Category: Music

Rating: 75%

When Sharon Van Etten sings “I do,” on the second track, “For You,” from her debut LP, “Because I Was In Love,” we do not imagine altars or fresh flowers, no bridesmaids or groomsmen, no priests or witnesses. Rather, the words slip from somber lips to fill her empty bedroom. Pictures of her beloved lay spread across her sheets, spilling from an up-ended shoebox, tattered from the months spent inside her closet. A pressed rose falls from the diary she’s reading, blood red and bone dry. Mascara runs down her cheeks and the ashtray is full. Empty wine glasses line her side table to the point of falling off.

Whoever he is, he is gone, that much is clear, and we spend eleven tracks tragically learning this fact, listening to her confessions and questions over minimally forlorn arrangements. And we are somehow transfixed, because in one way or another, we have all been there. We have lost someone, whether it be a lover, a friend, a family member. We know the tragedy she issues forth song after song.

But enough hyperbole and metaphor; onto the album.

Recorded in a small studio by Greg Weeks (of the band Espers), “Because I was In Love,” is a melancholy selection of songs, comprised mostly of lazily plucked acoustic guitar with the occasional tambourine, organ, or bass as an accompaniment (never all at once, mind you), the music never truly soars.

I think what kept me hooked on this album after a few listens was her transfixing vocal delivery. I am a sucker for haunting and non-girly female singers (see Marissa Nadler, Alela Diane, Neko Case, Meg Baird), and Van Etten reaches deep inside our rib cage to tug on our heart strings in the most delicate of ways. Using words like melancholy, bittersweet, somber or forlorn to describe her, you may suspect this to be an optimist’s worst nightmare; and you would be partially right. But her melodies and sincerely emotional delivery are just so beautifully heartbreaking to hastily write off in such a fashion.

If you have the patience, Sharon Van Etten will let you glimpse inside her breaking heart, and you will feel an oneness to listen. “I’m a tornado. You are the dust you’re all around,” she sings about halfway into the album; a piece of insight that maybe it wasn’t all her lover’s fault after all.

But her blessing is her curse, as there is no sense of healing or evolution here, just an even set of songs all aimed at the same lonely mantra: “I messed up, I’m lost, and I don’t know how to fix it.” A few rays of sun, even if taunting, may go a long way to round out Van Etten’s repertoire on her sophomore offering. Time will tell.

Mp3. “For You”
Mp3. “Tornado”
Mp3. “I Wish I Knew”

Average Rating: 71.5%

(Side 1: 88%; Side 2: 55%)

Listening to Rhode Island’s own Deer Tick is like trying to eat a walnut. You have to crack through an impenetrable outer shell before enjoying the tasty part inside. Case in point: To experience the textured songwriting, the dusty melodies and earnest instrumentation, you have to get past the fact that John McCauley sounds like he’s doing a constant impersonation of Popeye the Sailor Man. This single fact may be the central reason many a listener won’t give Deer Tick a chance.

And it’s a cryin’ shame.

Because Deer Tick are — alongside bands like Bright Eyes, Modest Mouse, Band of Horses, Okkervil River and even Arcade Fire — a band defined more by their collective spirit than by the tonal quality of their lead singer. These East Coasters move effortlessly from the back porches of the Mississippi Delta complete with screen porches and  moonshine to the Texarkana saloons complete with tumbleweeds and spur-clad cowboy boots. They’re as authentic a country rock’n’roll band (with a penchant for the blues) as any you’re like to hear, which is at once the best and worst thing about their sophomore album.

Because for all its promise and potential, there’s a problem with Born On Flag Day which can’t be overlooked. A problem best described by taking you through the album, track by track. Let’s get started…

Side 1 (The Pain of Stayin’ Sober)

1. “Easy,” kicks off the album like an anthem for love-torn souls plagued with silver-lined heartbreak juxtaposed against murderous thoughts of revenge. Vintage Deer Tick, right? Dark, moody, up-tempo and unkempt. Full of spirit. I can feel McCauley’s pain, I share it with him. And I’m hooked. A good start to what could be a great album, and the song you’re most likely going to hear on the radio.

2. “Little White Lies,” follows next and starts off slow. I begin to worry whether we may have lost the tightly tuned songwriting and earnest delivery of yore. In the end I’d say this is one of the lesser songs of the front five tracks, but the change-up just past the two-minute mark grabs me by my flannel collar and throws me into the next track with a smile.

