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<title>indieworkshop.com | music reviews</title> 
<link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/</link> 
<description>indieworkshop.com | music reviews</description><pubDate>Wed, 22 May 2013 06:36:36 -0400</pubDate>
<language>en-us</language>
<copyright>2006</copyright>
<managingEditor>jake@indieworkshop.com</managingEditor><item><title> Hot One - Hot One (Modern Imperial )</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2761</link><description><![CDATA[Hot One consists of some big shots, in no particular order: Kevin March from the Dambuilders; Nathan Larson of Shudder to Think, and Jordan Kern from escalate, and Emm Gryner, their bass player and singer. Honestly, I don't know much about those bands anyway, and to me, Gryner makes this album what it is. Without her this could be waved off as some other 'project' by the above mentioned big-names and not given much more thought. 

What this album does is rock. I could see people being very split on this album, some probably love it and others probably hate it. But who doesn't like to rock? My guess is, those that have dismissed this album sort of wanted to hate it anyway because of whatever high or low expectations they had before listening. It's got all the right guitar riffs and beats to make you want to get up and rock out, but also enough credibility that it doesn't feel like an ironic half-handed homage to actual rock instead (which seems to happen a lot). No, you're not going to label this the album that saved your life, but you should put it up there on the list of well-worn out CD's. 

Some may moan that this album has been put forward as having a politically challenging set of lyrics, but don't let that confuse you into thinking it's all kumbaya and terrible for the sacrifice of the greater good. The lyrics fit the music, it's challenging enough to not bore or sound repetitive and the collective urgent nature in this sort of rushed-out-rock makes it the perfect set to include a message without freaking people out.

Overall, I will be listening to this album a lot. It brings up the urge to listen to Cheap Trick, some tough 80's metal, or dance to some Billy Idol. So yea, it rocks.]]></description><author>the.ats@gmail.com (Amanda Spadaccini)</author><pubDate>2006-10-06</pubDate></item><item><title> Gatsbys American Dream - Gatsbys American Dream (Fearless Records)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2762</link><description><![CDATA[How you feel about the newest Gatsbys American Dream record will likely depend on how you feel about emo in general. If you are like me, you've probably done your best to block out the whole genre. After all, its been about five years since bands like Thursday and AFI first began spilling their hearts all over the radio waves, flapping tear stained journals in the air to legions of fifteen year old girls. Before that, it was Sunny Day and Glassjaw and even before that, Rites of Spring. But those bands were cool right? Maybe. Nevertheless, It still leaves me to wonder when this curious phase of rock history will finally just slit its wrists already.

All this aside, Gatsbys American Dream plays the type of emo that I don't mind so much. In fact, I hesitate to call them truly emo, as their sound also incorporates a good deal of hardcore, prog rock, pop elements and foppish vocals... oh, wait, that's exactly what emo is. I guess, what I mean is that their music has never sounded staged or contrived to me. It comes from the heart. Oh god, not from the heart! Anyway, I'm not ashamed to admit that I've even been to a couple of their shows and they play really hard. They're not lame like the Lashes. I've seen few bands as in tune with their audience as these guys. I mean, their fanbase is seriously rabid - all foaming at the mouth and shit. In my opinion, they've done well for themselves despite playing in the shadows of local darlings Minus the Bear and Blood Brothers for years.

That said, let's get on to the review. The concept behind their fourth full length occurred to the band in its early stages of recording. It was decided that this would be their mission statement. Their defining moment. According to guitarist Ron Darling, "the music was written the way we want it to be rather than written with an audience in mind". That's strange to me because it sounds like these songs could actually appeal to a much wider audience then ever before. Could it be that there are other motives involved? Like record sales? Anyway, scrapping the experimental excess on their last record Volcano, they seem to have opted for a leaner, more accessible sound this time around, choosing to focus on their perilous rise to mediocrity and the evils often faced within the music biz.

Tales of shady booking agents, whoring their music for gas money and an ever present sense of futility provide plenty of fodder for their newest batch of songs. In addition to the complaining, much of what you would normally expect from a Gatsbys record can be found here. Big melodic hooks, shout along choruses and innovative guitar play sets the stage for their most mature sounding record to date. And by mature, I don't mean boring or anything, just well put together.

And yet all this scathing satire aimed at the music industry has got me thinking. How does a band like Gatsbys fit into the big picture? Will they come away smelling like roses in the grand scheme-o of emo? Will they be chewed up and spit out as interest inevitably wanes and topples under their self-indulgent weight? Most importantly, will they enjoy the ride or just bitch about it the whole time?]]></description><author>tylerbotts78@hotmail.com (Tyler Botts)</author><pubDate>2006-10-06</pubDate></item><item><title> Remote Islands - Smother Party (Isota Records)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2763</link><description><![CDATA[This album landed in my mailbox over a month ago. As summer said farewell and the rain rolled in, it became apparent that this review would not be easy. Remote Islands are by no means an easy band. They don't roll out with the straight forwardness of most bands and their choice of instruments is longer than most bands track listings. In fact, Remote Islands isn't even a they. Remote Islands is in fact one guy, Colin Pate. That said, there are some guests scattered around the album.

Smother Party is the perfect title for this album. The whole thing is like a layer of honey that lays on you for hours. The thing with honey, however, is that while some are sure to lavish such a situation (being covered in honey can't be all that bad, can it?), others will wash this stuff away the second it hits. So patience is a virtue with this album because with repeated listens, Smother Party does reveal itself. However, the closer you hold your ear, the better. "Constantly Changing" is in fact, the most direct song on the album. The irony of the title is at once glowing, which further adds to Pate's charm. As the album's strongest track, it shines light on Pate's song writing skills. "Samantha's Reverie" is also worthy of a listen. With it's warbling bass line, it lulls the listener into some sort of zoological tour given by Beck. It does go off course at times, but no tour of the zoo is perfect, so it's best to settle in and just ride it out.

