French, the Language of Sensual Misinterpretation: Song of the Day

Song of the Day: Keren Ann "La Forme et le Fond" from Nolita (Blue Note)



It's a dark, rainy, late afternoon in Paris. A young beautiful lady strolls out of a cafe without an umbrella. She is visibly shaken. Her hands shakes has she reaches for a Gauloises Blond and successfully lights it, despite the heavy downpour. The smoke dissipates slowly in the cold as she brushes away her bangs. Her short black hair is shiny from wetness. She slides on her Jackie O shades and begins to walk down the avenue.

Her strides become more and more aggressive as she marches on past school children playing in the puddle ridden sidewalks. Though her sunglasses are down, it is obvious that she is crying. But all of a sudden, she stops. The rain continues to fall, but it appears that either her emotions have completely overtaken her or she's clinging on to one last hope. She turns around slowly and he is there. He removes her glasses to reveal her doe eyes smeared in running mascara, not from the sky but from her own tearducts. He wipes away the salty black residue caked on her upper cheek and they kiss.

Oh yeah, and it's in black and white.

You don't have to tell me twice that this is the most cliched schlock you've ever read. But this is truly what pops into my mind when hearing Keren Ann Zeidel's "La Forme et le Fond". There is dark and sexy romanticism in the French. Their noir is sleek and beautiful. The language rolls off the tongue with the utmost pretention and at the same time it posseses an undeniable enticing quality.

The arrangement of "La Forme et le Fond" is richer than the carmel on a creme brulee . The bassline is noticeable instantly; it is instrusive and overly sexual. It makes for a very interesting juxtapostion between the two halves of the track. As the bass bounces indulgently, it fights for attention with Keren Ann's breathy alto. But as the song progresses, other factors start to take over: a lovely string arrangement, a plucked acoustic guitar and a chorus of background vocals, including an operatic soprano. The two parts manage to blend the beauty of sadness and carnal sensuality.

Of course, this is still Keren Ann's show to run. Her voice is like a classically trained Hope Sandoval, some of the rough edges have been sanded down so that the gem could shine a little brighter. The song attempts to make her voice just another player in the large ensemble cast. It refuses to take second billing.

Also, the song succeeds in being a noir because of the language barrier. Because I can't begin to guess what she is saying, I am allowed to conjure up vast and overly romanticized ideas. I could have it translated and find out it's a protest song or a song about her pet turtle, but what fun would that be? You can accuse me of being a pretty lousy Francophile by not knowing the language and I will accept your berating. But trust me, there is bliss in ignorance. I've commented many times that I just want someone to read/speak/whisper to me in French before I lay my head down to sleep every night. It can have relaxing or orgasmic effects. Don't believe me? Go watch a Fish Called Wanda or Bananas.


Can this get anymore French?

Keren Ann: http://www.kerenann.com

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Fragile Wrists or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Nedelle

Since I am convinced the only people reading this are my sister Gretchen, Lawrence and a scattered handful of miscreants, there really is no point in elaborating how much of a sissy romantic I am. I can crush on anything that has eyes like dish plates or can carry a note. Crush hard. This quixotic sentiment can be summed up with one name: Nedelle.

As there is no point in pounding my high school geek love mentality into you, there is no point in recounting the full story of how I came to love the Bay Area's own jazz-folk-pop chanteuse Nedelle Torrisi. After all, what's not to love? Nedelle features a golden voice, sweet and pure, and at times faintly imperfect as to make her human. And "them eyes".... (shiver) oooh "them eyes".

Alright, alright, you twisted my arm, I would love to tell you my (often retold) Nedelle story. As the unabridge story would be Tolstoy in length and Danielle Steel in pure pulp trash, here's the shorthand. In the summer of 2000, at the impressionable age of 20, I penned a song about a lovely girl who worked at the Amoeba Records in Berkeley. I entitled the masterwork "Fragile Wrists" due to the fact that this certain employee wore wrist guards while manning the register, which I found as cute as curious. By the next summer break, she would be gone and a distant memory. Fast forward to summer of 2004 and I'm in Mod Lang Records, hair a little longer, face a little more weathered, bright enthusiasm still beaming. I purchase Nedelle and Thom's new record.

