As a purveyor of grey t-shirts, budget jeans, and flip flops, I wouldn’t portray myself with a fashionable sense by any means. But finding an appreciation for How to Dress Well’s Love Remains, out later this month from our friends at Lefse, at least helps me feel like a man with some style. These guys are making some seriously sexy night jams. Basically, if you were playing this disc with my sister around, I’d knock you out. The gauzy, drifty synth textures lay a honeymoon-suite bed for the Justin Vernon-ish falsetto vocals across the album. The lo-fi approach to rhythm and bass allots for loads of space. You’ve heard similar stylings recently from bands like the xx and more recently Gayngs. Tension and desire hit you with levels that range from gentle warming to absolutely-need-it-now. Analogies only partly aside, the whole work is a release.
The project is put together by Tom Krell, a philosophy research fellow in Cologne, Germany whose moonlighting as a 90’s R&B revivalist comes much to our approval. Though there’s plenty of lyrics, the work seems to be mostly a textural, ambient experience. The vocals act more as an instrument, such as on “Lover’s Start,” bouncing with a rhythm familiar of Justin Timberlake. That’s right, THAT sexy. Perhaps the most lyrically present and stand-out track on the album is “You Won’t Need Me Where I’m Goin’” in which Krell confesses “Girl/you won’t ever have to worry about me no more/You don’t ever have think that I’ll be gone for/ You won’t need me where I’m goin’…” Other favorites include the early tone-setter, “Ready for the World” and the most pressing track on the album, “Walking This Dumb (Live).”
Imagining Tom in an apartment, finishing up reading some intense German existential reading and wailing in these high pitches alone over an 808 in a little room does seem a little hilarious to me; Kant inspired boot-knocking. But of course its more than that. The music is carnal and as serious as what you’ll catch if you start playing this too liberally. The unity of direction and loneliness of the album certainly comes across pretty clearly as a solo effort; a pretty heavy task. But then again, so is studying German philosophy, so kudos to Krell all around.
Mark Lanegan, one time Screaming Trees and Queens of the Stone age member, collaborates on this surprisingly strong release with Isobel Campbell, of Belle & Sebastian fame, titled Howl. While these two seasoned veterans originate from different ends of the rock spectrum, three albums in their unlikely union yields some of its most positive results.
The album tip-toes in with a mournful duet, “We Die and See Beauty Reign,” Lanegan quietly rumbling like an unnoticed earthquake while Campbell whispers airily beside him. The piece leads as a statement of the poetic weight of the album. It’s gentle but stormy like low rolling thunder, as you might describe most of Lanegan’s career. Hell, look at the album cover of The Gutter Twins! But with Campbell, Lanegan seems like he might actually be having some fun (can’t blame him), as “You Won’t Let Me Down Again” comes saddle-blazin’ in the opener’s wake, more representative of the wide open country feel of the album. Lanegan takes coarse command while Campbell supports like a lingering but still very present ghost.
While the duo’s juxtaposition remains consistent, the space they cover spans considerable ground. Though plenty bluesy, “Come Undone” is the type of waltz you’d expect from an R&B revivalist like Alicia Keys, though many many octaves away. “Hawk” plays like the soundtrack to the bar fight in Roadhouse, fresh with slide guitar and honking sax solos, though no Swayze to break it up… In one of the most chilling and attention grabbing songs of the album “Sunrise,” Isobel takes a dimly lit spotlight over a quivering guitar on what can be described as nothing less than phantasmal. Later, Lanegan hits achieves contrastingly supernatural low notes on the gospel number and album closer, “Lately” with choir support.
The variation aside, the album’s best moments and more common refrains remain its folk songs. And like the best folk lyrics, at times the album unveils worldly truths with quick turns like, “Time is a fast old train/she’s here and she’s gone and she won’t come again/so won’t you take my hand?” Occasionally they do fall short in over-simplicity, such as on Snake Song, “You can touch me/if you want to/I got poison/I just might bite you.” But that might be swept beneath the acoustic blues riff, clanging banjo and the foot-stomping for many. Elsewhere lyrics discuss love, rivers, and more trains. The good stuff.