3. “Smith Hill,” is a heart-wrenching, soaring ballad which demonstrates a band coming into their own with important, memorable songs. Everything just comes together here. The peaks and valleys, the chill emotion in every word “I can drink myself to death tonight. I can stand and give a toast. To those who made it out alive, but it’s you I miss the most.”. This song might define the evolution of Deer Tick most succinctly. It’s also the song I want to listen to over and over again.

4. Hollow and barren, yet resonant for all its vacancy, “Song About a Man,” crescendos with a harmonica before retreating back into the creaky saloon where it came from. McCauley’s viewpoint comes through in the songwriting yet again: “How can a man feel anything, when all he’s ever got was sympathy?” A question I’ve never asked myself, yet it makes you wonder…

5. The guitar riff on “Houston, TX,” cascades beautifully, like a finely wrought Iron & Wine song, yet doesn’t resemble Sam Beam in any substantive way. We roll along a dirt road in a muddy pick-up and the sun’s just about to set. Everything’s all right as we ride off into the distance, with McCauley singin’ “Oh move on, oh move on.” And so we keep on moving.

Side 2 (The Joy of Gettin’ Shitcanned)

But wait, there’s still another five tracks, right? So what am I doing driving off into the sunset you ask? Damn, you caught me. It’s just that… well I wish I could stop right now, because the rest of this until-now potential-filled album doesn’t hold a bottle rocket to the first five songs. Side 2 finds a different, lesser iteration of Deer Tick in just about every fathomable way.

This is the side of Deer Tick I hoped had been purged on War Elephant. The gravely emotion is replaced by lackluster honkey tonk homage, with John McCauley vying to open for Marty Stewart and George Strait on the next big Country & Western festival circuit. Summerfest here we come!

6. “Straight Into a Storm,” is something you might dance to at your local tavern, sawdust on the dancefloor, quarter in the jukebox. The only problem is that when you finally touch boot to hardwood floor you’re surrounded by your grandparents and all their friends. They love this song, and so you start to hate it.

7. On “Friday XIII,” McCauley makes a valiant effort to add some dimension with, dare I say it, a duet? I remember when Songs:Ohia made their Magnolia Electric Co. album. Three new vocalists joined the fray, including Jenny Benford, bringing something new to Molina’s music we hadn’t heard before. The only problem here is, this song is more a demonstration in getting drunk and fooling around with your girlfriend in her mom’s bedroom than it is a song of any true note. “So let’s get back to what, all that was fair and just, oh won’t you please love me again?” they croon during the chorus, and I feel like somehow they’re pleading directly to me.

8. “The Ghost,” had me yawning from the start, and nodding off by the end. I don’t mind a sleepy ballad, but when the songwriting devolves to lines like: “Oh you don’t have to say anything. But you have got to mean everything,” you have to wonder where the McCauley of old (just a few tracks old, specifically) ran off to? He sings off key in many places here, but not in the forgiving way borne of emotional delivery. Here I’m reminded of “What Kind of Fool Am I?” and I can’t help but wince.

9. “Hell On Earth,” is easily the strongest of this batch of songs, and for me the only bright spot on the back five. They took a down-trodden narrative and pushed it somewhere noteworthy, the way “Smith Hill,” proved they could do earlier on. Despite a slightly predictable and flat structure, I liked this melody enough to stick it out a little longer.

10. Deer Tick still don’t know how to end an album it seems, as “Stung,” tries desperately to take us out with a drunken doo wop flare. McCauley almost gets me to care through the first verse, even though it’s all a bit bad karaoke and too many Zimas to my ears. When the chorus finally kicks in I realize this is the last song of the album, the last song! and I’m fighting the nagging urge to skip back to the beginning and try to forget it ended like this.

Conclusion

But there’s not enough Coors Light in all of Rhode Island to drown out the memory of four of the last five tracks. They will live on in our iTunes this Flag Day and the next one and the one after that. Things started off so well Deer Tick, but something went wrong. Can I forgive you? Of course, but not until you release your second LP later this year. Maybe you can call it Born On Labor Day, and work a little harder on crafting ten songs to match the promise of the first five here?

11. Oh, there’s also a bonus song at the end of the last track, a cover of “Goodnight Irene,” sung in what sounds to be a friend’s kitchen complete with PBR’s cracking open and laughter and screaming in the din. It’s as warm and fuzzy as it is forgettable, though it might still have been a better choice to end the album than “Stung,” was. I’m just sayin’.

