Time To Us

That’s where I’d love to begin

2022-10-14T10:37:00.004+06:00

I suppose it’s natural that you’d start thinking about your death when someone tells the world you’ve passed away.

The death of Canadian musical mainstay Hayden is one of two polar extremes considered on the venerable Toronto musician’s latest album, Us Alone, which is hands down the best album released so far this year. See, when we last left him in 2009 he had issued a terrific new record but for a variety of reasons he neither toured nor did any media interviews about it. Sales must not have been too great, since the diminished public profile led some fool to edit his Wikipedia page to say that Hayden had actually died.

No doubt that one-in-a-million scenario got him thinking and it was evidently part of the motivation for Hayden to start recording again, it seems. He hadn’t really come up with any new music in the last several years but these eight songs (with the requisite “hidden track” tacked on; Hayden is so 90s) constitute a highly-focused affair that strips away any unnecessary flourishes, pushing simplicity to the forefront. One of the most striking examples is the remarkably lush and beautiful closing track, “Instructions,” a song no doubt inspired by the rumours of his demise. The nearly seven-minute track focuses on a rolling piano figure for the first 45 seconds as Desser literally tells his family what they should do when he dies.

“Here’s how I’d like things to go down,” he sings quietly, his usual vaguely-mumbly delivery all subdued and soft. “Please don’t leave me in the ground. Put all my ashes in a can and drive up north in the van, roll the windows down and play The Band.” He then requests his ashes to be thrown into the wind over a lake he used to swim at. “That’s where I’d love to begin,” he ends the first verse, repeating the line with the kind of solemnity that is impossible to fabricate. He later requests his notebooks be burned, resignedly admitting, “There’s nothing left that’s worthwhile.”

That kind of quietly-devastating lyricism has always been a hallmark of Hayden’s work and Us Alone is no different. “Instructions” sees electric guitar and organ, a spare hi-hat and snare drum part, and even some harmonica notes coming in and out of the mix in an almost-sporadic fashion over the last three minutes, those elements weaving together in a gorgeous, atmospheric fashion. Still, you get the sense that happens only to give the listener several more minutes to ponder the words they’ve just heard.

As unusual and impactful as that song is, however, the real theme of the record is life, specifically life as he’s living it right now. The album is very much a reflection on life as a father, husband, and musician and how those elements work (or don’t work) together.

Us Alone opens with a lyrical bait-and-switch, the song “Motel” starting off with some delayed guitar and a shuffling drum beat that stays more or less consistent for it’s entire six minutes. The song at first purports to be about a pair of young lovers setting up a secret affair at a little motel along the coast. After a few minutes he relents, admitting it’s a story he came up with while driving their inconsolable infant daughter around in the hopes that the car ride will finally put her to sleep and stop her wailing. “It’s pretty awful,” he reluctantly admits, “but one time we just might stay there and sleep through the night.”

Several songs here illustrate that fatherhood has become the central aspect of Hayden’s life, including the autobiographical retrospective “Almost Everything,” a nod to the title and content of his first record, Everything I Long For. His breakthrough first single “Bad As They Seem” was a laundry list of things he thought he wanted at that point in his life; “Almost Everything” begins by recounting those early days where “the music was everything” in his life. He recounts his pursuit of musical fame, the heights he reached, and how he eventually all but stopped making music after his child was born (and diagnosed with a rare chromosomal deletion syndrome which apparently monopolized his time and energy). He eventually achieves balance, as he apparently did in real life, conceding, “But I’m recording once again while my kid is upstairs in bed and I’ll admit that now and then that some nights when I’m strumming or maybe just drumming the music is still everything…well, almost everything.”

(Incidentally, Hayden deserves sincere kudos for his recording prowess. He taped everything on this album himself, in his own home, playing every instrument himself. His technique has all but been perfected by now; his snare has a very unique sound, his piano is deep and resonant, and he achieves a wide-open, atmospheric sound on several songs that’s unlike anything he’s ever put to tape; the album seems to reflect the character of the space it was recorded in. He also creates a uniformity throughout the record by keeping the tone of all the instruments consistent from one track to the next. That seems to be his stated objective as he’s claimed in interviews that songs on his previous records varied almost too wildly, some too jam-packed with different instruments and sounds.)

“Old Dreams” is also a picture of a man firmly ensconced in familial bliss. Over a dreamy piano figure and melody-matching electric guitar leads he talks about the least rock and roll emotion ever: domestic bliss. “Now my dreams are your dreams,” he sings on one of the mumbliest numbers here. “All I want is you to be happy. What did I waste all my time worrying about before this moment in my life?” The spare song is one of the loveliest here, all drifting sound scapes and fragile melodicism.

Even when he ventures from that kind of familial tranquility his ability to create an engaging story shines through. “Blurry Nights” may be a holdover from his pre-married days, a recounting of a drunken evening that went quite right. “Out of my blurry nights ours was the one I liked most of all,” he remembers. “It’s okay that we had nothing to say; that didn’t get in the way, if I recall.” Telling the tale from both sides, Lou Canon takes over the female perspective, recounting how the female character went out searching for him after their tryst and how they eventually came together and had a deep discussion over drinks. “I don’t know how to do this,” they harmonize in the chorus, “but will you leave with me right now? Nothing good can ever come of this in the long run but let’s not dismiss all the fun we could have tonight if we forget how we might feel in the morning light.” The backing track pulses almost like a Spoon song and Hayden’s guitar has one of its most rock tones but that propulsive beat swirls and swells in the background, cutting through the obfuscation like a morning-after headache.

That sense of clarity might be Us Alone’s biggest achievement. For a guy who has been notoriously cagey about the inspiration and meaning behind his songs these numbers are straight-forward, both lyrically and musically. But even when he’s not messing around his songs have a pervasive beauty that other musicians could chase for a lifetime without achieving. It’s a crowning achievement that not only continues the progression and evolution of his career but also helps change the conversation in terms of what indie music in Canada talks about.

The Best Albums of 2012

2022-10-14T10:36:00.002+06:00

I swear, I’m not entirely a procrastinator. Just mostly. I started working on this list back in November, before my daughter was born. Obviously it’s taken some time to put the pieces together.

Long-time readers will notice that we’ve tweaked the year-end list thing just about annually. Call it restlessness, call it a general loathing for the arbitrary nature of lists and rankings in general. My aim this year was to provide our usual in-depth reviews for each record before the final list was posted so that this post could be a summation, giving the reader the ability to delve further into each work if they so choose.

While the format may have been altered the inspiration is the same: this is NOT an absolute dictate on the relative level of quality of these records or a judgement on those you don’t see on this list. The mandate of this site is to shed light on lesser-known work with an emphasis on local and unsigned artists. What follows is a summation of the albums I enjoyed most this year that fit that mold. That means you won’t necessarily see albums that were lauded elsewhere on the net, in print, or otherwise. Everyone knows Japandroids, for example, had a pretty-much perfect album, but 2012 saw them anointed rock gods everywhere from Pitchfork to late night TV. Cat Power, Ariel Pink, Dirty Projectors, Killer Mike, Godspeed! You Black Emperor, Grizzly Bear, Fiona Apple…these are all artists that released great records in 2012. They just don’t need our help (and yes, I understand that a band like The Mountain Goats could be considered analogous in stature, but fuck you, they’re my favourite).

So we’re talking lower/medium-profile records that I felt didn’t get the due they deserve. The ranking is arbitrary and of-the-moment, but these 20 albums are the ones that stand out most significantly for me. Each is more than worthy of your time and attention.

Thanks for reading and for sticking with our sporadic updates for another year.

01. Foreign Fields - Anywhere But Where I Am

An intriguing listen that values mood above conciseness, melody over structure, and patience over simplicity. This quietly audacious album unfolds so slowly that it’s likely to lose some listeners in the early offing but this is one of the most confident and assured debut albums I’ve ever heard. This record could only be better if they were Canadian.

I wanna shred your band

2022-10-14T10:31:00.003+06:00

If Regina’s music scene has an abundance of anything, its bands that take themselves seriously. Very seriously. Call Molten Lava the antithesis of that mentality.

The two-piece noise-mongers are not only the “shredliest” band currently operating in Regina, they also have more talent per member than pretty much any band ever. Drummer Tristan Helgason has been gigging around the city for more than a decade, starting out in high school hardcore outfit 400 Strong. He graduated to two high-profile gigs after that, replacing existing drummers in short-lived emo giants Filmmaker and Smallman Records’ Ghosts of Modern Man, the latter of which remains his current day job. He helped change the former from plodding, nearly slow-core sloths into an assured up-tempo rock band with powerfully emotional hooks. He helped reign in some of Ghosts’ more meandering tendencies, their songs becoming focused blasts of ferocity and energy. Unfortunately I don’t really know much about Liam Bryant’s musical resume, but trust me: the dude plays the bass like his father invented it and his birthright was mastering the use of that hallowed invention. Basically, the guy is a juggernaut.

Their sense of humour is clearly on display in their one and apparently only album, Sevens and Nines, and the titles of their songs. Those titles also serve as their manifesto: calling their songs “the Hunt For Shred October,” “Shred n Butter,” “Night of the Living Shred,” and “Liquid Hot Mammal” isn’t just joke-making, its also evidence of just how seriously fast and hard these men like their music.

Like many of the people that have attended their gigs in the last year and a half or so, they’re “shreddleheads” at their core. Over the course of eight songs and less than 25 minutes they craft an extremely complex and heavy sound that, on a technical level, rivals any metal or hardcore group I’ve heard recently. The most obvious touchstone for comparison would probably be the defunct Death From Above 1979, due more to the fact that they too operate with bass and drums only. But this is faster, more complex, and more cerebrally-crafted than anything that band has produced.

While the titles may seem ludicrous on the surface, they actually make some sense when incorporated with the music. Take for example “Night of the Living Shred,” which opens with an appropriately ominous bass squeal, no doubt representing the pained howl of the undead. Helgason’s relentless cymbal figure, so tight and focused it seems almost like a loop, carries over from the previous track and creates a backdrop for the song that is as unyielding as a zombie horde lumbering toward its wounded prey. It carries through the entire length of the song, its persistence communicating that escape is not possible. The remainder of the song is a furious series of Bryant’s short, quick bass runs; their savage tone and his furious fingering are akin to the brutality with which the living dead inevitably devour their prey. That track is followed by “Liquid Hot Mammal,” comprised of a rapid-fire slap bass attack that sounds like a combination of Flea, Daryl Jennifer, and Bootsy Collins. If the Red Hot Chili Peppers had a hardcore edge, they might sound like this.

While some would assume a mostly-instrumental album comprised entirely of two instruments might get a bit repetitive, Molten Lava do an admirable job of keeping you on your toes, throwing left turns into the mix on nearly every track. “Put Your Hand In The Pocket” features almost Dave Grohl-ish vocals, “Shred Life” has moments where Bryant’s bass strumming sounds more like regular guitar power chords more typical of punk rock, and “the D-Meaning” features shout-along vocals and a few decent tempo changes. Guiding the entire process along is Helgason’s stealthy, lithe, occasionally mind-bendingly great drumming.

The cherry on top of this sundae of hot lixxx is the album’s mix itself. Deliciously pushed into the red at every second, the album sounds on the brink of overheating your headphones at any second. The fact that it sounds so overpoweringly loud makes their label’s decision to press 200 copies on 180 gram vinyl all the more adorable.

But the sad news is that the era of Molten Lava is coming to an end with Bryant’s inevitable departure from the city. Followers will be given one last chance to scream the band’s name at the top of their lungs this Saturday night at the Distrikt. They’re meant to be seen live for so many reasons, mostly because they just look so alive when they play. Not only that, but they’re also the only band out there that I’ve ever witnessed performing a Refused cover that can actually do that legendary hardcore band justice. Click here for more information on the show.

Every day should be Record Store Day.

2022-10-14T10:21:00.003+06:00

I suppose we are only allotted a few cities in our lifetimes in which we might find ourselves living near transcendentally awesome record stores. I have only experienced such record store nirvana once. I was a poor, young journo, earning next to nothing in Medicine Hat, Alberta. I lived in an apartment so dive-y, somebody once hurled in the lobby and the results stayed there for four days before the building manager/dealer who lived above me cleaned it up. But it was near downtown and it had character, so I loved it. Being so close to downtown had its benefits, specifically, being within stumbling distance of many seedy bars, the transit hub and two blocks from the best record store I’ve ever frequented: Arcade Records & Tapes.

If you’re ever in the Hat, as those of us in the know like to call it, do yourself a favour: drop by Arcade on 3rd Street S.E. for a hip, hip experience in the stax of wax. The fool at the till who runs the place has crammed more vinyl than you’ve ever seen in your entire life into every square inch of the store and almost all of it is available for a very decent price. Look, the dude is so old school, he doesn’t even have a website. But I can vouch. His LP collection is rad, he stocks great classic rock albums and keeps up with what the kids are listenin’ to on their compact discs.

