250in2018-blog

[250in2018-blog]

Caustic Resin “Fly Me To the Moon”

Caustic Resin Fly Me To the Moon

CD, 1995, Up Records, up017

I’ve never met a Caustic Resin fan. I never heard the band mentioned at all until I flipped through Andrew Earles’ Gimme Indie Rock, wherein he calls Fly Me To the Moon a “massive and rewarding piece of indie-slug rock” that is “well worth seeking out.”

Everything you read about the band mentions prominently that they came from Boise and were part of the same scene as Built to Spill and Tree People, even though they don’t much resemble those more popular acts. Earles has an especial fondness for 90’s rock bands that achieve catchiness while eschewing medley, groups like Silkworm and Uncle Wiggly, and Caustic Resin are like a more extreme expression of that sort of sound. These are the bands that retained the harder edge and meandering song structures of pre-Nevermind grunge and resisted indie’s transformation into the warmer and fuzzier sounds preferred by Subpop and K records.

Of course K and Sub Pop basically defined college radio from the mid-90’s until streaming made college radio obsolete. This means that the indie press largely ignored groups like Caustic Resin, and the attention they did get was weirdly disdainful--old school Pitchfork writers regarded guitar solos as something less than filth. William Morris described the band’s sound as finding “a way to strip the splinters away from Pink Floyd, Neil Young, and Dinosaur Jr and drive them into your ears with unabashed relentlessness and seeming disregard for cohesion, melody, or any discernible eye for restraint.” And that’s from a negative review?!? Shit, I gotta check these guys out.

I’m pleased to say that the album is everything I was hoping it would be and that you should, indeed, seek it out.

The gorgeous, terrifying fuzz of “Healing Cough” blends slide guitar with vocals that sound like they were recorded underwater, by a ghost. “Damaged Animal” sounds almost like they’re impersonating Bob Dylan, but then the track morphs in to what I can only describe as sludgey Krautrock. The anthemic “Summertime of Your Life” features a chorus that resembles an early Man Man track. And probably the best and most accessible track is the closer, “Station Wagon,” a grinding, driving tour de force of slide riffs and vocal distortion that somehow manages to cohere into a deep and compelling song structure.

If you’ve got more than a passing interest in 90’s guitar rock, “Fly Me To the Moon” is a must-listen.   

[250in2018-blog]

Knife Knights “1 Time Machine”

121. Knife Knights 1 Time Machine

CD, Sub Pop, 2018

Knife Knights is a duo consisting of Ishmael Butler and Erik Blood. Butler’s from Digable Planets and Shabazz Palaces, the latter of which is one of the rare hip hop acts put out by Sub Pop. Blood is a Seattle-area mainstay, although all I know of him is his work with Shabazz. Like his frequent collaborator Flying Lotus, Butler’s work is usually of more interest to fans of weirdo electronics than to those who enjoy more mainstream hip hop. His beat-first tracks are spacy and smoke-stained, at times reminiscent of darker and less danceable 90’s trip hop (like, say, Tricky), at other times desolate and scary. Knife Knights takes the darker vibes of Shabazz and digs even deeper, producing a sound that is alternates between engagement and alienation, good darkness and bad darkness. It’s probably the weirdest thing he’s ever put out--at least that I’ve heard--and that’s really saying something.

The album has got the loose and spacey feel that marks so much contemporary hip hop. It is, however, thankfully light on autotune empty repetition--the pair seemed genuinely concerned with shaping their own sonic textures, rather than embracing the Spotify-approved approach of hitting the “Chillwave Demo” button on a Casio keyboard and mumbling about fentanyl. My nearest sonic reference is Flying Lotus, but Knife Knights never reach Lotus’ plane of sublime weirdness. The textures here are molded so as to resemble regular ass songs.  The best tracks are the hookiest ones: “Give You Game” features stellar vocal cameos by Marquetta Miller and Stass THEE Boss. The exquisite “My Dreams Never Sleep” blends hooky muzak with electronic sputters and spacey, soulful vocals that sound, almost inexplicably, like a really good Blur B-side.

I will admit to being completely lost when it comes to contemporary hip hop. While Knife Knights isn’t exactly mainstream, it serves as a good entry point for those of us who want to engage with the genre but are turned off by the prefab emptiness of Gen Z music.  

[250in2018-blog]

Cocteau Twins “Heaven or Las Vegas”

120. Cocteau Twins Heaven or Las Vegas

CD, 1990, 4AD

Listening to Ashrae Fax’s Never Really Been Into It, which borrows heavily from the the Cocteau Twins, made me realize that I don’t know nearly enough about the Cocteau Twins. They had little prominence in the music scenes of the late 90’s, when I was a lad--they were too pretty and poppy for the grunge and metal kids, not dark enough for the goth and industrial sect, and yet not nearly accessible enough for the type of people who listen to Top 40 rock. It wasn’t until the early 2000’s, when music mags and sites starting doing “Best of the 80’s” retrospectives, that I even heard of the band. And then, the albums was told to get were Blue Bell Knoll and Treasure--Heaven or Las Vegas was omitted, I guess since it came out in the 1990.

