The Cool and Weird of 2008

Dearest SCQ Faithfuls and Dissidents,


Well, if the early nights and snow-covered lawns don’t give it away, the quickest of glances at Thank God It’s Tuesday should say it all: 2008 is pretty much finished! As certain as the seasons, some changes are on the way; I’ll be moving back into Toronto this coming weekend (which I’m pretty psyched for!) and may end up without internet for a week or more.

Normally such an absence wouldn’t upset business here at SCQ that much, but alas, we’re talking about December, the month of Year-End lists, retrospectives and all that awesome bravado to get you through the hungover portions of your holidays! I’ve put an unmentionable amount of time and effort into deliberating SCQ’s Best of 2008 (you know, considering…), so one way or another, expect all that love within the first two weeks of December.

In the meantime, here are a few glimpses back into The Cool and Weird of 2008:

Ryan Adams interviews Bob Mould!

Gotta start off with this because it’s too strange: SCQ-favourite Ryan Adams invites 2008 Best Album contender Bob Mould into his apartment to chat about a variety of fleeting topics and feel a strange, uncertain tension that permeates their conversation. Maybe it’s because Adams can’t hide his super-fan smile and Mould won’t make eye-contact…

Watch it here.


Bands Strike Back at the Pitchfork Empire!!

The following is my favourite piece of criticism released this year, and not strictly because it’s written by a band, or critiquing a music critic. The Airborne Toxic Event's open letter to Ian Cohen, who reviewed their debut with abysmal results, is genuine, well-written and generally spot-on (of course, having never lived in Los Angeles, I can’t say it’s foolproof). Moreover, it’s refreshing to read a criticism that doesn’t leave me depressed or with a false sense of intellectual superiority; two of many reasons why I don’t waste time reviewing bad records.

Read Airborne Toxic Event's open letter here.

Even more suggestive that Pitchfork’s better-than-thou bullying is thoroughly patterned and predictable is Mogwai’s method; posting an early, leaked Pitchfork review of their new album, The Hawk is Howling, that is thoroughly negative and pretentious. What reveals its parody is the poorly written, irrelevant and hopelessly staged product that it is. That said, Mogwai’s predicted rating is nearly identical with Pitchfork’s rating, if not the eventual, real review.

Read the “leaked Pitchfork review” here (halfway down the page).

No surprise that Pitchfork Media was the sole major webzine to ignore these headlines.

Surprises!!

The first major record released this year was one of 2007’s best albums and biggest news stories: Radiohead’s In Rainbows. As many predicted, the British quintet certainly detonated the last stronghold of the music industry last October, as several bands successfully found new methods of music distribution in 2008.

In March, both The Raconteurs and Gnarls Barkley dropped new albums within a week of announcing their existences, leading to press storms and impressive sales figures. Bloc Party went radical with their third album Intimacy by announcing it three days before selling it as a digital download (as agreed to by Wichita Records). A few weeks later, after deciding a b-side was actually solid enough to be their next single, the band emailed everyone who purchased the MP3s and included the new single, ‘Talons’, free of charge. Late this year, The Mountain Goats joined the pack, unveiling their Satanic Messiah EP at no charge (but asking that everyone contribute to Paypal at their leisure).

However as far as flawless experiments go, hats off to Nine Inch Nails and their altruistic giveaway of The Slip, which was available to anyone, courtesy of a downloading site that was easily navigated, and remains a quality album. With tickets to their summer tour going on sale the following week, The Slip is the smartest marketing idea I encountered this year.


Band Blog of the Year!

A whole lotta shit has gone down on the Deerhunter/Atlas Sound blog since its 2007 inception; some of it gross, some of it funny and much of it downright exceptional. This year we’ve felt the love as Cox gave us dozens upon dozens of new songs – full EPs, album demos, jams and experiments – and felt the rage when he gave away more than he planned (two album’s worth of new material). It’s been another year rife with drama for the Deerhunter Blog, but it’s still one of the best band-operated blogs around.

Check it here.

Then there’s this… a far from tasteful but overall authentic look at the madness that invites modern rockstars. It’s kinda NSFW but at least they’re not wasting their time in rehab.

Check out what Atlas Sound does in their spare time (not from the blog and at your own peril) here.


Oh Yeah...

...nearly forgot: Noel Gallagher got tossed by a fan on his own stage this summer in Toronto. I finally just saw it myself for the first time. Whatever. Word is the assaulter got pummeled backstage. Good work, all.

Watch it here.

4:13 Dream - The Cure

4:13 Dream

The Cure
Geffen Records.

SCQ Rating: 82%

Given the bands I’ve adored growing up (from early Smashing Pumpkins to Mogwai), it’s insane to look back and recognize how many times I heard one of them site the Cure as their greatest inspiration, or Robert Smith as their idol, and then never followed through. Unless someone intervened, there’s a probable chance I would’ve drifted endlessly along the fringes of the Cure discography, touching only infrequently upon the ‘Friday I’m in Love’ or ‘Just Like Heaven’ singles. Mercifully I was found by two saviours; one who lent me the gorgeous Bloodflowers, another who got me hooked on their self-titled 2004 effort. After those two, I backtracked through their minimalist era (Seventeen Seconds, Faith), their commercial turn (Head On the Door, Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me), as well as their universal masterpiece Disintegration. How strange, then, to admit that 4:13 Dream is the first Cure album I’ve had the good fortune of actually looking forward to. Still, after several line-up changes and deadlines pushed back, had The Cure finally reached creative exhaustion, where new explorations are abandoned in favour of yesteryear nostalgia?

The Crawley boys waste no time in effectively making me feel stupid about any fearful doubts with ‘Underneath the Stars’, a track better suited to Bloodflowers or Disintegration with its dramatic crests of guitar and Smith’s heavily reverbed vocals. After that opening track’s epic nature comes first single ‘The Only One’, and at once, Smith’s talk last year (or was it the year previous?) about this new material taking on the bipolar guise of Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me is evident; between these two tracks alone we’re treated to the best of the Cure’s late 90s period, the emotionally damaged marathons and quick pop hooks. Although most of these tracks can be reference-points to earlier career-markers, 4:13 Dream’s independence is assured by confident songwriting - making this a stronger album than any of their 90s output – thanks to the simple tweaking of the re-energized formula tapped on their 2004’s The Cure. As that record was incendiary in its electric heaviness, 4:13 Dream’s similar approach deviates only in its pop ambitions. Smith has managed to recreate the euphoric feeling of his best love-songs on ‘The Perfect Boy’ and ‘The Only One’ while branching into less Cure-owned territory with ‘The Hungry Ghost’ – a send-up riff to late 90s alternative rock that becomes immeasurably Cure-ish by its lush chorus. And while a few songs here even rival the piercing onslaught of The Cure, the production softens their impact; guitars are less pronounced, pushed back into the mix. 4:13 Dream is certainly the better record of the two, but those hard-rock dynamics that made The Cure into such a late-period statement are suspended here.

