Janelle Monáe
Metropolis: The Chase Suite
Bad Boy
originally published September 24, 2008
First grabbing national attention as the stylish looker riding and singing in the back of OutKast’s talking caddy in the “Morris Brown” video, Atlanta's Janelle Monáe steps into her own sizable theatrical space with Metropolis: The Chase Suite. The collection of seven songs is the first of four thematically linked EPs under the blanket title Metropolis, and though The Chase Suite was first released last year independently, it now sees a big-label re-release from Bad Boy.
Monáe’s public face is a giddy blend of sci-fi playfulness and saddle-shoes retro style. Her music? A little bit of Zap Mama genre blending, some Homogenic-era Björk android futurism and a whole lot of André 3000 funk… but what Monáe most resembles is the no-bounadries hip-hop of the early 2000s, setting up heavy parallels with Del tha Funkee Homosapien’s character on the Deltron 3030 album and Kool Keith’s multiple Dr. Octagon and Black Elvis/Lost in Space personae.
The horns on “Sincerely, Jane” conjure big-production showgirl spectacles from ‘60s Vegas, and Monáe’s operatic delivery over finger-picked guitars on the hushed “Cybertronic Purgatory” sounds like an aria for a dying robot world. The Chase Suite winds down with the grooving and soulful “Mr. President,” a song which doesn’t fit the sci-fi vibe of the rest of the EP, but which on its own is a charming if unsubtle indictment of governmental misdirection. It’s not quite Nina Simone or Mavis Staples in terms of deft handling of the issues, but it tries, and comes close.
If The Chase Suite sounds all over the place, well, it is. But it’s so odd and endearing and promising that its scattershot construction is forgivable, refreshing and reinvigorating. It’s one of this year’s high points.
Love Psychedelico
This Is Love Psychedelico
HackTone
originally published September 24, 2008
From the first opening keyboard riff and grimy muted guitar of "Standing Bird," this album will change how you think about J-pop. Love Psychedelico is the brain-child of Japanese rockers Naoki Sato (guitarist) and Kumi (vocalist).
Although this is the seventh release from the J-pop band, This Is Love Psychedelico is the duo's first American release, which is actually a compilation CD from the band's previous releases. But please, don't be offended by the J-pop label. You'll find no high-pitched squealing vocals or un-danceable synth-y techno-pop here. Love Psychedelico has more in common with The B-52s than Malice Mizer. What unfolds is a perfect blend of '60s garage rock, bluesy funk, infectious pop melodies and a dash of folky singer/songwriter sensibility.
The album really runs the gauntlet of styles from punk to folk with no fluff in between and clearly wears its influences on its sleeve (and its song titles). Killer cuts like "Lady Madonna," a lost '90's alt-rock gem (not a Beatles cover) and the Beatles-esque "Fantastic World" play like love letters to all things considered Brit-styled pop music. The album's organic stylistic transitions seem to stem from a real understanding and appreciation of the music that it channels. One thing that will surely test your bilingual prowess is Kumi's lyrics, which are a mish-mash of both Japanese and English. Verses like "Kaze no keeper, Mune Ni Yadoru light, Kienai Sa Asu E Tada take a run" are quite prevalent on the record, and though it looks like nonsense, it sounds like sweet magic. But that could also just be Kumi's strange vocal resemblance to Sheryl Crow.
This Is Love Psychedelico may be a late introduction for American audiences, but the band's ability to craft highly melodic, energetic and evocative pop tunes proves that it's always better late than never.
Athens Boys Choir
Bar Mitzvah Hits of the '80s, '90s and Today
Twinkle Toes
originally published September 24, 2008
Have you ever listened to Black Nasty? If not, do. Unless you're my mom, then don't. I ask, because Black Nasty is kinda like the straight version of Athens Boys Choir. The beats are cheaply made (really cheaply made), but the well written lyrics are equal parts funny, raunchy and surprisingly catchy at times. After a couple of listens to both of these artists, you realize you're listening to songs about metrosexuals throwing off gaydars, dildos (or in Black Nasty's case - sex with animals) and you tend to decide to file that album away until you have a friend over who's up for hearing something "really wild."
The real curve ball with Athens Boys Choir doesn't come from trying to figure out whether you're listening to a girl, or a guy, or both - it's the spoken word (songs?) in between the goofy tracks that are fun to laugh at. Tracks like "Mama Needs a Hug" weeps for an America that doesn't live constantly in warfare, and "Mourner's Prayer" which, I still can't believe it, brings up Columbine - sit right next to "Fagette" which boats how many dildos the artist owns and "Jazz Hands" which samples Richard Simmons.
