Berated

With summer in full gear, some artists have to take a temporary backseat to the seasonal bias that is subtly prevalent in most people. For me, choosing an artist to listen to in my free time is not dependent on the weather, but rather my current emotional state and which style I feel would be most compatible with it. However, the seasons do play a role in my selections from time to time. On a beautiful summer day I would probably choose the likes of Springsteen over a gloomier group like Joy Division or The Smiths, with vice versa applying if clouds took the place of the sun. Few can argue that certain music sounds better during certain times and certain weather. With this in mind though, it is worth noting that one’s perception of a suitable atmosphere can be wildly subjective. However, it is hard to make the definition of “summer music” skewed, even if it is up to the listener’s personal taste to compile their own perfect summer mixtape. Contrary to the belief of most mainstream pop artists, a summer hit does not need to have the word “summer” in the title to achieve its status as a seasonal gem. Topics involving big waves, surfer girls, and the boardwalk could help, but it is hardly the most definitive factor.

The word “breezy” has been used time and time again to describe artists with a certain demeanor, one that defies the boundaries of pop without straying too far into hectic structural ploys. This sense of semi-capriciousness coincides with the carefree exuberance that summer often gives off, mainly due to a combination of increased relaxation time and warm weather. Listeners want something that is captivating and original, but not something that is going to detract from their relaxation time with overbearing ambition or artistic flops. The Beach Boys are a rather stereotypical example of a summer group, but also arguably the best one. The bulk of their material was accessible and melodically captivating, but hidden under their receptively good vibrations were reoccurring themes and harmonic intricacies that made their music much more than radio-friendly pop music. Brian Wilson was a songwriter who valued melodic cohesiveness as much as thematic intricacies that was present in both his musical and lyrical content. And with the concurrent themes of riding big waves and basking in the summer sun, I doubt anyone could argue against The Beach Boys being the most consummate summer-pop group of all-time.

It seems unfair to introduce a new songwriter after describing one of the greatest in Brian Wilson, but while Chris Velan does not boast the stylistic innovations or genius-level showmanship of such a predecessor, his potential for producing greatly effective summer pop music is blatant. His songs are often led by tendencies that appear outwardly conventional, like linear guitar progressions in strict 4/4 or the expected assortments of rockers and ballads. But like influences in the vein of Wilson, Velan possesses a creative peak that is unparalleled by most of his contemporaries, even if it is only subtly prevalent. On the surface, his charming blend of acoustical pop, Americanized reggae, and suave R&B may remind some listeners of Jason Mraz or Slightly Stoopid, but Velan’s material is considerably more diverse than either of them. The Montreal native can attribute his eclectic qualities to his forays in music throughout his life, doing it all from fronting a reggae band to scoring music for a film. In addition to this, Velan grew up on both his dad’s favorites (Leonard Cohen, Dylan, Van Morrison) and his sister’s cassette tapes (’80s new-wave). This put him on the path of music at an early age, even if a few pit stops along the way (the lawyer profession, in his case) put the whole solo singer/songwriter thing on hold for a bit. After two overlooked albums though, his third one appears most likely to receive exposure.

Solidago is hardly a showy album, but it deserves recognition for its consistency and melodic goodness. Velan has plenty of good ideas, and even though they are occasionally not expanded upon enough, he is able to capture them without it becoming tireless or agitated. One has to admire him for his diversity, whether it is for the twinkling indie-pop on “Oldest Trick”, the brassy mix of R& and reggae on “Pauper in a Palace”, or the cheery reggae in “Hunting Season”. The latter finds Velan channeling classic influences like Burning Spear and contemporary fusion artists like Michael Franti, with the occasional brass and rhythmic combustions adding nice flair to a genre that has too many imitators and not enough innovators. A song like “Oldest Trick” works with little more than a guitar and synthesizer, the latter arriving most prominently during the anthemic chorus. Velan’s nasally vocals here are reminiscent of Tom Petty’s, which makes for a rather nice tone under an undercurrent of acoustic guitars. It gives off a classic-folk vibe, sitting nicely on the album between the alt-rock leanings of “Wobbly Bones” and the reggae-influenced “Hunting Season”. “No one’s gonna knock on your door,” he sings during “Wobbly Bones”, one of his many comparisons of death to the desire for absolute solitude. It is one of the few showings of bitterness and melancholy throughout the album, but along with the similarly bleak “Out of Range” it shows that his usually upbeat demeanor does not detract from sentimental moments like these. They both reach extraordinary heights.

Velan’s Solidago is not a great summer album simply because it has great melodies that are often accompanied by gentle acoustic strums and Velan’s calming voice. Like Wilson, he also shows a fondness for the art of underlying pop accessibility with further intricacies that involve eclectic stylistic tendencies, thematic consistencies, and differing moods (check out the differences between an optimistic track like “House Upon the Hill” and the somber build-up of “Out of Range”; it is very enjoyable). Velan may come off like just another gifted songwriter with room to grow on the surface, but those who look more in-depth throughout Solidago should be convinced of his potential. Check it out when it is released on July 14th. Its mid-summer release date is quite apt, considering Velan clearly values the true meaning of quality summer music. If you are looking for great tunes that can be enjoyed during scenarios of both relaxation on the beach and thought-provoking conversations with friends, Solidago is the way to go. It is Velan’s finest effort yet.

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Chris Velan - Oldest Trick

Download audio file (cvel-old.mp3)

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Chris Velan - Pauper in a Palace

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Chris Velan - Hunting Season

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Are eccentric artistic tendencies hereditary? Like eye color or facial characteristics, I would not be surprised if they were, mainly because I have witnessed friends that walk and talk eerily similar to one of their parents. Whether or not musical talent is hereditarily passed down is too theoretical to be argued for or against, so I tend to think that one’s upbringing has more to do with it than anything. If one is constantly surrounded by music and their idol, presumably a parent, is a musician, what else do they have to look up to and aspire to be? Like all children of parents in a professional occupation, there are advantages to be had here. Most kids that want to learn music are hammered with traditional songbooks and stiff learning routines. Some, though, are raised on it. Traditionalists may argue that theoretical mastery is the key to musical ability, but actual experience seems to be the prevailing factor in most cases. In regard to the passing down of “musical genes”, there are examples to cover each end of the spectrum. Jeff Buckley, Rufus Wainwright, and Femi Kuti all stand as exceptionally talented musicians, but their history leads fans to different circumstances despite a few shared characteristics. They all have a musically renowned father and later found future success of their own, but their differing relationships may elude to whether musical ability can be hereditary.

