I
listened to a lot of CDs this year and wrote many reviews
for local indie publications. I'd make a Top 20 list if I
had the time, I can assure you. Here are my favorite 2006
releases. In no
particular order...
The
Oxygen Ponies by The Oxygen Ponies
Awful Killers by Mike Ferraro
Songs From the Deep Sleep by Brandon Wilde
Sea Green, See Blue
by Jaymay
Live in Atlanta by Lowry
The Reflecting Skin
by Brook Pridemore
In Their Time They Are Magnificent by Slow Learner
Little Mule
by Leah Siegel
Halloween Baby by Dan Costello
How We Fight
by The Animators
I'm Assuming You're All in Bands by Tris McCall
(Note: With the exception of
Tris McCall, all of these pieces originally appeared at JezebelMusic.com,
the Oxygen Ponies review appeared in the Deli.)
The Oxygen Ponies by The
Oxygen Ponies
The Oxygen Ponies have name-dropped
a few heavy hitters promoting this eponymous release: Elliot
Smith, Leonard Cohen and (of course) Dylan. This will definitely
win over some new fans, but it's a bit misleading. Paul Megna,
the songwriting core of the Ponies, clearly has more than
one Afghan Whigs record in his collection. He tackles the
same lyrical ground and epic instrumentation of Greg Dulli
& Company, with a few crucial differences. Dulli was always
ready to turn his post-breakup frustrations into violent alternations
with the world and put some, unsuspecting chap in the hospital.
Megna's characters, on the other hand, can't even pull away
from the bottle, let alone the computer. These songs are shot
on location in someone's Sunday morning apartment and they
stay there. The protagonists huff, puff and threaten, but
they aren't standing at the end of Round 1.
The arrangements are gorgeous and tired, ebbing and flowing
in a never ending hangover for the entire course of the record.
Megna is a talented lyricist, preferring to contrast simple,
universal choruses with rich, original imagery in the verses.
"I have known a lot of girls in that swimming pool called
romance / where simple oysters crush their pearls / with a
steel toe's swift advance" is a fantastic image and Megna
has plenty to share with us. He is fed up with the women in
his life, but ultimately sympathetic...he (I mean the protagonist)
still loves them.
A final note to the listener: Paul Megna apparently likes
his coffee and expects the same of his listeners. There is
no abrasive fist-pumper on The Oxygen Ponies (that would make
the hangover much worse). Patience, attentiveness and caffeine
are highly recommended. Easily the best hard crash record
of 2006.
Awful Killers by Mike
Ferraro
The
CD: Awful Killers is a 5-song EP by Mike Ferraro, clocking
in at just over 13 minutes.
A Briefing: Mike Ferraro has been involved in the Jezebel
Music and Antifolk scenes throughout 2006, performing solo
at the Williamsburg Live Songwriting Competition and with
his band, the Young Republicans, at the Wednesday Night Songwriter
Showcases. He hails from the Jersey side and the band is based
in Hoboken.
A Listen: I am not surprised that Ferraro is playing some
shows with Jezebel Feature Artist Louis Schefano. Like Louis,
his music never strays too far from the early Beatles/Magnum/Barlow
songwriting camps. The material is centered around (deceptively)
simple chord progressions and modestly unpredictable melodies
that glue everything together. There is a distinct pop sensibility
to his music as well; even when Ferraro strums a dirge, he
can't resist the urge to make it hummable. An acoustic or
electric guitar is the central instrument on every track.
I can swear that I hear a horn on one song, but if it's not
a trick of the ear, then it has been unpretentiously buried
in the mix.
When it comes to the recordings themselves, Ferraro has always
mixed a lo-fi sensibility with whatever means were at his
disposal. Somewhere Between First and Last was an 8-track
cassette project and the Pigeon Club EP had the fullness
of a lean studio recording. Awful Killers was recorded
using Pro Tools and falls somewhere in between those other
two projects. Ralph Capasso's drums anchor the material in
these arrangements, with the snare and kick drum mixed up
front. Jonathan Andrew's bass is mixed a little low to these
ears, but his McCartney-isms are nevertheless apparent. While
he sticks close to the root of each chord, there are some
crucial deviations that drive the material up a notch, most
notably the bridge runs in "Whispers and Phrases."
Ferraro's voice is at the center of these tracks. He's an
unpretentious vocalist and if he pushes his larynx to a breaking
point--such as on the anti-Bush title track--it's for good
reason. Unlike most singers who waver in their pitch, Ferraro
utilizes his deviations intentionally, often balancing between
the major and minor third of a chord and giving the progression
an open-ended twist. One of the nicest things about the dual
backing vocals of Capasso and Andrew is how they flesh out
tuneful aspects of Ferraro's melodies as well as his intentionally
off-the-cuff delivery. On "Drown Together" the three of them
expand the arrangement with each chorus to create an effect
that is simultaneously catchy and haunting.
