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the shivas ~ whiteout

May 20, 2013 in album reviews, reviews

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They say, don’t judge a book by its cover, the same can be said for record albums.  But I am a sucker for great artwork, I’ve given terrible albums a shot simply because I loved the way it looked.  On the other hand I’ve resisted others, simply because the cover wasn’t appealing.  When it comes to The Shivas debut, Whiteout, the cover alone is enough to inspire me to call the album one of the years best.  That’s my way of saying that I love, love, love the cover, with the band posed to look like the many armed Hindu god, Shiva.

Technically Whiteout is not a new album, but this vinyl release on K-records will gain them far more attention then they received from the cassette release on Burger records.  It’s attention and notoriety that they sincerely deserve.  This album is surprisingly mature, with a deep understanding of the music that inspired them in its creation.

Whiteout begins with a punch to the gut, that left me doubled over clutching my gut in the fetal position, grinning brightly through a tear streaked face.  When Swimming with Sharks starts, it sounds as if the album is going to devolve into that scratchy feedback noise-crunch of 80’s punk rock. But, like a ship listing hard to port, it rights itself back in balance. The harmonizing vocals kick in, the drum beat and the guitar riffs oscillate, and it suddenly becomes clear that The Shivas have a firm grasp on addictive body moving music.

The most obvious and common comparison for the Shivas are the Black Lips, sure, I see that.  But I heard the Velvet Underground, 1960’s surf rock, and Scratch Acid all pounding the hardwood at a 50’s sock hop.  So often a retro sound like this comes off as completely insincere, little more than imitation crab meat sold in a plastic jar.  The Shivas are completely genuine in the sounds they create. It’s not a gimmick, it’s a revolution.

What strikes me most about Whiteout is how willing the band was to throw a wrench in the machinery and let the song change direction, even if just for a brief and marvelous moment.  Every time the chorus kicks in on Swimming with Sharks, the verse fires right back louder, harder, faster than it even seemed possible. Living and Dying like Horatio Alger is a journey that builds and builds, raising itself higher and farther then you ever expect it to.  Just when I thought I’d caught onto The Shivas’ magic formula, they changed it on me, I never once got bored listening to this album.

No Waves, kicks off a trio of surf rock inspired songs with a demented reverb laid over the sound of dripping water. This isn’t the straight forward surf rock of La Luz, this is a grittier grind with sharp edges, but equally as satisfying. Kissed in the Face is slower and less harsh, while Manimal is shot of sapphire blue water the courses through your veins, it impossibly gets better and better.

Mixed throughout our these syrupy sweet slow dances, set in a dimly lit gymnasium decorated with pastel streamers.  Pink poodle skirts are gingerly touched by the white leather arms of varsity jackets, all enshrined in a throwback to the “good ole days.”  The albums closing track, Paradise is so innocent and perfect, it never pretends to be anything other than what it is, which is true for all of Whiteout

The albums most obvious and arguably its best feature, is its incessant calling for you to move your body.  Every song begs to put you in motion, practically controlling your limbs like a puppeteer.  Your feet will tap, your hands will clap, and you won’t be able to keep your body from rocking back and fourth.

Technically this album is not brand spanking new, but the shine on the vinyl is as bright as ever.  Whiteout is truly a defining album for 2013. You can find Whiteout at krecs.com, or most other digital retailers.

the shivas: website/facebook/twitter

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arrington de dionyso’s malaikat dan singa ~ open the crown

April 30, 2013 in album reviews, reviews

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Sit tight with me, I promise this is going somewhere.

Every year my elementary school held a cake walk, the cakes were made by the students, and each was judged by the PTA and prizes were awarded.  The prizes were these little chocolate bears on a stick.  The year I entered my mom helped me make a chocolate cake, which I then decorated with frosting.  On the day the winners were announced, I patiently waited to hear my name.  Sure enough, the winner for Wackiest design was me.  Again I waited patiently as the prizes were passed out to all the winners, finally I would know the delicious taste of the chocolate bear on a stick.  But all I got was a certificate.  The winner for Wackiest design did not receive a chocolate bear.

