This Ends SCQ's Regularly Scheduled Programming...

Several weeks have passed since my last administrative update, which should be indicative of one thing: crunch-time. Having crammed just about all of this year’s most important releases into the past eleven months, it’s time to finesse my verbal exclamations with SCQ’s Year-In-Review Series (brought to you by Shahram, the Prince of Relaxation).

Contents should break down as follows*:

Friday, December 4th: Cover-Art Highs and Lows
Monday, December 7th – Friday, December 11th: SCQ Artists Questionnaire
Monday, December 14th: Top 50 Songs of 2009
Tuesday, December 15th: Top 20 Albums of 2009 (*Subject to change, you know how it is...)

Any purchases I haven't written about or promos I’ve yet to receive will be held over and featured during the early days of 2010. Also, any promos not received by late December will likely be lost or returned, as SCQ Headquarters will be on the move. Email theskeletoncrewquarterly@gmail.com for the new mailing address.

Thanks for reading and be sure to stop by over the coming weeks… December should be a loaded month.

Love SCQ & Shahram.

Shutter Release - Lymbyc Systym

Shutter Release

Lymbyc Systym
Mush Records.

SCQ Rating: 81%

Not three months ago, I pontificated the slow demise of post-rock, arguing that the genre’s few proud talents were being diluted by a coattail-clinging majority of replicates who reinforce all that’s turgid and predictable about the once-promising style. What’s worse about my pessimism is that I know how well founded it is; just look at how little the genre has grown, when its very initiative was to step outside traditional rock’s narrow parameters. Yet every few years, a record will come along and force me to second-guess my skepticism. Shutter Release, the new full-length by Lymbyc Systym, is that overdue breath of fresh air, calling to mind some of post-rock’s finest innovators over ten bracing compositions.

Displacing the sentiment maintained by acts like The Twilight Sad and Fuck Buttons that post-rock must be cowered over, the Brooklyn-based duo of Mike and Jared Bell would rather romanticize than scaremonger. Between the pulse-pounding rollercoaster of ‘Trichromatic’, which opens like a percussive showdown before hitching a more celebratory momentum, and ‘Late Night Classic’’s bedtime melancholy of tender acoustics, Shutter Release dabbles in both the maximal and understated. If the title track portrays Lymbyc Systym at their most aggressive, with horns layered smoothly over spritely drum fills, then ‘Teddy’ must be their rousing swansong of electric keys and full-blown orchestral crests. Outside these sporadic shots of adrenaline, the Brothers Bell employ a nostalgia fitting of their Polaroid-styled cover-art, offering rear-window views of moments passed on ‘Interiors’ and poignant emotional rushes of ‘Kubrick’. The latter, in particular, is a model example of this act’s discipline, as they spark an unassuming force, steady yet intricately built, and settle it with a plateau that’s more powerful in its graces than any explosive climax.

Lymbyc Systym may not be pioneering many new sounds here, but they’ve certainly taken notes from the best. Evoking the angular openness of TNT-era Tortoise (particularly ‘Trichromatic’), the accessible cinematics of Album Leaf and even the organic beats of ISAN (on ‘T-Ball’), Shutter Release – in a do-or-die comparison - rumbles and breaks loose with the life-affirming magnetism of an instrumental Broken Social Scene album. There’s a sense of freedom to these tracks that rival the Canadian collective’s melodic catharsis; nowhere is this more palpable than on ‘Bedroom Anthem’, a banjo-backed guitar jam that detonates into fanfare horns, electric distortion and crashing cymbals. Instead of scaring us with the genre's typical long shadows, Lymbyc Systym prefers exercises in pocket-sized grandeur, making Shutter Release as detailed as a smooth electronica record but focused with the heroic swings necessary to ward off post-rock’s last stand.

Phrazes For the Young - Julian Casablancas

Phrazes For the Young

Julian Casablancas
RCA Records.

SCQ Rating: 77%

Even before several Strokes-oriented side-projects littered the marketplace these last few years, it was difficult to predict a lucrative launch-date for a Julian Casablancas solo album. It was First Impressions of Earth, the record that earned mixed reviews in 2006 but has since become the public pissing-ground for every accolade the Strokes ever received, that spawned this ever-present pessimism for the NY quintet. Whether the backlash was warranted or not, over or still widespread, it’s a shame that Julian and the boys took the whipping their hype machine behind them deserved. Since the band’s falling-out, nobody has kept a lower profile than Casablancas who, as serendipitous timing would have it, has finally stepped forth with new music just as every music magazine is remembering Strokes’ albums for their Best-of-00s lists. A truce, then?

Of course, for a songwriter who was coerced into repeating his debut’s strategy for Room On Fire (which some fans found too similar), then convinced to branch out in new directions (which everyone argued was too different), Casablancas can’t be blamed for approaching the press side of Phrazes For the Young with a nervous apprehension. In one interview, he’ll talk at length about Phrazes… being inspired by his love of symphonies and how he was tempted to go further outside the box, while another interview will find him clamping down, insisting he only recorded a solo album to kill time before a Strokes reunion. Such a shame, when Phrazes For the Young is certainly deserving of Casablancas’ gushing; an album that experiments well beyond the uncertain steps of First Impressions of Earth and finds his swagger no less effective in this Bladerunner-esque, retroactive future.

Although Casablancas seems to be sitting at the command of his stereophonic spaceship in Phrazes…' cover-art, there’s no shortage of history in those wooden floorboards. ‘Out of the Blue’ sports the most Strokes-friendly guitar-work here while ‘11th Dimension’ fits some more tense, excitedly rhythmic guitar into its bridge. Besides those faint hallmarks and Casablancas’ familiar voice, however, these eight tracks have an altogether heightened agenda; combining intricately woven synths, drum machines and electronic beats with more traditional instruments, Phrazes For the Young seeks to attain the same rock’n’roll dynamics without tripping over itself. With just about every song clocking in at over the five-minute mark, that ambition often goes wanting, especially when ‘Tourist’ never deviates from its somber marching and ‘Ludlow St.’ rambles on like a bored, late-period Van Morrison ballad. The fact of the matter is that these compositions are too busy and lengthy to not go anywhere special, and occasionally it seems as though Casablancas prioritized small details over song foundations.

