Three Imaginary Girls - Matador Records

Smoke Ring For My Halo

Chris Estey — Wed, 20 Jul 2011 20:42:30 +0000

8.3

http://www.amazon.com/Smoke-Ring-Halo-Kurt-Vile/dp/B004I3U7SK/?tag=wwwthreeimagi-20

{Kurt Vile is going to be playing the Capitol Hill Block Party on Friday, July 22, starting at 5pm on the Main Stage.}

Kurt Vile has an occasionally insouciant vocal presence, yet a luscious guitar tone. "Baby's Arms," the new single, is as much a raspberry blown at the world as a lustful kiss splattered on the cheek of his sweetheart. "I get sick of just about everyone / so I hide in my baby's arms." That's how this timelessly rebellious dichotomy is presented on his new, fourth full length Smoke Ring For My Halo.

Vile only kind of means being mean. He likes to sing about "a whole lot of dirt" (a mocking, baiting masterwork called "Runner Ups"), yet was raised in a genteel bluegrass, Jesus-loving household. According to rumor, he tried to bring the banjo of his youth back on this album, but maybe those got left in the outtakes (next time?). This has injected his songs with a transcendently shimmering, out of time feel, in which lyrics despairing ("I'm already gone" from "Jesus Fever"), flinching to fight ("On Tour," in which he compares being on the road to Lord Of The Flies, eek), and pervert-playful ("Peeping Tom") won't be heard at first. Instead, one marvels and is moved by all the picking, strumming, and shivering layers of acoustic and electric guitaring.

Vile is on tour with Thurston Moore (!), having thrilled live audiences at All Tomorrow's Parties back in May and just recently at the 2011 Pitchfork Festival, and each time he plays his Violators blow mellow audiences to the back -- and then bring them forward for a mid-gig stripped down set-within-a-set. He's a record-loving kid from Philadelphia that insists he isn't a "record nerd" but his music betrays this dismissal. He is already almost as vocally soulful as a teen Mark Lanegan and proficient like a middle-aged Richard Thompson or Lindsay Buckingham. He is a cocky little shit and I love hearing him complain about everything but his baby's arms, and I wouldn't miss an opportunity to hear him play music that song fiends delight in as much as ambient hounds. That -- and the sort of laid back, not afraid to be sarcastic Smoke Rings -- sounds like a legend in the making.

{Kurt Vile is going to be playing the Capitol Hill Block Party on Friday, July 22, starting at 5pm on the Main Stage.}

Demolished Thoughts

Imaginary Mimi — Thu, 16 Jun 2011 18:14:31 +0000

9.1

http://www.amazon.com/Demolished-Thoughts-Thurston-Moore/dp/B004RRVHCW/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1308247993&sr=8-2

thurston_moore_demolished.jpg

If one were to freely associate a few words with Thurston Moore, phrases like “technical,” “experimental,” or “Sweet Lord, did I just listen to 10 minutes of feedback?” might come to mind. Moore has always seemed to have a certain aloofness in his approach to his music, the results often being something beautiful, at times clinical and cold. His fourth album, Demolished Thoughts, released on May 24^th(Matador Records) is an absolutely stunning deviation from his usual aesthetic. His soft, pink underbelly is revealed, and the unexpected warmth and intimacy make for a spectacular listening experience. 'Atmospheric' might be an apt descriptor for this album: Moore creates an atmosphere with sound, but it's a highly accessible one. For once, it feels as though he actively invites his listeners into this space, instead of simply allowing them to observe from its borders.

According to the Matador website, the album was written over a two-year period and recorded over fall of 2010 / winter of 2011 at Beck's Los Angeles studio, as well as in Northampton, Mass. Beck’s influence is unmistakable here, as it has a very similar orchestration and tone to that of Sea Change. The result is an organic confluence of tracks, and a continuity of sound that one would not necessarily expect from either artist. Moore’s hallmark dissonance, distortion, and feedback are nearly non-existent on this album, and despite a somewhat brief 45-minute length, it undulates slowly with a natural drama. It is not overwrought or artificial. It is simply beautiful music.

