Three Imaginary Girls - XL

Discovery- LP

Chelsea Werner — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 06:55:43 +0000

http://amiestreet.com/music/discovery/lp/

“Orange Shirt” is a benchmark for what to expect but there’s more to Discovery than meets the eye. LP is what a dub R Kelly spending too much time tripping on summertime in European nightclubs might sound like. Chock full of electro flavors throughout, certain tracks venture into reggae on a song like “Slang Tang,” or DJ remixes (scratches included) on a song like “Can You Discover.” Parts smack of Depeche Mode influence (“So Insane),” and others stray into Postal Service territory (“Osaka Loop Line”)--more often than not, each of their songs combine these elements.

What is really brilliant about LP is that it does what it seems to poke fun at better than a lot of people out there taking it seriously. “Carby” seems to parody a straight dance hall jam, only to rise out of the bridge with a refrain of “disco, disco, disco” into layers of it’s beats and melodies creating an exceptional example of a climatic ending to a song based on a largely unchanging beat. An example more R&B artists could follow.

The lyrical content, focused on ambivalent feelings in romantic relationships, thrives in this musical setting. The line, “I promise to leave before your mother wakes up in the morning” at the end of the “Orange Shirt” chorus is mirrored by, “I wanna be your boyfriend but I don’t want anyone to know,” from “I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend,” a track featuring Dirty Projector’s Angel Deradoorian. If, like me, you love “Stillness Is The Move” for the way it reeks of a Mariah Carey chart-topper, you’ll be all over this track.

Their cover of “I Want You Back” makes Jackson Five’s recognizable hook sound like a million xylophones are playing it at once. The lyrics zoom in and out, cementing fleeting and fickle relationships as a major theme of the album. Another cover, a spaced out and syncopated version of Ra Ra Riot’s “Can You Tell” renamed “Can You Discover,” reveals the powers at work behind Discovery.

Despite the distorted vocals and synthy overhaul on every song on this album, a faster version of Rostam’s signature keyboard chops show through on the last song of the album, “Slang Tang,” and Ezra Koening of Vampire Weekend lends her vocals to “Carby.” Rostam and Wes have taken the foundation of their indie-pop sensibilities and carved a new image out of that same solid wood.

LP promises to be a summer hit, not just because of Michael Jackson’s recent death but because it’s summer and we want to dance but we want something thought-provoking to dance to. When Discovery tours you can bet that me and all your friends will be there, waiting for the slower, calypso infused “Swing Tree” so we can pair up and promise to leave before your roommate wakes up in the morning.

Discovery’s album is coming out July 7th, but between now and then you can download it from their website and two dollars of your purchase will be donated to OXFAM, an international relief and development program.

Named after a Frank Zappa quote that “discovery is not dead…it just smells funny,” indeed Discovery is not dead. It is the newborn brainchild of Wes Miles, lead singer of Ra Ra Riot, and Rostam Batmanglij, keyboardist of Vampire Weekend. And it doesn’t smell funny, but it did make me giggle. A first listen to electro R&B opener, “Orange Shirt” left me wondering-- Is this a joke? After listening to all of LP, I realized, that while some of this may be tongue in cheek, it is no joke. In fact, this is serious--seriously awesome.

“Orange Shirt” is a benchmark for what to expect but there’s more to Discovery than meets the eye. LP is what a dub R Kelly spending too much time tripping on summertime in European nightclubs might sound like. Chock full of electro flavors throughout, certain tracks venture into reggae on a song like “Slang Tang,” or DJ remixes (scratches included) on a song like “Can You Discover.” Parts smack of Depeche Mode influence (“So Insane),” and others stray into Postal Service territory (“Osaka Loop Line”)--more often than not, each of their songs combine these elements.

Elvis Perkins In Dearland

Andrew Marques — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 04:33:25 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN//B001Q8FS2U/www3imagi-20/

ElvisPerkins09.jpg

On Elvis Perkins’ first album, Ash Wednesday, he sounded like a mixture of Bob Dylan and Jeff Mangum of Neutral Milk Hotel. I even initially mistook the song “While You Were Sleeping” for a lost Neutral Milk Hotel song, due to Perkins’ uncanny resemblance to Mangum’s nasally voice and the use of an excellent horn section. On this new album, Elvis Perkins In Dearland, he mostly just sounds like himself. Sure, the comparisons to Dylan, Leonard Cohen and Mangum are still valid, but you wouldn’t mistake a song on Dearland for an Aero plane Over The Sea B-side. Sophomore slump is a problem that affects lots of musicians, but Perkins seems to have artfully dodged that condition. Instead, he’s managed to pull together an album that takes the best elements of his previous record and incorporates some new stuff as well.

This album shows that Perkins is not afraid to try new things. A perfect example of this is the song “I’ll be Arriving” which rattles and stomps like a chain gang’s march through the desert. Actually, the track kind of sounds a bit like Beirut from their first album. Whirling organs and jangling percussion build up the song and a muffled trumpet solo tops it off, with Perkins’ electrified guitars providing the backbone of the piece. It’s not a funeral march, but it’s also not a celebration, and whoever it is that’s arriving is bringing with them incredible woe, the kind that causes towns to lock their doors tight and batten down the hatches. Something like this would never have found a home on Ash Wednesday.

