Beatbots Webzine

Features : Hip to the Groove #7: Blockbusted by Tom K�rp

Wed, 01 Sep 2010 00:07:16 -0400

We live in an on-demand world. Portable devices nestled in our pockets and perched on our laps constantly imbibe the digital �ther, granting us in-the-moment access to a near-endless supply of streaming entertainment and esoteric information. Have a random question? Feel like listening to music? Watching a movie? Reading a book? Browsing a magazine? Catching up on the latest news? Simply whip out your smartphone or the web-enabled device of your choice�laptop, netbook, tablet, portable gaming system, or what have you�log onto the ol� series of tubes, and away you go. Ask.com, and you shall receive. Google Search, and you shall find. Click or tap on the browser icon of your choice, and the manifold wonders of the web shall be opened unto you.

Looking back over the numerous technological advances of the past twenty years�the essential component being the globe-spanning info-network that is the Internet as we know it�it truly is a marvelous time to be alive. Yet, even as my inner futurist eagerly awaits the coming singularity like a kid at Christmas, this forward march into the instant accessibility and digitized collective consciousness of the event horizon makes me prematurely nostalgic for all that we are sure to leave behind. All those tangible, tactile, experiential, and delightfully archaic trappings of the physical world. Things like vinyl records, cassette tapes, and CDs. Books, magazines, and newspapers. VHS tapes and DVDs. And, yes�brick and mortar retail chains like Blockbuster Video.

According to a recent report on the Los Angeles Times� entertainment news blog, struggling video rental/retail giant Blockbuster Inc. is making plans to file for Chapter 11 bankruptcy this September in hopes of assuaging its various creditors, to whom the Dallas, TX-based company is indebted $920 million. Beleaguered by interest payments�plus growing competition from Internet-savvy subscription services like Netflix and GameFly, self-service video rental kiosks from Redbox, and, to a lesser extent, video-on-demand through various satellite and digital cable providers (not to mention web-based venues like Hulu)�Blockbuster has struggled to grow its business in recent years, effectively losing $1.1 billion in revenue since 2008. This after being the name in video (and videogame) rentals for more than a decade, with over 3,400 stores operating in the United States alone.

Lo, how the mighty have fallen.

Mind you, I�m not bemoaning the impending demise of Blockbuster as a business. Considering that I last patronized the company in the fall of 2009 (my first time in years) when an erstwhile location on East Fort Avenue in Baltimore was pulling up shop and liquidating its wares, it�s safe to say that I, as a consumer, would not be adversely affected if other local Blockbusters followed suit.

Rather, I am saddened by what the fall of Blockbuster symbolizes, as its financial troubles seem to herald the beginning of the end for the dedicated physical media megachains and shopping mall cornerstones of the 1980�s and 1990�s. Alongside f.y.e. owner Trans World Entertainment�s diminishing sales figures�according to the most recent annual report submitted to the SEC, TWE and its subsidiaries experienced an 18% decline in physical album sales in Fiscal 2009 on top of a 20% decrease in Fiscal 2008, a seemingly constant withering as Apple�s iTunes, Dimensional Associates� eMusic, and seller-of-all-things Amazon.com gobble up larger and larger portions of the proverbial pie�it would appear as though the large-scale audio and video retailers of my childhood and teenaged years are slowly but surely falling before their digital competitors.

But this is nothing that you haven�t heard before. From a Smithian-Darwinian standpoint, this is exactly as it should be: the invisible hand, natural selection, survival of the fittest and all that. The free market has spoken, and those who fail to evolve and adapt themselves to suit its whims will most assuredly pay the price, literally and figuratively. Hell, odds are that you may even be inclined to cheer Blockbuster�s downfall� though you might want to hold off on such celebratory Schadenfreude for the time being.

For one thing, the disparity between Blockbuster and its upstart competitors is not entirely insurmountable. True, for only $8.99 a month, Netflix provides unlimited (albeit one-at-a-time) DVD movie rentals via mail, online title browsing and automated queue-creation, and instantaneous video streaming via a computer, smartphone, or web-enabled current-generation console gaming system. There are no late fees, no time-consuming trips to and from a physical store, and no issues with so-so selection, limited availability, or misfiled movies. There is only convenience, convenience, and more convenience. It�s a pretty solid scheme, really.

But, however belatedly, Blockbuster is learning from the new guys. With its �Blockbuster by Mail� program, the erstwhile leader in movie rentals has begun offering multiple subscription packages (ranging in monthly price from $8.99 to $19.99), all of which provide access to both movies and videogames, thereby competing with Netflix and GameFly in one fell (and relatively cost-effective) swoop. Then there is �Blockbuster On Demand�, which enables digital streaming to computers, smartphones, and select Blu-ray players and DVRs. As a bonus to more traditional renters, Blockbuster also offers retail-specific deals, such as free or discounted rentals in exchange for returning mail-ordered videos and games to a physical store. To top it off, Blockbuster has begun supplementing its existing stores with Redbox-esque stand-alone kiosks, strategically positioned in high-traffic areas like pharmacies, corner stores, and supermarkets. Who says that you can�t teach an old dog new tricks?

And yet, for all its updating, the ol� buster of blocks is incontrovertibly tethered to the dead weight of leasing, maintaining, staffing, and stocking physical storefronts�heavy expenses which completely skew the profit margins of NetFlix and GameFly�s streamlined mail-order and on-demand business models (and Redbox�s easy-peasy self-service). While Blockbuster Inc.�s forthcoming bankruptcy filing and subsequent restructuring should attrition away many of those lingering expenses, only time will tell if the overly-indebted company can survive the transition to a less physical/more digital video and game rental service that combines the best traits�digital convenience, physical presence�of its current competitors.

Though I�d be willing to wager that Blockbuster has some fight left in it yet, the potential demise of the once-great rental chain boils down to the growing obsolescence of in-real-life media retailers and their attendant physical wares. An obsolescence which, as a child of the optical disc-centric retail boom of the eighties, nineties, and early naughties, I find somewhat hard to accept. Love or loathe them as emblems of milquetoast suburbia and killers of mom-and-pop shops, erstwhile-omnipresent stores like Blockbuster and f.y.e. have provided countless youths with their first video and record store-browsing experiences, wandering the stacks, finger-flipping through movies and albums, discovering hidden or forgotten treasures along the way. Admittedly, the institutional settings, bright fluorescent lights, Billboard- and Box Office-friendly wares, and uniformed sales clerks of major chains create a sterile and somewhat impersonal environment when compared with the crusty uniqueness of independently-owned and -operated video and record shops (e.g., Video Americain and Sound Garden). But they do provide an experience, and a regularly accessible one at that. Inane or no, suburban or no, companies like Blockbuster provide something tangible, something in the world and of the world�something that pointing, clicking, scrolling, and tapping on a computer or smartphone simply cannot replicate.

And, returning to those of you inclined to wish death and destruction upon all major retail chains, there is also this quandary: if retail megachains killed the independent mom-and-pop shops, and big e-business is killing the megachains, what, if anything, will fill the physical vacuum left by the megachains� demise? Really, what is the likelihood of a renaissance of localized, independent video and record shops when the very mega-businesses that overwhelmed them are themselves becoming obsolete? Moreover: what is the greater cost to consumers? What price will we�the listeners, viewers, and readers�pay for our constant craving for digital immediacy and mail-order convenience?

