Monday, September 29, 2008

Waiting for the Sunrise - David Vandervelde





Waiting for the Sunrise

David Vandervelde
Secretly Canadian Records.

SCQ Rating: 70%

David Vandervelde, the young Michigan-via-Chicago-based songwriter, turned heads and opened ears last Spring with his mini-album debut The Moonstation House Band and its celebratory first cut ‘Nothin No’. A liberating tune worthy of drunken singalong, ‘Nothin No’ had all the glam thrills and classic rock nostalgia to hoist Vandervelde, then twenty-three years of age, upon rock’s Next Big Thing podium. Nevermind that The Moonstation House Band was actually pretty complacent; a few great tracks, sure, but when there were only eight to speak of (not to mention Vandervelde's green-horned interviews that boast the half-hour set took over two years to record), it was hardly a cause celebre.

His sophomore album, Waiting for the Sunrise, opens with the gentle strums and piano of ‘I Feel Fine’, a dead-ringer Fleetwood Mac track that somehow manages to accomplish the same feat of pulling in listeners the way ‘Nothin No’ did, despite a completely different sound. That T-Rex impersonating is discarded in favour of early 70s singer-songwriter fare, making this follow-up a fine (and far more focused) record for sobering up/piecing yourself together after the Moonstation party. After ‘I Feel Fine’s humble stare in the mirror, we’re given the highway-fresh air of ‘California Breezes’; a could-be single that showcases Vandervelde’s singular voice in strong delivery and sweet harmonies. It’s this vocal talent that keeps Waiting for the Sunrise treading water when it appears the tide will never change.

It’s important to note that, although Waiting for the Sunrise hovers around the average album length of forty-five minutes, it feels closer to two hours when played front to back. There’s no mystery why - the record is both homogenous and severely bloated – but there’s also something to be said for the notion that I’m hardly bothered by it. By inspiration and design, these are harmless songs, as pristine and weightless as the carefree morning drives it begs to soundtrack. To all Vandervelde fans: no, it isn’t just you – ‘Someone Like You’ does start in almost identical fashion to ‘Murder in Michigan’. To all new listeners: yes, ‘Need for Now’, more than any other track here, runs entirely too long. As easy to enjoy as it is easy to ignore, this should be heard and critiqued as background music. The smoke-stained ‘Lyin in Bed’ is best played while rummaging around your apartment while ‘Hit the Road’ is an electric stand-off, best heard with the windows down. Careful listeners look elsewhere.

What ties Vandervelde’s two records together is two-fold; that his style is unabashedly lifted from his hero of the moment (to date… Marc Bolan, Neil Young, Mick Fleetwood) and his voice manages to make you forget it. Flaws exposed, Waiting for the Sunrise is still a better album than the previous, and another fractured glance at a versatile artist still waiting to find his stride.

Lifeline EP - Jesu



Lifeline EP

Jesu
Hydrahead Records.

SCQ Rating: 82%

Welcome to ‘Drone Doom’ – the apparent result of fusing metal, shoegaze, ambient and electronic elements into one hybrid style. It’s also a ridiculous label, perhaps the most embarrassing since ‘folktronica’, and through use indicative of every lame sentiment ever hurled at critics. Moreover, terms like ‘Drone Doom’ damage the music in question, lending unnecessary baggage to one Justin K. Broadrick, the man behind the Jesu moniker, who is responsible for all instruments and production. Fabricated genres aside, Jesu is the latest in a line of projects that began in 1985 when Broadrick joined Napalm Death as a new guitarist. A year on, he was invited to join Head of David, this time as their drummer. Soon after that gig wrapped up, Broadrick created Godflesh (1988-2002), an industrial-metal group, produced a bunch of records for fellow label-mates (Isis, Pelican), established his own record label (Avalanche Inc.), and gave birth to Jesu; the first project where he is alone at the wheel, able to take any direction he desires.

