The National

The National

High Violet

2010

Standing out as one of the best albums of 2010 is High Violet, the fifth and newest album by the National.  It’s a set of eleven stirring songs that smolder and ignite, held together by eddies and riptides that provide a rare sense of cohesiveness.  It might be fair to say that this is an album that is absorbed rather than listened to.              

Falling somewhere between a crooning Sinatra and Robert Smith, between a late and subtle Morrison & early Presley, singer Matt Berninger’s voice is a trippy barritone, with lower register melodies intense, clipped and dour enough to make Depeche Mode smile.  Heart wrenching lyrics celebrate & embrace the pain and discomfort of sadness, staring headlong into that abyss, unflinching and willingly.  It takes an ocean not to break, indeed.

You can chart the growth and success of this Brooklyn (by way of Cincinnati) band over the course of their ten-ish year existence, from music charts to reviews to copies sold. And High Violet is not the exception.  The ability of the drummer to shake a slower, off time song, get mathy with it and subtly launch it into high gear provides a crackle and sizzle that doesn’t go unnoticed.  Neither does the understatedly scraped fuzz and hum of an echoing electric guitar part, for that matter.  The album is extremely evocative, a guy who has lost it all, at the end of his rope.  The ability of the band to impeccably express this is impressive, particularly for a semi self produced record (Peter Katis assisted a bit).

A word I used earlier is smoldering, and I can’t find a more succinct description.  There is utter beauty in these songs that build in dynamic layers, mixed from on high with a view of the song as a whole, pulsing through the push and pull of sixteenth note muted acoustic guitar string echoes, amplifying the hi-hat strikes, highlighting tension with the quarter notes of a piano melody.  At any given moment, there is always a doom part, an instrument or sound that seems intent on raising the hairs on your arm, like a signal in a horror movie.  There aren’t so much harmonies as hauntings, otherworldly breathings, uneasy whispers that combine with bass flutes and harmoniums and French horns that are arranged and mixed so well you have no choice but to absorb it.

There are too many highlights on this album to list here; the first single was Bloodbuzz Ohio, the second Anyone’s Ghost.  I need to point out that the track Runaway was originally titled Karamazov, referencing Dostoevsky’s 800 plus page tome, immediately increasing the level of interest in the exegesis of the lyrics.  This only serves to enhance that which is already on many levels a stellar album.  It feels like it connects to so much more than music.  High Violet compels you to follow the band into that darker part of human experience, that sadness that we can’t fix in others or ourselves, where paradoxically the only way to shake it is to fully experience it.

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Forecastle 2010 Day Three

Forecastle 2010 Day Three

The final day of Forecastle 2010 felt like the final day of a music festival: bleary eyed, sunburned, spent, fatigued, dehydrated, malodorous and worn down. Pushing through that by any means necessary in the pursuit of auditory rapture, and early Sunday had a lot to choose from: Vandaveer, Dar Williams, Sara Watkins, Minus the Bear, the Commonwealth, the Fervor. Crowds grew as the day got going, all leading up to the evening sets, beginning with the West Stage at 7:00 with She & Him, that combination of Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward. Releasing two albums over the past couple of years, the band is set perfectly as a breath of fresh air with those sweet vocals drenched in reverb and that Brian Wilson-like production. It sets everyone at ease, caters to those exposed nerves that need soothing. Into the first song, the crowd is politely chill, and in Louisville, we are nothing if not polite. As though shaking off the funk, excitement breaks through the mere absorption of the band and the people make their appreciation known. A lot of what She and Him do is very 50’s, like what all the radios play at a classic car show, or a late night commercial advertising a compilation of cruisin’ classics, sponsored by Quaker State. But man, that voice is pure beauty, heavenly, otherworldly. The band is in great form and dynamic: they shuffle, gallop, follow the cues of the bandleaders. She loves her tambourine and the crowd loves her. A two-song encore ends with an amazingly soulful version of “I put a spell on you” with just her and M. Ward and a few thousand of their closest and newest fans.

I ventured over to the East Stage to see Company of Thieves, a band that has recently had a surge of popularity in this city. In the midst of a new recording period, they took a break for a flight to Louisville to play Forecastle and didn’t disappoint. Opening with “Oscar Wilde” and taking most of the crowd by surprise, the band was clearly enjoying the moment and focused on its continuing trajectory. Genevieve is always amazing to watch, to physically see such a huge voice come out of such a tiny body, her animated movements and sparkley dresses engaging the crowd. The band sounded great and the vocalist also treated us with appropriate use of the tambourine. There was a great element of that elusive groove running through their songs and kept the people in front of them moving.

The last time I saw Spoon was in Austin on their riverfront, Auditorium Shores, so it seems fitting to see them again on ours. The band opened with one of the most perfect opening songs, “The Beast & Dragon Adored”, much to the pleasure of the onlookers feeling the teeth of the guitar and resonating boom of each intricately placed drum hit. But the crowd is more mesmerized by this display than hyped; a hip begins to move, followed by the leg bounce, and now a head nods in rhythm, and I can see shoulders begin to connect with the axis of the hips and they glide and move. Spoon is a monsoon, a tidal wave demanding crowd submission with sheer ferocity and tenacity. Those guitars cut in just the right place, bass is perfectly distorted, piano notes hit exactly where they are supposed to and nowhere else. The second song, “Got Nuffin’”, is exceptionally longer than their normal songs, but the straight strums and eighth-note repeating attack of the bass throb has placed the crowd firmly in their palm. A six piece brass section of saxes and trombones, from Louisville nonetheless, backs up the band on a few songs, further endearing the crowd to their hearts. By the fifth song, “You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb”, there’s not a person not gyrating in some fashion or another. And if they aren’t, it’s because they’re dead inside. At one point, Britt Daniel, the vocalist/guitarist, dons a bass and jumps into a drawn out, sparse throbbing intro, feeling for all intents and purposes like a techno song, and right when it would normally go the typical “oom-siss-oom-siss” techno part, the drummer does some crazy fills and the song ends. The band rolls through “Is Love Forever”, “Don’t You Evah”, “Fitted Shirt”, “I Summon You”, “Written In Reverse”, “I Turn My Camera On”, “The Underdog”, and “My Mathematical Mind”, closing the night with “Black Like Me”. I realize that Spoon always makes me want to get a telecaster. This is also one of the last thoughts I have for the evening. I took off after the Spoon set, and rightfully so, have a nice pang of regret every time someone describes the Flaming Lips show to me. Next year, maybe I’ll personally get sponsored by Red Bull.