The sons and daughters of famous musicians could have their own capacity to resourcefully create their own music, but it is just as likely that their talents can be attributed to their parents in some way. Jeff Buckley is an example of a reputable musician with a famous father, but his talents and style are undoubtedly his own. He only met his father, Tim, once before his death when Jeff was 11. While his father’s career may have inspired him to pursue music full-time, Jeff Buckley was given no special treatment. His lack of guidance suggests that, perhaps, music simply runs in his blood. Then you have a case like Femi Kuti, whose father Fela Kuti is legendary for his prolific discography and upbringing of afro-pop. Femi initially lived with his mother, but went to live with his father when he was 15. A few years later, Fela gave his son a spot among his all-star performers on stage and the experience needed to pursue his own career. Nowadays, Femi boasts a consistent discography that separates him from his father’s work, while not entirely dismissing the vital experience he was given due to his father’s esteemed status. The differences between Buckley and Kuti show that musical talent is found too often on a case-by-case basis to assume whether it is hereditary or not, but it also shows that musicians tend to impact the lives of the people they influence, whether they are related to them or not.

Although there are many musicians that do not pursue parenthood, the ones that do often vary dramatically in the relationship with their children. Some go off on tour and never return due to indifference, but others are genuinely interested in the happenings of their children… and maybe even their children’s friends. Such is the case with R. Stevie Moore, the prolific producer and songwriter whose accomplishments in both fields are admired by most in the music industry. His genre-bending and technological innovations in music seem nearly endless, and his contributions do not stop there. He gave his son, who is also interested in music, the proper knowledge as he was growing up, exposing him to his material and quirky innovation in the process. As a result, it is not surprising that his son’s band, Big Fresh, seems nearly like a replica of the elder Moore’s unique craftsmanship. The group consists of Moore’s son and his longtime friends, all thankful for the privilege to work with the legend. This video from 1999 shows just how great Moore seems with these kids, playing a rendition of Moore’s “Why Should I Love You?” from his classic 1976 debut, Phonography. The band is understandably rough there, but they certainly show some potential for their age. And now ten years later, it looks like Big Fresh’s potential has finally caught up to them.

After a debut that showed plenty of promise but not enough execution, Big Fresh returns with a second album that explains why they are so renowned in their native Lexington, Kentucky. Big Fresh Forever is an album that expands upon the group’s electro-pop repertoire, now complementing lush synths and bouncy bass lines with overlapping vocal melodies, eccentric structural transitions, and stylistic intricacies that show an increasing amount of ambition among the band members. Mixed by Robert Schneider (The Apples in Stereo), Big Fresh Forever takes the lo-fi brilliancy of Moore and combines it with the psychedelic musings of Elephant 6 standards like Schneider. “W.L.U.V.” shows off the group’s nostalgic leanings, complete with the crackling of vinyl as they sing about an Illinois radio station over the twinkling of keys and the “la-la-la”-ing backing vocals. It is electronic pop, but its minimalism results in one of the more restrained tracks on the album. That is not to say it is lacking in any way though, as it is nice way to begin a dense album with a track that is purely accessible. Songs like “W.T.O.” and “Entertainment” recall electro-pop surveyors like Chin Chin and Hilotrons with their thick synthesizers and swift implementation of acoustics, topped off by cartoon-ish vocals that echo Frank Zappa’s early material. As you can see, the comparisons to other groups are abundant but Big Fresh mix and match enough genres to call the varying stylistic results their own.

“Large Crowds” stands as one of Big Fresh’s biggest accomplishment though, introducing the listener to an otherworldly atmosphere that is the band’s own. It sounds as if The Flaming Lips combined with Depeche Mode, covering both spectrums of electronic pop with serenely entrancing synth lines and slickly utilized guitar progressions. The catchy “Satan, No” is more reflective of Of Montreal with its satirical lyrical content and key-led assortment of varying rhythmic transitions, made even funkier by an electronic edge that shows the group’s production chops and percussive emphasis. I guess it helps that R. Stevie Moore and Robert Schneider had a hand though, as their experience with the subtle grace of lo-fi production is practically unparalleled. For Big Fresh, their contributions on Big Fresh Forever contributes to a successful album that finds a young group inching closer to their eventual sound. The variety of comparisons warrants some indecisiveness, but there is so much to like on Big Fresh Forever that these insufficiencies can be overlooked. After all, any famous musician father would be proud of an album like this, whether their son was involved or not.

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Big Fresh - Large Crowds

Download audio file (bfresh-lar.mp3)

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Big Fresh - Satan, No

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Big Fresh - W.L.U.V.

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Solo albums usually require a substantial amount of self-sufficiency. There is rarely a source of constancy apart from the main artist’s output, and external contributions can be skeptical because they are often for-hire, resulting in a false sense of sincerity that could find the release lacking in chemistry and flow. Many successful solo artists first tried their hand at releasing solo material either during or after their participation in a prominent band, conveniently allowing them to capture the attention of many listeners based on their role in a separate project alone. It hardly matters what their actual contributions were too; even if some bassist in a big rock band contributed little to nothing throughout his band’s run, he could release an embarrassing solo album and still see some respectable sales because of his status in a popular rock band. This sort of thing often causes deserving artists to get overlooked. But, as one must remember, the music industry is just as it reads: an industry. To expect quality material to result in recognition is naive, especially as I have learned throughout the years after covering dozens of outstanding artists that would get little recognition in the later years to come. But, in addition to money and reputation, experience also has a lot to do with obtaining success as a solo artist. So, when an independent songwriter like Rishi Dhir releases an excellent debut album based on his own merits and not his previous band’s status, it makes the release even more impressive.

It was merely six months ago when I covered The High Dials, Dhir’s former band. So, when I received Dhir’s first solo release under the name of Elephant Stone in the mail, I figured it was either a nice coincidence or some clever PR marketing (I would bet on the latter). I say it would be nice if it were a coincidence though because of how much I enjoyed The High Dials’ most recent album, Moon Country. Specifically, I urge you to check out my post of the band here for a sample of “My Heart Is Pinned to Your Heart”, an excellent track that proves indicative of The High Dials’ irresistible vein of indie-rock (think British Sea Power meets The Dears). Anyways, back to Dhir. He left The High Dials in 2006, so he was not with them for Moon Country, but still honed his skills with the band for six years and two albums. While with The High Dials, hes howed that he was a strikingly eclectic performer; Dhir played sitar, bass, and contributed some essential background vocals. With this though, one must keep in mind that The High Dials are a good band with a nice release this year, but they are certainly not a brand name. Therefore, what you hear from Dhir and his new Elephant Stone project is the result of his own merits and not the reputation of his past successes. In fact, perhaps one could say he was in the most ideal of circumstances; he played with a very inclined band that gave him some vital experience but they were not renowned enough to give him a false sense of pride and overbearing expectations, which are aspects that often lead to a solo artist’s demise.

