The Ampeater Review

Plume Giant — The Sprague Hall Sessions COMPLETE AUDIO

2012-05-07T14:59:17Z

At long last, we have for you the complete tracks from the Plume Giant Sprague Hall sessions with Ampeater. We’re thrilled to help (further) introduce these talented musicians to the world. If you missed any of our lead-up posts, you can read all about Plume Giant at http://ampeatermusic.com/plume-giant-the-sprague-sessions and view videos from the session right here on Ampeater:

Kensico Dam Video
November Video
Fool Hall Video
Old Timey Baby Video

	Kensico Dam Download audio file (01 Kensico Dam.mp3)		November Download audio file (02 November.mp3)
	Fool Hall Download audio file (03 Fool Hall.mp3)		Old Timey Baby (by Dan Hicks) Download audio file (04 Old Timey Baby.mp3)

[[[Download the Plume Giant Ampeater Sprague Session]]]

Plume Giant — Old Timey Baby Video

2012-05-04T19:27:29Z

Recorded live during the Plume Giant Sprague Hall Sessions

Watch this video on YouTube.

Check back on Monday for a FREE DOWNLOAD of the FULL AUDIO from the Plume Giant Sprague Hall Sessions!

Plume Giant — Fool Hall Video

2012-05-07T14:56:39Z

Recorded live during the Plume Giant Sprague Hall Sessions

Watch this video on YouTube.

Check back tomorrow for another video from the Plume Giant Sprague Hall Sessions!

Plume Giant — November Video

2012-05-03T02:57:32Z

Recorded live during the Plume Giant Sprague Hall Sessions

Watch this video on YouTube.

Check back tomorrow for another video from the Plume Giant Sprague Hall Sessions!

Plume Giant — Kensico Dam Video

2012-05-02T19:32:42Z

Recorded live during the Plume Giant Sprague Hall Sessions

Watch this video on YouTube.

Plume Giant — The Sprague Hall Sessions

2012-05-07T14:51:29Z

In late March of this year, Nolan Green invited me to hear his band Plume Giant perform a short set of songs at Sprague Hall in New Haven, CT. A spacious, architecturally beautiful, and acoustically rich recital space, Sprague typically hosts concerts by Yale School of Music students and faculty, as well as all manner of visiting classical and jazz artists. Bass great Ron Carter played there a few days before our session. The week after, the St. Louis String Quartet performed a selection of quartets by Mozart and John Adams. It is, in other words, not the exactly the kind of place you’d expect to go see your friend’s band cut a handful of tracks. And yet, listening to the results, Sprague’s lofty pedigree proves an unexpectedly keen match to Plume Giant’s elegant, haunting, and immaculately executed songs. The recording is crystal clear, and I’d say less than half of that has to do with the Hall’s legendary sonics. From the intricately woven harmonies of “Kensico Dam,” to the coy insistence of Dan Hick’s staple “Old Timey Baby,” the trio of singer/guitarist Green, guitarist/fiddler/singer Oliver Hall, and fiddler/vocalist Eliza Bagg make music whose referents range from the raucous idioms of American folk, to the restraint and subtlety of a chamber ensemble, to the grit and humor of a touring bar band. Surprises are abundant in these recordings, but the ever-shifting structures, the complex interplay of the three voices, the endlessly inventive variations of recurring themes never seem manipulative or academic. Rather, Plume Giant performs with an honesty that makes no apologies about its talent, its willingness to go to harmonic and compositional places few other bands would even attempt, let alone pull off. In the interview below, Bagg discusses how the trio tries to create “a specific world” for each song they write and perform. Like any world worth visiting, Plume Giant’s tracks ask the listener to do a little exploring. For every standout hook, every beautiful stretch of a song, there exist hidden moments of weirdness, nooks and crannies that only come to the surface over repeated trips. When you leave, these places stick with you, like a bramble you find latched onto your sock after a long hike. Plume Giant took me on a journey that night at Sprague Hall. This session is what we brought back.

1. How did the band get together? Was there an evolutionary period before you became Plume Giant?

Nolan and Oliver were both involved with popular music things at Yale [University]. Nolan ran an organization called Yale Music Scene, and it hosted open mics at which both Oliver and Nolan played. Oliver even ended up hosting some of these in his dorm room. Nolan and Oliver liked each other’s stuff, so they started “making music” together. At first these “jam sessions” were fairly directionless, or perhaps too direction-full. We still joke about the early days when Oliver would play the electric bass with Nolan on mandolin, but there are a few songs from those days that are still around. Oliver and I met playing in a classical string quartet, and a few months after the boys formed Plume Giant, Oliver asked me to come sing on a few songs. After a few awkward performances during which I joined the boys for three or four songs on the set, we all decided that I should just join the band. There were a few key rehearsals that I remember, the three of us sitting together to come up with harmonies for “Old Joe” and “Wait it Out”, that really began to define our sound.

2. What do you think the most important aspects of Plume Giant are in terms of your sound, songwriting, and personnel.

For me, Plume Giant’s emphasis on collaboration is paramount. Collaboration is vital to our songwriting, as well as to our larger artistic vision. Suffice it to say we have a lot of discussion in Plume Giant. We discuss just about everything we do, and are constantly bringing in to the conversation ideas from other artists we’ve heard or seen, whether they’re musicians or other artists. We’re all about keeping the flow of ideas going, in terms of songwriting, instrumentation, harmony construction, and even just our general aesthetic. Secondly, collaboration is fundamental to the kind of music we make. Listening to each other while we’re performing is arguably the most important element of our performances, both for the sake of musicianship and intonation, and also for picking up on vibes and energy. I think we’re really tuned into each other at this point, and it’s so important that we work as a team in both the creative and performative components of our work.

3. Can you tell me a little about the new album you’re working on, and how it relates to your previous recordings?

While our new album continues to feature our voices–the focus is still definitely on the three of us singing together–we’ve made a huge effort to diversify our sound, or, as we like to think of it, to fully explore the widest realms and most varied elements of our sound. We’ve really tried to capture, or at least understand, the strange and different creature that is each song on the album, and this means trying to create a specific world for each song. Part of this comes from having performed so much. We already have strong associations and feelings attached to the live performances of many of the songs on the album, and we want to best recreate those feelings, or the kind of energy that accompanies the songs, in the recording of them. While this was certainly a goal of the EP, we’ve allowed ourselves to take more risks with this new album, and the songs have had longer to marinate. We’ve really given ourselves the time and space to explore the places that each song can go.

4. Who are some other musicians or bands that are touchstones for you guys?

We really listen to many different kinds of music, and, while a lot of it sounds almost nothing like us, I would say that we try to absorb ideas from all of it. Some groups that we listen to often, or take a lot from, are Dan Hicks and the Hot Licks, The Dirty Projectors, Radiohead, Bill Callahan, Paper Bird, Arcade Fire, Joni Mitchell, Grizzly Bear, The Beach Boys, Wilco, Tom Waits, and, of course, The Beatles.

5. What do you envision for the tour this summer?

We’re really excited for the summer tour. Aside from our time in Colorado, which was set up by our friend Macon in Paper Bird, the whole tour’s been self-booked. It’s been a ton of work but is allowing us to play with different local bands at each stop that we really dig. The back-and-forth with local bands–setting up the bill, confirming the venue, working on promo–gives us a feel for the music scene in each city and makes each stop its own little special event rather than just another hit and run bar show. First we have to graduate, but come May we’re hopeful that the tour will get folks all over the country excited about the record release later this summer.

We’ll be posting a video a day over the next 4 days, culminating with the release of the entire session on MP3, available as a FREE DOWNLOAD. Can’t wait for more Plume Giant? Check out their latest EP at http://plumegiant.com

Ben Lasman

	Kensico Dam Download audio file (01 Kensico Dam.mp3)		November Download audio file (02 November.mp3)
	Fool Hall Download audio file (03 Fool Hall.mp3)		Old Timey Baby (by Dan Hicks) Download audio file (04 Old Timey Baby.mp3)

[[[Download the Plume Giant Ampeater Sprague Session]]]

AEM137-1 Del Bel

2012-04-15T08:24:55Z

Last November, I reviewed Del Bel, a Toronto-based electro-acoustic indie collective led by multi-instrumentalist Tyler Belluz, defined by the memorable voice of Lisa Conway, and supported by some dozen talented musicians.

