The Floodlight Collective - Lotus Plaza (April Hangover Series)

The Floodlight Collective

Lotus Plaza
Kranky Records.

SCQ Rating: 83%

Being a fan of Deerhunter pays a lot of music-nerd dividends; not only do each of their releases vary drastically, allowing for virtually endless debate over their influences, direction and intentions, but they work feverishly, offering five official releases and a hundred or so free tracks in the last twenty-two months. Now while only three of said releases are under the official Deerhunter name, solo releases by Bradford Cox (under Atlas Sound) and now Lockett Pundt (as Lotus Plaza) don’t deviate from their primary band’s sound so much as expose and run with Deerhunter’s fringe experiments. Where Atlas Sound buried Deerhunter isolation in bedroom-pop ambience on last year’s Let the Blind Heal Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel, Lotus Plaza seems borne from Weird Era Cont.’s carefree sound collages. While both side-projects contain ample layers of hazy reverb, The Floodlight Collective avoids becoming an Atlas Sound shadowplay by merging Pundt’s shoegaze-clouds with compositions influenced by the golden age of rock and R&B.

There’s an immediacy to both the sea-side breeze of ‘Red Oak Way’ and the Motown thump of ‘Quicksand’ that reveal this album’s timeless quality, that of a half-century’s musical ascent collapsing into itself. Now this isn’t to say that Pundt has sought to create a concept album of sorts – he hasn’t – and truthfully, something so pre-planned and ostentatious would likely diminish the unpredictable brilliance of these ten tracks. Instead, The Floodlight Collective places the drowned-out instrumental work from Cryptograms in a blender with musical genres of his youth, and by adding a good serving of Kranky-approved ambience, has created a stunning soundtrack to one’s daily life. Pundt’s tenure in one of modern indie-rock’s best bands hardly shies away as ‘What Grows?’ lurches forward with the druggy guitar of a virtuoso at work, while ‘A Threaded Needle’ locks into a tight chord dissection of guitar, bass and drums. Yet these rock elements, as reverb-coated and effects-ridden as they are, always subside back into the Lotus Plaza flood, where echo-drenched ambience wins the war. ‘These Years’ might just be the best song to watch rain hit concrete to, while late centerpiece ‘Antoine’ is an epic tale of trickling percussion and cascading keys. Never mind that you can hardly discern a word Pundt sings, that’s hardly the point. A record like this starves for personal attachments of its listener; the lyrics are truly in your head.

Proceedings never get too pleasant, thankfully, as The Floodlight Collective tests its boundaries and breaks air-holes in its ozone. ‘Sunday Night’ is an electronic swarm of frantic codas and tempered glitches, featuring a vocal and bassline that eerily resembles Let the Blind Heal…’s ‘Bite Marks’. Speaking of Cox, the ringleader himself shows up to play drums on ‘Different Mirrors’, a track that jangles with more languid aggression than the others. Neither of these tracks are highlights but they’re healthy distractions that remove the risk of any album-monotony. As layered and ghostly as both Lotus Plaza and Atlas Sound are, and as close as the two artists are (bandmates, best friends), it’s pleasing to hear how they’ve split seemingly similar sonic territory into two auteur-ish enterprises. If Atlas Sound was meant to exorcise Cox’s childhood traumas, Lotus Plaza seems hell-bent on returning to the joys and mysteries of his own. Yeah, that's Pundt's brother on the cover.

Coming from a band capable of so much controversy – much of it, admittedly, revolving around Cox – it’s no surprise that The Floodlight Collective has baffled many critics. Most reviews I’ve read insist that it’s too hazy (and if I’d only listened to it twice, I might feel the same way) but, as immersive as this record is, Lotus Plaza has debuted a hybrid of the highest order. The rock tendencies are cornerstones to most of these songs’ melodies and while they give it some snarl and bass, The Floodlight Collective is sympathetic like an ambient record; it’ll slide out of focus when you’re lost in thought, it’ll magnify your senses when you’re paying attention. Perhaps the finest daydream record of the year.