The Cocteau Twins play music that is very pretty and very unique, and this combination leads rock critics toward the use of grossly overwrought descriptive metaphors. The sound is immense and encompassing, intimidating yet warm and accessible. I can easily see why some kids would have fallen in love with it when it was new. It’s… ugg I am straining so hard right now not to make a shitty metaphor. It’s angelic, how about that? Makes me feel weirdly spiritual, even though it is basically a pop record.

Heaven or Las Vegas is now widely regarded as the band’s magnum opus. It’s probably the most straightforward and poppy of their releases that I’ve heard, distinctly less gothic than Treasure and less Halloween-ish than Blue Bell Knoll. I think I prefer the less accessible albums, frankly--while this one is really good, at no point do I want to immediately replay a track several times in a row, like I did when I first heard “Evo” off of Treasure. There’s only one signer, Elisabeth Fraser, and on Heaven most of her vocal tracks are heavily stacked, which lends the album an Abba sort of feel. This works best on songs like “Fifty-Fifty Clown,” where the stacking has a disconcerting effect and makes, and on the title track, which is just straightforward pop. It falls a little flat when it doesn’t lean real heavy into accessibility or weirdness.

But nothing here is even close to bad. It’s a lovely record. I just don’t understand it being suddenly elevated above the groups earlier, better albums.

[250in2018-blog]

Danielle Dax “Dark Adapted Eye”

119. Danielle Dax Dark Adapted Eye

Vinyl LP, 1988, Sire Record

The video for Danielle Dax’s “Cat House” was a staple on the old Night Flight show. It’s a combination of accessible new wave radio rock and dreamy 4AD glossiness--a really great, forgotten pop song.  Why didn’t it get beyond a late night syndicated show tailored to the tastes of disaffected Gen X weirdos? Let’s try to figure that out.

Dax was a straight-up solo pop artist: she looked like a model, and she didn’t have a band (at least not during her most prolific years). But she was also relentlessly, unapologetically weird; her aesthetic was that of post-new wave cavewoman. She makes dark and cool-looking visual art, including the cover for her debut album Pop Eyes, which is as gruesome and arresting as any other album cover you can name. I--just--I am dumbfounded as to why she wasn’t bigger, at the very least you’d think late-90’s goth chicks would have eaten this up.

Dark Adapted Eye is a long compilation album, and it was Dax’s first release to reach the US. Her problem may be that the music was just too good? It’s not brooding. The lyrics evoke mysticism but focus on the material--they are, dare I say, intelligent and unpretentious. Listening to this record does not make you feel sad, and that just absolutely would not have fit in the stateside goth aesthetic. It’s too poppy for indie rock, too genuinely weird for FM radio, too dark for daytime MTV.  

But it bangs. Every tracks is interesting and engaging in some way. The poppy up-tempo songs are as accessible as any late-80’s radio pop. The aforementioned “Cat House” is vaguely Halloween-ish but also makes you want to dance. It’s followed by pop-industrial track “Big Hollow Man,” which sounds like something off of Wax Trax! only the instrumentation is more rich than anything put out by that label. Side One ends with “Fizzing Human Bomb,” a combination of Middle Eastern folk music and English pastoralism that is also somehow gothic. Such a combination of styles absolutely should not work but it does, it really does.

Dark Adapted Eye has been out of print for ages, but inexpensive copies can be found on discogs and Amazon. Dax’s website also has a handful of other CD’s for sale, and shipping to the US is pretty reasonable. Listen to it. Buy it.

[250in2018-blog]

Survival Knife “Loose Power”

118. Survival Knife Loose Power

Vinyl LP, 2014, Glacial Pace Records

Survival Knife are fronted by Jake Trosper from Unwound. You’d think that would have gotten them some press, right? At least someone should have mentioned it when Numero Group were doing all the unwound re-releases the last couple years. But I only just recently found out that this band and record exist.

I like Unwound a lot, but the people who are truly in to Unwound are, like, incredibly in to Unwound, and I cannot pretend to know nearly as much about the band as an actual expert does. What I can say, though, is that mere seconds into Loose Power, Trosper’s voice and guitar are immediately recognizable. Here his voice sounds more like singing, as opposed to the screaming and squealing he did with his earlier band, but it’s still very obviously him (think like the “Don’t believe it / If you see it” chorus on “Corpse Pose.”)