Those who enjoyed Del Bel the first time around will be happy to hear that the collective is about to release a remix album of Oneiric, the album from which the two previous tracks were drawn. When? Don’t worry, you won’t have to wait! The album will be released today at the Kazoo! Festival in Guelph, Ontario. Each remix was produced by a different DJ from Guelph in a different style in honor of the festival.

For those who can’t bear to wait a few more hours, check out the streamable/downloadable remix of “No Reservation.” You may remember the composition from AEM137. To appreciate the remix, we recommend that you listen to both versions side-by-side. While the original is rooted around a heavy bass groove, the remix unfolds at a slower pace, leaving the listener in anticipation of that magic moment when the beat drops and the crowd goes wild.

The remix was produced by Live Action Fezz, a multimedia artist and designer best known as a member of the popular indie dance-rock band Green Go.

Those who want to hear more can purchase the full remix album through Del Bel’s Bandcamp page. In addition to the digital version, the collective is offering a ‘semi-physical’ version of the release with small versions of the poster attached here (with the download code behind it), accompanied by a Kareem Abdul Jabbar basketball card.

Why Kareem Abdul Jabbar? Well, why not! He seems like a safer choice of basketball hero than Bill Lambeer, the legendary fouler commemorated in my recent review of Clear Plastic Masks.

Also, when you take a close look at the event poster, you’ll notice that his name makes a nice allusion to remixes, Del Bel, and the Kazoo! Festival.

Nate Greenberg

Side A — No Reservation (Live Action Fezz Remix) Download audio file (No Reservation.mp3)

[[[Download the Remix]]]

AEM141 Clear Plastic Masks

2012-03-14T20:53:27Z

Clear Plastic Masks delivers familiar rock essentials with an extra thick coat of grit and grime, and that’s precisely what separates the Brooklyn-based artist from the scores of imposters in the same zip code.

These guys are a bit dirtier than the rest, and it’s not just the press photo—a hauntingly accurate prediction of what my apartment would devolve into if my girlfriend ceased to visit and demand a socially-acceptable minimum of hygiene and socially-acceptable maximum of substance abuse. In the Pulitzer-worthy shot, we get the obligatory group of mostly-bearded dudes who, let’s face it, are obviously musicians, seated around a table about to collapse under the weight of several handles of booze, cans of red bull, and cups filled to various degrees with unknown liquids that could have been left out for days and, odds are, were used as ashtrays at some point or another, although they don’t appear to have done much good because most of the ash ended up on the table anyway. Upon closer examination, we wonder why the top half of a water bottle is just sitting out there and for what sketchy purpose it was sawed off at the middle—perhaps an improvised smoking device, although there’s certainly enough rolling papers around that it wouldn’t have been necessary, even if it would have been possible thanks to the requisite roll of duct tape. In the background, we notice bookshelves crammed with impressive tomes that appear to have received a lot of love, of which by far the most visible title reads, New York City. How perfect.

Yes, Clear Plastic Masks is a bit dirtier than the rest, and it’s not just the name, which frontman Andrew Katz explains was inspired by a male friend he watched perform under the female alter-ego Anita Fix and who, dressed in a slutty miniskirt and a flimsy blouse unbuttoned to the navel, wore a clear plastic mask layered thick with lipstick and mascara. “It was fucking mesmerizing,” Katz recalls, and I don’t doubt him at all. To top it off, apparently, the name was also chosen to evoke the “the great” Bill Lambeer, who twice led the Detroit Pistons to the NBA Championships, but is best remembered as one of the most notorious foulers to ever set foot on the court. That’s certainly not the most palatable set of influences, and begs the question of just what kind of image the band hopes to conjure. I should probably add that the name Clear Plastic Masks was only decided upon after careful deliberation. “We were trying to find something hip and catchy that the kids would like like The Dongs or The Biscuit Fuckers but got sick of the search and decided to go full weirdo instead,” Katz elaborates, and I can’t quite tell whether he’s sincere, sarcastic, or somewhere in between.

With the music itself, the focal point becomes not so much the inherent grit but the deceptively clean façade. There are plenty of bands that sound a lot filthier than Clear Plastic Masks. We’ve probably even reviewed a few of them on Ampeater. What makes this artist special is how the grime is hidden behind the proverbial clear plastic mask. And, the important thing to remember about this plastic mask is that it’s clear, so you can still see what’s on the other side.

Take A-Side “Working Girl,” for instance, which conjures a false sense of comfort rooted in familiar archetypes—a timeless chord progression, a sensual soul groove, smooth electronic organ, etc. However, the astute listener will sense from the start that the mix is a bit off. The murky outline of some deviant madness taints the music and, as the composition unfolds, peels away at the re-appropriated façade. Lo-fi production is one obvious culprit. The huge dynamic range and natural delivery of Katz’s vocals is accentuated every time he overdrives the mic. The grungy distortion also makes the whole mix seem much louder, favorably evoking a bootleg 8-track aesthetic. That said, Clear Plastic Masks is definitely a band that excels in the live setting and, let’s face it, the kind of venue where this music would feel most at home is a place where the sound is inevitably terrible but the volume is so high you don’t notice—the kind of place that smells like Bill Lambeer’s old locker and where you leave with a lingering ringing in your ears.

These endearingly off-putting qualities have earned Clear Plastic Masks a number of comparisons to the Black Keys. However, to me, it seems a lot less premeditated. Plenty of bands embrace the do-it-yourself craze as a way to grow themselves a fake set of balls—to feign the grit of authenticity—but Clear Plastic Masks employs it so convincingly that it seems essential rather than superficial. You won’t be fooled by (nor does the band hope to fool you with) the sleek Motown vibe which obscures the true grime like a blast of Ferbreze might obscure the stench of sex and cigarettes in a cheap motel room. If Marvin Gaye is the kinda music that makes you wanna turn the lights down low and get it on, this music is about getting laid and, if you happen to turn the lights down low, it’s just so you don’t notice the bedbugs and bloodstains on the mattress.

If production alone is not enough to ripple the conventional gloss, we get the lyrics, which are refreshingly honest and rife with sexual innuendo. I can’t help but respect Katz’s plea to the working girl: “if all my morning daydreams came true, I just might spend my day working on you!” Yet some of lyrics are less metaphorical than one might expect. For instance, the line about being distracted by the beautiful girl on the freeway and driving out of the lanes is straightforward narration. “We all used to work as movers together, Matt and Charlie still do, riding around in a box truck all day carrying peoples shit and watching the world go by and I guess this song just came out of all of that, all the incredible girls you see cruising around this town.” Sure, you can joke that these guys have earned the right to wear the trucker hats that so many hip indie rockers wear ironically, but I think we’d be missing the more important point. These straightforward and uncontrived references endow the music with an authentic or deep seeded sense of the blues, a term I use not as a genre but as a state of mind.

B-Side “Pegasus in Glue” is a lot louder and heavier than “Working Girl”, but seems to stem from the same general philosophy. Here, the clear plastic mask that the artist dons appears to come from the classic punk rock tradition, an influence we hear most clearly in the half-sung/half-chanted chorus, and in the enormous drum fills. Yet, after the second verse, the composition spirals into a loud but vaguely psychedelic melee of sounds. Even though it only lasts for minute, it creates the impression of being stuck in a never-ending trip, and debunks all attempts to pigeonhole the artist within a particular norm. The digression evokes the unsettling soundtrack to a broken merry-go-round, sometimes dragging at half-speed, other times spinning faster and faster.

Clear Plastic Masks is pretty unabashed about its influences. The artist makes no pretentious claims to be original or unprecedented. Katz explains that the impetus for “Working Girl” came from a lick stolen from an Otis Redding tune—which he promptly adds was also used by the Beatles and a million other song writers—and which he crafted into his own composition with the guidance of guitarist and keyboardist Matt Menold. With “Pegasus in Glue”, the influences are even more specific and, to an extent, absurd. Katz recounts how the heavy bass and drums remind him of a “funk version of the theme from Space Odessy 2001 in the movie Being There in the scene when Chauncey Gardner first leaves the confines of his father’s house and hits the rough streets of D.C. for the first time.” Call it a delusion of grandeur, call it genius, but these confessions also tap into an important recognition that most music amounts to little more than a combination of all the weird shit we’ve soaked in over our lives and all the weird shit floating around in our minds.