Undoubtedly, the album could have done with a little less pre-programmed beats and more human instrumentation. Had Pate employed a few more friends to co-write the album, it would surely have been a tad more accessible. As it stands, Remote Islands covet that miniature position reserved for bands that some are sure to hate, while others will absolutely adore. ]]></description><author>dsusin@yahoo.com (Darren Susin)</author><pubDate>2006-10-06</pubDate></item><item><title> Birdmonster - No Midnight (SpinART Records)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2758</link><description><![CDATA[Something about Birdmonster's horrendous name and straight forward sound hints at limitless humiliation. From the first song, the band gives the impression of being all press photos and e-mails lists. However, as the album progresses, Peter Arcuni and his 3 pals spin and weave a throbbing wheezing super villian of an album that hints at Tapes N' Tapes and early Built to Spill.

The heart-on-sleeve ballad Balcony stands out as an instant fan favorite. With the frolicking bass that makes lovers hold hands and a glowing chorus that erupts before your eyes, it commands attention regardless of your place in the crowd. 

An epic revenge tale, it details a man falling for a woman named Rita in a bar. He falls for her and and joins her as she robs a bank in the town that took &quot;from [her] everything [she] had.&quot;Everything refers to her husband who died 3 years earlier and before the song ends, the narrator is arrested and taken away in cuffs, all in the name of love. Arcuni's voice is spot on as it crashes into clouds at all the right places. Band Of Horses fans won't leave disappointed. What's WIth Your Brain also demands repeated listens, as it resurrects the scrappy lo-fi guitar of the early 90s and moulds it into a splash of drums .

While the album glows, certain songs dim the album's magic. Of Mice starts slow before entering a crunchy, jumping phase (not the good kind) that certifies it's place on the Don't play this playlist and opener Skeleton Suit is, in fact, a horrible place to start with Birdmonster. It's fun and fast, but it doesn't highlight the band's numerous strengths. In fact, it lumps them into that disastrous pile of bands that try too hard. However, plow through this and you're laughing. 

Rumours abound about Birdmonster's live show and a press sheet story details skipping a night of partying with Death Cab For Cutie to play a show they scheduled. The songs on No Midnight scream to be played live and if such rumours are true, then sign my ass up.]]></description><author>dsusin@yahoo.com (Darren Susin)</author><pubDate>2006-10-05</pubDate></item><item><title> Gisli - How About That? (EMI)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2759</link><description><![CDATA[	What do we know about the young Icelandic by-way-of Norway solo artist, Gisli?  Well, we know unequivocally that the strongest comparison point for his brand of shtick-heavy mid-90's alternative pop-rock is Beck.  His press release refers to him as &quot;the Icelandic Beck,&quot; just in case we couldn't get to that comparison on our own.  So, he sounds like Beck, it's true, that much is clear.  What's not clear is whether liking Beck would be considered a prerequisite or a detriment to enjoying Gisli's brand of alt-pop.  

	Gisli could potentially tap into, literally, millions of fans that have bought Beck albums worldwide, and that's not even including those people that have picked up Eels and New Radicals records and absolutely had to have that Butthole Surfers track, &quot;Pepper.&quot;  But will they want to?
	
I wouldn't consider myself a huge Beck fan, but I do respect the guy and occasionally enjoy some of his recordings, like the mellow, understated singer/songwriter tunes on Sea Change.  What I have never been able to wrap my hands around is his sophomoric Beastie Boy-styled white guy rap(rock), like the tracks I heard from the recent release Guero and much of his earlier work.  Now, I may be (am) in the minority with my taste preference, but I suspect that even the fans of Beck's cheesier side actually appreciate the fact that not everything he does appeals to base interests.  Unfortunately with lyrics like, &quot;I'm like a teenage girl without her top on, I'm like lesbian sex without a strap-on, I'm like Wu-Tang clan without the ex-cons, I'm like soft porn without the turn-ons,&quot; all over How About That, I can't help but think that this stuff lacks all evidence of nuance, a crime many of Gisli's predecessors try to steer clear of.
	
Before this review starts to come off as too grandstanding, let me state that I get what Gisli is trying to with his music, and he does a good job at that.  You will not find an out of place chord, a lyric without a proper rhyme, or a lack of enthusiasm and ideas on How About That.  It's just that the ideas sound all too familiar, like we've had a whole host of Gislis paraded before our eyes and ears, long before  this Gisli got to bring his message to the masses.  The Barenaked Ladies wrote a song called  &quot;It's all been done before,&quot; eight years ago, and that's coming from the band who also wrote &quot;One Week,&quot; another song in the long line of stinky cheese that leads directly to Gisli's How About That.]]></description><author>incognitowriter@hotmail.com (Jacob Claveloux)</author><pubDate>2006-10-05</pubDate></item><item><title> Hi Red Center - Architectural Failures (Pangaea Recordings)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2760</link><description><![CDATA[It is hard to imagine only four people in this band.  I mean, sometimes it seems like one musician with eight arms and then sometimes it sounds like a gang of eight musicians with eight arms each and a few extra mouths to sing and play some trombone, to boot.  

The name of the game for this New York band is rhythm.  Michael McCurdy's drums stutter and collapse and build through every track, aided by the strange and wonderful percussion of Russell Greenberg.  Who would think adding chimes to the crescendo parts would add that much more intensity?  Luckily, these guys did.  Their quest for rhythm and their use of the vibraphones might get the Hi Red Center a lot of comparisons to Tortoise, but there is much more youthful exuberance in this band's music, rather than resigned jazz chops.  This music falls closer to the work of A Minor Forest, Menomena, and even the Make-Believe.  It is math-rock mixed gloriously well with the voices of the mathematicians themselves.  These are songs of the human machine, coming unglued and being pulled back together.

I tend to like their slower, more atmospheric pieces a little more.  "Hollow Buttons", with its stacatto keyboard pulse running through its swirling and building intensity, is a beautifully restrained song.  And the closer "Bunnies are Full of Magic", aside from fulfilling the indie-rock demand for funny and ironic song titles, is probably closer to the work of Town and Country than Tortoise, but hey, it's all still Chicago.  While Ben Lanz is also the very skilled guitarist of Hi Red Center, he blows some mean trombone on this track (and throughout the record).

