Klap 4 Music
Oh No Ono – Eggs
Author: Rudy Klapper
Oh No Ono – Eggs
Friendly Fire 2010
Rating: 8/10
Oh No Ono’s first record to be released on U.S. soil is an album fraught with contrasts and the kind of opposites-attract mentality that so many “weird” pop bands, from Of Montreal to recent Animal Collective, have championed. It’s a record that is at times incredibly easy to sing along to and at others is so undeniably odd that it’s almost creepily off-putting. And like Oh No Ono themselves, Eggs is just a hard album to place in general. The band themselves, a Danish quintet who have been around since 2003, mix electro-pop with experimental noise and the occasional dollop of funk or gothic new-wave, all with a nasally singer who calls to mind MGMT or John Lennon on a vast variety of uppers and several hits of LSD.
Having never listened to Oh No Ono before, it’s impossible for me to tell whether Eggs is a progression of their sound or something altogether new, but I can tell you this: Eggs might be the most bipolar record I’ve heard so far this year, at times crafting some of the purest, sugary melodies this side of Beach House and at others sounding so impeccably fucked up that it’s difficult to determine whether they’re entirely serious. The weirdly serious, almost threateningly long “Eve” and the synth stabs of the sinister “Icicles” are the most prominent of the latter, and when taken in comparison with the rest of the record, they stand out like sore thumbs. But then again, in the context of Oh No Ono’s anything-goes mentality, I suppose it makes sense. And in the proud tradition of psychedelic pioneers like Syd Barrett and the Flaming Lips, Oh No Ono refuse to compromise on their strangeness.
From the Middle Eastern vibe of “Eleanor Speaks” to the majestic church bells on “Swim” to the nearly ten-minute long, grandiose freak-out of closer “Beelitz,” Eggs throw everything and the kitchen sink into this amalgam of indie but steady it with the all-important hooks of some truly talented songwriters. Don’t be mistaken; you’ll never hear a song like “Swim” or the mellow flow of “The Wave Ballet” on alternative radio, but beneath all the layers of psychedelia and sonic textures are hooks and harmonies so pristine and effortlessly shiny that it’s hard not to get stuck in your head.
Eggs should be a ridiculously confounding work, as layered and tremendously outsized with neon bells and tie-dyed whistles as it is, but once you get past the sometimes piercing nasal whine of singer Malthe Fischer and the intimidating array of instruments and influences, you’ll discover some truly affecting pop gems: the sparkling radiance of “The Tea Party” (which initially reminded me of Zelda: Ocarina of Time . . . bizarre), the upbeat hop of “Mis Miss Moss,” the lovesick chorus of “Helplessly Young.” But most of all, you’ll discover a band that isn’t afraid to tear down the constraints of everyday, regular indie pop and inject a healthy dose of eccentricity into one of music’s most timeworn and loved equations.
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read comments (0)BT – These Hopeful Machines
Author: Rudy Klapper
BT – These Hopeful Machines
Binary Acoustics 2010
Rating: 6/10
Brian Transeau has always been something of a musical renegade. Going from a classically trained pianist at the Berklee College of Music to a trailblazing electronica pioneer in Los Angeles, BT has become world-renowned for his innovative techniques as well as for his huge role in developing progressive house and trance for the masses. Calling the man a one-trick pony would be an insult, though; nearly every album he’s released after his debut has incorporated numerous genres and bits of pieces into his diverse arsenal, from jazzy trip-hop to classical scores to straight rock. These Hopeful Machines, his sixth album, continues this trend, returning to a more dance-oriented sound than 2006’s This Binary Universe but retaining the prevalence of vocals and stylistic mish-mashing.
As an artistic effort, These Hopeful Machines is immediately inspiring and, truth be told, a bit intimidating. Clocking in a bit under two hours, the mammoth record is split into two slightly more manageable sides, although the differences between either are negligible. It’s an interesting concept, and one that speaks to BT’s desire to release an album as opposed to a dance record. There is an ebb and flow that’s obvious from opener “Suddenly” to the Psychedelic Furs cover “The Ghost in You” that closes everything out. At times it’s a rewarding experience, where all the jagged pieces fall together into a thing of seamless beauty that is as amazing for its coherence as it is for its understated complexity: check the shimmering collapse of “The Emergency” into the glitchy “Every Other Way” or the way the filthy house rave of instrumental “The Rose of Jericho” gracefully downshifts into new-wave rocker “Forget Me.” For a man of BT’s talents it should come as no surprise, but it’s hard to make it through a full listen of These Hopeful Machines without coming off with the impression that the record is a bit bloated, particularly much of the first and fourth tracks off the second disc, which meander about melodies and dreamy soundscapes without much of a purpose or hook.