An Interpretation: Ferraro has always written great breakup
songs and on the surface much of Awful Killers seems
like typical romantic balladry. Listen a bit closer: on "Forgotten
How to Lose" (the song Ferraro showcased at the WLSC), the
singer is justifying his chosen (musical?) path to a lover.
He's revealing his greatest fears about following his dreams,
acknowledging that all of his punches are ultimately thrown
from a treadmill that he can't seem to jump off of. It's a
painful admission, and the kicker is that he knows his words
are falling on deaf ears...the "la de da de da" chorus is
not arbitrary bubblegum phonics, but a snub ala-Annie Hall.
Brilliant. "Whispers & Phrases" attempts to reach those of
us who are still trying to figure out our post-college direction.
The singer knows that if he keeps his expectations low, no
one will be able to tear them down. But he's kidding himself;
the dreams have already fallen and any innocent ambition has
been clearly maimed. The title track doesn't disguise its
anti-war sentiment, but the imagery is far from formulaic,
filled with flashes of sewers, monsters, blood and oil set
to a non-western melody. "Drown Together" seems to present
a couple with a few choices for how to pursue their paths
as partners while ultimately pleading against a descent. "Favorite
Picture" is the most cryptic song on the record, but there
is something universal and heartbreaking about it...a touching
closer.
A Rave: There are a lot of songwriters who use their music
as a method of self-therapy with little regard for how it
will affect the audience. Ferraro is different. If he's not
reaching out lyrically, he's reaching out musically, drawing
the listener into his woe with infectious, sing-a-long hooks.
Like another one of my newly discovered/favorite songwriters,
Scott Miller, Ferraro is an avid reader. But while Loud Family
songs reflect Miller's love for the maddeningly impenetrable
James Joyce, Ferraro's material resembles the equally passionate,
user-friendly approach of Hemingway. His songs do indeed reveal
more with repeated listens, but the important points can be
ascertained on the first run. He doesn't want to give any
listener a reason to walk away.
A Rant: Not much here. I already mentioned that the bass is
mixed low on these songs. It isn't criminal like the omission
of Jason Newsted on Metallica's And Justice For All,
but since I started out on bass in high school, I have a soft
spot for a big bottom end.
A Link: Currently, Awful Killers is available at Ferraro's
live shows. You can check out the concert schedule here. If
you can't wait, most of the songs are available for download
at his website. I should note that "Whispers and Phrases"
is my favorite song, and there's no link for that one. I highly
suggest you make the effort get out to a show and pick up
the whole package.
Songs From the Deep Sleep by
Brandon
Wilde
When Brandon Wilde was still running around in his overalls
on Brooklyn playgrounds, he already had Sgt. Pepper
engrained in his brain. With the exception of a few detours—most
notably Radiohead Avenue—his new record, Songs From the
Deep Sleep, is a perfect summation of love, loss, regret
and resolutions to carry on, all wrapped in a childhood love
for Paul McCartney. Wilde's talent is seasoned, well executed,
thoroughly enjoyable, and leagues above the lion's share of
the Williamsburg music scene. I listened to this record for
weeks in my apartment, and more recently on a road-trip out
to Ohio and on Thanksgiving Day while we were preparing our
holiday dinner; it was perfect for all these occasions. I
might not be able to compose a perfectly convincing review
for you, but in my heart I cannot recommend this CD more highly.
That is the easy part of the review.
The trickier part is to try and explain why this record works
so well. On paper, it shouldn't. There is no lyrical abrasiveness,
unexpected twists of artistic adventurism (outside of a brilliant
use of key modulation and some fantastic bridges), unusual
instrumentation, quirky vocals...and in the past, I have made
similar observations before subsequently trashing a record.
Being active in the music scene, I get a chance to meet and
befriend many of the artists whose records I review. "Putting
your best self into your music" is a phrase that gets tossed
around a lot, and my complaint has always been that the qualities
that artists choose to leave out of their work would often
make it more interesting. Usually I make an observation about
what is missing in a collection because I know for a fact
that choices were made during the recording and sequencing
process for purely commercial purposes. "Change that swear
word." "Leave this song off." "Put this song at the end of
the CD so it won't scare off the listener." I hate decisions
like that...they should be made subconsciously as part of
the songwriting process or they shouldn't be made at all.
If you write a song, it (or a song like it) should be represented
in the collection you present to the world.