I held back tears, and walked home alone, angrily plotting a bloody coup of the cake walk.  But when I stepped through the front door to my house and was greeted by my mom, the flood gates opened and I spilled tears all over the red brick entryway.  If you’re going to hand out prizes, why doesn’t Wackiest get one?  What does Wackiest even mean?  I’m not throwing a pity party, seriously that was over twenty years ago… I’m sure the chocolate bears tasted like old Hershey’s anyway. But, Whacky is a word that’s come up on more than one occasion when discussing the music of Arrington De Dionyso.

Wacky is a reductive term that tries to explain away what it is that Arrington is actually doing.  It’s just a way of acknowledging that while there may be something of substance present, it’s not always easy to pin point or understand.  When you call something wacky you don’t have to give it a prize, because its genius is less obvious.

There’s lots that could make the music of Arrington De Dionyso wacky; his fluctuation between English, Indonesian, throatsinging, yelps, and howls, heavy guitars that skim the surface of Big Black, thudding repetitive drum tempos that are tribal in nature, bass that hums at a frequency that could give you an irregular heartbeat.  The appearance of a bass clarinet, jaw harp, and basically everything you can find in a grammar school music room.  Then there’s Arrington’s general performance art appearance, where you just never know if you’re trapped in some devilish dream, or if this guy is some evil genius.

I’ve been a fan of Arrington’s work dating back to Old Time Relijun, which detonated some of the heaviest sounds to assault your eardrums in all the Pacific Northwest.  Under his own name he’s been exceptionally prolific releasing over a dozen mostly experimental (at least even more experimental than his typical albums).  But in the last few years he’s been playing and touring with a rotating cast of bandmates as Arrington De Dionyso’s Malaikat Dan Singa.

Malaikat is a perfect blend of Old Time Relijun and “Arrington.”  It balances on the edge of a knife, one side unidentifiable experimental sounds, the other freeform thudding rock with accessible hooks.  The music is unpredictable, you never know what you’ll hear next or when you’ll stumble upon a riff that will be stuck in your head all day.

The first two Malaikat albums, the self titled Malaikat dan Singa, and Suara Naga, were mostly if not completely foreign tongued.  Songs like Mani Malaikat, Aku Di Penjara, or Iblis Atas Iblis, were enigmatic and beautiful.  While my ears weren’t exactly sure what it was hearing, my heart was telling me that it was amazing.

The latest Malaikat album, Open the Crown, is arguably their best, and certainly the most Americanized.  Not only are there more songs in English, but on songs like There Will Be No Survivors or The Akedah (The Moon is Full), he drops the throat singing entirely.  The variety here is stronger than ever, and fills out the bands most complete album to date.  I Create in the Broken System, is one of my favorite songs so far this year, it features poetic throatsung English lyrics, and is narcotically addictive.

At this point I’m not sure what was a bigger risk for Arrington, writing albums in an almost completely foreign tongue, or mixing in a steady amount of English.  At some point you go against the grain enough that when you do follow its smooth lines, that creates the uncertainty.  Regardless, Open the Crown siphons enough from Arrington’s body of work that it mixes perfectly.

I frequently use Malaikat to prove how diverse and unique the music of the PNW is, my point typically has something to do with how accepting the music fans here are and how Malaikat wouldn’t make it anywhere else.  Which is full of half truths.  The music of the PNW is unique and diverse, and the music fans are accepting, but Malaikat could make it anywhere, and Open the Crown proves that.  This isn’t some collection of wacky tunes, these are unbelievable songs that rattle the course of your musical taste.  There’s so much to like here.

It’s heavy rock, it’s tribal folk, it’s a psychedelic trip, it’s some bastardization of hip-hop music at it’s most base level.  Then it’s also just what the ears and the heart want.

