rolling jam-bands, ghetto-gyrating Young Jeezy and even the plastic punch of the material girl's new single "4 Minutes" (no disrespect, Madge). From the opening harpsichord harmonies of "Wedding Bells," their second attempt, Devotion, blends the catchy chamber-pop of Matt Pond PA with the inebriating ambience of Tegan and Sara. The languid organs, wistful waltzes and the steady vinyl vocals of Alex Scally on standout songs "You Came to Me" and "Gila" add a '50s flavor and '60s sensibility to the Baltimore duo's sophomore release — the warped warbles on "Home Again" even evoking The Beatles at times.
Despite the reemergence of peppy-girl group The Pipettes, the sugary sounds of Lucky Soul and Amy Winehouse's R& B revamp, Britain's Candie Payne purred and slinked her way into the critical eye with her freshman endeavor I Wish I Could Have Loved You More, slated for a May 21 release. Payne's seductive voice tangos with a guttural guitar and cheeky brass on the opening title track which has all the sex appeal, flair and intrigue of a classic Bond flick. The singer/songwriter sustains the tempting tension with "Why Should I Settle for You" — her adoration of Billie Holiday evident in her measured, smoky vocals while the perky percussion of "One More Chance" and "All I Need to Hear" reinvents Motown as modern. Although over-produced and forcibly a period piece at times, Payne's first album looks back and glances forward to a strong career for this Liverpool lady.
So grab a blanket and a couple blank CDs and set about inventing some summer memories of your own. Visit http://www.hypem.com to download any of the above-mentioned tracks, and don't forget the sunscreen — only music is fun when it's burned.
"Gila" Beach House
"Too Late" Gila
"All I Need to Hear" Candie Payne
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Making up with Mashups
From broccoli and barbeque sauce melted in a Proctor panini to snow boots worn over springtime leggings to Shakespeare scholars rocking out geology classes, the Middlebury campus seems to be all about mixing the incongruous. So I suppose the success of mashup artist Girl Talk's January concert should not have been such a shock. I mean, the fact that MCAB actually managed to book a creative act absent of alienation is as a rare an occurrence and as pleasant a surprise as a working Creamee machine in Ross Dining Hall, but I personally never got behind the mashup. Maybe it's because I am anal retentive about keeping my foods separate from one another — I am ever vigilant about that deserter pea trying to cozy up to my mashed potatoes. The closest I get to mingling the divergent is wearing brown boots with a black sweater.
Let's talk of individuals whose seemingly incongruous creations are always en vogue. Head of Radio is at it again. The '90s alt, millennia-revolutionary quintet is positioning itself as puppet-master of the media yet again with the release of its single "Nude" in three different stems. In late 2007, the British electronic rockers did not just make the record industry's already waning financial flow skip a beat with their download-only name-your-own-price release — they set the industry's economic ecosphere into cardiac arrest. And just when the uncooperative commerce started collaborating with instead of condemning the MP3, the less ubiquitous, but still vaguely threatening concern of the mashup manifested itself. Furthermore, to twist the metaphorical knife into the already nickel-bleeding industry, Radiohead is promoting the use of their music for remixing, making other artists who complain about creative reconstruction of their works look like "The [ever-villainized and unequivocally lame] Man." But Thom Yorke is not quite the Messiah of market-free music — the Web Site is charging 99 cents per stem-sample.
Where is the line between self-expression and stealing? Dissect DJ Danger Mouse's seminal The Grey Album, for example. A mashup of The Beatles' The White Album and Jay-Z's The Black Album, many of the cuts do not even resemble either source tracks, instead melding into a musical motion that is neither 60s mod nor mercantile hip-hop - delivering an album that is a flawlessly danceable and meditative movement. While Danger Mouse was able to rise above the threatened lawsuits from Shawn Carter by not charging for the album's release, don't lose sleep fretting that you're feeding your appetite for the latest installments in the bastard-pop genre while Danger's little mice starve — thanks to the success of the online-only album, brainchild Gnarls Barkley was born. I know you cynics claim it's easy for established Brits and self-proclaimed auteurs turned multimillion-dollar producers to be in favor of mashups, but lack of notoriety and no Washingtons in sight are not stopping some ambitious and occasionally absurd artists from cropping up.
