Bottle Up & Go
These Bones
Kill Normal
originally published July 23, 2008
Once in a long while, a record will punch through the fog, grab you by the balls and show you the truth. These Bones is it. With the dirty heat of an attacking debut EP, this gruesome twosome is ready to smash and grab the young blues crown that The Black Keys relinquished when they “grew up” and discovered nuance. This hot-revving seven-song slasher rips rude punk-blues jacked with clattering drums and hide-shaving slide-guitar action, swaying drunkenly between a half-lidded swagger and a furious whiskey rage.
These Bones asserts itself immediately out of the gate with the dangerous “Wayward Son,” a boss anthem doused in feral machismo. The mounting murder ballad “51 Weeks 7 Days” plays like Two Gallants gone criminally insane, while the snarling title track is a high-octane, wall-scaling, slide-blues freak out. Overall, this studly collection shows a donkey-kick that rivals the Blues Explosion and the Immortal Lee County Killers.
They’re New England boys, but their exhilarating musical mien powerfully evokes the South’s sweaty garages. By bringing the deep emoting of the slave song into communion with rock and roll’s primal howl, Bottle Up & Go has tapped into a brand of punk-blues that heaves with fire, guts and soul. Packing supernova potential, they’re one of most promising, cogent talents this underground genre has seen in years. Put up your dukes and brace yourself.
Black Diamond Heavies
A Touch of Someone Else’s Class
Alive
originally published July 23, 2008
Recorded in a breathless three-day session at the Akron studio of Black Keys frontman Dan Auerbach, this sophomore album by the Nashville duo is a rugged outing that lassoes spontaneity and imperfection. But under the watch of the father of the new blues, who recorded and co-produced the LP, the lightning-in-a-bottle spark is deftly guided by a hand philosophically aligned with the Heavies’ shitbucket blues aesthetic.
The skeletal two-piece - comprised primarily of drums and keyboards - is beefed by a punk spirit and the full-on blare of in-the-red levels. The purposefully fried production gives the record a furious quiver, resulting in a remarkably hard sound despite a lack of guitars in their schema. Leading the charge are the arsenal of keyboards and theatrically guttural grindings of James Leg, which lend power, warmth and soul.
Besides the supple Southern soul of “Bidin’ My Time,” they’re best when they keep things ugly. Highlights include the hairy-chested swagger of the stalking rocker “Loose Yourself,” the gorgeously nasty industrial chug on their cover of Tina Turner’s “Nutbush City Limit,” and the rocked-out, groove-digging cover of T-Model Ford’s “Take a Ride.” Despite missteps like the David Lee Roth goofiness of “Numbers 22” and the old-tahhmey saloon jump of “Happy Hour” that indulge in too much camp, it’s a rousing album that further etches their identifiable signature of junkyard punk and blues revivalism.
From Bubblegum To Sky
A Soft Kill
Eenie Meenie Records
originally published July 23, 2008
This third album by pop composer Mario Hernandez is frustrating to describe because the most straightforward descriptors render it as simply a trip though familiar pop touchstones. True, Hernandez utilizes the best, most immediately accessible sounds for this album (The O’Jays, The Lovin’ Spoonful, etc.), but the album leads with a speedy doo-wop bass line which quickly shifts into a verse line which is equal parts Carpenters and Ramones. The key musical lines from “I Always Fall Apart” fall somewhere between a James Bond theme and a heavy surf-rock instrumental. It all works together very well.
Hernandez’s vocalizations, though, lend a heaviness to the album that betrays any presumptions of it being a sunny pop affair. Unfortunately, all the vocals are buried so far in the mix that it’s nearly impossible to discern a single damn thing he’s singing. Now, the vocals sound good that far down and contribute well to the overall blurry feel of the album, but there’s a distinct feeling that the lyrics are an important part of the record. In full release copies the lyrics might be included and this problem solved, but so long as reviews are written according to whatever version a promo company has to mail out, artists will suffer from being misunderstood. And, in Hernandez’s case at least, it’s not so much a case of being misunderstood as less-understood. As a straight listen, A Soft Kill is pretty great, but you’re on your own for further exploration.