Impossible to classify and mixing their influences effortlessly and effectively into a new music for the future, Hi Red Center will hopefully continue erecting these architectural failures in the future, making each one more dizzying and grand.]]></description><author>gcapes@hotmail.com (Grant Capes)</author><pubDate>2006-10-05</pubDate></item><item><title>Richard Buckner - Meadow (Merge Records)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2755</link><description><![CDATA[This is the eighth full length from this somber and obviously prolific folk-rock-country-whatever singer/songwriter, and I have to say it is probably my favorite release from him and his band of musicians.  While it doesn't have the readymade Calexico sound that "Devotion and Doubt" did, this has something more emphatic in its sound, something more emotionally charged (if that is possibly with Buckner's abnormally reserved vocal delivery).  "Meadow" is one of my favorite rock records of the year, mixing the simplest of ingredients (guitar, drums, bass, keys, and voice) into a far more complex and interesting sound than I thought possible.

The track, "Window", hidden fairly late in the record, is the perfect example of this restraint and maturity of songwriting, without seeming tired, old, or recycled.  It begins with urgent guitar strumming and just keeps building and building, only to crash on the rocks with gentle Rhodes notes.  Then it's off to the races again for an equally bracing ending.  My words really aren't doing it any justice, but this album pretty much combines all those warm feelings you had about Tom Petty or Steve Earle or Townes Van Zandt and filters it through the worlds of Calexico, M. Ward, and Guided By Voices, creating what will inevitably be the classic rock of the future.

Richard Buckner's "Meadow" is pure and timeless gold, free of distracting gimmick or artifice that might stamp a time period on its' sound.  His voice is somewhat of an acquired taste, but nowhere near as "out-there" as contemporaries Vic Chesnutt or Kurt Wagner.  His band is impeccable, featuring guys from Guided by Voices, The Mekons, and the Dambuilders, representing some of the best music found in tiny dark bars in Tennessee, as well as stadiums worldwide.  This is music that is both classic and fresh, reserved yet challenging.  ]]></description><author>gcapes@hotmail.com (Grant Capes)</author><pubDate>2006-10-04</pubDate></item><item><title>The Poems - Young America (Minty Fresh Records)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2756</link><description><![CDATA[With a line-up healthily reminiscent of Scottish pop of yore whilst entirely indicative of a new heritage being created, The Poems are an odd hybrid of vintage and modern pop. Boasting contributions from Isobel Campbell and Norman Blake from Teenage Fanclub, as well as alumni from Del Amitri and The Proclaimers, 'Young America' is a record that is extremely aware of its origins and the rich history of the Scottish pop back-catalogue. 

Enough contextual rubbish. We don't need it, because 'Young America' is a noble and engaging pop record containing all the hallmarks of the works it is emulating. There is a tremendous bitterness that rears its head on 'So Soon', arriving the moment we hear the cooed line 'don't go taking us for granted, we will break your heart'. According to pop music rules, such venom can only be placed against the sweetest and simplest of melodies, lilting carefully along like The Byrds with an angry itch. And while it does seem to be an odd juxtaposition of Belle & Sebastian's lyrical spirals and Camera Obscura's girly cinematic widescreen melodies, it manages to be something different to both in its own right. 

While Poems ringleader Roger Hodgens may give us the worn duality of eminent sparkle with his melodies and deathly sadness with his words, there is no doubting the skewed nature of 'Young America'. It wallows in adolescence, but taken at that point towards the weary end when soul music can explain it all. The class and pedigree of the contributions here are testament to Hodgens' own prowess with creating visions and scenarios concurrent with what one remembers from childhood. It is a uniquely British talent to unearth these, one saccharinely celebrated here in the only way the Brits know how – beautifully orchestrated breeze-pop that sounds nowhere near as depressed as it actually is. 'Ballad Of A Bitter End' forms the centrepiece of 'Young America', a woozy and echo-laden deconstruction of the end of a relationship. 'If this is love, it hangs in doubt…' comes the sage-like warning over cheeky French horns and the promise of redemption. It is emotional power and stony-faced poise balanced for the sole purpose of pop music – the way every pop song should be written. 

This ability to construct instantly verifiable gems lends 'Young America' a class not often heard outside the holy trinity of Belle & Sebastian, Teenage Fanclub and Camera Obscura. They have created something endlessly listenable but also rather affecting in its wearied and weathered outlook. A beacon for all Scottish pop with hearts and minds placed in equal share. ]]></description><author>verysmallmonkeys@hotmail.com (Daniel Ross)</author><pubDate>2006-10-04</pubDate></item><item><title>Jacob Smigel - Eavesdrop: A Wealth of Found Sounds (None)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2757</link><description><![CDATA[The world of found sound is absolutely bewildering. And bewitching. In an ever-increasing circle of audio enthusiasts, compiling audio oddities has become a pastime. But interest in this hobby of sorts has also started to receive some wider attention. Found Sound is a pretty broad label actually. There's the literal aspect of it, FOUND; Found in a thrift store, found at a garage sale, found in your grandma's attic, these are generally recordings that nobody really knows exist. Whether recorded on a whim or with the grandest of hopes and aspirations (no matter how distanced from reality they were), these are the sounds of obscurity. They can often also be the sounds of a secret. Another facet of ‘found' is, something that wasn't necessarily meant to be found. Things literally recorded by accident or recorded with no audience in mind. Audio diaries, and answering machine tapes... remember those? In his liner notes Smigel talks about old answering machines and their likelihood to record phone conversations unbeknownst to the parties talking. 

