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Fern Knight
Fern Knight
Fern Knight
(VHF, 2008)
Perhaps Philly quartet Fern Knight has finally found its way into my headphones because it’s turning out to be quite an appropriate soundtrack to The Dark Tower series I am now reading. Stephen King’s magnum opus, a step he took out of the horror realm (although not completely) and into fantasy fiction laced with Western elements, is filled with dark, mystical, and mysterious worlds, scenes, and situations, in which there is a long, arduous search for a tower that all worlds are hinged on—a visual description akin to the cinematic journey that is Fern Knight’s self-titled, third full-length release. Or perhaps it’s my absolute surprise and enjoyment of how they cut the harmonies, psychedelic strings, and overall thick folkloric context with the killer cry of a Flying V.
The second reasoning is probably the most affecting part of Fern Knight’s music, an element that saves it from becoming too new agey, too elfin-like… too vulnerable. From the packaging alone—the folky cover art to the press release that was wrapped in a ribbon sealed with feathers and a wax stamp—and a first passive listen, it’s far too easy to write this all off as some Middle Earth circle jerk. However, while there is an ode-to-all-living-things theme weaving throughout the record, it’s an ode that is more hopeful than celebratory, as the musical landscape that is being trudged through is far more grave and apocalyptic than its packaging lends. When singer-songwriter Margaret Wienk lends her lush vocal melody over music that is influenced heavily by medieval and renaissance music along with folk and classical by way of harp, cello, and violin, when that Flying V is introduced, it brings with it feelings of impending doom. Tragedy is the main compass of the album, the driving force. And yet, there’s a constant undercurrent of some unrelenting, stoic spirit that is assisted by a blanket of electric bass throughout the album’s nine tracks.
War on Drugs
War on Drugs
Wagonwheel Blues
(Secretly Canadian, 2008)
Another day, another band from Philadelphia making its way to the headphones of music lovers across the land… Philly has always boasted a capital music scene with its rich soul foundation, but it seems like the city has risen quickly over the past few years by way of its burgeoning indie rock community, churning out legions of solid bands—some roots-based, some experimental, some folky, some urban, some noisy, some ambient, some of everything.
War on Drugs is a Philly band that embraces two counterpoints in the local rock scene flourishing around them—a folk aesthetic amid sprawling sonic experimentation. The six-piece straddles this dichotomy in their debut, Wagonwheel Blues. They tap into roots of fellow down-home American songwriters like Springsteen and Petty, but within this lyrical context of conceptual landscapes and social themes, War on Drugs also gets spacious and atmospheric, with studio tricks and a post-rock polish that makes this album a well-executed—and successful—experiment. Balancing folk rock like “Taking the Farm” against more ethereal tracks like “Show Me the Coast” gives the album with a well-rounded approach that avoids sounding disjointed—though it’s Granduciel’s more lyrically grounded folk compositions that provide the backbone. In search of atmosphere, a listener is more likely to reach for My Bloody Valentine or Spaceman 3. But it’s that fearless extension into more progressive territory that provides this album its resonance.
The folk rock “Arms Like Boulders” is the first song, and initially seems to suggest that the rest of the album will follow suit. Granduciel’s Dylan-esque vocal phrasing and harmonica-driven intro set a tone, catering to that folky aesthetic. The lyrics are somewhat existential: “Your god is only a catapult / Waiting for the right time to let you go / Into the unknown just to watch you hold your breath / Yes, surrender your fortress / And your thoughts will tumble like rocks too… / And you’re, you’re the kind to hide your eyes from the sun / And in your world the strong survive / But I wont take my body down.”
The One About Philadelphia
Last night Steph Hayes played her guitar for half a dozen people in the deepest, darkest corner of a Lower East Side bar called the Sidewalk Café. Only you wouldn’t have noticed the corner was so deep, nor that it was so dark, and you surely wouldn’t have assumed Steph was playing her guts out for a pocketful of singles.
You wouldn’t assume that Steph Hayes had been at it for 15 years or more, that she once moved to LA and back again after a brief development deal with Arista ran its course, that—in addition to playing solo gigs like the Sidewalk Café—Steph is currently a member of four separate bands. You’d never assume that Steph Hayes had seen enough ups-and-downs in the music biz to make any artist consider a career in marketing.
And perhaps that’s what’s so admirable about her.
Steph is from Philadelphia, where it’s en vogue to support your hometown heroes, but only until they eclipse the local scene. Philly’s a place where you’re either in because you’re out or you ain’t in at all, where both the rock bands and the sports teams straddle the fence between expectation and reality.
Philly’s a city that ex-Inquirer columnist Steve Lopez once described like this: “Nothing compares. Part of it is that you can get from the nightmare to the dream in 20 minutes and see everything along the way, and part of it is that Philadelphia is a city without pretense in a state without shame. It’s a land of giants, where no good deed goes unpunished.”
Dr. Dog
by: Lavinia Jones Wright
Fate
(Park the Van, 2008)
As a Philly girl, I’ve had a chance to watch Dr. Dog grow slowly for a long time, grabbing more toeholds nationally with each release and a relentless touring schedule. They were not the only band from our city of their generation to be proclaimed ‘The Next Big Thing,’ but they are so far the only one for which that prophecy came true. There’s an easy explanation for their success, and it goes along the lines of the old music industry adage: If you can’t sell out a venue in your hometown, you can’t sell one out in someone else’s.
As they’ve grown in popularity and critical praise, Dr. Dog have not stopped connecting to their home city or allowing their music to be nourished by the Philadelphia vibe. Their newest Americana opus, Fate, is an example of hometown loyalty that other bands on the rise should take note of, and as a result it echoes hauntingly with the ghosts of musical history and comes across with a beautiful honesty that makes it unforgettable. It is the same wide-eyed world wonder and consistent voice that pervaded their entire back catalog of six releases, especially their last two full-lengths Easy Beat (2004) and We All Belong (2007), and jettisoned them into the position of ’saviors of music.’
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by: Lavinia Jones Wright
published: July 22, 2008
in column: Reviews
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