I mean, look at the viral entity of procrastination known as YouTube. Our generation demands to be a media mouthpiece and apparently has too much time on its hands. My new favorite incarnation of the mashup is The Hood Internet. A Chicago-based band, The Hood Internet specializes in mixing indie-rock with both underground and mainstream hip-hop, releasing all tracks for free on their Web Site of the same name. One of their treasures is R.Kelly vs. Swedish indie-pop darling Jens Lekman. On MP3 blog-aggregator Hype Machine, even 15-year-old boys from Vancouver post their latest creations. My most recent mashup addiction — Crystal Castles vs. Health's "Crimewave" — is thanks to hotspot Friction NYC.
So while I thought I was incompatible with the mashup, if gangster rappers and skinny white boys with guitars can come together so harmoniously on a track, I am starting to think bootlegs and my stereo can get along after all.
"Crimewave" Crystal Castles vs Health
Let's talk of individuals whose seemingly incongruous creations are always en vogue. Head of Radio is at it again. The '90s alt, millennia-revolutionary quintet is positioning itself as puppet-master of the media yet again with the release of its single "Nude" in three different stems. In late 2007, the British electronic rockers did not just make the record industry's already waning financial flow skip a beat with their download-only name-your-own-price release — they set the industry's economic ecosphere into cardiac arrest. And just when the uncooperative commerce started collaborating with instead of condemning the MP3, the less ubiquitous, but still vaguely threatening concern of the mashup manifested itself. Furthermore, to twist the metaphorical knife into the already nickel-bleeding industry, Radiohead is promoting the use of their music for remixing, making other artists who complain about creative reconstruction of their works look like "The [ever-villainized and unequivocally lame] Man." But Thom Yorke is not quite the Messiah of market-free music — the Web Site is charging 99 cents per stem-sample.
Where is the line between self-expression and stealing? Dissect DJ Danger Mouse's seminal The Grey Album, for example. A mashup of The Beatles' The White Album and Jay-Z's The Black Album, many of the cuts do not even resemble either source tracks, instead melding into a musical motion that is neither 60s mod nor mercantile hip-hop - delivering an album that is a flawlessly danceable and meditative movement. While Danger Mouse was able to rise above the threatened lawsuits from Shawn Carter by not charging for the album's release, don't lose sleep fretting that you're feeding your appetite for the latest installments in the bastard-pop genre while Danger's little mice starve — thanks to the success of the online-only album, brainchild Gnarls Barkley was born. I know you cynics claim it's easy for established Brits and self-proclaimed auteurs turned multimillion-dollar producers to be in favor of mashups, but lack of notoriety and no Washingtons in sight are not stopping some ambitious and occasionally absurd artists from cropping up.
I mean, look at the viral entity of procrastination known as YouTube. Our generation demands to be a media mouthpiece and apparently has too much time on its hands. My new favorite incarnation of the mashup is The Hood Internet. A Chicago-based band, The Hood Internet specializes in mixing indie-rock with both underground and mainstream hip-hop, releasing all tracks for free on their Web Site of the same name. One of their treasures is R.Kelly vs. Swedish indie-pop darling Jens Lekman. On MP3 blog-aggregator Hype Machine, even 15-year-old boys from Vancouver post their latest creations. My most recent mashup addiction — Crystal Castles vs. Health's "Crimewave" — is thanks to hotspot Friction NYC.
So while I thought I was incompatible with the mashup, if gangster rappers and skinny white boys with guitars can come together so harmoniously on a track, I am starting to think bootlegs and my stereo can get along after all.