Give the album a listen, a full listen, all the way through.  Don’t judge it prematurely.  There is gold throughout.  Arrington says it best in the albums closing pseudo rap, I Manipulate the Form’d and the Formless.

Open the Crown is out today through K-records at krecs.com and most digital and physical retailers.

 

Arrington de Dionyso’s Malaikat dan Singa: website/facebook/twitter

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har mar superstar ~ bye bye 17

April 23, 2013 in album reviews, reviews

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Either you love the sweaty, chubby, hirsute Rhythm and Blues of Har Mar Superstar, hate it, or have never heard of it.  Clearly Pitchfork Media hates him with a deep unwarranted passion, I on the other hand love him with unharnessed admiration.  But I suspect that despite four studio albums, multiple US tours, movie cameos, and a growing podcast (Nocturnal Emotions), most have no idea who Har Mar Superstar is, which is a shame because who he is, is amazingly talented.

His previous albums have been like a grab bag of twisted modern pop R&B songs, with the occasional funky retro hit.  The flavor was that of a demented Justin Timberlake with  over sexualized and needlessly aggressive lyrics.  Every album has genuine hits that can’t be ignored like, Tall Boy, DUI, or Power Lunch, but there were always far less memorable songs.  Har Mar’s latest album, Bye Bye 17 is also his best.

Bye Bye 17 ditches the tongue and cheek pop songs bursting with machismo in favor of  true R&B grooves that could have been crafted from the outtakes of Stevie Wonder’s For Once In My Life. This is a retro dance party dripping sweat on a beat-up wood floor,  from funky 70’s soul in Prisoner, back through 60’s Doo-Wop in Www.  Even the cover of the album is an almost straight up rip-off of Bye Bye 17 by 1970′s Chinese actress and singer Nancy Sit.

The album’s first single, Lady, You Shot Me, was filled with promise, opening the doors to what had the potential to be Har Mar at his best.  Going all the way back to Cry 4 Help from his self titled debut, the songs 70’s soul flavor was a true standout among pop toss-offs.  Bye Bye 17 delivers on that promise of thirteen years ago by bringing that same R&B flavor to every song, one after the other, after the other.

Far from overproduced, this album has a 70’s cult-film graininess to it. It sounds not like a modern knock off of an album from a bygone era, but like it was buried decades ago and unearthed.  As the record spins, dust flies off and the room fills with a dusty haze, a time machine.  Har Mar Superstar doesn’t completely abandon his cheesy love songs, after all, “Prisoner of love,” is a pretty ham fisted line.  But here those lyrics play to the strength of the sweaty sexualization of the time the songs were inspired by.

It’s easy to want to write Har Mar Superstar off as a schtick, this chubby hairy man, who sweats buckets on the dance floor and strips to his skivvies for the pleasure of the ladies in the front row.  It’s easy not to take his music seriously, but beneath all that exaggerated bravado are ten exceptional songs.  You’ll hear this album and immediately want to throw a party, and put Bye Bye 17 on a loop and dance until your legs cramp, and you can’t move anymore.

Bye Bye 17 is available at all your physical and digital retailers today!

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week of wonders ~ failures EP

April 1, 2013 in album reviews, reviews

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When I got an email from Week of Wonders and read that they had self-proclaimed their sound to be, “Tropical Punk.” I basically wrote them off as little more than a one note gimmick band, surely they had some self indulgent schtick that involved knock off Tommy Bahama shirts and homemade jean shorts.  Defining your sound with some unique term is often little more than a futile attempt to separate yourself with a shallow, unhelpful, and undefinable term.

That’s not to say that the music industry is better at finding the most accurate way to describe a particular sound.  There’s a box, we want you to fit in that box, even if it means compromising the unique sounds you’ve cultivated.  This has been my long winded way of saying that, at least when it comes to Week of Wonders, the term “Tropical Punk” is a surprisingly accurate description.

