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Becky Smith 1
Hendley and Associates REALTOR
706-201-2121»rsmith211@charter.ne^
Atlvetis’ own RADAR presents
Athens' Sandal Center
Since 1975!
TEVA • REEF • NAOT • DANSKO
...AND YOU Will
KNOW US BY THE
TRAIL OF THE DEAD
The Century of Self
Ipecac
The ability of this Austin power
house to be big is well known by now.
They've languished a bit in recent
years, but therels a fire here not seen
in quite some time. Though the band-
members have rediscovered the vigor
that made them famous, it’s now paired
with a more accomplished sound.
The sterling result is grand ambition
executed properly.
A furious maelstrom of '90s indie-
rock angularity, prog and dream, The
Century of Self packs an undeniable
Hair for theater, but not in a limp-
wristed Dears kind ol way. This is all
muscle and no bloat. The drama here
rises Irom bursting hearts and massive
tectonics. The album’s raging grandeur
plays like forces of nature caught on
record.
Highlights include impressive
opener “Giants Causeway,’’ a colossal,
maestro-worthy instrumental heav
ing with 70s excess. "Far Pavilions'
pounds with angles of conviction and
fiery yells Irom a time before “emo"-
was made into a bad word. The dizzy
ing melodics of “Isis Unveiled’ roll out
in multiple movements like a crushing
rock opera.
Though the album gives the lis
tener a chance to breathe in the middle
with some slow yet still grandiose
songs, most of The Century of Self is
booming catharsis on the edge of the
abyss. Powerfully emolional and glori
ously bombastic, this is epic indie rock
built to move mountains.
Bao Le-Huu
WEIRD OWL
Ever the Silver Cord Be Loosed
Tee Pee
Weird Owl is not spoofing a satirist
as their name might suggest. Mr.
Yankovic can rest assured his shtick
isn’t being aped by the cosmic riff
tripping combo from Brooklyn. Fans
of polka and pop culture parodies will
have to look elsewhere for those fixes.'
instead, this debut LP features rocket-
blasted classic rock returning from a
tour of the galaxy.
Showcasing the disturbing garage
pulse of Black Sabbath (occasionally)
and borrowing from the psychedelic
leanings ol Roky Erickson (frequently),
Weird Owl is guilty of its own brand of
rehashing. But let's not condemn the
band for wearing obvious influences on
its spacesuits.
“You are now what you have once
been/ On Earth as it is in heaven,’
opines the Owl on ’13 Arrows, 13
Stars," a gnostic, bluesy stomp swim
ming in a Robitussin undercurrent that
ultimately dissolves in a swirling synth,
crunchy guitar outro. The philosophy
(and theology and astronomy) lessons
continue on album standout “In the
Secrecy of Oceans." but it’s not until
the final track (“Flying Low Through
the Air After Thunder") that we hear the
obligatory ’Who, who" hoots expected
from a band named for a bizarre bird.
David Eduardo
PHOSPHORESCENT
To Willie
Dead Oceans
In 1977 Willie Nelson released
To Lefty Irom Willie, a rundown of
Lefty Frizzell tunes by the red-headed
stranger. Thirty-two years later, former
Athenian Matthew Houck pens his own
love letter to Nelson with To Willie, a
collection of keenly chosen Nelson
tunes culled from all corners of his
long career.
To Willie is an exceptionally
well-sequenced album, something
Houck’s shown a knack for, particularly
on his 2005 disc Aw Come Aw Wry,
manipulating mood from rustic folk
gospel to more rousing numbers. To
Willie's rowdy opening—the Waylon
Jennings-written Nelson number
“Reasons to Quit’—leads from hard
drinking into the solemn, spare “It's Not
Supposed to Be That Way." The next
tune is Willie's exhortation to ’Pick Up
the Tempo," and that’s an instruction
Phosphorescent damn well takes to
heart with “I Gotta Get Drunk," a rol
licking honky-tonker that sees Houck
cut back on the vocal opacity that
marked much of his earlier work; this
spoken-sung delivery is something he’s
been working into live shows lately. It
creates an easygoing, no-stakes vibe
that balances out nicely with other
songs on the album, addressing the
pitfalls and repercussions of following
the song’s title.
Tunes like ‘Can I Sleep in Your
Arms’ and the album highlight “The
Last Thing I Needed (First Thing
This Morning)" are tearjerkers both,
packed with Nelson’s tender lyrics and
Phosphorescent’s careful instrumental
treatment. The band on the album is
mostly the same Houck’s been touring
with over the past year or two, includ
ing former Athenian Scott Stapleton,
and tliat time on the road together pays
off in the players' apparent comfort with
one another.