Similar to Unwound, Survival Knife’s guitar grooves make me want to the 90s indie kid dance where I just kinda sway my upper body rhythmically while my lower half remains stationary. This is a good sign. Every song is energizing and immersive. Hearing it, I want to be a part of it. And unlike many other comeback attempts from 90’s post-hardcore acts, Survival Knife’s music makes me want to be a part of Survival Knife’s music, it doesn’t lead me to reach for a different, older record that’s just a better version of the same basic sound.

I’m avoiding describing the sound here both because I lack the critical vocabulary to do so and because you probably already have a general idea of it. Survival Knife are a quartet, whereas Unwound were a trio, but the difference isn’t all that apparent. It’s less jagged than Unwound, but not much less manic. Most songs are surprisingly accessible--aside from maybe Leaves Turn Inside You, this has the most mainstream appeal of any of Trosper’s work. If you have overlooked Survival Knife, you need to give them a spin ASAP.

Listen and Buy at BANDCAMP, the vinyl is super affordable.

[250in2018-blog]

Milk Music “Cruise Your Illusion”

117. Milk Music Cruise Your Illusion

CD, 2013, Fat Possum Records

The cover art, replete with a prominent “Compact Disc Digital Audio” logo in the bottom corner, makes you think this is some obscure K Records release from 1991. Well, Milk Music is from Olympia, but this record  came out in 2013. A few seconds in, though, you realize the cover art is a clear homage to hissy indie of the 80s and early 90’s, fuzzy-but-anthemic rock that combines like 6 different types of guitar styles in every track.

Contemporary reviewers make some inexplicable comparisons to “60’s rock,” broadly wrought, but that’s just because people born after 1995 are physically incapable of telling different guitar styles apart. This is very 80’s and 90’s-influence; even the tracks that evoke some sense of Nuggets garage-iness are doing so through the lense of SST, Merge, and Sub Pop. Some tracks drift dangerously close to jam band territory. Others, like “New Lease on Love” and “No, Nothing, My Shelter,” are joyously indebted to Sonic Youth. Many others just kind of meander, there’s a decent enough guitar line but it just repeats over and over like they didn’t bother to write a song around it.

And then the album ends. It was okay enough.

Standout Tracks: “New Lease on Life,” “No, Nothing, My Shelter,” “Lacey’s Secret”

[250in2018-blog]

12 Rods “Split Personalities”

116. 12 Rods Split Personalities

Cd, 1998, V2 Records

12 Rods were one of the hypeist indie rock bands out of the midwest for about 2 years, then they went away and were never mentioned again. The earliest iteration of of Pitchfork--which, like the band, was out of Minneapolis--gave Split Personality a 9.7, after awarding their debut LP with a 10.0. I probably haven’t listened to this record in 15 years, so let’s give it a spin.

The album art is exceedingly late 90’s, and the band’s photograph that lies beneath the translucent CD tray is embarrassingly photoshopped. This is back when even legitimately innovative indie bands still had some small chance at mainstream success--even dweebs like this had to look polished, to impress the babes (in untouched photos, the band resembles The Feelies).  

But does it still sound innovative? Yes, actually. They were trying something new and mostly very good. The sound didn’t wind up having any clear influence upon any other acts I remember 20 years later, and I really can’t recognize any of its clear predecessors, at least not without googling. Split Personalities has the sort of rich, clean production that American rock records have been legally banned from using since about 2005. It’s primarily a poppy rock record, as is indicated by the titular opening track, which sounds kinda like Harvey Danger. But the lengthy, bleep-bop keyboard outro on track two, “Red,” proves that the band is willing to build up strange whims into something unique and engaging.

The next track, “I Am Faster,” starts with a lovely bit of jazz prog before segueing into a driving, post-hardcore indie track. And, jesus, it’s been over twenty minutes and we’re only past track 3? That’s another late 90’s shibboleth, the belief that you had to fill every second of a CD.

The album continues like this: nothing is really breathtaking or essential, but there are no lulls even in spite of the very long track lengths. Every song has something that you should find interesting, if you’re at all versed in the ways of late 90s indie. The sequencer-heavy “Chromatically Declining Me” could have been an MTV staple, if they had just stuck to a single genre. “Part of 2” offsets gruff vocals with an appealing Gary Numan-esque keyboard back and forth. “The Stupidest Boy” sounds like if Grandaddy were on meth instead of weed. The closer, “Girl Sun” sounds like a magical mix between Stereolab and the Dismemberment Plan.

Overall, I can’t speak to the album’s appeal for those who would approach it without the benefit of nostalgia. I’m willing to bet, however, that fans of guitar rock will find plenty to joy here, even if they weren’t around or interested when records like this were being released.  