And steer the vessel he has, from the originating muse of industrial music to My Bloody Valentine-styled shoegaze, and now, with Lifeline EP (his fifth, count’em, release of 2007), a stronger attachment to electronic production techniques. The steady percussion on ‘You Wear Their Masks’ remains human-made, but the distinctions between that and a drum-machine are becoming as blurred as the swells of guitar. More telling than this sound of metal melting into moody textures is the prominence of ambience here; from the onset of the title track, Lifeline EP carries on down the same electronic path as an appendix to the Conqueror full-length. Keyboards provide the melodies here, circling around each other in a frothy glow while the guitars move like shifting plates, slow and grinding. It’s at once downtrodden in its heaviness and uplifting in its sonic beauty.

It’s exciting to watch a band so prolifically intent on sound exploration, where fans can only theorize where they’ll travel next. Despite a remote metal influence, Lifeline EP has inducted Jesu into the shadowed margins of post-rock or alternative rock, a destination this band has been leaning toward for the past few releases. Whether that’s a graduation or demotion is up for debate among purists and indie-fans, but the sound unearthed in Jesu is as heavy and calming as thunder, and worth supporting in every transitional release along the way.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Kyte - Kyte



Kyte

Kyte
White Wabbit Records.

SCQ Rating: 73%

I was strung several thousand feet above the earth, air-tight and strapped into a cabin-pressured capsule. Surrounded by stranger’s shadows and technicolour glares, my airline had advised us all to keep our window shades down so travelers could either sleep or watch the projected movie ahead. I had awoken from a ten minute slumber, somewhat stir-crazy with about twelve remaining hours to occupy myself, when I selected the first track of Kyte’s debut album. Cracking open my window-side shutter, I sent natural rays of light spraying into the dark cabin to see the first watercolour line glowing across the horizon. Nevermind that the first song is called ‘Sunlight’; truthfully, this self-titled release was performed, perhaps manufactured, for these small moments of wide-eyed clarity.

In fact, a spin through Kyte’s eight songs of prog-rock climaxes might find listeners aching for a melody that loves only itself, satisfied by a simple hook, a verse/chorus, some subtlety, maybe. Restrained nuances are in short supply here; a blunt fact that has as many positive implications as the obvious negative ones. Due to this band’s clear devotion to Sigur Ros, most evident in the near rip-off that is ‘They Won’t Sleep’, your first listen to Kyte will be memorable, one of those feel-good experiences where you tease yourself with the possibility that this is your next big band (a feeling enhanced by the band’s anonymity from the current indie-blog scene). Although the album’s warm and dramatic tones are unwavering, several highlights remain clear: ‘Planet’ is ferocious, a seven plus minutes of delayed guitar and echoed vocals that, if only once, punctures Kyte’s pristine sonic bubble, while ‘These Tales of Our Stay’ is a toy-box marathon of swelling strings that magnify the vocalist’s love-strung narrative.

Such a penchant for emotionally pummeling rock does cross into monotony, absolutely. Kyte suffers from maximal production - blown-out arrangements aim for blown-out heartstrings at every turn – which, by the fourth song, casually burns out many listeners who were enthralled after the first. And this is what divides the men from the boys: songwriting. Comparing a newborn band like Kyte to their obvious heroes, Sigur Ros, who are newly graduated veterans at this point in their career, seems like novice-bullying, but the proof is in the pudding: even Takk…, Sigur Ros’s climax-addled child that could’ve suffered a similar plight of overproduction, steered clear because in the end, each of those eleven songs were expertly written (when in doubt, take the acoustic litmus test and ask yourself if the song could translate well in its most understated single-guitar arrangement… Sigur did by releasing an acoustic album of those aforementioned rock climaxes to great success on Hvarf/Heim). Although Kyte is the band’s first album, and a usually impressive one at that (let’s also not forget that Sigur Ros’ first album, Von, was awful), the majority of this maximized material could not woo us without its chimes and trimmings. Thankfully, a needed respite from the bombast and phonebooth-vocals is found in ‘Home’, a relaxed instrumental that is smartly placed at the album’s midpoint.

This is an ambitious debut, one worthy of investigating and soundtracking the next time you find yourself miles above the earth, or the next time your life falls apart. In either case, Kyte works because it’s comfort music; easy on the ears, long-winded and almost always entrancing. Very soft and safe, which depending on your perspective (or current disposition), could be exactly what we’re all looking for sometimes. You could do a lot worse when facing the end of the world.

Chemical Chords - Stereolab




Chemical Chords

Stereolab
4AD Records.

