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Anti-normative behavior is expected from most successful artists. There is little reason for them to pay much attention to the Top 40, since worthwhile artists do not derive their material from popular opinion. It may seem like a bold statement, but there is little purpose in devoting a large amount of time to a songwriter who sounds like everyone else on the radio. Listeners come to expect innovation but there is often a personal struggle for artists that wish to find the middle ground between accustomed accessibility and staggering innovation. This process often cannot be resolved through practice though, as the proper ideology appears to be embedded within the talented scope of an artist whether it is before they start writing songs or not. If one has a tendency to gravitate toward the unconventional in the early stages of their life, it can provide good indication of such an embedded ideology. When Julian Velard was in his teens and started to become wildly interested in music, one can imagine the social circumstances that surrounded him. Unlike today’s auto-tuned R&B and subliminally linear pop music, the 29-year-old experienced the likes of Pavement, Nirvana, and the Pixies when music began to first tickle his ears. He enjoyed the emerging genres of grunge and indie-rock but, unlike his peers, much of Velard’s attention was diverted elsewhere: cabaret-style pop music.

While Velard’s similar adoration for stylistically contrasting groups like XTC, Hall & Oates, and Rage Against the Machine is indicative of his eclectic persona, his favoritism for piano-based cabaret pop in the vein of Elton John and Randy Newman shows most prominently in his music. However, Velard is not guilty of exploiting the past, as he allows his steady influences to be effected by components of contemporary pop music in order to ease the transition for his modernistic audience. Similarly to Rufus Wainwright, Velard’s demanding presence as a performer, vocalist, and songwriter is a simultaneous force that appears both on record and on stage. Hearkening back to the days of cabaret, he is a multi-instrumental whiz who uses his highly melodic vocals, engaging storytelling ability, and key-based instrumentation to construct a wide arsenal of uplifting pop hooks and melancholic ballads. In Velard’s case, this force is also inherent behind his webcam. Success has never been immediate for the NYC-based songwriter, but his practice of recording cover songs by the likes of Madonna, Michael Jackson, and Kings of Leon has provided him with nearly one million views on YouTube, being very symbolic of Velard’s method of obtaining success thus far. Although he has yet to attain substantial recognition in the US, Velard’s online fanbase continues to grow both domestically and internationally due to his personable online presence.

It was through Velard’s digitalized awareness that he has become a very recognizable name in the UK. One of the many spectators of Velard’s covers on YouTube and his online cult following were a few British music executives that eventually landed Velard a deal with EMI in 2007. Detecting that the British audience would be more receptive to his style of cabaret-pop, Velard moved to the UK and began writing material for his new album, The Planeteer. Prior to this, Velard had self-released three albums that were well-polished but went mainly overlooked. In the UK, however, the opposite was true. There are just certain groups (The Jam come to mind) who find momentous success in the UK and not in the US, and Velard’s case is fascinating since the US is actually his country of origin. Even so, it perplexes me as to how no American labels took notice of Velard before EMI picked him up. His style is distinctively accessible, enough so that his twinkling keys and impressive vocals craft hooks that are instantly prevalent and very radio-friendly. If I were to guess though, The Planeteer should be explosive for Velard’s stateside recognition. Apart from being his first release on a major label, it finds his excellent pop songwriting chops refined by sharper production, an increase in confidence, and less pressure due to his previous accomplishments (signing with EMI, touring with the likes of Goldfrapp and Ben Kweller, etc.). If both EMI and Velard accomplish what they have the potential to, The Planeteer could be one of the most prominent breakthrough albums of 2009.

Now that Velard has finally been given the opportunity to widely distribute his material, it is hardly a surprise that a few fan favorites are re-appearing on The Planeteer. Both “Jimmy Dean & Steve McQueen” and “Joni” appeared on 2006’s The Movies Without You, but they are certainly memorable enough to warrant placement on his first major release. “Jimmy Dean & Steve McQueen” is an irresistible ode to Velard’s appreciation of film and the idolized actors in them. Whether he sings of plastic surgery or unrealistic nostalgia, the loss of innocence relayed in “Jimmy Dean & Steve McQueen” is the perfect example of Velard’s delivery with its entertaining lyrical quips and assortment of saxophones, guitars, and keyboards. “Joni” is another particularly engaging pop song, being somewhat reminiscent to Ted Leo’s “Timorous Me” in its reflectively romanticized approach. The chorus here is marvelous, using an effective assortment of sparkling keys and swift strings to construct what has the potential to be Velard’s first stateside “hit.” Velard’s lyrical content is never particularly complex or thought-provoking, but his words are fun and his infectious melodies supplement them beautifully. As seen on any of these tracks, Velard has an astute ability to judge a pop song. His songs never stray too long or end too abruptly; they are always filled with enough melodic alterations to hook the listener from start to finish. It is a rare skill among modern songwriters and producers alike, and it is likely one that will finally carry Velard to success on a national level.

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Julian Velard - Jimmy Dean & Steve McQueen

Download audio file (velard-jim.mp3)

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Julian Velard - Joni

Download audio file (velard-jon.mp3)

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Julian Velard - Love Again for the First Time

Download audio file (velard-lov.mp3)

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Although they may not realize it, high school students are in incredibly unique circumstances. They have a general comprehension of the occupational process and the basic decisions that mold their future, but their current ideology is often restrained by a state of indecisiveness that makes both their appearance and ambitions a variable that can change at any moment. Unlike adults whose career paths are already defined or children that have little grasp of reputational or occupational advantages, high school students have the privilege of using their sociological and educational experience to actively pursue their most ideal future occupation without it being a detriment to their current standing. This is the primary reason why high school reunions can be so fascinating. Learning that the stereotypical loner developed into a profitable “people person” or that the arrogant prom queen was too embarrassed to show up are just a few examples of the dramatic parallels that end up often occurring. With outcomes like these, predicting someone’s future in high school is impractical due to high range of flexibility that one has in defining who they are as a person. This leads to all sorts of analysis; if I were forced to choose the “group” in high school that held onto their beliefs most durably after their graduation, it would have to be the “artsy” types. Whether in the form of music, painting, or photography, it seemed to me that students who devoted most of their free time to an art made it such a part of their life that abandoning it at any time in their future would be unrealistic.

How this ideology is embedded within the general practice of artistry is commendable, as exhibited by artists that we universally deem as influential. Great artists are often so consumed with their work that not creating art in their field is nearly equivalent to starving for them. If you put a canvas and paintbrush in front of an avid painter and told him not to paint, he would likely rather be told not to eat. Although they may have been classified as “those kids that dress in black and listen to weird music” in high school, the two members in Home Video are further proof of this ceaselessly productive ideology embedded into artists. David Gross and Collin Ruffino met in a high school art class, found an instant connection over the topic of art, and instantly began their collaborative process involving art. Ruffino was one of those kids that wore black and listened to ‘90s alt-rock staples like Smashing Pumpkins and Nine Inch Nails, while Gross was a classically trained pianist who had been sheltered from any type of music created during the twentieth century. Their first collaborative artistic venture was a film that Gross starred in and Ruffino directed, but their musical intentions soon became mutual after Ruffino introduced Gross to contemporary music. Sometimes an artist just needs to be stimulated with a little modernistic relevancy to bring out his true form, and this is exactly what the duo did for each other during the developmentally vital stage of high school.

