SUMMER 2009

We’ve put in a looong winter but with heat advisories and garbage strikes (c’mon, those aren’t nearly as effective during colder months and they know it), we can proudly announce the return of summer. Get outside. Oh wait, not yet… First check out some recent releases that should soundtrack your sunshine-soaked afternoons and humid evenings.

With this warmer weather I’ve taken some time to reflect on where I traveled last year, and what, to this day, I’ve learned from that experience. As Canada Day looms closer, I urge you all to dig through your collections for something authentically ours… something that at once encompasses the enormity of this country and what you personally entitle it to be Canadian. I can tell you that I’ll be celebrating our nation’s birthday thoroughly this year, with a selection of Millimetrik, Attack in Black, Deep Dark Woods, Sarah Harmer, Neil Young, Matthew Good, Eric’s Trip, Do Make Say Think and on, and on.

Happy Canada Day!

Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix - Phoenix (SUMMER 2009)

Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix

Phoenix
Glassnote Records.

SCQ Rating: 76%

I first heard Phoenix in the dawn of 2007, during an impulse buy caused by some positive buzz on year-end lists and the band’s constant, unavoidable comparisons to Air. Needless to say, once It’s Never Been Like That shot from my speakers like the best beer commercial soundtrack no one’s made, I figured the only proximity Phoenix could share with Air would have to be geographical, not sonic. I pinpointed the error to lazy, connect-the-dot journalism and got back to wishing I was able to posthumously attach It’s Never Been Like That to my Best of 2006 list. Over two years later, while my brother gushes madly from the backseat about the recent leak of their new record, he relates how Phoenix were Air’s live touring band. And just like that, a giant puzzle-piece falls squarely in my lap. With Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix, the band actually sounds capable of such a prominent side-gig, amicably blending their studio knowledge with the red-hot licks of their last record.

Such a mix of spunk and texture doesn’t come easy; check out Alphabetical if you don’t believe me. As good an example as any of a band getting totally lost amid all the possibilities a studio can offer, Phoenix’s second album was superbly tweaked and hopelessly boring, presenting a set of once-promising songs layered into a polished ennui. And while It’s Never Been Like That acted as a much-needed enema, cleansing their overwrought ambition with lean, off-the-cuff guitar anthems, the quartet from Versailles knew not to return to the same well twice. Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix is a collision-point, significantly more muscular in scope and supposedly more purposeful than their last record. ‘Lisztomania’ and ‘1901’ shoot for urgency and nail it; the former merging the celebratory indie-rock of 2006 with a tellingly bold bridge (chugging like a modern, micro-sized ‘Whole Lotta Love’ before disassembling into synth-bits) while ‘1901’ is about as badass a pop song you’ll hear all year. The whole of Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix (whatever the hell that means) essentially lives up to such early promise, unleashing catchy, if superfluous, tunes that are better distinguished instrumentally than compositionally. ‘Fences’ shares the beatific vibe of Alphabetical but never gets too comfortable while ‘Countdown’ could’ve sat pleasantly alongside anything from It’s Never Been Like That if not for its broader selection of organs and synths. Even the tracks that lack upgrades, namely ‘Lasso’ and ‘Girlfriend’, are rewarding in their addictive Phoenix-esque way; simply put, you won’t need the skip button here.

Of course, I’m commonly most interested in progression and Wolfgang… seems content to nudge its own glass ceiling once or twice. In the case of ‘Rome’, it’s a stunning success; the band’s first unabashed ballad, reflective yet hardly hung up over itself, constantly amping its casual drama with each chorus. Less expected but no less structured is the ‘Love Like a Sunset’ suite; first an epic build of keys and finger-picked guitar, followed by some heroic, open chords and a few lyrics by vocalist Thomas Mars. The brevity of that second act is eyebrow-raising considering the unusual five-plus minutes the boys spent lifting it up, but such is the risk with experimentation. These moments hint at some sort of ‘Statement Record’ but Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix certainly isn’t it. Wolfgang… isn’t even their masterpiece, although it proves how well they can expand upon a proven formula. What we have is an excellent understatement of how good Phoenix could, and might some day, become.

Post-Nothing - Japandroids (SUMMER 2009)

Post-Nothing

Japandroids
Unfamiliar Records.

SCQ Rating: 80%

There will come a day we won’t care. We won’t want to get off the subway at our particular stop, we won’t want to check and respond to our emails. Our job won’t be worth the trauma, a casual patio beer just won’t be enough. There will come a day we call in sick for funerals that don’t exist, we’ll let our twitter-followers balk at our lack of updates. We’ll quit our jobs without a contingency plan and we’ll crack beers and dial friends as the sun comes up. And on those days, my friends, you’ll want to hear Post-Nothing. You’ll ache to have its shredded production rattle your skull, it’s boisterous curiousity bouncing off your apartment walls. You’ll want to watch the record spin over your hand-me-down turntable, hearing fully with your heart and not your brain.

