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By Robin Smith, September 7, 2010 8:00 am

Sufjan Stevens – All Delighted People EP

Asthmatic Kitty 2010

Rating: 7/10

There’s a lot I admire about Sufjan Stevens. Too much, in fact. I like that he put Michigan and Illinois on the map for me and that in my ignorance I’m hard-pressed to name any other state. I like that he bursts into breakcore rock songs midway through charming acoustic sets. I like that he can’t decide whether to be super-serious or super-silly because let’s face it, posing with a banjo and a cowboy hat ends in frowns. I like his music a fair bit, too, even if it’s just an excuse for him to wear outlandish costumes. Angel-wings, anyone?

When I don’t like him I probably just end up admiring him more. Remember that musical mid-life crisis he had? You’d think that’d be the end of the road for any self-respecting fan, but it turns out it’s easier for us to believe in Sufjan than it is for him to believe in ‘the song’, or ‘the album’, or whatever else he tried to hate. He called the state-project a gimmick, and that probably swung it for us. No one in their right mind would call Illinoise and Michigan gimmicks- they’re so personal they could be postcards from your best pal. And now All Delighted People comes, aptly titled and generously packaged, and I know I’ll be spending more time celebrating than I will telling Sufjan we told him so.

All Delighted People is drowned in its own celebration, actually, and only comes up for air thirteen minutes into closer “Djohariah,” the sequel to Seven Swans’“Sister” in many clever ways. Maybe the fact that this EP most resembles that sweet and personal record of gospel stories, or the way in which both songs fit that description of “freak outs for single-mothers,” or perhaps just the simple in joke of a family tree. This is a good thing. It’s a beautiful continuation of a beautiful sequence, and in a way only this guy would know how- he strings together a guitar-solo with an acoustic lullaby and some finishing touches of bleepy electronica, and the whole thing could fall apart like a five-year-old’s arts and crafts project, sealed with nothing but excitement and flimsy gluing skills. Even with Sufjan trying to cram more in, he still sounds like that delicate trooper sporting a beginner’s banjo.

In a way, though, it’s more weird than beautiful. You crowned Sufjan baroque pop king for Illinoise and I did for Michigan, and these records were a darn sight different from what usually comes out of the genre. They had fluidity to them, not sounding overstuffed by the grand instrumental compositions but rather continuing to move calmly and at their own will; even if tracks were horrible to read out by name, they sounded soft and saccharine, not huge and rallying. That was what Funeral did- it had us bask in its arrangements– but not what Illinoisedid.

I notice these forceful features on All Delighted People, because it does sound overstuffed, and that’s probably the first time I can say that about Sufjan since A Sun Came. That was 21 tracks long, and this is, um, an EP. And it has everything; the full scale string arrangements, the trumpet guys in the corner, the wacky guitar solos from the genius himself, the quirky keyboard stuff, and reworked versions of songs that you were introduced to ten minutes ago. This isn’t such a shocking turn to take for Sufjan, and most of us could care less as we let the first listen glaze over us, but I feel overwhelmed as I never wanted to be by him. This is the guy who had me gliding through “Detroit,” a song with oh so many components but such seamless ease. Now I can hear the build-ups in “All Delighted People” and feel them knocking me over. Now I find myself waiting more than anything in “Djohariah,” noticing even the things I shouldn’t, such as the dissonant riffing that pulls away from its place in the background. And even a track as light and glorious as the synthy “From the Mouth of Gabriel” thumps up a little more than I want it to.

This thump is the thump of the album. All these songs still work out of the focus of the EP and even become more appreciated for it- “From the Mouth Of Gabriel” is slowly becoming a favourite Sufjan track in how it sounds like a Seven Swans session gone retro. By itself it’s simply gorgeous, lamenting and longing like no other track in his canon dared to do. “Heirloom” and “Arnika” reach similar ends if by more traditional means. When these songs come together at the album’s focus, the artsy twinning of “All Delighted People,” I can’t help but feel they’re being done a great injustice. They are no less important than the sprawls they are wrapped around.

Looking at these songs from the outside rather than one after another, I realise why I waited five years for this. It was because I knew Sufjan Stevens didn’t really hate music. We got it wrong when he said all that stuff about ‘the album’. I think what he really grew tired of washis album. I feel he’s done detailing these works and mapping these worlds for us, and that’s too bad for anyone still hoping for Sufjan to come to his or her state- personally, I’m done holding out for his ode to Kent, but if he’s up for it, they call it “the garden of England.” This is a fantastic collection of songs, if better for what they are rather than as a controlled unit; All Delighted People has eight of Sufjan’s rebounds, and while it’s taken him a while to get over music, he’s got there. Hurry along, October.

Sufjan Stevens – “From The Mouth of Gabriel”

See larger image All Delighted People EP (MP3 Download) New From: $4.99 In Stock Release date August 23, 2010.

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By Robin Smith, August 31, 2010 8:00 am

Lights Out Asia – In The Days of Jupiter

N5MD 2010

Rating: 5/10

With album art no astronaut would deny makes a good January for his wall calendar and a whole lot of ethereal soundscapes in their suitcase, Lights Out Asia are, for one hour, back in our lives. And the one thing I can say about In The Days of Jupiter is that we are being beamed down upon. We are, finally, being treated the way we always should have from this band; the mysterious blank dot of space, the big planets that fill it, the whole damned transcendent nature of the thing. Why did it take so long for a space rock record, guys?

This is pretty admirable, and the general concept behind In The Days of Jupiter is enough to excite any fan; for a trio of ten-minute climaxes and (short) dissertations on the existence of God, conquering the universe is pretty much the next step. And the more I listen to their latest record I wonder how I never saw it in an album as mysterious as Eyes Like Brontide.

This is the thing, though- that’s exactly what I see in Eyes Like Brontide; an album that shines and shimmers with its electronic decorations, wearing its quiet-loud dynamic proudly and begging the listener to be some sort of emotional passenger, gliding from calm ambient sections to devastating climaxes with more beat than brain.