"Crimewave" Crystal Castles vs Health
Thursday, March 13, 2008
The Art Question
Waking up Sunday morning, I opted for a pair of jeans and Columbia boots — careful to avoid tripping over my abandoned, imitation Manolos that had already caused me enough bodily harm for one weekend. As many fierce Middlebury females have done before me, I faced the ice-storm Saturday night to show my dedication to the arts, live music and free alcohol. Unfortunately, I also face-planted in my four-inch heels. Luckily, black-and-blue matched my dress. But when it comes to art — whether it dons the form of fashion, theatre, jazz, choreographed dance to the tequila two-step or even manifests itself in the naming of an architecturally deviant building — where do we draw the line between the aesthetic and the asinine?
PJ Harvey treads the line between ludicrous and laudable as deftly as she balances her boyish bob with her vixen voice. Often associated with the aching intimacy of Tori Amos and the bizarreness of Björk, the British-born singer/songwriter has spent her career flirting on the edge of eccentricity — to the point of occasionally alienating her Lilith Fair followers.
Starting her career in the early '90s, Harvey cooed, purred and roared in a fashion that would have made Cobain himself smile. In 1995, she ditched her two male bandmates and noisy, masculine melodies, releasing her first solo-endeavor, To Bring You My Love — a record that sold over a million copies and heralded the praises of publications ranging from the Village Voice to The New York Times. Harvey decided that she was not meant for a mainstream marriage, however, and traded her black sweaters for pink ball-gowns and vampirish make-up. But despite her evolving penchant for spoken-word, spooky tracks such as the single "The Wind" featured on the Broke Down Palace Soundtrack, and her hard-to-swallow subject matter covering dismemberment to religion to sex, Harvey has still endeared herself to the critical circle. And regardless of its eeriness, her newest release, White Chalk, somehow transcends its avant-garde tendencies to deliver tracks that are downright addicting.
Harvey's eighth release, White Chalk abandons the searing guitars and keyboards of Uh Huh Her and settles for the parlor-esque tinkling of the piano accompanied by the rare appearance of acoustic strumming. With vocals like a wraith and cover art quintessentially Bronte, the album steeps itself in the Gothic horror and romance tradition — simultaneously able to lull the listener into a reverie while sending shivers through the speakers with Harvey's whisperings. "While Under Ether," the release's first single, turns a hallucinatory haunting hymn about abortion into a beautiful ballad while the title track tampers with folk vibes, implementing simple, repetitive lyrics laid over an ever more austere guitar. But despite Harvey's constant shedding of skin and innovation of genre, the album can become tiresome. "Broken Harp" and " Before the Departure" are snore-inducing in their sparseness, and she demonstrates more dexterity with the guitar than in her manipulation of the piano. Still, White Chalk is refreshingly modern in its old-fashioned odes to British folk, and playing at around a half-an-hour in its entirety, Harvey parlays pretension into marketable music.
In his address Saturday evening, Kevin Mahaney '84 mentioned the importance of making art accessible to everyone. And while PJ Harvey's creepy poetics and eerie, ethereal voice may seem estranging on first spin, she quickly captures listeners with her confidence and the enticing intimacy of her songs. While no To Bring You My Love, White Chalk proves that, despite the ghost-like wispiness of its tracks, Harvey's solo career is alive and well while asserting her influence on the prog-rock scene — an influence that will be hard to erase.
"White Chalk" PJ Harvey
"When Under Ether" PJ Harvey
PJ Harvey treads the line between ludicrous and laudable as deftly as she balances her boyish bob with her vixen voice. Often associated with the aching intimacy of Tori Amos and the bizarreness of Björk, the British-born singer/songwriter has spent her career flirting on the edge of eccentricity — to the point of occasionally alienating her Lilith Fair followers.