Standout Tracks: “Red,” “Chromatically Declining Me,” “The Stupidest Boy,” “Girl Sun”

[250in2018-blog]

Yoko Ono “Plastic Ono Band”

115. Yoko Ono Plastic Ono Band

Vinyl LP, 1970, 2016 re-release by Secretly Canadian

If I had any actual morals I would stop ordering music off Amazon. Along with putting every other store in the country out of business, they treat their employees shamefully. Warehouse workers, especially, are made to hit ridiculous performance standards and are penalized steeply for falling off pace even a little bit. That’s why they aren’t allowed bathroom breaks.

It’s also why, here and there, you’ll order an album and a completely wrong record will show up, replete with packaging that says it’s actually one you ordered. The worker had an imperative to complete the order as fast as possible, and if a record is harder to find (in this case, Helloween’s Keeper of the 7 Keys), they just grab something from a nearby bin. That’s how I wound up in possession of a vinyl copy of Plastic Ono Band, the debut LP from an artist I had mindlessly been taught to dismiss.

So instead of sending it back, let’s give it a spin. Yoko is one of the most maligned solo artist of all time. She is unfairly blamed for John Lennon being an asshole. Thousands of writers have already covered this, and if you’re reading this particular blog you don’t need me to rehash it. But even though I always sensed she had been treated unfairly, and even as I love the younger artists she’s come to be associated with, even though her terror-vocals absolutely rock in this cover of “Baby Please Don’t Go,” I still never felt compelled to give her solo records a chance. Everyone said they were bad, so they must be bad.

And, indeed, Plastic Ono Band is a fucking trip, even in 2018. In 1970, it must have sounded like alien bullshit to most people. Yoko ululates with panicked ferocity over slow-moving blues guitars provided by John, drums by Ringo, and bass by Klauss Voorman. The desperate opener, “Why” is very pleasantly scary. Not for everyone, sure, but enjoyable for me. It’s followed by the slower, blusier “Why Not,” which is just kind of boring. The track’s got a slow build up and ends with a kinda-cool freakout but if you start by scaring the shit out of people you need to keep that up. The side’s closer, “Greenfield Morning I Pushed and Empty Baby Carriage All Over the City,” is a much more fully realized pastiche--less unsettling than “Revolution #9,” but with the same general sense of focused meandering. You’ll either like it or you won’t, but it’s much more carefully composed that most listeners gave it credit for when it was first released.

Side B opens with “AOS,” in which Yoko is accompanied by Ornette Coleman and his band. I don’t know if I should be surprised that this is the album’s weirdest track, or if that makes perfect sense. Yoko squeal-sings, yes, but she has an impressive range and can hit difficult notes at will. Her squeals harmonize with Ornette’s trumpet to create a fugue state droning that moves into sex moans and then finally a Zappa-esque breakdown very similar to the something off of Weasels Ripped My Flesh. Again, this ain’t for everybody. But I like it.

Look, I’m not going to convince you to like something like this. All I’m gonna say is, if you’re like me, and you enjoy at least some experimental music, you should probably give this a try. I didn’t for decades out of dumb prejudice, and now I’m glad I did.

As to the release itself, Secretly Canadian has done a great job. The mix is wonderful and clean, and the LP comes with the same feelies as the original release--a printed sleeve, glossy full color booklet, a poster, and a weird little piece of cardboard art.

[250in2018-blog]

Bernard Fevre “Cosmos 2043″

114. Bernard Fevre Cosmos 2043

Vinyl LP, 1977, 2015 re-issue by Kemado Records/Cinema Studies

Come, friends, and let us glimpse 25 years into the future by looking 41 years into the past. This is a library LP, meaning all the songs were composed specifically to be licensed to film and television productions and the album wasn’t supposed to be released commercially. Bernard Fevre’s only imdb credit is as a member of the sound department in a 1985 movie called Bad Company, so I can’t tell what movies, if any, utilized the tracks on Cosmos 2043. They are designed to be malleable, generally evocative of a sense of space and futurism but without any particular nodes of distinction that would distract from on-screen action. The result is a fascinatingly engaging record that encourages the listener’s mind to wander.

The songs are from a time when the future sounded like disco music that was supposed to make the listener feel anxious and isolated. It’s really quite the feat: on paper, this is dance music, but it’s composed in such a way that dancing to it would be a sign of severe psychosis, like flying a kite in a rainstorm.

Nearly every track sounds like it came from one of those weirdly dubbed Italian sci-fi/horror movies that they played on American cable in the 90’s--think of the ambient sounds from Pod People. I always thought those movies were bad, but oddly appealing in a aesthetic sense, even without the Mystery Science Theater commentary.  I like the picture of walking through a foggy forest and instead of sounding like a forest it sounds like someone pressed the Demo button on an old Casio keyboard. That makes me very happy.

Side B is more enigmatic and brooding, less a happy forest sound than a “futuristic detective going through montage where he makes a breakthrough in the case” sounding. The last few tracks actually do get kinda danceable, with spastic beats that I think are meant to resemble space flight.

