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Best Song Ever Wednesday: Unwound, “Valentine Card”
Valentine’s Day is upon us, and while it means butterfly kisses and flowers and puppy love blissing out for some, for many it’s a curse of a day. Unwound knows how to get it done.
Fun fact: “Valentine Card/Kantina/Were, Are and Was or Is” all appeared as the fourth track on Unwound’s 1993 album Fake Train due to a pressing plant error. It’s been said that the band would play the three songs as a trilogy live.
<3 <3 <3 Swoon. Best ever…
Thao and the Get Down Stay Down: April 30th at the Independent, SF
Thao and the Get Down Stay Down, San Francisco
April 30th at the Independent
Songwriter Thao Nguyen is just about the most charming musician in indie rock today, a pixie-sized cutie who wears short dresses and cowboy boots and plays quirky, guitar-driven tunes on an acoustic guitar that practically dwarves her slight size. Though formerly a native of Falls Church, Virginia, since relocating to San Francisco, Nguyen and her two-piece band (drummer Willis Thompson and bassist Adam Thompson), dubbed the Get Down Stay Down, have quickly risen to the ranks of one of the Bay’s more talked-about, emerging acts on the scene.
Though the show wasn’t sold out, it was certainly near capacity, and as she rolled through a set of alternative folk songs, driven by her mewling voice that at times recalls a more energized Cat Power with a distinctive folky funk reminiscent of Ani DiFranco, she popped and bounced with a vivaciousness that was supplemented by several guest musicians on a few songs to really round out their sound. Nguyen cites Lilith Fair as a great catalyst to her musical evolution, inspiring her to pick up a guitar at an impressionable age, and I dare say she could be seen as heralding a new, updated brand of feminism for our shifting generation. As the band is in the midst of a nationwide tour, expect to hear more buzz about the charismatic three-piece as they paint the nation in brightly colored hues by way of their amiable, warm spunk.
Unwound: Leaves Turn Inside You
Unwound
Leaves Turn Inside You
(Kill Rock Stars, 2001)
I loved the title. Given, I’m biased because my favorite record is Sonic Youth’s A Thousand Leaves and Unwound was milking my sweet spot here by invoking an even more psychedelic autumnal image. Nevertheless, I listened to Leaves Turn Inside You because I liked the title, and the art didn’t hurt either: A stark midnight backdrop with the band name rendered ominously in Middle English-style text à la Beowulf. I took the compliment personally when someone I know called it “fucking metal.” While Sonic Youth’s masterful spelunking expedition had the politeness to finish up over the course of one 80-minute disc, Unwound’s holy tome messily splays across two because it’s fucking metal.
Unwound aren’t metal at all, actually. A post-hardcore noise unit from Olympia who struggled for years alongside, oh, Polvo, and countless other faceless (don’t wince, I didn’t see you picking Sara Lund out at 88 Boadrum last year) groups who struggled to put noises and tunes together in new ways without leaving their world. And granted, it’s hard to distinguish the earlier Repetition and The Future of What from Polvo or make out much of anything from the disconsolate if occasionally interesting dissonances. But on these 1999-2000 recordings released the following year as their swan song, the perennially discordant trio finally succeeded in keeping their sludgier tendencies at bay. The particle beam of feedback—which passkeys a whole two minutes of Leaves opener “We Invent You”—is an audacious start in many ways, not least for its Icelandic clarity. At the pace of a floe, with thundering guillotine drums and elegiac, off-in-the-distance vocals, the tune sets all kinds of bars too high for future standards of art rock, stoner rock, and prog; if there was any justice, some Strat-wielding jughead is transmogrifying it into the next Sunn O))) as we speak.
