Music

[ALBUM REVIEW] Wilco (The Album)

Matt Medlock — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 23:14:00 +0000

If this is the sound of a band floundering without inspiration, I’ll take it, and so should you. Whenever a band rises to a once restricted plateau, suddenly there’s no excuse to wander down the path sloping into the valley. For Wilco, as they ascended past Summerteeth and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (pick your own favorite), they were expected to keep going. And A Ghost Is Born was nearly of the same height, yet suddenly the consensus said, “too far.” Then when they “played it safe” with a mostly ordinary batch of summery pop and country rock tunes on 2007’s Sky Blue Sky, the fanbase was split, and fears of settling began to ripple. Now we have the amusingly titled Wilco (The Album), which could be called a retread (no matter the implications of insult or applause you consider with such a remark). So it’s the sort of stuff they do, and more of it. Stale? Not quite, but isn’t more of the same still better than a bad turn?

[ALBUM REVIEW] Wait For Me

Tyler Barlass — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 23:00:00 +0000

For all the up-tempo dance-pop splendor that Moby showcased on last year’s critically lauded Last Night, an album that was considered by many to be a return to the dance floor and a return to form for the legendary electronica artist, I seemed to always favor the more downplayed ambient side of Moby’s eclectic styles. Luckily for me Moby has followed up the energetic Last Night with a much more subdued, brooding and ambient filled album that seems to tickle my musical fetishes in ways that no Moby album has ever done before. Before I even gave Wait for Me a first listen, the rumors that I was hearing about the album had already peaked my interest. Moby said that the approach he took while writing the album was to “make records that were more personal,” and create something that was “artistically and creatively more satisfying.” While listening to the finished product you can easily see where he’s coming from. Wait for Me is a cohesive swirl of shimmering sounds that all work together to create a beautiful yet weary work of art. It’s heavy-hearted for sure, a far cry from the cheerfully upbeat Last Night, but despite its downtrodden mood it’s just hard to stop listening to the ethereal beauty of it all.

The album begins with a string filled intro that prepares the listener for the journey he or she is about to embark on. It segues well into the slow burn single “Pale Horses” sung by Amelia Zirin Brown, an apparent friend of Moby. All of the vocals on Wait for Me are actually performed by New York area friends of the artist; I guess this adds an even more personal touch to the album. Moby commented about the subject, “On ‘Pale Horses’ my friend Amelia is singing; she's holding a $20 microphone, no headphones, just singing it with me holding the lyrics in front of her pointing to the words. She didn’t know the song before she sang it, so her performance has a vulnerable and almost naive quality. After recording her vocals I thought they still sounded too polished, so I put her vocals on an old 1/8” tape machine and re-recorded them back into the song. I wanted them to sound as if they were recorded 50 years ago instead of in 2008.” And that’s just one of the many unique recording techniques that Moby employed to try and get the sound he was looking for on Wait for Me. Other examples include the fact that the record was recorded in Moby’s home studio rather than an actual professional recording studio and even the album artwork was hand written by Moby himself with a sharpie.

The following track, the dark and theatrical “Shot in the Back of the Head” is no doubt one of the true highlights on the disc. The song opens with a grating synthesizer, building in mounting anticipation before an array of sounds aid it in its continued path towards oblivion. Other songs on the LP that contain less tension are equally as interesting. “JTLF” and its preface track “JTLF-1,” will sweep you away its piano filled aura. The title track is a nice change of pace for it’s slightly more up tempo styling, and the jazzy “Hope Is Gone” is definitely one my favorite tracks on the album.

One of the greatest aspects of Wait for Me is its nearly uninterrupted flow. Other than a couple of wayward moments, such as the out of place “Study War” or the uninspired “A Seat Night,” the album ebbs and flows better than any Moby album since Play, and it actually may be a little more cohesive than that iconic album. From the table setting intro to the dreamy final track “Isolate,” with its weeping guitar, its yearning strings and its show stealing piano work, Wait for Me has completely taken me by surprise. Though I was once a distant admirer of Moby’s ability to bring electronic music to the masses, this album has made me a true fan. It’s dark and dynamic, beautiful and haunting – and it’s not only one of the year’s best full lengths, it’s one of Moby’s finest moments.

