Seeking desperately to ease my lingering post-feast fullness by clearing up room from someplace, any place, here are a few non-thematically linked tracks that have been cluttering my mind...

The Shop Assistants - "All Day Long"

Bloggers who've searched for flavor combinations that add up to Brooklyn's Vivian Girls have perhaps been overthinking things. Instead of evoking Phil Spector + Kevin Shields, or wherever the prevailing hyperbole pinwheel ended up, it probably should have started on the Shop Assistants and refused to budge. The Scots group was a minor NME cause celebre in the mid-80s, but their debut album Will Anything Happen has been out of print for over a decade. As the sharper tacks among you may have already guessed, that is no longer the case (tip of the hat to chronically hip label Cherry Red for continuing to monitor shifting retro trends). "All Day Long" is a nicely representative miniature of the album's charm, and prestigiously, Morrissey's declared favorite single of 1985. Simple, cymbal-less drums pound away relentlessly, only partially moored to the sheets of warm fuzz guitarist David Keegan lays down. Vocally, it's sweet and muddled both. Annabel Wright (who'd go on to wider, yet still fairly narrow renown in the Pastels) has a flat but reassuring delivery, struggling slightly to be understood in the midst of rhythm and color. Around 1:20, a simple adjustment to the mix brings the blur into sharper focus. Annabel is placed out front, the spotlight casting a lovely echo behind her. If the 1:50 running time is a bit too slight for you, the re-issue also offers a "long version" that clocks in at a whopping 2:30. You may have to clear your schedule to fit that epic in.

Robert Rental - "Double Heart"

Robert Rental was a minor player in the UK post-punk scene, who made a few drips but no real splash. "Double Heart," one A of a double A-side single released on Mute in 1980, has a warm constitution despite a construction from cold Teutonic elements. The stuttering drum machine delay is not far from sounds conjured by many other early eighties DIY dabblers. The synths sound poorly calibrated and possibly woozy on box wine. But Rob always sounds sincerely and soberly lovelorn, elevating his track above scores of similar unknowns who all sought to distinguish themselves with chilly disconnect. "I like your colors" he wails, perhaps cryptically referring to a dress pattern or just an interior glow. I like his tone, myself.

Fennesz - "Glass Ceiling"

Christian Fennesz' crackling ambient compositions always have a bit more going on inside them than a first passive listen might suggest. "Glass Ceiling" from his latest record, Black Sea, starts off typically enough for him, with a still pond of sputtering static parted by steady string-plucked oar strokes. As it settles in to become stiller still, it becomes beautifully alien. The conspicuous notes cease, clearing space for the palest shades of a hidden pop song. From around two minutes on, it sounds like the strains of a vocal choir, somehow kept aloft on an arctic wind a decade after all its members hung up their robes and drove home from the concert hall.

Max Tundra - "The Entertainment"

I enjoy Ben Jacobs' compositions as a curio, more than a trigger for deeply felt affection. You have to admire an artist who testifies so adamantly in a songwriting language so inscrutable. (Well, I guess you don't, but I do). I fear it suggests a lack of imagination that most of 2008's Parallax Error Beheads You leaves me sputtering around my head and hard drive for familiar reference points. I suppose it is still possible for an artist at this late date, to, gasp, just sound like themselves. The version of himself that's I've hit repeat on most often is "The Entertainment," a broadly named track that sounds specifically like the residents of Nintendoland attending a late 90s rave. "I was born to entertain," he sings calmly amid a manic backdrop. Even if I suspect that he was born mainly to entertain Ben Jacobs, you might well catch some shrapnel of amusement.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 05:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've been meaning to post a couple tracks from Belle & Sebastian: The BBC Sessions, a recently released compilation of the band's excellent early compositions laid to tape in the years just before the internet would have immediately delivered them to my greedy hands. Vacation travel and general hustle/bustle held this intent up. I will do so now, with no further delay...

Belle & Sebastian - "Lazy Jane"

"Lazy Line Painter Jane" obviously stands out among the band's endlessly charming 90s EPs because of guest vocalist Monica Queen. She's a showy extrovert in one of the most introverted pop bands of all time (or at least that was the shtick in their early configuration). Comparing her singing to Isobel Campbell's anemic whispers (or her pale duet partner Stuart Murdoch's for that matter), you get the feeling that she could rip that poor waif limb from limb. Her singing out always made "LLPJ" feel oddly triumphant, in spite of its protagonist's relatively dire straits. Monica Queen wouldn't have to wonder about how she got her name and what she was going to do about it; A) she wouldn't give a shit, and B) if she did she'd go bust some heads. With her part taken in this radio session by fellow wallflower Stevie Jackson, our Jane sounds much more plausibly adrift. That is until the 4:30 mark, when the band summons a instrumental force that restores the original's power, and perhaps even tops it.

Belle & Sebastian - "(My Girl's Got) Miraculous Technique"

Of the four non-released tracks the record contains, this is the best. By 2001, B & S were a band in flux. They'd not yet begun to morph into the good-time fun band of recent albums, but the old bookish persona had lost a lot of critical steam. Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like a Peasant was an uneven record with fantastic high points that got shafted in the press despite them. Their soundtrack to Todd Solondz's Storytelling was just flat out bad. It could have used a song like this, with a disconnected piano loop and carefree string samples that predicts the sound Jens Lekman would later ride to his initial minor fame. The session its taken from was the last time Isobel would be present in the band's compositions, and illustrates the toll her departure took. It seems impossible that two voices as shy and retiring as hers and Stuart's could come together in such a grand, romantic way.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 04:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

[Pumpkin Pie Cheesecake]

Happy Thanksgiving folks. If you are reading this, stop. Spend time with your friends and family.

Of Montreal - "Nonpareil Of Favor"

[Of Montreal: Denver's Ogden Theater - 11.6.08 - photo by Chip Diffendaffer]

Posted by Merry Swankster at 04:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After many years of musical obsession completely removed from a record player, my pile of vinyl now grows incrementally, aided by the quality LP sellers of New York City. Baubles from the treasure chest will be posted here whenever it seems appropriate...