A sheltered classical pianist and a fan of dark alternative-rock is an interesting mixture to say the least, but it was the similar artistic ideologies of Gross and Ruffino that molded the connection between them and brought them recognition less than ten years after their first art class together. Ruffino had showed Gross that contemporary pop music could be just as emotionally ardent as classical music, and Gross’ natural music ability aided Ruffino when the duo eventually decided to form their own project. Ruffino was wise enough to show Gross a variety of now-legendary albums like Radiohead’s OK Computer and Massive Attack’s Mezzanine, exhibiting a mixture between rock, pop, and electronica. College saw the two separate for a bit, with Gross in Boston studying music and Ruffino in New York studying film. Like all good friends though, they hung out during breaks and continued to write music together from time to time. Once the rush of college had subsided, Gross moved to New York and the duo began creating their first material for Home Video. Their first two EPs, That You Might and Citizen, captured the attention of Warp Records, one of the most prominent labels in all of electronic music. That an extremely prestigious label like Warp released their debuting EPs was simply indicative of the great potential that Home Video exhibited through their ethereal interpretation of electro-rock.

After Home Video’s EPs and their single, “That You Might”, began to attract considerable acclaim in the UK, the recognition started to carry over to the US as well. In addition to being featured in Rolling Stone, they toured with a variety of acts like Blonde Redhead, Justice, and Crystal Castles. Home Video’s debut full-length, No Certain Night Or Morning, was released in 2006 and featured plenty of promising material, but most audiences were still waiting for Home Video to capitalize on their undeniable potential. Seeking the transition that would satisfy fans who were aware of their talent, Home Video took a three year hiatus between the release of their full-length and this year’s release, It Will Be OK. Looking to acquaint listeners with their stylistic progression before the release of their second full-length, the four-track EP is available for free on their web site. As Home Video must have intended, the result is a magnificent leap forward. While their past material may have encompassed too many clichés to separate them from the rest of the electro-rock world, It Will Be OK appears to be Home Video’s first major step forward. The instrumentation never reaches points of startling complexity, but the gradual build-ups and subtle melodic alterations that the duo infuse into each song results in a highly memorable release that takes advantage of their electro-oriented sophistication without ever sounding too overbearing or desperate.

“I Can Make You Feel It”, the EP’s opener, is immediately indicative of Home Video’s growth. I doubt you can find a review that does not compare Ruffino’s vocals to Thom Yorke’s, but instead of the desperate imitation that was occasionally prevalent on Home Video’s past releases, his approach here sounds more natural and adjusted toward Home Video’s assortment of evolving percussion, gradual synth accompaniments, and subtle implementations of guitar. The melodic harmonizing within Ruffino’s multiple vocal layers is what establishes this song as one of their best yet, as the conclusion that sees an appropriate piano accompaniment cap off the song’s most consummate chorus is arguably the EP’s most uplifting moment. All of the tracks on It Will Be OK are hardly complex, and an effort like “You Will Know What to Do” remains reminiscent of the driving pulse present in minimalism. “Every Love That Ever Was” is notable for containing the most pure form of synth-pop on the album, even to the point where comparisons to Junior Boys are realistic. The arpeggio during the chorus may not serve as the most innovative in the duo’s repertoire, but it certainly does enough to get the listener’s emotions running; it is an attribute that Gross deemed impossible in pop music before he met Ruffino, but now both are crafting the formerly impossible. Because of this focused ideology, Home Video appear to finally be living up to their potential as songwriters and stylistic innovators. If this EP is any indication, one can expect Home Video’s second full-length to be the album that breaks them out in a big way.

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Home Video - I Can Make You Feel It

Download audio file (hvid-ica.mp3)

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Home Video - Every Love That Ever Was

Download audio file (hvid-eve.mp3)

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Home Video - You Will Know What to Do

Download audio file (hvid-you.mp3)

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Official Web Site

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Now that Flight of the Conchords have achieved immense and well-deserved success stateside, a brighter light has shined upon New Zealand’s prosperous music scene. Quantity has never really been an issue for the island in the Pacific, but finding success there can be very arduous when applied to the obstacles of touring and getting in touch with proper international marketing. Due to the limited resources and geographical constraints, there is little room for acts that fail to meet a certain standard since there is little use in investing in high-risk options. However, when artists as innovative as Flight of the Conchords or The Mint Chicks emerge, it is certainly not a major surprise to see a major label or international television network swoop them up. In the case of The Mint Chicks, one has to be impressed at the recognition they have received thus far. Although they remain far from Flight of the Conchords status, this is another excellent new act from New Zealand that has substantial staying power and a style that should undoubtedly appeal to western listeners. And although The Mint Chicks’ steady rise to fame is not as glamorous or instantaneous, one can be assured with their new album, Screens, that widespread recognition is not far off.

Like many aspiring groups regardless of location, The Mint Chicks began as a half-serious high school band that mainly used their status for parties and whatnot. Eventually though, Kody Nielson got an itch for the real thing and began writing songs. He ended up showing a few tracks to his brother Ruban, who came away so impressed that the whole songwriting thing started to interest him as well. When they started to attend Orewa College, the brother’s now-mutual artistic urges rubbed off on bassist Michael Logie and drummer Paul Roper. The two joined The Mint Chicks shortly thereafter and this prompted the rise for the quartet. After a few impressive performances, they were picked up by one of the most respected New Zealand indie labels in Flying Nun Records. They released their first EP, Octagon, Octagon, Octagon, in 2003 and followed it up with another, Anti-Tiger, the following year. These two EPs propelled The Mint Chicks to a highly reputable status in New Zealand, paving the way for their first two full-lengths, Fuck the Golden Youth in 2005 and Crazy? Yes! Dumb? No! in 2006, to appear on the New Zealand charts at #28 and #23, respectively. And in addition to appearing on the charts, even though The Mint Chicks had done everything from touring with the Yeah Yeah Yeahs to annually appearing at New Zealand’s Big Day Out festival, the group hungered for more.

Although the premise of New Zealanders moving to the US to find fame in the music industry has been covered commendably by HBO, The Mint Chicks also figured that the best opportunity to spread their music would be in America. And although Portland, Oregon is not quite comparable to the bustling nightlife of New York City, The Mint Chicks have found it to be a great location to be in for the past year-and-a-half. Ruban Nielson calls the Portland scene “very non-competitive but stimulating.” “We feel really welcome there,” he said. “People seem to find it really amusing and interesting that we’ve had some success in New Zealand and choose to bury our heads in the Portland scene in relative obscurity.” Relative obscurity may have described The Mint Chicks a few months ago, but the new release of Screens already has been greeted with the most recognition out of all their releases. The album’s current peak position on the New Zealand charts is #10, and judging by the consistent infectiousness throughout the album I would not be surprised if it goes higher or lingers for some time. Although The Mint Chicks have remained somewhat consistent with a mixture of power-pop and electro-rock that they label “troublegum”, Screens also marks significant leaps in focus, consistency, and songwriting for the band.