Patti Smith & Kevin Shields
The Coral Sea
Pask Records
originally published July 23, 2008
This double-disc set is composed of two performances of Patti Smith’s overwhelming spoken-word tribute to photographer Robert Mapplethorpe. Significant because this is the first commercial release that showcases Smith as a poet and writer beyond her rock and roll lyricism, this is also a very hard record to listen to. Not because it’s musically difficult - it’s not. Kevin Shields' accompaniment is gorgeous and simple with gently strummed chords, tastefully restrained feedback and drones. The difficulty comes with knowing that this is an intensely personal work which sucks the listener in via its soothing rhythm but shocks one into dark realization that this is not a mere tribute, but, rather, a mournful eulogy. As much as this is a compelling work and, perhaps, a necessary one, the feeling one gets is almost dirty because of the listener's role as more than mere receptor. Once one is aware of the pain from which this work was borne, no matter how much empathy one has for Smith it is nearly impossible to feel like anything but a cheap voyeur.
Still, Smith had published this work in print in 1996 and one can presume that there is a cathartic nature to this work that, if only out of respect for Smith, one must abide. The Coral Sea is more than a eulogy, though. It’s a love letter to Mapplethorpe.
It’s a very hard album to get through, but, really, it would be shameful if Smith had written anything with less gravity. She has not only done Mapplethorpe right by this, but also herself.
El Perro Del Mar
From the Valley to the Stars
The Control Group
originally published July 23, 2008
Sweden's El Perro Del Mar (literally, "Aquadog") returns with another assortment of the lowest key orchestral pop you're ever likely to hear. Despite horns and strings and stabs at Spectorish glory, this remains one hell of a subdued record, sorta like Young Marble Giants trying to remake Pet Sounds. It's charming, in a "little engine that could" kinda way, but that charm is so subtle that the record struggles to maintain one's attention.
El Perro Del Mar is one lady all by her lonesome, a winsome young lass called Sarah Assbring. She's found her sound, and she follows it resolutely, occasionally resulting in some great songs. "Happiness Won Me Over" and its spare organ are as beautiful as church music, or at least, church music when it's not ornate or sappy. I can almost taste those Styrofoam wafers with crosses on 'em. "Into the Sunshine" successfully rewrites "Beyond the Sea," but without the Brylcreem schmaltz. A handful of other exceptionally crafted nuggets bob above the breezy multitudes, like strawberries in a bowl of Life cereal.
Assbring's defining characteristic is also her greatest downfall, unfortunately. This record stands out because it is restful, peaceful and indefatigably pleasant. That pleasantness never lets up, and honestly becomes kind of a drag. There's no variation in tempo or tone, and it becomes too easy for the mind to wander and cease focusing on the record entirely. It's just good enough to not be boring, overall, but that doesn't mean boredom won't sometimes ensue.
CSS
Donkey
Sub Pop
originally published July 23, 2008
Its meteoric rise was one of the flares that drew the attention of the indie world toward Brazil, but with a sophomore album that shines with greater tautness and polish, dance-rock sensation CSS is out to prove that it's no flash in the pan. The band's kinetic ball of new wave synthesizers and post-punk jags is much more tightly constructed this time around. The focused sass of Donkey is eerily similar to the high-efficiency feminine punch of Swedish indie-popsters The Sounds, only with more guitars and street smarts. Besides sporting a non-English accent as well, singer Lovefoxxx even bears a tonal and melodic resemblance to The Sounds’ Maja Ivarsson.
Choice cuts include the playful angularity of “Jager Yoga,” the insistent post-punk revivalist guitars of “Rat Is Dead (Rage)” and the tall, driving allure of “Air Painter.” The collection’s most defining moment is “How I Became Paranoid,” an instance of pop elegance that coasts on brisk, lissome synth lines.
Moving almost exclusively at a galloping clip, the album’s Saturday night ambition is kept front and center at all times. Melodically, it’s infectious but not overly precious. The music bops with enough vim to be manifestly youthful, yet avoids tawdriness with its generally stately proportions. Although it’s a decision that occasionally suffers from too much evenness, it ultimately pays off with consistency and a longer shelf-life.
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