Three Imaginary Girls - Seattle's sparkly indie-pop press

Blues Funeral

Imaginary Gemma — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 16:06:07 +0000

8.5

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B006CC0YB0/?tag=wwwthreeimagi-20

With his bass-baritone register and emphasis on sordid narrative, Mark Lanegan bears many similarities to Tom Waits and Johnny Cash. But while you love their gravelly voices because of the stories they tell, you love Lanegan’s stories because of his leathery voice: handled by Mark Lanegan, even the alphabet would sound profound. Unlike his melancholy storytelling compatriots, Lanegan’s singing holds up to a fuller sound, and even demands it. Occasionally, though, his looping, unhurried songs have walked too fine a line between hypnotic fascination and mind-numbing boredom. But when the tissue paper layers of his songs build to sufficient thickness, it’s impossible not to be swept away, as evidenced by Blues Funeral.

Blues Funeral is the first album released under the name Mark Lanegan Band since 2004’s Bubblegum, but don’t think Lanegan hasn’t been busy. He has released albums with Isobel Campbell, The Twilight Singers, Soulsavers, and The Guttertwins, in addition to making numerous guest appearances in the meantime. Despite eight years and nine albums separating them, Blues Funeral follows logically from Bubblegum. Blues Funeral is the more cohesive of the two, yet rarely dips into monotony. Guest appearances by frequent collaborators, Josh Homme, Greg Dulli, and Jack Irons connect the album to Lanegan’s other projects.

Blues Funeral is best enjoyed in its entirety in a darkened room, through headphones, with a bourbon in hand. Throughout the whole, lyrics are placed front and center, where, like the Man in Black, Lanegan yearningly explores unwholesome themes with only a flickering hope of Christian redemption.

“Gravedigger’s Song” opens with the urgency that is sometimes lacking in Lanegan’s music. Surrender to the narcotic effect of Lanegan’s voice and float away on the tides of “Bleeding Muddy Water” and “Gray Goes Black.” “St. Louis Elegy” washes you onto a dusty shore littered with tumbleweeds to join the shuffling slave march of the hopeless. The aching flow is broken by the surprisingly effective beat of the aptly named “Ode to Sad Disco.” The song is only slightly out of place and worth the interruption. It is easy enough to dive headfirst into the inviting void of “Phantasmagoria Blues” that follows. Just when you’re hopelessly lost in the darkness, the album peaks with “Harborview Hospital.” Here Lanegan sounds his best, lightened and offset by a transcendent meteor shower of atmospheric synths. The album closes with “Tiny Grain of Truth,” which takes a step back from the vocals. In their place, guitar effects work like the snap of a hypnotist’s fingers, allowing you to break back through the surface after submersion in the shadowy, suede and canvas world of Mark Lanegan.

The album’s release date is February 6, but you can listen to it streaming on KEXP now. US tour dates have not yet been scheduled.

...when the tissue paper layers of his songs build to sufficient thickness, it’s impossible not to be swept away, as evidenced by Blues Funeral.

The Stars Are Indifferent to Astronomy

Imaginary Steve — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 16:28:08 +0000

8.5

http://store.easystreetonline.com/rel/v2_viewupc.php?storenr=375&upc=65517311222

the-stars-are-indifferent-to-astronomy.jpg

The moment I hear a song written by (Nada Surf vocalist/guitarist) Matthew Caws, it takes on considerable meaning. It can be a snippet of a lyric, a certain chord change, a vocal melody, but there's always something -- and as a result, Nada Surf albums are, without exception, difficult for me to process. Which is a little odd, since the songs themselves and the corresponding recordings are generally pretty straightforward. The more I question why, the more I become convinced that it's all about emotion.