Still, once you adjust to the album’s pacing, this collection vindicates itself as a spacey and pop-centric odyssey. ‘River of Brakelights’ has all the urgency and thrills of vintage Strokes, coated with an electro-pop sheen, while ‘Glass’ features Casablancas’ stand-out dramatics, all beat-heavy with layered synths. As strange as this may sound, it’s rare to hear a spaced-out rock symphony maintain such testosterone, and while Phrazes For the Young may take a few listens to reveal its bounties, it’s rewarding to hear Casablancas reignite his creative whims without sacrificing the leather jacket.

Logos - Atlas Sound

Logos

Atlas Sound
Kranky Records.

SCQ Rating: 76%

In a recent Pitchfork interview, Bradford Cox disclosed some of his record-making habits; one in particular being that he always records the first and last track before settling into the disc’s in-between material. I found this relation baffling, seeing as how Logos’ icebreaker and clean-up hitter differ so greatly. Structurally, mood and quality-wise, ‘The Light That Failed’ and ‘Logos’ couldn’t be more bipolar; the opener is a shambling warm-up, pretty and self-indulgent, while the closer trolleys through warbling keys and golden-age percussion, like Johnny Cash drunk through a vocoder. How these compositions were recorded back-to-back, I’m unsure - unless Cox was defining his contrast limits - but it illustrates nonetheless the eclectic nature of Logos, a sophomore that triumphs and treads thin with its varied approach.

Revisiting the hazy guitar-work of Cox’s best virtual 7”’s and online EP’s, ‘An Orchid’ properly sets the wheels in the rails with an aching lullaby sung with angelic timbre. When the riffs get tighter (albeit in that loose, Velvet Underground manner) in ‘Sheila’ or fall into rustic disarray on ‘Attic Lights’, Atlas Sound proves unquestionably Cox’s most devastating alias, resolved to personal clairvoyance through art-damaged experimenting. And while nothing here sounds as though it belongs outside the Bradford Cox canon (besides, perhaps, the summertime anthem ‘Walkabout’ with Panda Bear), Logos bears a distinctly organic sound that Let the Blind Heal Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel warded off to B-side status. There remain ample injections of bedroom-pop atmospherics on ‘Washington School’ and ‘Quick Canal’ (which despite boasting Stereolab’s Laetitia Sadier on vocals, still sounds like an ambitious remix of ‘Quarantined’), but Cox’s interest in understated acoustics and refined electronics (the must-hear ‘Kid Klimax’) renders Logos the more mature, less abrasive record.

Logos’ few lackluster moments aren’t as apparent as those that diluted Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel; instead tracks like ‘My Halo’ and ‘The Light That Failed’ are merely shrug-worthy gaps between noteworthy songs. As a whole, this even-keel makes the record easier to digest in one sitting than its predecessor, even if Atlas Sound’s debut owns the better highlights. Cox has never been so at odds with Atlas Sound’s niche, allowing it to breach its electronic birthright and wander rock and roll’s playground (possibly at the expense of now-on-hiatus Deerhunter). While not as flagrant and personal as his much-loved prior work, Logos is a better indication of both Cox’s matured outlook and his promising future as a songwriter – with or without the band.

Murmur EP - The Sight Below

Murmur EP

The Sight Below
Ghostly International.

SCQ Rating: 75%

This late in the year, with so many year-end considerations needling my brain as if their inclusions, exclusions and inevitable order mean something altogether crucial for the survival of mankind, I often wonder how Glider would’ve fared had it been released when I discovered it in February of 2009. It’s a brief contemplation that usually ends in my deep-down assurance that The Sight Below’s debut full-length would’ve mopped the floor with much of 2009’s competition, let alone 2008’s. And while I’ll have to wait until 2010 to meet The Sight Below’s second LP head-on, there’s something perfectly timed about Murmur EP.

It became habitual for me, this past winter, to stretch out on the couch an hour or so past midnight, wrap headphones around my ears and listen to Glider in its entirety. Yes, part of that routine likely had to do with The Sight Below’s wintry feel – all dreary guitar and barren soundscapes – but what really saved that album for nocturnal listening was how enveloping it was. None of that weightless magic has been lost on Murmur EP, where padded beats and distant ambience provide the same stirring pools of cinematic techno we’ve come to expect… only this time more adventurous. All that’s familiar about ‘Murmur’ is ultimately propelled by its revved-up BPM; a quiet distinction that permits equally subtle additions like echoed samples that trace back to Detroit Techno. Even the 4/4 beats - often considered the backbone to The Sight Below’s sound – have shifted from their measured particulars to a muffled dancefloor style, intertwined with uneven bass, grimy yet refined. As carefully cousined as ‘Murmur’ is to the beat-heavy Glider material, ‘Wishing Me Asleep’ is a humble walk outside his discography. Alternating between bass-heavy passages and still-life atmospherics, ‘Wishing Me Asleep’ exercises his customary sound while occasionally stretching its drama, handicapping its beats, and finding new possibilities.

Of the remixes, Eluvium catapults the title track from No Place For Us EP into gauzy clouds of peppered percussion while Simon Scott suffocates the beat altogether in a thunderous abyss. These takes are fun to play back-to-back with their respective originals, mostly because Eluvium and Scott both seem wary about disturbing The Sight Below’s signature sound. Even without considering The Sight Below’s choices for remixers (or, say, cover-art), his releases have always meshed fluidly into an overarching grayscale where his palette and moods have always layered over one another. And though Murmur EP doesn’t cause a rift in that bleak, comforting universe-unto-itself, these two new songs do flirt with styles outside pre-defined boundaries and tinker with Glider’s game-plan. Featuring a remixed second-glance of his past and new material to usher in future ideas, Murmur EP is about as satisfying as a stop-gap release can be and, you bet, ideal for winter-walking.