Collectible Picture Discs

Robert Benson — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 16:25:00 +0000

Picture discs are manufactured to be a collectible and not meant to play as well as a conventional vinyl record; although some actually sound great. This is due to the manufacturing process as each side is coated with layers of PVC (poly vinyl chloride); sometimes up to five layers.As this process is being done, a continuous groove of music or even a band interview is pressed onto the playing surface.

Fifty Years of Great Music: The Top 100 Albums of the 1970s

Matt Medlock — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 19:29:00 +0000

Another decade comes to a close in the fourth chapter of 50 Years of Great Music, looking now at the albums of the 70s before moving on to the Reagan-ites. If you thought the 60s album list was chockfull of winners, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

[ALBUM REVIEW] Farm

Matt Medlock — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 01:07:00 +0000

Beyond was the left hook of 2007. Dinosaur Jr. had been pretty much missing for a decade. Bassist Lou Barlow was kicked out in 1989 to form Sebadoh and drummer Murph took off in ’93. Since then, frontman J Mascis kept the name alive for a couple more albums and the occasional show, but it seemed to everyone but the eternally optimistic that the band was done. But even when rumors of a reunion began circling, there was little hope for new material—a transparent cash grab to the jaded. Even when a new album was announced, there wasn’t a huge amount of furor; descending quality of records in the 90s hinted that Mascis’ best stuff was behind him. But then we listened to Beyond and we were stunned. Not only was it one of the best rock albums of the year, but it was the band’s best since You’re Living All Over Me from 1987. Mascis, Barlow and Murph were back, and we couldn’t believe our ears. Not in an “oh, shit, are they still relevant?” sort of way, but rather a “these guys still write and sound great” way. They didn’t become the, ahem, dinosaurs we feared.

Farm proves it wasn’t a one-shot, either. This and Beyond is the sound of a collective reinvigorated and ready for action. Even with diminished returns and a few problems, it’s a reliably solid entry in their canon; calling it a “typical” Dinosaur Jr. album is both backhanded and somewhat inaccurate. There are far fewer surprises (and memorable tunes) here than on Beyond, but it still sounds deliberate and controlled, the result that the band was aiming for, and another notch in their belt. Even if it doesn’t blow you away, I doubt you’ll walk away unsatisfied.

As usual, they get the ball rolling with their tighter and heavier side, pounding through sheets of melodic fuzz on “Pieces” and “I Want You to Know.” The viscous pummeling comes with Mascis’ trademark sensitive slacker drawl, mimicking their well-loved heart friction. “Pieces”’ rumbling bridge and the jerky guitar sequence leading up to “I Want You to Know”’s chorus are musical highlights—the band’s melodies are never impenetrable, but they can become swampy at length. On “Ocean in the Way,” the most memorable bit is when the tempo slows, the guitar sounds almost clean and there are gaps in the noise.

Such highpoints demonstrate one of the two chief problems on Farm. Because Dinosaur Jr. isn’t interested in abandoning their roots (applaud them, please), there’s a ringing familiarity to many of these songs. Even the best ones echo our record collection. Just as many of their best moments in the 90s came courtesy of pace-changers, so too does Farm excel when their identity is shed in favor of newly inspired tricks. It also doesn’t help matters that since it runs more than an hour, the second half has a tendency to drag, reducing serviceable songs to the drudge of filler. More variety or more careful pruning might have helped Farm approach Beyond’s plateau.

On that variety side we crave, we get Barlow, who contributed two of the twelve tracks. Coming after “Plans,” “Your Weather” opens with a refreshingly loud and robotic stomp, executed by his blurry bass and Murph’s huge cymbal fills. It’s lacking a great chorus, but the verses stand apart with original zeal. “Imagination Blind” follows suit with more percussive clatter and spaced out blasts of distortion. Neither one is a Dino classic by any stretch, but their individuality is refreshing. A shame, then, that “Blind” ends the album instead of the second-to-last epic jam “I Don’t Wanna Go There” when it would have been better served in the ninth or tenth spot.

Speaking of jams, there lies another surprise. Considering the quibble of overlength and the tendency to meander the same style set ad infintium, the longer tracks are all among the album’s watershed moments. “I Don’t Wanna Go There” has already become a live staple (with a searing extended solo lasting more than four minutes), “Plans” grinds away its world-weary attitude with exceptional guitar flourishes and “Said the People” has a strong vocal pull, with Mascis’ adenoidal whine being put to good use singing, “I’ve been staring, I’ve been staring in the space/All this time, not a smile, such a waste…All the people drag me down.” As a lyricist, Mascis has always dealt in vague solipsism and quandaries, but it always fit into his slacker ethos. As the catalogue builds up, though, rehashing the same old ideas can become burdensome, but careful phrasing and inflection help. “Said the People” is forgiven of such sins.