This is an enjoyable listen, although I can’t heartily recommend it to most people. If you do any film work or DJing, however, it might be borderline essential.

BUY AT BANDCAMP

[250in2018-blog]

Ashrae Fax “Never Really Been Into It”

113. Ashrae Fax Never Really Been Into It

Vinyl LP, 2014, Mexican Summer/Kemao Records

Ashrae Fax are led by frontwoman Renee Mendoza. Their debut LP, Static Crash!, was self-released in 2003 on cd-r (remember those?) and re-released in the early twenty-tens by Mexican Summer. While neither release garnered much attention stateside, the re-release generated some buzz in Europe, which prompted Mendoza to stitch together a follow-up record from older recordings.

Never Really Been Into It is a bit of a stylistic mishmash, but throughout it is clearly indebted to 80’s ambient electro-pop, particularly the Cocteau Twins (the album cover could also be easily mistaken for a 4AD release from 1988). While the sound doesn’t exactly blaze any new trails, it never comes across as boring or derivative.  Side A’s highlight is the opener, “Dreamers Tied to Chairs,” which layers methodone guitars over Badalamenti keyboards as Mendoza’s shoegaze vocals float angelically.

Side B is dreamier, culminating with the deeply hypnotic, “Seconds Chances.” The sound is glossy and dazed, almostly shockingly well-produced, considering the albums’ backstory. It never quite reaches the catchy heights of the best 4AD material it’s aping--and it also appears to have lost the manic drive of the band’s first release--but track-by-track this is an incredibly pretty record. If you have any affinity for late 80’s/early 90’s indie pop, you should definitely check them out.

[250in2018-blog]

Earles and Jensen “Just Farr the Record”

112. Earles and Jensen Just Farr the Record

Vinyl LP, 2009, Matador

Earles and Jensen are a comedy duo consisting of Andrew Earles--one of the very best living rock critics and a frequent jokesmith who used to be a regular on Tom Scharpling’s Best Show--and Jeff Jensen, formerly of the Low Down Dirty D.A.W.G.S, a comedy sleaze-blues outfit out of Cincinatti. 

In 2002, the pair released Just Farr a Laugh Vol. 1 on Failed Pilot records. It was a collection of prank phone calls with a title referring to a fictional autobiography by Jamie Farr, the MASH transvestite. This was followed up by a 2 CD compilation released by Matador in 2008--an epic release that counts as one of my comedy records of all time. It sold incredibly poorly.

Their prank calls combine the surreality and friendliness of Longmont Potion Castle with a sort of reference-heavy, character-driven meta-comedy that befits the WFMU set. They are never mean or rude, at least not to the people they interact with directly. Throughout the course of 40 short phone calls, they spin bizarre-but-believable tales featuring, to name just a few, a deranged divorcee who hopes joining a skanky blues band will blow her ex-husband’s mind; a dimwitted antiques peddler who thinks Phantom Menace merchandise counts as “turn of the century” because it was released in 2000; and a 4”11, 250 lb man who is addicted to Big Bufords and begs the Best Buy manager to turn one of the TVs to Murder, She Wrote during the Super Bowl.

Just Farr the Record is a vinyl only, super-limited release that came out the following year. I’ve seen copies listed for as much as 200 bucks, but I was able to snag this one off discogs for just twenty. It seems to consist of the best tracks that were left off the larger release, and there’s some real winners here.

Like the larger release, descriptions of the calls on Just Farr the Record sound like impossible combinations of Reader’s Digest anecdotes and dadaist poetry. A man calls a “Success Win” poster-making shop to describe his dream of opening a soup store, after his recent potato store closed. His partner comes on the phone to describe the first man as mentally unstable, basically on house arrest, and in need of a poster that works 100% correctly, so as to not upset him. Then their gardener comes in. He explains that he currently lives in a shed in their back yard. He asks for a poster that says “I will not always live in a shed.” In a strong Minnesota accent, the woman says sure, she can do that.

Bleachy (that’s the name of the aforementioned short, heavy, burger-loving man) calls up Gap Kids to see if they might sell something that suits his considerable carriage. “I love wearing the short pants,” he says. The woman on the phone apologizes sincerely because they have nothing that will fit him. In another. a man calls a restaurant and apologizes for previously asking if they had tabasco sauce, which angered the manager. He asks if he could please bring some in next time. The woman says no, if you want tobasco you can eat at your own house. He says he’s sorry but he’s going to sneak some in and she can’t stop him.

This all sounds inaccessible, perhaps too weird for you. But I’ve played the larger compilation for dozens of people from various backgrounds and everyone adored it. Unfortunately, I cannot find any of Just Farr a Record’s tracks online. I can, however, link you to a couple of highlights from the Just Farr a Laugh and encourage you to buy it. It’s great. And please check out Andy Earles’ other stuff.