Moore's use of violins and harps adds a textural element that is both subtle and clever, softening or crispening a track as needed. He has used violinist Samara Lubelski on other albums with stellar results. The addition of harpist for Kurt Vile, Mary Lattimore, was an excellent compliment, and the sound produced would almost seem to suggest they had been working together for years. Of the two musicians, Moore said: "Beck and I discussed many players we thought would compliment the record in all its improvisatory experimentation and focus on song-slip. We decided that Samara Lubelski (violin) and Mary Lattimore (harpist) had to play and we invited them to join us. We fed them cantaloupes, raw milks, doughnuts, Zuma sushi and Lily’s fish tacos. And we threw shadows into the sun."

There is no more perfect summation as to what occurred as a result of this collaboration, as this is exactly what the album sounds like. Moore’s vocals take on an almost J Mascis-like quality: soft, sweet, and low. At times, though there is warmth and brightness in the music, an element of tragedy seems to be lurking around the corner in his regular use of minor chords. The tracks are staggered well throughout the album with regard to both sound and tone. The first track, "Benediction," has is dreamy and hypnotic, and the combination of strings and guitar plus Moore’s subdued voice sets a romantic kind of tone. There are moments, like those in tracks like "Mina Loy" (a perfect song topic for Moore), with its chilling Mexican showdown whistle, where the sound becomes paradoxically calming and menacing at the same time. Illuminine has the sleepy electricity of a first kiss. "Circulation" is a bit crunchier, and is more of a return to Moore’s default setting, and features more orchestral swells, somewhat reminiscent of Smashing Pumpkin’s "Disarm." Perhaps the finest track on the album, however, is "Blood Never Lies." The combination of female accompaniment and strings elevates and brings a gentle, tender sweetness to it that allows for infinite replay and lovesick sighing. "Orchard Street" again transitions back to a more traditional sound from Moore, but does not destroy flow of album, but rather accentuates it, similar to a lighter version of something like Sonic Youth's "Peace Attack." Thematically, words and concepts like circulation, blood, rain, and, transition all lend themselves to the overall fluidity of the album and perhaps to Moore’s approach to its creation.

Demolished Thoughts is nearly impossible to describe. Though this is a departure from the status quo for Moore, he is still, at his core, very true to himself and his sound as an artist. Robert Palmer, rest his soul, was absolutely right -- “Trying to describe something musical is like dancing to architecture, it's really difficult.” Add the ripple of it being a Thurston Moore album and it’s more like painting to quantum physics.

Learning

Chris Estey — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 16:11:22 +0000

7.9

http://www.amazon.com/Learning-Perfume-Genius/dp/B003JONX30/?tag=wwwthreeimagi-20

Perfume Genius.jpg

Learning is the first album by abused and otherwise, only briefly formerly-juvenile delinquent, Mike Hadreas. It never rises much above a whisper, with Hadreas' gentle, sugary voice floating on about murders happening in the neighborhood, sex with older men in their vans in exchange for weed to smoke, and hiding mouthwash from your mother so she won't get drunk on it.

These musical chapbook-chapters are set to soft, elegant, piano-led electronics-brushed compositions, which only on the Book of Ecclesiastes-bitter "You Won't B Here" gets near to spry, but then think of that juxtaposition. Without the UK hype for Perfume Genius when it was released past February, this disc could easily have fallen through the cracks as a seemingly underdeveloped Grandaddy-ballad sounding fusion of warbled, cracked vulnerability with Larry Clark-movie cutting and doping imagery, instead of hiding in a band or hanging at the mall.