Perkins music is laden with a kind of melancholy that makes you feel a little sorrowful, like everything isn’t quite right. His compositions are like that, sort of tugging lightly at your heartstrings, not enough to make you cry, but enough to make you feel a little chilly. That, and the music is gorgeous. “Chains, Chains, Chains” is an acoustic ballad that features not only a moving string section, but also a brass contingent, each one trading places before they come together at the end beautifully. Ironically, the most celebratory track on the album is the rousing “Doomsday” which is one of those “so what if the end of the world is imminent, we’re going to celebrate anyways!” kind of a song. Like a twisted version of Perkins’ own “Mayday!” “Doomsday” is a brass and acoustic guitar party, with a foot stomping rhythm section. It’s a sadhappy kind of song, but it makes me want to get up on a table and dance. Not bad for a song called “Doomsday.”

Perkins has a gift with opening tracks though, and “Shampoo,” with its collage of acoustic guitars, keyboards and harmonicas, is a contender for best track on the album. Another thing Perkins is gifted with is lyrics. They’re pure poetry, and the aforementioned Dylan, Mangum and Cohen would all be proud to have Perkins joining their ranks. It’s wonderful that this album found its way to me in spring, because this is just the time it’ll be perfect for, that transition to light and warmth with occasional cool breezes. Perkins hasn’t dodged sophomore slump, he’s leaped over it in a single bound. WHEEEEEEEEEE!

On Elvis Perkins’ first album, Ash Wednesday, he sounded like a mixture of Bob Dylan and Jeff Mangum of Neutral Milk Hotel. I even initially mistook the song “While You Were Sleeping” for a lost Neutral Milk Hotel song, due to Perkins’ uncanny resemblance to Mangum’s nasally voice and the use of an excellent horn section. On this new album,Elvis Perkins In Dearland , he mostly just sounds like himself. Sure, the comparisons to Dylan, Leonard Cohen and Mangum are still valid, but you wouldn’t mistake a song onDearland for an Aero plane Over The Sea B-side. Sophomore slump is a problem that affects lots of musicians, but Perkins seems to have artfully dodged that condition. Instead, he’s managed to pull together an album that takes the best elements of his previous record and incorporates some new stuff as well.

LP3

Steele — Sun, 14 Sep 2008 23:32:51 +0000

7.5

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0019EI0EY/?tag=wwwthreeimagi-20

LP3.jpg

I appear have a niche market in the TIG universe. My reviews mostly have focused on the electronica genre of the indie world (see my reviews on RJD2 and M83). Have I been typecasted? Or do I do it for the love of the sound? Perhaps both.

It makes sense that I would be the one to discuss the newest from Skidmore College's own Ratatat. Much has changed from the days when they produced their self-titled debut on Mast's PowerBook in Crown Heights. The duet of Ryan Stroud on the guitar and Evan Mast as the synthesizer driver and producer have created a less guitar-driven album in their latest work, LP3. It's got more meat on its bones than their usual spare tracks.

Semi-fresh sound notwithstanding, this Ratatat release still falls under the category of Awesome Background Sound. Case in point: the track "Wildcat" (one of my personal favorites from their last album) was used in a bevy of commercials, movies, and fashion shows, which makes perfect sense. The Ratatat sound is less "look at me" and more introspective: focus on the clothes and the products and the actions, as all will complement the fun "Wildcat."

Like a good wine with a fancy meal, Ratatat is still the king of the soundtrack to our lives. Each song seems suited to a different occasion. The sloshing of the water on "Brulee" evokes images of a beautiful woman bathing or even a summer's romp on a Pacific beach. "Shempi" might be the track that closely resembles Ratatat's known style: Lots of bells and whistles with the synthesizer and hard 80's style guitar licks. It's a catchy little number that will have you on the floor as soon as you hear it. One act plays/video projects could be made based off the album (think "The Wall").

Overall, LP3 is like Ratatat new and improved, like when Lucky Charms adds a new marshmallow: It's still the same cereal, but with a little more color. They still have the guitar mixed with a Nintendo pop sound, but now there are more layers. There's harpsichord! And an orchestra! Oh my!

If you're looking for a soundtrack to make life a little more interesting, then the third time for Ratatat is clearly a charm.

The Ratatat sound is less "look at me" and more introspective.

Win tickets to see The Teenagers at Neumos!

three imaginary girls — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 04:28:29 +0000

We have a pair of tickets to see The Teenagers (with the Handsome Furs and Man Plus) at Neumos this Saturday, April 19th.

Matinee

Erik Gonzalez — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 01:47:39 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0010V4U40/wwwthreeimagi-20

penate08mar.jpg

On the flipside of the current British pop revival is Jack Peñate. Now, I don't know if I dislike Jack Peñate because he dates/dated Kate Nash, he seems irritating in his videos or because he, well, is pretty bad musically.

