Album: Dinowalrus - Best Behavior

Album: Best Behavior
Old Flame
Release Date: March 6, 2012
Rating: ****** (6/10)

Outside the UK, there doesn’t seem to be much middle ground when it comes to the Second Summer of Love—either you’d give your favorite limb for a time machine set to the glory days of the Haçienda, or you have no idea what this sentence is referring to. >> Read the full review at popmatters.com

Album: Crystal Antlers - Two-Way Mirror

Album: Two-Way Mirror
Recreation, Ltd.
Rating: ***** (5/10)
Release date: 7/19/11

I love simplicity. Some of my favorite songs stick relentlessly to four quarter notes, three-note melodies or two-chord progressions. The key word in that sentence is "or." Our Crystal Antlers seem to have overlooked those little two letters on their most recent bore of a release. Two-Way Mirror is devoid of harmonic or melodic interest. It does occasionally veer into vaguely interesting rhythmic territory but it's not enough to carry the album. If the opening vocal melody doesn't immediately put you to sleep, you probably need to cut down on your caffeine intake.

Two-Way Mirror is, primarily, an exercise in late 60's psych rock cliches. Most of the riffs, many of the melodies and nearly all of the beats sound familiar. However, those cliches are filtered through modern sounds - that sort of strained, shouty male vocal that's dominated indie rock since punk, and a lotta noise. Despite these 2011 touches, though, the album sounds dated and frankly, dated to a time when rock music kind of sucked, when psych rock started to get really bloated, when Jimi was dead and the Dead were taking over. Listen to the opening notes of "By the Sawkill" and tell me you haven't heard it before. It's like friggin Santana, only at least he was a) better and b) doing this shit in 1970, when people didn't know any better. It was a primitive time back then, before people knew about punk rock and computers and haircuts.

That said, I've probably knocked these kids enough. There really are some cool moments on the album. The droning synth-and-drum interlude "Way Out" is brilliant and original and not 1970 at all. "Summer Solstice" is less exciting but at least sounds modern with its post punk drums and murky mix. In fact, it sounds kind of like the Arcade Fire, which in 2011 is better than sounding like Santana.

"Always Afraid" sounds pretty par for the album until it's taken over by some avant jazz saxophone which is rarely a good idea but miraculously works here and puts the band on a completely different level. It's the beginning of a triumvirate of inspired songs. The next track, "Knee Deep," accomplishes what the rest of the album is probably trying to accomplish, which is a fresh, if not radical, noise-and-chaos take on a familiar form. It wallows in that form, but it's also bold enough to have something new to say about it. However, no track on the album holds a candle to end of this brilliant triptych, the breathtaking "Sun-Bleached." A smoldering guitar, faintly warbling organ and subdued voice bleed together in a song so stunningly dissonant it really, genuinely makes me cry.

Unfortunately, this late piece of pure brilliance doesn't end the album. There's another song, "Dog Days," which sounds like what you'd think a song called "Dog Days" would sound like, which is to say, not very exciting. I'm sure it sounded pretty gnarly to the band when they wrote it after smoking a lot of weed. But the whole point of weed is that it makes boring shit seem interesting, and well, my dear antlers, I'm sorry to tell you that this song isn't up to snuff without chemical enhancement.

The Crystal Antlers obviously have something going for them. Otherwise, they could never have written anything as simple and arresting as "Sun-Bleached." The sonic components are pretty well in place throughout the album, actually - cut the reverb (which isn't as obscene as most recent bands' anyway) and they'd be just the right kind of noisy. The only missing piece to this puzzle is song-writing. But unfortunately, that's a pretty important piece and all those 1-4-5 chords and melodies are enough to bore ya to tears.

Hopefully, "Sun-Bleached" is enough to tide us over until these guys learn how to write.

Live: Ringo Deathstarr, Heaven, Dead Leaf Echo

When: July 3
Where: Shea Stadium

How do I get so far behind on these?!

So some shoegaze bands played a show.  The Vandelles played first which is weird because they never play first and are far too good to play first.  So anyway, I missed their set as did most people.  LAME.  Anyway, some of their badassery was captured on video, which is cool but may make you (me) regret missing it all the more.

The next band to play was called Heaven.  They're a sort of obscure shoegaze supergroup with a member of Ambulance Ltd and one from the Big Sleep/Snowden.  Someone was telling me they had a member of Swervedriver, but I don't think that's true.  It does look like two members played on Swervedriver's Adam Franklin's solo record so that's probably the origin of that story.  One of them has also played with Dean & Britta (of Galaxie 500/Luna) so basically, what this means is that in their niche genre, they're about as pedigree as you can git.

They're newish and they were pretty good.  Interestingly, they were by far their best when they were doing more ambient, hazy muzak than when they tried to get all songy.  And this is coming from someone who has absolutely no patience with that wishy washy stuff.  Which means two things: 1) they were really good at that wishy washy stuff and 2) they were really not great at more beat+plus+melody, faster paced songs.

At their subtler moments, though, the band was transcendent.  Really spiritual stuff.  Which is why I started like shoegaze in the first place (well, that and it's loud).  It was in these moments when the not-very-groove-centric drummer was at his best, laying down massive slabs o' drum.  Likewise, the vocals shined in these not-trying-to-be-catchy moments - there was something very genuine and natural about them.  [video]

I wrote up Dead Leaf Echo pretty recently and I don't really have anything to add.  It's just nice to finally see all their pieces fall into place.  By the way, if you were wondering where the awesome bass was coming from (as the people behind me during the set were), the band is sans bassist, but their stuff sounds way better than your average prerecorded bass line.  That's because they stacked several layers of properly studio-recorded bass on the track.  Then, they routed the recording through a proper bass amp in addition to the PA.  Which is freaking brilliant.  It was, in fact, the best prerecorded bass I think I've ever heard.  [video]

Of course, all of the bands were just building up to Austin-based shoegaze gods Ringo Deathstarr.  This band makes me swoon.  Their guitar can obliterate your speakers and ear drums.  (In the best possible way.)  This rich guitar, full of phantom melodies and shifting pitches, is straight out of Loveless, but the vocals are more tuneful that My Bloody Valentine's, a lot closer to the good old pop tunes of the Jesus & Mary Chain (who ripped them off the Beach Boys, but that's neither here nor there).

"Jasper" once asked an Austin shoegazer of his acquaintance about the band and was informed that everyone in Austin thought they were a joke and "that girl doesn't even play an instrument" or something like that.  If that was ever true, the joke's now on him.  "That girl," bassist Alex Gehring, is sick.  She's an absolutely great bassist - her lines simultaneously groove deeply and punch you in the chest.  As is typical in the genre, the bass carries a lot of melody while the guitar becomes sheer roar.  Meanwhile, electro/dance-derived icy beats from drummer Daniel Coburn make the whole thing sound a lot like "Soon" (you know, that last song on Loveless that's everyone's favorite MBV song ever).

But what's really great about Ringo Deathstarr isn't that they write amazing songs and get mindblowing sounds out of their instruments.  It's that they're genuinely insane.  Cracked.  Unhinged.  Pure batshit out of their mind nuts.  Which is what made this one of the most punk rock shoegaze shows of all time.  I mean, first of all, in direct defiance of the name of the genre, guitarist Elliot Frazier at several points leapt into the audience midsong.  Then at some point, they invited a bunch of people up on stage (primarily from the previous bands) and somehow things devolved such that both the guitar and drums had been seized by people who weren't in the band at all and the music fell apart in chaos.  But that's not the insane part.  The insane part is that after the song finally stopped breathing, Gehrig insisted that her two bandmates return to their instruments to finish the song (which had veered in the direction of crazytown before its as-recorded coda).  Coburn, I believe, thought the set was over and had gone to the bathroom so the band announced that they would wait (and therefore all of us would wait) for the drummer to return to the stage.  So everyone stood around awkwardly for a few minutes, and then Coburn showed up and they immediately launched into the song where they'd left off.  For about twenty seconds, until the song was over.

I mean, who does that?  Only a true genius.  And only by accident.  It was, obviously, one of the best endings to a show I've ever seen.  And I've seen a lot.  [video]....[more video]

Live: Fucked Up and Jeff the Brotherhood.

When: 6/25
Where: 285 Kent

Sadly, I missed Iceage at the Fucked Up/Jeff show.  But I did catch Jeff the Brotherhood, Nashville 4realz brothers Jake and Jamin Orrall.  Jeff the Brotherhood recently released their second album, an unabashed (and entirely self-aware) celebration of rock'n'roll cliches.  Their riff-centric psychedelic punk is criminally catchy, with exaggerated weight, excessive effects and extreme rockstar posturing.

