The only thing that can really mend the wound of a lost Dodgers game in L.A. is a damn good concert. That might explain why there was a line around the block for hours leading up to Bombay Bicycle Club’s set at the Wiltern on Friday, even with the first round of playoffs going, and in triple digit heat, this was an act of commitment. Once inside, the pit filled up quickly, the crowd predominantly made up of 20-somethings with unusual haircuts. It was a very specific demographic, but a very enthusiastic one. So when first opening band Luxley took the stage, I could tell it was going to be a very involved audience.
Luxley is a New Orleans “wildfire dance rock” band. It’s the recording project of Ryan Gray, who dances all over the stage the entire duration of the set, getting into it, as the old adage goes, as if no one is watching. The music is definitely dance-y, but it’s a little hard to peg. It certainly has a pop rock vibe to it, due in part mostly to Gray’s vocal style, but it has a variety of elements, from electronic tempo and drops to some really primal drum sections. The crowd was fairly interested; it’s pretty hard not to be when you can see the band enjoying themselves as much as they were. They were a good way to get the energy going but were a bit of an odd fit for a Bombay Bicycle Club show. BBC is known to showcase their versatility in sound, and there wasn’t enough variety between Luxley’s songs to hold our attention; not to say it was bad, or that it wasn’t enjoyable, it just felt like we got several very similar songs all at once.
Milo Greene was the main opener, and what a pleasant surprise this quintet was. The Los Angeles “cinematic” pop band have such a soothing yet progressive sound, and so lithely executed that I consider them my newest love. What makes them unique is each member is a lead vocalist and also multi instrumentalist. For each song, the members trade off instruments, gliding seamlessly from guitar to bass to keyboards. The harmonies were rich from the range of vocal styles of each member. Marlana Sheetz, sporting a very Jenny Lewis-esque white pant suit, brings the whispy female range to the table, but male members Robbie Arnett, Graham Fink, and Andrew Heringer create that depth of vocal harmony that hearkens back to Fleetwood Mac. Musically, they couldn’t be more different, but they are certainly not lacking in that department. Drummer Curtis Marrero effortlessly binds it all together to create their tight-knit sound. They played a few songs from their full-length self-titled debut, such as “1957,” a beautifully crafted song that typifies their sound (and a song that I’ve been listening to on repeat since then). But they also have a new album due out in January, called Control, and took the opportunity to show off the upcoming material, full of technical guitar bits and big impact, more upbeat in tempo from Milo Greene.
Bombay Bicycle Club is a band that couldn’t possibly disappoint. Over the span of four albums, they have not lost the momentum that makes them who they are. Opening with “Overdone,” from their latest album, So Long, See You Tomorrow, released earlier this year, was an expertly planned ploy. That sludgy riff in the bridge will get anyone going, guaranteed. And the amazing part about BBC is that they are mercurial, shifting from some musically dense material right into their more atmospheric sound, in songs like “It’s Alright Now” and “Shuffle.” Their visuals featured a series of circles recalling the album art from their latest release. Onto the circles various images were projected for each song. It was executed so well; for songs like “How Can You Swallow So Much Sleep” (my personal favorite BBC song) the circles became an evening sky, and the lyrics appeared in what appeared to be scribbled constellations, glowing and burning out as quickly as a shooting star. “Feel” had the most perfect visuals, with cobra serpents to reflect the sound of this very Arabian-esque song. This was probably my favorite performance of the night. That snake charming guitar lick that rings throughout the song was just magical in a live setting, and they really milked it for what it was worth. The tone on that particular riff is guitar perfection, so when the normal fade out ended with several more bars of that lick, I just about melted. “So Long, See You Tomorrow” was a great, pre-encore ender, because it literally left the crowd begging for more. It’s that song that burns inside of you, starting as a familiar warm ember within, and crawling down into every appendage until you are full of warmth and bliss. It crescendos just barely enough, so there was no way they could end on that note.
The encore was, in all respective senses of an encore, the last hoorah. They threw it back to “What if” from their 2009 debut I Had The Blues But I Shook Them Loose. The night ended on “Carry Me” which was a whirlwind of percussion and strobes, sing alongs, and some pervasively chilling tremolo guitar. This show at the Wiltern was one of the first stops on what will be a very extensive tour throughout most of the U.S. in October. It’s been hailed as the must-see tour of the season, so it is strongly advised that you catch them before they depart on their European tour in November.
I remember my first experience listening to Christopher Owens. A few years back, I had the likes for a guy I was working with. We grew a relationship over talking about music that we loved and discovered. He told me in the middle of May to listen to a song called “Hellhole Ratrace” by Girls. That feeling was unlike anything else that stirred up inside of me. Instantly hooked, I looked up everything there was to know about Girls. And although the band has been broken up for some time, Owens- the heart and lead of Girls, set out for his solo career in 2013.
For the past year, I found myself a recluse. For the same first reasons I fell in love with the brilliance that is Christopher Owens, I found myself revisiting those Girls albums and his first solo album, Lysandre. His music is therapy, his voice a guidance, his lyrics an enlightenment. You can imagine my happiness when I finally had the chance to see him live last Wednesday.
Music Hall of Williamsburg hosted an intimate show which left me with infinite satisfaction and a heart filled of more emotion than I could have ever imagined. Two colossally talented backup singers stood side-stage, belting out their souls and imbuing the room with a magnificent aura of love and heartache. The band – including vocalists Skyler Jordan, Makeda Francisco, and Traci Nelson; John Anderson on lead guitar; Danny Eisenberg on the organ; Darren Weiss drumming; Ed Efira playing pedal steel; and David Sutton on bass -played alluringly together, the result of a long tour spent rendering Owens’ love-and-life-weary songs. Owens can be a shoe gazer, but wore a cowboy hat graciously for some of his set, a hint at his affinity for classic Americana anthems. He opened up with a marvelous rendition of “My Ma” and proceeded with more Girls songs while mixing in tracks from his latest record, The New Testament.
Alongside his number one honey, his Rickenbacker, and his six-piece band, Owens created dense, lush soundscapes, nothing more beautifully paired than the church-sounding organ and guitar noodling. He likes to jam too, and passionately. I stood alongside fans crying as “Jamie Marie” started. The crowd continued to feel the aches as he played “Stephen,” backup singers sounding like angels fitting for an homage to his late brother. However, with all the tenderness there was, we shared lively moments too. His first single from The New Testament, “Nothing More Than Everything To Me,” had us dancing and clenching stranger’s hands. With cowboy hat included, “Never Wanna See That Look Again” finally gave us a taste of that charm.
Christopher Owens was a million things that night: brilliant, a genius, honest, respectful, appreciative. For me, he was hopeful. Some of us might have been worried that we would never see him again on stage, blessed by his presence, perhaps with the underlying anxiety that Owens may abruptly leave the music scene again. But in those moments, center stage and looking at him teary-eyed, Owens seems permanently bound by something bigger than his resignations. There remains something concrete in Christopher Owens’ music that spoke to the crowd and myself that very night, cementing Owens as a storyteller of the highest order. Polite and appreciative, he gave a sincere ‘thank you’ after every song. But true thanks belongs to Owens himself, for giving me the hope that I needed.
When I was seventeen, I was hopelessly infatuated with an eighteen-year old poetry major who scribbled Neutral Milk Hotel lyrics on various buildings throughout our college campus. While the school administration felt that he was deliberately destroying the aesthetic of our pretty liberal arts school, I used to glide my fingertips over the words scrawled in the stairwell of my dormitory, gushing over how beautiful they were. In fat blue sharpie, the words read: follow me through a city of frost-covered angels, / I swear I have nothing to prove / I just want to dance in your tangles / to give me some reason to move.
At the time, I was neither familiar with Neutral Milk Hotel, nor did I know that the same brooding poetry major who lived below me had marked them on the wall. I was just so enchanted with how these words came together, a cryptic message that I needed to decode. When I finally discovered they were lyrics to a song called “Gardenhead/Leave Me Alone” from NMH’s debut album On Avery Island (1996), I became obsessed with trying to figure out why the poetry kid picked this particular section of the song. When I think about this in retrospect, it’s kind of funny and, admittedly, a smidge creepy that this was how I began listening to NMH. The thing is, by the time I’d memorized every word to “Gardenhead/Leave Me Alone,” my ritual of playing the song every morning turned into something much bigger than my silly fixation on the idea that there was a secret message behind the words in the stairwell; I was developing a relationship with the song without even knowing it.
Shortly after I dove into the NMH anthology, a meager but nonetheless beautiful collection of two albums, I began feeling all of these emotions I didn’t realize I could feel—sadness, desolation, and yearning for something I couldn’t obtain because I hadn’t even realized what it was I was yearning for. I could easily write my emotional revelation off as being a young, hopeless adolescent discovering Life with a capital L. But even now, listening to NMH’s second full-length album (and unfortunately, their last), In the Aeroplane Over the Sea still recalls that sensation of desperately wanting to reconcile absolute joy and pain, living in a world that is both beautiful and, for better or worse, quite sad.
