Record Reviews
Chris McKay & The Critical Darlings
originally published November 23, 2005
When a guy names his band the Critical Darlings, one of two favorable scenarios will ensue: Either he traffics in ear-shredding noise or some other ironic genre, or his music steadily improves toward earning the name. Fortunately Chris McKay, Frank DeFreese and Tom Bavis are far from the former and now one long stride closer to the latter. It’s always nice to see local acts hone, refine and grow in Athens’ fertile musical soil. On C’mon, Accept Your Joy! Chris McKay & the Critical Darlings have done just that.
More than anything else I’ve heard by the band or the solo stuff released by McKay (formerly of Star Zero and Q-Sign, and also a contributing photographer to Flagpole), the new album is sharp, bright, and, most of all, a hell of a lot of fun. Opener “Towel Cape Song” is the best example and could easily make it on the FM radio dial. There’s a vague but strong taste of Cheap Trick’s “Surrender” in its muscular smiling power-pop, and that’s always a selling point. “Down” begins as the album’s requisite acoustic ballad, then veers abruptly from Daniel Johnston to Elvis Costello’s Attractions. “Until the Road Ends” brings back that ‘70s power-pop vibe.
My only criticism is the band’s continued unrequited love for guitar wankery (for example, the solo in “Taking Its Toll” puts a dent in an otherwise fantastic track), but really C’mon, Accept Your Joy! is too much of a good time to dwell on that. They’re not quite darlings in my book, but they’re rocking in the right direction; though Bavis is no longer in the band, that’ll certainly do for now.
Michael Wehunt Chris McKay & the Critical Darlings are playing at Tasty World on Friday, Dec. 2.Record Reviews
David Dondero
originally published November 23, 2005
David Dondero is a stranger in a strange land. Even when reminiscing over childhood memories, he’s a road-weary troubadour most alienated when reflecting on places he could call home. No surprise coming from a singer-songwriter whose previous proper release, The Transient, is a road album that finds redemption only in not staying in one place long enough for his past to catch up.
With South of the South, Dondero confronts the past that haunts him. Each song recalls tales of internal conflict, religious revulsion, lust, loneliness and humiliation, all from a man primed for exorcism. But these demons endow Dondero’s voice with a sage-like wisdom that turns tales of cross-country travels into self-effacing epic adventures.
The title track paints a wilting Southern landscape that stretches from Miami to the wilds of South Carolina. Dondero’s balance of country twang and folkish lament captures a humid and indigenous cadence that resonates with introspective passion.
“Journal Burning Party” embodies the conceptual thesis of the record: forced enthusiasm over destroying the documentation of the bumps in the road he’s encountered is awkward to endure. “Let Go the Past” is a sincere mantra dedicated to doing just that.
“The One That Fell From The Vine” sparkles with the brittle intimacy of Smog’s Bill Callahan. “Pornographic Love Song” and “Laying Low in Eli, Nevada” turn sex into a sinister and soul-breaking act of selfishness. “Hwy Death Shrine” is a noisy, trumpeting ode to illness, complete with a snort and a wheeze. South of the South is as much a celebration of the baggage Dondero has acquired on the road as it is a great existential purging.
Chad Radford David Dondero is playing at the EARL in Atlanta on Monday, Nov. 28.Record Reviews
The Cool S.W.A.P.
originally published November 23, 2005
The first release from this Covington quartet is called Headshop and, judging from the laid back rawk contained therein, they’ve visited more than a couple. The Cool S.W.A.P. (no word on the significance of the initials) pound out chugging, riff-specific rock that, strangely, recalls the scuzzy snarl of The Makers combined with a large amount of bass-heavy noodling.
If the rest of the album blew, at least the opening track would still be a keeper. “Say Hello” is the story of a groupie girl who “tells her dad she was goin’ to Panama City” but instead goes astray and remembers, “The best time she ever had is when she did the lines on the cover of Abbey Road”.
Fortunately, the rest of Headshop doesn’t blow; it does, however, suffer from a general lack of focus. But as far as big dumb rock (and much of the album is surely, simply that) is concerned, the killer here manages to take a surprisingly heavy lead over the filler.
