MP3: “Offend Maggie”

Unlike that totally undeserving-of-the-title crappy boxed rice side-dish, Deerhoof is the ultimate San Francisco treat. On their 10th full length, Offend Maggie, the band continues their tradition of making erratically melodic yet angularly discordant pop music. A lesser outfit could never get away with putting a voice as plaintive as Satomi Matsuzaki’s front and center, but Deerhoof have spent their career cultivating the perfect blend of brash and simple beauty. Of course, being amazingly good musicians certainly helps. Last year’s acclaimed Friend Opportunity showed that even down one member, they lost no ground as a three piece, but with the addition of new guitarist Ed Rodriguez, Offend Maggie ups the sonics to blissful proportions. What’s most surprising about Offend Maggie is the euphoric cognitive dissonance of listening to something that’s both challenging and additively catchy at the same time. “Chandelier Searchlight” showcases their mastery of quirky pop perfection, whereas “Eaguru Guru” has a jarring sense of urgency and build that’s more exhaustively rewarding. It’s like Chutes and Ladders for your ears — Deerhoof’s melodic bliss will send you climbing to new heights, and just when it looks like you’re about to over indulge your musical sweet tooth, down the cacophonous chute you go to start the ascent all over again. – Laura Witkowski

Deerhoof play the Crofoot w/ Experimental Dental School and Flying on 10/18

Bonus: The foot-tappin’ video for “Fresh Born”

MP3: “See/Saw”

Over the course of the year, Memphis’ fuzz-punk purveyor Jay Reatard has been something of an indie-tabloid fire starter. Last April, at a typically wild gig in Toronto, Reatard punched a “fan” directly in the face, after said fan spilled beer all over Jay’s beloved effects pedals. At this Summer’s past Pitchfork Music Festival, Reatard joined King Khan and Deerhunter’s Bradford Cox for an impromptu set (thrown together while awaiting the arrival of Cut Copy). However, instead of thrashing away at his trusty Flying V guitar, Reatard was instead seen screaming nonsense into the microphone and eventually sticking a flower up his ass — birthing the appropriately named supergroup “Buttflower” in the process. And just recently, in an interview accompanying a blistering 3-song set for AOL’s The Interface, Reatard claimed that he felt no connection to the current political climate, and that he spends too much time in other countries to even care (at one point even saying, “Obama your momma”). Apparently, disenchantment is the new Obama t-shirt.

Anyway, whether or not we condone these types of behaviors is somewhat secondary to how much we have fallen in love with the hyperized pop/punk that Reatard has now become almost legendary for producing. Like a Buzzcocks-obsessed version of Guided by Voices’ Robert Pollard, Reatard’s prolific nature has led him to release countless albums and singles over the years, with outfits like the Reatards, Lost Sounds, Final Solutions, as well as under his own name — most notably the 15-song onslaught that is 2006’s Blood Visions. This past summer, In The Red Records released Singles 06-07, a sort of retrospective housing Jay’s 7″ chunks of wax released over those same years. Running from garage-y punk to out-and-out jangle-pop, the album was not only a great introduction to the Reatard, but the first indication that the guy was capable of more than appropriating a spot-on British accent. In turn, the collection hinted at the possibility that the sound of future releases might be a bit harder to pin down.

The reception and quality of both releases also got him signed to Matador Records (longtime home to Guided by Voices, oddly enough). With the indie giant now behind him, Reatard was given the green light to continue his obsessive habit of releasing 7″ singles, and before year’s end, six of them existed on record store shelves and with online retailers alike. Keeping in mind the current climate of the record industry, though — and the fact that, “Hey! Nobody buys music anymore!” — the fact that Matador would get behind such an idea in the first place only seems to promote Reatard’s viability as a songwriter, and not some silly punk kid from the South with too much time on his hands.