SCQ Rating: 69%

Like Belle and Sebastian or Nine Inch Nails, Stereolab are virtual figureheads of a genre they’ve helped spearhead from its inception. A more complicated genre than B&S’s twee or NIN’s industrial-electro is the retro-twee-futurist-lounge-whatever that critics create to label the Stereolab sound with. Sure, these sub-genres are ridiculous rabbit-holes for music nerds (like me) to debate the merits of, but the critics have a point: through their diverse pools of creativity, this six-piece have truly crafted and caressed a sound no other band, with scruples, could replicate. For years, I sought to tackle the Stereolab sound and make them a band in my life, yet each time I listened in, the music felt like transient lounge for the hipster dinner-party. No insult to hipsters intended; I just never host dinner parties. So upon the release of Chemical Chords, the band’s colourful new full-length, I averted my usual routine by purchasing it before listening. That way, I’m stuck with it.

A month later, I swear this impulsive strategy is paying off. Although a first-impression of Chemical Chords is like the first-impression of any Stereolab album in that “Yes, it sounds like Stereolab” kind of way, several contributions have pushed this beyond their usual output. Firstly, Stereolab have taken the swing and momentum of Motown under their wing, infusing their tried-and-true with a deeper sense of vitality. Word has it Joe Watson, Lab ringleader, formed most of these song ideas through exercises in repetition; simple chord changes and staccato time signatures that when explored, became chemical. The repetition is ever-present, the impenetrable foundation to all the brass, keyboard and bass hooks laid overtop.

Another essential contributor to Chemical Chords’ success is Sean O’ Hagan, who has apparently worked with the ‘Lab in the past, and has provided a wealth of horns, strings and soul to the proceedings. ‘The Ecstatic Sunshine’s orchestration, a mix of daybreak horns and lazy strings, give graceful swells to pacify those punchy keyboard stikes while ‘Three Women’ finds O’ Hagan seamlessly weaving horns into the regular Stereolab recipes.

There are still experiments galore – the fuzz-rock of ‘Pop Molecule (Molecular Pop #1)’ or the robotic ‘Nous Vous Demandons Pardon’ – but none as attention-grabbing or tedious as those that repeled me upon hearing Dots and Loops or Sound-Dust. Instead, these forays into further off-beat territory suit the grab-bag whimsy of Chemical Chords, a fourteen track collection that wanders many alleys but stays true to its lounge-meets-motown heart. If you’re a fan of Stereolab’s discography, there’s no room for error with this latest album; all the expected strengths remain intact (girl group melodies, wellplayed shout-outs to 60s idealism, all blender-mixed with their mechanical, semi-electronic leanings). I suppose I should get on writing those invitations, then.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Intimacy - Bloc Party






Intimacy

Bloc Party
Wichita Records.

SCQ Rating: 80%

Big beat percussion, siren-loud guitar squeals; feel the wrath of 'Ares', both the God of war as well as opening track to the dropped-like-a-bomb new Bloc Party record. Once heard, that feels a bit like an understatement; surely there are bombs that have taken longer to get the go-ahead than Intimacy, as the band gave a mere three day warning call. I'd further wager there are bombs less explosive than this eleven-song cycle, which features the ten original songs first released in late August, plus the new single 'Talons' unveiled last week.

Of course, a release method in the vein of Radiohead or Reznor can easily overshadow the actual record; the shock and awe technique of announcing it so imminently affords little time for hype or expectation, while the first listen incorporates all the excitement we held before internet leaks and blogs like this one ruined those precious record-release calendar days. The boldness of their progressive strategy feels echoed in 'Ares', brash and careless what bands it stands on the shoulders of. But beneath its blender-mix of electronics and indie guitars, 'Ares' is perhaps the most irreverent Bloc Party tune yet; tons of fun but unsatisfying in the end. These uncertain moments are littered throughout Intimacy, a record seemingly more interested in opportunity and adventure than the boring details, and I applaud them for regaining their sense of urgency left on the metro steps after A Weekend in the City. Before I tread any further, A Weekend in the City was and remains a fantastic record, one far more deserving than its critical response, nonetheless the recent backlash on the heels of Intimacy's release. Urgency wasn't that album's concern, however, and having soundtracked several parties in 2005 to Silent Alarm, I'm excited to hear Bloc Party back to their twilight hour decadence.

