EDITOR'S NOTE

Dear Reader,

Please forgive my laziness since Thanksgiving. My band Spencer McGillicutty is wrapping up the mixing on our forthcoming debut album and we are designing and packaging it ourselves, which has required more or less all of my time and focus. It seems that my mind cannot simultaneously function creatively and critically. Hopefully I will regain my listening abilities soon, so please do keep checking back if you feel so inclined.

Thanks,
Ryan

Portrait of the Artist

Animal Collective

For some reason, my brother and I have a strange fixation with the concept of "flipping out." I think it's just that the sudden transition from a becalmed, neutral state to hyperactive agitation strikes us as utterly hilarious.
Perhaps the best musical embodiment of our platonic ideal of flipping out is NYC's Animal Collective. Sure, there are other bands that spend more time being angular and spastic. But Animal Collective split their time between frenetic high-energy outbursts and calm, pastoral fireside jams. The key is the contrast - a sudden burst of energy is all the more thrilling if the listener has just been lulled into a blissful calm.
They've been around for the better part of the decade and have put out nary a dull release, but they've really come into their own with their last two albums - Sung Tongs and Feels. 2003's Here Comes the Indian is also highly rewarding - but the brush is much thicker and the melodies better hidden. Sung Tongs was a watershed because it packed the explosive moments into much more compact canisters and brought their uncanny knack for bizarrely catchy melodies to the fore. "Who Could Win a Rabbit" and "We Tigers" are absolutely frothing with energy and mind-numbing catchiness, while still committed to restless experimentation and tribal drum-circle work-outs. Longer tunes like "Winter's Love" and "Visiting Friends" take the same experimental nerve and understate and extend it, providing the album with texture and the listener with a much needed breather.
Last year's Feels wove the strangeness and the understatement back together into a more seamless whole. Opener "Did You See the Words" contains one of their most absurdly catchy hooks, but unfolds slowly with a constant rhythm. "Banshee Beat" builds so kinetically that they are able to make the pay-off feel ten times bigger than the same climax would in any other song.
When I saw them live, they were a different animal (collectively), emphasizing the noisier and harsher aspects of their work. Though I was disappointed not to hear the short outburst of "Who Could Win A Rabbit," their rabid tenacity won me over, and I became all the more excited to see where their wandering muses would lead them next.

MP3: Who Could Win A Rabbit

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Buy Sung Tongs

Album Review

Joanna Newsom
Ys
Drag City, 2006

Usually, the use of the word "poetic" in a music review is lazy and erroneous; it's often tossed haphazardly at some rhymed philosophizing that might sound fine sung, but wouldn't even make it into a college lit journal as a poem. Songs carry different expectations than poems, and they communicate on an entirely different level, utilizing a unique vocabulary. For that reason, even some great lyrics would make lousy poems, and an effort to equate the two art forms is usually just a misconceived attempt to say that the lyrics are good.
Delightfully, folk harpist Joanna Newsom has provided critics with a remarkable exception to this rule. In the context of her new album Ys (as well as her debut The Milk-Eyed Mender), "poetic" is not only an acceptable but a necessary term. Her lyrics are stunning, and the liner notes to the new album make for an enjoyable read on their own merit. Ys (pronounced "ease") is a dazzlingly ambitious five-song, fifty-five minute tour de force. Though some fans of The Milk-Eyed Mender might initially be disappointed that there aren't any short, compact songs in the style of the debut, Ys' imagination, breadth, emotional depth, and craftsmanship are absolutely staggering. Newsom's panoramic scope on the opener "Emily" and the nearly seventeen minute long "Only Skin" give the impression that everything is happening at once, but she still manages to put enough focus on minute details to draw the listener directly into the fascinating world of the songs. She wastes little time unleashing her poetic proclivity, setting the scene in "Emily" with vivid language:

There is a rusty light on the pines tonight

Sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow
Down into the bones of the birches
And the spires of the churches
Jutting out from the shadows

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These sort of visceral nature images recur frequently throughout the album, and serve to create its landscape. Thematically, Newsom seems preoccupied with death and wonder in equal measure. Sometimes she addresses both at once, such as in "Emily" when she refers to "joy landlocked in bodies that don't keep" or in "Only Skin" when she observes that "Life is thundering blissful towards death/ In a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness." But equally important to the thematic content of her verses is the beautiful sound of the words, which often seem to spill out of her mouth of their own inertia. She is often very direct, but she is not afraid to use uncommon or archaic words (inchoate, hydrocephalitic, balletial) or make mythological references ("scrap of sassafras, eh Sysyphus?"). But whereas this can make some songwriters (say, Colin Meloy) sound belabored or stodgy, it positively works to Newsom's advantage because of the pure aural stimulation that the words instigate. Her verses ebb and flow, often seeming to follow the pace set by her harp playing. When her plucking becomes more urgent, the lyrics follow suit - the rhymes become more frequent and energetic and the imagery becomes more playful and abstract. Then suddenly, after pulling you in with enchanting imagery and playful word-weaving, she will suddenly pull back and lay bare some simple, honest emotion that will hit you with overwhelming force.
And, most remarkably of all, these songs are not just poems set to music, but fully function as songs as well. Newsom's voice, while the biggest point of contention among her detractors, is extremely expressive and entirely unique. It squeaks and breaks much less frequently here than it did on The Milk-Eyed Mender, but it is still an acquired taste. Sometimes described as sounding like a cross between an old woman and a young child, it could pass for an oddity from Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music; it is hard to believe that it actually comes from the throat of a fully adorable 24 year-old woman. For many people this aspect feels alienating, but repeated listens reveal it's hidden beauty. The fact that Newsom's stunning poetry sounds like it's coming from a toothless Appalachian folksinger makes it all the more stunning and strange. It also gives the album a timeless quality - if I had never heard of Joanna Newsom I could have believed that it was a lost classic from the 1960s British folk revival. What's more, it would have been better than any of the great albums that actually did belong to that movement.

Though the songs are incredible by themselves, it certainly doesn't hurt that Newsom enlisted a versatile all-star production cast for the project. The songs were recorded by Steve Albini, mixed by Jim O'Rourke, and produced by Van Dyke Parks. Parks also wrote some fantastic orchestral arrangements, which are featured on every song except for "Sawdust and Diamonds." The strings deftly follow Newsom's wandering muse through her shape-shifting compositions, swooping like birds from the branches and steeples one moment and then swelling dramatically the next. This is a dramatic shift from the almost entirely solo performance of her debut, but it suits this new batch of songs perfectly. It does mean, however, that there is a lot going on at any given moment, and it does take several listens to begin to become accustomed to the winding, thorny paths the songs lead you down. It's a magical journey, though, and it only becomes more bounteous and rewarding the more you explore it.