Forecastle 2010 Day Two

Forecastle 2010 Day Two

Saturday began for me at 3pm at the East Stage, where a band known as Mucca Pazza was set to begin. Twenty to thirty people enter the stage, all in non-matching marching band uniforms. Guitar, accordion, trombones, saxophones, bass drums, toms, sousaphone and pompoms come together in what can only be described, by themselves nonetheless, as a circus punk marching band. It sounds like the soundtrack to a Tarrantino directed James Bond movie filed in the 1920’s. All instrumental, it’s one of the most entertaining shows I’ve seen yet, and it’s possible that the most fun was had on stage. Maybe they were the ones in High School marching band that got kicked out because they were too weird. All the better for us. It’s a great and inspiring set and almost makes me forget that I’m already sunburned.

Over on the West Stage, Grace Potter & the Nocturnals took the stage to a sizeable crowd and performed an eclectic, genre spanning set that made it difficult to pin down. Her voice definitely has aspects of Dolly Parton and Sheryl Crow, but depending on the song could be classified as country rock, jam band, and southern folk pop. The sound was good, guitars had great tones and a B-3 filled all the right spaces like a good organ should. Her songs cover all the bases to meet your multi-genre needs.

By 5:30, the crowd really begins to thicken as the showtime for Cake grows close. There are many Cake t-shirts down front, and as I have learned through extraneous chatter, there are a lot of fans of the band in this town, and that excitement can be felt. They take the stage and leap immediately into the one two punch of Comfort Eagle and Frank Sinatra, ensuring that the tide of the crowd is with them. Vocalist John McCrea is bent on two things today: crowd interaction and his vibraslap. Both are featured prominently in the set. A melodica appears, as well as a guiro, that wooden Latin percussion instrument with cylindrical grooves that you rake a stick across. Cake seems to be in top form, both tightly professional and energetically enjoying what they are doing. The hardcore fans are up front, but there are also a lot of softcore fans, with a cursory familiarity of the band (as the guy five people behind me who keeps shouting “Run The Race!!!” repeatedly, apparently wanting to hear the song whose actual title is “The Distance”), or those who have no idea who the band is, as evident in the couple behind me. She says she likes them because they are rock and roll like the Rolling Stones. When the band did their version of “War Pigs”, I’ll quote her now saying, “Now that’s what I like, when all the new bands like Cake (!) play the old songs. This was worth it, there’s my seventy bucks right there.” Personally, I had forgotten how good cake was, and truly enjoyed the show. And as the lady behind me nonsensically pointed out, “Looks like they want to have their CAKE and eat it too!”

Both unfortunately and fortunately, I missed the first half of Devo’s set due to filming Kyle’s interview with Cake. By the time I made it back out, it was a fully involved Devo show, with their silver grey uniforms that come in handy if you are shooting a film and need a stuntman to be protected while being lit on fire. Their sparse stage was as welcoming to the crowd as their message when “Whip It” came out in 1980 and said “Hey, not only is it ok to be geeky and different, it is awesomely preferable to be geeky and different!” Their set was upbeat and really enjoyable and the crowd was with them all the way. Are we not men? We are DEVO!

On Saturday night, after Devo, it’s pretty safe to say that the hyped up crowd was quite ready for the Smashing Pumpkins. Not so fast! Collect yourself, pace yourself, savor your anticipation. Apparently situations such as this call for a DJ. You might be resting in the media tent recovering from the creeping signs of exhaustion, nursing your purchase from the taco truck, when you notice the rhythmic ripples pulsing at the top of your water cup, Jurassic Park-like. Then come the crushing, interior organ shaking, oxygen destroying bass hits. It might remind you of high school parking lots and rumors of cruising, metallic rattling, the grinding apart of joints meant to remain joined. Hypothetically. The act on the main stage, after Devo and before the Pumpkins, is known as Bassnectar, a DJ, or electronic music artist, out of San Francisco. His appearance has an Andrew WK vibe, with his long hair and white t-shirt, but most comparisons stop there. The set is an amazingly integrated audiovisual presentation, with a full movie sized screen blending colors and images and flashes to accompany his blend of beats with the occasional pixies, nine inch nails, beatles and white zombie thrown in. It’s coreshaking, and the glowstick kids are happy. Waves of people were jumping in rhythm excitedly and ratcheting themselves up for the headliner soon to come.

I headed over to the East Stage to catch the set from Edinburgh’s own We Were Promised Jetpacks. Signed to Fat Cat Records and label mates with Frightened Rabbit and Sigur Ros, I expected a lot from them. One minute into the eight minute opener, I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed; a rousing, explosive, tight and passionate study in the absurd musical equation whereby the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. An early sound issue that looked to be a dysfunctional cord only served to stir some of that Scottish anger, make them push to release and overcome. It was clear by the second song that this is exactly what happened. This is one of the most aggressive sets I’ve seen; a band with something to prove, intent on blistering. And it was really loud, too.

Back at the West Stage, the crowd continues to thicken as the LCD lightshow from Bassnectar is dismantled and the drums and guitars are checked. It’s the closest quarters it has been all day and begins to feel like the Great Lawn might implode. Planning perfectly the end of the previous set and the ensuing mass exodus to the lavatories, I find myself quite close to the stage with thousands of people at my back. Lights are tested, microphones are tested and anticipation builds. And builds. The Smashing Pumpkins take the stage, pick up their instruments and open up with Today, followed by Astral Planes, Ava Adore, and Hummer. As one of the bands that graduated from the school of Alternative Rock, they proudly wear their seriousness and disinterest on both sleeves, apart from the few times that smiles were flashed in recognitions of a fan’s excitement. Mr. Corgan told the story at one point about being escorted around town and asking his driver what they make here; the response, “Bourbon, baseball bats, horses, and hot Kentucky women” elicited much goodwill from the crowd, who were held with rapt attention for the majority of the show. And honestly, considering a lot of the stories I’ve heard regarding a Pumpkins show, I think Forecastle came away with one of the better ones.

Forecastle 2010 Day One

Forecastle Festival 2010

The ninth edition of Forecastle found itself occupying 75 acres of Waterfront Park in downtown Louisville, bringing its blend of music, art and activism to an expected thirty thousand people this weekend. Three main music stages showcased a stellar lineup, including the Flaming Lips, Spoon, Smashing Pumpkins, Devo, Cake, Widespread Panic, Lucero, Drive By Truckers, She & Him, Modern English, Arnett Hollow, We Were Promised Jetpacks, Vandaveer, Sara Watkins, Against Me and Company of Thieves. One electronica/dj stage, one circus stage, one sustainable living roadshow area and one outdoor extreme sports showcase rounded out the lineup of scheduled events.