For their stellar reputation as creators of mood-albums like Faith or Pornography, which fluctuate on a central temper, variety rules the Cure in 2008, permitting acoustic reflection (‘Siren Song’) and distorted screams (‘It’s Over’) with equal rights. And while Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me is a classic album for pushing the band’s sonic boundaries as well as possibilities for the LP format in a digital age, it’s still comparable to 4:13 Dream as proof that variety creates internal conflict, where one side of a band’s sound can outweigh or outclass another side. While the conflicting sides of Kiss Me… made it a classic largely because of its imperfections, the material here is less impervious, finding their pop side far greater than the heavy-rock end. Although these opposing ends are well-integrated into a cohesive album, I can’t deny that the opening three songs (all pop songs) share accomplishments beyond, say, the last three songs (all hard-rock numbers) which tend to choose volume over songcraft.

With elements audible from a half dozen previous Cure albums, from the anthemic qualities of Head On the Door to the twisted hooks of Wish, 4:13 Dream is an accurate summary of The Cure’s maximal period (roughly 85 – present); occasionally spotty, commonly exciting and always curious. There’s an intangible emotion to The Cure, somewhere indefinable between lovelorn and suicidal, that Smith routinely defies then embraces, yet after thirty years and thirteen albums, it’s an emotion that not only outlives globe-trotting trends and once-loved music genres, but a sound as timeless and significant to culture as Elvis Presley or The Beatles. 4:13 Dream may not aspire to such lofty (and arguable) statements, but it’s the latest achievement in a sound that only The Cure can own and operate. Lucky for us, it’s a sound that’s as potent as ever.

Prospekt's March EP - Coldplay

Prospekt’s March EP

Coldplay
EMI Records.

SCQ Rating: 67%

The memory of hearing Viva La Vida might come flooding back upon first listen of this eight song cycle, most immediately because both share, at least in theory, the same lead track. Where ‘Life in Technicolour’ off that summer release was the band’s first instrumental, clocking in at two and a half minutes, here we are introduced through ‘Life in Technicolour II’, the actual song from which that former snippet was taken. As discussed by Martin two months back, such is the purpose of Prospekt’s March EP; an appendix to flesh out the full scope of the Viva La Vida sessions and reveal songs that were excluded not because they were inferior, but because they didn’t fit in.

Timing would indicate otherwise, as this EP’s late November release (not to mention new black-clad, deluxe edition) suggests holiday season cash-grab. However before anyone launches into a rich-rockstar tirade, they should listen to ‘Glass of Water’, a tour-de-force guitar anthem (well, as far as Coldplay are capable of) that begs the reconsideration of Viva La Vida’s final tracklist. Or the cut-up, flamenco rhythms of ‘Rainy Day’, which create a pseudo-dance song and give credence to Martin’s claim the album would be inspired by traditional Spanish music. If anything since Parachutes has left you twitching in the fetal position, test out the radiant ‘Prospekt March/Poppy Fields’ or the acoustic ‘Now My Feet Won’t Touch the Ground’; both of which are subtle (but still glossy) glances back at comparatively folky beginnings.

That said, the rest of this is certainly cash-in, superfan-only fodder: a virtually unchanged, single-edit of ‘Lovers in Japan’, a pretty forty-eight second piano ditty, and most obnoxiously, the Jay-Z “remix” of ‘Lost!’, which is identical to the original besides an extended instrumental section for Jay-Z to spit on. One interesting surprise is how flexible ‘Lost!’ is by nature, and how its determined beat fits perfectly to MCing. The opportunity for an unlikely crossover success is smeared, unfortunately, by Jay-Z’s inability to say anything of interest (… so that's how he and Martin became friends!). Referencing the usual dead rap artists and comparing them to Jesus is common hip-hop jingoism, I know, but can you blame me for hoping this would be an actual by-definition remix, with perhaps some exchange between the two vocalists? I mean, if you’re carrying through with the awful idea of bundling a rap MC in with the king of schmaltz-rock, well... shit, at least try to bend our low expectations.

For those who found great things in Viva La Vida (and you really didn’t have to look that far), Prospekt’s March EP is a must-buy. The new material adequately fills any shadows left by its full-length, and more stirring are the few tracks that surpass their usual boundaries, giving a question mark to whatever direction Coldplay take next. Of course, according to Chris Martin last week in an interview picked up by every bored, post-election news-rag, he’s planning to drop Coldplay by the end of 2009 because he’ll be 33 years old. So maybe this uncertain direction will be their destination. In completely unrelated news, SCQ is betting every dollar owned that Martin will be uttering headline-grabbing nonsense, while active in Coldplay, for many years to come. Any takers?

Angst is Not a Weltanschauung - B. Fleischmann

Angst is Not a Weltanschauung

B. Fleischmann
Morr Music Records.

SCQ Rating: 73%

From 1999’s landmark Poploops for Breakfast through 2006’s The Humbucking Coil, it was clear that B. Fleischmann’s discography was locked into a slippery slope of refinement. With each release, Fleischmann became increasingly harsh on misplaced notes and fuzzy production techniques; a compulsive issue that began to sterilize his records. I can’t say it was a huge deterrent, as the record that suffered from this homogenization the most, The Humbucking Coil, remains somehow his best. However, few could doubt that through filtering his work so stringently, Fleischmann had eliminated the element of spontaneity and reduced his pedigree to recycling the same trick, as enjoyable as it was. Kudos to Bernard, then, who has snapped that uniformity with Angst is Not a Weltanschauung; a record that takes on several disguises and succeeds in each.

