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28 Jan

REVIEW: Marissa Nadler - Little Hells (2009)

Author: James Cameron // Category: Uncategorized

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To attain memorability, artists often strive for a consistent tonal resonance to align with the occasionally overlooked aspect of cohesion. Whether one hears a punk group achieve success through energetically volatile three-chord progressions or listens to an electronic artist successfully emulate certain emotions or experiences through a fusion of samples and original melodies, there is an undeniable responsibility placed upon the atmosphere found on a given album. “Soundscape” has been a word thrown around to describe these audible atmospherics, specifically in electronic music. But despite what anyone chooses to call it, there is no method in which to teach an aspiring musician how to master audible atmospherics. This is especially the case as recent years have shown, with an ample array of technological innovations in music allowing for more artistic flexibility (for better or for worse) in an area of songwriting that is one of the most accurate factors in determining natural ability. Along with the increase in production-based technology, the expectations of listeners are rising as the degrees of innovation within “soundscapes” appear to becoming just as relevant as the melodic content itself. Though many exist who still prefer the lo-fi side of things, there is a broad audience that heavily values the art of atmospheric dependability. And for this, very few artists reign supreme for a reason that relates to both natural ability and technological comprehension.

Unanimous association with tranquility can be a turn-off for some, as they may perceive such a style to lack the vigor necessary to result in something memorable. But as Marissa Nadler has proven with her past three albums, haunting serenity can be one of the most powerful forces at work. This appears to be especially the case in folk music, where minimal instrumentation is often prevalent and effective lyrical imagery is vital toward success. On her fourth and finest album, Little Hells, Nadler’s arrangements are not bare by any stretch of the imagination with tinges of throwback synthesizers, distorted bass, and chilling organs. However, they do attain a quality that never allows her works to be overwhelming or stylistically desperate. In addition to her majestic songwriting, it can be traced to one thing: Nadler’s uniquely empowering voice. She is able to instill beauty, temptation, and pensive melancholy through a voice that sits somewhere between that of an airy ghost and an undeniably beseeching angel. In other words, it sounds like it is not quite from this earth. These aspects may sound great to new listeners (as they are accurate), but longtime fans of Nadler since her 2004 debut, Ballads of Living and Dying, are already familiar with it all by now. In fact, the only thing they are asking themselves by now is what separates Little Hells from her previous three albums.

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In a rapid succession of sorts, there are few that will argue against the belief that Nadler’s releases seem to be improving with each sequential release. What makes Little Hells so brilliant is surprisingly not her approach, which is the similarly ethereal style she mastered on her third album, Songs III: Bird on the Water, but the songwriting itself. Fans of her previous releases will not notice any major stylistic changes apart from a more prevalent usage of synthesizers and several more instrumentally involved tracks, but even these are subtle enough to blend into the style of half-beautiful, half-haunting elegance that captured so many fans in the first place. Instead, it is the songwriting that makes the best use of her style. The enthralling “Rosary” is a track that could have easily fit on her previous album with its delicate acoustical progression and gradually implemented backing vocal harmonies. And like the most prevalent highlights on Songs III: Bird on the Water, the most beautiful moments are usually the ones that appear after several listens. “Rosary”, in particular, involves what seems to be a very effective slide guitar soaked in reverb under a vocal melody that complements the aforementioned beautifully. While it is one of the album’s more subdued and less demanding tracks along with other efforts like “Ghosts and Lovers” and “Brittle Crushed and Torn”, it provides as one of the greatest examples of Nadler’s subtle elegancies.

When moving on to the album’s more instrumentally involved tracks, one must keep in mind that the beauty of Nadler’s music is not decided by the number of instruments involved or how technically demanding the song is. Basically, since Nadler’s vocals often serve as a separate entity of their own with unpredictably effective melodies, there is no use in saying that a boastfully progressive track like the outstanding “Mary Comes Alive” is more intricate than something like “Rosary” or “Ghosts and Lovers”. Though the tracks on Little Hells boast varying structural advantages and melodic techniques, they all appear on a level playing ground that exemplifies Nadler’s cohesive tonal, melodic, and atmospheric consistency more than anything else. “Mary Comes Alive” is distantly reminiscent of classic Portishead with a ghostly female voice crooning over a bustlingly repetitive guitar progression, thick bass drums, and a synth line that first appears sporadically before it emerges as a central point of the song. Here, Nadler sounds like she is on the verge of tears, which is effectively appropriate considering the tone of her lyrical delivery. After a burst of synths, she proclaims, “I know we had a beautiful life, but things changed.” The entire track speaks to both emotional death and rebirth, a theme that Nadler has explored successfully before on her past three albums.

“Loner”, with its eerie organ and gentle acoustical strum, is one of the efforts on Little Hells that heavily benefits from Nadler’s natural ability to infuse ingenious atmospherics with a haunting cohesion of lyrical and melodic arrangements. “Loner” is indeed one of the most structurally repetitive tracks on the album, but it is also an aspect that Nadler clearly recognized as she was constructing the song. This song is simply an example of the pure atmospheric beauty that Nadler is able to concoct. The droning effect of an acoustic guitar resonates similarly throughout the entire track, but slight variations in the gothic-esque organs and synth pads (which resemble the sound of blowing wind) are what carries this song – along with the obvious (Nadler’s voice) – to great heights. And even on more expansive tracks like “Mistress” and “River of Dirt”, where her first accompanying “full band” shows off their powerful effect – Nadler’s beautiful subtleties resonate very powerfully. Though Little Hells is an effort that continues utilizing the aspects that made Nadler’s previous releases so memorable, both solid songwriting and the addition of a backing band makes Nadler’s fourth album a release of pure beauty that surpasses the material of all of her previous releases. 8.5/10