Anyone who's been in my personal radius over the past month or so has had Dazzle Ships, the lost masterpiece by occasional 80s hitmakers OMD (Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark if yr nasty), thrust into their consciousness. While I can practically guarantee that all members of the blog reading rabble would know the band's chart apex "If You Leave" (thanks John Hughes!) even the most astute and obscure among my circle of nerds was caught unaware. The likely reason was that upon its 1983 release, the record was cut to ribbons by critics calling the record's experiments with found sound and music concrete flatly unlistenable. But while those are indeed melancholy colors in Dazzle Ships' muted rainbow, the quality of the sad pop laments on this record cannot be overstated. Pitchfork's Tom Ewing, writing in March about a 25th anniversary reissue that went otherwise critically ignored and remained invisible on the shelves of even the most pretentious New York City shops all year, posited that:

"Dazzle Ships seems a lot less radical than it did on release: The Kraftwerk records and musique concrète it obviously borrowed from have been more fully absorbed into pop music. You'll have heard uglier noises than the title track's mechanical grindings and foghorn blurts, and stranger constructions than the layered robot voices on "ABC Auto-Industry". Those songs won't sound like clumsy shock-tactics to a new listener, just more parts in the album's sad, effective synth-pop collage."

But it's weird to me that the songs themselves weren't enough to ensure a stay of excommunication from the zeitgeist, that continues to the present. Parsing the Pazz & Jop poll from 1983 doesn't reveal a lot of enduring classics to supercede it. Sure, New Order's Power, Corruption, and Lies is like the more outgoing cousin DS secretly resents, Murmur is still definitive for some, and there's no arguing against Thriller at this point even if you wanted to, but hardly anything else that I'm familiar with there has as many tracks at such a consistently high level. It embarrasses Bowie's Let's Dance, I'm certain. That slick Peter Saville album cover shouldn't have hurt either. I don't get it.

But it found it's way from eBay to me, in spite of it all. Now, for your pleasure, here's just three of the standouts...

Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark - "The Romance of the Telescope"

"The Romance of the Telescope" is just a great name for a song, first of all. I wish I was a famous astronomer just so I could title my autobiography that. Maybe I'll get started on that career path, actually, for that express purpose. But removed from the delusions of grandeur it inspires, the song stands as a pristine statement of longing. It pines for understanding, and serves as an elegy of sorts for science as faith. It's as lonely as you might expect. The crisp, echoed drum machine aches like a solitary heartbeat in a metal lab. The warped synth sound that follows seems obsolete and maybe slightly damaged, as if dust was cleared from their keys minutes before recording. Singer Andy McCluskey keeps his lyric sheet as graceful, spartan, and evocative as its backing track.

"We're just waiting, looking skyward
As the days come down
Someone promised there'd be answers
If we stayed around"

Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark - "Radio Waves"

"Radio Waves" starts as a Teutonic experiment, marrying a juggernaut rhythm to blurts of squealing blip, and ends as a lo-fi Kiwi pop track, voices warbling ecstatic while jockeying for space alongside cheap party organs. Where the rest of the record can sometimes be chilly and disconnected, this ode to the synthetic comes sparking with current.

"Radio waves have life! Radio waves have life!
Machines are living too, they're working for me and you!"

Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark - "Of All the Things We've Made"

Dazzle Ships' last song is a gorgeous Eno ballad, whose oddly tuned guitar strokes fail to jostle the pristine glide of its piano notes. That melody, combined with some solemn, if slightly adenoidal, choir boy singing from McCluskey and accomplice Peter Humphries successfully obscures the track's otherwise rough elements. The drumbeat never evolves from a caveman thwack, and the aforementioned strokes never congeal into a melodic component. But it swoons onwards, regardless.

"To want this.
Of everything we've made.
The times it's worked before.

Of all the things we've said.
Times that worked before today."

Previously:

- the Raincoats, live @ the BBC

- Linear Movement play "the Game"

- A hole where the Romeo should be

- Pete Shelley, also a homosapien

- Not nearly the only Stereolab tour-only 7"

- Monochrome Set transcend the singles scene circa '82

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 06:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

[Sophie Ellis-Bexter as sexy Dorothy?]

Kelli Douglas, esteemed music industry facing representative of the entire Merry Swankster staff, once again chimes in to let us in on the latest songs that tickle her fancy.

If America had been the birthplace of Miss Sophie Ellis-Bextor then perhaps our world of pop music would be so much better. It would only have been a matter of time before she skyrocketed to the top of the charts with millions of fans bouncing to her tunes in tow. However, she is British and that has slowed if not completely derailed her ability to become a huge pop sensation on this side of the Atlantic. Why? Beats me, but I’ve been sold after just a few songs.

From her 2007 album, Trip the Light Fantastic, you can find a great selection of songs to effortlessly sing and dance and have a blast while doing so. My favorites are "Catch You", "New York City Lights", "Love is Here", and "Me and My Imagination". It's the last one of those that grabs me the most. Sophie's playful voice makes it very believable that she doesn't fancy men who throw themselves at her. When she tells her beau to "leave something for me and my imagination", I hope he heeds her advice and plays hard to get.

Sophie-Ellis Bextor - "Me and My Imagination"

Can’t we all agree that thoughts like, "Never give the game away, try to keep me entertained" are ones that we all share when getting to know someone that strikes our interest? Sophie is clearly a fan of the honeymoon phase of dating someone.

Sophie Ellis-Bextor - "Me and My Imagination"

The video for "Me and My Imagination" is just as fun as the song. The clicking of the heels at the start gives the perfect emotion of something flirty and whimsical. The colors and lights match perfectly to the beat. Around the 1:12 mark you will see a dog in the video for just a moment. I guess those British girls have a thing for canines, much like this blog does too.

-by Kelli Douglas

Previously by Ms. Douglas:

Guilt

Posted by Merry Swankster at 05:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After many years of musical obsession completely removed from a record player, my pile of vinyl now grows incrementally, aided by the quality LP sellers of New York City. Baubles from the treasure chest will be posted here whenever it seems appropriate...