[250in2018-blog]

The Strawberry Zots “Cars, Flowers, Telephones”

111. The Strawberry Zots Cars, Flowers, Telephones

CD, 1990, RCA/BMG

The pre-grunge 90’s were sort of amazing: a neo-garage/powerpop outfit named after an obscure fizzing candy could get signed to a major label. The Strawberry Zots were from New Mexico, where they originally were a bent gimmick act about a Nam vet going through terrifying hallucinogen psychosis while sing-screaming 60’s bubblegum hits. That sounds rad, but I can’t find any recordings from that era. By the time they got around to recording an album, they had dropped the GI gimmick and their sound solidified into a mixture of extreme rock chops with irreverent playfulness. The guitars are clean and most tracks feature a hefty dose of the farfisa organ.

Cars, Flowers, Telephones starts with a cover the Electric Prunes’ “Get Me To the World On Time,” which in spite of the raspy vocals is actually more straightforward than the original. The vocals lend a sense of ironic distance to the song, which is just not necessary. The original version was already messed up enough. This sounds kind of like they tried to do a parody but couldn’t be bothered to change the lyrics.

Later covers fare much better, as do the more straightforward and emotionally charged tracks. Their version of “Little Latin Lupe” is a welcome update to the Righteous Brothers’ original: louder and jauntier, it does a better job of reflecting the pleasant sleaziness of the lyrics. The original “Tiny Town” is exquisite, moving from a childish sing-songy melody to a throaty, angry chorus--the discord makes it seem earnest even in spite of its conspicuous weirdness. (Too bad I can’t find a free copy of it anywhere...)

The album ends with a 4-song mini rock opera called “Little Red Telephone.” This is the most straightforward part of the record, and it’s remarkable in how little it resembles a rock opera. The songs bear no clear relation to one another, there’s nothing operatic about it, and it ends with a deeply annoying call-and-response track which might be the most genuinely psychedelic part of the whole record, by virtue of its ability to induce anxiety.

So overall we got a few good tracks here, one great one, and then the rest is just kind of off. I get the sense that this is what it looked like to be irony poisoned back in the early 90’s, and I worry at how incomprehensible my shitty output will seem in 30 years.

[250in2018-blog]

Pile “A Hairshirt of Purpose”

110. Pile A Hairshirt of Purpose

Vinyl LP, 2017, Exploding in Sound Records

I got no memory of ordering this, or hearing about the band Pile, or listening to them, or anything. Going in completely blind.

First impression: the mix is weird. The vocals are front and center and the instruments sound muddy and muted. There is a clear sense of lost intensity, here. Think, like, Bill Callahan but without a particularly nice voice and with much less interesting lyrics and with a hard rock band playing two rooms down from where this is being recorded and somehow it wound up on this mix.

Side A’s less noisy and more somber songs, particularly “Milkshake,” work well. The guitars bend menacingly, wrapping around the vocals to create a sense of the walls of  man’s psyche falling down around him. I really like this. How come the first few tracks sounded so off?

Nothing on Side A is bad. Just frustrating. Like I said, there’s a clear sense of erasure here. This has happened before when I know a band is excellent live but their studio recordings are missing the pop and immediacy of their live performance. But this is the first time that’s happened with a band that I haven’t seen play. Maybe Pile sucks live. I dunno. But I can say that here, in this record, there’s a clear feeling of lost potential.

Take Side A’s closer, “Leaning on a Wheel.” The song structure reminds me of the Constantines, who absolutely own. But this sounds like it was a recorded by a microphone that was submerged in soapy water, and that kills the band’s effort to slowly build intensity.

Side B starts with the loud and manic “Texas,” which is the first track that feels like it sounds how it was supposed to sound. This is followed by the semi-titular “Hairshirt,” which has the enjoyable intensity of Brainiac B-Side. Then there’s the softer, piano-driven “I Don’t Want to Do This Anymore.” It’s enjoyable, if unexceptional. But it works! What the hell was going on with the first side of this record?

But then there’s “Dogs.” I hate to say this, but it sounds like they’re trying to ape Coldplay. The album finishes very strong, with “Slippery” and “Fingers” blending the most intense aspects of Constantines with a Smog-like vocal style into loud-quiet-loud song structures that would hold up to Fank Black’s violent-est work.  

I--I haven’t been this stymied by a record in a long, long time. Some parts are excellent. Other parts sound like they might be good if they weren’t poorly recorded. Other parts are just confusing. 

