Beatbots Webzine

Audio Reviews : Bloom by Beach House

Mon, 14 May 2012 16:35:14 -0400

Beach House�s new album Bloom explodes with color and vibrancy, the group exploring the new territory charted on their breakout album Teen Dream with confidence and verve. Chris Coady, their simpatico producer, once again captures the band�s essence and builds greater and even more wonderful worlds of sound for them to explore.

For even the casual music fan, Beach House needs no introduction at this point, but let us review the story in broad strokes. Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally began working as a duo in 2004, and soon found success beyond the Baltimore music and arts underground with their signature sound, soon christened �dream pop.� In 2012, we find them on the cusp of cementing their success on a national if not global level.

As opposed to a left turn, Bloom is a straightforward continuation. This would be a problem if the band�s sound was in danger of becoming dated. However, their recreating of timeless pop tropes somehow transcends nostalgia and keeps them in the now. Let�s see how they pull it off.

Tracks like first single �Myth� and �Wild� move along with an undercurrent of percussive motion before we are once again in the house of Legrand, the world of the luxuriating voice. Alex and company build aural landscapes around her and her keyboard. Victoria�s ear for a good hook remains deadly and dead on, each song mixtape worthy.

Second single �Lazuli� is a wonderful mesh of cheesy synth demo-tones and lush studio production. The tiny parts anchor the expansive parts while the live drumming and cymbal splashes keep the proceedings lively.

�Other People� builds and builds until we hit the limit, the song suddenly left-turning into a chorus worthy of Burt Bacharach. The disconnection of modern life is the perceived subject, something as simple as keeping in touch given a kind of aching and longing that is both explanation and apology.

To call �The Hours� more catchy than the rest of the album is somehow wrong, but there is something so right on when the driving guitar lead kicks in and Victoria begins singing. We are in the land of the �oh woah� moment.

The record is replete with many similar �oh woah� moments: when the chorus breaks in like the dawn on �Troublemaker,� the amazing woozy bridge on �New Year". The listener may begin to hallucinate that this is some kind of compilation of the greatest pop songs of all time instead of an album by one group.

�Wishes� feels classic, like a lost Henry Mancini tune. Then, when the big Ringo Starr-style drums kick in, you can see the crowds going wild, Victoria holding that note, the audience entirely with her. This feels like the last song of the set before the encore and feels perfectly placed on the album.

Album closer �Irene� is the one time when the veil of gorgeousness is lifted, the guitar drone allowed to grow and become too repetitive for an interval, a bit of salt to balance out the sugar. Does this moment of discord have something to do with the lyrics, the �strange paradise� the band has found itself in with their success? As the track ascends into heaven, we are back to blissed-out pop and the questions subside.

The highly-anticipated Bloom delivers, adding another chamber to the wonderful musical journey Beach House finds themselves on. Old traditions and new pop innovations meet and make sweet music together. This is a feat that can be appreciated by long-time listeners and those new to the group, the resulting album a marvel to behold.

Audio Reviews : Nootropics by Lower Dens

Mon, 30 Apr 2012 17:50:27 -0400

In many ways, Nootropics is something special. But, before we get to that, some history.

Jana Hunter was already an acclaimed solo musician when she arrived in Baltimore in 2005. She soon formed Lower Dens with other members of the Baltimore music and arts underground. She�s remained at the forefront of the group while other members have come and gone. Recently, the Dens have congealed into a powerful five-piece. Although Jana has relocated to her native Texas, they remain Baltimore-based.

On their second album, Nootropics, Lower Dens confidently use the studio as an instrument, taking chances, adding to and subtracting from the aural field as warranted. The results are stunning, varied, and impressive enough to quash any talk of a �sophomore slump.� The new sound and direction will satisfy some fans, and it will challenge others. Here are some highlights.

�Alphabet Song� begins with the hypnotic percussion of Nate Nelson, whose recent addition to the group has added a new level of rhythmic sophistication. We are gliding along as we are accustomed to doing with the Dens, Hunter�s croon guiding us across spiraling synth lines and Will Adams� lovely guitar leads. This is their signature sound: warm and dreamy atmospheric pop that drips out of the stereo speakers and slowly takes over the room.

Lead-off single �Brains� is a break from the norm. A motorik beat drives steady and solid as layer after layer is piled on top. Somehow, the cold Teutonic approach translates joyfully, reaching a climax on the instrumental �Stem.� Geoff Graham lays down a lead bass line that breaks the trance and allows the two-track movement to reach a new level of ecstasy.

On several occasions on the album, Jana�s vocal abilities come to the forefront, her usual cool croon growing in sophistication. Sometimes, Jana accompanies herself, her multi-tracked vocals calling and responding wonderfully. This is an integral part of �Lamb,� �Propagation,� and �Candy,� three tracks in the more traditional Dens mode that are upgraded by this new level of vocal nuance.

The two part �Lion in Winter� begins with a four-minute symphonic wash before emerging onto the Kraftwerk factory floor. The fact that the group is willing to explore these new aural territories so confidently may have something to do with another new member. Carter Tanton contributes synths, guitars, and vocals to the album.

On �Nova Anthem,� we are down to just a spare synth accompaniment as Jana contemplates the cosmic, the fireworks saved for her amazing vocal work. Lyrics like �Eclectic storms of violence sweep the planet/ time to escape� receive the epic and urgent delivery they deserve.

�In the End is the Beginning,� a twelve minute post-apocalyptic zone-out, allows the groups� more experimental side to take flight. The track drifts away from song form as the album comes to a close, a distorted bass line pulse the last thing we hear before we reach the end.

Nootropics emerges from a time of transition for the group, managing to both end and begin. Instead of taking a victory lap and playing it safe on this second album, the band has ventured forth boldly.

Audio Reviews : E.P.luribus Falco by Balkan Falcon

Thu, 26 Apr 2012 21:46:53 -0400

Dancing and I, we have something of a troubled history. Sure, I like my upbeat pop and rock just fine, but I like it from a safe distance, preferably with a good view of the stage and well away from the frantic gyrations and flailing limbs of the diehard club-going set.