No such sacrifices have been made with this record; it goes
down like a good Beatles iMix because that is who Brandon
Wilde is. "You can do what you want to do today" is a line
from the opening track and it lays the groundwork for the
rest of the record. Doing what you want to do is not as easy
as it seems in the music industry. Songs From the Deep
Sleep works because Wilde hasn't hidden anything on this
project. See, he isn't (generally) quirky. He isn't
abrasive. He is an extremely talented sweetheart who loves
the Beatles and knows how to make a fantastic CD. You may
never get to meet Wilde personally, but listening to his new
collection of songs, you will get as pure a representation
of his soul as an artist can put on record. That, my friends,
is a major achievement, and should help him win over a lot
of new fans.
Sea Green, See Blue by Jaymay
Dear Jaymay: I'm floating above your bed, fly-on-the-wall
fashion, observing...
The boy is curled up (as I picture it, turtle-ishly), wrapped
in the sheets next to you. The lamp on his side of the bed
is off. Yours is not, and the glow reaches him in a few chosen
places while splashing you squarely on one side (you're awake,
staring, on your back). Your eyes point in my direction, but
this is a story of the past, already etched into a combination
chords and melody that lift me up and out of the audience
every time I hear it and I remain unnoticed. Sometimes there
is a xylophone at your side and you're leaning over to tap
in cautiously, tinkering out the melody about that unobtainable
love who you wish was curled up next to you (though I question
whether or not he too would slip out of the lamplight once
won over by you, your thoughts now focused on the corduroy
boy). The scene plays itself over and over in my mind every
time I hear you, and with a performance finally pressed and
packaged into the most recent EP, I was hoping to have the
scenario freely at my fingertips on evenings of my choice
(face-to-face encounters have, after all, become increasingly
more difficult to grasp; I recently walked home from a sold
out performance, turned away at the door, downcast).
So I spin the song and the curtain rises once again. The scenario
is the same, the bed, the lamp, the turtlish boy (it is all
very Good Night Moon), you on your back staring upward
and outward it's raining out the window your companion exudes
the sounds of sleep...and then there are these other voices.
Piping up from the left and right stereo channels, as loud
as cotton, calling out for the course of a verse. Who are
these people and why are here?! I think to myself, Go away!
You're going to wake the turtlish boy! They listen, thankfully,
but as I breathe a sigh of relief I'm greeted by the cheerful
jiggling of a ukulele man? Is that a balafon team? Why?! Why
are they here?! The piping voices return, and within seconds
my once silent scenario has been bombarded by some sort of
Van Morrison appreciation party. And against the grating cognitive
dissonance I find myself tapping my feet. It's lovely and
confusing to me at the same time, and as the counter reaches
3:24 it's all over.
I find myself sadly elated for you. I adore this song madly
like every one of your compositions, and I am happy that this
collection has helped you recently climb up the ladder of
iTunes (in Top 100 Albums Overall, #1 Folk Album, 3 songs
in Top 100 Folk, an Apple Store performance).
Still, you've left me longing. I miss the quiet, I miss the
sound of the rain on the window, I miss the gentle, slumbering
breath of the turtlish boy. And I know that the only way I'll
regain these things is by wandering out into the evening,
standing in the ever extending line of fans and hoping that,
by some random roll of the dice, tonight's arrangements will
be sparse enough to cradle the images that your words never
fail to sculpt across my imagination.
Sincerely,
Ben Krieger
Live in Atlanta by Lowry
Ever since the first time I heard Alex Lowry my mind has immediately
made a connection between him and J Mascis. I'm starting to
realize how limited (and unfair) that comparison is. The two
writers' vocal styles are uncannily similar, but really, that's
where the similarities end. I've owned Martin & Me
since it came out years ago and I don't think I've gotten
through it once. It's a sloppy, careless unplugged record,
and by comparison, Lowry's Live in Atlanta EP is an
artistic triumph: epic, polished, road-worn and heartbreaking.
Those of us familiar with the band's fantastic live shows
won't be surprised by the caliber of the performances in this
set, which were taped at Eddie's Attic. Most of these songs
can be found on last year's Awful Joy and the mix brings
out every instrument, every harmony, displaying each with
amazing clarity. It's nice to see "Radio Sky" leading things
off (one of my favorite Lowry numbers). On "One Thing," the
sound reaches Springsteen-level proportions.
Lyrically, this is a closing time record, and the imagery
is full of the potent, haunting poetry that we've come to
expect from this act. The songs tell a tale of an artist who
is slowly coming out of a damaging chapter of his life. On
the best numbers, there's a sense of an upswing, and even
when the protagonist seem to be passed out on the bathroom
floor, you can feel the butterfly landing on his cheek.
With Live in Atlanta, I think Lowry has put a final
period on this chapter. He can certainly continue in this
vein if he wants, and bartenders from here to Kansas City
will gladly sing along as they push the patrons out the door
at 4am. But the guy's is clearly shooting for a seat among
the giants, and the giants often stand apart because of the
versatility in their lyrical focus. As it stands, Alex Lowry
is a genie in a liquor bottle and many people love him for
it. I can't help but think of the wishes he could grant if
someone let him out...
