Three Imaginary Girls - Polyvinyl

Of Montreal take it up a notch with custom packaging

imaginary liz — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 16:31:09 +0000

Of Montreal certainly know how to get our attention. First Kevin Barnes bares it all in Vegas in 2007, now the band has a scheme to out do any Radiohead special limited edition box set extravaganza ever!

Some Racing, Some Stopping

gentle rob — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 15:54:21 +0000

6.2

http://www.amazon.com/Some-Racing-Stopping-Headlights/dp/B0011HF6FU/wwwthreeimagi-20/

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The story of Headlights latest album goes something like this (according to their band bio): Headlights tours endlessly in support of their debut LP Kill Them With Kindness. They get burned out, swear off music for a while, and move into a farmhouse together. After a while, once the authenticity of agrarian living sets in, they gradually begin writing songs and recording the songs themselves. The songs are mixed, and thus Some Racing, Some Stopping is born.

Now while country living seems to be an ideal setting to record a breakthrough album for many bands, the rural setting seems to do little for Headlights. My first experiences with them were as a rock band. Before hearing them, my friend Drew described them as “the tightest band” he had ever seen live, and after experiencing a co-bill with them and Page France, I had to agree. Kill Them With Kindness is an album that rocks from beginning to end, and one of my favorite albums of last year.

For Some Racing, Some Stopping, the band decided to take a different approach. According to their bio, the farmhouse eliminated “the pressures of studio timeframes and a ticking hourly rate” and as such “the band was free to write and record as they saw fit.” As a result “the songs were recorded as they were written, and many of the tracks that were used were first takes.” Herein lies one of the major flaws of the album – its immediacy. While it is true that the songs sound fresh – they may be a little too fresh, as in the band didn’t take a week or so in the writing process to flush everything out. Opening track “Get Your Head Around It” spends most of the song revving up its engines. It has a good start, but just when you are thinking that you will get to the meat of the song (maybe, let’s say, a chorus), the song is over. Similar false starts can be found on “School Boys,” “So Much for the Afternoon,” and “Towers,” each of which take their time getting to the best part of the song (and let me emphasize that these parts are really quite good) --- only to give that part the shortest straw. It seems that if these songs were given a little bit more of a full treatment, the ideas contained therein could be transformed into truly great pop songs.

That is not to say that there aren’t some pop gems on Some Racing, Some Stopping. First single “Cherry Tulips,” which is a throwback to the fifties sonically, is a pleasant curveball that grows on you with repeated listens. Other songs “Market Girl,” “Catch Them All,” and “April 2” are all well thought out songs that recall the sonic power of Kindness while at the same time infusing new instrumental elements (namely acoustic guitars and strings).

In the end, Some Racing, Some Stopping lives up to its title a little too well. There are moments when the band is in their finest form, creating songs that are so catchy that they race through your head for the next few days. However, just when you think you’ve hit a place where the album is really going to take off, there are other songs that just seem to sink in the water.

But then again, it's probably just an effect of country living.

It seems that if these songs were given a little bit more of a full treatment, the ideas contained therein could be transformed into truly great pop songs.

Lovers Prayers

Andrew Boe — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 14:14:40 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/Lovers-Prayers-Ida/dp/B0010V4U0E/wwwthreeimagi-20/

Ida.jpg

Ida, the New York group composed mainly of Daniel Littleton and Elizabeth Mitchell, returns for the first time since the 2005 release Heart Like a River with Lovers Prayers, a gentle and pastoral folk compendium that was recorded in Levon Helm's (of The Band) rural studio situated in the Catskills. This is their seventh studio LP, featuring mostly live takes with minimal studio overdubs, a true departure for them. It is a lazy Sunday morning type of album, comprised of fourteen meandering acoustic guitar-based songs.

The often harmonized vocals on Lovers Prayers are not dissimilar to those of Mimi Parker and Alan Sparhawk (Low) and the music unfolds at about the same languished tempo. Ida, however, possesses more of a driftingly serene sound, reminiscent of being in a hay-filled barn or perhaps somewhere out in an open field at night. Electric and pedal steel guitars appear throughout the record, but the band rarely steps outside of its preferred style of strummed rhythm acoustic guitar as the lead instrument. In addition to this core, intimations of cello, pump organ and percussion fill out the sound.

Warn Defevr, who has worked with His Name is Alive, produced and mixed the album, and if you are familiar with that band, you will recognize the warm sound of his influence on this record. "First Light" is one of the highlights; it opens with an acoustic guitar, and almost immediately some jazzy drums kick in and the song takes shape. Littleton sings the verse alone and Mitchell handles the harmony and backing vocals. Some ghostly piano notes pressed here and there make it sound a little bit like Bonnie Prince Billy meets Low. "Kora" is another standout track. The acoustic guitar is finger-picked and the candle soft vocals are layered in harmony. This particular track creates a mood of its own, setting it apart from much of the record. The guitar morphs into something of a blues/folk/rock piece akin to something by Bert Jansch as the vocals haunt the music seemingly from another plane.

Lovers Prayers is a folk record, but is unlike much of the current indie "freak" folk because the music sounds more mature. One can tell from the musical depth that Ida has been around for a while, and are comfortable in this musical notch that they have etched for themselves. Slowcore folk is possibly the best way to describe the overall feel of the record. The music is a lethargic shade of light blue without being depressing, mainly because there is little despondency in the vocal delivery; rather, an almost hymn-like optimism surfaces that suits the song structures well.

A gentle and pastoral folk compendium that was recorded in Levon Helm's (of The Band) studio in the Catskills.

Places Like This

Erik Gonzalez — Wed, 08 Aug 2007 15:29:57 +0000

8.3

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000SM7QYI/wwwthreeimagi-20/

aih07aug.jpg

Your summer fun album is here! Oh wait, it’s August now, isn’t it? Dang, somebody better tell Architecture in Helsinki, because their new album Places Like This is full of more sunshine than a summer in the Mojave and more playful antics than a steamboat full of bunnies. I’m not saying that you’ve never heard anything like it, I’m just saying that you’ll probably not hear another album this year packed with so much energy that you’re afraid if you drop the disc it will explode as all that concentrated power tries to escape in a vast musical detonation.

Although they could easily fit into the Scandinavian music scene with their synthpop sound, the vast gaggle of players (there’s only eight of them) of Architecture in Helsinki actually hail from the geographic antipode of Scandinavian – that being Australia for those of you without a globe handy. Places Like This is their third full-length outing and it has all the earmarks of a band that has it figured out, they really know where they are and where they’re going. The album itself was recorded in less than two weeks, and you can tell they recorded it with the liveliness of a live show, with sound bouncing off all the surface, that in itself makes the album such a pleasure because it is one of those rare albums that captures the fun the band must have had while recording it – it is a dance party put to disc. You can tell right from the opening moments of the album, one that is one part Flaming Lips, one part Postal Service, one part Suburban Kids with Biblical Names – heck, any equation of other musicians doesn’t do it fully justice. Just listening to the opener, “Red Turned White,” and you find yourself awash in an anarchistic reverberation that borrows from both classic rock and disco becoming both anthemic and intimate.

Of course, this album might be made up of songs that sounded like Paris Hilton and Britney Spears dueting on a German cover of “Total Eclipse of the Heart” and I’d still like it if not for anything beyond “Heart It Races.” If you hear any song this year, make it this. If you hear anything song this year, make it this. Try to imagine Jens Lekman visiting M.I.A. in the recording studio, suddenly fall madly in love and record until they pass out. That’s “Heart It Races” – it’s a neotropical technogeek work of gospel genius. Of course, I might be falling prey to its outrageous infectiousness, with the nonsense vocals driving the melody and the dueling vocals.