After The Mint Chicks moved to the United States in late 2007, bassist Michael Logie opted to stay behind. This created a challenge for the trio, as specializing in any style of power-pop or electro-rock practically requires bassy reverberations. However, as Screens shows, they are able to do just fine by incorporating low-pitched guitars and bass-like keys. “I Can’t Stop Being Foolish”, the album’s first single, shows tremendous organization despite the unconventional rhythm section. With its multiple layers of synth arpeggios, shrill keys, and screeching guitars, the trio constructs a brilliantly energetic anthem that benefits most prominently from the swift hooks that Kody Nielson’s whimsical vocals are able to flawlessly concoct. Rarely do the songs on Screens exceed three minutes and “I Can’t Stop Being Foolish” shows why this is perfectly justifiable, as The Mint Chicks are able to audibly emit so much energy that it’s hard to even imagine what their shows are alike. Well, with the brothers’ tendencies to hang from lighting rings and climb across stage equipment, it shouldn’t be surprising (yes, this photo shows Kody playing Cirque du Soleil during a show). When the trio tends to subdue themselves slightly though, their best material seems to come through. “Red, White, or Blue” is a hazy assortment of bubbly synth pads and heavily reverbed vocals that retain images of both ‘80s shoegaze and Animal Collective’s art-rock renown, while “Hot on Your Heels” capitalizes on little more than a handful of fuzzy guitar chords and handclap-percussion to achieve something very memorable.

“What a Way” is a particularly interesting example of The Mint Chicks’ multifarious nature. Coming directly after the excitable and hit-worthy “I Can’t Stop Being Foolish”, “What a Way” sounds like it was written at some murky carnival with its tenacious guitar progression and shrill synths that mimic the feel of an accordion. Kody Nielson’s vocal approach here is outstanding as well, as he shows his flexibility as a vocalist and songwriter with his brooding shrieks and ability to adjust to the many subtle melodic alterations within each track on Screens. As far as the other highlights on the album go, “Sweet Janie” succeeds like “Hot on Your Heels” with its guitar-based minimalism and “Don’t Sell Your Brains Out, Baby” proves memorable by being one of the few songs out there that use auto-tune without ruining the premise entirely. “2010” tends to stumble on its repetition and ambition, but all other efforts are fantastic representations of so-called “troublegum” and its clever fusion of power-pop, electro, and indie-rock. Such a classification may sound a bit odd, but when one is able to craft a style as inventively delightful as The Mint Chicks, they should earn that right.

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The Mint Chicks - I Can’t Stop Being Foolish

Download audio file (mchicks-can.mp3)

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The Mint Chicks - Red, White, or Blue

Download audio file (mchicks-red.mp3)

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The Mint Chicks - What a Way

Download audio file (mchicks-wha.mp3)

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Richard Swift’s scraggly beard, endearing voice, and piano-based delivery can all be indicative of the past in some way, but such superficial elements cannot even touch upon what makes Swift one of the most chronologically misplaced songwriters around. Instead, it is the methodology that surrounds Swift’s material that makes him look somewhat out of place in the midst of glitzy songwriters who release an album once every few years and use their appearance to define their music. This ostentatious nature is an unfortunate plague to the modern music industry, but it also allows us to focus more on songwriters like Swift who never appear to be satisfied with their material, always working towards the next release in an effort for continuous improvement. His appearance is never desperately synonymous with his sound, and his work ethic implies a constant yearning for stylistic experimentation in an effort to acquire experience and apply that to his future releases. Like contemporaries in the vein of Spencer Krug or Noah Lennox, he is a songwriter who can be held accountable for one release or more per year that exhibits an ability to cultivate innovation from pre-existing ideas that are accessible enough to attract a significant audience. Unlike many songwriters, Swift has the ability to remain seemingly unsatisfied with frequently excellent work, adjusting it ever so slightly without ever emitting a slight tinge of desperation.

These examples of work ethic, concisely engineered degrees of success, and stylistic experimentation can all be derived from Swift’s impressive discography, a collection bursting with different styles and approaches. The California native hardly adorns his material with bells and whistles, instead resorting to a generally straightforward production that shows off his raw skills quite unintentionally. You will find few artists today that continue to utilize a four-track, citing a lack of polish and flexibility. In Swift’s case, though, he has shown that the method applies considerably well to his music. After first finding his love for performing music by singing in Quaker churches in his early teens, Swift spent the remainder of his teenage years working on his songcraft with a four-track by his side. He moved to Southern California at the age of 23 and recorded Walking Without Effort that same year. Already beyond his years in terms of artistic management, he chose to shelve the release because of his dissatisfaction with it. Consider this: You are a starving artist without a release to your name. You complete a couple of songs and they are polished enough for an average to positive response. Most bands or artists in this position would rush to put it out, probably in an effort to say that they “have an album out.” This is what separates Swift from the rest. His ideology is so mature and selfless that it ends up positively overlapping into his music.

Since his sixth great uncle is the famous satirist and writer Jonathan Swift, one could say that good storytelling runs in Richard Swift’s family. Naturally, his lyrical ability is wildly impressive and has been since the since the double-release of his first two albums, Walking Without Effort and The Novelist, in 2005 by Secretly Canadian. The primary theme of The Novelist was heavily indicative of Swift’s forte, a writer who often comes across the romanticized perspective of unheralded artists. Simultaneously embracing all naturalistic aspects outside the realm of technology and toying with the idea of the overly romanticized artist, The Novelist was the first release that brought Swift some recognition. After that, the releases started to flow with Dressed Up for the Letdown in 2007, Richard Swift as Onasis in 2008, and now The Atlantic Ocean in 2009. He also released an album called Music from the Films of R/Swift under the alias of Instruments of Science and Technology, his ambient electronica side project, in 2008. While Walking Without Effort and The Novelist showed Swift’s blissful interpretation of Tin Pan Alley pop, each successive release had a tendency to explore new territory without sounding like an overbearing stylistic transition. Much of Swift’s material has been rooted in melodically rich pianos and rewarding hooks and these are the traits that have always remained constant.

Swift’s new album, The Atlantic Ocean, appears to be his most stylistically decisive effort yet, opting for a highly enjoyable mixture of piano ballads and key-led pop, with an occasional guitar here and there providing for a touch of rock ‘n’ roll. The keys are often adorned with bouncy synths, a trait that makes tracks like “The Original Thought” and “A Song for Milton Feher” one of the best on the album. Swift’s voice is endearing in a throwback sort of way, at times becoming startlingly reminiscent of the late Dennis Wilson and his brooding voice’s ability to sound remarkable over a piano. Swift’s material is a bit more excitable and upbeat, but a track like “Ballad of Old What’s His Name” succeeds tremendously with a spine-chilling chorus that has Swift repeating, “Please don’t you cry anymore,” over a rollicking southern rock flair. The guitar progressions are later accentuated by a beautiful horn section, sounding stunning under Swift’s excellent chorus. The equally outstanding “Already Gone” capitalizes similarly on Swift’s ethereal vocals during the chorus, though this time it is preceded by a brooding piano as Swift takes on a nasally delivery that seems almost Elvis Costello-like. “You know I love you, so honey don’t go, too many secrets you’ll never knows,” he croons in a near-whisper over the wavering of synths and a forceful piano. “But it’s already gone.” For Swift, it’s only beginning.