Stretching from the Wharf to the Upland Meadow, the main stages hovered near the water to the north, while the dozens of food and merchandise tents were located along the southern edge, near and under the I-64 overpass. Everything from gyros to gumbo, burgers to pommes frites, tacos to a NY slice could be found along with ample serving locations and selections from the BBC. Merch tents were stocked with an assortment of shirts, beads, purses, hand painted clothes, rope sandals, flowy blouses, jewelry, hammocks, reusable water bottles, hats, screenprints, frisbees and other miscellaneous environmentally friendly items. A string of tents along this theme included EcoZone, Toss Out Fuel, Up a Creek and Eco-opolis.

Friday was a get-to-know-you day, a familiarization with the layout, scheduling and crowd flow details that inform stage and band choices, along with the navigation and logistics that requires. Manchester Orchestra shredded, blistered and chopped their way into the crowd’s spleen. Arnett Hollow offered their brand of Sunday-back-porch-good-time-having social occasion, their tight playing skillfully running the line between bluegrass & jam. After a short presentation of fireworks, Widespread Panic took the main stage, setting the crowd in a harmonious state, and the people twirled blissfully.

I made it a point to catch the Lucero set, headlining the East Stage. Setting up with vocals, electric, drums, bass, keys and lap steel, they brought a high energy punch to the night that electrified the crowd. With a gravelly, Marlboro voice that feels like Tom Waits if he were a tenor and raised in east Tennessee instead of LA, vocalist Ben Nichols leads this punk roots band through songs that can only be described as rollicking. Lucero seems to be trying to redefine what Southern Band means. I’m imagining a kind of one-upmanship battle between them and Lynyrd Skynyrd, a la LL Cool J and Kool Mo Dee. They look every part the working class Southern rockers they portray, as though an east Tennessee bartender bet that the six guys on the stools at his bar couldn’t form a band. And with lines like “She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo”, it’s clear that they win the bet in my hypothetical band-origin-scenario. There’s also a lot of liquid and cups being thrown at the stage, putting a nice spin on the Blues Brothers chicken wire bar scene, but in this case it’s the band that needs the Gallagher style protective plastic sheet.

Jónsi

Jónsi

Go

2010

After fifteen years and five albums with Sigur Rós, vocalist slash guitarist Jónsi Birgisson steps out with his first solo work, an expansive Icelandic post-rock-new-age-marching-band of an album. It fully embraces the dualities of the songbird nature of its vocals and isolation in it's use of space, spattering kick drums and breakbeats between flutes and dulcimers and butterflies. And puppy dogs. And cute little baby kittens.

Collaborating with Nico Muhly, the classical composer (The Reader, Grizzly Bear, Bonny ‘Prince’ Billy, Bjork), and co-producing with Peter Katis (Interpol, Frightened Rabbit, Fanfarlo) and Alex Somers (Jónsi & Alex), the album seems a producer’s dream. Sung in both English and Icelandic, these sweet and gentle melodies could just as easily been set against an acoustic guitar, and I think that’s one of the most impressive aspects to this album. The vocal delivery is slanted from a non-English orientation, emphasizing the melody itself rather than the meter of the words, coming out sounding like pure beauty. It expresses such emotion, has that certain je ne sais quoi that if you let that jaded rock you call a heart to crack a little, like some epiphany-stricken grinch, your triple sized heart will break the x-ray machine with a golden twang.

But if this doesn’t happen, if you can’t dream that dream with Jónsi, if you can’t get to that place, then this won’t sound like hope. It’ll sound like the sickeningly sweet optimism of the vocals and lyrics has found a way to make the Polyponic Spree look melancholy. It’ll sound like a falsetto backbeat Jethro Tull, like the Diva Dance from the Fifth Element, like some original Zeusian Olympic soundtrack or hearken a mid-80’s Enyan hit.

The album is immediately intriguing, but not necessarily immediate. It’s accessible in a non-threatening ethereal way, or rather, not accessible in a direct and instantly engaging way. It’s at a disadvantage when perusing the landscape of our current, instant, socially networkable oversharing culture. But some things, most things, that require more from us are ultimately more rewarding if we invest ourselves, if we defy stagnation and set ourselves to stretch and grow. And this is the command of Jónsi, urging us, pleading with us to motion: Go.

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Frightened Rabbit

Frightened Rabbit

The Winter of Mixed Drinks

2010

Not since William Wallace was declared Guardian of the Kingdom of Scotland has something so notable come out of Selkirk. Frightened Rabbit, the crux of which are the brothers Scott and Grant Hutchison, has released their fantastically titled album The Winter of Mixed Drinks, a deceptively solid effort that shines while masking its intricacies. It’s full of atmospheric texture and understatedly intense rhythmic streams coming from all directions; a sonic washing and rhythmic jolt of an album that manages to scratch the surface of optimism at the very bottom when everything has gone wrong and there’s nowhere to go but up. The closer you look at one specific aspect of the album, i.e., harmony, percussion, rhythm, even in the reverberating echoes, the more complexity you find there.

One unique thread that runs throughout this album is that it paradoxically has a subdued high intensity, as often in a bass part as guitar or percussion. This feeling lends itself to the neurotically palpable sense of isolation and disconnectedness. The industrious tinkerings of soft counter-melodies on keys, the eighth note pounding of strings or delay, the hummable melodies that repeat in your head for days combine with the emotive vocal work to make for a fantastic album. Produced by Peter Katis of Guster, Spoon, Interpol, Fanfarlo, and Jonsi Birgisson fame, it’s masterfully done.

Signed to Fat Cat Records out of London and accompanying an impressive slate of artists including Animal Collective, Sigur Ros, We Were Promised Jetpacks and Jonsi, Frightened Rabbit stands in the top tier and carries their own weight. Concise and intelligent songwriting allow the distinctly Irish vocals to flourish, even if that accent can never fully escape the shadow of Echo & the Bunnymen, Kaiser Chiefs and the Pogues. After touring in 2008 with Death Cab for Cutie and 2009 with Gomez and Modest Mouse, the band’s tour schedule remains in North America for the next few months before returning overseas.