The Reflecting Skin by Brook
Pridemore
To say that I've spun Brook Pridemore's new release, The
Reflecting Skin, about 10 times doesn't quite tell the
whole story; I've listened to Track #6 about three times that.
From the opening snare salute to the final barbershop chorus,
"I'll Be Here All Night" is the standout anthem in a collection
of punk folk gems.
Pridemore runs his acoustic guitar through the Ramones' meat
grinder on this record, combining Westerberg's sincerity and
penchant for clever one-liners with occasional sprawls of
Springsteen and the punk energy of Uncle Tupelo's first classic.
In fact, someone should send this CD to Tweedy as a biting
reminder that he used to rock.
The most touching aspect of The Reflecting Skin is
the community feel. Be it the lyrics, liner notes or supporting
cast of players, a large of number of artists from the current
folk scene are present: Alex Lowry, the Bowmans, David LK
Murphy, Dan Costello, Toby Goodshank, Ivan Sandomire. If those
names sound familiar to you, it's because they've all left
their mark on both sides of the East River (Lowry was Jezebel's
January 2006 Featured Artist). Simply put, if my grandkids
ever ask me what it was like touring across the country and
playing in NYC circa 2005-2006, this is the record I will
play them.
In Their Time They Are Magnificent
by Slow
Learner
On the morning of September 11, 2001 I didn't get up until
10am and heard the news when I was confronted with the stalled
1 train at 137th Street. I went back in, told the restaurant
I would obviously be late, and sat down in front of the television.
I had been to the top of the World Trade Center twice: once
with my dad when I was 11, and with my ex-fiancé (me in a
nice shirt, her in a silver dress, both of us fresh off 6
months worth of swing classes, we had ridden the elevators
up on a Saturday evening and gone dancing). In the months
following that Tuesday I remember wandering off alone one
evening in October to watch the sun rise from the Brooklyn
Bridge and staring into the void where there should have been
windows glowing. I remember tending bar in a dark corner of
Inwood where it seemed as if everyone had lost someone and
was planning to drink themselves into amnesia.
I played a lot of music during the months following 9/11,
but there is no single record that got me through that fall,
no particular collection of songs that completely connected
the dots that were scampering around. With Slow Learner's
In Their Time They Are Magnificent I have found a lost
soundtrack to a very intense season in my life.
This is a record about the loss of life, about the celebration
of perseverance and personal magic. The music leaves a lasting
impression, visual imagery blends with the sounds emanating
from the speakers. I paint my own pictures: pianos dance with
paper bags, guitars slip out of the smoke pillars...strangers
gather on eastern shores to stare helplessly across rivers...first
time ministers deliver hymns of mourning in makeshift churches...the
drum of a thousand running feet...a commuter who stares from
his watch to the empty subway tunnel and back with no idea
of how magical he is... friends singing a drunken chorus in
the corner of a Manhattan bar...a shifting bundle of balloons
suddenly released into the sky in a dozen colors, flying father
apart and away with every passing second...the soft drop of
tinkering glass...the sounding off of a solemn brass band.
This is a record about the loss of life, about the celebration
of perseverance and personal magic.
"I don't love everything I've done, but I feel that this record
is it," says mastermind Michael Napolitano, "It's real and
it's good and...I don't know how it happened." Like many artists,
the multi-instrumentalist can tell you how it happened in
a literal sense: It began with the drummer locking himself
in his house for a year on a forced mission towards proficiency
on piano, guitar, and several other instruments. Then there
were a lot of sleepless trips to record in Albany, a concerted
effort to keep the sound organic and loose, playing behind
the beat, guitar riffs composed in real time. But like many
great records, In Their Time They Are Magnificent is
greater than the sum of its parts, and the spiritual energy
that pushed it past that point is something that often leaves
an artist amazed at his/her own work.
"With the wood you made a cross behind
the stake between your bone To leave us all reminded that
we are not alone And more that you drink and more in your
nose And you too can lead the world in your daddy's new clothes
You are wicked and we forgive you." --from "Martyr"
Neil Young comes up several times in our conversation. Sonically,
Slow Learner's material is reminiscent of his more volatile
70s records (On the Beach, Tonight's the Night). Politically,
however, Magnificent sits on an opposite pole from
Living with War in terms of how it approaches its subjects.