At 285 Kent, Jeff played a great selection songs from both albums and played them well.  But somehow, I feel like Jeff are less than they once were.  I don't want to be one of those resentful motherfuckers who talks about when such-and-such band used to be good, back before they were so popular.  And it's an easy trap to fall into - shows are more exciting when you're lucky enough to stumble on something brilliant before anyone else notices it.  It's impossible not to miss the intimacy of those tiny shows, with 15 people instead of 500.

But my excitement over Jeff isn't just losing luster out of nostalgia for ye good olde days.  There are a couple of other factors at play here.  One is simply that Jeff are a bit superficial.  Of course, that the genius and joy of Jeff - they make rock music fun again.  But like any fun music, it fades over time and you move on to the next catchy thing. Which isn't to say that Jeff's music is disposable.  They aren't some one-hit wonder whose albums will show up en masse in used music shops in a year, the original owners completely forgetting the existence of the records the minute they walk out the door.  No.  I think people will keep Jeff's LPs and will throw them on from time to time and love them every time.  But few people will return to the LPs with the sort of urgency that draws people back to the greatest of albums.  That sort of emotional urgency, after all, would be a total buzzkill and ruin everything Jeff are trying to do.  So it's fine.  But it is the sort of infatuation that, despite what we might have thought in the heat of the moment, is far more about the thrill of discovery than it is about the potential for enduring, life-altering love.

Still, this doesn't fully explain my discontent. Yes, the sun has set on my initial crush, but the shows still seem emptier than they should.  And this is why: Jeff used to be showmen.  It's not that they aren't now, but they don't have the FLAIR they used to.  After all, the first time I saw Jeff in a "big" (400+) venue, Jake stood atop a huge amp giving a five minute guitar intro, visible in flickers from Jamin's barebulb flashlight.  Jeff still know how to build suspense and how to please a crowd, but they've scaled it back.  Note: I am absolutely NOT advocating for bands to do five minute guitar intros standing atop their amps.  But Jeff are different - what they do works because of their shameless willingness to revel in rock'n'roll stereotypes like a dog rolling around in dead fish. Like Queen or the Mars Volta, they are the kind of band you should be thankful exist and should be just as thankful only exist once (but not quite as extreme because if you heard another band that sounded like Jeff, it would just sound lame, not mortifying or terminally obnoxious).

So, Messrs. Orrall, what gives?  Why no grandstanding?  Why no crazy lighting?  If you're gonna own that shit, own it.  Otherwise, turn off the flange pedal.  And please, don't turn off your flange pedal!  You have a mission to complete and we're so close!  Granted, no one who hadn't seen the band back when would know any air had gone out of the balloon - but Jake and Jamin, you and I happen to know you can do even better.

And then, Fucked Up, billed as "secret guest."  What can I write about Fucked Up that I have not already?  Damian "Pink Eyes" Abraham went running all the way through the crowd and out the door at one point - if I had to guess, I'd guess he was going to give hugs to the folks working the door.  It was the first Fucked Up show where I heard bassist Sandy "Mustard Gas" Miranda step up to the mic, but I'm guessing it won't be the last, since extensive female vocals were needed on Fucked Up's recent rock-opera LP.  She was hard to hear but otherwise excellent.  There was good pit going too, if you like getting thrown around and drenched in other people's sweat - and if you don't like that, why are you in the pit?  It goes without saying that the band was impeccable.

Where Jeff are a fleeting infatuation, Fucked Up are more of long-term relationship material.  Theirs are the albums fans will return to with emotional urgency.  They are the heralds of a new day of hXc punk rawk, the ragged band exploring new frontiers most of us never would have thought existed.  Both bands are important and both have relevant - and rare - missions.  Having indulgent, shameless, rock'n'roll fun is underrated and underdone and we need Jeff to remind us of that.  But Fucked Up, with their boundless passion, sincerity and sense of purpose, will make the more lasting mark.

Album: Ty Segall - Goodbye Bread

Album: Goodbye Bread
Drag City
Release Date: 6/21/11
Rating: ******* (7/10)

On the one hand, more scuzzy garage rock may not exactly be what the indie world needs right now, but on the other, Ty Segall does it right. There's a reason Segall became a rock critic's darling with last year's Lemons. His songs are well composed - simple but full of not-quite-predictable hooks and supercool licks, and he keeps it up on this new LP with impressive consistency.

The album certainly benefited from Segall's experience on multiple instruments. Prior to (and concurrent with) his solo career, he played drums and guitar in a variety of bands. The arrangements are brilliant. While staying within the minimalist confines of the psych/garage/punk genre, they demonstrate a knowledge of the potential of each voice. The guitar and vocals make plenty of room for drums and bass, and none of the parts sound like afterthoughts.

Some of the tracks on Goodbye Bread go in for big, blues, rock'n'roll riffs - "California Commercial" and "The Floor" rock hard, all crashing drums, bristling guitar and meaty bass. The strongest track on the album is the vocal-driven anthem "You Make the Sun Fry," boasting one of Segall's best melodies ever, a near-perfect bass line and a rad solo.

The album is its best at its brightest, most youthful moments. The most obvious foray into minor keys, "My Head Explodes," falls short, starting on the right track but ultimately coming off a bit limp. "Where Your Mind Goes" is a more successful attempt to give the album a darker side. It's an exciting song, but could use to be whittled down from four minutes to three. Most of the rest of the album consists of slower, ballad-y songs under 70 BPM (i.e. a bit slower than "Hey Jude"). But while the tempo suggests ballad and the volume is generally restrained on these songs, they still have that garage grit to them.

Ty Segall does his thing well, but he definitely has a "thing," and it's pretty much just one thing. So despite great songwriting, Goodbye gets a little samey at times. It's also generic enough in style (garage rockers have been a dime a dozen since the 60's) that it's somewhat forgettable. Let's just say unless you've been in a coma for the last fifty years, it's not going to blow your mind. But it might set your head to bobbin' and maybe, when you're home alone, you'll bust out your air guitar for a track or two. At the very least, it's a lot of fun.

Album: Jeff the Brotherhood - We Are the Champions

Album: We Are the Champions
Infinity Cat
Rating: ******** (8/10)
Release Date: June 21, 2011

The new Jeff the Brotherhood album is exactly what fans of the band's 2008 debut will be expecting. It polishes the band's three-string psych rock and like their first album, it's a celebration of rock'n'roll excess. The indulgent fun of the album is first announced by an ungodly amount of flange at the beginning of the opening track. I'm not the only person who considers flange top among guitar's guilty pleasures - too cheap a trick to actually use in writing but super fun for enjoyment in one's bedroom. (For those that don't know, flange is an effect pedal that causes a "sweeping" sound without the guitarist actually doing anything.) But Jeff has always wallowed in cheap rock cliches, and in the best possible way. In the face of the wussy anti-rock bias of indie music, someone needs to bring back the wailing solo, the guitar hero posturing, the distortion pedal and the nasty riff. Oh yeah, and over that flange is not one but two guitar solos. At the same time. It's pretty sick.

Although the album does show the band moving towards more sophisticated musicianship, writing and production, they don't really step out of the boundaries they established on Heavy Days, just hone their craft within those boundaries. Some of the riffs even sound like particular riffs off Heavy Days, just reworked and embellished. That's not quite fair, but on the other hand, it's hard not to notice how familiar some of the songs ("Cool Out," "Mellow Out") sound.

The band does amp up their psychedelic side with songs like "Diamond Way," "Stay Up Late" and most of all, "Health and Strength," complete with Beatles-style sitar and high vocal wails. This may be a new dimension for the band, but it's such a 60's throwback that it doesn't really feel like an expansion. To the band's credit, though, they don't opt for a 60's vibe in the processing of their sound, using modern digital effects and beefy 90's guitar tones. As a result, as much as they consciously recall the 60's, their recordings wouldn't be mistaken for actual records from the time. Although they do seek a return to a time of simpler fun, Jeff aren't nostalgic in the sappy way of so many indie bands in the last decade and they aren't afraid to sound modern. They also aren't afraid to rock.

