"It's such a shame/I heard the wind say this morning
Be still, my heart/I age by years at the mention of your name"
~Behold the Hurriance
The Horrible Crowes, Elsie
That's a loaded line right there, isn't it? Don't we all know those people, those who snap us back to the moment we met them? When a too-quick second-held glance fills your chest with defeat or regret or love or whatevewr it may be, and you're flooded by perspective.
Like a fool, I read all the buzz about Brian Fallon's side project The Horrible Crowes without actually listening to it for quite some time. Now I've purchased "Elsie," and I'm fawning over it quite a bit.
("Sugar" was my acoustic triumph and tribute, it was quite a fun project.)
The whole album is a dance-hall flirtation, an affair played out in bars and loud cars with patron saints hanging from the rearview mirror.
Fallon's vocal are easily more impressive on this project than on The Gaslight Anthem records, which makes me really fucking stoked for 2012's "Handwritten." His phrasing is pure theater, but his tone is the grittiness you'd except from a sexy, sleeved Jersey rocker, and he plays around with range a lot throughout the album and individual songs, making for wonderful contrasts. Which, come to think of it, is a good word for this album - it's love and it's regret, it's heartfelt and a little trashy.
"Elsie," in true Fallon form, rips out your heart just so you can dance on it yourself. Admittedly, I find myself playing individual tracks from the first half of the album a little more than the latter now that I've listened to the whole thing. But piano-driven "Black Betty and the Moon" and "Crush" feel like Billy Joel at his most pop-poetic, and I dig it. I dig it all.
And then there's "Ladykiller," chill-inducing, lost love testament, when all the reasons for the pain al right htere in your face. Here, let's watch a stripped-down live version, and you shall see what I mean:
"And how about this for a good one
Maybe we don't ever come down
I can leave the wound wide open
And maybe see if I can tough it out
Let it pour over my head
All your shame and your history
And see if I say a thing
As it rolls up inside of me
And you must've met a man
Tall and handsome at that
Who must've put a spell on you, baby
And must've kept on coming back
Cause I can smell him in your skin
I bet I taste him in your blood
Must be all the young boys, baby
Lady killer got the two of us"
~Ladykiller
The Horrible Crowes, Elsie
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
3/30/12
"I'm just a dreamer/but I'm hanging on/though I am nothing big to offer"
"Sometimes the blues just a passing bird
And why can't that always be?
Tossing aside from your bichers crown
Just enough dark to see
How you're the light over me"
~The Dreamer
The Tallest Man on Earth, Sometimes the Blues Just a Passing Bird
First of all, I just know the guy's name is Kristian Matsson and he is Swedish, so this isn't a well-researched post. I can say The Tallest Man on Earth makes me very happy and less lonely when I am very pensive, and alone.
I can also tell you I got out of bed this morning just so I could listen to this song. Sometimes the blues is just a passing bird, and why can't that always be? Sounds like fucking Robert Frost or something.
I get a half Dylan, half Jeff Buckley vibe, portrait-painting and revealing. The guitar tones in this song make me unbelievably happy, though he picks from a variety of instruments on recordings and in live performances (according to YouTube). A lot of the parts aren't terrifically complicated, though he has a fantastic melodic ear and unbelievable songwriting. You don't need virtuoso playing with those ingredients in a song like this one though. You just let it speak for itself.
It is a simple song, from a simple point of view. Those of you who say the world has too many singer-songwriters, that it's too hard to keep them all straight, (I know you're out there) shut your mouths! Let them write, let them sing, and let me sit here and press replay.
This too:
"Sometimes the blues just a passing bird
And why can't that always be?
Tossing aside from your bichers crown
Just enough dark to see
How you're the light over me"
~The Dreamer
The Tallest Man on Earth, Sometimes the Blues Just a Passing Bird
First of all, I just know the guy's name is Kristian Matsson and he is Swedish, so this isn't a well-researched post. I can say The Tallest Man on Earth makes me very happy and less lonely when I am very pensive, and alone.
I can also tell you I got out of bed this morning just so I could listen to this song. Sometimes the blues is just a passing bird, and why can't that always be? Sounds like fucking Robert Frost or something.