After Dhir left The High Dials in 2006, it did not take long for some of Canada’s most respected indie-rock figures to take notice of his chops. Elephant Stone’s debut, The Seven Seas, was eventually produced by the widely respected Jace Lasek, who apart from heading The Besnard Lakes has produced other Canadian indie-rock heroes like Wolf Parade, Stars, and Islands. But before Dhir and Lasek came together, Dhir underwent a period of vigorous study that allowed him to expand as a musician and songwriter. He primarily focused on honing his Indian classical music chops, appearing with his sitar on releases by the Texas-based The Black Angels and Manchester-based The Earlies. This period of study obviously rubbed off on the outstanding quality of The Seven Seas, particularly in ambitious efforts like the seven-minute “The Straight Line”, where the dominant usage of a sitar paves the way for a eventual dramatic infusion of distorted guitars and a funk-based rhythm section. The track consists of little more than a sitar throughout its first three minutes, but the entry of bass and percussion right before the three-minute mark prepares the listener for a guitar-based eruption of sorts that eventually leads to a fantastic overlapping of electric guitars and sitar. To successfully infuse Indian classical music into modern indie-rock is no small feat, and “The Straight Line” serves as a stellar example of Dhir’s musical ability and his ability to implement ambitious musical ideas into styles whose partnerships are highly unconventional. The five-piece of Elephant Stone, led by Dhir, cleverly call this infusion “hindie-rock”; it is a fun term that may be indicative of the recent rise in infusing foreign musical ideas with conventional pop the past few years.

While “The Straight Line” aligns more with Dhir’s unconventionally successful ideas, that is not to say that the entirety of The Seven Seas is filled with songs that require as much patience as “The Straight Line”. In fact, there are plenty of great pop songs on here that provide for a nice tone on an album with occasional epics like the psychedelically shimmering “Don’t You Know” or the middle-eastern influenced “The Straight Line”. “How Long” is one of them, demonstrating a perfect mixture of psychedelia and alt-rock to express Elephant Stone’s style when they tend to be a bit more conventional. The song actually exceeds in sounding a bit like The Stone Roses, whose influence is echoed in this track’s general tone and perhaps literally in the band’s name (“Elephant Stone” – one of my favorite Stones Roses tracks). Although Dhir’s musical roots are Canadian, he even imitates a similarly British delivery as his reverb-drenched vocals gracefully accompany a thickly reverberating bass line with an eerie guitar progression that evolves from a haunting arpeggio to the concise use of chords. “I know that the sun lies eastward, I know where my heart belongs,” he sings during the excellent chorus. “Back home where my love lays waiting, back home where we are one.”

What “How Long” lyrically depicts is rather conventional – a man starved for his love across long distances – but the musical content and structural build-up here is what makes the running emotions so sincere and effective. After the chorus, when “day dawns” and Dhir laments that he is still not near his beloved, the reoccurring chorus several instances later sounds even more effective with its dreamy, retrospective approach. The guitar flows more capriciously with an echoing of Dhir’s vocal melody, but the lack of emphasis on additional instrumentation during this point stresses importance on the ardent vocals that give this track additional life. Overall, it is a fantastic effort that should remind listeners of the music scene in the UK during the late ‘80s with its emphasis on psychedelia and post-rock. With its soaring synth pads and crisp guitars, the equally pop-minded “I Am Blinded” achieves success more directly by a different contrast. The verses here are led by little more than the rhythm section, but the chorus is magnified considerably with the string-like synths colliding with stagnant guitars to create something that is highly anthemic. It is a word that I have used often to describe Elephant Stone’s impressive debut, but crafting anthemic indie-rock seems to be Dhir’s forte. With his added ambition on tracks like “The Straight Line”, it makes for an album with plenty of memorable moments.

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Elephant Stone - How Long

Download audio file (estone-how.mp3)

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Elephant Stone - I Am Blind

Download audio file (estone-iam.mp3)

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Elephant Stone - The Straight Line

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To successfully imitate a foreign musical tradition, there must be a regard for both the cultural relevance and stylistic composition of the music. I am not referring to subtle hints of African percussion in dance-pop or the forced use of a sitar or balophone, but rather a cumulative creation of the music’s role in the country it originated from. Discovering this cultural importance is often something that only natives can relate to, as one cannot simply learn the tribulations of growing up in a certain country from a dramatized textbook. For an artist to truly grasp their foreign influences, they must look further than the instrumentation used and the accustomed time signature. And to truly become a part of a different culture, one of the biggest barriers to overcome is linguistically based. Communication is essential to separate one’s self from the position of a tourist, as the knowledge and friendships acquired from the common bond of language results in a new perception that relies more on human interaction than placid observations. To implement foreign ideas into compositions whose audience is primarily domestic is a risky venture, but it is hard to find a great songwriter that is not a risk-taker.

When Paul Simon released “Mother and Child Reunion” in 1972, it was one of the first attempts by a white musician to imitate reggae. The song appeared on his first solo album, prompting an ardent reaction due to the accessible folk-pop that Simon & Garfunkel popularized throughout the ‘60s. As his first and later releases would prove though, it was the first move of action in a solo career undoubtedly inspired by a variety of foreign musical ideas. The song did very well on the charts, with the fantastic result overlooking the fact that Simon had actually recorded the song in Jamaica. This hands-on approach was something that was echoed throughout his career, both in his infatuation with mbaqanga and folk. The Beatles had imitated reggae more subtly with “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” in 1968, and their relationship with middle-eastern music is no secret (nor was George Harrison’s documented visits to the middle-east). What Simon and those four lads from Liverpool indicate is the proper treatment of infusing foreign ideas into popular American music, allowing their works to serve as a potential influence for contemporary artists that seek to expand their musical horizons into something new, exciting, and rarely heard in their own country. They traveled to destinations where the style originated or was popular, worked with the leading artists in those fields (Jimmy Cliff, Ravi Shankar), and used these experiences to ease the western public into musical styles that may not have originated from their own countries.

