Grounded and propelled by the boom and tick of a lazy yet indefatigable old-school drum machine, albeit augmented by occasional percussive crash,rattle and stick of a genuinely human kind, Anemones are all deep throb, jangled buzz, ambient drone, shiftless mumbling and, perhaps mostimportantly, rolling waves of reverberation so pronounced and significant as to be structurally necessary. Collected and combined, these elements make a warm, oceanic, somewhat totalizing music that operates inwardly, directed towards the uniquely fertile, semi-liquid quasi-agriculture of the mind. Activated this way, mind as such is here suspended, ala Descartes, as a kind epiphenomenal hazy feeling, a ghost between the ears. Both in and out of the body, this half-consciousness invokes a persistent, low-key dream-like psychedelic break in which the normal world itself becomes hypnotically elusive and mysterious, a pleasantly dislocating transformation enhanced by Anemones' minimalist, somewhat lock-groove languorousness and nonchalantly sardonic theatricality. But although often performatively 'druggy' in character, Anemones' music isn't therefore 'about drugs' in the sense of being 'about being made by means of drugs' or even 'about being made for or on behalf of drugs', as if simply copying such important stylistic and conceptual precursors as the Velvet Underground, Suicide, Spacemen 3 and the Jesus and Mary Chain. Rather, Anemones produce a kind of 'post drug' music, which here refers to a state of 'after-ness' and not prudish abstention or dumbbell reform. In fact this is a specific aesthetic strategy: after the drugs and drinks are long done and gone, sound itself remains the psychotropic trigger par excellence. Hence, altering perception, Anemones aim to turn listeners on ears first.
Bad Weather California — the minute-men of the 2010s — are taking misfit culture back to the streets. A working class band that is in it for life and not just for this week's blogosphere, they're post-internet. Cyber-punk was a futurist's fictional fantasy and here BWC are, living in that digital future, a punk band that doesn't sound like one. These recordings mark the first time the band brought their legendary live energy and chaos into the studio. Rough, raw and ready, one can almost hear the concrete floors they slept on the weeks before the session. As with all St. Ives releases, the album is limited (only 267 pressed!) and each album cover has been hand-made by the band. To up the ante,10 out of the 267 jackets printed have actual BWC blood in the ink!
While Belong still considers these cover songs, what we are presented with are shells, the ghosts of what we think we know about such a fleeting medium as music in the first place. And like the titleimplies, the music sounds weathered, a faded version of some original we might only imagine. As a record of covers, it sounds like the sonic palimpsest that it is exactly. On "Colorloss", one finds a humble treatment of the hierarchy of sounds. It is the equal attention given to each sound and its place in the mix that makes this a true musical democracy where each element shines in its own way, while propping up the others in a puzzle that would charm Archimedes. A wash of fuzz finds itself meandering thru a track holding hands with the vocals, the space between a breathe before the next submergence. What we have as a result is work of such staggering beauty and melodic thoughtfulness to stop Kevin Shields in his tracks at the wonder of it. And while the instrumentation and means might be different, this is a music that has as much in common with late 20th-century composition in the vein of John Cale or Tony Conrad as it does with the soundscapes of William Basinski or My Bloody Valentine.
Matt Popieluch, frontman for Secrely Canadian artist Foreign Born, has been making music as Big Search since 1999. After making significant aesthetic breakthroughs in his dorm room at San Francisco State University, he embarked on a four-track recording spree that lasted the remainder of his collegiate experience, resulting in several 90-minute "albums" destined for the vacuum of obscurity. The first official Big Search album Mysticism vs. Classicism was recorded in Popeiluch's garage in a house he shared with Luke Top (Fool's Gold) and Jason Quever (Papercuts). This was the very same garage and time period in which Cass McCombs' A and Papercuts' Mocking Bird were recorded. In 2004, Popieluch formed Foreign Born with Lewis Pesacov (Fool's Gold) and moved to Los Angeles, where he played his first true shows at Big Search and Mysticism vs. Classicism saw limited release on Luke Top's short-lived label Grand Gallop. Hereupon, Lay of the Land began to take shape.