In the Aeroplane Over the Sea came out in 1998 through Merge Records. While On Avery Island sounds like it was recorded in someone’s parents’ basement and is loaded with early 90s punk/grunge musical tropes—a fuzzy lo-fi sound, idiosyncratic riffs, quick upbeat chords, and low growling in place of singing—Aeroplane is a much softer and subtler album in terms of its sound, theme, and lyrical content. There’s a timeless quality to Aeroplane, having partly to do with the eclectic combination of instruments that NMH employs—accordions, trumpets, flugelhorns, drums, acoustic guitars, and a singing saw—and the ethereal, dream-like world that comes to life in this album is what allows it to transcend the fatal categorization of being just another good 90s rock album. Our ears perk up because of how obscure it sounds, and yet, there’s also a feeling of familiarity and comfort with hearing Mangum bellow like a 1960s British Troubadour over a smashing 1990s punk-rock beat.
To be straightforward: Neutral Milk Hotel is a weird band. They don’t make any sense. Pressed up against this collision of strange sounds and tough-to-identify instruments are phrases that reference synthetic flying machines and a world where “semen stains the mountaintops.” Not to mention the high-pitched whistle that reverberates in the background of each track like the creepy opening of The Twilight Zone. And much like The Twilight Zone, you’re never quite sure where and how to situate yourself when you listen to Aeroplane. What year is it? Who is Anna? Whose ghosts are we talking to? Part of what makes Aeroplane so wonderful is because you are displaced. You’re hearing familiar words and images, but it’s as if you’re meeting these words and images for the first time, because of how Mangum places them next to one another in songs. It’s like when you repeat a word aloud a hundred times and suddenly, you don’t know what the word means anymore; it becomes an empty and awkward two-, three-, four-syllable sound. In “King of Carrot Flowers, Parts 2-3,” the first half of the song is just Mangum calling out “I love you Jesus Christ / Jesus Christ, I love you, yes I do.” Although religious illusions are a common trope in certain folk music, Mangum’s voice is so shrill and unwavering, the allusion to an actual religious figure is almost imperceptible—it’s more like a character named Jesus Christ appearing at random in the song, which then becomes about the spiritual experience of hearing Mangum’s drawl and how it quietly hovers over the gentle strumming of a banjo, as if the song were a lullaby.
Mangum wrote Aeroplane after he read The Diary of Anne Frank. By mish-mashing words, imagery, and sounds, Mangum guides us through the surreal world of Anne’s diary, equal parts historical and romanticized. In “Holland, 1945,” Mangum shouts over a loud and exuberant drum pattern, “the only girl I’ve ever loved / was born with roses in her eyes / but then they buried her alive / one evening in 1945 / with just her sister at her side / and only weeks before the guns / all came and rained on everyone.” While we weren’t there when the concentration camps were liberated (mere weeks after Anne Frank was killed), we know how it feels to lose someone due to bad timing. What’s unexpected about this song, however, is the subtle hope contained therein. “Holland, 1945” is actually upbeat and lively, unlike the darker and more haunting songs that come later in the album like “Oh, Comely” or “Two-Headed Boy, Part 2.” Right after the song’s opening lines, Mangum continues, “Now she’s a little boy in Spain / playing pianos filled with flames.” Anne’s spirit is eternal; those feelings of acceptance and absolution come through in the song.
There’s a raw honesty and vulnerability that swims through the album, especially in Mangum’s quaking vocals, and his unabashed willingness to confront and accept loss propels the music. In the album’s title-track, Mangum sweetly sings, “And one day we will die / and our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea / but for now we are young / let us lay in the sun and count every beautiful thing we can see.” This earnest carpe diem philosophy permeates the album through and through. On the same track, Mangum continues, “there are lights in the clouds / Anna’s ghost all around / hear her voice as it’s rolling and ringing through me.” Sometimes when I’m listening to Aeroplane, it’s not just Anne Frank’s ghost that I’m thinking about. There are the ghosts of old lovers and friends; the ghost of the poetry major who lived below me in my first year of college; Mangum’s ghost, which can be felt in every line of the music.
Like most rock bands, the frontman is the reference point to how we, as the listener, try to humanize or characterize the band into one person. With an album as poetically rich as Aeroplane, it’s difficult to not read the album as a direct bible or mantra of Mangum’s. And for many years, it was all fans had to go by—in 1998 after touring in support of Aeroplane, the band broke up, cementing the already strange album’s cult classic status. The more mystery there is surrounding something, the greater the appeal, right? Mangum continued to do sporadic solo shows, including a special appearance at Occupy Wall Street. But then last year, the band surprised everyone by announcing they’d be reuniting for a 2013-2014 tour. At first it was just a few dates, but this quickly expanded into a slew of festival appearances and several dates in the NYC area, including the “Celebrate Brooklyn!” summer concert series in Prospect Park. I was apprehensive about buying a ticket; this tour would be the first time in 15 years since Mangum, Jeremy Barnes, Julian Koster, and Scott Spillane all shared a stage together. Would the live renditions of these songs, which I’d only heard through computer speakers and record players, still be as poignant this late in the game? I bought tickets anyway.
Unfortunately, it rained on the date I went, so there was an unexpected 20-minute intermission. While the program’s organizers urged fans to evacuate or stay at their own discretions, it shouldn’t be surprising that most fans firmly stood their ground. And I’m glad I did too. I’ve never witnessed anything more beautiful than a grisly 43-yr old Mangum crooning “Oh Comely,” as lightning flared underneath the stratus, and the crowd, mostly dudes in their early 30s/40s (probably nostalgic of their angsty adolescence) crooned along. Maybe I cried, but that’s okay. A lot of people cry over the ghosts they know.
Funky electropop duo Sylvan Esso just did a lovely remix of PHOX’s song “Slow Motion” and it is so deliciously silky and smooth. Sylvan Esso hails from Durham, North Carolina and is made up of vocalist Amelia Meath and producer/genius beat maker Nick Sanborn; together, they make really irresistible and groovy tunes.
Partisan Records labelmates PHOX, meanwhile, are a six-piece self-described as “a bunch of friends from the Midwestern circus hamlet, Baraboo, WI, a place where kids often drink poisoned groundwater and become endowed mutants.” They also make mesmerizingly mellow tunes tied together by Monica Martin’s stunning, velvety voice that you can’t help but fall in love with immediately.
We were already obsessed with “Slow Motion” but Sylvan Esso took the soulful song and gave it even more soul. The remix opens with an intense synth and bass beat, then it gradually introduces Martin’s voice in a delicate but calculated manner, which reaches octaves far, far away. Sanborn replaces the acoustic guitar and a jubilant, contagious clapping from the original with a springy synth, building it up over the course of the song and slowly adding in percussive, chopped snippets of Martin’s vocal to carry it through to the end. It’s a rather perfect pairing, given Meath’s similarly smokey vocals. This latest version of “Slow Motion” crackles and smolders with a completely different vibe from the folksy original; it’s hard to decide which is best.
We’ve all had that friend that just can’t get over the past, no matter how seemingly small the trauma, that friend that wants to coddle her pain as though it were something precious rather than something that should be released. And, for better or worse, many of us have been that person who just can’t let go. That’s what makes “The Knot,” the debut single from Brooklyn band Oracle Room, so poignant. Lead singer Alex Nelson is all tough love and real talk, here to provide a good dose of therapy in sonic form – so much easier and less expensive than a trip to the psychiatrist.
Nelson’s voice alone has healing powers; at once lush and articulate, PJ Harvey and Cameron Mesirow of Glasser immediately spring to mind when searching for comparisons, though you get the sense that she’s be influenced by classical and pop vocalists alike. Even more startling are the gorgeous production flourishes; Nelson co-produced the track with Grammy-award winner Derik Lee and the pair made some beautiful choices. “[fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][He] approached me a couple years ago and expressed wanting a passion project,” says Nelson of the collaboration. “He always had so much work, but he wasn’t working on a lot of music that he loved.” His admiration of Nelson’s songwriting comes through in their work together – when she sings you want to feel hollowed out, the vocal sounds hollow; airy harmonies shift and swirl in a warped, ghostly chorus, the aural equivalent of a knot tightening in the stomach. “We’ve spent the last two years working on properly recording and producing my work in his free time, which was very sparse,” says Nelson, adding that there are five tracks that will be released as singles before appearing physical EP.
Sinister synths burble through “The Knot” courtesy of Joe Phillips, while Zack Fisher’s roomy, organic drumbeats dissolve fizzily into the rest of the composition but keep things marching along at an insistent pace. Moody strings from Pamela Martinez soar here and there, but the focus is always on Nelson’s vocal, as it should be — she’s the emotional catalyst for its lyrical content, an unlikely cheerleader for getting through the tough stuff and moving on to bigger, better, brighter things. “I believe our planet and all of its inhabitants are going through a major transition right now,” Nelson explains. “It’s a really wonderful and powerful change. I usually write songs to encourage people to stay uplifted, to embrace love and express compassion and to really come into their highest being, as this is what will facilitate the transition we are all looking for. A lot of the songs have a darkness or heaviness to them sonically, but usually the lyrical message is quite positive.”
