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Rock Art Rock
The Decemberists
September 19, 2009
Terminal 5, New York, NY
By Amanda Hatfield "The Decemberists played a special one night 'lottery show,' where the songs played were picked at random by a master of ceremonies, played by John Wesley Harding..."
Ra Ra Riot
April 4, 2009
Webster Hall, New York City, NY
By Amanda Hatfield "This show was, at the time, the biggest one Ra Ra Riot had sold out as headliners, and it was clear to me after watching it that the band is destined for even bigger and better things..."
Florence and the Machine
October 28, 2009
Bowery Ballroom, New York City, NY
By Amanda Hatfield "Florence Welsh and her backing band delighted and mesmerized a sold-out crowd at Bowery in her first official NY headlining show..."
Dirty Projectors
July 19, 2009
Williamsburg Waterfront (Brooklyn, NY)
By Amanda Hatfield "I was skeptical about how well Dirty Projectors' gorgeous, complex vocal harmonies would carry over outdoors, standing under hot sunshine..."
See more in the Rock Art Rock gallery.
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Search results for: saddle creek
Cursive
Cursive
Mama, I’m Swollen
(Saddle Creek, 2009)
Weird joke: The first (and second and third and…) lyric on the new Cursive album is “Don’t wanna live in the now / Don’t wanna know what I know.” This is as proud a regression as any from indie’s proudest picaresque. Sorry, Colin Meloy: Tim Kasher has scripted a record five concept albums this decade. He treaded lightly with 2000’s Cursive’s Domestica, both lyrically (about his divorce, not too far removed from his indistinguishable emo beginnings) and musically (32 minutes, don’t lay it on too thick). Casting himself as “the Martyr” and his estranged wife as I don’t want to read what (oops, too late: “Well, get on that cross / That’s all you’re good for”), a few more records of this milieu and Kasher could’ve won himself any normal Thursday fan. But his dramas became subtler and less interesting after an early peak with the tensely wound, cello-abetted The Ugly Organ, one of the alternative era’s greatest records (really). The even more story-like Happy Hollow and 2007’s screenplay-cum-record Help Wanted Nights by Kasher’s quieter band, the Good Life, sank politely from view. Ironically, this was just as literary indie-rock broke through, so to speak, with the Hold Steady plotting a tour with Dave Matthews, the Decemberists doing high-profile Obama fundraisers, and the Mountain Goats earning a feature story in New York Magazine. But Cursive don’t wanna live in the now.
Mama, I’m Swollen is the dumbest record Kasher’s made since the late ’90s, and even then he saddled himself with titles like Such Blinding Stars for Starving Eyes.Good for him, too; where Happy Hollow suffered from chaos en masse, with horns and biblical allusions and small-town malaise tying it together like his own personal True Stories or something, here he’s not actually swollen at all. It starts with “In the Now”, a two-and-a-half-minute punk song in the tradition of “New Day Rising” before a defiantly normal four-song streak where he declares himself to be first a donkey and then a caveman, with a break for some piano heartbreak in the middle. And, in a way, Cursive’s never really tried before. It’s all so simple, with pick hit “From the Hips” convincingly anthemic, though they’ll never stop being self-referential: “We were at our best as animals” is refreshing to hear as they strap on the guitar.
This new streamlined bar band version of Cursive isn’t exactly a replacement for the old one, as they’re still a bit sludgy, with hook machine Greta Cohn no longer on cello. But they are effective; a little organ here, music box there, a lot of goofy metaphors (“You can’t take a little nibble / You gotta lick the bowl”), Kasher’s second Pinocchio-inspired song (“Donkeys”), and after a kind of bum second half, a wonderful, typically bombastic closer with “What Have I Done?” that gets extra credit for folding in 2006’s misbegotten horns tastefully. If Cursive never again make another sparks-on-rails flyby like The Ugly Organ, please let them make raggedly tuneful follow-ups like Mama, I’m Swollen ’til they collect Social Security.
Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]
Tags: Cursive, Mama I’m Swollen, Saddle Creek, Tim Kasher
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Eric Bachmann: New Records For the Old Artist Soul
Eric Bachmann burns from the inside out. It’s a slow, persistent burn, invoking in him a response as innate as any other human action: He makes music because, quite simply, that’s all that there is. It damages his health and compromises his relationships. It has led him to seek out other answers. But instead of opting for a straighter path, he revitalizes his craft time and again, constantly evolving as a musician, finding in himself the darkest moments, those unforgiving elements that comprise the most profound of artistic accomplishments. His words are often plaintive and searching, commenting on human experience, old parables, broken souls, his own stoic discontent. His compositions have been anchored in Americana, the roots of an Appalachian upbringing. But even though he’s remained reflexive and brooding, he also looks outward to welcome distant flavors of the wider world, rendering his an art that is honest and, ultimately, uncompromising.