The members of Broadfield Marchers have been quietly writing and recording power-pop gems for several years. Until now, few folks have walked in the hazy sunshine of the Louisville, KY trio. The vault has finally been cracked, with their debut long-player When the Lifted Connive.
While there is a certain tip of the hat to Robert Pollard’s anthems, deeper influences are shared with GbV’s captain â€“ ranging from Badfinger to Cheap Trick to early Bee Gees. All the while the Marchers avoid clichĂ©d tribute, maintaining a freshness not unlike contemporary practitioners such as Field Music and The Shins.
Fronted by the brothers Zdobylak, Broadfield Marchers are Dustin on lead vocals and guitar, Mark on bass and backing vocals, along with Justin Carter on drums. As is the St. Ives way, When the Lifted Connive is strictly limited â€“ in this case to 300 numbered copies. Though in an effort for the record to live on, St. Ives will be, for the first time, also be releasing the title digitally. But we all know mp3s don’t look as good on your record shelf.
Cotton Jones Basket Ride is the new band fronted by singer-songwriter Michael Nau (former frontman of Page France). The River Strumming is a delightful slab of fuzzed-out dream folk that thumps with a musical heartbeat in a manner not dissimilar to that of forward thinking modern-day shamen like Will Hart and Brightblack Morning Light. This album completed itself, so to speak, forming in pieces over a six month span while the band was working on its debut full-length Paranoid Cocoon (to be released in late 2008). It's composed of songs that are made of the tail end from _this_ song and the drum track from _that_ song, recorded over here and recorded over there, and so on. Nau and company initially set out to make a cohesive record, and made just the opposite. Some songs were recorded on one machine in December, finished on another machine in March, destroyed in April, then attached to another song in May. Likewise, it fits so well with the sort of records that St. Ives is in love with releasing — the three-legged dogs of the world, the records that don't quite fit elsewhere, barely even within an artist's own body of work. The River Strumming is limited to 300 vinyl copies in hand-made packaging — each LP hand-wrought (as all St. Ives releases are) by the band itself — and is not expected to remain in stock long.
Jon Rodgers has been writing and recording songs for what would eventually become Everything,Now! since his move from Athens, GA to Muncie, IN in early 2003. While known more now for their collectivist,“C’mon everyone,play along!”attitude that carries through live shows and recent recordings,the songs on Sunshine of Doom are more stripped down and personal by comparison.
Dealing mainly with the feelings of displacement and boredom that come with a sudden shift from thriving, artistic community to rural Indiana college town, these first recordings seem to exist just as a creative release. That need for creative outlet was even seen in the initial hand-designed and packaged CD release of Sunshine of Doom in 2003. Holding to that aesthetic, St. Ives Records is re-issuing their debut as a limited (300 copies) vinyl-only release packaged in hand-painted sleeves.
Friendo is a three-piece, guitar-driven band largely inspired by ‘90s experimental rock, ‘70s punk and ‘60s pop. Their songs range anywhere from breezy, effortless jams, to pulse-pounding post-punk gems. The multi-instrumentalist members, including Michael Wallace of Women, love to mix harmony with noise, creating their own seasonal landscape.
Greg Olin's work as Graves exudes a stoner surfer genius. His jazz-chord folk songs are loping, temperate and bittersweet — beach bonfire music made in a cloudy basement. The breezy, subtle complexities of his arrangements and his hyper-mellowed vocal delivery have an obvious kinship with other Pacific Northwest artists like Little Wings and Mt. Eerie. But his lyrical couplets have always set him apart. Here, on Summr Bummr, these golden couplets are mopey, mystic, absurd and enlightened — usually at the same time. On album standout "Natural Way" (which sees a mid-album instrumental reworking as "Natural End" and a loose, late-set re-imagining as "Natural Weigh"), Olin both sulks and opines about a break-up: "You should have broke my nose one more time/Just so we know what's yours and what is mine...I get so much more done in my day now/Now that there's no one in my way now." These shrugging triumphs set to sleepy, pleasing guitar strums are Grave's modus operandi.