My reason, I suppose, is one of purpose. I think of music primarily as an end in and of itself, something to be meditated upon and enjoyed for what it is, not for what can be done while listening to it. In this sense, live performances are merely an opportunity to add a visual element to an auditory medium�to see what I have heretofore only been able to hear.

Dancing, on the other hand, is less about watching and listening than about doing. That is: setting music to motion in the form of exaggerated physical movements and complex, beat-matching choreography. It�s captivating and sensual when done well, awkward and garish when not.

Being both tall and notoriously uncoordinated, I tend to fall in with the latter� which is why implicitly dance-centric pop-rock acts like Baltimore�s Balkan Falcon tend to leave me a little nonplussed.

It�s not that the music isn�t enjoyable; hardly. Featuring motile percussion, skittering guitar riffs, flexible four-string, and rough-cut vocals from Snowmen alumni Steve Glickman, Greg Hamilton, and Matthew Dahl, Balkan Falcon�s take on Kraut-informed, punk- and funk-infused power-trio pop-rock rolls and rattles around in the back of your mind, its jagged rhythms and cutting melodies poking and prodding the ol� grey matter in ways that cannot help but lead to tapping toes, shuffling steps, clapping hands, and bobbing heads. Good things, all.

Both high volume and high energy, Balkan Falcon�s debut EP, E.P.luribus Falco, serves up six quickly-quaffed and easily-digested musical offerings. Though scarcely any track on the album pushes past the three-and-half-minute mark, they�re less throwaway bits of bubblegum pop than throw-it-back shots of bubblegum vodka with a cherry cola chaser. That is, deceptively easy on the palette and unexpectedly deadly to the inhibitions. Drink it up and drink it in, and you�ll doubtless find yourself grooving along with the crowd.

Make no mistake, the music of E.P.luribus Falco was made with crowds in mind, and is best played at boisterous house parties and in roiling rock clubs, the low end pulsing through the walls and ceiling, the highs floating over flailing limbs and smiling faces, the vocals blurred by a heady mix of liquid courage, background conversation, reverb, and ambient noise. Sure, you can always throw on a pair of headphones and have your own solo dance party at home, but it�s just not the same. Albums like E.P.luribus Falco need moving bodies, and lots of �em. Otherwise, you might find yourself paying too much attention to what�s being sung.

And that�s where Balkan Falcon kinda-sorta lost me. You see, lyrical storytelling isn�t exactly E.P.luribus Falco�s biggest draw, and concentrated at-home listening tends to shift the focus from the musical energy behind a given song to the lyrical message it hopes to convey.

E.P.luribus Falco, sadly, is a little light on the latter, but not for a lack of trying.

Lead-off track �Cloverfield� borrows liberally from its 2008 hand-cam horror-flick namesake, but the song does little more than summarize the events of the movie and set them against a backdrop of punchy rhythms and angular guitar accents. An interesting idea imperfectly executed, �Cloverfield� is emotionally distant and too literal by half. Given the source material, the potential for focused extrapolation and allusive vignettes abounds, yet Balkan Falcon take the easy (and easily forgettable) route of a too-literal retelling haphazardly draped over an otherwise-intriguing pop-rock frame. Where are the chaos and destruction? The fear and desperation? The loss and heartache? The star-crossed romantics fighting against impossible odds and otherworldly monsters? How, with all of these theatrical and thematic elements at their disposal, did Balkan Falcon turn out such a bland and unaffecting song?

But that�s just the first track, and arguably the weakest of the set. �Pitted Dates� fairs far better, its tense, vaguely eastern guitar jangle and funk-fueled rhythms playing off a series of small-scale lovers� spats. It�s quick and quarrelsome, raw and rattled, pissed off and petulant�perfect for the jostling mass of jilted singletons hoping to score some rebound love on the dance floor, or simply to strut and flaunt what they�ve got. Hell, you can almost imagine frontman Matthew Dahl saluting an ex with a middle finger and a grin as he settles into the breakdown and makes eyes at the crowd.

Next up, �Pance Down Dants Down� is just what its title suggests: a tongue-in-cheek come-on of a rip-roaring party tune, a musical invitation to shake your derri�re both on and off the dance floor.

�Tommy Roe� keeps the quirkiness a-coming with a bit of fast-paced nightlife before its bop-bop-bop-bop-bop-baddop-bah chorus trails into the alternatingly anxious and ruminative surfer ode �Cora Jane�, the latter shifting back and forth between low-key verses and buzzsaw, howl-along bridges.

Ending the EP on a somewhat dark note, the remarkably tight �1x1 Plan� juxtaposes its garbled guitars and forceful rhythms with a maudlin tale of manic episodes and suicidal tendencies. While it may seem a bit incongruous at first, this conflict between lyrical content and musical context effectively reinforces the bipolar angst to which the song�s narrative alludes. A bit of a downer, sure, but tracks like �1x1 Plan� provide further proof that dance-centric pop-rock can do more than just drink and flirt and party.

For a first time out, Balkan Falcon�s E.P.luribus Falco shows a lot of promise, both instrumentally and lyrically. It might not be enough to coax this clumsy, curmudgeonly rock-critic onto the dance floor, but then again, that�s probably for the best.

Self-released on April 21, 2012, Balkan Falcon�s E.P.luribus Falco is available for purchase via Bandcamp and iTunes.

Audio Reviews : How Do We Explode by Gary B & the Notions

Mon, 16 Apr 2012 19:13:18 -0400

Popular music, like fashion, is cyclical. Trends change and shift with the seasons, hipness ebbs and flows with the give-or-take regularity of the tides, and once-prominent styles disappear for years only to reemerge with the sudden, swarming omnipresence of the seven-year cicadas.

Or something like that. I dunno; it�s not an exact science, and I�m not exactly a scientist.