Jack Peñate longs to be an important voice in Brit-pop, something like an '00s Dexy's Midnight Runners or Madness, but instead he sort of comes across like a watered-down Anglicized John Mayer. Yes, it is that ugly. Now, why is it that I dislike Jack Peñate so much when, in many ways, he is similar to Kate Nash stylistically? Ah, well, this is where the dreaded intangibles kick in, like the fact that you can get bored with Jack Peñate after less than a single listen to his songs. Maybe it is his completely uninteresting vocals, maybe it is the fact that all his songs sound identical, or maybe it is just some deep-rooted hatred on my part for the male pop singer-songwriter (Jason Mraz, come on down!).

How XL Recordings let itself get within 20 miles of Matinee is beyond me.

He sort of comes across like a watered-down Anglicized John Mayer. Yes, it is that ugly.

Vampire Weekend

Erik Gonzalez — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 15:07:01 +0000

8.1

http://www.amazon.com/Vampire-Weekend/dp/B0010V4TZU/wwwthreeimagi-20/

vampire.jpg

Who knew? When we were all listening to Blind Melon and Stone Temple Pilots, the kids, they were listening to Paul Simon and old Peter Gabriel. Or, at least, that is what we’re lead to believe. Just pop in Jens Lekman’s new one or the Vampire Weekend debut and you’ll be wondering Ladysmith Black Mambazo is waiting around the corner with Youssou n'Dour. Vampire Weekend, in fact, calls their sound “Upper West Side Soweto,” which I suppose is fittingly clever/not clever for a New York band, but Vampire Weekend is a lot of fun, if anything, and marks to me the first album of 2008 that I’ve wanted to hear again and again.

I suppose there is nothing terribly new in Vampire Weekend’s sound. It can pretty much be summed up like this: The Strokes record Graceland. I really don’t think any additional description is needed. Is that necessarily a bad thing? No, but you really do know what you’re getting and if you don’t care for the Strokes or Paul Simon’s love letter to Africa, well, then maybe just keep on moving down the “V’s” to the Violent Femmes or the Verve. I hear people like those bands. As for Vampire Weekend, the band and the album, if you take that route, you probably won’t regret it because the album is loose, entertaining and a good panacea for the dark winter weather.

“Mansard Roof” opens the album with a light and flowing mix of guitars and organs, again taking a bit from the Strokes stable and mixing it with the neo-African sound that Simon and Gabriel pioneered (well, in terms of making it mainstream for scaredy middle class whites). The song is catchy as all heck, and that is one of the strong suits of Vampire Weekend: they know how to write a pop song. Sure, you might not have any idea what they are singing about, but you want to sing along. See “Oxford Comma,” a loving tribute to … grammar? Alright, maybe not grammar specifically, but you can tell this is elitist intellectual music that the nerds will eat up. “Bryn” takes on more of the melody and tones of their so-called “Upper West Side Soweto,” and for a bunch of Ivy League educated New Yorkers, they do a pretty decent job with it, albeit in that sort of David Byrne pillaging sort of way. There are a few odd turns, like “I Stand Corrected,” a track where the band must have decided they desperately needed to record a Bloc Party song, all to mixed results. And their new wave “One” is well, just somewhat irritating.

The real high points on Vampire Weekend are songs like “A-Punk,” pretty much a straight-up rock song that fits in well with the new generation of post-New Wave bands like Tokyo Police Club or Islands. The counterpoint to “A-Punk” is the alarmingly Simon-esque “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa,” which beyond the straight outta Graceland sound is also horribly hummable. The song has an elaborate hand-drumming breakdown in the middle with some downright Sigur Ros-like vocalizing, but somehow it all holds together. (Now, what entirely this song has to do with the Cape is beyond me, but they return to the Cape on the album closer, the so-so “Walcott”). “The Kids Don’t Stand a Chance” is the closest you might get to Peter Gabriel’s side of the African aisle (with a bit of the Night Falls Over Kortedala sound), and what you get is a pleasant-enough (albeit a little overblown) power ballad.

So, alright, you’re not going to be thinking Vampire Weekend is pioneering any new trends with Vampire Weekend beyond spreading the South African pop revival to the States. However, for a debut album, Vampire Weekend is a remarkably solid collection of pop songs that stick with you for longer than you might have expected when you first put on the album. It is hard to tell whether Vampire Weekend is just another NYC import-to-the-UK (they’re big there!) flavor of the month, but hey, at least you’ll get a few weeks of enjoyment out of them before you’re told that they’re not cool anymore.

Vampire Weekend’s sound can pretty much be summed up like this: The Strokes record Graceland.