Summerland was a collaboration between Thom Moore of the Moore Brothers and this (at the time) unknown (to me) singer Nedelle, who I instantly likened to my summer crush 2000 (newsflash, there's one every summer). Through the miracle of the internet, my sources found that Nedelle had Fibromyalgia which is defined as "a common condition characterized by widespread pain in joints, muscles, tendons, and other soft tissues." Fragile wrists! Zoiks!

Coincidentally, through the magic of blogging, Nedelle found that I had written this song. She had googled her name and found a dusty old website of my now defunct punk rock band, tumbleweeds passing through G bar chords and faded pictures with middle fingers. How I learned this information is a whole different tale, but I will say that I have never lifted my phantom mask in person. The embarassment seeps in like syrup in a pancake.

As almost another year has passed, Nedelle has released her solo Kill Rock Stars debut, From the Lion's Mouth, a collection of splendidly melodic songs of love, heartbreak and nostalgic memories. And of course, I adore it. As crushes come and go, crash and burn, my summers will always owned by Nedelle's wistful coo. And "them eyes... ooh lord, "them eyes."

Nedelle is performing at Cafe Du Nord tonight, 3/30/05, in celebration for her album's release. If you come with malicious or improper intent, I will cut you. I have my eye on you buster.

Nedelle: http://www.nedelle.org

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Stand Up For Your Romantic Rights!

In the spirit of my attendance of the rock show tonight, I am posting a link for a video clip of sexual noisemakers Death from Above 1979 on the Conan O'Brien show (airdate: March 11th). I don't want to spoil the "surprise" but the fiery duo from our northern neighbor drop some heavy shit with some help from (blank). Sorry to go all Beatrix Kiddo on you, but you must see it for yourself.

Much like Kill Bill's bleeped out mystery name, you might be disappointed by my mention of surprise. With all self-defeating words aside, just watch the damn thing. It's always good to have hard references for when the hispters debate whether DFA1979 suck because they are poppy and derivative or suck because they're popular and fashionable. Or you can join me in the shrinking "Honk if You like Hooks" club. We pretty much like anything.

Download the clip here. (Scroll to bottom, click "free," then wait a moment and the download link will appear)

Death From Above 1979: http://www.deathfromabove1979.com
The Conan O'Brien Show: http://www.nbc.com/Late_Night_with_Conan_O'Brien

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Now All Bow to Your New Leader

When Daniel Dumile aka MF Doom aka Metal Fingered Villain asks for his legions to prove their loyalty, I will be the first on bended knee slicing off a finger (well, only if it could be replaced by a cool sci-fi robotic steel one).

Doom has gone and done what everyone familiar with his steez thought he would: put out another record. King Doom the Prolific recently dropped Live From Planet X, a live record (duh) released on MF Grimm's (no relation) Nature Sounds record label. Though many live rap albums can play out like drunk karoake, heavy on the yelling and light on coherence, Live From Planet X is a breath of fresh air as Doom keeps it clear and short. Metal Fingers spits his goofy vocab with his signature gutteral drawl, rifling with ease through "Accordian", "Rhymes Like Dimes" and "Fine Print", drawing from his whole catalog.

The idea of losing a finger might be more detrimental than I thought, as counting Doom's releases will become more of a task. In the past year, he has released albums under the pseudonyms MF Doom, Viktor Vaughn and his highly acclaimed collaboration with Madlib, Madvillain, as well as two volumes of his Special Herbs instrumental collection. Like most aritistic geniuses, the inspiration doesn't stop.

This from Pitchforkmedia.com about a month ago:

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As expected, the most prolific man in hip-hop (with an average higher than Ichiro's, natch) has his metal fingers on a few other projects. Pizzo at hiphopsite.com reported that an MF Doom/Ghostface collaboration is becoming a reality. Though details at this point are sketchier than a carnival at Michael Jackson's house, the two have apparently been recording together in the studio, and Doom is reportedly producing songs for Ghostface's next Def Jam LP, the follow-up to last year's phenomenal Pretty Toney Album. A project featuring two of hip hop's brighest would either be an immediate classic or the most disappointing album of the '00s. We hope it's the former.
********************

If you've soiled yourself in excitement, don't worry, it happens to the best of us.