The most immediate change from previous efforts is Fleischmann’s bold use of vocals – both guest musicians and his own – which envelop 2/3rds of Angst…; more often than his previous three records combined. After the not-so-obligatory introductions of ‘Hello’, ’24.12’ gives us the establishing shot of Christmas Eve and a bizarre conversation translated through duet (another Fleischmann first!!) which comprises a catchy first single. Now I can’t say “bizarre” without touching upon ‘Phones, Machines and King Kong’; the result of B. Fleischmann collaborating with Daniel Johnston (how on earth did these two meet? What’s next: Sigur Ros with Charles Manson?). Matching Johnston’s vocals - which chronicle the events of King Kong, no less - to his own previously released ‘Phones and Machines’, this track stands out from others at first because of its peculiarity, yet after a few listens, because it’s actually quite good. Johnston rarely deviates from one vocal hook, which can grate on some ears, yet his repetitive understanding of King Kong’s tale becomes poignant next to Fleischmann’s composition, making it a strange but mesmerizing centerpiece. Odd duets and collaborations aside, it’s Fleischmann himself, taking vocals on two songs, who keeps Angst… on the straight and narrow. ‘Still See You Smile’ revisits the electronic songcraft that Christoff Kurzmann crooned over last record, while final track ‘Even Your Glasses Miss Your Eyes’ ends things on a gorgeous refrain, mixing circular piano keys with Fleischmann’s understated loops. His vocals are better than I’d expected, as after years of selecting collaborative voices, I assumed he was naturally off-pitch. As Fleischmann moves into an increasingly songwriter-oriented musician, I hope he continues to use his own vocals (at least sporadically) as they compliment his well-honed arrangements.

Like his previous efforts, Angst is Not a Weltanschuuang is impeccably polished, and while Fleischmann may still shy away from leaving any sonic debris behind, he has reinforced his natural talent with spontaneity. ‘The Market’ is a bouncy ride through Fleischmann’s crowd of song ideas, while ‘Last Time We Met at a T&TT Concert’ is a tense soundtrack that includes suites of different keyboard effects, wayward percussion shifts and a mightily-incorporated accordion. Most adventurous of all is ‘Playtime’, aptly named for this BPM overdrive that careens through an eight minute loop production.

All of these advancements make Angst… a bit difficult to score comparatively to his discography. Both Welcome Tourist and The Humbucking Coil were studies in relaxed beats and subtle variation, largely instrumental and ideal for daydreaming, making Angst is Not a Weltanschauung a well-orchestrated contrast, better for late-night driving and hanging out with friends. Personally, I thought the cover-art would be entirely unrelated to the music – sheep, glasses, bricks and chairs = worst cover of the year – but, several spins later, its unorganized arrangement is beginning to make sense. For all this unprecedented experimentation, there are bound to be a few spotty areas, undercooked or overlong, but even these so-so moments are brief and pleasant. This may not be Fleischmann’s masterstroke, but it’s his most daring statement yet.

Red Star EP - Third Eye Blind

Red Star EP

Third Eye Blind
Self-Released.


SCQ Rating: 68%

Hearing the first new Third Eye Blind in five and a half years presents a certain dilemma… one identical to what I faced in May of 2003, hobbling across my hometown mall’s parking lot with a fresh copy of Out of the Vein in hand. Crossing to the nearest bus stop, I suddenly said aloud: “Wow, am I even going to like this band anymore?” A fraction of reasoning for this outburst was likely due to a mono/strep-throat combo that kept me fevered and under house arrest for days but, for the most part, I was recognizing that Blue, their previous album, was my favourite new record five years earlier. When confronted with a band like Third Eye Blind, whose sound is singular and unlikely to fiercely change, five years is forever; imagine all the friends, records, opinions and love interests passing through those years that shape and refine one’s musical tastes? Out of the Vein more than satisfied my doubts, eventually being crowned as my favourite of Third Eye Blind’s output and #1 record of that year. So another half decade later, another gauntlet is dropped; this time in the form of Red Star EP, a teaser for their long-awaited full-length, Ursa Major, due in February.

Even for fans who caught on to the San Francisco band last week, hearing ‘Non-Dairy Creamer’ for the first time is disappointing. What deems the lyrics so lame and occasionally embarrassing is how much vocalist Stephan Jenkins tries to cram, as if the song’s a social commentary on every headline missed during his extended vacation. Covering school-shootings, the occupation of Iraq, breast implants, STDs and the authenticity of KFC chicken within its first minute, ‘Non-Dairy Creamer’ defines a b-side’s penchant for aimless lyrics and jam-oriented instrumentation. The melody itself is fine, if a bit recycled, but the mix sounds off and I personally hope this track is exclusive to Red Star EP.

‘Red Star’ is thankfully better, cleansing the awkwardness of the lead track away and finding Jenkins and Co. at their best with this hazy rock song that marries Jenkins’ lyrical love-letters to steady drums and moody swells of guitar. Closing the disc is a live take of new song ‘Why Can’t You Be’, which, rip-off aside (c’mon, the EP is three tracks and one is live? Us fans deserve better than this!), suggests a poignant ‘How’s It Gonna Be’-style ballad, but with better lyrics and lacking the 1997 hit’s overwrought anthemic quality. Like the EP itself, ‘Why Can’t You Be’ hints at greatness that, upon the release of Ursa Major, I hope is realized.

This isn't an actual EP, comprising songs connected by time or theme, but as a teaser, this accomplishes a small feat. After a shaky start, Red Star EP is convincing on two fronts: the band remains committed to its core-sound but adventurous nonetheless, and Jenkins hasn’t lost his flair for memorable lyrics. Despite this EP’s brevity and one regrettable track, Third Eye Blind have likely passed another litmus test with patient fans, holding our disgruntled gaze for a few months longer. No matter how Ursa Major turns out (or if it comes out at all), Red Star EP has reminded me, once again, that I’m an ardent fan, willing to drag myself through sickness to hear their music at any cost.

Microcastle - Deerhunter

Microcastle

Deerhunter
Kranky Records.

SCQ Rating: 90%

Time is a measurement, no different than tons, hectares or milliliters, which is mapped accordingly to our lifespan. A day to us (at least in the Western world) is nothing, ably occupied indoors watching movies or wasted however one sees fit. A wasted week? Likely the result of some funny story. When we begin talking about months or full years, however, these time-spans take on a more serious nature; the longer the period of time, the greater the gamble to our lifespan. Bradford Cox doesn’t operate this way, namely because on a given weekend, the Deerhunter frontman accomplishes more than your average recording artist could in a month. Need proof? In twenty months, Cox has gone from absolute obscurity to indie-fame, releasing the celebrated Cryptograms, the equally distinguished Fluorescent Grey EP, a sensational solo album under the Atlas Sound moniker, over one hundred additional songs (given away on his blog or built to comprise the upcoming Atlas Sound sophomore), and now Microcastle.