Failures, the debut EP from Week of Wonders is truly a unique and remarkable departure from “the box”.  The album’s opening track, Wishes, begins with the wave crashing sounds of surf rock guitar and an uptempo punk rock beat.  But when I heard the voice of guitarist and lead singer Harold Withers, I immediately drew comparison to Hutch Harris of Forbidden Friends and The Thermals, whose voice also bears a resemblance to David Byrne.  It adds this element of 70’s/80’s post-punk pop.

When I got to the second song, Touch of Pearls, I realized something else was happening.  The guitar is playing double duty, as both a surf rock guitar as well as mimicking the sound of mallets banging the head of a steel drum.  It’s a pleasing sound that I can’t say I’ve ever heard before.

Typically when a band decides to get creative with how they describe their sound, I have to spend hours picking it apart and reorganizing the sound into a more accessible box.  Week of Wonders threw me, I spent hours picking apart their sound, only to reorganize it and admit that Tropical Punk is such a deliciously perfect way of describing their sound.

Of course now here I’ve gone through all these words, only to tell you that despite my assumption that creative descriptions are little more than attention grabbers, Week of Wonders really showed me up and creatively described a unique sound.  This band shouldn’t be limited to a simple clever idea with brownie points for accurately describing their sound.  Week of Wonders has teeth.

Failures is anything but a failure, its a full experience that acts as a sampler to what we can only hope to expect from the band in the future. Five upbeat and mostly fast paced punk… well, Tropical Punk.  It’s the kind of punk that sea creatures play on an ocean reef.  It’s the kind of music that puts a smile on your face.

I highly suggest check out Failures, you can find it at weekofwonders.bandcamp.com.  And if you’re into music of the live variety you can see them live a number of times in April.

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pickwick ~ can’t talk medicine

March 12, 2013 in album reviews, reviews

Pickwick - Can't Talk Medicine

A few years back Pickwick was toiling away as a folk-Americana band amid a sea of the ever growing folk bands in the Pacific Northwest, without making any meaningful headway.  In a fit of inspiration that took place between the bathroom walls while lead singer Galen Disston was on the toilet, the band made a monumental shift.  A shift towards an inspired form of soul and R&B built upon the framework of that toiling indie folk band.

When a regional music scene begins to reach the boiling point phrases like; “next big thing,” or “next to make it out of the Northwest,” become so commonplace that they’re rendered meaningless.  I’ve heard this uttered no less than a dozen times referring to a dozen different bands in just this past year.  It’s tempting to want to look at a small indie band and attempt to predict their successful future, the factors that determine who will become the next most recognizable band from the PNW are inconsistent and schizophrenic, which makes any such prediction pointless.  Occasionally you can lay a confident bet on the table, and if I was a betting man, Pickwick is that confident bet.

The shift in Pickwick began with the Myths series of 7-inch singles that featured original demos.  By the end of 2011 those singles were condensed onto a compact disc, and garnered far more attention and admiration than a collection of demos should.  But while I and many others looked at Myths as a collection of finished songs that were forming the basis for a full length album, Pickwick saw them as under-realized attempts at a much loftier goal.

Can’t Talk Medicine, is that fully realized album, with a distinct vision and soul spilling from the seams.  After recording Myths in their basement, the band moved upstairs to the living room, in a deliberate attempt to add character and a unique aural quality to the new recordings.  Sound battled with carpeting, furniture, and architectural structors as it found it’s way onto tape.  The living room provided Pickwick with the opportunity to make an album with a signature sound unlike any other.

Where Myths had been slick and clean, Can’t Talk Medicine is gritty and roughed up.  That grit, was a specific choice and a result of recording to tape with an 8 track recorder.  The end result is an album that sounds like it was delivered to us from the late 1960’s, it has the passion and soul that you find in those older albums with degraded sound quality.  It’s this “rawness” that really defines the beauty of Can’t Talk Medicine, there’s a color to this album that just wasn’t present in the Myths demos.