Luckily for all concerns, the rest of Places Like This is infinitely better than the aforementioned collaboration between Brits and Paris. “Hold Music” is a 21st century interpretation of the B-52s, right down to the disturbing Fred Schneider doppelganger while “Feather in a Baseball Cap” is the Faint Lite, although you wish they’d really let loose on the song. In fact, the biggest problem with Places Like This is that sometimes you wish Architecture in Helsinki would really let loose. Not that they aren’t loose on the album, but at times you can feel the underlying enthusiasm of the band trying to scratch its way to the surface of the record. “Like It or Not” takes a page from Islands/Unicorns with its “Muppets in the Caribbean” sound while “Debbie” takes this to its downright creepy extreme where Cameron Bird’s vocals almost sound like Grover recording an electroclash hit.

The silky-smooth “Lazy (Lazy)” just sort of oozes out of the speakers with a killer bassline that drives along the melody until the gently strummed guitars kick after the fingersnapped chorus. It is like ultimate 70’s pop revival without all the campy baggage that usually comes along for the ride (see the Scissor Sisters). The song breaks down into a Gary Glitter-like foot-stomper during the bridge and becomes a brilliant mix of sweet and sour. “Nothing’s Wrong” might be a window into what a world might be like if Modest Mouse decided they wanted to be a dance band instead of arena rock giants – truly this is a strange world. The album concludes with “Same Old Innocence.” a synthrocker that has tastes of the Cure and Depeche Mode, giving Architecture in Helsinki more teeth than what the rest of the album might imply.

Architecture in Helsinki excel at making it seem so easy to record these little islands of pop perfection. The fervor is inescapable and infectious on Places Like This and even so, you still wish that Architecture in Helsinki would just let that last level of restraint loose and go nuts. However, if that is the biggest complaint you can contrive for Places Like This, then you know that they actually might be onto something, keeping us coming back for more with that temptation of a potential modern rock supernova. You still have a month of summer; why not let Architecture in Helsinki make it that non-stop party you so richly deserve.

Your summer fun album is here! Oh wait, it’s August now, isn’t it?

Architecture in Helsinki coming back to town with a new album!

imaginary liz — Tue, 31 Jul 2007 13:16:12 +0000

That big band of Aussies, Architecture in Helsinki will release their third album, Places Like This, in a couple weeks (on Aug. 21 via Polyvinyl Records) and, will mark the release with a tour of the states.

Win tickets to see Architecture in Helsinki on 6/13!

imaginary liz — Mon, 11 Jun 2007 17:32:32 +0000

Seattle has lucked out because Architecture In Helsinki is playing an ALL AGES show at Neumo's with buzzband YACHT (the band so good that Jona left the Blow to focus on the YACHT quirk-dance beats) and TIG has a pair of tickets for one lucky winner!

Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?

Erik Gonzalez — Thu, 01 Feb 2007 17:35:14 +0000

8.4

ofmontreal07jan.jpg

There's a great scene on The Simpsons set in the not-too-distant future where Homer and Marge are lying in bed watching TV and Marge turns to Homer to say "You know, FOX turned into a softcore porn channel so gradually, I didn't even notice." That's exactly the sentiment I feel towards the new Of Montreal: they so gradually became a synthpop band from their lo-fi indie roots I hardly noticed. There seems to be an intellectual disconnect that belongs between songs that sound like the lost children of New Order and Of Montreal, but Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? turns out to be one of the most captivating and satisfying Of Montreal albums in a long time.

In a sense, Of Montreal seem to be following the likes of the Flaming Lips, Ween, and the Earlies into psychedelic synth rock. Many of the songs on Hissing Fauna... are dominated by a sort of post-Beatles, 70's rock vibe that is punctuated by blasts of funk, electronic, and rock. As odd as that mix appears, many times it works remarkably well, like on "Fabrege Falls for Shuggie," a song that sounds like Prince meets the Postal Service (if that makes any sense) and really captures the album in a nutshell. The beat is remarkably funky for skinny white boys from Athens, and to hear Kevin Barnes sing "Be careful how you touch me/my body is an earthquake" is like the indie rock version of "SexyBack." This vibe continues on "Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider" where Barnes croons, "I need a lover with soul power" on top of a hybridized Beatles dance beat.

On a number of tracks, Of Montreal are channeling mid-80's New Order, right down to the driving Peter Hook-style guitar line and Barnes doing an eerily appropriate Bernard Sumner impression. The prime examples might be the opener, "We were Born Again the Mutants Again with Leafling" and "The Past is a Grotesque Animal" (all 11:53 of the song). At times, you wonder why Of Montreal hasn't tried this sound the whole time, like on "A Sentence of Sorts in Konsvinger," a song that is disturbing catchy in the same vein as the melancholy pop gems of the Future Bible Heroes.

There are a few turns that feel more like "classic" Of Montreal, like the bizarrely titled "Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse," a fairly simple pop song that has some short sojourns into almost "Mr. Roboto" synth-rock opera sound (makes perfect sense, right?) There is a little bit of light filler on the disc to stretch it larger than it should have been and tracks like "Labyrinthian Pomp" and "Suffer for Fashion" might take the new sound just a little bit too far, sounding like a parody of the funk and theatrical (respectively) sound they intend to emulate.

If there is one thing that can be said for Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?, it's that Of Montreal aren't afraid to go a little nutty and try something out there. I suppose this experimentation and evolution might be hard to value if you are new to the Of Montreal fold when you don't have a lo-fi waypoint like "Tim, I Wish You Were Born a Girl" to compare the synthpop that abounds on this album. However, such a background knowledge of the band might not even be necessary just to appreciate the energy that exudes from this disc, making it a perfect way to get out of the midwinter blues.

To hear Kevin Barnes sing "Be careful how you touch me/my body is an earthquake" is like the indie rock version of 'SexyBack.'"

At Home With Owen

Joseph Riippi — Mon, 11 Sep 2006 07:00:00 +0000

7.5

http://store.artistdirect.com/nad/store/artist/album/0,,3745515,00.html

owen06sept.jpg

Chicago's Mike Kinsella (Cap'n Jazz, Joan of Arc, American Football, Owls) drops his fourth full-length record under the moniker Owen this fall. And just like the previous three, it's a gorgeous sea of tranquil guitar ambience and melancholic yet hopeful narratives.

There's a trend that's developed over the years with Owen records: the first, self-titled, was a fairly barebones affair, expanding on the harmonic beauty of the only American Football record (one of the most unsung gems of the last ten years) by trading in the web of telecasters for acoustic guitar and bedroom confessions. As time has passed, Kinsella has purchased more and more equipment (the bulk of his recording catalogue was born in his childhood bedroom, in the house in which his mother still lives) and thus has been able to make more and more sounds. His soundscapes have expanded in depth, and we're all the luckier for it.

At Home with Owen finds Owen entering the studio (after doing some cutting at his mom's house, of course) and slaving for a year over these eight songs (the typical number for an Owen LP).

The record begins with "Bad News," which may as well translate to a six-and-a-half minute flipping of the finger: "I know it hurts to hear but it's true," Kinsella sings. "You don't mean anything to anyone but me / and even I know you're blinded by conceit / Now you know." It's hard to imagine any voice pulling off such lyrics as well as Kinsella's quiet, near-spoken articulations of melody.