Years of Refusal - Morrissey (April Hangover Series)

Years of Refusal

Morrissey
Lost Highway Records.
Myspace

SCQ Rating: 80%

Had the Smiths never existed – the records, the successes, the bad blood and expectations, all - Morrissey’s solo catalogue would still be rife with inconsistencies. This unevenness, which is ever-present in his work, is inevitable for the sole reason that we love him dearly for his shortcomings. The stories he told in the early eighties remain unchanged today; The Moz can’t love anyone, can’t put himself out in the open, won’t take the chance of becoming more miserable. We accept this stagnant storyline because he sells it well – his lyrical bite and velvet voice have aged like dimly-lit restaurant wine – but deep down we know it’s all horseshit; Morrissey is as miserable in his forties as he was asexual in his twenties. Quite the contrary: the man’s greatest shortcoming is that he loves himself more than we fans ever could, and that self-absorption in his writing holds us back from even the occasional surprise. So when the man of so many myths titles his latest album Years of Refusal, is he owning up and moving on or digging deeper in neurosis?

If you’re expecting to read an easy answer here, you best learn from history; Years of Refusal continues both his successful 00s comeback while suffering familiar setbacks. If, however, the majority of songs here are any indication, these "years of refusal" are most certainly behind him as Morrissey sounds refreshed, his purpose reawakened. Opening with ‘Something is Squeezing My Skull’, perhaps his most vital track in a decade, he intones “I know you think I should’ve figured myself out by now but you’d drop dead” over punk-inspired riffs. The brazen guitars make up the personality of this collection, as rocking tracks like ‘Sorry Doesn’t Help’ mark it as more electric and combustible than either You Are the Quarry or Ringleader of the Tormentors. In fact, Years of Refusal makes its predecessors sound manufactured by comparison as many of these songs carry authentic rock dynamics; the heavy percussion and a mariachi band (as featured on ‘The Last Time I Spoke to Carol’) are advancements over You Are the Quarry’s drum machine overdose. And when I said the record had its setbacks, I’m referring to what has plagued most every Morrissey album: those few, mediocre tracks littered among the classics that have kept his solo work for Moz-fans only. Although the six-strings attempt to fill some of these songwriting cracks, ‘All You Need Is Me’ and ‘I’m OK By Myself’ feel slightly rushed.

What’s most interesting about Years of Refusal is that the best songs are quieter ones, like the requiem ‘You Were Good In Your Time’ and the superb highlight ‘It’s Not Your Birthday Anymore’, which whispers and rises in fury like any tumultuous relationship. Between the bold guitar rock and timeless balladry, Years of Refusal has given both fans and new listeners a surprising document; one that finds Morrissey shaking things up, even if he’s still winking at his reflection the whole time.

Champagne Downtown - Halloween, Alaska (April Hangover Series)

Champagne Downtown

Halloween, Alaska
East Side Digital Records.
Myspace

SCQ Rating: 65%

April has seen a ton of new music swing through SCQ’s doors; enough to bury two individuals of the same apartment in completely different musical batches. So when comparing our favourite I-pod listens of the past week and I listed Halloween, Alaska among others, my girlfriend inquired: “I thought you said that wasn’t so great”. “Oh, it isn’t”, I followed without hesitation, as a tiny epiphany landed squarely in my lap. The band’s third effort Champagne Downtown grapples with a lot of promise, giving you guilty-pleasure shivers one moment then rolling your eyes the next. I, for one, am susceptible to lush, emotive indie-rock tunes that value texture over brash guitar tactics, mood over attitude, and while such traits place Champagne Downtown in an enviable position for many Death Cab for Cutie wannabes, I also happen to be vulnerable to clunky lyrical passages. I.e.:

“California knows full well/
it’s going to fall into the sea/
That’s why it never acts too serious/
I swear I’m not sad, I’m just serious/
There is a difference.”