Madlib: "I can't take you anywhere. Can't you just wear a skull cap?"

MF Doom: www.mfdoomsite.com

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Time x Stars = Inspiration: Song of the Day

Three days is a long time isn't it? It's been about 73 hours since my last post, and the neglect has racked me with guilt. Am I obsessed or is this perfectly normal?

Song of the Day: Stars "Ageless Beauty" from Set Yourself on Fire (Arts and Crafts)



Or is it perfectly normal to be obsessed? In my defense, I meant to write this yesterday. I have listened to Stars a lot in the past week, and the above mentioned song more times than an avid listener of Live 105 (my roommate) will hear The Bravery (and Kasabian combined) in one day. That's a lot.

Considering the heavy rotation and worn down back button on the CD player remote, I still can't really place what makes me so gaga over the first single off Stars' third full length release, Set Yourself on Fire. It's got all workings of your standard indie pop piece and the unoffensiveness that makes it timeless. It might have been released in the wave-pop of the mid 80s but at the same time could have been in the indie girl pop movement of the early 90s. It could be Blondie; it could be Belly. Though, texturally dynamic, it doesn't have tons of bite. On first listen, it's a song that is enjoyable but at the same time forgettable.

Perhaps the appeal is in Amy Milian's breathy vocals. They are simply heaven sent. During the verse, her voice acts as scattered, faint rays though a dense fog. But for the sweet chorus, Milian's voice is like a painter's brush; she sings her keen words with a great expressive stroke. She belts out "We will always be a light" and it really penetrates like multiple beams through the swirl of synth and driving rhythm. Her two voice lines intersect and cross over, and eventually meld into one ray of hope and love.

Naysayers will attempt to ridicule the song's unabashed cheesiness. The songs strives on its own self-confidence; it never attempts to hide it's melodramatic nature and emotionally drenched identity. It's very honest in its unoriginality and nutures its cliches. And while a good deal of Set Yourself on Fire attempts to tinker with proven and safe methods of indie pop ("with an electronic tinge"), I think it's quite clear that Stars know when not to fuck with something that works. They are smarter than their shoegazing/forehead-kissing image has led us to believe. They understand which tracks are the hits.

It took me three days to nail that one down.

Download the song here.

Stars are appearing live at Bimbo's 365 Club with Apostle of Hustle on 3/26/05. Go to their website for more info and to watch the fabulous video.

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Hip to the Hyped

Bloc Party
Silent Alarm (Vice/Dim Mak)

Let me tell you a little story about over-hype. In college, I was a subject for brainwash experimentation. Every single person told me that Shawshank Redemption was the movie to end all movies, and that the shock ending would blow my mind. When I finally sat down to watch the actual film, I had already planned how I would spend my life worshipping Tim Robbins, perhaps with a tattoo, and if the movie is really good, a cult. When I rolled off the futon, dusted off the dorito debris and put out my last butt, there was only one word I could ennunciate. It started with a "Dis" and ended with an "appointment". Sure the movie was enjoyable and the ending did shock me a bit, but dude, I could have just watched Beverly Hills Ninja for the tenth time and been as entertained. So yes, over-hype has made me a very weary soul and disappointment has quickly become my least favorite feeling, edging out "sad" and "kicked in the groin".

Bloc Party has had their fair share of over-hype. Let's see. Their show sold out a good month before their record came out. They're in every music publication on the newsstand. Live 105 has taken to calling Mod Lang in the middle of the day, on air, to see if the import release is in stock. To make things worse, the small sampling of songs pre-debut album have been no less than stellar, among the star studded stood the ultra dancy "Banquet" and angular rock fist-pumper "Staying Fat".

This is the point in the review that I admit to erring. Where I was once so intent on making something awesome, now I am disappointed in myself (self-loathing is top 5 secretly favorite feelings) for doubting. I had already written the opening paragraph in my mind. I have decided to write it out as a reminder. So... today's word of the day has gone from disappointment to fulfillment.