Artists like Paul Simon and The Beatles have influenced hordes of followers to be receptive toward the stylistically unknown, but one may also notice that both of these artists did not attempt significant stylistic infusion until the later part of their careers. Simon did not prominently display his African influences until after nearly a decade with Simon & Garfunkel, while The Beatles’ middle-eastern leanings were not exposed until their seventh album, Revolver. Raw musical experience was essential for the infusion of foreign and domestic ideas, so these artists had to wait until they were entirely comfortable with western music in order to tackle the exotic. To compare Hiroshi Kono to legends like these would be premature, but to show such ambition this early in his career suggests Kono is a name that will be around for quite awhile. Under the name of Mar Project, Kono and producer Roger Fife create material that borders on the serenely beautiful and fervently empowering, implementing familiar pop goodness with an ambitious demeanor that rarely is seen among artists in their 20s. This ambition is rooted in Kono’s fascination with varying languages. Their second album, Mar Project I, featured ten songs in three different languages (English, Italian, and Portuguese) with the accompaniments for each track being stylistically appropriate. Hearing the lush sounds of a classical guitar over accentuated Portuguese proved entirely effective, as did the throwback cabaret with seductive Italian musings. For a sophomore release, it was one that defied the qualms concerning ambition that overtakes many songwriters at this early point in their careers.

Mar Project’s newest album, Stepping Stone, finds Kono successfully capitalizing upon the potential exhibited on Mar Project I. This time around, however, the songs are more straightforwardly in the vein of pop music, though that is not to say that his ambition was sacrificed in the process. Kono’s previous album was more direct in its ambition, but the accessibility of Stepping Stone allows listeners to discover Kono’s quirks and diverse tendencies for themselves. The aid of Roger Fife once again aids to this factor of diversity, as his past production work spans from Fatboy Slim to Antony and the Johnsons. Kono’s style of pop is often accentuated with serene synth pads, soft acoustics, and a rhythm section reminiscent of bossa nova, creating for circumstances that are laid-back but also abundant in hooks and durability. The album’s title track is simple at heart, ushering in little more than a simple acoustic guitar during verses dominated by Kono’s distinctive croon. The transition into the chorus is the real treat though, as Kono advises listeners to “open their eyes” as the warm rush of synth pads encapsulate the faint whispers of acoustic and electric guitars. A beauty of a track for sure. “Beacon” recalls The Auteurs’ Luke Haines with an eerie distinction; Kono sounds exactly like the Brit-pop legend, from the samba-based rhythm section to the lush chorus. His vocals possess the same sort of indiscreet swagger, filled with memorable moments that are primarily guided by the excellent relationship between the guitars, percussion, and subtle synths. The acoustic guitar solo that takes place around 02:12 is an outstanding example of Kono’s foreign distinction, cleverly mixing accessible pop with classical influences that turn the track into an unpredictably enjoyable infusion of pop and slight bossa nova.

With “Beacon” serving the first single, “Run” stands as the other one with a brisk demeanor that exposes some apt swiftness on an album full of down-tempo electronics and acoustics. This one seems to have a theme of ambiguity to it, appropriately accompanied by a melody that would feel right at home in a British spy movie. The synth-laced strings only help the case too, as do Kono’s suave vocals and infectious “doo-doo-doo”-ing during the satisfying chorus. Once again, the Luke Haines comparison is prevalent without borrowing entirely from the style he perfected throughout the ‘90s, though a song like “Again” seems more reminiscent of Beck with its heavily filtered vocals and gritty delivery. Here, Kono allows a fluttering array of twinkling synths to accompany the acoustic guitars, eventually sounding like a cross between ‘90s alternative-rock and shoegaze. Comparisons to diverse musicians like Haines and Beck serve Kono well, as he has exhibited a similar amount of ambition since his first release in 2003. Apart from being Kono’s best album yet, Stepping Stone is an album filled with elegant pop music that justifies Kono’s prevalence of influences from the ‘90s. While it may sit comfortably alongside acts like The Auteurs and Placebo that have already seen their heydays pass, Kono’s restraint and foreign ambition provides ample showings of ingenuity in a genre that could really use it. Stepping Stone is a very enjoyable indication of that.

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Mar Project - Stepping Stone

Download audio file (mproj-ste.mp3)

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Mar Project - Again

Download audio file (mproj-aga.mp3)

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Mar Project - Beacon

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Saying that someone is “beyond their years” is such clichéd terminology, but to release an album like John Joseph McCauley III did when he was 21 years old is a feat that should be admired. As the frontman of Deer Tick, the Rhode Island native presented War Elephant to audiences in 2007, marking a debut that generated plenty of buzz regarding McCauley’s lyrical prowess and stylistic astuteness. It appeared on my “Top 50 Albums of 2007” (#48) and many publications echoed similar sentiments, noting how it was one of the rare debuts that managed to turn a generally niche-y style into something that fit perfectly into the receptive realm of indie-rock. War Elephant showed a group with swagger, confidence, and the rare ability to blend staples of the past with personal favorites of the contemporary world. It was an album that found McCauley combining his love for old-fashioned folk and country with the indie-rockers that he looked up to in the late ‘90s when he was barely in high school, resulting in a release that found stylistic diversity while latching onto the original components that make McCauley so distinctive as a songwriter and vocalist. Whether he was strutting out throwback country-folk in “Spend the Night” or moody indie-rock in “Not So Dense”, there were always components derived from McCauley’s repertoire of skills that made the assortment of deliveries on War Elephant cohesive and memorable.

McCauley’s vocals have always been one of these components, boasting a nasally whimper that creates excitingly suitable circumstances for the arenas of folk, rock, and country. These are simply referring to his primary genres though. McCauley’s direction is often unpredictable, with the likes of Sinatra-like cabaret balladry (“What Kind of Fool Am I?”) and Latin-tinged Wurlitzer pop (“These Old Shoes”) appearing on the preceding War Elephant. With that being said though, all these stylistic ventures occasionally detracted from the focus exhibited on War Elephant, showing listeners that McCauley had the chops to try his hand at any style he desired while also highlighting his struggles with creating a thematically coexistent album. This prompted much discussion concerning his eventual follow-up album, now known as Born on Flag Day. McCauley’s ambition is heavily prevalent, so accurately perceiving Born on Flag Day can be accomplished by judging whether or not McCauley has restrained his multitude of stylistic influences. War Elephant was a release tampered by quantitative judgment in its attempt to hold 14 different songs, with their styles and transitional success often varying. Born on Flag Day only boasts 10 different tracks, which in this case results in a more focused atmosphere that seems to value developmental progress more than the execution of concisely invigorating ideas.