Hawk doesn’t bring any radical ideas to the table, but then again, folk and bluesy alt-country don’t exactly have a knack for progression. Anachronistic and transporting would be better words, and Hawk achieves just those. Parallels to Robert Plant’s recent collaboration with Alison Krauss are probably appropriate, especially given Hawk’s residence in a common genre. Though given both Lanegan’s and Campbell’s quiet demeanor (and lower-profile), Hawk is the tale that will likely be less told and deserves a closer listen.
The Portland-based trio Menomena returns valiantly with their fourth full length album, Mines. Since the 2007 release of Friend and Foe the band has toured with the masters of tension, Bloc Party, and are currently headlining with BB favorites, Suckers. Earlier this year Brent Knopf’s side-project, Ramona Falls, toured with America’s favorite wine guzzlers, The National. Their journey to recognition has been pretty bizarre, but then again, so is their music really. Beneath the face of their unique tunes ticks a robot in music’s clothing. The band developed proprietary software years ago to help them make some sense of licks and riffs they were practicing on, which has become a unique part of their composition process. The Terminator of music?! Maybe. Evil Bee doesn’t make it seem like very good cover. But if they are, then its with great irony that Mines gives us a more sincere look into the lives of the writers behind the music.
Lyrically, Mines seems to be a balance of self assurance and self doubt. You get a tasting of their sensitivity on the opening track with the confession, “You’re five foot five not a 100 pounds/I’m scared to death of every single ounce.” But this is countered immediately by the fist-pumping “TAOS” which does some chest-beating for the band, “I’m not the most cocksure guy/but I get more bold with every smile.” Despite a number of raucous rock tracks and silly misspelled track titles, Mines plays as the band’s most personal work. Soul-bearing lines pop up more commonplace, “Go home I’d like to, stumble to bed and lay beside you/until we’re even or romantically bored, whichever comes first.”
Notably, Mines exhibits the band’s best vocal performance to date. The gentler ballads provide a clean insight into the vocal prowess of the whole band, who split duties on vocals. “Oh Pretty Boy You’re Such A Big Boy” achieves the highest note I’ve heard out of Justin Harris (3:35- dammmmn), after a whole song of highly controlled, lower octaves. Blind-siding and sky-splitting. The accents on the harmonies from the whole band are tastefully inserted throughout the whole album. The grittiness of the chorus on “TAOS” seems better suited for Mick Jagger. And the post-production on the whole shebang spreads an extra laminate of smoothness.
Perhaps most importantly, Menomena has built a reputation as a highly dynamic band with unpredictability from track to track, and Mines is no exception. Track’s like “BOTE” compete with previous releases “Pelican” and “The Monkey’s Back” for heaviest track from the band, with screeching guitars and blaring baritone sax on the breakdown. “Five Little Rooms” paints an apocalyptic scene with piercing intensity and sorrowful acceptance at once. There’s a fair share of storms hovering over the album. But not withstanding a few tear-jerkers, such like “INTIL.” They’re able to cover a wide ground without losing cohesiveness between these tracks. Maybe its the band’s finely crafted build ups, which lift through both the softer and harder tunes? Or maybe that’s just what Skynet wants you to think…
Every time I start to thank Canada for a great band, I think about Nickelback and have to replace my broken monitor. As Canada’s latest incremental reparation, Montreal-based quartet Wolf Parade returns this week with their third LP on Sub Pop, Expo 86. The band recorded and mixed at Montreal’s Hotel2Tango with Hoard Bilerman (former member of Arcade Fire), after only a couple of months of writing, having reconvened in November ’09 from their own side projects- guitarist Dan Boeckner from touring with Handsome Furs, keyboardist Spencer Krug from touring with Sunset Rubdown.
On Expo 86 the band continues its trajectory in grander sized sound while attempting to maintain its charms. For any of its pop concessions, the album contains no erosion of passion. Especially on the Boeckner pieces, much of the album plays like a neon Springsteen- enthused, all-in rock ‘n roll draped in casio synth ready for dancing. Krug too has developed past his shaken songwriter portrait, apparent on earlier tracks like “You Are a Runner,” sounding more on this album to be leading a charge than quietly taking the fall. He’s more emphatic than ever, rising to match Boeckner’s swing and importantly keeps the flow of the album.