Decadence is truly the word of choice here. Their usual dissonant moments are now polished in electronic buzzes and saws (the surge of 'Trojan Horse') or synth-work knotted to early, trademarked sounds ('One Month Off'). Even in their organic state, Bloc Party have continued the electro push of last year's oddball single 'Flux' into this new material, from Matt Tong's cloying drum machine technique ('Better Than Heaven') to 'Biko's lilting guitar ode, looped and stuttered over protooled beats. These songs speak even thicker of Bloc Party's ambition to soundtrack urban desensitization than A Weekend in the City did, precisely because it doesn't blatantly outline its lyrical agenda like that album unfortunately succumbed to. Better yet, Intimacy lives up to its name by collecting some of Kele's most personal vocals to date, blood-letting this neon-bright metropolitan vibe all over our 4am bedrooms. It's a path Kele and Co. have arguably been searching for since their debut, and Intimacy successfully finds them intwined in the melodrama of relationship fodder.

When I contend that details aren't of primary focus here, that isn't to say that Bloc Party haven't laboured intensely (and secretly) over these eleven songs. 'Signs', in all its glory, is not only worthy of being touted as their best song, it's also among their most experimental; taking a 4/4 micro-house beat, suffocating synth and an army of bells into their own, increasingly brilliant blend of androgynous mood and Bloc-balladry. Which brings us to 'Talons', the latest surprise single from those generous Brits, which again blends innocent melody to dense guitars, cutting in and out of the mix, against a man-made dance rhythm. So the production is intricate, no doubt there, but the band manages to caress their instincts instead of being self-conscious; in the process avoiding another over-wrought narrative that occasionally troubled their last album. In other words, Intimacy could be that record playing over club speakers when Kele and his friends were doing coke in bathrooms and getting promiscuous through the lyrical woes of A Weekend in the City.

What keeps Intimacy's energy from tipping over or becoming stagnant is how unpredictable it plays out; cut between two producers (who helmed Silent Alarm and A Weekend in the City, respectively), this offering presents an admirable fear of commitment; when you're in a band so proficient at both aggressive indie rock and glamorous art-rock, which do you choose? Moreover, are you in a rush to decide? This unbalanced set actually gives weight to the it's devil-may-care eclecticism, making Intimacy better off in its compromised confusion than choosing a single love. We're still talking about a record, right?

Intimacy is available now in digital MP3. Physical CD/LP format will hit stores on October 28th, 2008.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Wagonwheel Blues - The War On Drugs




Wagonwheel Blues

The War on Drugs
Secretly Canadian Records.

SCQ Rating: 84%

Breaking in a fanbase for a band is the equivalent of finding a female demographic if you've just opened a club downtown. Riches, notoriety and all other successes will come along once you've attained it, but for those who don't: back to the employment pages. Perhaps the greatest gamble The War On Drugs deals in on is their name, one that has certainly impeded, even in the least, their indie breakthrough. Example A is myself, who thankfully eyed their song titles before the band name. Had I been less curious or more attentive, I have faith that I would've missed out on Wagonwheel Blues entirely. Luckily, The War On Drugs seem to subconsciously counter any distasteful first impression with lead track 'Arms Like Boulders', an attention-grabber of the first order that opens with electric guitars and percussion tripping over itself, then ironed out by a wailing harmonica. The first time you hear Adam Granduciel spouting phrases between harmonica-bursts, all that'll register is Bob Dylan. That's OK - don't fight it; the Philadelphia five-piece apparently bonded over the father of folk's work, and by the time 'Taking the Farm', a chugging slice of Springsteen Americana, digs in, those Dylan-isms will feel assuredly unforced and at home here. Yes, this is a do-or-die first listen; the kind of record that opens so promisingly, that when previewing each following song, you're terrified it's about to run out of gas. This review is here to assure you that it won't.

