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Set ‘Em Wild, Set 'Em Free
Dead Oceans
As if Akron/Family wasn't already
difficult enough to peg, this new album
demonstrates even more stylistic
splintering for the freaky Brooklyn col
lective. On the self-produced effort, the
psychedelic folk act defies taxonomy
so completely as to shatter human
logic. It’s a disorienting collection that’s
almost maddening in its diversity,
invoking combinations of jazz, clas
sical, rock, punk, country, gospel and
even Afrobeat.
The powerfully percussive
"Everyone Is Guilty" is a turgid bundle
of egg-headed angularity, mathematic
movements and massive, off-kilter
choruses. Though touched with jazz,
the rhythmic "Creatures" rides the
bounce of abstract futurism while the
noise-punk oddity ‘‘MBF" pounds
away like a damaged brute. “Sun Will
Shine" finally offers a glimpse of a
simple and perfect melody only to let it
be overtaken by the random ether that
dominates the album. After an intermi
nable three and a half minutes of intro,
“They Will Appear" finds some familiar
ground in a finale that culminates in
an eccentric folk stomp complete with
madcap ensemble choruses that spire
wildly toward transcendence.
It's difficult to call anything so
unchained in its sprawl cohesive. It’s
an album that’s certain to be met with
way more chin strokes and furrowed
brows than boners. But one thing’s for
sure, it’s incredibly original, fearless
even. This one's a grower, not a shower,
and those who have both the intellect
and patience to appreciate challenging
art will be rewarded.
Bao Le-Huu
MELINDA DOOLITTLE
Coming Back to You
HiFi Recordings
The 31-year-old Tennessee singer
Melinda Doolittle is often held up as
one of “American Idol’ s more gifted
rejects; in 2007 she-finished in third
place, booted before Blake Lewis and
Jordin Sparks, the ultimate winner,
would battle it out for the public's love.
And it's not just jilted fans crying for
Doolittle’s crown—prickly judge Simon
Cowell said in a subsequent “Good
Morning America' interview he thought
Doolittle should've taken the lop spot.
On “Idol,’ Doolittle established her
R&B and soul bonafides, delivering
renditions of Aretha Franklin, Stevie
Wonder, Tina Turner and Shirley
Bassey numbers that won kudos from
both audience and judges alike.
It’s no surprise, then, that her debut
album Coming Back to Vow dips into
the same pool, drawing on classic
sounds rather than trying to shoehorn
Doolittle’s oversized vocals into con
temporary trends. Despite the presence
of the Hammond organ and punchy
brass section, the album doesn't fully
recapture that Stax or Motown sound.
Doolittle and producer Mike
Mangini plow through a selection of
covers and, surprisingly, most are
lesser-known songs rather than the
type of standards she deftly handled
on “Idol." Bobby Johnson's blues
number "Dust My Broom" guts a
sultry rephrasing, while “Fundamental
Things’ takes Bonnie Raitt's country-
pop into soul territory. Doolittle's
choice to focus on lesser-knowns
works in her favor, as she’s not up
against canonic performances. So far,
Doolittle can interpret Tina, Whitney
and Aretha, and though she’s not at
their level, she's closer than most of
today's "retro" revivalists.
Chris Hassiotis
BONNIE
PRINCE BILLY
Beware
Drag City
I'm by no means a Will Oldham
obsessive, but I do dig him lots; thus
it's easy for me to avoid sweeping
statements about him and his oeuvre
and what Beware mms in regards to
both. I will say that my fave Oldham
songs are those early crazy-raw
underdeveloped missives of pure
pathos and longing. Oldham’s no mere
bucktoothed diarist, though; he's a true
artiste who’s developed through the
years differing musical techniques, all
of which are worth reveling in on some
level, at least.
It is a testament, then, to his time-
tested abilities that, despite the smooth
production, I’m psyched by Beware.
There's esoteric instrumentation
dropped all over Oldham’s characteris
tically sturdy folk-rock, and the desired
whoie works beautifully: it’s neither
bare-bones boring nor smarmy in its
rich lifelessness. Instead, there's the
lush stoned-on-a-Sunday atmosphere
of his family band Anomoanon, Neil
Young’s Harvest, or that Dead record
witn the Death-Raven on the cover.
And you know Will Oldham's
gonna bring the pain lyrically—he still
shines in that realm, and that's what is
at the heart of this and all his records:
“Time has come to lay childish things/
To the dirt, see what a-age brings/ If I
follow what song I hear/ Will another
come near?’ Here, he’s gracefully
presented a predominant anxiety of
his. He has also summed me up, and
most everyone I know; that he does it
over a Nashvillian gleam leavvns the
heaviness, makes it more palatable,
and therefore, believable, like that bolt
of darkness in your recent memory that
purloins a pleasant breakfast.