“Swim Until You Can’t See Land” is the first single and really encapsulates the theme of the album in one song. It’s the songwriting, the production, the theme of being burned and at the bottom and testing yourself to the limit in lines like “Are you a man or are you a bag of sand?” and the numbness of “All I am is a body adrift in water, salt and sky.” It is exactly this allusion to water that reveals a catharsis in water and a helplessness to the vastness and currents of the ocean. When peering into the textures of the album, it’s like opening the lid of a shining grand piano, sleek and stunning, to see the incredible tension wires and hammers, deciphering how it operates. It also has the ability to be missed if you aren't paying attention, like code words between potential spies looking to verify a contact. As for Scotland, the most recent thing to come out of Selkirk is no longer the ancestors of Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

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SXSW 2010 Day Four

March 20, 2010 Saturday

I once heard Chris Thile say that South by Southwest is kind of like a reverse meet and greet, where instead of people going to see a band at a concert, bands come to see Austin and its people, star-struck with the beautiful city and the buzz of maddening crowds. Despite this harsh analysis, watching the frenetic pushing of guitar amps, cases and drums through the city streets reveals a great deal of accuracy in the statement.

Our final day at SXSW began in difficulty, facing high winds, a drop in temperature, a lack of parking and long lines. To avoid the bitter wind and chilly gloom, we bunkered down at the Red Eyed Fly with the WXPN party. The inside stage was tiny with a small sound system and had the feeling of a dark and seedy dive bar. It showcased smaller, singer songwriter type acts. Nicole Adkins was first up, just her and her acoustic playing some sweet songs in a sultry baritone. The underpowered inside sound was problematic, as it was completely overwhelmed by competing band volume outside. The rear outside stage was in a large enclosed patio area and had fantastic sound. First up on the outside stage was Dawes, a band from LA and a perfect example of the reason you come to Austin to experience SXSW. Dawes made an immediate impression with their live show and shot immediately to the top of the Bands To Check Out Post SXSW list. In support of their debut cd North Hills, the band plowed through some great songs in the gritty pop and Southern harmonies vein, reminiscent of Springsteen, Wilco, Van Morrison and a dash of the pure pop perfection of Weezer. Intelligent lyrics abound, like “I need a graceful and proud way to accept all the things you don’t know” from Love Is All I Am, as well as an offering from “That Western Skyline”: “All my dreams did not come true, they only fell apart.” I can only hope all of their eight Austin shows this week have been this good.

The next few acts rotated between inside and out, mostly falling short of the intensity and quality of other acts we had seen, including Lissie on the small inside stage. This was her 9^th show in the 4 days of SXSW, with just her on electric guitar as singer songwriter with a drummer/bass player. Outside was Jukebox the Ghost, a kind of dance rock band, but the vocals and melodies were a bit too flip for my unhipster tastes. Most of this time was in anticipation of the Freelance Whales, one of the few bands on my must see list. The odds were definitely stacked against them, being in the small room with a loud band outside and an underpowered system, but there was no reason to worry about a subpar performance. Ten minutes after their scheduled start time, they were still not at the club and got bumped. It turned out that their previous show was in a lineup that was very behind schedule and threw the whole thing off. Leaving the club, we made our way to the Billboard.com Bungalow party with the Carolina Chocolate Drops. This is a three piece banjo, harmonica, jug, fiddle, steel guitar playing band encompassing delta, blues, ragtime and having success on the bluegrass & Americana charts. It was a fun set that included “Cornbread & Butterbeans”, as well as the recognizable “Hit ‘Em Up Style” from 2001, reimagined w southern strings.

South by Southwest can be overwhelming. There are so many bands and venues and sponsored events and underground word-of-mouth attention-getters that it’s hard to choose your direction. But that also makes it easy, if you let it. You’re bound to stumble into things that you could have never planned for, even things that would normally fall outside of your preconceived notions of what you like. Being open to the diversity of bands is one of the greatest aspects of SXSW. Even more fascinating is the diversity of the people, the differing styles, clothes and ages that beg questions of backgrounds and common threads. The answer of which, obviously, is Music, with a capitol M. It seems that when it comes to age, Music keeps the old young and makes the young reach into the depths. It challenges the old to break cycles, habits and comforts, and stretch to find the New. It makes the young project cocksure hypotheses about the future that can only be answered years later, if ever. Regardless of age and identity, South by Southwest is a celebration of the passion music stirs in all of us, and an event truly about finding unexpected discoveries and holding on with all your might.

Brian S. Meurer

SXSW 2010 Day Three

March 19, 2010 Friday

It has been a couple of days of beautiful weather, seventy degrees and sunny. My slightly sunburned face and throbbing feet are urging me to adopt a slightly less grueling pace than roughly fifteen bands we saw yesterday. I tend to agree with myself. Especially when I’m hungry. Which begins our day at Club Deville on Red River St. for the Brooklyn Vegan/ Magic Hat party and their delicious offerings of vegan breakfast tacos and Hail Mary Granola. Although the lineup included Princeton, Twin Sister, Nicole Atkins & Lucero, we were running short on time to make it down the street to Emo’s to catch a set from the Local Natives, an LA band making some waves. Emo’s was easy to find because of the line out the door and down the street waiting to get in. Through a bit of scouting and reconnaissance, we discovered an alternate and slightly hidden rear entrance to their outdoor patio area, packed with the buzz of a large audience in search of buzz. The band had really tight live harmonies, a fantastic Gretch, mandolin, bass, drums, and an auxillary drummer/programmer, all of which added up to their propulsive rhythms and textured melodies. This was their fourth of nine shows at SXSW, making the most of their time there in support of their debut Gorilla Manor. Despite their Ultra LA hipster high and tight pants with 70’s mustaches, their sound was very appealing, leaning to the rock side of indie, especially the last two songs Airplane and Sun Hands, making the Bands To Check Out Post SXSW list.

We took a long walk down Congress to the WOXY studios and for a tour with Mike & Joe. This is a station that was once based in Cincinnati, uprooted from its terrestrial roots in 2004 to lead the internet in radio and moved physically to Austin in 2009. The building was at one time an old theater, converted to a tv studio, from which live bands have been in and out all week. We were there during the recording of a set by the Besnard Lakes, a band from Montreal and the same one that was ending their big set at Stubb’s last night when we stopped by. They had a great rock sound, but odd in terms of ethereal textures, sounding like an unfrozen haunting in the ionosphere, ending with the songs Albatross and Progress. Our tour of the facilities continued up to the roof, revealing an amazing panorama of the city. Regrettably, after spending so much time and money setting up the new station, a few days after our visit all of their funding was pulled and the team that had just relocated across the country is currently left high and dry. We wish them well and hope they fall into new jobs quickly.

Heading north toward the Capitol on Congress, we made our way to the Paste Vanguard party, catching the very end of the Watson Twins and deciding that it was time for Guero’s, that famed restaurant of idyllic stature that is required on any trips I take to Austin. It’s that refreshing Avalon, the reward of Elysium, the assortment of salsas and margaritas that make a man seriously contemplate living in Texas. It’s in a quaint area full of boutiques and boots, giving you visions of lazy Saturdays and strolls by the mighty Colorado River.