Solos on second side numbers like “There’s No Here” and “Friends” can be a bit tedious, but positioning is a factor as much as writing/performance. Notice how a solid effort like “See You” is amplified for its more cutting guitar edge and trilling effects before “I Don’t Wanna Go There”’s greasy sludge. But then notice how you don’t really care. A good Dinosaur Jr. album is precisely that, and just because it doesn’t blow your mind (and speakers) the way that their best do doesn’t mean the band is running out of steam. Mascis will never escape the overused Neil Young comparisons courtesy of his vocal tone and boggy reverb (though, if anything, Barlow actually sounds more like Young singing), but if he were wise, he’d do his best not to escape the company of Barlow and Murph. The latter rocked with the Lemonheads, Sebadoh had several terrific songs and Dinosaur Jr. wasn’t awful when only Mascis remained from the original lineup, but these three reach their peaks as a single unit. The grey in Mascis’ long hair is finally matching the grizzle in his guitar, but with Barlow and Murph filling the gaps with gorgeous, grungy noise, they’ll be tough to beat for as long as they wish.

Michael Jackson (1958-2009)

Matt Medlock — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 22:19:00 +0000

Roger Dean - Iconic Album Cover Artist

Robert Benson — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 17:36:00 +0000

Dean was born in Ashford, Kent, England in 1944 and spent much of his childhood moving around the world (he has lived in Cyprus, Greece and Hong Kong) with his British army father. The family returned to England in 1957 where Dean enrolled in the Canterbury School of Art and earned a National Diploma of Design. In 1968, he graduated from the Royal College of Art. Dean preferred to distinguish between design and the reworking of an existing model or design or inventing and the making of something new, a concept that would help him later on with his work.

[ALBUM REVIEW] Ode to the Ego

Tyler Barlass — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 22:45:00 +0000

Elwood Emission is Lucy Kalantari, who is Luciar, who is a talented singer songwriter from Brooklyn with a beautiful voice and a broad taste in music. Under the name Luciar, Lucy writes piano based music that covers a number of varied genres, yet it’s all tied together by her ranging and soulful vocals. When Kalantari decides to explore sharper, darker and more ukulele filled territory though, she has decided to use the Elwood Emission moniker. Ode to the Ego, the debut album by Elwood Emission, which actually feels like more of an EP seeing as how it only has 6 tracks, is a trip through the depths of the darker, angry side of Kalantari as she chooses to take a turn at the industrial side of her varied musical palette. It’s an interesting venture, even if it’s not always a fulfilling one.

To say that Ode to the Ego is just a trip into paths that have already been tread by post-industrial stalwarts such as Nine Inch Nails or Ministry would be wrong. Despite the obvious influence of the popular ‘90s industrial movement, Kalantari makes sure that Ego has its own unique sound. On the opening track, “The Invitation,” we’re accompanied strictly by Kalantari’s voice and the strumming of a ukulele which ultimately leads into an electronic filled slow burn of a song, “Other,” that itself would have fit nicely into the alternative radio mix of 1996. Whether this is a good thing or not is up to you, but this type of music (which I was never a big fan of to begin with) seems to me like it has ran its natural course sometime ago. Luckily Ego refuses to stay stale, despite its short run time. The third track “Run” is more creative than the album’s two previous songs, and despite its rather inconspicuous beat it does pack a punch thanks to Kalantari’s impassioned vocals.

The latter half of the album is where things get more interesting or at least more enjoyable for me. “Despicable” is the type of absolutely angry track that an album that feels as bleak as this one just needs to have. With a line like, “You’re just a good for nothing fucker causing nothing but grief,” you can tell she means business. My favorite six minutes of the entire record though, is the final two tracks on the album. “Stillness” is the longest song on Ego and puts Kalantari where she belongs, behind the pearly white keys of a piano. The song is an atmospheric instrumental, showcasing Kalantari’s ability to craft an interesting song without the aid of her voice. It’s a dark and haunting piece that is very reminiscent of the piano based instrumental music created by fellow pianist Faith Coloccia last year under the name Mamiffer.