Maths + English

Erik Gonzalez — Wed, 18 Jul 2007 17:43:48 +0000

9.2

http://www.amazon.com/Maths-English-Dizzee-Rascal/dp/B000PC1LBK/

dizzee.jpg

Sometimes it's a crime when an album gets released in the United Kingdom with no apparent timetable for its release into the wild stateside. It's especially baffling with the new Dizzee Rascal album. Sure, his last few albums, although critically praised, never really clicked with the mainstream American hip-hop listener. Garage was just a little too British to make it on your typical “Jammin’” station and that's why you never heard the Streets or Dizzee or Wiley in the States. However, Dizzee’s new album, Maths + English is the most “American” album he’s ever made and as a result, his most decisive album to date – I mean, in this day and age, is being called “American” an insult or praise? Whether you agree with this change in Dizzee’s sound or not, you have to admit that Dizzee deserves better in the U.S., and this album could give him just that.

I have to admit, I’ve listened to Dizzee Rascal’s first few albums and appreciated them for their innovation but never really fell in love with the discs. They were influential – supposedly “Fix Up, Look Sharp” prompted Jay-Z to record “99 Problems” – but something just never clicked with me. I always felt that Dizzee’s lyrical skills were actually not a great match for the clunky, angular Garage beats (the same might be said for Mike Skinner of the Streets too). Dizzee has a quick verbal wit that needs music with the same level of energy that his lyrics provide, and the closest he’s come to the match was his song with Basement Jaxx, “Lucky Star.” But beyond “Fix Up, Look Sharp,” “I Luv U,” and “Learn,” nothing ever felt right to me on his albums. This quandary has been solved on Maths + English, but it definitely pushes Dizzee more into the mainstream than Boy in Da Corner or Showtime ever did.

Any discussion of Maths + English has to start with “Pussy’ole (Old Skool).” The track itself doesn’t actually appear on the U.S. (currently download only) version of the album, probably thanks to the prominent sample of Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock’s “It Takes Two,” but it really needs to be a part of the album. It, at the same time, pays tribute to old school hip-hop and expands it into Dizzee’s new world hip-hop and boy, do Dizzee even seem right and home in the confines of the song. Finally, we get a song that matches the lyrical intensity of Dizzee and a song that could appeal to pretty much anyone (except its lyrical content might keep it off the radio – but if David Banner can have a radio hit, anyone can).

Worry not, though, Dizzee has not abandoned his roots. The album officially opens with “World Outside,” which sounds the closest you might get to Dizzee performing with the Orb, like a dirtier version of “Little Fluffy Clouds." “Flex” is straight out of the Dizzee Rascal playbook, a straight up Garage dance gem while “Da Feelin’” has a very British pop feel to it, taking equal parts soul and dance n’ bass and producing an unique track. “Where’s Da G’s” starts much more like what people expect from Dizzee, with the garbage can beats and thick sequencer lines, but they slowly grow into an intricate trill and then, out of the blue, Bun B and Pimp C come in, transforming the song into a borderline hyphy piece.

“Paranoid” has a classical melody that is mixed with a grimy rhythm that meshes perfectly to create a claustrophobic mood – exactly what Dizzee wants. “Wanna Be” is a throwback, with the playful female vocals taunting ”So you wanna be a gangster?/tell me just one thing/what do you know about being a hard man?/your mom buys your bling.” Zing! It sounds like it could have worked on any of Dizzee’s discs but carries a little more meat on its bones than songs like “Dream” from Showtime obviously share the same musical DNA.

The big beats of “Sirens” are a departure for Dizzee, with the beats much closer to Jay-Z or the RZA (an odd cross-pollination), but you realize that Dizzee’s skills run circles around most rappers (but to keep the UK spin, nothing like a video about fox-hunting where Dizzee is the fox.) You could argue that “Bubbles” is Dizzee’s first foray into a “krunk” sound, with the simple beat and deep synthesizer line that drives the track. What falls out of the track is that Dizzee is built for the sound, leaving most of the fly-by-night southern rappers in the dust (please send hate mail to Erik Gonzalez, 1600 Pennsylvania Ave, Washington DC). “Bubbles” is just dirty through and through, the perfect summer cruising song (of course, you’re hearing this from a guy who drives a VW Golf, not the ideal cruising car). “Temptation” has a healthy sample from the Arctic Monkeys (now there is a UK dream team) and Dizzee takes and wraps his lyrics around the Monkeys’ guitars and vocals like they were his own. The album closes on the downright aggressive “U Can’t Tell Me Nuffin’” that almost doesn’t fit on Maths + English with its jagged and hostile beat and lyrics – yet somehow it seems the best way for Dizzee to finish.

It's hard for me to find a lot to fault on Maths + English; it just cranks out solid songs from start to finish. It might have a few tracks that just don’t click, but they seem to just fade to the background instead of derailing the disc. The real question will be whether this album can give the same notoriety that Dizzee enjoys in the UK here in the States. If anyone deserves a break, it’s Dizzee and now that he’s put together his most polished and accessible disc to date, and you can’t help but root for him. In any case, if you’ve tried Dizzee Rascal before and just didn’t get it, here is your chance to be reacquainted.

Maths + English is the most “American” album Dizzee Rascal has ever made and as a result, his most decisive album to date ...