As a band, Oracle Room have recently undergone a similar transformation; formerly known as Andra, they dropped their old moniker because it infringed on a very famous Romanian pop singer. Their show at Glasslands on Tuesday was the first they’d played under the new name, and Oracle Room added Joe Sucato on keys, guitarist Justin Gonzales, and bassist Ian Milliken to the usual duo of Nelson and Fisher. But perhaps the most telling addition to the lineup was a mini-chorus who sang back-up on the first three songs of the set, helping bring to life the harmonic vision that Nelson and Lee played with in the studio. With ideas this big, won’t be long before Oracle Room becomes Brooklyn’s most buzzed about act, and “The Knot” is simply the first in what will hopefully be a long line of breath-taking singles for the breakout band.
Orphan, the first major label release on Chop Shop/Island Records from contemporary rockers Empires, is equal parts purist and fugitive. With deference for all that came before them, the four Chicago natives spin out in multiple, bold new directions. Throughout, Sean Van Vleet’s silky vocals run like water over the sharp edge of gritty garage rock instrumentation. At times, the group leads with their alternative core – a brooding acidity that first cracks, then erupts with uncontainable, melodic energy. In later tracks, the band summons the likes of 80s essentials New Order with their tasteful use of synth accents, overlapping reverbs, and pop-reminiscent harmonies. Furthermore, their experiments with unlikely intros on tracks “Silverfire” and “Shadowfaux” bring an element of spontaneity that cements Empires’ commitment to expanding their breadth and that of modern rock itself.
“Orphan,” the title track and second on the album, also begins unconventionally, with spacey sound effects and monotone strumming. However, the catapulting lick of the chorus soon brings forth a kaleidoscope of blurred streetlights and blue-black skylines. An utterly succinct track, it demonstrates Empires’ knack for compacting complexity. Experiential and transient, it foreshadows the album as a whole with its sprawling scope and often indescribable landscape of emotions.
Next comes “Hostage.” Coarse upon the ears, jagged in the chest, the track is firmly rooted in that ominous, alternative world that is Empires’ lifeblood. Van Vleet’s intonation echoes with the raspy quake of the guitars, revealing a rawness to his instrument that was previously unknown to the listener. “I struggle with the loneliness / And you, you help me, you’re the cure for it,” he confesses in the rousing bridge, going on to unleash the full power of his resounding bellow to the very last screech of the amp.
Smack-dab in the middle of the 11-track LP is “Lifers,” a waif-like interlude striking in its simplicity. Whimsical verses float upon dreamy keyboards and lackadaisical drumbeats. It makes for a soothing pause before Orphan launches into a second half characterized by pop/new wave sentiments. “Please Don’t Tell My Lover,” a funky delight at #8, demands the listener’s attention. It’s fresh, complete with warped synth strings that drift in and out around an addicting, bouncy guitar riff. The vocal runs on the chorus are so catchy, they imprint themselves instantly in the mind, and the beat is sure to motivate a move or two, adding a dance hit to the album’s already impressive list of rock subgenres.
Finally, at second to last, there’s “Glow.” Stripped down strumming and sparse drumming accompany an insightful, meandering lyric line that muses, “Inspired on failed love in the debris of heart dust / When the night falls I expose to give you a show / And I need you to glow.” Repeatedly, choruses explode forth from a crescendo of drums and oohs that ring out like sirens, but it all stops abruptly in the end. A guileless conviction fully expressed, there is nothing left to be said.
There’s much to be said of this “empirical” venture though. Epic and edgy, the album is just the sort of statement that should mark a major label debut for burgeoning headliners. Drawing inspiration from the best of influences all the while influencing us to find new inspiration, Orphan solidifies Empires’ status as a group that other rock musicians will be taking cues from soon.
Listen to “Please Don’t Tell My Lover” from Orphan via Soundcloud.
Catch the boys at one of their many North American tour stops below:
10/2 – Kansas City, MO at the Record Bar
10/4 – Austin, TX at Austin City Limits
10/10 – Austin, TX at Stubbs Jr.
10/11 – Austin, TX at Austin City Limits
10/17 – Akron, OH at Musica
10/18 – Columbus, OH at the Rumba Cafe
10/19 – Grand Rapids, MI at Founders Brewing Company
10/21 – Minneapolis, MN at 7th St. Entry
10/23 – DeKalb, IL at the House Cafe
10/24 – Champaign, IL at Error Records
11/7 – Pontiac, MI at the Pike Room
11/8 – Pittsburgh, PA at the Smiling Moose
11/9 – Philadelphia, PA at the Barbary
11/11 – Boston, MA at Church of Boston
11/13 – Hoboken, NJ at the W Hotel
11/14 – Brooklyn, NY at Baby’s All Right
11/15 – Washington, DC at DC9
11/16 – Carrboro, NC at Cat’s Cradle Back Room
Salt Lake City breakout duo, Oh, Be Clever, is known for their seamless meld of electro and indie pop, thanks to the joint efforts of Brittney Shields’ impressive chops and Cory Scott Layton’s dynamic instrumentation and prouduction. The pair met in High School, when they played in rivaling musical acts. In fact they loathed each other a great deal until one night (after members of their bands went fist-to-cuffs in their HS parking lot, West Side Story style) they decided on a whim, to abscond together, leaving their respective projects in order to start Oh, Be Clever.
Their newest single, “My Chest”, premiering today here on Audiofemme, combines all the trappings of a mainstream pop jam–infectious vocal hooks, accessible melodies, and driving beats–with a twinkling piano line, juxtaposed with a gritty electric guitar refrain, drenching what could be a straight forward twee anthem with the glimmering complexity of an indie cult hit. Regarding their new release, songstress Shields writes, “”My Chest” is a really close song to me. I have a really hard time vocalizing vulnerability or the fear of liking someone too much. I’m always afraid I’ll freak them out or they’ll lose interest…and my heart will wind up shattered. I’m sure most people can relate to that feeling. This was one of those songs that just FELL out of my brain and onto my laptop. I was starting to date someone new and forgot how good it felt to feel those butterflies…So I did what any gal should do…wrote it down and made it into a song.”
For the third studio album in their multifaceted and diverse discography, Francophones Yelle have gone insane. The title of their new record says it all: Complètement Fou, out tomorrow on Kemosabe Records, literally translates to completely crazy, insane or bonkers, and perfectly describes Yelle’s unique electric brand. The band, which consists of Julie Budet and Jean-François Perrier, first came on the scene in 2005, and their debut album, Pop Up, was released in 2007. It featured a non-stop array of eccentric, hip-rattling, French glory. Their second album, 2011’s Safari Disco Club reached no.9 in the U.S Billboard 2011 chart in the Dance/Electronic Albums category and gave us zany tracks that we still love, like “Comme Un Enfant”, and lyrics like “animals dance in the safari disco club.”
For Complètement Fou, the duo enlisted all-star pop producer Dr.Luke and features familiar Yelle beats, married with eccentric lyrics (“we danced till we cried tears of joy”) perfectly delivered by Budet in a sunny yet hypnotically sultry voice. The first single from the album, “Bouquet Finale” (Grand Finale) is a beautiful and seductive homage to the empowerment that comes from letting yourself get lost in the moment.
The album’s second and titular single, “Complètement Fou,” perfectly captures Yelle’s growth into a more well-rounded outfit with tighter and more firmly composed tracks. When compared to previous albums, there are subtle differences in the overall sound – no doubt the extra polish of Dr. Luke’s glossy production style – that make the band sound better than ever. And this time around, Budet tapped Tacteel of TTC to co-write lyrics, saying “We used to do everything by ourselves, but we wanted to open the circle this time around because we love people!” They worked together on Pop Up, so it was a natural fit, and no doubt tempered Budet’s characteristic snark just a little.
The whimsical “Ba$$in” and the steamy “Nuit De Baise I” – which is a rather suggestive song about being engulfed in the desire and ecstasy of another – are personal favorites. They both are so completely different from one another, and yet have the ability to make you have the same strong emotional response-auricular bliss. There is something so simplistic yet complex about the valley of rhythms in Yelle’s new album. There is no doubt that this album is the band’s best work yet.
Though I am not 100% fluent in French, I know enough to understand that Yelle has the ability to speak volumes, and reach a vast audience of Francophones and Anglophones alike with their work. Whether you’re a native Frenchie or not, you will be endlessly transported by the music Yelle creates. Bravo pour Yelle, who has enough talent and spunk to drive one complètement fou indeed.
You can streamComplètement Fou now via Kemosabe records, and don’t forget to catch Yelle when they play Irving Plaza on October 10th. It’s sure to be a lively time.
Blame it on the Internet: to make as big a splash as possible with a new album release, bands will try a variety of approaches. Whether that’s U2’s latest LP showing up uninvited in everyone’s iTunes, My Bloody Valentine and Beyoncé suddenly dropping fully-formed albums without so much as a preceding whisper, or the Arcade Fire/Aphex Twin method of guerilla marketing, the last few years have seen an uptick on controversial album rollouts (or lack thereof).