"The Sad Waltzes of Pietro Crespi" offers the first tangible taste of Kinsella's exceptional guitar work as he paints a picture of the melancholy found in one's typical frustration with romantic relationships. Meanwhile, "A Bird in Hand" details the anger that's found in that same frustration:

"When I slam doors because I'm pissed at you, you know I mean it / When I put on a suit and say 'I do,' you know I mean it / You know what you are to me, so please don't make me say it over and over again."

Like each Owen record previous, the eight songs on At Home with Owen find a quick way into the brain's pleasure centers and fuck the hell out of it. Unfortunately, each rule has an exception, and that exception comes to life in the form of a cover of the Velvet Underground's Nico-sung "Femme Fatale." (Why Kinsella didn't just play his own song, rather than cover a song many people would argue can not be covered well, we'll never know). But the good greatly outshines the bad. "Windows and Doorways" identifies with everyone who's ever had a friend who died (or may as well have died), while album closer "One of These Days" simply details the idea of wanting something in such elegant piano and guitar that you just end up wanting to hear the record again.

It's a gorgeous sea of tranquil guitar ambience and melancholic yet hopeful narratives.

Illuminated Manuscript

Joseph Riippi — Sun, 03 Sep 2006 07:00:00 +0000

8.6

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000HDZJWY/wwwthreeimagi-20

caleparks06sept.jpg

Better known as drummer/ percussionist/ keyboardist for Aloha, Cex, Joan of Arc, and most recently as a touring member with DC's Georgie James (who you may have seen at a stellar Bowery Ballroom performance, opening for Camera Obscura), Cale Parks offers on his first proper solo release a sonic creation unlike anything he's ever done.

Recorded on borrowed laptops in myriad cities and between takes of the most recent Aloha record, Illuminated Manuscript plays as a cathartic creative release from Parks' day-to-day avant-garde endeavors. The instrumental tracks range from wistful ambience conjuring Brian Eno ("Pretty Boring," "I am the Arm") to sonic explorations of cryptic lyrical enigmas ("Galaxy 8180," "Wet Paint"). Much of the record was conceived during a two month stretch when Parks lived with Tony Cavallario (Aloha's singer/guitarist) and his wife in Rochester, NY.

"Tony's married, and his wife's a doctor," Parks says. "So when she would get home from work it would be husband-wife time, and I'd go upstairs to the attic where the instruments and computer were." After building a Myspace page for the solo songs, Parks began the arduous task of asking all Aloha's Myspace "friends" to be his "friends" as well. One of them ended up being a record label in Japan who, over Myspace messenger, offered to put out the record in Japan. Polyvinyl, home to both Aloha and Joan of Arc, released the disc domestically in September, with a different track-listing and two bonus tracks that were recorded so close to deadline they didn't make the track listing on the artwork.

But when it's all said and done, and the record is evaluated without context or back story, Illuminated Manuscript succeeds as a record that defies musical conventions and expectations, simply by augmenting them into greater, more eloquent forms. Given Parks' day-to-day gigs, however, defying expectation has to be expected.

Some Echoes

Joseph Riippi — Mon, 08 May 2006 07:00:00 +0000

9.4

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000EOTVC0/wwwthreeimagi-20

aloha06may.jpg

Aloha just might be the most underrated band in America. For nine years, they've been making music that relies simply on its find near-perfect aesthetics to find listeners; as musicians they exist just outside the mainstream, in a little niche some might call "prog," some might call "indie," some might call "experimental."

Some Echoes is their latest full-length, a follow-up to 2004's Here Comes Everyone, a record which CNN named "One of the best albums you didn't hear" for 2004, alongside Pinback and Tegan and Sara. It marks their fourth full-length release for the stellar Polyvinyl Records, and perhaps their most elegant record yet.

After the departure of longtime vibraphone connoisseur — think obese electric xylophone — Aloha added D.C. multi-instrumentalist T.J. Lipple to the group, joining Toni Cavallario (vox, guitars, keys, etc), Matthew Genglar (bass, etc), and Cale Parks (drums, keys, etc.). Note all the keys and etceteras.

Keyboards are the clydesdales pulling the Some Echoes sled. Layers of velvety cushion the facets of 20th century aesthetics of sound as they pour like mercury out of speakers. Silvery and smooth, songs like album opener "Brace Your Face" carry on for six minutes, somehow conjuring easy similes to Philip Glass and the Velvet Underground — those past masters of subtle sonic changes in tension seem of obvious influence.

A history of improvisation behind them, Aloha on Some Echoes seem never to repeat themselves. Their keyboard parts might never change, but the guitar might never be doing the same thing, giving each verse a different context than the last. Cale Parks, one of the best drummers in the business, gives the band a controlled catastrophe of a beat, meter seeming to work itself around him, rather than him around it.

Meter can fill a song with a velcro-like remembrance. "Your Eyes,"* for example, is one of those triumphant songs which attaches itself to memory so that, in ten years, I might hear it again in some used record store and be brought back instantaneously to this same small apartment, listening to the rain hit the tinny roof of my air conditioner whilst the song plays on my computer's tiny speakers. The tiers of punchy keyboards meet Toni's watercolor tenor:

"A ghost in storefront glass reflecting a neon past / A buzz inside your headphones and in your head / I look with a magnifying glass, a view into your past / I know what you've been through, I know you."

For fans of their past records, That's Your Fire, Sugar, and Here Comes Everyone, this record finds Aloha gliding at bullet speed down the same path of progress they've been headed ever since their first single. They deny the reality of the music business by avoiding to alter themselves to it. Editors might be the "hot" thing after SXSW, and in a few months there might be a new Arcade Fire record for everyone to say, "Eh, not as good as Funeral" too — but by denying the mainstream of indie — for that's what it is now, isn't it? — and sticking to their 360 degrees of influence, every ebb and flow the tide of popular music takes still has room for Aloha's sound.

At times conjuring something of Radiohead ("Come Home"), something of Zeppelin ("Big Morning"), something of Karate ("Weekend"), something of Bach ("If I Lie Down"), and something that can only be by Aloha ("Summer Lawn"), Aloha is one of the truly original bands; their level of fame is reminiscent of those stories you hear of the Velvet Underground: They didn't sell a lot of records, but everyone who bought one started a band (or became a music critic).

If only more people could play the marimba like this.

Aloha just might be the most underrated band in America....as musi cians they exist just outside the mainstream, in a little niche some might call "prog," some might call "indie," some might call "experimental."

Future Women

Joseph Riippi — Sat, 15 Apr 2006 07:00:00 +0000

6.8

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000E115CM/wwwthreeimagi-20

thems06apr.jpg

On Future Women, Chicago's The M's layer a sound rich with the melody and grit that makes indie-rock so delectable, thus making the M's incredibly attractive to anyone sick of the Splenda-soaked not-KEXP radio norm.

The record's first track, "Plan of the Man," starts off with the power of raw garage punk and the catchy hooks of Seattle's own The Catch. The mix is layered beautifully, masterfully recorded to make The M's execution just about as good as it could possibly get.

Overall, this defining rock band makes good on the hundreds of songs they've recorded over the past few years, following up their 2004 self-titled debut, which Rollingstone likened to the Kink's triumphant Something Else, with what has to become the vintage dreamy sound The M's have been searching to find over their various recording sessions. Being that it's also their debut for the well-respected and eclectic Polyvinyl records, we have to assume only good things to come from the Chicago sound.

The M's layer a sound rich with the melody and grit that makes indie-rock so delectable, thus making the M's incredibly attractive to anyone sick of the Splenda-soaked not-KEXP radio norm.

