Live: Animal Collective (Guest Review!)

This just in from our LA correspondant, Jasper!

When: 5/29
Where: The Wiltern, Los Angeles

What I love most about this band is their unabashed quirkiness; not self-conscious eccentricity, mind you, just a few weird dudes fearlessly being nothing but themselves (or are they just blissfully oblivious to anyone's judgment?). This comes across even more strongly in their shows than on their albums.

AC don't play songs so much as a continuous hour long DJ set of drums and psychedelic synths that unexpectedly yet seamlessly gives way to the Beach Boys-caliber melodies for which they are so famous. As soon as the band emerged it was obvious that these guys were not the cool kids in high school: Panda Bear bends intently over his drums and soundboard while Avey Tare bounces, hops and jerks to the beat. The plainness of their outfits contrasted with the overwhelming intensity of the multicolored lights and rapidly cycling surreal imagery projected onto a huge globe suspended above the band, not to mention the power of the music. There is something awesome about three guys awkwardly hunched over their instruments blasting an ecstatic audience of thousands with a deafening deluge of tripped out melody and pounding percussion.


Animal Collective
As soon as the first recognizable melody emerged (Avey Tare's "Summertime Clothes") I realized something not totally apparent on the impeccably produced albums: there is nothing pretty about Avey Tare or Panda Bear's voices. (I began to understand more concretely why allmusic lists Björk among their influences.) Rather than detract from the power of their the music, however, the contrast of the roughness in their voices, punctuated with piercing shrieks, against such exquisite harmonies is nothing short of breathtaking. If the even the artiest of punk rock draws visceral thrill of loud electric guitars, then AC similarly draw on the even more primal thrill of a good yell.

While the less melodic sections did become excessively drawn-out and repetitive at times, the joy of finally being caught-off guard by your favorite AC tunes made the wait seem worthwhile. And if the band did get a little self-indulgent, with such an incessantly enthusiastic audience (that included both the hippest and dorkiest people in LA) loving every minute of it, who could blame them? With their inclination to make the wild and unpredictable musical, AC have become widely adored by speaking to the weirdos in so many of their fans.

Live: R. Stevie Moore

When: 5/8
Where: Cake Shop

It's been a while since I've checked in with the great R. Stevie Moore, so I thought I'd better head down to Cake Shop Friday and see what's new.

What's new is that he's got a slightly different line-up - there were some the same guys up front, but in the back, Mr. Chuckles (that's the name my brain gave to the previous drummer, probably NOT his real name) had been replaced and the rhythm section had been augmented by some guy with long gray hair and a bunch of auxiliary percussion instruments. I hate to criticize Moore or his band, since they are so richly deserving of respect, but I have to say the new drummer is a step down from Mr. Chuckles and the hippie percussionist was really superfluous, or would have been with a more agile drummer behind the kit.

This set was a little slower than last time's, and tended more towards the bluesy / good ol' rock'n'roll side of things, which isn't my personal preference (I like the more pop stuff and the more punk stuff, anything fast) but I can't really complain because it was still damn good. There was variety too, with a few classic Moore tunes from back in the day, a couple of straight-up pop songs and one real R&B number.

This time around, Moore's audience was more sophisticated and more supportive. There were a lot of musicians in the crowd, including one of my longtime heroes, Yo La Tengo's Georgia Hubley. (I'm 90% sure it was her, especially because her bandmate/hubby Ira Kaplan is producing Moore & co.'s upcoming album. Kaplan was probably there too, but I didn't see him.) With this kind of audience, Moore didn't really have the chance to be as antagonistic as usual, which was actually kind of disappointing - Moore is one of those musicians who thrives on conflict. But it was also nice to see him getting some serious respect from some serious musicians.

And Moore didn't completely calm down just because people were more receptive. He continued with his half-coherent ramblings between songs, and worked up a lot of anger spitting out his more political lyrics. He was also not wearing any pants, just boxers. So he's still punk rock, like he's been since long before punk rock existed and like he will continue to be forever. Because doing whatever the hell you want to is what punk is all about. And that's exactly the kind of punk Moore's been letting loose since 1968. Respect.