Notwithstanding, trends in popular music seem to work on a twenty- to thirty-year cycle�roughly the amount of time that it takes for children to grow up and begin making music of their own, often by imitating and experimenting with the sonic forms which they absorbed from their parents� record collections. Alternatively, it�s the amount of time it takes for an overdone genre to fade from public view to the point where it can seem hip in a retro sort of way, oft-times courtesy of a quasi-ironic and/or diehard niche audience, and thereby backdoor its way into the mainstream for another chance at the top of the pops. Just don�t call it a comeback�isn�t that right, soul-infused synth-pop � la Hall & Oates?

That�s simply how the creative process works: present innovators look to the past to determine what they want their future to be, borrowing and adapting from previously-established styles at will. It�s less a matter of shameless repetition than of gradual evolution, of nipping and tucking and cutting and stitching, of repurposing dead stock, tweaking dated patterns, and experimenting with modern methods and materials in order to transform the same-old, same-old into something fresh and interesting, if not necessarily 100% �new� or �novel�.

Which is all well and good for the neophytes, but the fact remains that, the older one gets, the harder it becomes to accept any given �new� work at face value. Once one hits the downhill slope to the big three-oh, the �Oh! What�s that?� first-blush infatuation of youth slowly but surely fades into the shrugging �meh� of meta-contextualized past and personal experiences. The source materials stand out far more than the expertly-sewn seams and well-worked details, and value is assigned less according to the overall quality of the finished product than to the altogether vague concept of its �originality��as if any creative enterprise has ever existed wholly apart from its predecessors.

Hardly.

I mean, let�s face it: outside of screening for blatant plagiarism, originality is a pretty bullshit metric. We all stand on the shoulders of a whole cumulative mess of giants, who likewise stand on the shoulders of other giants, and so on and so forth. Hell, it�s giants all the way down! We learn by imitating, and we innovate by increments. �Everything is a remix� and all that jazz, yeah?

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Forgive the digression, but I open with this roundabout apology for the reflexively referential nature of popular music�and of creativity in general�with good reason. That reason being a sort of caveat emptor to the work of Baltimore-based quartet Gary B & the Notions.

Simply put: I have definitely heard this before.

Less simply put: Considering the boisterously upbeat power-trio +1 pop-rock set-up, the angular guitar heroics and blues-y riffs, the drawling punker croon-shouting and rhythmic change-ups, and the slice-of-life commentaries and getting-by balladeering, it�s safe to say that Gary B & the Notions utilize a classic blend of pop-rock staples, the heritage of which is both readily apparent and blatantly referenced. It�s like a well-worn hat, dusted off and gussied up with a bright new band, donned at a jaunty angle and with nary a hint of irony. Think Elvis Costello, Big Star, the Cars, Sonic Youth, Sebadoh, Dinosaur Jr., Nirvana, Nothing Painted Blue, even latter-day acts like Elliott Smith and Ted Leo: the selfsame sort of avant-friendly alternative-rock that has occupied a rather comfortable niche in collegiate radio programming since the 1980�s.

Not that there�s anything wrong with that. Given my druthers, well-turned-out nostalgia bests for-its-own-sake experimentalism any day of the week. And, much to their credit, Gary B & the Notions� latest offering, How Do We Explode, is nothing if not a pleasant return to a well-made sound.

Recorded at Boston�s Esthudio with Jeremy Mendocino of Pretty & Nice manning the helm, How Do We Explode keeps its dual guitars a-blaring and its rhythm section low and punchy. Liars Academy alumnus Bryan Elliott blends his ringing six-string riffs with those of frontman Gary Lee Barrett, Jr., while bassist Kristopher Heath and drummer Rick Bowman (who doubles as the frontman of The Frauds) rumble and crash in the low end, leaving Gary B�s gruff-and-tumble bar-band vocals situated in that somewhat fuzzy sweet spot between bleeding lo-fi rawness and done-to-death studio-scrubbed flawlessness. Neither too rare nor too crisp, opening duo �The Shape of Distant Worlds� and �The Surfin� Song� set things off with sharp guitar riffs and propulsive percussion, their warm-and-hazy brume dampening the mix for a pleasantly tube-y vibe. The tunes may be freshly-minted, but they sound like they are coming from a well-loved LP that has seen its fair share of turns on the ol� table, an aesthetic touch that only deepens the resonance between Gary B & the Notions and their forebears.

Moving on from moving-out metaphors and lovelorn beachside bumming, �How to Eat a Brick Sandwich� slows things down with dead-time reveries and disillusioned allusions to Hollywood movies, dime store deals, and lackluster radio fare. It�s a sharp little tune, yet it never quite establishes a solid sense of place or a coherent narrative. Likewise, �Lyndsy Fonseca� proffers a rambling ode to the song�s titular actress, but it doesn�t nail the audition hard enough to land the lead, let alone earn a cursory callback for a secondary role. Personally, I blame the lackluster script�Gary B & the Notions may have no shortage of chops when it comes to crafting high-quality pop-rock riffs and rhythms, but their ho-hum lyric poetry could do with a bit of workshopping.

While a relative lack of depth is somewhat expected in pop-rock�s musical vignettes, Gary B & the Notion�s lyrical inconsistency is a troublingly consistent problem. �Back Pain Lozenge�, for one, is a kick-ass blues-rocker built on balls-out riffage and howling sing-shouts, but its overly vague metaphors can�t make good on the song�s abundant musical promise. The rhymes feel disjointed and unintentionally opaque�there�s a rip-roaring street-level anthem for the working man tucked away in here somewhere, but Gary B & the Notions just can�t seem to bring it to the fore. Instead, they leave the listener with quasi-religious, could-mean-anything couplets like

�We could calculate my assets for our trial / we could tell you the places not to hide / a catastrophic weight, I add it to the crutch / when you�re called upon by the chosen one, know the back pain�s way too much.�

Although those loaded lines might read (and rock) well in and of themselves, there�s no clear-cut connection or artful thematic progression from one verse to the next, leaving the listener scratching his or her head when s/he should be rocking out and singing along.