Only the future knows for sure� I�m just not so sure that it will be as rosy, or as real, as I once hoped it would be.

Audio Reviews : Paperwork/Birdwork by The Art Department

Wed, 18 Aug 2010 13:53:14 -0400

Though I would like to think of myself as an all-around music aficionado and a genuine devotee of the composers� and songwriters� craft, the truth of the matter is that I�m less an appreciator of arranged sound than I am a collector of plastic, foil, paper, and polyvinyl chloride. Of course, I listen to music, and near-constantly at that. But, mainly, I acquire, accumulate, compare, contrast, and catalogue, filling shelves and bins with an assortment of CDs, LPs, and 45s. I do this for two reasons: Firstly, I regularly enjoy the music which said records contain. Secondly, I feel, with the clinical detachment of an archivist or librarian, that certain artists and albums are required listening�that they are culturally important�regardless of how poorly they may sync with my own personal tastes. Whether or not I wholly care for, say, the dulling drones of My Bloody Valentine�s Isn�t Anything, the standard-issue power-pop of The Tragically Hip�s Music @ Work, the more disjointed turns of Hella�s Total Bugs Bunny on Wild Bass, or the coarse musicianship of the Germs� (MIA), I nevertheless feel obliged to hear them out, and to keep them on hand for future reference and added context.

Admittedly, it�s not a perfect system; the obvious problem being that, given a limited attention span and only so many waking hours in a day, a great many albums do little more than collect dust, thereby failing to make good on the capital used to purchase them in the first place. Which leads me to wonder: Why should anyone bother to buy an album if s/he does not intend to listen the hell out of it, digging into its grooves, keeping it constantly spinning for days on end, forming contextualized memories and emotional attachments specially attuned to its contents? Hypothetical �cultural importance� aside, why own something that one does not plan to actually use?

These are fair questions, even if their connection to the album at hand is somewhat nebulous and arguably solipsistic. Still, sideways is how I do business, and I wouldn�t be going on about the cognitive dissonance of collecting music if it did not have something to do with The Art Department and their sophomore album, Paperwork/Birdwork.

But first, some background information. Baltimore avant-pop trio The Art Department began in 2005 as the home-recording project of Jon Ehrens, his doubled sing-speak and falsetto whinge floating atop nimbly finger-picked guitar riffs dueling with equally motile bass lines, all over a backdrop of stripped-down percussion and rattling tambourine. Released in 2007 as The Art Anthologies, The Art Department�s first record was a lo-fi lover�s wet dream, its thirteen quick-and-dirty tracks playing up their chime-and-burble polyphonic spasms while rarely pushing past the two-minute mark. Perfect for close-quartered shows and short attention spans.

Since then, The Art Department has adopted drummer Mike Meno and bassist Jason Howe to become, with founding vocalist/guitarist Jon Ehrens, a full-on performing trio�ready, willing, and able to play their frenetic pop ruckus out and about in Baltimore, DC, and beyond. Good on them.

Still, I�m having trouble getting fully behind The Art Department�which is a shame, because, based on instrumentals alone, I want to love this band. I really do. But I�m conflicted. Hence the aforementioned cognitive dissonance and the pro/con rationalization of owning an album that doesn�t wholly thrill me.

My problem is this: The Art Department�s songs start off well enough with cleanly-played, rapid-fire guitar arpeggiations, complimentary bass lines, and unpretentious drumwork, only to bollocks things up with neigh-unlistenable and oft-unintelligible honks and squawks. Which, admittedly, are part and parcel with The Art Department�s sped-up aesthetic, but I just cannot convince myself to out-and-out like Ehrens�s grating falsetto, at least not in and of itself. It�s not terrible�or terribly far-removed from the cloyingly nasal and/or high-pitched vox of other lo-fi acts which I wholly enjoy, for that matter�but when things really go off the rails, as in the spastically squiggling �Axe to Grind�, it�s a definite deal-breaker.

And yet, vocal hang-ups aside, I still feel that there is something worthwhile about The Art Department and their latest album, Paperwork/Birdwork. Kicking off with reedy clarinet drones from guest musicians Greg O�Connell and David Sprecht (both of Athens-based ensemble Quiet Hooves), minute-long instrumental opener �Let�s Imply Stuff� focuses on Ehrens�s and Howe�s inter/independent six- and four-string riffs, the track�s pleasantly plodding pace an interesting departure for a band that typically prefers to rush headlong through their songs with scarcely a moment to spare. Just so, with hardly a buffer between them, �I am Yr Censor� jumps off of the tail end of �Let�s Imply Stuff�, charging forward with snappy guitar-and-bass lines and stop-start kitwork none-too-pleasantly accented by Ehrens�s upper-register caterwauling.

So it goes with both sides of Paperwork/Birdwork, notable exceptions including the comp-contrasting riffs and headier percussion of �Get On� and the somewhat less-abrasive vocal variations of �Second Nature�, �Standin� Around�, and �Pains Me�. Even so, given the lo-fi tendencies of The Art Department�s particular breed of sound-making, such bright spots could stand some fine-tuning and studio spit-and-polish (levels and clarity, mostly), but they are nevertheless an excellent and intriguing foundation for Ehrens, Howe, and Meno to build upon.

My half-hearted complaints aside, here�s hoping that they do just that.

Get in on the ground floor with The Art Department's end-of-summer tour dates:

August 26 @ Danger Danger Gallery - Philadelphia, PA
August 27 @ Death by Audio - New York, NY
August 28 @ Whitehaus - Boston, MA
August 29 @ Monkey Bar - Burlington, VT
August 31 @ The Soundlab - Buffalo, NY
September 1 @ Circus Room - Waterloo, ON
September 3 @ The Hideout - Chicago, IL
September 10 @ The Blue Moon Saloon - Shepherdstown, WV

Prose : Nerves: A Play by Jared T. Fischer

Tue, 10 Aug 2010 16:36:40 -0400

Orange: You are too eager

Cat Face: No I am fine I am fine things are fine

Orange: You are very eager the girl will not want you

Cat Face: Who cares I am not looking for a girl I have this idea about men and women I feel erotic

Orange: See you are eager

Cat Face: No this has been my whole life waiting I got waiting patiently down to a science

Orange: Ha

Cat Face: The science of absorption and depression I have reduced my void of existence down to a science of absorption and depression

Orange: See I always think about you as crazy but yet you hold down a job and you�re not usually depressed you usually have your shit locked down

Cat Face: I know I�m pretty fun to be around right

Orange: Yeah

Cat Face: And I give off like I am throwing the biggest fucking party around and that attracts flies to me right

Orange: Yeah but not flies you get girls but then you don�t do anything they think something is wrong with them they turn to what might be easier more accessible a guy who can talk a little make things happen

Cat Face: Like I said I really don�t care about girls being just girls

Orange: Huh

Cat Face: I am seeing a real big picture in which I am doing things with men and women my capacity for love is this stretching strange thing like when Silly Putty picks up a great deal of print from a newspaper