[250in2018-blog]

Hali Mergia & His Classical Instrument “Shemonmuanaye”

109. Hali Mergia & His Classical Instrument Shemonmuanaye

CD, 1985, (2013 re-release from Awesome Tapes from Africa)

Hali Mergia is a composer and multi-instrumentalist from Ethiopia. The pithy-but-rich liner notes to this release of Shemonmuanaye mention that he learned to read and write music while serving in the Ethiopian army, and his band was rarity in that owned their own instruments, rather than borrowing them from club owners. This allowed them unprecedented artistic freedom, and they went on to become the first non-military, non-governmental Ethiopian band to play state dinners, and then the first to tour the US.

Upon that tour, Hali decided to stay stateside, and he still resides in DC.  That’s where, in 1985, he recorded Shemonmuanaye, which was released as a cassette in Ethiopia and re-released by the archival label Awesome Tapes from Africa in 2013. I heard it playing an a bar last week.

This is a jazz album, and also a “world music” album in the sense that it each track built upon non-homogenized rhythmic patterns of that sort that my American ears recognize as ethnic. It’s also Moog-soaked electric funk. And there’s accordions. Lots and lots of accordions.

The most immediate reference point here is Brian Eno’s late 70’s ambient work, but that’s still only a vague connection. There’s notes of Can, who critics always vaguely say were indebted to ethnic music but they never really explicated that connection. Each track is built upon looping accordion lines that are vaguely Middle Eastern-sounding, with Moog and electric piano tracks twining around the accordion's loops. It’s hypnotic and very pretty.

[250in2018-blog]

Helloween “Keeper of the Seven Keys Pt. 1″

108. Helloween Keeper of the Seven Keys Pt. 1

Vinyl LP, 1987, (2015 re-release from Sanctuary/BMG)

I came of age in the late 90’s, a time during which hard rock was locked into its most shameful nadir: nu-metal. Recent, misguided attempts at rehabilitating the genre overlook just how thoroughly repulsive it was. It’s not just that it was a celebration of unwashed illiteracy--it was also incredibly dour and humorless. I mean, when a band is called Limp Bizkit you think they’re going to be at least a little self-effacing, but no, these guys were brooding and serious, the pursuit of nookie was to be discussed in only the most somber and violent of tones.

Even now, 20 years out, I’m still a bit shocked to see metal acts who appear to have fun. This is all silly, guys. Satans aren’t  real. It’s a goof. Iron Maiden get that, and so listening to them is enjoyable. Helloween turns up the goofiness even further than the early Bruce Dickinson albums, and it does so while sacrificing only a little bit of the theatricality and instrumental competence.

The cover art is a faceless wizard dude holding an orb full of keys. Inside the gatefold, we are treated to a long comic about jack-o-lanterns coming to life and taking over the souls of the band. This is good shit, my friends.

I do apologize for having no other reference points other than Maiden, but man this sounds a lot like Maiden.  Sonically, everything is catchy and solid but there’s nothing world-bending going on. “I’m Alive” is a blistering opener. “A Tale that Wasn’t Right” is a Scorpions-esque power ballad, starting acoustic, building into intense solos, and ending with a bellowing repetition of the chorus.

Side B is harder and catchier, with the band’s storybook vocals clashing charmingly with the piercing guitars. “Future World” reads like it was written as a kindergarten class project. “Halloween” is the album’s 13-minute centerpiece, a gloriously insane mirage of vaguely supernatural imagery ranging from Charlie Brown to the garden of eden.

This is an incredibly fun release and I recommend it to anyone who enjoys 80’s metal. It won’t change you life, but you will enjoy it.

[250in2018-blog]

Timmy’s Organism “Heartless Heathen”

107. Timmy’s Organism Heartless Heathen

Vinyl LP, 2015, Third Man Records

The band name and cover art should clue you in to the group’s sound: loud neo-garage rock. A quick google search tells us that Timmy’s Organism is a four-piece out of Detroit. Heartless Heathen is the third of the band’s four LP’s. They all look like friendly schlubs (my favorite kind of people) and they have a fondness for halloween costumes. Their leader is a man named Timmy Vulgar, who’s been making loud garage noise since the 90’s, Among other bands, Vulgar was/is in Human Eye, whose album 4: Into Unknown was one of my favorite records of 2013… I guess I probably should have read more about him sooner, but I’ve been busy drinking and watching youtube.

Onto Heartless Heathen... It’s good!  Overall, the sound is scuzzier and less epic than Human Eye, but it still has a flair for the anthemic. I recognize the first track, “Get Up, Get Out” from somewhere but I can’t place it. A commercial, probably: it’s the sort of angry filth that inexplicably compels people like me to buy or subscribe to stuff. “Please Don’t Be Going” is a slice of sleaze balladry evocative of Flat Duo Jets. Side A’s closer, “Wicked Man,” actually sounds quite a bit like the proto-metal group Wicked Lady, combining a feedback hook with fuzz percussion, with occasional ribbons of croaking solos tearing through the driving and repetitive melody.