Although he may be classified as such, Swift is not a throwback ideas. His ideas are much too original to be grouped into such a category. The sheer consistency of The Atlantic Ocean makes it an excellent album in itself, but one truly has to applaud Swift for refining an already-accomplishable style into something with a bit more kick. Even on stylistically differing tracks like the consummate synth-pop of “Hallelujah, Goodnight!”, the intentionally distinctive image of ‘60s pop on “Lady Luck”, and the steady folk-rock of “Bat Coma Motown”, Swift succeeds on all fronts by providing diversity without sacrificing the heart of The Atlantic Ocean. Additional instrumentation like guitars, banjo, and horns make sporadic appearances throughout the album, and the various ways in which they are incorporated is highly impressive. Swift manages the gap between instantly receptive gems like “The Original Thought” and “A Song for Milton Feher” and invigorating displays of ardent triumph like “Ballad of Old What’s His Name” and “Already Gone” with remarkable precision, and it is an attribute that makes The Atlantic Ocean one of the most consistently satisfying releases of the year. 9.0/10

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Richard Swift - Ballad of Old What’s His Name

Download audio file (rswift-bal.mp3)

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Richard Swift - Already Gone

Download audio file (rswift-ale.mp3)

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Richard Swift - A Song for Milton Feher

Download audio file (rswift-aso.mp3)

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More often than not, categorizing Röyksopp into the subgenre of downtempo electronica can be an accurate choice. “Chill-out music” is a simplistic and linear term that some may scoff at, but there is no denying Röyksopp’s importance within the fledging music subgenre that gained prominence in the late ‘90s and early ‘00s. In 1996, Air’s Moon Safari was one of the first heralded releases to utilize this downtempo ideology without dwelling exclusively on trip-hop or IDM, opening up boundaries for electronic artists that tired of choosing between bass-pumping club mixes, percussive trip-hop, and the form of IDM that was ushered in by Warp Records in the early ’90s. They may not have been the first to revolutionize electronic music and its eventual implementation into forms of rock, pop, and other genres, but their 2001 debut, Melody A.M., broke new ground in its cohesive adaptation of electronica’s new image. They integrated the lush, synthesized ambience of Boards of Canada within the pop-minded sensibilities of Air, resulting in a style of downtempo electronica that was able to remain vivid and serene while simultaneously emitting a series of pop-centric hooks and sharp production that made their placements in clubs or commercials hardly startling. In escaping from the countless number of electronic subgenres and rash stereotypes, Röyksopp made a name for themselves with an astoundingly unique style in their first attempt at innovation.

Four years after the release of Melody A.M., the Norwegian duo underwent a considerable stylistic transition within their own previously presented form of downbeat electronica. The Understanding showcased a more restrained version of Röyksopp despite their higher emphasis on dance music. The most glaring difference between both albums, though, was the addition of vocal performances. As it turned out, this was the primary result of The Understanding’s weaker reviews, as critics often found the duo’s focus to be decreased as a result of vocal additions that often seemed forced or detrimental to a song’s structure or tone. The Understanding had its highlights, but most fans of Röyksopp yearned for an album that traced back to the instrumental tendencies of Melody A.M. while showing their new adoration for dance-like vocal accompaniments in a more cohesively expansive form. The Understanding lacked the overall ambitiousness of Melody A.M. with arrangements that were more repetitive and predictable despite their melodic nature. To release an album where the sporadic vocal highlights of The Understanding were infused within the experimental keyboard-led instrumentation of Melody A.M. would presumably be the best of both worlds for fans. And while integrating the otherworldly concepts of Melody A.M. is a certain challenge, fans should be delighted with the presentation on Röyksopp’s third and newest album, Junior.

Taking another four years between the releases of consecutive albums, Röyksopp have infused an impressive introspective within the material on Junior. Although much of the material will prove readily accessible to those that have never heard of the duo before, those considerably familiar with Melody A.M. and The Understanding will likely discover a sense of satisfaction that exceeds the initial listens of Röyksopp’s first two albums. The reason for this lies in Röyksopp’s gathered experience, which has consequently allowed them to fuse the stylistic successes of both albums together. Many longtime fans will hold “Vision One” in very high regard, as it practically epitomizes the duo’s growth in the last several years. What begins as a serene trickle of high-pitched keys eventually transitions into a dance-charged series of flexible synths, complemented by the enchanting vocals of Anneli Drecker. At this point, both phases of Röyksopp are present in their execution of vocal-led dance and synthesized experimentation. The vocal harmonies are conventional and accessible, with the plethora of accompanying synths and percussion changing virtuously in unpredictable form. After the vocals subside, shades of Melody A.M. are brought to the forefront with a series of synth solos that last for several minutes to conclude the song masterfully. Although “Vision One” is a remake of Eri Nobuchika’s “Sing a Song”, the ample amount of original content makes it one of the best representations of the album’s style.

Mixing and matching an array of past styles can potentially impact an album’s flow and diversity, which is another reason why Junior serves as a tremendous accomplishment. The outstandingly infectious “The Girl and The Robot” is perhaps the album’s most radio-ready track, bursting with sci-fi allure and arpeggiated glee. With vocals by Robyn, it is one of the efforts on Junior most reminiscent of the conventionalized vocal dance on The Understanding, but exceeds all previous attempts because of Robyn’s pure ardency and Röyksopp’s sharp production of strings, synths, and alternating timbre. “Happy Up Here”, the album’s opener and first single, is similar in its ceaselessly excitable nature, using a Parliament sample over chirping keys and buzzing synths. While a few clever alterations tend to minimize the repetitiveness of the overall effort, it proves to be fun but little more than that. In fact, it stands as one of the most linear tracks on the album, but still is a wise opener considering its accessibility and the overall depth of Junior. But when one compares either of these two tracks with the excellent “You Don’t Have a Clue”, the listener should gain an immediate perception of Röyksopp’s strength as songwriters and producers.

Contrary to the sunny-day escapades of “Happy Up Here” or the effervescent sci-fi musings of “The Girl and the Robot”, “You Don’t Have a Clue” succeeds with tonal resurgences that are haunting, exotic, and delicately interwoven. Anneli Drecker once again shows why Röyksopp keep bringing her back with a phenomenal vocal performance. Appropriate for a rainy day, the mixture of trickling keys, operatic backing vocals, and the somber strings that conclude them all craft an elegant composition with no rival on the album in terms of sheer melodic presence. When Drecker allows her vocals to become reflective of the backing instrumentation toward the conclusion of “You Don’t Have a Clue”, the hook is both chilling and profoundly brilliant. Once again, it is a remarkable display of Röyksopp’s juxtaposition of synth-pop, dance, and IDM. In addition to Robyn and Drecker’s cameos, Lykke Li also proves versatile “Miss It So Much” with her soft-spoken delivery and Röyksopp’s wise decision to make the track as similar to the highly melodic, sparkling form of Swedish electro-pop as possible. In comparison, Karin Dreijer Andersson’s tracks remain slightly reminiscent of her own projects (The Knife, Fever Ray) with a fast tempo. Unfortunately, neither “Tricky Tricky” nor “This Must Be It” stack up to the album’s other tracks due to the former’s forced demeanor and the latter’s repetitiveness. Regardless, Junior succeeds immensely due to Röyksopp’s undeniable growth as songwriters. They have always had sharp production, but the cohesive stylistic direction that Junior has taken results in it being one of the most memorable electronic releases of the year. We can only hope Röyksopp’s fourth album, Senior, will have a similar allure when it is released this fall. 8.5/10