After the listen, the hard work begins: either figuring out what it means to me, or being at peace with the uncertainty and absorbing the music from there. Nada Surf inhabit a very short list (REM, Radiohead, Teenage Fanclub, and The Beatles come immediately to mind) of bands I enjoy on an uncommonly personal level -- so much so that I'm almost embarrassed by the depth of feeling. Having at least one foot firmly settled in reality, I realize that "Inside of Love" wasn't written about me. But it burrows its way into my heart so completely, there are times when that reality is hard for me to recall. I have little doubt that it's this very intimacy that has garnered Nada Surf a loyal, loving fan base that shows no signs of abating.

The Stars Are Indifferent to Astronomy, the band's 7th LP, is perhaps most akin to 2005's stellar (no pun intended) The Weight Is A Gift. As with that record, most of the songs on Stars inhabit a similar sonic area code, standing in contrast to 2008's more eclectic, though just as rewarding, Lucky LP. The vast majority of Stars' ten tracks are mid- to up-tempo power pop numbers which, in less skilled hands, would surely lack the impact that Caws, bassist Daniel Lorca and drummer Ira Elliot are able to conjure. Such is the advantage on a nearly two decade-long musical partnership.

While Caws seems a bit preoccupied with mortality on Stars, he refreshingly, rather than lamenting-ly, appears to view growing older more as an opportunity than an obstacle. You would be hard-pressed to discover a more life affirming collection of songs, much less one positively exploding with great hooks.

It appears as though the idea with Stars was essentially to avoid over-thinking: seventh track "Looking Through", for example, was recorded the day after it was written. The result is an album that immediately sounds familiar, not because it's a retread but because Nada Surf have so aptly captured the shimmering, lovely essence of what makes them so enchanting in the first place. Opener "Clear Eye Clouded Mind" bursts with punchy, high energy guitars and (of course) flawless harmonies. I suspect it will be a highlight of live shows on their current tour and beyond. "When I Was Young" is no less than an indie-riffic masterpiece, slowly building into a heart-wrenching instant classic.

Though I didn't really need further convincing, Stars reaffirms Caws' place as perhaps the greatest writer of pop tunes in America (all due respect to Adam Schlesinger!). With Nada Surf, what you ~~see~~ hear is what you get. And in this instance, that's a beautiful thing.

album raises new and troubling questions

Imaginary Nicky — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 16:20:44 +0000

7.6

http://www.amazon.com/Album-Raises-New-Troubling-Questions/dp/B00626MNC4

110511tmbg.jpg

Earlier this year, Seattleites had to make a somewhat heartbreaking decision on which performance to attend - in something akin to a mini music-festival, Neil Gaiman & Amanda Palmer, Das Racist, Unknown Mortal Orchestra, and They Might Be Giants were all playing on the same night at different venues. I was at the Gaiman/Palmer gig, and admit that when Palmer was introducing their special surprise guest, I irrationally hoped it might involve the two Johns (close - Gaiman/Palmer had nabbed Jonathan Coulton, the opener for TMBG that night). Despite so many options, I have little doubt the TMBG gig was packed.

Traditionally, b-sides are some of an artist's most compelling work -- comprising mostly of lo-fi, oddball and experimental recordings created out of a need to satisfy a muse over a record label demand or sales quotient. It should follow, then, that the new TMBG b-sides and rarities album, appropriately called Album Raises New and Troubling Questions, shouldn't necessarily make sense, or be pleasing to one's audio palate. This is their third b-sides/rarities compilation, which equates to about one for every decade they have been together -- an astonishing and marvellous feat of creativity, endurance, and harmonious relationships. Not taking oneself too seriously apparently leads to longevity, as well as fun!

I have come to expect a few things from TMBG: Brass and polka-tron influences, references to interesting people of historical significance, and to err on the side of the absurd. TMBG have a strange influence on their fans - they appeal to children as much as adults, but one would should not mistake brevity for simplicity. I was delighted to find several TMBG tracks were included on a shyly-collated mixtape from my boyfriend; many years later we would play several of their songs at our wedding. I was sitting in a play a week ago, and the cast included "Ana Ng" in their scant soundtrack, without it sounding out of place. TMBG have a diverse appeal, in all their galloping, oom-pah-pah craziness and joy.