Jim McHugh
Bonnie Prince Billy plays Variety
Playhouse in Atlanta Friday, May 29.
CHIN CHIN
The Flashing, The Fancing
Def Jux
The Brooklyn trio of Jeremy Wilms
(an Atlanta native), Wilder Zoby and
Torbitt Schwartz, who also spend time
as rapper El-P's backing band, have
little to offer on The Flashing, The
Fancing, the band's third full-length
of atmospheric euro-disco and jazzy,
polite funk. It's palatable enough, but it
clearly aspires to be more than back
ground music and, too frequently, it
doesn’t succeed.
The hazy, soft-focus disco on a
track like "Stay" puts The Flashing. The
Fancing more on the level of a cut-rate
Jamiroquai than Stevie Wonder. The
vibe of songs like “That’s Where I'll Be"
or “It’s OK’ is more flaccid than relaxed,
a forgettable mish-mash of late-’70s
fusion. Jazzy, skronky solos on “Kings’
at least lend the album a little bit of
unpredictable pep, but just when
those horn bleats hint that a moment
of ecstasy might be just around the
corner, the track cuts out and leads into
the tepid “Peterdactyl,’ a spaced-out
instrumental that isn’t so much a buzz-
kill as it is a mood neutralizer. Itls not a
splash of cold water to shock you out of
your frenzy; it’s hours-old bathwater.
Chin Chin's fiery live show can be
a thing unto itself, and the trio’s core
lineup can expand up into the teens to
round out its performances. Its shows
can be hypercharged, sweaty celebra
tions sustained by an hypnotizingly
locked-in groove. They can be exciting,
interesting and fun; they can be every
thing this album isn’t.
Chris Hassiotis
JOHN VANDERSUCE
Romanian Names
Dead Oceans
Romanian Names, the latest
effort from this San Francisco-based
troubadour, has been flowing from my
personal computer’s six watt speakers
all week, inspiring neither all-cap email
complaints nor cold glares at the copy
machine. For better or worse, the 12
harmless, easy-listening pop tracks
have been appreciated (read: ignored)
like Muzak.
Truth is most of the songs serve
well as the soft and safe soundtrack to
nothingness.
Bean counters can count beans
in comfort as Vanderslice’s multi-
tracked warm tenor floats over fuzzy
synth lines and crisp succinct beats
on the curiously titled stand-out
“D.I.A.L.O." Oddly enough, the title
track, in its sparse simplicity and
organic expedience, seems out of
place on the album—but this version
of Vanderslice, voice paired only with
acoustic guitar, singing about an east
ern European gymnast, is especially
intriguing.
David Eduardo
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CARLON
Johari Window
Ropeadope
Its authors may lack name rec
ognition, but this lovely, sweeping
record radiates enough unmistakable
majesty to be one of this year's big
gest sleepers. Blending the splendor
and panorama of The War on Drugs
with the genre-bending ambition and
emotionality of Portugal. The Man. the
latest album by this New Jersey band
shimmers with spacious indie folk that
spans the horizon.
Southernisms like the churning
bluesy rumole of “Mixed Messages’
and the haunting atmosphere of “Red
Rover" showcase Carlon’s muscle
and evocative power. However, Johari
Window's prettiest moments are also
its finest. The best exemplars include
the dreamy, graceful twang of “Where
the Driveway Ends" and the breezy psy
chedelic soul of “Rosie.’ But no other
selection on the album is as arresting
as the widescreen “Cantaloupe," a
celestial, banjo-kissed meditation that
could melt a mountain mist.
The key to Johari Window's
success is in its balance. For one.
the sonic tapestry is heavily layered
but never lumbering. Moreover, the
instrumental detailing is intricate and
dynamic but never compromises the
record's impressively large scale. It's
clear that this outing was crafted with
intellect, but intuition for the overall
song is always paramount throughout.
The sterling result is a triumph of lis-
tenability, depth and wingspan.
* Bao Le-Huu
IAMX
Kingdom of Welcome Addiction
Metropolis Records
The seedy characters and gender
bending flamboyance found on an
IAMX record always remind me of the
club scenes in Cabaret. Former Sneaker
Pimp and band leader Chris Corner •
(who, by the way, has been living in
Berlin for some time) is the Master of
Ceremonies, leading an audience of
salivating outcasts through a world of
leather, three-ways and melancholy.