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Röyksopp - You Don’t Have a Clue

Download audio file (rsopp-you.mp3)

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Röyksopp - The Girl and the Robot

Download audio file (rsopp-gir.mp3)

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Röyksopp - Happy Up Here

Download audio file (rsopp-hap.mp3)

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Eccentric personality traits can be quite glaring upon meeting a new person. For me, whether they are artistically focused with a plethora of innovative ideas or radically opinionated to an intolerable extent is often what separates creativity from pretentiousness. Similar qualities can be found in music, a field where success is often driven by these original ideas that may be considered eccentric or bizarre. The same can be said for the majority of arts, as few can find success with entirely conventional ideas after a type of art form has existed for over hundreds of years. Upon listening to her music, it is prevalent that Mica Levi values unconventional ideologies to an audibly unavoidable accent. Her musical interests have always been geared toward pop music for the most part, but the eccentric nature of her songwriting and personality has made for an odd pairing with perhaps the most straightforward genre in popular music. Like experimentally pop-minded contemporaries in the vein of Xiu Xiu or Animal Collective, Levi’s specialty lies in crafting songs that are unpredictable and unconventional without being overly inaccessible. When experimentation goes awry and inventiveness begins to border on pretentiousness, the lack of substance in a song can make it unlistenable. Levi does more than just make it listenable; she makes her one-of-a-kind style fun and constantly engrossing.

Now under the alias of Micachu, Levi has been building up buzz ever since her teens. She was acquainted with music early on, as her place in a musically adept family saw her writing songs before age ten. Her scholastic career was rooted in several distinguished art schools in her native UK, primarily dealing with the study of composition at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama. Around this period of study, she began to take the fast track to acquiring experience after she was commissioned to write a composition for the London Philharmonic Orchestra (which they played last April). She was not just honing her songwriting skills either, as Levi was also gaining recognition throughout London as a DJ and creator of a prominent mixtape, Filthy Friends. Looking to pursue the oddball variety of pop music that she had always envisioned, she proceeded to form a backing band called The Shapes before signing to Accidental Records. “Lone Ranger” was her debut single upon its release in May, while “Golden Phone” shortly followed in August. The singles achieved glowing reviews from local publications like The Guardian and Time Out, both lauding Levi for her elaborate ability to utilize unorthodox methods of production, instrumentation, and structural presentation while remaining instantaneously enjoyable.

When one can make the irritating sound of a vacuum sound fresh and engaging, you know there is a talent to be found. It is not the most startling thing in the world to find music comprised of field recordings or everyday sounds, but when an artist is able to transform the generic sound of a household appliance into something melodic and pop-oriented, it is something special. It does not stop there, as in addition to vacuums and household appliances, Levi has toyed with everything from glass bottles to homemade concoctions like the “chu”, a modified guitar that is played with “hammer action”, and a bowed instrument that she made out of a CD rack. Her debut full-length, Jewellery, contains 13 tracks that demonstrate Levi’s ability to juggle different homemade instruments with guitars, an assortment of synths, and a variety of inventive rhythm sections. Sure, anyone could throw a bunch of weird instruments on top of one another, but what makes Levi’s debut so special is her ability to infuse them so cohesively that the sounds of the “chu” or household appliances sound like they belong exclusively in her unique style of pop music. It also helps that the album is produced by Matthew Herbert, someone with few contemporaries ahead of him in the world of successful music experimentalism and top-notch production. When combined with little structural consistency, the sharp production and factor of unpredictability make Jewellery a unique ride that most open-minded listeners will never wish to end.

To get someone interested in an artist, I often find that showing them the artist’s most accessible song is usually effective, even if it is not their best. In the case of Micachu, there is no specific song that one may call her most accessible, as Levi’s focus is clearly and enjoyably that of crafting songs that appeal to both innovation and DIY dexterity, even if it sacrifices conventionalism in the process. “Golden Phone”, though, is a nice representation of Levi at her best. While the variety of synths, guitars, and percussion make this one of her more instrumentally conventional efforts, her vocal and structural approach is just as ambitious as experiments like the squeakily engaging “Just in Case” or the No Age-like appeal of the jagged guitars in “Lips”. She has a tendency of placing warbled guitar progressions under a plethora of twinkling synth lines, chopped up vocal samples, and sound effects; tracks like “Golden Phone” and “Just in Case” are both straightforward representations of this that should ease the listener into Levi’s stylistic realm.

In Levi’s case, it also helps that her vocals are quirky enough to make it seem as if she was born to experiment. Like a cross between Karen O and Mirah, she makes the best of her unconventional tendencies by encompassing a voice that feels right at home under a bustling array of otherworldly instrumentation. Check out “Eat Your Heart” for Levi’s vocal delivery alone. When she reaches a near-yodel when proclaiming, “’Cause I could eat your heart,” over a multitude of guitar progressions and sporadic synth lines, the importance of Levi’s uniqueness is prominent. So many pop artists tackle their songs with a radio-friendly approach that makes their material tiring. After listening to Jewellery, it seems as if the world could benefit from a few more songwriters like Levi, whose aim is not to climb the charts but rather to create something that has truly never been done before.

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Micachu - Golden Phone

Download audio file (mica-gol.mp3)

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Micachu - Just in Case

Download audio file (mica-jus.mp3)

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Micachu - Eat Your Heart

Download audio file (mica-eat.mp3)

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Accidental Records

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When synth-pop was first glorified in the late ‘70s, it was a musical breakthrough in a more than one way. Its introductory development was more dramatic than most of its stylistic predecessors, as an entirely new emphasis on certain instrumentation and methods of production arose when technology began to integrate itself into the typical structure of a band. Decades have always come to represent specific styles of music, and while the transition from the British invasion to experimentation within psychedelia and rock in the ‘60s and ‘70s had an undeniable impact, there was little major alteration in the instrumentation used and the general presentation of a “quality” song. Synth-pop’s introduction was quite an interesting development in the music world, as the style seemed to borrow fashionable elements from glam and pop music while relying heavily on a synthesized sound that was previously withheld from most listeners that used conventional radio to satiate their musical needs. The songs were hardly complex, and often more simplistic than the experimentalism in the ‘70s, but it hardly mattered. As one could tell by looking at most aspects of pop culture in the ’80s, style reigned in this decade. In present time, what remains interesting about this period is its effect on contemporary music and the new styles that have originated from it.