One artist who completely bucks this trend is Noah Lennox, otherwise known as Panda Bear. As a founding member of Animal Collective, he’s ushered his textured electronic washes into more and more of the band’s experimental pop songs, and as a whole they’ve released albums every few years like clockwork. That’s allowed Lennox the freedom to take a different tack with his solo material – one of thoughtful but relaxed percolation over extended periods of time. And the biggest part of his process in vetting new material has always been in a live setting. At last Monday’s sold out Music Hall of Williamsburg show, the air crackled with the realization that this could be his last round of performances before finally outing his much anticipated fifth studio album.
His last LP, Tomboy, came out in 2011, after a succession of 7” singles leading up to its release. But he’d been playing that material live for over two years, since his breakout with Person Pitch in 2007. Even given this trajectory, folks have waited a long time for a new Panda Bear record. It’s clear from perusing setlists and YouTube videos of fan-recorded concerts that Lennox has enough to put to tape, but other than tentative, unconfirmed song titles, collectively alluded to under the cryptic heading Panda Bear Meets the Grim Reaper, no official announcements have been made about anything.
Recently, Lennox posted a mix to his website that takes some of the more familiar songs from these live sets and gives them full-scale production, bright dubby beats, and blends them with samples – some sourced from other recordings, but mostly built from his own loops – all of it situated into a nest of sketches and songs that have influenced his most recent work. So it’s assured that something is afoot, but there’s really only one access route to his new music, and that’s to see him play it.
The set started with churning house-esque beats, swiftly merging into towering reverb and textured, multi-layer electronic arrangements. Shoegazey washes exploded into slowly burbling tracks while longtime video collaborator Danny Perez’s captivating projections swirled behind Lennox. Even the Tomboy songs seemed re-tooled to better reflect Lennox’s new sonic ideas, and just as he had with the mixtapes he made and traded with his high school buddies in what would become Animal Collective, he presented it all as a cohesive whole, playing a nonstop, immersive set for over an hour.
Highlights included a song that’s been referred to as “Dark Cloud,” in which Lennox chants vowel sounds though a sharp echo effect to create a rounding pattern of syllables between verses. The drippy percussion of “Sequential Circuits,” another new cut that he’s played live pretty extensively, melted into the thudding bass of the next track while a collage of women in alien make-up writhed through Perez’s video. Though much of Lennox’s lyrics are obscured it was possible to pick out lines here and there. He hit his higher registers by shouting them, adding a sort of ecstatic urgency to translate the emotional import of unintelligible passages. Elsewhere, Lennox let the mixes themselves emote, as with an achingly beautiful harp sample that threaded its way through gorgeous, contemplative “Tropic of Cancer,” which will hopefully make it onto the new record despite its more somber tone.
To take the set as a whole is to get the impression that Lennox is approaching perfection with this collection. This is why it feels so important to be in the crowd at a Panda Bear show; though there is nothing on stage but Lennox and his Korg, flanked by a couple of intermittently flashing strobes, and it’s hard to know how much of what he’s playing is pre-programmed and what sounds he’s creating on stage, the feeling of epiphany comes instead from knowing that Lennox is testing the water, watching things grow and change, gauging the way the songs act together and cause the crowd to react. Even if it isn’t totally spontaneous, there is magic there to witness.
Though SBTRKT began his music career working under his given name, Aaron Jerome, he’s spent recent years as a producer and DJ, obscured behind an identity constructed by the masks he wears. Arguably these masks are SBTRKT’s way of subverting the often insatiable gaze the public turns upon celebrities.
It’s no wonder then that his latest release, a collaboration with Chairlift’s Caroline Polachek called “Look Away,” plays with the idea of rejecting someone else’s attention.
Polachek tells listeners to “look away,” over listless, piano-laden production, reminding them that an unnamed woman “was never yours for the having.”
Between the lyrics and the interactive music video where viewers try and fail to lock eyes with the face of an obscured woman, there seems to be an underlying message. Polachek tells us to look away while the female visage featured in the video demonstrates her ability to refuse to engage with the viewer. It’s almost as if the song is pushing us to think about a women’s agency to reject anyone she doesn’t want in her space, including a scorned suitor.
While Polachek’s lush voice feels at home in the entrancing soundscape, it comes off a little lonely. The record perhaps could have been enhanced by an additional guest possessed of a complementary lyricism or tone to Polachek’s singing.
SBTRKT’s highly anticipated full length, Wonder Where We Land, comes out October 7th on Young Turks. His North American tour dates are as follows:
7/10/14 – Atlanta, GA @ The Masquerade
9/10/14 – New Orleans, LA @ Republic New Orleans
10/10/14 – Houston, TX @ House Of Blues
11/10/14 – Mexico City, MX @ Corona Capital Music Festival
Brooklyn-based psych-pop quartet, The Ugly Club (Ryan Eagan, Talor Mandel, Rick Su-Poi & Ryan McNulty), has perfected an ability to craft songs that straddle the line between gleaming, exuberant dance hits and infectious, complex garage-rock throwback jams. Since their 2012 full length, You Belong To The Minutes they have shown us that walking this walk is an art unto itself. Each track employs punchy lo-fi drums and blistering electric guitar hooks, lush, orchestral embellishments, and Egan’s retro drawling vocals stretched over top like a layer of hand-woven lace. The result makes us nostalgic for the NYC musical behemoths of yore, who provided soundtracks to our comings of age…Interpol, The Strokes, The Walkmen….sigh.
With their new single “Passengers” out and a video to accompany, we’re getting a sneak peak of a new direction toward which The Ugly Club is meandering. And ironically it’s quite pretty. Unlike what we’ve heard previously from the band, “Passengers” is defined first and foremost by sweltering synth melodies that nod reverently to late 70s new wave and mid 90s dance pop. Funky, slapping bass underpins, while Egan’s vocals are freer and more expressive than ever, suggesting that he’s arrived as an artist. Though this may be the danciest track we’ve heard from the band so far, the boys clearly have not forsaken their signature moodiness. At the end of the song a gritty, grinding electric guitar hook enters the fray, brilliantly mimicking an earlier synth/bass low end melody combo, and somehow manages to anchor the whole thing, as if to bring a hot air balloon back to earth. Throughout, the video shows Egan escaping from what appears to be quite the sinister predicament, winding through various rooms of an apartment like he’s finding his way out of a nightmarish maze. At the end–coincidentally or not, when that garage-y guitar line comes in, shaking the listener out of a disco dream–our protagonist is finally liberated from the moors of what was laying beneath the metaphorical surface. He emerges on a rooftop, for a late afternoon dance party.
Watch the great escape below Via Youtube. The Ugly Club will play Mexicali on 10/16.
When DMA’s signed to Australian indie label I OH YOU this February, the Newtown trio was so freshly minted that they hadn’t even played a show yet. That isn’t to say they were totally green–all three members (Tommy O’, Matt Mason, and Johnny Took) had gigged extensively with previous bands–and under their new moniker, DMA’s nonchalantly released a debut single called “Delete” and a self-tited EP a month after signing to the label. At first glance, they seem like tough guys, wearing flipped-up ball caps, slouchy sweatpants, and matching thousand-yard disenchanted gazes. But DMA’s doesn’t make spacey alt-hip hop. On the contrary! Channeling the lighter side of 90s garage rock, the group grounds its sound in nostalgic, bleeding vocals that can’t help but cull feeling out of a song.
The latest single, “So We Know,” hits new highs of gravelly, emotional vocal prowess. A mostly unadorned guitar swirls absentmindedly in the background, highlighted lightly by strings. It’s a successful experiment in the emotive power of a simple ballad, carried out by a band that–though they’ve been around for less than a year–trusts their melody enough to lay it bare. No frills needed.
Listen to the poignant new track “So We Know,” which will be included on a forthcoming 7″ from DMA’s, below:
There is a lot of momentum behind Austin band Young Tongue. Formerly known as The Baker Family, the band has transitioned to a sound that depends heavily on prog rock energy tinged with jarring varietals of guitar and percussion. The band recently released a video for “Cat Calls,” one such that song that lures you into a dark dream world with its catchy, sing-songy guitar picking whilst steadily and stealthily climbing towards a deliciously sinister finish that may leave you concussed and perplexed. It seems fitting that the video sneaks up on you in the same way.
Created in just 48 hours during Austin’s Music Video Race, which pairs bands with filmmakers in a two day marathon of shooting and editing to compete for gear and other prizes, the videos best moments use subtle imagery to reflect Young Tongue’s lyrics. “The light we follow, that won’t stay over you” becomes a cobwebbed bulb glumly glowing while a translucent spider spins around it. Images are projected on the band, clad in white, morphing along with the actual song as it progresses. Streaks of gold paint appear on the band members’ faces, echoing the lyric “we paint our faces ‘til no two look the same.” These finely drawn visual elements are interspersed with scenes of someone being stalked by people wearing rubber animal masks, adding some major creep factor.
By the time the bridge rolls around, the song and video take an ominous turn as a night walk turns into an initiation of sorts. The image we are left with is our protagonist emerging from a seedy hotel pool in a bison mask, and by the end of it all, the menacing mood falls away and becomes something more like a narrative of a rebellion and transformation, reflective of the band’s own transition toward more invigorating, experimental tones.
Only more good things can from a band with such driving sound and artistic energy. Young Tongue releases their first full length album, aptly titled Death Rattle, on November 11 through Punctum and Raw Paw Records.