What about the music? Obviously, the music is phenomenal. Silent Alarm is chock full of high-tempo, post-punk anthems, occasionally tosses in the "slower" (relatively) track and is all done with impeccable style and grit. Every one of the songs are rhythmically so tight, I could bounce a quarter off its ass? Sorry, didn't know where that one was going. Each song is a potential single, each chorus doused in sing-along gas and lit devilishly. "Helicopter" has lizard-like guitar lines crawling over each other, and its chorus is garnished with haunting Gregorian-esque background vocals. "Positive Tension" is Gang of Four to the tee, mixing jerky drum patterns and funky basslines. Lead bloke Kele Okerere claims to have no post-punk influences aside from The Talking Heads, and he's either indie rock's best liar or human race's funkiest dude. It's probably somewhere inbetween. Though Okerere's voice is not exceptional, he does posess an immense amount of panache and what the experts like to call "the good stuff". What IS exceptional though, is Matt Tong's drumming: bold, big and ass-shaking.

If I had any problem with the album, it would be length. It seems to run a little long (around 58 minutes) due to the more ethereal, atmospheric numbers. Though, whenever I ran into a track like "Blue Light" or "This Modern Love" (which might I add sounds like Pretty Girls Make Graves' "This is Our Emergency" mixed with the Arcade Fire's "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)") and cursed its party-pooping, its as if the band heard me and dropped in a riding high hat beat with thumping bass. They would turn a ballad into psuedo dance number with complete confidence. But by the time the closing track "Compliments" rolls around, I can't handle the epic grand exit.

Silent Alarm will be a hit, regardless of my pre-judging issues and my consequencial over-hype. Just as Shawshank Redemption was before I saw it. Sometimes one just has to realize that the world doesn't revolve around himself. But for today and the purposes of this blog, yes, it fucking does.

Silent Alarm is out in stores, today 3/22/05. Bloc Party is appearing live at the Bottom of the Hill on 3/23/05 (the shows is sold out) and Popscene on 3/24/05. Check out http://blocparty.com

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Victimized By Plundering!

Though I am weary of seeming like a fan boy (this being the second post concerning the band in this blog's young life), I must inform the concerned indie kids that The Decemberists have fallen victim to the theft of their equipment trailer.

From their website (from St. Patrick's Day, March 17):

"At some time between 3 a.m. and 8 a.m., the band’s gear trailer was stolen from outside a house in SE Portland, near the Aladdin Theatre. Heartbreakingly, it housed practically every piece of instrumentation belonging to the Decemberists."

Today, it's been reported that the trailer was found, devoid of equipment but with merchandise. Turns out the criminals in question lack taste as well as morality. More from the site:

"As you may or may not know, the police found our trailer. Tucked in some tidy corner of Clackamas, just outside Portland, the thieves had emptied it of all its contents aside from the boxes of t-shirts and CD’s. Getting the trailer and the merchandise back was a huge relief, but we are still bereft of our beloved instruments."

The tour will continue (save for poor Vancouver) and for anyone who just got a quote on an accordian from Portland that's too good to be true might want to double check that the item is not hot.

The band has set up a stolen gear list and a benefit fund for those who are generous enough to donate. Both of these can be accessed through the news section on their website.

There is some good news from the fan boy camp (I repeat, I AM NOT A FAN BOY). Their video for "16 Military Wives" was recently released (as I viewed it on MTV2 last night) and displays a Rushmore-esque quality that makes for a light, quirky schoolhouse romp. You might want to locate your old blue blazer (with school crest) and knee socks to experience the video to its fullest.

For information on downloading the video go here.



The Decemberists are appearing live at Bimbo's 365 Club this Tuesday and Wednesday (3-22-05 and 3-23-05). All signs point to both shows being sold out, but I ain't no expert. Once again, check out http://www.decemberists.com

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Friedberger Fun Fridays

If you don't already know, The Fiery Furnaces are the best band in the world. You might try to argue with me, but even your most reasonable points will be met with either a "no, you are" or with an incessant "nananananananana" with my index fingers in my ears.

