Things are always bigger in Texas, right? And Tulsa’s in Oklahoma, which is next to Texas, and thus things should be a little bit bigger there too. Um, yeah. This Tulsa’s actually from Boston, but they’ve got some big sound, and lots of it. The three songs below, from the recently released album I Was Submerged offer up a good idea of what the band’s all about. Some shimmer here and some crunching guitar there, understatement in one track (“Shaker,” which might be my favorite of the bunch) and a little 1990s Brit-rock swagger in another (“Mass”) — good stuff to fill the wide open spaces.
Japancakes
For seven years, Athens, Georgia’s Japancakes have reliably turned out what, if it were distortion-laden and featured ethereal vocals, would be labeled “shoegazer.” Instead my people call it good ol’ fashioned instrumental country music with the occasional twist. It’s only fitting, then, that they decided to cover the shoegazer classic-of-all-classics — My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless — in its entirety. Pedal steel and cello replace the vocal and guitar melodies. The mood and structure remains very much intact and it’s lovely…just not as fulfilling as the original, or as a regular Japancakes record. Which might be why, as a sort of insurance against cynics like me, they released Giving Machines, an incredible album of originals (plus one Cocteau Twins cover), within a couple weeks of Loveless. As a package, it’s one of the sweeter releases of the year. Double down, I always say.
Efterklang
It’s only been about seven months since I first posted Efterklang, but they have a new album out and a fantastic, playful, M.C. Escher-esque video and, well, it’s all very exciting. Both “Cutting Ice to Snow” and “Mirador” (the video track) showcase Efterklang’s beautiful knack for creating soundtracks to films that haven’t been made — though I guess in the case of “Mirador” that’s only half true. Whichever way you look at it, it’s a sublime way to add a lilting soundtrack to your own never-ending film. Oh, and for those of you in Europe, Efterklang will be on tour all season, so go to their website and see if they’ll be near you…
The Cotton Jones Basket Ride
It might take a few spins — there must be something spinning inside the computer, right? —for this debut track from The Cotton Jones Basket Ride to really work for you. Greg and I were hanging around, giving it a listen, and our first thought was to turn down the volume, for the sake of discretion. But there’s something about former Page France frontman Michael Nau’s voice that begs to be heard. In this case, it’s the refreshingly bluesy, breezy falsetto of “Had Not A Body.” He’s singing about demons in his head and fire in his throat, but you know, the song is so cool and laid back, it’s really nothing to worry about. Time will tell if the rest of his new debut, Paranoid Cocoon, will be equally tranquil; it’s due in early 2008. Until then and according to the promo people, “an individually handmade, hand-stamped, limited EP Booklet of five songs is available for purchase at all Cotton Jones shows, and via the Quite Scientific website. The booklets are hand made, hand stamped, and include a CD of four songs set to appear on the upcoming record, and one exclusive to the release.” Right on.
Elk City
So there is this perfect meal that I like to make in the fall (due credit must be given to Marcella Hazan, the grande dame of Italian home cooking). I just take some plum tomatoes (canned are best, but the good kind, not the five for a dollar kind) and I put them in a pot. Then I take an onion, cut it in half and put it in the pot. Then I take five tablespoons of butter and, ahem, put it in the pot. I then cook the contents of the pot for 45 minutes, spoon it over piping hot pasta and sit in my pajamas watching wretched TV. It tastes just as good as any complicated and fussy meal I’ve ever made. But this is not a cooking blog, its about the music, so what the hell is my point? My point is that Elk City’simple and lovely “Los Cruzados” is the long missing final ingredient to this simple, yet high octane, tomato sauce. My point is that songs don’t have to redefine the rules to be good, and sometimes taking a few simple, common, high quaity ingredients and mixing them into the pot can yield the most comforting, pleasure inducing things. And then of course you add some butter. If you were wondering, singer Renee LoBue’s melty, raspy voice is totally the butter.
Miss Fairchild
The promo materials promise that Miss Fairchild aren’t a bunch of “suburban white kids play-acting at being an ’80s funk band.” Well, unless they were born in Detroit fifty years ago they are exactly a bunch of suburban white kids posing as an ’80s funk band, and guess what??? THAT’S OK. All I care about is that you actually pull it off without a whiff of irony. Miss Fairchild does just that. They are 100% committed to a rump-shakin’ dancefloor party, no wink-wink-nudge-nudge attached. Miss Fairchild bring the smooth, R&B-styled party-pop, the kind that’ll have all your friends waving their hands in the air like they just don’t care, especially during the “cha-cha” breakdown in “Number One”…”Yeah Rosie, Yeah Rosie, Yeah Vije, Yeah Vije, Yeah Patty, Yeah Patty, Yeah SylviiiiiiAAAA!!”