What started off as a raging race around Lower East Side for a parking spot turned into a placid, serene anchorage at Bowery Ballroom. Bellows, Soft Cat and the halcyonic Mutual Benefit played a hell of a show at one of our favorite spots on Delancey.
It was beyond remarkable to see the whole live band of the evening playing these harmoniously tranquil yet riveting orchestral songs. Vocalist Jordan Lee was definitely not shy at the show, playing alongside his sister. I was lucky to have been a part of the family reunion, for Lee is known for traveling with ever-changing band members. I love the Bowery for its capability of housing a few New York City blocks while keeping its intimacy for fans. Even while posting up back-in-center or front-right, the violin resonated in the joints of my body as though they were being bowed. They opened with “Strong River” and played my favorites “Auburn Epitaphs” and “Advanced Falconry.” “Golden Awake” was as harmonic performed on stage as it was listening to it on my headphones in my quiet home. That was impressive in itself, the audience muted like Central Park’s ‘quiet zone’ to appreciate every band member’s piece.
Mutual Benefit performs live with a sensitivity and tranquility on par with their poetic lyrics. Their 2011 EP, I Saw the Sea, was primarily about the ocean and its alternating and dynamic beauty, as described by Lee. Being a part of the performance washed that grace over me; I was nothing short of mesmerized by the perfect patting on the long bongos or the violinist fiddling with his hands shaking the bow and fingering infinitely with Lee as their captain.
Boyfriend is back, and we’re all in trouble. Last May, she got down and dirty with an ode to digital stimulation, and the risqué rapstress has done it again. Teaming up with fellow New Orleans hornballs SexParty for “UDONWANIT,” the raucous bounce-tinged track taunts and tantalizes as only this pairing could.
This time around, Boyfriend’s shed some of her quirkiness for a little edge. Thudding beats and aggressive synths form the undulating backbone of the song, while vocals take on a gritty affect as verses alternate between Boyfriend and her bawdy pals. “SexParty typically has a punk edge to their music, and I was really excited about making something harsh, abrasive even,” Boyfriend says of the song. With the music itself echoing the antagonistic vibe of the lyrics, it was only natural they’d make a clip that matched.
“SexParty and I had this deal going where I’d direct their music videos and they’d produce my tracks. This is a glorious converging of those efforts,” Boyfriend explains, and the result is an Office Space homage with the feature-warping affects of Soundgarden’s iconic “Black Hole Sun” video. “I wanted the video to be visually assaulting, bright – as if we’d just quit our day jobs and headed off to exact revenge on these defunct machines that had us trapped. ‘UDONWANIT’ is an exercise in office catharsis.”
The video was edited by Caitlin Richard, whom Boyfriend has known since middle school. “We’ve been getting together and making weird videos ever since we got our periods,” she says. The track is the first from an EP slated for release sometime this fall, and Boyfriend will be taking the new material out on the road when she tours the Southeast in mid-November. In addition to more production from SexParty, the EP will feature a guest appearance from Phoenix metal-drummer-turned-female-rapper Miny.
Check out the video below, premiering exclusively on AudioFemme.
Touted as a cure to “festival fatigue,” this past weekend marked Basilica SoundScape’s third year in Hudson, NY, two hours north of the city. Nestled in that bucolic landscape hulks a cavernous 19th century foundry revamped and rechristened by Hole’s Melissa Auf der Mar and her partner, filmmaker Tony Stone, as an arts collective. With Brandon Stosuy (of Pitchfork fame) and Leg Up! Management’s Brian De Ran organizing a line-up of experimental music’s best and brightest, the shindig also boasts artisanal foods, art installations, and an avant-garde craft fair.
In many, many ways, it is the quintessential “anti-festival” – the only act I remember seeing on actual festival bills this summer was Deafheaven, who played Saturday night. It’s so different, in fact, that you begin to wonder why or how its organizers would even mention “festival” in the same breath as “SoundScape” except as a framing device for people who wouldn’t care in the first place and certainly wouldn’t be attending – those people that like festivals even, who plan to meet up with their crop-topped and cut-offed friends by carrying around some ten-foot, vaguely humorous sign or balloon animal all weekend, those people that don’t get festival fatigue because they live for any opportunity whatsoever to drop molly in a field with a hundred thousand rave-orbing Skrillex devotees. With capital-F Festivals popping up in or around nearly every major American city, this is no longer a market cornered by Coachella and Bonnaroo, but they all have the same vague feel – wide open grounds, multiple stages that make it impossible to see every act, overpriced tickets and overpriced concessions, ‘roid-raging security, and mostly unimaginative line-ups. The thing is, tons of people still go to these events as if it’s the only way to see live music. These people need no “anti-festival.” So who, then, is something like Basilica SoundScape really for?
Unlike most mid-sized towns with relatively small music scenes, New York City’s “scene” is pretty diffused due to its sheer size. But there is a specific intersection of journalists, musicians, labels, managers, PR teams, and their social circles who form the sometimes insular “insider” bulk; this is the subset of people Basilica was curated by and for, and they headed up to Hudson in droves. Though supposedly SoundScape attracts locals, most of the faces in the crowd were familiar to anyone tangentially related to the industry. Much the way SXSW can feel like a vacation for music-industry folks and culture critics (even though we’re all still “working”), SoundScape felt like a bizarro (though admittedly awesome) tailor-made alternate universe for an incredibly niche crowd. While that’s not exactly a bad thing – most of us do what we do because we are actually passionate about bands like Swans – there was a different kind of fatigue to the whole thing, even if it wasn’t “festival fatigue” so to speak.
That being said, Friday’s performances were breathtaking. The most appropriately-named band on the roster, Endless Boogie, stretched their searing psych jams to their limits. Julia Holter’s performance was a personal highlight, her hands deftly springing over her keyboard, her vocals emotive and grandiose enough to fill the entire space but remaining somehow intimate. With a more sparse set-up than some of her typical full-band performances, it was a treat to see her play solo. Following her performance, Gamelan Dharma Swara filled the floor of Basilica Hudson, observers posting up all around the ensemble of twenty or so seated behind traditional Balinese percussion instruments. Xylophone-esque, the bars are tamped by hand after striking with mallets, their ornate golden forms producing tones just as gilded, the whole sound a complete wonder. That segued into the transformative drone of electronic wunderkind Tim Hecker, whose complex compositions act on the senses in peculiar ways. His low-end is amped to earth-shattering proportions, so as to produce a very physical sensation in the throat and chest (and even skull) while washes of shimmering melody play just beneath. It’s the best kind of thing to zone out to. Taken together, this onslaught of transcendent performances was worth the trip alone. Afterward, Arcade Fire’s Richard Reed Parry performed his inventive Music For Heart and Breath compositions, all of which are timed to the players’ own breath or heartbeats via stethoscope – a novel idea, although in such a cacophonous space full of distractions it unfortunately fell flat.
So, imagine now the type of person who would soak that all up while sneering at the idea of Outkast-and-Jack-White-headlined, corporate-sponsored Festivals – the music writers, the experimental composers, the record store clerks, the somewhat elistist Brooklynites who’d never be caught dead at Governor’s Ball (unless they were covering it for some internet publication or other). That’s who was there, and that’s who a thing like SoundScape is meant to impress. And yet, there wasn’t any real air of snobbery, because snobbery hinges on looking down at someone, and at Basilica, we’re all in the same discerningly curated boat, our sails full of our own good taste. And that is fine and good, and unsurprising, but let’s not pretend that SoundScape is solving any of festival culture’s actual problems, or even acting as a model for anything other than a DIY-ish version of something more similar to All Tomorrow’s Parties.
Really, one of the more innovative aspects of Basilica programming were the Saturday evening readings by Mish Way (of White Lung), Los Angeles poet Mira Gonzalez, and Perfect Pussy’s Meredith Graves. It’s an interesting concept to bring spoken word pieces into a lineup that features post-hardcore acts like Swans and Deafheaven, and the fact that all three readers were women felt progressive and uplifting. Graves’ piece was published in full on The Talkhouse and dealt with gendered double standards and examined authenticity through anecdotes about Andrew W.K. and the media’s treatment of Lana del Rey. It’s a bit of an odd comparison in some ways, Andrew W.K.’s “persona” having been invented prior to the popularity of the longform thinkpieces del Rey’s been such inspiration for, but at its heart was the very real feeling that female celebrities face far more scrutiny (and for that matter, scrutiny of a different breed) than men in entertainment ever do. Graves used Andrew W.K. as a talking point because she’d recently met him and familiarized herself with his backstory, but I couldn’t help but wish she’d left del Rey out of it and chosen instead to share her own struggle to be taken seriously or seen as authentic. Pop music is a whole other monster – something she touched on in her essay only briefly – because it reaches such a wide audience and by its very nature demands its performers have some sort of gag or gimmick, and that does manifest itself differently for women in pop than it does for men in pop. At Basilica SoundScape though, the kind of authenticity folks seemed most concerned with was proving their own, their presence at such a groundbreaking, culture-altering event the best sort of cache.