Pat et. al. who live in Regina will tell you the best damn record store in town is X-ray Records.

When I lived in Calgary, I frequented Megatunes. But an INSANELY overpriced concert poster there for an Arcade Fire show I saw in Calgary led me to my neighbourhood shop, Heritage Posters & Music. Though I still haven’t found the poster at the right price, they know all the peeps who do concert posters and have somehow found space for about 10,000 slices of vinyl in the teeny tiny square footage of the psychedelic-coloured storefront. I think after the few years I spent in Calgary, the corner of 14th Street and 11th Ave. became my favourite spot in the city, containing, as it does, the insanely coloured Heritage, and the Pegasus Restaurant, painted with Greek murals and the iconic Pegasus statue on the roof. Ahh, misty water-coloured memories.

I know we bloggers and this crazy series of tubes we call the Internets are ruining the music industry, but trust me when I tell you we get much of the shizz we recommend here from cool stores like the ones mentioned above. We just want to give you a taste so you’ll get hooked on the sweet crack of music and stumble into your local indie store for your next hit. So support your local store. You never know what diamond in the rough you’ll find there.

But don’t take my word for it. Just ask twee pop New Zealand act The Brunettes.

Jonathan Bree’s voice is so rich, warm and inviting, it’s like your beloved beckoning you to come to bed already after a long day. And Heather Mansfield is no slouch either. Their latest stuff sounds a little more . . . stark and intimate than the fuzzy, wall-of-sound-esque pop they were slinging on 2004’s Mars Loves Venus, but either way, you can’t really go wrong.

This song demonstrates another happy benefit of frequenting a record store: meeting, interacting and flirting with real live people. I mean, where ELSE are music nerds supposed to meet and fall in love?

Painters can be in bands too.

2022-10-14T10:19:00.004+06:00

While that alone shouldn’t be a reason to give them any of your time, it presents an interesting question: is it an inherently bad thing if a band is concerned with aesthetics? You need look no further than Spinal Tap, KISS, or any hair metal band to realize that when aesthetics become the focal point of the performers no good can come of it. But it seems to me that when a group establishes a unified feel, mood, and look to their work there is the potential to do something unique without becoming overly bloated and verbose.

Peterborough, Ontario’s The Burning Hell lies somewhere between a solo project and a musical collective. The impossibly deep, robust vocals of primary songwriter/ukeleleist Mathais Kom are the most immediate focal point of the music, which also centers around usually-spare arrangements of acoustic guitar, the aforementioned uke, a variety of symphonic stringed instruments, and piano. Research into the band tells me that Kom is something of a ukelele virtuoso (whatever that means), but by no stretch do these songs sound like Don Ho or that other famous ukelele dude.

Rather, they feel like they’re being performed out of a well-aged tome of sheet music, the pages yellowed and curling, the sounds pulled from an era when men were gentlemen and ladies were nothing but demure.

I envision the band playing them in overcoats, twill pants, and top hats. This is especially true of tracks like “Dinosaurs,” “General Electric vs The Imperial Moth,” and “Everything You Believe Is A Lie” (a terribly charming and sad duet that runs down popular myths about religion, society, and the relationship of those singing it). Parts one and two of “Grave Situation” and “What Do You Get For The Man Who Has Nothing?” (like most of the tracks on here) are reminiscent of Magnetic Fields frontman Stephen Merrit’s recent side project, the Gothic Archies. Dingy, reserved, almost drab lead vocals on some songs, while others sound like they were cut from the same cloth as “the Monster Mash.”

It’s an intriguing group of songs that come together under a very unified tapestry, summed up well by a small postcard included in the CD version of the album. Kom (presumably) in a snug, almost ill-fitting grey suit, complete with uke case, holding on to a flock of luminous red balloons in front of dreary grey landscape, about to be pulled into the sky…and seeming mostly indifferent about it.

Thanks you Europe, for giving us Canadian talent.

2022-10-14T10:17:00.003+06:00

Come on Canada; stop listening to that goddamn Colbie Caillat song. Just because Universal Music Group thinks she’s marketable doesn’t mean she’s good Can/Con. You need a woman with real talent singing real songs that mean something. You need Basia Bulat.

The Canadian music scene is an a really weird place right now in a lot of ways. One of them is outlined in this excellent Exclaim! article called, “Importing Our Own.” The genesis is this: at a time when the world is paying more attention than ever to Canadian (independent) music, the instances of home-grown success stories are few and far between. Nine times out of ten, noteworthy acts are technically being imported into Canada because we don’t have a comparable label/distribution sector to the UK or U.S. so we end up having our most revered groups signing there. Arcade Fire, Wolf Parade, Born Ruffians, Junior Boys, Germans, and Tokyo Police Club all now fall into that category (though TPC did get their buzz up via Paper Bag Records, a Canadian label). In the case of Junior Boys and Born Ruffians, those groups were getting offers from UK labels while at the same time being completely ignored by the Canadian industry. The Ruffians couldn’t even get anyone to put out their first single. Then they signed to one of the UK’s biggest labels.

Basia Bulat falls into the same category. She recorded her first LP, Oh, My Darling, last year in Ontario with no label support or interest. Her producer sent a copy to Geoff Travis, head of London’s Rough Trade label/store, usually considered one of independent music’s more influential labels. He signed her immediately. Only a few months after that happened did Canada’s Hardwood Records come sniffing and the record was put out last year.

Oh, My Darling is bookended by shorter songs that strip bare the instrumentation that fills out the songs in between, both introducing and cementing the real selling point: her voice. Slightly flinty and sultry, lilting and gentle at times but capable of largeness when needed. “I Was A Daughter” is the standout of the record in my mind, where a galloping rhythm of drums and handclaps races alongside Bulat’s autoharp (you might recognize it from the Carter family recordings if you’re not a huge folkie), culminating in a dizzying, swirling, melodic climax marked by insistent violins and soaring vocals. A gorgeous opening hat trick is completed by the sparse and somber, “Little Waltz,’ carried by a simple acoustic guitar figure and a sorrowful string section. The piano-driven “Snakes and Ladders” and the upbeat “In The Night” are also highlights, and the entire second half is weaved together masterfully.

Her low profile seems odd to me, given that Canada generally embraces folkier acts. The Great Lake Swimmers, the Hidden Cameras (also on Rough Trade), Final Fantasy, Patrick Watson, Chad VanGaalen (at times)…all have achieved some level of notoriety and acclaim by working within the Canadian system. But Bulat’s material is equally as engaging and gorgeous, and in some cases (see below) even more accessible and “pop” than most of those group’s material. But I guess every once in a while those that are deserving of our attention and praise fall through the cracks.Hopefully that won’t happen to Basia Bulat. Do your part by checking out these songs!

You Can’t Stay Ignorant Forever

2022-10-14T10:11:00.005+06:00

We all know that the pantheon of music is cluttered with irascible, miserable bastards. The list of mopey, depressive rock stars that have achieved international fame and unanimous acclaim is never-ending: Morrisey, Kurt Cobain, Thom Yorke, Jim Morrison, Jeff/Tim Buckley, Ian Curtis, Trent Reznor, Elliott Smith…all just the tip of the iceberg.

Part of what I like about independent music and young bands is that their music is usually a touch more on the bright side of things, at least for a few albums. That’s before the music industry and the nearly-impossible task of trying to make a living making music grinds them down completely. But every once in a while, the transition between the two extremes can be completely mesmerizing.

Earlier this week, pop-punk band Face to Face announced they’ll be playing a “reuinion show” at Bamboozle Left. Now, for most of their career, I think Face to Face was pretty unremarkable. They gained some level of fame for their energetic, melodic punk rock, at one time even going through the major label grinder. Their fans are typically either pre- or post-adolescent skate rats or jock types that go through a punk phase. Which is cool — it happens to most of us.

In 1999, however, they released what I maintain is by far their most accomplished and unique recording, the album Ignorance Is Bliss. It’s a blatant, reactionary set of songs responding to their unceremonious dumping from the A&M Records roster, a collection of numbers that expose the raw nerve of self-doubt and overwhelming sense of failure felt by frontman/songwriter Trever Keith. ”In Harm’s Way” is an excellent summation of the album’s content, lamenting how quickly a label’s support can dissipate when a young band fails to move enough units to satisfy the suits.

The obvious lack of confidence and sense of bewilderment in the lyrics belies the unexpectedly self-assured shift in the bands musical aesthetic. While there are still some decidedly up-tempo songs here, a lot of the material takes on a slower, more atmospheric, meditative sound. It’s a surprisingly mature overhaul of the band’s sound.

Of course, when your fan base is mostly made up of kids who think four chords is one more than you really need, such a stylistic shift doesn’t come without consequences. The band attempted to tour in support of Ignorance Is Bliss, but that venture was quickly aborted due to a tepid response from CD buyers and show-goers alike. The band almost-immediately abandoned the record altogether, moving on to one of the most abhorrent marketing gimmicks I’ve ever witnessed: not only were the songs written and recorded for their next album a complete backslide to their previous, more generic sound, but the band also decided to post every track they recorded during the album sessions on mp3.com and told fans they could decide which ones would be on the record by voting for their favourites. They essentially admitted defeat; if you don’t like the music we put on our records, then just tell us what you’d be willing to pay for and that’s what we’ll give you. No point in growing artistically when the financial implications are unfavourable, right?

While they would go on to release a couple more albums and regain much of their previous popularity, in my mind they never really recovered. Band members left, the band reverted even more into their old writing style, and went through the motions before breaking up about five years ago.

Perhaps the greatest irony of all is that Ignorance Is Bliss now reads like a blueprint for the glut of “emo” bands choking independent label rosters these days, much like Weezer’s Pinkerton was a few years earlier. Perhaps if the band had held it in their back pocket for five or six years it would’ve launched them to the next level. Who knows.

So why does this matter? Well, in addition to announcing their temporary reformation, Keith also stated that he would be releasing a solo album called, Melancholics Anonymous in the next few weeks that he says, “picks up where Ignorance Is Bliss left off.” I think that’s good news.

Depressing rock stars. So much better (musically) when they just embrace their demons and write the hell out of some songs.

I less than three you.

2022-10-14T10:10:00.003+06:00

Hey readers! I’m back from my self-imposed exile.

Sorry about that. I had, uh… let’s say Ebola. But I’m better now! I’m good enough that two weeks ago, I attended a massive concert here in Guelph. In the summer, hippies, neo-hippies, hipsters and other hip-related people gather at Guelph Lake for the annual Hillside Festival. This is all well and good, except it takes place in the summer and how you gonna play February? It’s the month everyone looks forward to cuz it’s not January, it’s generally short, and it contains one chocolate related holiday, one groundhog related holiday (You don’t take groundhog’s day off? Why ever not!?) and now, Hillside Inside. It’s like Hillside except, you know, inside. They rented out the hockey arena, brought in some dumplings and $2 reusable beer mugs and volunteers to wash dishes (no paper plates for hillside hippies) and invited a totally awesome buncha bands.

The “big name” guests included The Weakerthans, Cuff the Duke, Tokyo Police Club, Shout Out Out Out Out, Attack In Black, Wintersleep and Xavier Rudd. I happen to appreciate everybody on the above list, especially Shout Out Out Out Out, who put on one of the best shows I’ve ever seen them do, considering they hopped a plane from Edmonton at 6 a.m. and were pounding out the awesome of Dude You Feel Electrical and Nobody Calls Me Unless They Want Something on their famous two drum kits by mid-afternoon.

The other bands were also at the top of their game, even if it felt like The Weakerthans suffered a little for opening the show. The harmonies seemed a little off, but otherwise, they impressed enough that I bought a faux curling sweater with the band’s curling broom logo on it. What can I say? I’m weak. I’m weakerthan. Cuff the Duke’s set made me wonder why they are not incredibly famous. Their latest album, Sidelines of the City, is available on vinyl, which means you should get it, ’cause it comes with a CD, too. Big art, big music, awesome tunes in various formats. What more could you want? If I Live or If I Die is the wintertime jam of ‘08. And Wintersleep. This band has played Guelph many times in the last year or so. Every time I see a poster or a flyer, I think “I should go see them.” And then I remember that I work nights and have no social life to speak of. I was getting tired by the time they took the stage. I was prepared to go into whining mode. And then, they launched into Weighty Ghost and all my troubles were forgotten. It’s such a great song, I’m glad it’s getting radio play. It deserves it. They deserve it. All these bands deserve your attention, so seek them out.

Valentine’s Day present to you all. Are you ready? Okay. Here you go:

This is how it is, America: All the Republicans can think of to diss Obama about is that he’s only got three years senate experience. Can you believe that? He’s totally going to be the next president. By extension, that means he’s going to be a PILF. Come on. Admit it. You’d tap that presidential ass. As for his three years experience, I don’t know about the White House, but it certainly qualifies him to get into my pants. Alright. I think I’m done making sex jokes about Obama, so feel free to send this out as your Valentine’s card. If you don’t do it for the nookie, do it for the LULZ.