The shine and shimmer wears off as we approach Jupiter, though. Maybe it’s having heard three Lights Out Asia records before this that pushes me away, but I don’t think so; I’m comfortable with the style these downtempo kids provide, but its execution leaves something to be desired here. In The Days of Jupiterattempts, as always, to soar as one piece of music, told in chapters but ultimately with no track simply in it for itself. Division of the music is more generous this time around, and ultimately it hinders flow more than it embodies it; “All These Worlds are Yours” stays subdued and perhaps even irrelevant as a counterpart to its follow-up, “Except Europa,” which seems to trip over its own feet as it stops and starts the wind to climax.

Enough about the technical though; the real issue I have with In The Days of Jupiter, the first album to go past ten tracks since Garmonia, is what it’s revealed to me. For the first time I feel attached to one side of Lights Out Asia rather than the other, because their downtempo material here begs to come in peace: tracks like “All Is Quiet In The Valley” and “Bye Bye Novemeber” want to glide. They sound as if they are in key with whatever humble, galactic theme In The Days of Jupiter rests on. The small flittering key changes on these tracks are minimalist in their technique, but are styled in emotive fashion that sounds signature of this band. And as for ten-minute epics, give me “Great Men From Unhealthy Ground” over “Shifting Sands Wreck Ships” any day.

That is how I know that I’m not simply tired of Lights Out Asia. There’s no extra dimension to add to an album as densely layered as In The Days of Jupiter, but there’s certainly one to lose. It’s devastating to hear a band throw away an ambient ballad as gorgeous as “13AM” because they’re still hung up on blazing it alight with the post-rock gene, to see that the silence of space has been given over to the familiar, awkward world of distortion and noise. It just doesn’t fit anymore. Lights Out Asia are in the sky, they are not explosions in the sky. What I wouldn’t give to hear them all hushed up.

Lights Out Asia – “All Is Quiet In The Valley”

See larger image In the Days of Jupiter (Audio CD) List Price: $15.98 USD New From: $9.33 In Stock Used from: $15.96 In Stock Release date August 10, 2010.

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By Rudy Klapper, August 24, 2010 8:00 am

Katy Perry – Teenage Dream

Capitol 2010

Rating: 4/10

Dear Katy,

I thought you were different. I used to think your sprightly personality, subtle sarcasm and jabs at more established musicians, and defined sense of style suggested a deeper dimension than your average pre-fab pop star. Despite admittedly simple, straightforward pop like “I Kissed A Girl” and “Waking Up In Vegas” along with lyrics and photos meant to stir up controversy and firmly place you into the bracket of commercial whore, I always thought there was more to you than your run-of-the-mill Ke$ha or Pussycat Dolls. You even sort of look like my future wife Zooey, and that’s always a plus.

I really wanted to like “California Gurls” when I first heard it, although there hasn’t been a more mechanical formula to Billboard success all year – faux anthemic qualities, high-priced “cool” guest spot, vapid lyrics and a brainless melody aimed straight at adolescents desperate for the sing-a-long of the summer. I dared to think Teenage Dream could be one of the better pop albums of the year. And for the first four minutes the title track actually led me on for a bit, a lovely slice of synth pop made even better by Kaskade’s remix tacked on at the end of the album. Then what did you do, Katy? You throw out a song like “Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.),” a song so repulsively crass and soulless that it makes “Dirrty”-era Aguilera look like Mandy Moore. I used to think I partied pretty hard, but you’ve truly upped the ante on me. Maxing out your credit cards, streaking in the park Frank-the-Tank style, and threesomes (nothing screams rebellion like an Eiffel tower)?  I know you’re all for giving the finger to middle American sensibilities and expressing yourself, but when the song itself is about as musically progressive as “Hot Cross Buns,” the focus is squarely on those wretched lyrics. Tell Dr. Luke and Max Martin that that faux-saxophone solo might be the low point of their careers.

I can forgive a couple of transgressions if Teenage Dream redeemed itself with songs that were more than trashy, one-dimensional pop, but, alas, the rest of the album is just as predictable as the VMAs and only marginally more entertaining. I would bet money on “Firework,” with its inoffensive electro beat and massive chorus, on being the next single. I would also place money on “Peacock” never seeing the light of day, primarily because it’s a terrible song with a double entendre so blunt it would make Ke$ha blush but also because it doesn’t exactly flatter Ms. Perry the lyricist (I’m almost 100% certain “cock” cannot rhyme with “biotch” or “payoff,” ever). I get that “E.T.” is supposed to be “space-themed,” what with its cheesy synths and cool sound effects, but lyrically it seems more Alien Sex Files 3 than Solaris. I do like your attempt to be more of a serious artist with songs that just reek of edginess and dark, heavy emotion, songs like “Who Am I Living For?” and “Pearl,” but these are songs that nevertheless would work better in the hands of a more versatile vocalist. Plus, front-loading your record with terrible tracks makes it even harder to get to the (relatively) enjoyable tunes that close out Teenage Dream.

So, sure, I guess you could say I’m a little disappointed in you. You could have been the next Gaga, albeit less talented, less hideous, and certainly less crazy, if only you could direct that don’t-give-a-damn personality and charismatic vibe to songs that didn’t rely on hormone-baiting lyrics and sing-a-longs that collapse on their own frothiness. Maybe don’t rely on producers like Dr. Luke, who shouldn’t have been allowed around any reputable studio after his work on Animal. The potential is all there, and the American public is in the palm of your hand, bought and paid for with your limelight-stealing presence and a Snoop Dogg guest spot. You can do anything you want, so why do you spend four minutes demanding to see my tool? I hope Teenage Dream is just a minor speed bump in your career, because there’s nothing sadder than wasted talent. Get it together.

Katy Perry – “Firework”

See larger image Teenage Dream (Audio CD) List Price: $18.98 USD New From: $5.11 In Stock Used from: $5.41 In Stock Release date August 24, 2010.

