(Discriminate Audio/BestFriends Records) Beautifilly disturbing ambient dream/nightmare,
primitive/futuristic experimental soundscapes that are packaged so cryptically
(no band name/words on the fornt or back coiver, with only lovely, strange abstract
art that deepens the mystery) that the fact that this 2-disc set contained two
of the same discs is only 90% a manufacturers packaging error in my mind…maybe
this mystery artist wanted me to hear disc 2 (featuring a half-hour long
ethereal sleep soundtrack) twice, and disc one never! The nerve! My nerves!
(Dead Letter) “Music
For Film” is kinda of like the “Hey There Delilah” song, but with the oomph of
a marching band. And there’s ten songs of it. “Music for Television” is kinda
emo with gusto, so it’s “Gustmo.”
(HHBTM) Bouncy hardcore that gets brutal
yet remains joyful (even when declaring [I believe] “sonic fuck yous!, and even
duringa ten minute ambient mellow feedback suite. Everything from the crackling
energy to the snotty vocals, to the tonal shifts to the faux Pettibon cover art
make this seem like you should be hearing this in the pit, and if you get
kicked in the head, all the better. I don’t know what their name means in
English, but I do know ne thing…this is very good!
(Good Land) The Figgs are a great band because they came out the box
as such solid power poppers, but were still able to find garage rock and punk
edges that many skinny tie-ers miss. Establishing themselves as a hardworking
fave band in the early 90s, they were surprisingly sucked up by a major label,
but came out stronger and more determined when they were unsurprisingly spit out by
Capitol, and I have been excited by their steady flow of new material over the
last coupla decades. That said, if you asked me what album to reissue by the Figgs
this decade old dalliance might not be my first pick, as it has moments of uncharacteristic ballad-ish mellow that do not fit into my ideal Figgs mind-picture. But there
are some hefty hooks here, and if you never heard this before you wont be able
to tell when it came out – totally timeless! In other Figg feature stories,
founding Figg-ment Pete Donnelly (also currently one of the Q's in the Terry
Adams-meets-Scott Ligon version of NRBQ) has released a delightfully slick,
garage rock-free power-popped singer-songwriter record that is a treat. Side
two is a one two knockout, with a
rural-ish Replacements sounding “The Only One” followed up by the shuffle soul
of “Can’t Talk at All,” and there’s even a tribute to Tom Ardolino! Not the
Figgiest record, but fabulaously Figg-tastic, nonetheless.
(This will be Our Summer Records) Chicagoland homeboy Graham
Smith’s product placement triumph band is back with some of his most polished
compositions (though still loose-ush and sorta stream of consciouness sounding).
Wordy, catchy, kinda goofy, occasionally preciously poignant, smart-silliness
is buffer than Buff (from the Fat Boys) and cleverer than Buffy (from the
vampire show).
(Doormat) Thick, bloody cuts
of music meat with visceral post punk melody stuff marbled with psyche-like
swirls and effects, all executed at the 11 level of intensity. This curse is
profane in more ways than one!
(Profound Lore) I’ve met this cheerful cellist, and the aptly
named artist has a personality that is totally money. Yet somehow she has
crafted a near-perfect piece of eerie contemporary classical ambient goth that
scares the Bejeezus outta me! Should be called Helen Moody!
(japonizeelephants.com) It’s been almost twenty
years of the Japonize Elephants confusing me into thinking Indiana is actually
a magical music portal where one massive band can somehow be a vessal for 100
years of weird international pop music, sounding like a 1930s radio show one
second, cartoon hillbillies the next, Middle Eastern belly dance backups a
moment later, stoned Zappa fans after that, Nero-esque distracted fiddlers all
the while, with quick jaunts into Klezmer, Americana, Mexicana, melodramatic
silent film accompanism, and chanting cult-ism. That all of it might be the
soundtrack to a lost Tex Avery cartoon makes you never want to forget these
Elephants.
(www.lancewhalen.com)
More like Sweet Arsenic Pie, because this is the darkest sounding
Nashville-style roots music since Porter released those drunk murder LPs way
back when.
(worldofpaco.com) Paco sings scary songs in a disarmingly
resonant voice, and it either entrancingly creeps you out or creepily entrances
you. Or in my case, both, which has me in a weird, perpetual state of creep-
trance…you can’t un-ring the Paco bell!
(elliotknapp.com) Scrambling
audio doodling specialness that presents fever-dream narratives done with the
time signatures (and potential dangerousness) of a precariously-balanced pot of
boiling water…or perhaps boiling absinthe.
(mattryd.com) Pleasant music that sounds like something in between
the kiddie music artist that the parents also dig, sitcom theme songs, and the
least macho cowboy getting up at a Nashville open mic. Ryd on!
(commonshiner.com) Should be called “Comma
Shiny,” because this pretty scramble/jangle pop will make you pause, then see
things in a new, bright, squirell-attracting light!