So why should you care? The critics who say that the brief ten tracks go from reed-slender experiments in slight gospel, arid ambient, or naif-folk in to full on can't-forget-David-Lynch-producing-Hidden-Cameras moments are hitting it pretty well. The obvious high points are strangely reminiscent of a depressive Danielson fallen off the wagon of religion and wandering aimlessly through a battering Hollywood alley, bearing more heartbreak than is humanly possible. I sort of want to taunt it and personal coach Hadreas into fighting back, but the loveliness of his description of the loss of a mother mourning her daughter in "When", or the story about caring for siblings falling apart in "Write To Your Brother" just make me want to drink wine and weep with him.

This is fragile soul music for fragrant spirits, and if anything, reminds the hyped-out music fans that a little can go a long way even in very young hands if enough talent is brought to it. I have no idea if Hadreas will be able to follow up this level of minimalist storytelling; I doubted that at first, with as sparse and tremble-legged as this seems to sound. But as the soundtracks to another world unfold after a few dozen listens, it's possible he might be capable of going off in any direction pretty strongly at this point.

{Perfume Genius headlines in Seattle on September 22, at The Crocodile}

The Brutalist Bricks

Chris Estey — Wed, 28 Apr 2010 15:51:33 +0000

8.5

http://www.amazon.com/Brutalist-Bricks-Ted-Leo-Pharmacists/dp/B00347ZXPI/?tag=wwwthreeimagi-20

200px-Brutalist_Bricks.jpg

"If there's one place where you're scared, it's a bunker." So said urbanist, art critic, and political theorist Paul Virilio in an interview in a book of conversations called Crepuscular Dawn, before he and author Sylvere Lotringer described the architecture of the Brutalists, in which construction is associated with "pulling out the insides, the guts of a building." So that it "makes a facade of the skeleton" of a structure. Sort of how our country has been pulled inside out from eight years in a bunker, the hope still sucked out of our lungs by the louts in power.

In a similarly Expressionist way, power pop prophet Ted Leo welcomes back his fans with "When the cafe doors exploded, I reacted to you," the opening to "The Mighty Sparrow," the splattering, rippling opening track on his return and Matador debut, The Brutalist Bricks. "Then I saw you, the red, white, and blue."

There has been some talk that The Brutalist Bunker is too torn open, falling down on itself to tear out of the gates; its chiming guitars and shouted wisdom probably the inevitable result of a man who had a very sick wife since his last record (2007's Living Among The Living) and is exhaling as well as revealing exhaustion. So many Jam-and-Thin Lizzy inspired anthems, dub bass-pulling travelogues, anxious journaling about making it through the journey to the end of the night of the '00s. As he sings in the third track here, "Ativan Eyes," "The new millennium's tough," it was all begun a decade delineated by Leo's leper-touching "The Tyranny Of Distance," in which our individual time bunkers took away freedoms the way that elections then had somehow become a farce.

But while this has left Leo "so sick of cynics" and that he "wants someone to trust in," I think people who attribute the overplus of urgency in The Brutalist Bricks to devastating emotional emergencies also put faith in concrete altars. Those landmarks are gone; the slate has been wiped clean by hierarchies falling apart. We have less of what he maybe never deserved in the first place, and forced to move, might find salvation. As long as we don't look back or try to document the magical moment into eternity.

"Many are the beauties of the Fall," Leo rhapsodizes in "Even Heroes Have To Die," perhaps about the time of year when order darkly flutters apart, maybe about the journey that came after we lost our innocence. Those who gave up all faith in the Bush years are probably not unlike those who can't feel the raw rush of near hardcore 2/4-driven "The Stick," or can't groove on the Eddie & the Hot Rods-like pub-punk of "Where Was My Brain?" If they're not willing to pay attention to the more caustic confessions in Leo's narrative, they're also likely to miss out on the superplusgood mod-pop of "One Polaroid A Day" (one of my Top ten singles for the summer). With gut-punching lines "We've got to hang on while others document decay. But you want to control everything. You are your own worst enemy."

Leo is talking about "the discipline to let things play," something very hard to do the last decade. But now something we must do in order to survive. And as Chris Bailey of The Saints once sang, "In the struggle to survive some things must die." And if his album after the dark years seems a little too everywhere at once, well, so does any kind of true redemption.