Starting her career in the early '90s, Harvey cooed, purred and roared in a fashion that would have made Cobain himself smile. In 1995, she ditched her two male bandmates and noisy, masculine melodies, releasing her first solo-endeavor, To Bring You My Love — a record that sold over a million copies and heralded the praises of publications ranging from the Village Voice to The New York Times. Harvey decided that she was not meant for a mainstream marriage, however, and traded her black sweaters for pink ball-gowns and vampirish make-up. But despite her evolving penchant for spoken-word, spooky tracks such as the single "The Wind" featured on the Broke Down Palace Soundtrack, and her hard-to-swallow subject matter covering dismemberment to religion to sex, Harvey has still endeared herself to the critical circle. And regardless of its eeriness, her newest release, White Chalk, somehow transcends its avant-garde tendencies to deliver tracks that are downright addicting.
Harvey's eighth release, White Chalk abandons the searing guitars and keyboards of Uh Huh Her and settles for the parlor-esque tinkling of the piano accompanied by the rare appearance of acoustic strumming. With vocals like a wraith and cover art quintessentially Bronte, the album steeps itself in the Gothic horror and romance tradition — simultaneously able to lull the listener into a reverie while sending shivers through the speakers with Harvey's whisperings. "While Under Ether," the release's first single, turns a hallucinatory haunting hymn about abortion into a beautiful ballad while the title track tampers with folk vibes, implementing simple, repetitive lyrics laid over an ever more austere guitar. But despite Harvey's constant shedding of skin and innovation of genre, the album can become tiresome. "Broken Harp" and " Before the Departure" are snore-inducing in their sparseness, and she demonstrates more dexterity with the guitar than in her manipulation of the piano. Still, White Chalk is refreshingly modern in its old-fashioned odes to British folk, and playing at around a half-an-hour in its entirety, Harvey parlays pretension into marketable music.
In his address Saturday evening, Kevin Mahaney '84 mentioned the importance of making art accessible to everyone. And while PJ Harvey's creepy poetics and eerie, ethereal voice may seem estranging on first spin, she quickly captures listeners with her confidence and the enticing intimacy of her songs. While no To Bring You My Love, White Chalk proves that, despite the ghost-like wispiness of its tracks, Harvey's solo career is alive and well while asserting her influence on the prog-rock scene — an influence that will be hard to erase.
"White Chalk" PJ Harvey
"When Under Ether" PJ Harvey
Thursday, February 28, 2008
A Solo Deer in the Limelight
Bradford Cox of last year's lauded experimental psych-rock quintet Deerhunter has never been accused of conformity. A sufferer of Marfan syndrome — a genetic disorder of the connective tissue that gives him unnaturally long and spindly limbs — the front-man's stage performance echoes of post-modern art as much as his music. From old-maid dresses as fashion statements to deep-throating the microphone to performing acts of self-abasement in true Iggy Pop form, Cox has subscribed to the philosophy of rock as spectator sport with his shock-worthy show aesthetics.
Despite his loud personality, his distinctive sound has had a more shaking reverberation within the blogosphere. Deerhunter — and Cox — are no gimmick or sideshow stop on the road to prog-pop paradise (I think it's somewhere in Seattle) as was proven by their May 2007 Fluorescent Grey EP. A follow-up to February 2007's Cryptograms, the EP glows as their tightest, most focused endeavor to date while still harboring the echoing, exploratory drone that has become a trademark tone. Where Cryptograms was impeded by an immature feel bred by an obsession with the unconventional — an obsession that resulted in the release resembling mundanity — Fluorescent Grey gained a grounded-sound from those growing pains with its attention to melody and structure instead of layering and pretentious guitar loops. And while some of the transformation has to be credited to Kranky — one of the mixing masterminds behind Montreal's God Speed You Black Emperor who helped out on the disc — it is apparent that Cox takes his music much more seriously than his Victorian party frocks may suggest. So it's not surprising that Cox ditched the drummer all together and decided to march completely to his own tune with his life-long solo project Atlas Sound.