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Marissa Nadler - Mary Comes Alive

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Marissa Nadler - Rosary

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Timber Timbre - Lay Down in the Tall Grass

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27 Jan

Timber Timbre

Author: James Cameron // Category: Uncategorized

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Although it can be classified as one of the most straightforward terms in music theory, timbre also holds the status as being one of the most audibly important. If music lacked timbre, it would be as if a language was running on one word or letter. No inherent differentiation in melodic content or instrumental accompaniment would make the art obsolete, along with the abolishment of technique or style. This hypothetical babble has little merit (simply because it will never occur), but it is also worth pondering if only for the artists that make such detrimental use of it. Calling your project Timber Timbre can be one way to show an admiration for the power of minimalistic differentiation, but the gripping form in which Timber Timbre is able to powerfully emit through the bare tweaking of folk, blues, and pop music is an approach that comes off more resoundingly than any name or description. Timber Timbre’s instrumental arsenal and emotional capacity most often sound like they have been generated by a deceased choir that is broodingly unaware of their non-living state, making it quite startling that the project is led by only one individual, Taylor Kirk. In combining his blues-oriented influences and tactful songwriting, he has created a project worth dying for.

Like many aspiring musicians, Kirk began his career by manufacturing a series of lo-fi, acoustic-based songs that originated from his bedroom in Toronto. Well, bedroom recordings aside, his official debut under the Timber Timbre name was actually recorded in a farm house near Ontario. Appropriately entitled Cedar Shakes, his debut involved both warmly reverberating acoustical progressions and a central lyrical focus on nature and its surroundings. Looking back on it, the 2006 release of Cedar Shakes could have very well fit in the transcendentalist mold of recent recordings by buzzed-about folkies like The Tallest Man on Earth and Horse Feathers. In a conventional development for most modern folk songwriters though, Kirk opted to explore new territory on his second album. Medicinals was released in 2007 with even more immediate recognition than its predecessor, despite prevalent stylistic modifications that included a higher emphasis on blues and a broader instrumental arsenal (with jazzy horns and allusions to strings). Though Medicinals was recorded in Kirk’s apartment, it showcased an impressive side of his songwriting that was only slightly touched upon in Cedar Shakes. No matter how bare his songs are in arrangements or melody, Kirk seems to have the power to compel listeners through his quivering voice, atmospherically relevant lyrics, and enchanting song craft.

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Kirk has always been somewhat reluctant to classify his music as blues, even if the style has become the most predominant within his material. I suppose a part of his reluctance may be attributed to false stereotypes, as many new listeners appear to conceive blues as a style that does not have the ability to tread far from the basis of 12-bar-blues. Well, for the sake of these new listeners, I personally hope that Kirk continues to quell his stylistic reluctance, especially after the release of Timber Timbre’s third album. Apart from offering up eight highly enjoyable songs, the self-titled affair efficiently demonstrates how ambition and unconventionalism are perfectly recognizable qualities of the blues, as they always have been. A track like “Trouble Comes Knocking” can offer aspects of traditional blues from the get-go with a bass and harmonica simultaneously emitting a standard blues progression, but it is the way in which Kirk expands upon these conventional ideas that makes Timber Timbre’s third album Kirk’s best yet. Underneath the bass-led progression, one can hear the brooding cries of strings, a quality that tends to fade once Kirk’s vocals emerge. It is one of many ingeniously implemented tactics on the album, here serving to provide an inimitably haunting element at all times. When the guitars and keys arrive for the devilishly haunting chorus, it gets even better. With a yelp, Kirk concludes this section as he clears way for additional strings. For any fans of Southern gothic folk music, “Trouble Comes Knocking” should become an immediate favorite.

While the shrill keys and halted bass of “Lay Down in the Tall Grass” may initially to be borrowed more from Afro-pop than blues or folk, the entry of Kirk’s ethereal voice once again establishes the perfect meeting point between subdued blues and evolving folk. Like “Trouble Comes Knocking”, the chorus in “Lay Down in the Tall Grass” is primarily an expansion upon the original melody in the verse. Here, a shrill organ takes over the leading keys and Kirk’s voice raises in intensity, all while the bass remains generally similar. “I was born white, dry, and scaly, but you still took me home,” he sings. “Dreaming every night of you, shaking at the sight of you.” Whether the song serves as an ode to a figure of maternity or romantic love, there is little doubt concerning Kirk’s sincerity and emotional resonance. “Oh, I’ll be dreaming every night, I’ll be shaking at the sight of you,” he sings once more toward the conclusion, reaffirming the thematic focus over a melody that repeats itself until it becomes embedded in the listener’s head. Though one of the most stylistically unique tracks on Timber Timbre, it accomplishes subtle beauty through the things that fans of Kirk have become accustomed to: brilliant lyrical perception and cleverly infused build-ups.

The captivating opener, “Demon Host”, is more indicative of Kirk’s previous material with a solemnly acoustic opening over a series of clever metaphors, but – like most of the essential tracks on the album – it expands into something of a majestic beauty. “Here is a church, and here is a steeple,” he sings, just as the slight tinge of an organ can be heard under the acoustic guitar. “Open the doors, there are other people.” The theme that I gathered here is the comfort that one obtains from religion, even if it becomes detrimental to one’s perception of beauty in the world. But, like much of Kirk’s material, it is highly interpretable. The last minute or so, with its high-pitched progression of keys and backing choir of ghostly resonance, concludes a marvel of an effort that begins an album with plenty of similarly executed gems. After listening to this track, you will likely find it difficult to stop until the album finishes with the delicate “No Bold Villain”.