In these fast-paced days of blogs and blurbs, some of the music that I am initially excited about can become stale surprisingly quickly. This makes an album like Ys feel like a small miracle - exquisitely crafted, passionately performed, and lovingly perfected - it is a timeless work, built to last. This is an album that I know will come to rest in my "special occasion" bin along with In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, I See A Darkness, and Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, nestled lovingly there until some night when, once again, I am ready to experience something remarkable.

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Rating : Awesome (10)

MP3: Emily

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Buy Ys

Excellent Fansite With Lyrics

From The Vaults

You Can't Hide Your Love Forever
Orange Juice
Polydor, 1982

Joe Strummer once said that his band's role was to rebuild everything that the Sex Pistols tore down. The Clash certainly did this admirably, but they were not the only band who undertook the endeavor. The late 70s and early 80s found a whole slew of bands taking the punk aesthetic in different directions.
One of the most engaging (and obscure) of these acts was Glasgow's Orange Juice. As the title of their debut album You Can't Hide Your Love Forever clearly implied, they were interested in stripping punk of it's nihilistic edge and injecting it with a dose of human vulnerability and emotion. Since, at his heart, punk was always actually more about "outsiderness" than toughness, this worked remarkably well. It's a formula that has been reapplied several times, perhaps most notably by Glasgow's current reigning kings and queens of melancholy - Belle and Sebastian. B&S's Stuart Murdoch cited this Orange Juice effort among his top 10 favorite albums, and his band's single "Legal Man" directly name check's the OJ tune "L.O.V.E. Love."
But indie cred aside, You Can't Hide Your Love Forever is a thoroughly enjoyable listen top to bottom. It pits shambling (and very white) R&B and Soul rhythms against Edwynn Collins' inimitable warble of a voice. The sound is very much like New Wave, but without all of the icy remove and with a cheeky sense of humor. The second track, "Untitled Melody," slyly references the Righteous Brothers classic ("Unchained Melody") and features the adorably clever turn of a phrase, "I need you more or less/You need me more and more."
The highlight for me, though, is the bouncy, almost bluesy "Consolation Prize." You can almost hear Collins smiling to himself as he sings "I wore my fringe like Roger McGuinn's/I wore it hoping to impress/So frightfully camp, it made you laugh/Tomorrow I'll buy myself a dress." But the self-deprecation goes from charming to poignant when he lays bare the heart of the matter, repeating "I'll never be man enough for you" over a closing guitar jam that would be copped countless times by indie rockers over the years. But they can't hide their influences forever - if this album ever gets a damn reissue in this country, indie kids far and wide are sure to pick up on Orange Juice.

MP3: Consolation Prize

Portrait of the Artist

Pavement

It was inevitable. Sooner or later, I was going to have to get around to writing about my personal favorite band of all time. And, hot off last week's excellent Wowee Zowee reissue, now seems as good a time as any.
As is usually the case with personal favorites, a major component of my love for Pavement is nostalgic. Their fantastic sophomore full-length Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain was the first indie album I ever bought. I looked into it on the recommendation of Trey Ansastasio of Phish, of all people (in a magazine interview, not in person). But really, that fact traces my evolution from jam fan to indie kid pretty well. Crooked Rain opened my eyes to a brave new world of music, and it remains one of my absolute favorites to this day - like, top three material, seriously.
From the messy opening crash of "Silent Kid," I knew I was in for something different, but what kept me coming back to the album was how goll-darn fun it is. It's as catchy as anything in the annals of the indie oeuvre, and it rocks with a loose abandon that is positively addicting. I spent several evenings of my post-high school, pre-college life (about three months) jumping around my room to "Unfair" - perhaps the earliest documented instance of me totally rocking out. When I read that "Stop Breathing" was “about tennis, in a way, like imagining tennis as an emotional battleground,” I realized that Stephen Malkmus' cryptic lyrics had some real thought behind them, and were not just clever wordplay and oblique references.
And best of all, I soon discovered that Pavement had four other great albums, and plenty of brilliant non-LP material to boot! Slanted and Enchanted, their first full-length, is the classic watershed album and shows them at their most gloriously stripped-down and lo-fi.
Their third album Wowee Zowee (recently reissued with a mess of bonus tracks and extras) was their White Album - a glorious mess of an LP that threw goofy genre-experiments and filler together with some of their all-time best A-side material. For a band whose shortcomings were always an essential part of their charm, this approach proved surprisingly effective, and Wowee has become many fans' favorite Pavement disc. It's highlight is the elegant "Grounded," on which Malkmus lets his intuitive melodic sense leak into his guitar and offers some of his most engaging wordplay. In the first verse he sings, "And in the parking lot/Is the sedan he bought/He never, never complains when it's hot." The way Malkmus slurs the words "sedan-he-bought-he" makes it sound like he's saying "anybody" - just one example of him obscuring lyrical signifiers by playing with the listener's auditory perceptions.
The band's last two albums, Brighten the Corners and Terror Twilight have been rightfully designated "not quite as good as the first three" - they admittedly don't have quite the same adventurous spirit. But they are still brilliant works of intelligent indie rock, and only suffer slightly in comparison to the band's epochal masterpieces.
Perhaps their most underrated disc is Westing (By Musket and Sextant), a collection of recordings by Malkmus and Spiral Stairs (other guitarist/vocalist Scott Kannberg) that predate Slanted and Enchanted. This compilation finds Pavement at their roughest, rawest, and most unhinged, which is an absolute delight for fans. It not only shows their incredible potential, but also shows Pavement creating uncompromisingly great music on their own terms, even at the larval stage.
Luckily for fans, Pavement's label, Matador, is in the process of re-issuing all of their albums in extensive double-CD packages that collect b-sides, outtakes, radio sessions, and live recordings from each album's respective era. The breadth and depth of the material is staggering , and the incredible quality of the previously unreleased songs handily refutes the misconception that they were lazy slackers that just lucky. The fact that the best and most consistent band of the nineties was one that was notorious for almost never practicing is one of the great incongruencies of the decade. I mean, damn. That is so indie.