The Sunlandic Twins

JimiC — Tue, 21 Mar 2006 08:00:00 +0000

7.5

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0007X9TUW/wwwthreeimagi-20

ofmontreal06mar.jpg

Of Montreal is likely familiar to many readers of this site, having been around (in recorded form) for nigh on a decade. They grew out of the Elephant 6 collective, which is good, in that the Elephant 6 bands carry a certain expectation of quality and have a (smallish) built in fan base, but can be bad, as those bands also seem to have (in spite of their generally high-quality output) a somewhat narrow appeal. I've often figured that was due to the somewhat homogenous vibe of those E6 bands, that is to say, if someone says "Elephant 6," the indie listener immediately conjures images of quirky psychedelia, strange instrumentation, perfect pop melodies and sunny harmonies (where is the bad there, I ask?). All of these things do apply, generally to Of Montreal's The Sunlandic Twins, but where the E6 bands tend to reside more squarely in the tradition of the 60's more "naïve" pop psychedelia, Of Montreal capture a feeling of seventies pop excess with a knowing wink to eighties new wave pop.

The opener, "Requiem for O.M.M.2" feels as though it were pulled straight off a good (I swear there is such a thing) '70s A.M. Gold compilation. "I Was Never Young" immediately follows, sounding like the same band, but produced by Devo. The combination doesn't make sense when you read about it, but it's all in the execution. Clever music often irritates me, but the stellar harmonies and rich instrumentation are too engaging to do anything but enjoy. By the third track, "Wraith Pinned to the Mist and Other Games," an irresistibly bumpin' little electro/disco beat tells me I'm not going to be able to pigeonhole this record, no matter how hard I try. So I'll give up.

One tends not to associate Elephant 6-type bands with dance music, but you can shake yo stuff to this record without having to pretend you're being ironic, and without losing an ounce of indie cred. There's tons of cheesy keyboards, but a dearth of cheesy tunes. The second half of the album gets a little darker, but no less compelling, "Death of a Shade of a Hue" is a particularly strange Bizarro Beach Boys gem, gentle harmonies suddenly turn minor and slightly disturbing. "Oslo in the Summertime" is almost twee goth. I can't even believe it, and I just listened to it. Twice.

The Sunlandic Twins is the finest example of sunny- psychedelic- electro- disco- glam- twee- goth- orchestral- jangle- pop I've ever heard. In fact, I daresay it's the only example of sunny-psychedelic... oh, screw it. It's a great record. Buy it and you'll smile for a week.

...you can shake yo stuff to this record without having to pretend you're being ironic, and without losing an ounce of indie cred.

Talk like Blood

Joseph Riippi — Mon, 10 Oct 2005 07:00:00 +0000

7.7

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000AU1JJ6/wwwthreeimagi-20

31knots05oct.jpg

On their fourth full-length release — and the first full-length with Polyvinyl Records, Portland's prodigious 31 Knots takes a small step to the side of standard rock form and launches full-speed ahead into something new and interesting. They tread that thin tight rope between excessively rehearsed and completely unhinged rock and roll.

The vocals are sung as controlled tenor sirens; the songs are sometimes epic, reaching arms ("City of Dust") and other times jabbing muscular punches ("Chain Reaction"). As a package, Talk Like Blood is an eccentric, tireless journey conjuring the range in style and class the Stooge's debut exemplifies, while at the same time succeeding where all art strives to succeed by making something new.

Having strayed slightly away from their earlier, more — dare I say, "normal"? — style with The Curse of the Longest Day EP (and the wonderful track "Welcome to Stop") 31 Knots' delivery of a very fine full-length is indeed wonderful as well.

The record begins with a hype-man declaration on "City of Dust," declaring the record "dedicated to the messengers of the left coast," while offering the listener a sound of electric static, like a thunderstorm on a tin roof. Melody and vocals circle around and around arpeggiotic keyboards, building slowly into a guitar entrance, perfectly, over three minutes into the track.

"City of Dust" never leaves the realm of "intro," and the proper beginning of the record is at track two, "Hearsay." Drum rolls and vocals start it, before a funk-driven bassline joins a mudslinging guitar, counterpointing one another.

But the guitar riff and powerful delivery of the track "Chain Reaction" owns the record. At the fifth track, it's the moment where the record kicks into full gear and takes off. Almost as though it's a live show and the band's just been warming up for the first four songs, when "Chain Reaction" hits, it seems the world is little beyond guitar chords and cymbal crashes. Tapping foots will crash through floors all over the world once the guitar solo ends and the punching verse chords come back. For so little instrumentation in the song, it somehow is overflowing with energy.

The record, overall, is nothing if it is not energetic, dirty, interesting, accomplished. In basketball it is often said, "It takes a good shooter to miss," and the raw "garage-rock" appeal striven for by power-chording high schoolers everywhere is made operatic and confirmed in this Portland band. Playing the Paradox on Saturday. Check them out.

Tales from a Brave Ulysses

Joseph Riippi — Fri, 02 Sep 2005 07:00:00 +0000

XVIX. "Aloha to the Heart Songs; Aloha to the Art Songs"

A-LO-ha. Alo-HA. Aloha.

Have you ever read Lolita? (I am asking you). It begins something like that. "Aloha. Aloha. Aloha."

There is a band from the Midwest, from all over the Midwest, called Aloha. I revel in their strums.

I step off the L-train. I walk three blocks through Williamsburg wet streets. Humid, sticky night. Neon signs like buzzing bug catchers. I remember watching them zap — ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! — the life out of mosquitoes at Clear Lake when I was a little boy.

Lights! Now buzzing, nowrednowgreen, and in the shapes of cigarette icons and beer brands instead of that incessant, hissy, blue-purple tube. Die, bug, die, I say, remembering the Lake, and my grandparents house, and my grandfather's shaky hands shaking mine.

Aloha. Aloha. Aloha.

Goodbye and hello at the same time. We all know the meanings of the Hawaiian language in turn, and in part.

At the Northsix in Brooklyn, the most under-rated band in the world — in MY world, at least — is playing tonight. Aloha. Aloha. Aloha.

Aloha is a four piece, featuring guitar, drums, organ, piano, synthesizer, various percussives (including xylophone), and at one point in their career, a vibraphone.

A vibraphone is an obese, electric xylophone. A pedal steel for elementary school children.

"Water your hands like a flower," the singer sings, and I listen, and I think that this is why I love this band, and this is why they are not famous. Aloha is an amazing band, both musically and lyrically, with fluorescent sounds of jazz—infused progressive rock and watercolor, ambiguous lyrics about love and velvet adventures. They exist on just the far side of accessibility, where one must actually listen and participate in music to experience.

And that is what seeing Aloha live is, it is an experience. Their music, seeing it performed live, is like a watercolor painting being burned, or, more simply, just goddamned beautiful. I saw them for the first time my freshman year of college, over four years ago, in a small club in Richmond. They were one of the three opening bands for the then quickly — ascending group, The Liars.

I was blown away by the 45-minute set, in which the band never stopped playing, and, I believe, made it through only four or five songs off the then newly-released record, "That's Your Fire." I remember the track, "A Hundred Stories," requested by myself, played live, made me think that I was seeing The Doors or Led Zeppelin, before they became legends. (download "A Hundred Stories" below)

Two records and a seven-inch later, Aloha's latest record, "Here Comes Everyone" was ranked by a reviewer in Virginia (okay, it was me) as the best record of 2004, and was also aligned next to Pinback on CNN's website as one of the best records you didn't hear of that year.

