Record Reviews
The Titans Of Filth
originally published September 27, 2006
Here’s a nerd analogy, albeit one that really isn’t very good: young local band Titans of Filth is a bit like the scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail that builds up the horror of a big, nasty monster very much, only to reveal that said monster is a wee, fluffy bunny. The part where the analogy breaks down is that the bunny really is a monster in the movie, whereas Titans of Filth, despite the scary name that suggests GWAR and spiky things, are totally just a bunny (and a country bunny at that).
Sam Grindstaff’s voice bursts slowly, like a bubble in a pot of grits - not nearly as quickly as your normal bubble-bursting speed and quite Georgian in its sound. It makes me think of how, in Athens, Ga.: Inside/Out, everyone in this town used to have an accent. So there’s some kind of nostalgia evoked through the twang, and there’s equally much in the rest of the tone.
In some ways, Best Behavior sounds like the best campfire sing-along ever - if people brought their pianos and violins and such - in the way it moves from just regular sweet and a little silly on the first part of the EP onto another plane, sweet without consciousness of kitsch, where vocals meld into genuine prettiness without makeup. Just listen to the ache at the end of “Trying to Get Away into the Night." You know, “glory be to God for dappled things” and all that.
Best Behavior is also a strong lesson in the “leave them wanting more” field. Five songs. Less than 10 minutes. I would very much like more.
Record Reviews
The Shaun Piazza Band
originally published September 27, 2006
Although the first, fitful thought I have when faced with anything called "the so-and-so band" is that of instantaneous repulsion, I come by it honestly. Any college town resident that hangs around for more than a few years will witness dozens of bands using this type of formulaic nomenclature. Occasionally the most insipid of the bunch will hit the big time (Dave Matthews Band, etc.). And the point of this isn’t to say that it’s impossible to judge a book by its cover - nine times out of 10, after all, these bands are horrible - but that by now you’d assume people of talent would start choosing better covers for their books.
Case in point: Augusta's Shaun Piazza Band. Although I recognized the name from the group's gigs around Athens, when Over And Over arrived on my desk, I didn’t expect this little album, with its innocuous cover art and simple packaging, to make any difference in my day. What this group has done, however, is inadvertently hidden a gem of an album under an unselfconscious covering.
Over And Over is a darkly wondrous album that weaves the earnestness of Canada’s popular (at least in Canada) Northern Pikes with the uneasy tension of the best albums by The Church. The vocals of bandleader Shaun Piazza are rife with the need to communicate… well, something. Though the songs need no further level of completion, and Piazza’s narratives of desperation, pleasing and need-based longing are beautifully written, in no way are they transparent or instantaneously ascertainable. As his voice is of a particularly soothing sort, the songs have the effect of a partner (lover, friend, family, whatever) having hesitant conversation and, while not exactly mincing words, displaying a certain apprehension about opening up completely. These guitar compositions are elegantly underscored by lap steel and viola, which serve to complete the songs rather than merely punctuate them. This is easily one of the best tune-oriented albums I’ve heard this year from any artist at any popularity level.
Is it genius? No, but it’s honest. And that’s a world away from the ego trip most similarly named bands ask you to book passage on.
Record Reviews
Mercy Killers
originally published September 27, 2006
The theory is that we are a product of our surroundings. That’s why it makes perfect sense that Mercy Killers frontman Craig Fairbaugh channels Tim Armstrong on the band’s brand-new debut full-length Bloodlove. Fairbaugh has, after all, spent countless hours with the Rancid frontman playing guitar in Armstrong’s other outfit The Transplants. Unfortunately, however, Fairbaugh and company couldn’t quite conjure up the magic that Armstrong’s music possesses.
The 10 tracks on Bloodlove are straight-up punk 'n' roll, but neither particularly exciting nor memorable. There’s a sweet guitar solo here and there, like on “Pure Life,” which borders on being appealingly melodic, and there’s a cool intro to “As Far Apart,” but the remainder just falls flat. The production is raw, which may be “punk rock” and all, but it does nothing to help the Rancid-esque sound. Bloodlove is bland, and musically lacks that spark that would set Mercy Killers apart from the rest of the punk pack.
