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.
Let me begin today’s post with a favorite passage from the 
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.
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.
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 
It worked on me. Dangerbird Records (home to 
Southeast Engine is fronted by a married, unemployed middle school teacher from Athens, Ohio. If that doesn’t tip you off to the manic melancholy you’ll hear in the music, then perhaps you were home-schooled. As the band’s bio says, Athens ain’t the cradle of democracy and it ain’t even the most famous Athens in college music circles. It ain’t truly the South nor truly the Midwest, either. Athens is perpetually something between here and there. You’ll hear strains of Bright Eyes, Will Oldham, Neutral Milk Hotel, Josh Ritter, and even Bruce Springsteen in these tracks. Yet the cornucopia of styles don’t clash, they just come together like good, honest music from somewhere in America.
I can’t promise you these tracks will be up long, so get ’em while the gettin’s good. Malcolm Catto leads the nine-piece Heliocentrics for a crazy, funked-up ride into the far reaches of jazz’s space time continuum. I don’t know what that means either, but it’d take up way too much space attempting to pin down The Heliocentrics sound. They didn’t call it Out There for nothing. It sounds retro, like a James Brown outtake, but Catto’s been spending the present-day diggin’ deep for funk 45s, drumming for DJ Shadow and Madlib, and releasing a solo LP on James Lavelle’s Mo’ Wax Records (the “Untitled” track below is a sample of an unreleased song from those sessions). “Sirius B” is just 1/24 of the electro-free-jazz-space-out The Heliocentrics have unleashed on an unsuspecting and unworthy world.
Lately, everything has just seemed charming. And my last few posts have reflected that. (Uh, I hope?) Ferraby Lionheart completes my “charmed cycle” and, with Clare and the Reasons and Jens Lekman, has been fillling my little apartment with happy sounds. He doesn’t sound like Ryan Adams to me at all, but somehow when Ferraby Lionheart is playing, my brain is somehow right back in Chicago circa 2000 listening to Whiskeytown and driving down Lakeshore Drive watching the leaves change. Or I am in Minnesota listening to the Strokes first album for the first time. In short, this is music to mark time to. Mr. Lionheart is a mishmash–there are strings occasionally, some Otis Redding style whistling, tics sometimes, a little harmonica and a small, appropriate amount of irony mixed up in this man’s music. But mostly its just pretty and solid, and tis the season for pretty, transporting songs.
Black Kites is an LA band that’s got a little bit of everything — male and female vocals, droning guitar, heavy drums, mellow synth — and it’s all dreamy & dramatic. I like the retro vibe they’ve got, especially in “Sadie.” Kind of old school, sort of new wave, it’s like I’m buying my first pair of Dr. Martens all over again. Apparently their cover of the Sisters of Mercy’s “Lucretia My Reflection” was once available on the Filthy Little Angels website, and it’s a drag I couldn’t find it. That would have likely been a rare and special treat.