The final track on the album directly segues from “Stillness,” and is more focused on the swirling sound than the crunching beat. “Divine” is a piano based epic that is more moving than the rest of the disc as a whole and in my opinion is by far the best use of Kalantari’s voice. It’s a song in which the singer/songwriter’s natural musical talents can shine the best. Not that the genre path she has chosen to go down on the first half of Ode to the Ego doesn’t have its place, but it just seems that some artists are better suited for certain types of music. Lucy Kalantari is an artist that I would love to hear more of in the future, though maybe going by the name Luciar rather than Elwood Emission.

[ALBUM REVIEW] Back and Forth

Nick Weingartner — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 19:50:00 +0000

I can’t help fighting the idea that Pete Yorn is trying to be M. Ward.

His newest disc Back and Forth reeks of M. Ward similarities, down to the scruffy voice and Saddle Creek sound, even to the point of getting producer Mike Mogis of Bright Eyes fame to hop on board. Add this to the fact that he will soon be releasing Break Up, which is an album with written and performed along side the next actor-turned-singer, Scarlett Johansson. Sound like the M. Ward / Zooey Deschanel band She & Him? It does to me. Just check out their track "Realtor" on their new myspace; Johansson even attempts to sing like Zooey Deschanel. But Nevertheless, Back and Forth must be judged on it’s own merits, and not by the stigma it seems to carry.

The album starts with it’s single, “Don’t Wanna Cry." It starts with its chorus, and barely deviates from it throughout the song. It’s catchy and poppy, with a chorus that will surely fill the void left by a break-up for many teenage girls, and will more-than likely be the musical component for plenty of senior slide shows.

"Paradise Cove" follows, and so starts the assault of an M. Ward impersonation. Yorn starts the song singing in Ward’s signature low and raspy voice, but eventually climbs a little bit higher and adds another catchy chorus from his singer-songwriter tool belt, which comes seemingly every 20 seconds. The verses are mostly well written, but filled with lines like “sing me a song/sing your heart out” and “when you talk/it makes me cringe.” It ends with more M. Ward singing, and before you know it your onto the next song.

"Close" sounds strikingly similar to the first song, but this time includes falsetto singing. It is utterly predictable, and the entire song sounds like one big chorus. Mogis becomes a bit apparent though in this track, with a soft Bright Eyes-esque trumpet solo found nestled in between the monotony.

Starting with plucking, "Social Development Dance" sounds like something different. Before you know it, a beat hits, and you start to get exited – but then comes the Yorn swirling chorus. Still, the verses are the highlight of the album so far, and the choruses are bearable. "Shotgun" also contains some of this newly found optimism, with verses and drums that stand out far from the rest of the album. But within a few seconds your back into the formula, with building pre-choruses and a swirling chorus. There is a few second guitar solo though, which may be the best part of the album.

The rest of the album goes by in a predictable and methodical manner, to the point where writing about it even becomes monotonous. Basically, as you might have already deduced, the formula goes as follows: above average verses + a building pre-chorus + a swirling chorus, mixed with a few swoops down into M. Ward range and all too short flashes of Mogis-genius = just about every song on Back and Forth.

Towards the end, Yorn does catch up a bit for lost time- throwing in two interesting ballads, ‘Four Years’ and ‘Long Time Nothing New’ – the latter of which is the best song on the album. But it isn’t enough to save the album as a whole.

In the end, Yorn’s newest disc is pleasant. It’s sung well, and is produced and mixed smoothly – but it isn’t anything new. Even though I’d give large sums of money and firearms to sing like him, I can’t help but dozing off into my own head every time the record starts to spin. Maybe this feeling comes off the heels of reviewing Daniel Francis Doyle's tour-de-force of crazy We Bet Our Money on You, but being a huge fan of acoustic Mike-Mogis-produced folk (i.e. Bright Eyes), it surprises me how bored I actually became while listening to Back and Forth.

Ironically, Yorn sums up the record perfectly with the chorus in his last song, singing “It’s been a long time, nothing new.” Maybe Break Up will be better. But until then I’m stuck singing the chorus of “Don’t Wanna Cry” over and over again in my head.