There are several of these bored epiphanies on record, including full song investigations into manhood and patriotism on (no way!) ‘Be a Man’ and ‘Un-American’. It’s hard to really attach oneself to these tracks lyrically, in no small part because vocalist James Diers refuses to work his opinions into any clever narrative or instill a sense of conviction. They border on indifferent complaints. Luckily, Diers’ earnest songwriting fairs better when matched by his band’s sparse yet melody-drenched sound, as proven in the resonating keys and warm guitar of ‘Hot Pink’ or the tender vocals and (possibly M83-inspired) fuzz of their title track. Even ‘The Ends’, which utilizes keyboards in a way you haven’t heard since the dentist’s office in 1985, inspires cheesy, retro/elevator music to be better with some soft Cure-ish guitar tones keeping everything together. At the very least, this Minnesota-based quartet aren’t afraid to exist on the fringe of several scenes, staking synths and electronic percussion as essential instruments to their more traditional palette.

Halloween, Alaska got its first break on The O.C., which comes as no surprise given Champagne Downtown’s ability to soundtrack prime-time heartbreak. Still, this record stakes its own path in several instances (the late-night waltz of ‘Gone With the Wind’, the electronic flourishes to ‘Knights of Columbus’ spring to mind) and deserves a larger following. Diers has a voice perfectly suited to his band’s emboldened fragility and with Champagne Downtown, they’ve given me a musical conundrum to straighten out. How can I say the album isn’t so great when I also can’t stop listening to it? Maybe Diers said it best in ‘Hollywood Sign’: “it’s embarrassing, in a good way”.

The Open Door EP - Death Cab for Cutie (April Hangover Series)

The Open Door

Death Cab for Cutie
Atlantic Records.
Myspace

SCQ Rating: 74%

Nearly a year since Narrow Stairs divided fans, sold well, took the band on a world-tour and to another stratosphere of fame, Ben Gibbard and Co. bookend their biggest chapter with The Open Door; a lean but powerful EP of tracks recorded during the Narrow Stairs sessions but inevitably excluded. As Coldplay insisted upon the release of their Prospekt March EP late last year, Death Cab for Cutie have repeatedly asserted that none of these songs are B-sides, that their exclusion was decided solely on their upbeat – and therefore polarizing – nature in relation to the LP’s mood. Far be it from me to contest their claims; aside from a quaint demo of ‘Talking Bird’, these four previously unheard tracks sound as well-produced and nurtured as much of Narrow Stairs’ final tracklist. And even if leftover EPs need such excuses to avoid recognizing the cash-grabs they commonly are, there is much to enjoy here.

‘Little Bribes’ earns its recent college radio attention as an atypical Death Cab composition; open chords strum over a jaunty tempo as Gibbard unleashes yet another lyrically impeccable pop song. The EP finds its footing by second track ‘A Diamond and A Tether’, which lumbers romantically (with a killer Wilco-esque guitar solo) between Gibbard’s two passions: love and being alone. That gray area between commitment and freedom is as prevalent here as it was on Narrow Stairs, colouring dulled anxiety into the blueprints of ‘My Mirror Speaks’ and ‘I Was Once a Loyal Lover’. The latter is especially anthemic for those unwilling to leave their ideals for the average adulthood, as Gibbard announces:

“All my friends are forward-thinking/
getting hitched and quitting drinking/
And I can feel them pulling away/
As I’m resigned to stay the same.”

It’s a call-to-arms that even casual fans still obsessing over Transatlanticism can relate to (hell, it was six years ago already!), and while The Open Door offers little validation for fans bothered by the direction of Narrow Stairs, Gibbard’s consistent nerd-god charms are capable of softening their fan forum-bound slurs. Still, reality check: since when was Narrow Stairs some kind of mood-piece album? How can ‘A Diamond and A Tether’ be excluded on the basis of mood and not ‘Your New Twin Sized Bed’? Wouldn’t ‘My Mirror Speaks’ be a fine replacement for ‘No Sunlight’? And what am I complaining about?

Vignetting the Compost - Bibio

Vignetting the Compost

Bibio
Mush Records.

SCQ Rating: 74%

When most people wake up on a day such as this, where in Southern Ontario birds are chirping in tree-coves and a cloudless sky is dropping warm sun on everything, certain winter daydreams become realities. People can break out their summer wardrobes early, wander their city without running from one heater to the next, or venture out into backyards or patios to see what damages those darker months may have caused. Possibilities seem nearly endless. In my case, I open our neglected balcony door, slide open window glass and press play on Vignetting the Compost, the latest opus by British producer Stephen Wilkinson, which would’ve been an ideal record to headline my Spring 2009 feature.