But with all things hair-brained and risky, the reason to do it really comes down to simplicity: in this case, for lack of a more intelligent descriptor, the songs contained on Matador Singles ‘08 (the collected version of the aforementioned Matador singles) are good as fuck. Lo-fi, yet hardly crude, quick in pace, but nowhere near forgettable, Reatard continues to prove that he’s on a roll, perhaps rejuvenated by the signing to a new label and his new-found status as punk’s next savior. Touching on everything from Superchunk-esque indie punk (”See/Saw”), caffeinated acoustic pop (”Screaming Hand,” “No Time,” “You Were Sleeping”), to organ-laced sock-hop jams (”You Mean Nothing To Me”) and Wire-ish reverberated art-punk (”Trapped Here,” “Dead On Arrival”), Reatard manages to nod to everyone from ? And the Mysterians, Supergrass, and Buddy Holly, to kiwi-popsters like the Go-Betweens and the Bats — even throwing in a paranoid cover of Deerhunter’s excellent “Fluorescent Grey” for a welcome curveball.

So whether or not Reatard’s public persona is growing continuously viral, with Matador Singles ‘08, there’s no question that his music is continuing to be increasingly vital — and we can’t wait to hear what comes next. Hopefully Buttflower makes an apperance. — Ryan Allen

Jay Reatard plays the Magic Stick w/ Cola Freaks & Terrible Twos on 10/15.

The two-day Baltimore Round Robin event kicks off tonight at the MOCAD gallery. Here’s the concept: 29 Baltimore-bred bands and performance artists set up shop simultaneously “in the round.” Band A plays a few songs then Band B plays their set… you get the picture. Wednesday’s lineup, entitled “Eyes Night” features “a mixture of folk, noise, theatrics, improvisation– music that is spiritual, dreamy etc.,” Thursday’s festivities feature the Godfather of Round Robin himself, Dan Deacon along with The Death Set and 12 other artists presenting “Feet Night” - “music that you dance, thrash, or otherwise move around to.” We’re hoping this just turns into one big dirrrty ’shroom-drenched key party.

Wednesday, October 8th

BEACH HOUSE
JANA HUNTER
SANTA DADS
LEXIE MOUNTAIN BOYS
LESSER ALVAREZ GONZALEZ
TEETH MOUNTAIN
NAUTICAL ALMANAC
LIZZ KING
CREEPERS
WZT HEARTS
ED SCHRADER
SAND CATS
plus SURPRISES

Thursday, October 9th

DAN DEACON
DEATHSET
ADVENTURE
VIDEO HIPPOS
FUTURE ISLANDS
NUCLEAR POWER PANTS
DJ DOG DICK
BLOOD BABY
HEIGHT
CEX
SMART GROWTH
DOUBLE DAGGER
plus SURPRISES

MOCAD is located at 4454 Woodward, Detroit. For more info: http://www.thecrofoot.com

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IP6RQbH8lNo

It’s awesome when bands stream their new albums for free, with that “try before you buy” spirit in mind. It’s even more awesome when said band, is, well, awesome. So in the name of all that is awesome, streaming, and free, we give you the second album by Eastcoast spaz-popsters Pretty & Nice: Get Young. If you’re a fan of the twitchy indie rock of Enon, mixed in with a little 70s new-wave ala Elvis Costello and early XTC, then Get Young is sure to sit nicely next to the new Deerhoof as one of your year end favorites. So what are you waiting for? Listen away, and hey, even buy it if you’re so inclined — it came out today, afterall. We hear gas prices are going down, so you should have enough money. — Ryan Allen

No shit. You’ve already won. Just fill out the form HERE and you’re in to the show on October 7th at the Royal Oak Music Theatre. And this dude will be there…

Pics: Trever Long

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OqDWeQkL-HY

Do they have a wing at Cooperstown for Hall of Fame Shitters?

Pics: Bianca Garza

Brooklyn spaz duo Matt and Kim get all old skool hip hop and shit on their new song “Daylight.” The track comes courtesy of Green Label Sound, Mountain Dew’s new MP3 download site. M&K are just the second artists to release a song via Green Label; the Cool Kids released a track earlier this year and two more bands are slated before the end of ‘08.