"[Songwriters] don't want to be kitschy," says Napolitano
about topical writing. We're talking about his subtle approach
to describing the post-9/11 outlook in the songs. We agree
that it took a long time for the NYC music scene to start
expressing the aftermath of those harrowing events in their
art (some never did) and Napolitano brings up a point that
Neil Young's cheerleaders seem to have missed: if you are
a struggling musician trying to establish yourself, singing
directly and without irony about politics is risky. Singing
about true pain is even riskier. Songs about love and loss
are often safer to perform. Many audience members will react
with emotion knowing that they may never have to live through
their personal heartbreak again. What happened to our city
in 2001, however, was very painful, very real, and will most
likely occur again. To present an audience in denial with
a dangerous pain is to sacrifice easier commercial success.
Napolitano suggests that being elusive is simply a way of
keeping the listener from getting too uncomfortable. Running
over the lyrics to his songs, it seems as if his intention
is to make listeners feel comfortable. Many of us never "moved
on"; we buried and avoided. If Neil Young has chosen to aggressively
raise Americans from complacency, Magnificent takes
on the approach of a healer: we are more beautiful than we
realize, we don't have to poison ourselves, we can admit that
we are living in a false sense of security, we don't have
to limit our conversations to discussions on the brilliance
of the White Stripes, we don't need to medicate the darker
sides of our psyche...and if we have spent the past 5 years
trying to escape back into a metrosexual world of hedonism
and distraction, it's not too late to turn things around.
Napolitano presents it all quite tenderly. He wants you to
really think about it on your own time, late at night, walking
the rain.
All this aside, the boys in Slow Learner know how to enjoy
themselves. As we roll on through the evening I'm treated
to all sorts of stories about the recording process, the memories
of old friends, and how playing with long-time associate Ed
Gorch is "as intense as making love to a woman [insert laugher
from the band]." In the live setting, Kieran Mulvaney, Jordon
Young and Gorch rally around their leader with great enthusiasm
for his songs and spirit. The sound on Magnificent may originate
from the mind of one man, but not a man in isolation.
Michael Napolitano is a Jersey boy; once again, while the
bars in Brooklyn are alive with the sounds of love, liquor
and irony, a rare record that addresses the post 9/11 world
directly seems to have come from that land across the river
(the songwriter joins his neighbors the Boss and Tris McCall,
among others). While he was raised on the CSNY and Billy Joel
records of his father (also a drummer), Napolitano only recently
discovered Springsteen's work. Now he is in love, and the
conceptual sprawl suits him well. "I'm going to make epic
records," says Napolitano, "This one just opened the door."
What an entrance.
Little Mule by Leah
Siegel
Little Mule
is Leah Siegel's new record. We've been waiting a long
time for this one. News of it being in the bag came out back
in February/March and at this point the fans are rabid for
it.
Little Mule
has been worth the wait. This is a fantastic record
in every respect. Every song is well-written and seasoned
over countless performances by a professional songwriter who
takes her craft seriously.
Little Mule
is the best sounding local record I've heard this year.
This is a little unfair because she didn't exactly put it
together in her bedroom. A serious of cards lined up in order
to produce this record, ending with a Bob Ludwig mastering
job. Every instrument has been miked and mixed with the utmost
care. Acoustic guitars don't sound nicer than this unless
you're playing a Jethro Tull record.
Little Mule
showcases Siegel's awesome band. Steve Elliot has some
great guitar lines. When Siegel is strumming, he's in the
trenches laying it out there and when her wonderful finger
picking is on display, he backs off. Tim Luntzel and Brian
Wolfe are a fantastic rhythm section and professionals in
every sense of the word.
Little Mule
showcases Leah Siegel's rock star persona. She's already
done the stripped down record. This record is meant to put
her in the alpha-rocker league with Lowry and it succeeds.
Leah Siegel's voice is in top form.
If you are reading this and haven't heard Siegel before, think
of her as the lovechild of Billy Holiday and Jeff Buckley
and you're on the right track.
Little Mule
is a road record. Many of the songs reference the road.
The album cover has a Midwestern backdrop of open fields (with
tornadoes). The arrangements make the drive from New York
to Cleveland incredibly enjoyable. Siegel's thoughtful use
of imagery leaves no room for lyrical clichés and the nicest
thing about this CD is that it lifts you out of your apartment
and drops you down into these motorcycle dairies. New Yorkers
need successful escapism like this.
Little Mule
will carry Leah Siegel for a while and with any luck break
her into the big time. Following it up will be the
real test, however. This is an autobiographical record; the
most powerful moments come road trips that actually happened
and older sisters with PhDs that actually exist. Admittedly,
the arachnids will always be there for Siegel. Lou Reed is
one of her inspirations, however, and (thankfully) he hasn't
lived through every song he's written. I think Siegel has
what it takes to play with the big leaguers, so I'm not really
worried.
