My wife tells me the cicadas are out but I have not heard them. I remember them being louder and emanating a sense of heat and humidity. I haven’t heard them yet. Maybe it needs to be warmer. Maybe I need to be further south and next to a grove of trees which drop under the oppression of heat. Maybe she is lying to me about the 17 year cycle. I still want to hear them. Whether or not the cycles of insects will only be heard by everyone else but me, I can take solace in the fact that the cycle of Dealer’s Choice is still on track. I know I can still hear it. My wife is getting upset because now she thinks she is the only one that can hear them. The insects are causing arguments.

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The Frowning Clouds
“13 Stick flight” From Gospel Sound From The Church of Scientology

Well what do we have here? A wonderful surf/R&B cassette from a band that is from Australia with record distribution via Spain. Not a lot of people can pull off surf. The Frowning Clouds pull of surf and nail their opener “13 Stick Flight,” which merley leads into a fantastic release Gospel Sound From The Church of Scientology . The rest of the release continues as a great nod to 1965 with a mix of surf pop, beat, garage psych, and smooth R&B. “13 Stick Flight” however is an overture recalling an earlier time period. A time when surf titans sailed on stoned waves. I love this. I love everything goddamn thing about it.

Control
“Middle Brother Watches Younger Brother While Older Brother Goes Out” from Control LP

Things to do in Madison Wisconsin. Visit the Ice Age Trail for remnants left behind by prehistoric glaciers. Visit the Henry Vilas Zoo. Visit Science of Sound Records with attention paid to post punk rock troublemakers Control. Buy a t-shirt. If your idea of a relaxing vacation is spent in the arms of angular tension, then Madison Wisconsin, Sound of Science, and Control has everything you need. Control sort of starts out like post rock but with no care paid to making the listener feel comfortable or safe in any way. Its the same sort of safety you get from bands like By The End of Tonight, Tera Melos or sitting under open scaffolding. This is instrumental music which is not only interesting but is possibly capable of leaving welts.

Tour Dates:
07/24/13 Calgary, AB – Palomino Smokehouse
07/25/13 Edmonton, AB – Brixx
08/01/13 Seattle, WA – The Crocodile
08/02/13 Happy Valley, OR – Pickathon
08/04/13 Happy Valley, OR – Pickathon
08/06/13 San Francisco, CA – Brick & Mortar Music Hall
08/07/13 Santa Ana, CA – Constellation Room
08/08/13 Los Angeles, CA – The Echo
08/09/13 San Diego, CA – Casbah

Retox – YPLL (2013)

And it sucked.

Not because I’ve turned to demolition as a pit stop (or long term…who knows anymore?) vocation while that deplorable piece of glitter meat sleeps on a big bed of pop cash and still has (had?) the audacity to claim approachable, urban legitimacy at any phase of her swollen endorsement deal of a career but because her music fucking stinks. It’s pablum for the preening masses whose fat asses have swallowed the sun and left the rest of us to jitter broke and cautiously in the shadows waiting for the day the empire comes undone.

So, of course, I’m listening to Retox now because in the dozen some years I’ve been acquainting myself with the music of Justin Pearson (first in The Locust, then Swing Kids, then Crimson Curse and Head Wound City, Holy Molar, Some Girls, All Leather, Ground Unicorn Horn and now this) his work has always proved an antidote to whatever fucked up thing had me grumbling down.

Perhaps antidote isn’t the right word. I’d hate to give anyone the impression that what Retox does on their new record, YPLL is anything remotely like a feel good NOW! sonic invective. It’s more like that scene in The Karate Kid where Daniel-san is getting shit beat on Halloween by Cobra Kai only instead of Pat Morita cast-typing his way in to save the day, there appears a shell-shocked Vietnam Vet with a shotgun, a hatchet and a frothing pack of mutts some of whom are missing eyes, the rest of which are half-Chihuahua and there are no morality tales to tell the next day because there are no survivors. Just blood and guts and Ralph Macchio finding a less straight-to-TV career trajectory.

And your childhood being fucked, of course, but that’s beside the point.

YPLL is a nasty little record (clocking in at twenty-two minutes) that riddles its personal as sociopolitical death throes between weirdo damage punk and the lost art of fuck you hardcore and as much as I love to shout my admiration for Mr. Pearson to the grey hills of a dying civilization, much of the album’s merit rests in the instrumental wonder of the band. The rhythm section of Brian Evans and Thor Dickey is taut as a last nerve breaking into a hundred pulsing and condemnable epithets and Michael Crain…goddamn, man…that dude’s guitar sounds like a laser beast juggling chainsaws with a John Holmes v. Desireé Cousteau late 70s in Berlin prick. Combine those three with the humane lynchpin of Mr. Pearson’s spit growl tenor and what you’ve got is a retching hate machine against the American apocalypse.

And though I hope I won’t be returning to YPLL with any degree of consistency (chronic angst is exhausting), I will keep it in the back of my mind for those nights when giving a shit what anyone says or does or thinks just doesn’t hold water and I will drink a beer and shave my head and jump on my bed and shout long-winded curses at the ceiling.