Together

Chris Estey — Thu, 22 Apr 2010 16:01:10 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0039ZEM0W/?tag=wwwthreeimagi-20

newporn10together.jpg

(Three Imaginary Girls is excited to present a very special GET TOGETHER to have a sneak listen to the brand new NOT YET RELEASED album from the New Pornographers on Friday, April 23 at Neptune Coffee (at 8415 Greenwood Ave N.) from 6p-7:30p. The evening is free.)

The New Pornographers is some velvet gang of not-so-secretly important semi-popular artists, with the elevated sense of giving listeners the most bang for a buck. On new album Together celebrated cult singers and songwriters A.C. Newman and Dan Bejar and Neko Case have listened to all those great records by girl groups, soul bands, Go-Betweens and Triffids and Chills LPs, Dusty Springfield and Teardrop Explodes and ABBA seven inches, that you've been meaning to. And they crumble up the ingredients into a happy hash pipe and lights the celebratory safety match, turning the bangs on your forehead crisply burnt.

But the New Pornographers is rarely merely record collector rock. They have something to say about love and faith in your friends. In the most straight-ahead indie statement here, they sing, "What's love? What turns up in the dark." No beautiful loser beatification, no melancholic narcissism, it's all utterly alluring major chords and urgent hope and sharing is the only caring. (Thanks, Ms. Case.)

Though this overplus of value also means more great lyrics than most other bands ever dream of writing, it's the trading-off performances that pull you in on the first strings-chugging notes of opener "The Moves." And never let up till (of course) "We End Up Together." "You've got those old eternity blues," Neko Case sings invincibly on the whistle-sweetened, cello-y Electric Light Orchestra "classical rock"-massaged and bridge-driven "The Crash Years," the super hot second track and first single from. You're going to get sick of playing that song. Over and over. Or maybe not.

Madding crowds, ruins, and a Smiths-style "Panic" ("Honey-pie you're not safe here"), dimly lit wicks of faith in frozen frames when "what you want is an accident." "The traffic was slow for the crash years," Case alluringly tears apart her song's martyr and tosses him into a screaming daymare of slow motion catastrophe. It makes you want to hang the DJ.

But no. Collisions and miracles and emotional mash ups and mad crushes all strike up throughout. But it's more than fucking. It's all about healing, touching ravaged flesh after the damage, too. Case's gorgeous Kali voice fires Together, and A.C. Newman and Dan Bejar give her plenty of souls to dance on. "The splash and jangle of the secret signs" in "My Shepherd" address her "Lord and Shepherd" but is no simple gospel message when French lessons are involved, and the fate of those in rock and roll, and foxes tamed by the Little Prince. (Fire-eyed, "careful kid no one gets hurt. You made me this way.")

Together is unashamedly nostalgic in sound (all those 70s and 80s dollar vinyls that you get from Value Village can now be replaced with one shiny five inch disc!) and "yet in the future perfect waiting." Third song "Your Hands Together" comes on like the bong resin-smeared tight jean anthem Wet Hot American Summer needed for its training montage, the kind of progressive rock-empowered pumper kids prowled High School dances for to find the boy or girl who might "blow in their ear." Dual make and female vocals rave on the power chord bursts and flow into the Cheap Trick, Blondie-era buzz and tribal beat leading it out, and "you're all mine."

Then whoah! Suddenly it's crisp mid-tempo Saturday afternoon Brit-rock, Kinks-y and a little VU, on "Silver Jenny Dollar" and it's imminent sun-stroked pile of chorus, "It's true, I love ya." Could have been on Loaded if that band wasn't driven by more dark forces. And Bejar brings the psychodrama on "Vakyrie And The Roller Disco" after the scraping of some kind of strings and tappings of others ("Bounce off the walls, Valentine, come on be the one, do your worst") before the sizzling soul-pop takes over again (this is really an album of startling moves) and everything goes calliope once more. Clove butts floating in wine and glitter-pools in cold bathrooms of dorm rooms of lovers who really love you. There are some shrewd lines, but not a single caustic image here. The New Pornographers really adore the characters they sing about, even if they're out of time, or falling down, scattering in from some post-hippie pub rock opera or posh lounge of regret.