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Timber Timbre - Demon Host

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Timber Timbre - Trouble Comes Knocking

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Out of this Spark Records

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23 Jan

Here We Go Magic

Author: James Cameron // Category: Uncategorized

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In the life of Luke Temple, artistic transitioning nearly seems like a daily routine by now. In several career choices that are not particularly surprising from a multifarious talent, Temple has made a living out of being both a mural painter and a musician. Between painting murals in the grandiose houses of the New York City elite and singing his oddly infectious tunes in smoky barrooms, one could say that Temple likely has a good perception of what it means to struggle as someone who makes a living out of being an artist. Now, Temple appears to be doing just fine for himself, but his growing recognition did not come without any work at all. As he transitioned between considerably different jobs and states (from Boston to Seattle and California to New York), Temple gathered experience that proved beneficial to his talents as both a painter and musician. Perhaps most importantly of all, he learned what it took to alternate between various lifestyles and locales, all while maintaining a consistent focus on the reason why his renown is growing considerably: his art. While mural paintings supported him well enough, Temple’s true calling always seemed to be within the art of music. When he decided to prioritize his music-related pursuits above his respectable work as a mural painter, many wondered whether such a risky move would pay off in the end.

Considering that Temple pursued painting as a student at the School of Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, it may strike many as surprising that he chose to pursue music over something that he was well-studied in. After all, why not just study music in school if it were your most ardent passion? The truth is that few people realize their true focused potential upon entering, and even exiting, college, leading onto lives of regret and contradiction. Well, it usually is not that bad, but Temple is a good example of how initial interests can stimulate a latent talent. There is no doubt that Temple is a talented painter, but it is also a skill that can be rendered unavoidably prevalent in childhood. After all, in grade school, a child drawing a picture is a more common and accessible occurrence than one who transcribes music or writes songs in crayon. This interest, along with an easily identifiable talent, likely led Temple to his choice of a career as a painter. This career choice, like many others though, led to something else that eventually resulted in more appropriate circumstances for a songwriter whose lyrical and melodic prowess transcends many of those who have been set on a musical career since their early childhood.

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At this current decade’s beginning, as Temple was preparing to try out his hand at visual art, he began to develop an interest in music. He had enjoyed listening to music for the majority of his life, but it was not until then that he took a deep interest in songwriting, production, and the inner-workings of the art. An artist his entire life, the transitioning seemed nearly seamless as he released his debut, a four-track EP, in 2004. His full-length debut, Hold a Match for a Gasoline World, followed in 2005 and it was a fantastic display of the Massachusetts native’s songwriting ability. One thing that he kept the same was his commitment to striking visuals, an aspect that he accomplished through excellent lyrical imagery. For a former painter, I suppose it was not surprising. What was unexpected was Temple’s melodic virtuosity, a feat that was heavily accomplished despite the bare workings of finger-picked acoustics and folky ballads. The songs were not breathtakingly innovative or structurally unpredictable, but they were appealing and accessible enough for Temple’s words to flow with an emotional vigor that is essential in quality folk music. He found his first glimpse of mainstream success in 2006 after one of the album’s tracks, “Make Right with You”, appeared on Grey’s Anatomy, setting the stage for the release of his second album, Snowbeast, in 2007.

Snowbeast was a breakthrough for Temple on several levels. In addition to gathering the acclaim of both fans and musicians (Sufjan Stevens, Ben Gibbard) alike, it found Temple expanding upon his previous material without reverting to new styles of play or methods of production. Recorded in his Brooklyn apartment, the use of lo-fi folk was still prominent but the songs themselves benefitted from a more organized flow and a stylistic addition that saw some aspects of electronica being incorporated into Temple’s works. The structures were also noticeably more ambitious, with most of the tracks apart from the opening “Saturday People” taking unpredictable twists and turns that often resulted in an ingeniously engineered success. After the release of this, it was clear that Hold a Match for a Gasoline World was setting the stage for Snowbeast in showcasing Temple’s wildly impressive growth as a songwriter within only two years. And just like that evolution, Snowbeast has accomplished in preparing listeners for Temple’s newest release, a new project altogether that he entitles Here We Go Magic.

What Here We Go Magic’s self-titled debut does so well is that it takes the ambitiousness and electro-folk tinges of Snowbeast and combines them with unchartered territory that is not like anything Temple has done before. Half psychedelic-pop and half electro-folk, Here We Go Magic is yet another redeeming example of Temple’s growth as a songwriter. While a wide assortment of synthesizers, guitars, bass, percussion, and samples push him out of the lo-fi category, the songs here are more depictive of minimalistic experimentation than the structural ambitiousness found on Snowbeast. In fact, many of the tracks on Here We Go Magic like “I Just Want to See You Underwater” and “Tunnelvision” benefit from a repetitive riff or sample that remains somewhat consistent throughout the song. “Tunnelvision” sports an acoustic progression and a basic 4/4 drum beat that is not altered even once; the beauty of the track instead comes in the effectiveness of the warbling production and Temple’s high-pitched voice. The tone is ethereal and calming, a stark contrast from the synthesized arpeggios of “I Just Want to See You Underwater”. But this contrast is what makes Here We Go Magic so extraordinary. From the accessibly tropical pop sensibilities of “Fangela” and the use of Afro-pop in “Only Pieces” to the droning ambience of “Ghost List” and “Nat’s Alien”, this album is full of wonderful surprises. This especially applies to the concluding “Everything’s Big”, a track unlike anything else on the album with its naturalistic lo-fi sentiments involving acoustic guitars, keys, and a slight touch of strings. When this ends the album with its genuine flair of romance, it is difficult to even envision Temple pursuing a different art form. This is clearly his true calling.