[MySpace]

Dust It Off: The Godz - Contact High with the Godz

Album: Contact High with the Godz
ESP-Disk, 1966

It’s hard to believe, but since 1966, no one has managed to take the edge off the Godz. The experimental pop band (not to be confused with the 70’s metal band of the same name) formed on New York’s Lower East Side in the mid-60’s, contemporaries of the slightly less obscure Fugs and Holy Modal Rounders. Together, these art-pop bands laid the groundwork for the advent of underground rock and for the use of ugliness-as-confrontation-as-art in a fully pop music context.

While it’s hard to say whether the Godz in particular directly influenced many of the bands that followed them, they certainly set in motion new ideas that would echo through music right through punk and up to the present day.

Contact High with the Godz is a 25-minute study in willful incompetence. You’ll think there couldn’t be anything more out of tune than the guitars – until the vocals come in. Drummer Paul Thornton crashes erratic single-instrument beats in purposefully unsteady tempos under the enthusiastic autoharp strumming of Jay Dillon. The "singing" sounds alternately like the wailing of a drunk cowboy and the absent mumbling of someone alone in his house who’s forgotten he was singing at all.

The songs are positively gems. From "White Cat Heat" (in which the band makes the sounds of, well, a cat in heat) to "May You Never Be Alone Like Me" (featuring an atonal fluttering from what seems to be a child’s recorder flute), each track is memorable. "Godz" features the band repeating their own name in different voices over a single irregularly-strummed chord. The aptly titled "Squeak" involves a violin played Godz-style, which to say it’s even more painful than your next-door neighbor’s eight-year-old son’s first viola lesson. And who can’t relate to the sentiment of "Lay In the Sun"? The song’s only lyrics: "All I want to do-oo-oo / Is lay in the sun."

It’s not all vapid nonsense either. First, the sprawling folk inflections and up-tempos make this undeniably a pop record, even if it’s the kind of pop that only one in a hundred people could even bear to listen to. And as such, the Godz predicted everything from punk to twee, all based on a populist confrontation of the exclusive gestures of mainstream rock. After all, could anything be more DIY than recording and releasing an intentionally unlistenable, proudly unprofessional pop album in fuckin’ 1966?

And beyond that, there’s a subtle emotive dimension to the album. When the band asks, "Is one plus one really two?" it’s not obnoxious, it’s pathetically existential. And the mournful religious musings of "May You Never Be Alone" end the album in a self-mocking but very real sadness.

[MySpace]

Dust It Off: Mercury Rev - Boces

Album: Boces
Columbia, 1993

Although Mercury Rev is a widely recognized name among indie rockers, especially those with roots in the 90's, the group's first two albums - their best - have fallen by the wayside. There's a reason for that: the band lost founding member and singer David Baker to "creative differences" after the release of Boces, their sophomore effort. There seems to be bad blood, given that the band has all but disowned their first two records. The biography on the band website intentionally understates Baker's role, but there's strong evidence that he had a broad influence on the band's creative directions.

Even if it was not due to Baker's departure, there is no doubt the group took a radical turn, following up Boces with increasingly commercial, mellow, straight-forward releases, most notably 1998's highly touted Deserter's Songs. This is the Mercury Rev you are most likely to have heard; Boces has drifted in and out print with frustratingly little availability in U.S. stores.

But Boces is Mercury Rev at its finest. It's an explosion of tripped-out technicolor pop. Each tiny, quirky part falls magically into place like so many gears in a crazed inventor's masterpiece. The arrangements are at once fragmented and seamless, an effect achieved through intricate - but never dense - layers of sound.

The first song, the ten and a half minute "Meth of a Rockette's Kick," breaks too many pop song rules to count. With its length and slow start, it's a risky choice to open the album, but its bright pop melodies are masterfully spaced out with floating sections and it never once becomes boring. The whole track ends with a funky racket starring everything from trombone to saxophone to glockenspiel to piano. This outburst is pushed to its climax with the addition of bizarre sixties girl group vocals, mixed low. It's an unabashed snapshot of pop music's history at its most cheesy and its most backwards. And it is hard to swallow at first, but once the confusion wears off, it's the album's most beautiful moment.