Today's slice of vinyl comes to you, via me, via Dave Klein, who gifted the Monochrome Set's 1982 7" Cherry Red single as a unnecessary bribe to gain the DJ slot at the last Neon Lights show. As the sly Brits' discography has become one of my favorite recent discoveries, I did not inform him of his tithe's redundancy. I've taken the opportunity to mention the abject unfairness of the Set's continued obscurity in this space before, and well, here's another. I don't come by the triple threat of truly smart, musically taut, and uproariously funny as often as I might like.

the Monochrome Set - "The Mating Game"

The lead single from 1982's Eligible Bachelors is as glib and disarming a song about the banalities of sex as anyone has written. It's almost as good as "The Lighter Side of Dating," which they wrote 2 years prior. But while the previous song took childish delight in placing shocking statements next to absurd trivialities, "The Mating Game" is all lyrical economy and witty restraint. Rather than isolating a key line or ten, it's worth just glancing through the words en masse:

"Kiss, lick, stroke, flick
Quiver, quiver, shake and shiver, baby, wow
Un-clasp, flop, gasp
Sopping, sopping, there's no stopping now

Blonde, brunette, or redhead
Black, yellow or white
They’re all the same
In the mating game
But I can' t complain now

Squeeze, suck, pinch, pluck
Wobble, wobble, grab and gobble, darling, moan
Un-zip, ooze, drip
Dippy, dippy, wet and slippy, groan

Blonde, brunette, or redhead
Black, yellow or white
They kiss the same
In the mating game
But I can' t complain now

Bend, peel, slap, squeal
Doggie, doggie, shudder, on your bended knees
Thrust, pump, spurt, slump
Ciggy, ciggy, puff, puff, cough and wheeze

Blonde, brunette, or redhead
Black, yellow or white
They taste the same
In the mating game
But I can' t complain now"

No, Bid, you certainly can't. I originally thought the line was "ciggy, ciggy, puff, puff, cough, ennui" which might have been even better, really. But the sharp, matter of fact tone makes sure the ennui was implied, anyway.

the Monochrome Set - "J.D.H.A.N.E.Y."

While I'm not entirely sure that original Set drummer John Haney was "the best in the land," as this b-side maintains, anyone familiar with the album version of "the Monochrome Set" knows that he was pretty damn good. His bandmates' ode (which might have made fancily monickered new man Lexington Crane just stick to the high hats out of respect) is a goony 50s lounge ballad, that's plenty bawdy and droll itself. Charting his meteoric rise from dabbling with the bongos, praising his bride to be, and claiming he had a "twelve-incher but didn't use it as a rule," it's a more glowing b-side picture than Malkmus asserting that Steve "Westie" West "could not drum" many years later. The smart aleck streak is a through line between both "drummer ballads" though. As the song glides to a close, the boys quip, "Well, alright John, that's it. We'll probably see you, uh...in court."

Previously:

- the Raincoats, live @ the BBC

- Linear Movement play "the Game"

- A hole where the Romeo should be

- Pete Shelley, also a homosapien

- Not nearly the only Stereolab tour-only 7"

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 01:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Love Is All - "Sea Sick"

Josephine Olausson always seems overexcited and slightly stuffed up. It’s hard to get an emotional read on her, as she seems perpetually halfway between spearheading a party and shutting herself in for weeks. In “Sea Sick” she’s railing against the horrors of her ocean cruise, bored to tears as the only would-be-relaxer with “an original hip.” Her mumbly Scandinavian warble is singular enough that it can make the defiant “I’m board to death on board this ship” sound almost exactly like the even further past wits end proclamation, “I’m bored to death of all this shit!” Her p’s are pointed. The Jock Jams stomp that joins it (that's stomp--stomp--STOMP--stomp--stomp--STOMP, for the record) can’t help but blur it towards the stronger emphasis. The backing track throughout emulates a creative mind reeling with lack of stimulation, reeling from sharpened guitar lines to chaotic horn spillage at ramming speed. Yes, she’s seen the buffet. No, she is NOT amused.

Times New Viking - "No Sympathy"

The Times New Viking songs I’ve loved this year have been warm and trebly to the point of near abstraction. “No Sympathy,” the sleepiest track on their recent Stay Awake EP, falls nicely into the romantic smudge category. If there's a reason it starts by faking an Indian radio signal, though, I’ve yet to discern it. That lively ghost of a signal gives way to the more familiar strains of tenatively sobbing keyboards and Beth Murphy's vocal mush. But I like it for its indistinctness. It’s broad colors are smeared lipstick red and watery mascara black, both bruised just slightly blue.

Clues - "Perfect Fit"

As Alden Penner and crew failed to play New York on election night, this mp3 is still our best lead about the reclusive Unicorn's new work. Their big city debut would have likely been forgotten in the glee riots that ensued anyway. "Perfect Fit" begins with Penner inching a mysterious little keyboard figure forward, sounding like a more frenetic version of a Harry Potter Hogwart's theme. Penner sounds more sincere here than his in his perpetually kidding Unicorn tracks. Which is not to say he follows a straight songwriting course, frequently breaking into wordy Malkmusian digressions, containing lushly emotive declarations themselves. "I wear the past like a second skin" goes one cryptic keeper. It sounds like its stifled a bit of our boy's pluck, really. But there's nothing on the horizon I'm more excited to hear than what exactly he's been up to in the Canadian wilderness for the last five years.

Fad Gadget - "Scapegoat"

The only older track here was dragged from complete obscurity to semi-obscurity by Systems of Romance recently. I am informed there that Fad Gadget's frank Tovey was the first act signed to Mute Records after that label launched with the Normal's immortal "T.V.O.D."/"Warm Leatherette" single. "Scapegoat" from 1982's Under the Flag LP is more tongue in cheek than the label's industrial beginnings might suggest. Frank Tovey employs a disco throb, and a goofy Greek chorus to detail the blame laid on his narrator's feet. Where it really gets swell though, is in its final minute. Frank duets with a aloof French lass (is there any other kind?). He sounds big, but detached. She's small and close. The synths come rushing back, unmoved.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 07:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Juvelen - "Don't Mess"
(Live on Frida 21:00, Swedish TV)

Most of the acts playing at the Knitting Factory next Wednesday will rock you in some fashion or another, but only Swedish idol Juvelen is ready and willing to sex you up. I normally prefer my Scandinavian pop tarts with a few more lady parts, but I will admit that the Swede TV clip above makes me a feel a bit conflicted. Come 12:30 in the main space, things might get a little weird.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 09:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's going to be pretty impossible to profile every band playing After the Jump's CMJ week events in-depth. There's just too much goodness to go around. Luckily, readers of this site are well-informed regarding the merits of many of these bands already. Just taking the Tap Bar for example, I shouldn't have to tell you again about the specific radness of the Pains of Being Pure at Heart, My Teenage Stride, or A Sunny Day in Glasgow. That quality has been sufficiently parsed. So I dedicate this space towards the lesser-known Best Friends Forever, a group so Minnesota OG that their MySpace influences are limited to Prince, Dylan, and Soul Asylum's Dave Pirner (perhaps the members of the Replacements have personally offended them in some way?). The BFFs in question, Bri Smith and Jes Seamans, sound giddy in love with everything in their songs: life, guitar licks, each other, boys, playing keyboards, presidential history, you name it. Below are a couple shiny apples from a bushel of songs sure to swimmingly kick off next Wednesday evening .