And in terms of rock, there's plenty here. Those thirsting for more ditties by the King of the Riff (Jeff's Jake Orrall) won't be disappointed by Champions, especially if they listen all the way through. Some of the early songs have the band tripping over their own ideas by adding too many complications to their ultra-simple formula. "Cool Out" and "Shredder" are rad tunes, but the album doesn't fully take off until "Ripper," one of the few songs that beats the raw power of the band's debut. Like the original raw power masters, the Stooges, Jeff don't shy away from the grittiest, simplest primal rock'n'roll urges - but unlike the Stooges, there's nothing anguished about Jeff. They're about raw fun.

Unfortunately, the band brings back one rock cliche we could all do without on their ambiguously misogynistic "Wastoid Girl." I know that's not what the band's about, but it's still a bad move on their part.

That track aside, Champions is an enjoyable listen. For folks new to the band, I'd probably recommend Heavy Days. It's got more weak links but its best tracks still pack more punch than almost anything on the new record. Still, it's a toss-up and fans will find lots to love about the new disc - as long as they don't have the audacity to expect something new.

Album + Live: Her Vanished Grace

Album: See the Moon
Athame Music, 2011
Rating: ******* (7/10)

I've more or less retired from reviewing local shoegaze and shoegaze-affiliated bands for a number of reasons, but against my better judgment, I'm temporarily suspending the moratorium to do a couple of reviews.

First against the wall is Her Vanished Grace, who are not really a shoegaze band but are a part of that scene. Their music is dream pop - a style that takes the processed layers of shoegaze but tones them down enough to make audible their concisely-written indieish pop tunes. At times, HVG sounds more like U2 than they do My Bloody Valentine.

Her Vanished Grace have been making music in NYC for about twenty years now. The core of the band are married couple Nance and Charlie Nieland who both play guitar and trade lead vocal roles. For quite a while now, the duo has been joined by a rhythm section of Maria Theodosiadou (bass) and Billy Loose (drums). The quartet cranks out a new album every year or two and despite the volume of output (it adds up after this many years), the quality of the band's LPs is impressively consistent.

There is a parallel consistency between the tracks of their latest release, See the Moon. None of the record's eleven tracks sound like filler; each seems to have been given the same level of attention. Rather than looking for a way to fill up 45 minutes, the band seems to have waited until they had 45 minutes of material, then released their record.

Just because the songs are given equal attention doesn't mean they are equally successful. There are some standout moments, like the second track, "Passenger," and the album's lush centerpiece "Beauty Lingers." There are some awesome bass lines ("Make It Lighter" is the best example of many) and strong melodies and drumming throughout.

If you have low tolerance for sappy pop cliches, there are plenty of points where this album will put you off, but that's the nature of the genre. The album is genuine and for music so "dreamy," it's strikingly down-to-earth. Although the sound is beautiful, the transitions can be charmingly un-smooth, a reminder that this band is indeed just regular folk in a modest Brooklyn studio, great soundsmiths and great songwriters but neither aloof nor pretentious. Even the processing on some of the vocals and all of the guitars reminds us of the music's humanity even as it gives aural polish.

Live
When: May 19
Where: Pianos

I love seeing HVG live mainly because the band loves playing live. Many bands are so mired in ambition, whether it be for major label deals or hipster cred or artistic revolution, that they seem to forget why most of us got into playing in the first place - it's fun. But every time they take the stage, HVG seem delighted just to play their songs for their friends and whoever happens to want to listen . That's not to say the band is without ambition - but whatever hopes they may have for their music, they enjoy the moment for what it is.

On stage, Charlie and Nance are one of those adorable couples that seems to still really, really like each other even though they've been together quite a while as bandmates and spouses, stealing admiring glances at each other across the stage. Meanwhile, unassuming badass Theodosiadou rocks out over on stage left, her face seldom visible from behind a curtain of hair. And Loose manages to find a technique that's surprisingly interesting for an oppressively mid-tempo, 4/4 genre, filling the sound with swelling fills and crashing cymbals without once overplaying.

HVG aren't out to shatter preconceived notions about art. They aren't out to be cooler than you or to get rich. They're day-job types who have spent years making music they love. And their sincerity (and no small amount of talent) makes them a refreshing, compelling and relevant band that will outlast trend and whim alike.

I also want to make a quick note about the other band I saw at Pianos on Thursday, one Dead Leaf Echo who, unlike HVG, are pretty clearly a shoegaze band. I shouldn't review them - after all, I quit reviewing shoegaze bands for a lot of reasons. Not the least of these reasons was that my general philosophy of supporting bands and scenes through criticism seemed to be in direct conflict with a prevalent attitude shoegaze circles which sees criticism (even its positive elements) as counterproductive and antithetical to the creation of music. There's validity in both viewpoints and not any chance of coming to a compromise, so I thought it best to bow out. (The other reason I stopped writing about shoegaze is that my own tastes shifted, but I never stopped loving the genre even as I came to love other styles more.)

So, allow me to keep this note very brief. To avoid any confusion, this is a positive review. The last time I reviewed DLE was ages ago and I panned them pretty severely for a lack of songwriting and momentum. But based on the show Thursday, it's a totally different story now. It was never in question that DLE could create beautiful layers of sound, but in their latest songs, they've sculpted those layers into exciting songs full of energy and momentum. It's not a matter of conforming to conventional pop structures, it's just a matter of crafting a musical arc instead of a stagnant pool of sound. And DLE have honed this skill in recent years. Their new material still has moments of sound collage, as it should, but they don't overstay their welcome, and there are moments where the band truly rocks a la kindred neo-psychedelics BRMC and A Place to Bury Strangers.

The band has forgone a live bassist and shockingly, doesn't seem to suffer one bit from the shift to prerecorded b-lines. Frontman Lloyd Galyon is now joined by Ana Breton (formerly of Mahogany) and Christo Buffam (of the Vandelles), both of whom complement Galyon's scintillating 12-string ambiance, Breton with thick, dreamy textures and Buffam with sheets of white noise. The greater contrast in textures actually makes the music more coherent - and more memorable - than ever before. Galyon's obvious talent for soundmaking is finally articulated in these new songs and lives up to its potential at last. Whether that's the new band members, personal evolution as a musician or most likely a combination of the two, DLE are out of a rut and on a roll. Check out their new EP, Verisimilitude, out now.

Album: Thurston Moore - Demolished Thoughts

Album: Demolished Thoughts
Matador
Release date: May 24, 2011
Rating: ******** (8/10)

Thurston Moore, Sonic Youth's good-natured wild boy, has an impressive diversity of output. The tonal/atonal experimentation of Sonic Youth as well as the band's more straight-forward pop and punk moments, free jazz and noise with various avant garde collaborators and hushed folk as a solo artist. The content of Demolished Thoughts, an acoustic album produced by Beck, is not a shock. It's acoustic guitar and Thurston's frank, boyish voice, surrounded by a fair amount of orchestration and nuanced arrangements. What is slightly surprising is that it's this good.

Demolished Thoughts may not surpass Moore's previous best solo efforts (i.e. 1995's Psychic Hearts and 2007's Trees Outside the Academy). Then again, maybe it does. It's really good. Every song is beautifully written, every voice is carefully arranged and masterfully mixed.

Moore can pull off some cheesy stuff, like a dang harp on several tracks, because everything about the songs is unassuming. His voice is plain and conversational and might make you wonder what sort of lullabies Moore sang his daughter when she was a baby. It's a lullaby voice because it sounds more personal than performed but it's not a raw, soul-baring jumble of personal trauma like Neutral Milk Hotel or Will Oldham. It's just songs, sung by Moore, for you.

Moore's tone aside, though, it's not all lullaby fare. The lyrics hint at a dark (if loving) sexuality and while the songs are comforting, they also point towards the dark things that cause a need for comfort. The opening track sets the tone for the album, a gentle, reassuring folk song that sounds as though it was written to bring peace to a troubled loved one. But there's also something darker there; the lyrics rather cryptically warn, "You better hold your lover down / and tie him to the ground."

A few tracks are even as anxiety-ridden as Sonic Youth (only acoustic). "Circulation" is the clearest example with it's dark layers of sound, contrasting traditionally pretty string parts with unsettling noise and tense guitar that subtly strays from the key and gives the sense that something is wrong. The minor-modal "Mina Loy" is even a bit ominous.

The high point of the album is probably the seven minute "Orchard Street," which twists like the sweetest of folk music has been refracted and misinterpreted. The entire album exists like this, though, suspended in the space between the pure 60's folk it recalls and the atonal raw nerves of Thurston's other music. It invites you in, but once you're in there, you will find yourself disoriented. And as you feel the music protecting you from danger, you may find it was the album that put the danger so close to begin with. At once simple and perplexing, comforting and haunting, earthy and otherworldly - and it proves that this boyish 50-something still has some tricks up his sleeve, some thirty years after he first started reinventing popular music.