The TMBG rendition of "Tubthumping" features The Onion AV Club Choir, and is difficult to listen to while keeping a straight face. Having said that, it keeps pretty close to the Chumbawumba track -- I'd be interested to hear what a fan of the original thinks! I love "Electronic Istanbul (Not Constantinople)" - the vocoder and synths lend it a grittiness and edge that isn't often present in TMBG material -- and of course the track remains as catchy as ever. Take it to the dancefloor, I say! The cover of Pixies' "Havalina" is glorious, and I would love to see it performed in a stadium setting. Something about the vocals for this track make this sound vulnerable and anthemic, prompting me to wish for Death Cab to turn this into a cover-song-relay. My last favorite is probably "Mr. Me" -- try cranking up the volume and singing along the next time you're "really really really sad".

The highlight of the album is probably the two-minute-ditty "Marty Beller Mask", which poses the creepy, deadpan, and hilarious scenario of TMBG drummer Marty Beller actually being a disguised pop diva. "I can see you through the eyeholes of my Marty Beller mask, 'cos I'm really Whitney Houston on the drums". It's difficult to join in on the Johns indifferently intoning "Don't walk away from me; I will always love you" when you're laughing.

Strange things can occur when you're in a secret lab with a bunch of mad scientists: some things bubble and rise up, other concoctions overflow or explode, but without such experimentation you're much less likely to stumble onto the winning formula. May the expedition towards good humor and free-flowing creativity continue.

Tom Waits: Bad As Me

Andrew Boe — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 16:24:46 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/Bad-As-Me-Limited-Deluxe/dp/B005IGVYUG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1322439834&sr=8-1

tom_waits_bad_as_me_cover.jpg

Tom Waits has had an incredible career in that he has managed to somehow careen in the opposite direction of most artists: his first records are his lightest, most palatable ones -- for example, Closing Time almost sounding like The Eagles at moments -- and his later albums just get stranger and more uncompromising with time. (It is impossible to deny that if Waits heard Real Gone in 1973, he likely would have fallen over.) He has also achieved something that I cannot say any other musician of his age has done, which is span several decades without making one lousy or even mediocre album. This accomplishment alone sets him apart from nearly all of his contemporaries. And with this in mind, we have his new release Bad As Me, an album that explores the musical territory one would expect, but does not whatsoever translate as mundane. It will come as no surprise to state simply that this is yet another beautifully alien collection of songs from the now 61 year-old legend.

Bad As Me features some high profile guests such as Keith Richards, Flea and Les Claypool, all of which seem anathema to Waits’ songwriting style -- but somehow, they tastefully lend their talents to the songs that they are involved in without overplaying or sounding out of character with the feel of the album. In fact, if one hadn’t scrutinized the liner notes, you would never know that these musicians were involved in the recording. (Richards must be thrilled to still be involved with a record that is worth listening to!) Aside from the odd collaboration with Waits, one can't think of much else that he has touched in the last thirty years that warrants repeat listening.

Stylistically, the album follows the trajectory that one would anticipate, as tere are certainly elements of previous records present. Bone Machine is recalled in the vocals on “Talking at the Same Time.” The Swordfishtrombones sound is revisited on “Satisfied,” which is not too dissimilar from “16 Shells From A 30.06.” Most strikingly, the track “Kiss Me” provides the earliest reference point on Bad As Me. In fact, reference point isn’t even adequate as the track sounds like a sequel to “Blue Valentines,” only written thirty-three years later. This is particularly surprising, as Waits rarely delves into the song structures and styles that he used on his albums in the 1970s.