Then there�s �Too Busy for an Ambulance Ride�, which blends its Exodus-extracted metaphors of expulsion, transience, and hard-scrabble existence into a palatable paste but neglects to add a sense of purpose to the mixture. Sure, it tastes great�the guitars flare and shimmer, the drums pulse, the bass thunders, and Gary B belts his lines with no small amount of gusto�at least until one tries to parse through the pureed Pentateuch poetics in hopes of finding, perhaps, a bit of nutritive substance. Or for a verse that could tie the whole thing back into the rather cryptic (or simply ill-chosen) title. No luck there.

Sadly, such glaring lyrical hiccups taint their otherwise excellent songs with a thousand tiny gaffes, especially when one considers the otherwise-memorable musicianship behind it all. Just so: �It Could Be� boasts an exceptionally solid melodic foundation�dig that intro!�with great amenities like a thrilling harmony in the chorus, but the throwaway verses simply aren�t built to code. Ditto how the cut-and-paste imagery of �Guns That Tore It Apart� works against its truly excellent pop-rock riffage. �How could you write that song?� indeed.

Granted, it�s not all bargain basement metaphor mixing and frustratingly ambiguous poetry, especially at the tail end of the album. The addiction-centric �Street Drugs� is one of the most focused and cohesive tracks on How Do We Explode, its gritty and abrasive instrumentation fully supporting the song�s clearly-established themes of self-destruction and substance abuse.

Rounding out the album, �Get Your Hands Off My Man� wraps its sharp licks and head-bobbing rhythms around a seemingly autobiographical laundry list of day-to-day dissatisfactions and wished-for creature comforts. In both tune and tone, the song works, and works damnably well.

Ironically, the last two tracks on How Do We Explode are such genuinely great examples of how to successfully pair lyrical content with musical context that they leave me wondering why the rest of the album is so slipshod by comparison.

Which is not to say that Gary B & the Notion�s How Do We Explode is by any means bad; it�s still quite good, particularly the solid (and somewhat reminiscent) pop-rock musicianship behind it all.

Still� it could be better.

Set to be released on May 8, 2012 by Modern Hymnal, Gary B & the Notions� How Do We Explode can be previewed and pre-ordered (in both physical and digital formats) via Bandcamp.

Tour dates as follows:

4/21 @ Brighton Bar � Long Branch, NJ
4/22 @ What We Talk About � Allston, MA
4/24 @ Fat Baby � Manhattan, NY
4/25 @ The Rock Shop � Brooklyn, NY
4/26 @ Blue Moon Saloon � Shepherdstown, WV
4/27 @ Metropolitan Lounge � Annapolis, MD
4/28 @ Catacombs � Richmond, VA
4/29 @ The Cave � Chapel Hill, NC

Audio Reviews : Jazz Mind by Ed Schrader's Music Beat

Mon, 19 Mar 2012 19:16:59 -0400

Jazz Mind is the debut album by Ed Schrader�s Music Beat. Ed Schrader�s songwriting, long the buzz of the Baltimore music and arts underground, will finally be exposed to a much larger audience.

Ed relocated to Baltimore from upstate New York in the spring of 2006 to join his friends in the Wham City arts collective. He began playing the songs he heard in his head in public, beating on a drum and intoning in a microphone. Devlin Rice joined in on bass in 2009 and a power duo was formed. They have been touring the country ever since.

Tracks like �Sermon� and �Rats� are full on punk assaults, bristling expressions of rage and dread. �Gem Asylum� has a more contemplative mode, using sci-fi lyrics and zoned-out synth chimes to dreamy effect. �Traveling� is a pop radio hit from another dimension, the lyrics seeming to scrawl across some alien karaoke screen. �My Mind is Broken� has a jazzy beatnik shuffle that you can�t help but snap your fingers to.

The song �Right,� a full-on burner in the live setting, shows a different side in the studio. The addition of glockenspiel and the presence of guest musicians Drew Daniel and M.C. Schmidt of Matmos slow the song down to a noble gallop.

�Air Show� is the ultimate reduction. It�s just Ed�s lovely melody, framed in a cathedral of echo. Next comes a refrigerated hum, and then we�re into �Can�t Stop Eating Sugar,� a surprisingly menacing song� considering the predicament it describes.

There is an all-American quality to Ed�s lyrics, spiked with a surrealism that would do Guided by Voices� Robert Pollard proud. Lyrics like �when I�m in a car at night with you, I feel like we�re made of sound� manage to be both conversational and poetic. �How does a man become a dog? How does a dog get around?� from song �Do the Maneuver� has an intense gravity when sung, even if you have no idea what the heck Ed is talking about. This pleasing confusion happens often, a guided tour of another�s inner world.

This might be a debut record, but it doesn�t sound like one. The group was willing to experiment with the arrangements and sound palette in the studio. This was no doubt aided by recruiting noted noisenik Twig Harper to record them. What could have been monochromatic instead comes across in full spectrum sound. Through Jazz Mind, the songs stuck in Ed�s head can now get stuck in ours.

Audio Reviews : Provincial by John K. Samson

Sat, 03 Mar 2012 15:42:21 -0500

John K. Samson is, first and foremost, a poet. Soft-spoken to a fault, Samson describes the world around him with evocative phrases and deftly-worded rhymes, detailed reflections of and on the past and present, absence and presence, sorrow and joy. Intermittently blending art, history, literature, and mythology with the offhanded ease of a cafe philosopher, Samson wends his way through working days and sleepless nights, lonely apartments and rowdy barrooms, traffic jams and hospital wards, familiar roads and frozen landscapes�all the while pulling sublime pathos from the mundane detritus of everyday life.