As far as Valentine’s Day music goes, I wanted to give you some Al Green, but Wordpress thinks the five minute song I picked was too long. So you don’t get Love and Happiness from the good reverend, you get Marvin Gaye’s bouncy love song, Too Busy Thinking About My Baby. It puts me in a happy mood. Much like cheap chocolate on sale February 15 and the realization I’m still single and don’t have to buy anything for anybody except me. The Canadian single girl’s dream lives on.

Gimme lickle soul, oh lord

Today is Bob Marley’s birthday. He would have been 63 today.

I realize most people aren’t freakishly obsessive Wailers nerds like I am, so I’m going to save the 30-page essay I could’ve written for a more appropriate forum. The layman’s take on Marley tends to be “I like that ‘Jamming’ song,” or “Dude, I listen to Legend all the time when I smoke weed.”

Not exactly a deep understanding of the man’s catalogue. I, on the other hand, am such a nerd that I have some Marley albums on LP, tape and CD — so I have two backups in case something happens to one of ‘em.

Anyway, I’ve been listening to Bob all day, and thought I’d throw a few tunes up here. Nothing is particularly obscure — but if you’re the type of Marley “fan” who doesn’t venture any further than the best-ofs, they’ll probably be new to you.

Walk the Proud Land

This is a reworked version of a very early Wailers tune (”ska quadrille,” anyone?) recorded in 1973 for a live in-studio KSAN-FM (San Francisco). It’s the only recording session (at least the only one readily available) from the Wailers’ first American tour. It’s not as lyrically hard as some of the other songs from that era (Bob sang “I feel like bombing a church” on that same radio session), but it’s one of the most soulful moments in a catalogue full of soul. “Gimme lickle soul, oh lord”… ask and you shall receive.

Iron Lion Zion

Not the version you’re thinking of. This track appeared in the limited-edition Songs of Freedom boxset, before the better-known updated version was released. At the time of that comp (1992), it was a previously-unheard song found in Rita Marley’s archives. This take is has a much looser groove than the popular version, and its rawness is likely more of the vibe Marley was going for than the overproduced single that appeared on the Natural Mystic comp three years later.

Ammunition

This is an early-70s (probably ‘71/’72, if not earlier) version of “Concrete Jungle.” Appears on Ammunition Dub Collection, one of JAD’s excellent 21st Century reissues of embryonic Wailers material. Don’t expect to hear Bob’s voice on this track — it’s the version, after all — but there are some delicious horns by the likes of Tommy McCook and Vin Gordon.

This Is Distance More Than Miles

2022-10-14T10:07:00.003+06:00

Once upon a time when punk rock was new, the few female performers that made an impact on the scene were often caricatures: Wendy O. Williams of the Plasmatics comes immediately to mind, better known for her exploitation and distortion of her sexuality than for her group’s music. More modern examples like Cinder Block of Tilt and Brodie Armstrong (as with the circle of female performers that drifted in and out of her band, the Distillers, over the acts first several years of operation) have put themselves in a similar position as that damaged legend: simultaneously putting their sexuality at the fore and downplaying it by taking on affectations of their male counterparts when it comes to dress, hairstyle, tattooing, and vocal performance. The result is equal parts sex kitten and violence. Others like Hayley Williams of pop-punk upstarts Paramore and Jemina Pearl of Be Your Own Pet play up their cuteness without shame, likely more as a marketing tool than anything. Others distinguished themselves by operating within a punk scene but not really playing the music (Tina Weymouth of the Talking Heads, Blondie, Chrissie Hynde). Different set of expectations, I suppose.

No matter what era or ethos, it becomes difficult to find prominent female punk rockers that exist within the confines of a group without defining it; most of the above-mentioned groups are known mostly as “chick groups” and are to some extent segregated from it.

About six or seven years ago I was attending the annual CJTR Music Garage Sale, a fundraiser put on in the summer by my community radio station. CD’s for five dollars, LP’s for $1-$2, and thousands upon thousands of pieces to leaf through. This summer I came across an album called, Half Fiction by a female-fronted group called Discount. They are one of a plethora of late-90’s/00’s Floridian punk rock bands influenced in equal parts by the Descendents, Husker Du, and first-wave emo. Performance-wise, they lean heavily in the pop-punk portion of that influence, their songs typically rapid-fire paced with thick, buzzing power chords. They released numerous 7”s on a vast number of labels, as well as three proper full-length records.

But Half Fiction definitely stands out. Their most vital and urgent record laments the life of a directionless early-20’s year-old, the frustrations of a dead-end job and a society that just doesn’t work. Personal tales about being repulsed by the actions of a lover and extreme social anxiety provide a window into the mind of singer/songwriter Allison Mosshart (who now plays in blues-rock dirty duo the Kills). It’s a highly relatable song cycle with only one less-than-perfect number towards the end of the album. While the band was together, Mosshart actively attempted to deflect the usual stereotypes and reactions that come with female-fronted punk rock groups by dressing and cutting her hair in – frankly – very mannish fashions. The band dynamic is very unified; it’s clearly not a star vehicle for the woman at the mic.

Both Discount and Half Fiction were very much on my mind a few weeks ago when I received my copy of Get Better, the first proper full-length album from Buffalo, New York’s Lemuria. Released on the Asian Man record label, it was a cold buy for me. I’d never heard a note of the band’s previous works, having only heard good things about them from fellow music enthusiasts.

Upon first listen, I was a little perplexed. There’s just something a tiny bit off about the group’s songwriting, at the same time straight-forward but subtly quirky. Repeat listens gave me the distinct impression that Lemuria comes off on this record a lot like Discount, only somewhat sedated (and with male vocals). The songs are impossibly cute, especially “Lipstick,” in which singer/guitarist Sheena Ozzella laments on the some-times unfortunate preferences her girlfriend has for kissing/not kissing her. “Yesterday’s Lunch” is an insightful number about how people always think they haven’t got enough until they’ve gotten too much.

Rock music is obsessed with star power and the idea of a front(wo)man being the lightning rod for whatever attention is given to a band. On Get Better Lemuria show a wealth of potential and an incredible depth of songwriting for a young band. It would be a shame if their career went as unnoticed as Discount’s did, gaining notoriety and acclaim only once they’re gone. The fact that their lead singer has girl parts isn’t their biggest selling point.

Change calls the tune we dance to.

2022-10-14T10:06:00.002+06:00

Is there anything as weird as going to a show by yourself? I don’t think so.

Maybe it’s easier if you’re a dude. My colleagues will have voice their thoughts on the matter. I always feel weird doing it. I had plans to attend The Sadies show tonight with a couple of co-workers. Said coworkers jammed, but it ain’t every day you get an opportunity to see a band as awesome as The Sadies in a small, sweaty rock club. When you do get that opportunity, you should take it. Plus, tickets were, like, $15. It’s a deal, it’s a steal, it’s the motherfucking sale of the century. I can’t pass it up. So I’m bravely venturing out alone. Potential serial killers/stalkers be warned: I will gouge your eyes out and I will not fuck around about it, so don’t make me do it.

The first time I was introduced to the Sadies, they were Neko Case’s Boyfriends. I remember picking up 2005’s “Favourite Colours” awhile back and finding its adherence to Canadian spelling rules endearing. And “The Sadies In Concert Vol. 1″ is as perfectly awesome as double live albums get. It’s the kind of thing I want to have in my record collection just so my eventual nieces and nephews will think I am the coolest old lady aunt ever when they come over and go through my junk. When the Sadies play backup to Neko Case singing “Hold On, Hold On,” it’s so effortless and perfect, you barely know they’re there, yet it’s impossible to imagine the song without them. If the Canadian indie-scene were Motown in the ’60s, they’d be the Funk Brothers. Well, they’d be the Good Brothers, but cut me some poetic licence slack here, eh?

I like the latest album, “New Seasons.” It feels a little easier, a little friendlier, a little more approachable and accessible than their previous stuff. A sign of maturation, and yet, they’re not exactly leaving their past behind. You’ll hear in some reviews that they’re leaving the psychedellic urges behind them. You’ll hear they’re re-embracing those same urges. You’ll hear a lot of things. But know this: “New Seasons” is just as tasty as anything that’s come before and could very well hint at what the future holds for this rootsy foursome. Yes, I like “New Seasons” just fine. But I’d say my favourite Sadies album is “Stories Often Told.” Back in 2002, they were still mining that Ennio Marcone-esque sound. I fell in love with those swaggering spaghetti-Western/surf rock-inspired instrumentals, especially “Monkey & Cork,” a ditty I imagine hearing in the saloon while Al Swearengen took care of business. As a base of operations, you cannot beat a fuckin’ saloon.

And for songs from this new album, you cannot beat “Anna Leigh.” The guitar solo at the halfway point is quick and clean. It cuts right to the heart of what the band is doing and the waltzing pace of the song is just sick. “Yours To Discover” is more modern. The title words are, of course, the very same ones emblazoned on Ontario’s licence plates. I often feel lost and anchorless in this huge province with all its cities so clumped together. So it’s odd that I hear this and think fondly of Saskatchewan. I wish I could drive for an hour without seeing a building or a sign. That’s impossible here, but in the Land of the Living Skies, it’s all too real a possibility. Here I go, getting all sentimental again. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry! Anyway, there are elements of surf, spaghetti and twang on “New Seasons,” but it’s definitely less obvious. I think, if you were to create a modern soundtrack for sprawling, eerie Western-ish films about oil barons, sherriffs, ranchers, outlaws, and coin-tossin’ murderers and Nick Cave was unavailable, you’d hire The Sadies.

They’ve changed from previous releases, and there will be those who don’t like that change. But fuck ‘em. As Al Swearengen says, change ain’t lookin’ for friends. Change calls the tune we dance to.

The Sadies are among the best bands to ever do this sort of thing, and to prove it, “New Seasons” is nominated for a Juno this year in the Roots & Traditional album category. There’s some stiff competition from local guitar hero Kevin Breit, who’s nominated for “In Good We Trust,” an album he recorded with Harry Manx, which you can find on iTunes and Stoney Plain Records. Be sure to check out “Hang On,” a meandering, lazy, wakin’ up and stretchin’ or drifting off into slumber kind of song with plucky steel guitar and a smokey vocal to ease you into wherever it is you’re headed.

The Sadies, meanwhile, will put on an awesome show at Vinyl tonight. They are legendary live and those who would rather watch the Oscars are clearly starved for entertainment. Those of you not lucky enough to live here or near where the band is next gonna be, should check them out on iTunes, MySpace, Bloodshot Records in the U.S., or buy their junk at Maple Music.

Top 2 Months Late

2022-10-14T10:03:00.004+06:00

Hey there! You may not remember me, but I used to write some articles. Then I got a new job and got super busy and even though I tried and tried I couldn’t seem to finish anything for this awesome site. But then finally I did! And here it is, all the better because since we’re two and a half months into the new year, you’ve probably completely forgotten about last year’s music. So if you have, check out these albums and songs, because they were my favorites from 2007, and you might like them too!

Albums

10. Wintersleep – Welcome to the Night Sky

Great Canadian rock band whose songs feature fuzzy guitar mixing with solid drumming and interesting-sounding lead vocals to create both heavy rock arrangements and catchy pop sing-alongs. Despite the presence of one instrumental track that severely interrupts the flow of the album this record is solid from start to finish.

9. Wilco – Sky Blue Sky

After a couple of albums worth of experimentation they’re back to doing what they do best. Jeff Tweedy maximizes his gift for harmony and pop-rock arrangements and delivers surprisingly straightforward and direct lyrics that create a very strong emotional connection. Tweedy and guitarist Nels Cline’s dueling guitar fuzz freak outs on “Hate it Here” are a highlight. Those looking for further experimentation and musical expansion may have written this record off because of its simplicity, but they’re missing out on a great album.

8. Joe Henry - Civilians

Joe writes old-fashioned folk/blues songs, kind of like Tom Waits, but with a voice most people could actually enjoy over the length of a full album. His songs are mostly downers, with the odd one showing some reluctant hope. Relationships, God and the devil, turmoil and war; all classic themes and he addresses them wonderfully. Very moving.

7. Okkervil River – The Stage Names

The Stage Names reinforces the fact that Will Scheff is one hell of a songwriter. The album is only nine songs long, but each is a masterful example of his trademark desolation and depression, and as always he wears his emotions on his vocal chords, as his piercing howl shreds right through your soul. On this record the band seems to be trying to rock the misery out of the songs and their rock is far more forceful and dynamic than it has ever been. The Stage Names is every bit as powerful as it is sad, creating some of the most affecting songs of the year.

6. Arcade Fire – Neon Bible

Possibly the next band to achieve the title ‘Best Band in the World,’ Arcade Fire followed up one of the great indie rock records ever (2005’s Funeral) with another fierce effort. Neon Bible contains themes, instrumentation and sounds far bigger than anything most bands could conceive of, let alone put to tape.