Now that sampling, vocal alteration, and most elements of electronic music are accessible to most of those with a computer, many with a talent for songwriting have at least attempted to incorporate similar aspects into their sound. The challenge here, though, is striving to sound innovative without being too caught up in the past (which almost always results in a detrimental cliché). Some groups like Cut Copy have incorporated elements of modernistic indie-rock into a sparkling array of synths, while others like M83 have chosen to evoke pure nostalgia with their blissful interpretations of synth-charged ‘80s romance. Choosing this method of electronic implementation is extraordinarily influential on an artist’s success, as there is rarely a line in this practice between immense stylistic success and embarrassing imitations. This great divide was not prevalent when synth-pop first emerged, but now that the genre has been heavily utilized there are fewer ideas that listeners have not heard. With this in mind, when I come across a contemporary electronic artist that does not stray too far from the basics of the style’s instrumental and structural approach, I tend to magnify some things. When a style that has been prominent for several decades is being used by an artist, their songwriting now becomes the most vital element of their potential success.

Unlike artists like LCD Soundsystem, Cut Copy, and Chromeo that blend elements of contemporary indie-rock or hip-hop over tinges of ‘80s synth-pop goodness, Tesla Boy are straightforward throwbacks that have already proven their ability in being one of the only current acts that can sound directly out of the ‘80s with no modernistic touches or technological advances. They successfully create pure synth-pop that reaps from an endless stream of hooks and monumental build-ups. On their debuting and self-titled EP, the Russian trio crafts an ingenious mixture of interwoven Eurodisco synth lines, glittering keys, and a ceaselessly active rhythm section. These are all complemented by Anton Sevidov, whose vocals encompass the stylishly European demeanor of synth-pop’s heyday. The trio is somehow able to come across as a fusion of Depeche Mode, Erasure, and Pet Shop Boys without sounding like they borrowed any primary ideas at all. Considering their style is undoubtedly within the same realm, most of this can be traced to Tesla Boy’s stellar songwriting and sharp production. “Spirit of the Night” should be a surefire hit with its energetic display of alternating arpeggios and twinkling keys, led by an irresistible chorus that finds Sevidov’s vocals and a newly accompanying synth line crafting an ingeniously gripping moment that can serve to epitomize the trio’s potential and ability to craft hooks.

Ah yes, the hooks. Where would synth-pop be without them? It is clearly an aspect that Tesla Boy value considerably, as is shown on the five tracks on the Tesla Boy EP. “Spirit of the Night” shows their chops well with its integration of synths that stretch from both sides of the range spectrum, concluded by an elegant synth progression that is perfectly backed by a bustling plethora of alternating chords that align appropriately to each melodic transition. Another single-worthy effort, “Electric Lady”, contains as much energy as the Hendrix album it took its name from. Compared to the somewhat developmental nature of “Spirit of the Night”, “Electric Lady” takes no time in propelling Tesla Boy to the pinnacle of synth-pop and dance, with the latter reigning quite supremely here. A series of quickly paced high-pitched keys establish the basic melody like most of Tesla Boy’s songs, but the subtle additions within an already contagious melody makes this and “Spirit of the Night” supremely infectious efforts. If released in the ‘80s, success would be imminent. As for now though, this trio has enough songwriting chops to reach a degree of success that should have all fans of electronic pop excited and familiar with the Russian trio whose apparent time machine has helped them create some of the most exciting electronic music of the year thus far.

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Tesla Boy - Spirit of the Night

Download audio file (tboy-spi.mp3)

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Tesla Boy - Electric Lady

Download audio file (tboy-ele.mp3)

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Tesla Boy - Fire

Download audio file (tboy-fir.mp3)

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The expectations placed upon the son or daughter of a musician can be influential, if not detrimental, toward their own perception of the art in general. When a parent has achieved their success through music, it seems only natural and hereditarily compatible for the child to pursue something of a similar nature. The worst thing, however, is when their material achieves recognition based on the fame of their predecessor alone. As the son of Barry Andrews, a keyboardist who has collaborated with everyone from XTC to David Bowie, Finn Andrews grew up with music all around him. Although his father exposed him to the inner-workings of music production at a young age, Finn himself was never enamored by music until his late teens, instead viewing painting or filmmaking as his profession of choice. By the time he decided to leave his school in New Zealand at the age of 16 to pursue music full-time in London, he was fully engrossed in music. The art had grown on him over time. Now, considering that his father is quite prominent and likely has many connections with the industry, many would assume that Finn’s breakthrough was easy as cake, especially since he scored a record deal with Rough Trade only one month after moving to the UK. But as The Veils’ next several releases would prove, Andrews would have achieved recognition whether he was the son of a prominent musician or not. To simply put it, his songwriting was just too good to go by unnoticed.

While his last name may have helped him a bit in getting signed to Rough Trade, getting signed to a label is not necessarily a guarantee for the spotlight. For The Veils, their struggles began after being signed. It took five years, several lineup changes, and shifts in genres for them to release The Runaway Found, but its release was treated warmly and it ended up being one of my favorite albums from 2004. At this point, Andrews had found his comfort zone with an engrossing fusion of key-led indie-rock and folk. Nux Vomica was released in 2006, earning honors on this site as the third best album of the year for being an even better representation of The Veils’ style. Although Andrews had achieved success at this point, the struggles that he endured in the past were still prominent in his music. The lyrical focus of both albums often pertained to the importance of commitment to a passionate cause, whether it was love or angst. As listeners learned, brutal honesty was one of Andrews’ most prominent strengths. He has the ability to draw analysis from personal experience, a skill that many contemporary artists lack. In addition to his astoundingly impressive songwriting, this genuine presentation is an aspect that made each Veils release some of the most criminally overlooked material of their respective years.

While Andrews’ personally genuine lyrical sentiments and dazzling songwriting are certainly beneficial, many fans tend to most easily identify him by his very distinctive voice. What is interesting about his delivery is that he maintains a cohesive tone, all while exhibiting an array of fervent yelps, mumblings, and natural vibrato. The array of emotions that his vocals convey have always been impressive, whether it is the heartfelt optimism on “Advice for Young Mothers to Be”, romanticized angst on “Vicious Traditions”, or the delicately anecdotal “Talk Down the Girl”. On The Veils’ third album, Sun Gangs, Andrews offers the audience his most diverse vocal showing to date. He tackles everything from piano-led balladry to heavily distorted alternative-rock, doing so in an effectively cohesive manner that proves reflective of the group’s contrasting array of moods. This should be nothing entirely new for listeners though, as both preceding albums were impressively eclectic in their own right. The excellent placement of “Sit Down By the Fire” as the opening tack of Sun Gangs has rewarding intentions, greeting listeners with an effort that shows most of The Veils’ strengths in four minutes. With its fluttering acoustics, driving keys, delightful melody, and strongly poetic lyrics, it serves as a nice introduction for new listeners and a refresher for the many fans that have been waiting patiently since the release of Nux Vomica.