In a way, the fact that Samson is equally adept at matching his sentimental stanzas with earworm melodies and groove-worthy rhythms seems like something of an afterthought, which is by no means a slight against Samson�s abilities as a singer-songwriter. On the contrary, during his fifteen-plus years as frontman of the celebrated Canadian folk-pop outfit The Weakerthans, Samson has penned and performed more than four full-length albums� worth of captivating slices of disquieted life. Backed by twanging-to-blaring electric and acoustic guitars, brassy pop-rock percussion and upbeat, tubby bass lines, Samson�s alternatingly strident and plaintive yet endearingly guileless voice underscores the already-potent emotional content of his lyrics, detailing awkward conversations and workaday despondency, old lovers and new pains, rummage sales and restive cats, childhood memories and city streets. In short: somber (but not necessarily sober) vignettes where inner monologues and personal-historical context paint a grey and passing world with vibrant colours and emotional significance.

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Provincial is Samson�s aptly-titled debut full-length solo album, wherein the folksy singer takes a breather from the occasionally punk-y and subtly political leanings of his work with The Weakerthans, focusing instead on his love-hate relationship with his hometown of Winnipeg, and with the province of Manitoba in general. �Highway 1 East� opens the album with somber woodwinds and a seemingly resigned Samson delivering a plea for patience and direction in the uncharted-by-GPS midst of central Canada, while the sedated kitwork and acoustic guitar of �Heart of the Continent� punctuate a dismayed stroll through discount racks and urban decay in a city that Samson seems to loathe but can never quite bring himself to leave, its crumbling buildings and uncomfortable memories forever looming in the back of his mind and haunting him at the edge of his vision.

But it�s not all specters and ghosts. �Cruise Night� ramps up the tempo considerably, its traditional pop-rock combo of jangling guitars and head-bobbing percussion propping up Samson�s ode to that ubiquitous small-town tradition of classic cars and flashy hot-rods, their owners biding time at the local shake shop before revving their engines as they parade up and down the main drag. While not necessarily intended to be ironic, Samson�s recounting of the youthful wish-fulfillment of a Sunday-night cruise�particularly in declaring how he �can�t take another week of feeling lame with the same old (same old) tin can on my ten speed, circling the Dairy Queen while jacked-up rides idle at me��toes that incredibly fine nostalgic line between hometown charm and embarrassing chintz.

Moving from pensive electric guitar to quavering strings, gritty �spherics, and solemn horns, �Grace General� is a wintertime meditation built around Samson�s commute from home to hospital, the bitter cold being only half as chilling as the memory which greets him in his reflection in the sliding door. Consider this yet one more ghost which Samson has yet to exorcise, friends of which apparently dwell amidst the archival photos of �When I Write My Master�s Thesis�, an upbeat pop-rock ode to strained relationships and graduate school.

Those self-same ghosts wander the halls of �Letter in Icelandic from the Ninette San�, a beautifully languid and increasingly country-fried acoustic ballad, quiet finger-picking slowly emboldened by lightly-brushed percussion and a melancholy fiddle as Samson recalls the experience of a patient undergoing treatment for tuberculosis at the Manitoba Sanatorium in the early 20th century.

Featured video-single �Longitudinal Centre� shifts back to gritty buzzsaw riffs and energetic pop-rock rhythms as it bears frustrated witness to Manitoba�s hesitant transition from winter to spring, a referenced road sign serving as a nagging reminder that residents of central Canada are perpetually trapped between oceans as well as seasons. Hedging such meteorological-cum-geographical dismay with a bit of provincial pride, the quirky, URL-entitled slow-strummer �www.ipetitions.com/petition/rivertonrifle/� refers to a very real online petition, whereby Samson hopes to nominate fellow Manitoban Reggie �The Riverton Rifle� Leach for induction into the Hockey Hall of Fame.

Working with double-bass, brushwork drums, strings, and keys, �The Last And� puts forth a sad-sack torch song about an inter-academic affair, Samson referencing lesson plans, car pools, and staff rooms as his character resigns himself to the sad reality of having loved and lost. �Stop Error� disperses the maudlin miasma in a somewhat tragicomical fashion, as Samson juxtaposes insomnia and winter doldrums with a flagrant system error encountered during a late-night gaming session�all set to the tune of a 17th century German love song by Hans Leo Hassler.

Oddly enough, there�s a sense of claustrophobia running against the grain of the open spaces so often described in Samson�s Provincial, such as in the lonesome refrain to the extended car-crash metaphor of �Highway 1 West�. Simple though it may sound, Samson�s exhausted cries of �It�s too far to walk anywhere from here� embody and unleash all the pent-up frustration that flows just below the surface of the album: the agonizing powerlessness of being held captive by one�s debt, one�s past, and by the insurmountable tyranny of distance. Yet contrast this with the litany of household issues in the album-ending duet �Taps Reversed�, and it�s easy to see why Samson is so resolutely conflicted.

Flaws and all, there�s simply no place like home�which is why it would be so hard for Samson to leave, even he wanted to.

Released January 24, 2012 by Epitaph/ANTI- Records, John K. Samson�s Provincial can be purchased digitally via iTunes, in CD and LP formats via the official Epitaph store, or wherever fine albums are sold. (Record shoppes still exist, right?)