All juvenile tactics aside, Friedbergers and Co. continue to pump my life with the prog-rock garage blues wave that my body craves so badly. If there was a Starbucks commerical of me, I'd be making my way to work with Eleanor and Matt playing "I'm Gonna Run" while I cheerfully drink my iced cappucino. It would be played on MTV2 while the other one with Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger" would be on MTV proper.

It is far from new material, but here's a video clip of the Furnaces on the children's TV program Pancake Mountain performing their highly influencial and informative "Mouse House, Moose Hoose".


I would say with great certainty that this is a moose.

Let us not forget the hard-issue and sexually provocative interview clip with Rufus the Sheep.


all photos courtesy of www.pancakemountain.com

Ingenious.

The Fiery Furnaces are playing two nights at the Great American Music Hall, 4/28/05-4/29/05. Eleanor Friedberger is on the cover of Fader Magazine and the subject of many naughty makeout fantasies. Of course, being ever so prolific, two of their upcoming releases are slated to drop in 2005. Check out their website for more info.

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Rock Cuts Kills, Kills Cut Rock : Song of the Day

Song(s) of the Day: The Kills "I Hate the Way You Love (Pt. 1)" and "I Hate the Way You Love (Pt. 2)" from No Wow (Rough Trade/RCA)

When it's fast, hot and heavy, The Kills are at their most visceral. "Cat Claw" was the scar making anthem of Keep On Your Mean Side, a track that cut like a shiv to the ribs. On their new release, No Wow, The Kills continue to drench their garage blues in sonic filth, and "I Hate the Way You Love" is the track that fucks you then leaves you pants-less on the side of the dirt road. While their single "The Good Ones" will lead hipsters across metropolitan areas to watusi, this song is the one you grind up against a biker chick and later find yourself on the floor with a black eye. Or as my friend likes to put it, "sweaty roadhouse dance music".



You can't read one article/review of The Kills and not see the phrase "sexual tension". Now, this blog is no different. After all, the song does contain the words "love" and "hate", two of the strongest and sexiest words in the English language. However, the song's strength does not all lie in Alison Mosshart (aka VV) and Jamie Hince's (aka Hotel) potential of bumping uglies (and anyone who has seen them live can attest, they come pretty damn close). The song really is more like a no holds barred fistfight. Mosshart's voice and Hince's guitar trade quips all song with utter menace. Mosshart purposefully stutters (especially in the opening line) and literally ticks like a time bomb to match Hince's chicking and chunking guitar line. Hince's meandering guitar riffs in turn interrupt Mosshart's hyper-sexual verse. And so on. Knee to the ribs. Claw to the face. Spit out the loose molars.

The reprise in the song's Part 2 is post-fight sex. Bloodied and pulpy, the two lay exhausted from the headbutting make out session of Part 1. The song is stripped naked to its bare (repeating) chorus. They are too sore and tired to keep sparring but remain at each others throats. But perhaps this time, its with their tongues and not with their hands.

The Kills: They wanna make out with your puffy bloodied lips.
(images from Rough Trade)

The Kills' No Wow is available in stores and they are currently on tour and will be stopping at The Independent in San Francisco 3/23/05. For more info check out their website.

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Attempting to Find Answers to Why I Can't Find Answers

M. Ward
Transistor Radio (Merge)

I really have no idea how to form a logical, coherent argument on why I love Matt Ward aka M. Ward's new release Transistor Radio so much. It's not that it's unlike anything I listen to on a regular basis. It's not a guilty pleasure, that would imply that the album is gloriously bad. No, it's clearly good. So Why?

Well, let me tell you right now, before we delve deep, if I know myself, we will not have answered that question by this blog's end. No sir. In fact, a lot of questions in my life go unanswered either due to the lack of effort of exploring possible ways to obtain an answer or my crippling inability to make a decision. It really is a horrible condition... Wait. What were we talking about? Right. M. Ward.