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Here We Go Magic - Fangela

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Here We Go Magic - Everything’s Big

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Here We Go Magic - Tunnelvision

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22 Jan

Dan Auerbach Keeps It Hid

Author: James Cameron // Category: Uncategorized

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Seeing a successful solo project originate from a duo is not all that surprising. When a group revolves around the vision and talents of only two individuals, each one has a tendency of growing accustomed to manufacturing an independent thought before relaying it to the other member with sentiments of approval or disapproval. For half of a duo, transitioning to a solo project involves little more than cutting out the influence of a second party on one’s initial ideas. With that being said, seeing a solo project originate from The Black Keys is even less surprising, as few will question either member’s ability to craft something worthwhile on their own. The renowned blues-rock duo from Akron, Ohio is a generally tidy example of a group whose workmanship relates distinctively to a duo in which there is not one unquestionable leader. Dan Auerbach may be the most recognizable half as the lead guitarist and vocalist, but Patrick Carney has a role that is just as vital. After all, it is difficult for most contemporary blues-rock to exist without a rhythm section or some form of immaculate production, whether its intention to make things sparkle or soak in grittiness. For the type of blues-rock that The Black Keys have created so masterfully since their 2002 debut, The Big Come Up, gritty infectiousness was often more prevalent than subtle beauty or mid-tempo ballads. And while the duo has been undeniably successful in doing just that, Auerbach must have figured that any alterations should apply to a solo project that fans have been considering imminent for several years now.

The perception that Auerbach was going to eventually release a solo album had nothing to do with any sort of instability regarding The Black Keys, but rather in the fact that Auerbach’s creative vision is much too expansive to be restricted to a single project in which a consistent sound has already been presented, tinkered with, and applauded for. While it is true that Auerbach’s solo debut, Keep It Hid, encompasses a more eclectic presentation than the surefire success of The Black Keys’ previous releases, the stylistic departure is not stark enough for any separate comparisons than those of which originally fit The Black Keys. Once again, blues is the most prominent fixture, with the slight tinges of soul and folk being the effect of Auerbach’s longtime adoration for Junior Kimbrough. Born to a musically adept family, Auerbach spent his high school days getting acquainted with blues legends through his father’s vinyls. Blues stuck with him, especially as he learned to play the guitar throughout high school. As Auerbach explains though, garage-rock and most forms of contemporary independent music never struck him. For a group like The Black Keys that creates a very accessible blend of blues and indie-rock, many fans are probably wondering how their sound became the way it did. Well, like all successful duos, the other member’s influence on the group showed in more ways than the rhythm section.

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As a studious example of the benefits of a compatible duo, Carney’s knowledge of indie-rock allowed him to present Auerbach’s blues-oriented approach in a light that appealed to those who are not the most blues-centric. Auerbach’s songwriting showed tremendous talent in even its barest form, but his collaboration with Carney often proved vital toward The Black Keys’ accessibility and universal renown. Due to this mutually beneficial collaborative entity, many followers of The Black Keys have been curious as to the sound of Auerbach’s solo album for quite some time. How would he sound without Carney at his side? Would it be sloppy blues-rock, an overdone attempt at falsified indie-rock, or something entirely unpredictable? Many pessimists would wonder such statements aloud without taking into account Auerbach’s ability as a songwriter, a talent that has shown consistently on The Black Keys’ five LPs. Sure, Carney’s contributions were vital, but one has to assume that Auerbach has taken in plenty of experience over the past seven years to produce something impressive on his own. Keep It Hid shows this all right, resulting in an album that may very well exceed the quality of the two most recent Black Keys LPs. Such a statement may arouse controversy among the band’s ardent fanbase, but it is difficult to argue against an album that contains such a successful fusion of blues, folk, and indie-rock from a man who wrote and played nearly every moment of the album.

From the heartbreaking acoustical “When the Night Comes” to the raucously engrossing “I Want Some More”, Keep It Hid presents a wide variety of material that excels in aspects of eclectic, melodic, and lyrical relevance. That there was some doubt about Auerbach’s stylistic decisiveness on Keep It Hid now seems laughable, as he is able to retain his trademark ardency over styles both melancholic and volatility fervent. “I Want Some More” is led by a chugging mixture of hazy bass lines, psychedelic reggae-tinged keys, and a howling guitar that accompanies Auerbach’s lengthy croon on a seamless level. The occasional percussive silence leads the way for a chorus that sounds like some possessed gospel choir, led prominently once again by Auerbach’s distinctive croon. Multiple guitar solos establish some necessary variety on a track whose addictive tendencies mainly rely on fluidly integrated guitar riffs and elusive keys. Though more subtle in its effectiveness, “When the Night Comes” may in fact be the most beautiful effort on the album. Guided by a single acoustic guitar and a slightly faded backdrop of a synth pad, the track’s beauty is mainly found in its simple but eloquent message. “Don’t be afraid,” Auerbach says as he caresses the listener’s ears. Its focus on love is distinctive and easily accessible. “The one who knows you, the things you do, when the night comes,” he says, eluding to a love that comes around once a lifetime.