These odd sounds, these audio confessions and homemade star turns sprouted with the advent of readily affordable home recording equipment, and it really hit its stride with the audio cassette. &quot;Found Sound&quot; is kind of like a loony tangent off the very loony scene of outsider art. Answering machine tapes, tapes of children (and adults!) singing along to their favorite songs, creepy Christian propaganda, vanity recordings, high school bands printed up in private press…One notable person to compile things of this sort is Otis Fodder with his record label Comfort Stand Records and with his immortal 365 Days Project, where he posted a different unique mp3 file on his website every day for a year, spanning from odd ball children's records to industrial propaganda, and any other variety of derelict thrift store audio find in between. Freeform radio station WFMU has supported this affection for found sounds featuring all kinds of oddities on air, as has FOUND magazine and the seriously delayed Relay Project, an audio magazine about found sounds, amongst other things. 

Well, Jacob Smigel has jumped into the running. Eavesdrop is 40 tracks strong with all manner of random cassette recordings. They run the gamut from funny, to sweet, to uncomfortable. A cut titled Trailer Couple comes from a tape of music that is partially recorded over by an older man figuring out how to use his tape recorder. Portions of songs recorded off the radio are sporadically cut into by conversation, unknowingly documented by the novice operator; Ronald Maroni talks about his swollen, infected cock; two old ladies discuss the lesbian owner of a hamburger franchise while the answering machine secretly records; one side of a fight about money and much, much more is recorded over the phone (yet the persons voice on the other end of the phone is basically inaudible, leaving us with a disorienting document); a drunken homeless man in Las Vegas is interviewed; French Horn lessons are recorded. Some cuts last only seconds while others provide a more detailed and lengthy voyage into these strangers' lives. An audio diary by someone named Carol, recorded in 1976, is a window into this woman's troubled life. It's a very open window, allowing us to hear her talking wasted about her fucked up life and sexual desires, etc. This cut, as with a few other on the collection, come from a longer recording or set of recordings which Smigel has available on CD-r via mailorder.

Smigel has managed to cover quite a bit of ground with this collection. In his lengthy liner notes he comments on each of the 40 tracks and seems genuinely intrigued by every last one. Of course, the whole collection is a heavy listen to take in all at once, time after time. Played on random, taken a few cuts at a time, it's a marvelous and potentially disturbing listen. It's not everyday that one gets to actually hear unhindered confessions or thoughts from a complete stranger. Whether they are saying something ignorant, something heartbreakingly sad or something downright funny, it's an all too rare occurrence to experience those expressions without filter or hesitation. No one is being made fun of here, there's no exploitation, these recordings are quirks of both the human spirit and the technological age; brief aural snapshots of other lives found amongst piles of dirty stuffed animals, orange couches, Mitch Miller records and oddly sized polyester suits.
]]></description><author>awr1000@hotmail.com (Adam Richards)</author><pubDate>2006-10-04</pubDate></item><item><title>Corrina Repp - The Absent and the Distant (Caldo Verde Records)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2752</link><description><![CDATA[The fourth record for this Portland artist, and the first on Mark Kozelek's boutique label Caldo Verde, "The Absent and the Distant" is a rich and diverse collection of songs, ranging from the opening instrumental piece ("Song for a Sinking Ship") to gentle yet spooky laments, played out on piano, guitar and other spaced-out electronics.  It is this constant exploration of sound that makes this album so likable.  Not merely limited herself to voice and piano and guitar, Repp, with comrades Adam Selzer (of Norfolk and Western), Joe Haege (of 31Knots), and a cast of other friends create a monumental sound, fit for a symphony hall, but condensed to songs about one person's times and troubles.

Take the sixth track, "I'll Walk You Out", for example.  A solemn thump of an 808 kick and reverbed out drum machines create a slowed down march, with a mellotron and piano floating above, or perhaps sinking below.  From out of it all rises Repp's voice, as seductive as anything Beth Gibbons did in Portishead, and certainly leaps above many of her current peers.

Another brutally interesting piece of work is "Anyone's It".  Like a Gaelic tune set to a sine wave for music, the piece drifts in and out like a smashed ship in a mostly frozen sea.  Behind her almost spoken intonations, harmonies swirl about like souls of the drowned and forgotten sailors.  

I have really only been familiar with Repp's songs on compilations, figuring that she would prove to be another singer-songwriter with a guitar or piano.  What I hadn't counted on was her ability to create amazing music, strange and tense compositions much like the moody work of Shannon Wright.  Moody is pretty much the operative word here, don't expect any really uplifting numbers here, unless the sadness and melancholy here cheers you up somehow.
]]></description><author>gcapes@hotmail.com (Grant Capes)</author><pubDate>2006-10-02</pubDate></item><item><title>Bettie Serveert - Bare Stripped Naked  (Minty Fresh Records)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2753</link><description><![CDATA[	I was surprised to hear that Bettie Serveert have been around for 15 years.  &quot;That's a long time,&quot; I said to myself.  When I put some thought into the significance of those 15 years a different type of surprise quickly took over; more a vague panic than any type of surprise as such.  Additional calculations revealed that I first heard Bettie Serveert on Dust Bunnies (their third album) as a freshman.  In 1997.  Nine years ago.  Has the post-collegiate stupor and aversion to adult endeavour meant that I've missed out on something?  Something like time?  More likely than not I was/am asleep.

	As bands go, &quot;The Betties&quot; are best described as reliable.  Their first album, Palomine, is often billed as something of a college radio triumph.  Subsequent albums were by most standards better, but they never really thought outside of the box, Serveert-wise.  After an album of Velvet Underground covers and two more studio full lengths, we arrive at Bare Stripped Naked, an acoustic collection of eight new songs and four reworked favourites.  

 	Impressive is how the band manage to sound quite unlike themselves without  abandoning their identity to any great extent.  Bettie Serveert not sounding like Bettie Serveert is unfortunately what also tends to disappoint about the album.  Gone except in small measures is Peter Visser's overdriven SG, a hallmark of the Serveert Sound.  On some songs, like the outstanding &quot;Hell=Other People&quot; and &quot;Brain-Tag&quot; it is hardly missed, but on less inspired coffeehouse numbers like &quot;All the Other Fish&quot; and &quot;Painted Word,&quot; its absence is all the more conspicuous.  