Sitting and dancing and sitting and standing in a half-full Northsix club in Brooklyn, I sang along to the songs — "Say hello to the monster in your home / that rolls around when he thinks that he's alone" (from "You've Escaped") and "Climbed up to the rooftop / You're in the form of a raindrop / Take my antedote to the people below" (from "Boys in the Bathtub). Two songs, which were new and I, a SUPER NERD! of a fan, had never heard before, were neither good nor bad, simply mysterious. Not knowing the intricacies of the recordings, not knowing how to expect them to be played, (I've seen Aloha many times), I didn't know what to expect, what to think, how to feel. In fact, I felt nothing but numb. I remember the songs perfectly.

On some songs, the drummer plays keyboards and also drums. On another song, the lead singer sings and plays guitar while tapping a highhat with his foot because the drummer is busy playing organ. Aloha believes in making the most noise they can.

Aloha is a screaming five-year-old with the voice of Natalie Wood. Buy their records and make love to sound.

Download the great track "Summer Away" off "Here Comes Everyone" from Polyvinyl records here.

Download "A Hundred Stories" here.

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Tales from a Brave Ulysses is a traveling epic through modern art, music, and culture. In this installment: Aloha to the Heart Songs; Aloha to the Art Songs.

AstroPOP! for May 2005

three imaginary girls — Sun, 01 May 2005 07:00:00 +0000

Your monthly imaginary horoscope told in album reviews!

May 2005 AstroPOP! is brought to you with musical reviews by igDana, stella, dreamerseven, and imaginary marcel, as well as special astrological input by Imaginary Boy Lorenzo.

Aries
Money looks a lot like love this month Aries, and love can look a lot like money. Likewise, on their latest release Tree City {New Line}, Robbers on High Street sounds a lot like... where to start? From a Guided By Voices vibe, to a few well-placed Television-styled guitar riffs, to some Strokes-meets-Franz-Ferdinand kind of hipster roughness in the mix, to a few songs that are almost more Spoon sounding than I remember Spoon sounding, these Robbers know how to steal from the best. The end result is well-polished lo-fi indie rock, a wacked blend of the upbeat and the angst-ridden. Teeming with good hooks, the CD still suffers a little too obvious at times. Just like your love life. Or was that your finances? Whatevs. This is a good month for you to play the Lotto, Aries, and to take a Vegas-sized bet on love. Just don't dredge too much on the bits from your past, or be too complacent about making sure your finances are covered. You deserve to go wild, just make sure you can pay the tab when you're done.

Taurus
Oh, baby, there's never been a better time to be a Taurus, with endless days of unexpected sunshine, and everyone loves you. One might say — in ones best Ethel Merman voice — that everything's coming up roses! And while we're belting Broadway, might I say that the intro to Influencing Friends and Making People by local Seattle band the Nevvers {self-released} somehow reminds me of showtunes. It feels like the start to a strange and twisted indie-pop-opera, with the backing vocals, piano, light guitar, chanting vocals, and straight-ahead drums. Just when I'm ready to crack out the jazz hands, the album kicks in with a funkier beat and I find yourself just strutting along, but it's still there — the almost storytelling vibe makes it seem like it would fit nicely in an updated version of Hair, or even West Side Story. Maybe the world just needs more musicals for the hipster generation, and if that's true — the Nevvers have got it covered. Good thing for you, Ethel... ahem, I mean, Taurus.

Gemini
Your dreams are beautiful these days, Gemini. All that swirling unexpected free-will, mixed up with starry nights and precocious children and transformative kisses with the one who knows your soul. It's no wonder you want to stay in bed 'til three in the afternoon these days. Maybe it's because Herman Jolly is back with his band Sunset Valley with their latest sensation Goldbank 78 Stack {In Music We Trust}. Rejoice! Much like the gorgeous chaos of dreams, this record can make you sing, cry, or laugh — sometimes all at once. It's lo-fi, garaged-out indie rock with perfectly-tuned touches of noise and distortion, and it all blends into some strange new world of semi-psychedelic glam rock that gets you shaking your hips to a secret groove while you lose your mind to thoughts that the lyrics whisper in your ears. Listen to the voices, but remember — while dreamtime has messages for you, make sure you don't forget to re-enter reality from time to time, dear Gem. That rent still needs to be paid.

Cancer
Goddamn, Cancer. Just once I'd like to do a reading for you and talk about how lovely everything in your life is. But alas, I just looked at your chart, and all I can think is, "How can one sign get so much transformation all at once?" The bright spot in your chart this month is friends and associates, so make sure you lean on your support network: friends, co-workers, and imaginary rockstars who'll sing your blues away. Explone's Patrick Porter might be just the fella to help you out. On the self-released Crooks, Patrick and the other Exploners play whimsical yet melancholic pop hooks reminescent of Toad the Wet Sprocket, Nada Surf, and a drizzly Northwest Sunday afternoon. They evoke a gentle spaciousness in their tunes, producing a sound at once fresh and yet familiar. Sounds like just the solace you need this month, Cancer. Incidently, "explone" is a dead English word that means, "to have explained". Does that make things clearer for you? Then attend their CD release show at Chop Suey on May 2 {with Chilean Grey, Robert Deeble, and Sneaky Theives}. Nothing aids transformation like three cocktails and some rock on a school night.

Leo
Your climb to the top of the career ladder continues unabated this month, Leo. As easy as you make that look, however, be sure to pay attention to your romantic life. Seattle quintet Kuma understands what it's like to pursuit dreams both amorous and professional. With the release of their debut full-length Fast Colliding, the band has continued with its fervent lush flavor, and the addition of drummer Aaron Nicholes to their guitar and programmed base has exploded their sound to an exponential magnitude. With the ever-dazzling vocals and stage presence of Bre Loughlin, Kuma have self-released a magnificnent work that could launch them to huge success. So it's tour tour tour, but Kuma never makes it look like work. They're in it for the blood and love of it, pursuiting passions while and requiting and exposing their loves. Oh wait, now I'm talking about you again, Leo. And guess what? The stars think this is all a perfect opportunity for you to heal a long-held pattern. Merow.

Virgo
You know what I'd love about being you right now, Virg? All the hot sex. I mean, in case you haven't noticed, you are shining in the infrared to your preferred gender, and the results can be downright... filthy. You're sultry, slinking around the sweltering club, turning heads. You're dressed in clingy all-black, smudgy kohl lining your eyes (in vogue for girls and boys!), cigarette dangling from your perfect pout as you glide by your awestruck admirers. It could be because you've been listening to Elefant {Hollywood Records} lately. Sure their self-titled disc is a couple years old now, and it can be a bit pretentious at times. But at the album's heart, singer Diego Garcia woos you with his sensual lyrics and his pretty-boy face. The dark, danceable beats are the soundtrack to your subtle striptease, darling. I suggest you conquer your normal tendency to clean everything up, and allow yourself this chance to get a little dirty in the name of love.

Libra
Other People's Money Gets You Pregnant. Hmmm... maybe that's it. Or it could be "Other People's Children Earn You Money." Or maybe it's, "Ohmigod, the New Conversation Heart Record Is So Good It Makes me Giggle like a Giddy Rich Child." Something like that, Libra. Full of pop hooks and sass-mouthed lyrics, Grenadine is both an indie-pop lady killer and man-eater, and the standout single "Candy Bitches" is so infectious it burns — in all the best ways and places. A must-have for the car CD player this summer. As for that money/pregnancy stuff, my advice, Libra: 1) don't offer candy to strange children 2) keep all the lines of communication, enfrancishement, endowment, and ethics super clear right now, in order to avoid Michael Jacskson-esque lawsuits, and 3) if by "clear" you're thinking Clearblue Easy, cross your fingers for a plus... or is that a negative?