Best Friends Forever - "Twins in Love"

"Oh, I don't know you, maybe that's why I think your the perfect person. I can fill in the gaps anyway I want to, and spend my time dreaming of the fake you."

Now, it's been quite a while since I've been out on the dating scene, but from what I remember, the first lines of "Twins in Love" are damn apt. Everyone disappoints eventually, but this track captures the heart skipping first blush quite well. The combination of playfully earnest lyrics, deceptively rocking guitar work, and a mind-sticking "Oh-oh-oh" chorus is swell.

Best Friends Forever - "My Head in Front of Your Head" (live on 89.3)

This summer I talked about my discovery of BFF's ode to that eminently respectable Republican Dwight D. Eisenhower, and here they are crushing hard on that party's finest representative (no, not Reagan). The girl's make it clear that they aren't in it for Abe's position of power, but rather his rakish charm. "I know you were an unhappy man, funereal, they say..." is the clever in to a happy faced narrative of what Lincoln might have enjoyed in the loving embrace of one (or both?) of our heroines. Dancing, Shakespeare reciting, hair combing, it would have been a hoot, and they even promise to have thwarted JW Booth as a capper. All of this might again be a touch precious if it wasn't for that nagging little ear worm guitar riff that starts the song off and keeps it moving throughout.

--

Best Friends Forever play at 8 sharp on Wednesday, October 22nd kicking off a seriously stacked Tap Bar lineup at the Knitting Factory. It's worth resisting your shattered CMJ attention span to come early and stay late.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 01:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

photos by Devon Banks

After many years of musical obsession completely removed from a record player, my pile of vinyl now grows incrementally, aided by the quality LP sellers of New York City. Baubles from the treasure chest will be posted here whenever it seems appropriate...

Adding to the undiscovered mountain of vinyl ephemera that Stereolab has unloaded in their eighteen-year pleasure cruise, are the two tracks of their latest tour-only 7", which I put four dollars towards. In posting them here, I'll note that matters of font and design have left me slightly puzzled in regard to their exact designations. Despite being sung in lilting English, there are no illuminating lyrical cues to isolate to confirm my assumptions about bubble-lettered cursive. My college French has not lingered long enough to identify what are sure some irregular verb tenses. I stand ready to blush, retract, and move on if necessary.

Stereolab - "Explosante Fixe"

The A-side is a MalletKAT-driven confection, which, at its beginning, sounds like the laser-beam society having their winter party. Laetitia is too grave and dignified for it to sound continually celebratory, however. Though individual words stick to my eardrum occasionally, her voice has such sustained and familiar melodic tone to it, it sounds almost like a specifically cultivated keyboard setting to me at this point. It's a pleasant light breeze--more color than meaning.

Stereolab - "Lexotisme Interieur"

Nervous doesn't seem like the proper descriptor, so let's say that the drum pattern that starts side B is certainly more active, at the very least. The synth bits here almost have a campy 70s "Love Will Keep Us Together" aura, but Sadler has perpetually provided as even coat of class to any backdrop Tim Gane has ever provided. If it doesn't immediately bowl you over with a tight structure, there are myriad pretty textures, vocal and instrumental, to idly notice as the time glides by.

Previously:

- the Raincoats, live @ the BBC

- Linear Movement play "the Game"

- A hole where the Romeo should be

- Pete Shelley, also a homosapien

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 01:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The last half of 2007 was more or less dominated by incongruously glamorous disco from my own departed point of origin, the Pacific Northwest. Johnny Jewel and his vocalist harem turned out track after track of stunning, slow-motion Moroder for the Jersey label Italian's Do it Better. To date in 08, the label has been eerily silent. Johnny floated a demo a bit back, but another Jewel is shoring up the imprint's current schedule. Nite Jewel, a mysterious Los Angelina, is set to release a split single with IDIB flagship Glass candy later this month. A full-length follows, oddly on Human Ear Music, at the start of November (I'd guess that deal was in place before the Italians swooped in). Her compositions, all captured on DIY 4-track recorders, sit below. Lo-fi disco: the made up genre that's sweeping the nation/my living room!

Nite Jewel - "What Did He Say?"

"What Did He Say" sounds like a movie's club scene, in which the protagonist has just realized they've been drugged. Time slows down, sounds get warped, and the prop master probably set the smoke machine two settings too high. The novelty here is in hearing what should be slick disco grooves distorted and bloodied, recorded in deepest Idaho-on-election-night red.

Nite Jewel - "Chimera"

Even better perhaps is "Chimera," named for a mythological fire-breather. The low-end synth does stomp around a bit, but there are several melodic counterpoints that are more lovely than menacing. Our girl is more present in the mix here, and less somnambulant than the rest of the label's diva roster. Like maybe she only took one pill, rather than a pick-a-mix handful.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 01:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Now that the Republican party has opened my eyes to the pervasive evils of sexism in the world around us, I feel a bit shamed for referring to Marnie Stern as "Madame Shredder" in this post's title (though not for the awesome visual that makes it manifest). I mean, why is the "Madame" qualifier even necessary? Do her vitrtuoso guitar skills not qualify her as a plain "Shredder"? Well, it's pertinent I think, because in this case the feminine allure is a main factor in my like of her and her presumably Fiona Apple named new LP, This Is It And I Am It And You Are It And So Is That And He Is It And She Is It And It Is It And That Is That. Because normally, when you have a sweaty dude up their with his axe, finger tapping away, and burning through odd time signatures, I just don't give a shit. It sounds too labored and macho. Take Stern collaborator and stylistic compatriot Zach Hill and his band Hella for example. I just don't care to listen to them. It's all bluster and no charm. But then take a band like Deerhoof or Ponytail, their fierce riffs obscured by a singular female presence, and I'm all for it. I guess I'm a reverse sexist if anything. Sorry dudes.