It is exceedingly appropriate that Born on Flag Day opens with “Easy”, a track that is undoubtedly the most accessible Deer Tick track to date. After the guitar progression finds itself over an interesting assortment of percussion and the introduction subsides, McCauley’s familiar croon arises with the same nasally demeanor and raspy ardency that made its appearance so memorable on War Elephant. Fans of McCauley’s ceaselessly alternating epics – like “Not So Dense” or “Christ Jesus” – may be caught off guard due to amiable nature of “Easy”, but it is difficult to resist a chorus built on such infectious melodic capacity. This is full-out indie-rock here, with influences like Modest Mouse and Built to Spill being more prominent than country or folk forefathers. The song delivers on a handful of guitar chords during the chorus, where McCauley sings out, “No, you don’t know how easy it is.” Unpredictable and ambitious it is not, but it is a radio-friendly (at least for McCauley) effort that eases the listener comfortably into Deer Tick’s subtle quirks, which are significantly contributory to the successes throughout Born on Flag Day. The big-chorus tendencies of “Easy” show McCauley’s efforts to expose this release as more stylistically comfortable and accessible, a demeanor that is also shown on “Smith Hill”. Here though, a chorus drenched in strings and perhaps McCauley’s most emotive vocal delivery yet is exposed, touching upon the alt-rock theatrics that previous efforts like “Not So Dense” hinted at.

The transition from folk-laced minimalism into an orchestral expansion is remarkably accomplished on “Smith Hill”. McCauley carefully builds a simplistic guitar progression over a progressively appearing array of percussion, paving the way for a chorus where McCauley laments about true love being hard to find. Of course, the strings are a nice touch and the alterations in vocal pitch are fantastic, but the real treat in this song is the defiant bridge that resembles Billy Corgan in his heyday with McCauley’s nasally croon supporting a hazy wave of strings and guitars. With the somewhat grandiose spectacles of “Easy” and “Smith Hill”, it was wise to place the subdued “Little White Lies” in between the two. This, along with “Song About a Man”, follows the minimalistic acoustical folk that longtime fans of McCauley should be more familiar with. The slide guitar and southern twang in “Little White Lies” reminds listeners that while the larger and more instantaneous scope of songs like “Smith Hill” and “Easy” are memorable, McCauley’s melodic capriciousness and lyrical prowess is often all he needs for success. The lyrical content here is reflective of the album’s theme, one that relates to coping with loneliness. This is also found in “The Ghost”, a track that recalls The River-era Springsteen with its infusion of harmonicas into acoustical folk. “You’re as lonely as a ghost on Halloween,” McCauley whimpers, once again making excellent use of twangy slide guitars in a dramatic setting.

Songs like “The Ghost” and “Little White Lies” are hardly a departure from McCauley’s previous material, but the hooks are stronger and the melodies are less coarse, even if it meant sacrificing some ingenuity in the process. These two tracks, along with the likes of “Song About a Man” and “Hell on Earth”, achieve great success but see minimal durability due to the lack of flexibility in the structural composition. In attempting to more easily entertain listeners, McCauley sometimes lacks the grit that made most of War Elephant an entertaining affair, even if it was not the most polished album in the world. The somewhat generic “Straight Into a Storm” does not achieve much with its skiffle revivalism and “Stung” is a generally forgetful affair with six minutes or so of silence, but Born on Flag Day achieves success for the most part with efforts like “Smith Hill” and “The Ghost”. Excluding the repetitive “Stung” though, the album barely exceeds 30 minutes. This is detrimental to album, as the two or three weak tracks here stick out too much to simply ignore them. Although Born on Flag Day is more cohesive and accessible than War Elephant, I cannot help but yearn for the gritty ambitiousness that made Deer Tick’s debut so memorable. Perhaps if they can combine the melodic advantages of Born on Flag Day with the multifarious nature of War Elephant, McCauley and Deer Tick can live up to the ample potential that has deservedly been bestowed upon them. 7.5/10.0

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Deer Tick - The Ghost

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Deer Tick - Smith Hill

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Deer Tick - Easy

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Foreign causes are often distinctive enough to warrant recognition on their own. Food is probably the most common instance of this, with the international food industry comprising for a substantial bulk of food sales in the US. After all, restaurants that are in contrast to burger joints and other casual American delicacies offer more than just food. Atmosphere is just as important, and for exotic eateries it can be the difference in retaining a customer or turning them away. There is the actual product and then the appearance, which can either relate to the appearance of the product or the atmosphere in which the product exists. Such distinctions surprisingly overlap into the music industry as well, with the allure of a foreign product being comparable. Audiences become consumed by how songwriting techniques vary from country to country, how these international musicians present their work, and how prominently their influences are displayed (in addition to who their influences actually are). It is a change of pace, and for that audiences may become more lenient or even ignore them altogether due to their foreign status. After all, culture shock can be intimidating and this relates to numerous areas, including food and music. Although their name suggests otherwise, Foreign Born are simply a bunch of guys from Los Angeles. However, their music implies a more collective fusion of influences that makes their presentation distinctive enough for the title.

While Foreign Born’s style shows accessible shades of indie-rock that would be receptive toward most contemporary fans, the diversity presented on their second album, Person to Person, is more indicative of an eclectic fusion of influences, both domestic and international. British rock is certainly a prominent influence for this talented four-piece, citing the Happy Mondays and Echo & the Bunnymen as stepping stones for their guitar-based sound. This British style of rock is fused with classic American songsmiths like Bob Dylan, Townes Van Zandt, and Harry Nilsson. Their catchy mixture of concisely implemented guitar licks, frantic percussion, and other conventional attributes of art-rock does not exactly coincide with the folksy singer/songwriter musings of Dylan or Nilsson, but their simultaneous ability to combine memorable musical accompaniments and engaging lyrical content is something that combines the broodingly infectious form of British post-punk that dominated the ‘80s and the interpretively heartfelt lyrical content of traditional American folk songwriters. To combine characteristics of two separate genres with differing geographical origins is risky for a young group, but Foreign Born looks to finally prevail with a new album that blends their large assortment of influences beautifully.

To avoid the factor of intimidation that applies to most music with a variety of inspirations, Foreign Born’s new album, Person to Person, has the distinction of treading within a familiar style while exploring new territory in each song. Their first album, On the Wing Now suffered from a lack of cohesion despite some worthwhile standouts, serving as an example of a young band with heaps of potential but a lack of focus. Despite this though, they were proclaimed as one of the most promising groups in the LA area and earned some generally positive reviews. The most prominent aspects of the album included Matt Popieluch’s soaring vocals and Garrett Ray’s outstanding drumming ability. Foreign Born held the distinction of being a group with a capacity for anthemic heart-pumpers, and this is hardly different on Person to Person. If anything, this strength is capitalized upon even more with the expansion of the group’s instrumental repertoire, featuring an assortment of woodwinds, strings, brass, and synths. From the twinkling of synths in “It Grew on You” to the exotic, Lennon-like use of strings in “See Us Home”, there is plenty of eclectic musicianship on Person to Person. This is where the importance of Ray shines more than ever, as he is often the only steady force amongst a flurry of impressive instrumental additions. With an astute ability to turn even the simplest melodies into an intricately empowering force and the overly complex efforts into a more accessible format, Ray is largely responsible for restraining the group’s lofty ambitions to a point where their material is accessible and instantly rewarding.