If you don’t know who Eric Bachmann is by name, you probably know one of his projects: Archers of Loaf, Barry Black, or Crooked Fingers.
The first time I met him was back in February of 2007. I was with a friend who was interviewing him for a documentary being made about the rise of indie rock, and we caught up with him before his supporting set to talk about his first band, Archers of Loaf, an off-kilter noise rock outfit that helped usher in the underground college radio movement of the early ’90s. Bachmann seemed slightly befuddled that we had driven an hour to talk to him about something that, in his words, he “could barely remember,” but nonetheless we sat outside in the smoking area and conversed about a chapter in his life that he has long since shut, a time that was merely an introduction to what has become a long and storied musical career.
Lil’ Chief Records: New Zealand Indie Sets Out to Expand Our Horizons
In New York City, nearly every Sunday afternoon in March is guaranteed to be a rainy one. On this particular March Sunday in New York, it is raining, the L train isn’t running, and Gareth Shute is late for lunch. He arrives in perfect world-weary traveler fashion, carrying a giant backpack over his shoulders and lugging a trumpet case. Shute, a New Zealander, has found himself in the city for a spontaneous month’s stay, which brings him not only to this lunch but also to my apartment, where I’ve given him free reign for a week. This is how Lil’ Chief Records enters my life.
By now, there’s a good chance that some fraction of Lil’ Chief has entered your life as well. Maybe your introduction came through seeing the Brunettes open for the Shins on their Wincing the Night Away tour. Perhaps you’re a fan of Sub Pop Records and picked up the Brunettes’ latest, Structure & Cosmetics, you read a stunning “Best New Music” review of the new Ruby Suns album on Pitchfork and made a mental note to check it out, or you heard the Reduction Agents in last year’s film, Eagle vs. Shark. If none of these cases apply, your time will come. Slowly but surely, this tiny New Zealand indie pop label is seeping into the American subconscious, and Shute is continuing this quest with lunch in the East Village.
Fantasy Studios: Alive and Well in Berkeley
Mark Twain once wrote, “Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.” The same is thankfully true for Fantasy Studios, the legendary Berkeley facility that Billboard called the number one Recording Studio in America. Situated in the Zaentz Media Center (formerly the Fantasy Records building) at the corner of 10th and Parker, Fantasy is known for the landmark albums it captured, including work by Creedence Clearwater Revival, Cal Tjader, Robert Cray, En Vogue, Green Day, Chris Isaak, Journey, the Donnas, Kronos Quartet, and Santana. When the building was sold to Wareham Development in 2007, it sent shockwaves through the local recording community. Bay Area studios battered by the rise of cheap digital recording technology had been closing for several years. The loss of Fantasy would have meant the end of an era. People wondering what Wareham planned for the building were relieved when the company announced plans for extensive renovations of the studio to preserve the sound quality that made Fantasy famous.
“We never had plans to close Fantasy,” says Chris Barlow, a partner in Wareham Development. “We saw the Studios as an integral part of the Zaentz Media Center. We’ve put millions of dollars into renovating the building and Fantasy Studios. Studio B has a new soundboard and we’re tweaking the acoustics a bit; it’ll soon be up and running. We’ll continue to do voiceover and film post-production, make records, and work with video game creators and sound engineers. It’s not conventional music, but it’s how we can access the new digital markets. Bill Evans, Sonny Rollins, and Monk all recorded there, as well as Green Day, who made Dookie there. The role Fantasy played in American music is incredible. We’re delighted to have purchased the equipment and the rights to use the name.”
Fantasy Studios wouldn’t exist without a little East Bay band from El Cerrito once called the Blue Velvets—John and Tom Fogerty, Doug Clifford, and Stu Cook. They signed with Fantasy Records, a small indie label operating out of a warehouse in Oakland, in 1964. Fantasy was a jazz label, but after pianist Vince Guaraldi’s single “Cast Your Fate to the Wind” became a surprise pop hit, John Fogerty thought they might take a chance on a local rock band. They were signed, and Max Weiss, one of the label’s owners, suggested they change their name to the Golliwogs, which he thought sounded more British. The Golliwogs released seven singles but failed to find a national foothold.