Expo 86 features more massively reverberating guitars and catchy synth riffs, which by measures of size and intensity sounds predominantly like Boeckner behind the wheel. But that’s not to say that there is less of Krug’s subconscious bending or stream of consciousness. Vocal duties are still split straight down the middle. And Krug’s otherworldly wanderings are introduced from the get-go, as he muses on the opening line, “I was asleep in a hammock/I was dreaming that I was a web/I was a dreamcatcher hanging in the window of a minivan parked along a water’s edge/I’d say that I was all alone… but I’ll never be born as a scorpion.” Needless to say, dissecting any lyrical meaning from Krug probably takes a scalpel carved from a crystal skull. But the opener is as frenetic as the album gets, which leaves it less haunting as the work on Apologies to the Queen Mary, playing more continuously as up-tempo.
It’s Boeckner’s sentimentality that seems to be the primal force behind the album (the Springsteen thing). This is most explicitly stated on “Little Golden Age, ”I don’t miss my little golden age/cause the body takes the heart takes the heart from place to place/ but this place still stands this place remains unchanged/and I cant go back but who would want to anyway?” Call it unsentimental sentimentality, but the feeling is there. Maybe “Pobodys Nerfect” is more convincing: “We built this city on cocaine and lazers.” Late-night uppers and flashing lights? Yea, now you’re with me. The album’s direction may best be represented by “Ghost Pressure,” the album’s first single and arguably the best tune on the record. Its an infectious, repetitive chorus backed by rock steady drums, cracking Boeckner vocals, bleeping and buzzing synth, and shimmery guitar lines. “Little vision come shake me up, shake me up,” seems to metaphorically asks of us to dance along.
There are a few indie fan-favorites that have smoothly expanded their sound with wider appealing records this year, The National and The Hold Steady are probably the most notable. Expo 86 is a step in a similar direction for Wolf Parade. This aren’t Dan Boeckner’s most piercing and howling selections, and is far from Krug’s most fantastical work which I think his Moon Face EP earlier this year stands a good running for. But Expo 86 is a full band effort; a well produced collection of energetic, arena-ready tracks that may have indie nerds grooving next to some babes at bigger venues this year. And if only indie nerds show up, I think Krug can probably conjure some spell that can change that…
‘Walking up to me expecting, walking up to me expecting words, happens all the time.’
With this, James Murphy kicks off his new album This Is Happening. Over the last couple releases, LCD Soundsystem has risen from relative obscurity to a major band in independent music. Expectation for Murphy’s next release have kept pace. From the man who began his rise with “Losing My Edge,” a song about attempting (and failing) to maintain hipster cred, these opening words shows how very different James Murphy’s world looks today. What kind of album does he make with his status at unflagging cool, dare I say star? Well, it’s still cocky, the disco beats are still there, and if you ignore a few missteps in the direction of overly self-indulgent it’s a very good album. Although it’s not as consistently mind-blowing as Sound of Silver, the highs are just as high. The lows, though at times painfully long, are easily skipped and forgotten among the other great tracks.
Right off the bat, Murphy demonstrates his mastery of the slow build with his excellent opener “Dance Yrself Clean,” which clocks in at over 9 minutes. This continues throughout the album. Most of the songs are over the 6-minute mark and several are in the 8- to 9-minute range. Usually, this is to great effect, but it also contributes to the big dud of the album, “One Touch,” a robotic attempt at extended disco Daft Punk, complete with screechy female vocals. The song seems like it could crescendo rewardingly in the chorus but then only gives you six quiet notes from a xylophone as a refrain. The song is long, falling flat for a grand total of 7:47.