Broken Boy Soldiers

Erik Gonzalez — Mon, 18 Sep 2006 07:00:00 +0000

7.1

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000F48CD8/wwwthreeimagi-20

raconteurs06sept.jpg

Speaking as someone who has seen Matthew Sweet live four times, I can understand why many people might miss him (yes, I know he's still around, but as a shell of his former rock and roll self). For those of you needing to fill this Matthew Sweet-shaped hole, fear not, the Raconteurs are here to help you. Not to belittle dear ol' Mr. Sweet (whom I have seen finish off what seemed to be a dozen bottles of beer during a show with no ill effects), it takes more than one alternative rockers to take of the slack, here being Jack White (yes, that Jack White) and Brendon Benson (along with members of the Greenhornes). Broken Boy Soldiers is a solid rock album that picks up the mantle of power-pop descending from Elvis Costello & the Attractions, Joe Jackson and of course, a certain Mr. Sweet.

Many people might wonder why does Jack White want to make, you know, normal rock music. That I can't venture to guess, however, the Raconteurs seem to know how to rock quite effectively, albeit in a very straightforward sort of way. The opener, "Steady, As She Goes", beyond being a bit of a linguistic trick, starts with a snarly (and catchy) bass rumble that builds into some crackling guitars and Jack White's vocals. Its probably the most complex song on the album, but the disc really isn't about complexity, instead its about fuzzing out the guitars as they head into the chorus, and the Raconteurs have that in spades. "Hands" lyrically sounds like it could be a Sweet song with lines such as Girl, you got those hands that heel/help me get in touch with what I feel. It blends into a Beatle-esque vocal harmony that carries into the guitar clever, stripped down bridge that builds towards climax at the end of the song. This Beatles sound is expanded on "Intimate Secretary", a song dominated by John & Paul style vocal harmony and some rather inane lyrics like I have a rabbit that likes to hop/I have a girl and she likes to shop, and yes, count me as someone who never expected to hear such lyrics come from Jack White's lips ever.

There are a number of things that I learned while listening to Broken Boy Soldiers that surprised me; namely, I had no idea that Jack White seems to so desperately long to be, well, Ann Wilson. The title track is quite catchy, but sounds like it would fit in quite well within the oeuvre of late 1970's Heart, right down to Jack White's vocals. Surprisingly enough, this sounds works well for the Raconteurs, diving them deep into the realm of arena rock. Ballads like "Together" have more of a Neil Young/Harvest Moon feel to them (with a little less folksiness). Benson's vocals on "Together" add depth that Jack White's higher voice misses, but oddly the backing vocals White adds mesh beautifully. "Yellow Sun" is a bright spot (no pun intended, honestly), with a charming playfulness unlike some of the overly serious tracks like "Call It a Day" and "Store Bought Bones" that feel a bit like filler. The closer, "Blue Veins" finds Jack White turning in a lost White Stripes song, a deep bluesy song that simmers about the getting someone under your skin. Jack White delivers his pattern have spoken, half wailed vocals as the guitars and piano march along in the most dirty and organic approach on the whole album.

Broken Boy Soldiers is what it is: a side project. The songs are pleasant enough and none of them are bad, but also none of them set them apart. However, if anything can be said of the Raconteurs, they breathe new life into pop-rock that had been fading away since Matthew Sweet lost his way. Maybe you can't blame Jack White for wanting to make some straight-fo rward rock without the pressure of keeping it under the White Stripes banner. You just feel that maybe they played Broken Boy Soldiers a little bit too much by the rules.

Many people might wonder why does Jack White want to make, you know, normal rock music.

The Loon

Erik Gonzalez — Wed, 30 Aug 2006 07:00:00 +0000

8.5

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000FUF87U/wwwthreeimagi-20

tapesntapes06aug.jpg

A few fun facts about Minnesota: (1) it has more coastline than California or Hawaii; (2) the stapler was invented there; (3) it boasts the lutefisk capitol of the world (Madison) and (4) they haven't had a big indie scene since the heady days of Hüsker Dü and the Replacements. This might not be entirely the state's fault, I mean, maybe the collective underdog will has been channeled directly to the feisty Minnesota Twins, but whatever the case might be, Tapes 'n Tapes say bollocks to it all, full steam ahead. The Loon has a little bit of everything on it and gets a deserving re-release on XL Recordings.

Tapes 'n Tapes wander from straight-out garage rock to sinister neo-folk of Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds and the Decemberists to sad bastard indie and back again. Within those genres, it is easy to sound clichéd, however Tapes 'n Tapes keep you guessing and seem to avoid that pitfall. The opening number, "Just Drums" begins with a dangerously Strokes-like sound and you worry that this will become a cautionary tale how not to be an indie band and your Casablancas-phobia begins to come out of remission. Thankfully they end up dragging the song from that dead end, and instead send it to the border of Ferdinandia with some clever shifts throughout the song. "The Iliad" loses any of that garage band pretense, instead it takes a page from Beck's Mutations or Sea Change. The band really opens itself up on the barnburner, "Insistor", a song that can only be described as Colin Meloy on speed or Nick Cave with ADHD. The driving drums back up pounding and incessant guitars that never let the tension dissipate that all lead to a Nick Cave-like whispered bridge where lead singer Josh Grier breathes Kelly, Kelly it's not your right to be cheating and fighting. "Insistor" falls in the same musical family as "Take Me Out" or "Common People", where the music itself is a drama that unfolds around you, captivating the listener by creating apprehension that doesn't let up.