Live: Dinowalrus, Mr. Dream, Flotilla

When: April 9
Where: Shea Stadium

So Shea Stadium had some big festivally sort of thing a week ago and thoughtfully listed the bands on the flyer in a completely random order that had nothing to do with the order in which the bands played.  Honestly, that's a pretty rude move - whether it was just laziness and disorganization or whether it was some hippy-dippy idea about people being exposed to new bands, let's just be realistic here, no one is going to sit through twelve hours of music.  (Granted, set times were apparently listed on Facebook just before the show, but that was too little too late.)

However, missing the bands I'd made the trek to see does give me some fresh blood to suck the life out of.  So cheers!

The first band playing when I got to the venue was actually the one I had gone to see, Dinowalrus.  Frontman Pete Feigenbaum was singularly unenthused when I told him a few weeks ago that I was probably going to start blogging again, so of course, I had to make his project a top priority. (Being obnoxious is a hobby of mine.)  However, I hadn't seen the band in ages and it's changed dramatically in the year or so of my absence.

First, the only remaining member of the band I last saw was Feigenbaum himself.  I had heard through the rumor mill that they had a new drummer a while, but at the show at Shea, they had a new new drummer making his live debut with the band.  There is no way the band could replace their former drummer Josh Da Costa (do I have that right?), a rare talent and one of the best drummers I've ever heard, but the new drummer didn't seek to imitate Da Costa - which could have only ended badly - but rather put his own stamp on the band's music.  I used to periodically use the word "mathy" to describe Dinowalrus, but when Feigenbaum called me out on it and asked to point to anything that was not a steady 4/4 in pretty much their entire set, I had to admit I was wrong in my terminology.  But the absence of Da Costa has finally helped me figure out why I used the adjective "mathy" in the first place - while Dinowalrus is not mathy, Da Costa's syncopated, polyrhythmic style gave the music a feel of shifting rhythm, especially in comparison to most of Brooklyn's current rhythm-challenged indie bands.  Mystery solved!

In contrast, the newest drummer's beats fall within a much more straightforward four-by-four structure.  While he's far less interesting than Da Costa, those are impossible shoes to fill and he is nevertheless a superb drummer.  His commanding style meshed well with the more straightforward approach of new bassist/synthist Liam Andrew.  Andrew's predecessor, Kyle Warren (who was in the audience), played the roll of mad scientist, his performance always coming across as an experiment, the stage a laboratory.  Andrew's playing, while not texturally vastly different from the spacey concoctions of Warren, felt more concrete and surehanded.

While I can't say the net change for Dinowalrus is positive - Da Costa's shapeshifting polyrhythms and Warren's quirky sonic chemistry are sorely missed - the damage is not as bad as one would expect from a 67% personnel change.  The band's trippy, spacey textures and pop sensibilities have been recombined and what's lost in subtlety is made up for in pop appeal.  Dinowalrus was always dancey (in a heavily drugged-out post-rave trip-hop psych-punk way) but their experimentalism did soften the impact of their songs.  Now, with more heavy-handed backing, Fiegenbaum's songs finally live up to their crowd-pleasing potential, leading numerous people in the audience in earshot of me remark something along the lines of "wow, these guys are tight!"

The next band to play was Mr. Dream, a band that confused me greatly in as much as I could not immediately sort out my ambivalent reaction to the music.  There were some good aspects, some great aspects even - the band was tight, noisy enough, aggressive, skilled at their instruments and sufficiently catchy.  But yet something was deeply off-putting: the sense that everything in the band had been too carefully calculated.  There was something excessively deliberate about Mr. Dream; they not only wore their influences (Pixies, Velvets) on their sleeve, they seemed studied.  Rather than simply looking to their sources as a model for attitude or an unconscious source for sloppy rip-offs, Mr. Dream sounded like they had distilled a formula of chord progressions, bridges, choruses, solos and the like.  Although it's hard to say exactly what blew their cover, something about the band's compositions seemed stale, mechanical and overly academic (even if the academic study was how to make non-academic sounding pop).

The band's live performance didn't help matters.  While it's hard not to commend the band for their effort - and they certainly were lively - there was still the stink of something disingenuous.  That's not to say the band was overly aloof or were not really having fun.  Yet there was a lack of spontaneity.  Even the band's seemingly in-the-moment gestures seemed calculated, planned, studied and manufactured.  Although the band was not a carbon copy of anyone in particular (bass lines and guitar tones evoked the Pixies, while the vocals were distinctly 90's alt), they seemed somehow phenomenally unoriginal and vapid.

Closing out the lineup was Flotilla, a band that certainly lived up to its name's promise of wussiness.  However, the band did surprise me - I was expecting bland but instead got painful.  I really do salute singer Veronica Charnley for having the balls to take the mic with absolutely sincerity and uncouched in aloofness, irony or studied flawfulness, but I fled the room after only seconds.  Her shrill voice fell right in that window where the singer has too much technique for the genre and yet not enough technique to hide her technique - she's either had too many or too few voice lessons (or does a good impression of someone who has).  Replete with a grating vibrato, Charnley's vocalizations were admirable for their courage but ultimately intolerable, at least in the context of the band's music, which was more subtly but ultimately even more offensive.  Ultra-wimpy without being cute, the band falls squarely in line with the horrible post-2000 wave of baroque pop movement led by such shameful antirockists as St Vincent and Grizzly Bear.

This entire approach to music nauseates me to such a point that I can't even begin to explore whether Flotilla succeeded in their attempts - although I'd venture a guess at "no" based on Charnley's awkward vocal tone.  But to be honest, I can't assess the band's merit within their own terms because their own terms make my stomach turn.  With all the softened, variegated textures and stale-sour odors of vomit, rococo pop like this is an acid eroding every edge from pop and indie music.  There is no merit to be found in this sort of polished wimpiness - not in today's musical/social/political climate - except, I suppose, a dire warning of the dangerously watered-down state of contemporary music.

But even setting politics aside, Flotilla is at once painful and bland.  I'm sure they're lovely people and a damn sight less offensive than bands like Dirty Projectors or Freelance Whales, but still worth standing outside in the rain to miss.  (Sorry.)

Live: Jeff the Brotherhood, Heavy Cream, Hell Beach + more

When: April 2, 2011
Where: Death By Audio

When I went to Death By Audio last weekend, I will admit I was not really in the mood for the music of the night - namely slightly southern-fried, post-ironic-hipster-idol-y, 60's-inflected indie rock.  But that doesn't change the fact that nearly the entire show was a disappointment.

When I arrived, Colleen Green was on stage.  The band is made up of two affected, Ray-Ban sporting women playing guitar and bass over a cheesy drum machine.  That's a setup that could go either way, but in this case, it went in a bad way.  The music was terrible, but that wasn't really the problem - in fact, that provided the only point on which you could argue the band had some merit.  My friend Pepe (thanks, random name generator) thought that the band members were courageous to take the stage even though they were so astoundingly bad.  However, I had the distinct feeling that this wasn't a brave presentation of incompetence in the populist tradition that runs from punk and No Wave through Beat Happening up to contemporary vanguard of bands that at least (sometimes) fake inability to play their instruments (e.g. Stupid Party, Total Slacker).

But Colleen Green is of a different tribe.  To me, their performance reeked of cowardice.  Their incompetence seemed distinctly calculated to allow them to take the stage without threatening insecure men.  This is one of the most disturbing faces of the nostalgia that has overwhelmed indie music and alternative youth culture in recent years - the relegation of women to a sort of Trix Rabbit role (silly girls, guitars are for men).  It's been difficult for me to put my finger on what separates the anti-feminist backlash of bands like Best Coast and Colleen Green from distinctly empowering female figures like Alexis Krauss of Sleigh Bells (who, after all, does not write the band's music or play an instrument, but whose ditsy bimbo character who thought she forgot her sunglasses is delivered with ambiguous derision and balanced with massive, nasty sound and one uncurbed scream).  Not every female in music has to be a bra-burning Riot Grrrl, but if you are female and playing rock or pop music, you are making a statement on feminism, whether you like it or not.  This isn't about what's fair, it's about reality, and in reality, Colleen Green says loud and clear that "girl bands" are a novelty.  We ladies of the music scene are good for a laugh, but let's leave the real music to the men.