Staying true to their summery interpretation of indie-pop, “Early Warnings” is a great demonstration of the group’s cumulative melodic capacity and Ray’s largely complementary role in modifying some good songwriting to make it excellent. The lead guitar has the type of twang that one would expect from Little Joy, The Shins, or any other conventionally accessible indie-pop group, but the subtle variations within the track make it a treat that would benefit from a variety of listens. Listeners with a tendency to focus on the percussive elements more than anything (drummers mainly) will likely find themselves impressed at the track’s end, as Ray has a tendency of restraining his percussion when vocals or instrumentation are at full force and knocking out an impressive solo when instrumental minimalism requires it. This results in a plethora of diversity throughout the album, both structurally and stylistically. The feel-good nature of “Early Warnings” benefits heftily from this, as the verse’s lack of frantic percussion complements the unavoidable entry of it in the chorus extraordinarily. “Blood Oranges” also offers an excellent build-up, primarily found in a stunning rhythm section led by Ray and bassist Ariel Rechtshaid. “Anthemic” was a word used often to describe Foreign Born’s debut, and Popieluch’s vocal performance here remains indicative of that as well. On the Wing Now was impressive for a debut album, but Person to Person exceeds it on most fronts in being the summation of Foreign Born’s underrated depth and potential. Merely avoiding the sophomore slump is an achievement in itself, to make an album that trumps an already-impressive debut in several ways is a rare spectacle that is hard to rival.

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Foreign Born - Early Warnings

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Foreign Born - Blood Oranges

Download audio file (fborn-blo.mp3)

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Foreign Born - It Grew on You

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Secretly Canadian Records

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It is always a safe bet to name your band after a great song. The name alone could easily grab the attention of many listeners, as most of us can recite our favorite songs word-for-word and consequently have the title phrase embedded in our minds. Whether the name gets potential fans to listen to one song in disgust or become a diehard fan is irrelevant because it aids in one thing that many musicians desperately seek: exposure. When I saw Caledonia’s envelope in my mailbox, the name instantly reminded me of the great song by The Band, “Caledonia Mission.” It was not one of their more famous tracks, but the song’s brilliant use of both country-folk and bluesy rock ‘n’ roll always made it one of my personal favorites. The verses are filled with tender vocal melodies and a sullen bass line, a stark contrast to the abrupt entry of rollicking keys, guitars, and ardent howls during the chorus. But the track remains cohesive throughout its entirety, a rare showing of eclecticism in an era where stylistic rigidness was overly prevalent. I would imagine that Caledonia are referencing this song in their name (their MySpace dictates the words “Caledonia Mission”), but I have no proof of this. Either way, I was drawn to them by such an odd distinction, resulting in another excellent but overlooked debut album in my library.

By being lured in by such a simple reference, I opened myself up to Caledonia. There was a connection even before listening to them, prompted by a simple ode to a song that I enjoyed while growing up. As a result, I was eager to hear what the five-piece had to say. Would their lyrics touch me emotionally because we share an admiration for the same songs or bands, or would it merely be a desperate bunch of guys looking to capitalize on twentieth century successes? For Caledonia, their debut We Are America is so personal that it almost reaches auto-biographical territory, resulting in material that anyone could enjoy whether they were initially drawn in by the name or not. Although much of the album was written by the Canadian five-piece in a collaborative effort, certain standouts have fascinating backgrounds that make their end results even more invigorating. In doing so, Caledonia touches upon a variety of topics that are often discovered after going through a negative experience. For instance, “Scott’s House” chronicles the journey of personal sovereignty that bassist Zac Crouse contemplated as he attempted to choose between pursuing music full-time or remaining at his desk job. “You can try but you can’t keep me down,” he repeats over a folky atmosphere of lap steel guitars, banjos, and a hazy organ, perhaps indicating his choice of personal sovereignty with his word choice. Analog synth also begins to subtly appear toward the track’s conclusion; they are surprisingly effective and heavily indicative of the group’s generally eclectic leanings.

When you compare a track like “Scott’s House” to the album’s opener, “Restless Year”, it seems as if they both come from different worlds. The music here is brooding and agitated when compared to the casually optimistic country-folk of “Scott’s House”, featuring lashing guitar licks that create a wave of distortion under serenely twinkling keys and Steven Gates’ quivering vocals. The musical difference between the two tracks is prevalent, but once again the thematic focus on contemplation throughout We Are America emerges and Gates and Crouse find themselves in similar states with differing musical accompaniments. Just like “Scott’s House” though, “Restless Year” is a great accomplishment that serves as a thoroughly exciting opener that introduces Caledonia’s infectious array of indie-rock to the listener. “Some years come and they go, and you never know how close you came,” he sings, once again touching upon the feelings of regret, anxiety, and hope that the members portray throughout We Are America. The album’s primary focus is the harmful nature of self-doubt and how it contributes heavily to blame and an utter lack of morale. It is a topic that they explore effectively, nonetheless helped by an impressive musical backdrop that exposes indie-rock in the way it should be: diverse and ardently effective.

Diversity is one thing that Caledonia tout masterfully throughout We Are America. Check out “Too Old”, where keyboardist Ian Bent lends his songwriting chops to the mix. This results in a light ‘70s pop flair to the tracks, backed by the appropriate overlapping vocal harmonies and breezy demeanor. Bent originally had no plain of joining an indie-rock group, as he found success on the classical music circuit. However, after learning of Caledonia’s great potential, he could not resist lending a hand. Like the other four members in Caledonia, his sense of musicianship is wholly impressive but he also has the ability to relay anecdotal matters into wonderfully melodic results. Drummer Steve Reble does this like the rest as well, writing the lyrics for “Friday Night Rock Song” after being inspired by Ah Ha’s “Take on Me”. Reble’s brother had previously collapsed from a viral infection, and while in the hospital Reble had aided him in re-acquiring his voice by singing along to Ah Ha’s ‘80s favorite. While this sounds more in touch with this decade’s sound, a similar component can be found in an anthemic chorus that erupts after a build-up of guitars and keys. The chorus sounds like something The Walkmen would attempt, refined by polished guitar solos and tightly interwoven piano progressions. “Don’t write me off,” he croons during the chorus, summing up the album’s theme quite perfectly. They show that confidence is key to success, and this debut album is perfect indication of that.