Mp3. “Easier”
Mp3. “Smith Hill”

Cinematic. Somber. Tragic. Desperate. Beautiful. So ebbs this stunning track “The Motorist,” off the newest EP of the same name, from the band Arms and Sleepers.

Opening with glitchy samples, a distant screeching, and bittersweet keyboard work, we discover in layers what darkness and beauty together was always supposed to sound like. The forlorn piano emerges near the end, escaping the hectic, crashy percussion for a moment before washing away from shore, and thus washing the song’s narrative sample away with it, lost in the whispery echoes of our memory.

“Sometimes, I feel, like a motherless child.”

Listen to the Mp3.
Visit their Myspace.

Album Rating: 96.666%

First off, you should never judge a book by its cover. Unless that cover is for Portugal. The Man’s upcoming album, The Satanic Satanist (See the artwork below if you don’t believe me).

The band’s fourth proper LP drops on July 21, and boy oh boy is it a doozie. Its eleven tracks play like a collection of distilled moments of clarity for a band who continue to evolve and perfect and experiment with their sound. Well, after several hearty listens, I have to say I hope this album becomes not just another mile marker along their musical journey, but rather a beacon off shore, a light source as they sail ahead into the deeper, darker waters of notoriety. Because, if my suspicions are correct about the eminent reception of this album, they will need that beacon in the same way Modest Mouse needed it after Moon & Antarctica. (At this point, however, Modest Mouse need a life-boat to get back on board, but I digress.)

So what does The Satanic Satanist sound like, you ask? Well, if you have followed Portugal. The Man’s previous albums, starting with Waiter: “You Vultures!”, you will have seen an evolution from post-emo spazz rock to more of an art-folk indie vibe (is that even a vibe?). This album, however, is something different entirely. It’s actually deceptively hard to define, but if you will indulge an analogy for a moment: Imagine The Pixies calling up 311 (don’t ask) and inviting them over to Frank Black’s manse to throw a Sly and the Family Stone appreciation party. But half-way through the gala, evil cousins Ween crash in and send the whole night flying off course. And yet, somehow, impossibly, it all works, like a good magic trick.

There are hints of Yeasayer here, though not in a direct way; I think it has something to do with the fluctuating falsettos and experimental nature of both bands. There is also a spacey, pulpy, Jack Vance sci-fi undertone to several of the songs, but I’ll get to that later. You could do worse than to throw Phoenix into the mix as a point of loose comparison as well, for its laser-precise production and sheer pop appeal.

Reputed producer Paul Q. Kolderie, who has produced / mixed / engineered for such bands as Radiohead, Pixies, Uncle Tupelo, Lemonheads and Dinosaur Jr., produced The Satanic Satanist, which, when you listen to the fluidity and refinement of each track, I’d say it shows. It all flows so smoothly; the songs wash over you like the tide, slipping into your subconscious before you ever know what hit you. But by then, it’s far too late.

No song is too long (unlike this review), and if there is a guitar solo, it’s sixteen-bars, maximum. In fact, a few of the tracks are probably too short, based solely on the fact that I wanted more! Working, for the most part, within the confines of straight-ahead verse/chorus/verse structures along with the predictable refrains, bridges, reprises, and breakdowns of pop albums near and far, I found myself wondering how this album continued to surprise me turn after turn.

The lead vocals courtesy frontman John Gourley transform tightly wound, simple productions into all-out anthems. Crooning falsetto melds into quasi-rapping only to be proceded by the ooh’s and ahh’s we’ve come to know and love within the indie über-genre. He’s no Josh Groban, but I’ll take Gourley’s earnest brand of vocal delivery over the former any day of the week.

On the album opener, “People Say,” a very Ween a la “Your Party,” bass line kicks things off, until the chorus steals the show, reminding us why we loved bands like Blur and Oasis once upon a time. “What a lovely day, yeah we won the war / May have lost a million men but we’ve got a million more.” Look for your local college radio stations (XMU if you listen to satellite like I do) to play the hell out of this song (pun intended). This track reeks of song of the year potential.

The very next track, “Work All Day,” defies you not to bob your head along to its chain-gang style beat. It’s the proverbial summer bounce track, pivoting off a sick break beat and an infectious sing-in-the-shower chorus. I put it up there next to Grizzly Bear’s “Two Weeks,” as another easy contender for song of the year.