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By Rudy Klapper, August 19, 2010 8:00 am

Ra Ra Riot – The Orchard

Barsuk 2010

Rating: 8/10

I love it when bands surprise me. For someone who thought Ra Ra Riot were like a lesser Vampire Weekend with a string section after 2008’s so-so The Rhumb Line, I was ready to push through The Orchard and let it down gently. Then I listened to it, and lo and behold, a band I had written off ends up backhanding me across the face with one of the better albums I’ve heard all year. Previous fans of the band will no doubt be delighted to hear that singer Wes Miles still sounds like Ezra Koenig, if a little more prone to falsetto, and that the band’s bouncy brand of pop-rock is still very much in evidence (just check out that ADD bass line on uber-catchy single “Boy”). But whereas The Rhumb Line was all meaty melodies and festival-ready sing-a-longs, The Orchard feels like a proper album of baroque pop – the songwriting is noticeably stronger, the band takes their time around the tunes rather than jumping headfirst into hooks, and the lovely strings of violinist Rebecca Zeller and cellist Alexandra Lawn seem far more integrated into the affairs here rather than the gimmick they at times appeared to be on their debut.

It’s a record that knows that the best way to start an album is not a rookie move like throwing out your best song or first single, but to kick things off with a track that announces a new, determined direction instead. “The Orchard” is just that song, floating along ominous string chords and a pensive bass line without a hint of drums or guitar. The focus is purely on Miles, who sounds like a markedly more assured vocalist throughout the record and never as clearly as he does on “The Orchard.” The strings at the forefront is something repeated throughout the album, from the way they add a melancholy note to the otherwise upbeat “Boy” to the way they arch and dip across melodies, putting their indelible stamp on songs like “Do You Remember” and “Kansai.” The fact that Zeller and Lawn are the centerpiece of songs rather than a touch of color here or a flourish there makes The Orchard everything The Rhumb Line hinted at but never accomplished: the sound of a complete and full band, utilizing an array of sound and talents in a more organic way than many of their peers.

Not to say that the rest of the band suffers in comparison. Drummer Gabriel Duquette is the unsung hero here, laying down a number of intricate beats that always propel things forward but never overwhelm. Like the National’s Bryan Devendorf or Bloc Party’s Matt Tong, Duquette has some impressive chops (check out his subtle work on “Massachusetts”), but uses them more to build a rigid rhythmic framework than show off. Everyone contributes, whether it’s consistently fantastic rhythm work, airtight melodies and subtler hooks, or Miles letting Lawn on the mic for the excellently Fleetwood Mac-ish “You And I Know.” There are a few missteps; seriously cheesy synths midway through “Foolish” mar some perfectly good dream-pop, and the sluggish “Keep It Quiet” ends the album with a whimper rather than a bang. But perhaps that’s to be expected – The Orchard is nothing if not a sharp left turn from the cheery, thumping pop of their debut, and ending it on its most plaintive note is sort of fitting. It’s also everything I wanted from a sophomore effort: sophisticated, confident, surprisingly layered, and endlessly entertaining. It’s always exciting when a band seems to get it and come into their own as a group – with The Orchard, Ra Ra Riot have finally created a distinctive identity all their own.

Ra Ra Riot – “You and I Know”

See larger image The Orchard (Audio CD) List Price: $13.99 USD New From: $7.94 In Stock Used from: $15.67 In Stock Release date August 24, 2010.

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By Rudy Klapper, August 13, 2010 8:00 am

Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin – Let It Sway

Polyvinyl 2010

Rating: 5/10

What made Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin’s debut album Broom such a delight was its simple charm and beautifully unassuming melodies. Sure, it was home-recorded in a pointedly lo-fi manner and slightly derivative of bands like the Shins and early Apples in Stereo, but there was something inspiring about these three Missouri kids pulling off some truly gorgeous indie pop with a miniscule budget. It meant the songs had to be good, not fluffed up with studio tricks, and they were. The songs on Pershing were just as solid, no doubt, but a more confident SSLYBY began to lose some of that production innocence and amateur sensibility that colored their debut, seeming instead to be searching desperately for that hit single to put them over the top. Now we finally have The Indie Band Making Good – Death Cab’s Chris Walla behind the boards, a honest-to-God studio to play with, and a summer release date, the perfect time to listen to a band as breezy and lighthearted as SSLYBY generally sound. Unfortunately, what they end up with sounds more like contemporary Weezer than something you might find at the back of your local discount record store, something that was perhaps not groundbreaking but definitely yours.

Too often here SSLYBY sound like someone else’s band, or maybe Chris Walla’s wind-up power-pop toy. Of course, everything sounds good – each song here could be a potential hit single for the band or any other songwriter, and with Walla’s beefed-up production sharpening every cymbal hit and making the guitar chords more pleasant and audible than ever before, it’s a fundamentally flawless indie pop record. It’s just so unexpectedly generic; from the faux-anthem “Banned (By The Man)” to the cringe-inducing lyrics of “In Pairs” to the by the numbers designated single “Sink/Let It Sway,” nothing here leaves much of an imprint. Agreeably shiny guitars? Check. Soothing vocal harmonies? Check. Handclaps? Check.  It’s inoffensive, sometimes fuzzy, other times crisp guitar pop, tunes that are a dime a dozen on any college radio station. Those who haven’t heard the band before will find everything agreeable enough, if a little indistinctive – what was the fuss all about, anyways? Then again, only the lovely, acoustic ballad “Stuart Gets Lost Dans Le Métro” takes a page from the Broom handbook, right down to the opaque name, hushed vocals and delicate melody.

If it wasn’t for that sole offering, Let It Sway might seem the work of an entirely different band, one content to offer up bland sing-a-longs like “All Hail Dracula!” and the truly bad one-two combo of “Animalkind” and “Phantomwise,” songs that lack even a modicum of the above average catchiness that keeps the rest of the record afloat. Occasionally SSLYBY will recapture the magic solely on the strength of their not inconsiderable songwriting chops – “Everlyn” is one of the group’s best love pleas ever (the completely surprising guitar solo is a plus), and bookends “Back in the Saddle” and “Made To Last” are two of the strongest tracks on the record, particularly the latter’s wistful tone, so appropriate as the brightest days of summer begin to fade. It’s a shame, because as SSLYBY have continued to expand their sound the genre that they were a few years late to has already grown past them. James Mercer is off doing things with Danger Mouse; Ben Kweller was indulging in alt-country last go-around; most of the Elephant 6 bands are either off getting freaky with themselves (Of Montreal) or spacing out (Apples in Stereo). If the band doesn’t start catching up to their peers, they’re going to end up a lot more like their misbegotten namesake than they would probably prefer.

Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin – “Everlyn”

See larger image Let It Sway (Audio CD) List Price: $11.98 USD New From: $6.73 In Stock Used from: $3.45 In Stock Release date August 17, 2010.

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By Robin Smith, August 11, 2010 8:00 am

Feeder – Renegades

101 Distribution 2010

Rating: 4/10

I’m certain Renegades is supposed to appeal to someone but I can’t think who. I think it’s supposed to be me; I was one of those fussy diehards just longing for Feeder to roll back the years and create another Polythene or Echo Park, records that plugged in and rocked out but didn’t forget their pop priorities.

The real problem is that those punk-y diehards, yours truly included, have been saying this since Comfort In Sound and their reward has come three records down the line. Now it’s hard for them to know if they want that group of kids in their life because seeing them grow up has been half the fun of being their fan. For all the complaining, records from Comfort In Sound onwards were the band’s truest accomplishments because they showed a maturing band, a group responding to tragedy and producing songs that weren’t just about getting laid or installing cup-holders into the glove department of their car. The sentimentality of each record was startling and the balladry that accompanied it proved that the band needed their emotion on the surface of things. And tracks such as “Miss You” and “Just The Way I’m Feeling” were the result.

On Renegades the band hold true to their word and create that record of high-voltage, no-frills punk rock, whatever you want to call it; it just isn’t sappy and sad, and that’s by their design. But fans will rue the day they made that pledge, because this isn’t Feeder anymore. It was Feeder nine years ago, granted, but now each track sounds like a shell of what it should be. By definition, Renegades is supposed to be a raw interpretation of Grant Nicholas’ and co, with each song left in its skin and dressed up none. But raw musicianship isn’t raw Feeder, and less certainly isn’t more: tracks such as “This Town” and “Barking Dogs” fall flat on their face because they emulate the glory days more than they speak for themselves, and a lot has happened since the glory days. With one member now missing from the original line-up, the grungy fuzz and the attitude that goes with it is simply unbearable when it comes from the band we’ve had develop feeling and understanding, and the fact that they can’t channel these things into their old sound is probably the most devastating conclusion to make from Renegades. It acts simply to show us what cannot be done.

Even with its eleven tracks, only one needs to be looked at to draw the line in Feeder’s career at 2010. “Call Out” takes the crown on Renegades at least statistically (it’s the best-bet single, you could say) but it sounds like a crushed version of “Miss You,” the same for its musical structure but having the feeling made naked. Now thought and feeling isn’t important to Feeder, which is what every fan wanted; another rendition of “Buck Rodgers” to pump up and down to. But we could still do this with “Miss You,” and if we hadn’t been bitching and moaning we sure would’ve. On “Call Out,” Nicholas describes the very song he is singing as invincible: “You can’t take that away.” So much for the song – give me the words any day.

Feeder – “Call Out”

See larger image Renegades (Audio CD) List Price: $31.98 USD New From: $15.28 In Stock Used from: $26.87 In Stock Release date July 27, 2010.

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By Rudy Klapper, August 9, 2010 8:00 am

Avi Buffalo – Avi Buffalo

Sub Pop 2010

Rating: 7/10

Following a hype train can be a dangerous thing. Follow the right one and you can end up discovering something new and revitalizing, like a Surfer Blood or a Tallest Man on Earth. Follow the wrong one and you could spend hours convincing yourself to like the newest Black Kids CD because, well, dozens of bloggers can’t be wrong! When precocious Long Beach young ‘uns Avi Buffalo released their anticipated debut earlier this year, they had all the prerequisites for their own hype machine: hot single(s), Pitchfork approval, a fairly surprising rating on Metacritic (82!). I listened to one song, judged them as an early Shins knock-off and promptly forgot about them. That’s the problem with hype – too much of it and you go into the listen expecting something utterly mind-blowing, something that will live up to an almost mythic status all this blogosphere talk builds up yet rarely matches. Avi Buffalo is not mind-blowing, nor is it even one of the best debuts I’ve heard this year. Simply put, it’s great, solid indie-pop music, music that merely portends the arrival of a band that has more potential than most their age and some pretty slick songwriting chops.

I really wanted to give this a higher rating, particularly after hearing gems like opener “Truth Sets In” or “Coaxed,” songs that replicate the gentle flow of (yes) early Shins or debut-album Noah and the Whale. It’s twee without being overly cute, something hard to do when your band is besieged everywhere they go by the constant addendum “but they’re only 19!!!” Excellently-named vocalist Avigdor Zahner-Isenberg sounds just like a dozen other indie-pop vocalists, having mastered the art of the high-pitched, fragile whisper and the occasional faux falsetto, but it’s the songwriting that elevates Avi Buffalo from the also-rans. “What’s In It For?” is a fantastic pop single, marrying a beautiful melody to a stick-in-your-head hook and the kind of instant accessibility that future MTV-show soundtracks are made of. That’s not a knock on the band’s obvious penchant for writing songs everyone is interested in nowadays, but a testament to how well the songs click. It helps that Isenberg is actually quite the guitar player, making the unexpected fretwork on tunes like “Jessica” and “Remember Last Time” the highlights rather than the strong pop foundations the songs are built on. Even when the solos go on a bit too long, as they do most egregiously on the 7-and-a-half-minute “Remember Last Time,” Isenberg’s jangly guitar work is pleasant enough to forgive the youthful wankery.