Across Summr Bummr, with its reemerging song titles and themes like the aforementioned "Natural Way" and the blinds-drawn earworm two-fer of "O O O Around the World"/"O O O Around the World Again," it's hard not to read the album as a trudge through a cruddy summer vacation, a thesis on "Summertime Blues." But Olin said the collection of songs simply just fell together as friends pitched in over the last year or so. Recorded at his Portland home and at a friends beach house on a 1/4" Tascam 388, the album certainly carries an air of in-the-moment pop-improvistations. "A few of [the songs] were just made up on the spot," Olin said. "The whole process was loose. I hope that comes through in the music." That's probably very likely, but again, it's hard not to see a narrative arc here. Album closer, "Weed Out The Trips" wraps up this would-be storyline quite well. It finds our anti-hero in no better shape than we found him, still lost and bursting with ennui as Olin's bed of guitar strums sound like soft church bells in the distance. "Your mom calls in the afternoon/Wondering if you'll get your 'Thank You' cards out soon/Those are stamps you'd hate to lick/So don't and weed out the trips."
In the fall of 2008, Damien Jurado began a side project, with his younger brother Drake, to run opposite to, yet borrow from, the folk music leanings that he is known for. He wanted to add a dark early 60's garage feel to the songs. Infusing this sound came easily with the addition of his younger brother. With no musical experience other than high school choir (and being mistaken for Damien on the phone) Drake took naturally to drawing out the dark tales from the city where he was born. The songs are compelling in story, but also pay tribute in feel to the real town of Hoquiam.
Gothic folk, personal narratives, and simple strong percussiveelements define the music of Hoquiam. Sparse, desolate, and a place you will find yourself passing through from time to time - both the town and the band.
From fuzzed-out pop to countrypolitan swoon, Out of the Clouds is Hudson Bell 's fourth proper album, nine songs in all: seven with lyrics, two without. Hailing from San Francisco, the band’s sound, at once fresh and familiar, rides the half-pipe between lyrical hammockery and mighty, epic stand-offs; a bit of Willie, a bit of Cluster, the spectrum between â€“ this is HB’s most sonically diverse offering to date. A visual-inducing album informed by film, the cast includes phantom ships, gunslingers, classic monsters, reindeer, spelunkersâ€¦ Physical pressing is limited to vinyl only. Silver/Chrome painted recycled sleeves with front and back stickers, plus a different line of lyrics scrawled onto each. A true American hybrid brought to you by St. Ives Records, limited to just 250 physical hand-made copies.
Jeremy Jay lives in Angel Town. He plays the piano and sits out on his deck late at night and looks over the rooftops. Inspired by the cinema, his new record "DREAMLAND" is quite a unique record for him. A more experimental & classical record, this music was originally created as a "musik-movie", a soundtrack for a short film starring Jeremy Jay also called "DREAMLAND". While Jeremy is best known for his Buddy Holly-esque pop musings, "DREAMLAND" is a departure in that it is moody instrumental music composed on and for the keyboard, and feels like an Angelo Badalamenti score to a film by John Hughes. This St. Ives release is in a handmade edition of 300. The artwork for the LP is a Jeremy Jay paper doll set. There are two different paper doll sets for two different cover styles. Each LP is unique & hand-wrought. Of course you could cut up the covers and put the cut-outs on your wall or just leave them the way they are in their sleeve!
Thank heavens, for adroit dance music of John Hancock, who, at every turn on Antenna Death, finds the perfect, sexiest balance of slick dance-pop and the rawer funk decadence of yore. It's future-pop that knows the grinding together of hips and the exploration of your own awkward physicality, while not always comfortable, is a part of the greater elation. Dance music is about trading sweat with other humans, not the cold seclusion of space. And Hancock's homebase of Miami is dripping all over Antenna Death. The sites and sounds of Hancock's neighborhood, Miami's Little Haiti, are often manifested through a pop pallet reared on Prince, Funkadelic, the best of Beck, Simple Minds and Jon Secada (yeah, I just said that). He's plucked wholly different but equally delicious fruits, and with them whipped up a fine, fine fruit salad, which you are expected to feed hand-to-mouth to your next lover.