“The Sun,” reminds us why we wanted to love Magic Numbers when they first came out, but just didn’t have it in us. This is how you do it, fellas. It’s not about indulgent vocals or over-the-top production. Instead, “The Sun,” pulls it off with distant hand claps, a quirky yet convincing falsetto, and a true appreciation for the R&B greats of an almost forgotten era. “If you’re talking to the moon, the moon might sing about: / the universe shouting out: ‘I don’t need, I don’t need time.” Epic grooviness.

Other standout moments include the fuzzy, layered loveliness of “Do You,” in all of its Pixies-circa-“Where Is My Mind?” wonder; the ’64 Impala flavored badassedness of “Guns and Dogs;” and the soaring, angelic sweep of “Lovers in Love,” a song the Rosebuds wished they would have recorded when they still had the chance.

As the album unwinds, and its final three tracks lull us into a beautiful sense of quiet (dis)comfort, and the final words of the last track usher us away (“We’ll be just fine, We’ll be just fine, I don’t believe…”), you really have no choice but to circle back and play the whole thing again from the beginning, just to see if there was anything you missed, just to take the ride again.

I later discovered the entire LP is, in fact, a concept album designed to parallel a sci-fi story (written by Gourley himself, I believe) about a man who builds a rocket, is banished by his king, then flies into space in said rocket, and crash lands back onto Earth later on (but the planet is completely void of any signs of life now). Ummm, ok… I’m not saying you will discover this hidden story on your own, but it does explain the undeniable sense of narrative structure to the song cycle.

Where other acts have failed in their attempt at manufacturing a successful concept album (ahem, Decemberists), Portugal. The Man succeed in the best way possible: each song maintains its own distinct identity, while an undercurrents of cohesion flows through their collective veins. It’s also worth noting that this is a gapless album, meaning many of the songs run together without any pause in the instrumentation. I usually loathe this cheese ball tactic (especially on hip-hop albums), but here it truly works to build a seamlessness and connective tissue from one chapter to the next.

As I reflect upon The Satanic Satanist, I realize there is nothing satanic about the album at all. Rather, it is nothing if not a sunny, groovy, summer soirée with hooks and riffs and anthems sent down from a troupe of bearded angels donning unkempt wings. Not a jam album per se (not quite), but a work no doubt destined to turn heads (concert and blog-heads alike) later this season. I guess that means I’ll be turning my head twice, sort of like I was possessed…

My friend Ryan Rothermel just wrapped shooting of a new promo for Portugal. The Man, along with another buddy, Robbie Johnstone. They sounded pleased and exhausted. I’m anxious to see how this bizarro setup edits together. Check out some of the behind-the-scenes shots below (check out the full set on Flickr, here).

Bat For Lashes and St. Vincent give credence to the phrase similar but different. Or is it different but similar? Either way, I want to take a moment to contrast and compare the two, and see if we can’t get to the bottom of who is better, if that is possible.

The Set-Up

Both of these bands are actually pseudonyms for two women singer/songwriters; Bat For Lashes is Natasha Khan, and St. Vincent is Annie Clark. Each have two LP’s under their belt, with each of their second respective LP’s having been released in 2009. Both women are under 30 years of age; Natasha is the older of the two at 29 (Annie is 26).

Both attended music school, with Natasha graduating from Brighton University and Annie dropping out of the Berklee College of Music after three years. Natasha won the Vanguard award in 2007. Annie won PLUG’s Female Artist of the year in 2008.

Annie’s experience in the industry began as a member of Sufjan Steven’s touring band. Natasha began recording music on her own while working as a nursery school teacher.

Annie is a Libra from Dallas, Natasha a Scorpio from Brighton. Both are brunette? Okay I’m reaching now…

The Critics

Their albums have been met with mostly critical acclaim. It’s hard to say who has made a larger impression upon the industry. St. Vincent made it to 90th on the Billboard 200 Chart, while Bat For lashes made it all the way to number 2 on the Billboard Top Heatseekers Chart. Pitchfork gave Two Suns, Bat For Lashes latest LP, an 8.5, and put her on their “Best New Music” list. St. Vincent received an eerily identical 8.5 by Pitchfork for her Actor LP, and coincidentally also made the “Best New Music” list.

The plot thickens.