Record Reviews
The Noises 10
originally published September 27, 2006
There’s an Elephant In the Room starts of with all the best of kaleidoscopic indie-pop intentions as it swoons in and out of focus and tilts at intoxicating new-wave cabaret on track one, “The Elephant’s Minuet.” “Everyday” comes in much cheerier, and while Jason Scavone’s restrained angst makes you think of Interpol, the wolfishly leering vocal treatment, an escalating anthem of guitars, ringing cymbals and driving beats, also screams of The Killers. It’s here at track three, “Death To Voices,” that this Charlotte, NC, quintet starts to slip.
The ringing guitars have dropped away, the drums have become formulaic and dated, and the vocals have gone from dark-and-edgy to pretty-and-sad, like a Travis ballad. Some quirky synth hails in a reprieve for “Horse Latitudes,” which is The Noises’ rock-out track and the angst is back with a heavy touch of Michael Flynn/ Ben Folds style - but the darkness and promise of the first two tracks is still AWOL. Somber concert keyboards and a less restrained angst mark the halfway point of this album as “Elephant In The Room” reinforces the resemblance to the aforementioned icons of contemporary rock. From here on in the song remains the same: a lot of fairly listenable and capable indie-pop-rock that - had The Noises 10 been discovered before The Killers and Interpol - may have garnered the band a place in teen-anthem heaven and, who knows, may even still.
The great disappointment with There’s An Elephant In The Room is that from the start there is the promise of something more, and while the avant brush strokes early on are not blindingly original, they do show an intent and a capacity to play with sounds that unpredictably complement a good melodic hook rather than just dancing predictably around it.
Record Reviews
Mew
originally published September 27, 2006
We have a new leader for worst song title of the year: "Saviours of Jazz Ballet (Fear Me, December)," from Northern European pretty-rock act Mew's And the Glass Handed Kites. Come to think of it, put the band on the worst album title list, too. But will all be forgiven?
Mew is a funny band. Its first couple of records had some breathtaking moments, but overall it was trite and pompous, like Muse trying to do Sigur Rós. And the new album is more of the same, but… somehow the group has pulled it off this time around. I'm not sure what it is as I sit here with a puzzled look on my face. Let's see. Cheesy New Age synthesizers, dripping strings; one vocalist with gravel silt in his throat, the other a castrato; martial drums, heartstring-pulling piano. Yep, everything here has been done before. But, dammit, this 54-minute mess holds together. Not one bit of goo sloughs out the side. As "Fox Cub" gets all misty-eyed and Icelandic, it suddenly shifts into emo mode for just a few seconds, then bleeds into "Apocalypso," an anthemic rocker that reminds me of the overlooked Swedish band Kent.
And then there's "Saviours of Jazz Ballet." Well, of course it's a ballad. Sort of. The "(Fear Me, December)" part is really just an ambient coda that segues into the rock-opera of "An Envoy to the Open Fields."
I'm certainly at a loss to truly describe why this album rules. I laughed out loud several times, but all that really matters is that I put it back in the same day, right?
Record Reviews
The Workouts
originally published September 27, 2006
This three-track EP by local band The Workouts is well recorded, well played and, on one song at least, displays, by my estimation, the honest influence of at least one nearly untouchable great (the track is “Tennessee” and the influence is Buck Owens). But, and this is beginning to get somewhat routine and thus boredom inducing, how many bands are going to crop up in this town with absolutely nothing to offer but insist on offering their nothingness so very earnestly?
Beginning with the first track - the aforementioned “Tennessee” - the band is tight and the opening chords, which continue on to become the main hook throughout the song, were a nice surprise. But the rest of the track is pretty bland and, as the singer wails on, wondering aloud whether he should take his girl back to Tennessee or keep her with him, you start thinking that he better change the record soon or she’s gonna leave of her own accord.
“Like A True Dame” begins with an utterly tired chop-chop-chop guitar line that was old even when the Elephant 6 contingent was using it more than 10 years ago. If ever a technique should be forced into retirement, this is it. The song continues on through some minor chord sequences and lyrics that, thematically, are a cross between Gary Puckett’s “Young Girl” and Rod Stewart's “Maggie May.”