5. Iron & Wine – The Shepherds Dog

Iron & Wine’s discography is one that has shown growth with each new record, and on The Shepherds Dog their sound has finally fully blossomed. Sam Beam’s acoustic guitar and hushed singing has been layered with all sorts of instrumentation, a lot of which is inspired by world music. It works wonderfully. And for the record, I love the vocal effects on “Carousel;” they’re hauntingly beautiful.

4. Feist - the Reminder

Sometimes the ridiculous overexposure musicians get is deserved. In the case of Leslie Feist, it isn’t half as ridiculous as it should be. The Reminder is a pop revelation that shifts in and out of styles effortlessly and keeps you on your toes. Several songs were recorded as live takes and it makes the songs sound organic and natural, like they’re piped through the musicians straight from a higher power.

3. Of Montreal - Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer?

2007 saw Of Montreal going in a new direction thematically and lyrically as Kevin Barnes focused his songwriting on autobiographical tales of heartbreak, isolation, desolation and despair as his relationship and mental stability broke down. Fortunately they retained their sunny, synth-y dance-pop musicianship which creates an odd yet appealing combination of positive and negative elements. The 12-minute centerpiece “The Past is a Grotesque Animal,” with its driving, repetitive disco beat and intense lyrics is a definite highlight, and the rest of the tracks are more than catchy enough to keep you coming back.

2. Modest Mouse - We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank

The addition of Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr seemed to reinvigorate Modest Mouse, as they released their best album in years in 2007. It comes in long at fourteen tracks and close to an hour run time but it never gets boring and none of the songs are throwaways. It captures the essence of the band, that ability to play loud or soft, angry or melancholy or just plain beautiful music. It has danceable rock songs a la 2004’s “Float On”, long-form burners like they used to make, and a psycho freak out now and then just to keep you on your toes.

1. the National - Boxer

Flat out the best record of the year, by a long shot. Every second is filled with crisp, clean instrumentation and gorgeous baritone vocals that drive deep into your soul and you can’t help but connect to the sad, paranoid loneliness and isolation that pours out of the speakers. The fact that all of these dark themes ultimately combine in a record that restores your faith in music and makes you press repeat again and again is really the best argument for how brilliant it really is.

Songs

“Killing the Blues” – Robert Plant & Allison Krauss: Killer bluegrass from out of left field.

“The Sons of Cain” – Ted Leo: Another great frenetic rock song from a brilliant sweaty bastard

“A Sentence of Sorts in Kongsvinger” – Of Montreal: So much fun, musically, so depressing lyrically. It’s crazy!

“I Feel It All” – Feist: My favourite off the new album, it’s dance-able without being too poppy or sounding too insincere

“Innocent Bones” – Iron & Wine: I love it when Sam swears. Then goes “oooooooooo” in a falsetto

“Dead Letter & the Infinite Yes” – Wintersleep: Such a fucking good song! Best song about disassociation and depression that didn’t make you want to kill yourself ever! Does that make sense? Just listen to it.

“Turn On Me” – The Shins: The amped-up instrumentation and cleaner production made this record a top ten contender, and this is the highlight track.

“Slow Show” – The National: Mid-tempo burner about building up an experience until the pressure caves in your head. Not exactly.

“Spitting Venom” – Modest Mouse: Old school MM, nine minutes long and it’s slow, fast, angry and sad.

“Unless It’s Kicks” – Okkervil River: Great rock song about how much awesomer life is with rock songs

“Hate It Here” – Wilco: Song about how much it sucks when they leave, lots of great soloing.

“Adventures In Solitude” – New Pornographers: Most beautiful song they’ve done.

“I Am John – Loney, Dear: A little bit twee, but a lot of fun too. It’s got a xylophone!

“(Antichrist Television Blues)” – Arcade Fire: I love songs without a chorus, and sound like Bruce Springsteen only cooler.

“the Underdog” – Spoon: Great song from a band really hitting its stride this year.

“the Heinrich Maneuver” – Interpol: A kick-ass evolution of their sound; it’s as though they’re channeling Queen.

It’s all good, find it!

Studded Leather Jackets Never Went Out of Style, You Did

2022-10-14T10:01:00.003+06:00

Having never been around as an angry adolescent in punk’s nascent days, I’ve never really embraced the music’s early, heady music. While the early 80’s pop-punk and mid-hardcore groups (Descendents, Hüsker Dü, other SST groups) I’ve come to appreciate, the more abrasive trailblazers have always remained just outside of my grasp. Black Flag, Big Black, Minor Threat, Teen Idles, (early) Bad Brains, Circle Jerks…they just don’t have something I apparently need to gravitate towards the music.But for the first time in a long time, I find myself head-over-heels for bands with middling production, questionably abrasive vocals, (occasionally) unsophisticated arrangements, and plenty of awesome cursing. Coincidentally, it also reflects my passion for vinyl, as all of the releases I’ll reference here are out on wax.At the forefront are two of the most pleasurable releases of last year.

The fantastically-monikered Witches With Dicks’ one and only LP was listed as an “honourable mention” in my recent 2007 round-up, but as one generally does, I’m second-guessing that decision. Manual is a short, fun blast of rage and good humour — so much, in fact, that you could load it into a truck and get Steve Buscemi to drive it around the neighbourhood while he hits on 17 year-old girls. Yes, it’s angry; witness song titles like, “Die Painfully,” “Your Job Does Not Rock Balls,” “How To Cook 40 Humans,” “It’s Not Me, It’s You,” and “Fuck All Lindseys.” Kiss of Death Records has done a great job on the release as well, a nice package topped off with a 45 rpm 12″ slab of vinyl providing maximum sound quality. Abrasive as hell but smart, fast, and unexpectedly catchy.

The second front-runner is Toronto’s Fucked Up. I played the hell out of their first full-length, Hidden World, when it charted for my radio show. After releasing 30-50 7″ and 12″ singles, they put out a “debut” record filled with 5+ minute hardcore punk jams tweaked with piano, strings, organ, mandolin, and other ancillary instruments that don’t often crop up in punk rock. The Year of the Pig single was hands down the bravest and best song of 2007 in my opinion. For practical reasons (it’s 18 minutes long and would never fit on here, not to mention that I think everyone should buy it anyway) you won’t hear the song here, but instead I’m including a track from their latest release, “David Christmas.” They linked to it on their excellent blog, so I figure that’s okay. I encourage you all to buy whatever Fucked Up releases you can, as (to paraphrase Henry Rollins) this is a band riding a wave of sheer creativity and getting a tan.

New Bruises is one of those bands that I know literally nothing about, which is part of why I love them. I got their 7″ Goodbye, Middle Class from Vinyl Collective on a whim, as I try to support the dudes on the message board there that run small labels when I have a few extra bucks. Justin from Underground Communiqué loves the band, and this release is a great example of why everyone should. “Holding Pattern” is a great track, probably one of the finest of last year. Like Witches With Dicks, the band represents a sub-set of punk that bridges the (admittedly tiny) gaps between hardcore, punk, and pop-punk, reflecting what’s come to be known as the “org-core” sound most prominently played by Dillinger Four.

Two of the biggest bands in ”org-core” are O Pioneers!!! and Bomb The Music Industry! Besides their unforgivable abuse of punctuation, they are terribly interesting bands to listen to. BTMI! play a bizarre and sometimes head-spinning combination of ska and hardcore, often playing so fast they abandon human drummers altogether because they just aren’t quick enough. OP!!! began as something of a folk-punk band, but are now just a fierce two-piece with gnarly vocals and ceaseless passion. They two put out a FUCKING BRILLIANT split 10″ that would’ve made my previously-referenced Best of 2007 list if I’d received it before January 7th. BTMI!’s half is three of their most politically-charged songs to date (plus a Regina Spektor cover[?]), while OP!!!! provide their usual fiercely intense and passionate song stylings (along with typically ludicrous song titles like “You Know That Part In Superman III, Where He Is All Badass and Stuff? Yeah, I Bet That’s How You Feel Right Now”). Seriously, I can’t recommend this album enough. I would love it if you all went to Quote/Unquote Records’ website and download the whole thing for free. While you’re there, take note of the fact that it is the world’s first donation-based record label — and it’s been around for a year longer than In Rainbows. The vinyl release is being handled jointly by Asbestos Records and Team Science — both run by very nice and helpful gentlemen who are very nice and entertaining on internet message boards. Team Science has also been behind some exceedingly fantastic releases and is totally on a roll right now.So yeah, I know crusty punk rock isn’t necessarily for everyone, but I’m feeling it hard right now, so I thought I’d share.

I hope that it rips me to shreds

2022-10-13T23:20:00.003+06:00

Just about every Regina band ever interviewed by a publication outside of this province has cited the relative isolation and brutal winters and so on and etc. of Saskatchewan as motivating factors for their creative output. Less frequently are mentions of inebriation, desperation, sexual congress, and painful longing made as apparent in such forums, even when they’re more baldly apparent in the lyrical output.

Titling your debut full-length album The Dignity Of Man might seem like a bold maneuver, even if the apparent high-mindedness of such a moniker is off-set by the ridiculousness of the cover art (which features a questionable-looking fellow in a 1990s Mustang juxtaposed against the opulent marble construction of Saskatchewan’s provincial Legislature building). The group’s sense of humour notwithstanding, there is a significant amount of introspection happening here.

As you may have read here before These Estates are a fine group of local chaps who play no frills rock that borders on power-pop in a nice, aggressive way. Dignity bridges the gap between their two previous releases, moving from catchy, high-energy numbers to longer, more complex exercises in the intricacies of riff construction. Or something.

Cameron may be just a few years into his 20′s (I think), which makes it unsurprising that sex and alcohol are among his chief concerns. One of the record’s highlights comes in “Stripes Of Faith,” a gin- and bourbon-soaked lamentation for a lost friend (with a chaser of Catholic guilt) that features a sing-along chorus on par with the Sloan, Replacements, and Hüsker Dü records that seem to have influenced these young fellows. “Brushed Steel” catalogues the physical effects and self-destructiveness of yearning for a vicious, “feral love.” Dynamic closer “Pay Me Some Attention” speaks quite frankly about, uh, sexuality in a way that’s jarring at first to third listens. “The nuances of the way I feel about you can be difficult to pronounce,” he admits on “Happy While United,” taking the long way around to getting in touch with those feelings (Cameron also has a hell of a vocabulary to go with his perspective, which I respect greatly; there aren’t too many albums on which you’ll hear words like ‘polyglots’ and ‘tinctures’ and whatnot).

Like another album that Cameron had some involvement with Cameron’s surroundings occasionally play a part in a more direct fashion. “Highway 11 Theme” and its titular road are more than familiar to Regina music fans who have made the trek north to concerts more times than they would like. When he calls it “a hell of a drive” he’s not exaggerating; aside from the hill at Blackstrap it is a monotonous, excruciating slog that becomes interminably long after dark. At some point it inevitably becomes an almost-reasonable notion to, as Cameron writes, “just stop the car and shed our earthly forms. Leave our bones in a ditch; we won’t need them anymore.”

Each song here boasts propulsive guitar/bass/drum arrangements that show off plenty of creative spirit. Songs like “Pay Me Some Attention” and “Mt.” are fast and hooky numbers in the vein of the band’s first EP. Those songs are great but I’m even more enamoured with the slow-burners that fall more in line with the earlier b-side “Autumn In A Foreign Country.” I already mentioned the tortured barroom lament “Stripes of Faith,” a modestly-bleak recitation of nights spent drowning sorrows at the expense of your last bit of pocket change.

But the highlight might be the measured, percussive “Like Skin.” Kicking off the album’s second side, it features the baritone guitar that is Cameron and Mason Pitzel’s latest weapon. The chunky opening riff melds into a lock-step with the rest of the band during the verses, leading into a quiet, gradual, feedback-laden bridge. Guitars intertwine for a few minutes before the root riff returns, one more sort-of verse capping the song with Cameron’s voice lingering just one aching moment after the instruments cut out. It’s a literally perfect moment. There’s no arguing it.

Really, Cameron’s voice brings it all home. He may not be classically-trained or overtly polished but the dude exudes charisma and a thinly-reined intensity that breaks off its leash when a song needs heightening, like the chorus of the bucking and kicking opener “When The Lovee Breaks.” His passion makes a less-than-seamless transition into falsetto not only okay but full-on Bill and Ted-style EXCELLENT.

“Everything has got its own dialect,” Cameron declares on the record’s second half. His assertion that intent informs the beauty in art likely wasn’t meant to be an overt entreaty for his audience to look deeper at his own songs (especially since he follows it with the delightful bon mot, “I love the Romantic languages but I’d do anything for your Slavic tongue”) but it could be; there is a rough-hewn and caustic veneer on some of these songs but the honesty, insight, and occasional ignobility of Cameron’s words make them something approaching masterpieces, each worthy of being paid some attention.