On that note, I feel that Clear Plastic Masks ought to be viewed as a found artist. The band takes disperse elements that have been cast out on the sidewalk and rearranges them in a way that their former owners would probably not approve of but—lo and behold—work a lot better than the rejected originals. And, as a pleasant byproduct, the result has the feel of an instant classic. When I hear Clear Plastic Masks, I hear an old hit played back on a transistor radio in a post apocalyptic future on the heap of junk and ruins that used to be Manhattan. Maybe you’ll hear something different, but I encourage you to let your imagination run wild. Just remember to wash your hands afterwards.

Nate Greenberg

Side A — Working Girl Download audio file (01 Working Girl.mp3)

Side B — Pegasus in Glue Download audio file (02 Pegasus.mp3)

[[[Download the 7-inch]]]

Ampeater Streams the new Uncles record “m4w”

2012-01-12T16:51:19Z

Like a good parent, Ampeater loves each and every one of our digital 7-inches equally. Officially, that is. Behind closed doors, there’s a handful of artists we take home with us–they live on our iPods and in our car stereos. They know our personal Gmail addresses and together we’ve listened, hand in hand, to gentle folk ballads about Goatse. These are the privileged few, and we’d bend over backwards to see their records top the charts. If you’ve been paying any attention to Ampeater over the last few years, you might have noticed that Uncles is one of the elect. They first appeared with a digital 7-inch on AEM092, then returned will a full stream of their last album “Replacing Words With Other Words”. We brought them into the studio for a Casual Business session and included them on our first Concrete Experience mixtape. We’re now proud to offer their latest and greatest LP as a free stream.

	01 This Old Town Download audio file (01 This Old Town.mp3)		02 Green Apple Skoal Download audio file (02 Green Apple Skoal.mp3)
	03 Ballad of Lehigh Valley Download audio file (03 Ballad of Lehigh Valley.mp3)		04 Turkey Water Download audio file (04 Turkey Water.mp3)
	05 Bayberry Lane Download audio file (05 Bayberry Lane.mp3)		06 Clarinets Download audio file (06 Clarinets.mp3)
	07 Heavens Table Download audio file (07 Heavens Table.mp3)		08 m4w Download audio file (08 m4w.mp3)
	09 Palm Reader Download audio file (09 Palm Reader.mp3)		10 Darling Take Your Coat Download audio file (10 Darling Take Your Coat.mp3)
	11 Side of the City Download audio file (11 Side of the City.mp3)

AEM140 Slow Motion Centerfold

2011-12-24T18:56:37Z

Slow Motion Centerfold may seem rather anomalous when viewed alongside the artists we’ve featured in the past on the Ampeater Review. We tend to shy away from music with blatant popular appeal, and the music featured in this particular review has a lot of that. Both tracks could be massive radio hits. Nevertheless, I feel that the appeal of Slow Motion Centerfold’s music extends far beyond the popular and borders on the universal. The Nashville-based quintet draws together the best qualities of mainstream pop-rock, implements them with unparalleled expertise, and forgoes the undesirable bullshit often associated with the genre. Biases aside, it was a band that needed to be written up.

A-Side “Alma Rose” was the track that convinced me. I first heard it several months ago and it’s floated in my head ever since. “Alma Rose” is packed with hooks so memorable that each one could merit a hit and, in sum, they amount to an epic hit. It begins with an ephemeral and melodic guitar riff that soars when the full band kicks in behind it. From here the band sinks into a more subdued verse, fueled by a drum and bass groove reminiscent of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, circa 1999. That comparison is no doubt bolstered by the voice of Alex Hall, whose extensive dynamic phrasing and subtle drawl hint at the power hidden behind the smooth poise. When the chorus finally hits, it delivers all we could hope for, melodic and powerful.

“Alma Rose” derives its unique (oxymoronic?) polished power in part from expert production. Slow Motion Centerfold’s debut album, Rock the Body Language, bears the mark of producer Brian Virtue, whose résumé includes work with main-stream rock icons like Jane’s Addiction, 30 Seconds to Mars, Audioslave, Deftones, etc.
The album is a bit of a throwback to these commercially successful rockers—the crunch of power chords and crash of symbols come across as heavy yet accessible.

Commercial may seem like the antithesis of indie, but it doesn’t have to be. To be commercial, an artist must be popular. An artist cannot be popular unless it appeals to the listener. When you tweak that notion, the rejection of popular music signifies the rejection of the listener. We must then be suspicious of the artist that claims to not give a shit about the public, then, for such claims are inherently paradoxical. An artist with a true distain for the public wouldn’t bother to release an album or perform a show. To do so engages the listener and invites feedback, whether positive or negative. So, in a sense, doesn’t all music seek to be popular?

“Alma Rose” contains much more than the fluff we’d expect from a track with such immediate appeal. The title lyric is a reference to a violinist who was deported to a concentration camp, where he was forced to lead an orchestra of prisoners as they played for their lives. B-Side “Super Grand Master” reveals a similar hidden weight. On first glance, it seems like a textbook pop-rock anthem with so many memorable sections that it’s hard to determine which one is the real chorus. (Is it the vocal harmonies at 43-seconds? The hits at 49-seconds? The unexpected heartbreak chord and reggae backbeat at 53 seconds?) Hidden behind these immediate pleasures, however, the lyrics reveal a mix of highbrow geekdom and punk attitude. The title is a reference to chess, and the verses were conceived as a “string of couplets.” Meanwhile, guitarist Chris Smith describes the principle theme as a “rally cry against narrow minded anti-visionaries who sleep in silk pajamas and are scared of people with Mohawks.”

Slow Motion Centerfold manages to weave these seemingly disparate elements together with ease. That stems in part from the fact that the band is comprised of childhood friends and includes a pair of brothers. Smith notes that “longterm friendship and brotherhood make the songwriting process more challenging but more rewarding. There is a great deal of trust and awareness of what we are all capable of contributing to a song, so if someone’s slacking, they aren’t going to get away with it.” It may be a mixed blessing, but I feel as if the bond between members is a significant element in the equation—it endows the music with added personality and comfort. Process may also factor into it. Slow Motion Centerfold’s compositions all stem from instrumental hooks but were developed piece by piece, as the band members were once scattered across different states. Hall observes that, “We used to write songs by sending pieces of demos through email. Then we’d put everything together during live rehearsals. We still work in this way even though we live in the same zip code.” In the process, we see an inherent balance between the immediate that the reflective—creation and revision.

We can all rattle off a short list of artists that have managed to appeal to the public and the critics alike. However, we tend to view these artists as an exception to the rule, and marvel at how they’ve struck a balance. Slow Motion Centerfold has carved a much more holistic path. Where other artists have seen inherent conflict and struggled for compromise, Slow Motion Centerfold has found the potential for symbiosis. Popular and immediate appeal serves as a gateway to the heavier stuff. It does not detract from the more enduring qualities of the music but, rather, allows the impatient easy access to those qualities.

I’ve been meaning to write up Slow Motion Centerfold for several months. Instead I procrastinated. With each month, I was afraid that I’d miss my window, and that the band would make it big before I got to it. Lucky for me, that hasn’t happened yet, but I’m certain it’s just a matter of time. Now and then a hit comes along that deserves the heavy rotation it gets. The two tracks featured in this review could be those hits. I wouldn’t mind hearing them in car commercials or piped into the aisles at CVS. For now, though, let’s enjoy them from the comfort of our home stereos.

Nate Greenberg

Side A — Alma Rose Download audio file (01 Alma Rose.mp3)

Side B — Super Grand Master Download audio file (02 Super Grand Master.mp3)

[[[Download the 7-inch]]]

AEM139 All Fox

2011-12-19T00:16:10Z

I work at a desk. It’s a big long desk, and most of the time I have it all to myself. So, I listen to music all day long. Sometimes I go on shuffle adventures, sometimes I let whole albums or compilations play through, but more often than not I get stuck on a song that becomes an anthem of sorts for the day. I get so hooked, so intensely enthused about a single musical event that I seldom make it all the way through on the first attempt. After several repetitions of the first verse and chorus I finally let it play to completion, and then again, and again. When I find a gem like this, it goes in a special playlist. The whole process repeats until the playlist swells to over an hour, at which point I send the whole damn thing out to friends as Force Music On You (FMOU) volume X. It’s tough to send folks music without overtones of pretension, so I eschew any greater sense of order and present the whole thing alphabetically by artist, with little to no context or explanation. Of the hundred or so people who subscribe, about 17 download the mix, I would guess maybe 10 actually listen to it, and 2 or 3 send me a note explaining why they loved or hated a particular song. On the week I included All Fox’s “Fit To Advise”, I received 9 e-mails asking if I could send over the complete album, and 7 follow-up emails asking if I had any more All Fox albums. It’s fairly rare for me to include an Ampeater band in an FMOU, let alone one that’s still pending consideration for a review. And yet, All Fox defied precedence and spread like wildfire from the Ampeater submissions box to my personal favorites playlist, to the “most played” section of my closest friends’ iTunes. We do a lot of explaining here on Ampeater, in an attempt to justify exactly why a certain artist merits such a bright spotlight of intellectual scrutiny, but All Fox needs no coaxing to break through the shell of relative obscurity. The music catapults itself across whatever divide supposedly exists between artists and listeners, and once it’s playing you have little choice left but to move and be moved by it.