The Thermals
The Thermals
Now We Can See
(Kill Rock Stars, 2009)
The Thermals are rodent-on-a-treadmill frantic, from their early albums More Parts Per Million and Fuckin A, with their lo-fi high-energy recording, they’re thin and fuzzy like Times New Viking but with cohesive song structures, churning guitars, and ambitious lyrics that struggle for attention. 2006’s The Body, the Blood, the Machine channeled that urgency into religiously informed political anthems; the righteous fury and the clarity of the production were like putting your glasses back on after climbing out of the pool and seeing the outlines of the world sharper than glass.
The fittingly titled Now We Can See is actually a bit more vague, or maybe just a bit less revelatory: Perhaps, as Rebecca Raber already suggested on Pitchfork, the current political climate tends to diffuse wrath in a way that seemed impossible in early 2006; perhaps it’s simply a matter of The Body, the Blood, the Machine scooping Now We Can See by a couple of years in the you-must-hear-this-band department. Hutch Harris and his coconspirators can still whip out hooks and shake their fists to the heavens; this album is a drop-off only by their own high standards.
Deerhoof
Deerhoof
Offend Maggie
(Kill Rock Stars, 2008)
San Francisco quirk-rockers Deerhoof have built a name for themselves on clever changes, angular riffs, and rewarding melodic payloads. Their irregular timings, unconventional structures, and pop/noise (sometimes punkish) flash has, in the past, bordered on the experimental, as their sound has evolved within a stylistic variety of songs that jet like fireworks turning sharply in mid-air before bursting. On their latest cut, Offend Maggie, the group preserves enough of this charisma to remain sure-footedly Deerhoof, yet also comes considerably closer to kilter than ever before.
Songs on Maggie are as punchy and inspired as those from albums past; yet, they also move away from the band’s foundation in spontaneity for melodies that keep steadier for longer. It comes across as less improvisatory, and, in that, there’s a sense that maybe they’re mellowing a bit as songwriters, or at least they did for this album. Gone are the little electronic flourishes that appeared on 2007’s Friend Opportunity, and save for a few seconds of piano or organ, there’s barely a sign of the keys more prominent on Friend as well. Instrumentally, Maggie feels more like a follow-up to 2005’s brilliant The Runners Four; a solid, no-frills set-up of guitar, bass, drums, and vocals crankin’ out the rock as Deerhoof knows it, although the way they feel it seems to have altered with the times, and appropriately so.
Of 2004’s Milk Man, there was something menacing in the jangle between cutenesses; the meteoric Runners Four was a sunshine-y, almost Beatles-esque alt-rock smash that, even at its crunchiest and most aggressive, was still fun; and Friend Opportunity, while celebratory in tone, was also an objective, studio-streamlined work of concentration. On Maggie, there’s definitely an emotional undertone both musically and lyrically, though it’s neither a positive nor a negative. It’s confusion; the feeling of being neither here nor there, of not knowing, and its accompanying disoriented freedoms and anxieties. “Chandelier Searchlight”, easily the album’s most straightforward pop gem and perhaps the highlight overall, is an exact representative. A cheerful tune touched ever so slightly by melancholia, it flows perfectly along with a bit of that glint championed on Runners Four yet sings of the transitional phase from life to death, through lines split between Japanese and English, backed by guitars, alternatingly acoustic and electric.
Interestingly, the one juxtaposition least remarkable in all this is the go-to one Deerhoof has employed virtually from their beginning. Satomi Matsuzaki’s placid sopranino has always been especially effective given its variance to the serrated, raucous clamor of the instruments, yet amid Maggie’s general prettiness and order, Satomi’s voice, while no less sweet and quizzical, often blends right in. It happens on the Celtic-sounding title song, as well as on the short, pared-down, acoustic-and-vocal, “Don’t Get Born.”
Much to Deerhoof’s credit, their heretofore tendency towards unexpected sonic breakouts creates a sort of tension in songs that never do break out; a tension that makes returning listeners all the more appreciative of the steady ride they’re taking. Whether an intentional reflection of the times or not, Offend Maggie reins in Deerhoof’s wildness for a sound that’s at once easy to hold on to, yet sometimes racked with anxiety. It’s as if with all today’s chaos—markets crashing, leadership in limbo, crazy weather, wars, and a perilous future—the iconoclastic Deerhoof searches for something steady, even if they’re just as uncertain about things as anyone else. Fortunately, the one inalienable certainty here is their talent, which continues to shine for another solid record.
Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]
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Marnie Stern
Marnie Stern
This Is It and I Am It and You Are It and So Is That and He Is It and She Is It and It Is It and That Is That
(Kill Rock Stars, 2008)
Marnie Stern came blasting onto the scene last year from out of nowhere. Armed by Kill Rock Stars with her dream pick of collaborators, the Herculean drum-tornado Zach Hill, Stern chiseled out a debut LP, In Advance of the Broken Arm (Kill Rock Stars, 2007), that righteously wowed critics high and low, entangling her preternatural ability to tap electrified patterns from a fret board with acute, philosophical, and fun-loving lyrical intelligence. The cumbersomely titled This Is It and I Am It and You Are It and So Is That and He Is It and She Is It and It Is It and That Is That follows closely in the footsteps of its predecessor, yet lightens the load considerably with some pop points of entry.
As on her debut, Stern’s sound resonates from the shower of sparks released by her mathematical, hard-rock guitars, and detonates between the axe and the monolithic, controlled-chaos machine that is the rhythm section of Hill and bassist John Reed Thompson. The album’s title (its first three words, at least) comes from an essay (and/or obscure, 1962 tribal free-form, pre-psych LP—now there’s a crate-digger fer ya) by academic/bohemian Alan Watts, whose career negotiated a respectable path between Ivory Tower traditionalism, psycho-spiritual transcendence through psychedelic drugs and Eastern and Western philosophies. While not exactly Zen, on her albums Stern navigates a wiry path between the personal and the intellectual, with an energetic, party-time alacrity that can be seen as both an indulgence and a shield. Setting heady, conceptual lyrics to danceable, cathartic rawk shelters the artist from coming across as too smartypants, while also reducing the depersonalization of philosophical statements.
Horse Feathers
Horse Feathers
House With No Home
(Kill Rock Stars, 2008)
You can’t really fault an acoustic folk group for making beautiful music, which is exactly what Horse Feathers have done. Driven by former Idahoan singer/songwriter Justin Ringle, the Portland trio weaves together safe, invigorating swells of autumnal violin, cello, banjo, and acoustic guitar for scarf-weather songs that catch glints of low sunlight through a desiccating cottonwood canopy. Gentle, soughing vocals harmonize and convey hopeful themes of love and loss, and it all stirs together like tea leaves in a morning blend; standard, though no less warming and pleasant.
For all its consistent features as stated above, it’s easy to enjoy House With No Home. There’s not much reason not to, especially for fans of the form whose libraries aren’t yet replete with its established peers. While it is of course not a competition, it’s also possible that Portland, OR—the current Americana capital of America—has reached its saturation point, or brought us to one nationwide with its overwhelming contribution, reminding us that music has to be more than simply beautiful to achieve longevity. By no fault of their own, Horse Feathers wanders up to the log cabin whose mailbox reads “Beam, Stevens, & Ward” and pulls some folding chairs out onto a porch already crowded by Vetiver and Bon Iver, with Laura Gibson and Marla Hansen gazing out the windows, Fleet Foxes in the foyer, Samamidon in the study, the Places burying something out back… you get the idea. It’s a big cabin.
Of course, there’s always room for one more, and Portland’s incredible music community loves to make everyone feel welcome and supported. The problem is that Horse Feathers’ easiness on the ear is ultimately a double-edged sword. By not asking much of its listeners, it runs the risk of failing to engage, and in the case of this reviewer at least, that’s what happened. While there doesn’t have to be anything weird or psychedelic or challenging about an album to make it great, it certainly doesn’t hurt, especially when it comes to critics whose job it is to analyze and evaluate. The lynchpin is that, while not particularly inventive, House With No Home also fails to bond through its straightforwardness due to a lack of clarity in the lyrics. Sure, the words are handwritten right there on the inlay, yet Ringle’s hushed vocal style swallows bits of every line, as if he’s singing to himself. Again, there’s nothing inherently wrong with that either, though it renders the remnants a little tough to grab onto, and his tender susurration, while perfectly appealing, is (again) no revelation.