MP3: “Daylight”

Pics: Bianca Garza

MP3: “I’m Not Afraid Of A Fight”

This Friday a trip to Corktown won’t exactly make up for your inability to drop everything and take a road trip to Chicago to see My Bloody Valentine, but it’ll still give you a chance to exercise your shoegaze demons. Lansing’s Fields Of Industry make fuzzed out dream music that would fit perfectly on a mixtape with The Velvet Underground and Galaxy 500. Frontman Joshua Barton, when asked to expound on the notion of “the shoegaze label” said, “The shoegaze movement means a lot to me personally because it was that whole scene that pulled me out of listening exclusively to the Ramones (not that that wasn’t fun). I’ve never considered us a shoegaze band, but I think we’ve taken cues from shoegazers and many others who have tried to make something “beautiful” out of rock and roll.” Check out their tune “I’m Not Afraid Of A Fight” from Two Dogs, A Television which they released earlier this year and watch the charming video for “Point Of Contention.” Then go see them Friday — they’re playing with Detroit’s Indian Guides and Modernlull, along with Slow/Dynamite from Brooklyn. A guaranteed dreamy evening. — Laura Witkowski

Video for “Point Of Contention”

MP3: “Hologram Buffalo”

If you live in a solar powered tent-like structure in the middle of New Mexico and spend your days meditating over your Native American heritage, reminiscing about your connection to nature, and writing long, slow motion jams celebrating the Earth and your quest for freedom, congratulations, you are probably Brightblack Morning Light. But for those unable to live a 24/7 hippie life of Zen and healing crystals, the music of Naybob Shineywater and partner Rachael Hughes offers a portal into that world to be entered at will by simply allowing their music to enter your world. Awash with mood altering shimmers and dream-like gliding riffs, Brightblack Morning Light proves that being in touch with the Earth doesn’t necessarily mean keeping your feet on the ground. Motion To Rejoin, their third full length and second for Matador, takes psych, funk, Native American instrumentation, 60’s soul, gospel and more and throws it all into Brightblack Morning Light’s cauldron of mysticism. Like most good recipes, this one takes its sweet time brewing to perfection, and the results must be savored slowly to truly enjoy. Each song floats and swirls like the smoke from a smudging stick, offering emotional and spiritual purification. Brightblack Morning Light are offering up a chance to get back in touch with the environment, to help you remember what it’s like to actually go outside and marvel at nature’s mysteries. Unless you’re far too jaded, consider accepting their Motion To Rejoin. — Laura Witkowski

We decided to finally clean up the office this weekend and found these pics from two weeks ago. Sorry for the delay. Hey, who’s the fucktard who left an open can of V8 on my desk?!

Pics: Bianca Garza

On the morning of Saturday, September 27, I awoke feeling as if I was dropped out of an airplane, only to fall through the roof of my own house and into my own bed. The night before, my band had played our CD release show, and because it was more or less a “celebration” of sorts, I partook in possibly one too many helpings of a certain gold-colored beverage known to impair judgment from time to time, and needless to say, I was “feeling it” the next day.

But no matter — it was time to get up and shake it off. Because today was a day that I had been waiting for ever since I was a 16-year-old scruff in an oversized Sloan t-shirt marveling at the sonic mastery that is Loveless –- indeed, today, I was going to drive to Chicago to see My Bloody Valentine play live; and not only for the first time ever in my life, but for essentially what was only their fifth show in the US in over 15 years.

After a quick trip to Chipotle — McDonald’s Taco Bell! — to stuff a burrito in my alcohol-beaten body, my crew and I were off to Chi-City, cruising down I-94, jamming Archers of Loaf’s White Trash Heroes as if it were 1998 all over again. And soon, it was about to be 1991. And soon after that, 1988. Looks like our little Acura can convert into a time machine after all.

Once we completed the four-ish hour drive, we pulled into the city only to find that the street where our hotel was located was under some sort of construction. There were plastic coverings, loud machinery clack-clunking, and enough dirt, debris, and rubble to make me wonder aloud: “Where the fuck are we? Iraq?” Also, the hotel was essentially hidden under an “L” train rail, so, of course, being from Michigan, we were completely thrown off by the mere existence of an alternative mode of transportation in our midst. Soon enough, though, we found our destination (that iPhone Maps thing really is pretty dope), paid the incredulous fee of $42 dollars to park, and were up in the hotel’s guts in no time.