If I was into genre labels as vigorously as professional critics tend to be, I'd make a solid case for Wagonwheel Blues to be crowned a cornerstone of shoegaze-folk. At first listen, it sounds like an old folk album put through the washer, with any thin acoustics covered in layers of ambient feedback. Such startling production techniques are both part of the record's initial novelty and its subsequent brilliance; these digital waves soothe us on 'There Is No Urgency' or the ruminating 'Reverse the Charges' but spike suddenly in the ringing rock-out of 'Show Me The Coast'. Because these shimmering waves (there's really no other word for them) give depth to all nine songs, it also provides Wagonwheel Blues with a cohesive cinematic quality; a blurred genre border where rock purists can shake hands with drone or prog enthusiasts. This widescreen treatment is fortified by two instrumentals - one of which, 'Coast Reprise', actually reprises a song that appears later in the album - that encapsulate the War On Drugs' love of warm keyboards and distorted noise.

Although this record begs the mention of Dylan, Springsteen, or even Wilco, it deserves its own spotlight; one untouched by paint-by-number comparisons. Wagonwheel Blues is more than folk or rock; it's a hybrid too stunningly honest in its skin, and too convincing to be a flavour of the month. This is the soundtrack to weekday afternoons of watching summer storms march over the land you call home, or tackling a highway without purpose or direction. This record is the soundtrack of witnessing something bigger than you can fully understand, and finding the beauty in it. Remind me to never judge a band by its name again...

Last Night Something Happened - Monster Movie



Last Night Something Happened

Monster Movie
White Wabbit Records.

SCQ Rating: 76%

As most readers are aware, I've temporarily moved to Taiwan and taken SCQ for the ride. Despite this incredibly unsubtle shift in my daily life, I've attempted to keep SCQ free of any travel-blog inspired insipidness. So forgive me on this one, but even when it comes to Taiwanese record stores, I'm likely to screw something up.

Turns out this record isn't new at all. The "2008" I read on the record's back which got me so excited only refers to the year White Wabbit Records decided to bring it over to Asian markets. After a little online investigation, I now know Last Night Something Happened is the band's debut from 2002. Despite this, the record is still 'new' to my adopted homeland, as it is for me, so I've opted to review it as such. I doubt anyone will care enough to complain!


After over two weeks of searching in vain for a record store, I located a tiny stairwell with "CD" mentioned among its Chinese characters. Sure enough, I followed its path and found a decent-sized, second-story store fitted with tons of Japanese, Taiwanese, Classical and Karaoke music, not to mention a decent corner of International music. I'd heard of White Wabbit Records because I had done some preliminary research online before flying out here, but where before I had been told they were an actual record store, here I discovered them to be a label that collects various International Indie records that the Asian population would dig. Mice Parade, Explosions in the Sky and Album Leaf featured among others, my attention was caught by an ominous looking Monster Movie album. I'd heard To the Moon, as well as the far better Transistor, and considered them to be the pop-infused comedown from shoegaze's last stand (due to both lead members being from classic shoegazers Slowdive). Last Night Something Happened, however, I'd never seen, heard of, or listened to, and perhaps because this was my first purchase in a long time, I wanted something new and slightly daring.

Ok, so we all know it isn't so new after all, but Monster Movie's debut certainly warrants my gamble on buying a completely unknown record. Starting with the appropriately titled 'First Trip to the City', Christian Savill and Sean Hewson prove that patience crafts the best albums with a buzzing instrumental of muted organs and sound collages. These increasingly ambient segues are also placed at the midpoint ('Star City') and near its wintry close ('The Same Again'); both extending the cinematic feel of its more rock-oriented songs with the heavy sighs of a long highway (as featured in some stellar cover art that pretty much sold me). 'Shortwave' is the first vocalized song; a mournfully steady rock song, polished with an ambient flare. It's a formula Monster Movie cling close to throughout Last Night Something Happened; dense chords with dewy vocals that maintain their shoegaze heritage while broadening out to a wider pop audience. The same widescreen melancholy applies handily to '4th and Pine' and 'Take Me Away', although 'Waiting' takes the prize on this release, with a bouncy keyboard line and heavenly synths balancing the murky guitar into a sensational pop song (co-sung by regular Slowdive contributor Louise Hewson). For anyone who enjoys Slowdive's or Ulrich Schnauss's later work, there are many favourites to find on Last Night Something Happened. It may be six years old but White Wabbit Records still did me a favour with this one.