Elder Schoolhouse - Dog Day

Elder Schoolhouse

Dog Day
Divorce Records.

SCQ Rating: 72%

The morning after Dog Day’s blistering set at Horseshoe Tavern, I sat down and counted myself one of the lucky 400 people to own Elder Schoolhouse, the Halifax quartet’s ultra-limited, vinyl-only, mini-album. Having prepped myself a bit by reading a Chart Attack interview with bassist/vocalist Nancy Urich, I thought I was ready for the band’s “spooky” direction. I wasn’t. Slopping out of my speakers like compost sludge, ‘Ritual’ sounded like a lost track off The Cure’s Pornography, all doom-laden bass and eerie keys, with vocalist/guitarist Seth Smith singing through some sort of thunderous mic effect. Was Smith being sarcastic when he described Elder Schoolhouse as “lively and bright”? Was this the result of Urich’s quoted affinity for noise-bands? Nah, it was just my record player – which had somehow changed speeds without me knowing – and by the end of the first chorus, I rectified the problem.

The message of that story isn’t that I’m pretty dim-witted (I can translate that in less than a paragraph), but that Dog Day’s sound is rooted as firmly in pop music as it is in gloomier, noisier genres, and I wouldn’t have been terribly shocked had their record not been playing at half-speed. Luckily, Elder Schoolhouse at its intended speed is way cooler and finds them toiling in progressively noisier arrangements. If you’ve checked out the sample ‘Synastry’, you’ve also just heard the brightest of these tracks, one that wouldn’t sound out of place on Concentration. More menacing but no less enjoyable are ‘Ritual’, with its harsh guitars revving like a pack of hungry motorcycles, and ‘Dark Day’, which was written specifically for the band by Rick (Eric’s Trip) White. With claustrophobic melodies and frightening song-breakdowns, Elder Schoolhouse could’ve been the devious little brother to Concentration’s accomplished nuances but no… Dog Day take it a few steps further. What might’ve been a title track becomes the black psychedelia of ‘Concentration’, a falling off point where Dog Day revels in the echoed incoherence of lost lyrics and near-goth guitar riffs.

If Dog Day’s direction on the record’s first side sounds vicious, side two – a looming ten-minute onslaught of distorted guitars - is downright sadistic. The song in question, ‘New Beginning’, sets out like a controlled, if surprisingly raw, slow-burner before distortion stretches through verse and chorus, percussion fades in and falls out, amps start crinkling and six-strings become band-saws waging war. As unrehearsed and messy as it sounds, the whole spectacle of it is pretty marvelous, no different than how Smith and Urich battle their instruments against each-other to close each live show in deafening fashion. This mini-album isn’t for everyone (i.e. my neighbours) but Elder Schoolhouse is more than a few new songs recorded at Rick White’s studio; it’s a descent into madness that will either mark Dog Day’s discography as a bizarre hiccup or crucial turning point.

Sorry - Dub Tractor

Sorry

Dub Tractor
City Centre Offices.

SCQ Rating: 80%

Hideout was something of a rarity; a record I struggled to find, wrestled to love and then slid into comfortably once I stopped focusing so damned hard. In the months following its purchase, that 2006 effort by Anders Remmer found itself increasingly chosen for my I-Pod and home stereo, as if its somber tones immediately brought back cool Autumn breezes I first took the album walking through. Given its gradual way of winning me over, Hideout now defends a hard-fought place in my regular rotation…; a feat I wouldn’t have predicted even a year ago. So the surprise of Dub Tractor’s return was met with great satisfaction when Remmer’s new album, Sorry, blew me away at first listen. Boasting deeper songwriting and brilliant soundscapes, Sorry accomplishes what Hideout could not; catching listeners off-guard with emotive electronic pop that refuses to fade into mood-music.

This immediate evolution is felt on opener ‘And You Are Back’; what sounds like an echoed piano, cut into loops and fed with reverb, drones harmoniously to molasses-slow beats under Remmer’s hazy vocals. Those details – fuzzy guitar lines, liquid percussion and subtle, dubby bass - may sound in line with Dub Tractor’s well-trodden territory, yet the songwriting has undergone a massive upgrade. As foreshadowed by the more pronounced vocals on ‘And You Are Back’, Sorry breaks the long-running tradition of only repeating lyrics that are in the song’s title, inevitably giving these compositions more heart and mood. On the late-night gloaming of ‘I Don’t Get It Anymore’, Remmer illustrates a strained relationship with the lyrical directness of New Order's Bernard Sumner while, on ‘It All Went Wrong’, he takes a more narrative bent. Not all songs delve into full-on verses the way these aforementioned examples do, but it’s worth noting that these forward-thinking Dub Tractor tunes are among the best on Sorry, especially ‘Fall In Love Like This’, where a processed guitar rumbles menacingly over Remmer’s innocent vocal hook. These tracks supplement the tempered beauty of past albums with a potent dose of shoegaze, triggering his songs to push forward instead of pacing on-the-spot.

The rest of the time, Sorry isn’t so much a new direction as a refreshed commitment to what Remmer does best. The familiar warmth of ‘That Won’t Heal By Itself’, a one-phrase mantra of soft chimes and muddled acoustics, is as stationary as the buzzing ‘A lot of Work is Done’, and these pillars should support a refuge for older fans untouched by Dub Tractor’s growing style. Split between his classic, textural sound and his emerging voice as a songwriter, Sorry is Dub Tractor’s most vital record to date, dripping with deeper emotion and new promise.

How the Beach Boys Sound to Those With No Feelings - Extra Happy Ghost!!!

How the Beach Boys Sound to Those With No Feelings

Extra Happy Ghost!!!
Saved By Radio Records.

SCQ Rating: 74%

“If you like moody, lo-fi, kitchen recordings - it just might be for you,” claims a press statement for How the Beach Boys Sound to Those With No Feelings, and it’s about as honest an overarching quote about this record can get. These songs feel welded together of spare parts much like how Extra Happy Ghost!!!’s instruments sound built from scratch; half-tuned guitars and retro casios riff and squiggle through the record’s negative space while vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Matthew Swann ponders the dark alleys of consciousness and suburban misery. Truly, the screws sound ready to fall out at any moment and some of this EP’s best moments thrive from that anticipation.