For those more enamoured by Auerbach’s giddily electric material, efforts like “Whispered Words” and “Mean Monsoon” flow with the blues-rock croon that propelled The Black Keys to widespread acclaim. However, if there was another track to compete with the high level of beauty that “When the Night Comes” accomplished, “Goin’ Home” would seem like a good choice. “So long, I’m goin’ back home,” he sings over a more tenderly incorporated acoustic guitar. The accompaniment here appears even more minimal, but Auerbach’s heartfelt lyrics and effortless voice makes even the most simplistic of efforts flow with genuine sentiments. It is a perfect closer to an awe-inspiring album, one that stands alongside even The Black Keys’ most renowned material.

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Dan Auerbach - When the Night Comes

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Dan Auerbach - I Want Some More

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Dan Auerbach - Goin’ Home

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Nonesuch Records

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20 Jan

Cymbals Eat Guitars

Author: James Cameron // Category: Uncategorized

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All bands have to start somewhere, and for Cymbals Eat Guitars it was as a high school band that dabbled mostly in Weezer covers (from their first two albums, fortunately). Listening to the music of Cymbals Eat Guitars in their current state though, Weezer is practically the farthest thing away from them in the indie-rock stratosphere. Though Cymbals Eat Guitars may immediately come across as a group whose intensity relays Modest Mouse’s early classics like The Lonesome Crowded West or The Wrens’ Secaucus, their overall sound actually appears to be more indebted to a wider variety of successful indie-rock trends of the past several years. They incorporate such aspects – whether it is sweeping strings, alternating song structures, or tonal experimentation – into a sound that proves perfectly depictive of what was so great about indie-rock music in the late ‘90s and early ‘00s. It is rather alarming that I find myself referring to those periods of time in such a fashion after they concluded less than ten years ago, but there is no denying the trends in independent music that have the potential to mold new artists, be it for better or worse. In the case of Cymbals Eat Guitars, their impressive stylistic approach stems not only off of their progressive talents as musicians, but also in their aptitude as fans themselves.

During the process in which Cymbals Eat Guitars evolved from a cover-centric duo to a wildly innovative group of their own, lead songwriter and vocalist Joseph D’Agostino advanced his own skills as both a listener and performer of music. During high school, he and drummer Matt Miller put together a very short LP under the name “Joseph Ferocious”, an alias that might as well apply to D’Agostino’s current work as well. He has always possessed a distinctively ardent vocal delivery, one that sits somewhere between the quivering croon of Isaac Brock, the vibrant angst of The Wrens’ Charles Bissell, and the vibrancy of Stephen Malkmus (another clear influence). When considering that D’Agostino’s songwriting also expresses a similar form of ferocity and hook-filled energy, it would have probably made sense to carry on with the “Joseph Ferocious” tag a bit longer. As with most high school bands though, distance became the primary factor in the eventual dissolution of the project after D’Agostino and Miller found themselves in college in separate states. After a few months, D’Agostino began writing songs again, intending to have his primary influence, Charles Bissell (of Wrens fame), produce them. For the task of recruiting a bassist, guitarist, and keyboardist for his upcoming session, he looked toward a somewhat conventional route: Craigslist. The site seems to have more bad deals than good ones, but as D’Agostino puts it, he got lucky with his choices.

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After responding to D’Agostino’s Craigslist ad, bassist Neil Berenholz, guitarist Matt Cohen, and keyboardist Daniel Baer joined after they became fascinated by the 19-year-old’s songwriting and level of intellect. That’s right – when Cymbals Eat Guitars officially formed in February of 2008, D’Agostino was a mere teenager. D’Agostino’s former musical companion in high school, drummer Matt Miller, also joined the project shortly thereafter. The fact that two members are presently in their early 20s and the other two are in their early 30s has been no hindrance to the band though. After all, both D’Agostino and Miller are way beyond their years as capable musicians. If anything, the varying levels of experience contributes to their unique sound even more, even if two of the five members occasionally get irritated that they are the only ones in the band that are unable to legally purchase alcohol. Humorous incidents aside though, the chemistry within the group is undeniable, and that certainly is shown on their extremely impressive debut, Why There Are Mountains. I will say this much: There is a reason that a musician as respected as Bissell has went on to say that Cymbals Eat Guitar “will end up indie famous within the year”.

With an opener like “And the Hazy Sea”, it is hard to not take Bissell’s quotation seriously. A flurry of guitars and D’Agostino’s yelp-ish croon take charge during the intro as a singularly possessive guitar progression serves as an abrupt bridge between the song’s true introduction. “Do you know how many cities have been built?” D’Agostino asks. He is followed immediately by some brilliant songwriting that remains both unpredictable and convincingly effective, featuring both stark smatterings of keys and explosive arrays of guitars. His vocal delivery often adjusts accordingly, especially during the song’s fiery chorus. That part in particular remains reminiscent of Modest Mouse, but the song’s structural genius and melodic excellence appears more indicative of an idolized act in the Wrens. “Indiana” is just as effective, with the most notable aspect being the mixture of keys and horns that cleverly fuse together to create something that is wholesomely infectious. In addition to the dramatically effective accompaniment of strings in “Cold Spring” and the guitar feedback-led allure of “What Dogs See”, it sees Cymbals Eat Guitars at their most subdued. This takes nothing away from the overall quality though, as it sits equally alongside infectiously vigorous greats like “Indiana” and the brisk “Wind Phoenix”, the latter of which sees an amiably successful mixture of keys and guitars show how Cymbals Eat Guitars can maintain their accessibility while still being bold and unpredictable. Much of Why There Are Mountains speaks a similar sentiment, coinciding with Bissell’s statement that it would be a shock if Cymbals Eat Guitars went a year without some sort of unavoidable acclaim.