But then there’s songs like the lackluster “Can’t I Know” or the way too much of the latter half of the album bleeds together, something that can’t really be avoided when Avi Buffalo stick strictly to their inoffensive guitar-pop formula throughout. While “Where’s Your Dirty Mind” and “One Last” are good songs in their own right, it’s obvious that Avi Buffalo is a front-loaded record, with the best melodies ending with “Summer Cum.” That last is another divisive issue with the band, being the clearest example of Isenberg’s juvenile lyrical bent. But hey, he’s young, and although in the future he might try a more diplomatic approach to describing adolescent love, it’s nonetheless impressive that Isenberg can turn sheet stains into one of the sweeter love songs of the year. Avi Buffalo wear their musical influences on their sleeves (Built To Spill, the aforementioned Shins, Elephant 6, etc. etc.), and their lyrical direction is more Superbad than J.D. Salinger, but it’s charming without being cloying, poppy without being overly sugary. Most importantly, it’s the kind of debut that leaves you thrilled for what the future may bring, and that’s something special.

Avi Buffalo – “Truth Sets In”

See larger image Avi Buffalo (Audio CD) List Price: $13.98 USD New From: $9.19 In Stock Used from: $8.49 In Stock Release date April 27, 2010.

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By Robin Smith, August 6, 2010 8:00 am

Defiance, Ohio – Midwestern Minutes

No Idea Records 2010

Rating: 8/10

Midwestern Minutes bats for folk-punk. It acts as another coming-of-age record in a genre that desperately needs an injection of maturity. And lets face it, folk-punk needs Defiance, Ohio. They spearhead this community of happy-clappy anarchists, defining everything about it; its DIY ethics, its passion for politics and its enthusiasm for playing. In sparks, they used to have all three: “Oh! Susquehanna” stung its audience with its rejection of an urbanising world but was more about personal grudges. Nostalgia seeped through that track, and it was matched with a musical unison that proved how mighty the song really is, regardless of who made it, what instruments they used and how much they sold it for. Which is diddly-squat, by the way.

So what’s great about Midwestern Minutes is that its “Oh! Susquehanna” eleven times over. Each track is neither obvious nor ambiguous, a balance the band always met with tracks such as “The New World Order” which provided less stale commentary on the Bush-sucks era. Better still, the band learn about structure, because each track complements the last, and each real song (“Cigarettes” and “Diamonds Theme Song” not included) exists long enough to prove itself. It’s their equivalent of Ghost Mice’s Europe, a tightly-knit travel lodge that shows off the diversity of the world its about. It could even be their Can’t Maintain, because if Andrew Jackson Jihad can write an album with structure, then Defiance, Ohio certainly can.

They do; they present separate scenes on a romantic and broken society. It’s presented in the true colours of Defiance, Ohio, too. There’s a delightful return to autobiography in “The White Shore” in which the band declare “History is always personal / family is always personal” as if to personalise their rock beyond its American clichés. It’s already nostalgic enough, and the band is as communal as ever, be it through the simple pleasures of rockin’ out with the gang-vocals of “Her Majesty’s Western Island,” or revelling in the roots of American rock on “You Are Loved,” which echoes Springsteen as it grows into an anthem. It goes without saying that this is the catchiest record in the Defiance, Ohio canon yet.

In other ways, it’s just so great to have the boldest band in folk-punk back. They don’t shy away from amplifiers like their counterparts do, and they aren’t proud of being an acoustics-only deal either. That’s just as well, because “Hairpool” is the best song they have ever put to record. It’s designed ambitiously and – a rarity for these guys – delicately, moving through the phases of a well-structured rock song like boxes to be ticked off. By the time the old-school guitar riffing is over the band have pulled us into their town and immersed us in it, taking us through a miserable experience, and, most importantly, its upshot (“This town is way too small / to ever need the bus / so meet me by the pool they keep open all night for us”). It plays out like a dreamy chapter in teenage discovery, but it’ll keep its entire audience grinning. So will the rest of Midwestern Minutes; this is seriously ambitious folk-punk, but it’s as uniting a force as its ever been.

Defiance, Ohio – “Hairpool”

See larger image Midwestern Minutes (Audio CD) List Price: $14.98 USD New From: $8.24 In Stock Used from: $6.99 In Stock Release date July 13, 2010.

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By Robin Smith, August 2, 2010 8:00 am

Arcade Fire – The Suburbs

Merge 2010

Rating: 7/10

Arcade Fire will never make a prog-rock record. Not one of those geeky ‘70s ones. You know the kind I’m talking about. It was sort of an era of contradiction, with Brits like Genesis and Yes who would go backwards and proclaim it the way forwards: albums like Selling England By the Pound which depicted medieval England, or Close To The Edge which would extend music to the ends of the earth in both title and length. Of course there are hundreds of arguments against Arcade Fire taking a time machine back to the 1970s – two good openers being they’re neither an experimental band, nor are they British. But The Suburbs takes me back to the days of Peter Gabriel and days spent listening to his twenty-two minutes of public-school nonsense just to see how it all ended. It takes me through endless genre shifts like chapters in one grand story. And it doesn’t have twenty-two minute songs to feast on, but you can bet it drenches each five minutes with as much music. Most of all the Arcade Fire’s third album plays out as if everything comes back to, well, the album itself: just as Genesis and Yes would make damn sure you were listening to every ounce of their preposterous jamming, Win Butler and Régine Chassagne want you to know that everything that matters is about the suburbs.

And you know what? Of all the changes in scenery those suburbs get, of all the dramatic shifts through the genres of punks, hip kids and oldies, the most interesting aspect of it all is in the simple statistics. It’s how the Arcade Fire go on this all-out, sixteen song romp in order to tell their story. It’s hard to know how to feel about that, because the greatest quality this band ever had was craftsmanship. Tragedy on Funeral was given tremendous respect because it was neither understated nor overstated. Neon Bible, filled to the brim though it was, boxed its themes of crisis and dealt with them with just eleven tracks. It all said what it needed to say, and no more.