Leah Siegel has the wrong picture on
her website. From a shallow publicist's perspective,
anyway. I actually love the idea of a rock goddess who confuses
people with a hazy-ala-Liz-Taylor press photo that makes her
look like a jazz piano diva. But hopefully we'll see some
shots of her and the band soon. I mean, they are some cool
looking guys!
Halloween Baby by Dan
Costello
Wow. Even I didn't see this coming: Dan Costello has—without
a doubt—released the most engaging, humorous and well-executed
indie release in the Antifolk scene this year. Run, don't
walk, down to the Sidewalk Café and pick up a copy of Halloween
Baby today.
Jaymay may be the darling songsmith, Brooke Pridemoore may
wear the barstool heart, the Bowmans may harmonize everyone
else into the ground, but piano man Costello has crafted the
CD that you will want to spin the most. What set Costello
apart from the pack are his musical intelligence and the large
record collection that fuels it. The man has obviously done
his homework on what makes a record work. Costello juggles
genres with the best of them: country, Broadway tunes, rap
folk, roots pop, ragtime, it's all here. Lyrically, our hero
wrestles with love, a stale pot habit, lucrative but constricting
day jobs, and the Lorimer Jail (the classic cut gets the key
second slot). Great rhymes, too ("I went to school, I smoked
some Buddha/I researched Shakespeare on my compu-tah"). All
the right production choices have been made by Ben Godwin;
these aren't the kind of sounds that happen by accident. Mics
have been placed thoughtfully, the drums sound fantastic,
call-out choruses hit with effective impact and the mix is
perfect. The song sequence sets a pace that never lags, the
instrumentation is varied and the side musicians are aces.
This is a solid collection of tunes. I suppose that people
who want to quibble about songwriting (you know, those snobby
folks who think Ron Sexsmith is God) will find a line or melody
that isn't as strong as the rest, but Costello is staking
no claims to the "next Dylan" moniker. On Halloween Baby he
has played to his strengths: you will be so busy singing along,
nodding your head and tapping your feet that you won't notice
anything other than how much fun you're having. And the best
material will be in your head long after you've turned off
the CD player. I don't know how else to say it: I've bought
over 100 CDs this year. Springsteen, King Crimson, Slayer,
Olivia Tremor Control...this is the only recording that I
have repeated more than 3 times in a sitting because I couldn't
consider putting on something else. And with listenability
like that, who NEEDS Springsteen? Well OK, we all need the
Boss, but you get the point. Bruce even gets a strong nod
on this record, from the female name dropping in the lyrics
to the title track, which plays like a bratty outtake from
Born to Run.
This is Dan Costello's debut release and he has hit the ground
running. Antifolkers, the bar has been set. Try and beat it.
How
We Fight by The
Animators
Everyone plays the age game a bit differently in the music
world. Some of us pick our favorite albums and secretly do
the math, figuring how old our idols were when they tracked
their opus and then compare it with our own place on the road
to success. Some of us secretly cringe when somebody brings
up how the Beatles had recorded their swan song before they
were thirty. Some of us press onward because we can't stop
even if we wanted to, others because we know that time is
not a given and death doesn't offer a heads up. Anyone who
has paid attention to the Animators output over the past few
years knows that what fuels their career is the fear that
the reaper will come knocking long after Elvis has left the
building. Their characters are constantly looking backwards
at what might have been, staring into the bathroom mirror,
checking the grey in their stubble, flipping through the mounting
bills, pondering over lovers that seem to have managed change
much better than they have. I've attended many Animators shows
over the years and to me, Devon Copley and Alex Wong have
always sounded as if they are scared of becoming the characters
they write about. Well, good for them, because that motivation
seems to be working. It's 2006, the boys are well established
on both coasts, have just returned from a tour of Asia...and
now they've released a career-defining record. How We Fight
is the sound of a band that has worked their ass off and
is now pulling out the big guns for their make-it-or-break-it
statement to the world.
The Animators live vocal delivery has always been cut from
the same cloth as "rock-bottom" emo bands such as the Wrens.
The boys have also expressed their love for Fountains of Wayne,
whose recordings give off the sunny aura of commercial success.
Given the light of success that is finally piercing its way
through the end of the Animator's tunnel, it's not surprising
.that How We Fight finds them somewhere between the two extremes:
still scared of burning out, but unable to deny that they're
having the time of their lives. This record was finished late
in 2005, and though songs like "Late Night Show" practically
bleed with regret and missed opportunities, there's a subtle
vibe of "hot damn, we're headlining in Singapore" all over
this record. The accordion, digital loops, "box", glockenspiel,
and other instruments that have long been a staple of the
band's live show are gently lowered in the mixes, making room
for plenty of "take that, top 40" electric guitar, compressed
in true pop rock fashion. Kevin Rice keeps a solid beat throughout.