Supposedly, in the "How" section of the one sheet that comes with the pre-release, this album has "the true story of a woman that returned to her husband decades after he disfigured her with acid." Produced by the New Pornographers and Phil Palazzolo make all the awesome power pop playing out of Kathryn Calder (vocals, keyboard, piano), John Collins (bass, acoustic guitar, keyboards), Kurt Dahle (drums, percussion, vocals), Todd Fancey (guitar), Blaine Thurier (keyboards), and and many guests, most notable great work from the Dap-Kings on the Lewis Furey-meets-D. Springfield "Daughters of Sorrow" (cascading, swooning, starlight-mooning zenith of album). Together about as far from insular, cold, anemic indie pop that you get. You can almost hear Ted Leo crying that he wasn't able to at least contribute a ska-punk stuttering guitar solo. And Freddie Mercury smiling in heaven at the sound of "Mama mama!" in the cello-swirling chorus of closing anthem "We End Up Together."

This is an essential 2010 purchase.

We are on the pendant eve of Matador's supergroup The New Pornographers' gypsy-caravan tour, including dates with The Dutchess & The Duke, Imaad Wasif, The Dodos, and The Mountain Goats (yow!). Starting in London May 19 and ending up in Madison, WI in August, they will all be scrambling on stage to send up their surround sound power pop operas at George, Washington during the Sasquatch Festival on May 31.

This album is an essential 2010 purchase, and if pre-ordered from the Matador store, you'll also get a 7 " with three songs originally recorded by notorious Detroit psychedelic group Outrageous Cherry. Don't miss them at Sasquatch, and come hear the sneak peak at Neptune Coffee in Seattle this Friday night!

Matador Records co-leader compiled compilation of Austin music

Imaginary Shrie — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 15:16:10 +0000

I can't stop listening to Casual Victim Pile. It's a compilation put together by Matador co-head Gerard Cosloy and features some of his favorite Austin, Texas bands of the last few years. Incidentally, and cutely, the anagramic album name was contrived from Austin's nickname "live music capital". Cosloy put this comp together out of love, and you can tell. These aren't bands you find gracing the charts or garnering much attention, in the indie rock scene or otherwise. These are locally lauded underground bands, and they most definitely deserve a little exposure.

The Cave Singers at Neumos on Saturday

serotonein — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 20:58:50 +0000

The majority of the discussion initially focused on how Derek Fudesco, Pete Quirk, and Marty Lund all played in loud rock bands prior to The Cave Singer's formation, but the continual touring shows they consider this far more than a side project. Their debut in the fall of 2007, Invitation Songs, was notable for being completely stripped down to the basic elements - vocals, a strummed guitar, and quiet drums providing a beat in the background. Instant comparisons were to Woody Guthrie or early Bob Dylan, while some of the darker lyrical content was offset by the gentle melodies.

Sample a bit of the new Yo La Tengo album out in September

Imaginary Mimi — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 14:38:29 +0000

Well, nadie la tengo this album yet, because it won't be released until September, but there exists, mis amigos, un MP3 for your listening delight.

"Periodically Double or Triple" gives the indication that Popular Songs is going to be fantastic! As always, the music is tight but not overstylized and feels a lot like a track off of Electr-o-Pura, or one of the lighter, poppier tracks off of I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass (ala "Mr. Tough"). After the noisy, wonderful diversion that Condo Fucks' Fuckbook, Popular Songs sounds like it will be a return to their more traditional form and will most likely make many Best of '09 lists in a ninth-inning squeeze play.

Popular Songs will be released September 8th on the Matador Records label. It would appear as though US fans will have to be a bit patient for a tour on this album, as they will be making the jump across the pond for the entire month of November. A few stateside dates are planned for this summer, but nothing is yet indicated for September. It will, however, most likely be well worth the wait!