If this column had a three-word limit, it would have without a doubt been "I'm so confused." I imagine that wouldn't be one that would surprise or disappoint Athens Boys Choir. I'm just afraid the confusion comes not from the messages of the album, but how you're supposed to take either of them seriously.
Civet
Hell Hath No Fury
Hellcat
originally published September 24, 2008
Just looking at these ladies, it’s hard not to snap into that unfortunate and condescending double-standard that persists for girl groups in rock. But don’t even think about it, sucker. Sure, they’re females with exceedingly marketable looks. However, their chops are primetime enough to render that fact an incidental subplot. Named after a cat of prey, this band isn’t interested in popping bubblegum. The songs may deal primarily with troubled relationships, but lyrics like “Gonna put a bullet in her head” and “I want your blood” (“Alibi”) don’t exactly qualify as cute.
Instead, the punk and roll that rips forth on their Hellcat debut is a confluence of full-throttle rock, Orange County punk tumble, and the hardened brass of The Runaways. The exclamation point to their streetwise slash and fury is the nasty, commanding voice of Ms. Liza Graves, a scratchy boom with switchblade intent that would make even Joan Jett duck for cover. The hard-charging “Son of a Bitch” is a powerful head-on of street punk and big rock. Other album highlights include the broad, road-loving anthems of “Brooklyn” and “Sin City.”
A triumph of aggression and hooks, Hell Hath No Fury makes The Donnas sound like pillow-fighting Girl Scouts. Forget that “for a buncha girls” business, man. These ladies bring it fast and bring it hard, period.
Conor Oberst
Conor Oberst
Merge
originally published September 24, 2008
There is a shakiness to Conor Oberst’s voice that doesn’t allow him to belt out testosterone-filled rock ballads. But as he sang on “Road to Joy,” the closing track on I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning, “Failure’s always sounded better/ Let’s fuck it up boys, make some noise.” This tendency towards the grandiose and self-conscious vulnerability has resulted in artistically rewarding music that the cool kids dismiss as the diary-writing soundtrack for high school girls. This criticism is unfair, but it’s the risk of pouring your heart out on record.
For the first time in over 10 years, Oberst is dropping the Bright Eyes moniker and releasing a solo album, the self-titled Conor Oberst. It is a rollicking collection of songs, more traditional and less wimpy than Bright Eyes’ albums, but still very much in the same world. Oberst’s trajectory towards alt-country has gotten stronger with each release, but the fragile femininity remains.
At 28 years old, Conor Oberst presents a snapshot of a traveling troubadour who has comfortably matured to tell his stories with brevity and joy. While the awkward appeal and adolescent honesty of his earlier recordings are still here in small doses, the defining theme of the album is traditional, optimistic road music in the midst of boyish sincerity. “There’s nothing that the road cannot heal,” he sings on “Moab." Conor Oberst is a collection of songs that are both catchy and relaxed as well as introspective and poignant. The result is a road album that makes for an interesting companion piece to the 1995 alt-country classic and Son Volt debut, Trace.
A Fight to the Death
Afttd
Independent Release
originally published September 24, 2008
Afttd might be informed by old world imagery, but its sound is altogether familiar. Americana steeped in the tradition of Italian film composer Ennio Morricone, all soaked in the sorrowful romanticism of Eastern European klezmer, A Fight to the Death sounds like DeVotchKa’s lead role in a Spaghetti Western (although frontman CJ Bargamian’s mid-range drone is more of a stoic heartache when balanced against Nick Urata’s show-stopping croon). Beneath an array of accordions, honky-tonk pianos, and Romanian rhythms, sun-stroked telecasters supply the album’s cinematic ether, electing the group as the most likely candidate to have scored the notoriously soundtrack-barren No Country for Old Men.
A menacing, bagpipe-like accordion forebodes the percussive war cry of “My Name” propelling the album forward with freight-train tenacity. In a showdown tango with the inevitable, “You’d Want to Kill Me Too” delicately balances drummer Mark Carbone’s agitated break-beat alongside soothing vibraphones that underscore Bargamian’s melodious conflict: “You made me want to live/ but you made me want to die.” Afttd’s bittersweet finale, “Old Black Chains,” is an Old Western piano ballad on a similar theme - a folkloric romance on a fugitive seeking emotional refuge from a woman wailing for her demon-lover. “I won’t be here when you cry for me because I’ve learned to ignore you,” Bargamian insists reluctantly.
A sepia-toned album of stark confrontations, Afttd sees itself through to its own bittersweet conclusions, and despite the band’s Atlanta home-base, A Fight to the Death’s cosmopolitan sound should guarantee it enough ammunition to nourish its internationally-sized ambitions.
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