Marnie Stern - "The Package is Wrapped"

Here's a barnburner from the aforementioned new album, which starts with Marnie standing her ground and diddling her strings. Her voice is a bit thin, but gutsy; the sort that filled alt-rock radio in the 90s. She sounds like she's struggling to ride atop the thundering riffs that she herself gleefully, but shortsightedly unleashed. It's a choppy strut until around 2:40, when she tops it by letting loose a pinched, Joey Santiago-esque, distorted solo. Lyrically, I'm honestly not sure what she's going on about. I'm still in the letting details sink in stage of appreciation. But I'm damn sure, even at this early moment, that a line like "the Celtic knights are calling me from behind" would earn an immediate press of the skip button had it come from inside a bearded maw, and without a playfully feminine touch.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 11:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

If memory serves, I think I might have grabbed both of these tracks at some point from Gorilla vs. Bear and then filed them away, only for them to really grab me in recent days. So props to that guy for being perpetually ahead of the curve, as far as romantically warped pop music goes...

Get Back Guinozzi ! - "Carpet Madness"

Get Back Guinozzi ! is a French two-piece, as well as a cryptically specific command. "Carpet Madness" has a peculiar childishness to it that reminds me off Cibo Matto in tone, if they were completely drained of their 90s hip-hop fixation. This one isn't so beat-heavy, despite a sturdy bassline that's worthy of a minor 60s radio hit. It's not long enough to discern much about its titular dementia, but if I had to guess I'd say that adhesive fumes were the root cause. There were some light heads in this studio, surely.

Memory Cassette - "Listen to the Vacuum"

Memory Cassette is an individually branded offshoot if the indistinct Philly project known as Weird Tapes, which is itself an offshoot of a band called Hail Social. Perhaps it took three subdivisions to tap into this specific brand of lush, succinct balladry. A gender-inspecific vocal, which sounds eerily like a fey dude, artificially estrogened up with a few home studio settings. "I've been watching TV just to see another face," our lonely androgyne informs us. Its longing has a light, breezy 70s AM radio universality to it, but sun bent enough to satisfy those of us with a predilection for more obscure melodic delivery systems. At barely over two minutes, it's too feather-light to be a satisfying aural meal. As luck would have it, you can download the "band"s Rewind While Sleeping EP in its entirety here.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 11:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I did my pertinent growing up years in Salem, Oregon, and at least at the time, the town did not having a thriving music scene. I remember a few terrible sub-pre-diversification Bonnaroo Festival type acts for the built-in suburban hippie demographic, a valiant garage pop punk band or two, and even a totally incongruous Euro-synth-goth trio called Softcore, but nothing was even within spitting distance of anything you'd call adventurous. Not that we, as sleepy Northwestern citizens in the 1990s were ready for our late 2000s namesake. I posted a dark video for Salem's song "Dirt" a little over a week ago, like a lot of sites did, out of knee jerk appreciation for unsettling creepiness in general and female flesh in specific. The extricated mp3 of said track has been burrowing underneath my skin in the interim, and I thought it might demand a few more words.

It starts with stuttering clicks and robo hand claps, foreshadowing a club banger that it never actually attempts. Before anyone could even attempt motion, a dense fog of electro-distortion engulfs everything. What sounds like a slowed and warped human vox lays a buzzing foundation, which a more sharply rendered voice rests atop. Previous songs from the mysterious band, be it the unlikely Springsteen cover that caught my ear in the winter, or the few other tracks from their instantly unavailable vinyl EP, Yes, I Smoke Crack that have hit the 'net, have had a plaintive female vocal. Here the singer seems masculine, though reflected in a Silent Shout fun house mirror. The words aren't intelligible to my show-battered ear, but the melody is fairly buoyant in the muck. In that sense, the song borrows from the well-trod shoegaze aesthetic, but more for a sense of disorientation than easily recognized guitar racket. It's only a minute before a crystalline tone darts through, it's nagging memorability further demonstrating a commitment to providing easy points of entry within a intimidating framework. Its swirling midsection is just flat out pretty; the aural equivalent of watching TV static congeal into geometric patterns and immediately rescramble. It's all quite intriguing, for sure.

Salem - "Dirt"

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 10:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Annie - "Song Reminds Me of You"

The final track on Annie's Don't Stop finds the Norwegian singer less than gushing about her life's work. "Music's all good, music's okaaay," she guesses at the onset. But once the faint praise has floated, we get to the crux of the matter, i.e., the destructive effects of music on the ruins of an already broken heart. "Every song I hear reminds me of you," she breathes in to the synth pop echo chamber. It's a common sentiment that's easily relatable to bleary-eyed sad sacks listening to their local K-100 and adorable Scandinavian pop singers alike. But the song takes it a step further, asking "...and does it hurt to hear your songs on the radio?" Well, according to every music biopic ever, it's kind of a kick, actually. So here's the narrative I've worked up in my head. She's singing a metatextual pop star's lament, serenading a svengali who's crafted hits for her in the past. Now that their professional and presumably personal relationship is ended, neither can take pleasure in the success of their previous work. So here's our hypothetical gal, simultaneously guilting him lyrically, and rubbing his face in this sweet and icy popsicle of a production job. As Anniemal's Richard X is still all over the boards for this record, we'll assume it's just a clever short story.

Chromatics - "Lady" (demo)

It's been a bear market for Johnny Jewel's production work lately. Last year, we were living high on the hog as tracks continually seeped from his Portland factory, and he frantically shipped out orders for breathy vocal parts to not one, not two, but three lithe yet languid lovelies. I can't seem to recall if even one of his nouveau disco classics has made it to my hard drive this year, sadly. So when this new demo appeared online from his dreamy Chromatics brand, I was fully prepared to rationalize its unfinished stature. Remember, it was in demo form that I fell for their still profound cover of Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill." This is not that, alas. The sound fidelity is bloody red, missing the Ferrari sheen of the band's finished sound. It plods a bit as well, with a portly loop sustaining interest as Ruth Radelet and a vocoder plead with Johnny for "something to do." BUT!...at 2:46, when the beat finally drops in earnest, all qualms are forgiven, and the remaining two minutes are the sound of the song and I having make-up sex in the backseat of an Oldsmobile. (Sorry if that ruined it for you forever.)