The Sound

Bat For Lashes makes moody electronic music, no question about it. Her husky voice reminds us of Kate Bush and Björk at times. She conjures images of creepy dolls and lush forests and Smith’s t-shirts. Her arrangements are dense and dark, and her voice echoes against dank, damp, mossy walls. The sun shines through a swaying canopy in dusty, golden shafts.

St. Vincent sings in an also husky though more throwback style, in the spirit of mid-century acts like, I dunno, Lesley Gore maybe?Instead of gothic voo-doo dolls, Annie conjures up hallucinogenic angels flitting about heaven with neon halos. There’s a Lynchian-cum-Blue Velvet quality to her music. It is beautiful, but just a little bit off, like a porcelain patina over a rusted iron figurine.

The Verdict

It’s hard to say which of these bands are to be preferred. I think it depends on what mood you are in, and what type of a person you are. What is likely true, however, is that you would be hard-pressed to find a St. Vincent fan who doesn’t like Bat For Lashes, or vice versa.

What I find interesting is how rarely the two names come up in reviews and conversation. I’ve always noticed strong parallels between their accomplishments, even if the music itself is as different as The Stepford Wives and Lost Highway.

The Winner

Why, the listener, of course. But you saw that one coming, didn’t you?

Bat For Lashes “Daniel”

St. Vincent “Actor”

Video Rating: 78%

Patrick Daughters directed this promo for Grizzly Bear, the first of several I’m sure from their new album Veckatimest, due out May 26. In this clip, the four band members play the part of peculiar sunday school churchgoers singing their twisted hymn while seated in pews backed by stained glass panels. Shot after shot they ooh and they aah and they sing and they glow. You’ll notice fairly quickly that the band look a bit, um, different than you may have remembered. As they sing with independently blinking bug eyes and creepily rosy cheeks, we begin to suspect they have a secret they really want to share with us, and by the end we realize they most certainly do.

On paper, this promo could definitely work well and be interesting/disturbing. The problem, however, is that it requires a certain level of realism in order to succeed. I’m reminded of Chris Cunningham’s early videos and adverts, where he would distort faces to invoke a creepy, unsettling effect. He did it by convincing us that these alien humanoids really existed, and Cunningham shot them in a way where we felt he was just showing us the mutation on film.

I commend Daughters for taking a risk with this clip. The slow-motion camera work kept me engaged until the end, but I have to say it all looks a bit too Steve Madden in execution, seeming gimmicky where it could have been unnerving. The effect works better on Chris Bear and Chris Taylor than it does on Ed Droste and Daniel Rossen, though while trying to foreshadow the glowing climax of the promo, several shots come off like a Photoshop tutorial gone awry. And what was with those Sapphire Sparks filters at the end? Geez. Another nit pick, there’s a low angle quarter view shot at the end, where the band don’t have the eye effect on them; just sort of bugged me (pun intended).

In summary, amazing song, great album, mediocre launch video. Now let’s see what While You Wait for the Others and Cheerleader come out looking like when their videos arrive….

I still think they should have just used shots of my daughter dancing around to their song. Maybe I’m just a poor, jaded director after all.

I’ve been sworn to secrecy and can’t say too much, but just let me say this: I think you are all in for a very special treat come July 21, 2009.

(Album review forthcoming)

Brighton’s own British Sea Power, perhaps better known for their sweeping, sometimes raucous indie pop, have joined the ranks of other indie artists (Sigur Ros, Karen O, Jonny Greenwood, Arcade Fire, etc.) and scored a film.

So what makes this soundtrack different and original and worth a damn (or at least a serious listen)? Well, for one, the film in question is not a new film at all, but the 1934 mockumentary Man of Aran, directed by documentary pioneer Robert J. Flaherty.

Second, the album is stunningly beautiful, and one of the great surprises of 2009 as I have not formerly been a religious fan of British Sea Power.

The band were asked to create a score for the film’s 2009 DVD re-release, which isn’t a surprise considering their infatuation with chamber orchestral sonicscapes in many of their songs. I have had the pleasure of listening to the score in full (albeit not against picture, that will have to wait until this fall, when the DVD drops), and I have to say it is one of the most dark, murky, and gorgeous soundtracks of recent memory.

When listening to the album, I feel like I am lost at sea in a haunted dreamscape of ice and fog (created by my own breath) while giant sharks circle my frozen, yawing dinghy. This album has nothing in common with Neil Young’s work on Dead Man, but I have to say there are similarities in the way both have used space and emptiness to create unease and subsequent tension and release. There is also a post-rock quality to some of the later tracks which conjure up the arrangements of Explosions in the Sky and Grails.