Scorpio
Something is broken at home, Scorp, and dare I say it? It looks like it might be your relationship — or at least, the attention you give to your relationship. These days you're taking a lot of energy from what might be a normally supportive relationship, and using it to bolster the sagging walls of your self-esteem. You're acting as if you were alone in the night, trying to hitch a ride in the middle of Arizona with a flask of whiskey in your back pocket, with the threat of some midnight rain in the skies. But the downpour never hits — there's just lightning across the horizon, and the memory of doleful songs in your head. Have you been listening to Come Across by Bluebottle Kiss {In Music We Trust}? Their moody and moving tunes bring to mind some of the mellower moments of a Bad Seed Birthday Party. There's a desert driving crawl in the background, shifting like a gothic guitar against a sand dune, or like a broken bottle against the side of an empty highway. Play it, and you'll hear hints of bands like Scenic and Lanterna drifting across the CD, only darker and a little bit emo. Just like you, Scorp. Do I need to tell you to cut it out and fix what's broken, whether it's the relationship or the bottle? Or are you smart enough to figure it out on your own?

Sagittarius
Diligent worker isn't normally the first phrase that springs to mind for you, Sadgj, but these days you're freaking out like a downright worker-bee. Ain't nothing wrong with that, and you might even be satisfied getting paid with approbation and not dollars. That said, how do you feel about Maroon 5? Do you like to jam out to the Black Crowes? Picture their funk-rock hybrid love babe, slightly less white-washed and produced, and situate it in the Northwest. Got it? You've got Shimmer, a trio of local lads blending musical genres like a wheat grass smoothie and serving it up all Cake Records-stylee. So quit your freaking and keep getting your work on if you must, Sadgj. The really nice secret surprise? This might be the way you meet the one you've been waiting for...

Capricorn
Play, Cappy, play! Why is it so hard to drag you Capricorns outside on a nice day and insist that you just play? I know, everything is going swimmingly at work right now, and you just can't resist making that kind of hay while that kind of sun shines — but dammit! Crack out the Brazilian Girls self-titled album {Verve Forecast}. It's Spanish, it's French, it's German, it's English, and its trancy electronic music will inspire you to dance, create, screw, love, wander, and frolic. "Pussy pussy pussy marijuana," croons front woman Sabina Sciubba on their soon-to-be-infamous single "Pussy", sounding like the best of Ace of Base meets Bebel Gilberto. The rest of the release sounds effortlessly like release itself, gliding through trip-hop, bossa nova, feel-good electronica that'll simmer your summer nights. The real sun is shining, too, Cappy. Let your friends drag you out into the springtime glory from time to time.

Aquarius
Feeling quietly subdued and emotional? It's not like you to hunker down and curl up under the covers, Aquarius, but I understand. Healing that big shit you've been carrying with you ain't fun or easy, and once you're done, all you want to do is find a shell to crawl up inside and call home. Metal Cares {Polyvinyl}, the latest release by Picastro, is touched with a similar raw mirthness, evoking comparisons to early Cat Power, but managing to transcend true gloom and hit with a soft swing at just the right times. This music might make you feel better because it makes you feel so sad. This is rainwater against the windows; this is watching the one you love walk away. The violin cuts your skin, while the drums and guitar hold your hands steady as you weep for times long gone and memories almost faded. Ouchie, Aquarius. This will be a month of middle school angst and seriously adult comtemplation. So here's a crazy thought: since you've never actually let yourself heal before, why don't you actually give it a try this time?

Pisces
Last month it was boys and money, Pisces — and this month you're still on fire. However, it's tempered itself, and the drive of your will is scoring you knowledge and dreams. Well, it could be the leftover hookers and blow from last month, but a word to the wise: too much of a good thing is still too much. There's something else you need to learn this month. Seattle's lo-fi punk favs A-Frames have learned from their years on indie-label Dragnet Records. They've distilled their sound into a guttersnipe gem of a debut on Sub Pop called Black Forest, where they tip their hats toward the Residents to create fractured, angular, arty rock. Their song structures infuse the verse/chorus/verse formula with some morose little numbers full of wonderfully bleak content, like post-apocalyptic ashes raining from the war-torn skies. It's severely more entertaining that most of the other art punk, disco dance, or coke party kickers out there, and it has way more credibility and realism {and is inspired by better 80's acts} to boot. You could learn a thing or two, Fishes. Just set down the hookers and pick up the books.

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See what's in the stars -- and the record stores -- for you for May 2005, including reviews of the latest releases from the Conversation Heart, Brazillian Girls, Elefant, A-Frames, Bluebottle Kiss, and more.

Heart Like a River

Joseph Riippi — Fri, 29 Apr 2005 07:00:00 +0000

8.5

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0007KIFGY/wwwthreeimagi-20

ida.jpg

Up near the Strait of Juan de Fuca, about an hour ferry-ride from Anacortes, sits Orcas Island, the second-biggest in the San Juans. Orcas is shaped very much like a downward facing horseshoe, which could be termed unlucky, but if you flip a map over, then everything is okay. Along the western "leg" of the horseshoe there is a road which curves about ten feet above Massacre Bay, a blue pearl of ocean resting, tucked within walls of brown and gray stone, green pine trees, small cottages merged with forests.

Certain songs bring to memory this road, driving along it with the sun setting behind a mountain of pine trees as the water in the bay would become a deep indigo. I spent three summers on the island, and over those summers, certain songs and records came to be played over and over in the car, if for no reason but that there was no record store on the island. Sparklehorse's It's a Wonderful Life was all I had the summer of 2002, and Postal Service's Give Up typified the summer of 2003. Last summer I was on a Dylan kick, and every time I hear Johnny Cash and Bob do that duet on "Girl from the North Country," I am instantly transported back to that narrow bayside road.

It is nothing out of the ordinary for a sensory impulse, like hearing a certain record that always gets played in a certain environment, to trigger a memory of said environment. Pavlov's salivating dogs, for example, or every other experiment one has to learn about in intro to psych classes in college, explain this phenomenon. I remember it being the olfactory sense that had the strongest tie to memory, which is why the perfume/cologne industry does so well. I sat in the back of the auditorium, however, and was just taking the class to fulfill general education requirements. With a better effort, I might be able to remember more.

I apologize for all the exposition and ego-centeredness in the opening to this review — it's just that it was quite a surprise when the new record by Brooklyn-based Ida took me immediately to that road on Orcas Island. I had never ever heard the record before, nor had I ever listened to any other Ida records on that road. Why, then, should I think of this road I hadn't driven on in more than half a year?

Originally a trio formed in 1992, Ida has released numerous records over the past thirteen years of their existence, starting with the cassette, "Songs from the Ranch," released independently in their native Brooklyn.

In February of this year, however, their most recent effort, Heart Like a River, was released on Polyvinyl Records. Two of the founding members, Liz Mitchell (guitar, harmonium, vocals) and Daniel Littleton (guitar, vocals) have since added Jean Cook (violin), Ruth Keating (Drums), and Karla Schickele (bass, piano, vocals) to the line-up, and the results are a beautiful record incapable of harshness or sharp edges, but rather capable only of a sound full of harmony, delicacy and sincerity.

Heart Like a River kicks off with the song "Laurel Blues." A harmonium begins, providing the soft canvas for acoustic guitar and three-part harmonies. While it doesn't necessarily conjure direct comparisons to the music of Sparklehorse, Postal Service or Dylan and Cash, it has a similar emotion, a similar feeling to it — that same, semi-melancholic contentedness found in listening to "Girl from the North Country" is present. "Laurel Blues" is an invitation, an outstretched hand one wants to not only hold, but to understand.