	Presumably this is the point of a guitar band calling their album &quot;Bare Stripped Naked.&quot;  And what these songs offer, apart from demonstrating a different side to Bettie Serveert, is a long overdue showcase for Carol Van Dijk's, remarkable voice; nicotine-stained and cool.  Hers is a largely underrated instrument in indie rock and is the real thematic thread on this album more than the lyrics or its musical style.  Her tone is ver-satile and pressing, rugged and sensual, and if anything, it is reason alone to pay atten-tion to this album.  Don't let Bare Stripped Naked be your introduction to Bettie Serveert; you'll need their early albums and a dorm room for that.  Listen to it instead as a fan of a vastly underrated band, attempting to assert itself as a lasting presence in what is sadly a largely ephemeral musical landscape.]]></description><author>timvstim@gmail.com (Allan Lewis)</author><pubDate>2006-10-02</pubDate></item><item><title> Amadou and Mariam - Dimanche a Bamako (Nonesuch)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2754</link><description><![CDATA[As Dimanche a Bamako begins, among the first words uttered are "How are you?".  Although these are asked by a child to Amadou and Mariam, it might as well be directed at anyone who listens to this record. Dimanche a Bamako focuses in large part on life in their native Senegal, but more importantly, on including the rest of us in their community, and how this can be accomplished person to person, and on a larger scale, between peoples.  Songs like "La Paix" calls for solidarity between African neighbours;  "Politic Amagni" warns about the destruciveness of politics and appeals for honesty and integrity from those in power;  the final song, "M'Bife Blues", puts it most clearly by asking, "I love you, you love me, where is the problem?"

The album was recorded by none other than Manu Chao, and his presence is very much felt throughout, particularly on songs like "Senegal Fast Food", in which he takes on lead vocals, or Camions Sauvages, with his signature percussive ska-like guitar rhythm and talk-singing.  It's no doubt in large part to his contributions to, and association with this release that Dimanche a Bamako has gone gold in France, where Chao is very popular.  And while his style is all over the place here, it is to Amadou and Mariam's credit that he does not take over the record.  In fact, the best songs here are the ones in which they are the sole writers.  "Beaux Dimanches", an utterly joyous song about Sunday being the day of weddings, describes everyone coming together for the festivities.  The melody is completely blissful, and the beat is propulsive.  The sounds of people together having a great time makes you feel like you are there, part of it all.  This is my favourite song here, but not by much:  "Gnidjougouya", another beautiful melody, is positively floating, helped largely by a shimmering electric guitar line.  At the center however is Mariam's almost child-like voice, basking in the Sun.

Amadou and Mariam's album aims to involve the listener in the day-to-day goings-on in Senegal, and to make the point that everyone belongs everywhere and anywhere they may go, while at the same time pleading for the annihilation of ignorance and intolerance.  They do a very good job of showing that this all goes hand in hand; their soulful, highly melodic, and addictively rhythmic music is just the right medium within which to deliver this message.
]]></description><author>rferdman@gmail.com (Robert Ferdman)</author><pubDate>2006-10-02</pubDate></item><item><title> My Latest Novel  - Wolves (Workers Institute)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2749</link><description><![CDATA[When a band is as simultaneously well defined and non-descript as My Latest Novel, one has to wonder exactly where to place them in relation to other music. This is not to label them as one of those wildly un-categorised bands with as little reference points as possible, and it is not to dismiss them as a rip-off of anyone. They are somewhere between those, but in a very good way. When they first shot to a small degree of fame in Britain earlier this year, a gaggle of wet-trousered critics fell over their own idiocy in branding them 'a scintillating mix of Belle & Sebastian and The Arcade Fire' or some guff like that. They have elements of both, with some healthy Post-Rock flourishes and some beautiful violin playing. They signed to Bella Union in the UK, the home of Explosions in the Sky and Lift To Experience. Now they are label-mates in the US with Sigur Ros. The band stayed very quiet and didn't bother with many interviews, instead preferring to tour relentlessly and release some wonderful singles. That's healthy. 

My Latest Novel's Scottish-ness leaks through to every facet of their songs. Obviously, the accents have that lovable twang that makes every word sound like a confession, as well as the innate grumpiness and power of ensemble Scottish chanting. But the essential ingredient for the music itself is its clever adhesion to an almost cinematic convention. 'Ghost In The Gutter' is pure Morricone to start, with bluster aplenty and dark violin arpeggios sprinkled everywhere. But then, of course, it morphs into something rather more beautiful and propulsive, and we get that Scottish chanting over the pummel of tom-toms and the most pastoral of orchestrations before moving again to something a little more sinister – the ghost reveals itself in a micro-ballad that returns to the menace of the opening. It's as bold an opening as anyone six albums into their career. 

And then My Latest Novel let the pop spew forth like [insert Scottish stereotype like haggis or something] into the mouths of Micks for miles around. 'Learning Lego' has a disturbingly passionate children's choir belting out the refrain 'Pulling out my hair' repeatedly, 'The Job Mr Kurtz Done' develops into a waltz… there's pop invention overflowing and the class of execution to back it up. But, one feels, it is all rendered meaningless when we reach centrepiece track 'Sister Sneaker Sister Soul'. It begins unassumingly enough, some acoustic sparkle and desperate lyrics about an obsession with someone a class above, but it soon gets confused by itself and decides to become a sprawling ascent towards pop cataclysm. The violin gets agitated and can't seem to stop climbing, the drums become delirious, there is some proper beefy distortion for once, and it's all perfectly paced as we go on our melancholy way to the top. There are hidden melodies, medium-rare harmonies that you can fill in yourself when you sing along, all held together by the unshakable knowledge that it's all actually directed towards an outcome. With music as well-written as this, it is difficult not to get physically excited about My Latest Novel. The fact that this song regularly closes their live set is no surprise at all, and extremely sensible on their part. 