Once up to the room, we flipped through channels for a bit, but decided it’d be best to get some food and take in some sights before we headed out for the show. And while the broadcast of Con-Air* on TBS was pretty attractive, we opted instead to walk down to Millennium Park to see what was up. Immediately, we saw B-class celeb Chris Hardwick talking on the phone, presumably to either Jenny McCarthy or Carmen Electra, urging them to do a “Singled Out” reunion. Unimpressed, we walked over to a giant silver bean-looking thing, that when standing under it just right, looks like what I would presume the Silver Surfers asshole to look like. Actually, it looks like this:

Then it was on to the Wired Magazine Future Fest (or some shit) to look at a bunch of goofy technology that nobody will care about in five years, when that technology is inevitably replaced by newer technology that nobody will then care about five years after that (and so on). We did see some strange shit though, including something called Brain Ball where two people strap a headband to their noggins and try to move a little ball…WITH THEIR MINDS! We also saw a futuristic wheel chair that you turn by making motions with your hands, and that little yellow dude from the Spoon video. Oh, and giant faces spitting water at little children. Look:

Feeling a little hot, claustrophobic, and not German enough to be in Future World, we decided deep-dish pizza was in order, and were soon getting our grub on across the street. After our meal, we headed back to the hotel to take in some hard hitting MSNBC “Cold Case” report entitled “The Santa Strangler.” And though fascinating, we had bigger things to get to, namely watching four shy British people melt our minds with Fender guitars and gaggles of effects pedals. So, with that thought in mind, we were off to the show.

Arriving at the Aragon Ballroom, where the show was to take place, what I predicted to occur came quickly to life: Hustling and bustling amongst lines for 30-dollar MBV t-shirts and 6-dollars beers were droves of music fans from all walks of life, all with the same sort of intoxicated euphoric gazes, engaging in the kind of excitable anticipatory chatter that seemed fit for a show featuring a band that mostly all of them had either never seen, or had seen only once (and maybe missed some of it cos they were out in the parking lot taking mushrooms and ecstasy) over 15-years ago. You had the aging former college rock DJs in Curve shirts mingling with confused Goths, hipsters in their anti-war scarves, and more than a few “that guys” sporting homemade MBV shirts, worn proudly and without shame. The one thing, besides that we were all here for the same band, that bound us all together were the orange earplugs seen perched in just about everybody’s ear canals. Indeed, shit was about to get LOUD.

Around 9:00, we decided to head in to the actual space where the show was taking place. Walking in, we were a little taken aback by the sheer size of the venue -– it was a massive, cavernous room, filled to the brim with bodies and beers. We traveled around the perimeter, attempting to find a good spot, but had next to no luck. Apparently we didn’t didn’t get the memo that in order to actually see My Bloody Valentine, you had to show up a lot earlier than 8:45. But, “seeing” MBV kind of becomes secondary; soon, we were about to feel them.

A little after 9, the lights on the stage darkened. In response, the crowd served up a mediocre-at-best version of clapping and cheering –- one fit for a support act, and not a legendary band that has been dormant for the better part of two decades. “Oh,” we thought, “we just got here in time for the opening band” (New York mope rockers Hopewell). Much to our surprise, though, the familiar seagull-sounding synth line of “I Only Said” off of Loveless started blasting in mind-boggling volume from the PA system. And in that instant, My Bloody Valentine was playing. Earplugs: IN!

We moved from our spot on the balcony down to the floor, again, desperately trying to find an ideal spot. This is a photographic document of our journey:

First spot: by the stairs. Not good.

Second: by a pillar, peaking around the corner. Meh.

Third: back by the beer (yes!) and with enough room to make out four barely moving figures holding Fender Jazzmasters like weapons of mass destruction. Eh, good enough:

So here it was: 15 or so years in the making, and My Bloody Valentine were actually playing. As they moved through their set, a few things became strikingly evident:
1. It was loud as fuck. Seriously, I saw dudes were wearing the kind of ear protection that the guys on airplane runways wear.
2. MBV were not going to talk, save for “Thanks for coming” (from guitarist Bilinda Butcher) and “Thanks” from Mr. Kevin Shields himself –- which came about 10 songs into their set.
3. The light show and video projection playing behind them was meant to take the place of any actual movement on stage, save for a wobbly Debbie Googe, who sported a wicked white Fender Thunderbird bass.
4. All of the texture, i.e. the famous synth lines and, of course, the drum loops that pepper Loveless were pre-recorded, occasionally giving off the impression that we were watching MBV karaoke.
5. Songs from Isn’t Anything and the You Made Me Realise EP sounded amazing, most notably because the band is might tighter now than they were back in 1988, especially drummer Colm Ó Cíosóig.