Atlas Sound's first full-length release, Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See but Cannot Feel, picks up where the Fluorescent Grey EP leaves off. Leaning more towards ambience-induced-soundscapes, the Feb. 19 release abandons the grunge undertones that Cox endorsed earlier in his career. Just because he is currently flirting with a composed sound does not mean that Cox is trying to cozy up to the mainstream. From the opening track, "Ghost Story," featuring the voice of a small boy haltingly retelling a story over the disjointed hum of a sampled glockenspiel, to the wordless closing title-track, Let the Blind betrays that the avant-garde is still Cox's preferred bed-partner. The only cut that even closely resembles an A-side is "River Card." But even its catchy drums and ethereal harps cannot mask the ominous, amphibious whisperings.
Unlike the Fluorescent Grey EP, many tracks lack lyrics, and those that are ornamented with Cox's Meredith Monk-esque vocal experimentation loop the same couple of lines - increasing the trancelike tone of the album as a whole. The simplicity of the songs' structures adds a sense of plaintive honesty and intimacy, allowing this record to succeed where Cryptograms failed. On "After Class," Cox commands, "Strip down, strip down" — which is exactly what he did on his solo endeavor. He stripped away ostentatious instrumentation, superfluous swells and eight-minute sprawling tracks to reveal a record that is as exceedingly experimental as it is nakedly simple.
While he has been recording under the moniker Atlas Sound since the sixth grade, Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See but Cannot Feel not only showcases Cox's transformation into indie-icon, but it will also force the hot-spot Georgia scene to open its mind large enough to accept the musician's uncommon appearance and even more unique sound.
"River Card" Atlas Sound
"After Class" Atlas Sound
Despite his loud personality, his distinctive sound has had a more shaking reverberation within the blogosphere. Deerhunter — and Cox — are no gimmick or sideshow stop on the road to prog-pop paradise (I think it's somewhere in Seattle) as was proven by their May 2007 Fluorescent Grey EP. A follow-up to February 2007's Cryptograms, the EP glows as their tightest, most focused endeavor to date while still harboring the echoing, exploratory drone that has become a trademark tone. Where Cryptograms was impeded by an immature feel bred by an obsession with the unconventional — an obsession that resulted in the release resembling mundanity — Fluorescent Grey gained a grounded-sound from those growing pains with its attention to melody and structure instead of layering and pretentious guitar loops. And while some of the transformation has to be credited to Kranky — one of the mixing masterminds behind Montreal's God Speed You Black Emperor who helped out on the disc — it is apparent that Cox takes his music much more seriously than his Victorian party frocks may suggest. So it's not surprising that Cox ditched the drummer all together and decided to march completely to his own tune with his life-long solo project Atlas Sound.
Atlas Sound's first full-length release, Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See but Cannot Feel, picks up where the Fluorescent Grey EP leaves off. Leaning more towards ambience-induced-soundscapes, the Feb. 19 release abandons the grunge undertones that Cox endorsed earlier in his career. Just because he is currently flirting with a composed sound does not mean that Cox is trying to cozy up to the mainstream. From the opening track, "Ghost Story," featuring the voice of a small boy haltingly retelling a story over the disjointed hum of a sampled glockenspiel, to the wordless closing title-track, Let the Blind betrays that the avant-garde is still Cox's preferred bed-partner. The only cut that even closely resembles an A-side is "River Card." But even its catchy drums and ethereal harps cannot mask the ominous, amphibious whisperings.
Unlike the Fluorescent Grey EP, many tracks lack lyrics, and those that are ornamented with Cox's Meredith Monk-esque vocal experimentation loop the same couple of lines - increasing the trancelike tone of the album as a whole. The simplicity of the songs' structures adds a sense of plaintive honesty and intimacy, allowing this record to succeed where Cryptograms failed. On "After Class," Cox commands, "Strip down, strip down" — which is exactly what he did on his solo endeavor. He stripped away ostentatious instrumentation, superfluous swells and eight-minute sprawling tracks to reveal a record that is as exceedingly experimental as it is nakedly simple.