Too contagious for hyperbole yet too thrilling for silence, Post-Nothing is pure id, embodying the cause-and-effect basics we all inherently try to disguise. Try to ignore the rapid-fire drum-rolls and distorted thrash of ‘The Boys Are Leaving Town’, the cymbal-crashing marathon of ‘Sovereignty’, the wild vocals of ‘Young Hearts Spark Fire’ that scream “We used to dream, now we worry about dying.” Is the latest from Japandroids truly post-nothing? Not in any genre-creating, generational-dividing way. Yet these songs deal exclusively in the present, in creating that feeling - however momentary - that every moment is your chance to break routine and do something entirely irresponsible. It’s a thirty-five minute release that feels entirely consequence-free, tailor-made for days of hedonism and, indeed, post-nothing.

Yet what makes this record more than some escapist’s reprieve is that, all those “heart sweats” aside, Post-Nothing has a cerebral side. Consider that ‘Crazy/Forever’, a song that in two words sums up all my aforementioned Freudian VS establishment rhetoric, finds the Vancouver duo pacing between bar-band and runaway romantics, swapping their classic-rock chords for summery, lo-fi pop. Or listen closely to how ‘I Quit Girls’ takes a touching three-chords - that, OK, were completely ripped off Smashing Pumpkin’s ‘Mayonnaise’ – dirties them up in a way that should be completely unlistenable, and throws a thundering drum track to fill the chord-cracks at the three minute mark. By the time Brian is singing “after her, I quit girls”, one would think the room would be cleared, yet ‘I Quit Girls’ is phenomenal, showing another dimension to the Japandroids’ primitive set-up. Gorgeous and ugly in equal measure, Post-Nothing treads a tightrope between melody and noise, structure and impulse, glory and depravity. There will come a day we won’t listen to Japandroids. But we’ll still be jealous of them.

Reach For the Sun - The Dangerous Summer (SUMMER 2009)

Reach for the Sun

The Dangerous Summer
Hopeless Records.

SCQ Rating: 77%

It’s somewhat disheartening when you find a bright young band and all the press they’re garnering is strictly from emo websites. Nothing against their writer’s merits – I’m sure they’re a well-articulated bunch – but attaching their pride of emo to The Dangerous Summer isn’t really helping the band. Labels are a drag, oftentimes misguiding and detracting listeners who actually take such superficial categorizations seriously, while the people who get hurt are usually the same cool folks who dreamt of taking their garage band on the road. Long has SCQ lamented the effect of such labels (art-rock, Intelligent Dance Music, other nonsense…) while carefully avoiding emo; the greatest offender. Among the most flighty of accusations, emo is the kind of thing I’ve ignored because truthfully, the majority of artists I dig have never been associated with it. As far as I’m concerned, what divides a rock record from an emo record comes down to conviction. I’m familiar with the pose-striking nature of most emo artists – long-sleeved, make-up clad and heartbroken to the point of suicide-exploitation – and I’m aware that a certain percentage of thirteen year olds are thrilled with it. That’s great. Thankfully, nothing about that scene has anything to do with The Dangerous Summer, whose new disc, Reach for the Sun, is a powerful blend of radio-worthy rock that melds Stephan Jenkins’ vocal delivery to Jimmy Eat World’s crushing melodics.

Standout tracks are littered generously throughout but what binds each highlight is the vocal power of AJ Perdomo, who regularly trades brooding reflections for speaker-blown bellows with equal confidence. Both ends of his throaty spectrum are on display in ‘Northern Lights’, capturing all the grit and pitch-perfect details of a relationship on the outs. It’s also a rare case where The Dangerous Summer (backed by Cody Payne, Bryan Czap and Tyler Minsberg) leash up their high-energy pop hooks, contrasting how propulsive the majority of Reach For the Sun is. From the mission-statement of ‘Where I Want to Be’, this Maryland quartet singlehandedly keep the dated union of pop-rock relevant with anthemic choruses and endless hooks (‘Surfaced’, ‘This Is War’). In fact The Dangerous Summer are so adept with their sound, my first listens nearly verged on the side of overload; tracks began to sound too similar, Perdomo sang about his head too much. Yet with further listens Reach for the Sun clicks, with each song proving itself not only enjoyable but integral to this twelve song collection.

How anyone can reduce such young talent to the vilified ranks of emo-hood either isn’t listening to the record or is hung up on how young these guys really are. No doubt and no surprise: all four members of The Dangerous Summer hover around the tender age of twenty. It’s audible, if only in the odd lyric, but nonetheless impressive to think that this band can already rival their idols on a level playing-field. Where they’ll go from here is a theoretical that makes me squirm, having watched other likeminded bands like the Get Up Kids recycle themselves against the brick-wall otherwise known as pop-punk. Either way, The Dangerous Summer have made a believer of me and released one hell of a summer album.

The Vacation is Over

As many of you either knew or assumed, SCQ went vacationing these past two weeks. Sure, I missed NXNE but under those overcast clouds of New England, I hiked trails, watched some good movies, consumed amazing meals and chopped down some rogue trees in the backyard. Oh right… and I happened to purchase many, many records. Enough to warrant another month of CD celibacy without so much as a blink. Seriously, it begins today.