Colleen Green were followed by X-Ray Eyeballs, an ultimately forgettable act of two and three chord songs.  I'd give them another chance, but their performance at DBA was not exactly something to write home about.

I wish Hell Beach was as forgettable as X-Ray Eyeballs, but unfortunately, the opening of their set, a song charmingly entitled "Dead Friends" is still seared in my memory.  The lyrics, which you can read for yourself here, are a tasteless, artless attempt to be edgy.  Or maybe it's an attempt to parody edgy rock lyrics.  Whatever they were attempting, they failed.  Actually, I should say vocalist Susan Tinsley failed.  The other two members of the band were pretty alright, with drummer Jolene Boyce having exactly the edge that Colleen Green was lacking.  Brad Holland managed to wrangle some nasty snarls out of his guitar - cliched snarls, but in a way that's more art-smart referential than uncreative.

The band is clearly going for some sort of goth punk or goth grunge.  Don't get me wrong, goth is all about having a sense of humor (a dimension of the genre missed by an entire generation of Hot Topic customers and sickly-looking gloomsters).  Goth's seminal single, "Bela Lugosi's Dead," is one of the of the funniest songs in pop history.  But that song was both lyrically clever and sonically creative.  "Dead Friends," on the other hand, is so obvious that you can actually feel yourself getting stupider as you listen - and not in a fun way.  I mean, c'mon Tinsley, how old are you?

The only band of the night that really did meet my expectations was Heavy Cream.  Part of the reason the band met my expectations is that those expectations had been lowered when I saw Heavy Cream at Union Pool (if I remember correctly) and found them to be nothing more than good Nashville-inflected garage rock.  I had hyped them up in my own mind to be the greatest thing since half-and-half (sorry) but this time, I approached the group with more reasonable expectations.

Nashville-inflected garage rock definitely still summarizes the band's sound.  However, there was something far more punk rock about their performance at DBA.  Part of it wasn't musical at all.  When guitarist Mimi Galbierz broke a string soon after the band took the stage, the set was stalled while the band tried to find a guitar to borrow.  (Jake's guitar, "Jamin," was suggested until the band remembered that guitar would only have three strings to their current five.)  While the band awkwardly pleaded with the audience to supply them a guitar, singer Jessica McFarland began berating the audience for their lack of creative contributions in the downtime.  Whether tongue-in-cheek or serious, McFarland's obvious contempt for the audience brought the show to a new level.  The band's frustration at being plagued with technical difficulties (the guitar being just one of several mishaps) was channeled into their music, giving it a harder edge.  McFarland can be compared to that other blond singer of the young Nashville scene, Jemina Pearl, in as much as both possess the stage with delightful arrogance and a sort of icy sexuality.  But McFarland's presentation is far more mature than Pearl's petulant (if captivating) behavior.

After the venomous performance by Heavy Cream, headliners Jeff the Brotherhood failed to impress.  I mean, they failed to impress me.  The audience seemed to dig it, moshing violently from Jake's first note on.  But the crowd at Jeff shows seems increasingly dominated by the kind of people who use the mosh pit as an outlet for macho aggression.  The pit is all about violence, which is obviously kinda the point.  But every scene where slam dancing dominates eventually seems to draw out a more bullying element, the meatheads who have ruined countless hardcore shows from the early 80's onward.  To be clear, these sort of meatheads didn't dominate the Jeff show - but I can feel a slide in that direction in the increasing roughness and decreasing fun of the audience.  People are starting to come not for the music but because they like to shove other people around.

But that's not the Orrall brothers' fault and it wasn't what made the show such a disappointment.  What ultimately ruined the set was simply the band's straightforward delivery.  The reason Jeff the Brotherhood shows have always excited me is Jake's ridiculous rockstar posturing, his command of the stage and piercing comprehension of rock'n'roll showmanship.  But last weekend, the band just played their songs.  They played well and with enthusiasm, but a spark was missing.  Whether the band is burning out, growing lazy or was just having a weary night remains to be seen, but whatever the reason, the band was simply not compelling or commanding.  Of course, in saying this, I am only comparing the band to themselves, their past performances.  Compared with the vast majority of acts out there, they are still one of the meanest live shows of 2011.  But for longtime fans, their current presentation seems distinctly uninspired.

Let's hope it was just an off night and not the start of the decline of indie's rockingest band.

Upcoming Shows: Black Wine, Pop 1280 + more

[Upcoming Shows Playlist]
TONIGHT! Friday, June 4

Black Wine, The Measure SA, Slingshot Dakota @ Death By Audio * Williamsburg, Brooklyn * $6
Black Wine are a punk band with good songs that are occasionally slightly emo but not in a bad way at all, actually in a really awesome way. The Measure are a poppy punk band that aren't quite as great as they should be but have fun and want you to have fun too. Slingshot Dakota are an emotive punk duo on keys and drums. This line-up is FUCKING AWESOME. [bw band] [measure myspace] [sd myspace]


Saturday, June 5

Pop 1280 @ Death By Audio * Williamsburg, Brooklyn
Someone told me this band was good. My impression is that they are heavy and dark and unsettling. Go see them. [myspace]

Brian Jonestown Massacre @ Music Hall of Williamsburg * Wililamsburg, Brooklyn * $25
BJM are a psychedelic indie band with one fuckin' crazy dude named Anton Newcombe who has done a very lot of drugs. As with any band on a lot of drugs, they have the potential to suck live, but as with only a few bands, they also have the potential to be awesome. [myspace]


Sunday, June 6

So So Glos @ Death By Audio * Williamsburg, Brooklyn
Loveable Brooklyn bros with anthemic hardcore. [myspace]


Tuesday, June 8

Fiasco @ Death by Audio * Williamsburg, Brooklyn
As always, all the best shows are at Death By Audio. Fiasco are a young math trio whose musical skill matured before their taste, but they are exciting and loud and get better with every show. [myspace]

[Upcoming Shows Playlist]
The long view...

June
11
Jeff the Brotherhood, PC Worship @ Death By Audio
Hunters @ Monster Island Basement
Friendo @ Cake Shop

13
Friendo @ Glasslands

14
Coyote Eyes @ Cake Shop

15
Dan Deacon @ Red Hook Park

18
Marnie Stern, Anni Rossi, True Womahood @ Glasslands
Pissed Jeans @ Cake Shop

19
Pissed Jeans, Pop. 1280 @ Death by Audio
Melvins + Isis @ Music Hall of Williamsburg

24
Wavves @ Knitting Factory

25
Fiery Furnaces @ Brooklyn Bowl
Silversun Pickups, Against Me! @ Williamsburg Waterfront

26
Fiery Furnaces @ Mercury Lounge
Titus Andronicus @ Newtown Barge Park
Liars, Fucked Up, High Places @ Newtown Barge Park

27
Les Savy Fav, Polvo @ Newtown Barge Park

July
6
B-52s @ Highline Ballroom

11
The Roots, Talib Kweli @ Prospect Park

13
Cheap Trick @ Radio City Music Hall

16
Weezer @ Williamsburg Waterfront

17
Siren Fest: The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Matt & Kim, Ted Leo, Surfer Blood @ Coney Island

22
Antlers, Dinosaur Feathers @ Pier 54

23
Modest Mouse @ Williamsburg Waterfront

24
M.I.A., Sleigh Bells @ Governors Island

26
Flaming Lips @ Central Park

27
Black Keys @ Central Park
The National, Beach House @ Prospect Park

28
Black Keys @ Central Park

30
Big Takeover: Springhouse @ Bell House

31
Sonic Youth, Grass Widow, Talk Normal @ Prospect Park
Big Takeover: Springhouse, For Against @ Bell House

August
12
Gang Gang Dance, Grizzly Bear, Walkmen @ Governors Island

15
Public Enemy @ Central Park

17
MGMT @ Radio City Music Hall

18
MGMT @ Radio City Music Hall

[Upcoming Shows Playlist]

Album: Woven Bones - In and Out and Back Again

Album: In and Out and Back Again
HoZac, 2010
Rating: ****** (6/10)

I got pretty interested in Woven Bones a few months ago and even meant to put them on my Bands to Watch in 2010 list. I didn't because I lost the paper where I wrote down the list, though, and when I recreated it from memory at the last minute, I missed these guys. But it turns out, it's just as well. In and Out and Back Again is a bit underwhelming. It's not bad, but it sounds like exactly everything that's come out on Siltbreeze or, well, HoZac, in recent years.