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Caledonia - Restless Year

Download audio file (caled-res.mp3)

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Caledonia - Scott’s House

Download audio file (caled-sco.mp3)

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Caledonia - Too Old

Download audio file (caled-too.mp3)

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Calling a song “I Wish I Was in Hüsker Dü” seems pretty customary for a high school band. Maybe not today, but we can be sure that high school in the mid-‘80s consisted of many kids that would give up their newest cassette player to be in Hüsker Dü, R.E.M., or any other successful alternative-rock group of the era. Music-related dreams like these inhabit the minds of many artistically inclined high school students, as the end of high school generally marks a point where they must decide whether pursuing music full-time is realistic or not. I do not refer to respectable but somewhat conventional tasks like working as a session musician, music teacher, or music journalist, but instead that dream of rock ‘n’ roll stardom that has predominantly existed since the ‘60s among youths exposed to media. Nowadays, this sentiment seems to be replaced by a desire to scream voraciously and wear tight jeans, but that is a whole different story in itself. That Let’s Wrestle would name one of their early songs “I Wish I Was in Hüsker Dü” suggests an immediate influence, not so much directly in regard to Hüsker Dü but rather the era they resided in. Picture a surprisingly effective high school band in the 1980s and you will likely have something that sounds like Let’s Wrestle, a London-based trio that invokes nostalgia and a DIY ideology without lacking in stylistic originality or captivating songwriting.

Listen to Let’s Wrestle for about one minute. Which adjectives would you use to describe it? I imagine that a handful of critics with a nearing deadline would use words like “sloppy” or “awkward”, which is perfectly acceptable if you are a listener that judges a song by its first minute or so. Those with patience, though, will be rewarded unexpectedly and quite memorably. What is so enjoyably unique about Let’s Wrestle is how they exploit this sound of throwback ‘80s garage-rock, surprising listeners with an outstanding flurry of hooks after either opening up clumsily or showing little attempt at innovation. This always turns out to be highly intentional though, as the intricate components of the tracks are exposed after several studious listens. Much like their ‘80s alt-rock influences, Let’s Wrestle deliver a very raw sound that triumphs over its non-polish with solid songwriting, passionate performances, and clever hooks. Being in a high school garage band in the ‘80s was hardly a unique or innovative thing to do, but Let’s Wrestle’s implementation of alt-rock, post-punk, and psychedelia make such a scenario appear desirable because it reminds us of the days when a song did not need over-production and star power to get airtime on a prominent radio station.

Like any band indebted to the engaging force of ‘80s alternative-rock, Let’s Wrestle do have lyrical substance under their addictively concise melodies and the deep, nearly slurring vocals of Wesley Patrick Gonzalez. His vocals usually sound as if he is recovering from a very severe hangover, a very personable delivery that associates well with Let’s Wrestle’s grainy mixture of guitars, keys, and rhythm. Their music formula, Gonzalez’s vocals, and their lyrical content all result in something extremely relatable. In other words, they are the best modern group I have heard that can pass off sounding like a ‘80s garage-rock band. The relation to high school is distinctively reminiscent in their ardent depiction of a popular genre and the adolescent compatibility of their music For their youthful audience, it only makes sense that most of the lyrics on Let’s Wrestle’s full-length debut, In the Court of the Wrestling Let’s, involves everything from coping with lost loves to putting on the tea kettle. The latter is covered in “My Schedule”, a steadily trippy journey into a droll life inhabited by routine bouts with errands, forgetting to put the tea kettle on, and coping with lost love. “I wish that you’d call me but you don’t call at all,” Gonzalez says plainly, only to prepare the listener for the prevalent emotions that follow. When he beckons for the object of his affection to call him, Gonzalez’s voice strains and he begins to choke up. The emotion presented here seems genuine, and under the hazy reverberations of organs and whirring guitars it is an extraordinary moment that summarizes Let’s Wrestle’s explosive potential.

The serene woo-ing of the backing vocals in “My Schedule” are sure to send chills up most spines, displaying a side of Let’s Wrestle that is slower in tempo and more gradual in approach than most of the material presented on their 2008 EP, In Loving Memory Of. “My Arms Don’t Bend That Way, Damn It!” and “Tanks” show their post-punk leanings more, resulting in bustling rhythm sections and hooks . Check out the excellent bass line in the excellently paced “Tanks”, an excellent track that blends late ‘70s post-punk with modern art-rock. It sounds as if The Jam and Arctic Monkeys were somehow fused together, complete with Bruce Foxton’s irresistible bass lines and Alex Turner’s straining vocals. Gonzalez’s tone is deeper than Turner’s and most other artists in the genre, so it creates some pretty spectacularly unique moments like on the minimalistic “Diana’s Hair”, where Gonzalez seems to recall vintage Brit-pop with marching band percussion, a patriotically anthemic chorus, and an effective vocal delivery that uses his British accent to its full capacity. The melody here is delightfully bouncy, appearing as something Jarvis Cocker or Damon Albarn might have done during the late ’90s. And although shades of Brit-pop, post-punk, and art-rock appear throughout the album in sporadic doses, In the Court of the Wrestling Let’s is predominantly an ode to the diversity that quality ‘80s alternative-rock exhibited. And because of that, with their original hooks and stylistic variations, Let’s Wrestle’s full-length debut proves to be an eclectic release that finds a rookie band in the rare position of being fully confident and prepared for their stylistic direction, whichever way that might be.

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Let’s Wrestle - My Schedule

Download audio file (lwres-mys.mp3)

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Let’s Wrestle - Tanks

Download audio file (lwres-tan.mp3)

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Let’s Wrestle - Diana’s Hair

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Stolen Recordings

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When I featured the legendary Thom Bell two years ago, it proved to be somewhat contrary to this site’s usual format. I often tend to look at groups whose future has yet to be written, compared to living legends whose past is already etched on a hall-of-fame replica somewhere. For the Bell article, I had let some personal leverage come into play; I feel an obligation to cover any artist that I recognize as underappreciated, living or dead. As a result, my admiration for Philly soul and the numerous groups Thom Bell worked with caused me to realize the lack of recognition for soul artists today. Soul music has a name that has been ridden by clichés and stereotypes, the most common being that it is outdated and without means for a modernistic revival. Artists like Jamie Lidell and Raphael Saadiq disprove this with a fashionable style of soul touched up by electronic and pop elements, but they remain too far out of the mainstream spotlight to contribute much to the conventionalized outlook on soul music. Lidell, Saadiq, and even artists like Alicia Keys do have a role in exposing their influences though, which usually trace back to the likes of James Brown, Sam Cooke, and Marvin Gaye. This indirect relation is usually the only contact the average listener has with soul music today, which is a shame because of its invaluable influence on today’s pop music.