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Cymbals Eat Guitars - Indiana

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Cymbals Eat Guitars - And the Hazy Sea

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Cymbals Eat Guitars - Cold Spring

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Fever Ray - Now’s the Only Time I Know

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16 Jan

Fever Ray

Author: James Cameron // Category: Uncategorized

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By the time that Swedish brother-sister duo Karin Dreijer Andersson and Olof Dreijer released their third full-length album in 2006, The Knife had already achieved a status as one of the most reputable electronic groups in Sweden. Two Grammi (the Swedish equivalent of the Grammys) nominations in 2003 brought them their first glimpse at national recognition, but it was their reaction to the award ceremonies that first caused The Knife to be one of the most talked-about groups in Sweden. In an effort to boycott the overwhelmingly male presence within the nominations, The Knife sent two individuals in gorilla costumes to represent the duo during the ceremonies. To be nominated for “Best Pop Album” in a country like Sweden where infectiousness seems to integrate itself seamlessly in each and every act is impressive, but for The Knife to make a bold move like that simply attests to their uniquely captivating purpose, not their desire for attention. The approach within their music is tackled similarly, utilizing elements of electronica that have existed in both the past and present to craft a style that is neither desperately overwhelming nor structurally predictable. Such concurrent components may seem to clash against some law of non-contradiction, but this rare ability proved to be the primary factor that propelled The Knife into being one of the most prestigious acts of 2006.

Upon the arrival of Silent Shout in 2006, The Knife’s consequential status as #1 on the Swedish charts was justifiably representative of a group whose massive scope of creativity did not even slightly hinder their ability to capture a large audience accustomed to the utmost excellence in pop music. As I mentioned upon classifying Silent Shout as my 18th favorite album of 2006, the album represented subtly infectious pop music in its purest form. Resourceful choruses and surprisingly straightforward song structures were cloaked in wildly imaginative atmospheric tones that were often the result of vibrant rhythm sections, in-key synth variations, and an electronic vocal approach that proved singularly unique to the Swedish duo. The production on Silent Shout was a thoroughly impressive look at modernistic synth-pop with its ethereal percussion and frosty synth pads. Still, the aspect that most listeners came away impressed with was how The Knife were able to transform vocals into an instrumental component that had more flexibility – both in its production and melodic prowess – than any series of synths or percussion that accompanied it. Whether Karin Dreijer Andersson’s quivering voice was chopped up, multi-tracked, or put through a variety of range filters, the duo showed mastery of vocal implementation within a fusion of throwback and contemporary synth-pop music.

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So, as you may be asking by now, why am I rambling on about an album that was released over two years ago? Well, in order to explain the sheer success of Karin Dreijer Andersson’s debut solo album, all one has to do is look at the variety of ways in which Silent Shout was so triumphant. Her solo project, Fever Ray, has recently emerged with a self-titled debut that is reflective of the unique aspects of The Knife and Silent Shout in particular. Few will argue that Silent Shout is The Knife’s finest hour so far, and this is mainly because it encompassed such a successfully consistent mood palette of coldness and echoed tension. Compared to their first two albums, it was a breakthrough in terms of discovering a natural flow for a group whose ambitious vision occasionally stuttered their progression of consistency. Like Silent Shout though, Fever Ray is the epitome of consistency, both in the quality and tone within the songs. And like The Knife, Fever Ray’s songs are bursting with hooks that somehow emerge seamlessly over production and synthesized accompaniments that are often unconventional. That Fever Ray’s debut sounds like it originated from the same distant planet as Silent Shout is obviously the result of Andersson continuing a formula that proved successful, but it also means that Fever Ray undoubtedly has the potential to find just as much success as Silent Shout.

One of the debut’s standouts, “Now’s the Only Time I Know”, is an accessible example of how Andersson has carried over her engaging techniques from The Knife throughout Fever Ray’s ten new songs, many of which are equal to or even surpass several tracks on Silent Shout. It is also one of the best examples of the way her vocals evolve throughout a given song in accordance to its instrumental accompaniment. Her first few lines are barren, reflected by a similar vocal track that is delayed by a few seconds. However, when a synth pad emerges and the percussion intensifies with an extra kick, her intensity rises and an extra dose of reverb is found alongside a chorus that works wonders with a bubbly bass line and trickling synths. “When I Grow Up” sees a more minimalistic approach, with a more consistently ardent delivery reminiscent of The Knife’s “Like a Pen”, only without the driving pulse of techno. “When I Grow Up” is instead accompanied by a mere synth pad, with the transitioning percussion serving as a guide for the song’s evolving structure. A few repeating guitar licks elude to the song’s explosive point, and the build-up proves well worth it as the conclusion features a very exotic synth line in addition to a pulsating bass. Under all this, the same percussive taps can be heard over the initial synth pad; it is simply a fantastic example of how Andersson is able to develop a song into something majestic and beautiful using subtle transitions.

Unless “Now’s the Only Time I Know” takes the title due to its highly accessible nature, “Triangle Walks” should have a good chance at becoming Fever Ray’s second single (the first being the opening “If I Had a Heart”). Using a synth arpeggio as its steady heartbeat, a twinkle here and there of chirpy keys adds to the irresistibility of “Triangle Walks” in a way that, like “Now’s the Only Time I Know”, should appeal to listeners who have little to no familiarity with The Knife. Those who enjoyed any of The Knife’s prior releases, though, will find Fever Ray’s self-titled debut to be more than capable of delivering the same thrills that one of the best albums of 2006 did so effectively. While there is still an expected clamor for a new album from The Knife, Fever Ray is an album that should wholesomely satiate fans on its March 23rd release date (March 18th in Sweden). For those who are too intrigued to wait though, the album is available online to download here.