We decided to make one main event our final stop for the evening, the Dickies Sounds Party held at the Lustre Pearl. This was another outdoor stage, and the line to get in here was pandemonium. It had a fantastic line up as the evening wore on, including Here We Go Magic, She & Him, Broken Bells and Surfer Blood. It had some issues as well, enough to put a damper on the evening. First up was Here We Go Magic, and there’s not a way to delicately say this, but they did not sound good. The good news is that might have actually been the sound, as either the engineer or the underpowered system itself was severely lacking. It was as if someone two doors down from you was having a house party or band practice. We had high hopes that it was a fluke, or the band, and that it would get better as the night went on. Up next was She & Him, mainly the project of Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward, bringing a large 60’s southwestern surf style that would fit in any Tarantino film. It actually might be more apropos if the project were named Cult of Zooey, as any observer of their audiences can attest. Her voice has a breathy angeic quality and the crowd is in love. There’s lots of bouncy tambourine, even some country and western in there too. M. Ward capably handles guitar and some vocals and is accompanied by two female backup singers, drums and bass. Their sound wasn’t great either, and writing it off on the soundman, we decided that was not the way we’d like to see Broken Bells or Surfer Blood. We decided that they would have to be our priority tomorrow, as we made our way back down Red River, mingling with the crowd exiting Stubb’s, whose main event of the evening was Courtney Love’s reignition of Hole and Muse. It looked as though a good time was had by all. I bet the sound was stellar.

Brian S. Meurer

SXSW 2010 Day Two

March 18, 2010 Thursday

Garbage removal. It’s the first thing that I notice as we arrive 10-ish in the morning. Last night, with the St. Pat’s day revelry and all, this place was trashed. Literally. Very close to the condition of the Paddock at Churchill Downs circa 7:30 pm Derby night. Amazingly, the streets are utterly devoid of the cans, wrappers, bottles, bags, paper plates and flyers from the previous day. Much respect for Austin for making that happen.

First on the Agenda is picking up our credentials at the Convention Center, the nucleus of Official South by Southwest, with it’s myriad workers and volunteers and signs and lines and sign-in booths for press, radio, labels and performers, most of whom have that overwhelmed and lost look in their eyes. It’s a good thing that there is an artist’s lounge on the fourth floor stocked with snacks, beverages, internet and chair massages. The Convention Center houses the music panels, discussions, mentoring sessions, trade show and performance spaces. This year, SXSW now touts 1900 bands on over 80 official stages throughout the city.

The way all of these stages work is this: a club/bar/restaurant allows a business (NPR, Billboard, Labels, Magazines, etc.) to essentially take over for the morning or evening, allowing as many bands as they choose to play short sets. This, as you can imagine, is a logistical nightmare for most people involved. There is often a backline provided (a drum set, a bass amp, a guitar amp) in order to facilitate set changeovers, but even so the streets are constantly buzzing with musicians franticly rolling amps and carrying cumbersome instrument cases, loading them into illegally parked vans while navigating the influx of scheduled performers. This happens about every 45 minutes all day long at every venue across town.

Credentials in hand, we walked to the 700 block of west 6^th to see our good friend Sean Cannon at the Buzzgrinder Buddyhead room, packed with a full two day list of bands like Wax Fang, Apteka, These United States, Henry Clay People, Vandaveer and the Seedy Seeds, a hand selected list reflecting Buzzgrinder’s personal favorites in a cavernous room with competent sound. Our compliments to Mr. Cannon for successfully managing his first foray into partydom. Another key to an efficient SXSW trip is the ability to find the best places for free food and drinks. Arriving at the Speakeasy on S. Congress for the Vevo/Fontana party, a small buffet of southwestern themed foods and drinks allowed us to make it through an underwhelming Sass Jordan set. We caught a few tunes from Rey Fresco, providing island rock grooves and meshing a rhythmic Latin sound triangulated between Marley, Maxwell & Legend. The name means “king fresh” in Spanish, and with a passionate singer from Fiji, a drummer who builds his own drums, an incredible harp player, and a big bass player with a pencil-thin mustache to accompany his fedora, they definitely have a California feel. Their album came out in December & had a Song of the Day on NPR, and made the short list of Bands To Check Out Post SXSW.

We headed to the Galaxy Room for the Paste day party and caught the last few songs from Fanfarlo, a London based indie pop band, playing for a packed house of enthralled fans. The band multitasked trumpet, violin, mandolin, bass, drums, xylophone, keys, clarinet, and melodica. They had a great sound, reminiscent of Crowded House and the Talking Heads. After their set, we stepped out back to the outside stage under a tent and was treated to a set with Gordon Gano, singer of Violent Femmes fame. Despite having one of the most distinctive voice in alternative rock, his set began with little fanfare, the crowd meandering about, apparently not quite sure who this was. Except for those in the front, who were well aware and questioning the mental capacity of the sparse crowd behind them. With what could be described as a gravelly Midwest tenor, Mr. Gano worked his way through songs from his September 2009 release “Under the Sun”. Multinstrumentation seems to be the order of the year, with guitars, violin, accordion, mandolin, saxophone, bass and drums. By the time that the set was winding down into American Music and Blister In The Sun, the crowd had made the connection and packed in all available space.

The lull between day parties and night parties is usually the opportune time to grab dinner, and immediately afterward made our way to the Cedar Street Courtyard. Over a sunken patio area located between two buildings that contained a stage and a few hundred people, we perched on the balcony directly overlooking stage, giving us a nice vantage for the upcoming Miike Snow show. In the meantime, we had the Paris based Uffie, a synthpop disco rapper attempting to placate the crowd, who really couldn’t quite get into her. Described by one fan as a “crackhead caricature of herself”, she and her DJ were obviously hoping for a crowd more familiar with her work, or at least more sympathetic. When at last it was time for Miike Snow, 6 guys in black t-bird jackets took the stage. They are more like a production supergroup; electronic cyborgs whose instrument is whatever is lying within arms reach, generating a sublime stream of electro pop that also made the Bands To Check Out Post SXSW list.