The album is a series of crusty, reverb-drenched psych-punk pieces that land on the more agressive and abrasive side of garage rock. The skuzzy, lo-fi production is nice, but hardly anything groundbreaking or even trend-defying. Tom-heavy drum beats thud thud thud and amps feed back a little and some really cool riffs turn up here and there.

Most notable in the melee is the voice of singer Andrew Burr. He doesn't hit a correct pitch once on the album - intentionally - but still manages to map out some supercatchy tunez. The high pseudo-yelp that ends many of his lines is more than a little reminiscent of Iggy Pop, which is a good thing and less cliche than trying to sing like Ian Curtis.

The minimalism and restraint of drummer Carolyn Cunningham and bassist Matty Nichols are just right to support the Burr's best guitar hooks. For example, both the impatient "Half Sunk Into the Seats" and the more measured, Stooges-esque "Creepy Bones" rock crunchy, spy-movie-worthy themes. Songs like the energetic "Couldn't Help but Stare" and poppy, major key "I'll Be Runnin" keep the album from becoming tedious.

If this album came at a different time, it might fare slightly better, but the whole skuzzy, lo-fi, Jesus & Mary Chain meets Nuggets thing has really been beaten to death in the last few years and I just can't get it up for another intentionally crappy recording with overly reverbed vocals. I don't think this band is trying to jump on a bandwagon, but they have the misfortune of ending up on one anyway, and ending up on it late in the game. Maybe that would be overridden if the songs were amazing, but they aren't. The riffs are solid and the melodies can be pretty head-noddable, but being late-comers to a trend - well, early bird gets the good reviews, I suppose.

[myspace]

Albums: The Depreciation Guild - Spirit Youth

Album: Spirit Youth
Kanine, 2010
Rating: ***** (5/10)

So Depreciation Guild are three attractive (if short-ish) guys who play electronics and guitars and make electro-shoegaze-pop. It's a good enough combination to pique my interest and the interest of quite a few young hipsters as well. But the band is starting to wear thin already.

Spirit Youth starts with cheesy electronics that open into a reasonably dense wall of sound and an interesting-enough melody. If the album kept this up, it would be decent, even interesting, but only three or four minutes in, the melody shifts to something off Top 40* radio - you know, where the guy's voice drifts around to a bunch of notes so that the tweenage girls think he's so talented. Not that Depreciation Guild are trying to win over tweenage girls - but then again, maybe they are.

The lyrics are deeply lamentable. A song titled "Crucify You" doesn't exactly bode well and it certainly lives up to expectations: "Sometimes I can't control the things I do / but you know I always want the best for you / ...I will crucify you." Yikes. And the rest of the album follows similar lines, although luckily, sometimes the lyrics aren't really audible.

With the highish, processed male vocals, Depreciation Guild sound like Mew but without the darkness and volume that keeps Mew at least semi-interesting. Instead, Spirit Youth is flowery and sappy and even formulaic. I like a good pop melody, but a good pop melody is like the Beatles or even like Depreciation Guild's Kurt Feldman's other band, the Pains of Being Pure at Heart. It's not this formless three note banality.

Now, the shoegazer in me does have to give the band some credit. Each song is packed with a shimmering wall of sound and the arrangements - electronic lines cutting in and out, layer upon layer of processed guitar, it's good, solid, dreamy noise pop. There's nothing amateurish about Spirit Youth, particularly where sonic polish is concerned. Every sound in every song seems painstakingly shaped and mixed, forming lush waves of noise that few bands could match.

However, the sonic success is not enough to really make this album worthwhile. Twice, I tried to relisten to this album today to refresh my memory for the review, and both times, I could only sit through a few songs, all with the same sound, same tempo and same nebulous sort of melody, before I shut it down and turned on Sleigh Bells.

Hey, at least the album art is cool! [myspace]

* There are some good songs in the Top 40 from time to time. I am just referring to the bad Top 40 songs. And that is the majority.

Album: Thee Oh Sees - Warm Slime

Album: Warm Slime
In the Red, 2010
Rating: ******* (7/10)

Two adjectives come to mind for Thee Oh Sees - prolific and consistent. And those two adjectives are a rare combination. Thee Oh Sees (and their other incarnations) release a record of some sort every few months, it seems like, and although I haven't listened to them all, all the ones I've listened to have been solid.

Warm Slime is basically a long EP, or maybe a mini LP (seven songs, thirty minutes), and it features the same sort of lo-fi, psychedelic pop-punk that we've come to expect. The melodies are irresistable, the scuzzy guitars delightful, the distorted and reverbed vocals rockin'. The entire record is just plain fun.

The album opens with the classically bluesy title track which rocks as hard as any Oh Sees tune to date. The rolling bass line has attained perfection. The song is thirteen minutes long, ten of which are spent slowly breaking down and noising up and breaking down and noising up the song established in the first three. It's too long, but then again, this isn't a proper LP and Thee Oh Sees have earned a little self-indulgence by this time.

The rest of the album continues is a similar vein - lo-fi renditions of what would otherwise totally be classic rock songs or garage rock songs or something from the 60's. The wild "Castiatic Tackle" balances the steady march of "Everything Went Black," while "Mega-Feast" and "MT Work" start the album as lively as it began.

In many ways, it sounds as if Warm Slime were sequenced according to rock convention and then reversed. Starting on the long jam and ending on two catchy and short tunes is a subtle way to keep this record from feeling like we've heard it before.

Warm Slime doesn't break the mold or pave new ground. It's not headline news. But it's full from start to finish with solid tunes and great sound. Thee Oh Sees are a band to count on. [myspace]

Album: Woods - At Echo Lake

Album: At Echo Lake
Woodsist, 2010
Rating: ******** (8/10)

OK, I admit, I'm one of those fickle critics (or wannabe critics) who build a band up and then suddenly turn on them and tear them to shreds. I would fit in well in the UK, where they love to generate insane amounts of hype and declare a band the best thing since the Beatles, then in a fit of sobriety or shame or vengefulness, turn the band into the butt of a national joke. You can't with them, or me.

So last year around this time, Woods were one of my favorite bands. But it's been a long year and my thoughts on music have really evolved since then. I wouldn't take back my reviews of Woods or revoke the nine(!) stars I gave their last album, but I am certainly far less excited about anything related to folk music than I was at the beginning of 2009. The ultraconservative attitudes that have hijacked indie rock have grown increasingly obvious in the last year and I've come to see any music that doesn't challenge the backwards backlash as a dangerous and cowardly abuse of the art form.

On the other hand, I can't ignore or deny that Woods write beautiful music. And I wouldn't even argue that they are derivative. They have forged a unique sound that, yes, pulls audibly from Neil Young and the Grateful Dead but spins it as something distinctly post-2000. Drenched in LSD, their warbly, poppy folk and shimmering, folky pop conveys an intangible sense of mystery, like the band is playing from very far away.

At Echo Lake is pretty much like every other Woods album. Of the four, this has the most consistent quality of songs - and keeps them all well under the five minute mark. The arrangements are the richest and most complex the band has offered to date, showing a growing musical sophistication.

The real skill that has always set Woods apart is their ability to write beautiful melodies and Echo Lake shows they haven't yet exhausted the well. Centerpiece "Time Fading Lines" is a particularly notable melancholy masterpiece. Early on in the album, "Suffering Season" shows Woods exploring new layers of sound while earthy, simple songs like "Get Back" keep the record down to earth. And despite a more major-key opening than previous Woods albums, that same darkness lurks just behind the music.

Woods remain one among the finest songwriters on the indie scene today and their sonic experiments are distinctly their own. After seeing Sleigh Bells tonight, a folk-tinged lo-fi psychedelic band seems pretty insignificant in the progression of pop music, but this is pure beauty, at once saccharine and haunting, in sonic form, and that's worth a listen or ten.

[myspace]

Album: MGMT - Congratulations

Album: Congratulations
Sony/Columbia, 2009
Rating: **** (4/10)

In 2008, the trend of rich college kids making trashy hipster pop reached its zenith (though sadly, that sun has not yet set) and suddenly Wesleyan duo MGMT crashed on to the scene, a little too late. Their trashy hipster pop was unabashedly trash, throw-away psychedelic synth hits catchy enough to land the band on Sony/Columbia well before their full-length debut. But somehow, despite all of this, the band had some appeal, some hint of integrity that their fellow spoiled-East-Coat-collegiate-douchebag bands lacked.