Michael Andrews The Cool S.W.A.P. is playing at Tasty World on Friday, Nov. 25.Record Reviews
Sun Kil Moon
originally published November 23, 2005
2003’s Ghosts of the Great Highway virtually erased any hard feelings over the demise of Mark Kozelek’s longtime slow-core band Red House Painters and placed that debut’s authors Sun Kil Moon on a pedestal. Kozelek was reinvigorated, it seemed, boasting the strongest, most breathtaking songs of his career. Anyone who saw his solo set at the 40 Watt a few months back had raised eyebrows as Kozelek crankily performed not one but four Modest Mouse covers. As with all his remakings, you had to be pretty familiar with the subjects, as Kozelek’s famous for turning a song inside out and finding something new and beautiful inside, as he did when he created something far from Isaac Brock’s caffeinated angular art-rock.
Now comes Tiny Cities, billed under the Sun Kil Moon moniker and consisting of 11 Modest Mouse covers. While Kozelek will likely never top What’s Next to the Moon, a solo acoustic collection of AC/DC renditions, he’s come close here. Fleshing things out with his Sun Kil Moon mates was a great idea, as they merely color the shadows. Front and center will always be Kozelek’s eclipsing voice.
“Tiny Cities Made of Ashes” is vintage Kozelek-channeling-John-Denver-but-awesome. “Trucker’s Atlas” unveils a stately beauty Brock barely hinted at, finally matching sounds to the words’ melancholy. “Ocean Breathes Salty” closes the record on its highest note, almost a different species of song. Kozelek’s brilliant with others’ music. He doesn’t just cover songs; like Johnny Cash did on his American Recordings series, Kozelek usually makes them better, and always makes them his own.
Michael WehuntRecord Reviews
T. Raumschmiere
originally published November 23, 2005
The concept is immediately appealing: German electronic musician does fun punk-pop, with vocals! (Plus, the cover art, a skull and crossbones made of computer parts, is nerd-o-licious.) On those tracks with vocals (about half), the vocals are by far the weakest part, missing in particular the strong melodies that characterize great punk songs, and when producer Raumschmiere himself sings, he seems to have forgotten that anyone with a Y chromosome and a working set of pipes can sound like an agro-rock vocalist (I imagine this especially applies to Germans). It’s what you do with it that counts.
That said, the instrumental tracks are strong, and if I weren’t worried about sounding like a parody of a rock critic, I’d say they’re like chopped & screwed digital hardcore tracks. As it is, I’ll just say it’s German electronic music that doesn’t try so hard to embrace the “micro” part of microhouse, but allows itself something like a hook and drums that don’t sit gently like a unicorn under a tree, but instead, y’know, rock. There are certainly lots of interesting “textures” here to go along with all the yummy distortion, and while the guitars are misused (as is typical for electronic music), the totality is never less than compelling. I never thought I’d be endorsing instrumentals over vocals, but T. Raumschmiere’s complex electro-rock (both “blitzkrieg” and “pop” are overstatements) is unexpectedly excellent.
Michael BarthelRecord Reviews
Boduf Songs
originally published November 23, 2005
Southamptoner Matt Sweet (to you, Boduf Songs) pitched this brittle demo tape to Chicago’s discriminating indie label Kranky. The Kranky staff dug it so hard, they opted to release it unadulterated. So the story goes.
With that in mind, Boduf Songs is a more solid, less solipsistic disc than one might expect, and boasts a more consistent class-to-weirdness ratio than most of Sweet’s out-folk peers. The esses hiss, the pees pop, fingers scrape across the acoustic’s strings. A vibrating cymbal slices through “Claimant Reclaimed.” Some digitally manipulated pastoralia ushers “Lost In Forests” in and out. And “Our Canon Of Transportation” is a quick, Blacklight Braille-y experiment. That’s about it for the weirdness.
The class is classy indeed. Sweet hardly dabbles in currently fashionable psychedelic put-ons, preferring less recognizable, less overstated source material. For instance, the Rolling Stones/ Marianne Faithful ballad “As Tears Go By” casts a creepy shadow called “This One Is Cursed.” Over a disciplined guitar figure, our narrator is too haunted for self-pity. (“I have summoned up a demon / And I will ask him what he knows / And he will tell me what is so… And when we die / Both you and I / Are going straight to hell.”) The album’s balance holds no less earthy loveliness, and is no less fixated on supernatural darkness.
Like Elliott Smith (albeit in language closer to Poe’s), he renders something eerie and beautiful from two parts simplicity to one part self-loathing. One hopes he draws his inspiration further from home.
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