Coming off like an impromptu jam session in your friend’s kitchen at 4am, How the Beach Boys Sound…, through false starts and broken riffs, depicts a group of musicians unafraid to fuck up in the search for meaningful songwriting. In fact, a promising song like ‘J and 3K’ seems to invite the ethos that what’s easy isn’t worth repeating, as Swann and co. (Joel Nye on drums, Lorrie Matheson on “special sounds”) channel a sweetly disarming acoustic song into dissonant madness then cut as if their 8 track collapsed. Right there in that minute-plus opener, Extra Happy Ghost!!! set the stage for what’s to come: an unpredictable assortment of sparsely psychedelic jams (‘These Are the Facts in an Endless Regress’) and acoustic experiments gone haywire (‘Sympathy for the Moron’). What prevents this EP from becoming a mismanaged hodgepodge is Swann’s singular vision, which utilizes brash noise in memorable, tight instances and approaches a few tracks without the desire for self-sabotage. ‘Mash-up: Neither Being Nor Nothingness’ strikes a steady groove of guitar and spritely percussion while ‘Hot Time Sartre in the City’ rises to a ear-pleasing climax of well-executed key codas under rabid distortion.

What is arguably among the most commendable things about How the Beach Boys Sound to Those With No Feelings is that it doesn’t call to mind any recognizable influence, lo-fi or otherwise, besides perhaps the Beach Boys. In the title track, Extra Happy Ghost!!!, while burying their muse’s sunny chorus in sullen irony, strike sonic gold, finding the perfect mix of unassuming vocals harmonized in echoes, organs swallowed by low-end guitar licks and muffled ambience to truly call their own. Fittingly, it’s the last song that acts as the culmination for all of How the Beach Boys Sound…’s wayward blessings, and the wall-of-sound style I could see Extra Happy Ghost!!! running with. Or at the very least, it’s that jam-band moment where everyone falls into place, nails their individual parts, then calls it a night because they know a high note when they hear one.

Matador - Arms and Sleepers

Matador

Arms and Sleepers
Fake Chapter Records.

SCQ Rating: 79%

Band comparisons are commonly more trouble than they’re worth, in that doing so runs the risk of either overinflating the band in question’s worth by association or seeking to pigeonhole said band’s style with that of another. In any case, band comparisons are haphazardly assembled bridges, grasping at straws for similarities and ultimately misleading whoever is listening in. Yet in spite of my disregard for sentences that start with “they sound like…” or “they remind me of…”, I can name a few bands that, if mentioned, will hold my attention. Epic45, Library Tapes, Boards of Canada; these are artists that hover in a gray area often called comfort-music and, chances are, if you like one of them, you’ll love them all. These examples are additionally interesting because each of these comfort-music artists are mentioned in relation to Arms and Sleepers (Max Lewis and Mirza Ramic). As it turns out, some band comparisons hit the bulls-eye.

How Matador squeezes convincingly between such lofty releases like May Your Heart Be the Map or The Campfire Headphase is credited to the soft-focus utilized by Arms and Sleepers, that reflective quality summoned by dreamy, lilting instrumentation and chill-out style percussion. If triphop beats merely compliment the untouched piano keys trickling like raindrops over the title track, ‘The International’ and ‘Kino’ are mini-resurgences of the Bristol-based subgenre; the first featuring taunt cello and jazzy snare-hits, the latter infused with an analog warmth reminiscent of early Mum. These songs are cool duvets for Autumn days, welcoming us into Matador’s somber blues, but they’re also elegant doses of style positioned to balance out Lewis and Ramic’s surprising soul. That ‘The Architekt’ is a masterful excursion into piano balladry – and a girl/boy duet at that – without abandoning its electronic edge guarantees a few dropped jaws, as does the no-names lyrical disclosures on ‘Simone’ that discreetly upgrade the duo’s songwriting chops.

To help push their trademarked sound of eerie synths, subtle piano and programmed beats forward, Lewis and Ramic enlisted some friends, including Ben Shepard and Catherine Worsham of Uzi & Ari, Tom Brosseau of Fat Cat Records and Shelley Short of Hush Records. Impressive as these contributing vocals are, the desire for change came from within and instead of coasting on their soft-focus nostalgia, Arms and Sleepers have added dimensions to their craft through emphasizing vocals and broadening instrumentation. For my money, the best example of Arms and Sleepers’ new direction is ‘Twentynine Palms’; professing tender lyrics against an electronic backdrop, the track grows into a strum-and-drum climax that feels increasingly organic.

Even among those aforementioned band-comparisons, there’s a ton of room for error: nowhere will you hear any of Boards of Canada’s psychotropic passages or Epic45’s muffled atmospheres on Matador. Yet like such artists, Arms and Sleepers have seamlessly stitched a mood-piece, unwavering in both its melancholic and sonic stance. To add my own likeminded artist to the ilk, this record borrows from the same vast pool of epic grace as The Album Leaf, instilling Matador with flourishes vaguely familiar of notable Icelandic bands like Sigur Ros. Hell, whomever Arms and Sleepers are comparable to, nobody’s liable to contest that they’ve reached a new level of songwriting on Matador and deserve the best of company.

Neanderthal Cell Phone - The Sorrys

Neanderthal Cell Phone

The Sorrys
Gooseberry Records.

SCQ Rating: 75%

Since their debut The Last Clear Thought Before You Fall Backwards, The Sorrys have garnered a reputation for being east-coast Canada’s answer to The Hold Steady. Although subject to deep investigation and far from damning, this connection between the Brooklyn success-story and our Halifax-based quartet isn’t without its merits. Both acts revel in rock riffs of past decades (Hold Steady’s love of Springsteen back when the Boss let the E-Street band play, The Sorrys’ aura of early 90s indie-rock) and both outfits are reaching their creative peaks a solid age category older than the majority of trendy rockers.