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 12:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Times New Viking - "Call & Respond"

The first track offered from Times New Viking's forthcoming Stay Awake EP would certainly fulfill the release's titular goal of preventing you from nodding off on a long-haul trucking route. "Call & Respond," however, contains nary a whiff of it's own monicker's back and forth vocal shouting; the blood-red hollerin' is, as usual, sloppily overlapped and built from the primal essence of melody, rather than easily discernible and immaculately articulated lyrics. Fevered snippets like, "to move on/ taking too long," are all I can glean for now. But maybe the title is referring to the track's dueling instrumental impulses, which are, to be accurate, actually going on simultaneously. The trudging Neanderthal guitar riffs seem unmoored from the playful, perhaps taunting even, Westing (By Musket & Sextant) countermelody that prances above it. As both are enveloped by thick, soupy production fog, I feel somewhat unsettled in proclaiming that that nagging line is supplied by organ, but that's the usual set up, so I'm assuming. Anyway, it's not got the faded romance of Rip it Off's finest, but it is still totally lovable...if you're a bit of a misanthrope to begin with.

Previously:

- A, shall we say, minor interview with Times New Viking.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 12:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I spent most of the summer in a new music funk, disappointed by the quality of the releases invading my headspace, and turning to neglected records from the past to comfort me in my disillusionment. The tide seems to be turning, though I'm not sure what it's connected to. Perhaps the sustained temperate air of New York's unusually generous August? Maybe I just looked a little harder for some, and then the blogosphere rewarded me for my efforts by spitting out the rest? It matters little. As I have in all the melted months since I've been associated with MS, I offer a smattering of tracks that have kept me sane as my actual brain boiled away. ..

Best Friends Forever - "Eisenhower is the Father" (live on 89.3 the Current)

I must have seen the name Best Friends Forever nestled in the midst of a mammoth Todd P e-mail blast somewhere along the line, but I never really investigated the Minnesota band until catching some modest hype shrapnel from the dates they played in New York this week (I did not attend, but nyctaper did, and his recordings can be found here). Turns out they are pretty GD delightful. I tracked down the group's virtually ignored 2008 debut LP Romance Conflict Adventure, but I still prefer the radio session version of its song "Eisenhower is the Father" that's posted above. It's not so far off from it's studio counterpart, but the vocals of (presumed BFFs) Bri and Jes are perhaps even more casual and off the cuff sounding in a single, lazy take. It flirts with being overly cutesy, but the girls' funny travelogue/love story/presidential narration exudes both a haphazard charm and an obvious intelligence that elevates it above something awful like the Moldy Peaches. They're two lady Malkmuses overlapping each other while on the prowl. Well, at least until the song whips into a Unicorns synth-pop rave-up. Pavement + Unicorns + clever female vocalists = swoon. I actually think that ol' lefty Ike is pretty swell too.

Appropriate Corresponding Summer Activity: Savoring a reassuring breeze. Chuckling to yourself at its improbable pleasantness.

Sic Alps - "United"

I had meant to post a few more songs from San Fransisco's Sic Alps at some recent point, but a lack of motivating enthusiasm did me in. I like the hissing lo-fi rockers, but not as much as I wanted to after reading copious descriptions of their craft. But this Throbbing Gristle cover is a pretty neat trick. "United" is one of the easiest songs to like in the industrial titans' intimidating back catalog, it's, uh, still not that easy to like. The robot blips of the original are downright cuddly compared to the detached vocals and and their off-putting delivery. Sic Alps take sounds like a large truck idling, until it takes on a surprising bit of Nuggets pep. One of the least likely feel-good experiments in recent memory.

Appropriate Corresponding Summer Activity: Strolling home so absent-mindedly that the construction work in the distance takes on a bit of a melody.

Ssion - "Credit in the Straight World"

I'm clearly a sucker for this song, having already posted it performed by two other artists. As the iconography of Courtney Love was prominently displayed both times I've seen them live, I'm guessing it's the Hole version that Cody & co. are primarily smitten with. How better to express diva worship than evoking a smoke machine obscured dancefloor? Not as mysterious as Young Marble Giants' original, clearly, but even when playing a song as straight as they ever have, Ssion manage to devilishly amuse. Once the mental image of Love in a Flashdance off-the-shoulder sweatshirt and leg warmers ensemble set in, it was difficult to displace.

Appropriate Corresponding Summer Activity: Trying several ice-cream flavors until you hit the one that makes you question your own sexuality.

Gang Gang Dance - "House Jam"

Previously, Gang Gang Dance's only nod to easy accessibility was part of one song where it seemed like the band might have, at some point in their lives, heard Morrissey. This new track actually seems made for people who aren't filled by a meal made of occasionally interesting texture alone. It's name might trigger an involuntary face-scrunching, but "House Jam" is a surprisingly apt description. It's got the body movement triggers of blissfully e'd up rave number, but is looser and more playful in form than a standard 4-4 banger. As their previous style was patently unlistenable (I tried, I swear), this has to be considered a major, major improvement.

Appropriate Corresponding Summer Activity:Jamming; preferably in a house.

the Anals - "Commando of Love"

The Anals were French punks, already slipped into the past tense after issuing this debut single this June. According to a tersely worded bio on their Sweet Rot label MySpace page, half of these French duo met an untimely death. Whether that's meant metaphorically or tragically not, this is a great little cult mystery of a 7". Using lingering national angst over World War II for lyrical fodder, and some sort of relentless animatronic gorilla to play the drums, "Commando of Love" is beguilingly spartan.

Appropriate Corresponding Summer Activity: Preparing for an afternoon BBQ by laying down a base coat of grain alcohol, flaming out early.

Stereolab - "Cellulose Sunshine"

The 60s sounds I most associate with Stereolab's career are of the French, lounge, or French lounge variety. "Cellulose Sunshine" from the band's ninth full-length album, has the distinct whiff of "Incense & Peppermints" to it, however. The groove is accentuated by sly strings, though the end result, as always, is a Stereolab song. The title implies a warming glow in even the most mundane items; light beaming from the component parts of things you see every day. Though the British veterans' sound has by now become as familiar as a plant or stone in your garden path, this petite pop nugget has an inner radiance as well.

Appropriate Corresponding Summer Activity: Watching the gleam morph and recombine on the surface of a flowing creek. Ohhhhhm.

--

Previously:

- the Summer of '07
- the Summer of '06

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After many years of musical obsession completely removed from a record player, my pile of vinyl now grows incrementally, aided by the quality LP sellers of New York City. Baubles from the treasure chest will be posted here whenever it seems appropriate...