The other tracks don't fall far short. "Bronx Cheer" is a noise-pop gem, burying an irresistible mini-melody under layers of fuzzy sound and delivering it at a deliberately breakneck speed. "Boys Peel Out" is a loungey meditation on 1950's pop culture, while "Something For Joey" and "Hi-Speed Boats" are pure pop gold. The album's central ballad, "Downs Are Feminine Balloons," playfully but sadly proclaims "if there's one thing I can't stand, it's up."

The entire album sounds like a dream, defiant of logic and explanation. But only if your dream is set in a candy shop where a hundred bright colors are a hundred different kinds of delicious. Blending the druggy sweetness of the 60's with the lo-fi noise of the 90's, Boces is a unique achievement in American underground pop, a fun listen from the first note on and an interesting record the hundredth time through.

Live: Sisters, Pants Yell!

When: 4/11
Where: Dead Herring

Although I mainly went to the show at Dead Herring last week to check out Knight School, I managed to miss their entire set. That was partly because my friend and I got lost on the way. We thought we knew where the venue was, and ended up walking into the apartment of an elderly woman, who just stared at us from her couch. True story.

Once we found the right place, Knight School was already packing up their gear and the mysterious Sisters was taking the stage. Sisters is a two-man band that I've heard rumblings about but hadn't had a chance to check out yet. As it happens, I liked them even more than I thought I would. One of the privileged few members of the Death By Audio record label, Sisters have a certain amount of cred from that endorsement alone - before the existence of the label, the DBA family gave rise to two of NYC's best bands of the 2000's, A Place to Bury Strangers and Dirty on Purpose. That's gotta count for something.


Sisters (photo from myspace.com)
The two play primal noise pop with good-enough (though not exceptional) melodies and solid, tightly-constructed songs. The lo-fi guitar noise and unpolished vocals are delightfully rough, and the stripped down drumming on a stripped down drumset keeps everything down to earth. Sisters are clearly performers, even augmenting their set with a little light show that included the old Butthole Surfers' trick of tucking a strobe light under a floor tom. The lighting effects were on a small enough scale that they didn't distract or overpower the music, just added visual amplification of whatever was going on sonically.

Sisters isn't one of those bands that's great because it is doing something new. It's one of those bands that's great because it's boiled down something great to its essence - Sisters is the epitome of minimalist noise pop. If that's your kind of thing, Sisters are bound to satisfy. [MySpace]

Unfortunately, it will be hard for me to review The Pants Yell! objectively, because throughout their set, my attention was constantly being drawn away from the band by some very ill-mannered audience members - you know, the type who are there for the scene but couldn't give a fuck about the music, so they shout over it the whole time. Plus a few people of the type who didn't get enough attention from mom and dad so they have to try to take attention away from the performing band by cutting up. These individuals were only a small minority of the audience, but unfortunately, I managed to place myself right in their central headquarters. In any case, I digress.

I always find myself a little disappointed by Pants Yell! Their sound is a little too spare-yet-not-gritty for my particular tastes. For a band so highly touted in the pop world, I also find their melodies surprisingly unmemorable. But they aren't a bad listen. Drummer Casey Keenan, who appears to be the only member of the band with any training or proper technique, anchors the band well so the other two can carry out their understated pop mission without a stumble.

To my ears, the music's quiet undercurrent of sadness only dampens its songwriting, but there's inevitably something rewarding about hearing a band this earnest lay it all out there. If you don't need the grungy roar of distorted guitars or the syrupy elation of uptempo melodies, this band may be for you. If you do need those things, though, Pants Yell! can be a bore, and it isn't quite my cup of tea. [MySpace]

Album: Woods - Songs of Shame

Album: Songs of Shame
Woodsist, 2009
Rating: ******** (8/10)

This is my second post about Woods in a week, but for good reason. Their newest album, Songs of Shame will be released by their own label, Woodsist, next week.