It is easy to throw M. Ward into this heap of indie americana of Calexicos, Lambchops and Papa Ms (Papa M Ward? Sorry, just had to try it). I find it much more fitting to put Ward into the category of Music. Cop out, I know. But he possess an amazing ability to stick his thumb in many different pies, and pull out a plum every single time. That is to say, he dabbles with many influences, but has a unique quality on each track. Transistor Radio is undeniable proof of that. He easily shifts from country blues jazziness ("One Life Away") to spaghetti western bravado ("Regeneration No. 1") . "Big Boat" is a raging blues rocker complete with Chubby Checkers style piano banging. On the flipside, "Sweethearts on Parade" is an old jazz standard played through a Velvets filter, a sweet melody drenched in static and gentle noise. Ward also has made it so that every song sounds like it belongs on the radio. Not in your Neptunes sense of the phrase, but in a 1950s, crackling-speaker-on-a-porch-on-a-hot-summer-day sense of the phrase. Hence the album title.

His voice remains a steadfast reminder what record you're listening to, though just barely. His voice can go from an emphysemic tenor to a gutteral chant, beautifully flawed the whole time. "Hi-Fi", a breezy number, almost Hawaiian in laidbackness (Is that word? Don't ask me.) is perhaps my favorite track. It displays his vocal range going from a soothing baritone reminscent of Mark Lanegan to a wistful falsetto in every verse to chorus transition.

Perhaps most indicting are his bookend tracks. A classical guitar instrumental of The Beach Boys' "You Still Believe in Me" opens the album, while a folky version of J.S. Bach's "Well-Tempered Clavier" closes the album. By doing this, Ward encapsulates all his influences, not to mention a George Harrison homage with 'Here Comes the Sun Again". All this with a little help from his friends. Vic Chesnutt, Jenny Lewis (Rilo Kiley), Jim James (My Morning Jacket), Howie Gelb (Giant Sand) , Rachel Blumberg (ex-Decemberists, Norfolk and Western) and Adam Selzer (Norfolk and Western) are among many who contribute.

So in the end, it's fairly clear why I like this record so much. Answer: It just fucking rules, okay? See I told you I'm lazy about finding answers.

Transistor Radio is available in stores and can be streamed the Merge Records website. He is also performing live at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco 3/24/05.

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Funeral For an Indie Rock Obsession

Perhaps the title is a bit harsh. I still love them. But it's official: the Arcade Fire has made to your living room. It seems not long ago my friend was asking me "What's the big deal man? That's what grandparents do. They die." Now we've made it this far. Yes, we. It's been quite a journey for all of us.

Last night as I tuned in to Arrested Development and MTV2's one acceptable show Subterranean (Dish Network... three hours ahead! Booyah!), I was able to catch "Rebellion (Lies)", the first video from their mega-popular release Funeral.


Stream the video here.


Though I can't say I was blown away, really nothing much beats seeing Richard Parry bang on his tom and yell "LIES! LIES!". It serves as a warm reminder of their truly awesome live show.

At this point, all I can really do is sit them on my lap, kiss them on the forehead and say "You made it, kiddo. I'm so proud of you. Now go out there and show them what you got."

Other interesting videos from last night included: a new and alternate video for The Futureheads' "Decent Days and Nights" (who also were the guests), Handsome Boy Modeling School ("The World's Gone Mad") and the insanely hyped M.I.A. ("Sunshowers").

Happy Monday... morning.

for more info on The Arcade Fire go to their website.

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Sleep, that's where I'm a... Pirate?

The Decemberists
Picaresque (Kill Rock Stars)

It is widely known that objects and ideas that dominate your real life will somehow make it's way into your dream life. While I will not reference Richard Linklater's animated film, I will share two strange dreams I've had in the recent past.

Dream #1 - I dreamed that I was part of the Bluth family. I was the third oldest brother, Gob and Michael in front of me, Buster behind me. In my dream, Gob casts a hypnotic spell over his own family and in this state we collectively believe Gob is commander in chief. Hilarity ensues.

Conclusion: Over the past two weeks, I've watched my Arrested Development Season 1 DVDs three times through. It might be time to get to the Get A Life DVDs I've been putting off watching.