The Round, Hacienda Motel, and Staged Names, are all holdovers from Myths, and there is no greater reassurance for their decision to keep things raw, than to say that these already stellar songs sound better, more colorful, and more soulful than they did on Myths.   What surprised me most about Can’t Talk Medicine, was its use of found sound and raw editing.  I had previously seen Pickwick as sleek and heavily produced, that the album would be lo-fi, let alone contain two nontraditional songs of mostly found sound with underscoring, was a real surprise.  It adds personality to what are already wonderful recordings.

To talk only about Can’t Talk Medicine’s grit, is to sell short an album of powerful indie R&B songs.  Galen’s voice howls and fills the most minuscule voids with this warmth, and the organ wails like a mourner in a funeral procession.  The music just seems to land into the appropriate rhythm and tone, it settles into itself better than just about any album I’ve heard in some time.  Brooklyn’s Shaorn Van Etten, makes an appearance on a cover of Richard Swift’s Lady Luck, where her voice bounces of Galen’s as they dance together playfully, it’s a true standout song on an album full of standouts.

The album closes with Santa Rosa, a lullaby that plucks at the heartstrings and draws a tear.  After a passionate and energy filled tour through the struggles of Pickwick which took them from a drowning folk band, to rising stars, and finally the monumental sonic achievement of Can’t Talk Medicine, it’s a stirring way to put things to bed.  This album is one of the years best, Pickwick has raised the bar for music in the Pacific Northwest.

Can’t Talk Medicine can be purchased through all the usual digital outlets, or at their website.

Pickwick: website/facebook/twitter

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wild belle ~ isles

March 11, 2013 in album reviews, reviews

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Toward the end of last year, local favorites Deep Sea Diver struck out on a west coast tour with Wild Belle.  When they rolled into town I got my chance to see this soulful Afrobeat brother, sister duo in person, and though I was already sold on their catchy and laid back music, I could literally feel the crowd being won over.  At the time they’d released an LP single of the delicious Keep You, and an EP, but that was hardly enough.  When I received my copy of their debut album, Isles in early February I was thrilled, just when I was looking for an alternative to the alt-folk of the Northwest I got WIld Belle.

Isles is a fusion of soulful pop vocals, with Afrobeats and 70’s Reggae to an almost nostalgic degree.  It’s the kind of record that brings an offbeat and often ignored level of musicianship to the mainstream.  A blind taste test doesn’t yield one solid hit, produces eleven of them.

Wild Belle is the collaboration of brother and sister Elliot and Natalie Bergman.  Though Elliot had already seen some success with the Afro-instrumental (seemingly Mulatu Astatke inspired) project NOMO, his sister Natalie, as recently as two years ago, was living in Brooklyn working in a bar, recording her own folk(esque) songs.  It wasn’t until she moved back to her hometown of Chicago, that she began collaborating with Elliot.  It was that merger that birthed Wild Belle’s eclectic and savory sounds.

While Elliot and the band bring the Afro-funk popularized in the 1970’s and mix it with golden era island Reggae, Natalie brings the tasty slack-tongued vocals.  Isles is thronged with classic break up songs; whether it’s the cautionary tale of a reoccurring mistake in Keep You, the rejection of It’s Too Late, or the bewilderment of Another Girl.  These songs have that simple universal appeal that makes them accessible to just about anyone.

Sprinkled throughout the album is Elliot’s shuddering baritone sax, which adds just enough quirky appeal to give Isles that indie cred which helps keep it out of the inevitable fluffy pop conversations.  Not content to let Natalie completely take the vocal reins, Elliot shines on When It’s Over, the closest song to a ballad on the album.

From beginning to end Isles creates a complete picture, one of a worldly experience; from Ethiopian Jazz, to Western Africa funk and rock, and the laid back breeziness of the Caribbean island music, with strong 1970’s Reggae under/overtones.  This is the kind of album I wish I’d had over many past Summers, for great sweltering August nights, or golden beach hangouts.