What ultimately crowns Cox’s work ethic as excellent, instead of self-indulgent, is the versatility and commanding reign he manages, marking each release as a profound new step in a remarkably young career. A single spin of Microcastle leaves no doubt that this is a checkpoint, a go-to flag in their discography, that will be foremost discussed long after Deerhunter’s lifespan expires. Although their affection for pop music has seldom been offered room to grow on their previous efforts, Deerhunter have carved such influences – My Bloody Valentine drones, 50s girl-group arrangements, Sonic Youth weirdness – into their songwriting. (Oh, and to those who questioned Cryptograms’ authenticity, behold: what you hear on record is proof that Deerhunter are the proprietors of this sound. Call it shoegaze, ambient-rock, whatever you want, but Microcastle ensures this a singular sound, and their trademark, to be defended or fucked with at their whim.)

At several intervals, I couldn’t help but glance back and question whether Cryptograms really sounded the way I remember it. Those found-sound squalls and drones of dissonance that gave weight to some ferocious indie-rock are minor players now as Microcastle blossoms into a dream-pop haze where found-sound is more percussive (in the segue ‘Calvary Scars’), the drones deeply rooted and complex (‘Neither of Us, Uncertainly’). Although Cryptograms will always be commendable for its devil-may-care use of fury and instrumental assaults, it all seems a bit abrasive once you’ve heard this. Granted, what made that 2007 breakthrough so wonderful was its ability to rock out as often as it spaced out, moving suddenly between prolonged ambient pieces and crunchy shoegaze. Neither of these Deerhunter-dimensions is omitted in Microcastle’s centerpiece, an ambient blackhole that endures several suites – some ominous, some beautiful – before arriving at ‘Nothing Ever Happened’, their epic tour-de-force. That gravitational center and the sequencing at large are among the record’s most charming features; that each track fulfills its ambition through interaction is undeniable.

Which brings us to Microcastle’s ultimate feat: mastering the three-minute pop song. Both ‘Agoraphobia’ and particularly ‘Never Stops’ are sharp pills of pop with pocket-sized grandeur, taken in stride and never forceful, showing how far Deerhunter have come since ‘Strange Lights’, the black sheep of brevity from their sophomore set. ‘Little Kids’ swells like the days of old as Cox layers harmonies over a densely compiled climax, while ‘Saved By Old Times’ breaks new ground with a simple rock riff that catches fire into a sound-collage experiment gone incredibly right.

How did they record this in a week? How did they capture Cox’s marginalized neurosis in arrangements this lush and captivating? Why do I keep thinking of Daydream Nation? There’s one answer for all of the above, and it’s simple: in all my admiration for Cox in his Atlas Sound guise, I forgot how talented and essential Lockett Pundt and the band are. As exciting as Microcastle is (and there’s really no other word for it), a sliver of me feels bittersweet that Deerhunter have certainly moved toward the mainstream, instead of bringing the mainstream to them. Cryptograms was so sensational because it created a stunning divide; among critics and fans, between experimental music and indie-rock, that beckoned attention. While Microcastle will likely surpass that level of awareness in droves, credit is owed to its accessibility; something Cryptograms hadn’t a hope for. That mysticism is harder to find this time around, but in its place is something too spirited and dynamic to rebuff: a bildungsroman of suburban youth, as performed by a wiser group of misfits. Certainly the caliber of record a band achieves once in a lifetime... of course, I'm hoping Cox will defy that expectation as well. One of the year's best.

Physical versions of Microcastle come bundled with Weird Era Cont., a separate disc of new material. Due to the magnitude of the first disc, SCQ has chosen to review Weird Era Cont. at a later date.

Not Animal - Margot & the Nuclear So and So's

Not Animal

Margot & the Nuclear So and So’s
Epic Records.

SCQ Rating: 76%

In a trial I’ll call “Why Does Indie-Rock need you?”, I’ve put Margot & the Nuclear So and So’s to the test. Why do we need this Indianapolis-bred group of undergraduates? “They are eight members strong.” Who cares! “They write chamber-pop songs and are named after Paltrow’s character in The Royal Tenenbaums.” Ack, I say!! “They don’t get along with their major label.” Lord help me! There’s no denying it: on first glimpse, this awkwardly named band doesn’t grab you with any peculiars or gimmickry. In fact, with no pretense beyond a possible misnomer, I’m tempted to nominate Margot & the Nuclear So and So’s for breakthrough indie-rock act of the year on the very basis that their music talks more than they do. Strange then, that a band so under the radar is both promoting a disc of surprising ambition and ignoring a second that their label insisted upon.

Confused? Here’s the deal: both Animal and Not Animal were released on the same day, the former encompassing the songs and sequencing the band approves, the latter – this one! – being at the insistence of Epic Records. Which is better, I cannot say (having not heard Animal), but regardless… Not Animal suggests that Epic Records have compiled a strong selection of Margot... tunes. The breezy ‘German Motor Car’ and broken-ballad ‘Broadripple is Burning’ are early nods to the band’s melodic core and a fair warning that there are catchy chords abound on Not Animal. These are folk songs embellished, featuring multi-instrument arrangements that Sufjan would’ve steered off the mountain with. Part of Margot…’s appeal is that they don’t; by ignoring some gratuitous impulses, ‘As Tall As Cliffs’ is kept sociable and exuberant.

That isn’t to say that Not Animal doesn’t suffer from some serious over-production. Even the folkier songs can feel polished to a fault, with strings popping into verses or manicured distortion jumping aboard climaxes. Both can be incorporated swimmingly, like on ‘Cold, Kind, and Lemon Eyes’, but these opposing textures truly disagree by the record’s third act. In what can be squarely blamed on Epic executives, ‘Pages Written on a Wall’ and ‘Shivers (I’ve Got ‘Em)’ stand shoulder to shoulder as the lone, brash rockers here. If this heavy sound is part of the Margot… canon, we should’ve had a taste of it before the ninth and tenth song. That sequencing-blunder aside, these tunes are also a display of Margot…’s less interesting side; their inclusions lending a bloated feel to Not Animal.

Aside from Animal being released exclusively on vinyl, I’m content to side with the major-label version because it’s the slimmer of the two (Animal boasts nineteen tracks!). Perhaps their raucous material makes more sense or the sequencing balances their ambition better when ingested on the band’s version. Still, Not Animal deserves a loyal fanbase - one that is likely amassing as I type – and more than the refreshing lack of press I currently find. Indie-rock needs Margot & the Nuclear So and So’s, if only to fill its weary cracks of postures and pastiche with some honest-to-god catchy tunes. Your I-Pod (or the inner-Garden State-lover in you) is looking for some of this, whichever record you choose.

High Places - High Places

High Places

High Places
Thrill Jockey Records.