I get a half Dylan, half Jeff Buckley vibe, portrait-painting and revealing. The guitar tones in this song make me unbelievably happy, though he picks from a variety of instruments on recordings and in live performances (according to YouTube). A lot of the parts aren't terrifically complicated, though he has a fantastic melodic ear and unbelievable songwriting. You don't need virtuoso playing with those ingredients in a song like this one though. You just let it speak for itself.
It is a simple song, from a simple point of view. Those of you who say the world has too many singer-songwriters, that it's too hard to keep them all straight, (I know you're out there) shut your mouths! Let them write, let them sing, and let me sit here and press replay.
This too:
Monday, March 26, 2012
3/26/12
Acoustic Jim Adkins, on one of my favorite Futures tracks:
Is it wrong that Arizona is on my list of "places I'd like to live" partially because I could catch Jimmy Eat World gigs like this?
"i'll pick up put down the phone/like your favorite Heatmeiser song goes/it's just like being alone"
~Kill
Jimmy Eat World, Futures
Is it wrong that Arizona is on my list of "places I'd like to live" partially because I could catch Jimmy Eat World gigs like this?
"i'll pick up put down the phone/like your favorite Heatmeiser song goes/it's just like being alone"
~Kill
Jimmy Eat World, Futures
Sunday, March 25, 2012
3/25/12
Oh, wow, this song. It got stuck in my head sometime yesterday around 7 o'clock maybe, as I was waking from an accidental nap and snuggling up to blankets, a cat and the 'Cuse game.
*Unfortunately I can't find a version like the one on my circa-2004 mix CD, acoustic without the rather unsuitable drum loop. Let the record show I do not approve.*
Here I am today, as I was the day before that and will be tomorrow, trudging along through tasks and assignments and life in hopes of some sort of gratification, satisfaction, maybe even a raise someday. Is there really nothing else to be offered right now? Nothing but chances emboldened by memories.
"I don't remember what it used to be like
The things that I'm not proud of
And the only reason I kept coming back to you
Was 'cause I thought I was in love
But I don't think about you anymore
And I wonder what the hell I came here for
When I'd rather just fall right off of your floor
And come beautifully undone"
There is the past, tangible, like pictures of happy times when you were younger. They are there for reflection, inspiration, but you will not find your answer in it.
Why do we look for answers in a time that no longer exists? Why do I think there's growth to be found on lands I've clearly scoured? When did I lose my way, and how do I get it back, and are the keys what I think they are, or are those distractions? These are questions I ask when trying to sleep, and when waking up from accidental naps.
"I don't recall San Francisco at all
It falls right from my memory
And the only place that really exists
Is where you thought you'd found me
But I don't think about you anymore
And I wonder what the hell I came here for
When I'd rather just fall right off of your floor
And come beautifully undone"
~Beautifully Undone
Lindy
*Unfortunately I can't find a version like the one on my circa-2004 mix CD, acoustic without the rather unsuitable drum loop. Let the record show I do not approve.*
Here I am today, as I was the day before that and will be tomorrow, trudging along through tasks and assignments and life in hopes of some sort of gratification, satisfaction, maybe even a raise someday. Is there really nothing else to be offered right now? Nothing but chances emboldened by memories.
"I don't remember what it used to be like
The things that I'm not proud of
And the only reason I kept coming back to you
Was 'cause I thought I was in love
But I don't think about you anymore
And I wonder what the hell I came here for
When I'd rather just fall right off of your floor
And come beautifully undone"
There is the past, tangible, like pictures of happy times when you were younger. They are there for reflection, inspiration, but you will not find your answer in it.
Why do we look for answers in a time that no longer exists? Why do I think there's growth to be found on lands I've clearly scoured? When did I lose my way, and how do I get it back, and are the keys what I think they are, or are those distractions? These are questions I ask when trying to sleep, and when waking up from accidental naps.
"I don't recall San Francisco at all
It falls right from my memory
And the only place that really exists
Is where you thought you'd found me
But I don't think about you anymore
And I wonder what the hell I came here for
When I'd rather just fall right off of your floor
And come beautifully undone"
~Beautifully Undone
Lindy
3/25/12
Apparently Look Mexico is into hunting, subject matter suitable for the video to their first track of their 2010 release, which is in my daily rotation. Illuminating the everyman, he who hangs with friends and kisses hounds, it makes the band seem pretty fun. But I think there's more to say for this song than the video says, though.