MP3: Grounded

Buy Wowie Zowie: Sordid Sentinel Edition

Buy Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain: LA's Desert Origins

Public Image

Finding Favorite Songs in the Strangest Places

I spend most of my work days trolling the internet, scavenging for new music to love. Between allmusic.com, Pitchfork Media, and the hundreds of blogs floating around out there, I find plenty of sources to keep me busy for the better part of an 8 hour day (ahem). But no matter how much time I spend seeking, there are always songs that manage to catch me by surprise when my guard is down. This rarely happens on the radio these days (with the exception of 89.3 The Current or the oldies station), but there are many other pop cultural nooks and crannies in which that New Favorite Song can hide.
This weekend I saw Steve Martin's classic comedy The Jerk for the first time. I had heard great things about it, of course, but I was still amazed by how laugh-out-loud hilarious it actually was. But the best part of all was that, in the midst of all the spastic slapstick and so-dumb-it's-funny dialogue, there was a very sweet, almost-earnest Love-Song-On-The-Beach scene. Had it been hammed up it could have just been throwaway camp, but Steve Martin and Bernadette Peters played it straight and it was as lovely as it was funny. The song is Billy Rose and Lee David's "Tonight You Belong To Me," and I can't imagine hearing another version of it that I like more. Steve Martin proves to be a proficient ukulele player, and the hushed, tender harmonizing between the two actors is downright twee. If you haven't seen it, I won't spoil the ending (check the You Tube link below), but it is hilarious in the very sweetest of ways. I've re-watched this scene several times, and it is a revelation that you don't have to watch an "art comedy" to find a beautiful moment that can make you laugh.

MP3: Tonight You Belong To Me

You Tube: Scene From the Jerk

Song of the Week

"Waterloo Sunset"
The Kinks

The Kinks were the archetypal "Excellent British Band That Was Too Bloody British To Make It In America." Their ruminations on British life and culture at once criticized and glorified the culture they lived in, and they set the stage for such great bands as The Jam, The Smiths, and Blur. Their peak period from 1966-1970 was almost as impressive as the golden years of The Rolling Stones or The Beach Boys, and "Waterloo Sunset" was the crown jewel. It is one of the most unabashedly gorgeous pop songs ever recorded, and it is also Ray Davies' most effective lyrical portrait. It depicts a lonely introvert overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of London and the prospect of making friends who only makes things worse for himself by staying in every night. However, he is comforted by gazing out his window at the sunset over Waterloo Bridge (which, incidentally, was all the beauty Monet needed for awhile as well). The song is never condescending, and the bleary-eyed melancholy of the melody and the backing vocals is every bit as beautiful as the sunset itself. After Christmas, I'm moving to London to work abroad for 6 months, and I will only know two people in the entire country. Naturally, this will be my anthem.

MP3: Waterloo Sunset

Buy Something Else by The Kinks

From The Vaults

In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
Neutral Milk Hotel
Merge, 1998

If you'll excuse me for a moment, I am going to set aside all journalistic integrity and level-mindedness and reduce myself to a puddle of unabashed praise:
This is my favorite album of all time.
Sure, if I am listening to Blonde on Blonde, Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, or I See a Darkness, I might be temporarily convinced otherwise. But it's a trick. It's Aeroplane every time.
This should come as no surprise to other indie fanatics - Jeff Mangum's masterpiece is one of the most beloved indie records of all time, and it gains new followers every year. It has its detractors, but they seem limited to those who don't care for Mangum's singing voice and limited vocal capabilities. It hardly seems necessary to point out the fact that he is clearly choosing to sing out of his range and that the results are uniquely affecting, or that this dude named Bob Dylan abolished the necessity of polished vocals back in the 60s.
But before I get carried away about Mangum's performance and songwriting, let me mention the rest of the band (who are, sadly, usually ignored). Jeremy Barnes' impassioned drumming makes uptempo numbers like "King of Carrot Flowers, Pts. 2 & 3," "Holland, 1945," and "Ghost" surge with an overwhelming punk-like energy. Scott Spillane's horn arrangements and the brass section's woozy, half-polished contributions add a surreal marching-band flair that elevates the album's emotional content to surprising heights whenever Mangum's taken a song as far as he could with words. The ghostly wails of Julian Koster's singing saw lend a singular spectral beauty to the vaguely Irish folk-like "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea."
Countless other inventive instrumental touches also add depth and texture to Mangum's songs, which are surreal, disturbing, breathtakingly beautiful, and hauntingly sad. He sings his impressionistic lyrics like someone in a fevered dream, and the burning passion in his voice adds emotional heft to the most unlikely of lyrical phrases. Perhaps what elevates this album above the others of its decade (and, for me, of all time) is the palpable inspiration and desperation behind it - no matter what Mangum is saying, it feels like his words are on fire and he can't get them out of his mouth fast enough.
I don't want too say to much about his lyrics, because I think they are best interpreted individually, but I found it helpful to learn that the album was inspired in part by The Diary of Anne Frank. It never addresses the subject directly, but rather creates its own unique world in which boundaries of time and place are blurred. Mangum takes the idea of living in a world where atrocities can happen and uses it to create a singular, twisted, frightening, and beautiful new reality. In a way, approaching In the Aeroplane Over the Sea reminds me of childhood. It is like discovering the strangeness of the world for the first time - sex is bizarre and disturbing, death is unbelievable and inescapable, and life and love feel so undeniably, overwhelmingly real that you could burst at any moment.
And though the lyrics are largely impressionistic and surreal, it would be misleading to suggest that they are completely obtuse. The album's closer "Two Headed Boy, Pt. 2" is gut-wrenchingly sad, and not just because of the way it sounds. Mangum concludes the album on a particularly direct note, singing:

Two Headed Boy,
She is all you could need
She will feed you tomatoes and radio wires
And retire to sheets warm and clean
But don't hate her when she gets up to leave.

I find myself completely relating to him, and suddenly the strange and terrifying world that Mangum has created has become my own. If you ever get to this point with the album, you will never be able to turn back.
After Mangum delivers that final line, you can hear him set down his guitar and walk away from the microphone. The fact that he has never recorded or performed another song since has added a symbolic weight to this final gesture; it seems that perhaps Mangum has truly said all that he has to say. Normally I would be upset about this - a favorite band calling it quits. But I hardly even consider Neutral Milk Hotel a band anymore. They're more than that. They're something else.

MP3: Holland, 1945

Buy In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

Artist Website

Public Image

VOTE

http://www.congress.org/congressorg/home/

MP3: Radiohead - Electioneering

Buy OK Computer

Artist Website

Song of the Week

"New Partner"
Palace Music

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Congratulations to Will Oldham, who has now become the first artist I have blogged about more than once. This track, however, is from his pre-Bonnie "Prince" Billy days, when he was still calling himself Palace Music. "New Partner" reminds me why Oldham is probably my favorite songwriter going. He takes a spare, bare-bones lyrical and musical structure and then imbues it with ineffable emotion. He harmonizes roughly on the chorus, his wooly voice breaking gently at the top of his range. For some reason this song reminds me of Annie Proulx's "Brokeback Mountain" (the short story...I haven't seen the film yet). Maybe it's the combination of tenderness and roughness, the guilt and atonement alluded to in the lyrics, and the bittersweet feeling Oldham seems to express over having a "new partner." But like a great short story writer, Oldham creates an emotional experience that cannot be described with other words. You have to hear it.