Longtime bassist Philip Galitzine carries the hook on "Buy
Buy," an anti-consumerism anthem that may garner the band
some licensing offers from companies failing to catch the
cynicism in the verses. The first half of Fight is sequenced
with the most straight forward arrangements, leaving off-kilter
numbers like "Good Day" for later. Other bands should take
note on how the Animators fuse their dual vocals into the
songwriting; on several numbers, Wong and Copley aren't simply
harmonizing with each other, but trading lines that add lyrical
twists to the material. Notice how on "Late Night Show" Wong's
backing vocals betray the bitter subconscious of a second-rate
T.V. personality.
If inventive instrumentation, solid lyrics, catchy melodies,
sophisticated song-structures, razor-sharp production and
go-for-broke execution represent the six cylinders of the
pop songwriting engine, then the selections on How We Fight
all blaze away on at least four or five. On more than one
occasion the songs transcend such arbitrary analogies altogether.
"How Do I Get Over You" is a break-up classic...it's also
the key to understanding the ultimately sunny outlook that
has ensured the Animators survival: "please don't worry if
she never comes/the city's going to find you another one."
In other words, no matter how bad things seem, never stop
rocking. Cheers, guys.
I'm Assuming You're All in Bands
by Tris
McCall & the New Jack Trippers
As a fellow rocker pointed out to me recently, New York City
doesn't really have a music scene. Some have done their best
to foster something resembling a scene (Gabriel
Levitt and Lach
spring to mind), but Big Apple musicians are not, generally,
a collectivist bunch. Many have moved here from cities that
actually do possess tight-knit communities of musicians.
New York is a home for thousands of artists who decide to
strike it out on their own, building up a currency of networking
contacts and soaking up whatever they can from the smorgasbord
of talent. Most—but not all—of us were born somewhere else,
will move a dozen times in a dozen neighborhoods while we're
here, and eventually leave when our careers point elsewhere.
Tris McCall has played both sides of the fence, both here
in Brooklyn and across the river in Jersey, where he has lived
for nearly all of his life. His music, while fantastic on
its own, has always been more effective when juxtaposed with
his sprawling
website. Like his idol, George Bernard Shaw, McCall
is a jack-of-all-trades: plays, essays, blogs, concept records,
political pieces, novels...he is a writing behemoth, a machine
of the most human sort. I'm Assuming You're All in Bands
is my favorite record of the year, and if I have delayed
writing about it for so long, it's because I feel that delving
into a Tris McCall release requires more than my typical 5-6
spin review. I wonder how someone who has never heard of McCall
would approach this CD? For someone like myself, who is familiar
with McCall's website, Bands beckons an in-depth study.
(Dear First Paragraph: Do not fear, I will come back to you
soon. xoxo, Bee K).
I'm Assuming You're All in Bands focuses on the Williamsburg
music scene (or rather what's left of it). When placed in
the context of McCall's other work, it is wonderfully contradictory,
full of brilliant observations, hole-filled arguments, rants,
reminisces, and more references than you can shake a stick
at. The key to understanding the record lies in the final
song, "Lucky 13." At first glance, it seems simple enough:
the musical explosion that took over Williamsburg several
years ago has transformed the neighborhood into a plastic
shadow of the manic, teeth-cutting energy that swept Bedford
back when the Strokes were barely on the radar. Our hero is
still in the middle of it, playing keyboard in several bands,
surrounded by recently transplanted musicians whom he hardly
knows and couples strolling the streets for a night of hipster
romance. Hudson County is his safe haven, and it's no accident
that "Lucky 13" is separated from the collection by "Crowd
Noise", sung in a raw, quavering tone not found on the other
cuts.
The funny thing is that McCall's approach to these songs has
changed over time. Many of them were being performed before
his previous record, Shootout at the Sugar Factory,
was even released. The first song I ever heard from this Jersey
rocker was "The Clean Version," which kicked off his Mercury
Lounge release party for Shootout. Back then the song
was guitar-heavy, a gesture that linked the music with the
Giraffes, the Negatones, the Vitamin, and all the other Brooklyn
bands that McCall associated with. He was juggling this camaraderie-building
with similar escapades back across the river. The lack of
a stable music scene in Union/Jersey City frustrated McCall...it
seemed, from my perspective, that he wanted more than anything
to foster a thriving community of musicians back home where
people shared a bond of statehood (or districthood, as McCall
might comment). And yet he was pulled by the undeniable talent
that was blowing amps in Brooklyn; if only he could get the
NYC musicians to covet Jersey shows. Sadly, in one
of the most heart-wrenching series of events ever to crush
a music scene (all of which were thoroughly
covered in the Tris McCall Report), developers
realized that the NYC real-estate explosion was large enough
to envelope the Jersey City. There was no need for the local
musicians to play their part as gentrification lackeys. They
were bypassed. The property values had already gone up, and
subsequently, the 111 Arts Center and Uncle Joe's disappeared.