All Fox is primarily Alex Fox Tschan, a 25 year old from Deltaville, VA who cites his father as his greatest hero, and was very nearly Dr. Alex Tschan, but for a bold decision to redirect his sights towards Brooklyn and a subsequent renaissance in his creative faculties. He left Virginia Tech in 2008 with a degree in Biochemistry, but with a penchant for deep thought and a sense that there remained something unfulfilled in his musical potential. Tschan has been taking tentative stabs at music making for the last ten years, but only saw his talent develop during college, as he found confidence in his once timid voice and realized that he would only (and could only) full explore the range possibilities available to him if he focused solely on his craft. Medical school isn’t exactly known for the range of diversions available during one’s free time, so he put his foot down and kicked a hitch in the hitherto straight-arrow path his life had taken to date. Working crap jobs for crap pay, Tschan made use of the time afforded to him by a flexible schedule to make music. In an interview with Sweet Tea Pumpkin Pie, he reflected, “For me, despite being broke, it has given me more energy and happiness to put towards my friendships, ideas, poems, songs, etc. than I could have ever dreamed. It has been the most rewarding and prolific time of my life, and it feels like it’s just starting.”

Leaving Alex Tschan at home in Virginia, it was All Fox that made the migration to Brooklyn, and he made it with an astonishing purity of intent. Long since a mecca for rising stars, New York has a tendency to attract the kind of assholes who buy guitars to “hit it big”, “make bank”, and “get laid”. All Fox came to our fair town with the hope of growing his art, escaping parental and societal expectations, and discovering what it is that makes music a successful medium for the transmission of ideas and emotions. Whether it’s work on his latest LP, screenplay, poem, or community project, All Fox has the insight of a genuine artist, and the dedication to produce work at a prolific rate. When I last wrote him about his Ampeater submission, he had not one, not two, but several albums worth of material for my perusal that had been completed in the months since his original submission. The songs on this 7-inch are culled from his first full-length solo album Peaceful Heart. Performed with a coterie of musicians on a huge variety of instruments, the album lands somewhere between Sufjan Stevens circa 2005 and Animal Collective arranged for chamber orchestra. Influences range from Sam Cooke to Walt Whitman, and seep out into the music as it skirts the edges of one’s expectations. All Fox’s songs assume a kind of crystalline structure, darting here and there with the confidence that its message can be conveyed in a more sophisticated manner than most pop songs presume. He goes so far as to assume an intelligent listener, or at the very least one that leaves a channel open for suggestion. Songs can take a number of approaches to satisfying listeners. Sometimes they’re linear, moving from Point A to Point B in a swell that peaks and then recedes; sometimes they’re circular, progressing in closed sequential loops of verse, pre chorus, and chorus; but sometimes they’re a wonderful pastiche of influences, attitudes, and impulses that suggest more than define the final destination of a particular songspace. It’s this latter mode that represents the predominant approach used by All Fox, and it’s indicative of a genuinely great mind at work, crafting something potent on a higher order than the blues and folk based idioms that are mixed so thoroughly with American soil you can practically taste them in a McDonalds hamburger. All Fox makes music that’s ever so slightly foreign to the average Joe, but that nevertheless resonates deeply with something fundamental in the human spirit.

In his Ampeater submission, All Fox included a link to download the full album, complete with lyric sheets for each song. Tschan’s words are poetic, and it’s but a small stretch to assume that many of them might have begun as actual poems. I had the chance to speak with Alex on the phone, and he came across as part scholar, part artist, and part philosopher, dispensing wisdom on music (both his own and other people’s) with a kind of insight and reflection that’s rare in young musicians. He explained, “a poem, and a song, and a story, a piece of art, a movie, they’re all the same thing–they could all be called ‘Fit to Advise’”. It’s the notion of transferral across media, that a song possesses an essence that can be conveyed in another form. It’s a more extreme version of the reduction that happens between record and stage; a great symphonic epic performed on solo acoustic guitar is still that same song, its essence is just captured using a different set of tools. I get the sense that All Fox would make music with the world if he could wrap his hands around mountains and smash them together. He explained, “Melodies happen in my head, and it’s my job to make sure I get them down. Sometimes I hear whole songs, fully orchestrated, but I don’t always have the tools to make them a reality.” The success of A-side “Fit To Advise” is in joining together odd rhythmic fragments into a song structure that’s wholly unorthodox and yet captures listeners in an organic flow from section to section. It’s almost classical in its motif-oriented composition, introducing sound objects or textures that grow, evolve, and re-appear at various points throughout the song. Every word, every sound is intentional. When you listen, focus not only on the music or lyrics, but on the intersection of the two. Pay attention to how the soundscape colors the text, and whether it remains constant or fluctuates across multiple repetitions. There’s meaning stuffed into every crevice of this song, and I question whether I’m “Fit to Advise” (har har) on the author’s primary intent, or whether there even exists such a thing in the complicated brain of Alex Tschan, but I nevertheless present the lyrics here for your consideration as you listen:

Hey little brother! Let’s go for a ride!
But clean that look off your eyes first.
Man, I told you before! … if i’m fit to drive, then I am sure as hell fit to advise you.

Hey little brother, whatcha got on your mind???
I guarantee you I’ve been below that line.
So I wouldn’t worry!
Between drugs & women… you’ll be doin’ alright if at least one ain’t hard to find.

I know you burn with desire, but easy tiger, she’s so lovely & complex.
Please, take my advice before you start…

I know you’re dying to try it, but easy tiger… have you researched its full effects?
Please, take my advice before you start…

And if you’re ever feeling expired! Well, easy tiger, it goes one right through the head!
Please, take my advice before you start…

B-Side “Engelhard Grocery 1997: Mama’s Outta Stamps” is a beautiful ascent to an extended instrumental outro. After a single verse we’re lifted up by layered guitars, strings, and scattered percussion. It’s a cathartic release after the relative chaos of “Fit to Advise”. I was recently asked by a music loving friend if electronic instruments were now the predominant method of creating music. The answer is certainly “no”, but that’s almost beside the point. That some people even consider this a binary question is my main concern, and a continued source of bewilderment to me. Most of All Fox’s songs exist in a realm that pull heavily from both sides of this spectrum–acoustic banjos mingle with heavily processed electric guitars, digital production, orchestral strings (sometimes electrified), and even oboe. Most people develop proficiency with a tool and then only later discover the creative possibilities made possible by the skills they’ve acquired. All Fox turns this paradigm on its head and brings artifacts into being almost as an act of immaculate creation, inspired by nothing more than some whisper in the back of his thoughts that he’s then able to harness and make real. The result is not only praiseworthy but almost enviable. He’s currently working as part of a collective, inspired by the psychology of Jung and the poetry of Rumi. I’ve been sworn to secrecy on the details of the operation, but there are exciting things coming our way from All Fox, so stay tuned while he learns to move mountains. In the interim, you can download the complete album at BandCamp for $8, or save some dough and steal it from this artist-endorsed MediaFire link.