While he has been recording under the moniker Atlas Sound since the sixth grade, Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See but Cannot Feel not only showcases Cox's transformation into indie-icon, but it will also force the hot-spot Georgia scene to open its mind large enough to accept the musician's uncommon appearance and even more unique sound.
"River Card" Atlas Sound
"After Class" Atlas Sound
Thursday, February 14, 2008
V-Day Disease
Today is the 14th of February — a marked day designed to make the middle of the month as whimsical and just about as uplifting as dirty snow. Those charming enough to corner the elusive on-campus relationship will bring dates to the retirement-inspired ambience of Proctor, while those secure enough to brave the long-distance love-affair search for misplaced Norton Shakespeares in the pursuit of the perfect handwritten edition to their Hallmark greetings. Not hot enough a cup-of-tea for you? There is always the jewelry option — but where is the creativity in that? Using the deductive reasoning that singles Middlebury students out as the pink flamingos and sunset oranges of the metaphorical Crayola box, you can give your heartthrob one better than a Chanel necklace — the face of it. Karl Lagerfeld recently unveiled plans to transform Chan Marshall, better known under the moniker Cat Power, as the face of Chanel jewelry. But her omnipresent cigarette and sixties-inspired hair aren't the only things of Marshall's that are smoking — her newest release Jukebox is perhaps her most seductive yet.
Reworking the voices of Joni, Billie and Sinatra, Marshall plays with decades, genres and gender in her eighth release. Her second covers album, Jukebox, languidly lingers over Hank Williams' "Ramblin[Wo]Man," wrings restlessness from The Highwaymen's "Silver Stallion" and develops despondency paired with the tinkling of piano keys on Billie Holiday's "Don't Explain." Unfortunately, her feminine prowess falls flat on her predictable and tame version of the show-tune "New York," and despite her slinky sultriness, "I Lost Someone" fails to follow the flame embodied by the Godfather of Soul.
While Jukebox remains faithful to Cat Power's typical bare-bones fashion — her heartachingly exposed voice is often stretched taunt over the skeletal frame of minimalist piano and acoustic chords, a surprisingly number of musicians have slid onto the disc. With the help of the Dirty Three's drummer Jim White, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion's Judah Baer, Chaver's Matt Sweeney and Spooner Oldham, who was a major player on her critically acclaimed The Greatest, Marshall's covers album is quietly creative and peacefully personal — even if it risks bordering on boring.
Not surprisingly, the album's greatest moments are the original ones. Her remodeling of "Metal Heart" from her 1998 Moon Pix comes off cleaner and tighter the second time around with the exchange of piano for guitar while "Song to Bobby" — Marshall's tribute to Dylan — plays like an entry from a 15-year-old girl's diary in its simplicity and acoustic fondness. And even though this high school dropout from Georgia deserves commendation for her spunk in tackling and attempting to conquer the folk greats, Jukebox skips a beat in comparison to her wholly original releases. While the overall effect is secretively sexy and smokier than California in the summertime, it lacks the patient passion and wrenching rawness of You are Free and Myra Lee.
So pull the plug on Barry White and pass over the Marvin Gaye this Valentine's Day and slip under the covers to Cat Power's earthily constructed album. Whether you're searching for arousingly raw, inexplicably intimate or modest comfort, Jukebox delivers. And most importantly, it's one of the most thoughtful releases this year — and isn't attentiveness supposed to be at the heart of this whole day?
Reworking the voices of Joni, Billie and Sinatra, Marshall plays with decades, genres and gender in her eighth release. Her second covers album, Jukebox, languidly lingers over Hank Williams' "Ramblin[Wo]Man," wrings restlessness from The Highwaymen's "Silver Stallion" and develops despondency paired with the tinkling of piano keys on Billie Holiday's "Don't Explain." Unfortunately, her feminine prowess falls flat on her predictable and tame version of the show-tune "New York," and despite her slinky sultriness, "I Lost Someone" fails to follow the flame embodied by the Godfather of Soul.
