- Diane Wei Lewis
- Albums and Singles
Not so conceptual, not sad or very beautiful, not likely to persist in its impression, Liars simply grab onto immediate, relentless hooks and make urgent, funky fun. It's like this: three-minute songs with slithery disco-punk bass lines, given a slightly chilly imperviousness by sparse synthesizers and walkie-talkie barked vocals. Good stuff, with the exception of the last track, which ends in a looped locked-groove, extending over 30 minutes! (An excuse to make an "album" out of an EP?) Go figure, because this plodding bore is the complete opposite of the album's leading tracks.
 
"Grown men don't fall in the river, just like that" is a rousing, somewhat ironic wake-up call from the band that's got its "finger on the pulse of America": "Can you hear us? / Not too political, nothing too clever." I applaud the use of electronic handclaps and cowbells on "Mr your on fire Mr." On this track, you can practically see the lead singer wiggling his butt in this jerky twister's breathless pauses. It's not the most memorable album I've heard recently, but the songs are captivating in their frenetic, ephemeral sorta way. However, most of the material here is so sonically of a genre and lyrically unremarkable that I can't really think of a reason why I would choose the Liars above any other band that makes punk rawk kids shake their thangs.
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When Guided By Voices initially left Matador Records to record with TVT, it was rumored that the main point of contention was Rob Pollard's prolific songwriting, and his inability to concentrate on just one release. Solo records, records under different band names, EPs, and singles dotted the marketplace from GBV, and Gerard Cosloy wished Pollard wouldn't cause fans confusion over which release to buy. After all, who has money to buy 9 releases a year from Mr. Pollard? (Especially when some of which aren't any good.)
Now, Pollard has the Fading Captain Series, where he releases all of his wacked-out side projects in limited pressings, and they're back on Matador. So it seems surprising that that label is willing to let Pollard release this "odds and sods" collection under the Fading Captain name, especially since it is a Guided By Voices release, not the Circus Devils or Airport 5. Pollard and Co. do thank Matador in the liner notes, but it still feels odd considering the past. But these tracks, recorded during sessions for 'Isolation Drills' and 'Universal Truths and Cycles' are an interesting sort that hint at both the past and present without being either. They're partially in between both aforementioned records—too tame for 'Truths', yet too strange for 'Drills,' which was arguably their most accessible release. The title track is a perfect example: catchy yet annoying, solid yet sloppy, and in your face yet distant, it is as study in contradictions. Which makes it one of the most compelling GBV songs ever. "Dig Through My Window" is better than anything on their last two records, with its careful strings and irresistable melody. Elsewhere, it's more than the same, but with a touch more class. 'Pipe Dreams...' is a quick listen, with ten tracks at just over twenty-three minutes, but it's also a great introduction to this, the most consistent and most hard rocking, incarnation of GBV. Loyal fans will rejoice, casuals will waffle but give in, and once in a blue moon fans will avoid like the plague. And that's exactly the way it should be.
 
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Dude, I had no idea how BECK Dirk Dresselhaus had become. To be fair, the only Schneider TM that I was really familiar with at all before Zoomer was 'Binokular' from two years ago, which I really liked. But there were only 2 tracks with vocals on that album/EP, and they were fairly understated; on Zoomer, the vocals are pretty upfront most of the time.