I guess it's because MGMT seemed to be gaming the system. They were snagging serious bucks from the major label machinery on behalf, it seemed, of smart-ass indie kids everywhere. The whole thing had the air of a colossal prank. The band certainly reinforced this by doing things such as suing the president of France for unauthorized use of their songs, then donating the settlement monies to legal aid for artists (I'm getting this from Reuters).

But the band's attitude and ability to not take themselves at all seriously wasn't the only thing that made them worthy of note. None of use would have heard of them and they never would have had these opportunities if their songs weren't so damn catchy. Sure, they're cheap pop songs, but they are near-perfect cheap pop songs that dare you not to like them. If someone tells you they don't like "Kids," they are probably lying.

And this is where Congratulations fails. It explicitly forgoes any attempt at singles. Big mistake. Singles are exactly what MGMT did right. The new album lacks melodies and more generally, lacks focus. It's a random, half-assed jumble of psychedelic ideas. Selecting producer Pete "Sonic Boom" Kember can't have helped the band either - based on my encounters with Kember, I'm perpetually surprised he hasn't died of an O.D. yet. He's certainly not going help anyone make judgment calls or edit themselves.

MGMT are still cool guys and they still know their music is garbage - and for that, I will always respect them. However, bland and nebulous, Congratulations isn't even worth a listen. There are better ways to spend 45 minutes.

Live: Sightings, Oneida

When: 3/19
Where: Knitting Factory

So a few weeks ago, I went to see Oneida at the new Knitting Factory in Brooklyn and Sightings were opening. I've seen the band before, but the night I know I saw them first is almost entirely missing from my memory, so it was pretty much like coming to the band fresh. And they proved my lack of memory of the last set I saw was not the fault of the band - love 'em or hate 'em, they are memorable.

I do love them! Their noise is like bulldozers razing your eardrums - if any band could challenge A Place To Bury Strangers for the spot of "loudest band in NYC," it's these guys. However, APTBS get you with cutting blasts of feedback, whereas Sightings pile sheer sonic weight on their audience. "Noise" is the only way to describe it, but unlike many "noise" bands, Sightings have meticulous control of their sound. They aren't just playing with shit and getting lucky, they have a vision - a bleak, skull-shattering vision - and they know how to get their instruments make the sounds to do it.

And through all of this massive guitar drone and woven into the heavy, mindless pulse of the bass are songs. There's a pop appeal here - most people probably wouldn't see it, but there are rhythms, structures and the faintest hint of melody that keep the band on point. (This was exemplified with even more clarity when I saw the band at Death by Audio last week.)

The indecipherable vocals, though in some contrast to the inhuman buzz and thud of the guitars and drums, never sound like an afterthought. Instead, delivered by the oddly appealing Mark Morgan, the words are marked with genuine desperation that has not yet turned to nihilism. Pronounced with flat restraint, they form a ominous conversation with band's erratic noise. The result is uneasy, cataclysmic and ultimately, deeply satisfying. [myspace]

Sadly, not so for Oneida, whom, despite my best efforts, I just can't really get into. I do respect the band - it's made up of talented musicians with some truly original ideas. But to my ears, it just doesn't quite come together. The band launched into an instrumental epic and by the time vocals came in, they did seem like an afterthought - they failed to blend with the music. The long passages - and they are all long - are a bit self-indulgent, with slight modulations on repetition after repetition. It's the kind of thing that could be amazing to someone on drugs. Less so to me.

What it comes down to is that, as far as I can understand the music, the whole is never more than the sum of its parts. Each song is a series of good ideas which the band slowly nurtures into robust sections, but they take too long to grow each part and that is all they do, over and over again. I hesitate to speak with definitive sentiment here, because I can tell the band has immense talent and creativity and I keep hoping there's something I'm not getting and once I get it, I'll love the band as much as many others seem to. But there seemed no logic to the sequencing of sections, no ultimate momentum or focus, just ideas fleshed out to the point of exhaustion. I like my music to be written, not just played, but if this was written, composed, it was done so poorly.

I was also irked by the band's stage presence. Guitarist "Hanoi Jane" proved a regular chatty Cathy not with the audience but with his bandmates. He repeatedly walked up to each one to exchange words. No doubt the exchanges were about the music, but there was something in them that seemed disaffected. Perhaps it's too much to ask that bands converse on stage only with great emotional intensity, but the little asides and laughs really gave me the feeling this is just a job for Oneida. I know that's not true, but c'mon, you gotta show us you want to be on stage, you want to be making this music - need to, even - and the way they presented themselves, they might have just as well gone to the beach.

Perhaps the pairing with Sightings was unfortunate for the band - where Sightings were bleeding with sincerity, Oneida were somewhat lackadaisical and aloof. Where Sightings were focused and restrained, Oneida were indulgent and scattered. I wouldn't write Oneida off - they are the real deal - but if given the choice, I'd go with Sightings every time. [myspace]

Live: Miniboone, Quiet Loudly, the Vandelles

When: 2/26/10
Where: Cake Shop

I wasn't planning to write a review of this show, but it turned out to be worth a few words...

Quiet Loudly was already playing when I arrived. It's been ages since I've heard them and man have they changed! Before, their music was made of angular, teethy guitar and bass lines that would lock together in some sort of bizarre skeleton. Now there are melodies, structures and grooves - the band has hammered their jagged soundscape into a dense, restrained blues rock. Still, from time to time, a sharp guitar will slice through and the band suddenly transforms into their dissonant, broken former selves. But the groove always returns and what before were empty spaces are now filled with a wall of misty guitar and keyboard sound.

Hints of blues always existed somewhere at the very base of Quiet Loudly's sound but only now can they manage the unhurried, sighing phrases that make the genre what it is. Not that they are a blues band - their psychedelic leanings and the shadows of pop that cross their songs are pure indie rock. They've managed to strike the perfect balance of the two genres without resorting to a cliched drunken swagger or country drawl.

Unfortunately, in other aspects their music is not yet balanced. While they still make room for their sonic romps, without their jerky guitar lines, the band risks fading into a background. Moreover, the spaces they do make seem to go on a little too long and accomplish a little too little for their span. The band's long periods of jamming were more enjoyable than many, mostly because a song-oriented sensibility still governs the grounding but nimble bass and kicked-up drums. Still, self-indulgence is always a risk and seldom one worth taking in the world of music. Let's none of us turn into a jam band, okay?

Overall, though, Quiet Loudly are making vast strides, incorporating some (if not quite enough) of their innovation along into far more focused, well thought-out pieces. They're creative and they're on the right track. That's more than you can say for most bands. [myspace]

The Vandelles played next and they fucking ruled, like they always do. There was a bit too much downtime, but when they were playing, all four members owned the stage, sending a wave of feedback hurdling through the room. They seemed a little cramped up there - this is a big-stage sort of band - but they still threw themselves mentally and physically, 100%, into the songs. Their 50's and 60's throwback melodies buried under layer after layer of searing distortion, their drummer pounding primal beats like the devil's personal handpuppet, their deep bass and low guitars rumbling without pause, the Vandelles are a force to be reckoned with, that much is sure. [myspace]

And lastly, Miniboone, a band I've followed a least vaguely since their very first show. Like Quietly Loudly, these guys have transformed. Once they played a freaked-out, intellectual punk a la the Minutemen, with screams and spasms. Next I saw them, they were playing pop, and not just any pop but big pop, the kind with larger-than-life melodies and harmonies, following the finest pop traditions of the 1960's - girl groups, orchestrated am pop and all the rest.

But now, they've finally found themselves as a band. Their manic, brainy Minutemen-like bursts have found a way to fit naturally into their bigger pop instincts. It's awkward, in a way, but in a way that suits them, in a way that's fun and exciting. With jerky stop-and-start pieces coming together into guitar-swinging pop and with vocal melodies that are equal parts sixties radio fodder and eighties punk, Miniboone have found their niche, and they're definitely the only band in it.

But what made this show so extraordinary isn't that the members are gifted songwriters or that their music is unique. What made this show extraordinary was that everything broke. The mics stopped working, the amps were crapping out, nothing was going right, and all this only two songs in. The band was on the verge of giving up, but with some encouragement from their friends in the crowd, they hatched a plan. If the microphones weren't going to work, they would just need to find another way to amplify the vocals.

So they started a sing-a-long. Guitarist Doug Schrashun picked up a floor tom headed for the center of the audience while the band launched into some covers. The audience joined in with the singing(/shouting), also taking turns pounding the tom and playing what percussion they could grab. When the covers ran out and microphones were still out of commission, the band rounded out the set with a couple more originals. Luckily the audience knew most of these too and helped kick the singing up to audible levels.