While a small mountain of new releases should keep me busy, I have a small chore for you, dear reader. If you haven’t yet decided to officially “follow” this blog, here’s a lukewarm incentive: beginning in July, SCQ will be drawing a name from a hat and orchestrating a SKLTN mix made exclusively for those in my SKLTN Crew. Can I successfully find you new and unheard music that will blow your mind? You won’t find out unless you choose to follow. A preliminary package has already landed into a lucky (?) reader’s mailbox in Ottawa, Ontario. Complete bribe, I know...



Who will be next?

Magnolia - The Wooden Birds

Magnolia

The Wooden Birds
Barsuk Records.
Myspace


SCQ Rating: 68%

As someone who dreamt of American Analog Set reforming on a regular basis, I was thrilled at first word of Andrew Kenny’s return to the limelight. For the last two months, I’d routinely checked their Myspace page, looking for interviews, promotional details, anything. Yet their Myspace remains a virtual blank slate, Wooden Bird interviews are non-existent and even reviews have been leisurely surfacing following Magnolia’s release. To diminish this record further, Kenny seemed far more preoccupied with an AmAnSet B-sides digital release, Hard to Find: Singles and Unreleased 2000 - 2005, gushing about the evolutions of tracks and writing extensively on studio memoirs. It wasn’t until I purchased and heard Magnolia that I understood its anonymity, as this recording seeks only to exist, to breathe its acoustic melodies between four humble walls and maybe – if it isn’t too much to ask – be appreciated.

The set doesn’t start out attention-starved, as The Wooden Birds (Chris Michaels, Leslie Sisson and David Wingo round out Kenny’s line-up) execute well-honed, economic folk songs; ‘False Alarm’ sounds freshly written from Kenny’s time backing Kevin Drew on tour, while ‘Sugar’ evokes Neil Young at his most bare-boned and sincere. The simple acoustic foundation of these songs is bolstered by tasteful lead guitar-work as well as an assortment of natural auxiliary percussion. This folk-based arrangement suits Kenny’s songwriting well, harkening back to AmAnSet highlights ‘The Postman’ or ‘Aaron & Maria’, yet Magnolia, mellow and inviting it may be, never crosses into former-band territory. Equally ‘analog’ but increasingly organic, The Wooden Birds sound more at home on the Americana pages of Paste magazine than on any Pitchfork recommendation.

Humble and dog-eared a suit as Kenny has ever worn, still, not everything on Magnolia comes off as beautifully easy as ‘Seven Seventeen’. The record’s mid-section - while maintaining the same shuffling mid-tempo presented earlier - is melodically malnourished, rendering a string of songs entirely forgettable. ‘Choke’ gets by on Kenny’s gift for slow-core, displaying the same knack for subtlety that made AmAnSet songs like ‘Jr’ and ‘Slow Company’ hard-earned fan favourites. But the same can’t be said for ‘Believe in Love’; an eager bassline searching in vain for compositional direction. Worst offenders for tediousness are ‘Quit You Once’ and ‘Never Know’, which, despite being borderline OK songs, blur into each other so finely they’re virtually identical.

Given my admiration and enthusiasm for American Analog Set, it’s hard to walk into The Wooden Birds’ debut without arming myself with hype. It’s even harder to admit that Magnolia is a bit of a let-down; twelve tracks spanning thirty-seven minutes that manages to feel both underdeveloped yet shockingly too long. In spite of this, the collection still possesses a scattered six or so tracks that would comprise an awesome EP. Properly sequenced, it would stand to challenge some of 2009’s better releases while preparing us for their eventual full-length debut. Unfortunately, such a scenario must now reside next to my AmAnSet-reunion hopes in some alternative Andrew Kenny reality I daydream about. Sad that Magnolia, in all its patience-testing malaise, ends up encompassing that startling awareness that wakes you from better sounding dreams.

II - Lindstrom & Prins Thomas

II

Lindstrom & Prins Thomas
Eskimo Records.
Myspace


SCQ Rating: 76%

I find a good window seat and sit down. With the first patient bass notes of ‘Cisco’, my train had inched out of Danforth Station, building its heavy load toward a comfortable pace. A variety of synths are introduced – some staccato notes peppered for melody, others swelling out as sympathetic guides – which all suggest a remote South American locale; their exotic vibes caught in the endless thicket of trees and shrubbery. By the time ‘Cisco’ jumps out of the gate like a tye-dyed meltdown, my view is a lush blur of passing foliage as I travel, faceless passenger, through a living mosaic. The percussion steadies to a march, as a lone xylophone, then call-and-answer synths explore this newly uncluttered sonic terrain. As my window-view of brush is cleared by the gray landscapes of East End community-housing, these percolating synths evoke their own urban shadows, arching unsettled 80s tones that loiter among these passing graffiti walls and abandoned utopian ideals. ‘Rothaus’, in its essence, is that of feeling trapped inside one of Roger Water’s lost explorations from The Wall. Pulling out of Union Station and catching momentum along flat train-yards, ‘For Ett Slikk Og Ingenting’ comes off like a victory song. Flaunting bold yet ill-advised piano chords that sound uncovered from an old cult flick, a sense of achievement showers this track with all the twinkle and swagger of a credit-roll. As if these vulgar store-sized advertisements I pass will soon be lost memories, that my concrete jungle might one day be reclaimed by the vines of time. Yet this relaxed samba beat, these pronounced keys and sleepwalking bass are too aligned; their relief too apparent. This is no cruise into the sunset but merely a standstill.