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Fever Ray - Triangle Walks

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Fever Ray - When I Grow Up

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The High Dials - My Heart Is Pinned to Your Heart

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14 Jan

The High Dials Move to Moon Country

Author: James Cameron // Category: Uncategorized

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As evidenced on Monday with Andre Ethier’s excellent Born of Blue Fog, January is often a time for this site to explore releases that I may have overlooked in 2008. It is not by any means intentional, as no one could possibly listen to every single release in a year by the end of it. Instead, since I tend to avoid covering groups with a lot of buzz surrounding them since a simple Google search can usually provide all the commentary and information necessary, these releases are often indication of a group whose major spotlight is yet to arrive. When listening to the latest release from The High Dials, it is startling to me that I first discovered news of their new album a mere few days ago. I was a big fan of their second album, War of the Wakening Phantoms, and the stylistic boundaries that the Canadian group broke through. Like a large variety of new groups though, they were a victim of loose comparative ideals with their early material. They had yet to find a stylistic focus that was innovative and captivating enough to advance to the next level, one that brings forth both acclaim and recognition. An artist can quite possibly find success through a linear style if they choose to pursue glamorized mainstream pop music, but for a group whose influences include legendary groups like The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and other early British rockers that would shake their heads at the current state of pop music, that route will never be an option for The High Dials.

Despite the release providing little to flaunt in terms of stylistic innovation, The High Dials’ full-length debut in 2003, A New Devotion, was by no means a bad album. Tracks like the psychedelic “Can You Hear the Bells?” and the briskly infectious “Morning’s White Vibration” were pure successes, but listeners found too little to latch onto with a predictable flow that proved to be the consequential effect of a style that most contemporary music fans were already familiar with. It was also over an hour long, a flawed decision due to the group’s linear style at the time. Basically, differentiating between songs on A New Devotion almost seemed like a chore. Like any wise group though, they took the criticism openly and decided to tweak their sound for their follow-up. To test the waters, they released an EP in 2004 by the name of Fields in Glass. The self-titled track was initially featured on A New Devotion, but the EP introduced a remix that saw a more organized “Fields in Glass” after a decrease in atmospherics was substituted for a more audibly enhanced rhythm section. The remix of “Fields in Glass”, along with two new songs in “City Rivers” and “The House Where Trouble Sleeps” was the first example of The High Dials’ new stylistic intentions. And as their following album proved, it was one hell of a decision.

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Though an unavoidable stylistic transition occurred between the releases of A New Devotion and War of the Wakening Phantoms, it was certainly not as if The High Dials sounded like a completely different band. After all, the contrast between psychedelic mod-rock and new-wave is not as stark as it seemed, at least for The High Dials. Trevor Anderson’s vocals still evoke nostalgic psychedelia with heavy doses of reverb, but the melodies are now more memorable and the instrumental accompaniments are more lively and focused. Most importantly, The High Dials’ most recent two albums have found a bulk of their success through a more eclectic track-by-track approach. War of the Wakening Phantoms was the first to introduce this, cohesively implementing aspects of shoegaze, hard-rock, acoustic pop, and synth-pop over a central focus of new-wave and power-pop. For someone who had only listened to A New Devotion, ambitious efforts like the epic “Your Eyes Are a Door” and the synthesized “A River Haunting” would be a welcomed surprise. Anderson’s vocals remain generally similar, but the group took great strides on their second album with sharper songwriting, crisp production, and a sound that was certainly eclectic enough for a group aiming for both accessibility and innovation.

Due to the success and rave reviews that stemmed from War of the Wakening Phantoms, it is not surprising to see The High Dials pursue a similar approach on their third album, Moon Country. It offers plenty of variety and infectiousness, two commendable aspects of War of the Wakening Phantoms that were the primary causes of its success. Just to name a few of the highlights at their disposal, listeners have irresistible power-pop gems like “My Heart Is Pinned to Your Sleeve”, the electro-acoustic workings of “Killer of Dragons”, the ardently acoustic finesse of “Angels and Devils”, and the psychedelically epic “Open the Gates” to satiate any hunger for stylistic diversity. “My Heart Is Pinned to Your Sleeve” sounds like a cheerier British Sea Power (the introduction of bursting guitars could not help but remind me of “Carrion”), with the undercurrent of twinkling keys over a heavy bass and Anderson’s effervescent vocals crafting a bright power-pop delicacy with plenty of structural diversity on a track where a high level of accessibility is heavily prominent. “Killer of Dragons”, while just as accessible, pursues a different route with a series of electronic percussive stomps and handclaps build up to a chorus that is slightly reminiscent of ‘90s Brit-pop with an electric guitar reflecting Anderson’s vocal melody. The opening “These Days Mean Nothing to Me” is also notable for its build-up, one that sees a series of twinkling atmospherics convert to a fierce guitar-led fury that proves to be an excellent microcosm of the group’s newly utilized stylistic ambitions. At over an hour, The High Dials’ Moon Country may be just as lengthy as their inconsistent debut, but this time the long length proves to be a good thing. After all, when something is so enjoyable, it is hard to set such a limit.