This might be a contender for my new favourite Saskatchewan album. But, to quote These Estates one last time, we’ll see how it goes.

These Estates - Stripes Of Faith Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Do not hesitate to purchase this record and everything else you can get from These Estates’ Bandcamp page. Do it, PLEASE. You can also check them out live at the record release show on Feb. 22 at The Exchange with Coldest Night Of The Year and Treebird. All the beard rock you can handle!

Trying to colour in between the dotted lines

2022-10-13T23:18:00.006+06:00

Now that my extremely elegeant lede is out of the way, let’s talk brass tacks: this is a good band! After a heavily-hyped debut EP they put out a very enjoyable first LP. I remember enjoying it, anyway; I was struck by the fairly distinct tonal shift, moving away from the brash guitar-heavy structures of the EP into more tonal and keyboard-flecked tunes. In retrospect, however, there’s only one song that has really stuck with me hard through the years: the gentle, elegant, downright lovely “Listen To the Math.” Its spare arrangement, powerfully melodic guitars, and surprisingly deft use of the term “Australopithecine” still knock my socks off nearly six years later.

I came to their follow-up, Champ, an unfortunately-long time after it came out. Aside from a cursory half-listen or two when it first came out I actually sort of disregarded it entirely until after I became enamored of keyboardist Graham Wright’s solo album Shirts vs Skins. That record is brilliant, from the vaguely-ragtime piano number “No Hard Feelings” to the tender lullaby balladry of “Birds Of A Feather” to the saxaphone skronk and infectious wordplay of “Potassium Blast” to the classic power-pop of “Soviet Race.” It was one of the best records of 2011; how could I not check out his other output?

In retrospect, Champ is essentially a pop-rock album with a healthy smattering of keyboards; think a more laid-back, fun-loving Bloc Party. They are integrated seamlessly, though; there are tracks where it’s tough to separate them from the rest of the mix. The pacing and arrangements are nicely varied, making for a group of songs that actually sound different (unlike their EP, which—while I enjoy it—had a certain sameness to it). Heck, the first song alone runs the gamut. “Favourite Food” starts with a softly-strummed acoustic guitar and David Monk’s vocals coming across more laconic than usual. Perhaps that’s fitting, given that the lyrics suggest he’s examining the perspective of a damaged senior citizen bound to a hospital bed.

“With a heart attack on your plate you were looking back on your days, how you spent them all in a blur,” he carefully enunciates before continuing. “Let the sugar melt down your throat because you know it’s sweet getting old. With a lollipop and a rose, let the hospital be your home.”

The tenderness of the first half of the song disappears as quickly-strummed electric guitars cut in and the pace accelerates exponentially. The remainder is propelled with frantic drumming and reverberating guitar, ending in a squalling finish of guitar soloing that is downright thrilling.

It’s a strong start to an album on which the strong start pretty much doesn’t stop. With no exaggeration, each of the first seven songs could be a huge single: “Favourite Colour” is a catchy, stuttering start/stop number about friends who have been separated for a time before they move in together and are getting to know each other again (the comparison to K-Ci and JoJo is priceless); “Breakneck Speed” is an amiable mid-tempo pop song; “Wait Up (Boots of Danger)” sees Wright’s keyboard take center stage, augmenting the song’s melodic edge while Monk’s wordless falsetto hook in the post-chorus amps up the energy; “Bambi” is an amazing centerpiece, a jittery amalgam of glitchy synths and pop-rock guitars that is possibly the band’s most purely danceable number to date; “End Of A Spark” is a big-guitar number and an infectious sing-along song; “Hands Reversed” is a curveball, slowing things way down and paring the instrumentation back to finger-picked electric guitars and a plodding, propulsive drum beat while Monk explores the lower end of his vocal register; “Gone” is an entirely enjoyable number about longing for a picturesque scenery when one just needs a break; “Big Difference” establishes a frantic pace to accompany lyrics about lashing out against isolation; “Not Sick” and closer “Frankenstein” mash up elements of the songs that precede them, adding more stoic tones and lyrics to square the circle and reflect the more serious opening tone of the album.

I’m serious, people; Champ is a fully-fantastic pop rock record from back to front. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to it since I got off my butt and put it on with intent. Expectations are officially high for this new release!Categories:

Remember when our love was new

When I was a boy I really liked a girl named Jennifer. I pined for her in that curious way that 10 year olds do. I strolled the streets of our prairie town of Swift Current in the hopes that wandering by her house would produce a chance encounter. Sometimes I would see her jumping on a pogo stick. I never knew anyone who had a pogo stick. My friends and I built a rudimentary tree house in a field near her house (I stepped on a nail in an old board once and had to get a tetanus shot) and she’d stop by every once in a while. I’m pretty sure that we and our friends were too young to “date” or anything like that. I just thought she was beautiful.

Or at least, that’s how I remember it. I have a notoriously terrible memory for all things and if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that wistful longing and imagined romance are rarely crystal clear.

More recently I fell instantly in love with a beguiling redhead. Early winter of 2010 was a tumultuous time for a newly-single and thoroughly broke young me but meeting this young lady was a life-changing revelation. A few hours of engrossing conversation left me determined to see her again; she was romantically tied to someone a province away at the time but I couldn’t have cared less. What was, unbeknownst to me, a mutual attraction eventually became irresistible to both of us; now we’re married and have a goddamn kid. Who would’ve seen that coming?

There are all kinds of unrequited love that can lead people all kinds of places. Lovelorn Reginans will have a chance this Friday to check out a proper noun version at The Artesian: The Unrequited Love, a brand-new big band put together by local chanteuse extraordinaire and SSA favourite Belle Plaine. The group is a who’s-who of her favourite pals and players, building on her stellar regular backing band by adding members of The Lazy MKs, the Pile O’Bones Brass Band, and The Lonesome Weekends.

The all-star roster was assembled for a Saturday night show in Swift Current but Hankewich was compelled to throw together a special Friday show in Regina as well.

“I am quite cynical about Valentine’s Day,” Plaine, the stage moniker of Melanie Hankewich is quoted in in a terrific cover story in the latest issue of prairie dog magazine. “I want to provide a place where the dejected, the sad and the lonely can go to have fun.

“We all feel heartache and it’s such a rough holiday to go through because it’s such a farce. And if you don’t fit the mold of what the day is, then you’re left out. So I wanted to have something where you can come, have fun and shake your fists at Valentine’s Day,” she continued, adding, “I resent any holiday that tells me to feel a certain way.”

Hence the name of the band, I suppose.

Regardless of your marital status Hankewich and her band are a dynamic and delightful group of performers. Her predilection for telling stories during her sets showcases a great sense of humour and self-deprecation and I can only imagine this particular event will provide bountiful opportunities for chuckle-inducing tales. Oh, and then there’s the part where Hankewich is an incredibly-talented singer and songwriter and one of Regina’s strongest musical products at present. Add to that the fact that she’s recording the show for a live album and you’ve got a chance to literally be a part of recorded history and it all adds up to a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!

In short, check out this show! You may not find your future partner there but you might find your next musical love.

I don’t ever want to talk that way again

2022-10-13T23:16:00.004+06:00

The music industry, like we human beings, is a sucker for a good story. I suppose that’s why there’s been a pretty impressive furor over Against Me!’s latest record, even though it’s only their fourth or fifth best album.

Don’t get me wrong—I couldn’t be happier that Transgender Dysphoria Blues has been released upon the world. I couldn’t be happier that a songwriter that I’ve been following for more than a decade has fought their way through an extremely challening period of personal and emotional upheavel to land in a fruitful, creative place. But people championing this album as the best of their career must not have been paying attention.

The story of Transgender Dysphoria Blues—and, of course, the transition of Tom Gabel into Laura Jane Grace—has been discussed at great length in media of various sizes in the last few months since the run-up to and release of the record. The short strokes: a brilliant, subversive punk songwriter finally begins his journey into womanhood after struggling with a lifetime of gender identity issues that were previously foreshadowed in his writing for those willing to actually think about what they were hearing.

I’ve read plenty of pieces that have incorrectly described this record as a chronicling of Grace’s specific journey, but that simply isn’t the case; it’s partially a concept album about a transgender prostitute, a notion that Grace originally presented to the band before coming out. The idea of a full concept album seems to have been discarded, the final product retaining some of those songs but also more direct and personal numbers.

There’s no disputing that the visibility of Grace’s journey (she revealed to the world that she was transitioning in Rolling Stone magazine and has since written about and discussed her experience in major publications like Chatelaine and The Hollywood Reporter) makes this album an important, high-profile release. The history of popular song has rarely—if ever—touched on subject matter like gender dysphoria; the idea that someone who has been a prominent member of a musical community distinguished by its inherently-aggressive nature can be so open about their struggles and be in turn embraced by that community is huge, and a great story to boot.

But Transgender Dysphoria Blues is not the zenith of Laura Jane Grace’s career. She is undoubtedly exorcising a lot of demons here and the return to a more aggressive sound just isn’t fully realized.

The title track opens the record and Grace’s lyrics set out the line between the inner desire of someone transitioning, to just blend in, and the sometimes-intolerant reality of people who don’t understand their situation. “You just want them to see you like they see every other girl; they just see a faggot,” she laments, her tone and tenor not really changed from the band’s previous albums. She strikes a snarling note at the beginning of the second verse: “You’ve got no cunt in your strut,” she growls, leaving the listener unsure if it’s a disgusting rejoinder from someone outside of herself or a jarring example of the kind of self-doubt and loathing she dealt with for years. From a musical standpoint the song is also a brilliant bridge from the somewhat-softer, more radio-friendly sound of previous full-length White Crosses to the strikingly-acerbic sounds still to come.

“[FUCKMYLIFE666]” is another melodic treat, harmonious in both the backing vocals and the guitar lines. But the chorus strikes some phenomenal, cathartic melodic tones, only to end abruptly on a down-beat note; it feels like there’s a line missing or an upbeat conclusion to match the delightfully-arranged music has been excised. But that’s just a feeling; the lyric here contrasts the idea of modifying one’s identity and realizing one’s dream with the consequence that your own loved ones may not even recognize you.

“True Trans Soul Rebel” boasts Grace’s best pure singing to date, a slight tremolo at the peak of the chorus rising to heights the tragic subject of the song will never reach. “You should’ve been a mother; you should’ve been a wife; you should’ve been gone from here years ago; you should be living a different life…Does god bless your transsexual heart, true trans soul rebel?”

“Drinking With The Jocks” is as close as the record gets to going totally wrong, a grinding, brief blast of a song that eschews Grace’s trademark melodic gruffness for atonal washes of distortion, noise, and full-throttle screaming. Moreover, it marks the low point for Grace’s songwriting, all blunt parody and artless rage. “I’m drinking with the jocks. I’m laughing at the faggots. Just like one of the boys, swinging my dick in my hand. All of my life, just like I was one of the them. Look at all them bitches. Yeah, I’m gonna fuck them all. Look at all of the pussy. Yeah, fill them up with cum.” A feeble attempt to flip the script lives in the bridge, as Grace intones, “There will always be a difference between me and you.” Yeah, I think by now that’s been established.

There are other missteps. “Osama Bin Laden As The Crucified Christ” isn’t a lot better, a pallid distortion overlayed on Grace’s vocals obscuring her performance. “Two Coffins,” while otherwise lovely, is maddeningly repetitious. Minor quibbles, it’s true, but those three songs contribute a slightly washed-out middle to a record that lacks the track-after-track pummeling of flawless tunes seen on Reinventing Axl Rose and Searching For A Former Clarity and even the glossy-but-great New Wave.

The record ends very strongly, with “Paralytic States” concluding the transgender prostitute sub-theme with a soaring melodic number. That leads to possibly the best song here, closer “Black Me Out,” in which Grace acknowledges what she probably already knew before the band signed to Sire all those years ago: major labels are a bad idea.

“I don’t ever want to talk that way again. I don’t want to know people like that anymore. As if there was an obligation, as if I owed you something…I don’t want to see the world that way anymore. I don’t want to feel that weak and insecure. As if you were my fucking pimp, as if I was your fucking whore.”

Grace’s call for absolution, her pledge to “piss on the walls” of some record exec’s house, are as external an outburst as the internal ones that lead her to this place. An entire album based on years—if not decades—of self-doubt, self-loathing, and constant and unyielding desire to be the opposite of what she felt forced by society to be has built up to the point where its inevitable release couldn’t be contained. This album spills over with an unrestrained expulsion of venom and bile; a necessary release for the songwriter, I expect, listener be damned. Regardless, I’d be willing to bet that everyone who thinks this was a five star album will really be knocked back on their heels when Grace has a chance to come up with a set of songs that are more…let’s say, even-tempered.

Chock full of hoot, little bit of nanny

2022-10-13T23:13:00.002+06:00

Guess what? No, not chicken butt. No, also not chicken thigh. Look, you are really bad at this game. Tell you what, I will just tell you instead of having you guess. To save time. I’m sure you would’ve gotten it eventually.