Fortunately “One Touch” is cupped on either side by the best 4 songs on the album: “Dance Yrself Clean,” “Drunk Girls,” “All I Want,” and “I Can Change.” These four songs are so filled with incredible goodness that if you ignore “One Touch” they make up arguably the strongest string of songs in LCD’s career (counter-argument: “North American Scum,” “Someone Great,” “All My Friends,” and “Us vs Them”). “Dance Yrself Clean” begins with a pattering beat, vocal harmonies, and James speak-singing to us before dropping a heavy synthesizer that sounds like it was taken (gracefully) from The Knife’s “We Share Our Mother’s Health.” “Drunk Girls” seems like a stripped down anthem suited for a frat party before the swooning, yearning, chorus comes in: ‘oh Oh OOOH, I believe in waking up together.’
“All I Want” deserves it’s own paragraph. Taking the sliding guitars straight from Bowie’s “Heroes,” this, James’ opus on steady love and ultimately heartbreak, is among if not the best song of his career. Like “All My Friends,” Murphy puts aside the cockiness and uses repetition and warm instrumentation to create a safe space where he can talk about what he loves most and his fear of losing it. “I’ve never needed anyone for so long,” Murphy sings in the first verse, recalling stability and lengthy relationships before undercutting it with “all I want is your pity.” In the second verse, the girl one day never comes home: so “you pack your backs and leave.” The inevitability of loss. Murphy wants your pity for that inevitable eventuality. Musically, as the song progresses, fuzzy synths break up the repeated guitars in increasingly wild patterns. By the end of the song, the erratic squealing keys threaten to pull the track apart with only the guitar line holding the composition together, Murphy wailing “Take me home. Take me home.” The obvious parallel between the musical progression of the song and the lyrical focus (the stability of a relationship in the face of life’s inevitable craziness) just adds to the songs charm.
The second half of the album returns to the stylistic studies of the opener. Often, these songs are broken into sections with a long intro (if this were classical music, several movements). “You Wanted a Hit,” addresses the growing pressures of the record industry with his usual cockiness. “You wanted a hit, but maybe we don’t do hits… You wanted a hit. Well, this is how we do hits.” While most of these tracks lack the immediacy of the first half of the album, the closer “Home” is a sweet farewell with it’s grooving bass line and chanting vocals. “Home” may in fact be the LCD closer, as This is Happening is rumored to be their last album.
As a whole, This is Happening is often too slow to be considered a dance album, more appropriate for the car than a party. We get to see Murphy indulge and delve deeply into his exhaustive knowledge of disco, punk, and electronica to make music intended for the pleasure of his own ears as much as his audience. While at times quirky and esoteric, it’s ultimately very rewarding. Give the album multiple listens. Much of the pleasure lies in the details, little riffs and muttered lyrics, and if that still doesn’t do it for you, just put “All I Want” on repeat and rock out or mood out to one of the most perfect compositions of a very accomplished trio of albums from LCD Soundsystem.
When Brooklyn-based quartet, Suckers, signed in February with NYC-based indie powerhouse Frenchkiss in February, we knew something likely worth our time was brewing. They joined label-mates The Antlers, The Dodos, and current tour-mates Local Natives, and prepared for the follow up to the Anand Wilder (Yeasayer) and Chris Moore (TV on the Radio, Yeah Yeah Yeahs) produced self-titled EP on IAMSOUND last year. In the same keeping of production quality, their debut LP Wild Smile proves a masterfully produced record, containing an epic size while preserving its charm. The fact that Wild Smile is a debut LP is stunning. “Save Your Love for Me” offers a grand introduction to the bubbly bigness of the album, like a jumbo-sized bottle of champagne, promising playfully roaring highs, bittersweet lows, and plenty of party sing-alongs. The breakdown of the song unleashes arena sized drums, a glamorous guitar solo, and an ungodly high falsetto performance that makes you wonder if Queen has been reincarnated in Brooklyn.
The albums first single and what I consider one of the best tracks of the year, “Black Sheep,” blasts an indefensibly infectious chorus, the vocals rupture with incoherence, and the effects give it a trophy-like glimmer. The song builds on a fairly simple progression without many complicated turns. This happens often on Wild Smile, where Suckers start with a pop-oriented arrangement of chords and reinvent the phrasing, effects, timing, or instrumentation throughout the song to keep it feeling fresh as lemons. But I didn’t really notice that until the 5 or 6th listen, after I grew tired stomping my foot through the floorboards in celebration.