Woods are a psychedelic folk-pop band that sounds like the ghosts of the Byrds - similar earthy pop delivered in a high register, but overshadowed by a haunted, otherworldly sorrow. Their lo-fi aesthetic doesn't use blanket static - there's not much distortion at all, except on an occasional lead guitar. Instead, they are lo-fi in a way that sounds distant (like the songs of a distant future's distant past) and secretive (there's a hint of something behind the music that you know you'll never understand).

Songs of Shame certainly shows the band's evolution since their last LP, 2007's At Rear House. Most importantly, they've branched out melodically. On Rear House, numerous songs follow the same melodic contour laid out in its first track, while on Songs of Shame, the songs are far less formulaic. This also means many of the melodies are more subtle and less immediately memorable than the songs on Rear House, but if they draw you in more slowly, they also draw you in more deeply.

The album opens with "To Clean," one of my favorite Woods tracks ever, followed by the excellent "The Hold," which contrasts a typically beautiful Woods melody over a very odd rhythm on tuned drums. Track three, "The Number," is also a Woods classic to-be, and again, features a masterfully composed tune. Later on the record, "Military Madness" (a Crosby, Stills and Nash cover) and "Rain On" are the most captivating songs. The cover is brilliant, mostly because Woods's unique sound guarantees they will reinvent any song they play, even from another band who mixed psychedelic, pop and folk influences.

There are even more indulgent experimental forays here than on Rear House, most notably the nearly ten minute long instrumental centerpiece. The song is much too long and repetitive for someone of my attention span, but it definitely has its moments of beauty. Still, it doesn't do anything unexpected, just trances out, swells up and then dies down. It's not bad, but it's not much of a contribution to the indie canon.

If this is your first time listening to Woods, I'd recommend checking out In Rear House first (also available from Woodsist). It's more accessible and a better introduction to the band. But you might as well get both at once, since once you check out Rear House, you're going to want more. And this, the artistically stronger album, is bound to captivate anyone familiar with the mysterious charm of Woods.

Woods on MySpace

Album: Lonely Dear - Dear John

Album: Dear John
Polyvinyl Records, 2009
Rating: ******* (7/10)

Prior to hearing this record, I knew nothing about Lonely Dear except the name. So when I first turned on Dear John, I had no idea what to expect.

The surprise was pleasant - at first. The album starts out with two killer indie pop tracks, "Airport Surroundings" and "Everything Turns To You," both featuring massive orchestration (much of it electronic) and intricate arrangements. The production is outstanding, with a relentless attention to detail.

However, after the opening two songs, the album began to disappoint. Its many ballads have lyrics that are, frankly, unbearable. They sound like they might have been written by a precocious fifteen-year-old - faux-sophisticated but blatantly cliched and more than a little embarrassing. I'm not sure if the lyrics in the upbeat songs are actually better or if it's just easier to ignore them, but in either case, the contrast in quality between fast and slow songs on Dear John is drastic.


Lonely Dear
The record does have some good songs after the first two, though. "Under a Silent Sea" starts out gentle and with very satisfying dramatics, shifts to a blasting chorus. "Violent" has a more conventional indie pop feel to it, with a simple but entrancing bass line. The final track, "Dear John," is also charming in its way - halfway through, it morphs into a Sousa-esque military march. This and other horn-heavy arrangements are reminiscent of Neutral Milk Hotel, which is always a plus.

In the end, I'm not sure whether to recommend buying this album or not. If you don't mind cliched wallowing lyrics, definitely pick up a copy. If you can't tolerate them, you should still try to download the album's less whiny songs - despite the lyrical shortcomings, the arrangements and melodies are enough to delight any pop fan.

Dear John hits stores tomorrow.

Album: Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion

Album: Merriweather Post Pavilion
Domino, 2009
Rating: ********* (9/10)

Easily the most anticipated release of 2009, Merriweather Post Pavilion is around the fifth or sixth album from the Brooklyn-based Animal Collective. Most of their half-dozen releases have been greeted with massive acclaim, but none more so than this, which has been lauded as the band's finest achievement to date.