While Jukebox remains faithful to Cat Power's typical bare-bones fashion — her heartachingly exposed voice is often stretched taunt over the skeletal frame of minimalist piano and acoustic chords, a surprisingly number of musicians have slid onto the disc. With the help of the Dirty Three's drummer Jim White, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion's Judah Baer, Chaver's Matt Sweeney and Spooner Oldham, who was a major player on her critically acclaimed The Greatest, Marshall's covers album is quietly creative and peacefully personal — even if it risks bordering on boring.
Not surprisingly, the album's greatest moments are the original ones. Her remodeling of "Metal Heart" from her 1998 Moon Pix comes off cleaner and tighter the second time around with the exchange of piano for guitar while "Song to Bobby" — Marshall's tribute to Dylan — plays like an entry from a 15-year-old girl's diary in its simplicity and acoustic fondness. And even though this high school dropout from Georgia deserves commendation for her spunk in tackling and attempting to conquer the folk greats, Jukebox skips a beat in comparison to her wholly original releases. While the overall effect is secretively sexy and smokier than California in the summertime, it lacks the patient passion and wrenching rawness of You are Free and Myra Lee.
So pull the plug on Barry White and pass over the Marvin Gaye this Valentine's Day and slip under the covers to Cat Power's earthily constructed album. Whether you're searching for arousingly raw, inexplicably intimate or modest comfort, Jukebox delivers. And most importantly, it's one of the most thoughtful releases this year — and isn't attentiveness supposed to be at the heart of this whole day?
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Clanking of Crystal, Explosions Off in the Distance
So, this is the New Year and I don't feel any different. Okay, maybe it's not quite the New Year yet, and even though you may not feel any different, the music scene has experienced more break-out releases than Angelina Jolie has had covers on tabloids in these past 12 months.
Looking back, we have celebrated the birth of Lily Allen onto the scene while mourning the loss of Interpol to major-label land. We have taken comfort from Elliot Smith's posthumous voice while trying to ignore Britney Spears' attempt to resuscitate her career. We have applauded Bright Eyes' embracement of the country twang, accepted Feist's movement into the mainstream and stood behind Radiohead as they gave the industry the middle finger. And though we bamboo banga-ed to M.I.A., came alive with the Foo Fighters, spent a weekend in the city with Bloc Party, took a long walk home with Springsteen and even winced the night away with The Shins, we are bound to have some regrets over the empty slots in our music collections. You won't have to kick yourself over missing two of the most influential, yet under rated albums of 2007, however. They may not make Amazon.com's Top 10 List or line Best Buy's $9.99 holiday bargain rack, but these albums need to take a page from Dumbledore's book and come out of the proverbial closet of obscurity and onto the airwaves.
23 by Blonde Redhead. Seven certainly seems to be the lucky number for this international yet New York City based trio. Their seventh release, 23, packages the eerie dissonance of their earlier albums into melodies that are simulatenously pensive yet danceable. The title track is one of the strongest on the disc, Kazu Makino's un-mimicable vocals ringing out as clear and resonant as church bells over the teasingly electronic rhythms and lush orchestration of fellow bandmates Amedeo and Simone Pace. And the allusion to a higher power is completely grounded — Blonde Redhead's mysterious and modern album will act as a savior to any New Year's Party. Whether it is the upbeat jive of suck tracks as "Dr. Strangeluv" and "Spring and Summer by Love" or the haunting melodies of "The Dress" and "SW," 23 unwraps the perfect soundtrack for an all-night rager or a quiet evening over wine, depending on whether you want to bring in 2008 with a bang or whimper.