But The Suburbs says what it needs to say more than, er, it needs to. It’s a record of aphorisms to be learned by heart, such as the wholly simple and nostalgic “In the suburbs I learned to drive / and you told me we’d never survive,” which connects from its original point in “The Suburbs” to its awkward placement in “Suburban War.” The intention is surely to put one unique idea at the heart of The Suburbs, and the record is prog-rock in this sense because the art they have made becomes more important than the themes it contains – it’s like The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway made by an ethical Genesis. At points, the musical shifts become a hassle when you consider how little Butler needs to say for us to get it. Arcade Fire are trying to channel concept through everything at once, be it the icy punk rock of “Month of May” or the immediate follow-up “Wasted Hours” which, despite its clichéd Americana, says the exact same thing as “Month of May” did, and with little of the significance. “First they built the road then they built the town / That’s why we’re still driving around and around” he sings on both tracks, and it’s as if Butler is hitting his crowd over the head with a hammer of bloated morals and harsh life-lessons, much like Broken Social Scene, Radiohead or U2 would on their alt-rock escapades. But has Win Butler ever needed to shout his mouth off? The lyrics are good – if didactic – but overstated and poorly edited. Less is surely more.

This isn’t so much about lyrical content; it’s about the execution of it. And musically, every song on The Suburbs is executed perfectly, with a delightful new aspect of Arcade Fire: polish. Tracks such as “City With No Children” are straightened out and constructed with that old craftsman’s attention to detail. Each song demands further listens to discover deeper subtleties, such as everything that goes on behind the curtain of guitar-dominated “Half Light I” or how quickly the band can move from one thing to another – I’ve rarely heard an album delve from something as celebratory as “Deep Blue” to something as veiled as “We Used To Wait.” And everything has this polish, be it a synth melody at the surface or, most frequently, that bittersweet violin. Music is boastful and showy on The Suburbs and as a result the album swells up even more than its predecessor did. It’s every track for itself, rather than as it is meant to be: a movement to a far more important body of music. Each track is so huge, so diverse and so piece-by-piece. It sounds this way because the band are playing to their influences more than ever, Butler himself alluding to the album as a cross between Depeche Mode and Neil Young. Of course, there’s more than that; there’s ‘70s rock in “City With No Children” and there’s electronic dance music á la The Knife in “Sprawl II.” There’s so much going on that even the seamless transfer of track-upon-track feels forced. There is nothing carrying The Suburbs to be an album, and that’s what Win Butler wants this to be – an album, with segments and reprises and endings. The theme is left as the only uniting force for everything that goes on song-to-song, but its insistence is also the thing that breaks it all up.

One track at a time, this record works. But in spite of all its counterparts, “Month of May” stands head and shoulders above the rest. And why? Because it makes us as uncomfortable as “Antichrist Television Blues” did and it unifies its audience as much as “Power Out” did. This is the Arcade Fire at their best because it is the Arcade Fire at their most direct. And that is what has me jumping between love and hate for The Suburbs. This isn’t Win Butler backing off but it isn’t a confrontation either: hell, it’s a contradiction, a man of his own description, standing with his arms folded tight. For fifteen tracks of sixteen that’s who he is, but not on “Month of May.” The lyrics are cold snaps with minimum scenery and maximum impact, and out of respect for this Arcade Fire dismantle themselves and sit around an amplifier like it were a campfire. This distorted punk anthem is the group’s finest moment of 2010 for finding a way to cut through the passive aggressive world they’ve created and ask some real questions, just as they asked all-day long on Funeral and Neon Bible. It doesn’t use nostalgia or description as its weapon, but instead addresses the listeners, kids though we may be, with one cutting analogy: “How you gonna lift it with your arms folded tight?” That brings home the only thing The Suburbs is really trying to convey beyond every social scoff and accusation: a call for action. And while this sentiment reappears in small doses on “Suburban War” and “Sprawl II,” it never emerges as winner. Butler is urgent with his ideas, and that may well be why he has created this monolithic prog-rock record. But Like most prog-nerds, he leaves curtain call too late.

Arcade Fire – “Rococo”

See larger image The Suburbs (Audio CD) List Price: $15.98 USD New From: $8.98 In Stock Used from: $8.24 In Stock Release date August 3, 2010.

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By Rudy Klapper, July 13, 2010 3:00 pm

School of Seven Bells – Disconnect from Desire

Ghostly International 2010

Rating: 4/10

School of Seven Bells are kind of like that girl(s) at your high school who prided herself on her looks and demeanor above everything else, becoming such a monument to beauty and unrequited love that she was more an object to be discussed rather than interacted with. It never helped that more often than not these were the same girls whose looks were matched only by their prudishness and arrogance, and it’s these unfortunate characteristics that Benjamin Curtis (formerly of Secret Machines) and identical twin vocalists Alejandra and Claudia Deheza have adopted with their sophomore effort. Everything about Disconnect from Desire is painstakingly pristine, from its layered production to the Deheza’s dreamy vocals to even the title itself, which seems to reinforce the idea that, while this is undoubtedly beautiful music, it’s a beauty that nonetheless exists in a vacuum. The melodies are there, intricate stratums of shimmering harmonies and lilting lyrics that complement each other nicely; any sort of emotional feeling, however, is strangely absent.

Alpinisms was the sort of debut that treated the tired shoegaze genre with the eye of someone who normally spent his time writing space-rock epics – accordingly, it was a refreshing affair, one that combined odd tribal rhythms and theatrical choruses into something exciting. That novel sound has been completely stamped out here, Curtis instead seemingly content to pump up the synths like a bad M83 imitation and crank the vocoders and drum machines to the max. It makes what was probably intended to sound more like Kate Bush instead turn out like an ‘80s novelty group that grew up listening to only Stereolab records. At first, things are appropriately shoegaze-y and, like those girls at first look, unerringly gorgeous. “Windstorm” is the obvious highlight, really one of the few songs that surges ahead rather than relishing in its own glow. It’s also the only song under four minutes, a fact that only contributes to the feeling that one really feels the time start to pass as the record flows on, more than happy to stroll leisurely at its own pace thank you very much.