Consequently, nothing after this song on the album lifts the spirit in quite the same way. 'When We Were Wolves' is enjoyably dramatic and full of polyphonic splendour and 'The Reputation Of Ross Francis' is fine (and their first single released in the UK), but none of it stands up to the cornerstone of the record. It comes close, but alas it doesn't quite make it. Still, criticising such an aspect of an album is comparable to saying Hitler was skimping when he didn't hate his Grandmother for being Jewish. My Latest Novel have created an album that affirms their status as stalwarts in the making. They will be very much in demand over the next few months, so get in early and impress your friends with this music – it has class and staying power to spare. 
]]></description><author>verysmallmonkeys@hotmail.com (Daniel Ross)</author><pubDate>2006-09-29</pubDate></item><item><title>Matthew Friedberger - Winter Women/Holy Ghost Language School (859 Recordings)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2750</link><description><![CDATA[I've found that while yes, there are a great number of fans of the Fiery Furnaces, many people are under whelmed by the publicity that they have attained over the last few years.  And hot on the heels of the recent Bitter Tea, which has garnered reviews from both camps, Matthew Friedberger has released not one, but two discs of new material for the reviewers and bloggers to quibble over.  Winter Women is a "straightforward" selection of songs, while Holy Ghost Language School is the more experimental of the two.  And before I even start, it's not really possible to make the usual double-album critique that this could have been chopped into a better single record.  The two parts are different enough that they need to be treated, and listened to, separately.

I believe that it's hard to argue that Matthew Friedberger can show himself to be a talented melodist.  This is evident in songs like "Under the Hood at Paradise Garage", which opens the Winter Women disc, or in the harmonica-laden lament "Up the River", which are, in my opinion, the two best songs here.  But while there are a few other tracks on that first of the two records that stand up to this statement, most of Winter Women does come off as an unloading of a pile of songs that the prolific Brother Friedberger had piling up in his outbox, perfect fodder for an on-the-side release.  Winter Women is not a bad record, it just leaves a scrape-the-barrel kind of impression.  It also feels like the majority of the instrumental touches and interludes, often taking the form of bursts of guitar licks and synth garbles, are add-ons, changing regularly enough within a song to provide the ADD-style quirkiness for which the Furnaces' work is largely known.  Matthew Friedberger's vocals can also be a bit of problem at times.  His timbre and intonation is pretty much neutral, not really displaying any emotion either way.  His sister Eleanor's sometime-manic-sometimes-sweet voicing does seem to be missing here.

The Holy Ghost Language School disc is a bit more interesting.  It's a narrative about, as the title suggests, a language school in Japan, set over music that involves a heap of synth, guitar, piano, drum machine, and some vocal effects.  Generally speaking, it's more cohesive than the Winter Women half of the album, as it should be, since it has to carry an overarching story.  Tracks like "First Day of School" and "Things Were Going So Well", which immediately follows, combine the accompaniment with the subject matter in a way that gels better than most tracks on either disc.  The trouble is that there is a lot of meandering and loss of focus here as well, frequently coming off as tinkering.  However, Matthew's voice does work better on the Holy Ghost half; as I've found with the Furnaces-labelled releases, Matthew's vocals are more successful when he is in speak (or speak-sing) mode.

In the end, Holy Ghost Language School is no doubt an experiment, and as is the nature of experimentation, the output doesn't always come out successful.  The high points on Winter Women do exceed those on the second half, but really, that is probably missing the point.  When it comes down to it though, neither album really lures me in, and if you enjoy the Fiery Furnaces' records, I would just stick to those.]]></description><author>rferdman@gmail.com (Robert Ferdman)</author><pubDate>2006-09-29</pubDate></item><item><title> Spinform - Bryter Tystnaden (Hobby Industries)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2751</link><description><![CDATA[My girlfriend, Amanda, and her little sister, Alaina, walk in the kitchen this morning and hear me listening to Spinform's new Ambient Electronic record, Bryter Tystnaden.  They ask me what it is, and I explain that I will be reviewing this record, but haven't thought about what I'm going to say about it yet.  I'm kind of into it, as a wind-down-the-night kind of a record, with it's mix of mellow glitch-tronica and Natural sounds, the Swedish Spinform (aka Unai, real name-Erik Möller) produced this album in an old deserted Swedish mansion, and it sounds like it.  Before I can come up with any other descriptives, breakfast is served and we sit down together, while I leave the album playing in the background. 

	Over fresh mozzarella and tomatoes with tasty Mimosas, the girls begin to talk about what they think of the record:

&quot;Um, this totally sounds like the 'Sounds of the Rainforest' our parents bought in the early nineties!&quot;, Amanda says.  &quot;Maybe it's the champagne, but I'm getting really sleepy.&quot;  Alaina interjects, &quot;This record is totally BBJ, man.&quot;  When I ask what BBJ is, Alaina says, &quot;Fucking Bubble-Bath Jams, dude.  I would absolutely rock this in the bathtub.&quot;  &quot;Yeah, it's totally like I'm in the Nature Company in the mall.&quot;  &quot;Seriously, does this record send half of the proceeds to save the rainforest campaigns?&quot;  &quot;Do you remember when Dad bought those rainforest socks at the Nature Company back in the day...they were hypercolor! Remember hypercolor?&quot;  &quot;Oh yeah, remember your armpits would always turn colors first?  It was so embarassing.&quot; &quot;I don't know about that, but this song that's on now sounds like Smooth Jazz...wait, no, no...it's elevator music.  Next stop, fourth floor-Hosiery.&quot;  &quot;This sounds like the music they play in the bathrooms at Bloomingdale's.&quot;  &quot;Or actually, it sounds like it would be playing at the Coi Pond in Brooklyn, that place is awesome.&quot;  &quot;No, the Coi pond that would play this is the Coi pond in Epcot Center...wait, here comes the Electric Light Parade!&quot;  &quot;The Electric Light Orchestra!&quot;  &quot;Yeah, it's important to have at least one ELO reference per day...but seriously, all these songs sound like the introduction to songs, when does the record really start?&quot;

	I guess that last quote sums up the sound of Spinform's Bryter Tystnaden.  One long introduction; or one long denouement, depending on your perspective.  The girls did have more to say, interspersing pseudo-intellectual Valley Girl record reviews with celebrity gossip and talk ]]></description><author>incognitowriter@hotmail.com (Jacob Claveloux)</author><pubDate>2006-09-29</pubDate></item><item><title> Ladyfinger (ne) - Heavy Hands (Saddle Creek)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2746</link><description><![CDATA[Back in the carefree, unaffected days of my youth, Ladyfinger (ne) would have totally rocked my balls off. Long before I became a jaded, crusty critic who had heard it all before, I only cared about the music. I didn't factor in labels or where each band's sound would fit within the grand scheme of things. Nor did I consider originality or influences or press packets. I liked what I liked and that was that. Ladyfinger (ne) is a band I would have liked a lot during those formidable days of wonder.