And he really does sound like Beck (or at least a glossier, techno-savvy, Germanic Beck doppleganger), especially on pop-friendly tracks like "Frogtoise" and "Abyss." I could forgive Dresselhaus for his Beckishness if his lyrics were decent, but to quote verbatim from the lyric sheet: "I had a dream / I cut a frog in half / And a turtle too / oh, oh, oh, oh..." (It's the "ohs" and "yeahs" and "heys" that really get to me.) Some of the singing actually sounds pretty good, if a bit overly chipper. Musically, most of the album is upbeat, light electronic pop, with a little guitar thrown in for good measure. The production is slick and the beats are rhythmically interesting. But Dresselhaus doesn't take many risks, preferring to stay within safe, accessible territory—and unfortunately, it makes 'Zoomer' seem a little dated. There's obviously a lot of talent here, but its overshadowed by Schneider TM's seemingly newfound pop flashiness (see the Beckish cover shot). I guess part of me really wanted this album to be a good counter-attack to the (sigh) "electroclash" mentality of most recent electronic pop. [Note: you can be influenced by New Order without trying to sound exactly like them.] To be fair, the influences run deep on Zoomer, but the end result doesn't stick with me like I hoped it might. The one exception is the album's opener, "Reality Check," which, despite its overused vocoded vocals and flangy guitar, is a fine, catchy pop song that I can't help returning to. Considering that the album also contains the awful "Turn On," with (I'm serious) a guest rapper, the two tracks balance out, returning 'Zoomer' to its natural state of mediocrity.
 
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The Mountain Goats have finally released a true Euripidean goat song, a sparkling Floridian tragedy which places an alcoholic couple whose once true love has soured in a two-story bungalow filled with cases of vodka and ashtrays teeming with stale cigarette butts. We have seen this couple before: they inhabit all the songs with "Alpha" in the title. The difference is now their exploits are being documented with the assistance of a fancy recording studio, sometimes even complemented by bass, drums, piano, and other instruments.
It's not that The Mountain Goats have never recorded in a proper studio before. They have. They have just never released an album filled entirely with songs not recorded onto John Darnielle's Panasonic FT-500 boombox. 'Tallahassee' sounds much like last year's Extra Glenns's 'Martial Arts Weekend,' which paired Darnielle with Franklin Bruno (who also appears on this album). This time, Darnielle teams up with Peter Hughes who, coincidentally, also played with Bruno in Nothing Painted Blue. The album ostensibly deals with the tumultuous and strenuous relationship of the Alpha couple. But sometimes it is hard to perceive that the songs are about the lamentable side of the relationship because sorrow usually takes place in metaphor and abstraction (with notable exceptions: "No Children" features the lyrics "I hope you die; I hope we both die"), and the melodies and tones are not particularly somber, doing nothing to suggest that the fall of the house of Alpha is upon us.
There are no disastrous downfalls in these songs, only the banal everyday annoyances and grievances which plague most married couples. Unlike every other Mountain Goats release, this album is devoid of the signature frenetic guitar strumming, a strange omission when you consider how suggestive that particular sound could be of the looming animosity which courses through the album, or at least the anxiety surrounding it. Most of the songs are deliberate without being languid. The album starts out with the title track—an ambling and sedate song which takes its time building into a combustible and emotionally restrained ditty, just screaming to be let out of its cage. Darnielle refuses to let it out entirely. His tight reigns are masterfully manipulated and his discipline is astounding. It's not easy to find the chaos fomenting under the skin of each song, even though the liner notes let us know it's there. If anything, it is Darnielle's voice which divulges the entropy underneath. It sometimes twists and writhes with itself, sometimes shrieking in a tenor which would likely shatter the windows in the two-story house where his Alpha couple lives. The gem on this album is "International Small Arms Traffic Blues." The song could be a love paean, with its almost whispered vocals, optimistic coda (the lyrics a reference to either The Eagles or The Emotions), and love sonnet-like metaphor. Each verse begins with an absurd love simile ("My love is like a Cuban plane"), which quickly becomes less absurd as the verse takes shape. When it is all over, you realize how much sense it all makes; how this couple can be in so much grievous trouble behind the scenes of these lovely songs; how dangerously and delicately balanced their lives are on this northen Florida swampland.
 
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![ALIENOLOGY: Selected Works 1998-2008 Cover Art](http://f.bandcamp.com/z/41/59/4159692854-1.jpg)
10 CD
BOX SET
A unique occasion for every adventurous listener to experience some of the most inscrutable and essential music of all times.