Tour dates as follows:

3/7 @ The Grad Club � Kingston, ON
3/8 @ Maverick�s � Ottawa, ON
3/9 @ La Sala Rossa � Montr�al, QC
3/10 @ Brighton Music Hall � Boston, MA
3/11 @ Union Transfer � Philadelphia, PA
3/13 @ Black Cat � Washington, DC
3/14 @ Maxwell�s � Hoboken, NJ
3/15 @ Bowery Ballroom � New York, NY
3/16 @ Club Cafe � Pittsburgh, PA
3/17 @ Mohawk Palace � Buffalo, NY
3/18 @ Casbah � Hamilton, ON
3/20 @ Aeolian Hall � London, ON
3/21 @ E-Bar � Guelph, ON
3/22 @ Great Hall � Toronto, ON
3/27 @ West End Cultural Centre � Winnipeg, MB
3/28 @ The Exchange � Regina, SK
3/29 @ The Royal Alberta Museum Theatre � Edmonton, AB
3/31 @ The Biltmore � Vancouver, BC
4/1 @ Tractor Tavern � Seattle, WA
4/2 @ Doug Fir Lounge � Portland, OR
4/5 @ Casbah � San Diego, CA
4/6 @ Troubador � Los Angeles, CA
4/7 @ Bottom of the Hill � San Francisco, CA
4/8 @ The Atrium � Santa Cruz, CA
4/11 @ The Shakedown � Bellingham, WA
4/12 @ Hero�s Pub � Kamloops, BC
4/13 @ The Palomino � Calgary, AB
4/14 @ Amigo�s � Saskatoon, SK

Audio Reviews : Dreams Say, View, Create, Shadow Leads by Dustin Wong

Mon, 20 Feb 2012 15:16:36 -0500

Dustin Wong�s new album Dreams Say, View, Create, Shadow Leads is massive. Sixteen tracks of baroque audio miniatures are brought to life by a one man band. Riffs slam on top of one another as the guitarist builds up and tears down each structure with various pedals and devices. The effect is overwhelming at first. But given time, patience, and attention, the work takes on new shapes and forms.

During his time in town, Dustin Wong was a vital force in the Baltimore music and arts underground. This began in 2005 when he was a student at the Maryland Institute College of Art. Wong was the co-founder of Ecstatic Sunshine and a member of the recently disbanded Ponytail, both Baltimore-based groups. Now living in Brooklyn, Dreams Say is Wong�s second album for independent label Thrill Jockey. It comes much closer to the experience of his live sets than his previous album for the label.

Some guitarist�s solo records are content to drift along in the background of the room. Wong�s new record demands your attention, the playing so fierce and alive you can feel the heat coming off the guitar fret board. Here are some notes after several weeks of dedicated aural journeying.

It is tempting to hear the tracks as building upon one another in some sort of hour-long arc, as was the case with Wong�s 2010 album Infinite Love. But this is an album to be appreciated track by track. One reason for that is the technique used to record the album. Wong built these multi-layered structures live in the studio�one track, one take with minimal overdubs. Some tracks do pair well together, though. �Ice Sheets on Feet Prints� shares more than just part of a name with �Feet Prints on Flower Dreads.� They�re like two sides of the same coin, the slow build and stomp of the one slamming headlong into the frantic intensity of the other.

�Toe Tore Oh� is like a slow zoom away from a pointillist painting, taking the full six minutes to reveal itself. What are at first a few paired loops grows into as larger field of vision. Various figures at play, each about its own business, remain in harmony with the track as a whole. A fuzzed out bottom end comes in to ground things as we reach the maximum of multi-tracking that this field of sound can bear.

Such widescreen overload is common practice on the record. Tracks like �Triangle Train Stop� just get bigger and bigger until the listener is lost in a sea of riffs. Right when the breaking point is hit, the track abruptly ends and the next begins.

Still, tracks like the ambling �Pink Diamond� are friendly and inviting, allowing the listener room to breathe along the way. That �Pink Diamond� was chosen as the first track from the album to be released online is telling. The character of the whole record is encapsulated in the shimmer, wobble, and sway of this song�s five minutes.

But this is certainly a restless character. �Purple Slipped Right� stumbles about before settling down into the dirt while �Route Though Eyebrow� explores the cosmos. �Sprinkle Wet Toes� casts lazily about the pond before the metronome tick of �Pencil Drove Hill Moon� takes us in an entirely different and more precise direction.

In the final four tracks, things get nicely messy, the warm lazy bumblebee of a guitar lead giving �Evening Curves Straight� just the right counter movement. �Space Tunnel Graffiti� is built around some mean riffs, the track stomping around sloppily before finally locking into place. On finale �Diagonally Talking Echo� Wong shouts and yelps, the only time his voice is heard on the entire album.

Dreams Say, View, Create, Shadow Leads does not reveal itself easily upon first encounter. The aural overload and quick cutting is initially dizzying. When it does finally open up, the rewards are many. Wong�s musical growth is plain to see by the end of this record, and it leaves this critic eager to see what comes next.

Audio Reviews : S/T by Roomrunner

Thu, 19 Jan 2012 15:20:26 -0500

Roomrunner, the new project from Baltimore multi-instrumentalist Denny Bowen, could not have become a full-blown band at a better time. The past year brought the break-up and breakthrough of several high-profile Baltimore groups. Bands like Wye Oak and Future Islands enjoyed time on the national radar while other much-loved groups called it quits. One of the groups saying goodbye was Double Dagger, a band Denny played drums in. Now, a new year and a new chapter begins with the push of a �play� button, as Roomrunner injects a shot of adrenaline into a music scene in transition.

Play button? Well, a long time ago in a music and arts underground far, far away, the demo tape was a way for a band to make a big noise and first impression quickly and economically. The fact that local label Fan Death released Roomrunner�s self-titled EP on audio cassette as opposed to CD or LP appears to be a nod to this tradition. The format fits�these songs draw smartly on an era dominated by the cassette. The result is a potent, elbows-out run of big hooks and sloppy riffs, carefully blended.

On opening track �Shed,� Roomrunner wastes no time getting to the point. First, a hail of feedback, and then the first big wave of a riff. The track is a good introduction to the music about to speed by, with its pop underpinnings, driving backbeat, and loud/quiet/loud dynamic.

The second track, �Spinning,� begins in full battle mode, the bass line stomping around like the Jesus Lizard at their most muscular before the verse greets us, clearly in a hurry. We soon slam into a head-nodding riff just before the song blows sky high. At under three minutes, �Spinning� comes across like Nirvana in a bar room brawl with the Kinks, the results minimal, anthemic and memorable.