Conor Oberst
Conor Oberst
Conor Oberst
(Merge, 2008)
It’s no review of a Conor Oberst record without bringing up the ongoing critical discourse of his career thus far and the looming questions of whether or not he will remain indispensable over time. If there’s a lasting artist or another adorable face in front of us, if he’s really our generation’s standalone spokesperson as he’s been so often compared, if he can shed the somewhat whiny adolescence of his early Bright Eyes days to mature into a vital, elder singer-songwriter statesman—these questions seem ever suspended above each song he writes. Having already had a profound impact on a mass level over the years while also generating the appropriate amount of backlash, Oberst remains in a position where he’s looked upon with grave critical eyes feasting on his very evolution. And oddly enough, in a way, all of these prevailing variables become almost meaningless as they alone keep him in a position of constant relevance. Each time there will be those who love what he does and those who don’t, and the debate will go on to orbit infinitely in people’s minds. Of this, I feel sure.
While he’s performed for and under various monikers (Commander Venus, Park Ave., Desaparecidos, and Bright Eyes) Oberst now steps out from behind a band name to release a self-titled record with his birth-given name. New label, too. Thirteen years ago he was releasing solo material as a necessary means to get his music heard (on cassette tape, no less). Now the move to go at it solo again appears to be out of necessity—like a snake, he’s shedding old skin as part of the growing process—and, according to this, his latest release, he’s left behind more than his outer coat.
We Versus the Shark
We Versus the Shark
Dirty Versions
(Hello Sir Records, 2008)
I went to college in a town that had very few bars, under a handful of crap venues, many ugly strip malls, scores of poorly built apartment complexes that dotted the landscape in chunky blocks of concrete, and shambling three- or four-bedroom residences that housed collectives of college students. We relied on these houses. As is no doubt the case in college towns across America, these living quarters were more often than not converted into dirty, beer-stained party houses. While I lived in an awesome place that had a musty, low-ceilinged basement perfect for parties, on one side of us resided a family with two young kids (who were living entirely too close to campus). In any case, that proximity to a family that would constantly call the cops on us prevented me and my roommates from setting up any sort of live entertainment in our basement, something that still makes me kinda sad. But our friends with large backyards and neighbors that lived more than 10 feet away never felt the burn of constant noise complaints. Alas, these lucky addresses became homes to the house party with the bands in the basement.
A press blurb on a sticker on the front of We Versus the Shark’s sophomore album sums up well what this record encompasses: “Dirty Versions is two days of live tracking with minimal overdubs, attempting to get the too-loud house party element of a WVTS live show to tape as raw and direct as possible.” Dirty Versions is a shot of adrenaline to the arm, a dark and dizzying concoction of sound as unrefined as rough glass, sometimes caustic and edgy, other times quirky and nerdy. It’s a high-powered dose of youthful, impulsive egotism, but smart and savvy, and danceable as well. This album manically changes direction; there are many sonic elements that comprise its overall appeal—experimental funk, loud and propulsive drumming, screeching or yelling vocals, all shooting forth a juggernaut of sound that invites dancing, smoking, moshing, yelling, or bitter, lone reflection. That’s a lot of stuff wrapped up under one album’s roof.
Son, Ambulance
Son, Ambulance
Someone Else’s Déjà Vu
(Saddle Creek Records, 2008)
Although Son, Ambulance released a split EP with Bright Eyes on Saddle Creek back in ’01, their work has consistently been lost in the shuffle of releases from Cursive and Conor Oberst. Maybe the dream-pop soundscapes are not immediate enough for people to grasp, but that is the deal with Son, Ambulance, and their third full-length, Someone Else’s Déjà Vu, shows no signs of backing away from that model. It is an assemblage of ’60s pop from bossa to ballad, with lots of atmosphere giving the work a dusty, amorphous framework.
“A Girl in New York City” is what happens when your Brazilian cabbie blasts a samba and hits every pothole while you insist on wearing headphones and playing Bright Eyes. It also boasts some of the Paul Simon songwriting techniques that folks have been going ga-ga over ever since bourgeoisie favorites Vampire Weekend stole their professors’ smoking sweaters and made cultural imperialism hip again. To a lesser extent, on “Quand Tu Marches Seul”, Son, Ambulance gives French bossa nova a whirl.