With his acrobatic vocals and flair for
showmanship, Corner is a captivating
lead character, but if you’ve heard the
prior two IAMX albums, then this is
merely a repeat showing. Musically,
it’s the same hedonistic bump and
grind of synth, soaring falsetto and
whispers of seduction IAMX fans have
come to expect. Highlights include the
hook-laden single “Think of England,’
the fist-pumping “The Great Shipwreck
of Life" and the pleasant “Love Cats’-
esque bounce of “Tear Garden.’
Thematically, Kingdom has been
billed as the more “sensitive side' of
IAMX, but what really could be more
personal than the fantasies he's already
shared? Perhaps this time around
Corner is a bit more sympathetic to the
disillusionment, the loneliness and the
fear that lies beneath all the extrava
gance, but its a dark underbelly that’s
long been exposed.
Michelle Gilzenrat
OBITS
I Blame You
Sub Pop
You know you're dealing with some
pretty serious advance buzz when a
band is invited to play Sub Pop's big
20th anniversary party in the summer
of '08, before they were even signed.
The good news is that the full-length
debut by the Brooklyn indie rockers
actually delivers on the promise, a
small miracle in today's gun-jumping
blogosphere.
By the admission of its own mem
bers, Obits is not about innovation.
Its rumble-tumble sound is a notably
cohesive quilt of surf (“I Blame You"),
rockabilly ("Two-Headed Coin’) and
straight-up, red-blooded rock and roll.
A sonorous, rootsy echo reverberates
throughout the album, giving it style,
warmth and dimension.
The best moments include the
tightly coiled hypnotic suspension of
“Widow of My Dreams," the '60s stomp
of “Back and Forth," the relentless punk
advance of “Milk Cow Blues,' and par
ticularly the surf-drenched garage punk
of “Pine On."
The punk-and-roll of I Blame You
takes some of rock and roll's most clas
sic and enduring traditions, harnesses
their rich textures, and otherwise
re-contextualizes them in a fresh, per
suasive way. Touched with just enough
vintage-store patina, this is some of
the most atmospheric, rollicking and
mature punk rock being made today.
Bao Le-Huu
TELEKINESIS
Telekinesis!
Merge
Telekinesis is the musical vision of
Michael Benjamin Lerner, who wrote,
sang and played nearly every instru
ment on this album. On his full-length
debut, he's only managed to craft
one of this year’s most incandescent
records. With it, Telekinesis is poised
to become the hot new flagship for
the great Merge Records tradition
of melodic indie rock. Echoes of
14^r 20b$^
Superchunk and Spoon rock out with
the enthusiasm of Matthew Sweet and
get dizzy with the scale and texture of
Rogue Wave in its tallest moments. The
Chris Walla-produced record simply
beams with spontaneity and intuition.
With a pop instinct that provides an
endless barrage of uplifting hooks,
these songs are immediate but lasting.
The album's wings are in soaring,
euphoric drives like “Look to the East,'
“All of a Sudden’ and “Tokyo." The
nostalgic ‘60s romance of "Awkward
Kisser’ also charms. But the choice cut
here is the lean, high-octane “Coast of
Carolina,’ which doesn’t just kick in
after its intro, it bursts into full, blaz
ing color.
There's a modest perfection about
this record. Gloriously free of fuss
or complication, it’s an airy, tune
ful and blissed-out romp. And it's
almost supernatural how consistently
Telekinesis hits the melodic bull's-eye
here. There just isn’t any simpler way
to put it: I love this record.
Bao Le-Huu
THEETTES
Danger Is EP
Take Root
On the surface, The Ettes seem
packaged to sell—cutesy name, girl
singer, girl drummer. But take these
superficial things at anything beyond
face value and you’re in for a blindsid
ing. Instead of polishing its image,
the trio’s been busy sharpening its
knives, and this EP is proof positive
that it’s getting harder and dirtier by the
minute. This little cannonball packs
the melodic hooks of garage and beat
bands with the raw power of punk and
rock and roll, all washed in lusciously
polluted sonics. More brass than sass,
The Ettes come armed with a walloping
rhythm section beastly enough to cred
ibly challenge even The Dirtbombs.
Of the three new studio tracks, the
two standouts—the elephantine stomp
of “No Home" and the blared-out bop
of “Lo and Behold"—were produced
by The Black Keys' Dan Auerbach, who
brings out the nasty like no other and
is rapidly becoming one of the most
definitive producers of our time. The
couple unreleased live tracks—the
blistering harmonica-jacked burnout of
“The Rules" and the unrelenting primal
bash of “I Heard Tell’—are far less
controlled but translate well. Rounding
out the package are three music videos.
All told, the EP hits fast and hits hard in
a high-impact, room-trashing, fun ride
Reinterpreting vintage underground
traditions with modern thunder has
rapidly, deservedly made The Ettes a
•garage sensation. Detroit Cobras, meet
your mongoose.
Bao Le-Huu