Winter death brings us future life, and thus sprang forth Lollipop Gold. Recorded on 8-track, 1-inch tape in a warehouse in Indianapolis, just a few months after the scheduled producer passed away in the studio, this record was made with lonely grit and a determination to do something unusual for that beloved lost friend and for the band itself in the middle of a cold Midwestern winter. Like multiple transmissions of alien radio channeled through a dysfunctional family band, the 17 songs on Lollipop Gold are as strange a mix as you can find nowadays coming from one body. Formed from the bellybutton of Marmoset songsmith Jorma Whittaker with a little help from friends, this cauldron of material was brought into light with a distinctly male/female, death/life, able/unable articulation. Comprised of half boys/half girls, some band members literally divorced while the band recorded. Jorma & Movie Bare are bound to be your fave new misanthropic do-gooders this side of nowhere, if you can find them. As with all St. Ives releases, Lollipop Gold is a limited edition (250 copies) with art hand-wrought by the band.
St. Ives has long been in love with the songs of Trevor Montgomery. Performing as Lazarus, Montgomery's nascent body of work began (after he left new kosmiche group Tarentel) in 2001 with the glorious Songs For An Unborn Sun (Temporary Residence Ltd.). Since then, two additional full-lengths have been released, further illuminating Montgomery's beguiling voice as both singer, arranger and lyricist and having earned him many comparisons to classic heavy bellowers such as Nick Cave and Leonard Cohen. After being commissioned by St. Ives to do a record, he decided to gather some songs together influenced by and referencing his teenage years. According to Montgomery: "At the time I was polarized by meth, riding trains, heavy psychedelics, and a love of spending my time in the mountains walking around in the woods. At 14 I tried to sell my soul for the ability to draw the female form in perfection, I skirted death several times, always seeming to be saved at the last minute by some good soul or random occurrence. All and all leading me to believe that the coyote's and crow's of the canyons were watching out for me. The Trickster in many forms, laughing and crying." Recorded wherever he could find space, but mostly in a photography studio in Old Town Orange, California owned by his brother. All songs were written, performed and recorded by Lazarus (William Trevor Montgomery). As all St. Ives records, The Trickster is available in limited edition (300 copies), each with unique hand-made art, done by the artist.
Recorded by Kid Millions (Oneida) over a weekend after seeing the Fireworks Ensemble's performance of Ulrich Krieger's transcription of Metal Machine Music, Man Forever is the maelstrom on the surface of a river. Kid Millions writes:
"A few months ago I went to see Fireworks Ensemble perform Metal Machine Music, I read the liner notes for the show, listened to the original record and learned how the piece was originally recorded. During the performance I was inspired to record an album right away. A conversation I'd had a year or so ago with Brian Chase (from the YYYs) about just intonation tuning with drums popped into my head and I visualized a monolithic recording that would utilize the rich tonality of carefully tuned acoustic drums, played powerfully and multi-tracked at different speeds onto the Ocropolis (Oneida's Brooklyn Studio) 16 track 1" tape machine. I asked Brian Chase to come to the studio and help me tune my drums so I could capture my ambition for the piece. Richard Hoffman (Sightings) added some bass to the final mix. The tempo is something like 180BPM. The piece moves fast at an almost imperceptible rhythm. It feels overwhelming and fluctuates constantly. Turn it up!"
"Hotel Music" is a pastiche of Serge Gainsbourg hooks, bedroom drone, California Pop (by way of Van Dyke Parks), and Downtown experiments. It is a musical portrait by Michael Leonhart, session player to the stars. It was written and recorded over the course of a five-month stint (if a worldwide tour that long can be accurately labeled a stint) playing horns with Steely Dan (yes, Steely Dan). He passed his downtime on the road abusing various camera & cell phone cameras, his portable sampler, laptop and whatever instruments that happened to be within reach. The result is a more experimental trip than his sadly under-heard pop masterpiece "The Ballad of Minton Quigley" (2007, self-released).