Many records are easy to fall in love with, but it is a rare occasion when a record will send intimations that the music may be in love with you. The third track on the album, which follows the simultaneously breaking and comforting "599," is "Late Blues." Listening to "Late Blues," I did not feel as though I were falling in love, rather I felt as though I were loved.

Daniel Littleton and Liz Mitchell begin the song to the accompaniment of a plucked electric guitar and brushed snare drum. Their voices harmonize on the opening verse: "If I get lost along the way to meet you/ If I'm more than a little late/ If I get caught up in circles, chasing my own tale/ If I trip up and fail you/ If I let you down, if I let you down."

The only song to which "Late Blues" draws comparison is Jeff Buckley's "Everybody Here Wants You." Sexy and comforting, sentimental without being melodramatic, it is easily one of the most beautiful songs of the year.

But let me not mislead you into thinking that the record is made up entirely of "songs" and does not exist well as a complete record. The tracks lead into one another in a logical progression achieved rarely, if at all, without a maturity a band like Ida achieves only after having played and lived together for so long. Put simply, Ida knows how to write, record and produce a record the way they want it done. Heart Like a River comes across as confident in its craft, and honed in its ability to affect the listener.

Emotion is a funny thing. More often than not, a person has emotions towards something. ("I hate Morissey's new record," "I love the Smiths," "I hate that I don't own Nirvana's box set," "I love that I own every New Order album on vinyl," etc.) Rarely are there moments where one feels affected by something or someone before they feel for something or someone. Listening to Heart Like a River, I feel appreciated, comforted. For that, I appreciate this record. While by no stretch of the imagination is "Heart Like a River" on the same level of ingenuity as The Beatles' Sgt. Peppers or The Clash's Sandinista!, but it is, put quite simply, a very good record. It reminds me of the ocean, of the island, of the certain color of blue only a sunset over trees can induce in the ocean.

Many records are easy to fall in love with, but it is a rare occasion when a record will send intimations that the music may be in love with you.

I Do Perceive

Joseph Riippi — Tue, 01 Feb 2005 08:00:00 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00065GHZQ/wwwthreeimagi-20

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Why can I remember so vividly the first time I heard Mike Kinsella's —a.k.a. Owen's —voice? I don't remember the first time I heard "Sgt. Pepper's" or even the first time I heard great voices like James Taylor, Sinatra, Cat Stevens, etc. I know my mom used to play me "Sweet Baby James" as a baby how much cuter would that story be if my name were James?—but that doesn't mean I recall a particular anecdote with me as a baby, sucking my thumb in a crib and thinking about the record that was playing. "Wow, that 'Fire and Rain' sure was a sad track I want my bottle where's that lady that always runs in here with a bottle when I cry? WHAAAA! Oh, there she is, awesome. Turn it up, would you? And can you warm this bottle up a little bit more?"

I am often regarded as an archetype of music snobbery when people hear that my favorite record is either Sigur Ros' "Agaetis Byrjun" or Coltrane's "A Love Supreme." Hell, I'd call me a music snob too. But I can remember the very first time I heard those records, and having memories of a favorite song or band is something I believe should accompany any great music. Subjective interpretation through application to the audience's real life is what makes art so powerful.

So because I don't remember hearing "A Day in the Life" for the first time, does that mean that the Beatles are somehow a lesser band for me than a band like Sigur Ros? I don't think so—I'd still say that the Beatles are probably my favorite band of all time (how very original, I know). It must be something else. It might be that the Beatles are essentially a part of the ideology of our society—in commercials, the radio, seemingly everyone's cd/cassette/lp/mp3 collection. I can dismiss the fact that I don't remember the first time I heard my favorite band like that, but it's still unnerving that I don't remember. For a long time I would say Radiohead was my favorite band, and I had a story that went with every album, the best of which involving a listening party a friend and I threw during lunch in high school, cutting class to go to the store and buy "Amnesiac." (My great moments of rebellion, .)

The first time I heard Mike Kinsella's voice was on the American Football record. My friend Kelly and I were going to a thrift store to look at hats, and she had it on the stereo in her car. I suppose it was the end of 2002, I was a sophomore in college. The trees in Virginia had become just really big sticks, the humidity had all gone away with the leaves. It was great. I remember thinking that the two telecasters blended more like vocal harmonies than like guitars. There was no bass player, only the two guitars and drums. Occasionally a trumpet would play long notes. In the background, behind the velvety-smooth mixing of guitars, was this voice. It sounded like a young man with absolutely no vocal training, more whispering than singing. It was perfect.

Being the young the music sob I was at the time, I immediately consulted Polyvinyl Records' posted bio of the band and the All Music Guide's thoughts on the subject as well. (This was before the days when one could go to the trusted folks at Three Imaginary Girls for information about good music).

I found that the American Football record I heard was the only American Football record, and that the brains behind the operation was Mike Kinsella, brother of Joan of Arc's Tim Kinsella, and at that point composer of two full-lengths under the moniker Owen. A self-titled debut and follow-up "No Good for No One Now" quickly made their way onto my shelf. While the only aspect of American Football that I disliked was that Kinsella's voice was so far back in the mix if you listen to it quietly, you mostly hear the guitars on the Owen records, Kinsella is right up front, with the soft telecaster tones of American Football traded for strummed and picked acoustics layered over and over each other. Kinsella records his albums himself, playing just about all the instruments (he has toured with Joan of Arc as the drummer). And his whispery voice, right up front, carried with it lyrics harshly direct and emotional, as in "Good Deeds," when he sings, "It feels good (so good), we should tonight/ Because maybe my mom's right/ Our good deeds won't save us (Just true faith in Jesus)/ So in the name of her lord, let's do what we shouldn't some more."

Since that first month when I listened to Owen incessantly, there hasn't been anything released. Not until last year's "The EP," a teaser to the recently-released "I Do Perceive." "The EP" was five songs of a new type of Owen. Still recording on his own, two full-lengths under his belt had taught him quite a bit, and the opener "Skin and Bones" is less the bedroom-acoustic whisperings of the previous records, and more of a whispered rock-ballad with intricate acoustic guitars and electric guitars all over the soundscape a stage in an arena full of jilted single twenty-somethings.

Undoubtedly the best thing Owen had yet released, The EP is Kinsella at new level of lyrical and musical ability. "Skin and Bones" has the great line, "The prettiest girl at the party pities those girls who aren't so pretty, but who dress nice/ She'll go home alone by choice or choose one of the boys to make out with/ If she's lonely, or horny, or human." And the mostly guitar-and-voice track, "In the Morning, Before Work" is a song from a lonely music lover to an ex: "I listen to my same old CDs/ New Order and Morrisey/ But you already knew that/ Because you used to lie with me."

I Do Perceive came out a few months after, with the first two Owen records being simultaneously re-released, on vinyl for the first time. The eight new songs are no disappointment after The EP. Having established a solid discography, Kinsella has as well established an "Owen" sound. And the record opens with a very "Owen" song, "Who Found Who's Hair in Who's Bed?" Another song about dealing with the void left by a lover's absence, Kinsella opens the record with a line which seemingly could be found in any Owen recording, "I'm usually not one to speak up, but you're decisions of late are on all accounts, pretty fucked/ And not in a good way."

The record is full of the memorable qualities of Owen: A simultaneously whispered and spoken voice, lyrics so honest and real they must be written on napkins while Kinsella eats his Fruit Loops in the morning, guitar work as good as anything else out there, and a sensibility for how different instruments complement one another when placed in layer upon layer to make truly fantastic—and memorable—noises.