Fans of Amy Winehouse, Peter Tosh (or any golden age Reggae artist), Mulatu Astatke, or Elliots other band NOMO, will find so much to love here.  Even if you’re not a fan the the above artists, I would still suggest that you give Wild Belle’s Isles a chance.  In a age where most major label artists are forged from the same plaster cast, and marketed with  aggressive glitter, Wild Belle bucks the trend.  Though they appeal to a larger audience, what they bring to the table is a genuine mixture of under appreciated music stylings.  I also suggest putting on Isles and browsing Natalies Tumblr site, which features images and sounds that obviously serve as an inspiration for their music.

 

Isles is out March 12th, through all the usual digital retailers and probably your local record store as well.  The vinyl release is March 26th.

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hey marseilles ~ lines we trace

March 6, 2013 in album reviews, reviews

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It’s hard to pull off the miniature orchestra pop band, without becoming a gimmick, it’s even harder to seamlessly integrate a half dozen instruments without overloading the power circuits and blowing a fuse.  Since their 2010 debut To Travels and Trunks, Hey Marseilles has managed to amalgamate a variety of instruments and talents with perplexing sincerity.  Their new album Lines We Trace, is no exception, it successfully generates unique and beautiful sound that evokes genuine emotions.

In ten years people will talk about the neo-folk movement that slowly took over the Pacific Northwest and influenced a country.  Just as with the Grunge movement in the early 90’s, folk bands are living under every rock, up every tree, and down every alleyway.  Each band cultivates a unique sound, but still falls under that umbrella of mellow, often melancholy, acoustic, hand crafted folk.  Hey Marseilles really sets themselves apart despite their place under that umbrella, perhaps even holding the handle.

Lines We Trace is an exceptional album and an extraordinary achievement in instrumental synergy.   Unhampered by the temptation to add strings to somber ballads, or horns to upbeat pop feet tappers, Hey Marseilles weaves everything together so much so that at times you lose the voice of a single instrument and instead hear a single cacophony of beautiful sound.

Emotion spills from this album, it leaks from between the tracks and cries out in the climax of each song.  I can’t think of another album I’ve heard this year that seems to lay it’s feelings out to the listener in such an exposed and unguarded manner.  The emotion of the album hits you from the moment the album begins with Tides and from there it’s a roller coaster of ups and downs.  The gothic opening to Dead of Night, the etherial swirl of Elegy, the sweeping tear jerker of Madrona, or the uplifting hopefulness of Hold Your Head.

I can’t remember the last time I listened to an album and was moved to sincere emotion not based only on the quality of music, a nostalgic feeling, or an unconnected attachment, Lines We Trace is full of heart in a way that I just wasn’t prepared for.

Occasionally you come across an album that just feels special, you can sit and analyze, or theorize on some root cause, but it’s not some quantitative mass.  What makes an album like Lines We Trace, special is it’s genuine emotional honesty, it’s not trying to be this or that.  It simply is.  I put this album on not fully prepared for what I was going to get, and when it was finished I to a few long breaths before starting it all over again to re experience.

Lines We Trace is out now and despite your feelings on folk music, you’d be foolish to not at least give it a chance.  You can find the album through their website, or at your local independent record store.  And if you haven’t seen the endlessly enduring “Hey Marseilles Makes An Album” you should take a look below.

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the cave singers ~ naomi

March 5, 2013 in album reviews, reviews

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I fell in love with The Cave Singers second album, Welcome Joy.  In many ways that album is a pure extension of their debut, Invitation Songs; bohemian, neo-folk(esque), with subtle hints of a heavier rock band within.  Welcome Joy wasn’t sprinkled with pop hits and endless hooks, but it was a full experience from beginning to end.  I didn’t immediately embrace their third album, No Witch; heavier, dirtier, edgier, than it’s predecessors, this was a rock album.  The more I listened to it the more I came around, and eventually saw it as a spectacular album, full of hits with catchy melodies.  Two years later The Cave Singers are continuing their musical journey with their fourth release, Naomi.

I see each Cave Singer release as another step on a continuing musical journey, a step which absent, would hinder any forward growth.  From one album to the next The Cave Singers are finding ways to fill music’s neglected niches with their signature brand of neo-folk sounds.