The sharp-dressed man who appears to be sitting in Adrian Veidt's office* on the cover above is none other than revered Buzzcocks' frontman Pete Shelley. By end of the 70s, the Buzzcocks were straining a bit at the creative seams. 1979's A Different Kind of Tension was the end result of a dramatic creative growth that leaped from wanking lyrics to Burroughs quoting (I guess the scope of that leap depends on your literary tastes). Despite continued growth, the 'cocks weren't charting like they used to, and as such, weren't too flush with cash. Shelley had holed up with future Human League knob-twiddler Martin Rushent and fell deeply in love with the possibility of synthetic instrumentation. Seeing diminished need for his bandmates, he got his lawyer to fire off a quick letter disbanding the seminal Manchester punks. Goodwill all around, obviously. A cloud of bad feeling may have marred the 1981 release of his first solo record, Homosapien, but the sharp pop tunes in contains are ripe for re-examination.

Pete Shelley - "Homosapien"

The album's title cut preceded the album and became an underground hit despite facing a total ban by the BBC. Their grounds were that the song contained "explicit" references to gay sex, though the meaning of that term has clearly been tightened in the intervening years. Looking at the lyric sheet now-- with its coy boys, shy boys, and cruisers--it does seem very much a statement on Pete's up-'til-then quiet bisexuality. The way he stresses the "homo" in homosapien is a clever way of reclaiming a schoolyard taunt, while affirming the basic humanity of the stigmatized. It's also a pretty slammin' synth-pop number, confirming that Shelley could write memorable hooks in his sleep. I'm certainly not the first to make this observation, but try singing "North American Scum!" over "Homosapien Too!" for an easy demonstration of the song's continuing influence.

Pete Shelley - "Yesterday's Not Here"

Of all the painfully on-the-nose lyrics in rock history, "Looking back on life, is such a retrospective thing..." has to win some sort of a prize of infamy for attempting to sound deep while saying absolutely nothing. It's so clunky and obvious an opening line that it almost becomes charming again. The rest of the track needs no rationalizations. Again, Shelley can't help but write a huge anthemic chorus, which Rushent complements and improves with energetic Moroder-lite synths.

* It's interesting though probably coincidental to note that Watchmen's Veidt takes his alias from the works of another P. Shelley

Previously:

- the Raincoats, live @ the BBC

- Linear Movement play "the Game"

- A hole where the Romeo should be

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 10:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

If one day in the not so distant future every U.S. city is forced to pull all their resources together
in order to stave off an alien race whose only weakness is an adversity to low-fi underground rock, well, in that specific scenario, the city of Columbus, Ohio will certainly be ahead of the game. This is because in 1997, 5 veteran members of the Columbus musical tradition pulled together for a few nights in an Ohio barn with the sole mission of recording an album that would “reflect the Blues, Folk, and Punk roots/ heritage of all involved.” The band was named Ego Summit, and the album, which has just been re-issued, was claustrophobically titled The Room Isn’t Big Enough.

True, the story of Ego Summit does sound like an underground musical version of the A-Team, and for the most part if you have a problem, and if no one else can help, and if you can find them, Ego Summit may or may not be able to offer the sort of assistance that you need. But all of that is a wash since they did make a record stamped with a uniqueness that still resonates in mystery eleven years after it was recorded deep under Ohio skies.

The members of this Columbus troop of musically inclined soldiers of fortune were Don Howland, of the Gibson Bros. and Bassholes; Ron House of Great Plains and Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments; the late Jim Shepard, of Vertical Slit and V3; and Tommy Jay and lo-fi legend Mike “Rep” Hummel of Mike Rep and the Quotas.

The last member listed in the Ego Summit lineup should flutter a wavelength. We interviewed Mike Rep whose delicate ears brought us some of our favorite sounding records ( e.g. Guided By Voices’ Propeller and Times New Viking’s Dig Yourself) back in ’07 and he recently introduced us to his work with the band Mors Ontologica.

From the first drum clicks over hiss on the first track of Ron House’s “Beyond the Laws” the album takes on something much more layered than just a recording of five friends playing together in a barn (though the barn does add a level on its own). There is something else at work here, a musical urgency sounding like it is being recorded deep in space and played back through a loudspeaker at mission control in Houston. The resulting sound is familiar but distant. The enigma that an album can sound so remote when it was aptly named The Room Isn’t Big Enough for all literal purposes is Exhibit A in arguing for the recording astuteness of Mike Rep/ Tommy Jay /and engineer Jerry Wick.

Beyond the Laws

Matched with the sense of desperation caused by the dripping of magnetic guitar lines that could make Lou Reed himself check his soundboard, there is a sense of humor dark enough to cause someone to need a flashlight to see the Aurora Borealis.

Rise Sherry

One song has particularly managed to float around my head for over three weeks. This is Ron House's "Rise Sherry." The repetitive pull of the hazy guitar riff must still be moving on some wavelength. The deep bluesy dragging rhythm of the song could have easily been penned as a Ray Manzarek organ line in the Doors’ Morrison Hotel.

Continue reading "Ego Summit: The Room Isn't Big Enough" »

Posted by Yonah Korngold at 12:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

August Darnell, clearly not sweating it.

I don't know if it's just me, but aside from a few scattered tracks (which I'll hopefully get to soon), the late summer has been kind of a wash for new music. Just little blips of interest, but nothing that's matched the compulsive need to listen and re-listen that Kala did a year ago. Fingers crossed that a timely leak of Of Montreal's Skeletal Lamping might provide a salve, but for the past few weeks in the desert I've been sustained by the water-filled cactus that is the work of August Darnell.

The main source of sustenance has been the exceptional Goin' Places: the August Darnell Years (1976-1983) compilation out earlier this year on Strut Records (seriously, buy it). Once that was assimilated, I scoured my CD racks to realize that ol' Kid Creole was one of the elite production geniuses of that genius crowded era, rubbing shoulders with Eno and Hannett and Moroder in creating a different, much less chilly, form of precision. So infatuated am I with his ridiculously goofy yet exceptionally tight disco oeuvre, that I'm declaring the remainder of this month, "August Darnell August." My late start is mitigated by the fact that I actually started it unwittingly in late July. But the proper launch comes with the song below, perhaps the catchiest, most ridiculous track I've stumbled upon in months.