Ben Heller

Side A — Fit to Advise Download audio file (01 Fit to Advise.mp3)

Side B — Engelhard Grocery 1997: Mama’s Outta Stamps Download audio file (02 Engelhard Grocery 1997 Mamas Outta Stamps.mp3)

[[[Download the 7-inch]]]

AEM138 Rocketship Park

2011-11-30T16:59:54Z

Rocketship Park draws its name from a playground in the hometown of creator Josh Kaufman. It’s an appropriate metaphor for an artist whose music balances bittersweet reflection with a hopeful childlike wonder. At some point we realize that we’re too big to fit through the mouth of the rocket shaped slide but, with luck, we never forget how much fun it used to be. Kaufman remembers and conveys that in the music on his new album, Cakes & Cookies. Here too, we get a convenient metaphor. The album entices the sweet-toothed listener with a cover illustration of the eponymous delectables and a unique promotional offer—each copy purchased comes with a free homemade cookie! While one must never judge an album on the dessert, here it provides a taste of the contents. Rocketship Park’s original blend of symphonic folk-pop is rich, immediate, and above all, homemade. NPR noted that it offers “a sense of peace and nostalgia that grounds even the most anxious of listeners.”

Rocketship Park is the main creative outlet for Kaufman, a Brooklyn-based instrumentalist, vocalist, songwriter, producer, and pâtissier. Kaufman has been an invisible force in the scene for several years. His talents as a side-man and producer have brought him to the stage and the studio with the likes of Dawn Landes, Caithlin de Marrais, The National, Josh Ritter, Yellowbirds, Balthrop Alabama, and Higgins. He has also collaborated with previously featured artists Benji Cossa and the Unsacred Hearts. Kaufman seems at ease in the limelight, though, and the new album reveals that his most impressive talents may be compositional.

A-Side “Swan” is a small masterpiece—a warm and comfortable track with the potential to provoke a profound emotional response. One would not often use the term epic to describe a two-minute composition but it’s the only appropriate term here. The track begins with a simple but powerful chord progression that swells with each successive repetition. “Swan” reaches phenomenal heights, but it never loses the stable foundation on which it is based. With the heart of a folk ballad, it remains sincere and straightforward. Acoustic guitar and banjo dominate the mix, while innumerable textures flesh out the rough edges with a lush background ambiance. The brass arrangements, subtle and beautiful, are responsible for much of the effect, with contributions to harmonic depth that makes the simple composition glow. Lyrics prove to be another focal point. The track revolves around a single phrase:

I tried to see him,
but he was halfway gone.
Just a battered bird now,
he used to be a strong, strong swan.

The sentimental image evokes a sense of loss that darkens the euphoria of the instrumentals. The words don’t sink in when they are first stated, but they become more and more powerful with each repetition. On one level, they suggest a cynical reversal of the ugly duckling’s maturation into an elegant swan. But I suspect that the message is not just cynicism. Kaufman’s choice to ruminate on the line—rather than to bury it behind more words—emphasizes its emotional weight. When I reflect upon the image, I do not feel duped by an empty metaphor but, rather, privy to an intimate and heartfelt confession.

B-Side “See You” takes the same essential ingredients and draws them out over a much longer span. Kaufman delights us again with a simple chord progression full of harmonic momentum. The dominant hook is the falsetto vocal line that delineates verses as an interlude. However, Kaufman remains a compositional minimalist, and lets the track unfold at a leisurely pace. When the layers of horns, washed out guitars, and noises finally escalate, they seem like a meditation on the words themselves. Although the song clocks in at nearly five minutes, it seems to bypass time altogether. The loops continue to weave on in our sub subconscious even after the music itself has faded out.

Cakes & Cookies marks a slight shift in process since Off & Away, the artist’s debut album released in 2007. Rocketship Park has downsized from a band to a solo initiative. In some senses, the shift is just semantic. Kaufman has always been the main impetus behind the project, and even the material on the new album includes important contributions from guests—most notably, Dawn Landes, Bryan Devendorf, Travis Harrison, and Nate Martinez. Some of these musicians also appeared on the artist’s debut. However, Rocketship Park has coalesced primarily around the visions and efforts of Kaufman. In another recent review, I noted the Toronto-based artist Del Bel’s evolution from a one-man studio project to a twelve-member collective posed to take the stage. Rocketship Park has headed in the reverse direction. Kaufman never lost his original vision of a grand, symphonic sound, with rich layers and textures. Nevertheless, the intimate atmosphere of the studio seems to have meshed well with the individual and reflective nature of the music. Kaufman uses a lot of overdubs, but it’s not about the overdubs. He employs them as a means rather than an end, to emphasize compositions that remain simple and personal at the core. Even when I listen to these multilayered recordings, I can’t shake the feeling that Kaufman is seated over in the corner of the room, strumming a battered acoustic and singing his lyrics directly at me.

A homemade cookie has universal appeal. However, it’s also a nice gesture that illustrates the very essence of Rocketship Park. In an age where most people get their music on the internet, the artist becomes distanced from the listener. This is true of double-platinum mainstream artists and obscure independent artists alike. But the cookie is a solution—it’s a warm personal touch in a cold digital era. I feel pretty much the same way about RocketshipPark. Kaufman’s music doesn’t merely satisfy your sweet-tooth, but also resonates on a deeper level. You’ll find yourself drawn to it for the same reasons you favor your grandmother’s recipe over the store-bought brand. The ingredients are preservative free, and they’re baked with undeniable love.

Nate Greenberg

Side A — Swan Download audio file (01 Swan.mp3)

Side B — See You Download audio file (02 See You.mp3)

[[[Download the 7-inch]]]

AEM029-1 The Unsacred Hearts (Follow-Up Review)

2011-11-14T19:22:50Z

Issued almost two years ago on November 30th 2009, AEM029 introduced The Unsacred Hearts as a band in the midst of a sea change, caught between their early roots as a firebrand post-punk outfit from Blue Point Long Island and an uncertain future as a group of poetically inclined and musically intelligent adults with jobs, law degrees, wives, and children. For the last five years The Unsacred Hearts have been working towards their latest album, fixing on it like a distant star that’s always visible but just barely out of reach. Instrumental versions of the songs have been floating around for years, serving as the soundtrack to band members’ lives, both informing and being informed by this great transition. Drummer Travis Harrison even walked down the aisle to an early version of B-Side “Flesh and Bone”. Working off and on at Serious Business Music with a coterie of friends, the album began to take shape, and at last The Unsacred Hearts completed and released The Honor Bar. We’re thrilled to follow up on our original 7-inch with two tracks from this release, which is available now on CD and Cassette from Serious Business Records.

I spoke with drummer, producer, and engineer Travis Harrison about the new record and the impetus behind The Unsacred Hearts’ change in musical direction. It was, he explained, an attempt to make music that was more accessible, and that he could put on at home without being asked to turn it down or off. The band simply wanted to make the kind of music that they themselves wished to listen to. After years of punk-inspired invective, The Hearts wanted to recast themselves in a mold that spoke more directly to their current situation. When their self-titled debut was released in 2004 they didn’t have families or careers. There’s a reason that the music-to-beverage-matching website drinkify.org lists “The Unsacred Hearts” recipe as 4 oz. Marijuana, 4 oz. Ginger Ale, and 1 oz. Macallan Scotch. They were once young dudes making loud music. Now they’re medium-young dudes making listenable music. It’s a change that makes most musicians uncomfortable, like they’re giving up some essential part of their being by sacrificing the attitudes they developed as teenagers. But what The Unsacred Hearts understand is that their energy and enthusiasm isn’t gone, but rather rechanneled into creating a lush musical territory they were once too drunk or nearsighted to fully render. Singer and lyricist Joe Willie sums this up wonderfully, “While we made our bones on ultra-distilled rock and roll, weird chords and wild live sets, we always led with the heart. Loud and fast, yes, but the sonic boom was just the straightest line to the truth.”

If “the truth” is something that can be distilled into a song (and I believe it is), then Joe Willie is a kind of musical oracle. In his earlier days he came across as a frenzied beat poet frontman, as if someone had given Jim Morrison the stage at an open mic and handed him an eight ball of cocaine. On The Unsacred Hearts’ latest material he comes off as sage-like, split somewhere between Tom Waits, Lou Reed, and Gil Scott-Heron. The acoustic landscape of this album is less jagged than in past attempts, and Joe Willie’s spoken vocals float atop a more serene trajectory, allowing for greater focus on a blended aesthetic and lyrical turns of phrase. In his summary of the album, which is itself a masterful bit of prose, he turns back to New York as a cyclical influence on The Honor Bar. He explains, “The Honor Bar evokes the city of New York itself or, rather, the city resounds in The Honor Bar. The maelstrom and beauty of the city comes across in the sparse, unerring beats, the stark instrumental phrases, the myriad voices in whispers and shouts. Webs of sounds, words and images — all traffic on the Bowery and midtown sky scrapers — juxtapose with the sweet intimacy of the fire escape and 2AM walks down solitary side-streets.” It’s a soundtrack not for New York City, but an abstraction of New York City, for those precious few moments when you lose yourself completely in the web of monolithic architecture and compact humanity.