Side B continues apace. “Back in the Dungeon Again” sounds like early Mudhoney. The relatively long (5:24) “My Angel” zigzags like a scuzz rock take on Tarkus. By album’s end, you’ll either be a bit worn down by its bruising pace or else have completely given yourself over to it.

If you’re a fan of Dinosaur Jr. or Mudhoney, the work of Timmy Vulgar should most certainly appeal to you.

[250in2018-blog]

Guided By Voices “How Do You Spell Heaven” & “Space Gun”

105. Guided by Voices How Do You Spell Heaven

106. Guided by Voices Space Gun

CD, 2017/2018, Guided By Voices Inc.  

How does one in engage with an artist as prolific as Robert Pollard? Or, put it another way, if someone asked you about GBV, where would you recommend they start? Thoughtlessly, I’d tell them to listen to Bee Thousand and Alien Lanes, because those were the two I was told to start with when I first got into the band in the late 90s. But when Bee Thousand came out in 1994, it was their seventh full-length album. How Do you Spell Heaven, released last year, is their twenty-fourth--and that’s even after the band went 8 years without releasing a record.

And that’s just the proper GBV albums, not counting solo records, EPs, and side projects like the fantastic Boston Spaceships. Once, say around 2006, I would have considered myself a gigantic fan and counted GBV among my ten favorite acts of all time. But even at that point I’d only really deeply listened to about half their records. Since then, How Do You Spell Heaven is the first GBV release I’ve bought in over a decade.

So let’s reframe the question: how does one engage the work of a very prolific artist on an album-by-album basis? This question is particularly perplexing if we’re looking at work that no one would consider the artist’s best, but work that is nonetheless very enjoyable and worthy of discussion.

GBV “broke up” in 2005. In 2010, they reunited with their early 90’s lineup, pairing Pollard with Greg Demos, Mitch Mitchell, and occasional singer/songwriter Tobin Sprout. They released 6 albums between 2012-2014, and I haven’t heard any of those because they didn’t sound that great.

Pollard re-broke and re-re-formed the band in 2016, teaming up with guitarist Doug Gillard, who wrote the live staple “I am a Tree,” which originally appeared on 1997’s Mag Earwhig!. Contemporary critics didn’t love the late 90’s GBV, complaining that the more straightforward songstructure and relatively hi fi production muted the charm of their earlier, more jambling and tinny sounding releases. With the post-breakup GBV the opposite appears to be true: whereas the classic lineup’s albums garnered mediocre reviews, the newer releases have been received more positively.

Listening to How Do You Spell Heaven--again, with a very long gap since the last I heard a new GBV record--this critical appraisal makes sense. This is the most richly mixed and immediate-sounding Bob Pollard record I have ever heard. The opener, “The Birthday Democrats,” is built upon a cranky guitar line reminiscent of The Coolies. This moves into the gorgeously mixed “King 007,” which does the classic GBV trick of starting with an acoustic-driven groove for the first third, kicking into rockin’ electric guitars, and then finishing out with the acoustic stuff.

The songs are all pop-length and there’s little break in between them, and the album’s unrelenting pace makes it easy to get lost. Each track has its own, distinguishable hook, however. Not all hooks are equally effective, but you can’t accuse the album of having any straight-up filler. Highlights include “Diver Dan,” which like many of Pollard’s bests is basically three separate choruses linked together. There’s also  “Pearly Gates Smoke Machine,” an uncharacteristic instrumental co-written with Gillard, that sounds like something that would serve as an excellent finishing track on a late-90’s Sub-Pop release.

All in all, Heaven is a really good album. If Pollard’s voice were more young-sounding, or if he wasn’t Bob Pollard, this probably would have garnered a lot more attention and maybe made some year-end lists.

The latest release, 2018’s Space Gun, retains the same basic sonic makeup of Heaven, but brings back the most varied and jumbled song structures of their 90’s output. The opening title track is, by GBV standards, exceptionally long and angry-sounding.”King Ark” plays like a more sonically fleshed-out cut from the Alien Lanes days. With lyrics that are sparse, scary, and absurd, “Liar’s Box” evokes the feel of a Propeller track, only with a sonic profile that’s rougher and angier. It’s an excellent, excellent song. Likewise, “Blink Blank” and “I Love Kangaroos” both mix appealing parts from all the band’s eras to produce tight, remarkably engaging tracks that hold up against all the but the group’s very best tunes.

Space Gun is slightly less consistent than Heaven, but the best tracks are better--seriously, I had every intention of liking it, but it goes very far beyond any optimism I could have mustered for it. Pollard has said this will be the only album the band releases in 2018, and I get a strong sense that they wanted the release to be processed more deeply than everything else’s he’s put out since reassembling the group.

So, if you’re new to GBV, I’d still suggest starting with the mid-90’s stuff. If it’s been a while since you engaged with the band, both of these are a wonderful place to start.