Orange: So are you saying you like and want men too

Cat Face: Why not why not

Orange: Can people really choose like that

Cat Face: I do I don�t know why I am not afraid of anything or anyone I feel really secure about that I know what my intentions are and I know how I do things what I am doing is not devoid of love what I am doing is what they used to do I do it the same way

Orange: I used to know about Bloomsbury

Cat Face: See that�s right people didn�t use to get bent out of shape with definition and distinction of the sexual kind that was a time of wild fun the excitement of possibilities occurring in people before them the Greeks did it

Orange: I like that but I got to stick to girls I think I would be crazy doing other things than with girls

Cat Face: Well that�s you and no one wants you to be any different but what I like about you is that you let me be me I hope you will let me be me you have so far

Orange: We are friends besides you know I have no control over you no one has control over anyone not even any law any law can be circumnavigated I think

Cat Face: I know

Orange: What�s wrong

Cat Face: I have a storm in my mind

Orange: Then brainstorm ha

Cat Face: It�s nothing about ideas and creation it is a death storm so many clouds so many rainy nights the sound of thunder the sight of lightning really crazy hurtful moments of life all memorable and a desire to keep living like a person who wants more and more pain because it is coming it is certainly coming I know the more I think the more death is like this insane drop off a peaceful mountainside the birds see me splatter on the rocks you know I loved life and that makes me suicidal loving life is the easiest way to become a dead man

Orange: You know I have to take all threats seriously why are you like this plus it is very sentimental

Cat Face: Okay take me home maybe I can stop being out and stop thinking maybe I can sleep yeah I want to sleep take me home

Orange: Okay okay

Cat Face is on a bed his mind is racing he feels awkward he likes reading the Hemingway book he also knows that he can do decent things in life but though he loves the scenery though he is still attached to life he wants it all to change or he wants it all to go away he wants to go away he does not want to be here or alive he can�t keep doing the same things over and over without the scenery royally destroying his little nerves he should not be this fragile yet he cannot help it this basic stretch of life is too much it is given to him and he cannot bail on it he has to live but it is a process of destruction his love principle is fine but he is not fine he meets people in the way that your shins meet the waves at the beach like ebb and flow you know you have not only to think about everything you have to feel everything and it is all so salty and in the sun there are headaches and the sight of constant beauty a woman lying on a beach towel her body does it all she is happy and reading and she is getting a very very nice tan and the strong lifeguard how did he get so chiseled and his glasses are what they are the attraction is toward him too

Cat Face: Orange o Orange you were nice today I am feeling something about you I am feeling always I am always feeling you know I didn�t want to melt down I can�t think about that let it go Orange will not do shit he will not judge you that�s what friends are they do not judge you when you say crazy shit about death I am melting down because I have to it is so natural to melt down like this and I know that my chemicals are not balanced at all but I hate medicine I hate psychiatry if I saw a doctor then I would really shoot myself in the head when I got out I am someone who needs to feel this entire life until it is pulled away from me and I won�t even know any better I am only responsible to the life force for after all my thoughts about gods and things I am only convinced that there is a life force at least here on this planet and evidently in other parts of the universe maybe several different life forces like our concepts of gods but also there may be non-life forces that are above or below why must anything serve or act morally in a sense of righteousness pointing thanks and love toward a god or nature but whatever this is all we know and yet I am struck by a death storm because I feel love for other people but unfortunately I have grown bored of all that I am capable of experiencing in my life I cannot sleep

Orange is hanging with Velvet and Simple and Cat Face they might get food they are on the street it is another night hopefully Cat Face will not do anything crazy to ruin anything

Simple: You know the other night I actually saw a guy get knocked out three kids stormed in on him around the harbor and they first punched him got him down and started kicking his head then most of the body was paralyzed but the head whose eyes were shut was twitching and the arms up around the head were twitching they left him like that some other people and I called the cops

Velvet: I hate violence I can�t stand violence

Orange: Yeah once I saw a guy get stomped outside of a bar in DC and everyone was screaming the poor guy�s friend came outside and felt helpless he was crying and screaming asking who knocked his friend out of course the guy had left

Velvet: Shit again can�t we talk about something lighter we are on the street and now I am getting all paranoid and fearful make it light guys plus what should we eat

Simple: Thai ooooooo Thai can we get Thai

Cat Face: Yes actually there is a great family type of place just a block down let�s get drunken noodles and then get drunk

Orange: Ha stupid

Simple: Cat you have really blue eyes I have never looked at them just thought I would tell you that

Cat Face: Telling me as in you like them or are they a distraction a weird thing

Simple: They are not a weird thing because I like oracles and I like flowers and they are flowers and oracles

Velvet: She likes you

Simple: I do like you

Cat Face: You come right out right out I get weird about that I like to stand back I get nervous I think it is okay though because I am into you

Simple: You know what

Cat Face: What

Velvet: What

Orange: What the fuck

Simple: Cat I love you

Cat Face: You do

Simple: Yeah o yeah yes I do but I don�t know how you do it how you go so long without having sex

Velvet and Orange bust out laughing they can�t believe it

Cat Face: I wait it out I wait for sex sex comes to me it is like that because I can�t do anything I don�t want to do anything my nerves are really destroyed

Simple: It�s okay I wanted to come after you

Cat Face: You have not got me yet I don�t do things right away we got to see if we will even do anything I would like to be alone with you first and see what you do and how you do it

Velvet: Plus you�re out with us you guys aren�t breaking free

Orange: Yeah I don�t want this whole night to be about you all fucking or getting anxious about fucking make that the end of your night now is now we got to eat