The Workouts save the organ-laden and lethargic “Thanks Anyway” for last. Although probably perfect for a 3 a.m. gropefest in a freshman dorm, even slow songs should attempt to be something more than make-out Muzak. And nothing fit for even the least of attempts at loving should ever sound so soulless. Listening between the lines of Black & White, all I can hear are the pleadings of a group saying, “Please like us! Please like us!”
No.
Record Reviews
Sébastien Schuller
originally published September 27, 2006
The main benefit of a Grand Tour in this day and age would seem to be musical appreciation: traipsing about the European Union, you gain a real understanding of all those foreign bands that, back in high school, made you feel like maybe you weren't a weird kid after all, you just had great taste.
But this also creates a useful skill for the future: for instance, Frenchman Sébastien Schuller, whose music can only make sense (and, one feels, properly enjoyed) in the context of staring mopily out the window of a train speeding across France, perhaps while regretting something said to Julie Delpy. It's, unfortunately, a rather limited (and rather expensive) context for an album that it is very easy to ignore, at least until you notice how repetitive it is, at which point annoyance sets in. Every song is built around a chiming keyboard figure constructed from looping eighth notes, and what's added is rarely much. You feel yourself wishing for strong vocals or a hard beat to come in ("1978" is just begging to be sampled) - in other words, for it to be more like actual Coldplay instead of like lounge-Coldplay. When vocals or beats are there, they're pale, and push the prettiness outwards slightly, but rarely help the music soar. When the formula is interrupted - as with the gaping beat on "Edward's Hand" - it's interesting, and overall quite pleasant, but rarely anything like compelling. It's soundtrack music for a makeout film, but those are always forgettable.
Record Reviews
Junior Boys
originally published September 27, 2006
Rarely do I put on a disc and instantly enjoy what I hear. But as the opening seconds of “Double Shadow” - the lead-off track on Junior Boys’ second proper full-length So This is Goodbye - poured forth from my speakers for the first time, it felt so right it was almost cliché. Combining beats that suggest a more-lubricated Kraftwerk with vocals that feel yanked from the sultriest of club jams, the track was only the beginning in what I would come to find out was a thoroughly satisfying long-player.
Canadian pop-gobbling music aficionados Jeremy Greenspan and Johnny Dark first made a splash on the independent music scene with 2004's Last Exit. Now, the guys continue their farewell-titled album streak with a record filled with gurgling synths, addictive beats and vocal hook after delectable vocal hook. More than just a follow-up to a critically acclaimed debut though, Goodbye takes the lulls of Last Exit and fills them with an almost overwhelming sense of completion, one that works on a long drive, right before bed or in the middle of party time.
Comforting though it is that Junior Boys turned the idea of the sophomore slump on its head, it’s almost worrisome to think how they’ll top this one. Luckily, we’re left with these 10 songs in the interim.
Record Reviews
Excepter
originally published September 27, 2006
In the last year, Excepter has unleashed dambusters of abstract art-noise. Between two album-length records and an EP, the band released 90 minutes of original music in the last six months of 2005, and that doesn't even take into account the streams of new music Excepter regularly uploads to its website. It's all mostly excellent stuff, too. The apocalyptic deep-space drones found on the half-hour, four-song record Throne rank as my favorite music of the year. The other two CDs, Self-Destruction and the Sun Bomber EP, are both quite good, as well.
What might be most surprising, though, is that all three releases are sonically distinct. Whereas Throne is a monumental wall of churning noise, Self-Destruction is a detour into fragmentary, improvised "house" music, and Sun Bomber actually has a few distended melodies hidden within the seemingly random blips and bleeps. Based on these fine records, expectations are high for the band's first "official" full-length CD.
So yeah, it's kind of a bummer, then, that Alternation isn't better. On Alternation, Excepter attempts to focus its improvisational/ free-form approach into something that resembles songwriting. The results are a formless, meandering mess. Formlessness and meandering are integral to the disjointed, fractal noise that Excepter has heretofore excelled at; neither quality, however, gibes too well with the whole songwriting concept. So we're stuck with a bunch of overlong songs that consist primarily of simplistic beats and repetitious electronic sweeps and washes, while head honcho John Fell Ryan mutters mostly incomprehensible lyrics. If done very well, this approach could maybe sound like the band Gang Gang Dance. Unfortunately, despite a few highlights scattered throughout its 65 minutes, Alternation isn't done very well.
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