I can't speak to that, because I'll admit I'm not all that familiar with the band's earlier work. What I can say is that it's an outstanding album, and one you should get your hands on soon.

I'm not going to the extreme that some reviewers have (I think the folks over at Pitchfork have started a cult or something), but it's definitely worth a lot of the excitement it's generated so far. This is psychedelic pop at its best, with melodies that could compete in the UK's 1960's and rhythms that draw equally from New York City club tracks and Afro-caribbean radio hits. Most impressive of all is the production - every voice and every effect is honed with such care that the album is unbelievably near to sonic perfection.

The other aspects of the album aren't as flawless - there are tracks that will probably get more skips than listens as the album's novelty wears off, and there are melodies and compositions that become irritating or unfocused, but those certainly constitute a small minority of the album. I have no doubt that songs like "My Girls," "Summertime Clothes" and "Lion in a Coma" will be listened to and loved for many years to come. What's more, the album as a whole will rightfully hang on to its anticipated status as a classic of experimental pop, earning Animal Collective once and for all a place alongside Mercury Rev, the Flaming Lips and the rest of the great wacky popsters of the American underground.

Live: Miniboone

When: 11/21
Where: The Charleston

So this past Friday night, I happened to catch the first show of a new band called Miniboone. Miniboone are an college-nerd-looking quartet, who play intellectual, aggressive, experimental pop. The best way I could describe the band is to say that it's like if the Minutemen and June of 44 formed a hybrid and then drank several gallons of espresso - but that probably doesn't mean anything to you because you probably have no idea who June of 44 were, and that's criminal - but it's not a crime we have time to prosecute in this particular post.

So I'll just say Miniboone play fractured, dissonant, noisy music that's guaranteed to repel most casual listeners. But this isn't a band vying for radio play, it's a band seeking to stretch the boundaries of what pop music can be. And in that endeavour, they succeed. The rhythmic complexity reminded me of early 1990's Louisville math rock (Slint, Rodan, Gastr del Sol), with always-changing time signatures and uneven, asymmetrical phrases. But compared to these meandering experimental bands, Miniboone plays fast-burning, pointed songs you'll have to concentrate to keep up with. Luckily, their animated, jumpy performance makes paying attention easy.

My only complaint about the band is that they are little over-intellectual (even their name is an obscure science reference) and I couldn't really connect with them on an emotional level. Even in fun and humorous experimental music, the ultimate purpose should be beauty and self-expression. This came through in some of Miniboone's songs, but others seemed to get too caught up in their own cerebral underpinnings to really reach a deeper level.

But I'd say, keep an eye on this band - it's a rare group that's this creative and original from their very first show.

Live: R. Stevie Moore

I apologize if this review is starting to sound like a broken record - I know I keep mentioning the same folks over and over again, but bear with me. I just keep finding about shows when researching album or about albums when I go to shows. But in the case of R. Stevie Moore, I'm just doing my part to make up for all the blog posts he should have received but didn't over the years.

When: 11/11
Where: Cake Shop

So if you've been paying any attention at all, you'll know R. Stevie Moore did a late night set at Cake Shop last night. I braved a nasty migraine and went, and it was so worth it. This was, without a doubt, one of the best concerts of my life.

Moore looks like Santa Claus if there was no Mrs. Claus to nag him about a haircut and if Santa wore a hip-hop style Brooklyn basketball warm-up suit. Unlike a lot of older musicians (he's only in his mid-fifties but has been putting out albums since the late 60's), Moore hasn't lost his edge - undoubtedly because his edge was always based on him just doing whatever the fuck he wanted to.


R. Stevie Moore

Regarding the music, Moore's songs are genre-defying, completely bonkers and excellent gems of American underground pop. There's country there and lo-fi, and punk and powerpop, with spoken word and folk and psychedelic too and a lot of other things you can't quite put your finger on - think Bob Pollard meets Big Star meets the Ramones meets Johnny Cash meets 13th Floor Elevators. OK, never mind, imagining that isn't worth the effort - just listen to the man and you'll see what I mean.