Cat Face: Here�s the Thai place come on

Cat Face was alone with her there really was not anything it was all completely dark back at his place where he usually did art late at night he could not even stand doing art anymore he was frozen in his mind and his fingers were frozen and he touched Simple on the neck she moved in to kiss him and he thought what does this feel like what is this why is this important I guess there is the need for procreation and restoring one�s fractured soul but I am really near death and what good would it do me to restore my soul before I ship out of this place this is terribly vacuous Simple is smart enough and she is pretty enough and she has parts of her life all mapped out and she has read the Ethical Slut I think she said that when we were getting Thai and yet I cannot trouble myself to deal with her in this dark and physical intimate way like it is a turning point in our joint meaning making but I just keep feeling the reaction of my nerves like I not only have to respond to her in real time but there is some part of my brain that is wondering about her criticisms of this as it happens and a part of my brain that produces really silly and sometimes dark as death criticisms of this but cannot I just let this all move forward and take place look after a while you start to feel something you get horny if you think about this and her at the right time in the right way look you can feel something I know you can feel something touch her again and move down with it feel her between her legs as you kiss her feel her there and think about how open her life is and like you said she is smart I know she is smart and she could be a good companion through life even if for just a few days of this life if you all part who cares you got to the point where you can still be friends with a person after you break up the important thing is to maintain continuity with love and lovers and what about men what about men why have you not tried a man recently why not you thought about it and it made sense to you and was part of what you felt and so why not well not right now not now there really were not any men locally that presented or did anything for you they were all kind of low on the totem pole and then Simple moved up over him and he was under her she was riding with rhythm her face was really pretty what he could see of it and it all made sense and it took his thoughts not away but moved them to another place that he could not reach it was like he was drunk or destroyed and he tried to reach for his thoughts and he could not reach them he had a lot of respect for her he liked watching her feeling something related to him and he tried to feel it also he could feel her and it was not bad in fact it was really good and calming and it made sense and yet he was destroyed in his nerves he knew that this was not the end for him there was all this dangerous living and inevitably of course there would be sad lonely moments again they were just waiting to come and frazzle his core but he had to live and so he moved toward her from underneath her and he kissed her mouth that was wet and he felt really good about her and what he was able to give her and share with her and then it was weird how he started thinking about Orange right when he was giving himself to her and roughing her up what was Orange up to and he lost his way and slowed down what was Orange doing how was he was he alone Orange is extremely relaxing to be around and he slowed down with Simple and he kissed her again her hair felt good and with things moving slowly that felt good too because he was really sensible and hard and he was able to jab himself up and kiss her mouth and he held her side and then she closed hard on him and started breathing she got it she had it and it made him then free up and have his moment not simultaneous to her moment other times he had had a simultaneous feeling with a girl but not this time but that was okay who the fuck cared about all those damned near Olympic distinctions were they all sex doctors or lovers Romeo and Juliet obviously did not have very many simultaneous anything and it felt good but it was also nothing for both of them what the fuck was this how is this important and then you have to rest side by side and you can whisper and try to analyze how it was but she was not doing that she was so pretty and she just rested on her back and looked up at the ceiling that was kind of like the stars he hated trying to think what she might be thinking because real ideas came to his mind like he could read her mind fuck it the whole making love thing was so draining and nervous what was that was it anything more than just one moment yes fools it felt good it did but who the fuck cares he was drained and he felt depressed you could not be depressed to sleep with a woman just hold her again but do not become dependent on her you don�t want to have her be a crutch each time you get sick in your mind and you need a release I want you to think about her life and how she is separate from you and yet you can enjoy this and you can also enjoy travel but you enjoy travel and fighting and discussing your mind with Orange and yet you do not need to fuck Orange what was all of this it felt really goofy and stupid

Simple: This was not a bad idea

Cat Face: It wasn�t you�re right and this is kind of the best part just resting here with you how else and when else do people get to rest like this together it feels like we came out of a storm or at least I came out of my storm and here are the stars and here you are

Simple: Ha you�re really dumb

Cat Face: Thinking about things is not idiotic

Simple: But listen to how clouded your shit is I recommend that you let everything sink in before you ever comment on anything all that extemporaneous babbling depletes what you could really be feeling

Cat Face: How often do you experience things like this

Simple: Don�t worry about it who is keeping score a life could be zapped in a second without notice think about that boy who got stabbed

Cat Face: You�re right but you don�t have the internal visitors that I suffer the internal visitors want answers

Simple: Fuck them fuck whatever it is that wants to kill you even if it is a part of you if there is a part of you that wants you dead you have to smash that part against the most living things like the sun and like us here kiss me kiss me

Cat Face thought about her she was the sun she really was the sun and he did not need to die right away

Audio Reviews : White Crosses by Against Me!

Fri, 06 Aug 2010 23:09:28 -0400

By rights, Gainesville�s Against Me! is a rock-and-roll success story, a classic example of grassroots musicians growing tall and hitting the big time with cozy tour buses, sold-out shows, network television appearances, generous royalty pay-outs, and major-label support. All of which are cause for celebration.

Rather, they would be would be cause for celebration under normal circumstances. The thing is, Against Me! is a punk band�a punk band whose work has largely dealt with themes of poverty, disenfranchisement, and sociopolitical angst. Themes which are somewhat hard to reconcile with a comfortable life of fame and fortune.

More to the point: Commercial success is viewed as something of an anathema to singers of anthems of the underprivileged. The apparent disingenuousness of a band like Against Me! casually handling topics from which they have become relatively estranged is no small source of self-righteous indignation for many long-term fans, particularly for those hard-liners who most closely identify with Against Me!�s erstwhile class-war sentiments and heavy-handed protest songs. Not to mention those who reflexively promote punk-rock�s DIY ethos and anti-capitalist tendencies as the One True Path to making music. (Heaven forefend that a band use a professional studio, play at a large-scale venue, or turn a profit from performances and album sales.)

For my own pragmatic part, I find it difficult to criticize Against Me! simply for working with a major label or for developing their sound beyond the typical punk-rock tropes of power chords and agitprop. Particularly since it hasn�t always been wine and roses for the band, or even tequila and orange blossoms. Far from it.

Originally the nom de guerre of high school dropout turned singer-songwriter Tom Gabel, Against Me! has transformed itself over the past thirteen years from a roughly strummed, coarsely howled, dumpster-diving and basement-playing solo act to a critically acclaimed, studio polished, radio-played and venue-filling four-piece with a far more nuanced worldview than its �versus the world� name would imply. That's no small feat.

Musically, Gabel�s beat-up acoustic jumble has long since been replaced by bright Rickenbacker and Telecaster riffs, his anxious yawps and indecipherable howls calmed and clarified to growling, country-fried croons topped off with electrified full-band accompaniment from longtime bandmates James Bowman and Andrew Seward, plus weighty rhythms from erstwhile Hot Water Music percussionist George Rebelo (in place of drummer-turned-restaurateur Warren Oakes).

Far and away removed from early demo tapes like Vivida Vis! or Crime as Forgiven By�, Against Me!�s fifth full-length album, White Crosses, dishes out carefully-administered vitriol rather than rudely-spilled piss and vinegar. It�s a little bit punk and a little bit folk-country, but mostly just hook-and-chorus-heavy six-string rock-and-roll.

Which, I would imagine, is part of the problem. By and large, Against Me! and White Crosses are being marketed in such a way as to appeal to studded-and-patched pit fiends and Top 40 Rock adherents alike, the end-line objective being some sort of musical d�tente: an overture towards normalized relations between casual listeners and diehard punks. The logic, then, goes something like this: �So what if Against Me! can afford a cozy tour bus, land appearances on late-night network talk shows, or do interviews with popular fashion magazines? They�re musicians, not politicians; entertainers, not advocates.�

Fair enough. But that�s still a hard sell for the old guard, particularly when the new material, both musically and thematically, keeps moving further and further away from Against Me!�s folksy, crusty, anarcho-punk roots. Thanks to vaunted producer Butch Vig�the man who helmed Nirvana�s Nevermind, as well as Against Me!�s 2007 major-label debut, New Wave�White Crosses is nothing if not a polished affair, its vocals prominent, its electric guitars clean and bright, its bass unmuddied, its percussion potent. Needless to say, White Crosses is hardly a DIY affair.

Beginning with the opening drumbeat and twanging guitar riff of title track �White Crosses�, Gabel takes a strung-out morning walk through the streets of St. Augustine and transforms it into an ode to homesickness and misanthropy, casting aspersions at teenaged vagrants, college kids, tourists, young professionals, and the insistent trappings of organized religion alike. It�s a song built less on well-earned angst than on just-out-of-bed crankiness, and sounds almost chidingly self-aware in its glib churlishness. Ditto for the reminiscing sing-along chorus of slickly-produced radio- and video-single �I Was a Teenaged Anarchist�, wherein Gabel looks back on his days of punker activism with no small hint of whimsy, celebrating the rebellious spirit of his somewhat troubled youth while left-handedly thumbing his nose at those who have criticized him and his compatriots for outgrowing their hormonal urges to piss off cops and tilt at windmills.