SCQ Rating: 67%

Sometimes reviews come easy; you hear it four times over a weekend and have your entire case mentally mapped out. More often you elbow yourself into it, critically eyeing all corners and, like you would a house, ensuring it stands solid. And then there are times you spend a month and a half struggling to earn whatever discipline you’re lacking in order to comprehend it, and if you’re lucky, your efforts make the record in question all the better. In the case of High Places, my efforts have taught me this: some records will keep you at distance, regardless of your intentions. Sometimes there’s just a disconnect.

I feel like a failure to therefore state that the whole affair, which barely clocks in at half an hour, feels inconsequential, like a talented student unable to find their calling. Since High Places’ identity is so wrapped up in their use of percussion - a meticulously cluttered assortment of kitchen-ware clapping - it distracts these songs from achieving any transcendence; too slow to dance to, too intangible to chill out to. This attention to rhythmic detail also derails any permanent sense of melody, as a ton of cool effects and keys filter in then out of the mix, leaving us with promising whispers of could’ve-beens. These brief teases are most indicative in segues like ‘Papaya Year’ and ‘You in Forty Years’, which lay down awesome beds of melody which are abandoned instead of built upon. Most unnerving is their technique of latching any melodic accountability to Mary Pearson’s vocals, which are coyly unconscious, as if someone recorded her while she dusted the bedroom unaware. Sometimes they work, like in the fully-developed ‘Namer’ or the vocal-hook of ‘A Field Guide’, but often times Pearson sounds uninterested, leaving us with halfhearted tunelessness like in the otherwise-cool, Kahlil Gibran-esque ‘Gold Coin’. Likewise, much of High Places feels like it’s afraid of committing to a sound.

Having that last paragraph penned, I now suspect my disappointment is half imaginary; it’s true, I expected High Places to champion itself a more emotive, Four Tet-leaning outfit. After all, I was listening to ‘From Stardust to Sentience’, a mind-blowing fusion of ambience and punchy beat-patterns. Even now, a month and a half later, I can appreciate High Places as an accumulative record where from ‘The Storm’ onward, it grows into its fragile frame like some undisturbed wildflower. It might only fully flourish by its final track but in no way is that a poor reflection on the rest of the album. Slight disappointment aside, this remains the most provocative debut album Thrill Jockey has released in years, one equal parts lovely and jarring, that challenges the virtue of patience.

You & Me - The Walkmen

You & Me

The Walkmen
Gigantic Records.

SCQ Rating: 85%

The first time I heard ‘Canadian Girl’, I was half a world away from that Western Hemisphere I call home. The new Walkmen record had been released to some acclaim and although my first taste foreshadowed an elegant but raw songcraft, I felt a shudder deep in its creaking keys, a claustrophobic rattle in Hamilton Leithauser’s tenor. Hold off, I told myself, wait till I get home where the Autumn winds and darker days might accentuate this record’s deep contrasts. The decision was wise – yes, this record is deserving of November’s ushered dimness – but well beyond my intentions: had I owned this record while living in Taiwan, where cigarettes and alcohol are always appropriate, always dirt-cheap, I would’ve disintegrated into a complete maniac. Throwing wine bottles into the street, cracking my tar-filled lungs in lonely song; how could You & Me accomplish such a task?

In no small part, The Walkmen’s latest evokes such pre-depression-era debauchery; its aesthetic a throw-back to classic gramophones with its tinny, compressed production. Compound its dated feel with arrangements that marry Golden Age crooning with contemporary indie-rock, and You & Me is a distinctly original masterstroke. ‘On the Water’ establishes the first apex; a rumbling bass and drumline that rotates like well-oiled gears while Leithauser and guitars surge like waves to a cathartic crest. What keeps the entire affair from even approaching the notion of pastiche is Leithauser’s streak of self-loathing, the band’s sense of urgency, that reveal the hidden sentiments beneath their black tie and formal gown setting. These emotions, which battle against restraint for the spotlight, are fully set free in the utterly devastating wail of ‘I Lost You’.

If their colourful discography is any deterrent, you can rest assured that You & Me is The Walkmen’s most well-rounded collection; carefully sequenced between ‘I Lost You’ firing-on-all-cylinders balladry, Leonard Cohen-esque folk ruminations and brash rockers. ‘Four Provinces’ swaggers on a shambolic groove as ‘Red Moon’ takes a late-night walk through the horns of Manhattan. As contemplative as it is thrilling, Leithauser is perfectly suited for this square spotlight, instilling these songs with an intangible, 50s-cool quality. Whether reserved or unleashed, You & Me is a telling and personal record, and it’s this parallel dividing formality from primal nature (which even graces this record’s artwork - what are those well-dressed ladies whispering about?) that deepens the dangerous impulses and emotions within. Hands down, no other record in 2008 will rival You & Me’s flawless hybrid of being a liberated loner and drinking album at the same time. An immense and staggering achievement.

Chunk of Change - Passion Pit

Chunk of Change

Passion Pit
FrenchKiss Records.

SCQ Rating: 79%

Cool story: Michael Angelakos was stressed out. Valentines Day had come and gone, and with every passing hour, he was digging himself into a quicker break-up scenario. Knowing that it was too late for chocolates or roses, Angelakos bunkered down in a studio and came out with Chunk of Change, a bouquet of electro-pop tunes. Now as a gift, it’s hardly romantic and doubtfully created in post-Valentines haste (I’d wager he had most of this prepped for himself but opted for a cool, review-opening anecdote – in which case, thanks!), but as a debut EP, Chuck of Change is a promising, informal glimpse at an emerging voice.

Utilizing urban loops, new-wave synths and electronic bleeps without restraint, this Cambridge, Massachusetts native covers a fair distance within half hour, from the straight hip-hop beat that Angelakos quirkifies on ‘Cuddle Fuddle’ to the Postal Service-era, indietronica found on ‘Live to Tell the Tale’. Evoking everything from late 90s rap to Confessions on the Dancefloor-era Madonna, Passion Pit has an innately comforting appeal; it’s as suitable for Friday night driving as it is for the Sunday night come-down.