My primary reason for delaying this review until now can be explained by Wilkinson’s split interests; roughly half of Vignetting the Compost indulges in warped field recordings and psychedelic washes of tranquil tones, the other half committed to ruminating English folk. Thanks to Wilkinson’s videos for several tracks (completely awesome and viewable here), I was drawn to offspring of his electronic muse: the soft restlessness of ‘Torn Under the Window Light’ and especially the emotive key changes of ‘Top Soil’. These studio creations thrive from the same school of technique perfected by Boards of Canada, crafting instrumental songs out of idyllic and haunting melodies and then aging them backwards through the decades as if they were pioneer-recordings from a forgotten time. Yet the record’s other passion, captured in the pastoral finger-picking of ‘Great Are the Piths’ or the sun-lit folk of ‘Mr and Mrs. Compost’, took greater efforts to embrace… not due to quality control but because, like many (including big fans Boards of Canada), I was captivated by his more adventurous experiments.

While Vignetting the Compost refuses to force-feed listeners both electronic and folk styles within the same track, it gradually convinces you they are one and the same. Each guitar-based track features analogue textures implicit to electronica while most BOC-esque tracks employ guitar tones which maintain the album’s over-arching pastoral vibe. Bibio’s two sides create a full personality that is captured best on catchy instrumental ‘The Ephemeral Bell’ and swan-song ‘Thatched’. In fact, while the album’s mood deviates among slight one and two minute asides, Vignetting the Compost can sometimes sound too pastoral, too breezy, as if Wilkinson’s plethora of atmospheres are threatening to float off into irrelevance. In no small part because many of Bibio’s songs resemble Boards of Canada’s (especially dead-ringer ‘Amongst the Bark and Fungus’), it’s difficult to abstain from suggesting that Wilkinson’s compositions require doses of the Scottish duo’s tension and melancholy, if only to ground some of these fleeting, good-time soundtracks. Still, this is a record to admire, as much for its well-honed craft as for scoring the spiritual changes of season.

Emanuel and the Fear EP - Emanuel and the Fear

Emanuel and the Fear

Emanuel and the Fear
Paper Garden Records.

SCQ Rating: 76%

As many of you likely know, yesterday was Record Store Day; a monumental holiday that found me trekking through Metropolitan Toronto’s streetcar and subway systems for free shows and new music. It was a day to celebrate the communal importance of independent record stores… as purveyors of art and culture. It was also a day to reflect on the vital role music – and by extension, the record store - plays in our lives, as few collectors can forget the shoppe, listening post or store clerk who introduced a recording that at once expanded your mind and accelerated your heart-rate. There you stand, sketchy public headphones wrapped over ears, listening intently and analyzing the cover-art as if decoding whether this album is promisingly misleading or altogether life changing. Sampling track by track is a game of patience and concentration; skills I was humbly reminded of when first hearing Emanuel and the Fear’s self-titled EP.

As ‘The Rain Becomes the Clouds’ ushers in with brisk percussion, melodic keyboard codas and orchestral flourishes, one wouldn’t be far off confusing this for a new Postal Service track. Such an energized, full-band opener immediately disassembles for the comparatively stripped down folk of ‘Comfortable Prison’, which stretches with lovely country hues, eventually building gracefully into a string-laden climax that sidesteps melodrama. This track also offers us some breathing room to dissect Emanuel’s vocals, which although lacking a timbre one can immediately recognize, grows more compelling with each side of songwriting shown. His quiet presence in ‘Comfortable Prison’, for example, may have nothing in common with his street performer-inspired bravado on ‘Jimmi’s Song’ yet he pulls off each impressively, his versatile vocals matching the intensity of any style. ‘Jimmi’s Song’ in particular provides the record’s biggest shock, as Emanuel writes a chick-pop tune (think Jason Mraz, albeit edgier), complete with staccato acoustic strums and laidback whistling, only to morph it into a forebodingly addictive pop song about living routinely through anonymity. While I don’t know how Emanuel turns the tables with ‘Jimmi’s Song’ so smoothly, I can pinpoint when it happens; while its first minute is a warm-up nearly begging for “Judas” calls, the next four takes his chorus and anchors it with moods of synth and Emanuel’s best vocal performance on record. That said, I can’t ignore the full three minutes of meandering that takes place once the song ‘ends’, as although I’ve played this song at least twenty times, my I-Tunes Play Count is stuck at three (proof that I skip passed its epilogue on impulse).