While this comparison may haunt The Sorrys’ like a long, intimidating shadow, its message is transparently positive: The Sorrys are an awesome bar-band and one of Canada’s best kept secrets. Look no further than Neanderthal Cell Phone for exhibits A through J if you need further convincing, as these ten new tracks boast a confident mix of aggressive bar anthems and loitering, after-hour reflections. The opening couplet, ‘Achievement Races’ and ‘Roses’, best represents this range, as post-grunge distortion surrenders to bouncy guitar chords and Trevor Millett’s casual but earnest vocals before sliding into the latter’s sidewalk-scuffled love song. Splitting their focus between Pavement-style slacker-riffs (‘Poppy’) and mid-90s radio-rock (‘Articulate’), Neanderthal Cell Phone showcases where Millett, Richard Herbert (bass guitars), Jim Cameron (guitars) and Steve Baur (percussion) get their inspiration and what they’re able to craft with ample doses of guitar and energy.

As believable as this record works in the guise of an upbeat, crowd-friendly rock collection, some of The Sorrys’ most interesting tracks converge on their sophomore’s slightly experimental back-end. If ‘Vital Signs’ is the album’s best slow song, matching Millett’s curious yet memorable lyrics with warm violins, ‘Carbonated Carnations’ must be the most hard-edged with serrated electric guitars and grumbled, half-spoken vocals. The band’s widening scope nearly becomes bipolar on the peculiar closing track ‘Devils Won’t Wait’, which builds an awkward momentum on distortion loops and repeated phrases. It’s a bizarre song, not only in how it’s assembled but also in how its off-kilter melody creeps into the listener’s head.

How fitting then, that even in Neanderthal Cell Phone’s most head-turning instances, these songs remain catchy and addictive. Maybe that’s The Sorrys’ best comparative point with The Hold Steady so far; as assuredly as those Brooklyn rockers make thrilling songs about overdoses and murder, The Sorrys render every letdown or heartbreak its own cause for celebration. If that isn’t a talent worth booking in every venue across Canada this winter, I don’t know what is.

Spirit Guides - Evening Hymns

Spirit Guides

Evening Hymns
Out of This Spark Records.

SCQ Rating: 90%

Walking out into the brisk, near-freezing air of downtown Toronto, twenty minutes after midnight, I could almost fathom how Evening Hymns could create an album as gorgeously honest and natural as Spirit Guides from this locale. Perhaps this fleeting epiphany was caused by how grateful my lungs were to escape the overdressed heat of the Horseshoe Tavern, or maybe Jonas Bonnetta’s inspiration - although recorded to tape at various stations around the city – was born and nurtured amid the Peterborough lakes where he resides. However it happened, the nine tracks that constitute Spirit Guides act as an enema to the newspaper-caked streetcars and loitering police cruisers that pollute my urban commute, breathing new life into both Toronto’s indie-scene and the oft-predictable singer-songwriter tag.

‘Lanterns’ opens the disc with a lilting acoustic melody, bittersweet yet familiar, which like several of Bonnetta’s compositions is something of a red herring; settling the listener into quaint comforts before taking off to places unknown. The hint of ‘Lanterns’’s ambition can be heard in its soft backing of strings and nocturnal ambience, initially pillowing voice and guitar before sprawling outward into a sleepless highway ode of steady percussion and devastating lyrics, of which Bonnetta clings to tail-ends of words before they slip by. Where that song’s crest of horns and strings subsides, ‘Dead Deer’ laments a deliberate stillness around two lovers; its vocal-delivery and arrangement tiptoeing as if to avoid detection that an electric riff desires, occasionally delivering a one-two punch like flashing headlights. The craving and nostalgia that linger over these tracks is harnessed into the rollicking fireside rebuttal of ‘Broken Rifle’ and the building anticipation of Spirit Guides’ album highlight ‘Mountain Song’. From sparse beginnings, Bonnetta ascends (no pun intended) a massive song-structure of viola and subtle yet dexterous percussion to a peak where strings, electric guitar and a choral of unisex vocals cry out like echoes into ‘Mountain Song’’s deep chasms.

A record full of such arresting moments and versatile arrangements doesn’t come easy, and Evening Hymns enlisted some friends (from notable acts such as the Wooden Sky, D’Urbervilles, and Forest City Lovers) who add tremendous muscle to these folk-based songs. Despite these talents (especially James Bunton of Ohbijou who produced), Bonnetta maintains a firm grip on our attention-span long after his colleagues have gone home. Spirit Guides’ last-third is clearly gentler although still rife with organs and ambience, as if its protagonist’s explorations into nature have unexpectedly turned inward for the album's lonesome twilight.

I second that very notion, waiting alone for a last subway to pull me out of the downtown core. My hearing’s coming back, having lost it somewhere at the show, and I spend these pacing steps listening to ‘History Books’, the last – and fittingly solo – song on Spirit Guides. Looking back over this Out of This Spark debut’s earth-shaking highs and contemplative sighs, rounded out by instrumental blurs (the afterglow segue of ‘Mazinaw Lake’) and a rainy field-recording (the aptly titled ‘November 1st, 2008, Lakefield, Ontario’), it’s hard to shake the feeling that at this late stage, having just wandered the season’s first frost, Evening Hymns has delivered Toronto’s best record of the year.

Things Gone Wrong - Detritus

Things Gone Wrong

Detritus
Ad Noiseam Records.

SCQ Rating: 74%

As anyone familiar with the German imprint is likely aware, Ad Noiseam’s eclectic roster of artists all seem to share a united sense of dread. From forays into doom metal to the more unassuming exercises in drum’n’bass, IDM, and ambient, Ad Noiseam thrives in the market of edge-of-your-seat atmospheres, dwelling a few accessibility points shy of your average college radio playlist. It’s an admirable albeit overcast territory to stake, one which occasionally risks dropping casual listeners at the expense of its affinity for intimidation. That’s where Detritus comes in; lacing his aggressive beat-work with a palpable sense of foreboding, David Dando-Moore reminds us that being sinister can have its gratifying upsides too.