As the set was coming to an end –- a set that essentially succeeded on the “songs I want to hear” count, though I would have liked a bit more from Isn’t Anything (“Soft As Snow (But Warm Inside) would have been great) — the inevitable was soon on the horizon. The final frenzied chords of the punkish “Feed Me With Your Kiss” came to a close, and soon, the atonal riffs that kick off “You Made Me Realise” were soon bellowing like angry hornets out of the Aragon’s by now pushed-to-it’s-limits PA system. About two-or-so-minutes into the song, the band comes to an abrupt stop, and what is now known as the “Holocaust Section” of the track explodes into shards of pure white noise. Then, it goes on for twenty minutes. Throughout, your body tends to experience a number of different emotions. First, you laugh, not knowing what else to do. Then you start looking around, taking in the reactions of other folks, some with their ears covered, some looking like they are about to vomit. Others looked confused and angry; others were in pure ecstasy, letting the noise wash over them like fearless cameramen sucked into the eye of a hurricane. Either way, this is the first time that instead of only just hearing a band, that I actually felt them as well. At one point, my wife turned to me and said, “This is making my throat vibrate.”

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the band kicked back in, ending the song in a furious whirlwind, leaving most people stunned at what they just saw. Many in the crowd hung around for the possibility of an encore, but really, how can you top the musical equivalent of a band replicating the sound of an airplane engine exploding? Really, you just can’t (although the band’s cover of Wire’s “Map Reference 41°N 93°W” would have come close). So what to do after all that? How about dance to some Spanish techno at Duffy’s Bar, and get increasingly more intoxicated at the Rainbo. All in all, it was a hell of a night, and we have this guy to blame for it:

My Bloody Valentine Set List:
I Only Said - When You Sleep - You Never Should - When You Wake - Cigarette In Your Bed - Come In Alone - Only Shallow - Thorn - Nothing Much To Lose - To Here Knows When - Slow - Soon - Feed Me With Your Kiss - You Made Me Realise

Also, a nice photo set from the show.

*Did you know that Dave Chappelle is in Con-Air? Because he totally is.

– Ryan Allen

Like the rest of America, we’ve always had a mild curiosity, but overall “meh” attitude towards Kings of Leon. When they first hit in the summer of 2003, with Youth & Young Manhood, they were sporting Allman Brothers locks, their sisters’ jeans, and spiky guitars laced with a Southern twang that pegged them as a hick-version of the Strokes (or, perhaps, if My Morning Jacket had jumped in a time machine and relocated to New York City in 1978). But like a lot of new bands that were sprouting from the underground in the early parts of the Millennium, Kings of Leon seemed like another flash in the pan, with more “rock critics” (’sup, Jenny Eliscu?) focusing on the Followill boys’ tweed jackets, long locks, and chest tats rather than the fact that, well, besides having chiseled jaws and cool clothes, that their actual songs were sort of ho-hum. Passable. Kinda cool, but not terribly exciting.

Thankfully for Kings of Leon, England usually disagrees with what most of the American music buying public thinks (how else can you explain the Libertines?), and once in a great while, they choose a group from our side of the pond to praise, champion, and essentially claim as their own (’sup, Strokes?). So starting with their debut, and even more-so upon the release of 2005’s Aha Shake Heartbreak, Kings of Leon went from being on a few critics’ “cool lists” to sharing tea and crumpets with Oasis, with their mugs plastered on the cover of the NME every three issues or so (splitting time with the Libertines, presumably).

Still, America shrugged its shoulders. Maybe it’s cos the dudes are all brothers (well, the drummer is a cousin), and American brother-bands just aren’t taken seriously over here (the Brits have Oasis and we have, uh, Hanson?). Or maybe they’re just too goddamn good looking. Or perhaps it’s because their brand of rock and roll isn’t as easily digestible as, say, Kid Rock’s, who somehow gets away with combining Southern-rock clichés with recycled RUN DMC beats.