Leonhart has recorded four solo records in as many years between Steely Dan and Lenny Kravitz touring, as well as sessioning with such diverse artists as Brian Eno, David Byrne, Slash, Steven Tyler and Wynton Marsalis.
Michael Dwayne Adams has a unique gift for crafting engaging melodies while applying some well-oiled decision-making skills. Not since Low’s Secret Name has an album so easily lent itself to being the perfect accompaniment to either having a full-blown existential crisis or simply making out in the backseat at the local drive-in on a rainy night. The wit and candor of Roger Miller and Morrisseyâ€¦ the faint-inducing crooning of Roy Orbison and Chris Isaacâ€¦ the ethereal transcendence of Talk Talk and Starflyer 59â€¦ the dash-pounding drive of Neu! and The Ramonesâ€¦ the pop ingenuity of Badfinger and Big Starâ€¦ they all seem to be present in one way or another on Oscillate Wisely. And, not unlike the Cocteau Twins’ Tiny Dynamite EP, these captivating jams are blanketed in rich sonic whirlpools that make you feel as though you’ve finally mastered the art of lucid dreaming. As with all St. Ives releases, Oscillate Wisely is made in limited edition hand-wrought (by the artist himself) packaging using only salvaged materials.
The three members of Namelessnumberheadman grew up together in a small town in Oklahoma, but the three of them (Jason Lewis, Andrew Sallee and Chuck Whittington) ultimately settled in Kansas City and have been playing, writing and recording as NNHM for about six years. Having released two prior full-length albums since July 2002 that have been received well, but it's with this St. Ives release that they make their grand statement as artists. With Wires Reply, they join the afternoon drive between your ears where Sparklehorse covers Skylarking in its entirety, where Pinetop Seven and Tortoise make 4-track tapes as teenagers, and The Notwist backs up Robert Pollard in the beautiful headspace of blissful lo-fi stereo. Cohesive in sound and vision, Wires Reply is a dream that doesn't jump around and confuse you, but calms and guides you through a hazy panoramic photograph. This is a balmy summer in Midwestern America. This is the smell of the trees and the street at the end of the longest days. This is a genuine, honest celebration but, all the same, it is fighting the sinking feeling that there is no one left to believe anymore. The guitars buzz. The drums crack. The mellotrons whir. The three sing at the top of their lungs.
As with all St. Ives releases, Wires Reply is a vinyl limited edition release (to just 300 copies). The artwork is lovingly hand-wrought by the band in a celebration of folk art and the return to care in record making.
Normanoak has another piece of vinyl to share with the world, a true follow up to last year's A Double Gift of Tongues. This new album is called Estra, named after a powerful horned goddess whom Normanoak has been busy invoking recently in small performance spaces around the country. Everything was recorded in his bedroom in Bloomington, Indiana, on three different tape machines. The music on Estra shows more variety than any of his previous efforts. Chugging rock songs burn up into soft, dark dirges that feature a uniquely made-up language code. Screaming minute-long hardcore songs fade into freaky, fucked instrumentals. There is even a song which curses the current state government, and their excessive logging of Normanoak's home forests of Southern Indiana. Throughout these 14 pieces, Normanoak takes on many personalities, such as his alter-ego Poisonoak. Over time the listener can begin to notice the shifts in perspective that the singer makes. Normanoak is more than just another musician. His work is pure sorcery at its most successful.
Old Lights is the mastermind of chief songwriter/multi-instrumentalist David Beeman. He is a transplant from southern California to St. Louis, Missouri. Known to date primarily as a drummer with David Vandervelde and a sound engineer for bands such as Cold War Kids, Delta Spirit and Elvis Perkins, he's now recording the songs that he'd been writing on the road, focusing on his own material. Common story, yes, but uncommon songs. Over the course of the next year, he and Gabriel Doiron (who contributed on several songs as the lead guitar player/part time bass player/co-songwriter/co-arranger) built and tore down several improvised home studio's in their respective residences. Heavily inspired by post-Beatles solo records, Beach Boys harmonies, the result is a layered and textured pop album that would appeal to fans of Rufus Wainwright, Badfinger and Okkervil River. Some of these songs were written, performed, and recorded by Beeman alone in as little as 2 hours, with as little as 2 microphones, while others were months long collaborations between Beeman and Doiron with much more effort going into the production. It ends up sounding like the midwest with a little sunny southern California charm.