Carolyn Mark and NQ Arbuckle are putting out an album together! I KNOW! They’re two of the best country/roots artists in a country that is full of amazing country/roots artists. Also, they employed a lot of amazing country/roots artists to come in and play on the album! It’s set for release Oct. 13 on Mint. Yipee kiyay!

I’ve been listening to the most recent albums by both Ms. Mark and NQ and I’m impressed all over again. Normally, I like my country rootsy and rockin’. The more banjo pickin’ and mandolin-strummin’ and standup basses being slapped around, the better. If I absolutely HAVE to listen to a country ballad, I want it to be mellow, not whiney and twangy. Basically, I want it to sound like it’s been soaking in an oak barrel with a bunch of whisky for at least three years.

Mission accomplished, guys.

I feel quite comfortable saying “The Business End” is easily the best song on Carolyn Mark’s last album, Nothing is Free. It has the kind of slow, torturous burn you get from falling asleep in the sun. You shut your eyes for a few minutes cuz it’s so warm and nice, and when you wake up an hour later, your skin is so hot that if you hold your hand close, you can feel the heat radiate like you’re some kind of fragile, white-flaked coal.

NQ Arbuckle’s “I Liked You Right From The Start” is a drunken serenade from a decent guy who’s downed a few too many. He’s not quite sloppy drunk, but he wants to let you know that he’s had his eye on you all night and he thinks you’re sumpthin’ awright *hic* and maybe, just maybe, you’ll be charmed enough by his drunken honesty to let him take you home. And you’ll think about it. Flattery, even drunken flattery, gets you everywhere, after all. Besides, you had a few yourself. This will be a mistake of epic proportions, but it might be a mistake that results in a meaningful relationship. And when the grandkids come along years down the road and ask how gammy and pop-pop met, you will look into the eyes of your beloved and say “online dating site” because it is less embarrassing than revealing that you drunkenly went home with a dude and ended up cleaning up his puke.

If you live in Guelph, you can see Carolyn Mark live TONIGHT at Van Gogh’s Ear! That’s just down the street from me! (Don’t come over. My apartment is such a mess.) She’s playing with Sunbear and one of my favourite Ontario bands, $100.

You want to talk about heart-breakingly sad country ballads, these guys do that. They do that soooo well. They’re achingly good. Singer Simone Fornow’s voice is not pretty, but it is real and raw. It’s Marianne Faithfull meets Maybelle Carter. Her croaky, haunting cry of “I never come but it don’t matter” on “Careless Love” is the resigned suffering of every woman left unsatisfied (or worse) by a brutal man. You would do well to buy their album, Forest of Tears.

I saw them earlier this summer at Wally’s with Deep Dark Woods. That was an amazing show and tonight’s do at Van Gogh’s sounds like it’s also going to be a hot time in the ol’ town as well! So go see it and don’t be dumb like I was last time: Buy your merch early or $100 will disappear into the night and take their albums with them.

Carolyn Mark’s music can be found on Mint Records, NQ Arbuckle calls Six Shooter Records home. You can get $100 stuff at Sonic Unyon and check out all three at Zunior and yes, iTunes.

They were even born to run

2022-10-13T23:12:00.004+06:00

In previous posts that discussed the Gaslight Anthem, I talked primarily about the promise they showed on their debut LP. I emphasize promise, because that album is only 3/4 great and doesn’t back up the hyperbolic praise that the vast majority of their fans heaped upon it. Where the follow-up EP revealed even more of that promise, this is the album that finally fully delivers on it.

The band continues to pay tribute to it’s musical heroes in both tenor and tone; the subtle and overt nods to Springsteen are more evident than ever in the generally quieter and more subtly-distorted guitars and the compulsive story-telling the band uses as its hallmark.

The music is definitely more laid-back as a whole, with only a pair or so of the driving punk tracks that marked their early efforts. The slightly-echoed vocals go hand-in-hand with the chiming, cleaner-sounding guitars. Although singer/guitarist/songwriter Brian Fallon remains an expressive but limited singer, his gravelly tone suits every song in this set remarkably well without showing the strain that marked some of the “punker” songs on their debut. He seems to be attempting to cultivate a more soulful delivery, as is clearly evidenced in some of the cues in their recent set lists. Where he shines brightest is in constructing vivid imagery and tales of American folklore centering around ferris wheels, “outlaw cowboy bands,” and roadside diners.

My personal favourite examples of this can be found below. I’d call special attention to “Miles Davis and the Cool,” a track that’s spiritually reverential of Davis’ seminal album Birth of The Cool, that music serving as the backdrop for the shared experience of the song’s characters. I’ll be damned if I can explain why, but half the time I hear Fallon sing, “So I’ll lay a kiss on this stone/toss it upside your window by the roof/before you change your mind/Miles, bring in the cool” I end up nearly crying.

The explicit mention of Miles Davis is just the touchstone of another slew of tributes, nods, and “borrowing” on the band’s part. Davis, Tom Petty, the Counting Crows, Buddy Holly, more Springsteen, Dickens, Elvis, Casablanca, Tom Waits, and possibly more are all referenced in some fashion.

It may be little more than simple melodic rock with an old-school flourish, but this is the right album at the right time and it’s connecting with an immense audience right now. This could potentially be one of the defining albums of the 00’s.

Only time will tell.

Wasted potential

2022-10-13T23:10:00.002+06:00

The second collaboration between Saskatoon, Saskatchewan’s Factor and L.A.’s Awol One, this album is a crystal-clear example of why I’m simultaneously hopeful and yet totally disillusioned with modern rap music.

Most of the good will engendered on Owl Hours comes courtesy of Factor’s beat-making prowess. He’s a capable producer, able to deftly swing from blissful, synth-heavy arrangements to crafting tracks that combine the talents of an assembled group of live musicians and subtly-programmed drum loops. The first track is the former, a tight drum loop guiding a series of distorted synth-runs for a spare musical bed augmented by his own scratching on the song’s back end. Other cuts (like “Celebrate,” “Back Then”) boast minor key synths and softer sounds, one number late in the album coming across like a lost Postal Service number crafted with 808 snares. It’s a sophisticated, at times understated, palate that shows why rappers from xzibit to Busdriver have tapped Factor for tracks. Hell, one of the drum loops on “Official” sounds like it could’ve been pulled off one of Trent Reznor’s most industrial tracks (”Gave Up” from the Broken EP specifically).

Now: while the album’s two principle performers have a good chemistry and seem to be on the same page on most of these songs, that doesn’t mean this album is all highs. Trust me, there are lows.

I don’t want to take too much away from Awol based solely on these songs. He seems like a perfectly capable lyricist for the most part, but there’s something about his performance that makes it seem like he has something better to do than putting vocals down on tape. His raspy voice sounds almost detached, almost preoccupied on most of these songs. I don’t want to say bored, but I feel compelled to. Even when trying to explain his passion for music with a line like, “You don’t know what the rap life costs,” he comes off flat. The few moments where his voice really seems to fit are on “Brains Out,” a cast-off capital-h Hard Rapping track filled with braggadocio and misogynist posturing, and “Back Then,” which is an honest and relatable tale of love gone wrong. A sentiment that may be rote in rock music is far from it in rap and the tenuous singing voice displayed at the song’s beginning (which I’m assuming is Awol) perfectly displays how genuine the emotion of the tune is, how he wants to make his feelings known to this former lover even though it may be difficult. Its nice to see that vulnerability, especially because it keeps Factor in the spotlight. Unfortunately he gets overshadowed on several of the songs with guest vocalists, due simply to the fact that they seem to have a stronger vocal presence.

There are other tracks where the vocals and lyrics work a lot better, where they’re paired very well with Factor’s tracks (”Celebrate,” “Destination,” “Sunset Sandwich”). But I’m afraid there are a couple of moments that are too depressing for me to overcome.

First and foremost: I expect more from indie rappers than tracks like “Brains Out” and “Waste The Wine.” Maybe we’re on a different page but I feel like there are more than enough (re: any) songs in mainstream rap music that advocate slapping “bitches” on the ass, girls with big asses, fucking in a Mercedes, girls with big titties, girls with big-ass titties, ladies “juggling these motherfucking nuts” in their mouths, messing with groupies, being “hard” and shooting guns. That ground has been covered. I always hope that independent rappers will bring something new to the party, but these songs are awful retreads of “gangster” posturing that have no redemptive value. There’s simply no need for these staid themes of misogyny and violence. Thankfully Awol seems to stay away from those tropes for the most part, leaving them to unnecessary guest spots. But its kind of sad to see that element creep into the songs if that isn’t the featured rapper’s MO.

Also, can we just put a blanket ban on rappers saying, “Check the flow,” or any such derivative entreaty to listen to what they’re saying? It’s a fucking rap song; the “flow” is why people are listening. Asking is redundant.

In summation: this would be an interesting and thoughtful rap record with genuinely engaging beats if it didn’t devolve into stereotypical thuggisms and purposefully offensive, cartoonish sexism. Hopefully Awol and Factor get it right on their next venture and leave out the guest vocalists and unfortunate posturing.

Best of 2012: These things will kill me one day

2022-10-13T23:06:00.005+06:00

Sometimes when I listen to Andy Shauf I picture him as I’ve seen him performing on stage: feet tucked back on a stool’s footrest, back hunched as he bends over his acoustic guitar, strumming the strings about as softly as possible while still registering an audible tone and whisper-singing into the microphone.

When I listen to his new album The Bearer Of Bad News, it’s easy to close my eyes and picture him continuing to hunch over further and further until he starts to collapse into himself like a dying star, curling up into an ever-smaller ball until he eventually disappears into nothingness.

The Bearer Of Bad News is that kind of album, the sound of an artist already pre-disposed to wandering into the softer, more disquieting side of the musical spectrum retreating to ever-darker territory.

The record has a hypnotic quality that falls less in line with Shauf’s breakout debut Darker Days and more with his work since that album. The recent EP Sam Jones Feeds His Demons was a brilliant primer for this release, for a few reasons. Most importantly it was an exercise in writing for and about a character. The four song suite sketched out the tortured life of the title character, who overcame his harmful predilections to find love, a love he would end up destroying because of those same predilections. Call it practice for the incredible storytelling on the full-length record (even though they were all written during the same period of time). It also introduced listeners to what is now a fairly central element in his songs: the clarinet. “Two Little Clouds” is an easy, wistful-sounding track on that teaser release that features the nimble woodwind harmonizing in two parts; it’s one of those sounds that is at first both familiar and unfamiliar, its airy tone nimbly floating across the mix. It’s weightlessness seems a pretty stark contrast to the lyrical heft and sombre tone of the rest of the instrumentation on both records and the overall plodding pace.

That lonesome woodwind is a remarkable complement to Shauf’s voice. His singing sounds uniformly hushed and almost removed for most of the record; lines other singers might hit more passionately, like “Jesus, she’s a good girl; I don’t want to ruin her,” are delivered with almost the same force and insistence as every other. He still has a very sharp sense of melody but it almost comes across as though he doesn’t want anything to get in the way of his lyrics this time around.

That’s for good reason. While the sound of Shauf’s music has made a subtle shift over the years this particular album is not about the music. The music is great, but The Bearer Of Bad News is a record that cannot exist without the words. The lyric sheet for this album reads as a full piece, a continuous flow of words from one song to the next. That’s imperative in getting the whole experience of the record; Shauf didn’t spend more than four years writing clarinet harmonies for this record (or maybe he did, I don’t know how hard it is to write clarinet harmonies). He spent that time peering into the darkest corners of his mind, pulling out what he found, and arranging it all into a mini-universe populated by some of the worst fears and darkest ideas of humankind.

Nearly every possible horror of small town life is represented in the characters on The Bearer Of Bad News; it opens with the aged jock, a former football star who is so lost and unhappy in his post-glory days that even when given the opportunity to play the hero he chooses not to, hoping only for the sweet release of an early death. Shauf as the presumed subject of a later song concedes to a lost paramour, “I will die a poor man, covered in dust and dreaming of you.” He postulates on the danger of living in the place “between heaven and hell” and positions himself as the disaffected singer/songwriter who needs to self-medicate just to act like he still believes in the words he’s written. “Jesus, She’s A Good Girl” reads like a left-over from the Sam Jones EP with both the savior and the protagonist, liquor on his breath, unable to stop the latter from doing harm to a woman in his life.

But three songs that concern two stories are the real centerpieces here, the deepest moments of darkness that show Shauf has developed a keen eye for detail and a knack for hitting every raw nerve in the listener’s body.