So Basilica SoundScape is absolutely worth attending if you truly appreciate a well-curated lineup in which the details and intersections behind every act are carefully thought out by its organizers. For those types of show-goers, SoundScape will likely continue to be that breath of fresh Autumn air as long as the gorgeous venue that hosts it stands. While it may alienate the mainstream festival attendees of today, hopefully SoundScape will act as a beacon that proves there’s always a different way – particularly for those that put big-box events together. If SoundScape can build on this year’s successes and continue the trend of innovation next year, even the Lollapalooza lovers are bound to notice.[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]
Childhood friends Ryan Colt Levy and Derek Tramont are the backbone of Long Island ensemble Braeves, but it was a labor of love and experimentation with more recent add-ons Thomas Killian McPhillips IIV and Nick LaFalce that brought forth their melodically-inspired new sound. The group, produced by Mike Watts, has garnered comparisons to Local Natives, The Shins, and Grizzly Bear, undoubtedly owing to their rich, echoing vocals that move over a similar rock/pop landscape. However, there’s a driving quality embedded in EP Drifting by Design that diverges from what we know and moves us graciously toward “Braeve” new territory.
The quartet doesn’t waste any time. From the very first drum lick in “Guest of the Gun,” Levy’s vocals ring out with a captivating presence that bends along the roving refrain. Melody and percussion play off one another, the rhythmic lyrics and sliding vocals crackling with McPhillips’ slick beat.
The EP then moves to more somber, minor-resounding terrain with “Talk Like Strangers,” a percussive rumble continuing to power the album’s course. This track unleashes Braeves’ lyrical prowess with a succinct, familiar tale of two people found foreign to one another in the wake of their mutually faded affection: “We talk like strangers in empty storylines / Stare right through each other, then on to the next lie.” Trapped by false notions of one another, they lean on illusion to ride out the storm: “Ooh, hallucinate yourself the perfect lover / Dressed in best intention, dripping with another.”
Next comes the standout – the lilting, soulful mid-tempo “Souls in Transit.” Keyboards tumble from a daydream, followed by the entrancing ebb and flow of an undulating lyric line. Levy’s vocals are rawer and realer than before, a fresh and gravelly timbre added to both his suspended falsetto and delectably pliable straight tones. Amped, electric strings break out on the chorus, and the refrain lifts from the ground for a few breathtakingly weightless moments before gliding softly back down to the swaying bass line.
At last, the EP goes out on a rolling surge in the form of “While Your Body Sleeps.” Percussion and vocals intermingle once more and throw themselves at the canvas, building to a cacophony of vibrant sights and sounds that reaches its apex, then fades.
What Braeves have brought us in Drifting by Design is that up-and-at-‘em feel that gives their soulful meander indelible purpose. It is a sound untouched by wanderlust and un-plagued by aimlessness, yet one that paints a vivid reverie nonetheless. It manages to tell the tale of that most surreal and ambling journey, remaining firmly planted in the present while at the same time boundlessly moving forward, unstoppable as life. It is Braeves’ arduously crafted design that gives this ode to a drifting trajectory the capacity to soar.
Beginning with the sounds of an eerie carnival, the 11 minute single track, “Human Sadness”, off of Julian Casablancas + The Voidz album, Tyranny, screeches through a variety of trance-like melodies from start to finish.
Like a bad dream that seems endless, Human Sadness is a track that will put you asleep and shake you awake over and over.
The track never catches and the focus isn’t clear. Casablancas’ voice is across the board and in a bad way, bouncing from easy tones to noisy yips that beckon you to cover your ears. Much longer than it needs to be, “Human Sadness” makes you yearn for the early days of The Strokes and wonder how Casablancas got so far away from good. Even though the beginning of the song sparks a glimmer of hope, the exposition falls flat, with a inane, grating and repetitive electric guitar melody of the ilk we hoped would’ve died in the 80s. The last two minutes, however, offer up a bit of redemption. While the vocals disappoint, the music itself is nothing short of experimental, which drowns out the horror that is the lyrical shortcoming of Casablancas and makes you nostalgic for a time and space you’ve never yet been to. Don’t get too comfortable- Casablancas is sure to wake you up with a moan soon enough. Let’s hope there’s a stack of tracks more worthy of our time when Tyranny hits the shelves Sept. 23.
Hearing Genevieve Schatz’s voice in an actual song again has brought me nothing but pure joy. Since the disbandment of Company of Thieves, I have had to live off of the series of Instagram videos from the artist now known as Genevieve to get my fix of the vocal wonder. But, alas, Genevieve has been featured on one of Jimmy Giannopolous’ tracks from his newest endeavor called “G”. Giannopolous, a member of the band Reputante and producer of Lolawolf and M O T H E R’s most recent albums, embarks on this musical experiment with the lead single featuring Ms. Schatz; the result is an ethereal jam appropriately titled “Outer Space.”
The track opens with a loop of Genevieve’s falsetto laced with warm keyboard tremblings. The sonic bubble created by her vocals layered with tranquilizing piano reverb in the background soon gets punctured with calculated and constant pin pricks of static-y percussion, releasing the sound into an atmospheric ocean that expands to feel like floating in the cosmos. By the end of the first chorus, there are rumblings of unexpected, ebullient sax, but even when the brass takes over the track, it doesn’t cross into cheesy territory. Genevieve’s raspy coo keeps it all from feeling tawdry.
In just over three minutes, this song manages to transcend time and space, which I would attribute predominantly to Genevieve Schatz’s otherworldly vocals. Airy and emotive, there isn’t much she can’t get across. With a lead single like “Outer Space,” G is destined to be an existential musical quest. And hopefully, this is Genevieve’s step back into the spotlight. “Outer Space” is the first release from a full EP recorded with help from engineer/saxophonist Tim Sandusky and Darren Will on bass, which will see release soon on Innit Records.
As curator of his New Images record label, Matt Mondanile (a.k.a. Ducktails) has quietly assembled and eclectic roster that includes the blistering psych of Spectre Folk, the bright atmospheric drone of Helm, the wonky synth and gamelan collage of Tsembla, and classic Big Star-esque indie of The Shilohs. With the release of Itasca’s Unmoored By the Wind, Mondanile adds the smoky nostalgia of folk singer-songwriter Kayla Cohen to his cohort. Ahead of the record’s October 14th release, Cohen shares newest single “After Dawn,” a soulful acoustic piece tinged with the first blue hues of the sun coming up after a long, hard, night.
Prior to signing with New Images, Cohen released a slew of small-press CD-rs and cassettes as well 2012 LP Grace Riders on the Road. Fans of folk greats like Sibylle Baier and Linda Perhacs will find a lot to love in Cohen’s contemplative tunes; in “After Dawn” she takes the simple act of sitting at the window and turns it into a refined art. “Say my prayer for the day” she hums in a detached, low register, “and the light streams through the window / hours slipping through my fingers / and it’s just like i thought / you wait for a time then you forgot / how to spend each day / trying all the same.” The verse is followed by soporific guitar picking in which she seems to get lost, and a brief, light-as-air flute solo flickers through her strumming like some wandering notions through her consciousness. She’s so meditative that she’s lost, and so lost she’s ambivalent, but rather than a careless shrug, Cohen has chosen to embrace and commemorate that floating feeling. It’s impossible to not want to float along beside her.
When the vocals come back, time has passed; Cohen sings: “After dusk, sit by the window / look out at the people walking by / all my thoughts in the air around / can so easily fall away,” and it’s easy to wonder what cerebral journey she’s been on. For all her reverie, she keeps the thoughts that trouble her to herself, stating cryptically only that they’re lost beyond the pane of glass, shifting transparently like a reflection there. Her lyrics are sparse enough to want more of them, to want to wander in that same trance forever. Unmoored By the Wind promises to offer the perfect soundtrack to a daydream, which makes Itasca daydreaming’s newest muse.
Pre-order the LP from New Images here, and take a listen to “After Dawn” below.
The delightfully bespectacled Justin Townes Earle dependably releases a record every year or so, and has done so since 2007. He can be counted on for more than just punctuality, too. Not one of Earle’s records is a dud: at worst, he’s palatable and bland, and at his best, he expertly shines a light into fresh quadrants of the well-traversed territory of outlaw Americana. He comes honestly by his “darlin'”s and “mama”s–the son of Texas songwriter Steve Earle, who gave him his middle name in honor his godfather Townes van Zandt, JTE is the heir apparent of modern country, and despite what’s perhaps an understandable reluctance to fully embrace the Nashville lifestyle, the stuff seeps out of his pores. Every song is a story, piled high with neatly turned guitar work and vocals that can be mournful or flirtatious, contemplative or charming.
Often, in his songwriting, Earle plays the suave but troubled rambler. First there was “Ain’t Glad I’m Leaving,” off his full-length debut The Good Life, wherein he balks at romantic commitment and assures a protesting lover that she’s better off without him. Then came Midnight at the Movies, which included the similarly self-depracatory but audibly grief-stricken “Someday I’ll Be Forgiven For This.” As is often the case, true stories are behind the good lyrics. The years since he released his first EP Yuma haven’t been entirely smooth for Earle, who struggled with drug abuse and an arrest that led him into rehab in 2010.