If it wasn’t for shit music, Radical Sons probably wouldn’t exist. Bummed out by the meathead Midwestern emo kids and aging hippie wannabes which they found themselves surrounded by, St. Louis teens Nick Risler and Benjamin Goldstein became fast friends. Hanging at the Delmar Loop. Sneaking into the monthly Chuck Berry gigs at Blueberry Hill. Playing old Television and Velvet Underground records after school on their local underground radio station. You could call it their own quiet rebellion. But like so many of these stories go, it wasn’t long before the call to crank the volume overtook them. So Risler and Goldstein dutifully answered, picking up a couple guitars and enlisting the services of Geoffrey Phillips and Patrick Shields to fill out a rhythm section and bring Radical Sons to life. The boys soon got attention by opening for critically acclaimed bands like Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin, Be Your Own Pet, and Little Joy. In the summer of 2008, St. Louis’ Radical Sons began writing songs that would eventually become their Throwing Knives EP. The songs are short and sweet- complimented by Ben Goldstein’s deadpan vocal delivery and a fleet of strummed-to-death guitars. The Sons crafted five songs that pay homage to the records they loved growing up, while adding something that only bored Midwestern kids could. Like all St. Ives releases, the record will be available through all digital outlets, and in a highly limited 300-copy run of custom-designed vinyl, loaded with exclusive home-made demos.
When Brooklyn-via-Newburyport, Mass.'s SAM BUCK ROSEN describes his brand of pop recordings as "avant-reggae" or "tropical grunge," it's easy to write him off as being cheeky or cavalier. But damned if his Dominant Mind LP isn't stuffed to the gills with clever incorporations of David Byrne's world music excursions, the first-thought-best-thought dance-pop experiments of Arthur Russell and the playful grooves of The Upsetters. Each ecstatic track is pushed along by Rosen's cock-sure voice, that of a man twice the 21-year-old's age and maybe the best adaptation of Elvis' croon since Chris Isaac (or Roy Orbison?). While Dominant Mind is essentially a collection of Rosen's best work over the last two years — recorded in a haunted house in the woods of Vermont and in a practice space at Bard College — many of the songs share the same inspiration: a small self-help book about taking control of one's mind that Rosen found sitting in the garbage. Note song titles such as "Freedom from Domination" and "Don't Let Your Clothes Wear You," each with minimalist lyrics that play as part word collage, part puzzle, part personal revelation. From "Freedom From Domination": "And I take personal issue/With vicious and feeble/Trying to wreck your own pretty is evil/And I lump you in with children and impertinent people."
Memphis's Snowglobe plays an entrancing blend of cosmic American music that owes as much to pioneering psychedelic country/pop legends like The Byrds and Gram Parsons as it does to modern-day fellow travelers like The Flaming Lips. Having played together since high school, the members of Snowglobe have a unique ability to create complex songs with a rich pallet of sounds in a seemingly nonchalant way. The Memphis-based band continues the long lasting tradition of playing honest music for the right reasons. Many comparisons to Neutral Milk Hotel, and Elephant 6 recording company have been made to Snowglobe, and as natural as the comparison seems, it seems to be an easy way out; Snowglobe has advanced far beyond this. Snowglobe sounds like Mercury Rev, the piano balladry of Tim Hardin, early '70s Beach Boys, and the Kinks. Snowglobe is a band that takes form past genres and pushes those influences a step or two forward. This is a very song-oriented band. The noises and kitchen sink extremities aren't thrown in nonchalantly; they are precise and subtle flourishes that add texture.