In the same respect, variable is probably the best word for the album. Vocally speaking, Quinn Walker oscillates between someone with a serious story to tell and you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me high falsetto. Sometimes he brings to mind the laughable deepness of Fred Schneider of the B52s (don’t tell me you don’t hear it on “Black Sheep”), though more often heard are the cracking calls of Isaac Brock of Modest Mouse; there’s definitely some David Byrne in there as well. Particularly on tracks like “Loose Change,” he receives marvelous vocal backing from the whole band, giving them an Animal Collective togetherness, demanding you chant along with their commune wherever you are.
Likewise swings the pendulum of the vibe of their music, which reaches tear-jerking catharsis on “A Mind I Knew” only to be immediately followed by the blissful happiness of “Roman Candles,” complete with group whistling and the swing of a perfect day in the park. There is a taste of disco on “Black Sheep,” surfy pop on “You Can Keep Me Runnin’ Around” and new wave on a number of tracks. These influences seem to unpredictably circulate on the album.
Wherever the needle lay, prepare Wild Smile for heavy summer rotation.
I’m told San Francisco in the 70s was a kaleidoscope of drugs, psychedelic rock, folk and youthful “mad people.” Sleepy Sun seem to indicate that in the last 40 years, not much has changed. The band’s debut album Embrace was chock full of drifty folk tales that turn on a dime into sludgy hard rock, all of it with a distinctly rustic, California flavor. Comparisons to Led Zeppelin are inescapable. Even the dynamic between singer Bret Constantino and Rachel Fannan often rings of the more recent Robert Plant and Alison Krauss project- Constantino a passionate howler; Fannan a gentler, sensual compliment. Though make no mistake, those roles have room for reversal. All comparisons aside, the band returns with their sophomore album, Fever (Sol Diamond, ATP Recordings), which extends their trajectory of big dumb riffs and bluesy acoustic reflections, both parts equally adventurous.
“Marina” leads with skuzzy guitar, an early indication of the trippy, lumbering break downs and wah-wah 70s rock solos to come. This opener is a perfect example of the range of this band, even within a single song. It transitions from this fizzing rock intro, to soft and airy verse, later onto a Santana-inspired hand drum mid-section, ending with a joyous gospel-esque vocal section: “Fever, fever, fever flood the door. Shut it, shut it, shut it, crack a light.” Ok, alright, fine, let’s squeeze ONE more heavy guitar solo in at the end, but then that’s it…
The album’s only real single, “Open Eyes,” breaks into a new plot of experimental territory with Constatino’s vocals on a heavy filter effect, sounding straight out of the Mars Volta playbook. But as the chorus hits, “You’re not alone/rest assured/cause at the bottom you can open your eyes,” and Fannan and Constantino unite in battle cry, the band erupts back into their groovy, entrancing sweet spot. The album closer, “Sandstorm Woman,” is probably a more representative track running a total of 10 minutes, a total head rocker, drenched with solos and easily the most seductive on the album. It seems to suggest western pioneers are alive and well. “Rigamaroo” may state this more directly, if admonishing, “How could they see/how could they know/where treasure lies/and where he’ll go?” Tumbleweed rolls on past the desert campfire.
Fever proves majestic in its spotlight vocal moments, brooding and stormy in its sludgy hard rock riffs, and triumphant when the two styles meet. Add a dash of electric harmonica solos and you attain mind-expanding rock bliss. The formula hasn’t changed much, which is something to take comfort in, as it shows there are plenty of wagon rides to come from these young Bay Area rockers.
