A Swedish import via the Parasol label group, so you know you’re in for a treat, right? Impeccable classical guitar work sets the rhythm for González’ intimate, hushed vocals. He’d fit right in with the current neu-folk folks as well as the regrettably departed parties of Nick Drake and Elliott Smith.
Cypress Hill
Cypress…Cypress Hill! So massively appealing, like the gangstas you’d take home to meet mom, yet there ain’t no love songs up in here (unless you count “I Love You Mary Jane”). What’s their secret? Those hypnotic DJ Muggs loops don’t hurt, but I think it’s all in B Real’s delivery. His nasal, sing-song flow allows for the possibility that maybe he’s just funnin’…about “comin’ to gat ya,†at least. All I know is, back in college, whenever I dropped “Hand on the Pump” for a party full of mostly white, mostly middle-class, mostly Mormon undergrads, the room went bananas. So yeah, I’ve included just a handful of the 100+ MP3s of remixes, side projects, collabos, and rarities B Real has made available for free on his personal site (now here is something Sony can’t understand…). Bless him. Bless us, every one. (Especially you, Tofu Hut!)
Song of the Lakes
Beware! Song of the Lakes is devoid of cynicism, coolness or hipness; the musicians probably don’t wear much black and they likely have a collective age of 200+ yrs. (for the four of them); the flute plays a prominent role in this song. Now that that’s taken care of, if you’re still interested, check out what this near-legendary live act from Up North (northern Michigan / the upper Great Lakes) has to offer. Besides the north woods and lakes, summer cottages and fall-apart piers, maritime traditions and the 19th century, you can hear influences from the British Isles and Scandinavia. More downloads with even more flute are available at the Song of the Lakes website.
Brendan Benson
If Brendan Benson’s indie cred translated into cash money, he could probably find what he’s looking for, instead of still looking for it. All the hip Detroit bands link to his website; he runs a ghetto recording studio and hangs out with Jack White; he got screwed by Virgin Records in a ’90s album deal but is back with V2 anyway — what more could you ask for? Benson’s got a little twang, some ’60s sensibilities, and a whole lot of talent. If he could only get Jack to punch him out in front of some photographers…
New Devendra Banhart MP3
My Enemy
The band claims to know all your secrets. Their label says My Enemy will kill you with poison. A wolf in sheep’s clothing? Harmless? Find out for yourself. Recommended if you’re a fan of imagining Múm up all night smoking crack…well, okay, maybe Múm after a couple Diet Cokes.
Mike Doughty
In my hotel of fond memories, Mike Doughty will always have a guaranteed late arrival, smoking-permitted Junior Executive Suite, complete with Heavenly Bed™ and a pillow mint. When I was a young player trying make it in the journalism game, Doughty was a consistently magical interview and overall nice guy. Also, unbeknownst to him, Doughty sparked the first major argument my wife and I ever had: About three hours into a five-hour road trip I popped in Irresistible Bliss. After a few songs, my then fiancee says, “Do we have to listen to this again?” To which I respond, “Listen, if I were a band, I’d be Soul Coughing. So get used to this.” In the stuff of sitcoms, our pal Ned had to sit through the next two hours in the backseat, wishing he’d found a different ride. I’m happy to report that our marriage weathered that debate and that Doughty is back, badder and deffer than before. My man’s talent still lies in his intrinsically rhythmic yarns, wherein he turns observational minutae into hypnotic commands through nasal, raspy repetition. But his writing has matured and the subway busker sound of his first solo effort has been replaced by some genuine instrumental weight, making Haughty Melodic sound bigger and warmer.
P.S. All you other Mike Doughtys are just imitating…
Nnnj
Lately, while certain technological gadgets of mine randomly play my music collection for me, I’ve heard unfamiliar, electronic, yet warm compositions capable of producing pleasant states of relaxation and reverie. It’s occured several times. Each time, as I’ve awakened from from this other world in which I’ve found myself, I glance down at the guilty party, and it’s been Nnnj. Nnnj (pronounced “inch”) relies on many sounds: global rhythms, glitchy programming, and trip-hop, but is beholden to none. Neither his name, album title (Monkey Straddle) nor its cover art is pretty, but the music itself is gorgeous.