The Eternal

Andrew Boe — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 15:45:35 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0026BD2II/?tag=wwwthreeimagi-20

sonic_youth_the_eternal_cover.jpg

“Smash the moral hypocrisy” is one of the lines in “Anti-Orgasm,” one of the many standout tracks on Sonic Youth’s brand new landmark album, The Eternal. The epigram is not only standard fare, but is also a sign that the group still has the characteristic unsettled angst that it is known for. After countless classic albums, the band still has the gritty edge and intellect that defined them some twenty-five years ago.

The Eternal marks a return to an independent label, Matador Records, after an impressively long running stint with Geffen. The album’s twelve songs meld together amazingly well. By the time that the record’s closing tune, a nearly ten minute long epic “Massage the History,” ends, it is clear that this is another highlight in a historic career that has already been full of so many.

With distorted guitars, Sonic Youth creates a canvas of craftsmanship that is all their own. In “Malibu Gas Station,” Kim Gordon sounds at once seductive and at the same time, menacing. Her voice, incredibly, does not seem to have aged over the years. The other thing about this legendary act is that they continue not only to remain consistent as hell, but are still making records that rank up there with their best.

With aural chaos and pervading anti-establishment sensibilities, The Eternal is effervescing with beautiful grime soaked melodies. Again, there is no filler, just a dozen new tracks that sit adjacent to one another in cohesion. These songs are fantastic additions to Sonic Youth’s remarkable career. I don’t know how much longer that they can continue in this fashion, but this new LP is certainly top notch material.

“Smash the moral hypocrisy” is one of the lines in “Anti-Orgasm,” one of the many standout tracks on Sonic Youth’s brand new landmark album, The Eternal. The epigram is not only standard fare, but is also a sign that the group still has the characteristic unsettled angst that it is known for. After countless classic albums, the band still has the gritty edge and intellect that defined them some twenty-five years ago.

Get Guilty

Imaginary Shrie — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 21:38:42 +0000

7.5

http://www.google.com/url?sa=U&start=1&q=http://www.amazon.com/Get-Guilty-C-Newman/dp/B001MW0J0Q&ei=PCGfSanRGImQtQPb5eTCCQ&usg=AFQjCNGcJuYgr1w04iwdX_ls0D_jTv_QhA

get guilty.jpg

It's easy to hear A.C. Newman's stamp on the New Pornographers. Neko Case and Dan Bejar are both chock full of musical personality and style, but the songwriting is all Newman. Unlike Case and Bejar, Newman doesn't project his quirkiness. Instead he writes fucking poppy ass hooks that stick to your gills, then lets his pristine production and arrangements do the talking. A.C. Newman's solo work is almost formulaic and dependable, but I can't help but believe that it's because he just has an indelible knack for this pop stuff and a whip-smart approach to production. On Newman's second solo work Get Guilty, after 2004's The Slow Wonder, he ladles on the sun-kissed baroque pop goodness.

This album is thick with great lyrics, but there is an overall ambiguity to them. Banging to a start, "There Are Maybe Ten or Twelve" enters with deep broad chimes and an elusive first line of "Make of that what you will". Layering on the vague, the album's single "The Palace at 4 a.m." professes that there is "no pushing words around", among other equally mysterious allusions. Even on the strong "Heartbreak Ride" he masters a non-word chorus, "Yo-ho", into an empowering shout of sustenance, using the sound and rhythm of the words as an instrument. Strings of cerebral quips are matched by drum slaps and horn flourishes as the main attraction, sharing the stage and both contributing equally.