There's fed-up anger here, and it speaks to me in time signatures.
"When you live out your time/In hope of impossibility/We stripped down lies/We treated you like family/Credit where credit is due/Now the bureau is looking for me/So as you thank us for our patience/Expect something else, not a thing/and I thank you/I'll thank for/Thank you for absolutely nothing"
~You Stay. I Go. No Following
Look Mexico, To Bed, To Battle
Literary worlds are inflamed wtih income inequality tales, academic journals are quick to point out problems and debate each other's solutions. Everyone's talking. But where's the music on this? It's there in a pop track or two, an occasional reference to money or fame ("I Wanna be a Billioniare," that damn song) or escape (think Coldplay's "Paradise"). Fleet Foxes did a pretty good job capturing the feeling of it all on "Helplessness Blues," but commentarywise, the album speaks to the individual far more so than the whole of the culture or its direction.
One of the constant drawbacks of pop culture is it's always trying to define itself into what it wants to be, rather than be what it is. Underground, you find the antidote. Underground, you can call the spade a spade. But I've yet to come across a force inspired recent events in recent years, unless I'm forgetting somebody.
Essentially, where is my Guerilla Radio about derivatives?
Saturday, March 24, 2012
3/24/12
You should really read this article from The Quietus by Taylor Parkes about Abbey Road studios. It's based of a talk from two historians, addressing the changes between recording of the 60s, and the recording of now, and how much gets lost on a laptop....
I love hearing "the room," in a recording, I love a rich sould full of natural unevenness, undiluted by too many mics, or too much equilibrium. I love sounds made louder and fuller from more instruments, not a knob. I read this story, and I want to be in a studio; I want to see it and learn it and feel it again.
To sum up:
As for the article, it's a wonderful story, clear-eyed and detailed. Here's what The Beatles did, here's what Floyd did, here's how the engineers worked. Turns out, the studio wasn't top-of-the-line at its heyday, a style that aided, if not defined, its favor among artists. You're transported right there, in front of the four-track recorders and ordinary wall cupboards and gawky Britishisms highlighting the way. The story is deeply inspired, the way it should be, the way so many stories aren't.
I remember when I felt I could write about people and places and things that way. It's been some time. I start to fear, have I lost it? The ability altogether? Or just the inspiration? Last night, I considered this, while talking to old friends -- "At least then I'd have something to fucking write about again" -- I was half-joking, but in that way where the truth pulls the shades up from your eyes in an instant and all you see is what you've been missing.
"Once there was a way
To get back homeward
Once there was a way
To get back
Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby"
~Golden Slumbers
The Beatles, Abbey Road
I love hearing "the room," in a recording, I love a rich sould full of natural unevenness, undiluted by too many mics, or too much equilibrium. I love sounds made louder and fuller from more instruments, not a knob. I read this story, and I want to be in a studio; I want to see it and learn it and feel it again.
To sum up:
“And Studio Two has something that modern recording studios can't offer,” adds Kevin. “Because in the early days the technology wasn't sophisticated enough to alter or enhance the sound after the fact, so you had to make sure the source material was as good as it could be. So they laboured over making the rooms as sonically pleasing as they could be, and that room is unique – everything sounds good in it.”
As for the article, it's a wonderful story, clear-eyed and detailed. Here's what The Beatles did, here's what Floyd did, here's how the engineers worked. Turns out, the studio wasn't top-of-the-line at its heyday, a style that aided, if not defined, its favor among artists. You're transported right there, in front of the four-track recorders and ordinary wall cupboards and gawky Britishisms highlighting the way. The story is deeply inspired, the way it should be, the way so many stories aren't.
I remember when I felt I could write about people and places and things that way. It's been some time. I start to fear, have I lost it? The ability altogether? Or just the inspiration? Last night, I considered this, while talking to old friends -- "At least then I'd have something to fucking write about again" -- I was half-joking, but in that way where the truth pulls the shades up from your eyes in an instant and all you see is what you've been missing.