Working out the kernels of their corn-fried haze, Tammar is an exercise in balancing minimalist riffs with maximalist peaks & valleys. While the usual rise-fall theory of rock is tired, with Tammar there's a focus on the jam rather then cold hard numbers. On stage they are always a bit different - moments are stretched and condensed at will, and on record its no different. Minimal keyboards and drums bring to mind early Suicide while tripping guitars and theatrical accented vocals bring to mind the more paisley moments of Felt and U2, respectively. This four-piece from just north of Louisville, KY recorded these songs primarily live off the cement floor of the basement of Grotto Home Studios by the deft hands of Daniel Burton. Bending the materials of the world until the band itself is a conduit for feelings hot and wet and primal as sex. But that's not all. Tammar tastes the psychedelic aether, visiting the realms above as well as below, transmitting those good vibrations. Turn down the lights, turn up your stereo and rock these five hits of ecstasy.
With the release of "I Live Here Now," Bloomington, Indiana's Tammar gets the Peel Session that, in another place and time, would have surely been due. Captured over three live performances at Bloomington's Russian Recording in July/August of 2009 and mixed by Zero Boys' Paul Mahern at Echo Park Studios, this collection of post-punk anthem variations is a testament to why Tammar is one of the midwest's most exciting bands, be it in the live setting or when laid to tape.
Like a less austere, more exuberant Section 25, the Factory Records sound is maybe the lowest hanging, most easily plucked fruit on the Tammar tree. But for the eager ear, there are a variety of flavors at play: Dave Walter's triumphant vocal explorations serve as a welcome renovation of Yoko Ono's most melodic moments or James' early 90s work with Brian Eno, always finding that golden hook through his phrasing and rephrasing. The subtle layers of Sarah Wyatt Swanson's drums and Josephine McRobbie's percussion as they build and build through each song are at once tribal and deft. Evan Whikehart's triumphant guitar progressions take The Edge to the art spaces and basements where that true "edge" really exists. And the elastic low-end of Ben Swanson's analog keyboard serves as the strange, dark foundation for all these songs.
Engineered by Mike Bridavsky & Dave Vettraino, Bloomington's Erin Tobey also appears as guest vocalist.
The new album by The Black Swans, Words Are Stupid, is a batch of tunes recorded on 4-tracks and computers in kitchens, basements, and living rooms bound by the central theme of language letting us down and mucking us up. A little bit country and a little bit doom folk, the world of The Black Swans is where humans aren't animals as much as they admire them. A drunk boyfriend goes deaf in Buenos Aires; an artist paints a rooster; couples (don't) learn from the felines and the canines in the comics; cowards climb trees unable to assimilate with monkeys. Throughout, there is a lot of kazoo-ing, the wordless purr of joy. Pitchfork called The Black Swans last album "a sort of blues, full of thoroughly digested worry and world-weariness" and Dusted called their debut "one of the best, most overlooked new folk records of the psych-folk revival". Words Are Stupid is another left turn down the same WTF road traveled by kindred spirits like Hazelwood, Zevon, Robyn Hitchcock, and Michael Hurley. The vinyl LP features 200 different photographs of the same 40 poses from 5 photographers in a field of concrete corn framed in a silk-screened cock-and-balls drawing.
The Horns of Happiness return to the recorded world with their first release since 2007's What Spills Like Thread EP. Here we find the band in concept mode, balancing its pounding rhythms and airy melodies to create a soundtrack piece entitled Weathering Alterations. The band's normally speedy and structure-damaged tunes begin to stretch out, allowing repetition and space to create new moods. Originally performed as an accompaniment to the J. Shelley Harrison installation piece "Don't Rain On My Parade", the recording focuses on the reaction of the psyche to unexpected changes in environment. While this is not the true follow-up to the band's only full-length album, 2004's A Sea As A Shore, the record is a moody, rocking, and nonsensical song cycle. As with all St. Ives releases, this album is only available digitally and as hand-made limited edition vinyl (only 200 copies).
The Making of ExilesAs told by Craig Klein of The Race.
We were touring on our last record Ice Station (2007, FLAMESHOVEL), and spent several weeks on the road in our van the Black Boat frying in the Southwestern sun in places like Pecos, Abilene, Gila Bend, Imperial Sands, Needlesâ€¦ Exhausted late one night we tried to find a motel room near Odessa. Without so much as looking up from her tabloid the prickly front desk clerk of the lone motel in town says, “Everyone’s looking for a room tonight, son. We got all kinds of men, Oil Men, Machinery Men, Construction Men, Company Men and Sorry Suckers like you. There ain’t no vacancies. You won’t find anyplace short of El Paso.”