It was a great show because it was unplanned, because it was a disaster. A good band can do some damage control, but only a truly great one can pull off a feat like this - making the crumbiest night imaginable into an unforgettable experience for all. Even a cold bastard like me left with the warm fuzzies. Miniboone are not just a good band, they are a great one and it's concerts like this that keep me coming out to hear new bands. Sometimes it seems like there are so many bands and so few new ideas that it's not possibly worth it to keep searching. But then I find what I'm looking for - something exciting and new and real. Miniboone may not play my favorite style, but they've got something special, something 99% of Brooklyn bands don't even know they're missing. And that's worth a lot. [myspace]

Live: Jeff the Brotherhood, Screaming Females and Stupid Party

When: 2/23
Where: Death By Audio

This one is gonna be a bit short, because I recently reviewed all three of these bands. But the Death By Audio show was different enough to warrant a few words.

Stupid Party were themselves as they've been lately. There were too long instrumental parts and with their fourth member, they aren't able to be quite as charmingly reckless - at least not yet. But their slurring, unaffected grungy punk is still refreshing and they belt it out with the same fun. They're still the coolest kids in Brooklyn. [myspace]

Screaming Females followed. Their set was a far cry from their recent Bowery performance. At Bowery, the band nailed their rock songs with precision so fans of their albums could follow, note for note. At Death by Audio, though, the band let go. They rearranged their songs to create wide spaces for raging guitar solos and jamming. Familiar songs morphed into something entirely new while our generation's greatest guitar hero, the diminutive and frumpy Marissa Paternoster, cut loose, shredding her strings and our ears into oblivion.

Nothing is without its price, though. The band's reinvention cost them their usual tightness - a close listener could hear more than a few stumbles - and put a dent Paternoster's singing abilities, pitchwise. But the band sized up their audience correctly. The people cramming Death by Audio at midnight on a Tuesday were the band's most loyal fans, true music lovers and notably many musicians themselves (members of Titus Andronicus, Vivian Girls, Woods, Sisters, A Place to Bury Strangers and These Are Powers to name a few). It was an event for the indie community and the band provided its audience with something fresh, something DIY, something you just won't get at Bowery Ballroom or Terminal 5. [myspace]

Jeff the Brotherhood closed out the night with their usual masterful showmanship. Rocking the best riffs anyone's written in years, the two Orrall brothers sparked a moshpit that quickly engulfed at least half the room. They tossed out a couple of large inflatable aliens to surf the crowd, and these were soon joined by some terrestrial surfers, Jake Orrall included. Too my surprise, although we were crossing the 1 AM mark on a weeknight, the crowd did not thin at all. Wall to wall, fists pumped, heads banged and moppy hair flopped to the beat. [myspace]

The whole time, I was haunted by a little sadness. These bands can pack a room after midnight on a Tuesday and for fans who saw them first in crowds of twenty or thirty, this is the end of an era. The secret is out about both Screaming Females and Jeff the Brotherhood, and while that gives me hope for American culture, it also means bigger crowds cramming between me and the stage, the bands rapidly shrinking into the distance. It's right, but it's bittersweet. Congratulations, guys.

Live: Don Giovanni showcase

I'm happy to say I was right about the Don Giovanni showcase. It was a great punk show, the kind you remember when you’re telling your kids about your wild days in the New York music scene when you’re trying to convince them you were once young and hip too. Much to everyone’s surprise, I think, the show sold out very early on. I can’t tell you how nice it was to see Bowery packed with true underground punk types, most young and all truly there for the music and the community. Well, almost all – there was a mysterious contingent of bimbos around who took off pretty early. Which is fine, I’m glad they’re checking out such good music, I just don’t really understand how they ended up there. But, the more, the merrier!

The Groucho Marxists kicked it off with their hard-edged pop punk. They aren't original and I wouldn't call them bold, but they are true to their punk heritage and could easily be alt/pop-punk radio material, though a damn sight better than most of what makes it on the air. Their live show matched - nothing revolutionary, but certainly energetic. They're a bit more outward looking than most punk bands, just a little more audience-focused rockstar mindset. They're definitely still down-to-earth and having fun, though, and that’s what matters. [myspace]

Black Wine were a surprise favorite and while it’s hard to pick highlights from such a thoroughly amazing line-up, this would have to be one. It’s rare to see a band have so many things so right. Though the parts were fairly simple, they were just right for the songs and all three members played their instruments with comfort and intuition. Drummer Miranda Taylor particularly stood out, but everyone was right on. They also clearly have a knack for songwriting. Again, the arrangements and compositions weren’t too elaborate, but they were exactly right. The only real problem was when the band slid towards emo - I’m not one of those people who hates all things emo, but none of the band members had the singing ability to pull of the slower, more exposed melodies. Off-key singing is a fine aesthetic but it doesn’t work in all contexts and the band’s slower songs weren’t really doing it for me. Aside from that, though, this band shows a rare talent and I will certainly be keeping an eye on them from now on. [myspace]

The Measure played next and I have to say, they were the least memorable band of the night. Of course, that’s not too grave an insult with a line-up like that. They were energetic, with lovable pop punk tunes and creative arrangements. Drummer Mikey Yannich drove their music full-speed ahead, while Lauren Measure and Fid shared guitar and vocal duties with great male-female balance (she leading). You’d have to mosh pretty hard to keep up. [myspace]

Though this was certainly a punk show, it had two rock bands right in the middle. The first of them, Jeff the Brotherhood, positively killed. Guitarist Jake Orrall started the show with the lights out, standing atop his guitar cabinet. While gave the set a grand five-minute guitar solo intro, his brother and drummer Jamin illuminated the scene with a bare-bulb camping light. Jake leapt down and continued to solo while the audience’s anticipation built. When Jamin finally took his seat at the drums, everyone in the room was wrapped around the band’s little finger. They plowed through much of their recent debut, more or less in order, one great tune after another. Jake seems to enjoy playing the mighty rock god, but it’s got a hint of tongue-and-cheek. Only a hint though, because like it or not, he is a rock god. He’s king of the stage and master of the riff and everyone who was in that audience knows it. [myspace]

Luckily for everyone, one of the few acts that can follow Jeff the Brotherhood did - Screaming Females. Screaming Females are the greatest rock band on earth, and at Bowery, they were on fire. Marissa Paternoster is a bonafide guitar hero and an unforgettable singer/screamer to boot. She and her bandmates are a great songwriting team. Although the guitar riffs make take the spotlight, Mike Abbate’s rolling bass lines are just as good and he played them well, despite being already a bit worn out from being in the center of the moshpit during Jeff the Brotherhood’s set. But this band has got as much stamina as they have talent. Which is just one more thing that makes them the greatest. [myspace]

I never got to see Jawbreaker live, but they one of my all-time favorite bands and seeing Forgetters was as amazing an experience as you’d expect seeing one of your heroes for the first time would be. Blake Schwarzenbach is the same as ever, with the same sort of songwriting, the same jumpy guitar, the same lamentable lyrics and low, mumbly, major-key melodies. Bassist Caroline Paquita is different from Jawbreaker’s Chris Bauermeister - Bauermeister played with poppy jumps, while Paquita lays down a more solid foundation. And drummer Kevin Mahon also has his own distinct style, playing with more levity and energy but less rhythmic complexity than Jawbreaker drummer Adam Pfahler. The result is a post-grunge pop punk band with strong, steady songs but without the magical chemistry you usually find in a young musician’s breakout band.

Bringing the night to a close, everyone’s darlings Shellshag celebrated the release of their album. With seven bands, the night ran pretty late and most of the audience had cleared out by time they played. The crowd peaked for Jeff the Brotherhood and Screaming Females, but Shellshag are a cult act. I wouldn’t say there’s a limit on how large that cult could grow, but they don’t have the same mass appeal of some of the bands with whom they shared the Bowery stage.

Large or small, Shellshag’s fan base are intensely loyal and really the best of the bunch. Those left moshing to the duo at the front of Bowery at 1 AM were the true punks, and a great group of kids they were. And Shell and Shag are themselves a wild pair. Facing one another with their Y-shaped mic stand between them, they hollered and twisted to their f-u songs. At the band’s best, Shell’s bare-bones guitar and slurred baritone vocals dominate the band’s sound while Ms. Shag’s dry bells and primal pounding drop the bottom out of the whole thing. It’s boisterous, untamed and charmingly sardonic. No one has more fun on stage that these two. [myspace]