We met up with a couple of friends at the New West Party as things were wrapping up with Kris Kristopherson, Buddy Miller and Patty Griffin. Deciding not to wait for the Harper Simon show in order to catch the Ben Sollee Daniel Martin Moore performance, we trekked down 6^th and made our way to an old church building, the Central Presbyterian Church at 200 E. 8^th. It seemed the perfect setting for such a reverent, commanding performance in support of their album Dear Companion, which we reviewed earlier. Accompanying Mr. Sollee on cello and Mr. Moore on guitar was Cheyenne Mize, an amazing female violin/electric guitar/vocalist and an incredibly tight drummer, Dan Dorff, who pulled out his old Stomp skills on an amazing rendition of Bury Me With My Car. Surprisingly, expanded songs from Dear Companion were enhanced in this setting and were everything and more that the album could suggest. Afterward we headed to the immortal Stubb’s and caught the absolute end of Besnard Lakes set, spontaneously deciding to treck across town and press our luck trying to get into the much-hyped Stone Temple Pilots reunion. Feeling nostalgic for the 90’s, it was great to see that they still had it, the jerky strut of Mr. Weiland still able to capture the attention of a crowd. The songs sounded great, the band in good form, but the crowd was a bit too fist-pumpy-glory-days for my tastes. The final stop for the night took us back down 5^th to Antone’s to see the Courtyard Hounds, the side project led by two of the Dixie Chicks who aren’t named Natalie Maines. In the same vein as Taking The Long Way, sweetly delivered vocals, acoustic driven guitars and fiddles and tight harmonies define their alt-country sound. The songs were really enjoyable, with even Jakob Dylan joining them for a couple.

As the day wrapped, I regretted not purchasing a pedometer. I would very much like to know how many miles we traversed throughout the day. My shoes immediately shouted "One Hundred!" as we slowly lurched like Boris Karloff in the Mummy, dragging one foot behind us on our way to sweet sleep.

Brian S. Meurer

SXSW 2010 Day One

SXSW 03.17.10

The South by Southwest Music Festival began in 1987 and is held every year in Austin TX, bringing together over 1,400 bands from all corners of the world, landing in every location anywhere close to downtown that has an occupiable space for a band to set up and an electrical outlet. Swirling around the core of South by Southwest is Ernest Hemmingway’s The Sun Also Rises, set to the 1974 album The Heart of Saturday Night by Tom Waits. Crowds conglomerate into mobs that form and disperse at the drop of a hat, if that idiom is still relevant. It’s an event that is powered by word of mouth and instantly public announcements through Twitter, which exploded here in 2007. It is geared toward those with a deficit of attention, with most bands limiting their sets to thirty minutes and only playing what they feel is their best material. Consequently there is a constant popping in and out of clubs and bars and tents. I overheard a guy on the street say that SXSW is like doing shots of bands. I understood his meaning, but felt it was more analogous to a wine tasting, finding unexpected discoveries and holding on with all your might.

There are one thousand thirty three miles from Louisville to Austin, and that takes roughly sixteen hours to drive. If you pick the right companions, it has the potential to be a journey full of music, comedy and conversation. And quite honestly, with that many hours in a vehicle, you had just better pick the right companions; the kind that will appreciate the serendipity of a well-shuffled ipod announcing the Days of Miracle and Wonder And Don’t Cry Baby Don’t Cry as you shoot through Memphis, and the gentle rebuke That’s Right, You’re Not From Texas as you curse the frontage roads of Texas. We left at 6:30 Eastern time, eight hours to Little Rock, five hours to Dallas, three final and excruciating hours south to arrive finally in Austin, TX at 10:30 pm Central time.

A brief hotel check-in, downtown Austin welcomes your decompression. As the capitol of Texas, Austin is laid out on a much appreciated grid, and for our purposes, the two perpendicular streets that hold our attention for the next few days are 6^th St. and Congress Ave. Housing a dense population of bars, clubs and restaurants, 6^th St. is ideal for the perusal of live music. As we began our recon of the area, we quickly realized that it was Wednesday, March 17, also known far and wide as St. Patrick’s Day. Also known far and wide as Underage Amateur Night, youthful experimenters with adult beverages ruled the scene. While there were a number of bands performing, the main events and destination bands would begin the following day. After a quick lap through 6^th and popping in a small number of venues, it was time to call it a night and get rest for the exhaustathon that was to be the next few days. And make a note for the future to avoid downtown St. Patrick’s Day festivities.

Brian S. Meurer

Then you comb your hair, shave your face

Tryin’ to wipe out every trace of all the other days

In the week you know that this’ll be the Saturday

You’re reaching your peak

Stoppin’ on the red, you’re goin’ on the green

‘Cause tonight’ll be like nothin’ you’ve ever seen

And you’re barrelin’ down the boulevard

You’re lookin’ for the heart of Saturday night

- Tom Waits

Freelance Whales

Freelance Whales

Weathervanes

2010

With their beautiful and rousing debut Weathervanes, the Freelance Whales snatch a victorious Spring from the icy clutches of Winter, with fascinating oscillations of meter and melody delivered on big fluffy womb-like clouds of melancholy optimism. Through sweetly delivered vocals fluttering over choice instrumentation I can already see the lime floating in the gin soaked summer nights. And it’s a good thing, because with a band name like the Freelance Whales, the music had better be exceptional.

The album is incredibly appealing, with its pleasant dream-like feel enhanced by the billowy grit of a melodica and microkorg drone under tasteful banjo parts and layered with floatingly hummable melodies. The vocals have an earnest delicacy whose playfulness is only enhanced when the lyrical pace increases, showcased in the near perfection of the second song, “Hannah”. Its gratifying arrangement of driving rhythm and fast paced vocal delivery hits all the right spots, dropping to half time and a syncopated beat, allowing the chorus to release the longing and emotion pent up from the verse. Add the fun layer of extraneous jangly bells and swirls and you’ve got comfort food for summer.

But it’s when the fifth song starts that you realize that you’ve already been hooked; they had marked you in the store before you even knew you were listening and tapping and humming. That song is “Starring”, and that title word moves far past merely memorable into the earworm territory of Wrath of Kahn, only voluntary and pleasurable. The first wash of the microkorg grabs you on a primal level, communicating directly with your autonomic nervous system, commanding it to release endorphins. As soon as the trippy break beat starts, you realize that this album just broke through, just went from good to great. And plus, any album that references kilojoules gets extra points in my book.

The second half of the album settles into a continuation of variations on the theme, including the evocative “Broken Horse” and the fantastic closer “The Great Estates”. Amidst the breathy whispers of repeating vowels and melodic hooks reminiscent of the Police, if Sting had never left the hammock, you’ll find an album that flows easily and fluidly as a trapeze artist, wrapped in a wooly blanket of dreamy glockenspiels, taking a warm bath in electrofuzz melodica. This is the stuff that outdoor evenings in the summer are made for. And considering they have at least nine (9!) shows in Austin this week around South by Southwest, we’ll have plenty of opportunities to catch multiple sets, and I for one hope that their live show can live up to this album.