He’s been sober for a couple of albums now, but his music still dips into the lonely, complicated character that defined the folk singer’s early work. The somber sections of Single Mothers, though, crystallize around the simple and deep-rooted sadness of an abandoned child–as opposed to the empty braggadocio of a loner who just can’t be tamed, not even by the love of a good woman. Maybe this interpretation reads into the title a little too much. The son of an absent famous father, Earle grew up with a single mother of his own.
But the title track–its steady beat and simple, symmetrical lyrical structure–sets the tone for the rest of Single Mothers in terms of gravity and mutedness. Reduced to its essential components, Earle’s songwriting doesn’t always grab your attention the way that his younger, more caddish self might. But there’s a payoff: you get to hear his voice at its most vulnerable.
Which isn’t to say that JTE has totally lost his swagger. “My Baby Drives” provides some rockabilly-ish, dance hall relief from the intimacy of “Single Mothers” and the forlorn next track, “Today and a Lonely Night.” “Wanna Be a Stranger” floats along with all the lightness and insta-nostalgia of small towns you drive through and don’t stop in. As a collection, though, Single Mothers tends towards interior songwriting that favors quiet payoffs over flashy country licks. In fact, it is as if Earle particularly avoided that kind of sexy troubledness that falls to those who walk out of their homes and go wandering, opting instead for the unshowy and exhausted hardship left for the single mothers who remain behind.
Single Mothers dropped September 9th on Vagrant Records, and you can order the album here. Check out the music video for “Time Shows Fools,” off Single Mothers, below!
Since its inception in late 2012, the Seattle-based electronic duo ODESZA (Harrison Mills/Catacomb Kid and Clayton Knight/BeachesBeaches) has been both prolific and consistent. In particular, the pair made an unlikely fan out of this usually-EDM-ambivalent listener last November with the soulful and sparkly NO.SLEEP Mix.01, which oozed with personality and R&B inflected melodies. In the two years they’ve been together, Mills and Knight have also put out two full length albums, an EP, and a handful of remixes. They already have a cross-country tour under their belt, and playedSasquatch! Festival last Memorial Day weekend in the luminous company of acts such as Bon Iverand Macklemore & Ryan Lewis.ODESZA’s strength has always been their ability to infuse their songs with soul; amidst the bevy of synths and over-saturated shimmering, the music never pales to clinical.
In Return, the duo’s release, demonstrates a broad range of emotion, from the elated and catchy opener “Always This Late”–which reminds me of pretty much all of NO.SLEEP Mix.01–to tracks like “White Lies,” which draws on syncopated beats and the sharp harmonies of guest vocalist Jenni Potts, to the impressionistic and heat-sleepy “Sun Models.”
I appreciate the variation, though my favorites from this collection still exemplify the sweet soulfulness that endeared me to ODESZA in the first place. The record is front-loaded, with its catchiest, and ultimately most memorable songs listed as tracks one, two, and three– “Always This Late,” “Say My Name,” and Bloom.” However, on the group’s previous releases, there was a case to be made that their albums got boring in the middle. Some of In Return‘s back-half tracks, like “Koto,” show off new textures that liven up the repertoire and keep the music interesting, if sort of identity-less.
Having mastered lovable vocal riffs and bubbly musical landscapes,ODESZA turns, on In Return, to experimental new depths. The result drops September 9th on Counter Records, and you can go hereto order the gorgeous vinyl pressing, or stream via SoundCloud below:
Emily Reo‘s swirling brand of bedroom pop is the kind that makes you feel like you are sinking and floating all at once. Recording almost every sound herself, from watery beats to hazy synths to manipulated vocal loops, Reo has produced two albums in the last five years: 2009’s Minha Gatinha and last year’s Olive Juice. The first, for all its lo-fi dreaminess, had a certain sense of mystery that made it irresistible, particularly in a moment where home recording was having a hey day. Looking back, the record feels more like a raw collection of experiments than the fully-realized aesthetic Reo achieved with Olive Juice, which saw the artist revamp some of that early material while adding a batch of exciting new tracks and a stirring cover of Built to Spill’s “Car.”
To compare the songs side-by-side is to see how much Reo has grown in five years, and is an indicator of how far she can and will go as she continues to tour, produce tracks, and write new material. It’s with this in mind that the curators of BasilicaSoundScape, now in its third year, included Reo in this year’s lineup alongside acts like Julia Holter, Tim Hecker, Swans, White Lung, and Deafheaven. Taking place two hours north of NYC at Basilica Hudson in a reclaimed 19th-century factory, the festival features readings, art installations, and a host of sister events and afterparties that, when taken together, fly in the face of the huge, corporate-sponsored festivals that have cropped up all over the US these past few summers. AudioFemme will be on-hand for the event next weekend (September 12-14th), and though weekend passes are sold out, single day tickets are still available. We chatted with Reo about her involvement with the festival, her DIY approach to touring and making music, and the frustrations she faces as a woman in the industry.
AudioFemme: I’ve been a fan since Minha Gatinha. What propelled your decision to re-work some of those songs for Olive Juice?
Emily Reo: That rules, thanks for listening to the early stuff! Over the course of developing some of the songs from Minha Gatinha for my live set I started to prefer the newer versions, and really wanted to share what they had grown into. Minha Gatinha to me feels more like a collection of rough demos than a proper release and I wanted to give some of those songs a better chance.
AF: How did your ideas about production and your recording process change between the two projects?
ER: Between Minha Gatinha (2009) and Olive Juice (2013) I spent the better part of four years teaching myself more about recording and production while also honing in on a more specific sound that I identified with. Where Minha Gatinha was the process of figuring out how to write songs, Olive Juice was the process of taking songs and turning them into a cohesive package with an intentional aesthetic. More specifically, I started using more advanced recording programs, learned the basics of mixing and EQ-ing, and realized my personal limitations and the benefits of working in a studio with other people.
AF: Now you’re branching into producing other artists’ songs, like Yohuna’s excellent “Para True”. How did that collaboration come about, and is that a role you’d like to take on more in the future?
ER: After I finished recording Olive Juice, I started using midi to create sketches for future songs. In the process, I got really interested in making beats and learned more about production. When my good friend Johanne (Yohuna) asked me last year if I would add a beat to her song “Badges” I was so excited. Next I added a beat for “Para True” as well as mixing the track, which was a first for me and a great learning experience. I definitely see us working together more in the future, it’s something we’ve talked about for a really long time and we’ve sent things back and forth to each other for a few years now without much follow through. Her songs are indescribably gorgeous and it’s so rewarding to contribute something that can take them to the next level.
In general, production is something I would love to get better with and continue working on. Besides being a great skill to have for personal use, music production is generally a male dominated field which frustrates me a lot and just makes me want to learn how to do it myself even more. I know of so many incredible female producers that should be getting a lot more attention than they are, and I hope one day all pop songs aren’t still made by the same ~10 men. It would be really cool to have the skill and know-how to produce hits somewhere far very down the line if I don’t feel like DIY touring when I’m 50!
AF: So you’ve spent the last few years moving around a bunch, from Florida to NYC to Boston to Los Angeles. Has that affected your songwriting process? Do you feel at home in L.A. or are you contemplating another relocation?
ER: I actually just moved back to NYC in July. I loved my time in Los Angeles but haven’t been inspired to stay in one place for very long. And as much as I’d love to feel settled and stable, the process of moving around feels pretty liberating. For the past two years or so I’ve been living in short sublets, which allows me to experience a lot of different living situations between tours.
As far as moving affecting my songwriting process, it can be hard to get into a groove and really concentrate while I’m re-settling into each new place, but it keeps me from falling too deep into a routine. As long as I have somewhere comfortable to sleep and concentrate I can get things done. Until I find a place that really feels like home I’m enjoying spending time and working on projects with friends in different places, and might move again in the spring depending on how things are going.
AF: As much as you’ve remained nomadic, you’ve put down roots in that you’ve affiliated yourself with collectives like FMLY – how did your connection to FMLY come about? How does your affiliation with them help you further your goals as a musician?
ER: Honestly, FMLY is something that introduced me to a lot of guiding principles that I take with me everywhere I go, but it’s not something that I currently feel rooted with. The nature of a large and amorphous community/collective is that it’s ever changing, and because of this it isn’t always something that everyone will align with all the time. At one point it was exactly what I needed – I had just finished college and moved to NYC, and it introduced me to communal values and some really incredible people. But now my interests fall with taking a lot of the things I learned through my experiences with FMLY in a different direction than some other folks aligned with the collective might be interested in. Which is totally fine and great and the point of something like this – it should inspire creative and independent thought, not conformity. Sorry if this is vague or not the answer you were looking for, but I’m asked about FMLY a lot and although I’m super appreciative to have met many great people and been introduced to tons of rad communities through these ties, it’s just not something that has a direct daily impact on me or my music at this point in time.
AF: You just finished a bunch of dates with Cuddle Formation, playing mainly house shows, arts collectives, and other progressive spaces, called Utourpia. Can you talk a little about what organizing that tour was like?