By the time we’ve reached the tunnel’s bright end leading to Mimico Station, a light rain has become a downpour. Those industrial plains are now suburbanized; parking is free and abundant, attire is less fashion-conscious. And like my man-made bullet pushes against gravity for new surroundings, ‘Rett Pa’ belongs in an entirely different listening-sphere; its kraut-rock testosterone grinding along the borders of a sweltering commotion. As accomplished with previous tracks, Lindstrom and Prins Thomas craft a loving throwback to the Double-Dragons era, replete with 80s videogame sound-alike loops and some authentic space-disco funk. Yet ‘Rett Pa’ doesn’t impress like its previous peers do, largely because it’s boasting the same talents but on the coattails of earlier tracks. Just when I begin to zone out, heavenly synths bring a strange solace over my afternoon train. As it pulls into Long Branch and unloads some human cargo, I can feel the tropicalia-dipped sepia of ‘Skal Vi Prove Na?’ warm me back into a steady groove. Hydro-fields and low-rent housing, both immune to renovation, pass amid the rain-soaked greenery as well-placed cymbals give way to a slightly haunted passage; the exotic steel-drum and unflinching bassline remain intact but those initial synths, dewy and sweet, push back into the mix. If at first with only a sterile note, these synths eventually unleash its full army, bringing this centerpiece to awe-inspiring completion. An xylophone loop leads, unexpectedly, into acoustic guitar - then, an electric! – strumming and pulsing respectively over a bed of warm synths. Such are the chilled-out beginnings of ‘Gudene Vet + Snutt’, a rare track content enough to expend its energies circling the same mood and tempo. Clarkson Station is better off forgotten, an alley twisting between construction machinery and wild twigs. A bird lies facedown in the track-side gravel; I look to the sky. After its camp-fire fuzz morphs into a brief tease of unadulterated space disco, ‘Note I Love You + 100’ opens with a dose of late-night jam band. The Lounge swagger of piano and easy-rock percussion eventually locks into rhythm, with sorrowful guitars bleeding into the keyboard choir, and while the whole affair takes an ungodly eleven-plus minutes, I can admit that it incorporates enough subtle shifts as to ignore the big-box avenues of Oakville, the endless strategizing of finely-manicured lawns that define it and foreshadow my Burlington stop.

When the pastoral, acoustic-picked lament of ‘Flue Pa Veggen’ surfaces, I believe I’ve found a true victory song, the one hinted at several songs ago. Yet at this point, unsurprisingly, it turns to whirling electronics and instead of showcasing a quiet swansong to this impressive song-cycle, opts to play antagonist. After endlessly layering over itself, with songs growing organically into one another like weeds left to their own devices, II closes with a track that exercises order over liveliness, expertly-timed machines over swampy flourishes. It’s a last left-turn for an album so deviously well-made that it sounds closer to prog-rock than electronica, and despite keeping one headphone out to hear my stop announced, II kept my attention. So now I’m stranded, having misheard the call for Bronte Station as my Burlington stop and wandered out into an unknown town. The odd cricket and seagull call out, accompanied by the last roof-water spilling from Platform 8 into a puddle. I see a payphone on the other side of the tracks and sit down.

Afternoon Birds of Arima - You Are My Symphonic

Afternoon Birds of Arima

You Are My Symphonic
Myspace.

SCQ Rating: 80%

From the moment I hear the first lilting piano notes of Afternoon Birds of Arima, it’s a knee-jerk reaction for me to recall You Are My Symphonic (AKA Vishal Kassie)’s evolution to date. Moving from found-sound folk – at first traditional (Through the Forest With My Love), then more ambitious (Let Ring Indefinitely) – to laptop-based songwriting (often bordering on electronica and post-rock), Kassie’s is a discography that would tongue-tie most. Yet two years after This is January, the recording that found him toying with loads of synths and greater production, You Are My Symphonic returns with Afternoon Birds of Arima, a largely instrumental mood-piece written to soundtrack his friend’s wedding. As if it needs to be said, Kassie has thrown the ace of all double-takes.