Heavy Hands, the appropriately titled debut for this Omaha based four-piece, comes at a curious time for the Saddle Creek label and rock music in general. Could it be that these tee shirt clad every-dudes are holdovers from a bygone era? A missing link from the mid / early 90's underground hard rock revolution? Reminiscent of aggressive, post punk fare like Seaweed and Helmet, it's not often that I hear no-frills rock like this anymore. More importantly, I never saw it coming from the Saddle Creek label.

Rife with buzzsaw guitars, chugging drums and a singer that can wail like his hair has just caught fire; Heavy Hands is refreshing in its veracity and grows on me more with each listen. Somewhere between the stuttering rhythm section of Queens of the Stone Age and the lumbering heaviness of Motorhead are they key ingredients to the Ladyfinger (ne) sound. Matt Bayles who has also worked with Isis and Mastadon is behind the boards on this one, lending the record a decidedly brazen sound. But be warned, this ain't your older brother's kind of metal. It's not punk either. This is something new that sounds old, but not in an old way. Too bad its ten songs clock in at just over thirty minutes. Could it be that Ladyfinger (ne) knows pretension is a carcass best left to the wolves?

If the cover alone can reveal anything about the sounds brought forth on Heavy Hands, let it be the aggression in the ritualistic dance of death. Tigers and zebras gracefully jockeying for survival in the half - light of dawn. Uninhibited, whimsical and instinctive. You, the zebra, whose blood will run hot, pooling in great depths atop the sands of carnage should heed notice - the listener becomes the hunt and the hunted.

So go on and give it a spin if you yearn for the calling of untamed adolescence, free from the bias and preconceived notions of how a rock album should sound these days. But don't hold the band responsible if you've heard these sounds before. After all, they're not playing for the critic in you.]]></description><author>tylerbotts78@hotmail.com (Tyler Botts)</author><pubDate>2006-09-28</pubDate></item><item><title>Hisato Higuchi - Dialogue (Family Vineyard)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2747</link><description><![CDATA[It is as rare in this day as it may have been in any to hear something so imbued with clarity of vision and honesty of thought that it strikes one as not only being truly original but at the same time moving and compelling at a deep and personal level. Dialogue by Hisato Higuchi is an album that does just this. Originally released on his own Ghost Disc imprint, Dialogue now sees a much-needed wider release by the Family Vineyard label.  Higuchi a former puppeteer has abandoned his previous visually communicative art for six electrified strings and the language-less vibrations of his vocal chords.

Playing with the ghosts of blues and country ballads through a meditatively slow tempo, Higuchi's electric guitar is sparse and delicate yet assertive, possessing a haunting presence that can not be ignored. Each string becomes a character in a classic story of life, love and loss, preformed through a man whose hands have the gift of not only producing compelling sounds but also conveying a story that can cut to the core of any listener. Accompanied occasionally by moaned vocals, which appear to be wordless in utterance breaking down all communicative barriers traditional language carries as its baggage. Instead the moans become yet another player on his stage functioning as a purely emotive device or another character that speaks to delicate plucking, ghostly slide work and the shakey sustain of his notes. Higuchi has a touch that is awe-inspiring. His focus lies equally on the spaces of silence between the notes as it does with then notes themselves. The compositions that comprise Dialogue, dance, not along side, but with the specters that linger, in the world between everything we determine as real. 

I would have a hard time believing that this album would not haunt the mind of any listener like memories of a lost love. Though tinged with an introspective air of sadness there is warmth, which gives the compositions on this album a welcomed air of familiarity.  This is without a doubt an album to be cherished, a work of true genius that will leave you, mouth open agape, starring longingly at your speakers. ]]></description><author>Ryan.Brown@mac.com (Ryan Brown)</author><pubDate>2006-09-28</pubDate></item><item><title> Guther - Sundet (Morr Music)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2748</link><description><![CDATA[There is something deeply Scandinavian about Scandinavia. This does sound intensely obvious, but is there any other way to put it? A certain trait, manner sense of humour, strand, is continually present in the Nordic states; surfacing more so in some cultures, and less in others, but nonetheless, very much a present sentiment.

So much so, that when picking up Guther's Sundet, there is an instant in which one can visualise what this album will sound like by reading where the album was recorded. Add a demure female singer songwriter, angsty, whispered lyrics and some broody, shady looking band members, and Stockholm seems to jump out at you. Sweden's pull has even worked its way into the psyches of this Berlin-based trio. The calm by waters of the islands around Sweden's coast have left their indelible mark on this album.

But please, don't get me wrong; I do not by any stretch of the imagination want to portray this cultural tendency, or thread, as a bad thing. Guther's melancholic indie-pop, in all its saccharine shimmering, is quite nice. I quite like it.

Autumnal guitars and sweetie pop drums chivvy Guther's dreamy vocals along in a world reminiscent of a set in a kid's show. Electronic twitterings layered over a musical sunset compete in the ether of musical soma. Imagine Nico without the scathing tongue; imagine the Sugarcubes with Björk made of candyfloss and less punk rock. It's OK, a clap on the back for Sweden.