This album is lush; this album is impeccably produced; this album has two very potent female singers who know how to embellish each other. But something is missing in these hallowed halls of dream pop, where a crisp, hypnotic sound is more desirable than actual feeling. The constant stacking of effects, the intertwining of synths and melodies and vocals, combines for a wall of sound that is annoying on some songs and practically impenetrable on others. Alejandra and Claudia sound absolutely lovely on a song like “ILU” or “Dial,” but the problem is understanding what exactly they’re getting at under all those vocoder layers. As the record goes on and nothing seems to change, beside the odd jungle rhythm here (“Dust Devil”) or chintzy keyboard effect there (“Camarilla”), things blur and melt together, creating a morass of shoegaze that is as boring as it is interminable. Rarely is a song title as unfortunately accurate as Disconnect from Desire’s closer, “The Wait” – by the end of its nearly seven minutes of slow buildup, barely-there brush strokes and stately vocals, one could be forgiven for thinking the wait would never end. It’s a little sad, actually, as the amount of work that has clearly gone into the production of this album is impressive, but it’s like Curtis and the Deheza sisters would rather build a magnificent mansion with absolutely nothing inside it. All the window dressing in the world can’t hide what Disconnect from Desire is at its heart – icy, shallow and hopelessly empty.

School of Seven Bells – “Windstorm”

See larger image Disconnect From Desire (Dig) (Audio CD) List Price: $10.99 USD New From: $8.55 In Stock Used from: $5.50 In Stock Release date July 13, 2010.

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By Robin Smith, July 12, 2010 3:20 pm

Maps & Atlases – Perch Patchwork

Barsuk Records 2010

Rating: 9/10

I think what gets me leaping over clouds about Perch Patchwork is how it peels away the components of Maps and Atlases and lets them lie where they fall. The illusion of what Maps and Atlases “is” has irked me ever since I became entangled with Trees, Swallows, Houses because it felt like I’d had my newest discovery pinned into a corner. It seemed everyone had this vision of the band who could only produce toe-tapping guitar lines, who would sooner die than sacrifice their ‘math rock’ definition and who would keep their borderline wobbly vocalist as yet another constant through any change. And hey, when You, Me and The Mountain, entered the canon of their EPs, I felt even more adamant at the backlash I had probably invented: the musical shift was a non-dramatic and entirely subtle act, but I felt the band had chopped something out of itself without me thinking any different of it – “Artichokes” didn’t meander through insane guitar taps nearly as much as “The Most Trustworthy Tin Cans” would’ve done in its shoes, but did I notice? Did I care? That’s one rhetorical question Perch Patchwork – the band’s first ever LP – can answer for you, and I can see these qualms of moving beyond the ‘guitar-tap’, beyond the ‘odd’ time signatures and the compulsive drumming disappearing with every adoring repeat of “Solid Ground.” This is a Maps and Atlases who aren’t anything in particular, but rather a celebration of all the quirky influences they ever listed. Chop out that sound or chop in this one, and Maps and Atlases aren’t any different a thing to your ears. Except better.

This Maps and Atlases record is the most universal yet, but I’ll admit I’m a sucker for one thing rather than the other and the sound I heard festering under their earlier EPs was a psychedelic form of folk, with the jubilant crackling of guitars on “The Ongoing Horrible” made all the more a tease by its short length. Now that I’ve basically gotten what I wanted in places – Maps and Atlases wearing Six Organs of Admittance on their sleeves – I want nothing more than to call this their ‘folk’ album. For me, it walks and talks with that persona even if it can’t be tagged with it, and it is incredible because of it: as soon as “Will” begins we are given this stripped down Maps and Atlases, acoustic percussion and guitars slotted under the primitive-sounding chants of David Davison. Even the production readies my appetite with the chimes and guitar plucking sounding as far away from me as possible, as if they do indeed intend to play the album on top of the coast its art depicts. Even better, Davison’s voice is still as manic as it ever was, trembling between the highest and lowest pitches as the record moves into “The Charm” (and what a seamless transition, too), and the band are just as manic with the marching beats they temporarily exchange their guitars for. In a sense, it’s the same old in aesthetic, but this new folk invasion picks up the album from its other sounds wherever it is poised. The joyous “Israeli Caves” moves listeners out of a moodier passage of Perch Patchwork and the album is finished with a colourful conclusion in its title track, where there is an abundance of wood instruments and little else. It’s almost childish, “Perch Patchwork,” with each cello and violin synchronised into a storybook march. Of course, Maps and Atlases tell the best fairytales.

In a sense, the album is so universal because the band gives its control over to the fans without really doing any such thing. Just as soon as the record has settled into something entirely different and started to sound like a huge and daring ‘fuck you’ to loyalists, Maps and Atlases turns on its heels and throws us a “Living Decorations” or a “Carrying the Wet Wood,” and suddenly we’re reminded that every member of this Chicago outfit is totally non-threatening, loveable and more likely to be issuing a small and humble ‘sorry guys’ than anything else. “Living Decorations” especially zips up old-school crowd, promptly paced for its injection of math rock and relieving due to its whereabouts on the album as a whole; the imprint of this loud and jingly number, heavily drenched in guitar riffs is – after two tracks that have burned through the albums beginning at a comparative snail’s pace – almost a sign of the band trying to appease its diehards. “Carrying the Wood,” too, strays away from the character of the album without being out of context, having the tone fans will have familiarised with most since 2005 and Trees, Swallows, Houses. It sounds welcome on that EP: Davison’s cries of “Why/did/you/tell me/oh why/that there was nothing left to climb” sound as structured and technical as anything from that album (as do the riffs, which roll ever onward) and yet there is some barrier stopping them from that hypothetical situation where they could sit by the comparatively robotic “Everyplace is a House.”