If in doubt, listen to the opening title track; a fourteen minute splash of cinematic ripples all padding off the parameters of his piano-coda and cresting back into itself. With each pillow-soft collision and expertly timed six-string echo, ‘Afternoon Birds of Arima (Opening Credits)’ seems to puff out its chest, growing not out of pomposity, but out of grace. That its fourteen minutes feels like three is merely a footnote when ‘Almost Time (Flower Girls)’ ushers in, carrying those aforementioned piano arpeggios into a virtual cascade of saintly synths and low-end keys. As with the opening couplet from This is January, these tracks are halves to a whole; suites which together either invoke sweet memories or capture new ones. A much-needed reprieve is found in ‘Painted Lines (The Bride)’ as Kassie ditches much of his palette and lets silence play its key role in a bell-chiming aisle-walk that paves way for the album’s most emotional apex, ‘Walk Out With Me’. Whereas This Is January negated some of its impact by stressing its own presence with conflicting styles, Afternoon Birds of Arima’s singular focus gives credence to these occasional heaves of drama. In other words, we embrace the warmth and anticipation of these movements as if we’re at the chapel, hillside, beach or city hall; breathing in those moments of forever, whether they prove to last or not. If there’s a fracture in the focus, it’s last track ‘Rainfall in Arima (Closing Credits)’, which despite remaining true to the album’s tone and progression, seems like an unforeseen epilogue after the church-bell close of the preceding track. Maybe that’s just me getting caught up in the imagery though; after all, the track boasts an unexpected but smooth vocal performance by guest Anne Farago that wraps things nicely.

Now a word on weddings: we know nearly half of them fail, that they take up our weekends, that open-bar is the greatest draw and small-talk among extended family is tantamount to Chinese water torture. Yet we can also recognize that indescribable feeling of watching two people you thought you knew well, standing in front of each other as unnerved and flushed as first-date romancers. Whether it’s the cash-in expectations of twenty-first century matrimony or (hopefully) the thrill of actual wedlock, people behave as though it’s judgement day at weddings. And it’s that flirtation of permanence, that these two souls might spend their lives hopelessly grateful for one another, that keeps an honest-to-god magic to weddings. Afternoon Birds of Arima encapsulates that do-or-die romanticism and, for that reason alone, shouldn’t be considered exclusive to ceremonial soundtracking. At the very worst, this curious release boasts that You Are My Symphonic might be the best wedding DJ ever. At its best, Afternoon Birds of Arima is an ambient must-listen; Kassie’s first post-classical outing which finds him at home with his production and his muse.

Fantasies - Metric

Fantasies

Metric
Last Gang Records.

SCQ Rating: 73%

“This next song is about dreams,” began Emily Haines midway through Metric’s set at Call the Office, March 2004, before asking the crowd if any of us had had a good dream lately. Without hesitation, a faceless retort came booming from the crowd. “I was impregnating you!”, shouted one of a hundred young men drooling in the front row, leading to universal approval and a slightly embarrassed Haines. It was well-timed, easing the potential awkwardness of such lame stage-banter and pointing out the elephant in the room; that Emily Haines is attractive beyond the usual ‘bookish hot’ that classifies most indie-rock females. Yet what was most memorable about that gig was how comfortable Haines was as a showman, flinging her long arms in the air and contorting her face during ‘Dead Disco’’s low-end la-la-la’s. Despite being friendly and diving head-first into the material, her behaviour and actions were decidedly not hot. She was making a point of it.

The next twelve months would find Metric’s Old World Underground, Where Are You a much-delayed college hit, and the Toronto-based quartet were ready to release follow-up Live It Out. That year-in-passing also uttered stories of frontwoman tantrums, like when Haines spit on various crowd members during a stop in Ottawa or when I witnessed her giving attitude to both crowd-members and venue-bouncers at a London show. It was at that September 2005 show, my second, that I suspected her spark had gone; success had turned another wide-eyed dreamer into a casualty of self-importance, another performer into a poseur. While no video or interview I’ve incidentally caught since has changed that judgement call, SCQ Ratings are awarded to an artist’s work, not their attitude, and besides, there are three other artists (guitarist James Shaw, bassist Josh Winstead and Joules Scott-Key on the kit) in Metric who seem to appreciate their good fortunes. Still, might my partiality against Haines provide a curious lens through which I review this new release? (Now there's a fantasy...)

A single spin of Fantasies settles a few standard questions that arise when once-chic indie-popsters resurface after almost half a decade: (1) are Metric churning out the same sassy pop notions? (2) Are they relevant? First off, Metric haven’t changed much since their virtual inception yet, as these ten tracks make clear, the quartet continues to sidestep cloning its back catalog. A track like ‘Help I’m Alive’, seemingly stitched together from at least two different songs, is instant Metric; the swift pull of rhythmic guitar and uncomplicated percussion meeting Haines frail phrasing may as well be a DNA positive test of their brand. And yet their keen ear for melody and tempo also seems quite sharp at adapting; Fantasies sounds uber-contemporary, unwilling to loosen its grips on the college crowd that hoisted them to greatness six years ago. As a fringe-member of that crowd, I can confirm that their updated arsenal sounds vital and professional; ‘Gold Guns Girls’ trades thin rhythm guitar for revving electric prominence while employing a heavy mix of vocals - Haines singing, cooing and chanting all at once. The synth-factor spikes on New Order rocker ‘Gimme Sympathy’ - an incredibly catchy, if irreverent single - while ‘Satellite Mind’ lets some grit tangle their once-sterile six-strings. Wisely sacrificing their old dynamics for bolder production, even weak links like ‘Stadium Love’ and ‘Front Row’ get by on meatier guitars and overblown keys.

