It’s been a little bleak here on Wednesdays, and I’ve been MIA for a couple of weeks — but hopefully you will all enjoy today’s musical selection and forgive the midweek blackout of late. The Blow, consisting of Khaela Maricich & Jona Bechtolt from Portland, OR, have been carrying me through a busy time. The music is rife with slick modern beats, but there is a super pop, super earnest candy center. Throughout the album there are many, many references to how hard it is for girls and boys to come together and I admit (with a blush and an eyeroll) that when Khaela sings “really you just injured my pride” I had a moment where I was like “um, did I write this song???” As usual, file under: better late than never.
Pile of Gold [MP3, 2.9MB, 160kbps]
Sam’s original post: 01/10/05
I was going to wait for Valentine’s Day to post this, but couldn’t because I’ve been waiting long enough as it is. The Blow is one unassuming Khaela Maricich whose catalog of come-ons is sultry, clever, and disarming enough to lure even the most reluctant players to bed. When I say players, I don’t mean Fabolous or Jermaine Dupri. I mean the mysterious outsiders, the John Cusacks of the world. To some such player, Khaela sings, “I’d love to make you nervous/I’d love to make you sweat/I’d love to make you breakfast the morning after…” How you gonna say no to that? And if you do, would you be pal and pass her number along?
I dreamt I had already posted Walker Kong. I searched our archives assuming I’d find this Minneapolis band somewhere among the many pop gems from the past. You’ve heard what happens when one assumes. In order to avoid any name-calling, here we go with Walker Kong: happy-go-lucky tunes with a touch of Grateful Dead, especially the vocals and the vocal melodies on “Andy Warhol.” The comparison’s a stretch, but I’m running with it. Listen for them to name-drop this site on that same song. Another stretch. Work with me here. The next two tracks are examples from previous albums. Fleeting moments of Lloyd Cole and Beulah provide further terms of endearment. Which reminds me: over the weekend I read a great article by the playwright Lisa Loomer, who was particularly depressed over this quotation: “97% of what people perceive is what they already believe.” Apply that to music and I’m guilty as charged. If one band sounds like another that I know and love I’m drawn much quicker to that new band. And this world is in desperate need of smart, literate, pop bands. Walter Kong…perceive and believe!
Northern State, while not typical of most bands, does have a typical experience: little band writes some good stuff, tours like crazy, goes big, gets written up in Rolling Stone and Spin and the rest, gets signed to a major label, tours some more, then bolts from said major label and gets back to doing their own thing. These ladies from Long Island have been working with Chuck Brody (Shitake Monkey) and the Beasties’ Adrock on their new album, which has them moving from hip-hop to a more Luscous Jackson-like vibe. New songs can be heard at their myspace site, but check out this oldie with the best ever rhyme from Prynn about her Native American ancestory.
I’m not sure if you guys have heard this band yet, the Arcade Fire? They’re Canadian, and kind of popular. They’ve got this new album, Neon Bible, and more media coverage than Anna Nicole Smith (well, maybe not), and Sam forced me to go see them live a few years ago and they were really, really good. It was a small venue, and we all sang the words to the songs even though we maybe had never heard them before. Anyway, here’s the opening track off that new record. Hope you like it… I like the second song better.
The singer for Super Furry Animals has a knack for writing Super Catchy Songs all on his own. Well, he did take his recordings down to England to add some strings, courtesy of Sean and Marcus of the High Llamas, then down to Brazil for Mario Caldato Jr.’s percussive touch. So songs that began as meditations for acoustic guitar and voice ended up sounding greater than the sum of their parts.
Kinetic Stereokids hail from Flint, Michigan (third most dangerous city in the U.S. and one of the most depressing), where I reckon they hear a lot of car alarms. But you know what they say…when life gives you car alarms, make samples. And why stop with car alarms? KSK’s debut Basement Kids is an enticing grab bag of found sounds and samples, as well as free-range rap, folk and rock guitar, drowsy ballads, garage beats, cuttin’ and scratchin’, experimental knob noodling, and other random bits. Beck employed similar means to reach a different end on records like Mellow Gold and Odelay. Here there is a melancholy, desperate, and spiteful undercurrent which makes even the rough edges compelling to listen to. It won’t necessarily get the party started but makes an excellent public transportation soundtrack.
With all due respect to Wynton Marsalis and his Lincoln Center crew, jazz traditionalists are…well, they’re jackasses. Jazz was the definition of musical adventure until Upper West Side honkies started trading in their philharmonic memberships for that classic jazz sound. Don’t get me wrong, I like to listen to Miles, Coltrane, Satchmo and the Duke as much as the next person. But Miles Davis wasn’t even revisiting Kind of Blue five years after he made it, so why should anyone else be revisiting it 40 years later? Sex Mob isn’t so traditional. Their meandering horns and smooth rhythms fall somewhere between the avant-garde and the smoky club, and the extracurricular touches—samples, megaphone lyrics, deep electro hums—surely are more thoroughly enjoyed with a doobie than a highball. Indeed, like Medeski Martin & Wood, Sex Mob seems to be a hit among jam band enthusiasts, and while they’re jackasses too, at least they’re jackasses who can have some fun without the faux-witty repartee.
School of Rock was on cable over the weekend, right about the time I started listening to Martin Sexton’s new album Seeds, and I couldn’t help but make a comparison. Powerful, funky soul-pop instead of face-melting rock, a band of adults (presumably) instead of Dewey’s / Ned’s 10 year olds — well, maybe that which draws Martin Sexton and Jack Black together in my mind is simply a similar physical appearance. Oh yeah, and total sincerity in expressing the joy of music. The five tracks below, from five different albums, are awesomely and gloriously full of Sexton’s soul, and you can take that line any way you want.