Whatever the case, KOL must have realized that a little change was in order. Starting on last year’s basically awesome Because of the Times, and on into the new Only by the Night, the down-home, “aw shucks” country boy thing gets pushed to side a bit, and as a result, a more succinct, melodic, and bold side of the band has come forth. Examples? How about we start with “Be Somebody,” a tune strewn with electrifying U2-ism’s in the guitar work, with brooding singer Caleb Followill’s chugging baritone going on about “loosening” his tie — which, really, is just what this band needs. Elsewhere, “Closer” bumps on with a sexy swagger that is at once grungy, spacey, and soulful, and at 3:16, when the song is left to breath for a moment…well, it’s nothing short of spine tingling. “Notion” nods to the Leon of old, but takes the path of trusted rootsy rockers Petty and Springsteen — less “Bonnaroo” if you will — with plonky pianos and crunchy-vs.-ringing guitar jangle that comes off effortlessly. Hell, even the wonky Johnny Greenwood-esque guitar lead sounds right here. The anthemic “Use Somebody” reaches for Arcade Fire/Coldplay levels of grandiosity, but brings things down to Earth with a little bit of restraint, and the ability to know that three minutes and fourty-five seconds is long enough to make your point. “Crawl” combines religious sentiments with a killer bass riff that could have been lifted from DFA 1979’s last album (or, more accurately, Joy Division’s whole catalouge) and drumming that nods to Led Zep’s “Kashmir,” as Caleb taunts “the crucified USA” to “learn to crawl” before he walks away. Hm, looks like even they realize America needs to play catch up when it comes to their own band.

Of course, we’ve all heard lead single “Sex on Fire” by now — with a title like that, how could we not? But even if it functions as the albums “popular” jam, the song still stands out on the album for it’s confident stance and passionate delivery by the whole band. And really, who doesn’t want to lean over to a loved one and shout, “Yo SEX is on FIYAAAAH!” during a nice moment of intimacy? We know we do. Thanks Kings of Leon. Oh…sweet new haircuts, by the way. — Ryan Allen

“Crawl,” from Kings of Leon’s YouTube Channel.

MP3: “Jump In The Pool”

Hailing from the northern suburbs of London, Friendly Fires were apparently born out of boredom. Shocking, considering that their self-titled, XL-approved debut is far from yawn inducing (but we guess that’s how they do in the “northern suburbs of London”). Combining funky rhythms and sweeping synths, at first glance, it seems that these lads are aiming straight for your ass, creating a mood that seems ripe for drug taking, bumps ‘n grinds, and other naughty things. But, while FF do tend to fit into the electronica/synthpop genre usually reserved for mindless romps on the dance floor (think the Presets new-wave sheen mingling with the bounciness of Foals, and you’re close), they pick things up where other more credible influences like the Talking Heads and Public Image Ltd. left off — packing in substance and soul behind into their elastic sound. Lead singer/guitarist Ed Mac brightens every song with hooks so effortless, you’d swear they came from the mind of David Byrne himself, while synth player/guitarist Edd Gibson and drummer Jack Savidge create a seasaw of building melodies that rise with a fury and cascade into a rush of euphoria. Album opener “Jump in the Pool” kicks things off, with chaotic drums and a throbbing bass line, egging you to do exactly what the title demands. “Lovesick” is a sure hit, chock full of sexy, breathy vocals and a synth line that ought to give Fischerspooner and Klaxons a run for their money. And if you’re not sold by the time “Skeleton Boy” rolls around — a track that seamlessly transitions from 70s-disco glitter into to a gorgeous, sing-a-long chorus — then, my friend, you’re probably just afraid of the water. — Elle Sawa

Bonus!: The video for “Jump In The Pool”

By Paul Serilla

Today, the world gets its first look at a product that some people who probably know little about “business” or “music” are calling, ahem, the “SAVIOR OF THE MUSIC BUSINESS” (dun-dun-du-dah!).

But in case you haven’t heard, we’ll fill you in: MySpace, partnering with Sony BMG, Universal Music Group, and Warner Music Group, is launching MySpace Music: an iTunes-esque music service that will offer DRM-free downloads, ringtones, concert tickets, t-shirts and other merchandise for us all to lap up with saliva-dripping tongues. And yes, that MySpace — the Fox/News Corp.-owned social networking phenom that is ironically part of the same Interweb that was, until recently, seen as only stabbing the music industry repeatedly in the face.

What MySpace is purporting to offer may sound familiar to users who frequent similarly minded services like Pandora, Last.FM, and subscription services like Rhapsody, but it also could end up being a fair step beyond those services in the evolution of music supported by advertising.

MySpace is, of course, already a big deal in popular music. To date, they have something in the neighborhood of 600,000 artists signed up, giving the tens-of-millions of MySpace users access to at least some of their music, and for better or worse, it has changed the way musicians think about promoting and the way fans think about interacting with artists and discovering new music. This new service is distinguished in several ways from the familiar MySpace music offerings.