Sure, the issues behind these events were a bit more complicated,
but the damage was done. McCall had written articles, organized
benefit concerts, and in the end thrown up his hands, tossing
his copy of The Power Broker across the room. In one
of his responses to my annoyingly trigger-happy emails, McCall
shrugged off his efforts as something that seemed important
at the time, but wouldn't steal any of his sleep (Editor's
Note: Whether or not Tris McCall actually sleeps has yet to
be verified.)
I never bought that shrug-off. While the title for I'm
Assuming You're All in Bands was in McCall's head for
years, the past few have taken their toll. (Dear First Paragraph:
I am coming. Wait for me. xoxo, Bee K). Everything about this
record screams emotional distance. From a sonic standpoint,
the guitar that once served as the bridge between McCall and
his Brooklyn comrades is gone. Compared with the liner notes
for Shootout, which painstakingly acknowledged by name
every artistic soul who had served as an inspiration, Bands
features a lengthy recollection of Summer 2005 in Williamsburg,
with every name blacked out. Like all of us artistic types,
McCall can't stop trucking, but there is a sense he doesn't
feel Williamsburg like he used to. And in Jersey City,
where at one point he ironically played a part in a would-have-been
step towards the gentrification (that occurred anyway)...well...things
just haven't gone the way he's planned. It's all Subway and
no scene: a town that could have been a contender, currently
housing countless musicians who duck into the PATH train and
head for the Big Apple.
Those are some of the emotional undertones I detect on the
record. The music itself is fantastic. Recorded mostly live
in the studio, it doesn't have the clear production of McCall's
previous releases, but who needs a retread? More than any
other record, this one captures the sound of his defunct band,
the New Jack Trippers. It's a brilliant mess of a synth-pop
record, echoing ELP, the Split Enz and the Attractions with
equal flare. And while I wish that he'd drop his New Millennium
pattern of limiting The Broken Loom's vulnerable acoustic
power to one song per collection ("The
Hymn Against Whiskey"),
I'll take what I can get (I have a soft spot for that 1996
outing). "Colonial Williamsburg" contains the best lyrics
that Paul Westerberg never wrote for Soul Asylum (imagine
Dave Pirner singing it and you'll hear what I mean). "The
Hymn Against Whiskey" has risen from a cheesy solo live number
that McCall used to (rightfully) apologize for into a charming
Hallmark card from a self-described church girl to Brooklyn's
alcoholics, complete with ball park organ. "The Werewolf of
Brenton Woods" is deceptively mellow, sharply pointing out
that despite the counter-culture aspirations and Nader raves,
most (all?) of us musicians are consumers, spending money
in a world we helped create, complete with Sam Ash credit
cards and band meetings at Thai Thai.
To McCall, the Golden Age of the Williamsburg scene is over.
I think what's left has moved and is currently consuming Bushwick.
I'm Assuming You're All in Bands packages the scene
up in a time capsule. While record execs aren't roaming the
alleys like they used to, the role we musicians play in the
real estate market is very much alive. McCall has written
about this idea before, but not on this record.
Bands maintains a self-absorbed focus on what Williamsburg's
evolution has meant to the musicians. Which is fine.
We can't expect McCall to cover everything in the course of
a CD. And considering the lyrical complexity of this record,
maybe it's just me...I probably just missed something. I certainly
understand Bands a bit more after reading G.B.S.'s
John Bull's Other Island (McCall cites this as an influence).
Tackling Pynchon is one of my 2007 goals, and maybe the Lot
49 reference in "An American Tourist in Brooklyn" will
open a few doors (until then I will continue my trek through
the world of William Gaddis, who, coincidently, influenced
McCall's If One of The Bottles Should Happen to Fall
record). This is dense, incredibly literate songwriting. McCall
has pointed out that Springsteen, whom he places high on the
mountaintop, makes conceptual records that demand dozens of
listens. The same applies to each Tris McCall release. This
essay is a product of time and play counts...who knows what
I'll have to say 10 spins down the road? I can't write that
about every record dropped in 2006. This one? Hell yes. Best
release of the year.
(Dear First Paragraph: Did I ever really get back to you?
I suppose I didn't. I'll be honest...I wrote you a few weeks
ago and then put this piece aside. More than a few revelations
and iPod plays have occurred since then, and if I'm not approaching
this CD with the same train of thought as I did in December,
it's because great music resists such a stagnant approach
to interpretation. I leave you purposeful, just in a different
way. xoxo, Bee K)
The
End
bk@at@benkrieger.com
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