The seemingly never-ending “Wendell Walker” is a mournful, dirge-like tale that stomps along in ebbs and swells, eight and a half minutes of agonizing lyrics about how the prairie winter can make a person’s mind not right in the head; how that derangement can make you do things, hear things; how a dalliance with another man’s wife can turn into so much more; and how a rifle, a moment of passion, and a frigid winter’s night can lead to an unspeakable tragedy. Shauf hits all the little details that make the story take on an entirely more vivid tone. Needless to say the grim saga ends in roughly the darkest way possible, lyrically at least, while the insistent drums fall away at just the right time, cymbal crashes culminating in a frenzy before disappearing suddenly, underscoring the shock of the moment before a contemplative guitar strumming provides a denouement that is sorely needed for the listener to contemplate what they’ve just heard. This is a kind of powerhouse song that brings to mind something like Bob Dylan’s “Hurricane” or Bruce Springsteen’s “41 Shots,” an epic tale that drives home their aesthetic with aplomb.

The final songs on the record come together in a similar fashion. “Jerry Was A Clerk” is a piano-driven number about some friends who set up to steal some money from an old farmer who doesn’t trust banks. They converge on the man’s property under cover of night only to have the plan go awry, with a member of the party left behind while the others speed away in Jerry’s van, not stopping to consider what they might be fleeing from. The music shifts abruptly for the closing track, Shauf’s stark, slowly-hammered piano teasing out the isolation and emotion of the farmer who appears only briefly in the preceding song. Alcohol again proves to play a part, as it does consistently throughout the record, but in this instance it turns out to be a consolatory element as the old man reveals an ending to the saga that is at once astounding, shocking, and heartbreaking. I won’t spoil it but it’s a deft turn that is proof positive of how much Shauf has thought about these songs and what he aims to do with them: blast a hole right through your fucking heart. This isn’t necessarily the album I would’ve anticipated from Shauf but he’s traveled to a place I would never have imagined he could go and I’m glad he did. Lord knows I wouldn’t want to live there.

It’s probably also worth mentioning that the violence and depravity touched on here is not at all about exploitation or shock. Shauf has created these characters and situations to explore a facet of humanity that is all too often oversimplified: why good people do bad things, why bad things happen to good people, and where those people might end up when they do. Part of his gift as a writer is the ability to imbue a four minute song with empathy and pathos instead of condemnation and damnation.

In the midst of all this human cruelty, despair, and misfortune Shauf asks a faraway lover, “Is it as bad as it seems?” In that moment one can’t help but think of a young Hayden and his similarly-titled breakthrough single, itself every bit the paean to total misery that this album is. It’s a record that one could mistake for a light, even lackluster set of songs if their ears aren’t open to the gravity of the content. An album this fascinatingly bleak and masterfully written leaves one to wonder if Andy Shauf will have the kind of staying power Hayden Desser, Leonard Cohen, or Tom McRae has enjoyed.

After all, misery loves company.

Regina Gets Folk’d Up

2022-10-13T23:05:00.002+06:00

This weekend was the 39th annual Regina Folk Festival. Like most of the big folk festivals in major Canadian cities, “folk” is a very loose term, as most of the headliners wouldn’t typically be lumped into that genre. Still, it’s a relatively small, very well-organized and well-attended festival that is continually drawing “bigger” acts every year, thanks I’m sure to a brilliant artistic director.

Finances restricted myself, my lady Jenny, her sister and her little boy to one day’s worth of paid attendance. We chose Friday, which saw main stage acts including: Final Fantasy, the Weakerthans, and closer Broken Social Scene.

Final Fantasy’s Owen Pallett is a bit of an anomaly at the best of times and I think live performance reinforces that. It takes a lot of guts to put on the show that he does; a single, small man occupying a large stage with nothing but a violin, two microphones, and a couple of keyboards constructing intricate songs out of numerous (recorded live) loops and live playing and singing. Not easy to pull off, as evidenced by a couple of occasions where his foot-tapping got a bit out of control and accidentally stopped entire songs in the middle of a verse or chorus, only to have them awkwardly re-started again. He’s a consummate professional, though, and aside from those odd missteps the performances were flawless and filled with heart.

The Weakerthans offered little that wasn’t seen a few months ago in their latest touring performance here. Granted, for the constantly-growing crowd that’s all they needed to do. They’ve played the festival numerous times and they seemed to genuinely enjoy their set.

With the protection of the above-pictured sound dampening headphones, Solan was able to watch both Final Fantasy and the Weakerthans, although by the middle of the latter he started to get pretty tired and cranky.

After fetching a few blankets from home (the perks of attending a festival two blocks from your apartment) and standing in an interminably long line at the beer gardens, we settled into a nice spot for Broken Social Scene. While much of their set was spent drinking beer and enjoying each others company without having to worry about the boy (he’d fallen asleep between sets), I was still very impressed with the show the Scenesters put on. Only seven or eight band members made the trip, and perhaps the neatest aspect of their performance was their willingness to open up the stage. Members of local acts and other performers with lower profiles at the festival were brought on to fill in missing components (female vocals, horn section, etc), to a very nice effect. They played an energetic set with a fairly representative mixture of their work, promising to come back soon to do a real show.

My personal highlight, however, came the next day when we didn’t actually have passes to the main stage events. We took Solan to play in the park after breakfast and were in an ideal position to take in a set by Old Man Luedecke. As I mentioned in a previous post, Luedecke is a very lively, spirited songwriter who pens very real, touching, and relatable songs about things like napping and breakfast. He expressed some mild concern at the beginning of the set (when only about five or six people including us were watching) about being relegated to the Children’s Stage, saying he wasn’t sure if that meant he was supposed to play kids songs. Thankfully he stuck to original material, beautiful songs about kissing at the airport and a woeful character named Monsanto Jones whose parents brought the ire of the GMF grain giant just by naming him. Between songs he proved just as entertaining, relating stories and inspiration in a very loose, comical fashion. Ironically, despite his reticence, I’d find it hard to imagine he’d perform anywhere else; banjo music is apparently the perfect soundtrack to the innocent twirling, running, and frog-jumping that mark the dancing of toddlers and infants. By the end of the set, his crowd had grown to probably about 100, each of them grinning and singing along when prompted.

The free performances on three stages throughout the park (centrally located in “lovely” downtown Regina) are a brilliant idea. National bands just gaining renown (Woodpigeon) and local acts doing the same on a smaller scale (Library Voices, Rah Rah) got a showcase that ensured maximum possible attendance, due to their freeness. It’s a great idea that really speaks to the character of the festival itself. All in all, a great couple of days.

Becoming Major

2022-10-13T23:03:00.004+06:00

After spending nigh on ten years as one of my favourite bands of all time, I find myself having to temper my feelings about the Alkaline Trio.

What once was a band fueled by passion and alcohol (seriously; once upon a time every second song was about being loaded) has become a day job. A darkness in the music and lyrics once informed by depression, heartbreak, and (again) alcohol has been replaced by a gimmicky obsession with hell, graveyards, and Count Chocula goth-light-ness. The quality and creativity of the lyrics (”like the sound of sirens to a house on fire, you’re saving me,” “even Christ himself would cringe at the sight of your scars”) have devolved into perhaps one of the most embarrassing lyrics I’ve ever read. It’s kind of sad.

I’m referring to their latest album, Agony & Irony, recently released by Epic/Sony. While it’s easy to take the easy road and say that they’ve sold out and completely written off their past in order to make gimmicky, complacent pop rock simply to move units. I think it’s a bit more complicated than that. My perception is that as the band has become more popular on its own merits it has turned into a major label act; one that knows what the majority of it’s audience is and wants and they write to that.

While that might sound like derision, I’m still perfectly willing to admit that I really like the new record. It’s far and away the “worst” of their career, but it’s still a very solid pop rock album. They’ve embraced handclaps, middling tempos, and teenage goth imagery, but even with a horrendous low point coming in the way of “Live Young, Die Fast,” the lyrics are not a complete write off. There IS some genuine gold to be mined from these songs.

Opener “Calling All Skeletons” is a pop song of the highest order, referencing the seminal Minutemen album and featuring a sing-along chorus. The hooks are many and they come quick in song after song; the first six songs here are nearly impeachable, with the exception of the somewhat heavy-handed ‘war sucks’ hypotheticals of “Over and Out.” Some of the ‘darker’ songs are smattered with production tricks and sounds that could be lifted from a Halloween sound effects CD, but it’s a lot of fun and you get the sense that drummer/arranger Derek Grant is having the time of his life.

The back-to-back combo of “I Found Away” and “Do You Wanna Know?” reflect the best of latter-day Alkaline Trio: the former a twisted pop song with a hint of their former desperation, the latter another example of bassist/singer Dan Andriano’s consistently maturing songwriting voice (and probably the best song he’s written since 1999’s “Maybe I’ll Catch Fire”). In fact, as has been the case for their last three records, Matt Skiba continues to pen toothless bubblegum goth songs while Andriano’s writing has become more and more mature, detailing a truly adult perspective of love, marriage, and life as a person entering their 30’s. In my opinion he’s eclipsed Skiba as a songwriter and I’d love to see his songs pushed to the forefront instead of relegated to their albums back ends and b-sides.

So yes, it’s not a perfect album. It might not even be a great album, but it succeeds in being catchy as hell and not being ashamed of it. They’re not the band they once were, but listeners will still be rewarded if they’re willing to accept their shifting agenda.

Super Summer Mix Tape Pt. 1

2022-10-13T23:02:00.003+06:00

Pop music was made for summer. As a pusher/purveyor of pop music, that means that nary a season goes by without a celebratory mix tape to accompany it. What you’ll find in the .rar files linked below are ready-to-burn mixes meant to be listened to in the midst of a road trip, preferably with the windows rolled down. Pop and rock and pop rock are pushed to the forefront, because there’s nothing summery about pianos, cellos, and theremins. Crank it up.

Disc One
1. the Hold Steady - Constructive Summer // Craig Finn continues to be the master of the subtle shout-out, giving props to his old Minneapolis chums in Dillinger Four in the second verse of this song. Like the rest of their latest album, this song encourages you to rock out all summer long. One of the few overtly summer-named songs on this mix.
2. the Steinways - Main Street, Flushing, USA // Pop punk should be everyone’s summer soundtrack as far as I’m concerned, and few do that genre better than the Steinways right now. This ones about creeping out the ladies on the bus ride home.
3. O Pioneers!!! - the Weather Underground // I’ve said before how much I love this band, but that’s only because I do. Music as inspiration and rallying cry.
4. Nine Inch Nails - Letting You // Trent Reznor making semi-relevant music in 2008 (and reinventing music retail in the process) — who would’ve thought.
5. Black Mountain - Tyrants // My favourite track from their latest; epic guitar rock from what could be the new Zep, Jefferson Airplane, and Byrds all rolled into one.
6. Flight Of The Conchords - Robots // I’m sorry, I just love these guys. I may have been late to the party, but the party is still a lot of fun.
7. Ratatat - Shiller // Some parts could be a sound-alike for the X-Files soundtrack, but in a good way.
8. the Playing Favorites - Indigenous // Joey Cape has been one of my favourite songwriters for nigh on ten years. As the punk rock fades further and further into his rearview his tunes just get prettier and prettier. While this side project is middling at best, his contributions are flawless.
9. Tokyo Police Club - Listen To The Math // A distinct change of pace from their EP releases, there are several songs on their full-length debut that drop the fast-paced freneticism of earlier songs with dazzling results.
10. Wolf Parade - California Dreamer // Radio jams are always a plus in the summertime, even if they heavily reference winter in their lyrics.
11. Shad K - the Old Prince Still Lives At Home // Ontario rapper with often lovely, always clever, and frequently very deep lyrics. Such a great album.
12. Two Hours Traffic - Stuck For The Summer // Some fantastically hooky power pop that reminds me heavily of the last Phoenix album. Another great find from the radio show.
13. Johnny Cash - It Ain’t Me, Babe // See post from a few weeks ago.
14. Ninja Gun - Front Yard Screamers (Kitchen Kissers) // Kind of a Mellancamp-y, front porch tune about family.
15. Mike Hale - Before You Were Gone // Yeah, a bit depressing…but summer isn’t always 100% beaches and bombshell babes. Sometimes it’s just bombshells.
16. Trever Keith - Sick Of Me // Also depressing. One of the standout tracks from the self-released digital-only album from former Face to Face frontman.
17. Alkaline Trio - I Found Away // In last week’s review I talked about how this song should be the one that finally launches this band into the pop rock stratosphere. Even if it doesn’t, it’s a bright spot on the most middling album of their career.
18. the Hold Steady - Stay Positive // As with every hold steady song and album, this one is very referential. While newer fans or folks who only saw then on Letterman might miss the allusion to “Positive Jam,” a cut from their first album Almost Killed Me, long-time fans continue to get their shoutouts contained within another killer rock song. This band knows exactly what they’re doing.