DISC 2 - 'The Rest Is Silence' (part one)
DISC 3 - 'The Rest Is Silence' (part two - extended version)
DISC 4 - 'When The Windmill's Whirl Dies'
DISC 5 - 'There's A Flame___Sometimes'
DISC 6 - 'Where The Lines Go To Sleep' (previously unreleased)
DISC 7 - 'Greetings From The Great Void'
DISC 8 - 'The Secret Of The Dancing Snow'
DISC 9 - 'For The Tears Of The Land_Prayers From The Outer Space'
DISC 10 - 'Alien Blood - Soundtrack To The Film'
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Rainfall, thunder, crickets, and the toll of a distant church-bell introduce the title track of YOB's sixth album. It sounds nearly identical to when Black Sabbath used the same handful of effects to open their debut 40 years ago. If a lesser band was doing this, I'd cry foul—but this is one of the year's most accomplished metal albums.
After four solid albums, culminating in 2005's monumental The Unreal Never Lived, doom metal torch-bearers YOB called it a day. Fast-forward a couple years, and YOB reunited for a few live shows and an excellent "comeback" album, The Great Cessation, also released on Profound Lore. Atma, the band's second full-length since their reunion, is altogether more varied and vibrant—all the way down to its colorful cover painting, a stark contrast to the tar-black artwork of The Great Cessation. Also, compared to their last effort, there is a gritty, distorted tone to Mike Scheidt's guitar that cuts sharply through the production like a warm knife into butter.
Following in the wake of doom heavyweights like Saint Vitus, Cathedral and Electric Wizard, YOB are the decade's best candidate to carry the torch of Sleep. Atma follows in the tradition of such indisputable classics as Jerusalem and Holy Mountain, with higher aspirations than grinding out heavy-as-concrete riffs all day. Instead, there is an intense focus on mantra-like repetition and spirituality that aids the seeking of higher planes of consciousness—even for folks like me, who don't partake in any type of "sweet leaf" unless to brew a fragrant cup of green tea. Most of Scheidt's lyrics are unintelligible, but I managed to catch a few lines early on: "One hundred thousand / repetitions / recite the mantra / flowers unfold." (I'm guessing that's a representative sample, unless proven otherwise.)
The 16-minute centerpiece, "Before We Dreamed of Two," is a highlight, beginning with Scheidt's guitar wailing over the steady, forceful rhythm section. Shortly thereafter, Scheidt falls into lockstep playing with the others, firing off his words in rhythmic, meditative fashion, like a possessed shaman. Minutes pass, the tempo slows to a crawl, and the rhythm section drops out, leaving a low rumbling sound and the gentle ebb of waves, alongside Aaron Reiseberg's rubbery bass lines and Scheidt's ruminations on self—until the band comes crashing back for the finale. Perhaps this is what Om would sound like if Al Cisneros popped a Vicodin or two after an intense yoga session, cranked the low-end distortion up to 11, and let completely loose with his latest band.
By the time the final song, "Adrift in the Ocean," comes around, YOB have built up a sky-high framework of tension through repetition. The song starts to move through interweaving bass and guitar lines—sinewy and complex, sounding like an instrumental outtake from Tool's Lateralus. (I liked Lateralus.) Once the doom strikes in full force, Scott Kelly of Neurosis makes his second guest appearance on the album, trading spiritually prescient lines with Scheidt: "To the universe / we send a reflection." Meanwhile, the rhythm section encircles the monster riff at the song's center like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. By the time Scheidt strikes with a searing solo at the song's end, I cannot help but declare that Atma is YOB's strongest work to date.
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- Duncan Edwards
- Albums and Singles
Under the name FWY! (pronounced Freeway) Edmund Xavier offers a hypnotic instrumental tribute to various California highways.