Boasting a broadened scope compared to previous efforts, Things Gone Wrong finds Dando-Moore inviting diverse influences to his electronic sandbox. Packing hard-edged breakbeats and synthesized strings, ‘Archipelago’ is an early indication that Detritus is lessening his stranglehold on industrial moods, offering a slicker electro-pop sound where heavier instruments once prevailed. ‘Haunted’ and ‘Breaking Eggshells’ tread a similar sonic tightrope with varying levels of success; the former chases its own tail layering undulated keys over urban beats while the latter effectively weaves complex, reserved hits into tight atmospheric passages. The biggest - and arguably, the best – surprises to the Detritus sound arrive in the form of nuanced, low-key compositions that eschew all that’s ominous in favour of crystal-clear, cinematic electronica. As soft arpeggios and steady beats make up the dreamy ‘Ghostwritten’, ‘Field of Dead Leaves’ and ‘Drift’ go a step further for solace with patient guitar, piano and field-recordings. By lowering his guard for IDM and organically influenced mood-pieces, Dando-Moore gives Things Gone Wrong an ebb and flow that, like its cover-art suggests, feels as unconfined and limitless as an unmarked horizon.

That isn’t to say Things Gone Wrong steps away from its penchant for dread. Before the Detritus moniker came to be, Dando-Moore was a member of the now-defunct band Eterne and that metal background remains audible throughout the mood of his fourth solo album. Alongside slasher-esque orchestration and racing BPM, ‘Entropy’ is a gauntlet of driving guitars and unflinching menace whereas ‘Bookburner’ bears an organ melody reminiscent of derelict horror-movie soundtracks. Peering between these scare tactics and peaceful ruminations is ultimately Dando-Moore’s strong suit; a middle-ground that balances devious, minor-key drama with subtle electronic tones. Opening track ‘Left Behind’ accomplishes just that, delivering prominent beats amid careful verses and heavy, industrial choruses. Presenting several sides of Detritus’ sound, Things Gone Wrong – despite its title – is not a worst case scenario but a testament to Dando-Moore’s unique style, which is most convincing when mixing risk with restraint.

Ylajali - Syntaks

Ylajali

Syntaks
Ghostly International.

SCQ Rating: 77%

Unless you’re familiar with Norwegian author Knut Hamsun and his psychologically numbing novel, Hunger, the title of Syntaks’ new album may seem positively reference-less. As it happens, Jakob Skott and Anna Cecelia’s choice of title is in honour of one of Hunger’s characters, a woman whose mystery obsesses and ultimately unravels the mind of Hamsun’s protagonist. Hamsun’s groundbreaking details of this slow breakdown sum up the lead inspiration for Ylajali, as Syntaks aim to aurally transmit the emotions of our “inner lives”. Such a unique muse – made stronger by Syntaks’ decision to record mere blocks from where Hamsun wrote his masterwork – certainly gives added depth from a songwriter point-of-view but as an electronic record of such dreamy proportions, Ylajali fits by simply bearing its rare and beautiful name; one which could reference a galaxy as convincingly as a girl.

Indeed, there’s something inexplicably cosmic about this album, how it contorts space and sterility at the whim of a great romantic. The enduring shimmer of ‘Blue Sunshine’, all punctuated beats and modulating synths, arches with the grace of an epic despite its four-plus minutes, no differently than how ‘Phantasmogoria’, which creeps about Geogaddi territory with a fresh sense of optimism, avoids skimming the four-minute mark. Economic as these tracks are, they unfold and spread like purposeful, head-nodding symphonies. Come to think of it, the title ‘Blue Sunshine’ adequately summarizes Syntaks’ atmospheric approach on Ylajali, cloaking warm tones with chilled-out ambiance. These weather changes aren’t easy to miss: ‘She Moves Colors’ casts a cool artificial sheen but it’s disrupted by thunderous shoegaze guitar while the tender solace of ‘Dark Night’ swirls into a fog of bassy keys and synthesized rays. Fulfilling the sonic promises laid down on last month’s Mistral Moon EP, Ylajali is a monolithic soundtrack for a love bound between earth and stars.

Forgive all of this cosmic-talk; Ylajali may feel starry-eyed and enormous but there’s a good deal of familiarity at work too. Occupying the same grandiose synth-work as Ulrich Schnauss, Syntaks manage to step beyond with morphing breakbeats and Cecelia’s army of faint vocals which, on ‘Love Camp 23’ and ‘Mistral Moon’, combine to fill what might be the limits of stereophonic sound. If there’s any qualm regarding this technique (and yes I'm reaching for one...), it’s that Syntaks run on all cylinders too often, occasionally blowing our senses when some nuanced anticipation will do. The record’s last couplet seems to acknowledge this, reducing the duo’s atmospheric edge into the twilight hours with a more meditative flow. Still, named after the object of Hamsun’s affection, Ylajali is an overwhelming, steadfast ode to adoration and the idea of perfection. It comes pretty close, itself...

Parallax Error Beheads You - Max Tundra (LIVE NOV. 8th at THE DRAKE)

Parallax Error Beheads You

Max Tundra
Domino Records.

SCQ Rating: 74%

Ever since I first heard of Max Tundra, I’ve heard the breathless praise that followed wherever his footsteps took him. Like The Avalanches, Max Tundra (AKA Ben Jacobs) is responsible for revolutionizing the act of genre-hopping with Mastered By Guy At the Exchange, a recording that not only bridged electronica with a mélange of left-field instruments and smart-ass grinning, but – no differently than Since I Left You – also stood in the uncertain spotlight of possibly being the artist’s last statement as years passed on. There were no retirement rumours, no excuses; Jacobs retreated into his mash-up laboratory and, as a testament to its longevity, Mastered By Guy At the Exchange held his fans in tow. If it was that groundbreaking record’s intimidating shadow that kept me at bay, Parallax Error Beheads You – Jacobs’ insanely detailed follow-up – compounded my hesitation, which accounts for this review arriving one year late. Of course, three-hundred and sixty-some days is chump change under the Max Tundra microscope, considering how the making of Parallax Error Beheads You comprised six years of Jacobs’ life.