"Once there was a way
To get back homeward
Once there was a way
To get back
Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby"
~Golden Slumbers
The Beatles, Abbey Road
Sunday, March 18, 2012
3/18/12
Oh everything will really be just fine, won't it? It's kind of like a joke, the stomach-sinking pitfalls of petty socialization that plauge the mind for a day or two before you realize, oh, wait, this is a familiar place. It's dangerous territory, that familiarity that can comfort a frightened heart, but disappoint the eager mind.
On the one hand, you can find your footing when you know it's the same old, same old, day in, day out - on the other hand, what the hell do you have to lose by daring to live different?
"and she dealt with it
cause she could't ignore
the better world they left before"
~Time For You To Go Do Your Own Thing
Look Mexico, To Bed To Battle
This is some band, this Look Mexico, they are kind of groovy in a post-emo, pre-hardcore way, like Minus the Bear but a little spacier/angier. Fueled by punk sensibilities. I know I am a bit late on their discovery, but strumbling across their YouTube videos a couple days ago proves a pleasing discovery.
I am focusing my mind on a soft-volume rendition from the built-in speakers on my work computer, hoping that a little bit of something new but familiar enough will assure me that yes, settled isn't so bad sometimes. I am hoping this day goes by fast. I am hoping for other things, too.
On the one hand, you can find your footing when you know it's the same old, same old, day in, day out - on the other hand, what the hell do you have to lose by daring to live different?
"and she dealt with it
cause she could't ignore
the better world they left before"
~Time For You To Go Do Your Own Thing
Look Mexico, To Bed To Battle
This is some band, this Look Mexico, they are kind of groovy in a post-emo, pre-hardcore way, like Minus the Bear but a little spacier/angier. Fueled by punk sensibilities. I know I am a bit late on their discovery, but strumbling across their YouTube videos a couple days ago proves a pleasing discovery.
I am focusing my mind on a soft-volume rendition from the built-in speakers on my work computer, hoping that a little bit of something new but familiar enough will assure me that yes, settled isn't so bad sometimes. I am hoping this day goes by fast. I am hoping for other things, too.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
3/13/12
So, Lovedrug released "Wild Blood" last week. There's little chance I will do this album justice, should I attempt to write a review. Maybe because I already love it so much, because it's warm outside and "Wild Blood" sounds so damn good blasted loud with the windows down and true connections with records can be so hard to find.
I love this album, and I love this band. With an ambitious sound and a live show to die for, Lovedrug has long stood out among indie bands as a group with true mastery of their craft. The type of band you could call on to write any type of song, and they'd give it to you - a theory proven in a cover album released this past winter in the run-up to the full-length release.
"Wild Blood" has just enough of a point to prove, just enough swagger propelling the sentiment.
"we'll fight the hipster hell/we'll soak it all in gasoline/got matches/we are a fire/we're cryin' out/honestly/this wild blood will set us all free/we're crying out/do you follow me/this wild blood/will set us all free" ~Wild Blood
Unafraid of tradition in an age where indie music too often relies on ones-and-zeroes, "Wild Blood" counters with a full-fledged offensive of chromatic and delayed guitar parts, heavy hooks and locked-down rhythms, singing the songs in the hearts of the tired and worn and willing to fight. It's a rallying cry for the wrecked looking for more. Though they may waltz down the road of nostalgia at times, a fervent desperation to get out, get up and get on makes for a fearless onward trek of life and love.
"sure shot/you were always my sure shot/kicking up dirt in the wrong bars/hey good lookin'/you are bad news following bad news/drunk and beautiful born to lose/and if you're wanting the truth honey/i'm falling harder and harder for you" -Pink Champagne
Words full of passion and fire glint like steel held in defense against the shadows of aging. Lovedrug doesn't shy from embracing the darker side, letting it creep into low-end driving, occasional piano chords and hazy synth tones.
Slower moments unveil heartfelt sentiment, the type of honesty often cast aside in favor of mysterious, unearned gravitas and armchair pontificating in today's lyrical catalog.
"you crawl in the fire when you're feeling down/when you feel it hurting/these ghosts have been a chasing you so/if you could violently swim to the opposite shoes/i'd be there reaching out so/i'll be your drug if you need it, i'll be the one that'll chase you so hard/i'll be the one your drug if you need it so" ~Anodyne
The album hits a steady groove with the yearning, pace-jumping "Ladders" followed by "Great Divide," with an undeniably stadium-sized bridge. Here, on this album, we have a Lovedrug that embraces the hook like never before and it is Satisfying, although they were already pretty good at it before.