Following that centerpiece, Emanuel and the Fear cools off with the slightly overcooked auto-tune of ‘We’re All Alright Tonight’ and a pretty, if immaterial, piano instrumental. Even so, Emanuel ensures that damage is done, that a mark has been left. Through these five disparaging tracks, each executing lofty ambitions and varied genre-staples effortlessly, Emanuel and the Fear can’t be categorized or pigeonholed. It’s a thrilling, unpredictable experience from front to back, and a throwing-down of the gauntlet for any listening-post decoding in your local record store. As curious and potentially rewarding an endeavor as you’re likely to undertake this year.

Begone Dull Care - Junior Boys

Begone Dull Care

Junior Boys
Domino Records.

SCQ Rating: 76%

Opera House, Spring 2005: newly-anointed Caribou Dan Snaith was capping off a Canadian tour in Toronto and decided to celebrate by collecting his label-mate friends into an evening of Domino-curated brilliance. Born Ruffians, Sunburned Hand of the Man, Junior Boys and Four Tet played exciting sets in anticipation for Caribou’s propulsive performance. What made it so thrilling was how well the line-up showcased Domino’s range of talent; from curious indie-rock and bizarre prog-psych to bittersweet electro-pop and sample-happy laptop beats, the event sent everyone home with a shortlist of albums to look into. Almost four years on, that night has become a peculiar moment in time; Caribou has since simplified his love of psychedelic 60s and organic krautrock into vacuously calculated programming, Four Tet embraced armchair-techno on Ringer EP, and Junior Boys have returned with Begone Dull Care, their first record overtly inspired by dance rhythms. It’s almost reasonable to accuse the Domino imprint of going BPM-happy. Almost.

Having occasionally flirted with the casual corners of the dancefloor on tracks like ‘In the Morning’ or ‘The Equalizer’, Junior Boys’ appreciative nod toward dance music was always more of a question of ‘when’ than ‘if’. If their entry into last year’s Body Language series foreshadowed a growth of their dance scene sensibilities, it was also largely associative (their exclusive track ‘No Kinda Man’ felt closer to Last Exit than anything since). And even if Begone Dull Care satisfies a few trademarks of extroverted flair, it’s as tastefully instilled to their original sound as all the retro influences we fawned over back in 2004. Reintroducing us to Greenspan’s whispery timbre is ‘Parallel Lines’, a pulsating anthem of sonar blips and tempered laptop-thwacks that find our crooner back in the throes of another fragile relationship. Coupled by the lilting spins of idyllic love in ‘Dull to Pause’ or some spacey funk in ‘Bits and Pieces’, Greenspan is unburdened of his loneliness from So This Is Goodbye, lyrically prepped for romance, late-night lust or whatever the night brings.

Enough about sex and heartbreak; you hardly need to peel the cellophane off a Junior Boys album to feel its emotions pull you in. What makes Begone Dull Care so interesting isn’t its thematic discourse but its aesthetic choices. The Hamilton, Ontario duo’s appropriation of techno rhythms has little to do with any dancefloor ambitions - in a recent interview, Greenspan proudly referred to their music as a “buzzkill” at European festivals – but everything to do with construction. Like the work Begone Dull Care is named after (that of the late visual-artist Norman McLaren) which gave new definition to mixed media as McLaren often painted over his own film, these eight songs use techno’s limitless timespan to slowly unravel or layer up. ‘Sneak a Picture’ spends its first four minutes under the guise of a pedestrian JB tune – bubbly synth-work, glitches and old-school keys – before morphing into an unsettling landscape of whispered lyrics and eerie atmospherics. In the case of ‘What It’s For’, Greenspan and Matt Didemus use a minimal palette of blips and loops, building the song briefly before stripping it back to bare essentials.