Really, that�s the solid truth of the matter: the members of Against Me! have grown up, and they�re dealing with all of the complications and responsibilities that such a drastic change of life entails (and which render rebellion for rebellion�s sake a pretty moot point). Hell, Gabel himself is married with an eight-month-old child, and will be turning thirty in November; it�s safe to say that his priorities have shifted from tearing down the system to carving out a respectable life for his family. Rather hard to fault the man for that, isn�t it?

But it�s not like White Crosses was intended as a sell-out collection of soulless, commercial-friendly singles. Dig into the E Street Band-ified piano tinkling, power chords, and group chorus of �Because of the Shame�, and you�ll catch Gabel dealing with the growing spectre of his own mortality via self-admonition, -reflection, and prayer at the funeral of an estranged friend. Heavy stuff, that, and no small wonder that the riotous young invincibles and self-destructive anarcho-punks are having some measure of difficulty following along with Gabel�s sobering, self-aware march into adulthood. Likewise, queue up �Suffocation� and you�ll find a catalogue of disillusioned characters and their self-defeating distractions, empty endeavours urged along by ringing guitars and echoing distortion. Then there�s the piano-aided dissolution of �We�re Breaking Up��which, with all the scene politics surrounding Against Me!, could almost count as an ominous �we need to talk� moment with the old fan base. (It�s not, but it would be funny if it were.)

Speaking of the politi-punks, advocates of topical lyrics should enjoy �High Pressure Low� and its potpourri of (relatively) recent events viewed with a sense of overwhelming futility, 80�s-esque guitar distortion, backing whoah-oh�s, and punchy rhythms sugarcoating the bitter pill that is the realization of one�s own insignificance in the face of calamitous global events. �Ache With Me� follows this train of impotent thought with twanging country-style strums and a veritable laundry list of cognitive dead ends, Gabel�s unuttered and unanswered questions resolving themselves into a hard knot of abandoned ideals and self-defeating resentment sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach. Faced with all that downer thinking, the exorcising jump back into upbeat rock riffs via the escapist dreams and driving guitars of �Spanish Moss� makes perfect sense, even if the song itself feels a little flat and uncertain.

Next up, second video-single �Rapid Decompression� attempts to further shrug off the nagging nihilism brought to bear in �High Pressure Low� and �Ache With Me�, swinging back to form with its heavy guitars and crowd-friendly call-response vocals. Still, it can�t quite shake the feeling that, in Gabel�s own words, �Sometimes it feels like your whole world is coming to an end.�

Wrapping up the album proper, �Bamboo Bones� offers up a remarkably inspirational end to White Crosses, and a surprisingly faith-friendly turn considering the cross-smashing yearnings of the album�s title track. Amidst bright and blaring guitars, taut percussion, and punchy if uncomplicated bass hits, Gabel & co. belt out their consoling, self-actualizing chorus: �What God doesn�t give to you, you�ve got to go and get for yourself." It�s not exactly an �everything is gonna be all right� anthem of out-and-out optimism, but, then again, optimism never really was Against Me!�s strong point to begin with. Take what you can get, yeah?

On the B-side of things (available with the extended version White Crosses), �One by One� throws out more of Gabel�s thoughts on outgrowing the rebellious and self-defeating nihilism of his youth while dealing with the fallout from friends and associates who have yet to do so. It�s fairly standard Against Me! fare followed by a sharp left turn into the strangely unserious �Bob Dylan Dream�, its blended harmonica, fiddle, and alt-country twang providing the backdrop for a surreally twee account of what it would be like to have ol� Zimmy as a close friend and confidant. Basically: smoking grass, drinking wine, hitting up the thrift stores, shopping for apartments, and never, ever talking about music. It�s a weird song, sure, but it�s not entirely out of place, and perhaps a little telling as to what Gabel predicts for his own future. (Quiet retirement, if not Neighbour Bob.)

Heading back into topical punk-rock territory, �Lehigh Acres� and its ironic chorus tackle poverty, foreclosure, and grossly disproportionate displays of wealth in the Sunshine State. Finally, B-side album ender �Bitter Divisions� dwells on political disunity and party-serving scare tactics�which, honestly, reads as depressing and desperate rather than forceful or inspiring. This in spite of Gabel�s apparent desire to somehow help his fellow Americans �reconcile [their] mutual distrust.�

Huh� maybe Against Me! hasn�t given up on tilting at windmills after all?

While it�s not likely to win over any jilted former fans or diehard detractors, White Crosses proves that Against Me! can mature without losing sight of their roots, and that they can grow beyond the constraints of their anarcho-punk-rock past without selling themselves short. And that�s certainly a good thing.

Video Reviews : Pelada by Ryan White, Rebekah Fergusson, Gwendolyn Oxenham, Luke Boughen

Wed, 28 Jul 2010 00:56:32 -0400

Pickup soccer is born of a love for the game. In a way, it is a forum for self-expression - an addictive, joyful, occasionally painful, and almost always fun and surprisingly competitive place. It's a web of interwoven and evolving philosophies of self, constituting style set within a commonly-accepted framework of a substance defined by attacking and defending. It's not bland functionality of pass, dribble, shoot, but a blossoming example of human creativity and decision-making within narrowly-constructed rules. In Pelada, we witness two former college players explore the global phenomenon of soccer at the pickup level.

This couple - Luke Boughen and Gwendolyn Oxenham - is the narrative heart of Pelada. Both had hopes of going pro. Boughen has begun to move on from this dream. Oxenham, however, dwells on what could have been and wants at least one more chance. For better and worse, each view their international interactions through their respective prisms. The two travel from country to country seeking and playing in pickup games - Buenos Aires, Casola Valsenio, Nairobi, Tokyo, Jerusalem, Tehran, and more. The fields range from concrete to grass to dirt and back. What shines through, no matter where they are, is the universal love of the game. If you have a ball and a friend, you can play. And if you can play, you will.

Erich Braun, a former University of Notre Dame star, makes an appearance in the film and discusses his inability to become a professional soccer player, despite alleging that he was better than others who became professional players in Germany. Rather than explore this theme with "why?", the question becomes whether Braun has given up hope. He has. Pelada's only fault is the frequent narrative presumption of a professional/failure dichotomy that comes across as a Hoop Dreams-lite for soccer.

But Pelada's fault is minimal. Its exploration of the game is neither psychological nor geopolitical. Director Ryan White rightly shies away from the latter - this is not "How Soccer Explains the World." Regardless, the cultural subtexts of the myriad locales make themselves apparent in Oxenham's and Boughen's inherent whiteness and the reactions to Oxenham's gender. Both race and gender matter in a visit to a La Paz prison game and gender plays a major role (obviously) in the duo's trip to Iran. Across many of the countries visited, however, skill on the pitch is what matters most, and, in the end, it's the shared joy of a simple game that makes this film.

Features : Impressions of Whartscape 2010 by Kim Tabara

Mon, 26 Jul 2010 18:44:52 -0400

Dear Whartscape 2010,

What�s up?