Online Vinyl Record Sales - A New Business Model

Robert Benson — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 14:27:00 +0000

The music industry is an ever changing business entity. Slowly, CDs are disappearing as the format of choice and the sales leader of retail music. However, there is an old and friendly favorite emerging for millions of music lovers and competing for that almighty music dollar.

Vinyl records are back, as the youth of today are finding the listening experience is greatly enriched when utilizing this historic music medium. In fact, the resurgent vinyl record market shows no signs of a slowdown. Nielsen SoundScan has released estimated figures that indicate that sales of vinyl in the US are up 50% through the first five months of 2009. The counting giant also predicts that vinyl record sales will reach over 2.7 million units sold in 2009; up from 1.9 million units in 2008.

Music Video Corner III

Matt Medlock — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 00:53:00 +0000

Ventures’ Bob Bogle Passes Away

Robert Benson — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 20:06:00 +0000

A statement on the group’s website read:

“It is with profound sadness and grief that we must inform Ventures' fans all over the world that Bob Bogle passed away on Sunday, June 14. Our thoughts and prayers are with Bob's family at this terrible time, especially his beloved wife, Yumi, who has been the light of his life for so many years. The Ventures' members are completely devastated, and share the pain of this loss with all our friends and fans. As more information becomes available, it will be posted here, and we hope to set up a section on this site for messages from those who wish to post them.”

“The music world has lost a true original and an innovator - may all our wonderful memories console us.”

The Compelling Sound of The Defibulators

Tyler Barlass — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 13:37:00 +0000

Compelling is a good word to use when describing New York's banjo, fiddle and washboard filled hillbilly rock of The Defibulators, though unique may be an even better description. The band recently released their debut album Corn Money to almost unanimous praise from those who've had the chance to hear it. A New York based radio show even described the band as "One of the most engaging live acts in the NYC roots scene." Personally I'm finding the band's sound hard not to like. It's fun and catchy, a whirlwind of country-fried nostalgia and punk attitude, punctuated with truely tight harmonies between singers Bug Jennings and Erin Bru. Check out the interesting live video of the band performing "Ol' Winchester" below.

{vimeo}1877337{/vimeo}

[ALBUM REVIEW] Bitte Orca

Matt Medlock — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 00:55:00 +0000

I wish I could skirt the issue of accessibility, since it had been the dominant topic of pre-release buzz and the slew of glowing reviews that popped up after its release, but it’s unavoidable. Dirty Projectors has long been a maddening band, one inspired by that effusively abnormal songwriter, Dave Longstreth, who frequently annoys even those who worship him with his music’s aggravating instability. The songs have usually been off-kilter trainwrecks, amazing half the time and virtually unlistenable in between. “Tour Along the Potomac,” “Fucked for Life” and “I Will Truck” were pretty great, but some of the rest? A mildly charming (but sadly unnecessary) “interpretation” of Black Flag’s debut LP, bizarre nonsense about a suicidal Don Henley, and unflattering blockades of aggressive glitch, choppy R&B and savage art rock crank. Selling out isn’t even a part of the vocabulary.

[ALBUM REVIEW] Rainwater Cassette Exchange EP

Matt Medlock — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 00:56:00 +0000

Following up a masterpiece is never an easy task, even if you’re the Beatles and you rack them up in a long sequential row. Deerhunter’s Microcastle is one such album, which coupled with the bonus disc, Weird Era Cont., offered the best bargain on instantly classic rock music during all of last year. Whether Deerhunter sensed this or not, they made a choice that is guaranteed to both succeed and fail. Dropping a five-song, fifteen-minute EP ensures that expectations aren’t overwhelming and automatically avoids comparisons to the recent full-length. But because it’s such a short excursion, it’ll be difficult to get the juice flowing for anyone but the faithful; after all, how often does a band’s EPs ever overshadow their long players? After Alice in Chains, any other choice would be highly debatable.

