Somewhere in Pennsylvania, some guy makes trippy records with some of his friends. I do have a few more details about this guy. They won’t do you much good though. His name is Tobacco and he lives in or around Pittsburgh. Maybe. He sings through a vocoder, a lot. Guys like this would get my vote for American Idol: write sunshiney melodies, set them to gentle grooves, and then perform from a sitting position, practically out of sight, hoodie or knit cap pulled tight, tinkering with their gadgets like some musical alchemist—the music transforming my mood, my state of mind, putting it at ease.
The new album is produced by Dave Fridmann who’s worked with The Flaming Lips and Sparklehorse—a couple bands that BMSR would segue beautifully with. If you’re a fan of Air, you’ll really dig their new single, “Twin of Me.” The Go! Team takes the track and runs with it, adding their signature upbeat beat to the otherwise summerly languid song. Speaking of summer, catch the band on the second leg of their summer tour this week on the East Coast.
I am having a hard time filling in the genre field on iTunes for this Luke Top guy. In a word—curious. He plays the field a bit with bands, touring and recording with Cass Mccombs, Papercuts, and Foreign Born. I’m not going attempt a review of the Afro-Hebrew dance band Fool’s Gold he co-founded. Discover that on your own. The important part of the story? He’s quirky good. The cute-and-personable-brainiac-kid-in-math-class quirky good. Clearly being born in Tel Aviv to an Iraqi refugee and a Russian-born aviator transplanted to Southern California is a successful formula to inspire writing a light sigh of music.
I don’t think I’ve been this excited about demos before. The Raveonettes last album Lust Lust Lust engendered exactly that in my aural cavity. Their fuzzy washes of surf guitars and garage rock immediately balmed the ever-present ringing in my ears and Sharin and Sune still lull me to sleep at night with their addictively sweet melodies. They’re so good that I don’t mind when I awake in the morning wrapped in headphone chord. Dangerous? Yep. Worth it? You bet. The tentatively titled “Last Dance” perfectly captures my fascination with these Danes: from the opening line (which I wish I’d written), “Your lipstick smeared sad,” to the Beach Boys-ish woo-woos in the background, to the theme of the song itself (Sune succinctly explains it: “how drug addiction interferes with love”). My addiction to The Raveonettes hasn’t interfered with my love life, rather with Alisa’s sleep patterns, specifically when the wall of guitars rush in between verses of their track “Hallucinations” and bleed from my ears. It hurts oh so good.
Since I missed the ’70s and blindly followed the “Proud to be Drug Free” crowd in the ’80s, Brian Olive is filling in the blanks for me. If I fell asleep to this record I’m sure I’d dream myself into New Orleans sometime in the ’70s, chemical high and all. The music is as colorful as the album cover, and sounds like a stack of beatnik, jazz, and psychedelic records melted into one soundtrack to a ’70s brown-hued television show. I think I’m gonna need a brownie.
Oops. Looks like I missed posting anything in the month of May. Ah, how one gets lost. Which I guess is an apt comparison to my relationship with Son Volt. For an album or two in a previous century, Jay Farrar had what I was looking for. Grit, wistfulness, steel guitar. And then there was Wide Swing Tremolo, and I don’t know. When I saw that Son Volt had a new album out an a free and legal MP3 to post, my first though was something along the lines of hoping this track, “Down to the Wire,” was a Neil Young cover. It’s not, but after listening to it a few times, that’s o.k. Maybe American Central Dust, out in about a month, will offer a way back to Son Volt.
Todd Osborn reflects all that is great about Detroit to me. Like many of his local influences (including legendary radio DJs The Electrifying Mojo and The Wizard), he’s a jack of all genres – producing techno, house, jungle, hip-hop, and dubstep records with equal aplomb. He’s also a restless tinkerer with many side interests including, as his latest EP on Ghostly indicates, hovercrafting. “Fire” – from that EP – is a silky smooth disco track, a synthetic blend of strings, stings, guitar, and vibraphone over a buoyant 4/4 beat. On the other hand, “The Count,” also on the EP, can only be shared in the context of its video, which lets his worldwide fans in on one of Detroit’s treasured secrets: “The New Dance Show,” a local late-night TV show that I, along with many other suburban Detroit kids, watched with great awe back in the late ’80s. Twenty years later, those moves sync up nice and tight to this exquisite slice of minimalist techno without any need for special effects magic…
We last left this dynamic duo after releasing their debut album on Mush Records. Since then, the Bell brothers, Jared and Michael, from Tempe, Arizona, have put out a remix album (featuring remixes by The Album Leaf, Daedelus, The One AM Radio and Bibio) and recently re-issued their first EP on their new label, Magic Bullet out of Virginia. The new tracks the band has added for the sharing encompass the wide range of instrumental rock you can expect from these fellows. “Narita” from their new split EP with This Will Destroy You starts out small and subtle with a three-key riff and then gradually grows into a sweeping epic as layers pile onto layers. “Fall Bicycle” from their first album exemplifies the duo’s playful personality and showcases well Jared’s keyboard playing and Michael’s drumming. 
Sonically, my Memorial Day weekend has been marked by the sizzle of meat, screams and splashes from kids in the pool, and the hearty blaring of these two tracks from the nearest sound system and my own vocal chords. New York’s The Boy Koan has me geeked to start summer, or maybe I’m just geeked for summer to start. One thing’s for sure, I’m geeked on The Boy Koan—they’re the first band that I’ve ever asked to send me their lyrics. On second thought, that may simply say more about my thorough lack of thoroughness. I get the same tingly sensations from “Beasts from More Rustic Days” as I did when I first heard Grandaddy’s Under The Western Freeway. And “My Russian Doll” fires up pogo reflexes with its ’90s new wave gang vocals giving way to Mark E. Smith-like lackadaisical lilting on the bridge. It’s hard to believe this is the band’s first recorded efforts and that the usual purveyors of all things indie between here and there haven’t been giving this sleeper of a debut more blog space. I’d be surprised if the lack of coverage lasted long.
My last few posts have featured up-jump-and-boogie tracks and it’s high time I settle down a bit before I hurt myself. The Chicago trio, The Layaways, a perennial favorite ’round these parts, return after dropping their festive Christmas EP more than two years ago. Their laid-back, ’60s era sounds are absolutely delightening. Yes, they’re so good that they induce spontaneous neology. On “Keep it to Yourself” they flavor their guitars with just a pinch of fuzz, a dash of reverb, and a sprinkle of backwardness. They turn up the jangle on “All Around the World” and their tag-team vocalists provide a subtle depth to this new full-length, available, by the way, in its entirety on their site in full share mode. Good peeps them Layaways boys. I hope they don’t mind me adding my favorite track, “Come Back Home.” It evokes a hot, languid California Summer circa 1967. Dig it.