“Sit Down By the Fire” proves to be a very satisfying opener in finding middle ground between The Veils’ ballads and rock-oriented efforts, paving the way for the abrupt transition toward the group’s tonal diversity throughout the album. The self-titled track follows as a tender piano ballad, featuring Andrews somberly proclaiming, “Where I am going you can’t save me,” over little more than the high-pitched notes of a piano and occasional bass. “Sun Gangs” finds itself placed between two tracks that seem to be at least moderately intricate in instrumentation, providing a breather between “Sit Down By the Fire” and the brilliantly consuming “The Letter”. Andrews has placed tracks accordingly in order to manage the variety of moods cohesively on all of The Veils’ past releases, but the structural organization throughout Sun Gangs is his best work in this department yet. As far as “The Letter” goes, it is one of Andrews’ finest efforts to date and should make as a hugely successful single. Like “Advice for Young Mothers to Be” and “One Night on Earth”, Andrews’ alt-rock leanings are present, although one could say that this is arguably the most definitive representation of it. Guitars are most prominent here, especially after the chorus where several guitar progressions clash to produce a sound somewhat reminiscent of The Arcade Fire. Andrews’ voice and lyrics, though, make this entirely his own. The hook that the chorus delivers with its infectious guitar line is utterly irresistible, perhaps setting up for The Veils’ long-awaited breakthrough. Either way, “The Letter” is an effort that should captivate listeners after the first listen and through many more after that.

After “The Letter”, Sun Gangs undergoes an interesting twist with the fascinating “Killed by the Boom”. The percussion is uncharacteristically heavy for The Veils, as is the prominent use of guitar and bass. Andrews emits a series of snarls over a dark orchestration of booming guitars and droning bass, establishing a feel of heavy ‘90s alternative and punk that appears surprisingly reminiscent of Placebo or some Smashing Pumpkins. Again though, his voice makes it sound very contemporary, leaving no room for entirely accurate comparisons. The result is a success though, primarily attributed to the cohesive layering between Andrews’ vocals and the heavily involved instrumentation surrounding it. This kicks off a period on the album where ambition is at the forefront. The enjoyable “Three Sisters” has a Celtic undertone to it with its rapid usage of acoustics, while “It Hits Deep” is an evolutionary epic that eventually goes from a repetitive vocal melody with sole percussive backing to an anthemic bliss of sorts with active guitars and rhythm. The unweaving of the different melodic elements within “It Hits Deep” is very satisfying.

“The House She Lives In” returns the album to somewhat more conventional territory, offering a nostalgic mixture of keys and guitars to craft a verse that is depictive of ‘60s pop. The slick chorus and accompaniment of strings is classic Veils though, and it results in being one of the best songs on the album because of it. Although the last three songs lack in the focus of other songs on the album, the moody “Larkspur” and soft-spoken “Scarecrow” and “Begin Again” are still too memorable to be classified as filler. Stacked up against The Veils’ other albums, Sun Gangs is simply another step in the right direction. Andrews and co. seem to be improving upon the flexibility of their sounds with each album, and the success of this album should excite all those with even a slight interest. 8.5/10

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The Veils - The Letter

Download audio file (veils-let.mp3)

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The Veils - The House She Lives In

Download audio file (veils-hou.mp3)

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The term “musical entrepreneur” would seem to apply well to Dave Matthies, but he would likely take none of the credit. Over the past decade, Matthies has been a constant force in positively impacting the ability of other artists. He has flown under the radar in providing significant contributions to reputable artists like Phil Elverum (the Microphones, Mt. Eerie), Karl Blau, and Steve Moore (Laura Veirs, Mount Analog, Stembo), taking on various tasks that include producer, engineer, and performer in order to aid fellow talented musicians and get his ideas heard. Despite his impressive resume though, many still are unaware that he is very capable songwriter in his own right with a wide array of differing releases. Under the name of The Gift Machine, he has taken an interesting approach in using his variety of connections within the industry to enlist a wide array of talented collaborators to make each one of his releases enjoyable and uniquely memorable. In his releases under The Gift Machine, Matthies has never been particularly unconventional or experimental in his approach, often opting for the enjoyable three-minute pop song over the epically orchestrated vein of indie-rock. With his deeply solemn voice and ability to turn a simplistic melody into one that becomes unavoidably engrained in a listener’s head, his experience in the music industry has certainly allowed him to capitalize on his strengths.

As he alternates between living in Washington and California, Matthies is prominent among Washingtonians for being the owner of Vibe Control Studio, an ex-police/fire station that was turned into a recording studio. In addition to the variety of camps that were offered at the studio for aspiring musicians that wanted to know the basics of production, the studio has hosted everyone from Phil Elverum to Karl Blau, both of whom have engineered their own albums in the facility. As it makes sense since Matthies runs it, Vibe Control Studios is also the location of The Gift Machine’s recordings. Considering that he runs a respectable studio, it may seem surprising that Matthies’ new album, Goodbye/Goodluck, is the first of five releases that will actually reach the general public. The method of releasing Matthies’ past material – three full-lengths and two EPs – was basically where he gave a few copies to friends, associates, and fans at shows and was content. After all, Matthies strikes many as a musician/producer/engineer who is in it for the art form, not for the money or glory. And on Goodbye/Goodluck, these sentiments are more visible than ever. Even though Matthies is releasing this nationally through a label for the first time, he likely understands that the fantastic quality of this record has the potential to stimulate the artistic senses of those that listen to it.

Like all of his prior releases, Matthies has placed the aspect of collaboration as a high priority. He is the sole songwriter and creative engineer on the majority of songs on Goodbye/Goodluck, but the infusion of collaboration plays a heavy role on the eventual style presented on the album. Here, Matthies has enlisted the graceful vocals of Andrea Gruber. She sings in unison with Matthies nearly on every track, resulting in a beautiful male-female duet in a type of which we have all heard before, but Matthies plays with the vocal approach so well that it feels new and invigorating. This can be attributed to his style, which is a suave and subtly infectious form of pop music with audible references to psychedelia and surf-rock. The songs never appear overwhelming with their soft percussion, whimsy keys, or acoustic guitars at the forefront, but Matthies’ greatest strength appears to be his ability to make each track structurally cohesive. The melodies always start out simple, but Matthies employs a variety of hooks and melodic alterations to supplement simplicity in the best way possible. This is particularly evident on the delightful “In the Middle”, where Matthies and Gruber show off an excellent vocal contrast in Matthies’ warmly musky grumbles and Gruber’s angelically high-pitched delivery. That their contrasting voices work so well together is part of the song’s allure, but it is not the only reason for song’s satisfactory nature.

“In the Middle” begins straightforwardly with a very restrained organ and frail rhythm section, but the song serves as the perfect example of The Gift Machine’s tendency to expand upon simple pleasures. When the strum of an acoustic guitar signals the emergence of an electric guitar, the intensity in both of their voices increases before Gruber harmonizes with the backing instrumentation on her own. By the time the song ends, it will likely be hard to turn away from The Gift Machine now. Matthies’ lyrics are in the first-person on every track apart from “What Do You Require”, an apt choice considering the very personable nature of the instrumentation. The verses often take on the format of a haiku, connecting small and simple sentences together to craft something thought-provoking and genuine. The self-titled track is also indicative of the developmental nature of The Gift Machine, as what begins as little more than a single acoustical guitar eventually evolves into something with slide guitars, keys, and some clever harmonizing.