Night Falls Over Kortadela by Jens Lekman. Just because we find ourselves trapped by the "Middlebury Bubble" in terms of worldly affairs, doesn't mean our iPods need to be confined to jam-band vibes and the Seattle music scene. Sweden's own Jens Lekman provides a much needed jilt to a Scandinavian scene dominated by the beautiful yet dragging compositions of Iceland's Sigur Ros. The Swede's sixth release, yet only third full-length album, Night Falls Over Kortadela is Lekman's most masterful mix-match of genres to date. From sampling Renaldo and The Loaf to the lush orchestration on "And I Remember Every Kiss" to the harder hitting "Friday Night at the Drive-in Bingo," he proves that he is not just a pop singer — he is a DJ, vocalist and occasional comedian with lyrics that are laugh-out-loud funny. And even though his vocals are reminiscent of the 80s icon Morrissey mixed with pop jingles that hearken back to 60s Motown, Lekman is progressive - his ability to synthesize sounds transcends genre and decades, making Night Falls a perfect compliment to the New Year. Lekman's album serves as a reminder to look forward while still holding onto influences from the past, and always with a sense of humor.
Looking back, we have celebrated the birth of Lily Allen onto the scene while mourning the loss of Interpol to major-label land. We have taken comfort from Elliot Smith's posthumous voice while trying to ignore Britney Spears' attempt to resuscitate her career. We have applauded Bright Eyes' embracement of the country twang, accepted Feist's movement into the mainstream and stood behind Radiohead as they gave the industry the middle finger. And though we bamboo banga-ed to M.I.A., came alive with the Foo Fighters, spent a weekend in the city with Bloc Party, took a long walk home with Springsteen and even winced the night away with The Shins, we are bound to have some regrets over the empty slots in our music collections. You won't have to kick yourself over missing two of the most influential, yet under rated albums of 2007, however. They may not make Amazon.com's Top 10 List or line Best Buy's $9.99 holiday bargain rack, but these albums need to take a page from Dumbledore's book and come out of the proverbial closet of obscurity and onto the airwaves.
23 by Blonde Redhead. Seven certainly seems to be the lucky number for this international yet New York City based trio. Their seventh release, 23, packages the eerie dissonance of their earlier albums into melodies that are simulatenously pensive yet danceable. The title track is one of the strongest on the disc, Kazu Makino's un-mimicable vocals ringing out as clear and resonant as church bells over the teasingly electronic rhythms and lush orchestration of fellow bandmates Amedeo and Simone Pace. And the allusion to a higher power is completely grounded — Blonde Redhead's mysterious and modern album will act as a savior to any New Year's Party. Whether it is the upbeat jive of suck tracks as "Dr. Strangeluv" and "Spring and Summer by Love" or the haunting melodies of "The Dress" and "SW," 23 unwraps the perfect soundtrack for an all-night rager or a quiet evening over wine, depending on whether you want to bring in 2008 with a bang or whimper.
Night Falls Over Kortadela by Jens Lekman. Just because we find ourselves trapped by the "Middlebury Bubble" in terms of worldly affairs, doesn't mean our iPods need to be confined to jam-band vibes and the Seattle music scene. Sweden's own Jens Lekman provides a much needed jilt to a Scandinavian scene dominated by the beautiful yet dragging compositions of Iceland's Sigur Ros. The Swede's sixth release, yet only third full-length album, Night Falls Over Kortadela is Lekman's most masterful mix-match of genres to date. From sampling Renaldo and The Loaf to the lush orchestration on "And I Remember Every Kiss" to the harder hitting "Friday Night at the Drive-in Bingo," he proves that he is not just a pop singer — he is a DJ, vocalist and occasional comedian with lyrics that are laugh-out-loud funny. And even though his vocals are reminiscent of the 80s icon Morrissey mixed with pop jingles that hearken back to 60s Motown, Lekman is progressive - his ability to synthesize sounds transcends genre and decades, making Night Falls a perfect compliment to the New Year. Lekman's album serves as a reminder to look forward while still holding onto influences from the past, and always with a sense of humor.
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