A-Side and title track “The Honor Bar” fades in to a tumble of percussive thunder and giving way to hand drum percussion and a driving figure on acoustic guitar set to the walking pace of your average long-legged New Yorker. The instrumentation is lush, with glockenspiel, bass, piano, accordion, electric guitar, and a compressed drum set added to the mix at the chorus. There’s an electronic vibe to this track that’s unheard on previous recordings–the tinkered drum sound and distorted melodic figure on the outro all hint at an extended sonic palette for The Unsacred Hearts. It all serves as a backdrop for Joe Willie’s baritone musings, which are heard with a new depth and resonance thanks to the relative tranquility of the musical accompaniment. This was the last song completed for The Honor Bar, and best encapsulates the attitudes driving the band’s project in self-reinvention. This is music I could read to, music I could work to, music I could put on and ignore, but what makes it special is that I wouldn’t actually want to do any of those things. Something about it continues to command listeners’ full attention, and it does so through a great depth of musical vision rather than pure volume. This more than anything is a sign that The Unsacred Hearts aren’t just growing up and continuing to make records–they’re maturing.

B-Side “Flesh & Bone” is a lyrical pastiche of musical and literary references. Some are undoubtedly intentional and some maybe incidental, but none come off as heavy-handed. Rather, they succeed in evoking the spirit and ambiance of entire songs and imparting some part of their essence and meaning on “Flesh & Bone”. The complete lyrics are below, with footnotes:

Picture me, picture you, in a picture book(1) we’re paging through
Picture me with the slings and the arrows(2), picture me when the dirt road narrows
On a hill, far from home, straits of Gibraltar, streets of Rome(3)
Mississippi River rolling slow, lost in the rain, Juarez, Mexico(4)

When you’re tired, when you’re on your own
I’ll be there, flesh and bone
I miss you, baby, when the river bends(5), I miss you, baby, when the dirt road ends
Picture me, picture you
Picture me, perchance to dream(6), picture you, beside the stream

When you’re weary, when you’re on your own
I’ll be there, flesh and bone

1.) The Kinks — Picture Book: “Picture book, pictures of your mama, taken by your papa a long time ago. // Picture book, of people with each other, to prove they love each other a long time ago.”

2.) Shakespeare — Hamlet: “To be, or not to be, that is the question: // Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer // The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, // Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, // And by opposing end them?”

3.) Bob Dylan — When I Paint My Masterpiece: “Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble / Ancient footprints are everywhere / You can almost think that you’re seein’ double / On a cold, dark night on the Spanish Stairs”

4.) Bob Dylan — Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues: “When you’re lost in the rain in Juarez // And it’s Eastertime too // And your gravity fails // And negativity don’t pull you through // Don’t put on any airs // When you’re down on Rue Morgue Avenue // They got some hungry women there // And they really make a mess outta you”

5.) The Country Gentlemen — Down Where: “Down where the river bends // With God’s help we’ll meet again // Under the same old sycamore tree // Proud of each other in the land of the free // I’ll go down to the ocean blue // Just as close as I can to you // This old ocean might keep us apart // But it won’t keep you dear from out of my heart”

6.) Shakespeare — Hamlet: “To die, to sleep // To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub! // For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, // When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, // Must give us pause—there’s the respect // That makes calamity of so long life.”

These references weave an intricate subtext to the song, evoking numerous depictions of death and forcing us to consider the nature of human memories and interactions. The Picture Book reference suggests that we document our own lives only to convince ourselves that we’ve had substantial experiences once we can no longer feel them so acutely. And yet, though memories fade, some experiences persist across time, and there’s an element of humanity’s presence that we can seemingly access through locality or state of mind, as indicated by the reference to When I Paint My Masterpiece. But through all this, through hardships and struggle, what should be our relationship with death? Is it an escape or a demise? Joe Willie engages this conversation with a text of his own, profoundly contemplating man’s position on this earth and our relationship to a hazy past and a precarious future. This interaction is realized musically as an acoustic ballad, giving way to vocal counterpoint between Joe Willie and guest vocalist Jaymay, in an exchange that grapples with the eternal nature of true love, which is wholly supported by Willie’s lyrics and simultaneously problematized by the various references sprinkled throughout the song. Once fully teased out, it’s a brilliant polemic that’s typical of Joe Willie’s remarkable insight as a lyricist.

To round out his description of The Honor Bar, Joe Willie writes, “The Honor Bar is certainly not for everyone and neither are The Unsacred Hearts. When we formed, our only goal was to make rock n roll. We did not ask, what is cool, what do people want to hear, or what should we wear. The only question was, how do we keep playing rock n roll? And, over the years, we kept asking that question with each new song, each live set bringing a response. When we last asked, the answer was The Honor Bar.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Ben Heller

Side A — The Honor Bar Download audio file (01 The Honor Bar.mp3)

Side B — Flesh and Bone Download audio file (02 Flesh and Bone.mp3)

[[[Download the 7-inch]]]

AEM137 Del Bel

2011-11-07T20:57:27Z

Del Bel began in the studio as an outlet for the compositions of Tyler Belluz, a Toronto-based multi-instrumentalist. The talents of Belluz must run deep, since to list them all on the Del Bel press-kit required the liberal adjustment of the page layout. He is the principal compositional force behind the collective, and plays double-bass, electric-bass, drums, guitar, accordion, organ, and, musical saw on the artist’s forthcoming debut, Oneiric. From what I gather, the final instrument on the list is not some sort of saw-toothed synthesizer but a very real and very sharp handsaw played with a bow, much like a violin.

Belluz has the credentials to be a one man band, but he’s also recruited ample assistance since he began work on Oneiric in 2010. Del Bel has evolved into a collective effort, and the album credits reveal—when you make it past the surprise mention of the musical saw—that Belluz is supported by an ensemble of epic scale and experience. To list all the projects in which the collective’s dozen members have been involved would require a veritable retrospective of Toronto indie-rock since the turn of the millennium. Members of the collective hail from Broken Social Scene, Do Make Say Think, Bry Webb Band, Happiness Project, Ohbijou, Flowers of Hell, Sun Parlour Players, and countless other bands that I haven’t bothered to list, but which are probably worthy of mention. The link between Del Bel and these illustrious acts, however, is cemented by more than shared members. Del Bel is a child of the creative orgy that spawned super-groups like Broken Social Scene in the first place. These artists share a collective heritage in an era of free love and free downloads, where a band does not represent an exclusive relationship, and where the amount of projects a respectable musician may be involved in is limited only by the number of accounts he or she can bother to register on Facebook and MySpace. The inherent philosophical framework seems exemplified by the scene in Toronto, although Belluz insists that it’s become a worldwide phenomenon. “I don’t think Toronto has more collectives then other cities,” he explains. “In our case, we don’t want to be confined to playing the same stuff, day in and day out. It’s quite exciting trying to remember the songs in the middle of concerts.”

Del Bel plans to perform with a (marginally) stripped-down ensemble of nine. “I still have other people that recorded on the album that want to join live” Belluz jokes, “but I think I gotta keep this band smaller than a hockey team.” Already, the collective is so large that transportation to shows requires a caravan of automobiles. Nevertheless, with nearly all nine members involved in three or four additional active projects, I wondered whether logistics might prove problematic. “I haven’t run into too many problems trying to organize this 9 person band,” Belluz explains, “but by all means, I need to book these people way in advance.” With regard to creative process, Del Bel seems to have happened upon a functional dynamic rare for bands of such size. Belluz oversees the artistic direction of the collective, but encourages other members to contribute to the compositional process, with the observation that, “it would seem a bit controlling to direct someone on how to cry into their instrument for desired effect.” Thus, Del Bel has coalesced into a more permanent fixture, poised to step from the shadow of the prolific resumes of its membership.