Given such immeasurable commitment to his art, our first universal question is obvious: does all the effort pay off? And depending on one’s devotion to Mastered By Guy At the Exchange, the answer is similarly straightforward; past Max Tundra fans will no doubt find Parallax Error Beheads You a stunning achievement, while those who shrugged throughout that 2002 release will likely maintain their indifferent stance on the sidelines. Opener ‘Gum Chimes’ pinpoints justification for both parties; its super-cheesy retro synths pace back and forth like one of McCartney’s dated Wings songs before shifting into more accessible territory with pleasant keys and Jacobs’ smooth vocals. This technique of breaking a song’s momentum in favour of new directions is a Max Tundra calling card, whereby Jacobs constructs roadblocks and alleyways to appease both challenge-hungry and casual listeners. Tracks like ‘Nord Lead Three’ and ‘Until We Die’ encompass their share of “roadblocks”; the former a ritalin-deprived attack of angular riffs and distorted spoken-word, the latter an eleven-minute opus that combines the pleasant tones of elevator muzak with the thrilling score of Mariokart64. Yet these are, how do I say, intermediate Max Tundra compositions, full of idiosyncrasies and in sharp contrast to Parallax Error Beheads You’s poppier, if no less playful, material. ‘Which Song’ is a glorious hybrid of Motown and retro dance music, owing as much to Songs In the Key of Life -era Stevie Wonder as it owes to Daft Punk, while ‘Will Get Fooled Again’ matches Jacobs’ light-hearted yet lovelorn lyrics to IDM-infected melodies. At times, you’ll ponder whether the addictive spin-ability of these songs is rooted in how respectable they are compositionally, as if repeated listens will dissect the devastating fusion of song-ideas spiraling through ‘Orphaned’ like a whirlwind radio-dial. Trying to understand or resist these slick “alleyways” is futile, however, and their euphoria helps to lessen the burden of Jacob's tougher tracks.

A newly minted fan, I can attest that Max Tundra offers multiple reasons to re-experience his signature sound, as few records of such painstaking craft exude this much fun. Another reason Parallax Error Beheads You is worth hearing is because Ben Jacobs will be touring Max Tundra through Toronto this week, landing at The Drake Hotel on November 8th. With Ghostly International’s Deastro opening, this show will be your best chance to see the mad scientist in his element before he disappears again. And we all know how long that could be…

You Are the One I Pick - Felix

You Are the One I Pick

Felix
Kranky Records.

SCQ Rating: 85%

Few independent labels have nurtured and challenged their listeners with the careful balance that Kranky has over the years, and fewer have been repaid with such unabashed loyalty. The leading cause of such indie-fan devotion is probably the most apparent; that Kranky specializes in delivering records of a certain mystique, an impenetrable yet sonic aura that captures the imagination of our daydream generation. If the imprint’s refined ear for quality were ever confused by listeners as predictability, however, some jaws best get prepared to drop. Barely two weeks after releasing acclaimed albums by Atlas Sound and White Rainbow, Kranky has blindsided followers with You Are the One I Pick, a record that finds Lucinda Chua and Chris Summerlin (AKA Felix) intertwining curious storytelling with lush, elegant arrangements.

Initially, the contrast between notable Kranky artists and Felix land this release in coffee-house chanteuse territory, her quirky vocal delivery and improvisational piano work a distant but relatable cousin to the syrupy pop people usually caffeinate over. If you must, blame Chua’s familiar voice, which caresses words with the innocence of Bjork and announces itself a few cigarettes shy of Chan Marshall, because by the time first track ‘Death To Everyone But Us’ is finished, all those first-impressions will seem hopelessly off-target. What Felix have accomplished with You Are the One I Pick is nothing short of sensational; by stripping the female-armed-with-piano sound of its sad stereotypes and adult-contemporary leanings, Chua (known for touring with Stars of the Lid) and Summerlin (of the rock band Lords) reinvigorate been-there dynamics with a freshness and originality that radio doesn’t deserve. In the process, Kranky has, at least in part, re-written their playbook.

Distinguishing this record from lazy categorization (see above: “coffee-house chanteuse”) is how the instrumentation and Chua’s vocals interact. Despite her memorable idiosyncrasies, whether chanting stream-of-conscious insistences on ‘Death To Everyone But Us’ or collecting careful details on ‘Bernard St.’, Chua, at no point, feels like the sole member of Felix. Backing her expertly honed sensibilities on piano and cello with healthy doses of Kranky aura is Summerlin, who lays idyllic guitar upon some of You Are the One I Pick’s meatier cuts (‘Back In Style’ and the title track, in particular). Bound together, Felix compliment their songwriting with delicate use of strings and tasteful yet infrequent percussion. A sweltering set of strings stretch amid ‘I Wish I Was a Pony’’s fluttering piano-line and bleed into ambient washes on standout track ‘What I Learned From TV’, while sparse drum-taps provide the appropriate time signature in ‘Waltzing For Weasels’. Thanks to the fine disconnect between Chua’s verbal storytelling and the lavish moods of orchestration, You Are the One I Pick’s most captivating moments are those in which Chua and Summerlin seem oblivious to each other’s trajectory and yet their efforts riff successfully anyhow. Besides allowing the listener to choose how they wish to hear the record (focusing on its orchestration or lyrics at their discretion), Felix’s disconnect births a spontaneity that provides extra potency to these songs.

Perhaps it’s because I mentioned Chan Marshall earlier but I think it’s worth noting that You Are the One I Pick contains the same fresh, spacious songwriting that marked Cat Power’s You Are Free… only here, its melancholy and eccentricities are more vibrant. And considering how studied and breathtaking this full-length debut is, it’s difficult to ignore that had Cat Power released it, You Are the One I Pick would land prominently on most every year-end list come December. An irresistibly pointless statement to throw out, I know, but here’s hoping Felix receive the attention and credit they truly deserve. Harbouring the Kranky aura in its warmest glow yet, Felix's full-length debut is too attractive and meaningful to remain under the radar.