First, it’s based around a new music player that will allow users to play “pre-existing” play lists or create their own from the music offered on MySpace — which on its own isn’t a big deal, particularly if you currently use MySpace to “shop” for the music you want (i.e., permanently borrow from other places on the Internets). Second, MySpace has agreements with the aforementioned largest record companies in the game. Though, the details of these agreements are far from clear, we can presume that the music the majors control — including their substantial back catalogs — will be offered up on MySpace for a share of the advertising revenue. The majors, in turn, would, again presumably, give some of that money to the artists — at least if they are contractually obligated to do so.

It is also unclear how much “new content” — both in terms of newly released albums and back catalogs — will be added to MySpace Music . But certainly the parties involved are looking to premier albums on the service. Shit, we wouldn’t be surprised to see full albums being “pre-released” via MySpace with an associated corporate promotion — think “McDonalds Presents: Free Downloads With That Shake! (we’re making this up) where, say, we get to grab the new Fall Out Boy record for the first week of it’s release. Or, perhaps, they’ll give us a coupon for free Starbucks when you pay to download the new Wilco album (Tweedy looks more like Dunkin’ D’s dude, though, doesn’t he?)

How does a band that isn’t on a major or even on any label at all get their cut of the cash? Fuck, it beats us. But we’d suggest any band that gets any significant traffic on their MySpace page read their user agreement and look for any updates to that agreement to find out if you are owed anything, or if you are still just trading your wares for the free hosting and promotional abilities like you were before.

And what about the notion of ad-supported music in general? Before you get your No Logo panties in a bunch, let’s first consider that ad=supported music is nothing new. Bands like Radiohead, R.E.M and Pearl Jam have, to varying degrees, fought association with corporate sponsorship. However, they have gladly accepted money from those same corporations when it was laundered by the ad supported radio and TV stations that pay artists/labels for their performance rights.

But, whatever your opinion of the music business as we now know it is, many capitalists and socialists among us would like to see a world where a person can make a living creating music. Sadly, it isn’t clear what we the consumers of that music are willing to trade to make it happen. With what little we know about the new MySpace Music service, it does appear like it could be a way for musicians to trade their talents and intellectual property for money –- whether the compensation will be fair, however, will likely always be in debate. Ultimately, the long-term success of this or any new distribution service is going to be predicated on how far they are willing to venture beyond the traditional acts pushed by major labels.

If ad supported web-music providers model themselves on traditional radio/TV, where networks are spoon-fed artists and songs by the major labels, they’ll only succeed in prolonging the existing regime a little longer. If instead they take a cue from the broad range of artists whose profiles have grown because of the past decade of illegal file sharing, and are able to proportionately support the next big thing, your cousin’s bar band and inevitable reunion by a mega-band of the past might be in for a new marketplace. One that keeps free music in consumers hands, while sharing the spoils created from the service musicians provide in making that same music in the first place.

MP3: “Yesterday Tomorrows”

The title sounds like it could be a children’s album, and with song names like “Come Feel the Sun” and “Boobar Come Back To Me,” it would be an understandable mistake. But unless your kid wears a smoking jacket, requests Albert Camus essays for bedtime stories and casually throws around phrases like, “This wine has the perfect blend of oaky notes and fruit tones,” The Hungry Saw is probably not for them. Led by the unmistakable gravelly baritone of Stuart Staples, Tindersticks have been making exquisitely dark orchestral pop for the last 17 years or so. In 2005 it looked like it might be curtains for the group, but the band tentatively regrouped last year and The Hungry Saw was born. Their first album in five years marks a resounding return to form. Recorded in Staples’ own exquisite home recording studio in France, the hallmarks that begat a rabidly devoted fan base back in the early 90’s are all present: slowly building, dramatic song structure, gorgeously haunting string arrangements, delicately sustained piano, playful experimentation, and wrenching tales of love and loss, good and evil. “Sometimes I wonder about the turns we took to get here,” Staples croons on the album’s closer, but it’s clear that whatever turns were taken to get to The Hungry Saw, Tindersticks have been led right back to where they needed to be. — Laura Witkowski

MP3: “Lock and Key”