On first listen you might think that Naomi is not a step forward, but rather a step back, back into that softer, bohemian style of Welcome Joy and Invitation Songs. This is what I thought too, that The Cave Singers were abandoning that gritty grind they’d harnessed so well on No Witch.  But weeks later I began to hear something else, I heard the foot steps, Naomi is a step toward something new.

Naomi is their most pop fueled album to date, it’s cleaner, more full, and expansive.  It takes that same folk, barefoot bohemian(ness), and mixes it with raw, heavy emotions.  The strained and antithetical vocals of Pete Quirk, as always, hold the album together, as the other elements fall into place behind him. While there are no big instrumental surprises here, Naomi is distinctly bigger and more resonant.  Following No Witch The Cave Singers added Morgan Henderson (The Fleet Foxes) on guitar.  His presence adds depth and helps bridge the gap between the acoustic folk softness, and the stomp your feet rock.

Like Welcome Joy, Naomi is not a hit machine, it doesn’t churn out singles in a neat 99 cent itunes package.  There are obvious stand outs; It’s A Crime is classic Cave Singers, simple and addictive.  Canopy, Evergreens, and Shine also carry a familiar structure and accessible melodies and hooks.  But Naomi at it’s core is best enjoyed as a full experience from it’s light, upbeat, pop beginnings in Canopy, to the groundswell of sound in the closing song, When The World.

Naomi is the kind of album, you put on and lay back to enjoy, it’s a beautiful fluid collection of songs that conjures vivid imagery, more so than their past releases.  That imagery can change with each listen, it can roll in like a thundercloud, or flash at you with a brilliant lightening strike, or explode with a clash of thunder.

There’s no shortage of folk, neo-folk, post-folk, and folk-inspired bands in the Pacific Northwest right now, at times distinguishing one from another can be a challenge.  Though The Cave Singers find themselves right in the middle of this movement, they are easily one of the most identifiable and unique.  When they sang about the inconspicuous Haller Lake on No Witch, they solidified their place as indispensable Northwest artists, and that tradition carries right through into the beautiful sounds on Naomi.

Naomi is out now on Jagjaguwar records, and can be found at all the usual places.

The Cave Singers: website/facebook/twitter

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the soft hills ~ chromatisms

February 19, 2013 in album reviews, reviews

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On one end of the Northwest musical spectrum you have The Fleet Foxes, with their endless acoustic sweeping landscapes, and perfectly harmonizing vocals.  On the opposite end you have… let’s say, Unnatural Helpers, loud, dirty, rough, and fast. Somewhere in the middle of these two poles is The Soft Hills.  Blending soft and gentle vocals with folk melodies and gritty electronic psychedelic rock.

Almost exactly a year after last years The Bird is Coming Down to Earth, The Soft Hills return with Chromatisms, a darker, more isolated and cosmic soundscape.  The Bird… was by no means an upbeat pop album with gimmicky hooks, but it certainly flows along a warm color field.  Chromatisms, not coincidentally is a unique color all together, it’s darker, colder, and isolated.  Each song conjures visions of solitary figures, alone under a star speckled void, at the edge of a water eroded cliff, isolated in a space capsule skimming the edge of a solar flares.

Chromatisms is a heavy album, electrified, and full of reverb.  Everything here is a little grittier like the flecks of metal scrap I used to find on the cement floor of my dads welding shop.  With the exception of the albums closing track Desert Rose, which is the only real acoustic ballad, the rest of the album is like a gritty, melancholy, psychedelic trip.  The songs often begin simple with a little riff, then sound and emotion building until it reaches a grinding climax of swirling cosmic noise.  The progression is delightfully rewarding and adds scale to what could otherwise feel like a small contained sound.

From the few times I’va met lead singer and guitarist Garrett Hobba, I’ve learned that he can be a deeply poetic person, that poeticism is on full display here.  At times those words play in contrast to the music’s enigmatic quality, while other times they play right in it.