Brian S. Meurer

Peter Gabriel: Scratch My Back

Peter Gabriel

Scratch My Back

2010

If I could buy the world a Coke, I’d take the money that I would use to buy the world a Coke and distribute as many copies possible of the new Peter Gabriel album, Scratch My Back, far and wide throughout the land. It is a spellbinding reimagining of eclectic songs spanning the past three decades and is achingly beautiful, emotionally raw and intense. It’s an album that works on many levels, ranging from the deceptively complex and elegant orchestral production to the both powerful and delicate qualities of Mr. Gabriel’s 60 year old voice.

Since 2010 is reliving the mid-eighties right now, it makes sense that the video king of 1987 would be the next in a long line of mass-homage, from Johnny Cash to Springsteen and Paul Simon. His innovative forty plus year career is studded with hits, controversy, landmarks and millions of sales. It is, however, precisely his diminished position in current popular consciousness that allows the leap directly to kinetic energy for the composer of Here Comes The Flood and Mercy Street.

Scratch My Back is a sterling choice of songs and feels like each has an intensely personal connection with Mr. Gabriel. It’s an album without guitars or drums, filtering songs that rely on these into strings and horns. There is a tension that runs through the disc that conjures the artist’s frustrating attempt to express the inexpressible. The songs are evocative, moving and dynamic, completely deconstructed from their original form and suspended in the bouquet of an orchestral chianti. The vocal delivery is emotive and passionate, both gritty and fragile, belting and subdued. The entire album hinges on the thematic and relevant, the meaningful and the unutterable. This is expressive music as high art. And it’s only half the story.

The interesting, nay, genius aspect of this idea will come later this year, when the artists tagged here pick up the gauntlet and choose their own Peter Gabriel song to cover. My mind spins considering who will do what song? Pick a slower piano driven one like Washing Of The Water and bring the guitars and drums? Will anyone be bold enough to touch the Passion album?

Even though the entire album feels like the jubilant slow motion finale of a triumphant marathon, it is sure to have its share of detractors. Some will find it dreary, the orchestral arrangements overwrought, melodramatic, unoriginal; essentially unable to breach short attention spans. There are some people who are unable to find beauty in sadness, or who believe that joy and minor keys are mutually exclusive. Lamentations about the absence of guitars, drums and originally penned source material miss the point. This is not an album of the three minute pop song, compressed and auto-tuned to false perfection, as illustrated by recent Grammy performers. This is an album about stripping away flesh and bone to distill the essence of a song’s spirit, absorbing, inhabiting and internalizing that essence to express something meaningful to the artist. It’s about the moment, and it’s Peter Gabriel’s moment, and it’s about time.

Brian S. Meurer

Yeasayer: Odd Blood

Yeasayer

Odd Blood

2010

Allow me to go on record officially and dub 2010 the new 1985, and Yeasayer has thrown their chips all in. In a stylistically varied album, they cover a lot of bases and carry a lot of baggage that they must overcome. It is this audacious ambition that somehow fuses the confidence of Prince in Purple Rain, the excitement of the Pointer Sisters in Beverly Hills Cop, and the whimsy of the theme to Fletch.

The sonic landscape of Odd Blood is rife with the synth swirls, keyboard stabs and the percussive gated reverb of a bygone era. It shares a feel with Brooklynite neighbors Vampire Weekend and MGMT, but shows itself to be at the more commercially accessible end of the block. If John Hughes, God rest his soul, were alive today and continuing his cathartic cinematic teen drama in the vein of The Breakfast Club and Pretty In Pink, Yeasayer could fully expect a tap on the shoulder to contribute, if not dominate, the soundtrack.

After the otherworldly opener “The Children”, with its experimentally off-putting digital chainsaw vocal effects, the album settles into an eclectic spectrum with synthpop at its center, betraying just the slightest hint of industrial (please don’t tell Trent Reznor). It’s an album that infuses the essence of mid-eighties gems like Billy Idol’s 1984 archetype “Eyes Without A Face”, the one two punch of Duran Duran in 1984-85 with “Hungry Like The Wolf” and “View To A Kill”, and in a hypothetically fantastic scenario, if Depeche Mode had composed the music for Miami Vice Season Two.

But the album is deceptive like a Trojan Horse. It has a lot to get past, and the listener’s ability to do so may depend on the context and time period in which you grew up. The first listen didn’t click with me; the second gave me pause. Somewhere by mid-album, around the song “Love Me Girl”, almost imperceptively, your shoulders will start to move, maybe one is the snare, the other the kick drum, and you start to think about a time when Tears For Fears, Pet Shop Boys and Simple Minds ruled the airwaves.

“Ambling Lip” is the first single off the album, and it’s a marching pulse of effects-laden island sway. A lot of the album is full of effects that sound as though they were dehydrated into powder, placed in the bottom of a boiling cauldron and set over a witch’s fire to meld and bubble to the surface in strange, unidentifiable forms. “I Remember” includes a cascading waterfall of notes that in previous years may have signaled that you just saved the princess with the clever use of your raccoon suit in SMB3. In other places it’s the synthetic growl of a moog or the squeal of a motion-detector ghost that people hang around Halloween.

Odd Blood is a collection of varied, but mostly upbeat, melodic synthpop songs. It’s this lighthearted sense of post-ironic playfulness that pulls the album through the weighted baggage of its material. It just happens to draw heavily from the year MCMLXXXV, and you can bet what this year’s trendy tattoo will be.

Brian S. Meurer

2009 Year In Music

Two Thousand and Nine turned out to be a pretty good year in music. At this point, I need to clarify that what I really wanted to do was to let you know what I listened to most in '09 and what meant the most to me.

In my most humble persona opinion, the three best releases of 2009 were Phoenix -Wolfgang Amadeus Phoneix, Elbow -The Seldom Seen Kid (actually 08), and Neko Case -Middle Cyclone. If you lack any of these three and my recommendation means anything to you, get them now. Right behind those three were releases by Gomez, David Byrne/Brian Eno, and Bryan Scary that I enjoyed immensely. While I don't have the time to go back and do in-depth reviews as I have recently here, here, and here, I wanted to at least post music that mattered to me in '09.