Coming only about seven months after their last effort, the release reeks of B-side cash-in. But the warts-and-all giveaway bug was satisfied by Weird Era. So what does Rainwater Cassette Exchange offer? The title suggests that it’ll be in concert with the practice of swapping tapes of underground bands with friends (if you don’t know what a cassette tape is, ask an older sibling). That is, of course, a joke, but the issue at hand makes the reference curious. Because this is an age of song and album leaks, downloads, websites, fan blogs, forums and any other means of discussing, sharing, stealing, slipping and pirating music, the notion of sharing cassettes with hissy sound and muddy quality seems quite alien. Hell, you can amass quite a bit of knowledge of independent labels and their bands without ever leaving your computer. And Deerhunter’s occasionally lo-fi, frequently fuzzy and always free-minded aesthetic plays into those kind of feelings. If Bradford Cox and crew had recorded fifteen years ago, this set would probably be heard mostly in slightly-sun-melted tapes with scratched casings, Sharpie scribblings over the masking tape label, and that one really bad spot on the recording where the sound warps hideously.

Nostalgia factor aside, it’s both more convenient and kinder to the senses that so much is digital now. No matter how much you cherished the bands you loved but none of your friends even knew about (it was like your own amazing little secret), deep down, you still wanted everyone to hear what only you thought you knew. Rainwater Cassette Exchange won’t be some miracle cult recording, but it does offer more progression than one would expect from such a small break. The Deerhunter best remembered from their early Turn It Up, Faggot and Cryptograms efforts has virtually vanished, replaced by accessible psychedelic noise and garage rock. What we get from the effort should satisfy pretty much everyone who liked Microcastle, but probably won’t blow anyone away; with a lone exception, these songs are best described as solid, agreeable and pleasant, but not a whole lot that’ll get you rushing to pass it around amongst your buddies.

The title track is a haze of heavy-lidded drawling over a monumentally laidback melody that sounds more like the “tropical punk” label than anything produced by Abe Vigoda. Cox begins blurrily muttering, “Two weeks of misery capture my heart and destroy me,” over a melody strange enough to suggest a hallucination. “Disappearing Ink” is the most energetic of the bunch, pouncing right off the bat and churning a simple riff with the most basic transitions available (Strokes with more reverb, I guess). “Circulation” also jams out in the garage, but takes a few left turns along the way to show more ambition than the typically sloppy and brief precursors of that genre, and ends on a mysterious note with a sound collage. “Famous Last Words,” however, drifts at a low register—even when the hi-hats get their workouts, it still feels subdued. It’s a song that might have actually benefited from a cleaner treatment; over Cox’s droning tone and wispy fuzz, it feels half-formed and half-hearted. Coming between the locomotive verve of “Ink” and “Game of Diamonds” wasn’t too smart an idea by rule of comparison.

As for “Diamonds,” it was the only song I knew beforehand, but the version leaked by the band a while back is entirely different than the one here. Once a more typical, reverb-drowned mid-tempo rocker, now it’s driven by acoustic guitar, bongo-style percussion and a piano (elements once masked by the distortion)—by Deerhunter’s standards, it’s whistle clean. Cox murmurs plaintively, “No one ever talked to me/I’d forgotten how to speak/A problem with my chemistry,” without ever evoking piteous whining—the softly rolling rhythm is saved from melodrama. Featuring a sound inconsistent even with the sprawling catch-all of Weird Era, it would have been the most notable cut no matter the result; the fact that it’s nearly perfectly arranged and executed (hence, memorable) even outside of Deerhunter’s diverse canon ensures that it’s no mere fluke.

Neither is the new Deerhunter direction, which may be criticized as softening their edges and making a play for the masses, but those sorts of dismissals seem to forget that good songs aren’t meant to keep you at arms length. I wouldn’t quite call them warm pop yet; there’s not enough staggeringly good stuff here to inspire a teary-eyed embrace anyway. But it’s definitely worth a hearty handshake. And if for nothing else, you can pass along hard copies of this thing to people you know who think that Deerhunter is an arcade game down at the local Buffalo wings joint. Accessible as it is, Rainwater Cassette Exchange will give them a fine entry point.

Are My Old Vinyl Records Valuable?

Robert Benson — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 19:35:00 +0000

There are many factors and variables that come into play in vinyl record appraisals, whether buying or selling records. The ‘grading’ of a record is very subjective and because no two people grade the record the same, many problems arise when reselling new and used vinyl.