I imagine you are pretty tired after an entire weekend of being amazing. I know I still have sore feet. Do you think it was from standing for so long, or just the extreme heat firing up all that asphalt? I am not sure which, but our weekend together has left me walking funny!

I hate to get all personal when we are both clearly so exhausted, but I am to understand that this is the last time that we are going to get to be together, and I have a few things I need to say. As someone who has been with you for five years, I admit I am going through some mixed emotions right now about this being the end.

Music festivals are an institution. This is strange since they have a tendency to be terrible. And you are an awesome music and arts festival that has decided not to become an institution.

I respect that decision, but I can�t believe the news. Surely, there is a next year? Surely we will get together again, same month, different venues? As they say on the Internet, j/k, right? Right? LOLZ?

Maybe you don�t understand the gravity of this situation. It is only you who can do this to me, Whartscape! Only you can get me to spend ten hours outdoors on two of the hottest days of the year. I was warned by the City of Baltimore Health Department to reduce outdoor activities and to stay inside, and there I was watching band after band perform, chugging water, eating food from Wrapdragons, nodding my head to Rapdragons.

And in case you are thinking I am someone who is writing this letter just to get some kind of a free show out of you, let me reassure you that I can�t imagine anything further from that. My Megapass provided me entrance into a triumphant weekend, and I have zero regrets.

Do you remember when we first met? It was at the Charles Theater. Videos, ten minute plays, poetry, prose, dance routines, a Q&A with Ian MacKaye, a lecture from Mink Stole. You told me R.M. O�Brien would read poetry, and he did. You told me Santa Dads was playing, but they didn�t. That was when I started to learn about you and your published schedule, Whartscape 2010. Despite how many people were peering at you up there on the wall or spread out on the sidewalk, what you said on that poster wasn�t always true. You weren�t kidding when you told me that all set times were approximate!

As the next day dawned and we awoke to our weekend together, all was well. I went down to the site of our next date. You had re-purposed a nondescript Baltimore parking lot into something wonderful, something out of nothing. The seemingly abandoned buildings that surrounded us provided shade from the burning sun. You surprised me with a storefront set by the Oxes before I even made it inside. I was with you from Teenage Souls onward that afternoon. Your maple syrup snowballs were delicious. You are the kind of festival that inspires young men to want to yawp selections from Leaves of Grass at the top of their lungs, and I respect you for that. You let a man dressed as a giant Cup Cache chant and intone from your stages. Who does that? You do, Whartscape.

Right before I left, you worked your magic yet again. I was having a conversation with a friend about his love of Baltimore club music when it was made clear that Scotti B, a legendary godfather of Club, was about to DJ. As my friend ran off to dance ecstatically, to dance his pain away, I was in awe of your power. I wanted to stay all night, but I knew the next day was going to be something to behold, and I needed to get some rest.

Our third day and night together was one where I began to question our relationship. Isn�t this all just too good to be true? At last year�s Whartscape, I was conversing with a young man who was wearing a homemade Universal Order of Armageddon t-shirt. In our brief conversation, he explained that he made the shirt to honor the band that he feels was one of the best to ever come out of Maryland. This year, that band reunited and played the festival after a day that also saw sets from Altered States, Dope Body, Ed Schrader, Double Dagger, Ponytail, the Dan Deacon Ensemble, No Age, Arab on Radar, and Lightning Bolt, to name a few.

Are you reading our minds, Whartscape? You made dreams come true for so many people. How will we ever have anything like you again in our lives? In an age of instant Internet everything, you managed to craft a festival filled with unmissable and unforgettable moments. Your bounty seemed inexhaustible, great bills piled on top of one another, floor by floor, the H&H building overflowing.

By our fourth and final day and night together, we hit some bumps in the road. As the rain poured down, I feared for the worst. Plans were remade and venues were changed. Standing outside of Sonar Baltimore with others beaten and bedraggled by our wild weekend together, I took in the sunburns, the mangled wristbands, the dazed expressions. Only you can make us do this, Whartscape.

And yes, the fire department came. And yes, everything was subject to change (even this). But we did it. In fact, we can all get together and do this. We didn�t need anyone but ourselves and our collective will to make this happen.

At some point during our weekend together, free tickets were given away for the 2010 Virgin Mobile Freefest. I didn�t care. And that is all because of you, Whartscape 2010. All because of you. You�ve spoiled me rotten, and I won�t ever be the same.

Love,

Kim Tabara

Audio Reviews : Perch Patchwork by Maps & Atlases

Mon, 12 Jul 2010 14:52:48 -0400

For most bands, the debut album is the thing�the sink-or-swim, make-or-break moment, captured for posterity in physical form. It�s a product of months or even years of preparation and hard work, and its success or failure regularly dictates the musical futures of the persons most directly responsible for its making. As the album, so the band.

With this in mind, it�s somewhat odd to note that Chicago quartet Maps & Atlases� debut full-length album, Perch Patchwork, feels more like a sophomore gamble than a label-sponsored first time out. Compared with the percussive bombast, hyper-technical fretwork, and generally spastic math-rock bent of previous limited-press EPs Tree, Swallows, Houses and You and Me and the Mountain, Perch Patchwork constitutes a sharp left turn for the band, as it finds Maps & Atlases favouring instrumental subtlety and vocal reservation over frenzied sonic immediacy. Rhythmically, Shiraz Dada�s erstwhile prominent bass is frequently lost in producer Jason Cupp�s startlingly spacious musical mix, while Chris Hainey�s robust and intuitively free-roaming percussion is kept on a questionably tight lead. Erin Elders�s bright-and-clean electric six tends to play second chair to David Davison�s own hollow-body contributions, both of which are kept tucked all-too-safely underneath Davison�s distinctively nasal, mumbling, Muppet-like honk. A questionable move, that�though instantly recognizable, Davison�s oft-unintelligible vocals and rhythmic tra-la-la-ing are not exactly the virtuosic band�s main draw.

I mean, honestly: consider �Artichokes� and �Daily News� off You and Me and the Mountain, frenetically hammer-on-happy math-rock spasms partnered with vocals, not subservient to them. Set those up against the Baroque pop tendencies of Perch Patchwork, wherein Davison stands front and center while string, brass, woodwind, and choral flourishes tend to flood the spaces where quick-fingered riffs and polyrhythmic fills would heretofore have stood on equal footing, and it�s safe to say that Maps & Atlases have taken a bit of a stylistic detour.

Introductory track �Will�, for one, is a cavernously echoing and strum-buzzing hollow-body romp aided by wordless vocal trills and distant-sounding percussion, slowly building and seamlessly bleeding into the petulant coos of �The Charm�, in which Davison vents his jilted lover�s spleen against a light backdrop of neigh-unrecognizably distorted guitar tones and an expanding, explosive martial tattoo. That these first two tracks are a stark departure for Maps & Atlases is a given (whither the dueling hammer-on�s?), one that is more than a bit unnerving if the listener is coming into the album expecting mere studio enhancement rather than a stylistic evolution.