Enjoy,

b

Phoenix -Wolfgang Amadeus Phoneix
Elbow -The Seldom Seen Kid
Neko Case -Middle Cyclone
The Decemberists -The Hazards Of Love
Gomez -A New Tide
David Byrne/Brian Eno -Everything That Happens Will Happen Today

Bryan Scary -Mad Valentines

Muse -The Resistance
Handsome Firs -Face Control
Wilco -Wilco
David Gray -Draw The Line
U2 -No Line On The Horizon
Pearl Jam -Backspacer
Sting -If On A Winter's Night
The Hold Steady -A Positive Rage (Live Album)

*not released in '09, but I listened to a lot:

Velvet Underground & Nico 1967
Thom Yorke 2006 The Eraser

Grey's Anatomy is Decadent and Depraved

Sometimes I wonder what Hunter S. Thompson would say about Grey's Anatomy.

I'm pretty sure after slightly lowering his smoldering, long cigarette holder and glowering an expressionless stare, he'd flip through the nearest Merriam-Webster's and manage to utter the following:

pompous

self-important

conceited

vain, empty

ignorantly arrogant

pretentious

He would then snap the volume shut with one hand, letting it fall at 9.8m/s, striking the floor with a startling sound, pausing motionless until he slowly picks up his Wild Turkey on the rocks with his non-smoking hand. "I don't know who writes dialogue like that, but, I've consumed and imbibed and absorbed a lifetime of most every substance known to man, and I've never encountered anything as mind numbing as that show."

Lost

Final Season
Episodes One & Two

Locke is a really good bad guy.
Juliette dying more than once is the reason they changed the rules for ice skating in the 88 olympics.
Sawyer is being an irrational punk.

I'm a sucker for southeast asian temples.
Geddy Lee is now translating for the head guy at that temple.
When he turned over that hourglass, I expected to see some flying monkeys.
Locke is a really, really good bad guy

Spoon

for The Weekly Feed

Spoon
Transference
2010

In the search for insight into the nature of reality and truth, there is a traditional zen koan, a paradoxical question posed from Master to Student, that I have pondered for some time now: “What Is The Sound of Spoon Recording?”

When I imagine Spoon in the studio, I picture Andy Warhol’s working and creative area, The Factory; a spacious warehouse that encompassed a renaissance idea of art, whose maxim, in more ways than two, was anything goes. Any idea could be pursued, as the Factory was stocked with supplies to support any whim: painting, sculpting, music, performance, recording, film, etc. I then imagine the Factory populated with the late, great Jim Henson’s Muppets: Gonzo on bass, Animal obviously on drums, Beaker meticulously adjusting every guitar knob and pedal, Dr. Teeth himself on vocals, produced by a veritable mixologist behind the control board, the Swedish Chef. And thusly Spoon’s Transference arrives into the world.

Transference plots the increasing creativity and complexity of Spoon through their unique view of rhythm-as-Rube-Goldberg contraption, whereby the boot kicks over the bucket that drops a ball on the lever that launches the distorted fuzz bass melody that pushes the floor tom to the third beat, which holds the disjointed guitar keeping time on the offbeat. Like these glorious machines, you are mesmerized concentrating on these workings and their effects. Instead of making this album inaccessible, it becomes filled with grooves, at times thick, nasty, trance-inducing grooves. Snake charmer grooves. If there were a subdued hipster rave at a cool coffee shop, this album would be the house music.

Transference really begins to hit its stride by the third song, The Mystery Zone, imbued with a hypnotic mathematical bass drone that time warps you out of any present context, only realized when you snap out of it as the song finishes, you yawning and rubbing your eyes. This is mainly due to Spoon’s affinity for designating an instrument, melody or rhythm as the constant, that one aspect of a song that is going to be the static premise around which everything else revolves, like a game of Frozen Catchers when you were a kid, always determining who would be “it”.

This theme continues through Who Makes Your Money and into the very essence of a Spoonian single, Written In Reverse. This is a solid set of eleven songs that defy the trap of self-indulgence that plague bands who attempt to shun an outside producer, and it’s encouraging to see Spoon succeed in this regard. In addition to it being their first self-produced album, Transference is Spoon’s seventh album, and has a remarkable depth of creativity for that level of longevity. There is also a variety to the album that keeps it fresh, including that adventure in lo-fi exuberance Trouble Comes Running, as well as the 300 level course in dynamic build of I Saw The Light.

Transference is the sound of a band having fun, with its Rube Goldberg machine of bass, drums, piano and guitars falling into odd places that kick the rhythm in the back of its head, projecting both it, and Spoon, forward.



Brian S. Meurer

Ben Sollee & Daniel Martin Moore

for The Weekly Feed

Ben Sollee & Daniel Martin Moore
Dear Companion
2010

I wrote one word and jabbed a period. I stared at it for three seconds. Underlined it. The review was complete.

Stirring.

This is one of those refreshing albums that renew your faith in humanity, that give you an exaggerated sense of love for others, that wrap your soul in a snuggie© and wet kiss a golden retriever by a fireplace. How exactly can something as intangible as music do these things? If there were an answer to that, you can bet that Clear Channel and the Major Labels would have it in a tattooed formula for all their artists to follow. And judging by the state of mainstream radio, that just hasn’t happened.

Dear Companion, the collaboration of Ben Solle & Daniel Martin Moore, including Jim James on production, illustrates what can be accomplished when proficient songsmiths embrace an efficiency of space and allow music to breathe, while providing a palpable tension from its contrasts. It’s the cello quarter notes vs. the sixteenths on the hi-hat; the spirited and agile banjo vs. the half-time drag of the drums; the most beautiful vocal parts that turn out to be the inseparable amalgamation of two voices.

This is an album that continues in the rich heritage of Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M. and Summerteeth, an album that demands you immediately take a road trip through the Great American Southwest in a dusty convertible, Thelma & Louise style, your destination a covered back porch in Knoxville overlooking a forested ravine with a steaming cup of coffee to counter the nip in the air.

Something, Somewhere, Sometime is the opening track that sets the tone for the album, showcasing that intensity of contrasts, the building anticipation that ends the same way as most songs here: too soon. From here, the album settles into its lower-key theme of savory songwriter goodness. Sollee and the warm intonations of his cello are in fantastic form here, especially on Only A Song and Try, from which you know after the first six notes that it will be one of your favorites on the album. You’re also sure to hear the title track Dear Companion quite a bit, hopefully as a future single, as it’s one of the standouts.

These Kentucky artists come together with a common passion and mission of raising awareness of Mountaintop Removal coal mining. According to Sub-Pop, a portion of their proceeds will benefit the organization Appalachian Voices. The album does manage to avoid any heavy-handedness, relying on the artist’s responsibility to raise thought provoking questions, and in the end succeeds in creating as beautiful a landscape as the one they’re trying to preserve. As Mr. Sollee sings, “It’s only a song, it can’t change the world”. But I honestly can’t think of a better place to begin.

Brian S. Meurer