The mere fact that, grudge considered, Fantasies is even being reviewed on SCQ suggests its promise outright, a potential that any fan of Haines’ solo work or old Metric would be foolish to pass up on. Hell, even my girlfriend, who recently described re-hearing old-favourite Live It Out as “awful” is smitten with this new collection. Need another testimonial for artistic relevance? Fantasies’ best material, be it the smothered drum-machine of ‘Twilight Galaxy’ or the electric-piano pulse of ‘Collect Call’, arrives as their softest, proving the band capable of yet another small step from both the beaten path and past achievements. As the last person in the world who’d wish to impregnate Emily Haines, that’s the best testimonial I can offer.

3:03 - Plastik Joy

3:03

Plastik Joy
n5MD Records.

SCQ Rating: 81%

There’s nothing remotely transparent about Plastik Joy. From first reading their name – which anticipates a hardcore techno group - on n5MD’s mailing-list to hearing their first song ‘Sleepy Quest for Coffee’, I’ve found it difficult to classify 3:03. Perhaps it’s because their debut is occupied by several vocalists and displays a criss-cross of subgenres from electronica’s past decade. Maybe my inability to sort out Plastik Joy arises from the fact that this duo, comprised of Fannar Asgrimsson and Cristiano Nicolini, live and collaborate from different countries. This long-distance partnership, between their respective homelands of Iceland and Italy, has instilled 3:03 with a perfect blend of smooth electronics and folk sensibilities, yet to leave its ambition at that would be a criminal understatement.

Take, for instance, their opener; as shut-in and domestic as its title reads, ‘Sleepy Quest for Coffee’ plays out like a late-night stroll, as if instead of soundtracking a walk to the kitchen, it should be backing an empty grocery store parking lot, peppered by springtime rain. These nocturnal reflections encompass much of the record but each remain fresh under stylistic guises, like how ‘Hands’ utilizes chillout-style female vocals and Alva Noto-inspired cut-ups before introducing live percussion, or how a piano and toybox melody interact with rain-clattered laptop beats and an unfurling wash of noise on ’63 (She was Trying to Sleep, I was Trying to Breathe)’. Convergences of ideas and styles spike with the half-sung, half spoken-word ‘Medispiace’, which abruptly jumps into an electric guitar attack, but iron out with the one-two sequencing of ‘Twenty-Ninth of April’ and ‘Barcelona – Reykjavik’; both emitting an unexpected dose of soft Mogwai-esque post-rock. Although describing the range of these compositions inevitably sounds scattershot and incompatible, 3:03 manages its overflow of ideas by balancing grander pursuits with their dependable folk-glitch instrumentals.

As 3:03 apparently earned its title from the coincidental time most recording sessions came to a close, there are moments where the record risks delving too deeply into shadows (‘Asynchrony of Lives’, ‘True Norwegian Black Metal’) but even then, Nicolini and Asgrimsson are feeding their nightly muse with careful footsteps. The joy of discovering Plastik Joy isn’t catching glimpses of Dntel, Four Tet, Victor Bermon or Finally We Are No One-era Mum, but appreciating how distinctively these audio-engineering graduates have grappled their influences into something at once far-reaching and comforting. Here I’ve name-dropped several successful electronic acts and yet none of them diminish Plastik Joy’s authorship; their traces are felt as spirits only, providing momentary chills throughout this late-night score. One of this year’s more promising debuts.

A To B - Miwon

A To B

Miwon
City Centre Offices.

SCQ Rating: 82%

I’ve learned a few truths as a record-buying Canadian: (1) never order an album from a major-chain record store, (2) never pay an import-price for an album that is making waves on your end of the globe… eventually it will not only be available for less, but often with extra material, and (3) never expect to find a physical copy of any Miwon album at any store, ever. Having spent thirteen months hunting down Miwon (AKA Hendrik Kroz)’s 2006 debut Pale Glitter, I hardly expected his sophomore to land unexpectedly in my lap… and it didn’t. Released last November by the thankfully resurrected City Centre Offices, A To B finally found its way across the ocean to me this Spring. The wait was worth it.