Oneiris, a term that signifies a surreal state, is an apt title for the album—slated to be released on Friday, November 11th in CD, vinyl, and mp3 format—which evokes a thick dreamlike atmosphere. Like a dream, its full of unexpected twists and turns. The eleven tracks on the album all sound very different. A-Side “No Reservation” and B-Side “Invisible” give a pretty accurate indication of the vast range of styles represented. Nevertheless, the tracks seem united by a common bond that is difficult to pinpoint.

A significant part of the bond is Lisa Conway, whose dynamic vocals and fresh lyrics mark the Del Bel aesthetic. Belluz describes Conway as a major creative force behind the project, and frames her role in the band as all but crucial. Therefore, I was surprised to learn that Oneiris was initially recorded as an instrumental album. Belluz hints that it took a bit of coercion to get long-term co-collaborator Conway on board with the project at first. “She only quit three—maybe four—times,” he jokes. “Technically the songs were conceived as weird little instrumentals. But I knew in my heart she would be the (only) one to sing on them.” Upon further listens, however, we may notice the mark Conway’s indecision has left on the music. Del Bel seems to draw its unique personality from the uncertain maturation process. To imagine how it might have sounded otherwise would be to imagine Harry Potter without the scar, or to imagine the Canadian topology unmarred by glaciers that carved it’s lakes and mountains. “I still can’t imagine anyone else’s reaction to trying to fit vocals lines to the instrumental tracks, confesses Belluz. Conway’s additions are shaped by the unique demands she faced in fitting vocal parts to compositions that had developed without them. She has taken great care not to intrude upon the music’s instrumental core. The tracks unfold at a leisurely rate, and Oneiris includes several instrumental interludes. For instance,“Invisible” forces the listener to wait nearly a third of the track time for vocals to drop. When they finally do, Conway’s line maintains a tasteful deference to the ensemble, buried behind wispy synths and a persistent piano drone.

In general, Del Bel devotes a lot more attention to instrumental detail than the typical indie band—even the typical twelve member indie band, if such an archetype exists. This comes across not only in the shape of each composition, but also in the intriguing arrangement of acoustic and electric elements. The whispers of keyboards wash over earthy drum grooves and the unpredictable slaps and creaks of a double bass. Ample credit is also owed to Heather Kirby, who mixed the tracks. All tracks on Oneiris suggest a focus on timbre over melody or harmony. “No Reservation”, for instance, builds toward a chorus unusual for its stark lack of harmonic movement, anchored by a memorable riff forcefully delivered in unison by vocals and instruments. The tune evokes the cabaret-jazz of a bygone era, but it does so with deceptive minimalism, capturing the vibe but rejecting the details. I recalled a memorable trumpet solo on the track but upon repeat listens, I suddenly realized that there is no trumpet solo whatsoever. A few growls and single-note burst evoke the sensation as convincingly all the borrowed notes of a Dizzie Gillespie solo. In that respect, Oneiric seems philosophically a closer relative to a film score than any album by the indie-rock collectives from which it draws members. And indeed, Del Bel has contributed to numerous film scores, which is a nice accomplishment if you remember that the group has yet to play its first show or release its first album.

In short, the ingenuity of Del Bel shines through in the grand scale of the vision, and in the tactful precision with which it has been realized. Listeners will be seduced by the top-notch production and arrangement, while the emotional weight of the composition and nuanced musicianship will keep them hooked. This music has a lot of layers, and it’s bound to resonate with most audiences.

Nate Greenberg

Side A — No Reservation Download audio file (01 No Reservation.mp3)

Side B — Invisible Download audio file (02 Invisible.mp3)

[[[Download the 7-inch]]]

CE02 Concrete Experience Digital Mixtape: Ritual

2011-10-30T17:54:13Z

“Just Like a Drummer” — The Wave Pictures (AEM083)
“Adderech Arada” — Debo Band (AEM016)
“You Lit Up For Me” — Spirit Kid (AEM026)
“Malea” – Darlingside (AEM121)
“Feathers & Fur” — Hank & Pigeon (AEM110)
“Policia” — Pistolera (AEM039)
“Sway” — Chrome & Ice Queen (AEM124)
“Hymnal” — Jerome Ellis (AEM059)
“27 Strangers” — Villagers (AEM112)

I grew up in Boston, where I was brainwashed from birth to love the Red Sox. Despite its liberal reputation, Boston’s commitment to open-mindedness falters when it comes to baseball. If two men fall in love and decide to marry, they will generally find acceptance—unless one of them roots for the Yankees, in which case there will be hell to pay.

Naturally, raised in such an environment, I was a devout follower of the Red Sox by the time I had learned to use a toilet. My loyalty was completely without motive, conditioned almost completely by the geographical coincidence of my birth. Nevertheless, I viewed it as a personal choice in which I could take due pride. I declared my colors—the same red, white, and blue of the star spangled banner, but far more meaningful to me) and pledged allegiance. In the years to come, I mastered long division by calculating the batting averages of my favorite sluggers, and baseball was the closest thing I had to a religion.

Of course, my unfounded fervor eventually burnt itself out. It’s been six years since I moved away from Boston, but even before that I had ceased to take even a passive interest in sports. Gradually my childhood heroes drifted from memory, displaced by new concerns and interests. However, there is still one ballplayer who stands out from the others, and it isn’t for his accomplishments on the field. I recall Nomar Garciaparra because, every time he stepped up to the plate, he would systematically adjust the velcro straps on his batting gloves—left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right. It was a ritual that fascinated me as a child, but which seems significant even now.

Most rituals—no matter how profound or banal—can be broken into simple steps which appear inconsequential in isolation. Only together do they evoke a tradition far grander. A man passes his hand from spectacles, testicles, wallet, to watch. He is crossing himself. Miss a step or reverse the order and he becomes just a pervert groping himself. Many rituals are so deeply embedded into the course of life that we don’t notice them. If somebody sneezes, you say “God bless you.” If somebody hands you a joint, you puff, puff, and pass it to the left hand side. We rarely stop and wonder why. And yet, it’s the repetition of these baby steps—always in the same exact sequence—that transforms the mundane into the sacred and gives definition to the infinite possibility of existence.

Several tracks on this mix speak to the theme of ritual in this way; they chronicle everyday events with precision and insight to reveal the hidden inner ritual. So it is when Conor J O’Brien of Villagers transforms his daily commute into an epic journey in the track “27 Strangers”

The bus was late
It forced us all to congregate
27 strangers made to stand and wait

With the title lyric, O’Brien cuts the undefined crowd into twenty-seven individuals, whose daily rituals intersect in the melting-pot of public transportation. The lyrics spin a beautiful tale—subject matter universal enough that anyone could relate, yet treated with such precision that most listeners will feel drawn to look at their daily grinds with heightened awareness. As the story unfolds, O’Brien subtly introduces the idea of inevitability, an unnamed force that guides our everyday actions.

That’s why I’m late.
My dearest one, what can I say?
And tomorrow it could be the same,
When I do it all again.

The narrator suggests that his path is not a choice, and does not make excuses for an action, the repetition of which seems destined. Indeed, what can he say?

“In The Ridge” by Hank & Pigeon approaches the theme from the same general tack but from somewhat stranger perspective—that of a pigeon. The pigeon character is a regular character throughout the duo’s work but, in this track, he is introduced. Generally, we don’t read too much into the actions of pigeons. They eat, they shit, and they sleep. After all, we’re talking about an animal with a brain the size of an acorn. But here, the pigeons actions take on a new weight, and become a presence far more dear than construction, noisy neighbors, or other more plausible explanations for the strange sound guitarist/vocalist Alex Wernquest hears emanating from his apartment walls every day. Actually, it’s unclear whether the lead pigeon is real or imagined. But as a tangible and physical embodiment of the phantom noise, the bird becomes a sort of breathing and feathered ritual.

Pushing our tolerance for absurdity one step further, The Wave Pictures draws attention to ritual though highly imaginative and bizarre imagery. The sparse aesthetic and simple pop progression of “Just Like A Drummer” leave the listener free to focus on the lyrics—thankfully, since they are both vivid and unusual enough to require our full attention. The first time I tuned in, they washed over me as a nonsensical wave of the whimsical. It was only gradually, that I began to sense that the words relate a more tangible storyline.