"nothing good comes easy/nothing good is free" ~Great Divide
Well-toned, well-polished and luminescent, "Wild Blood" shines under what is easily the best production from Lovedrug (which is incredibly fascinating and wonderful, to me, given "Wild Blood" was funded by fans through PledgeMusic when previous releases were label-supported). Backing vocals are sprinkled carefully, with a hint of choir harmony, and barely-there auxiliary tones fill the space between.
Well, at least I can say I tried. In any case, they're on and long, windy tour and they're coming to Rochester. April 11 can't come fast enough.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
3/6/12
There is new Lovedrug, and it is beautiful. It is real, and sad and hopeful, and made for live performance.
It is Wild Blood.
Here's a softer cut:
Words that come to mind: Realized. Focused. Satisfying. Heartfelt. Heartbreaking. Joining. Sentimental. Nostalgic.
This is the album for wondering if where you've been will follow where you go.
I have much to say about this record - the songs themselves, and the band's approach - but I am getting picked up for drinks. Meanwhile, the title track chorus will be running through my head.
Meanwhile, I will be running 'round the world.
April 11 will be a show in Rochester, at the Bug Jar, which is small and grungy and dirty and freeing. I hope I will be here to see it. I hope I leave shortly after, resolving to run, propelled by momentum of knowing there's much more in this world than me and these corners.
It is Wild Blood.
Here's a softer cut:
Words that come to mind: Realized. Focused. Satisfying. Heartfelt. Heartbreaking. Joining. Sentimental. Nostalgic.
This is the album for wondering if where you've been will follow where you go.
I have much to say about this record - the songs themselves, and the band's approach - but I am getting picked up for drinks. Meanwhile, the title track chorus will be running through my head.
Meanwhile, I will be running 'round the world.
April 11 will be a show in Rochester, at the Bug Jar, which is small and grungy and dirty and freeing. I hope I will be here to see it. I hope I leave shortly after, resolving to run, propelled by momentum of knowing there's much more in this world than me and these corners.
Monday, March 5, 2012
3/5/12
A friend of mine had an extra ticket to a Matt Nathanson concert last night, and it was't until I got there that I realized a)how badly I needed a concert b)how liking Matt Nathanson is a really, really good idea.
You won't find trendsetters at his shows, you won't find the kind of people who flock to Pitchfork darlings with stupid names and laptop performances. You will find music listeners who are engaged, connected, and full of spirit for life and physical passion, qualities Nathanson sweats from every pore.
Homie's recorded nine albums. That's gotta be hard.
He was unbelievably entertaining. I saw him play acoustic once, maybe six years ago, and getting to check him out in front of a live band was a different experience, although not necessarily a worse one. Fortunately it didn't interrupt his intimacy with the audience, and he told the audience what the songs were about before he played them in the majority of instances. His preface ranged from simple - "This is about fucking" - to elaborate backstory, like when he launched into "Bent" after telling the story of a girl he once "knew" and their attempts at "rekindling."
"You turn, turn, turn, turning me on
Like a slow fire burn
Know that it's wrong
Still I run, run, run, run right into you "
Oh look, says audience member in their head. This guy has experiences, and he writes about them. I've long believed Matt Nathanson is an expert in biting, bitter honesty, tossing out lines that cut straight to the intersection of desire and despair. I could see where people would throw him the "bro" category, given all the sex-inspired talk and acoustic strumming, but poetry is poetry is poetry.
"And I'll forget about you long enough
To forget why I need to"
I was particularly peaked when he told us certain songs were penned after hearing a friend say a simple sentence or so - "I'm nobody's girlfriend," for example. Good songwriting, while springing from the depths of the soul and manufactured in creative consciousness, does not have to run hand-in-hand with pain, pleasure, discomfort, anger, or any other particular emotion. Simple discovery, and curiousity, can do the trick, if said writer is willing to peel back layers of the mind to tap into what's unseen, and often unsaid.