A simultaneously whispered and spoken voice, lyrics so honest and real they must be written on napkins while Kinsella eats his Fruit Loops in the morning, guitar work as good as anything else out there...

The EP

Joseph Riippi — Thu, 05 Aug 2004 07:00:00 +0000

8.5

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00005O56H/wwwthreeimagi-20

owen.gif

Two years ago I was in a band in Virginia. We had a show one night at this theatre we had wanted to play for a long time because of the acoustics and general malaise that permeated the atmosphere of the room. Some candles would have been nice. At any rate, we were happy to secure a night to play with some of our friends from Richmond, however, all bands were distraught about a week later when the Flaming Lips decided to play a very small venue in Norfolk. Naturally, anybody who was anybody that night was going to be at the Lips show. And even though everyone involved with the little concert at the theatre felt like they could qualify as "anybody who was anybody" had to suffer the depression accompanying playing to an empty - despite great acoustics - theatre.

Years later, Owen (actually named Mike Kinsella) has a new EP. Titled dada-istically as "The EP," it is damned good. The connection between the night of the depressing concert at the theatre and the EP however, is that whenever I talk about Mike Kinsella (yes, he's the brother of Tim from Joan of Arc) that night has to come up because it was when I first heard the band American Football

American Football was this great little group Mike Kinsella fronted in 1998 that only put out a single and one full-length and then nothing else. They would layer these beautifully complex telecaster melodies over one another with minimal-yet-noticeable drums in the background. And there were long breathy trumpets and tambourines and all the sorts of the wonderful little instruments that find their way into the tiny pores of indie rock. American Football didn't last very long, but their album is still so sought after that their label, Champaign, IL's Polyvinyl Records., has re-released it on colored vinyl. (I have the green…it goes better with the album art.)

So my obsession with Mike Kinsella began when I first heard what he had done with this great little American Football thing. His lyrics were the most poignant part of the music (despite my great attachment to the things his band would do with the Fender Telecaster, at the time my guitar of choice). I was really into Death Cab.and Bright Eyes at the time, so the melodic guitar of AF combined with Kinsella's simple lyrics on the subjects of distance and angst and depression was sort of just what I wanted in a band.

Kinsella's lyrics are angsty, but aren't as clever as Gibbard or Oberst. Instead they're just kind of inyourface plain. The album begins, "Let's just forget everything said/ Everything we did…Goodbye to all those nights when we realized we were falling out of love/ It was hopeless, never meant." No clever rhymes or plays on words, no little tricks that make it seem like there has been some soul-searching involved in this articulation of sadness. (i.e. no registrations in glove compartments or fevers and mirrors in the basement).

After a quick run to a thrift store the afternoon of the concert at the theatre, our lead singer popped the disc in and said it was something her roommate turned her onto. When Thanksgiving rolled around and I found myself at the Sonic Boom.on Capitol Hill, I finally found the disc. (I'd had enough of looking for it and finding only American Hi-Fi and American Analog Set.)

It was only a couple hours into the obsession that I found out what Kinsella did after the deflation of the Football. He started recording acoustic stuff under the enigmatic moniker, Owen. Naturally I shat myself over not knowing this before, and ran to my car in the driveway and sped all the way back to Sonic Boom to get whatever they had by Owen. Sadly, there was nothing but one of those plastic dividers, mockingly showing me where the records had been before I got there.

So the present day is upon us, Owen had two full-length releases and then nothing for about a year and a half, but it's best just to deal with it. Kucinich won't be in the white house, and neither will Dean, but hey, maybe Nader will get to debate or something. The good news is that Owen has five new songs, finally.

The EP begins with a track called "Skin and Bones." It's pretty much exactly what every whiny mopped-topped indie boy wants to do when he blows two hundred bucks of lawn-mowing money on a cassette recorder and sets to work in his bedroom with an acoustic guitar and journal full of iambic pentameter about the girl across the street with the alcoholic dad. Layers of acoustic guitar follow one basic melodic theme and then Kinsella's off to the races with a song about the human race. "Skin and bones and blood and teeth. This is essentially who we are. Hair and clothes and the company we keep. This is essentially who we are to others."

"In the Morning Before Work" has come to be my favorite track on the EP for two reasons. First, because the simplicity of just an acoustic guitar reminds me of the song "Good Deeds" off Owen's second full-length, "No Good for No One," which I still recommend to people as one of my favorite songs. If someone has "Good Deeds" when I rummage through their Ipod, I'll explode with happiness and make them let me listen to it. My second reason is because of lyrics like this: "I sleep in these dirty sheets, blanket between my boney knees/ But you already knew that because you used to crawl in bed with me/ In the morning, before work." The song is basically a perfect articulation of having a missing piece, someone who knows how you sleep, what CDs you listen to, how you like your coffee, everything about you…and right now I'm sitting at a kitchen table in Washington in the middle of the night thinking about how my girlfriend lives in Manhattan and I have another year of college left in Virginia. Dammit.

The longest and most breaks-the-mold song, is "That Mouth," an electronic mess that is somehow exciting to listen to, even though it's about getting screwed over by a girl and Kinsella repeats "At least I can see myself in the mirror" about four times too many towards the end of the song.

All in all, the album is a great listen. It's without a doubt the best Owen release to date, and should fit in nicely to the soundtrack of your day when the new Modest Mouse is too loud, your Aveo disc is too scratched, and Death Cab is unappealing because your twelve-year-old niece just asked you if you'd ever heard of the Postal Service.

It's pretty much exactly what every whiny mopped-topped indie boy wants to do when he blows two hundred bucks of lawn-mowing money on a cassette recorder and sets to work in his bedroom with an acoustic guitar and journal full of iambic pentameter about the girl across the street with the alcoholic dad.

Satanic Panic in the Attic

Joseph Riippi — Tue, 01 Jun 2004 07:00:00 +0000

8.5

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0001LYEVY/wwwthreeimagi-20

ofmontreal.jpg

Athens, GA has spawned some fun bands in recent months — Azure Ray, Now it's Overhead, Crooked Fingers (albeit now in Seattle) and the seven year indie-vets Of Montreal, who are back with a new record.

Satanic Panic in the Attic is the group's sixth full-length, and their first release with the delightfully consistent Polyvinyl Record Company.

SPITA (no, not an animal liberation movement, just an abbreviation for the album title) is a remarkably catchy record. It finds the band making the sort of music no one can really dislike. (In this regard I have heard them compared to Built to Spill and early Belle and Sebastian.) It's another record by one of those bands that you can take for granted as always putting out something worth purchasing — there's never any question.

This new album is a little bit of a departure from their previous work... etc... but then again it's always good for bands to grow yada yada yada... We've all heard this sort of thing before whenever a veteran band puts out a new record that doesn't sound exactly like the last one.

Really the album is just meant for summer fun. As cornily Beach Boys as that sounds, it really is. The tracks run together as a collective album more than as just a bunch of songs, and the songs are as colorful as the Sgt. Peppers-esque album cover. Somewhere in-between tracks two and three the band breaks into a fugal acapella harmony that then leads into the melting pot of influences they wear proudly on both sleeves and pant legs throughout the rest of the album: Punk, rock, grunge, sixties through today, new wave, there's a little bit of everything in it.

SPITA is spring and summer dancing foot tapping fun. It reminds us of why independent music survives, the clarity of it.

Really the album is just meant for summer fun. As cornily Beach Boys as that sounds, it really is.