As accessible as Chunk of Change is, the make-or-break factor will be Angelakos voice, which despite the aforementioned hip-hop mentions, is distinctly indie-rock (imagine a cross between The Rapture and a frantic Kevin Drew). Here’s the catch: Angelakos is pretty much both, each song acting as a flipped coin determining whether he’ll be slightly unnerved or full-blown frenetic. As far as this reviewer is concerned, his voice is one of Passion Pit’s great strengths but I have no doubt that many would find argument with that statement. Part of that understandable disapproval is clear: the vocals on Chunk of Change are poorly mixed in two tracks, most evidently on opener ‘I’ve Got Your Number’. It’s a brooding, synth-laden track that unfortunately features vocals mixed far louder than the instrumentation; as far as first impressions are concerned, Angelakos sounds whiny and overbearing when better production would’ve ensured an album highlight. In most cases, his vocals are well-integrated into electronic soundscapes like ‘Smile Upon You’ or his boisterous singing in ‘Sleepyhead’. Sadly, those few subpar exceptions do taint the DIY-respect that Chunk of Change aims for.

That ‘Better Things’ and ‘Sleepyhead’ were added post-Valentines by FrenchKiss isn’t overly surprising, as both are noticeably bolder; the former is a funky singalong, drunken in its ghetto-Daft Punk love-in. The latter has accumulated the most attention so far, a sample-heavy track that should turn heads in both the hip-hop and indie-rock camps. Hardly something to get emotionally invested in, Chunk of Change is still a decent girlfriend gift; a fun, constantly shifting record that compliments the excitement of being in love rather well. As far as a debut EP from a complete outsider is concerned, you truly cannot ask for much more than Passion Pit delivers.

Cardinology - Ryan Adams & the Cardinals

Cardinology

Ryan Adams
Lost Highway Records.

SCQ Rating: 79%

When you’re as prolific as Ryan Adams, releasing anywhere from one to three records in a given year, album titles are hardly worth stressing about. Most of them, as Adams himself has admitted, are hilariously undercooked proposals: Gold was his take on 70s Gold AM radio, Demolition was unsurprisingly a collection of demos, Love is Hell was about love being hell and RockNRoll was about cocaine, er, I mean, rock and roll? Hell, according to a recent Adams interview for Rolling Stone, even the lovelorn intimacy of Heartbreaker found its title as a tribute to his favourite Mariah Carey hit. So when Easy Tiger was a verbatim reference to something Adams’ girlfriend had once told him, it nearly seemed poetic; after years of relentless albums, tours, girlfriends and illnesses, Easy Tiger was the first Adams’ release in a year and a half, finding him focused and sober. In fact, much of that album’s press seemed smitten with Adams’ newfound sobriety; a journalistic novelty for the subject formerly plagued by slander that his shows were unprofessional, his albums required editing, and his persona was a drunken punchline.

Another fifteen months pass and Adams’ new thesis, Cardinology, presents us with a study of his band The Cardinals. Of course, any fan of Adams is likely a Cardinals fan as well; their contributions to Cold Roses, Jacksonville City Nights and Easy Tiger (uncredited) reveal an outfit nearly as adaptable and multitalented as their ringleader, moving effortlessly from Grateful Dead noodling and country session band to classic-rock riffing. What defines Cardinology from past efforts is Adams’ back-step into the fold, where more than ever, he is a Cardinal instead of a prominent solo artist in front of a backing band. This union has been strengthening for years and their camaraderie is audible throughout twelve tracks of country-flavoured rock. Neal Casal contributes strong backing vocals, harmonizing with Adams or echoing his sentiments on laid-back ‘Natural Ghost’ and the riff-heavy ‘Magick’. Jon Graboff - in my opinion the Cardinals’ most crucial member - continues to build on his pedigree of brilliant pedal-steel performances, echoing the lazy romance of ‘Evergreen’ and rural warmth throughout. The power of this full band is unmistakable on lead single ‘Fix It’, a swaggering blues tune complete with Feinstein’s guitar solo and the powerful duo of Adams and Casal sharing chorus vocals.

Despite this well-honed group confidence, Cardinology offers another muscular argument: sobriety is damned boring. As Adams intones at one point “Be more like the trees and less like the clouds / stop moving around so much”, his narratives, fleeting and sparse, clearly reflect his cleaned up lifestyle. Where Love is Hell spoke poignantly or metaphorically about romance and death, or where 29 created interconnecting mysteries, plot-turns and characters, Cardinology discusses dead relationships, rehab, and how Adams retires to bed alone each night. If Easy Tiger suggested Adams’ wild days were behind him, Cardinology, lyrically at least, sounds convinced of it and roundly depressed. Exerpt (from 'Let Us Down Easy'):
“Instead of praying I tell God these jokes he must be tired of himself so much He must be more than disappointed
Christmas comes we eat alone a pretty smile surrounds a pretty girl who takes your order she yells it
and cries alone in the backroom once in a while until it stops”
Wait, what? How does one write ‘This House is Not for Sale’ or ‘Strawberry Wine’ while on heroin/coke combos, and then two years sober, write the fragmented lyrics above? These odd, scribbled phrases – that were occasionally visible on Easy Tiger – consume this latest effort, making one wonder whether Adams could clarify his words if he tried. Even when his lyrical talents, once biting and memorable, slide ever-closer toward the ramblings of a shut-in, Adams remains a thrilling performer with romantic regrets on the reverb-drenched climax of ‘Sink Ships’ and the pulsing melancholy of ‘Cobwebs’.

Earning more than a few comparative points to Easy Tiger with its no trimmings approach, Cardinology strikes even; it’s far more cohesive than its mixed-bag predecessor but occasionally suffers from its filtered classic-rock template. The record’s most interesting moments are those fragments of enlightenment Adams learned in rehab, where his pleas for guidance and recognition of past mistakes give his good ol’ rock and roll some gospel vibes. It’s among the slight progressions this record can boast, which after years of genre-shifts, finds Adams’ career at a standstill. Never has this once-misfit been so humble and inconspicuous on record; as a longtime fan, this phenomenon paints Cardinology as refreshing yet sporadically underwhelming.

A New Chance - The Tough Alliance

A New Chance

The Tough Alliance
Modular / Sincerely Yours Records.

SCQ Rating: 65%

The past few years have proven what indie-critics everywhere suspected: there’s something remarkable lurking in Sweden’s drinking water. What else could explain the Scandinavian breakthrough that has introduced us to Jens Lekman, Taken By Trees, Lykke Li, Peter Bjorn & John, Loney, Dear, and now, add The Tough Alliance to the list. Unlike their sensitive colleagues, Tough Alliance are closer in sound to Studio (hey, also Swedes!); a duo who mix reggae rhythms with 80s pop songwriting for a less introspective objective. Where Studio turn left, however, choosing The Cure and Depeche Mode for inspiration, Tough Alliance aim straight for the dancefloor with A New Chance; a mini-LP of flashy electronic pop.