Don Armando's 2nd Avenue Rhumba Band - "I'm an Indian Too" (12" version)

"I'm an Indian, Too" began its life as a Broadway show tune, written by Irving Berlin for his long-running western comedy Annie Get Your Gun and originally performed in 1946 by legendary battle-axe Ethel Merman. Thirty years later, the wide range of racial stereotypes on display didn't stop band leader Don Armando and production whizz Darnell from resurrecting it for a day-glo disco classic on Ze Records' vinyl. From the creeping strings that begin the track, everything is supercharged towards a cartoon representation of the rampaging Injun. The driving beat and silky singing from cult-diva Fonda Rae make the questionable content easy to swallow. Presented as a ridiculous dance-floor filler, the patronizing aspects of Berlin's original also lose a bit of their sting. In the song's world, the only thing keeping you from being an Indian is the appropriate wardrobe. Stock up on "moccasins, wampum beads, totem poles," and the like, and you're good to go. The sentiment feels strangely appropriate for the hedonistic reinvention rampant in the late 70s New York disco scene. Just change your look, make yourself into whatever lovely creature you'd like to be, and hope that's enough to get into Studio 54. One of the Village People seems to have taken the track's advice verbatim.

The unstoppable groove and subtle production twists (dig those warped string breaks!) will make sure that more time is spent shaking your ass than overthinking levels of cultural sensitivity. As the rest of the month's Darnell offerings will prove, ass-shaking was priority one and being gleefully offensive was just icing on the cake.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 10:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

[Hearts of Palm @ Westword showcase - 6.14.08]

I first heard of Hearts of Palm minutes before seeing them at the Westword music showcase about a month in half ago. The eight piece Denver power pop collective brandishes orchestral rock flourishes and is quickly making a name for themselves locally. Formerly known as Nathan & Steven, the band smartly changed their name for practical purposes, bookers and promoters were constantly blindsided when eight people marched into venues rather than the two Nathan and Steven fellows expected. Hearts of Palm satisfy with big choral indulgences that sound like a hybrid of Los Campesinos and the Hold Steady. Lead singer Nathan McGarvey's vocals have an attractive roughness to them, yet could best be described as clean in delivery, much like the deliberate classic rock tones conveyed by Craig Finn.

On stage the band is an explosive force of regular looking, do-gooding folks, the type that may be as quick with a smile as they are putting you at ease. Set to driving pop numbers the band exudes the leave-it-all-on-stage approach. Bands with large onstage personnel are typically the type to serve high energy performances and Hearts of Palm are no exception. In this decade we've been blessed by a number of large rock collectives such as the Polyphonic Spree, New Pornographers, Broken Social Scene and arguably the best of the best, the Arcade Fire. Unique in their own ways, but all build on the dynamic engine of focused exuberance for live shows.

Hearts of Palm - "No Water"

"No Water" might be the best track from Hearts of Palm's the Bridge EP, available free on their Myspace. Starts off with a jumpy bassline and syncopated tambourine before the cool raspiness of Nathan McGarvey paints a dystopian scene of post-rapture desertion. An accusatory nature begins taking shape as it quickly becomes clear the off stage protagonist is someone who has taken more advice from the devil on their shoulder than is sensible. Burning bridges in his or her wake, a trainwreck witnessed by helpless friends who can only wait and watch the inevitable happen.

My favorite declaration of this dark message actually comes when the ominous choral treatment is given to the lyrics, "we have no water here and everybody knows it". Not only does it sound terrific, it serves as a lyrical play to arid Colorado's land-locked status. Like a duh moment that perfectly expresses the mountain west reality while fitting perfectly into the thin narrative of someone's combustible life. They can't save this person even if they tried. The imagery returns in the repeating last lines of the song like a sad conclusion to unheralded warnings of flying dangerously close to the sun: "I wish that you made it, you never had a chance, I never had a chance to tell you."

Hearts of Palm play tonight at the Hi-Dive as part of UMS. Catch them again tomorrow at the outdoor stage at 5pm.
-- -- --

More pictures of that Westword Hearts of Palm show after the jump. But first...

[Hearts of Palm, the vegetable]

Continue reading "UMS Pick - Hearts of Palm" »

Posted by Merry Swankster at 12:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

As our declared # 6 song of 2007, it's clear that we liked Deerhunter's version of "Fluorescent Grey" just fine. But as haunted/haunting as Bradford Cox and his humid piano creeps were, you still had to wait patiently (patiently) for the rock-out. Jay Reatard's version--from his increasingly excellent Matador singles series--stomps and whinnies from its first seconds of blacktop screech. Taking the lyrics literally, his initial agitation seems more appropriate for someone who has awoken suddenly screaming an imagined lover's name. But from there, his froth and the lyrics' mood converge. Spooky and forlorn this version is not. (It certainly does not evoke patience.) Reatard does manage to imbue the fateful words "you were my God in...high school" with the sort of over the top melodrama that a line like that demands (it even gets a bit of a fakey British accent for good measure).

In the original that line sets off a triumphant wave of blistered guitar fuzz. With a slower preceeding context, the moment is all about finally relieved tension. Starting from a more frantic place Jay chooses a looser, more organic twist; token bit of basement buzz jostles with acoustic guitar and a crisply struck tambourine. Where Cox let the next line ("People never really know") cleanly surf on top of his band's radiation wave, Reatard stretches and mumbles it until it loses even vague meaning. Then it's back to the "patiently, patiently," sung in a hurry. I guess lyrics so finely attuned to the mood of their original surroundings aren't flipped by changes as simple as tempo or instrumentation. It's an enjoyably psychotic near miss, anyway.

Jay Reatard - "Fluorescent Grey"

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 09:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Beck - "Chemtrails"

Caribou - "After Hours"

I think so.

Posted by Merry Swankster at 02:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Air France, actually from Sweden, looking actively creepy.

Air France - "June Evenings"

The summer nights this song evokes aren't actually the ones we've just lived through. There's no sense of long, slow sweat, unbearably building until the shock of a thundercrack unleashes the full weight of moisture in a relentless monsoon. Air France's June evenings are a perfect 74, with a hair-tussling breeze--but they aren't idle hammock sways at all. The persistent beats and triumphant horns are alive with possibility. When weather is that ideal, it tricks you into thinking that good fortune must be swimming inside such temperate air. It makes you hop one more cab, meet one more friend, convinced of the destiny imbedded in subsequent destinations. The girl singing here sounds half in dream, confused by the bird chirps encroaching on her magical nightlife. Or perhaps in Sweden, they party in the forest. That's not how we do it here, but clearly their summer is more whimsical than ours. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe we need the bugs and the unbearable humidity, the walks to the store that end with a soaked shirt from an angry God. If our real June evenings were as perfect as this, I don't see how we'd make it through the winter...

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 11:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)