That barrier is the best thing that happens to Perch Patchwork. An uncanny presence dominates the record’s entirety, making it their best effort yet and proof that they can write albums better even than they can EPs. It’s the presence of things both small and big that can never be heard in the foreground because of our familiarisation with the Maps and Atlases of math rock rather than the Maps and Atlases of any thing else. We are so engrossed with these textures that we let any other additives drift to obscurity, but even if we forget the sounds, they abolish any technicality, any forced complexity that was left in the mix and that played foul upon our ears. It’s enjoyed with repeated listens of the album that take away the initial awkwardness of Perch Patchwork: on “Pigeon,” brass instruments curve the song playfully with distinct Caribbean spirit – ludicrous, when given the band we’re talking about, but it somehow it works. It counterbalances the mechanics of the song. Hell, it simply loosens up the band that has always needed loosening up.

My favourite example though is the delightful “Solid Ground,” a track fans had the pleasure of stewing over for the long months before the album’s availability. If this track was supposed to be an indicator, it did its job and then some; here of all places Perch Patchwork sounds like a Maps and Atlases who did away with the lab and went running through the wilderness. Or maybe they just set up their lab in that wilderness, because “Solid Ground” – and the 2010 album it belongs to – is a mix of the sound I so want my new favourite band to be and the remnants of the one I so adored in them already. I mentioned the folksy, one-man Six Organs of Admittance, but truthfully Perch Patchwork sounds more like if he invaded Don Caballero’s territory and stirred things up – and above all, the members of Maps and Atlases celebrating everything about each other, these influences included, is what makes their first ever record such a gem. They’ve taken cues from their grandest experimental peers to create yet more of the best pop. There’s a description out there that describes the band as “wrestlers” of the “intricate and organic,” and while we could debate back and forth which of the former or latter we see in them more, who are we to impose our favourite genres upon these guys? It’s time to stop speculating over what Maps and Atlases should do and just hope they do more.

Maps & Atlases – “Solid Ground”

See larger image Perch Patchwork (Audio CD) List Price: $11.99 USD New From: $8.41 In Stock Used from: $7.60 In Stock Release date June 29, 2010.

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By Rudy Klapper, July 1, 2010 12:00 pm

Wolf Parade – Expo 86

Sub Pop 2010

Rating: 8/10

Lately I’ve been wondering whether it’s possible for me to like music as much as I used to years ago, when everything seemed so fresh and new and I was hearing so many bands for the first time and loving it all. So many of those bands that really came to define my tastes put out later albums that, for whatever reason, just never hit me with the same impact. The Decemberists’ Hazards of Love was damn good and I adored it, but am I still listening to it nowadays? No, but I can definitely say that I regularly throw on Picaresque or Her Majesty on an occasional basis, still with the same vigor I had back in high school. It makes me wonder: am I honestly just not into certain bands as much as I used to be, or am I imagining a decline in quality because nothing will match that certain nostalgic feeling I get from listening to old favorites?

When I first heard Expo 86 a little under a month ago, I hated it. I thought it was Wolf Parade, a band I absolutely fell in love with after their brilliant debut, playing it safe and close to the chest, typical structures matching typical Wolf Parade lyrics formatted in typical Wolf Parade songwriting (you know, that slightly herky-jerky, everything’s-about-to-fall-apart-but-never-actually-does musical style). It wasn’t Apologies to the Queen Mary, and, apart from occasional flashes, it wasn’t really that close, and that pissed me off. But it wasn’t At Mt. Zoomer, a bloated mess of an album if ever there was one, so I gave it another chance. And another, and another, and I began to realize something – this is a distinctly Wolf Parade record, one that is decidedly separate from either Apologies or Zoomer and entirely the better for it. It’s different from both those records, both in the strength of its songwriting (something that took me many listens to appreciate) and the way it somehow combines two increasingly divergent personalities in Spencer Krug and Dan Boeckner into something definitely double-sided but still uniform.

Fans of the band will definitely be able to tell who wrote opener “Cloud Shadow on the Mountain,” what with its paranoid vocal line, spindly guitar work and frantic rhythm (Krug), just as they’ll be able to tell who’s responsible for “Palm Road,” with its more swelling melody and cavernous sounds (Boeckner). But Expo 86, more than any work in the band’s catalog, shows a band working together to create something arguably as strong as anything they’ve done before, something I never would have thought possible considering the amount of time both songwriters were putting into more creatively satisfying side projects. Krug’s overlying weirdness is still evident, particularly on the opener and the wild closer “Cave-o-Sapien,” but he seems to be more influenced by Boeckner in putting more of a pop bent on things, focusing on crafting one of the record’s most gorgeous yet straightforward melodies on “Oh You, Old Thing” or taking a page from Boeckner’s guitar style with the slinky “What Did My Lover Say? (It Always Had To Go This Way).” Combine songs like these with Boeckner’s expectedly superb, if more reserved, pop offerings like the stick-in-your-head chorus to “Ghost Pressure, ”the anthemic “Little Golden Age” and even more Krugian mini-epics like “Pobody’s Nerfect,” and Expo 86 comes across as maybe the best synthesis of the band’s schizoid sounds yet.

It’s not that Krug has tamed his more out-of-left-field impulses in favor of a more shackled sound, or that Boeckner hasn’t expanded his horizons – it’s that the songwriting is so rock solid and the songs themselves so genuinely fresh that it sounds like the band is almost starting anew, throwing away the experimental stench that torpedoed At Mt. Zoomer and going back to what really made them great. “Yulia” is the kind of wrenching love song I never thought I’d hear from Wolf Parade; “Oh You, Old Thing” is a shimmering break-up tune that I’d never expect from a lyrical oddball like Krug; hell, all the songs here are so atypically direct and so great it’s hard not to fall in love. It’s not as delightfully jagged around the edges as Apologies, but perhaps the band needed to move away from that sound and into more traditional indie rock territory. Expo 86 proves that Krug and Boeckner still can do what’s always been most important, namely writing songs that still kick ass at every available opportunity. And while this isn’t as immediately satisfying as Apologies still is to me . . . maybe in a couple of years it will be.

Wolf Parade – “Little Golden Age”

See larger image EXPO 86 (Audio CD) List Price: $13.98 USD New From: $8.03 In Stock Used from: $6.87 In Stock Release date June 29, 2010.