No track makes this more abundantly clear than ‘Miami’; the synth-heavy rave-up featuring a looped call and answer chorus screaming “Ecstacy!!” over some coy “la la la”’s. It’s as fearless as it is meaningless, meant to move you physically and forget yourself mentally. Such instinctual euphoria is what The Tough Alliance aim for, whether it be the Clash-anthem ‘First Class Riot or ‘The Last Dance’s new wave shuffle. Both are capable distractions for hype-hungry bloggers, but seem designed to be forgotten; there’s no depth or tension to properly round-out this material and few lyrics that provide more than vocal presence. A song like ‘Looking For Gold’ in particular leaves us grasping at strands of lyrical or melodic insight, weary for any sign of actual significance. That’s where The Tough Alliance really define themselves from the bass-heavy, longhand compositions of Studio; where Studio take sunny, reggae muses and wrap them in new wave shadows, Tough Alliance remove pop’s inherent drama (in other words, its romance), effectively castrating pop by making it poppier.

The whole of A New Chance isn’t as brainless, thankfully boasting some strong electro-pop concoctions in its second half. The pop-heavy early dose of ‘Something Special’ and ‘Miami’ is revisited and improved upon in the final couplet, ‘Neo Violence’ and ‘1981 – ‘, which undertakes a closer study of electronic textures and dance-pop songwriting. The upgrades shown in ‘Neo Violence’ move gracefully into ‘1981 – ‘s spritely keyboard tapping, which move briskly amid a growing chorus of woodwinds. The vocals are infrequent, its mood original, but most importantly: the closing track of A New Chance finds these Swedes mixing peppy dance keys with zen-like organic instruments. Suddenly, The Tough Alliance seem to be looking forward, discarding their treasure-trove of nostalgic hooks and embarking upon a musical landscape so much richer in possibilities.

Although I’m consciously fighting the unwarranted hype that reflects this SCQ Rating, it’s difficult to ignore or accept such lavish praise by some of indie-rock’s top critics. There’s no doubt: A New Chance is simply one of countless blogger sensations of 2008; placed upon a pedestahl built suddenly than suspiciously vacated with only vapour trails and month-old blog-chatter to ascertain it was real. While they are not the next big thing, The Tough Alliance are the latest addition to Sweden’s vastly admirable roster and certainly a band worth watching.

SCQ Wishlist 2008

Few customs or strategies in the trade of music criticism are impenetrable, or faultless by design. With a worldwide blogger community that introduces music trends like wine bottles christened against ships, latches on in numbers that weigh a trend into soil, then swim for another band to buoy them, the tendency is to review new music at an insanely quick and irresponsible pace. As such, some albums are overly praised or criticized, and once it’s out there, it’s there for good.

The elusive bulls-eye of music appreciation can even dodge hindsight, supposedly 20/20 but susceptible to bloating “classic” albums beyond their worth or instilling them with an outsider aura dependent upon one of several factors: correlation to historical or sociopolitical events, correlation to trends or movements that happen to occur decades on, or most famously, the death or downfall of a principle songwriter. These factors seem to overshadow or completely negate an album’s flaws and flukes, enveloping the work into a league of “classics” that should truly be considered “nostalgics”.

So a lot of music criticism, and whether it proves itself as bold or spot-on as its album in focus, comes down to luck. As a blogger who actually buys the records he reviews, instead of getting early promo copies or downloading month-in-advance leaks, SCQ takes a considerably longer time digesting these records but, as the short history of music criticism indicates, extra time with an album doesn’t mean I’m any less likely to screw up.

Growing up, early November was a time for sibling gatherings when we’d choose a bedroom and begin outlining the first drafts of our Christmas Lists. In an attempt to amend some poor conclusions made over the past ten months, I’ve compiled the SCQ Wishlist; a once-a-year chance to alphabetically remedy four records I’ve done wrong by.

Enjoy my wayward judgements!





Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings – Counting Crows

Original SCQ Rating: 89%
Revised Wishlist Rating: 79%

A rookie move, make no mistake. For someone who had been blogging for approximately two months, I should’ve shown more patience and restraint with an album I’d been waiting six years for. That isn’t to say that Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings ended up a letdown by any means; simply put, I wasn’t abiding by my own rating value system. Judging each band’s album by their fellow releases, I now realize that the Crows’ four preceding LPs are of such quality, that this latest offering (which is slightly substandard in comparison) couldn’t possibly carry an 89%. The reason for this second-rate impression lies in the sequencing; the record feels too long, and with filler like ‘Hanging Tree’ or ‘On a Tuesday in Amsterdam Long Ago’ hanging tight, Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings could’ve been a more poignant weekend trip.

Original Review here.



Ringer EP – Four Tet

Original SCQ Rating: 83%
Revised Wishlist Rating: 74%

Four Tet going techno was a dream in theory, and like always (at least under the Four Tet name), Kieran Hebden delivers with a mini-album’s worth of 4/4 beats and strange digital landscapes. Yet whereas before his albums were helplessly addictive, Ringer EP ended up being that dream you woke up from just before things started happening. Hebden constantly hints at directions he could take, but rarely deviates in any forceful manner. An easier record to admire than to love.

Original Review here.




The Devil, You + Me – The Notwist

Original SCQ Rating: 78%
Revised Wishlist Rating: 84%

Probably the best-layered record of 2008, The Devil You + Me finds The Notwist at their cerebral peak, morphing the glitch-rock tricks they learned on Neon Golden into swelling symphonies of mood and anxiety (fortified by the 21 member-strong Andromeda Mega Express Orchestra). It wasn’t until a trip out East that I finally explored this record on headphones, and the experience leaves no doubt that I underscored its importance and ambition.

Original Review here.



April – Sun Kil Moon

Original SCQ Rating: 72%
Revised Wishlist Rating: 78%

What a dense record to get into… and my first Mark Kozelek experience to boot, Lord help me! April has been one of the strongest growers of 2008; with each month and every listen arrives new subtleties and patches of acoustic loveliness. Even his voice, which at first felt passable for a man of such rustic, folky intentions, has blossomed with his songs, admitting a mournful tenor that initially came off as bland. Few records balance the lilting acoustic with Crazyhorse-era, full-band electric as well as Sun Kil Moon, and April is one of those wise and understanding records to grow old with.

Original Review here.

Conor Oberst - Conor Oberst

Conor Oberst

Conor Oberst
Merge Records.