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The High Dials - Killer of Dragons

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The High Dials - These Days Mean Nothing to Me

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12 Jan

Andre Ethier is Born of Blue Fog

Author: James Cameron // Category: Uncategorized

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The past month provided me with a much-needed break, one that allowed me to take a break during a time in which artists are usually reluctant to release material. After all, releasing an album in late December or early January bears the risk of being overlooked for year-end honors. It is not that most artists hold much merit in the opinion of most bloggers, but the rush of the holiday season can even bombard the most dedicated music fans so that finding worthwhile new albums is no longer their most prioritized task. This is at least was what happened to me, although I was not completely out of it. One bit of practically unavoidable news involved Animal Collective’s Merriweather Post Pavilion and how it may in fact be better than anything released in 2008, though writing a review seems rather unnecessary since most of the publications giving the album its deserved acclaim are spot-on. Still though, the album will be covered at some point. On another note, I will continue to encourage readers to check out my Top 50 Albums of 2008. It has brought a bit of controversy, both through agreeable and disagreeable circumstances, so feel free to jump into the fire. Anyways, getting back to the usual way of things, I will start with an artist whose name alone conjured memories of summertime baseball in the midst of winter for me. What else can you expect out of a diehard baseball fan?

Andre Ethier bears no relation to the talented right fielder on the Los Angeles Dodgers, but the Toronto native encompasses a talent entirely of his own in a musical format. He first rose to prominence as the frontman for The Deadly Snakes, a former Canadian garage-punk band, but is now coming into his own as a solo artist whose stylistic territory provides an enjoyably stark contrast to his jagged work with The Deadly Snakes. Shifting from a highly energetic fusion of rock and punk, Ethier’s approach now appears more studied and precise than ever. Not only is he able to emit a wider array of moods through a more comprehensible lyrical delivery, but hiss new stylistic focus on orchestral folk music allows his majestic voice to contain the support that it always seemed to yearn for. Despite their final two albums, Ode to Joy and Porcella, receiving a heavy dose of widespread acclaim and positive sales, The Deadly Snakes disbanded in the summer in the 2006. It is rare for a group to disband at what seemed to be in the middle of their peak, but it is saying something that their final two albums introduced a crisper, confident, and darker sound that proved to later serve as an adjuster for Ethier’s solo releases. Strings were ushered in, Ethier’s vocal usage proved more effective than usual, and the songwriting was excellent enough to simultaneously deliver a plethora of hooks and intricately implemented emotions.

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It is no coincidence that a similar description can be applied to Ethier’s solo works, and those looking for something a bit more in-depth have plenty of material to choose from. After all, Ethier has been quite busy since he left The Deadly Snakes. He has averaged releasing one album per year since, with his second solo release, Secondathallam, being put out the same month that The Deadly Snakes broke up (August 2006). On Blue Fog was released a year later, and his newest album, Born of Blue Fog, was released in Canada in December. The obvious similarity between his past two albums is the name; each album represents one-third of a project designed for Blue Fog Recordings that Ethier plans to complete by 2010. With the recent release of Born of Blue Fog, he is now two-thirds complete. On Blue Fog was truly the first release that saw the evolution of Ethier’s approach in its most prevalent light, and Born of Blue Fog continues to show that the Canadian songwriter is a master of tinkering with a style to perfection. Born of Blue Fog appears livelier than On Blue Fog in several forms, the main being how the strings are used more prominently and vigorously. Despite the instrumental differences though, one cannot help but notice the sheer quality within Ethier’s songwriting. From album to album, the way in which he takes risks to improve his songwriting is highly commendable and it proves no different on the excellent Born of Blue Fog.

Though the mixture of Ethier’s warmly reverberating vocals and eclectic instrumental output provides for something that is singularly unique, his sound occasionally appears as a distant cousin of ambitious indie-folk troubadours in the vein of Andrew Bird or The Czars. The utterly fantastic “Easiest Game”, though, introduces an arrangement and form of production that is more typical of suave jazz than clever indie-folk. Much of this can be accredited to the striking saxophone that makes its emergence less than 30 seconds in after the concise build-up of acoustics and percussion. As the sprinkling of keys and the backing of bass provide a sturdy accompaniment, Ethier’s vocals arrive when acoustics, keys, and percussion are the only factors at play. The sax returns when he dives into an eloquently compelling chorus. “If you’re haunted by a room in disarray, and you’re haunted by perfume of a new bouquet,” he croons. “Oh and love is just the easiest game to play, tie yourself to it and float away.” When combined with the simultaneous accompaniment of strings and a saxophone, the moment is bound to send chills up your spine. The final few minutes of “Easiest Game” proves even more extraordinary, recapping the song’s prior accomplishments in more instrumentally dynamic form.

Other highlights like “Infant King” and “Heaven Above You” see Ethier tread in bluesier territory, with the latter also sporting a chorus that is reminiscent of soul music with its driving organs. “By the Stables” is also notable for its structural approach, introducing a light acoustic melody during its first few minutes before it concludes with a somewhat ominous instrumental that is driven by strings. And even on the tracks like the concluding “Can’t Go Back Again” where nothing apart from an acoustic guitar and Ethier’s vocals are present for the entire duration, success is hardly subtle. In fact, the entirety of Born of Blue Fog is a nearly flawless product of a gifted songwriter who deserves all the attention that comes his way. Though one of Ethier’s largest gigs came when the Dodgers enlisted him in 2007 to sing the Canadian national anthem during a game against his hometown Toronto Blue Jays, his future recognition will not come simply because he shares his name with another celebrity. Instead, Ethier’s future should be indicative of the lofty talent that he possesses as a musician whose stylistic vision remains constantly and enjoyably unpredictable.

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Andre Ethier - Easiest Game

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Andre Ethier - Heaven Above You

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Andre Ethier - Can’t Go Back Again

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