�Bathtub� begins quietly, giving listeners time to catch their breath before launching into another big push forward. Such high energy music can wear on the listener, but the recording and engineering of band member Dan Frome keeps things engaging throughout. The guitars fistfighting across the track add a crucial layer of difference to �Bathtub.� Deliberate nuances like these keep the songs from blurring together.

�Upside Down� begins amid guitar squall and scribble before stomping into view. Throughout the EP, Bowen�s vocals are kept low in the mix, keeping the lyrics just out of reach. Here, the phrase �the image is upside down� comes through, but not much else. Regardless, the song contains another melody line that you will find yourself humming for some time.

It is with �Aesthetic� that things become a bit sing-songy, the vocal melody line a playground taunt that grows on the listener, the sweetened vocal harmonies gradually winning you over. This song�s deconstructed rock dynamics are reminiscent of late-period Fugazi. It is the one song on the EP that zigs instead of zags, adding a needed bit of reverse pull.

The final track �Disintegrate� begins with the harsh angular feel of �Machine�-era Black Flag before expanding into the full bloom of another riff rock monster. Although the listener is only fourteen minutes in, �Disintegrate� feels like the closer to a full-length LP, as if you�ve been listening to this group forever and they already have a multi-album legacy to look back upon.

Roomrunner make quite a first impression with their big noise, each track a testament to the enduring power of the power chord. This is full-band traditional rock music constructed with care, worth checking out both recorded and live. Here�s hoping for more meaty riffs, smart arrangements, and big hooks in the coming years from this promising new group.

Roomrunner's self-titled EP can be streamed and purchased here.

Audio Reviews : Remote Unelectrified Villages by Yeveto

Mon, 07 Nov 2011 19:09:22 -0500

Instrumental rock outfits bear a burden that groups with vocalists do not. They must use the tools at hand to tell a story in song, no human voice or lyrics providing a fixed point for an audience to reference. Local rock quartet Yeveto have mastered the art of telling a story without a storyteller on their new album Remote Unelectrified Villages.

Yeveto was formed to create a film score six years ago. Since then, they�ve surfaced periodically in the Baltimore music and arts underground with dark and powerful invocations of mood and atmosphere.

Guitarist Gregory Rago favors minimal repetition, creating hypnotic guitar lines that pulse and dance at the center of each track, knowing when to build and when to release. Keyboardist Russel De Ocampo has a wide repertoire of tones, from warm fuzzed-out Hammond organ to stately concert-hall grand piano. He always picks the best tone for a composition�s mood. Drummer Ben Hoffman is a nimble powerhouse, able to drive home the point of a particular riff while maintaining complex rhythms with a jazzman�s sensibility. Cellist Amy Cavanaugh adds another important layer, sometimes being the punctuation mark on a particularly epic passage, sometimes hanging mournfully in the air like the soundtrack to an Ingmar Bergman film, sometimes providing rhythm to bind the song structure.

Opening title track �Remote Unelectrified Villages� serves as a guided tour of the elements that will make up the rest of the record. Odd time signatures, guitar dueling with cello , bass synth pulses, various elements of orchestration combining to push forward while the technically sophisticated players keep the parts stately and unified, no showboating at the expense of the groove.

�Elephant Beaut� comes on seductively, building off a minimal pulse into a warm cello swell, the backbeat interlocking as the song builds slowly and surely for a few minutes before hitting the crescendo. Soon enough, we are on the other side of an echo-drenched breakdown, a dub reggae bass pulse pushing back against the forward momentum.

�The Hyena and Other Men� is a slow builder, moving at a deliberate pace before taking on the air of a tribal dance. The guitar solo towards the end of the track comes as a surprise, venturing a little out of the usual Yeveto schematic without being too jarring.

The elements employed throughout the record are reconfigured playfully on �Five Fives�, a track that comes off like film music composer Danny Elfman jamming with James Brown�s rhythm section. All the lessons of the three minute novelty instrumental single are employed by the group, the killer bridge only performed once, refusing to wear out its welcome.

�Paper Scissors� is reminiscent of Yeveto�s prior film soundtrack work at first, hypnotically building until the distorted guitar kicks in and the whole composition takes off, a storm at sea, the musical elements foaming and raging in the swell before gradually subsiding.

The title of �Cowboy Song� sets the scene fairly clearly, the soundtrack work of Ennio Morricone being evoked by the reverb-drenched guitar work and the moseying pace. Around the two minute mark, a stranger enters the picture and the tension begins to build to the inevitable showdown.

Music as carefully composed and intentionally atmospheric as this must be captured properly, and the album sounds absolutely gorgeous thanks to the ace production of Chris Freeland, each track feeling fresh and organic while still managing to retain the polish of a high-quality studio recording. Freeland�s years of playing drums in instrumental rock powerhouse Oxes have clearly taught him a thing or two about how to get this sort of thing on tape.

Yeveto�s Remote Unelectrified Villages is a collection of short aural films, each exploring a different aspect of what can be engaging and exciting about instrumental music. The listener is free to wander about and see how each track sounds, the group�s thoughtful labors producing a lasting six-part movement in music.

The album release show for Remote Unelectrified Villages will be held on Saturday, November 12th at the Wind-Up Space. Small Sur, Soft Cat, and Omoo Omoo will also perform.

Audio Reviews : All That the Rain Promises by Bombadil

Fri, 28 Oct 2011 17:17:19 -0400

Over the course of one�s listening life, it is hardly unusual for favoured bands to come and go. The anxious hardcore and punk acts that scored one�s teenaged years giving way to the pensive, NPR-friendly pop and folk-centric �adult contemporary� of later life. Long nights spent in beer-soaked, eardrum-bursting venues replaced by quiet evenings with a stack of LPs, a cup of tea, and a sturdy pair of headphones�or vice versa, depending on how and when one decides to sonically sow those proverbial wild oats.