SCQ Rating: 75%

So the mastermind of Bright Eyes and co-founder of Saddle Creek records ditches the moniker and abandons his label for a self-titled solo album on a prominent indie imprint. Even though Bright Eyes, which was declared an actual band with a concrete line-up in 2007, was by and large acknowledged as Oberst’s dictatorship, and even though Saddle Creek would’ve been an ideal fit for this collection of roots-rock. Hell, had Bright Eyes never existed, the idea of Conor Oberst releasing a solo record in 2008 would still be outlandish, given that his first two solo LPs were released on cassette way back in the early 90s. So why now? It’s anyone’s guess; mine being that after the polished, orchestrated pop of Cassadagga, Oberst took a step back to deliberate his future. Moreover I’d wager his own guesswork opted against baring the Bright Eyes name to a ramshackle follow-up like this self-titled release. A wise move, not because Conor Oberst suffers from mediocre ideas or travels unflattering directions, but because this album proves that Oberst, as a songwriter, is versatile enough to exist beyond Bright Eyes’ fame.

A few spins of Conor Oberst subtly makes clear the strategy here: these aren’t Bright Eyes tunes, restless nor careful. Here, Oberst’s home is the road, humid and weathered, where much of this material rustles like weary drifters roaming Americana on petrol vapours. ‘Sausalito’ sets the stage, a two-note Johnny Cash bassline that’s as languid as Oberst’s end-verse backing vocals, that tells his tale of highway loves and overdue debts. It’s a difficult tempo to maintain, I’d imagine, when revving it up or slowing down would’ve made the song far less transient. But that’s the point here; as Oberst himself might say, it’s another travellin’ song, and the pace becomes perfect for easy Autumn drives. ‘NYC – Gone, Gone’ features a brief return of the DIY ethic that made songs like ‘Drunk Catholic’ so urgent while ‘Moab’ hitches a ride with Pavement-style chords to provide Oberst’s thesis, stating “there’s nothing that the road cannot heal”.

This recording feels increasingly marginalized from the Bright Eyes canon thanks to its variety, jumping from the garage-band shouts of ‘Souled Out!!’ to the humble folk of ‘Milk Thistle’. Most objectionable is ‘I Don’t Wanna Die (In the Hospital)’, a hokey, full-band interlude that is innocent enough but a giant spike in an otherwise calm sequencing. The willingness to defile potential graces of ones album for the sake of spontaneity is a hard-earned trick, and a checkmate that makes Conor Oberst surprisingly hard to pin down. The only time its disjointed scope is troubling is when you’ve just heard an album highlight (like the romantic ‘Lenders in the Temple’ or best-song-ever ‘Cape Canaveral’), something reminiscent of a Bright Eyes’ classic moment, which is then interrupted by a careless, bar-stomp. Oberst seems intent on dismantling any notion of a masterpiece, in the process marking a transitional gem in his catalog.

So his new approach – dropping band and label of yore – might well be Conor’s way of lowering expectations, and while this is too scattershot to be greater than the past several Bright Eyes albums, it warrants praise that hasn’t prejudged it as inferior. If Conor Oberst is to be the second coming of a songwriter who, at 28 years young, has already lived out a full career, this is a promising first taste.

Dancefloor Drachen - AGF

Dancefloor Drachen

AGF
AGF Producktion records.

SCQ Rating: 61%

There was a bar in London, Ontario that all my film friends loved going to. It went by the kind of name I’d only hear at drunken parties or in forgettable conversations, and thusly I never actively sought it out. Finally, on a weekend my hometown friends were crashing for a show, we met up with some others there, walking past serious, spectacled faces, blocking strange projector footage of amoebas twitching while bearded indie-kids stroked their chins and a DJ spun harmless triphop. Now don’t get me wrong: I’m a film graduate as well, but there comes a divide, a line in the sand, where you prioritize your theorists and credentials from the soil beneath your feet. Although I prefer the path of a mystic over a textbook scholar, Dancefloor Drachen could have easily been playing in that bar, that night, and I wouldn’t have minded.

Apparently composed of lost tracks, 35mm fight audio and a clear love of micro-house beats, AGF’s Dancefloor Drachen is currently selling for free at his website, in an experiment more liberal and opportunistic than the In Rainbows parade was (basically, pay for it afterwards, if you liked it). To paraphrase Colin Greenwood about being ripped off by opportunists: no one who looks at the end result in financial terms would execute such a pay-what-you-want plan. Antye Greie, aka AGF, is similarly focused on the state of art; what it’s worth and whether people give a shit. I do, and Dancefloor Drachen, in theory and scope, could very well have its release party in a hip Museum of Fine Arts instead of your average downtown club.

Word of advice: don’t let casual listening convince you this should be a freebie. AGF’s use of repetition, most apparent in female vocal contributions which speak circles around key words like angry bees, is venomous on first listen; the kind of irritating, brainwash-approved producing technique that seems reserved for back-room, raver havens. Note the vocalist’s obsession with the words “if” and “you” in lead-off track ‘If You’ or the severed rhythms of women chanting “this” and “is” on ‘(because) This Is’... yeah, now you’re getting the picture. Either way, nothing suggests a brainstorm on the merits of commercial art quite like a track entirely built on calm breathing, distant sirens and audio noise entitled ‘For Free’. It’s one of the few paradoxes present that doesn’t seem intentional.

In rare cases, these vampiric intonations are perfectly suited to Dancefloor Drachen’s nihilistic outlook. ‘Slowly’ marries a stomping, hollowed-out beat to throaty whispers in what proves a mélange of vocal fragments and melodies. Even better is ‘Than Reconsider’, which with its micro touches and (gasp) actual singing, is likely the most formulaic track you’ll find here. The majority of Dancefloor Drachen seems busy sorting itself out – where it’s trying to go, whether each song’s inherent message is translating – that the few surviving dance numbers are refreshing reminders of electronica’s instinctive pleasure-center.

To accompany AGF’s giveaway strategy and question of artistic integrity in 2008, the sentence each of these tracks combine to form is as follows:
“If You/Consider/Than Reconsider/Ripping This Track/For Free/You Might/Slowly/Turn Impotent/(because) This Is/Reduced Beauty/From a Nazi Stalinist Successor”
Uhuh. I could bite and pen an essay on that statement – its relation of dangerous dictatorships to a crumbling music industry, its allusion to any number of inherent themes from xenophobia to genocide, rich VS poor, authoritarian = major labels VS democracy = internet, etc – or I could ask myself, plain and simple, whether Dancefloor Drachen musically provides any insight beyond that sequenced sentence above. It doesn’t, but who am I to say? I’m sure the kids down at that London bar could spend a semester arguing to the contrary.