"Manitoba" and "In Houston" slows the pace down from White Stripes-like tracks such as "Crazy Eights". "In Houston" has the quiet feel of the Clientele, but with a sinister bent that snarls it's way through the song, while "Manitoba" is a quiet and downright tender ballad with a taste of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah somewhere in there. With a nod to Modest Mouse, "10 Gallon Ascots" seems to harkens to the Lonesome Crowded West. However, Tapes 'n Tapes really excel when they can't really be compared and that's definitely the case on "Cowbell", a song that defies classification, one-part garage, one-part indie rock, one-part rock opera with tiny tastes of everything else as it races along. "Omaha" comes across as indie rock Radiohead, with a little less Doctor Who-inspired synth and more guitar. The Loon closes with the thunderous "Jakov's Suite" where Tapes 'n Tapes charge towards arena-rock anthems. Crunching guitars mesh seamlessly with the relentless drums as Josh wails When you move/when you move/you don't move away.

The Loon will likely make every hip kids Christmas list just like Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! did last year. It marries a "rough on the edges" rock mentality with some great songs filled with hooks (whether they like it or not). Maybe this is just beginning of a Minnesota revival. Heck, we had a bloody Prairie Home Companion movie if that's not proof enough for Minnesota lovin' (am I the only one wondering about the hot Garrison Keilor-Lindsay Lohan sex? On second though - hurhrhrh.) Tapes 'n Tapes are just one of those bands that you really hope make it big, a band that pretty much anyone can rally around (in a good way) and The Loon will send them well along that path towards mega-super-Minnesotan stardom.

Tapes 'n Tapes wander from straight-out garage rock to sinister neo-folk of Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds and the Decemberists to sad bastard indie and back again.

The Classics

Erik Gonzalez — Mon, 28 Aug 2006 07:00:00 +0000

7.1

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000GH3COS/wwwthreeimagi-20

ratatat06aug.jpg

I know a lot of people who like Ratatat. I've heard Ratatat played in coffee shops around the country. Heck, I've seen people walking around with Ratatat t-shirts. Why is this odd? Well, when was the last time that an entirely instrumental, quirky electro-indie band became big? Yeah, I thought so. Yet, Ratatat's self-titled debut has become a poor man's Give Up (without the Ben Gibbard lyrics). And much like the aforementioned Postal Service, Ratatat is a side project (of Evan Mast of E*Vax and Mike Stroud of Dashboard Confessional) that has taken on a life of its own, the result being Classics, a new collection of instrumental hits (and some misses) that should keep the collaboration of one beatmaster and one guitarist rolling strong.

There is an infectious quality to the first Ratatat album, with the deep synthesizer sounds blending with the guitars and throbbing beats. Classics continues that trend, but with some gentler melodies. The album opens with "Montanita," a twisting song that evokes the sounds of Tipsy and other loungetronic bands of the late 90's. It is much softer and sweeter than anything on their debut and it may surprise many fans as the gentler side of Ratatat. Fear not, though, as they jump right back into the more aggressive dance on "Lex" and "Gettyburg," where the twirling synthesizer lines grind up against the guitars in front of a hot and dirty beat.

However, these might be the only songs on Classics that are as bombastic as the tracks from its predecessor. Ratatat seem to be taking a more relaxed and experimental approach, and this is plainly heard on "Wildcat," a song that practically screams Daft Punk. It has a writhing bassline that drives the song along with, well, a roaring mountain lion on vocals. It might lack the heavy beat of earlier Ratatat, but it clearly shows an evolution towards more dance-type music. "Kennedy" with its quirky, Tubular-Bells-meets-Kraftwerk-like synths combine with the almost 80's metal style guitar in a way you just don't expect to work, but it does with surprising success. The low and rumbling sexiness of "Nostrand" seems to take its cue from Air (French Band — I still get a kick out of that) with its underlying rhythms but is then slyly combined with lilting guitars that crash into an android breakdown.

Some of their more subdued songs just don't work. "Tropicana" sounds like a lost child from Blur's The Great Escape, but in a tired and clichéd way, borrowing a lazy guitar line where one shouldn't be. Alternately, "Loud Pipes" takes a more funk-sounding approach and ends up sounding just a little too goofy for its own good. Tracks like "Swisha" and "Tacobel Canon" just lack the energy you expect from Ratatat and end up feeling just sort of stale when compared to their other works. "Tacobel Canon" does have its moments, like the odd, Bach-inspired breakout in the middle, but overall, just never gets fiery enough to keep your attention.