Over a brooding bass-key and cut-up beats, a quiet array of birds can be heard chirping at the onset of ‘Shinkansen’, a track that wastes no time establishing an interesting contrast to Pale Glitter. Instead of Kroz imbedding his fresh soundscapes with the techno-speed thumps that characterized that beguiling debut, A To B looks inward; still forcing an unconscious head-nod from entranced listeners but digging deeper into texture and mood. His few previous down-tempo tunes – ‘Rain or Shine’ and ‘When Angels Travel’ spring to mind – seem positively experimental and alien in light of these new compositions, which provide one-listen proofs that Kroz has been working to perfect his style. From the spellbound cruise of ‘Matchbox’ - its ticks like a speedometer snapping, its echoed keys like the blurs ebbing passed – to the finger-picked acoustic window-watching of ‘Lillilullaby’ to the wet-pavement haze of ‘They Leave in Autumn’ (a song which, when heard on headphones, sounds immersed in distant, muddled sirens), one really can’t ask for a better title than A To B. As complimentary to night-driving as it is to daydreaming, this record showcases how atmospheric Kroz’s compositions can become, finally shape-shifting into the piano reverie of ‘Daylight Promise’; an instrumental of unfazed break-beats and wintry keys that shuffles brilliantly towards its close of far-off birds. Now I’m not about to make more of bookending one’s album with bird-sounds than I really should, but it is a deserving detail of Miwon’s evolution; A To B is more cohesive and vaporous than anything he has touched in the past.

As monotonous as electronica subgenres can be, it’s impressed upon me that Miwon has managed to craft his own sound so profoundly in just two albums. Admittedly, a reasonable excuse for Miwon’s clairvoyance could be that A To B doesn’t sonically distance itself enough from Pale Glitter (‘Kisses To Cure’ and ‘Round and Round’ would’ve fit nicely on his debut)… and that’s fair. But like Boards of Canada (who’ve also treated their sound territorially), Miwon is taking this second album as an opportunity to flesh out and dig into untested possibilities from his debut, and consequentially, he trumps it altogether. So if somehow, dear North American reader, you ever unwittingly discover a Miwon album, you know what to do.

June Update

First off, last Monday a few friends and I celebrated the life of Jay Bennett, member of Wilco from 1994 through 2001, who died in his sleep on May 24th, 2009. Key album choices to fuel our vigil included Summerteeth, The Moonstation House Band (in which he wrote Vandervelde’s best song ‘Nothin’ No’), and of course Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Rest in peace, Jay.


As 2009 moves into midpoint, SCQ is beginning to look back at the first half of this burgeoning year with a critical eye. Those releases I’ve listened to consistently, those I’ve shrugged over, the ones I haven’t figured out yet and those I should’ve written on instead of that haphazard 90s feature. Whatever, let the old decades go. As well as catching up on a few lingering releases from this Spring, I’ve set in motion some preliminary work towards SCQ’s Top Twenty Albums of 2009. Since we still have seven months of unheard new music up for contention, this groundwork-list should (and better) look virtually useless by November. Yet if I’m serious about unveiling SCQ’s Top Twenty Albums of the 00s by year’s end, I need all the prep-time I can muster. Oh yeah, and it’s way too much fun to wait any longer.

By the way: if anyone wants to check out a rad video of Dog Day's in-store performance at Soundscapes last week, click here. Why oh why didn't I bring my own camera...

Lost Channels - Great Lake Swimmers

Lost Channels

Great Lake Swimmers
Nettwerk Records.

SCQ Rating: 73%

The first time I ever heard Great Lake Swimmers, on their 2006 album Ongiara, I was doggedly unimpressed. Yes I was in a foul mood, having just lost an anticipated night of partying in Toronto to sadsack drama. And yes, I was hungover; my spine pressed to the backseat hoping for anything meaningful to spew from the Volvo’s speakers. So maybe I wasn’t in the mood for harmless folk songs half-heard against the open window cacophony of highway driving but regardless, the Toronto five-piece inevitably, unjustly, fell on deaf ears.

Fast-forward three years and my curiousity (aroused by a growing love for folk and, frankly, this gorgeous album art) is rewarded by first-listen ‘Palmistry’; a jangly pop song in the style of The Byrds sporting Tony Dekker’s smooth yet preoccupied timber. With the richly percussive zen of ‘Everything is Moving So Fast’ and the lively mandolin-led ‘Pulling On a Line’ hot on its heels, Lost Channels opens like a beacon for full-band folk enthusiasts. While at that mark – the end of the third track – I quit listening and purchased Lost Channels, I can acknowledge now that its sequencing was something of a ruse; as absorbing as all twelve tracks are, this collection is clearly top-heavy. As the back-porch banjo of ‘The Chorus in the Underground’ ushers in the record’s second half, we’re welcomed into its slower, foggier end. ‘Stealing Tomorrow’ lurks the vacant corners of disconnected liaisons with hazy ambience, while ‘River’s Edge’ drifts similar sonic terrain with a decidedly gospel vibe.

Instead of disappointing after such a vital start, this entire second half, rounded out by the redemptive ‘Unison Falling Into Harmony’, characterizes Lost Channels best, feeding off Dekker’s soothing storytelling while providing a near-nautical sense of foreboding. Full-bodied yet hopelessly secretive, this fourth album doesn’t so much distance itself from Ongiara as reassure its direction. While I might’ve once considered them to be severely underwhelming, Great Lake Swimmers are polishing their own nature of folk – often numb, occasionally still – yet hypnotizing in its obscure focus.

It's Blitz - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

It’s Blitz

Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Interscope Records.