Hipgnosis - Classic Album Cover Art

Robert Benson — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 05:00:00 +0000

[ALBUM REVIEW] Hatchala

Matt Medlock — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 05:00:00 +0000

Based on the evidence of their debut EP, (or mini-LP as it’ll likely be known in some circles), I can only assume that the five guys making up Misguided Aggression have listened to a lot of Lamb of God and Meshuggah in the last decade or two. This Canadian quintet splits the difference between them; the four-on-the-floor, grinding slab riffs ring of the former, but angular tempo shifts, tough bass-and-drum barreling, and prog-ish flourishes suggest the experimentalism of the latter. There’s some dilution in the formula—they’re not quite as bone-crushing as LoG, nor are they nearly as adventurous and off-kilter as Meshuggah—but the blend is mostly satisfying. Still, their greatest asset for the time being is brevity, which, of course, is both a good and a bad thing.

Rob Demedeiros takes center stage for Hatchala’s assault, with Ben Dobson and Randy Allcock sharing guitar duties and John Godfrey and Ben Taylor handling the rhythm section. Considering the dual guitar attack, it’s unfortunate that the two don’t play off one another more; more frequently than not, they pound the same riffs on top of each other for a louder but less dynamic sound. The brief instrumental “The Palamnaeusus Fulvipes” shows what they’re capable of, with one of them battering astride the drum and bass while the other flickers at a higher tone underneath. But most of the time, all of the musicians are focused on just one thing: brutal licks and crashing beats. Again, both good and bad.

Demedeiros’ vocals are the sort handed out to almost every metal band now: the death growl, where he shreds his cords pretty much every time his lips part. For the style, he’s up to the task, but the style is the problem. If the intention was to disguise the words, then it worked, which might not have been too terrible an idea. As is the case of most of these extreme metal bands, there’s not a whole lot of originality in the lyrics—they’re as belligerent as the music that surrounds them and always straight to the obvious point, despite frequently being nondescript and unexpressive. “You’re tying the noose around your neck/Mindfucking the hell out of your own God damn fucking head,” screams Demedeiros on “Our Kingdom Come.” Then, on “Pigs in the Market”: “The blood is on the walls/If we still need more bacon/We shall slaughter them all.” They’re not entirely limited to fists, steel and the aftermath, as seen by “pirates and popes [living] with grace” on “Flesh to Gold,” and “Metal Horn Bessy,” which, assuming she’s not an actual cow, is apparently some particularly potent strain of marijuana (since irony is virtually dead in the metal world, it’s impossible to tell if there’s sarcasm in, “Pack me up another bowl/Light that shit up, count to three”).

Some songs leave their mark, though. The leadoff title track segues into “Our Kingdom Come,” chugging on some propulsive percussive riffs that twist on each other at irregular intervals. The bridge breakdown of “Faces of Abomination” is one of the strongest moments, where the melodic thrash leaves the churning behind (though it doesn’t make up for the extended and misshapen line, “A war to fight on chance to right to walk to fall to rise to die”). And the “Fulvipes” instrumental and “Mustard Gas & Roses” offer a brief break from some of the interminable qualities of the riffage—more variety would help them a great deal. Luckily, at about twenty-six minutes, the record ends just before it becomes truly incessant.

Misguided Aggression shows promise, but falls prey to the same diseases infecting far too much metal today—they’ve got the intensity down pat, but where’s the variety? By the time we land on “Metal Horn Bessy”’s interesting but uninspired lock-step riffs that careen off the void between the hammering beats, we’ve just become numb. They’ve shown their love for their heroes (and even touches of hardcore and post-metal), but being amidst the upper echelon of the faceless is nowhere to aspire to. Let’s hope the next outing shows a more confident and more unique band, voicing original ideas instead of their music collections’ “greatest hits.” Still, they probably know their audience better than I do, and I expect the more obsessive (and less-discriminating) metalheads out there will knock the score up at least a point.

Cedric Hints at an At the Drive-In Reunion

Matt Medlock — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 00:14:00 +0000

But Cedric Bixler-Zavala told Frederick Blood-Royale (via a feature from Drowned in Sound) that a reunion was possible, which didn’t seem so likely a few years back. Their indefinite hiatus was spurred on by crushing hype, certain "extracurricular" habits inflated during long touring schedules and, most obviously, creative differences. But how many bands that willingly disband at their peaks ever get a chance to answer all those questions of coulda-beens and what-ifs (not counting tour-only reunions)? Hell, I don’t even care. Whatever form it comes in, more At the Drive-In has to be a good thing.

Kenny Rankin Dies Of Lung Cancer

Robert Benson — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 16:41:00 +0000