As far as electronic music goes, Holy Fuck ranks amongst the preeminent for their experimental approach. The band is probably more likely to use a lawn mower than a laptop to produce a groove. Practically the whole effort of the band is to create electronic music absent of most modern looping and sampling techniques. It’s only natural that a band so focused on an organic approach to the creation process would record their third record, Latin (Young Turks and XL Records), which can easily be thought of (though not strictly) as city night music, in a barn in Ontario. While the band has had a number of line-up changes in the past few years, Latin was recorded with a consistent touring line-up. Additionally, the band got an all-star cast of assistance on the production of the record, which was engineered by Graham Walsh and mixed by Dave Newfeld (Broken Social Scene), D. Sardy (Johnny Cash, NIN), Eli Janney (Wilco), Paul Epworth (Bloc Party, Primal Scream) and Holy Fuck themselves. The result, as you might imagine, is air-tight, entrancing dance music, and at a higher fidelity than previous recordings. Latin presents a polished and progressive electronic group in full stride.
The album’s centerpiece and single, “Latin America” plays as a perfect proof-point of the tour de force this record offers. It grips you with intensity, interrupted by brief moments of clarity that hang and swirl in the air until imploding back into its primal energy. Other tracks like “SHT MTN” oscillate between sheer chaos and wonderment, like some fantastical, high speed chase. “Stilletos” gallops at break-neck pace for a more classic techno number, radiating with so much power you can taste the sweat as it peaks with arena-filling hugeness.
The drum and bass form a juggernaut on this album, with lock-tight steadiness and rupturing break beats. Droning and swelling synth offers accompanying texture, escalating and receding with a range of feedback. The mood of these instrumentals is often serious and competitive, maybe changing tempo but seldom letting up. That’s not to say it isn’t fun, cause its enjoyable as hell. Its like watching a cocky rabbit outrun the wolves. The layers and calculated build ups create a highly engaging atmosphere worth freaking out to. More than anything else this is a rhythmic record. Latin beats on with there’s-no-turning-back propulsion, so be sure to tie your shoes before you start tossing your arms up.
If you told me 10 years ago at the Warped Tour that the guitarist from Poison the Well was going to form a noise pop duo fronted by a former teen pop female singer, I probably would have said “Ha! Yea and Bob Dylan’s going make a Christmas album.” I suppose the times, they are a changin’. Since the fated day hardcore guitarist Derek Miller met singer Alexis Krauss in a Brooklyn diner, the band has escalated at break-neck pace through the indie rock sphere, having landed support from M.I.A.’s label N.E.E.T. The band’s first single “Crown on the Ground” made a common appearance in 2009 best-of lists. This week, the band released their highly anticipated debut album Treats. Consider your speakers broken.
Pushing play on Treats is more like pulling a fire alarm or walking in front of a gun turret. Most of the disc blasts with a topped-out, bleeding-red quality. This ruckus sound developed out of Miller’s desire to get a better tone out of his crunching guitar riffs. He had to blow out his drum machine to EQ with the guitar. Accompanied with Alexis’s monotonous, school-yard taunts, Treats plays like the siren songs of tattooed cheerleaders. Her fluctuations between paper thin, airy vocals to biting, attitudinal shouts push and pull you between infatuation and outrage.
The album leads with four blistering tracks, starting with “Tell ‘Em,” which sends the album rocketing out of your speakers. These are the kind of songs that come up on a mix and send your friends screeching for the volume nob. Miller brings anthemic, triumphant guitar riffs while the drum machine hammers in the background. Krauss joins with empowering, victorious advice to all the girls these days, “Let me say, let me say, let me say/you can do your best to-day/You can do your best today.” Confidence embodies Alexis’s messages, which riot with school spirit. “Kids” follows with “The breeze is nice now/I’ll tell ya right now/I sip my Kool-aid/I’m feeling better now.” It’s not rocket science, but it leaves you nodding along thinking, “Yeah, you drink that juice girl.” “Infinity Guitars” gets down-right nonsensical, “Straight wars, straight men/cowboys, Indians/red souls, red friends/infinity guitar, you’re hard.” And when the breakdown removes any iota of governor you thought was running on this album, you’re either banging along or furiously returning your radio. Maybe both.