As Sundet suggests, this album is by no means envigoured, blazing rage. Far from it, it seems. Gleaning its name from the Swedish for ‘sound' (not noise, but the stretch of water between a mainland and a nearby island) this seems apt. Subdued tracks roll into one another, creating an ambient background blend of pop, pricked with the slightest of ripples.

There is an intensely human fascination with bodies of water – waves, tides, flowing rivers always invite the eye to rest there, to experience the crashing of swells that have travelled for thousands of miles; to wonder at the metamorphosis of tidal regions; to become engrossed in swirling eddies as a river passes under a bridge. But a sound, or sundet is an area that remains frequently unchanged; in Guther's case, it is almost stagnant. How to pick out a particular song when it is difficult to differentiate between the incessant repetition, the cyclic vocals, the one and only drumbeat? Yes, the songs contained in Sundet are all picturesquely pretty, delicate songs, but disturbingly similar at the same time.

It is sad to see a collection of musicians, who all offer such interesting takes on modern pop music, collected together to create such blandness. There seems to have been a crack at making something very beautiful and different, but one where the initial attempt falters and fails at the first sign of veering off the rails of conformity. Blips of experimentation, be it from whisper quiet electronic boxes, or from Guther's breathy vocals are ironed out by a nervous homogeneity. It's annoying to say ‘nice' in a review, but this sums it up. Forbidden by English teachers, nice denotes a half attempt at description, and is a nice reflection on Guther's latest album. Sundet is nice, I might say, in my English dissertation on modern Scandinavian post-Abba, neo-emo pop-music entitled Should I look towards the sea? Impressions of the Swedish shore. It would be an ironic dig at my high-school English teacher, but quite apt. Yes, quite apt.]]></description><author>olliesun@hotmail.com (Oli Spall)</author><pubDate>2006-09-28</pubDate></item><item><title>The Russian Futurists  - Me, Myself &amp; Rye (Memphis Industries)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2743</link><description><![CDATA[This will be the first domestic release from this astounding Canadian one-man orchestra, and it is somehow fitting that it is actually a compilation of the best tracks from his first three import records (Methods of Modern Love, Let's Get Ready to Crumble, and Our Thickness).  It only emphasizes the timeless nature of these impeccably arranged and collaged pop songs.  The music of the Russian Futurists AKA Matthew Adam Hart defies scale and scope, being both grand in its pop sensibilities and instrumentation, but also inverted into something less than bedroom music ("bedroom closet music"?) with its innocence and playfulness.

While this collection doesn't offer much new material to the old fans of the Futurists, it does offer hope that his music will be spread the worldwide (or at least easier to find in the good ol' US of A… until Bush closes the border).  It also gives those who might not know of this man's lifelong passion for Brian Wilson, AM music, and cheap samplers a chance to be changed forever by this seemingly simple masterpieces of music.  For those who have never heard or obsessed about this man's music, this is the best chance you'll ever have to hear these earlier records, and see what makes the man tick before he blows up big time.

Somewhere between the mad mod music of new labelmates The Go! Team, the older, more electronic-based songs of The Magnetic Fields, and finally the inescapable world of 80's nostalgia, The Russian Futurists weave together a sound that is not at all derivative, but more celebratory.  The songs drift at the edge of recognition and familiarity but then take a sharp turn into something new, whether it is a curious breakbeat or some shimmering distortion.  But above it all is Hart's soft and curious voice, always sounding like it's coming out from between smiling teeth, even when the message is somewhat sad.]]></description><author>gcapes@hotmail.com (Grant Capes)</author><pubDate>2006-09-27</pubDate></item><item><title>The Big Sleep - Son of the Tiger (French Kiss Records)</title><link>http://www.indieworkshop.com/music.php?id=2744</link><description><![CDATA[French Kiss Records owes me a new set of speakers damnit! In fact, they owe me a lot of things.

Little did I know that when I went to pop this little baby into my player, the explosive low end, brash drum beatings and repeatedly loud playings would eventually lead to blown out speakers, broken windows and noise complaints from neighbors. No one warned me of its addictive qualities. At one point, I think it was last Tuesday, my wife threatened to leave me if I didn't "turn that shit down". I had to cut her loose. It wasn't easy though. You see, I've been playing 'Son of the Tiger' non-stop for two weeks straight at max volume. From the moment I roll of out of bed to the moment I pass out on the cold bathroom tile surrounded by empty beer bottles and cigarette butts, I live for The Big Sleep.

This Brooklyn trio's debut is essentially beauty and beast rolled into one. It is largely instrumental at times, going for great lengths before a single phrase is uttered into the microphone. Beefy basslines and propulsive drums muscle through blissed out, swirling textures ala My Bloody Valentine or Yo La Tengo. At certain points, 'Son' bottoms out, carving vast canyons of drone and blurry ambience. The opener, Brown Beauty keeps its cards close to the cuff, bursting out of the gate with a fuzzy bassline and pounding beat. Not to be outdone by a droning wall of sound, it slowly builds and then spills out into the second song, Murder. Here, we are introduced for the first time to the captivating and earnest vocal stylings of Sonya Balchandani. Equally tender and brassy, Sonya does her best to weigh in with a voice as light as air.

After the final visceral notes blasted on Murder, 'Son of the Tiger' rolls over to expose its soft underbelly with the next few tunes meandering into cleaner, chunky, bass driven numbers, shoegaze and the more introspective sounds of SKB and Menemy. The remainder of the album pulls nicely between bombast and bliss.

While, their press release touts them as My Bloody Valentine meets Led Zeppelin, I don't neccessarily hear the Zep. Perhaps they're referring to the "largeness" of their sound or maybe the way that something complex sounding can sometimes seem effortless. In my opinion, "Son of the Tiger" comes off as an exercise in restraint. Bold in its simplicity. But don't take my word for it, judge for yourself. After all, it's pretty clear that these kids don't fuck around and neither should you. Go get this one and you can thank me later.]]></description><author>tylerbotts78@hotmail.com (Tyler Botts)</author><pubDate>2006-09-27</pubDate></item></channel>
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