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MP3: New Partner

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Buy Viva Last Blues

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Artist Website

Album Review

Peter Bjorn and John
Writer's Block
Wichita, 2006

It seems that Sweden is becoming the new Glasgow in terms of cranking out endearing indie pop - just within the last two years we have seen some extremely fun and promising records from the likes of Jens Lekman, I'm From Barcelona (it's a lie - they're Swedish), and El Perro Del Mar. To this prominent list of bands that are expanding their homeland's musical legacy beyond ABBA, Ace of Base, and Yngwie Malmsteen, please welcome Peter Bjorn and John! Actually, Writer's Block is the trio's third album, but it's got all of the freshness and charm of an exciting debut. However, repeated listening reveals a level of craftsmanship and attention to detail that betrays the band's more veteran status.
The group's greatest achievement, though, is their ability to walk the tightrope between coolness and sincerity. The superb single "Young Folks" illustrates this perfectly - it's an innocent song about being enthralled in conversation with a promising member of the opposite sex. Riding a sleek bass line and a tight drumbeat, the tune holds its sentiment at enough of a distance to keep it from getting cloying, but it never feels ironic or insincere either. A prominent whistling hook seals the deal, sounding like Peter (or Bjorn or John) whistling to himself on his way home, almost carefree after the exciting encounter, but with just a hint of the trepidation and melancholy that accompanies the possibility of new commitment. By the time he gets home, he's got one of the year's best pop songs on his hands.
At first, some of the other material seems to pale in comparison to this gem, but it really just takes a little more patience. After a few listens, you're just as likely to find the hook from one of the other songs rattling around inside your head. "Objects Of My Affection" kicks off the album (after the introductory non-song track "Writer's Block") with sweeping confidence. It's driven by persistent, rapidly strummed guitars, and its constant inertia builds up tension before dropping into the effortless coolness of "Young Folks." "Amsterdam" also features a prominent whistling hook (odd that they sequenced both whistling tunes right in a row), but is more of a synth-driven, eighties-inspired tune. "Paris 2004" is a slice of sparkling folk pop that gives the album's sound some nice variety. "Let's Call It Off" could be early Beatles in terms of songcraft, but it is filtered through the rich reverb-heavy sound that Peter Bjorn and John have mastered with this album.
The trio's only misstep, unfortunately, comes at the very end - it seems like they couldn't quite decide on a closer. Individually, either the appropriately cinematic grandeur of "Roll The Credits" or the droning acoustic guitar ballad "Poor Cow" would have made for a fine last chapter of Writer's Block. But back-to-back, the repetitive melodies of the songs and the lack of hook power become underwhelming. Still, this little sequencing problem is only a minor blemish on the face of this beautifully crafted pop album. And if Peter Bjorn and John have more where this came from (and don't actually suffer from writer's block), they are definitely a group worth keeping close tabs on.

Rating: Excellent (8)

MP3: Young Folks

Buy Writer's Block

Artist Website

Live Awesomeness

Islands
October 28, 2006
First Avenue, Minneapolis

Islands made their second trip to First Ave. within a few months Saturday night, and I was glad to catch them again. They are a fun band to see live and their debut Return to the Sea just may be the indie pop album of the year. We were treated to a smattering of promising new songs and a nice cover of The Kinks' "Waterloo Sunset," but they didn't play "Humans!" What the hell?
Oh, well. It was a solid show. Here's my full review for howwastheshow.com.

MP3: Don't Call Me Whitney, Bobby

Buy Return to the Sea

Artist Website

Top Five

Bone-Chilling Songs for Halloween

Ghosts, ghouls, devils, and beasties have always haunted rock and pop music. As in any art form or expression of popular culture, it is impossible to escape the inexplicable need to terrify ourselves. These demons have emerged through the cracks in many different ways, from haunting portraits of bluesmen selling their souls to the devil to campy graveyard dance parties. Since Halloween is more about a fun scare than a straight-faced exploration of the dark side of humanity, I've favored tunes that are both spooky and danceable.

5. Frankenstein - New York Dolls
Belonging in the proto-punk camp right alongside The Stooges and The Velvet Underground, the New York Dolls mixed gritty rock'n'roll with aggressive, cryptic lyrics and a disorienting sense of androgyny. They dressed up like girls for their gigs and played songs about nice girls who went wrong under the pressures of the big city. Frankenstein is perhaps the best example of this - a brutish, clunky rocker that has to ask you one question: "Do you think you could make it with Frankenstein?" This actually sounds more like punk-as-we-know-it than either of the aforementioned and ostensibly more influential bands. In 1973, the Dolls created a monster - four years before the Sex Pistols and The Clash would bring it to life for the world at large.

4. One Hit - The Knife
The only song to break my top five from the last two decades (not to mention this year), "One Hit" has earned it's place here on merit of its vocal performance alone. I don't think that it actually has anything to do with Halloween, but I had to check the liner notes to make sure the male vocals weren't credited to a werewolf or a goblin. The Swedish brother/sister duo has always been a bit creepy, and somehow this song retains a genuine spookiness in spite of its over-the-top monster-on-the-mic affectation. Plus the hook is so damn catchy that I'll probably be walking around the office howling under my breath for the rest of the day, creeping the hell out of my co-workers. Such is the price of inventive snyth-pop, I suppose.

3. Thriller - Michael Jackson
The most famous music video ever? An album of the same name with more hits than google.com? What more can be said about this song? Okay, yeah, it's clearly a cheesy Hollywood schlock-fest on the scare-o-meter, but I remember the Vincent Price cameo creeping the hell out of me when my dad played the record for me as a kid. It was the first time I realized that pop music could be scary. I can only imagine that countless children of the eighties had the same experience.




2. I Put a Spell on You - Screamin' Jay Hawkins
It would be demeaning and misleading to simply refer to Screamin' Jay Hawkins as the first shock-rocker. He was - without a doubt - but the emergence from coffins on stage, the constant companionship of a skull named Henry, and the creepy mustache were only the exterior affects of a truly unique and frightening performer. "I Put a Spell On You," a Hakwins original recorded in 1956, walks the line between kitsch and horror, but 50 years later the campiness only adds to the unbelievable strangeness of the recording. Legend has it that Hawkins' producer got this unhinged performance from Screamin' Jay and his band by serving them a huge meal and plying them with plenty of liquor before doing a take. The woozy carnival aggression of the band is undeniably creepy, and Hawkins' manages to shout, scream, and froth between his lyrical lines while still maintaining a sense of control - making this possessive ode feel positively manic.