Treats does bottom out in the middle for a few tracks. Keeping the pace of the first half of the album would have been exhausting, but as soon as “Run the Heart” comes on, it’s as if Alexis has removed the bandana over her mouth and is made human. Where the jeering on the rocking tracks makes you want to stomp the yard, the “ah ah ah ahs,” paired with clubby synth replace the endearing adolescent vibe with straight annoying. “Rachel” also comes as a misplaced trance number. While there needed to be some break in the album, I can’t help feeling these tracks were rushed cop-outs.
“Rill Rill” beams through the clouds as the most (if not the only) relaxed track on the album, showcasing that Alexis’s raw songwriting capabilities extend beyond their noise pop schtick. When “Crown on the Ground” hits, you’re returned to what Sleigh Bells do best- making your ears bleed with infectious rock. Overall, though Treats has a few skips, it’s damn fun and the formula has legs. Sensitive ears beware!
For me the name Broken Social Scene immediately evokes images of confetti and an over-crowded stage. The Toronto based group has in its 12 years of duration been a party unit of collaboration, ever flowing with old and new characters, maxing out at a total of 19. Since its founding by Kevin Drew and Brendan Canning, the duo has marched a parade of Canadian indie talent into the project, including Leslie Feist, Emily Haines of Metric, Jason Collett, Amy Millan and Evan Cranley of Stars, and Ohad Benchetrit of Do Make Say Think. While many of these alumni since their initial involvement have gone on to lead successful solo careers, each of them have left an impression on BSS’s sound. The result of the ubiquitous flow of members under Drew and Canning’s direction has been an organic, seamless and patient progression of releases. With five years passed since their last release, a number of solo project releases, and a hefty series of tours, BSS returns with their fourth record on Drew and Jeffrey Remedios’s Arts & Crafts label, Forgiveness Rock Record. It’s tightly cohesive and features a fine production quality, thanks to recording engineer John McEntire, better known for his band Tortoise. The album was recorded in McEntire’s Soma Studio’s in Chicago.
Though Forgiveness features 14 tracks, totaling over an hour of playtime, the album flows beautifully and with surprisingly few stale moments. The album’s most memorable, power rock type songs are loaded in the front half of the record, leading with the first single, “World Sick.” The track builds with ambient waves and swells, before hitting stride with an unmistakably BSS guitar line that surfs you right into the tube of this record, building you to the lazer show of guitars in the breakdown. “Texico Bitches” hops along cheerfully with equally memorable guitar riffs and the zenith of joyous exclamations, “woo!” yelled seemingly by a team of cheerleaders. On “Forced to Love,” Kevin Drew proposes with sharp annunciation a series of ideas for us to think about before chugging and coasting along into the chorus. He holds off on getting overtly political, but if you’ve been to one of Kevin’s shows, you know where he’s going with this. Each of the leading four tracks, along with the majority of the album, feature Drew on vocals.
Enter “All to All.” Its vocals were written by Emily Haines, joined by Leslie Feist, Amy Millan and Lisa Lobsinger, who also sings on a number of tracks on the album and is now acting as the bands touring female vocalist. The vocals float airily over a climbing dance beat while the supporting instrumentation bursts with scuzz on the chorus, drawing an emotional high. The song purges, grooves, rocks, and whispers playfully with quirky harmony in its breakdown. The track pulls all of the right strings and bats clean up for the album as one of the best songs of the year to date.
Following these more memorable singles are jams readied with grooving beats laid by Justin Peroff, a few ambient numbers, and cooler rock pieces. But just when you think the B-side of the record is mellowing out, it smacks you with the victoriously towering instrumental, “Meet Me in the Basement,” full with horns and strings, like a wordless take on “Underdog.” The album never settles into a style too long, rotating through a few different tastes and experimentations that keep the album moving and engaging.
And as if 14 smacking new tracks weren’t enough, pre-order customers also received a download of Lo-Fi for the Dividing Nights EP. The recordings are the downtime musings of the band in Soma Studios, as brief instrumental soundscapes spawned much like album closer “Me & My Hand.” BSS puts forth a solid effort with Forgiveness, which has a little something for everybody. Though the members may change, the band continue to evolve no matter what the mix, and have done a fine job of tightening its sound on this dynamic record.
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How To Dress Well – Decisions (feat. Yuksel Arslan)