There is also the anachronistic swing of “Get Lost,” which sounds like a 1950s garage rockabilly number. Of course, it features Waits’ demented variation on such a style of song, making it all the more enjoyable. “Hell Broke Luce” contains classic dark humor and includes a variety of typically amusing lines such as “Get me another body bag, the body bag’s full.” The deluxe version is the recommended, as it contains three bonus songs that stack up with everything on the main album. “Tell Me,” for instance, is a heart-rending ballad that is effectively sentimental and romantic. “Why does a bird build its nest so high,” Waits intones as if he feels the sorrow of mere existence in every cell in his lungs and teeth. His pain and maudlin delivery is starkly believable.

So with Bad As Me being Waits’ twentieth album (excluding the live Big Time and Glitter And Doom releases), clearly the legendary iconoclast is continuing down the dusty path that leads him onward. However many more records he bestows us with in his lifetime, it seems safe to say at this point that his entire catalog will not contain one dud. Not only this, but his newest offerings are still indispensible, something that cannot be said for nearly every other decade spanning artist that one can muster a thought of.

Only In Dreams

Chris Estey — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 18:40:20 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/Only-Dreams-Dum-Girls/dp/B005EL6ILK/?tag=wwwthreeimagi-20

Dum-Dum-Girls-Only-In-Dreams-cover.jpg

"I do not pray but tonight I am begging," she sings on "Heartbeat," five tracks into Only In Dreams, the Dum Dum Girls' second album. Dee Dee of Dum Dum Girls writes songs out of longing. For a boy, the feeling of when she first got high, the kiss that felt like a punch. All pop music is probably about longing, and I hate to bring authenticity into anything, but "Bedroom Eyes" (on the DDG's intimidatingly glistening, nervously adult sophomore set) sounds like she really wants (him/the love object/you) there.

She wrote the song when she was lonely, according to the bio, after returning jet-legged from a European tour, and lonely. Really fucking lonely. She says she was alone at home, and insomnia was grinding in her bones, and she read a poem by Rosetti, and she had to bum some zonk-pills off her pop and she scribed this aching, ennui-stricken anthem -- thus we have the audio-poetic equivalent of "Ambien zombie sex."

This anecdote -- filled with isolation, the need for intoxication, the desire to read literature to medicate as well in the black hole of the tour come down -- explains why Dum Dum Girls sounds to me as sparks-to-the-fingers-near-the-wet-socket as the first Pretenders LP, or the third or fourth Ramones album, Blondie's break-through Parallel Lines. You got to live, you got to think of sex when you have death ("Caught In One" -- "this year's been a drag, who knew it'd be so bad?"). Tinny guitar roar and handclaps and bass submerged in the big room where it all swims around the streetwise siren's call.

And as Hannah Levin mentioned (rock crit goddess genius credit where it's due) to me, in that also is an essential absorbing of the Mazzy Star hiss of lawns crushed by late night drama and seduction. This is underbelly-suburban music made for junkie thieves in the city, who need the fresh blood to bring the legal amphetamine to the party ("Coming Down"). It will be on endless repeat next to the 1972 Mixmaster Jazz Fender bass a dealer is holding till a regular "client" gets back, on the dust-encrusted boombox above the abandoned publicity stills for Muholland Drive's bit actors.

Yeah, it probably takes the shaman of sha-la-la, Blondie boss Richard Gottehrer (producer, pills, powder) to make it all seem real on reel to reel, but mentors are a given and rarely properly identified by journos. ("You abuse the ones who love you/ you abuse the ones who won't.")

Only In Dreams doesn't sound much like Roy Orbison in spite of its title; it does however sound like the kind of depraved-passionate Franco-chamber romp album a doomed girl freeze-dried in biker leathers might sing from the back of his cycle as he wipes out in the dirt and glitter outside Los Angeles. I could listen to these sweetly murmuring final little death whimpers and moans forever.

{On Sunday, October 9th, Dum Dum Girls are playing at 6 p.m. with Wavves at 7 p.m. at the Pacific Industrial Center, 2960 4th Avenue South, Seattle, WA 98134. And then later on at Neumo's the same night with The Crocodiles and Colleen Green, doors at 8 p.m., $13 advance, 21+.}