To soothe the skittish, �Living Decorations� heads back to more familiar territory with staccato finger-taps and rolling percussion augmented by six-string fuzz and doubled vox, but the end result is still more �produced� than the simply sung and cleanly arpeggiated fretwork of Maps & Atlases� previous endeavours. Likewise, current digital single �Solid Ground� doctors up the old formula with shots of woodwind and guitar distortion; the overall effect is calming, but no less driven.

Ditto for �Is�, a droning, humming, cooing, primarily acoustic �tude bridging �Solid Ground� to the far more upbeat �Israeli Caves�, the latter of which coalesces into perhaps the best union of old and new on Perch Patchwork: Hainey and Dada thumping, tapping, rumbling, and crashing their entrancing rhythms, Elders and Davison blending and playing off of one other�s bright picks and strums, and added choral support for Davison�s warmly warbled squawk.

Again, Maps & Atlases never quite attain to the rambunctiousness of, say, �Everyplace is a House� off Tree, Swallows, Houses, yet their newer compositions hardly skimp on complexity or dynamism�cue the brass, woodwind, and string embellishments of �Banished Be Cavalier�, the fleet-fingered riffs of �Carrying the Wet Wood�, the horn-aided finger-picking and head-bobbing bass thump of �Pigeons�, and the bluesy twang and lonesome coos of �If This Is� and �Was�. Raucous? Not by a long shot. Overt signs of maturing songwriting? Quite.

By the time string-and-woodwind-aided title track �Perch Patchwork� rounds out the album, don�t be too surprised if Maps & Atlases� newfound love of sedated symphonics begins to feel like something more than just a passing phase. While not irrecoverably removed from their previous efforts, Maps & Atlases� Perch Patchwork nevertheless demonstrates that the David Davison & co. have reconsidered their sound during their most recent stint in the studio, sanding down the sharper edges, brushing away the coarser grit, and hand-carving delicate bits of filigree here and there. It�s a cleaner, more polished and refined effort, and that much more accessible because of it.

Even so, since Perch Patchwork promises to be Maps & Atlases� first widely-available release�thanks in no small part to the proven marketing abilities and retail chain connections of independent label heavyweights Barsuk Records and Redeye Distribution�it's highly unlikely that most listeners will know the difference.

If you dig Maps & Atlases new approach, or simply hope to hear them play some old favourites, be sure to catch their upcoming tour dates with Cults and Laura Stevenson and the Cans:

August 12 @ Mercury Lounge � New York, NY
August 13 @ Knitting Factory � New York, NY
August 14 @ Kung Fu Necktie � Philadelphia, PA
August 15 @ Black Cat (backstage) � Washington, DC

Poetry : Waking Up by Koye Berry

Wed, 30 Jun 2010 13:06:07 -0400

The years blur by like scenery.
And I am at the wheel
Of a steel silver car

In a watercolor of city lights,
And pretty neighbor boys,
And the old chain stores

With my childhood inside.
I step out and into the scene---
Where have I even gotten to?

The car is gone.
The neighbors have moved.
The stores are all closed.

Features : Baltimore Bullets: Blessings Be Upon Us: Game 7 by B. Fins

Thu, 17 Jun 2010 14:12:51 -0400

Tonight, the two most storied NBA franchises face each other in the last game of 2009-2010: Game 7 of the NBA Finals. Few NBA Finals games have this much hype, and even fewer deserve it. The last time the Celtics and Lakers met in a Game 7 situation was 1984. The Celtics won. That game featured eight future Hall of Fame players including Kareem, Magic, and Larry. Tonight�s game features six potential Hall of Famers, maybe more: Rondo, Garnett, Pierce, Allen, Kobe, and Pau. Whether you love or loathe professional basketball, tonight�s game features enough of the best and the brightest to make for a fantastic final game of the season.

Here are your sports bar talking points and what to look for, minus the glorious histories of the teams, the age of the Celtics, Phil Jackson�s many championship rings, Kobe�s quest, and whatever other tropes (the 2008 Finals, etc.) are being thrown around nonstop.

The Glaring Absence of Kendrick Perkins
KP is a tenacious, physical, bruising center. He wears on teams and makes their big men work. Unfortunately, for fans of the game, his season ended in the first quarter of Game 6. His absence will mean someone has to step up against Pau Gasol, Lamar Odom, and Andrew Bynum. Kevin Garnett can do it against Gasol or Odom, but has been mercurial of late in terms of defensive effectiveness. The absence of Perkins may mean Bynum will not be as needed, but even a semi-hobbled Bynum will need coverage. If the Lakers consistently go inside to their big guys, specifically Pau, the Celtics don�t really have a way to counter.

Lamar Odom or his Evil Twin
While Larry Hughes has a rare, bizarro version of himself that makes shots, Odom prefers to alternate from game to game between mind-boggling grace coupled with intelligent looks and forced shots coupled with foul trouble. Odom is a big man who can pass, dribble, rebound, and shoot� when he has his head in the game. If he remembers his positioning, makes the extra pass, or dives for an offensive board, he could quite easily be the difference for the Lakers. As the inimitable Kelly Dwyer pointed out, watch Odom to see if he moves without the ball early � if so, that�s a great sign for the Lakers.

Rajon Rondo�s Offensive Availability
As the Celtics� point guard, one would think Rondo is always available on offense. He�s not. His biggest offensive deficiency means he is unusually absent from a play once he has made the initial pass. Since he doesn�t have much of a jump shot, the Lakers can effectively play five defenders on the four Celtics not named Rondo. If Rondo gets involved with pick and rolls and pick and pops, then the Lakers have no choice but to stay on him. Further, if Rondo makes an initial pass and then sneaks down to the low post instead of hanging out on the perimeter, the Lakers will have to pay attention. Keep an eye on Rondo�s movement without the ball � if he�s hanging out on the perimeter after giving Paul Pierce or Ray Allen the ball, this will be a long night for the Celtics.

Laker Defense: Clogging the Lane and then some
The Lakers were able to collapse into the lane fairly regularly against the Celtics in Game 6. This was in part because of Rondo�s unavailability but also because the Lakers made Pierce pay on his drives by simply stealing the ball from him. When they were weren�t doing that, the Lakers managed to force Allen and Pierce away from jump shots after the screen and roll. The Lakers played stellar defense on Tuesday. Try to see if the Celtics don�t make the Lakers pay for sending big guys out toward Allen and Pierce. If the Celtics do, it�ll be an entertaining ball game.

Bench Play
Neither bench has shown up to play in an away game during this series. Tonight, for Boston, that simply has to change. Tony Allen will be relied upon for his fantastic coverage of Kobe. Allen will also have to keep his passes simple. Nate Robinson will need to score, because that�s just what Nate Robinson does. Glen Davis will need a double-double. For the Lakers, Sasha Vujacic may have to shoot like it�s 2006. Shannon Brown has to keep his head in the game � highlight reels are great, but championships are better. Jordan Farmar needs to return with his Game 6 intensity intact. Even though the starters will be playing their final game of the season, the benches matter tonight, because if one starter is off his game, his replacement better be spot on.