I wish I could witness British Sea Power performing their score to the film itself next Thursday at the London screening of the film. If anybody has the good fortune to experience it, pray share afterward.

I will leave you with a track I’ve fallen in love with ever since Koen Mortier reprised it in his RVS insurance spot a couple of years back. The ‘Power have reimagined “Come Wander With Me”, a song originally from an episode of The Twilight Zone (written by Jeff Alexander, performed by Bonnie Beecher), but also has appeared in Vincent Gallo’s Brown Bunny, as well as having been covered by our second favorite Frenchies Air).

The ‘Power’s version include hauntingly beautiful use of cello and distant brass, funereal brush kit rhythms, and dirge-like layered vocals. What’s not to love? Oh, and is that Victoria Legrand of Beach House singing? I wonder…

Wander With Me

Last night I saw a ghost.

His name was Casper and he had six friends with him. Gaunt, pale, wide eyed and otherworldly, Casper sang to me. He sang to all of us. Last night.

I’m talking, of course, about Casper Clausen, frontman of the band Efterklang. They played the Mercury Lounge in NYC and if I only had one word, the show was EPIC.

I remember the cavernous venue and the rim-lit players cast in red and green lights (odd, it did feel a bit like a Christmas present, but whether belated or early who can say?). I remember the TOP GUN t-shirt and the mustaches. I remember the girl, over there in the corner, the only one not moving around the stage like a doubled-over Greek waiter.

And I remember the music. The swelling, soaring, air tight music. Some old songs, and some new ones, but it didn’t really matter (although the new ones gave me that tingly, prophetic “album-of-the-year” feeling, seriously).

I remember the violin and the flute, and the harmonies of an angel. I remember Casper’s liberal use of drumsticks and kazoo, his persistently piercing vocal delivery and clever banter. On paper, this should have been a hodgepodge of instruments and sounds, all messy and experimental. And yet, in person it was harmonious and composed, and striving for perfection. It was more ambitious and yet more cohesive than, say, an Arcade Fire concert. How unexpected, and blissful for us all.

I remember the encore. Oh, the encore. The one where they asked us (very Danishly, ie. kindly) to sing a melody for them, which we all did. They flipped the script on us, and began layering their music over OUR collective singing (which sounded eerie and beautiful, actually). They brought the drums in, and played alongside our choral wonder.

And I mean that literally: they took the snare, the kick, the high hat, and walked right off stage and into the crowd, only to set up camp right next to yours truly. We formed a circle around them as their drumming got faster and faster. We tried to keep up our singing, and did a fair job of it. But Casper helped us out, wailing his heart out in a slick sheen of serendipitous sweat.

And then… it was over. We were all left breathless, in awe of the ghost who had possibly touched our very souls (I can prove it, my jeans were even vibrating. Wait. What?). I’m still a little breathless, if truth be told.

This was Efterklang as I never remember hearing them. These songs swelled and washed over us like waves crashing against a rocky shore. One song after the other utilized the same recipe of layering and building until we couldn’t hear ourselves thinking how amazing it all was. Only after it was all over could we make sense of that thought clearly enough to analyze it.

I have to go re-listen to Efterklang now, because the band I remember seemed much more carnival than funeral. More experimental than cinematic; but not tonight. After tonight, I feel like they deserve their very own orchestra.

And yet… maybe they don’t need one at all. Ghosts can be tricky that way.

Mp3 – Site – Myspace

This Saturday, March 28, Matt Taylor and the guys from Aderbat will be playing a short set in support of Asha for Education at Piano’s in NYC on the LES (for some reason they aren’t listing the event on their site yet). The venue website doesn’t have it listed, but it’s $15/person with 100% of the proceeds going to Asha.

A band I can’t find anything about called Come Together will open the show at 8:00p, followed by Cold Spring’s own Dana Edelman at 9:30p. Aderbat play at 10:30p, and Eighty East (think CSN&Y meets Slumdog) close the show at 11:30p. It should be a fun night, a good mix of bands.

Their Myspace page has the concert listed, and you can check out some of their songs in Mp3 form on their Blog.

Let’s all go! I’ll be the guy in the corner avoiding people and listening to the lyrics the whole time.