"Like A Hitman, Like A Dancer" is perhaps the most spare and jagged track on the album, most certainly rougher and less contained at least, evoking more indie rock than pop. Once again, Newman's vocal outpourings resemble more of an instrument. The way that some phrases are broken at odd intervals to accentuate the rhyming sounds so easily done, but yet very purposeful and in reality, probably not as easy as it seems. The last track, "All Of My Days & All Of My Days Off" was the first song I heard, and I mistakenly took it for a New Pornographers song. That aside, the chorus is the catchiest on the record, brimming with a battery of Newman hooks and the sweet tweets of Nicole Atkins and Kori Gardner Hammel from Mates of State. Jon Wurster, of Superchunk, also guest drums on this album, instilling needed pep with his punchy bass drum kicks.

Get Guilty is such a gem of a pop album; perfectly crafted, catchy, densely layered without feeling lavish... yet it still feels a little too nice and warm. Towards the back half of the album, the songs get a little less catchy and a little more blah (with the exception of "All Of My Days & All Of My Days Off") but the overall intensity and on-target execution makes those few tracks easier to overlook. I've heard this album done, though not done this well, and it's just not jumping out at me as much as it should. I suspect this is a lengthy listener, an "it grows on you" album. I'll surely find out... as I can't get A.C. Newman's sweet, and oh so pitch-perfect, croon out of my head.

This album is thick with great lyrics, but there is an overall ambiguity to them.

The BBC Sessions

Andrew Boe — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 04:18:50 +0000

7.5

http://www.amazon.com/BBC-Sessions-Belle-Sebastian/dp/B001FZ0AAO/ref=pd_bbs_sr_3?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1234137470&sr=8-3

belle.jpg

I have always loved Peel sessions and other BBC radio sessions where (often up and coming) bands are encouraged to come into the studio and record two to four tracks that are essentially committed to tape live. The noteworthy thing is that these sessions almost always run neck and neck with the proper album versions. The production is usually pretty much perfect, being sharp, but not at all overproduced.

Most groups tend to record a few songs that end up on their albums and then other tracks that end up as B-sides or other ones that may not turn up anywhere else ever again. Being a huge fan of British radio sessions, I am always excited to hear these crisp versions of songs that I am familiar with, but the other thing that I look forward to is hearing the rarely heard songs that once again often leave me wondering why they were abandoned after being recorded for the radio session. Belle and Sebastian’s BBC sessions fit right in line with my general thoughts on this subject.

This new collection features radio sessions from the band’s early days that were recorded between 1997 and 2001, many of the songs ended up on their first three studio albums. Of these, there is a slightly less dreamy sounding, but fantastically performed version of “The State I Am In,” from their debut, Tigermilk, that opens up this release. There is also a compelling version of “Like Dylan In The Movies,” from the critically acclaimed If You’re Feeling Sinister. This rendition sounds rawer. The bareness adds a bleaker aspect to the song that isn’t as apparent in the original.

The Boy With The Arab Strap’s “Seymour Stein” sounds different in this setting as well. Murdoch’s vocals are lower and sound more relaxed than the studio version. The music is a bit more muted as well, adding more focus to the vocals. From the same album, there is a less buoyant sounding “Sleep The Clock Around.” This recording also sounds more direct with less reverb and psychedelic effects enhancing the instruments.

There are also four unreleased songs on The BBC Sessions. The intriguingly titled “Shoot The Sexual Athlete” is one of the standouts in this collection. It opens with a low, punchy bass line and the first lines of the lyrics are “Now I’m in a band/People try to make me do things/Kiss arses and pay tribute/But I’m inclined today to do those things anyway/And I don’t care who hears it.” After this Murdoch delves into a few verses about his admiration for The Go-Betweens. This tribute is augmented by violin that is awfully reminiscent of Amanda Brown’s style from the inspiring band. It is a short song that captures the sardonic and whimsical side of Belle and Sebastian's songwriting.

The BBC Sessions should hold enough charm to both satisfy die hard fans and work as a welcome introduction to those who are unfamiliar with the work of Belle and Sebastian. Their first three records are arguably their best. They showcase a group that embraced melancholy retro pop music at a time when they were completely out of place with what was going on in music on both sides of the Atlantic. And for those who are not fans of Belle and Sebastian, it’s time to track down BBC sessions by your favorite artists. You will rarely be disappointed.