As for the performance, it featured all sorts of antics, some planned, some not. Moore interacted a lot with his lamentably small audience and reminded us all that he's as much a performer as a musician. From bad puns (Proposition 8 = Preparation H?) to trying to eat his lyric sheets (and then tossing the spit-covered page out to the audience), Moore was having fun and making sure everyone else did too. He chided the audience for their youth, heckled back a heckler, ranted incoherently, stopped playing mid-song to take his own picture with the audience and retook it when it didn't come out well enough.

The musicians who joined him on stage were, needless to say, seasoned professionals whose tight playing was all the more impressive because they had to follow Moore's erratic lead and because Moore writes hundreds of songs a year, which doesn't leave them with much time to learn them. Most importantly, they were all clearly having a blast, especially the drummer who looked on the verge of busting a gut the whole time.

If you're in New York and you missed this show, you made a terrible mistake - but you can learn from it, just don't miss your next chances: Maxwell's (Hoboken, NJ) on Nov. 30 and Death By Audio (Brooklyn) on Dec. 4.

On that note, did anyone see the Sea and Cake last night? How was it? I'm guessing this is their last tour.

Upcoming Shows: R. Stevie Moore and the Sea and Cake (you have to choose)

In yet another scheduling travesty, tomorrow, NYC will be graced by the presence of both R. Stevie Moore (underground pop icon I reviewed here) and The Sea and Cake (poppy post-rock heroes we all [should] know and love).

How to chose? Well, R. Stevie Moore is a piece of pop history. I haven't heard the fellow live, but I imagine he will be playing short, quirky vocal-focused genre-crossing pop songs. The Sea and Cake have been around a while too, but aren't old enough to be your grandpa. Expect them to play instrumental-focused experiments with crazy beats and some jazzy influences, not to mention some strange pop melodies tossed in for funsies.

R. Stevie Moore
Cake Shop (152 Ludlow St., LES)
11 PM
$6

The Sea and Cake
Music Hall of Williamsburg (66 N. 6th St., Brooklyn)
9 PM >> start time for opening acts
$20

Five Forgotten Pioneers: Part 2

OK, here's part two! (Part one is here.)

R. Stevie Moore

R. Stevie Moore has been making independent underground pop since the 1960's. Recording and releasing most of his music himself, Moore established a DIY aesthetic that would eventually be the hallmark of lo-fi, the dominant movement of American indie pop. Moore's music itself isn't lo-fi, but in his recordings, you can hear the beginnings of the intentionally messy and proudly raw sounds later adopted by the likes of Sebadoh and Pavement. Even the use of basic multitrack recording equipment like Moore's has become a badge of honor among American indie bands from Guided by Voices to the White Stripes.

Moore's releases number in the hundreds if not thousands, so of course, there's a lot of dud songs in there, but the average quality is surprisingly high. The variety among the releases is itself amazing, with genre-crossing composition at times akin to Beck's. Experimental but accessible, his pop music has always been forward-looking, innovative and fun.

NEWS: R. Stevie Moore is playing November 11, 2008 at Cake Shop in NYC. See you there!


Mirrors (a.k.a. the Styrenes)

Of the many groups immediately preceding the punk movement, few have been more forgotten than Mirrors. Part of the Cleveland scene that hatched the Electric Eels, Rocket from the Tombs and Pere Ubu, Mirrors formed in 1973, recorded a small amount of material (the majority of which went unreleased until 2001), then changed names and directions and continued into the 1980's at the Styrenes.

Mirrors play a raw, aggressive proto-punk like the Stooges or the Electric Eels, but with more thoughtful experimentalism than these bands, borrowing from early Pink Floyd as well as the Velvet Underground-inspired Cleveland and Detroit scenes. The intellectual approach of Mirrors to the subversively raw proto-punk of their peers in many ways predicts the post-punk movement, which would add the very same slowed-down thoughtfulness to its punk roots. Intelligent and creative, Mirrors included touches of prog rock and noise in their music, but they never once forgot to rock out.