Works every time.

Retox – YPLL Tracklist:

1. Modern Balls
2. Mature Science
3. Don’t Fall In Love With Yourself
4. You Lost Me At “It Wasn’t My Fault”
5. Congratulations, You Are Good Enough
6. Soviet Reunion
7. Greasy Pslams
8. I’ve Had It Up To Here, I’m Going To Prison
9. The Art of Really, Really Sucking
10. Biological Process of Politics
11. Nose to Tail
12. Consider the Scab Already Picked

First City Festival Lineup:

Akron/Family
The Antlers
Avey Tare’s Slasher Flicks
Beach House
The Black Angels
Bleached
Blitzen Trapper
Capital Cities
Civil Twilight
Deerhunter
Delta Rae
Delta Spirit
Devendra Banhart
The Dodos
Dr. Dog
Electric Guest
Eli “Paperboy” Reed
Father John Misty
Generationals
Guards
Guy Blakeslee (Entrance)
The Hold Steady
Jeffertitti’s Nile
Light Fantastic
Lucero
MGMT
Modest Mouse
Neko Case
Okkervil River
Passion Pit
Purity Ring
Quadron
Seventeen Evergreen
Tennis
Toro y Moi
Washed Out

Wax Idols – Discipline & Desire (2013)

And I’d have to say it’s been pretty successful but, goddamn, if it hasn’t given me the most vivid and peculiar of dreams.

Like, the other night, I dreamt I was at a black box club in Alphabet City. I was half drunk in a tux and Wax Idols were playing their new record Discipline & Desire in its entirety. The place was packed and stank of tangerines. After a particularly hysterical rendition of “Formulae,” Hether Fortune (vocals/guitar) spotted me and insisted I come to the front of the stage and take of my shirt and jacket. I obliged and as the band took up the sultry slump of “Scent of Love” (with the aid of TV Ghost’s Tim Gick on guitar), Ms. Fortune produced a straight razor and proceeded to slash my torso to bits.

And I took the damage gladly and with long, lustfully destructive sighs I haven’t uttered since…well, since I was last likely to be found in a black box in Alphabet City listening intently to a wanton Electra Anarchist (and company) sired by David J and Nick Cave whip up a far more furious and vital racket than her dour (albeit fashionable) expressions and alabaster sin would initially suggest which, the more I consider it, makes a lot of fucking sense.

Discipline & Desire is a siren call to those bygone days when self-mutilation was a sign of affection and I spent my weekends in fishnets and a dog collar doing that insufferable dark faerie snake dance at The Pyramid with gloom punks and the willfully hopeless whose beauty paraded crude tattoos and terribly dangerous nicknames. It is a goth record that revives the sinister sensuality inherent in the genre’s origin story (written in blood well before my black time), wherein skinny kids in leather chose drugs, sex and death over the emptiness left in the wake of punk’s failure to galvanize the youth to revolution.

Despite that, there is a genuine warmth to the record; a sense of love and longing that weaves itself deftly between the rallies to anger and despair and which becomes most apparent in the melodious Bauhausian vulnerability of “AD RE IAN” which is as honest and unselfconscious a love song as I’m likely to hear in a long time.

Perhaps, then, my dream wasn’t so peculiar.

Daft Punk – Random Access Memories (2013)

I feel everyone is waiting for this record. I find this interesting because I cannot think of the last time everyone was anticipating the same album. Maybe Radiohead. Daft Punk is a French house duo who have become planted within our cultural bedrock for only a handful of records which saw moderate critical praise. I am still trying to rationalize why this group is so renowned or why the announcement of a their fourth record, Random Access Memories was greeted with shrieks of excitement. What is it about this damn group that brings everyone to the same leveled field? I know why I am excited but why is everyone else with me and are they thinking the same thing?.

Since its first single “Get Lucky,” was released Random Access Memories was anticipated to be different. The unabashed soul disco style of “Get Lucky” evolved into an entire album based around late 70’s and early 80’s dance music. Everything became manic when the album’s guest list started to appear, including Giorgio Moroder, Panda Bear, Paul Jackson Jr, Julian Casablancas, and Pharell Williams. Well, if the band knows how to do anything it is to wield excitement like a damn flaming sword. Fuck it, lets all dance for one night together. Daft Punk is about to open up a club and by the soft hum of neon I can tell it is 1981.

It goes without saying that Random Access Memories is different than previous albums. While each Daft Punk album varied from Chicago house to French house to electro rock, Random Access Memories rides the exponential curve with a record full of smooth synthesized vocals, live instruments, and a clear thesis of mid energy dance music mixed with an adventuring spirit. The production value is tasteful, offering a highly glossed pop record retaining organic elements. This is pleasant as it allows one to slip into a world of future chrome where disco never really died but became a national pastime. Oh, and did I mention the bass is damn funky?