Now all they need to do is hop on the road with Hunter Revenge and Gen-Y’s Prince will have his Morris Day counterpart. Deluxe.
Annuals
Let me begin today’s post with a favorite passage from the book I’m currently reading: “For what is genius, I ask you, but the capacity to be obsessed? Every normal child has that capacity; we have all been geniuses, you and I; but sooner or later it is beaten out of us, the glory fades, and by the age of seven most of us are nothing but wretched little adults.” An apt description as to why I’m NOT a genius. The only things I have the capacity to be obsessed over are chocolate and burritos. Not always in that order. The power of concentration eludes me. Like Homer Simpson, I’m so easily distracted, not by squirrels like Homer, but by all sorts of flights of fancy: reading, writing, picture taking, music listening, journaling, bike riding, skateboarding, snacking, and fathering, that I never obsess over any one thing and therefore fail to excel at anything (with the exception of fathering: I’m working like mad to raise three responsible members of society).
Likewise, Annuals seem unable to pin themselves down to any one sound. “Dry Clothes” shines through like a summery Beach Boys tune, “Bleary Eyed” trots along like a Grateful Dead jam, “Brother” inches along as an atmospheric meditation, and they drop a dance-floor beat into their remake Manchester Orchestra’s “Where Have You Been?” Eventually all these comparisons break down as the songs break down as well into something sometimes entirely different. It seems concentration escapes Annuals as well, but their lack of focus still retains a playful childhood capacity for genius.
Cheyenne
Cheyenne is a rock group whose members are mostly from Norman, Oklahoma but who now reside in Brooklyn. Despite their current residence (go Brooklyn!), to these ears they’re much more influenced by those Southern-slash-Midwestern roots than by the affected, irony-drenched post-rock that can sometimes permeate the Brooklyn scene. And that’s a very good thing. Lead singer Beau Jennings has been compared to Pedro the Lion’s David Bazan and I’m not one to deny it, but musically Cheyenne is far more downhome and far less emo. “The Whale” builds from steady handclaps and a sturdy piano melody into monster guitar riffs and chiming keys tuned to a playful yet pensive harmony. “Painting Horses” follows a similar classic pop formula but conjures a deeper roots rock aura thanks to Josh Harper’s climactic, chicken-fried guitar solo. There’s been a rewarding Southern rock resurgence over the past several years thanks to the likes of My Morning Jacket, Kings of Leon, Band of Horses and others. Cheyenne deserves to be added to that list, even if they’ve decided to call Brooklyn home.
Wojtek Godzisz
I’m really not a huge fan of overly theatrical pop. I don’t like show tunes at all, and musicals make me cringe. So, I have trouble explaining my fascination with the likes of Wojtek Godzisz (that’s voy-tek go-jeesh). It’s not just because the Brit is Polish — czesc, dude! Instead, I think it’s the drive in these tunes that captures my attention. Even though “December Will Be Magic Again” has all the makings of stage drama, it’s going somewhere, and that beat is moving me around the house when really I’d rather nap. And covering The Smiths is just fun.
Club 8
I feel a special numerical affinity for Club 8. The number eight holds a particular significance with me, a significance that I don’t believe I’ve shared outright with our readership, which is surprising, even to me, because I’m quite obnoxious with it in person. Put it this way, I probably would’ve been much better at math if we worked off a base eight system. OK, I’ll put it another way: I wouldn’t get very far hitchhiking. Here, you’d better just have a look (Taken, probably ten years ago, by Mr. Lifto backstage at a Jim Rose Circus Sideshow. No it hasn’t been Photoshopped.). Now that we’ve established I’m a member of Club 8, onto the music at hand (pun not intended, seriously)…
Club 8 is the Swedish boy-girl duo of Johan AngergÃ¥rd and Karolina Komstedt, homemaking music since 1995. Incessantly smooth and gorgeous, both the singing and playing, Club 8 has toyed with different takes on their cozy pop sound: ’60s folk, trip-hop, and bossa nova. It’s been five years since the last Club 8 album due to the fact that both Johan AngergÃ¥rd and Komstedt also play in Acid House Kings, not to mention AngergÃ¥rd’s work with The Legends. Their new album, The Boy Who Couldn’t Stop Dreaming, promises to balance sunshine (“Heaven”) and melancholia (“Jesus, Walk With Me”—a quiet rebuttal to Sam Harris et al). In a word, stunning.