The Indelible Mark of Jesus Shuttlesworth
Ray Allen has been conspicuously absent since his record-setting outburst of three pointers. In 2008, Allen helped will his team to victory with offensive boards, crunch time threes, and general tenacity. The following year, he was Rondo�s best man while KG barked from the sidelines and Pierce played martyr. An absence of Ray Allen is an absence of a chance at winning tonight, because the Celtics simply don�t have someone of his savvy, fearlessness, and accuracy to take his place. He needs to bring back Jesus Shuttlesworth because �basketball is like poetry in motion, cross the guy to the left, take him back to the right, he's fallin' back, then just J right in his face. Then you look at him and say, �What?��

Audio Reviews : A Balloon Called Moaning by The Joy Formidable

Wed, 16 Jun 2010 17:06:50 -0400

While always a bit laggy and muddled, the ways and means of international record releases have become even more time-addled in the era of digital downloads and manifold music blogs. Time zones and trade routes are racing to keep up with the immediacy of streaming bits piped through fiber-optics and plucked from the 3G �ther, with the physical product near-always falling behind legitimate downloads and less-than-official leaks. It�s a fairly substantial time gap, even more so when you factor in the logistics of transatlantic and -pacific shipping and the complicated business arrangements and substantial monetary investments required to secure international manufacturing and distribution of an album. After all, it takes more than an Internet connection and a few clicks of the mouse or taps of the touchscreen to get all that set up.

So it�s somewhat understandable that the debut EP of as-yet independent Welsh noise-pop trio The Joy Formidable took more than a year to make its way across the pond. Specifically, the time lapse between the original Japanese and UK releases of A Balloon Called Moaning and the album�s official US release constituted roughly fifteen months�Japan had it first in December naught-eight thanks to Rallye Label, with Pure Groove�s rearranged UK edition following but two months thereafter. The US, on the other hand, trailed woefully behind with a May 2010 release via Brooklyn�s Black Bell Records, in association with One Haven Music and The Orchard.

Quite the roundabout trip, that. Which is somewhat odd, and perhaps even redundant, considering that Pure Groove�s snazzy A3 poster-pack edition of A Balloon Called Moaning has been readily available through online shoppes like Big Cartel since February naught-nine, not to mention official downloads of the album via digital retailer Music Glue. I mean, yes, Americans do love the convenience of in-store purchases and iTunes downloads, but it�s not as though stateside listeners and record shoppes cannot do international mail-order or look beyond the big Apple.

Though it might be hard to tell, I�m less complaining about The Joy Formidable�s strange delay in making their US debut than I am reacting to the fact that, on the whole, American listeners are so terribly blinders-on and behind the curve with this one. Worse yet, both our packaging and (largely) our music press have done little to acknowledge this blatant temporal-listening laxity, preferring instead to make believe that it�s all shiny and brand-new, and that we�re right there in the thick of things and on the ground floor from the get-go. Hell, even the better part of this introduction is affected by an underlying Americentric way of thinking�that the bands and recording artists of the world must needs come to us, instead of us reaching outward and finding them, whoever and wherever they may be�a mindset which I would do well to correct.

And so, from the outset, an apology to Ritzy Bryan, Rhydian Dafydd Davies, and Matt Thomas: We boorish Yanks have arrived offensively late to your party, but thanks for having us all the same.

Late to the party or no, The Joy Formidable�s A Balloon Called Moaning comprises a brisk half hour of emphatic, fuzzed-out guitar pop of the post-punk-ish, modernized New Wave variety�a quick collection of incredibly listenable songs that casually work their way into the back of your mind and settle in for the long haul, their buzzing riffs and echoing chords never truly hooking you from the outset, preferring instead to linger in your subconscious and rise up in bits and pieces when least expected (and best appreciated).

To this effect, frontwoman Ritzy Bryan provides shots of occasionally dissonant six-string furor and haunting, melodic twee croons with more than a touch of emotional stridency behind them, sonic waves that crash into (and become one with) bassist Rhydian Davies�s watery, rumbling, mind-rattling low-end and drummer Matt Thomas�s kinetic yet somewhat distant-sounding percussion. There�s a familiar loud-quiet dynamic to the lot, the barely-there guitar strums, vocals, and atmospherics in the opening seconds of �The Greatest Light is the Greatest Shade� soon exploding into affected guitar chimes, humming bass, staid kick-and-tom percussion, and Bryan�s haunting promises of restful nights and better days ahead�a theme of present discontentment carried over into the rousing rhythms and choral coos of pogo-friendly floor-filler �Cradle�. And it�s a two-fold volume of decibels and density that assaults the senses in �Austere�, what with Davies cleaning up his typically affected bass lines to better compliment Bryan�s background oh-oh-ing only to re-up the fuzz when Bryan�s wry verses and buzzsaw riffs and Thomas�s propulsive percussion fill the song to bursting.

�While the Flies� keeps the pressure on with harsh guitar chimes and pulsing rhythms as Bryan, aided in the chorus by Davies, wistfully (and somewhat remorsefully) elegizes a fallen friend. Upbeat and aggressive though it may sound, there�s an indelible sadness and sense of loss in the song coupled with a nagging sense of personal failure, an inability to change the past or face the reality of the empty present�a barely bellow-board torment that, in Bryan�s unique phrasing, is �a shake in the spotlight, a three-part haunting that lets the drips in your eyes turn to walls and the frost rise in the heat of that sad face of yours. It will spill my goodbyes. It will spill, it can�t lie down. It�s all about me.�

If �While the Flies� is a mixed eulogy and apology, then �Whirring� is an account of moving forward in the face of loss, its toe-tapping tattoo signaling a march in the general direction of emotional normalcy, during which Bryan cannot help but turn her gaze back towards all that she�s leaving behind, crying out for strength and certainty amidst a musical storm of blaring guitar, growling bass, and crashing percussion. Really, poignant and catchy as it is, it�s not exactly difficult to understand why The Joy Formidable added �Whirring� to their ever-growing list of 7� singles.

Dialing back a bit, �9669� provides an affecting acoustic guitar duet between Bryan and Davies, a back-and-forth of dissolution, missed calls, and loose ends eventually tied up and packed away (though not altogether forgotten) in �The Last Drop�, its wintertime interim between old endings and new beginnings recounted amidst booming drums, coruscating guitar, and bass lines ever-burbling.

Closing out the album with a buzz and a bang, �Ostrich� adds a dense backing of pseudo-strings to its cacophonous bass drones, ringing guitar chimes, and pulsing, splashy drums�a tumultuous sonic sea in and through which Bryan drifts and swims in search of safe harbour and calmer waters. Like the majority of the songs on A Balloon Called Moaning, �Ostrich� is about letting go and moving on: collecting, curating, and eventually disposing of emotional baggage while struggling to not be buried underneath it in the process. It�s not an uncommon endeavour, but that�s probably why it sits so well with so many.

Certainly, head- and heart-clearing albums like A Balloon Called Moaning are not exactly anomalous material, nor are noise-affected power-trio pop acts like The Joy Formidable entirely unique. Still, sonically affected though it may be, there is a sense of immediacy and sincerity in what The Joy Formidable bring to the proverbial table, even if most stateside listeners are first hearing it long after the fact.

And, now that those same stateside listeners have easy access to the musical doings of this Welsh outfit, they have far fewer reasons not to give A Balloon Called Moaning a spin�or several�and to thank Bryan, Davies, and Thomas for the privilege.