Their method, technically proficient as it may be, has its perils: some fans might not rejoice the notion of a seven-minute pop song that focuses on texture as often as melody, others might find their straight-forward contributions (lead single ‘Hazel’…FYI: still six-minutes) too predictable. As subtly as each Junior Boys album has shifted focus, probing their catalog to find comparative strengths or weaknesses makes for challenging work. As an ode to McLaren’s groundbreaking work (which is sadly underscored next to Stan Brackage’s similar, albeit later, technique), Begone Dull Care is thought-provoking. Without references to Canadian Avant-artists, this is just a meticulously crafted pop album… something we’ve come to expect and cherish from this group.

My Name Is What Is Your Name EP - Noah's Ark Was a Spaceship

My Name is What is Your Name EP

Noah’s Ark Was a Spaceship
Slumber Party Records.

SCQ Rating: 72%

For anyone interested in what promises to be an evening of raw and deafening performances, cross April 26th off your ‘free’ calendar. Alongside several local bands, Noah’s Ark Was a Spaceship will be igniting Omaha’s The Slowdown in celebration of their debut My Name is What is Your Name EP. And for anyone who lives within two hundred miles of a Nebraskan border who claims to lack the cash or inclination to catch this show, you clearly haven’t heard the EP.

As well-versed in late 80s/early 90s indie-rock as their metal tendencies, Noah’s Ark Was a Spaceship unveil several rock-god influences through their raucous barnburners. Had Thurston Moore never moved to New York or met Kim Gordon, he might’ve written the tense guitars and screaming chorus of ‘Mood Swing Morale’; a track as moody and cerebral as aggressive rock gets. Their mastery of Sonic Youth tunings shows up again on instrumental ‘Reverse Effects in Jumping Jacks’ which, although lacking the group’s powerful vocals, remains an exploration fraught with open-ended guitar figures, pounding percussion and several interesting twists. The slacker-rhythms of ‘Wish You Weren’t Here’, on the other hand, evoke an ever-more dissonant Pavement with Andrew Gustafson (or is that John Svatos… for the life of me, I can’t find out who their vocalists are) singing, croaking and screaming to goosebump-approved effect.

Influences are well and good but they can’t disguise a band’s lack of originality… and Noah’s Ark Was a Spaceship are too accomplished to directly borrow from any band, classic or obscure. ‘Adult Sized Skeletal’, a prime example of their sound, menaces through its verses like black-clad delinquents before blasting into a cymbal-crashing chorus while ‘The Coughing Show’ boasts their trademarks from a softer lens; guitars less abrasive, effect-laden vocals smoother and some curious sound-loops to fade out through. What I enjoy most about Noah’s Ark Was a Spaceship is their impetus to harness the heavier aspects of rock – bordering on metal in some cases – and morphing it from the doom-oriented dread it often represents to something infectious and celebratory. These are defiant songs for landlocked souls, drinking songs for self-destruction. Craziest part of all is that My Name Is What Is Your Name EP will be sold for around the price of a beer at The Slowdown on the 26th. Lord I wish I lived in Nebraska sometimes…

On the Ground - Peasant

On the Ground

Peasant
Paper Garden Records.

SCQ Rating: 81%

A semi-recent Family Guy moment I caught a few weeks ago depicted dysfunctional father Peter Griffin illustrating how lame college boys have destroyed what it means to play an acoustic guitar. There Peter sat beneath a tree, shirt open and shoeless, singing about drinking through depression, missing a girl, and facing his stereo speakers out of his window… all in the hopes of impressing a female listening in. It’s funny because (A) the lyrics are generic to the point where parody doesn’t even need to improvise, (B) we could each name a few guys who penned near-identical songs of faux-anguish and (C) most of those guys were inspired by a few songwriters who managed to make a fortune doing the same thing.