I was pleasantly surprised by Cromatisms edgier qualities, you won’t be fooled into thinking your listening to The Fleet Foxes, and that’s not really the point.  As I said at the top, this album walks the line somewhere in between the two musical spectrums, of soft and melodic, and loud and gritty.  Each Soft Hills album has been like a stepping stone on their way to something else.  As good as Chromatisms is, it has me looking forward to what I will hear from them in future releases.

You can see The Soft Hills live at The Sunset this Thursday February 21st with Midnight Blooms and friend of secretly-important Karl Blau.  It’ll be totally worth checking out on a school night kids.

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jenny o ~ automechanic

February 5, 2013 in album reviews, reviews

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This album doesn’t come out until next Tuesday (February 5th) but because that conflicts with the release of the new Thao and the Get Down Stay Down album, I wanted to give Jenny O the jump start because the album is spectacular.  If you hate reading then all you need to know about Jenny’s full length debut is that you should buy it.

Jenny O: the body of Patti Smith, the soul of Janis Joplin, the voice of Stevie Nicks.  At least this was the impression I got after seeing her open for Father John Misty back in September.  I say this not to limit her to some kind of look-a-like, sound-a-like, or feel-a-like persona, but because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Jenny’s debut album Automechanic, it’s that she’s an unpredictable genius.

After listening to her self-released 2011 EP Home, I had general expectations for what I would hear on Automechanic, even after hearing the albums title track.  What I was anticipating was more of the same, cutesy indie folk-pop, and was pleasantly surprised to find that this album was deeper, wider, and more mature.  As much as I loved adorable songs like Well Ok Honey from Home, Automechanic displays Jenny’s growth as an artist.  The end result is guaranteed to be one of the years best.

Produced by Jonathan Wilson, who co-produced and infused catchy vintage hooks into Father John Misty’s Fear Fun, Wilson does the same here.  Automechanic has the feeling of a worn out dance floor at a gritty midnight discotheque from a bygone era.  Songs like Come Get Me and Good Love, are modern Disco classics, a mirrored ball, polyester jumpsuits (Jenny wore a red corduroy jumpsuit when I saw her back in September) and maybe even a pair of white lace-up roller skates, ooze from these songs like dance floor sweat.

On the other hand you have songs like the impeccably crafted Lazy Jane, which could be a stolen B-side from Rumors.  Fans of Jenny’s previous work will still find solace in folk-pop songs like Get Lost, or Dope Van Gogh, as well as some country twang, that felt very reminiscent of Fear Fun.  The thing about this album is that it’s all over the map, Jenny hops from genre to genre in a way that was similar to Ruby Fray’s Pith from last year.  Unlike Pith which felt like an erratic collection of songs, Automechanic moves seamlessly from sound to sound.  This might be the albums most enduring quality, on the surface it sounds like twelve disparate elements linked by the constraints of the albums four corners, but each song flows together with impossible beauty, not jarring or unsettling, but smooth and delicious.

My initial expectations were so far from Automechanic’s grease covered undercarriage of a classic car, that I wasn’t immediately sure how to feel.  After a couple listens I quickly found that this was the only album I wanted to listen to.  I couldn’t get over how well written and produced these songs were.  Though Jenny O’s voice retains the familiar girlish charm, it blends so perfectly on this album with the deeper cuts.  Ugh!  Lazy Jane is an instant classic, to put it in superficial and banal words.

Home was just a five song EP, but was quickly picked over by music supervisors on television shows and commercials.  Automechanic is a massive leap forward for Jenny and her stellar songwriting, it’s a sure bet that these songs will be everywhere.  I know that I’ll be surprised if I don’t get yelled at more than once for playing this album on a loop.

On February fifth you’ll find Automechanic at all the usual online retailers, visit Jenny O’s website for more information.  In the meantime check out Jenny’s wonderful Daytrotter session.

Jenny O: website/facebook/twitter

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