Perhaps it takes actual figures from the past to re-ignite the popularity of the soul movement, even in an age like this where commercialization seems to be vital for music’s success. Soul actually originated from the commercialization of rhythm and blues though, so perhaps a fusion of today’s pop music with some throwback ‘60s soul would strike the right chord for young listeners. Lee Fields is by no means a new name (he has been releasing material since the late ‘60s), but his comeback attempts may be just what the doctor ordered for gravitating today’s listeners toward soul music. Fields was active throughout the ’70s but then went on hiatus in the ’80s, only to return in 1992 with a comeback surprise in Enough Is Enough. Since then, he has released six albums; his newest, My World, was released this June. His sound is more reminiscent of throwback soul than the additive-filled soul fusions that are popular today, but his lack of emphasis on structural and stylistic experimentation owes more to the genuine fervor of ‘60s soul than to its lack of intricacy. My World follows this formula with great success, resulting in an album that serves as an ode to yesterday’s soul music without sounding outdated or devoid of originality.

It speaks volumes of Fields’ ardency that women still appear to comprise the bulk of his audience. It means nothing that Fields looks to be in his 60s by now, as his voice and charm still work wonders. In fact, considering his modest success in the ‘70s, one can arguably say that Fields’ best work has come within the past decade. His comeback albums in the ’90s were fun but rarely emotionally invigorating, often featuring a generic style of soul and blues that got lost in the transition from the ’80s to ’90s with unsuccessful synthesizers and predictable balladry. Fields’ 1999 album, Let’s Get a Groove On, marked a new label and direction for the seemingly ageless soul artist; he pulled out his James Brown jumpsuit and delivered a whole bunch of infectious soul-funk that resulted in the most acclaimed record of Fields’ career. Its follow-up in 2002, Problems, was just as good, once again seeing Fields’ trace back to his most prevalent influence in James Brown. I know that all these Brown comparisons may turn some off, but I recommend that you give Fields a listen regardless of your opinion on Brown. After all, My World pursues a style that is more reminiscent of the Philly soul that Thom Bell crafted so ingeniously in the late ‘60s and ‘70s. This, in addition to Fields’ prolific experience, crafts an album that surpasses Let’s Get a Groove On in being the best of his career.

A song like “Ladies” is something of a rare delicacy; it manages to capture the glistening nostalgia of ‘60s soul with subtle techniques that make it relevant today. The production is reminiscent of archetypal Philly soul here and throughout the album, seeing a cohesive blend of seductive string arrangements and bustling bass lines flourish over an orchestral accompaniment that would make Bell or recently imprisoned Phil Spector long for the past (if the latter does not do so already). In “Ladies”, these captivating arrangements combine with Fields’ vocal hooks and ardency to create something special. “When you pass me by, it’s like sugar to my eyes,” he sings before the hectically excellent chorus. “You’re sugar, you’re spice, and you’re everything nice. A man is incomplete without a lady in his life.” He then speaks directly to this object of infatuation, elaborating upon the powers that she has on a broken heart. The topic is simple and much of the musical content is even simpler, but the devilishly clever hook that takes place in the chorus combined with Fields’ inspiring vocal effort makes it one of the best on My World.

The self-titled track benefits from a fantastic rhythm section that is supplemented further by guitar licks, brass, and an assortment of keys. Fields’ focus is political here, and his voice is raspier but also more ardent than most of the other tracks on My World. It distinctively reminded me of Bobby Womack and greats like “Across 110th Street” with Fields’ haunting howl embellishing keys, saxophones, and funk guitar licks. The general style is more indicative of late ’70s soul with the use of synthesizers, which are implemented very nicely here. “Love Comes and Goes” sounds like a lost classic from the Stylistics or Spinners, especially since Fields’ vocals sound fresher than ever and his melodies could sweep insatiable fans off the floor. What really makes this comparison so memorable though is The Del-Larks, who back up Fields with interlacing vocal harmonies that add to the allure of the track’s jubilant demeanor. Over a dozen musicians make up The Expressions, Fields’ backing band, and they do a consistently remarkable job throughout the album. Even if My World does not achieve recognition due to today’s generalized conception of soul music being “outdated”, those who appreciate the genre and all the fine works within it will surely enjoy the excellent My World. It is a new album that sounds like a classic from the past.

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Lee Fields & The Expressions - Ladies

Download audio file (lfields-lad.mp3)

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Lee Fields & The Expressions - My World

Download audio file (lfields-myw.mp3)

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Lee Fields & The Expressions - Love Comes and Goes

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Truth & Soul Records

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Summery indie-pop, intricate art-rock, and a little bit of blues were the mainstays this month, featuring a bunch of new faces apart from Sunset Rubdown. Their new album, Dragonslayer, is fantastic and their track on this month’s best-of is one of the best Krug has ever written, which is quite complementary considering his prolific work ethic. The likes of Klum and Alligators offer up a similar style of art-rock, showcasing plenty of clever hooks with a modernistic edge that grants them plenty of great moments. Pomegranates, Wild Moccasins and Armen Firman offer up a summery style of indie-pop that is suited perfectly for June, while Robert Bradley and T. Nile prove to be more traditional with some soulful blues. Dubious Ranger and Bowerbirds offer up something different, with the former showing some infectious comedic chops and the latter exhibiting some of the most beautiful folk harmonies I have heard all year. Plenty of gems were covered this month, so here’s hoping that June is just as strong.

01. Sunset Rubdown - Apollo and the Buffalo and Anna Anna Anna Oh! (post)
02. Klum - Nonbeliever (post)
03. Alligators - Original Fear (post)
04. Bowerbirds - Beneath Your Tree (post)
05. Armen Firman - Porch Dweller (post)
06. Dubious Ranger - Weapon (post)
07. Wild Moccasins - Spanish and Jazz (post)
08. Pomegranates - Corriander (post)
09. Robert Bradley’s Blackwater Surprise - Alabama (post)
10. T. Nile - Reverie (post)

DOWNLOAD ENTIRE COMPILATION>>> (55.8 MB, .RAR)