At times brooding, somber, joyful
and roughshod, To Willie doesn't miss
a step, and it lays out in equal parts the
vibrancy ot Nelson's songs and the pre
science of Houck’s interpretations It’s
a well-tarnished treasure, but it shines
strong. And it sure whets the palate for
a new Phosphorescent album, due out
later this year.
Chris Hassiotis
Phosphorescent is playing at
the Drunken Unicorn in Atlanta on
Wednesday, Mar. 25.
JOHN FRUSCIANTE
The Empyrean
Record Collection
John Frusciante has released 11
solo albums most of us do not own. At
the same time, he’s an integral member
of one of the most commercially viable
rock outfits in the history of the genre
Success has afforded the accomplished
guitarist a songwriting career that has
been uniquely prolific and anonymous
The words self-indulgent and
psychedelic will undoubtedly be
bandied about with great frequency
in written opinions and evaluations of
The Empyrean, like they just were. But
that’s just lazy critique. All art is inher
ently self-indulgent. Creative output
the producer thinks is worth someone
else’s time and attention (sometimes
money). How presumptuous. How
brave. As for the psychedelic stamp,
it's certainly appropriate. The concept
record, tagged as such by its creator,
has exceptionally strange and beautiful
moments. “After the Ending’ offers
soaring piano- (and psilccybin-) driven
weirdness, and album centerpiece
“Dark/Light’ is the lysergic lounge-pop
epic ofJhis young year.
It’s when songs are approached
from decidedly less bizarre, safe
rock angles that things get awkward,
questionable even. “Central' finds
Frusciante channeling Rob Thomas-era
Santana while demoing something he
wrote with Anthony Kiedis in mind. The
jam could be lleshed out and tortured
with funk until it goes platinum with the
soccer moms.
David Eduardo
ASOBISEKSU
Hush
Polyvinyl
The big question looming over this
effort by the stylish New York dream-
. pop band centers on guitarist James
Hanna. Dude's somehow been driven
to the dubious epiphany that he’s done
with guitars. The symphony of distor
tion? Poof! Gone. Tissue, please.
Yes. the shift toward a much more
electronic language is instantly jarring.
Asobi Seksu was always a bit of a
throwback, but the synthesized sounds
here are often unmistakably dated, *
waving without shame from the bridge
spanning the late ‘80s and early ‘90s.
However, none of this should
imply that its gorgeous sea of effects
is gone. Their symphonic sound is
still elaborately constructed using
cloud-riding drifts, shoegaze tenden
cies and pretty layers that unfurl to
infinity. In fact, Asobi Seksu remains
as sonically luxurious as ever. It’s just
that the absence of guitar textures lays
their pop sensibility completely bare
with Yuki Chikudate's singing thrust
squarely to the fore. Fortunately, her
limber, angelic voice is equal to the
task, striking a new balance that finds
the band keeping even closer company
with the Cocteau Twins and Lush.
Though the mostly front-loaded
album occasionally loses focus, high
lights include the celestial twinkling of
“Layers," the dizzying skyward rush of
“Familiar Light," the towering stateli
ness of “Sing Tomorrow’s Praise" and
the breathless wonder of “Me & Mary."
Blessed with sumptuous femininity
and immaculate patina, Hush achieves
almost peerless elegance. Though
regressive and somewhat less thrilling,
it’s certainly a fine, pristinely rendered
pop record.
Bao Le-Huu
ULY ALLEN
It’s Not Me. It's You
Capitol
What makes Lily Allen so appeal
ing is her willingness to play with
contrasts. Her debut album Alright.
Still paired sunshiny pop with brashly
irreverent lyricism, and her follow-up
It's Not Me, It's You plays with the same
opposing forces—and that’s a good
thing, usually, but not always. When a
song works, as on the buoyant, frothy
“Never Gonna Happen," it sounds more
like Alright, Still 2.0, but when a song
is less successful (“Fuck You," for
instance), the matching of saccharine,
bouncy pop with bratty, opinionated
lyrics is too predictable.
Opener “Everyone’s at It* follows
that same formula of dire tales of drug-
addled youth and joyful pop melodies,
but the song's dense synth melodies
genericize more than they electrify.
That’s a trend that continues through
out It's Not Me, Its You—the glee of
Alright, Still fades to the background,
acting to prop up faceless electro.
But on balance, a tune like The
Fear," where Allen paints hersell as a
’weapon of massive consumption" and
claims, "I don’t know what’s right and
what’s real anymore." is a nice conflu
ence of public-perception pop stardom
put into song form. And “Not Fair," with
its galloping beat and Western banjos,
is a playful kiss-off to a poor lover that
matches Allen’s sexually frank com
plaints with soft, multilayered vocals.
So, there's a lot to like with It's Not Me,
It's You, a more adventurous (but too
little!) album that's alright, still, but not
as good as it could be.
Chris Hassiotis
16 FLAGPOI E.COM • MARCH 18, 2009