There’s about five seconds of acoustic cacophony softly superimposed over the steady melody in “Albina”, though other than that, songs remain placid and pretty. What remains to be seen is how they’ll carry on in the long run with Peter Broderick, the trio’s gifted multi-instrumentalist, apparently living in Copenhagen and focusing on solo material and collaborations with the Danish ensemble Efterklang. As for today, Horse Feathers have taken a page out of the illustrated book of acoustic beauty, and colored, with heart, inside the lines.
Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]
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The Shaky Hands
The Shaky Hands
Lunglight
(Kill Rock Stars, 2008)
The Shaky Hands are five guys from Portland, Oregon, and they represent what currently seems to be the trend in that rainy Northwest city: Putting out music that is jangly, earthy, and freewheeling—earnest and rootsy at its greatest moments, a bit overplayed and distracting at its weaker ones, but forgivingly so. Adopting a tribalist sort of sound through their use of rackety hand percussion and loose melodies, there are definitely more hits than misses on their full- length debut album, Lunglight, but this would be a much stronger collection of songs if the editing process was taken a step further, with a few of the weaker tracks omitted altogether. As is, though, there are some gems to be extracted here, and a warm, overall sense of good natured fun (while lyrically acknowledging some darker realisms) that puts the Shaky Hands on a long list of bands that best represents indie rock’s young, expressive, and emerging talent.
The Shaky Hands are very likeable, embracing a free stylin’ looseness that seems to come easily to the quintet. They are not overstepping their comfort zones, nor are they discernibly self-conscious—rather they seem fulfilled working within their parameters. Lunglight is music they could easily have recorded in their garage, honed in the backyard of a Portland beer bust, and polished and executed before a thousand-person audience in the hipper clubs of Brooklyn. They are a band that is easy to identify with and root for, and as their songwriting evolves, they will likely secure a spot among the top contenders for contemporary Portland’s most definitive bands. They hold tight to a sense of musical regionalism that is fast defining that town, and so long as they continue to churn out material and take it to the road, they will only further enhance the city’s burgeoning reputation.
Colin Meloy
Colin Meloy
Colin Meloy Sings Live!
(Kill Rock Stars, 2008)
Towards the middle of his latest solo release, Decemberists frontman Colin Meloy urges his live audience to engage in a bit of ironic head-banging to support his version of the traditional folk song “Barbara Allen.” It’s a facetious request, of course, but the crowd doesn’t really respond and Meloy has to ask again. “Sorriest bunch of metal heads I’ve ever seen in my life,” he admonishes. It’s all done in the name of friendly stage banter, but it’s also indicative of a problem that plagues Meloy’s latest live set—namely, Meloy’s inability to connect with his audience and make them care about his usually sympathetic protagonists.
Colin Meloy Sings Live! isn’t Meloy’s first solo outing. He’s made a habit of releasing EPs of cover songs, and previous installments include 2005’s Colin Meloy Sings Morrissey and 2006’s Colin Meloy Sings Shirley Collins. The series is slated to continue with Colin Meloy Sings Sam Cooke, which, like its predecessors, will only be available at stops on Meloy’s tour.
Kill Rock Stars Offering Up Free Elliott Smith mp3s
by: Angela Zimmerman
Roman Candle’s “Last Call” and From A Basement’s “Twilight” are available now. Kill Rock Star’s founder Slim Moon shares this story about his first experience with Smith:
by: Angela Zimmerman
published: March 2, 2010
in column: What Goes On
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