In Sea - Aarktica

In Sea

Aarktica
Silber Records.

SCQ Rating: 78%

To say In Sea is ideal listening for facing the notion of enormity, what with its epic-sized guitars and romantic ambience, perhaps best describes the work of Aarktica. After all, few could doubt the chilling grace that permeates, shifts and occasionally cracks these glacial studies of tone, which in their humble build or collapse bring to mind far-reaching horizons and barren landscapes. Yet to pontificate any which way Aarktica should be heard comes attached with a giant asterisk as its author, Jon DeRosa, doesn’t hear his records the way we do. Having suffered permanent, near-total hearing loss in his right ear due to nerve damage, DeRosa’s tale is a unique one; beginning with No Solace In Sleep, a recording that survived aural hallucinations and painkiller-addiction, Aarktica’s discography has been a battle for sound – first re-experiencing it, then exploring its new parameters.

Yet when I looked up his Myspace page, the first track I heard was ‘Seventy Jane’; a near-perfect pop track of new-wave vocals and chiming guitar. I’ve revisited that Matchless Years track several times since, each time finding another detail worth hearing on my headphones, but its indie-rock swagger seemed to void DeRosa’s painful back-story as if his hearing loss hadn’t prevented him from playing ball with everyone else. In Sea changes that; blurring the obvious pop hooks that sought to classify him and re-approaching his passion for tonal studies with a veteran’s wisdom, DeRosa has delivered what is being hailed as a return-to-form album by Aarktica fans. ‘I Am (The Ice)’ casts a frozen establishing shot for DeRosa’s guitar-work, peppering tense, processed strums against clouds of edgeless, warm tones. Its effect, both unnerving and calming, sums up the widescreen vibe of In Sea as a whole, stepping into deep layers of guitar structures that circle or swell in subtle patterns (‘Instill’, the title track). Better yet, DeRosa has incorporated tricks learned from his post-No Solace In Sleep shoegaze efforts, bringing bittersweet riffs to ‘Onward!’’s encroaching heaviness and welcome, moody vocals to album-highlight ‘Hollow Earth Theory’. While these restrained pop flourishes are sporadic and spread-out (only two cuts feature vocals), their post-punk feel provide enough pulse to jolt In Sea from its still-life crawl.

While Aarktica has proven capable of competing with any shoegaze band that can hear in stereo, DeRosa’s battle to understand sound has transformed his condition – which, in this art, should’ve been considered a handicap – into an advantage. Finding emotional details in minimal arrangements, In Sea is a homecoming for ambient-drone enthusiasts… a group that no doubt finds DeRosa at the front of the pack.

Love 2 - Air (No Ripcord Review)

Love 2

Air
Astralwerks Records.

No Ripcord Review: 7
SCQ Rating: 75%

As a result of my late-appreciation for Air, which had me backtracking from Talkie Walkie into their early groundbreaking efforts, I’ve only had one full-length - Pocket Symphony - to anticipate in advance. As nuanced as that 2007 release moved the French duo into cinematic mood-music terrain, its sedated feel had me kicking myself and wishing I had been actively listening to Air during their more adventurous years. That longing has been rewarded with Love 2; a record that churns out futurist lounge like a jukebox painted in neon lights that read “Eat My Beat”. Seriously, that’s one of the song titles.

There’s no mistaking that Nicolas Godin and J.B. Dunckel have returned from the dreamy Pocket Symphony with their sights set on living it up and… rocking out? ‘Do the Joy’ swaggers in with a guitar-line vaguely reminiscent of Kid Rock - only fuzzed out, less obnoxious, and accompanied by a bunch of lazer-synths and incoherent robots - which adequately reclaims their 90s mix of laid-back cool and 10 000 Hrz To Legend weirdness. Telltale reminders aside, Love 2 has little time to toy with Air’s legacy when the duo are filtering 60s surf-rock into their patented space-rock (so… space-surf?) on ‘Be a Bee’, or wind-milling glam-rock riffs over shimmering piano codas on ‘So Light is Her Footfall’. While the majority of these heavier galactical-jaunts crowd the record’s first half, there’s no denying that Air sound more confident than ever, capturing the lavish sophistication of their 00’s albums without sacrificing the guitar.

The spontaneity of Air in starry-eyed band formation hardly detracts from their role as staunch defenders of glamorous electronic-pop, thankfully. ‘Missing the Light of the Day’ bubbles along driving synth-stabs and computerized vocals while the shuffling triphop beats of ‘You Can Tell it to Everybody’ pace the sappier details of Air’s eternally bleeding heart. Even ‘Sing Sang Sung’, which skips breezily through sticky acoustic strings and feather-light lyrics, maintains the same unifying, iridescent veneer that renders ‘Tropical Disease’ the most desirable, swanky disease one could hope to contract. Not that any of this should be wildly unexpected for fans; besides being awesome, Talkie Walkie found Air resigned to being their innocuous, cheesy selves and this dependability has made them such a viable product. You know what you’re getting into with an Air album and, accordingly, any complaints made thereafter should be greeted with the friendly rebuke: “yeah dude, it’s AIR…”. How Godin and Dunckel masterminded this immunity to fair criticism is almost certainly a stroke of luck, not genius, but Love 2, in all its fey-posh-loveliness, deserves the benefit of most doubts.

What is surprising about Air’s latest is its tourist approach to genre and sound, hopscotching back and forth between exotic jams ('Tropical Disease') and chilled-out complexity ('African Velvet'). Following Pocket Symphony’s cohesive-to-a-fault sullenness, it’s perhaps a knee-jerk response that Love 2 is easily the band’s most eclectic offering. Yet despite some overbearing cosmetic differences, these two albums are joined in their sketch-like compositions, as if Godin and Dunckel’s strategy was to ride an idea until all its sonic possibilities were explored. Playing Hyde to Pocket Symphony’s Jeckyll, Love 2 is not only the latest chapter in Air’s space-rock adventure, it’s a sequel that triumphs its predecessor.

(This review was originally published on No Ripcord... )