SCQ Rating: 83%

As a lifetime member of the Mixtape culture, I can attest to having issued and received countless mixtapes assembled by and for future friends or present love interests. As anyone in a similar position can certify, Mixtapes – regardless of your feelings towards the mixer or mix-recipient – either make the cut or become an obligatory pat-on-the-back; meaning that any mix’s success depends far more on the openness of one's music preferences than their interests in Mr. or Ms. Would-Be. After all, if you’re willing to cave for Lady Gaga to please your presumably female admirer, well, the music isn’t really the focus, now is it? The most homogenous mixtape I ever received was actually an album, Fever To Tell, and despite my openness, I could not adapt to the Chrissie Hynde-on-ecstasy yelping of front-woman Karen O. The fact that I could only enjoy two songs – the two in which Karen just managed to keep her shit together – informed me of my duty straight-away: to orchestrate an artificial pat-on-the-back, sounding something like “Oh yeah, that Yeah Yeah Yeah’s record is really started to catch on”. Return to sender.

Anyone living above or around giant rocks knew that the imminent arrival of It’s Blitz meant crunch-time for the NY-based three-piece; after the mad success of their debut and the overt growing pains of Show Your Bones, this third album would either pronounce or dispel their relevancy. As it would happen, the next person to introduce me to Karen O. and co. would be my brother, another non-fan whose unprovoked spin of ‘Soft Shock’ caught my ear two walls away last month. To put It’s Blitz into perspective after my aforementioned disinterest, I had to ask whom he was listening to. That’s how serious, how splendid, how dicey and how victorious this record is. Take in all the hype: how Nick Zinner – easily one of garage-rock’s iconic guitarists of the 00s – disarmed himself to synthesizers, how Karen O backed off on her drinking ways and found a mature balance between art and living, how It’s Blitz utilizes none of their previously documented strengths to make their best record yet. It’s all true and it’s all masturbation. What matters here is the menacing guitar brooding like a Godspeed! You Black Emperor crescendo beneath ‘Runaway’, the layering of deep synth-stabs and twinkled melody on ‘Soft Shock’, the New Order pulse behind ‘Heads Will Roll’’s dancefloor stomp and how ‘Hysterics’ manages to tap into a vulnerability we all thought Karen O exhausted with ‘Maps’.

The record is damn-near phenomenal; in songwriting, production and execution it showcases a clear evolution from their garage-rock hey-day while vindicating the predictable sophomore-slump. Most indicatively, It’s Blitz makes me emotionally care about Karen O. I could appreciate Yeah Yeah Yeahs as a tight band six years ago, sure, but I never expected the shrieking, maximized icon of yore to refine herself into someone so unabashedly exposed, and whose voice asserts its beauty by flirting with its own limitations. That It’s Blitz comes packaged with four acoustic renditions is an otherworldly bonus for Yeah Yeah Yeahs' fans, furthering the oddity of their progression by boasting the ease in which their new material translates to acoustic parameters (lord knows you couldn’t write a violin part for ‘Black Tongue’ worth hearing). Is this CD-only acoustic addendum an incentive to woo fans that downloaded the leak in March, or are Yeah Yeah Yeahs overly self-satisfied? Hopefully both, because It’s Blitz entails bragging-rights for being a salvation-album as well as one that happens to be chocked full of Mixtape-potential.

Inside Your Guitar - It Hugs Back

Inside Your Guitar

It Hugs Back
4AD Records.

SCQ Rating: 58%

When faced with a question about comfort, the multitude of potential answers all share a strain of brevity. Whether we’re asking about comforts at home or heart, comfort food or comfort music, our first-response is typically short on syllables because from our earliest days in the womb, humans inherently get the feeling and peace of being at ease. As if the band’s name didn’t clue us in, attention hedonists: for your next orgy of fluffy duvets and gourmet ice cream, consider adding Inside Your Guitar to the fantasy; a record so polite and digestible, at times it’s barely discernable.

Their hushed trademarks – suffocating sticky pop melodies under layers of detachment – line up for inspection on opener ‘Q’’s blend of lilting acoustics, steady percussion and muted distortion. It’s a template that lacks the ambition for either memorable success or downright disaster and as such, Inside Your Guitar merely nudges its next ten candidates forward with a “that-didn’t-work-how-about-this?” mentality. And some of them DO work, like the ruminating evening-breeze of ‘Soon’ or ‘Remember’’s cool-kid slow-dance, marrying bleary organs to lyrical sweet nothings. Where It Hugs Back truly struggle is evident on supposed rockers ‘Back Down’ and ‘Now and Again’ which, despite standard indie-rock songwriting, come off flaccid in comparison to first single ‘Work Day’. And while ‘Work Day’ is nearly as reproachable as actually having to go to work, at least its twee-rock foundation better suits the UK quartet’s admittedly sleepy demeanor. Beyond the odd charmer, Inside Your Guitar is a one-spin affair that aims to lull you so convincingly into a trance, it overshoots straight into unconsciousness. Don't fret: it can't hug back if you don't hug first.