Regardless, the simple fact is that the lifespan of most bands and performing artists is all too short, the attention span of the average listener all too fickle and fleeting, to the point where a band that doesn�t record and tour on a regular basis is easily neglected, regardless of merit. That�s life; so it goes.

Then again, life is not without its fair share of surprises, and certain forgotten bands, like long-lost friends, have the tendency to crawl back out of the woodwork after long periods of dormancy. A couple beers and a long conversation/listening session later, and it�s like they had never even left.

.
Just so: Durham folk-pop quartet Bombadil have returned from a lengthy hiatus precipitated by vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Daniel Michalak�s ordeal with severe tendonitis, the worsening of which had sidelined Bombadil�s summer 2009 tour in support of their then-current album, Tarpits and Canyonlands.

For many a band, that hiatus might as well have been the end of the line�so long, take care, and thanks for coming out. Yet it seems as though the intervening years have done little to discourage Bombadil�s innate quirkiness and world-weary whimsy. Nattily-dressed as ever, Daniel Michalak�s and Stuart Robinson�s cordial vocals and multi-instrumental flourishes still pair exceptionally well with Bryan Rahija�s deft guitar and James Phillips� steady percussion, and their not-infrequently odd narratives still use (somewhat less extra)ordinary events and objects as launching points for wistful navel-gazing worthy of J.D. Salinger and Wes Anderson.

True, Bombadil�s third full-length album, All That the Rain Promises, eschews the dour matrimonial ballads, day-dreaming circus bears, metaphorical pyramids, and international affairs of Tarpits and Canyonlands; ditto the effusive history lessons and omnipresent wanderlust of 2008�s A Buzz, a Buzz. But while Bombadil have narrowed their lyrical focus to the real and immediate�heroic cavaliers and revolutionary soldiers unceremoniously replaced by loads of laundry, loaves of bread, and letters misplaced�the results are simply fantastic.

Self-recorded in a barn in Oregon�s Happy Valley, All That the Rain Promises is an intimate offering, its songs of longing, hope, and desperation oft-times relying on little more than an unassuming piano and a quavering voice. �I Will Wait� opens the album with a somber devotional hymn, its as-yet-unanswered prayers for guidance and grace trailing off into the sedated percussion, jangling strings, bent notes, twinkling piano, and belated apologies of �The Pony Express�.

Electrified single �Laundromat� is quite a bit more upbeat than its predecessors, even if its unaffected riffs, infectious chorals, foot-tapping percussion, and rousing harmonica do little to offset the song�s underlying sense of self-defeating complacency and missed opportunities. Similarly, the skiffle-flavoured �Flour Water Sugar� is infused with disappointment, its lonely matron whiling away her unnumbered hours in the kitchen while the preoccupied world passes her by.

Clearing the air somewhat, the craftily interwoven strings of �Avery� are plucked and pulled in ways simultaneously enervating and evocative, peaceful and pensive, heartwarming and haunting, like the sharp scent of ripe apples and rotting vegetation carried on a crisp autumn breeze promising both hot cider and frigid nights in the days to come. It�s a bit short, but doubtless sweeter because of it.

Musically intriguing yet lyrically bland, the inconsolable �Leather Belt� adorns its mixed metaphors�a poetic potpourri of leather belts, acorns, oak trees, and hurricanes�and maudlin sentiments with arrestingly layered vocals, hearty bass, twanging banjo, and bright keys. Later, a laughing, low-mixed conversation about the finer points of shoeing horses leaves the song feeling something like a studio lark that would have been better left as a B-side for a 7� single.

Next up, the endearingly twee �A Question� centers on Robinson�s (intentionally) fumbled phrases and a softly-strummed ukulele as he slowly works up the courage to confess his feelings to an unnamed crush, then hastily backpedals when things go awry. The slow build-up of acoustic guitar, organ-like keys, and improvised percussion lend things a pleasantly off-the-cuff feel, to the point where one could easily imagine the song being performed�that is, acted out�in fantastical rom-com style: Robinson winding his way through a bar and producing a ukulele from thin air, with Michalak, Rahija, and Phillips stepping out from the crowd right on cue. (Amateur music videographers, make it happen.)

Thematically, the light and airy �Good Morning Everyone� hearkens back to early Bombadil cuts like �Jellybean Wine�, its lazy idyll constructed around bright keys, buoyant bass, light percussion, and pleasant chorals. Somewhat unexpectedly, �One Whole Year� ups the funk, taking the bass line for a walk while the drums beat out a military tattoo and an upbeat mix of piano, strings, and horns embolden an already snappy ramble on varying forms of freedom and imprisonment.

Playing off of the somber tone introduced at the outset of All That the Rain Promises, �Short Side of the Wall� reawakens the album�s sense of unease with the future, replacing the earlier appeals to a higher power with a seemingly self-directed call for purpose. Amidst a faintly echoing mix of electric guitar, low-lying bass, brushed snare, ethereal reverb, and hopeful keys, Michalak and Robinson wonder:

�What do you want to be with all that you see? What do you want to have with all that you have done? What do you want to do now that it�s through? For what do you long now that it is gone?�

The answer: a �Unicycle�, apparently�at least, that�s the strange conveyance on which Bombadil ride off into the proverbial sunset of All That the Rain Promises.

�Give me a unicycle dear�, the band declares in unison, �Give me a rubber, dusty keel. Give me an edge that I can feel as I bump up and down the hill.� Which is to say that, if Bombadil are going to do anything, then they�re damned well going to do it in their own way, and certainly at their own pace.

Fair enough. If All That the Rain Promises is any indication, then the end results are well worth the wait.

Set to be released November 8, 2011 on Ramseur Records, All That the Rain Promises can be pre-ordered in digital and CD formats via Bandcamp. Bombadil will also be hosting a pair of CD release parties:

November 12 @ Cat�s Cradle � Carrboro, NC
(w/Future Kings of Nowhere and Jay Kutchma)

November 14 @ Sixth & I Historic Synagogue � Washington, DC
(w/Alessi�s Ark)