The sun came in like a pack of orange spaniels
Through the window, under the ledge
Under the curtain, on their bellies
Creeping and bending

What is the story behind the words? Well, I’m pretty sure it’s about sunlight—probably daybreak—creeping through the window. Yet clearly, the point of interest is not the action, but rather the extended metaphor. There’s nothing inherently exceptional about sunlight, but here we view it as a pack of orange spaniels (whom I envision to be invertebrate jelly-dogs) snaking over the windowsill. “Just Like A Drummer” is everyday life as seen through the eyes of a genius, a lunatic, or both, under which even an image so cliché as daybreak may thrill and delight. Lead singer David Tattersal’s desperate whine accentuates the frantic intensity of this unusual mind-frame. Yet , perhaps the true accomplishment of the lyrics is the way in which all the extended metaphors weave together into a semi-coherent tapestry. The story hinges on the refrain, “Just like a drummer, I wake up to the thunder, of your typewriter.” These three phrases suddenly make sense together, just like the motion of a hand from spectacles to testicles, so on, and so forth. But the order is completely bastardized in the extended outro, which implements brilliantly a tactic usually left up to third graders in school districts too poor to afford plastic recorders—the round. In this case, the round consists of a three phrases segment, the peak of one cycle overlapping the trough of another, such that they connect in new and bizarre ways:

I wake up with the thunder (just like a drummer)
Of your typewriter (wake up with the thunder)
Just like a drummer (Of your typewriter)

The mismatched round pairs phrases with echoes that don’t make sense. To compound the chaos, this three phrase repetition is pitted against a four chord progression. What seems like a beginning becomes the middle in the next repetition, the entire refrain cascading into a figurative Ouroboros—the mythical serpent perpetually swallowing his own tail. It’s no wonder that Tattersal can’t help but crack a laugh after a couple of cycles.

Life is full of rituals, but rarely are these practices so pronounced—and so taken for granted—as in music. Of course, every genre has its own specific set of rituals. A pop ballad builds from verse to pre-chorus to chorus, with a bridge inserted after the second or third chorus and, perhaps, a double chorus at the end for dramatic emphasis. A concerto includes three movements, each centered on specific themes and variations. A jazz quartet knows instinctively to play the head, pass around solos, repeat the head, and tag the final four bars to end a tune. Yet such devotion to rituals seems at odds with the creative spirit so crucial to music. Thus, most music seems to strike an appropriate balance between adherence and defiance, a process which we may view as its own ritual.

Darlingside’s “Malea” was written to accompany a dance, and adapted to the rituals which this purpose demanded. The rhythmic focus—from the crisp drum beat to the percussive claps and note skips on the chorus—is a throwback to this intent. These are traditions that go without saying in dance but, in this context, become a spicy and somewhat novel addition to the mix. “Malea” is a bold departure for a band whose sound is generally marked by folksy arrangements and radio perfect vocal harmonies, yet it’s a risk which pays off considerably.

In “Adderech”, Debo Band draws on numerous traditions but breaks from them all at whim, in the quest for a formidable groove; and it definitely finds what it’s looking for. The band is an amorphous collective of musicians whose eclectic sound spans oceans and centuries. Most Western ears will pick up on the Afrobeat (specifically, Ethiopian) influence which, admittedly, is prominent. Yet those familiar with Ethiopian music will not be surprised to learn that the group formed in Boston rather than Addis Ababa, in 2006 rather than 1976. Gabe Birnbaum puts it well in his November, 2009 review on Ampeater. “They manage to straddle a lot of seemingly contradictory positions. On the one hand, their music is deeply traditional, including a lot of covers of Ethiopian Folk and Pop songs from decades ago, yet on the other it is staunchly contemporary, incorporating original compositions and traces of the individual members other projects, which range from the dramatic Post-Rock silent-film soundtracks to dancehall derived experimental Eelectronica.” The product honors the traditions and values of its diverse influences, without buying into the specific rituals wholesale. It’s a brew which accommodates the “tautly stretched and rolling time feel that locks in perfectly with the wonderfully twitchy and propulsive Ethiopian eskista shoulder dance commonly performed alongside the music,” and yet, creates new rituals and grooves of its own.

Pistolea treads a similar tightrope, meshing Mexican Folk with the Rock, Pop, and Jazz of New York. It’s a tasteful and energetic foundation, on which songwriter Sandra Velasquez preaches soapbox politics. In fact, the music accentuates the political message, which centers on immigration reform and civil rights. In the final lyric of “La Polica,” Velasquez rattles off a list of adjectives that could be used—by friends and foes alike—to caricature the band: “terrorist, feminist, Mexican, American, condemned, dangerous, PISTOLERA.” But she says all this in a language which the bigoted system she attacks would be unlikely to understand. Meanwhile, the music cements the band’s heritage, which lies on both sides of the border, far more viscerally.

In Jerome Ellis’s meditative “Hymnal,” ritual is again cemented by the music rather than lyrics. In fact, there aren’t so many lyrics to speak of. Like most loop based compositions, “Hymnal” takes hold of a few simple ideas and explores them meticulously—in this case, for nearly thirty minutes. The progression is so gradual that it’s almost indiscernible from one minute to the next, until suddenly it’s shaken beyond recognition. Through such careful rumination and premeditated destruction, the main themes gradually shine.

Of course, a hymnal is itself a sort of ritual, and the choice of titles cements this ideal, although Ellis’s take is woven from a far more expansive history of tradition. In fact, I feel as if he takes on the entire history of music—impossibly vast terrain—as his inspiration, and nearly manages to cover it all. The mysterious drone which slowly swells into a song sounds like the dawn of time. Or, rather, it sounds like the soundtrack to the dawn of time, since obviously primitive musicians didn’t have access to synthesizers. All that’s missing is the voice-over narrated by Leonard Nimoy. Soon, a chant emerges from the sci-fi soundscape, accompanied by tribal percussion. It builds toward a saxophone lead, which evokes the stereotypical but universally recognizable pulse of African music, while harking back to Coltrane’s modal compositions or, perhaps, the work of Rahsaan Rolland Kirk. On and on, the history flows. We pass through the European Classical tradition in a few minutes, from blues to jazz, and beyond. Prominent (and often disconcerting) sound effects mark the most dramatic moments. The applause of the crowd, for instance, becomes a recurring theme. This itself is a strange ritual—why do we slap our palms together to show respect after a performance and, so often, drown out the final note?

The more I contemplate ritual, the less I understand it. In most cases, it seems arbitrary, and yet, so profoundly poetic. Why did Nomar Garciaparra adjust his batting gloves? I imagine he did so because he did it once accidentally and it worked. The repetition was most likely just superstition. Of course, humans seem bound to this sort of behavior. Rituals exist in every society all around the world. It’s natural, since each moment offers infinite possibility and demands infinite choice. We come to a crossroads, and we wonder whether to turn left or right, but the possibilities are far vaster than that. We could back up, halt forever, continue straight into the unmarked woodland between the paths, get out of the car and climb a tree, dig a hole, sit on a stump read a book. Ritual saves us from all that. It tells us exactly what to do and how to do it, beautiful for its complete disregard for reason. And it’s completely dependent on our blind adherence. The moment we notice it, the power is shattered.

Yet if, after a period existential crisis, we return to ritual, aware of alternate possibilities, our adherence is more meaningful still, because it’s intentional. Once we are aware of ritual, it becomes a choice. Some of the tracks exemplify ritual, some defy it. Others merely talk about it. But I think in exemplification, defiance, and discussion alike, they share an important trait—awareness. Through pushing ourselves to notice ritual, we arrive at perhaps the most fundamental freedom of artistic expression. Or, at the very least, we give our eleven-year-old fans something to remember.

Nate Greenberg

	Track 1 — The Wave Pictures: Just Like A Drummer Download audio file (01 Just Like A Drummer.mp3)		Track 2 — Debo Band: Adderech Arada Download audio file (02 Aderech Arada.mp3)
	Track 3 — Spirit Kid: You Lit Up For Me Download audio file (03 You Lit Up For Me.mp3)		Track 4 — Darlingside: Malea Download audio file (04 Malea.mp3)
	Track 5 — Hank & Pigeon: Feathers and Fur Download audio file (05 Feathers and Fur.mp3)		Track 6 — Pistolera: Policia Download audio file (06 Policia.mp3)
	Track 7 — Chrome & Ice Queen: Sway Download audio file (07 Sway.mp3)		Track 8 — Jerome Ellis: Hymnal Download audio file (08 Hymnal.mp3)
	Track 9 — Villagers: 27 Strangers Download audio file (09 Twenty Seven Strangers.mp3)