1. The Monster Mash - Bobby "Boris" Pickett and the Crypt-Kickers
The indisputable apex of monster pop, "The Monster Mash" is not only the most famous Halloween anthem, but also the most terrifying. Bobby "Boris" Pickett combines elements of avant-garde sound collage and demented teenage pop to convey his stark and chilling view of humanity - deep down, we are all monsters and we all must dance. Every time he sings "The zombies were having fun/The party had just begun/The guests included Wolfman, Dracula, and his son," I can literally feel my body temperature drop three degrees. Play this one loud, but for the love of God, never listen to it in the dark alone. Absolutely horrifying.

From The Vaults

Pixies
Doolittle
4AD/Elektra, 1989

When did indie rock start? Conventional wisdom pins The Velvet Underground as the band that got the ball rolling, and that makes a lot of sense considering that they were the first significant cult band. But they can't be really be labeled "indie" or "punk" without the prefix "proto" out front, since they recorded decades before those terms were even coined.
So for the title of First-Actual-Indie-Rock-Band, I think the Pixies are as good a choice as any. They were perhaps the first band to successfully blend punk's aggressiveness, new wave's arty strangeness, and big pop hooks into a unified, inextricable mess. Their first album Surfer Rosa was downright brilliant, but that didn't stop them from one-upping themselves with their sophomore release Doolittle. Frontman Black Francis turns out a handful of absolute classics, and bassist/vocalist Kim Deal proves to be the secret weapon to end all secret weapons with her plodding bass-lines and melodic background vocals.
Doolittle is an extremely referential record that still sounds utterly unique - perhaps serving as the mission statement for the indie rock ethos of grinding up recognizable elements of popular culture into something new. In this sense, everyone from Beck and Pavement to Danger Mouse and Girl Talk are indebted to the album. But Doolittle's influence on indie music is also discernible in a much more direct way. Weezer directly quotes the melody from "I Bleed" at the end of their "Sweater Song," and "Dead" sounds like a near-blueprint for the upbeat freak-out numbers from The Dismemberment Plan's excellent 1999 album Emergency and I. And those are two of the most obscure tracks on Doolittle. The influence of classics like "Debaser," "Here Comes Your Man," "Wave of Mutilation," and "Monkey Gone to Heaven" is incalculable - these are the kind of songs that modern indie rockers trade right arms for in hypothetical scenarios.
But most importantly, none of this historical "significance" stuff get in the way of the fact that this is quite simply one of the most fun records to listen to ever. With the hooks and brevity of a pop album, the aggressive energy of a punk album, and the disturbing weirdness of an art rock album, this is a one-stop shop when you can't decide what kind of mood your in. Gouge away.

MP3: Debaser

Buy Doolittle

Public Image

Comprehending Metal

I read Pitchfork every day. I know that it says somewhere in the Blogger Terms of Use that I am supposed to hate Pitchfork and resent all of their opinions, but I still take them pretty seriously. Sure, I don't agree with everything they say, but by and large I think they know what they are talking about.
But when they told me that I should listen to a heavy metal album (Mastodon's Blood Mountain), I was skeptical. I consider myself an adventurous listener, and I will give anything a try, but my tastes tend to be a bit on the wussy side (see - every post before this one).
Still, my curiosity was piqued, and I had to at least check it out. And, to a certain degree I can see what the hype is about. Instrumentally, this album does rock, in an intense and singular way. The lightning-fast riffing and eight-limbed drumming are impressive on a surface level, but what really struck me was the sound of the album - the heaviness has a full-blooded depth to it that evokes the album's title (and makes it seem a little less lame).
But my hang up is this - the vocals. Do heavy metal vocals have to sound like that? That gruff, amelodic, pseudo-demonic, testosteronic shouting? My problem is not that they are scary. I like to be scared by music - hell, one of my favorite albums of the year is Scott Walker's The Drift, which creeps me out to no end. My problem with metal vocals is that they aren't scary. They just seem cliche, over-the-top, even silly. They sound like a kid with one of those fake knife-through-the-head headbands on, tube of fake blood in hand, trying to freak you out.
Now, if they seemed to be embracing the over-dramatic silliness of it, I could go with it. I'm all about accepting things on their own terms. But it seems like they are trying to sound artistic and profound. And I'm not buying it.
But maybe I am simply not their target audience. I think my brother Daniel hit the nail on the head with his reaction to the album - if we were still living in a world were people ran around with massive broadswords slaying things, this music would probably sound awesome. Or if I was a kid that played Diablo and Warcraft all the time, maybe I would have some context to put this into.
But as things are, I just can't find any way to connect to it. I'm listening to some Bonnie "Prince" Billy to recover.
Any metalheads that would care to elucidate the vocal issue, please comment.

MP3: The Wolf Is Loose

Buy Blood Mountain

i

Artist Website

Song of the Week

"Hounds Of Love"
Kate Bush

The title track from her definitive 1985 album, "Hounds of Love" shows off everything that's great about Kate Bush - big pop hooks, drums that were obviously recorded in the eighties, sensuality, unabashed romanticism, and idiosyncratic vocals. The chugging single-note cello parts give the song the perfect propulsive energy. One of many artists that got a lot more attention in England than in the States, Bush is becoming something of a cult chanteuse as more and more younger people discover her music. This is not her strangest song, or her most comlex, but in my opinion it is easily her most charming. Plus, it spawned an excellent cover by the Futureheads some twenty years later. They give the song a classic punk treatment and inject it with some delightful energy, but they can't touch the magic of the original.

MP3: Hounds Of Love (Kate Bush)

Buy Hounds of Love

Portrait of the Artist

Low

No band could last for over ten years without changing, but Low seems dedicated to evolving as gradually and minimally as possible. Ceratinly, last year's The Great Destroyer sounds different than their 1994 debut I Could Live in Hope, but the changes have come about over a long peroid of time and are primarily aesthetic. There are a few overdubs on the new record, and some faster tempos. But as far as songs go, Low is still primarily sticking to their original game plan - creating slow, minimalistic songs centered around the gorgeous harmonizing of Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker. They once described their own sound as "a cross between Joy Division and Simon and Garfunkel."
But rather than making their work seem redundant or formulaic, this reliability has only served to set Low further apart from other bands. On the surface, their songs might all sound the same, but none of them sound quite like anything else. They have created their own sonic landscape, and within it there is the possibility for infinite (if subtle) variation.
As far as I can tell, Sparhawk has his electric guitar in open-G tuning for every song Low has ever recorded. Mimi Parker plays simple concert band-style drum parts while she sings. Bassist Zak Sally recently left the band to talk about how much he loves Tool, but he is present on even their most recent album and provides a consistent, occasionally melodic undertow.
In a way, Low's career has been an ongoing exploration of what can be achieved within a set of limitations. The result of their slow tempos is that every word feels deliberate, and their songs connect on an entirely unique level. Still, they have every capability of composing memorable melodies, and this just makes the aching beauty that they squeeze out of their songs hit that much harder.
This song is from their 2001 album Things We Lost in the Fire, which in my opinion is their best. It's a beacon of simplicity, perfect for those days when everything seems too complicated and you don't know if you even feel like listening to music. This won't get in your way. There isn't so much as a superfluous breath.