Basically, what these songs should provide is an example of why listeners should give The Gift Machine the time they deserve. Their songs may not grab you instantaneously, but listening to each song in its entirety will almost certainly reward the listener. For instance, “It Had to Be You” may even sound a bit clumsy during its first minute or so, but as it evolves the unique nature of the song results in an unpredictable and highly enjoyable effort. It is particularly impressive toward its instrumental conclusion, where a bunch of twinkling keys form over a key progression to establish a twee-pop type of feel. Goodbye/Goodluck is now available via KNW-YR-OWN Records, a Washington-based label that Matthies helped form. It is just one of the many achievements that he has to his name. Despite all of them though, Goodbye/Goodluck is of such a high quality that it may be his finest to date.

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The Gift Machine - In the Middle

Download audio file (gift-int.mp3)

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The Gift Machine - Goodbye/Goodluck

Download audio file (gift-goo.mp3)

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The Gift Machine - It Had to Be You

Download audio file (gift-ith.mp3)

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KNW-YR-OWN Records

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I always appreciate follow-ups from artists that were featured on this site over a year ago. I must sincerely enjoy an artist for them to appear on this site and that often results in a long process that involves many hours of listeners. Admittedly, I can be overly selective on occasion as to who is being featured. The featured artists that can relate to this selective process are the ones that tend to keep in touch for good reason. By keeping me on their contacts list, they know that they have at least someone with prior recognition of their sound, leading to constructive criticism that wisely uses growth as a basis for development. With that being said, I find myself rarely featuring an artist more than once, mainly because there are so many other uncovered quality acts that would cause me to feel neglectful. Sometimes I just cannot resist though, and it is usually the result of universal “non-exposure” for an artist that I featured over a year ago. Chris Robley and his backing band, The Fear of Heights, certainly apply in this case, as the superior quality of Robley’s new album shows why I am frustrated that he has yet to achieve the acclaim he so passionately deserves. 17 months after his first feature on this site, I feel inclined to shed more light on Robley, a skilled songwriter whose ambitious material yearns for more recognition than his work has been given thus far.

Most of those that have had a chance to listen to Robley’s inventively unconventional interpretation of pop music have enjoyed it immensely. The problem is, not enough people are listening. Last time I checked on Robley, I found myself wildly impressed by how he was able to establish melancholic themes without appearing overly melodramatic. Most artists of Robley’s stylistic vein – which is primarily orchestral pop – topple on dozens of violins in a minor key or use other generic methods of audible expression, but Robley chooses to instead pursue accurate representations of somber ardency in a subtler manner. On his second solo album, Drunken Dance of Modern Man in Love, Robley often exploited the common perception of conventional song structures to simultaneously surprise and awe listeners with melodic build-ups whose beginnings and subsequent eruptions were irregularly placed in order to keep listeners on the edge of their seats. When combined with Robley’s eclectic array of styles, this resulted in something that was inherently unique. On Drunken Dance of Modern Man in Love, he managed to infuse this within electronic and orchestral pop, gypsy-folk, and indie-rock, causing the level of unpredictability to heighten in enjoyable form. On his third album, Robley holds on to this sense of ambitious virtuosity while maintaining a pop-minded sensibility that should appeal especially to listeners that want to venture into unchartered territory without leaving the friendly confines of a familiar genre altogether.

While no one can deny Robley’s talent for crafting skillful hooks, his method of delivering them seems to vary from album to album. Drunken Dance of Modern Man in Love saw the focal points of each song unravel as they progressed, with it being difficult to identify a central hook since the songs were often inventive and stylistically adventurous enough to result in a variety of different tonal methods and structural tendencies. On his third album, Movie Theatre Haiku, Robley takes a slightly more straightforward approach as he maintains his pop ideologies with a more consistent array of accompanying styles. His previous album was all over the map in terms of diversity, and some listeners likely suffered because of it. However, Movie Theatre Haiku presents a batch of songs that seem to capitalize on Robley’s strengths; this is in particular relation to his simple but impressive ability to craft a melody and accompanying hook. As a result, the majority of the songs are within the four-minute range and his most conventional interpretation of pop is prevalent. This is not to say the album is stylistically linear though, as Robley’s definition of pop music remains generally unclassifiable as he seamlessly shifts from the dramatic, key-led ballads like “Premiere” and “Atheist’s Prayer” to explosively anthemic gems like “A Memory Lost at Sea” and “User-Friendly Guide to Change”. When listening to any of the preceding songs, it startles me to think that a songwriter as talented and accessibly capable as Robley has only received minimal attention. Here’s hoping that the slight shift in direction on Movie Theatre Haiku brings it to him.

For those interested in the origin of the title Movie Theatre Haiku, Robley’s concept is quite interesting. Since haikus are meant to be small-scale observations that are later imaginatively interpreted as a microcosm of something much bigger, Robley wondered what it would be like to place a haiku author in a place where one’s individual imagination is useless: a movie theatre. If the author was then asked to write a haiku, Robley believes that “the poem would most likely begin with a wide angle on the world and then shrink, in the end, to something constricted and banal.” This is the basic theme that the album toys with: an individual without the proper environment to stimulate their imagination will be a stuck in a world that is confined to four walls and filled with darkness. “The characters in each of the songs on Movie Theatre Haiku are all lost in this kind of confined space,” Robley explains. This concept of ignorance is reinforced on several songs, particularly on “My Life in Film Festival (haiku #1)”. “You found him selfish and dim, like all men who dwell within their own minds,” Robley sings with his distinctive croon, sounding like a more emotive Elliott Smith over a twinkle of keys and procession of whistles. Similar sentiments are spoken on “Solipsist in Love”, where he proclaims that “it’s hard to believe things existing outside of my head.” That he manages to interconnect each song with such a relatable theme is impressive, but not as impressive as the development of each song in general.

The album’s opener, “A Memory Lost at Sea”, immediately shows listeners that Robley has successfully made the transition into a more accessible, livelier sound that has benefitted from better songwriting, a wider arsenal of instrumentation, and a style that remains cohesive throughout. The piano ballads, acoustic charmers, brassy anthems, and electronic additives are all separable in a sense, but they all remain within the world of pop music since they have evident hooks, consistent structures, and a durable appeal. “A Memory Lost at Sea” fits in more with the brassy anthems, seeing Robley and Rachel Taylor Brown ask, “What happened to my baby? Where has my baby gone?” during a chorus of epic proportions. Mandolins, saxophones, and a very diverse rhythm section make up the majority of this track as Robley goes from whispering verses to the highly expressive chorus. Once the chorus hits though, most listeners will be hooked and will not stop listening until the album’s conclusion (a wise choice considering the amount of good stuff on here). The same can be said for a track like “My Life in Film Festivals (haiku #1)”, where once again a soft-spoken chorus evolves into something grandiose and explosive, this one with roaring guitars instead of mandolins. That it is debatable whether howling anthems like “A Memory Lost at Sea” are more successful than a devastatingly beautiful ballad like “Premiere” is part of the strength of Movie Theatre Haiku, as the album somehow juggles between stylistic diversity and cohesion to find a perfect meeting point. I wrote it 17 months ago and I will write it again: Listen to Chris Robley!

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Chris Robley & The Fear of Heights - A Memory Lost at Sea

Download audio file (crobley-ame.mp3)

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Chris Robley & The Fear of Heights - Premiere

Download audio file (crobley-pre.mp3)

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Chris Robley & The Fear of Heights - My Life in Film Festivals (haiku #1)

Download audio file (crobley-myl.mp3)

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