So whether we’re targeting Dashboard Confessional, early Bright Eyes or, yes, Jack Johnson, you can understand why the singer-songwriter armed only with an acoustic guitar might give me a serious case of the shivers… not simply because it’s an overpopulated, homogenized heap of hearts on my sleeve but because everyone (including your friend) thinks they can pull it off. Meanwhile Damien DeRose, who writes under the moniker of Peasant, comes along and wastes no time proving he’s the real deal. His voice and lyrics are legitimately soulful, leaving no trace of popular Motown-imitation, no doubt that DeRose has fully experienced his own storytelling. From the relationship standstill apparent in ‘Not Your Saviour’ to the lost-letter march of ‘We’re Good’, there’s no question that these songs share a lived-in quality; written from the heart and painstakingly perfected. The best singer-songwriters are those who can manage full-length records without slipping – even briefly – into acoustic apathy and giving credit where it’s due, On the Ground delivers on every track. There’s that lone melancholic guitar line cascading over DeRose’s strumming at the tail-end of ‘Exposure’, some faint harmonica breezing through ‘The Wind’ and who could forget the morning-dulled guitar pulsating through ‘Stop For Her’; a song every guy wishes he wrote.

These folk songs remain fresh thanks to smart arrangements but what deems this debut so memorable is easily DeRose’s voice. An original hybrid that trades off between the vocal strengths of Bon Iver and Elliott Smith, this Doylestown, Pennsylvania native sings urban lullabys (‘Impeccable Manners’) and lovelorn farewells (‘Those Days’) with equal conviction, resulting in one of the year’s most promising debuts. The influence of the late Smith is particularly reoccurring, not due to any morose drama that permeates Elliott’s career but because On the Ground showcases the long-lost power of a man who can weave multiple narratives with little more than his acoustic guitar. That intimacy and comfort earned between songwriter and listener negates what strangers we really are, and like Smith, Peasant makes a fresh connection, succeeding where most troubadours (and college kids, for that matter) irreversibly fail.

Mystery EP - BLK JKS

Mystery EP

BLK JKS
Secretly Canadian Records.

SCQ Rating: 65%

Despite forming nearly a decade ago and becoming underground favourites in their home country, this Johannesburg via Soweto quartet make their international debut with this four-song release. Hot on the heals of a predominantly indie-rock press that has celebrated them on the cover of Fader magazine, Mystery EP deserves its early followers thanks to ‘Lakeside’ – a single that embraces American guitar rock with their own blend of afro-rhythms and dubby bass. It’s one hell of a first-listen and worthy of grabbing attention from a scene that rarely takes note of South African talents. And although ‘Lakeside’ is the most accomplished song to strike at the heart of Western audiences, the rest of the EP stands to serve the band better, delivering a raw mix of reggae-touched rock that makes their single sound totally compromised.

A song like ‘Mystery’, despite embodying a sound more authentic to their roots, will likely detract those indie-rock masses; a blend of loose jamming and frantic tempo shifts that take the nuanced power of ‘Lakeside’ and detonates it. At certain points, the title track sounds as if singer Mpumi has started singing to an entirely new song while the band continues unaware. A similar disturbance occurs in ‘Summertime’, a dub-inspired slow-jam that transforms into sludgy layers of African vocals and electric guitar collisions. It’s something listeners (like myself) who are positively unaware of African music will need time to wrap their heads around; that such chaotic performances can be as exciting as they are abrasive. The production matches BLK JKS (yep, pronounced Black Jacks) with an untouched roughness that suggests these songs were likely recorded live off the floor with minimal studio overdubs.

I wouldn’t doubt it, as you can almost feel the humidity and sweat between these murky performances subside on ‘It’s In Every Thing You’ll See’. Although it carries the same atmosphere we felt from the get-go (which bridges the disc and is commendable considering the EP’s variety), this finale steadies the band’s impulsive side, opting to remain low-key and linear. It’s a rewarding close that wraps up BLK JKS’ love of genre-hopping and eardrum-splitting, yet whether this mere introduction to their talents foreshadows full-length greatness is unclear. Until then, Mystery EP is a litmus test for the blogosphere; completely leftfield with influences we’re largely ignorant of. I humbly admit it’s a bit of a challenge, which is welcome for a scene of such close-knit comparisons. Or, like some lazy journalists, you could simply compare them to TV On the Radio. This may not be a debut of the year but BLK JKS are certainly worth a closer listen than that.