ER: I love to travel and try to go on a long tour at least once a year, and since my partner Noah (Cuddle Formation) and I were planning on moving back to New York for a little while we figured the best way to drive across the country is on a tour. Tours give us the opportunity to visit as many places and friends as possible, while playing fun shows and making some gas money to keep us going. We basically made a list of all of the places we wanted to go, reached out to friends (or friends of friends) who live nearby and managed to book all of our shows. We’re really lucky to know such an incredible network of musicians across America who could help and/or point us in the right direction.
We were actually really surprised and honored that folks took interest in our method of “DIY touring,” which to us as musicians sans booking agents is just the only way we know how to tour and visit friends. The Fader even published a piece about Utourpia, DIY touring and communities in their print issue that just came out which was not something we would have expected going into this humble process!
AF: What were some of your favorite moments from the tour?
ER: Some highlights of the tour were in Vancouver at a space called Fingers Crossed, and a house show in Eau Claire, WI. We’ve always had incredible experiences in Canada between our first show in Montreal (in 2013) and Vancouver this year on Utourpia, and unlike shows we would play in New York or Los Angeles where a handful of people would come out and seem mildly interested these communities in Canada are incredibly supportive and enthused. Fingers Crossed is a gorgeous art space with every wall covered in murals and a bunch of risers built together by the collective. The environment was beautiful, the people that came out to the show were so fucking nice and the entire night was responsibly planned and purposeful. In Eau Claire we had the perfect house show situation, so many friends of the folks that lived at the house as well as parents came out (all-ages at it’s finest). I love when everyone can feel comfortable walking into a room whether they’re watching their friends or their kids play. That’s what it’s all about. The show was over right by 11 because it’s important to show your neighbors that you respect them and appreciate their willingness to have 5 loud bands play next to their windows, haha. And I honestly think Sayth (our friend Eric who also ran sound all night) played my favorite set I’ve seen so far on tour. There was a ton of talent as well as collaboration to make the show happen. I also really appreciated a space we played in Eugene, OR called The Boreal, which kept their safer space show policy on the front door. It’s important for both show-goers and artists to feel comfortable to create the best possible environment for a show.
AF: So what are your feelings, then, going into playing something like Basilica SoundScape? Because it’s oriented around the idea of an arts collective, it’s similar in some ways, but the scale is much different.
ER: I’ve admired Basilica SoundScape ever since it began and I feel so incredibly honored to have been invited to be a part of this. It’s definitely the largest scale festival I’ve been asked to play, and unlike festivals with corporate sponsorships or questionable intentions I don’t feel like I have to compromise anything. I’m also a huge fan of so many of the artists playing, it’s curated beautifully and everyone putting this together has been an absolute dream to work with. I realize that compared to everyone else on the schedule I’m like a kid walking into the first day of kindergarten, but the Basilica crew has treated me with so much respect and kindness I feel completely welcomed entering this prolific community.
AF: On Twitter, you voice a lot of frustrations with regards to sexism in the music industry. What do you feel are some of the biggest hurdles facing female musicians, and what can we all do, regardless of gender, to alleviate some of that tension?
ER: I wish I had a magical solution, but it’s a huge struggle not only for women but queer, POC and other artists of marginalized groups to get half as far doing double the work, and it doesn’t help that we’re constantly being treated in ways that make us feel completely deflated. I voice my frustrations (which are usually induced by sexist statements or actions I encounter both at shows and on the internet in regards to my music) in an attempt raise awareness of the very real experiences we have, and hope by doing so maybe someone out there will think before saying something offensive, or at least not deny that these oppressive acts take place with alarming frequency. I’m not trying to be the PC police, but the only thing I can suggest is for everyone to be extremely conscious of what you say and how you act towards the people around you.
AF: What’s your next undertaking? Can we expect another album soon-ish? More touring?
ER: I’m currently on tour with my good friend Warren playing in his band Foxes in Fiction, opening for Owen Pallett. With some other tour plans in the works. I also have some solo tour plans that I’m working on for early 2015 and am planning on spending the majority of winter writing and recording my next album. I have a smaller release that should be out before January as well, with more details to come next month!
Foxes In Fiction Tour Dates w/ Owen Pallett
09-08 Seattle, WA – Neumos
09-09 Vancouver, British Columbia – The Imperial Theatre
09-10 Portland, OR – Doug Fir Lounge
09-12 San Francisco, CA – Great American Music Hall
09-13 Los Angeles, CA – El Rey Theatre
09-14 San Diego, CA – Casbah
09-15 Phoenix, AZ – The Crescent Ballroom
09-18 Austin, TX – The Mohawk
09-19 Dallas, TX – The Loft[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]
Taking a page out of the Sky Ferreira handbook on how to generate buzz, Ariel Pink’s latest press photos feature the Los-Angeles based purveyor of bizarro bedroom recordings lounging on some grass in a flowing white onesie. One hand softly touches his chest in a coy “Who, me?” sort of gesture, the gauzy folds of his Oregon Trail loungewear revealing… why, yes, that’s his nipple.
Now, part of Pink’s charm has always been subverting ideas of normalcy; that’s been the one tenet he’s stuck to since his early forays into the kitschy lo-fi that populated The Doldrums, House Arrest, and Worn Copy (and would later get him noticed by Animal Collective, who signed him to their label Paw Tracks and invited him to tour with them). And I’m a firm believer that anyone may show their nipples at any time they would like – particularly breast-feeding mothers – though I get the feeling that this isn’t exactly a #FreeTheNipple protest piece so much as a cheap sort of laugh for someone whose attitude can be seen as increasingly juvenile.
With the release of 2010’s Before Today and its lead single “Round and Round,” it seemed like Ariel Pink was about to grow up a little, and a lot of people took notice. He appeared on magazine covers too numerous to name. Pitchfork recently named “Round and Round” the second best track best of the decade so far (albeit a somewhat arbitrary distinction considering we’re only three and half years in), second only to Grimes’ “Oblivion.” And after the release of Mature Themes in 2012, Simon Reynolds of The Guardian called him “one of decade’s most influential indie musicians.” That record, though, was a bit ironically named, considering it saw Pink return to his typically terse, goofy lyrics and squirm-worthy vocal percussion techniques on tracks like “Schnitzel Boogie” and “Pink Slime.” At the same time, though, there were gems like “Only In My Dreams” and the dazzling cover of Donnie & Joe Emerson’s “Baby,” which featured Dam Funk.
On November 18th, Pink plans to release a seventeen-track double LP entitled pom pom (you can pre-order it today). The first single, “Put Your Number in My Phone,” straddles that line between earnest and outré as well as any quintessential Pink track will; over softly strummed guitar, his wistfully reverbed vocals implore potential partners to provide him with the digits necessary to make his dreams come true. He wants “time alone,” he wants to “get to know you more,” he wants you to, uhhh, tame his gypsy heart and call him a butterfly. He includes a voicemail from “Jessica” who met him at a taco truck in Silver Lake, according to her message. He hasn’t called her back, and she’s just wondering, you know, when that might happen. Apparently she is unaware he’s been busy penning songs about Jell-O, nude beaches, and something called “Carebear Dinosaurs.”
There’s no way to know, of course, if the message is real. But it does seem Pink’s having some trouble in the dating department, which could account for the OKCupid-profile-esque nature of “Put Your Number In My Phone.” Not long ago, he tweeted that he’d been maced, and in Alexi Wasser’s brilliant series Alexi In Bed, she asked him more specifically what had happened. While Wasser provides some much-needed eye-rolling, Pink goes on to describe being maced by a “feminist” who had “daddy issues” after he listened to her problems all night but refused to buy her a smoothie in the morning. Apparently the woman, whom he dated primarily because she had no idea who Pink was, also damaged his car. He also refers to himself as a genius in the clip.
So while the nip slip in his promo photos might be a goofy little joke from someone clearly unafraid to look like a buffoon, Wasser’s interview shows someone who actually is just kind of out of touch with reality, and might not even know how off the mark he is – a sort of self-absorbed blockhead who can’t really relate to people around him. The boundaries he pushes musically still feel revolutionary, but when it comes to interacting with other human beings, boundaries are there for a reason. It’s fine to make art that is strange, must be pondered, even makes people uncomfortable, but it feels inauthentic when there’s no reason behind it, when it’s just a kid doing it for shits and giggles. And Pink isn’t a kid anymore. He’s very much an adult, though it often feels like he’s clinging to some mischievous adolescent tendencies he’d be better off to leave behind.
http://youtu.be/aVngq_QDhRo
Somehow, there’s always potential for Pink to wow no matter how many missteps he makes. His artistic quirks can be brilliant, and he fearlessly takes them all to their limits. Also, it should be noted that Pink has enlisted a few collaborators for the record, like Kim Fowley, who co-wrote songs with Pink while battling cancer. One thing Pink’s always seemed to sense is his place in the oddball cannon, repping artists like R. Stevie Moore and transforming John Maus from philosopher and classical pianist to avant-garde synthpop wunderkind. Pink says this is the “least solo” record he’s ever recorded, so here’s hoping there were folks around to temper his eccentricities – not so much that they aren’t present on record, but hopefully enough so that listeners don’t have to enjoy it with any caveats or postscripts.
Ticket Giveaways
Each week Audiofemme gives away a set of tickets to our featured shows in NYC! Scroll down to enter for the following shindigs.