MP3: Closer

Buy Things We Lost in the Fire

Artist Website

Live Awesomeness

Califone
10/20/06
The 400 Bar, Minneapolis

Califone was in town Friday, supporting their fantastic new album Roots and Crowns. Unfortunately only three of them made it, and though the show had some great moments, it wasn't quite fully awesome. Lead singer Tim Rutili never seemed to get comfortable (and I never got past the fact that he looks just like Woody Allen. Seriously). Still, any excuse to post their cover of "The Orchids" by Psychic TV is worth it, so here it is - the best acoustic track I've heard all year.
And I could tell that they have the potential to be awesome live. It just wasn't their night. Oh, yeah. Here's my full review for howwastheshow.com. Check it!

MP3: The Orchids

Buy Roots and Crowns

Website

Album Review

Beach House
Beach House
Carpark, 2006

For some reason, I found myself more excited than ever to pull out old familiar sweaters this year. As soon as the air started to turn chilly, I felt a sense of comfort wash over me. And though I remembered why it is insane to live in Minnesota - the winters are interminable and deadly cold - I also remembered what I love so much about it. Warmth always feels warmer when the ground is frozen, and comfort is so much more comfortable when preceded by a windy, red-cheeked walk home.
And so, Beach House's self-titled debut couldn't have arrived at a better time for me. Of course, it's not fair to reduce the band's work to the status of a "seasonal" favorite, but everything about this album is just begging people like me to use the word "autumnal" at least once. Beach House's exterior is cold and pale - a lo-fi wash of humming keyboards, fuzzy drum beats and languid guitars, blurring together with Victoria Legrand's distant vocals. But at their core, the songs emanate a dull warmth, bringing to mind the central lyrical image of My Bloody Valentine's song "Soft as Snow (But Warm Inside)."
And though the record is exceptionally consistent in mood and tempo, the subtle touches that make each song distinct become clear with repeated listens. "Autumn and Ivory" has a vague medievel feel to it, calling to mind Nico's Marble Index album. "Master of None" is relatively upbeat and offers some almost-souful vocals from the usually wistful Legrand. "Apple Orchard" is the highlight, though, leaving its dreamy slide guitar and aching tenderness hanging in the air even after it has ended.
It's a quiet, simple, unassuming record, but its musty feeling of familiarity has had me reaching for it whenever I need to warm up a bit. And Beach House have managed to actually fulfill the promise that internet buzz bands always seem to offer - a distinct sounding record that still calls its influences to mind. Fans of Broadcast, Nico, and Galaxie 500 in particular may find this to be their cup of cider. It's not exactly a frontrunner for end-of-the-year lists, but it is a delightful surprise that I know I will return to again and again.

Rating: Sweet (7)

MP3: Apple Orchard

Buy Beach House

Artist's Page on Label's Site

Song of the Week

"Don't Worry Baby"
The Beach Boys

Even before Pet Sounds, Brian Wilson had the full capability to strike on pure melodic genius - the difference is that he was more likely to err to the side of cheesiness or lyrical inanity. Still, the pure gut-level force of "Don't Worry Baby" is undeniable, and cannot even be ruined by a vaguely developed plot about driving your car too fast or something. This would be the best pop song under 3 minutes if "God Only Knows" was 4 seconds longer, and I find myself listening to this tune even more. I think I may have mentioned before that I wish pop music was still catchy. This is what I was talking about. Even if the only two songs the Beach Boys ever recorded were this and "Be True To Your School,*" I would still think they rule.

MP3: Don't Worry Baby

Buy Sounds of Summer: The Very Best of the Beach Boys

* The most terrible Beach Boys song ever.

Top Five

Scottish Bands

Why Scotland? Well, the charming highlands of the northern UK are not only home to kilts, haggis, and my favorite accent in the world, but also to a disproportionate number of fantastic rock groups. Here are my top five, with a track by each.




5.The Beta Band
In the film High Fidelity, record store owner Rob Gordon (John Cusack) tells his employees, "I will now sell five copies of The 3 E.P.'s by the Beta Band" and puts "Dry the Rain" on the stereo. Shoppers' heads begin bobbing.
- "Who is this?"
- "The Beta Band."
- "It's good."
- " I know."
That's the kind of "no doy" appeal the Beta Band have, fastening simple Brit-Poppy melodies to simple trip-hoppy beats. They called it quits after2004's Heroes to Zeros - let's hope it doesn't put John Cusack out of business.

MP3: Dry the Rain

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4. Teenage Fanclub
These guys have been making albums for 15 years now, but they have stayed unswervingly faithful to their power pop ambitions. Big Star comparisons are inevitable, and in fact the Fanclub have the same kind of cult status. And that is because they are not just great pop songwriters, but they also bring a unique sense of personality (and humor) to the proceedings. Their early records (like the excellent Bandwagonesque) also mix in crunchy and noisy guitars a la Sonic Youth and Nirvana, giving them a grungy edge. Try to imagine a world in which neo-grunge snoozes like Staind and Nickelback had listened to Teenage Fanclub instead of Pearl Jam. Sigh. If only. Maybe someday pop will be popular again. Now that's a concept.

ceMP3: The Concept

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3. Cocteau Twins
At the core of the Cocteau Twins are the extremely processed guitar sounds of Robin Guthrie and the light, indecipherable vocals of Elizabeth Fraser. Both musicians are utterly unique in their own rights, which insures that the band sounds like no one else. Most of their output was released on the influential 4AD label, and their sound was aptly described as "dream pop." Occasionally their songs become so light and effortless that it seems like they will simply float away, but when they stumble upon a great pop melody they can be both ethereal and fun. Maybe this is what dance parties in heaven sound like.

MP3: Lorelei

2. The Jesus and Mary Chain
An essential link in a long chain of bands that fused pop songs with guitar noise, The Jesus and Mary Chain served as an influential midpoint between The Velvet Underground and more modern groups like My Bloody Valentine, Sonic Youth, and Dinosaur Jr. Their debut, Psychocandy, is also one of the very best albums of the eighties. Of all the noise pop bands, they sound the most detached, delivering both the deceptively pretty pop songs and the punky rockers without so much as a sneer. The drumming is sparse and unambitious, and every song is injected with with icy distortion. They may be something of a one-trick pony, but it's a stunning trick, and on Psychocandy at least, it never gets old.