Disc Two
1. the Gaslight Anthem - Great Expectations // The album of the summer so far, possibly of the year. While I don’t quite understand the complete obsession their fan base has for what I consider a mediocre first album, the ‘59 Sound is the real deal.
2. the Loved Ones - 3rd Shift // Nice build up.
3. Lemuria - Bee Spit // See post from a few weeks ago; one of the best, catchiest pop songs I’ve heard in years.
4. the Steinways - Oh My Fucking Gosh // Seriously.
5. Off With Their Heads - Your Child Is Dead // They raise some interesting points. What’s with the gun violence? I know this is old, but it was re-pressed this summer, so there.
6. Torche - Healer // From the brilliantly-titled Meanderthal. Weird but pretty great pop/metal hybrid that doesn’t sound like you think it does.
7. Able Baker Fox - Stuttering // One of the finest rock songs of the year. I think an associate called it an “unholy jam.” Really can’t disagree.
8. A Wilhelm Scream - Die While We’re Young // You know I love them.
9. Alkaline Trio - Do You Wanna Know? // See notes on previous Alkaline Trio song. The finest song Dan Andriano has written since “Maybe I’ll Catch Fire.”
10. Maritime - Be Unhappy // This song follows a tradition that dates back past Motown to the beginning of popular music (ie. “You Are My Sunshine”) — namely depressing, melancholy lyrics set to a catchy melody that belies the darkness of the content. Nothing does the job like a well-placed “doo doot doo doo do.”
11. Why? - These Few Presidents // One of the best misunderstood torch songs of recent years. That is, if you interpret the line, “Yours is a funeral I’d fly to from anywhere” as sweet and not foreboding.
12. Bloc Party - Flux // Propulsive, catchy, and frantically drummed, like a good Bloc Party song should be.
13. Portugal. The Man - Church Mouth // These dudes are in their own field (namely left field). I don’t know what it means, but it sounds good.
14. Kay Kay and His Weathered Underground - Hey Momma // Gatsby’s American Dream is awesome, but this song is wild and just perfect.
15. Malcolm Bauld - Royal Road // Former Frenetics frontman pens one of the most conflicted, sad songs I’ve ever heard, but keeps his optimism intact.
16. O Pioneers!!! - the Adventures of John Locke // Unimpeachable track from one of my favourite bands. The constant, unyielding strumming of the guitar and the hell-raising, guttural vocals are wonderfully cathartic.
17. Witches With Dicks - How To Cook 40 Humans // Pop punk that’s dirty and dangerous.
18. Be Your Own Pet - Zombie Graveyard Party // Pop punk filtered through teenage horror movie dance parties.
19. LaGrecia - According To My Notes // Probably the most well-disguised pure pop song of the year. I will never stop listening to this record.
20. No Use For A Name - Under The Garden // A throwback for me. NUFAN always reminds me of being in high school, going to punk rock shows, and sweating out your problems.

Part One can be downloaded here
Part Two is waiting for you here

We’ll be back in the coming days with more tasty mixes from our other staffers.

You’ve got to stay positive

2022-10-13T23:00:00.003+06:00

In our summer mix tape posts, I pay special attention to the Hold Steady and their latest release, Stay Positive. There’s a pretty good reason — the band fucking jams.

Their previous release, Boys and Girls In America, was a flawless album filled to the gills with Craig Finn’s trademark vocal delivery and lyrical storytelling, the latter of which is on par with the best in the business. Even better, his tales of drunken, drugged-out debauchery among his country’s youth finally got him the acclaim he deserves as a songwriter thanks in part to a significant media push from new label Vagrant Records.

Still with Vagrant and still amazing songwriters, Stay Positive sees Finn’s bandmates continue to increase the impact of their presence. In particular, where Boys and Girls served as a coming out party for new member Franz Nicolay (keys; also a driving force behind NYC’s World/Inferno Friendship Society and the resurgence of god-awful mustaches), Stay Positive sees him exert even more presence in the songs. Finn’s no-frills rock, perfected over the course of the band’s first three albums (and his time spent in the punkier Lifter Puller), is expertly-countered by Nicolay’s ear for throwing additional instrumentation into the mix — namely harpsichord, talkbox, horns, and strings. Heck, talk about expanding your palate: Finn has even taken some vocal lessons and you might even call some of his vocals singing on this record.

But either way, odds are good that a lot of Hold Steady fans are in it for the lyrics. “Constructive Summer” gets things off to a great start, encapsulating all the band’s talking points: drinking, partying, and, er, staying positive. Finn’s good taste shines through in lyrical nods to punk rockers Dillinger Four and the late, great Joe Strummer. The subtle allusion is one of Finn’s greatest tools, used throughout the album. Long-time fans will pick up a full-circle nod to Almost Killed Me’s “Positive Jam” on the title track, when Finn insists, ‘it’s one thing to start it with a positive jam/And it’s another thing to see it on through.’ Indeed, part of the fun of this album is picking up those nods to influences and characters from past albums.

I’d encourage old fans and interested newbies alike to go pick up the ‘limited edition’ digipack version of the CD, which includes three bonus tracks on a 12th track. In true Hold Steady fashion, even the leftover material is every bit as good as the main album. While the record as a whole doesn’t best Boys and Girls In America, it comes close. Seriously folks: you’ll find no better than this in 2008.

the End of Progression

2022-10-13T22:58:00.003+06:00

I can’t say I ever really expected to make such a statement, at least not before actually laying hands on a copy of On Parallels. While some would argue there’s pedigree by the pound here, thanks to frontman/songwriter Jason Shevchuk’s involvement in (the awesome) Kid Dynamite and (the often bland) None More Black, I wasn’t biting. I just couldn’t get into most of the None More Black material, and by all reports it was going to be pretty much the complete opposite of Kid Dynamite so what was there to be excited about?

Well get psyched: this is one of the most well-written pop rock records of at least the last five years, hands down. The trick is that it might not seem too readily apparent because of the minimalism of the instrumentation and Shevchuk’s incredibly gruff, raw vocals (though on some tracks — especially “According To My Notes” and “Silently Just” — he manages to throw those out the window and inject some honest-to-goodness smooth, not-gravelly singing into the mix).

I think I’d liken this release to Jets To Brazil’s debut. Blake Schwarzenbach had broken up Jawbreaker prior to the release of Orange Rhyming Dictionary and made it everything he had been criticized for towards the end of that band’s career: slower, more cerebral straight-forward rock with better singing, more accessible hooks, and glossier production. While the production on On Parallels seems flat in some places, the rest of it is there in spades.

It also sees Shevchuk’s songwriting moving into territory he hasn’t explored before: horns and strings find their way into the mix, “Silently Just” features acoustic guitar, and “Two Shotguns” centers around a chord progression that is equal parts blues and punk rock. Both are equally stirring in very different ways and serve as polar examples of what this band is capable of.

I suppose I should say was capable of; the group officially disbanded several weeks before the album was even officially released, the result of the inter-band tension that frequently crops up when band members are also dating. But a tragic end to a project filled with promise also serves as a disconcerting backslide for the band’s principle songwriter, as Shevchuk has decided to put None More Black back together in LaGrecia’s wake. Hopefully he won’t be afraid to expand that band’s sonic palette in a similar fashion, as it would be a shame to put a damper on his emerging pop sensibilities.

Totally A-OK

2022-10-13T22:56:00.005+06:00

I’m starting to feel that and my little bundle of joy still doesn’t arrive for a few weeks. My wife and I are really starting to get excited about it. And of course by excited I mean anxious, nervous, and trepidatious. That’s half a joke; we are excited but it’s a big thing. Moreover the prospect of trying to raise a healthy, confident, self-aware daughter in this uncomfortable version of a modern world we live in is equally scary.

I have to assume Lily Frost knows where I’m coming from. Her latest album Do What You Love (released last month) was conceived as a letter to the daughter she was preparing to have. The advice contained in its 10 tracks is at times personal and at times, such as in the case of the title track, also informed by some long-standing aphorisms that are a little more universal.

Frost also stated in the run-up to the album that she wanted it to be a poppier, sunnier record than her previous effort, the folky (and foreboding) Veridian Torch. Despite her chilly nom de plume, her music always seems to carry a sense of warmth to it but she amps up the intimacy on this one, lending it a larger sense of familiarity regardless of whether or not you’ve heard her work before. In fact this might be the high point of her career, as she hones in on a focused and cohesive sound and direction that feels more relaxed and simultaneously upbeat than anything she’s done before.

I get the sense that the title track was the genesis for the whole works. It opens with the oft-cited trope, “Do what you love and the money will follow,” and clearly Frost is a believer; she continues: “If you do what you hate to get the money to do what you love you’ll find in the end that you don’t have any time, that you’re a shell, you have nothing to give and no reason to live.” It’s pretty clear that sentiment comes from experience. Either way Frost is presenting a blue-sky view of life but there’s definitely a level of credibility here. Frost has gone through some serious ups and downs, recently telling Now Toronto about how her background has fed into her reasoning. Referring to the song “Stand,” she explains:

I wrote it 12 years ago, inspired by Robert Johnson’s idea of being at a crossroads and singing the blues, which was considered to be the devil’s music. I had shaved my head and was celibate. I was willing to do whatever it took to be a star. I signed to Nettwerk Records in Vancouver. We did a lot of big shows with Coldplay, the Dandy Warhols, until it all imploded because of alcohol and egos.

She says now that she’s settled into a comfortable place where she and her husband live in the country, make music, and manage to survive. Doing what she loved eventually worked for her.

Her increasingly sunny outlook is reflected in this and the other sunny songs on the album, like the excellent opener “Background Radio.” It’s an incredible pop number that I’m sure could neither be performed nor listened to without a a smile on each and every face in the vicinity. It opens with a high, playful piano figure and some rapid hand clapping/slapping, some densely-cooing background vocals. As the album continues Forst and her collaborators do their best to get everything short of the kitchen sink into these songs, nearly all of it coming out in an upbeat, energetic wash. Her arrangements continue to be more sophisticated than the average indie popper, subtle electronic noises, plucked strings, resonant piano notes, bass, and acoustic guitar all layering seamlessly into a remarkable texture. “Grenade” has more of a rock edge with electric guitars and heavy, prominent piano notes and chords smashing into the mix for effect. “No Promises” is a sassy number with a shuffling beat and trumpet stabs for emphasis while acoustic and electric guitar strum away in opposing left and right channels. “I’m On Fire” features some subtle tuba (as subtle as it can be anyway) but it doesn’t sound like the A&W theme song or some kind of band camp misadventure. It folds into her sound as though it always belonged there. Frost has often injected a subtle vein of jazz textures into her music, and while that’s no different on this album as a whole, I don’t think tuba is that jazzy. At least, not when it’s kind of the lone stand-out element. Alongside a casually strummed acoustic guitar, shuffling percussion, and a chorus of bells it’s a very amiable setting.

I would imagine Frost endures a lot of Feist comparisons. Unlike some more blatantly bombastic singers like Serena Ryder both Feist and Frost are less likely to floor you with volume and forcefulness in their performances than they are to wow you with the intricacies and subtle flourishes in their voices. Both are willing to use their voice in whatever manner best suits the song. Songs like “Long Sweet Ride” and the Pink Floyd cover “San Tropez” are good examples; Frost’s vocals occasionally fall into the back in the mix, distorted to come across as more atmospheric and melding into the band’s larger sound. But you can also hear her smile in every line she wants you to; her voice drips with character and personality.

“I’m On Fire” sees her confident lyricism wandering away from the idea of innocent advice; at least, I hope so. “Time won’t take your love away,” she coos. “I could take your lover away much faster.” It’s a winking, sly notion, if that’s a sentiment you don’t mind your daughter hearing. Of course, if you view the lyrics only through that lens then the sonds don’t always line up. “Grenade” sees Frost chastising someone for refusing to face up to reality, instead choosing to acknowledge an uncomfortable situation. “Poetry” is a story from Frost’s past, perhaps the manner in which she’s chosen to tell her daughter about how she met her husband. “No Promises” is definitely not for her daughter; an anti-love song of sorts, Frost makes the assertion to a lover that she’s not looking for a commitment and “might not be there in the morning” and “someone like me isn’t going to hang around.” You can’t blame her for widening the scope of the songs, though; clearly an album full of advice to one’s child may not connect to an audience outside of that child.

On both fronts, though, this album is a success. Frost has put together an album full of easy, accessible pop songs that are different and challenging enough to stand out from the crowd. It’s amiable, charming, has a real warmth.

It’s also nice to know that parenthood can help foster someone’s creative output instead of shutting it down. My wife and I have heard from so many people who seem to view having a baby as a kind of jail sentence, something to be lived through. “Sleep while you can, you’ll never be able to once the baby comes,” they insist. “You’re going to be like zombies.” “There won’t be any time for yourself, you’ll be changing diapers and feeding and washing constantly.” Of course, they always insist, “It’s worth it in the end,” or something along those lines. Thanks guys, but we’re actually pretty psyched to include our child in our lives, not have them become all about her. The fact that Frost has been able to continue her relatively prolific schedule of creating and releasing music is encouraging that our lives will continue alongside our daughters.

So thanks, Lily Frost. For this album and the psychological reassurance. Both are more than welcome!