Bright Eyes: I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning
Bright Eyes
I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning
(Saddle Creek, 2005)
A few years back, Conor Oberst dropped two albums in the same week under his Bright Eyes moniker: I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning and Digital Ash for a Digital Urn. The former was an alt-country, singer-songwriter album and the latter was an electronic pop experiment. I’m Wide Awake reigned in the glowing reviews while the critics threw a mixed bag at Digital Ash. And then there was Stephen Thomas Erlewine (esteemed editor of All Music Guide) who lashed out with a shitstorm of vitriol, condemning Oberst for being lauded by critics as the next Dylan. Erlewine called Oberst a poseur, a hack, and something along the lines of a perpetual adolescent. We shouldn’t be so quick to fellate nor condemn anyone for making a solid album, but in the thick of the critical weather patterns worked up by the media it sometimes gets hard to see things as they really are. So Erlewine and salivating critics, we forgive you for your outbursts.
Admittedly, at the time, I, too, was a little fed up with all of the Bright Eyes hype, but as I drove across the United States during that summer of 2005 with I’m Wide Awake on my stereo, the collection of songs revealed itself as a standup little alt-country record. It wasn’t anything too spectacular but certainly not crappy: It was just a cool record to spin as the hills of Indiana bled into the backdrop of Ohio.
A Weather: Gray Skies are Beautiful
Sometimes the sound of a band carries with it an entire suitcase full of atmosphere, an echo of the place, time, and even the climate where the album was created. While it certainly doesn’t always rain in Oregon, the band A Weather brings to mind what most of us think of when we imagine the Pacific Northwest. Their album Cove, released on March 4th on Team Love Records, is a cool breeze off gray water; it’s a subtle masterpiece of hushed harmonies, introspective lyrics, atmospheric melodies, and the feeling of summer storms sweeping down city streets. It’s a sound that puts you down exactly where you are, smiling on the curb, watching the clouds overhead scudding by. In short, it’s a distinctly Portland album.
And so it should be. A Weather is the product of five Portland-based musicians: Frontman Aaron Gerber, singer/drummer Sarah Winchester, bassist Lou Thomas, guitarist Aaron Krenkel, and guitarist Zach Boyle. On some songs they bear more than a passing resemblance to the late Carissa’s Wierd, with the same basis in complementing male and female vocals with a shuffle of moody rhythm. But the resemblance is only a passing one; the truth is A Weather has a distinct sound that isn’t quite like anything else. From the first track to the last, the songs are surprising without dropping out of character; they sound like something you’ve heard before but couldn’t place, like something you were searching for without realizing it was missing.
The members are old pros even while they’re young faces; all have been involved in previous music projects from early ages. “The first band I was in was called Grey Vision,” says Gerber, who grew up in Maine. “I was 14-years-old and X-Files was at the height of its popularity. We were a pretty bad grunge band. The singer was a twentysomething Navy guy who had all the angst that I, as a 14-year-old, should have had but didn’t. When Grey Vision ground to a halt in ’97 or so, the drummer, Jon, and I formed a new band with a couple of friends. I was thankfully finished with grunge music and getting into stuff like Shudder to Think, the Pixies, and Sonic Youth. Jon turned me on to the whole ‘slowcore’ movement (I’m not sure if that is the proper appellation), bands like Bedhead, Yo La Tengo, Galaxy 500, Ida, etc. So we started playing this sort of stuff. Long, flowing, fuzzy guitar songs with fleeting moments of mumbled lyrics.”
Impending Dread from the Copyright Act of 1976, and Other News
by: Angela Zimmerman
Carrie Brownstein hosted a virtual roundtable discussion about record labels with reps from Matador, Saddle Creek, Merge, Kill Rock Stars, and Jagjaguwar. Interesting insight, from the people who know. (NPR)
Paul McCartney sure does write a damn good song, and the Library of Congress agrees, naming the former Beatle the third recipient of the Gershwin Prize for Popular Song. Paul Simon and Stevie Wonder are the other honorees. (NY Times)
Ready for the holidays? Well, no… are you ever? But here’s some news about Bob Dylan’s upcoming Christmas album, which will include some standard holiday favorites. (Sterogum)
An acute case of sciatica has forced Dan Deacon to cancel a string of shows. Deacon, known for his interactive live set, is suffering from back problems as a result of the condition. Bummer. (Pitchfork)
Read more news after the jump.
read more
by: Angela Zimmerman
published: November 16, 2009 in column: What Goes On
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