(Tenacity) Should be called Breaking LICEs, because this pleasant, slick,
mature pop not being commercially super successful is a real head scratcher (get it? Lice…itchy head…?)
(Sad Crow) Making wicked, swampy Americana about Andy
Griffith, redemptive doggies, and Santa leaving a lump of coal in your lungs is
something (sinisterly) special. This meaty music is either perfect for the honkytonk
in Hell, or if you ain’t been that bad, the front porch in Purgatory.
(Forge Again Records) Time to get ill, as these hospital
gardeners make sick noisy pop that
ranges from heavy as an iron lung to light as generously-doled-out ether!
Obama-care!
(Kool Kat) You’ll abandon that nipple when you hear
this slinky bubble glam slab, because the nipple to these Bottles will satisfy! So catchy you’ll down the
whole case of twelve Bottles, kid, and you won’t throw up! Unless you want to.
(
New!)
Why Black Crowes went super-platinum and Drivin' n Cryin' kept cult-ish is
beyond me, especially considering D&C's ability to craft catchy, down home
tunes that instantly sound like familiar classics. And when they get heavy like
they do on the “Laudromat EP it's easy to imagine them fitting right in as a 2
for Tuesday between Skynyrd and Bad Company! For the “Cars…” EP they go all
teenage power pop punky, and even though I realize it’s a theme EP, I tip my
hat…sure it took you 25 years to do it, but you finally got Ramonesy! About
time! And they go a decade backwards for their “Psychedelic Time Clock” album,
kicking off with a 13th Floor Elevator ride, and clocking out with a
mind expansion time peace. This trio of rock/punk/garage EPs shows not only the
versatility of the band, but a sense of whimsy not exactly conveyed on their
best work, making them seem better than previously perceived. Maybe they can be
Drivin’ and Smilin’ now!
(Pecan Crazy) Masked art punk garage noise genius philosophy
cacophony outsider/insider ‘music” act. With wordplay name! And really GOOD
masks! In my dreamworld this is the act that wins X-Factor every year!
(kingdomofnot.com) They Might Be
Tenacious Roky Beefheart Barenaked Giants, who are gigging at a Rennaisaince
Faire. Or they might not be, who can really say?
(Rhombus) Furious fun fusion = Furnsion!
(Drag City) Plastic
Crimewave undoubtedly produces his best issue yet, in part by making his own portrait
illustrations, annotated comic book collages, and geeked out interviews (with
Rodriguez, Poppy Family and Arthur Brown) more special by bringing in a
cornucopia of other writers and illustrators (including Ave Spivak!), to give
this psychedlic journal of celestial lowbrow-ism the kind of depth and texture
that got lost when it was more of a one-man band. And Plastic’s curatorship of
the insert CD this time takes his skills to new heights – what a crazy
collection of international otherworldliness! Too many highlights in this issue
to list, but I expecially like the tributes to Curtis Knight, John Byrne, Black
Widow, Henry Darger, and Status Quo groupies.
(sugarmanmusic.net) Melodic indie rock sprinkled with Americana
and a pinch of Beatles-esque power pop. Which is enough flavors that this should
be called Sugar-and-spice-Man.
(
facebook.com/shookups) 60s-style contemporary organ
garage rock that really reminds me of Mike Stax’ great Loons band, in that the
wordy, groovy music shows clear scholarship of awesome records, and knows what
makes up the vintage sound, but isn’t trying to pretend they aren’t
contemporary. The lyrics, vibe, and composition shows that they are 21st
Century rock n rollers, not garage music Renaissance Faire dress uppers.
(misschiff.chicagotumblr.com) This Chicago femcee mixes spare old school hip hop beats with half (well) sung and half sing-songy rapped positivity lyrics. Should be called Hit Chiff,
(because it’s more hit than miss), but to quote Ratso I’m glad she’s not called Mrs.
Chief, ‘cause Chief Keef seems too young to be a good husband (and he might not
approve of Chicago rap that uses a lot of words and ideas and musicality…though
it might be a fascinating contemporary variation of I Love Lucy, with Chiff trying to get into the show every week).
(Random
Act) Damn, it’s jazzy in here! At its best this set features electric
bass/stand up bass showdowns that will get to the bottom of things (including
your bottom…or at the least your taping toe). If you dig your jazz groovy and
cool-ish, you’ll say, “Ich bin ein Berlin-er!”
Otherss might just say, “Ichhh.”
(CDbaby.com/cd/shadesbelow)
Did you know that lo-fi, spare, organ-driven instrumental progrock was the same
thing as laid back Surf Garage? Well I do now, I’m a better man for it! And
that’s one to grow on!
(happy enchiladas) Americana music
is usually kind of pretty, precious, and perfect, even when its sad, but
America is pretty much always weirdly fucked up, so to do a contemplative, fresh take on Country,
making American roots music contemporary, you really should have note played,
sung, or composed be somehow off, odd, and wrong. And if you buy all that crap
I just tried to sell, then you have to agree that BF is the new King of
Americana!