If there was ever a tactful way to tell someone to “shove it,” Mason Proper has figured it out: with smarmy lyrics over a crisp guitar and dissonant piano. Said shoving all happens three songs in, on the killer “Lock and Key” — just one of the many standouts on Olly Oxen Free, the Ann Arbor quartet’s second full-length effort. Elsewhere, singer/contortionist Jonathan Visger’s morbid fascination with disassembling body parts is as rabid as ever, and tracks like “Out Dragging the River” (re: “Friendship” from the Shorthand EP) show his freaky lyrics continuing to leave a lot to the imagination. Throughout Olly Oxen Free, Visger and the rest of the Mason Proper boys get their freak on — going from a light sprinkle to a downpour to a monsoon and back again within the same song. But instead of going off the deep end, they get the weird out in more subtle ways, choosing not to let their inherent creepiness overshadow their knack for writing catchy tunes — other key tracks “Point A to Point B” and “Only a Moment” amongst them. Indeed, just as “when all else fails, get crazy” seemed an occasional go-to move on 2007’s There Is a Moth In Your Chest, the arrangements are scaled-back this time around, revealing a finely chiseled sculpture that is sure to become a permanent fixture on the Mitten’s indie-rock mantle. So compare all you like — yeah, you’ll hear some Radiohead, some Pixies, hell, maybe a little Grandaddy or even a less wacky version of the Dismemberment Plan. Regardless, Olly Oxen Free is a big, meaty, and, at times, tactfully restrained effort from one of Michigan’s most underrated, and perhaps best, bands.  — Elle Sawa

MP3: “Couch Surfing”

Friendly Foes’ Born Radical is the most important rock & roll album ever made, an unsurpassed adventure in concept, sound, songwriting, cover art and studio technology by the greatest rock & roll group of all time. From “Full Moon Morning”’s regal blasts of brass and fuzz guitar to the triumphant seizure and short piano chord at the end of “Rush the Land,” the thirteen tracks on Born Radical are the pinnacle of the Friendly Foes’ one year as recording artists. Ryan Allen, Liz Wittman, and Brad Elliott were never more fearless and unified in their pursuit of magic and transcendence.

Issued in America on September 26, 2008, Born Radical is also rock’s ultimate declaration of change. “We were fed up with being Friendly Foes,” Allen said later, in I’m A Total Asshole, Dude McBookwriter’s Allen biography. “We were not boys and girls, we were men and women…artists rather than performers.”

At the same time, Born Radical formally ushered in an unforgettable season of hope, upheaval and achievement: the early 2000s and, in particular, 2008’s Summer of Drinking Alot. In its iridescent instrumentation, lyric fantasias and eye-popping packaging, Born Radical defined the opulent revolutionary optimism of psychedelia and instantly spread the gospel of love, acid, Eastern spirituality and electric guitars around the globe. No other pop record of that era, or since, has had such an immediate, titanic impact. This music documents the world’s biggest rock band at the very height of its influence and ambition. “It was a peak,” Elliott confirmed in his 2008 interview with himself in a mirror, describing both the album and his collaborative relationship with Allen and Wittman. “Ryan, Lizzie, and I definitely were working together,” Elliott said, and Born Radical is rich with proof: Elliott’s burst of whip-lash drums in Wittman’s “Get Ripped” is simply astounding; Wittman’s impish rejoinder to Allen’s bridge in “Couch Surfing” (”ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba…”) sounds kind of like sheep.

“Born Radical is our grandest endeavor,” Wittman said. “The greatest thing about the band was that whoever had the best idea — it didn’t matter who — that was the one we’d use. No one was standing on their ego, saying, ‘Well, it’s mine,’ and getting possessive.” It was Dave Feeny, the Foes’ producer, who suggested they they add pedal steel to “Epic Jamb”, just before the grand finale of the album’s longest song.

Born Radical is not the Number One album of nothing in particular just because of its firsts — it is simply the best of everything Friendly Foes ever did as musicians, pioneers and pop stars, all in one place. A non-existent 2008 print ad for the album declared, “Remember Born Radical Is Friendly Foes.” As Allen put it, the album was “just us doing a good show.”

The show goes on forever. (LOL/ROLF/JOKES)

Friendly Foes’ CD Release Show w/ Copper Thieves & Big Mess • 9/26/08 • Berkley Front