MP3: Just Like Honey

1. Belle and Sebastian
Alright, I'll admit it. I'm a sucker for the wussy stuff. Belle and Sebastian are known for being vulnerable and precious, making "twee" something of a household term. But the scope and consistency of their career is really stunning, and they are still going. They would never put themselves at the top of this list, especially since they count Teenage Fanclub and the Cocteau Twins among their favourite bands, but I think they are definitely deserving. Stuart Murdoch and friends started out as something of a lo-fi chamber pop outfit, crafting simple, pretty little songs about schoolkids and outcasts that were augmented by modest horn and string arrangements. They've blossomed into a capable electric pop outfit, and though some fans have decried the more intricate arrangements and production of recent albums, it makes perfect sense as the trajectory of a career that has always been driven by an unabashed love for pop records. The quietest punks have the most charming revolutions, and this is not one to be missed.

MP3: Like Dylan in the Movies

From The Vaults

Dusty Springfield
Dusty In Memphis
Mercury, 1969

I was born in the American South (Kentucky - I don't remember it) and I'm moving to London after Christmas, so I suppose it makes sense that my favorite soul album was recorded by a British pop singer in Memphis.
Or maybe there's no connection there at all. But there is something inexplicable that draws me to this album.
Of course, a lot of its appeal is quite explicable - a great vocalist pushing herself in a new direction and recording a set of top-notch songs with an excellent studio band. I guess Dusty herself was a bit freaked out by the idea of recording in Memphis - they were known for gritty R&B, and her specialty was "big ballady things." And the band, The Memphis Sound, worked in a way she was totally unaccustomed to. Rather than laying down arrangements ahead of time, they worked the songs out organically with the vocalist in the room. As a result, the backing vocals by The Sweet Inspirations are woven right into the fabric of the songs and the instrumentation feels perfectly natural.
Maybe this non-traditional recording approach is what gives the album that extra something special - that makes it feel like more than just a good vocal pop album. I think part of the magic, too, is that Dusty brings something unique to soul material - and that is vulnerability and restraint. I'm sure you've heard "Son of a Preacher Man" plenty of times before - on oldies radio, in the Perkins' bathroom, in Pulp Fiction - but take another listen. The tune is pretty good, but it's Dusty's vocal and the deft arrangement that take it to the next level. The lightness and fragility of the verses just makes the huge hook of the chorus sink in that much deeper (I dare you not to sing along with the Sweet Inspirations on that one). It's telling that Aretha Franklin actually turned this song down before hearing Springfield's version.
My personal favorite of the album, though, is the dramatic, swirling "Windmills of Your Mind," an all-out technicolor ballad. It's big-screen psychedelic touches are perfectly dated - rather than detracting from the song, they make it all the more charming. It's also perfectly suited to Springfield's strengths, slowly swelling from a hushed whisper in her lower register to some all-out soulful belting when the drums finally kick in at the end.
Still, despite all of the pieces coming together so perfectly, I feel like this album should get boring. I mean, it's so immediately accessible that it hardly sounds revolutionary or challenging. And it's not - it's just extremely entertaining while still being convincingly emotional, delivering on all of the promises of what pure pop music should be. This is perfect for those days when I get depressed because it seems like everything's already been done, that there's no way to push popular music further. It serves as a gentle reminder that, even within the confines of middle-of-the-road pop, it is always possible for an artist to extend herself and create something singular.

MP3: Son of a Preacher Man

MP3: The Windmills of Your Mind

Buy Dusty in Memphis

Album Review

The Hold Steady
Boys and Girls in America
Vagrant, 2006

I've been wrestling with Boys and Girls in America for a little over a week now, hemming and hawing over what has shaped up to be the most problematic and divisive album of 2006. I loved The Hold Steady's last album, Separation Sunday. I listened to it every day for a month last summer, and it was one of my unexpected favorites of '05. Now, I hate to be a disgruntled fan whining about how "the band's changed, man," but comparing the two albums does a lot to elucidate what's right and wrong about Boys and Girls in America.
Separation Sunday was exhilarating in its ambition - a rare modern example of a band just going for it. The band rocked with calculated force - deploying every trick in the rock'n'roll book. The fact that they weren't afraid to dredge up rock cliches (like the big pause after the bridge before the heavy riff kicks back in) was refreshing, and added swagger and machismo to Craig Finn's spoken-word lyrics. Finn, for his part, was all over the place - telling tales of shady characters like Gideon, Charlamagne, and Holly the Hoodrat that were peppered with pop culture references, biblical allusions, clever word play, alluring pretensions, and bad jokes. He spit all of it out so fast and with such gusto that it was a giddy pleasure to try to keep up with him. He also positioned himself ambiguously amongst his characters, implying that he was there but never taking an explicit point of view. This gave his tales credibility - he was talking about shallow, messed-up people from among their ranks. He was talking about assholes that got too messed up on drugs while he took another hit. He was the King of the Tools - that guy at a party that would intimidate you even as he pissed you off. You knew there was something hypocritical about him, but you couldn't think fast enough to call him out on it, so you had to respect him. This persona may not have been charming, but it was extremely compelling.
And so, in comparison, the new record is both an advance and a retreat. Finn actually sings on this one (which has made him every critic's new boss), and it turns out the dude can actually write a catchy melody. The band is tighter than ever, and when all the pieces fall together it's a hell of a lot of fun to listen to. Plus, Finn's still referencing Minneapolis like it's required in his contract, and it is unassailably cool to hear my hometown being painted into a rock'n'roll myth. I will never get tired of that.
But then there are the lyrics and the theme of the album. The lyrics themselves are more reserved, lacking the lucidity and cleverness of Separation Sunday. But more important to the album's fate is its subject matter and point of view. The purpose of the album seems to be to take Finn's sharp observational eye to the suburbs and scope out the scene out there, turning the excess of youth into keen meta-party anthems. This is a great idea, and sometimes it works, but occasionally the point of view gets too distant. Whereas it was easy to picture Finn as a degenerate Minneapolis partier, I know very well that he is neither a boy nor a girl in America. When his observations turn into criticisms (as in the obviously derisive "Chillout Tent"), the album loses its compelling point of view and becomes didactic and self-important.
But when Finn plays it straight, the results can be massively successful. Opener "Stuck Between Stations" mixes literary references (however shallow), broad sweeping statements, and Minneapophilia to approach the lyrical density of Separation Sunday. Musically, it's their Born to Runniest, mixing epic piano with crunching electric guitars as Finn lays out his thesis statement:

There are nights when I think that Sal Paradise was right
Boys and girls in America, they have such a sad time together.
Suckin’ off each other at the demonstrations, makin’ sure their makeup’s straight
Crushin’ one another with colossal expectations, dependin’ on discipline, sleepin’ late.