Hours later and a hundred miles from anywhere and damn if that clerk wasn’t telling the truth. We wound up flat on our backs pulled over and delirious on the side of Highway 10 in West Texas staring up at shooting stars during the Perseid meteor showers. That night under the widescreen sky the idea for Exiles came about â€“ it’d be a kind of Judeo-Goth-Electric-Western, conflating the Acid Westerns and Road Films of the 60’s and 70’s, with the Old Testament fire and brimstone of long ago. A couple of days later in Tucson over tequila I put pen to paper for the song Clack and headed West from there.
Back home I found inspiration in the photography of Edward Curtis, Richard Avedon and the Farm Security Administration, the stories of Moses and his followers and T.E Lawrence, the films of Warren Oates, Dennis Hopper, Peckinpah, Malick, Jodorowsky, Hellman, Roeg, and in the sounds of Country, Blues and German Electronic music.
I took all the images I could find and collaged the walls of my shitty little studio - a Blue Room packed floor to ceiling, without a window, paint chipped and crackling and a busted ceiling fan. I spent a Chicago Winter ritualistically holed up in there - projecting myself into a burning world. By day I was making exhibits at the Chicago Public Library. After work I’d stick around and look for source material. When I got home I’d eat the same meal every night then get to it. My bandmate Alfredo Nogueira would come over and play his silver slide and help arrange what fell out. We used a lot of those bits we recorded then on the album. The rest was laid down later with Josh Eustis from Telefon Tel Aviv on the boards at Benelli Sound Labs, the studio he shares with Alfredo. It’s our 2nd record together. We came up with a palette of sound â€“ crusty synthesizers, broken guitars, machinedrums, cave vocals, ran it to tape and out came with this record.
Exiles is meant to be an over-the-top experienceâ€¦ sonically, lyrically and thematically conjuring the desert, its dunes, mirages and holy mountains and the outsized personalities of the outlaws, searchers, escapists, wanderers, drifters, pariahs, prophets, misfits, mystics, miscreants and all the other sorry suckers who’ve called the dusty road home. As dark and serious as it may all sound it was a hell of a lot of fun to make and we hope an enjoyable listen.
Exiles is available as a limited edition vinyl pressing of 220.
Born like bored bolt of lightning, Vampire Hands are a quintessential kind of midwestern band. All of the personality and insular weirdness present in so many other Minneapolis groups' music, VH has taken all of their combined winters and created a cold and isolated sound that is hard to pin down but still strangely familiar. Their latest release, "Hannah in the Mansion," focuses more on the band's collective obsession with the wilted calypso-cana of Mayo Thompson and the rickety blues of Neil Young than their previous four releases but still maintaining their swirling, modern psychedelic tendencies. Despite recording and touring at a break-neck pace since their inception in 2005, the band shows no signs of slowing down and only expanding exponentially on tapping into their idealized vision of classic American rock.
Viktor Sjöberg was born outside Gothenburg, Sweden in 1981 and has been crafting and releasing vaguely popular music since the late nineties. In later years he has been travelling the world performing with Jens Lekman and this record was largely recorded during these journeys, featuring Lekman and many other of Sjöberg's musical friends.
"Breakfast in America" is based around a musical theme which was constructed by stealing some chords from a very famous pop song. It draws inspiration from the classic west coast AOR that Sjöberg grew up on and filters it through drone techniques, sample manipulation and jazzy pop sensibilities.
"Breakfast in America" tells a story of love. The setting is Anywhere, USA.
Tell the Dirt finds Vollmar in a formal studio environment, trying on a slightly more refined sound. It is a characteristically sparse affair, featuring band performances that sound more live than layered. The brain-twisting songwriting and moments of experimental flourish that have historically set Vollmar's music apart from the indie-folk crowd are likewise here in spades.