Classics might be an overstated title for Ratatat's second album, but it's far from a disappointment. They obviously have proven that the collaboration is not a one trick pony, but instead take it in some newer directions without alienating their original fans too much. Classics isn't groundbreaking by any means, but still has that odd infectiousness that has made the band an unexpected hit in a land where instrumentals are usually just filler and oddities.

Classics might be an overstated title for Ratatat's second album, but it's far from a disappointment.

Damn Damn Leash

Billy Corazon — Wed, 03 Aug 2005 07:00:00 +0000

6.5

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0007O25P2/wwwthreeimagi-20

beyourownpet05aug.jpg

As a general rule of thumb, it's a good idea to have a healthy amount of skepticism about bands comprised of high school kids who make it big. All too often there are too many svengali parents with broken rock dreams of their own lurking behind the scenes or record execs pushing the gimmick of a Muppet Babies version of whatever is the hot trend of the moment (What the hell ever happened to Silverchair, anyway?) for there to be any genuine youthful piss and vinegar in the music.

So, with that caveat out of the way — and discounting the fact that, yes, they are from Nashville (one of the capitols, along with our own fair city, of broken musical dreams) and yes, apparently all their parents are involved with the music business, and the fact that, yes, a casual listen could kinda, sorta, peg them as a Lil' Yeah Yeah Yeahs — one still has to come to the conclusion that Be Your Own Pet is pretty damn bad ass.

A four-piece of 16 and 17 year olds from the aforementioned Music City, BYOP has a fun, slightly southern-fried take on the whole YYYs / Strokes kinda indie, kinda catchy, kinda punky New York thing. The title track of this three song EP is genuine ear candy in the best sense of the term, and I dare anybody to get it out of your head for at least a few days after you hear it.

If anything about BYOP assuages my mild reservations about kiddie bands on major labels, it's the fact that they honestly just sound like a really good band of teenagers. Singer Jemina Pearl has got a lot of sass and sneer, and her voice sounds like something that will probably bloom into something really special. But here she sounds like a 16 year old punky-waver girl singing in a band with her buddies — which is not any kind of put-down; it's one of the things about the group that makes them endearing. Definitely worth grabbing this EP and we'll wait and see on a full length.

If anything about BYOP assuages my mild reservations about kiddie bands on major labels, it's the fact that they honestly just sound like a really good band of teenagers.

Treddin' On Thin Ice

imaginary jessica — Mon, 20 Sep 2004 07:00:00 +0000

6.9

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0001GCMEA/wwwthreeimagi-20

wiley.jpg

Treddin' On Thin Ice marks the solo debut of East London denizen Wiley. Following the footsteps of fellow Roll Deep Crew member and protégé Dizzee Rascal, Wiley brings the British urban underground to listeners everywhere with a self-styled genre he terms Eskibeat.

But just what is "Eskibeat"? Though Wiley refuses to acknowledge (and often flatly denies) the influence of British garage and two-step, both indisputably impact this newly minted genre. That hypnotic rhythm so prevalent in British garage (not to be confused with garage rock by any means) oozes out of each track of Treddin' On Thin Ice, seeping into your body and making not moving to the beat virtually impossible.

Wiley infuses his own signature stylings into existing trends, using Eskibeat to fuse the worlds of Brit garage and hip hop. He creates grimy, urban-tough sounds that reflect his adolescence on the streets of East London. Bass-line heavy with elastic scatter-shot drum machines and samples ranging from circus to symphony evoke distressed brick and dark alleys, flickering street lamps and underground hideouts. His delicious streetwise Brit accent and warmly bassy voice draw you in, encouraging a close listen.

Lyrically, Wiley tends toward the autobiographical, with particular emphasis on his aspirations for his musical career. The third track, "Wot Do U Call It?" reads like a manifesto for Wiley's imminent reign. He uses this song to openly dispute any connections to garage — "It don't sound like garage... it's not garage... this is my sound, it sure ain't garage." Treddin' On Thin Ice is the playground for Wiley's "own sound, the Eskimo sound." "I want everybody to follow this sound," Wiley avers. With this solid debut LP, there's little doubt that a devoted following is in the offing.

Wiley brings the British urban underground to listeners everywhere with a self-styled genre he terms Eskibeat.

Ratatat

imaginary stella — Thu, 08 Jul 2004 07:00:00 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0001FT2US//wwwthreeimagi-20

Ratatat.jpg

Remember that episode of Friends when Ross decides to play his 'sounds' for the gang? He gets out his keyboard, sits in front of his audience, steadies his hands and begins a cacophonous medley of samples set with a stone face; this guy is SERIOUS about his music. The group tries to stifle laughter, praising him to his face for his genius work while secretly dying inside at the horror.

Flash forward to 2004 and the release of New York band Ratatat's album, Ratatat. Two guys, a keyboard, a guitar-and not a lot of creativity.