The majority of Random Access Memories feels perfect. The album owes a lot of its success to its refined aesthetic scope. The delicacy and craft which comes to a focus on a small window of EDM not only nods to disco dorks but also gives the album a character. Daft Punk could have pulled off this record by themselves but, in addition to its style, it is the guests which send Random Access Memories over the top. This record wouldn’t be the same without Pharell Williams’ instant hits “Get Lucky” and “Lose Yourself to Dance.” Can you imagine not hearing Panda Bear’s clear voice on “Doin it Right” unclouded by wooshing and American Spirit smoke? I do not think you can. Everything from the tribute to Giorgio Moroder and the central Paul Williams showcase was the right decision with no parts questionable.

I feel that it is important to note that despite my near bliss with Random Access Memories, I am not blinded to its critical and expected flaws. At 74 minutes the record is ridiculously ostentatious and swollen. The long track lengths are varied in their usefulness but at certain points feel over-encumbered when a simple bass beat would have been more useful. Songs like “Giorgio By Morodor” and “Touch” do not justify their near 10 minute running time. This is supported by the fact songs like “Fragments of Time” and “Give Life Back to Music” do so much more with half the time. These are, of course, small criticisms directed at an album I feel is just a few degrees south of perfect.

I have been through this record numerous times. In fact, I think I have gone over this record more than I would normally listen to an album for review. Perhaps, it is because it is Daft Punk and I knew it was going to be popular. Perhaps, it is just because it is Daft Punk. Perhaps, it is because “Fragments of Time” has a simple yet addictive combination of synth and steel pedal melody which makes me smile for days. Perhaps, it is because it is damn near amazing and I am glad I came to this stadium. Tonight, everyone has fun.

Daft Punk – Random Access Memories Tracklist:

Give Life Back to Music (featuring Nile Rodgers)
The Game of Love
Giorgio by Moroder (featuring Giorgio Moroder)
Within (featuring Chilly Gonzales)
Instant Crush (featuring Julian Casablancas)
Lose Yourself to Dance (featuring Pharrell Williams and Nile Rodgers)
Touch (featuring Paul Williams)
Get Lucky (featuring Pharrell Williams and Nile Rodgers)
Beyond
Motherboard
Fragments of Time (featuring Todd Edwards)
Doin’ It Right (featuring Panda Bear)
Contact (featuring DJ Falcon)

Only You Photos by Ben Irwin

To hear Rachel Fannan sing is to have been captivated by her. My first such experience was down at the Casbah in San Diego circa 2010 when Fannan was singing with psych-rock band Sleepy Sun. Our encounter that evening was brief, but that performance will remain etched into my mind for years to come. I was in the back room as Sleepy Sun took the stage; cue the music starting, and I’m taking my sweet ass time doing God knows what. Then I heard that voice, and before I even saw Rachel for that first time, I felt her. Felt her like a locomotive draped in satin running full speed through my gut. That siren’s voice must’ve had me hovering into the main room because the next thing I remember was being belly to the stage, overcome with a strong sense of disconnect. In front of me stood an early 20s, porcelain skinned, pigtailed brunette, whose delicate 5 foot frame couldn’t have possibly produced the magnanimous tones that I had just been steamrolled by. Then Fannan started the next song and the only confusion that remained was why this woman wasn’t fronting her own band.

Almost 3 months later to the date Fannan would depart Sleepy Sun, and inadvertently I’ve been documenting Rachel’s musical career ever since.

Only You is Rachel Fannan, her mission, her heart. What started as an all-female band, who would try to share the creative load, is now Fannan and an assemblage of some of the premier musicians in East LA. There’s no confusion at this point, only one captain steers this ship. For visionaries like Fannan I think that’s really the only way it can be. With Rachel free to create and play the music that makes her tick, Only You has become a genesis for a reimagining of music from a golden age. Wherever the Great American Songbook meets up with Americana and Physc that’s where to find Only You. Artists that most of today’s youth have left for dead like: Roy Orbison, Aretha, Presley, Carl Perkins, Costello and Johnny Cash would’ve been right at home hitting the road with Only You.

Having a band that consists of a lot of moving parts is a double-edged sword. In this instance it’s the chief reason why this night’s show at the Bootleg Theater was Only You’s first official show in the better part of a year. Fannan is a steel frame amidst the storm, acting as both lightning rod and backbone. The show comes on like a rain so thick that it makes it impossible to remember what was happening before, or to take a breath and think about what comes after. Yet viscerally I still have that same gut shot feeling I had at the Casbah three years ago, though this time around I’m significantly more conscious of the narrative.

Rachel Fannan’s talent is several multitudes bigger than she is. This night it’s evidenced by the crowds collective tunnel vision stare, who stand as slack-jawed as I did when I experienced that voice for the first time. But this night there’s a huge difference, Fannan’s now armed with a confidence, courage and conviction that can only come from cutting the safety net and walking the high wire alone. Free to pursue her vision, Fannan now looks like a woman poised to seize the future. And as the crowd of the Bootleg bears witness to the launch of a bona fide talent, I can’t help but revel in the transformation.