It’s not like St. Vincent’s previous album Marry Me lacked in the area of chillingly poison-sweet awesomeness, but if her latest single (released on Annie’s website this afternoon) is an indication of things to come, we are all in for some tasty treats.

This track is titled “The Strangers” and is somewhat of a magical romp through clouds both angelic and stormy, with a recurring line evoking the paradox of Annie Clark’s music. After hearing “paint the black hole blacker,” throughout the song, it’s hard to fathom the heavenly journey she is taking us through (note the Sistine Chapelesque choral bookends contrasted against the apocalyptic cavalry of fuzzed out guitars around the 2:30 mark).

Okay enough of my ramblings, just enjoy the song for St. Vincent’s sake. And get ready for May 5, when Actors is unveiled (or later this week in its low-quality glory, if the plight of Grizzly Bear is any indicator).

Listen to “The Strangers”

My daughter likes the new song, Two Weeks from the upcoming Grizzly Bear album, Veckatimest. Here’s some proof:

It was an accident, I tell you. A grizzly affair, truly. The dory just crept to the foreground, forced me to pull it from the black waters. If it didn’t sound so beautiful, I would have thrown it back, done an about face. I promise.

It might not be the best quality meat, but… I… just… can’t… let… go. Not ready, nor able. I’ll digest this one while I wait for the others.

Oh, and about the opera, dory. I was wrong.

In other news.

I went to see Grizzly Bear perform with the Brooklyn Philharmonic at BAM in Brooklyn, at the Howard Gilman Opera House. Guess where Grizzly Bear are from? You guessed it. This was sort of a homecoming for them, and I believe it was their first performance since finishing their forthcoming album, VECKATIMEST. Their last performance was in October.

So how was the show?

Well, I really wanted to see the opening act, Final Fantasy, which is fronted by Owen Pallett, the guy who writes arrangements for the likes of Arcade Fire, Beirut, Patrick Wolf and so on. Unfortunately, I mismanaged the evening and was eating dinner through most of his set; I only got to hear the end of his last song, and it sounded spectacular. He would know what to do with that orchestra.

All that aside, I have to say I left the show wanting a little more. Grizzly Bear definitely performed well, and the venue must have been their best venue they’ve ever performed in (this was my first time seeing them, tragically), and a perhaps bit daunting at that. And for that reason, the night came off a little bit lackluster. With the full force of the Brooklyn Philharmonic behind them, they seemed a bit like timid high-schoolers. They said themselves during their encore, after the orchestra left, how it was terrifying to have the orchestra behind them.

The set-list did include most of the strong tracks off of Yellow House (they opened with easier, which was lovely, but no knife which makes sense, but it was my first GB concert, but oh well). They played several new songs (Two Weeks , and a couple older songs they were performing for the first time, like Campfire). Several of the songs, however, had me losing my focus (Foreground, is that ironic?). They didn’t carry the distinctness of some of their stronger material, and I’m just hoping that is a product of being in their infancy live, and not a reflection of the new album’s potential. I liked their rendition of She Hit Me (It Felt Like a Kiss) a lot. Droste changed the “She” to a “He”, however, but I believe he is gay, so that would make sense? I also really liked one of the new songs where the orchestra swelled with the band at the song’s climax (Ready, Able).

Daniel Rossen stole the show for me, with his kermit banjo moment and otherwise sharp, hautning vocals. Ed Droste was on point vocally, but there was so much much reverb on his mic I wondered if I was hearing flashes of Morten Harket. Meanwhile, Chris Taylor was channeling his best Jonny Greenwood impression, going so far as to play his pan flute from a crouched position for some unknown reason. Chris Bear was busy flailing his bangs to and fro, frolicking with his tambourine-adorned high hat, and generally driving the ladies wild with his boyish good looks.

I attended the show with my friend Patrick, who was marveling on the subway at how much better Lykke Li was to him in concert than on her album. I have to say the opposite was true tonight for me. I didn’t get the same magic that drew me to Grizzly Bear in the first place. Maybe it was my mood, being lost in Manhattan with family so far away. I don’t know.

For the most part, I found the set to be overly quiet, bordering on lethargic, and everything just felt a touch bland to my ears. Several of their classic tracks (little brother) sounded slightly elevator music-ish in the hands of Michael Christie and his orchestra.

At any rate, I can’t say I want my money back (there was defnitely plenty to enjoy), but I can’t put it on any Top 10’s either. Let’s just hope the new album makes up for what I missed out on tonight.