Before the band stops me to say, "No you didn't!" let me explain: It's not that the music on this CD is horrible. Truly, the duo exhibits a fine appreciation for the baroque of days old and the beats of days present, with a little Ode to Joe Satriani thrown in for good measure. Arpeggios and chord progressions that would warm sir Bach's belly abound. Layered atop simple manufactured drum beats, the pieces for strong dance tracks start to fall into place (think Daft Punk, Kraftwerk).

The guitar-meets-keys-meets-guitar (sometimes it's tough to discern the instrument) flash hints of metal brilliance (power chords for keyboards, anyone?), but unfortunately most of the melodies sound more like the warm-ups trained musicians play before a performance to prep their chops.

And thrown over a rudimentary compilation of beats, the whole project sounds more like the product of your kid brother and his best friend's new Casio keyboards and a few hours of "composing," which resulted in a proud performance for you and your parents on Christmas night, 1984. This stuff isn't groundbreaking. (And lest we forget that the concept of melding fugues with drum machines is not entirely new either -- remember "Hooked on Classics"?).

All 11 tracks on Ratatat monotonously blend together, save for the opening track "Seventeen Years" (the worthiest of all to be a single - and possibly a surefire dance club anthem). But the CD slogs off as it progresses. By track 8 or 9 it feels like a chore of repetition, the metronome still ticking away at its original setting, the songs not developing any further.

New York's Ratatat has received a lot of positive critical acclaim, probably partially because the two members are part of the 'in' crowd (the duo consists of producer Evan Mast, aka E*Vax, and multi-instrumentalist Mike Stroud, who played guitar for both Ben Kweller and Dashboard Confessional. Even Interpol's Paul Banks is known to show up at live gigs on guitar). But despite their indie-rock cred, Ratatat's album sounds hollow, unfinished — perhaps a solid basis for a hiphop classic. Standing alone, however, it just falls flat.

Remember that episode of Friends when Ross decides to play his 'sounds' for the gang?

Colin MacIntyre of Mull Historical Society

three imaginary girls — Sat, 17 May 2003 07:00:00 +0000

Colin, no Coffee?
Beverage of choice:
I prefer tea over coffee... the chamomile I have now I grabbed from the KEXP kitchen when I was there earlier today {stated with an apologetic smile and an, "I can't place where I put the tea bags I brought with me" explanation}.

Coffee Shop of choice:
I don't have one of choice because I am not a coffee drinker, but I can sympathize with the corporate takeover of the coffee industry. There is a Starbucks in Glasgow that took over what was a bohemian cool record store. I don't want to politicize my hot drinks — but taking over a record store isn't nice.

Who are your musical influences?
I'd say my uncle's cover band. They were called The Wave Band. When I was six and seven, I watched them practice in the garage and play around the village. They played stuff by the Beatles, the Stones. When my brother got married last year, I had them reform... it was rather self-indulgent really — I could say I was in the Wave Band.

What are you listening to while on the road?
I don't listen to music that much because it's always in my head, taking up space... kind of like the plumber who doesn't like to fix his own pipes. I usually listen to lots of classical music and I like Radiohead and the Flaming Lips... but right now I am also listening to "The Man Comes Around" – it's stripped down Johnny Cash — and I just bought the new White Stripes album. I kept hearing about it and I decided I need to actually listen to it myself... although I haven't had the chance to open it yet.

How did you transition from Wave Band fan to musician?
My first band started up when I was ten, a band called traX {yes, emphasis on the X}. It was a cover band... I did that until I was about twelve. Then when I was 17, I had a band called the Lovesick Zombies. We thought we were the Clash... we were shaved and smoked cigars. That's when I started writing songs. Then I went to Glasgow and started evolving, and finally in the last few years I've started sounding like me instead of sounding like me trying to sound like someone else.

Random follow-up question: How is the tour going?
It has been great. When I first write songs they're raw and stripped down, and that's how I'm playing this tour — informal, intimate, acoustic thing. And when I was in Philadelphia, I was able to meet up with the Delgados and played darts at the Black Sheep Bar. They're from Scotland too.

Interesting Stream of Consciousness Story: Is that your dog on the cover of your first album, "Loss"?
I used to say it was my Gram's dog... but that's rubbish. Her dog looked like that though. It was called Trudy... and when I was a kid, that was my nickname from my mates... oh, I shouldn't be telling you that... {cute hand on forehead motion}. Only in Mull could you get a nickname from your Gram's deceased dog.

I found the image three years ago in the Hulton Getty Picture Collection in the 1920's edition image bank. It is full of black and white photos... crazy pictures. That one was shot in 1964 in Amsterdam. I was drawn to the pain in the dog's face... like it is thinking, "What the fuck's going on?"

{Trudy — oops, we mean, Colin — knows exactly what's going on when he plays. If you missed the show, the least you could do is go check out the official TIG review from his Seattle appearance at the Green Room, which took place hours after our meeting. Dreamy.}

mull-interview.jpg

Colin is actually from a town named Mull, likes tea and has one of the best nicknames from childhood ever.