The BBC Sessions should hold enough charm to both satisfy die hard fans and work as a welcome introduction to those who are unfamiliar with the work of Belle and Sebastian.

Mogwai: A superfan love story...

heather b — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 00:13:37 +0000

The last time I saw Mogwai, I almost lost my left foot. No joke. That was probably the best Mogwai show I've ever seen, and that's saying something. I've seen them play 16 or 17 times now. Also no joke. Ask anyone; I'm the most ridiculous, embarrassing, drooling Mogwai fan on the planet, and I'll totally fight anyone who challenges me on that point.

I found Mogwai at a time in my life when things seemed pretty bleak. I was in a zombied-out fog and was unable to feel much of anything. Enter Mogwai. The first time I saw them play live, I was totally blown away. The only Mogwai album I owned at that time was EP+2, which is a pretty mellow recording in my opinion, so I wasn't expecting the full-on audio onslaught I experienced. My blood began to pump again. I began to live life on a steady diet of Mogwai. The music became a substitute for my heartbeat. It kept me upright. It was as if I was teetering on the edge of a cliff, Mogwai playing on the ground far below. When I let myself go over the edge, the volume and ferociousness of the music kept me afloat and then gently brought me back down to earth. I owe a lot to Mogwai. They helped bring me back to life.

Don't ask me about the first time I met Stuart Braithwaite. I think it's often better to never meet your musical idols. It was easily one of the worst and most humiliating nights of my life, although I can laugh about it now. I've since met most members of the band on a few occasions and managed to maintain a little more dignity than that first time.

For the next nine years, I proceeded to collect as much Mogwai-related crap I could get my hands on. eBay became my best friend. I own rare 7-inch splits on colored vinyl, "number 1" album pressings, press kits, out-of-print tour singles, autographed set lists, videotaped shows I can't even watch because they were in the European PAL format, Mogwai commemorative earplugs. I toyed with they idea of buying the drummer's pacemaker when it was for sale on eBay. I have the Mogwai Young Team logo tattooed on my neck. I've made lasting friendships with people all over the world that were based on our love for Mogwai. I've traveled to four different states and three different countries to see them play.

Enter the story of my left foot. I went to see Mogwai play at the Connect Festival outside of their home town of Glasgow. A small cut on my foot on the first day of the festival turned into the most gnarly staph infection you've ever seen. I thought it was just a really bad blister but it proceeded to grow larger and more painfully infected. Still, I waited until after seeing what was easily the best Mogwai show I've ever seen before getting medical attention. I had to be taken out of the festival in an ambulance. Shut up.

I used to be able to easily rattle off any of their obscure song titles, the album each song was on, the year it was recorded. I devoured all Mogwai news and monitored their website and the BrightLight! bulletin board regularly. In short, If Mogwai took a crap, I knew about it. But in recent years, my fanatacism has cooled somewhat. Not because the band has changed, but because I have changed. I've long since given up on the childish dream of getting married to any of the band members (well, almost) or on writing a film specifically for them to score. I don't have a fervent need to own every tiny piece of flotsam that floats past.

I still love Mogwai. I love what they've become. I love that they alone have spawned a genre of music that now includes Explosions in the Sky, Mono, Lebanon, This Will Destroy You, Kinski and countless others. I love that they continue to create (the new album comes out on 9/23/08) and collaborate with various artists. I'll continue to keep an eye on their careers and various side projects. But I don't think I need to lose a limb anymore to prove my love. They don't need it either.

{Heather just saw Mogwai again in Seattle. The review is coming soon. We can confirm no limbs were lost at the show.}

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I even toyed with the idea of buying the drummer's pacemaker when it was for sale on eBay.

New Shearwater releases today and you can have a listen for free

Deborah Barnard — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 17:30:11 +0000

The way quiet mistral-like vocals mixed with soaring instrumentals prompted the question, "Is this a good album to dance the horizontal tango to?"