It should come as little surprise then, that amidst the typically excellent mood pieces and foot-stomping parties BT throws down, the album really succeeds on the contributions of its vocalists, from Transeau himself to guest vocalists like Rob Dickinson, Kirsty Hawkshaw, and Christian Burns. At times they make the track, as on Burns’ urgent vocals on “Suddenly” or the delicate performance Transeau puts on “The Ghost in You,” which overhauls the original into an entirely new atmospheric beast. On the other hand, Hawkshaw’s angelic work on “A Million Stars” comes off as far too airy, making the rather boring track seem like a bad Enya trance mix. Dickinson’s throaty effort on “Always,” meanwhile gives the track a bit of a Nickelback-in-Ibiza vibe that is certainly off-putting only aided by the cheesy lyrics, although he redeems himself on the soulful, breezy “The Unbreakable” later on.
Still, BT’s true talents continue to lie in his house work, and on hard-hitting club mixes like “The Rose of Jericho” or the gritty synths and transcendent melodies of the bipolar “Every Other Way,” Transeau continues to prove he can progressive, fresh house with the best of them. While it’s entertaining to see such a talent spread his wings beyond his most successful works, the uneven nature of These Hopeful Machines speaks to a scattered genius, one who is suitably proficient in everything from soft rock ‘n roll to fist-pumping anthems to hypnotic mood pieces, but one who still struggles to fit them all into a clear, consistent aural portrait.
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read comments (0)Midlake – The Courage of Others
Author: Rudy Klapper
Midlake – The Courage of Others
Bella Union 2010
Rating: 7/10
For a band as entirely oblivious to the whims of their fans as Midlake, it should come as no surprise that The Courage of Others again redefines the band’s sound with barely a nod at what came before. Like their breakthrough record The Trials of Van Occupanther was a near-180 from the psychedelic rock of their debut Bamnam and Slivercork, their latest takes four years of incubating the rustic influences of artists as varied as Nick Drake and Pentangle and turns it into a strangely hypnotic album, one that is as different from what came before as it is likely to differ from whatever follows. It’s easy to pin down the foundations that The Courage of Others is built upon, but it’s far more difficult to realize whether Midlake has succeeded in distilling their own version of it all.
On the surface there seems plenty to like here for fans of Van Occupanther, but it quickly becomes apparent that the pop heart clearly present in past tunes like that record’s “Young Bride” or “Bandits” has been tossed away in favor of a much more focused, much less accessible sound. Singer Tim Smith’s distinct vocals run the show here, painting a portrait of past times and reviving the ghosts of ‘60s-‘70s folk-rock with the uncanny ease of a weathered listener, and the band’s traditionally countrified sound takes things one step further here. The album art should give anyone a pretty good indication of what’s to come: Druidic rituals set to music, the worshipping of nature and living by the land, bucolic guitars weaving languid lines out and about around the omnipresent flutes and mournful, multi-tracked vocals.
It’s not something to be taken lightly, and at times the experience can drag as such an utter dedication to a sound can tend to do. Van Occupanther succeeded because of its rich array of sonic textures that still managed to hearken back to an overall sound, a feel for the album that gave it a classic identity. The Courage of Others without a doubt has just such a unique identity, likely even stronger than what came before, but at times this comes at the expense of dragging, as when songs like “Small Mountain” and “Rulers, Ruling All Things” might overwhelm with the dourness of it all.
But it’s the wholehearted attention to detail, the relentless pursuit of a tranquil sound meant to transport the listener straight back into the Appalachian woods, this kind of headphones album that makes The Courage of Others a decidedly experimental sort of success. It’s uplifting to hear the softly flowing harmonies of a song like “Fortune,” the anthemic climax to “Children of the Grounds” or the heartrendingly frank truths on the titular track. Midlake have shown again and again that they are a band not resistant to change but guided by it, always refining and redirecting their sounds as they see fit and damn the wave of pop culture; after all, this is a band firmly situated in 1972 via 1821. It’s the kind of forward thinking that should be praised more often than not, and while they would be advised to cut back on the flutes next go-around, The Courage of Others is a challenging and altogether rewarding experience.
Midlake – “Children of the Grounds”
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