 
Brave Mysteries
These 11 excellent pieces hint at the ideal image of the motor car; one shrouded in the mystical allure of desire and personal freedom. There are no traces of potholes, gridlock, murder, accident, or low-speed chase. Even the short ode to (notoriously congested) "The 405" has the impressionistic beauty of an orchestra of very faint car horns. Elsewhere, synths bubble gently under clean, driving bass lines and an occasional fuzzy chord low in the mix hits like a distant wave heard on a coastal drive in an open-top car. On "The 57" gorgeous soft guitar creates a musical landscape that is part polluted sunshiny perfection, part neon heaven. The music throbs with a gliding, cooperative movement akin to "Autobahn" rather than the bouncy optimism of, say, "Route 66." Xavier creates uncluttered, shimmering, cruise-controlled moods, by lightly and smoothly applying drum machines, guitar, field recordings, bass, casiotone, organ, and synth. The moods are pleasantly familiar but as unnatural as a passing world, seen through glass.
Released on cassette, CA 80’s-90’s makes me wish to drive in California again (and for a tape-player in the car).
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- Creaig Dunton
- Albums and Singles
While 2010 was an insanely productive year for Chicago's Locrian, 2011 has been relatively quiet: other than the two releases with Horseback, this single is the only thing that’s been released. Mixing a Popol Vuh cover on one side with an original piece on the other, the result is an all too brief example of the band excelling at what they do best.
"Dort Ist Der Weg" is the band at their most "rock," I would say, and I mean that as a total compliment.Rather than their more abstract work, this is rather straight forward:Steven Hess' steady drumming, glacial synths by Terence Hannum, and alternating dissonant and melodic guitar by Andre Foisy.With female vocals provided by an uncredited performer (possibly Hannum's wife Erica, who has contributed on other works), it has all of the cold precision of the best krautrock, but an inviting, memorable sound to it that stays faithful to the original version while still going in its own direction.
The flip side, "Frozen in Ash," is more traditional Locrian, with Foisy's rapid-fire blackened guitars and Hannum's effected, pained screams.However, a bit past the half way mark, the harshness is balanced with clear acoustic guitar chords and subtle keyboard punctuations.The combination of noise and melody eventually builds to a dramatic climax before quietly fading away.
With the Popol Vuh cover channeling their more "rock" oriented Territories album, and "Frozen in Ash" capturing the dark, foreboding caverns of The Crystal World, this brief single really acts as a brilliant statement of purpose for the band, really emphasizing their ample strengths.
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- Creaig Dunton
- Albums and Singles
Mixing an unabashed appreciation for the alternative scene of the early to mid 1990s, Boston's Soccer Mom have a familiar, but not derivative sound that arouses nostalgia without being stuck in the past.
Putting this EP on, I was instantly reminded of that post-Nirvana world of alternative that briefly existed before it became commercially viable.The sort of music that was played on the original incarnation of 120 Minutes:the residuals of jangly '80s melodies and the feedback and distortion that bands like Loop did so well.
"Salty Wyoming," for example, pushes a bit of that early REM jangle with outbursts of tremolo-laden guitar squall that, at the time, were very different scenes, but here the two sides come together perfectly, resulting in a catchy song that feels familiar, yet retains its own identity.
Other tracks, like "Celebrity Unrest," are a bit more adventurous:after a protracted, chugging instrumental intro, vocals appear briefly, only to lead to the song fragmenting itself, leaving traces of feedback and deliberate guitar melodies behind before launching together once again.
The atmospheric "Unwanted Sounds" also strikes a delicate balance, with a rather pretty ambient backing juxtaposed with rapid-fire drums and overdriven bass.Similarly, the initially skeletal structure of "Southern Bells" becomes fleshed out with sheets of caustic guitar that just as quickly pull away to its original sparseness.
While I usually go for harsher, more aggressive sounds, this debut EP manages to bring in just the right amount of ugly noise with a catchy framework.Coupled with that warm, inviting feeling that reminds me of watching the VHS tapes of 120 Minutes after school on Monday afternoons, there was a lot to enjoy on here.While '90s nostalgia seems to be rushing in unabated, Soccer Mom isn’t riding on that current alone, instead they’re channeling the past while still focusing on music more than trends.
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