"Stuck Between Stations" works because of its ambition and scope, but other tracks work simply because of their sheer silliness. "Massive Nights" is a rollicking party tune with a sing-along chorus worthy of its title. "Party Pit" is perhaps the best encapsulation of all the merits and inconsistencies of the album. Half way through the song Finn ominously intones "She got pinned down / And I'm pretty sure we kissed...." He then repeats the line "I'm pretty sure we kissed" over melodramatic ascending piano chords that are soon joined by a screaming electric guitar. The hyper-tension builds and builds, and then suddenly the band just kicks back into the laid-back chorus with Finn casually repeating "Gonna walk around and drink some more" over and over and over. End of song. You could call it "over-indulgence" or "everything that's wrong with The Hold Steady," but it's actually laugh-out-loud funny. I'm not sure whether it's supposed to be or not, and I don't really care. It's hugely entertaining either way.
"Citrus," on the other hand, offers a totally new direction for the Hold Steady - the acoustic ballad. And it largely works. Some of the lyrics are a bit overwrought ("I've had kisses that make Judas seem sincere"), but think back to The Replacements. Were Paul Westerberg's acoustic ballads subtle and nuanced? Certainly not. They were just as rough and tumble as the rest of their material, which was what made them so damn charming.
Closer "Southtown Girls" has Finn and Co. swinging for the fences - delivering their catchiest chorus by a country mile. If you don't want to have the melody rattling around your head for hours, you'd best be skipping this one. The song blurs the line between indie and classic rock radio even further. Maybe it's just the sound of a band becoming more versatile. Or maybe it's something more sinister - the bait they use to lure the audience that they seem intent on ridiculing. Cindy Hotpoint of the blog The Rich Girls are Weeping refers to "the band's active hostility toward their target audience" in her review of the album. This is a tension that I have always found intriguing, in a punk rock sort of way, but on songs like "Chillout Tent" and "You Can Make Him Like You" it just starts to feel mean (and not all that interesting).
So...once you have sifted through the contradictions and complexities, is Boys and Girls in America something you are going to want to listen to? Well, I suppose that depends. Are you the kind of person who says "this is stupid" and turns it off? Or are you the kind of person that says "this is stupid" and turns it up?

Rating: Sweet and a Half (7.5)

MP3: Massive Nights

Buy Boys and Girls in America

Artist Website

Album Website

Song of the Week

"The World A Mess, It's In My Kiss"

X

In honor of recent world events (yes, I'm looking at you, North Korea...), this week's song is about the world being a mess. And it being in my kiss. I guess the title says it all. If you've ever tried your hand at songwriting, you may have discovered that if you have a strong enough title, the song will sometimes write itself. I'm not sure exactly what Exene Cervenka's songwriting process was for this tune, but I can only imagine that it was one of those charmed moments. The fidgety verses seem like they can hardly wait to kick back into the propulsive chorus, and I can't blame them. X was one of LA's first great punk bands, and this explosive song capped off their excellent 1980 debut Los Angeles (which was produced by Ray Manzarek of the Doors, incidentally - check out the keyboard breakdown).
I'm adding this one to my top 10 desert island bomb shelter mix.

MP3: The World's A Mess, It's In My Kiss

Buy Los Angeles

Artist Website

Live Awesomeness

Yo La Tengo
10/7/06
First Avenue, Minneapolis

Yo La Tengo has been totally commited to awesomeness for over twenty years now, buidling one of the most consistently stunning and varied discographies in independent music. With the possible exception of Sonic Youth, I can't think of another band that has been worth keeping an eye on for this long. But whereas Sonic Youth's 2006 effort is very solid, Yo La Tengo's is one of their absolute best. Plus, it's called I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass. Live, they put on the best show I have seen all year. But I'm not going to long-wind you with the details here, because I've already spent several words on them in my review for howwastheshow.com.

MP3: Beanbag Chair

MP3: Pass The Hatchet, I Think I'm Goodkind

Buy I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass

Artist Website

Live Awesomeness

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
with Architecture in Helsinki
and Takka Takka
10/4/06
First Avenue, Minneapolis

Returning to Minneapolis as a headliner, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah defended their blog-darling status with a strong live show, mixing in some promising new tunes with the year-old "classics" from the self-titled debut.
But in the live game, Architecture in Helsinki stole the show, offering more energy and excitement-per-minute than their more hyped peers, and undoubtedly picking up a number of new fans. The good news is that both bands have new albums coming out in the near future (2007-ish) and plenty of rooom to grow.
Full review for howwastheshow.com here.
MP3s and links below.

MP3: Over and Over Again (Lost and Found) - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

MP3: Do the Whirlwind - Architecture in Helsinki

Buy Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

Buy In Case We Die - Architecture in Helsinki

Clap Your Hands Say Official Website

Websites in Helsinki

Portrait of the Artist

Deerhoof

When I was a kid, I got a book of Brothers Grimm fairytales from the library and was shocked to see that the original stories were nothing like the picture book versions my parents had been reading to me. They were magical and whimsical, but they were also full of gruesome and gory bits that had been left out of the Little Golden Books versions. This was a disturbing discovery for me, but also an exciting one.

In my mind, San Francisco's Deerhoof share the same mental cubby as the Grimm Bros - they are childlike and playful one moment and fierce and gnarled the next. Often, they are both at the same time. They rock like a spiky teddy-bear.

Conventional wisdom dictates that they are a "difficult" band, and should take some time to get used to. But I knew that I liked them the moment I heard them. Though their music is clearly directed at horn-rimmed indie kids and features complex spaz-riffs and tricky time signatures, it is hardly intellectual. It's a compact, caffeinated rush, designed to get as many synapses firing at once as possible. They rock harder, pop cuter, and weird weirder than any other band going, and they do it all at the same time. That is the initial joy of Deerhoof - the overwhelming headrush of trying to take it all in at once. But repeated listens prove even more rewarding, as the hooks start to sink into your brain. The thrill of hearing them careen headlong into some wild riff only becomes greater if you are anticipating it.

And their most recent album, last year's The Runners Four found them reaching new heights. It doesn't have quite the same ice cream headache appeal as previous peaks Apple O' or Reveille, but it shows lead singer Satomi Matsuzaki stretching out as a songwriter. All the things that have always made Deerhoof exciting are still present on the album, but the highs are further apart, and thus all the more rewarding. Plus, she is no longer writing lyrics like "panda panda panda." Her lyrics are still playful, but they are clever and well thought-out, adding to both the cuteness and the intelligence factors. But the things that ultimately make The Runners Four such a winner are the same things that have always made Deerhoof great - garage rock energy, sloppy-virtuosic musicianship, and a heaping fistful of fractured melodies - all colliding into one joyous insanity.

Oh, and play it loud.

But not around other people.

MP3: Flower (from Apple O')

MP3: Wrong Time Capsule (from The Runners Four)

Buy The Runners Four

Artist Website