Dream #2 - I am on a stage. I'm wearing a full beard and the crowd seems to be mostly comprised of pirates. I mean, full on wooden pegged, parrot shouldered, swashbuckling pirates. I think the vast majority of them could be saying "Yar". I dance a jig to a familiar song and that's that.

Conclusion:
First of all, when I found a copy of The Decemberists new album Picaresque in Amoeba, I kind of felt like I was plundering a ship of the finest loot. Here am I holding Portland's finest new record, a good couple weeks before the release date, and no one is tackling me, pushing me out of the way or making me walk any plank (to absolutely beat a dead horse).

Picaresque opens with howls and an even wilder tom drum roll on "The Infanta", a raucous yet grand introduction to the King of Spain's daughter. Colin Meloy peppers the track with lush description, rhyming "palanquin" with "elephant" and "folderol" and "chaparral". This opening track sets the stage for more quirky stories of suicide for love ("We Both Go Down Together"), a lustful affair between a criminal and a government worker ("The Bagman's Gambit") and of course the obligatory (albeit clever) song about war ("16 Military Wives").

Meloy's voice is slowly becoming his own, and less an echo of Jeff Mangum's. Where Neutral Milk Hotel was gritty and personal, The Decemberists thrive on being cartoony and more whimsical. This is not a new revelation, but as the Decemberists continue to put out fine records, they slowly shatter the chains that couples them with the now defunct indie legends. Also, their sound is more lush than ever with a great mix of orchestral instruments, horns and strings (employing violinist and ex-that dog, Petra Haden).

With this fuller sound, The Decemberists appear to try to shake things up a bit more on this album. "The Sporting Life" mixes a twee-pop melody Stuart Murdoch would sign his life over for, bolstered with rumbling drums, Motown-esque horns and a springy guitar rhythm. On the flipside, "The Mariner's Revenge Song" is a dense 9 minute epic, displaying Meloy's ability to tell a story. It is complete with his signature sea shanty vibe which dominated my pirate dream.

It will not be a shock if Picaresque continues to soundtrack my dreams. It, in itself is dream-like and fantastic. Hearing Meloy's songs in my sleep is essential dreaming within a dream. Now, contemplating that is going to be a headache. Before I go watching Waking Life for answers, I think I might just sneak in a couple deleted scenes from that crazy Bluth family. I know, I'm obsessed.

for more info on The Decemberists go to their website.

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A Short Kickoff: Song of the Day

Let's get this blog up and bloggified without any hooplog. The nitty gritty of a sun drenched Wednesday culminates here.

Song of the Day: Pony Up! "Matthew Modine" from Pony Up! (Dim Mak/Ten Fingers)

From the opening "papa oom mow mows" to the orgasmically shrieky song ending, Montreal's girl pop outfit Pony Up! lets you have it straight. They are girls with womanly desires.

Now, your average Joe Schmo might find that provocative and perhaps a little pervy. I, however, only wish to imagine the innocence of a sleepover sing-along that follows a fruit punch-laden night of 80s movies, the Girl Talk board game and gossiping fit for only the biggest Lizzie McGuire fans.

Pony Up!, of course, do not fit into that idea quite properly, to my regret. In fact, the rest of their self-titled debut release is more Liz Phair circa 1993 than Liz Phair circa 2003. Jangly guitars and a thumping rhythm section attempt to dilute awesomely bad lyrics about making out, crushing hard and breaking up, with mixed results.

Fortunately, the three chord pop-punk charm of "Matthew Modine" can act as a beacon of youth amongst their more complicated "adult" tracks. They toss in tremendous phrases such as "Are you into polygamy?/Because we are like... totally free" . They also remind us "Modine" rhymes with "blow job queens" and "creamy jeans". As the novelty wears off, the repeated listens may follow suit. Though that probably isn't such a bad thing, it might be good to stop before I go from laughing about Matthew Modine to wishing I was Matthew Modine. That's gross on so many levels.

Pony Up!, Montreal's Matthew Modine Fan Club formerly
known as Montreal's Ralph Macchio Fan Club

image from www.kleetologue.com

for more info on Pony Up! go to their website.

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