One of the better songs of the night, most recently appearing on the Dark was the Night compilation:

Watch on Vimeo

“Deep Blue Sea” @ lofi.tv.

Yeah, I suppose there are elements of Midlake and Arcade Fire and Devotchka here (and a track that really reminded me of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah’s, “The Skin of my Yellow Country Teeth”), but lead singer Simon Balthazar’s London indie pop band seem to embrace the grandiose and lush sound with guilt-free arms.

Trumpets, violins, mandolins, timpani and harmonies galore adorn their latest LP, Reservoir, and I have to say, even with Andrew Bird’s Noble Beast, Alela Diane’s To Be Still and Fever Ray’s self-titled debut all heavily on my radar, Fanfarlo’s album is currently sitting at the top of my list for year’s best.

Please check them out, here’s are some samples…

Listen to I’m a Pilot,
The Walls are Coming Down,
and Comets.

Not sure where this originated, but I saw that my friend Lee Gardner had done the list on Facebook. I did one of my own for fun (see the comments), and it was amazing. Check it out, and post your own results in the comments. I impolore you!!

RULES:

1. Put your iPod, iTunes, Windows Media Player, etc. on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS.
4. Have Fun!

If someone says ‘are you okay’ you say….?

How would you describe yourself?

What do you look for in a guy/girl?

How do you feel today?

What is your life’s purpose?

What’s your motto?

What do your friends think of you?

What do your parents think of you?

What do you think about very often?

What do you think about your first kiss?

What do you think of your best friend?

What is your life story?

What do you want to be when you grow up?

What do you think when you see the person you like?

What will you dance to at your wedding?

What will they play at your funeral?

What is your hobby/interest?

What is your biggest fear?

What is your biggest secret?

What do you want right now?

What do you think of your friends?

What will you post this as?

If you haven’t heard of Alela Diane, now is the time. Imagine Marissa Nadler and Dido throwing a going away party for Meg Baird of The Espers, and they all sat around the table holding hands in a seance and accidentally conjured up the spectral visage of Alela Diane. (Cat Power was invited, but she never showed up.)

If that isn’t obtuse enough, try listening to her songs only once. It’s not possible; they are far too pleasant and far too unsettling. Banjos light up the room beneath her minor key, and as she slips in and out of falsetto, layered acoustic guitars line the entrance to keep you stuck under her folk-laden witchcraftian spell.

“White As Diamonds”
“The Ocean”
“Tatted Lace”

This is my favorite Radiohead cover, from a band called Calico Horse, including several members of the now-defunct band The Clock Work Army. It’s a cover of Idioteque, one of the few electro-synth tracks I really like by them.

Lead singer Emily Neveu casts Thom’s lyrics in a new light without mucking up the melodies whatsoever. The hallucinogenic bent suits the original material well, and the sparse presentation of the music is right up my alley.

I particularly like the simple use of a tambourine to keep tempo. I can picture the lead singer lazily crashing it against her hip over and over. Sure beats a drum machine.

Listen to “Idioteque”
by Calico Horse.

This b-side on Bon Iver’s 4AD-released EP “For Emma, Forever Ago,” evokes whispers of a haunted winter. It’s just beginning to be autumn, but I still enjoy the chill in this recording. I also appreciate any song giving props to my home state. Listen for the chorus, when his voice rises above its confiding murmur.

“Wisconsin” – Mp3

This isn’t the newest video, but perhaps slightly overlooked. My friend Rian Johnson directed this mind-bending clip. There are no post visual effects, no slick compositing. All of this was done in-camera.

Stick with this through the first chorus at least. True power pop. Recorded in 1995. This one’s for those who thought Amy Grant was too “edgy”.

It took them 30 years to get back together and make an album, and here it is: Everything That Happens Will Happen Today is available to stream on their site (the entire album), there’s a free download, and the album is about ten bucks. I’m more of an Eno man than a Byrne fanatic, but this album sounds lovely.

I like Antony and the Johnsons. I like Tindersticks. I like Mark Eitzel. And yes, I do like Morrissey, too. So I guess I’m guilty by association, because I also like Wild Beasts, whose frontman Tom Fleming Hayden Hayden Thorpe is a curious blend of all of those singers (to me anyways).

Check out one of their songs, “The Devil’s Crayon,” and if you dig it, go buy their album on their site.