As for the musicianship, one of my favorite moments in the show was after an acoustic duo bit with Matt and his guitar player, Aaron. The rest of the band joined on stage, but the bass player brought a stand-up, the keyboard player an accordion, and the drummer emerged from the back-stage corner drummers are typically confined to, and took a brush and a stick to a djembe at the front of the stage. Sweet! They played a couple songs that way, but only after a jam session of La Bamba.
I was not close enough to see *what* instruments they had, though I continue to notice more and more about what gear is used when (I was close to criticizing the DJ at a karaoke outing the other night, he was running a cheap mic through a huge PA and the balance was a disaster, but the important thing is that I noticed).
I should also mention the delightful opener, Rachel Platten, who sang gorgeous, played piano like a fiend, and exhilarated the audience with an adorable pep. I wanted to hang out with her, especially after a surprisingly soaring cover of "Gin and Juice" that made me want to be 16 and riding in cars with illegal drivers and boys I had crushes on. I hope to hear more from her in the future.
All in all, I was thrilled to see some great live music, from an artist I've long respected. To be sure, this is his first appearance on this blog and for that I am sorry. Hopefully this review, and corresponding inspiration, makes up for it.
You won't find trendsetters at his shows, you won't find the kind of people who flock to Pitchfork darlings with stupid names and laptop performances. You will find music listeners who are engaged, connected, and full of spirit for life and physical passion, qualities Nathanson sweats from every pore.
Homie's recorded nine albums. That's gotta be hard.
He was unbelievably entertaining. I saw him play acoustic once, maybe six years ago, and getting to check him out in front of a live band was a different experience, although not necessarily a worse one. Fortunately it didn't interrupt his intimacy with the audience, and he told the audience what the songs were about before he played them in the majority of instances. His preface ranged from simple - "This is about fucking" - to elaborate backstory, like when he launched into "Bent" after telling the story of a girl he once "knew" and their attempts at "rekindling."
"You turn, turn, turn, turning me on
Like a slow fire burn
Know that it's wrong
Still I run, run, run, run right into you "
Oh look, says audience member in their head. This guy has experiences, and he writes about them. I've long believed Matt Nathanson is an expert in biting, bitter honesty, tossing out lines that cut straight to the intersection of desire and despair. I could see where people would throw him the "bro" category, given all the sex-inspired talk and acoustic strumming, but poetry is poetry is poetry.
"And I'll forget about you long enough
To forget why I need to"
I was particularly peaked when he told us certain songs were penned after hearing a friend say a simple sentence or so - "I'm nobody's girlfriend," for example. Good songwriting, while springing from the depths of the soul and manufactured in creative consciousness, does not have to run hand-in-hand with pain, pleasure, discomfort, anger, or any other particular emotion. Simple discovery, and curiousity, can do the trick, if said writer is willing to peel back layers of the mind to tap into what's unseen, and often unsaid.
As for the musicianship, one of my favorite moments in the show was after an acoustic duo bit with Matt and his guitar player, Aaron. The rest of the band joined on stage, but the bass player brought a stand-up, the keyboard player an accordion, and the drummer emerged from the back-stage corner drummers are typically confined to, and took a brush and a stick to a djembe at the front of the stage. Sweet! They played a couple songs that way, but only after a jam session of La Bamba.
I was not close enough to see *what* instruments they had, though I continue to notice more and more about what gear is used when (I was close to criticizing the DJ at a karaoke outing the other night, he was running a cheap mic through a huge PA and the balance was a disaster, but the important thing is that I noticed).
I should also mention the delightful opener, Rachel Platten, who sang gorgeous, played piano like a fiend, and exhilarated the audience with an adorable pep. I wanted to hang out with her, especially after a surprisingly soaring cover of "Gin and Juice" that made me want to be 16 and riding in cars with illegal drivers and boys I had crushes on. I hope to hear more from her in the future.
All in all, I was thrilled to see some great live music, from an artist I've long respected. To be sure, this is his first appearance on this blog and for that I am sorry. Hopefully this review, and corresponding inspiration, makes up for it.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
3/1/12
“What the really great artists do is they're entirely themselves. They're entirely themselves, they've got their own vision, they have their own way of fracturing reality, and if it's authentic and true, you will feel it in your nerve endings.”
― David Foster Wallace
― David Foster Wallace
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