I'd like to order a Harmony, hold the Melody: Song(s) of the Day

I'm on a really big 2 for 1 kick right now.


I know it's the same song twice. Get off my back, buddy.

The Magic Numbers "Love Me Like You" and "Mornings Eleven" from The Magic Numbers (Heavenly)

I can be real willpowerless idiot sometimes. Here on the eve of The Magic Numbers stateside release (Oct. 4), unbeknownst to me and head brimming with Mojo/Uncut Magazine hype, I stumbled upon import copy of The Magic Numbers in the used bin. I, thinking that I'd be a fool if I didn't pay out the 15 buck tag it held, put in the always plentiful stack and rung it up. I ran home to argue with Mom about my whereabouts where she accused me of smelling like cigarettes, slam the door to my bedroom with a edgy KEEP OUT sign, throw on the headphones and stare at the posters of my idols, losing myself in the music.

Not exactly. The next day, I went to work regretting that I paid such a hefty price for a yellow stickered album. Nonetheless, I showed Jeremiah (the devil who brings me these brit music magazines to peruse) my find to a lukewarm response, then got to work.

Well let me take it down a notch, before I skyrocket through the roof with gushing babble. The Magic Numbers is wildly uneven. There are moments of sheer brilliance and moments of excruciating boredom. There. I can dislike something sometime. It's good to get that out of the way.

Within the first minute of opener "Mornings Eleven", I was grinning despite the fact that I had a vicious hangover, was mentally completely wrecked and shit man, I was at work. What is there to smile about at work? I couldn't wipe the grin. This tends to happen to me at work, I get this shit-eating grin and I can't stop no matter how many co-workers gawk at my awkwardly happy moment. I can air drum and mouth lyrics without the slightest bit of self-consciousness. Smiling on the other hand is just too fucking weird. The first of a handful occasions was hearing "Saint Simon" by The Shins on the day Chutes Too Narrow came out. I went to Mod Lang on my lunch break and that afternoon, I sat in front of the computer monitor with a frozen face, cheekbones sore from being so lifted. They must think I'm a pervert, I thought.

"Love You Like Me" is the single. And boy, is it ever! This is the song record labels (in The Magic Numbers' case, Capitol) want you to hear first. It's pure rock pop, mid-tempo, light and so unoffensive, and so so sissy. Singer Romeo Stodart looks like a gentle giant, bearded and chubby. He's the guy who will put you on his shoulders on a long trip and reach high on trees to grab fruit for you. Romeo's voice is so cheesily mousey and cute, and totally predictable. You knew the very huggable Romeo would have sweet coo. In fact, it's like he's leading a band of teddy bears singing about love. Teddy Bears that are brothers and sisters. Romeo is joined by sister Michele (bass) and the Gannon siblings Sean (drums) and Angela (melodica, percussion). It's like an ol' fashioned hoe down.

Angela and Michele are the true stars; their backing vocals make these two songs run. Romeo has the melody in place, but as the gentle "Mornings Eleven" breakdown will show, it's the ladies' sweet 1950s doo-wop, "Earth Angel"-esque harmonies that really fucking gets you right here. And here. And here. And over there. The voices are angelic and pristine. They not only fit well into the country-ish 50s pop/70s rock, they hold it together.

The Magic Numbers' sound ends up landing somewhere between early Beach Boys and Fleetwood Mac, between The Thrills and Kings of Leon. It touches on many influences but sounds timeless. Vocal music will always be timeless. I really hope this theory is true. I want my Futureheads t-shirt to mean something to my kids.



There ain't shit there but...
The Magic Numbers: http://www.mymagicnumbers.com

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Mo' Dreams, Mo' Nightmares?

Broadcast
Tender Buttons (Warp)

Recently, I've been having tons of dreams. The bed in which I'm currently sleeping has one of them dreamcatchers hanging above it. I didn't put it there. It's not even my bed. And I don't even believe in all that hogwash. But then again, why am I getting so many dreams? While most of them seem to be about the same thing, featuring the same small cast of characters, last night I dreamed that every car was an SUV, and each of them was shiny neon orange camouflage color. I woke up in a cold sweat. I didn't want to go back to sleep. These days, I rarely do. But it was 5am and I eventually drifted back into semi-consciousness.

In my re-entry, I was in ancient China, a setting I've been in before. I was riding a red dragon in the mist wearing traditional Chinese garb but with a super hi-tech visor-shielded helmet. It allowed me to zero in kinda like a stealth bomber can zero in on targets, you know, with the night vision green and numbers and the crosshairs and such. You know what I'm sayin'? The lady that haunts/brightens my dreams was there behind me, also wearing the helmet, elegant chinese attire (though she is not of Chinese dissent), and huge child-like smile. I smiled back and we kept soaring, once in a while asking the dragon, who I affectionately named Orville, to light shit on fire on our whim and to our delight. Strange, eh? More strange: it was soundtracked by Broadcast's Haha Sound.

How could that be more strange? In fact, it is indeed less strange as it's more right on. I've been trying to really get into Broadcast's psuedo third full-length release (Work and Non-Work being a collection of singles, thus the "psuedo" tag) entitled Tender Buttons. The lady of my dreams, Broadcast soundtrack, but the dragon? What gives? Well, I suppose it was because I saw tons of Dragon kites in Bodega Bay this weekend, at a store called Candy and Kites. Can I for second get off subject and just ask: is there anything more joyous and lovely than a store dedicated solely to candy and kites? Hubb and I decided that if they had kittens too, it might be slightly more sweet. Yeah, kittens and Maker's Mark. That's the ticket.

Back to the lecture at hand, Haha Sound (and all of Broadcast's catalogue, for that matter) is a foggy dream landscape of electronic experimentation and sacchrine melodies. Tender Buttons tries to replicate a similar sound with less tools. Downsized to a two piece of Trish Keenan and James Cargill, Broadcast throws familiar but less than amazing tunes in the same sonic muck of their past albums but lose a lot of elegance in their paring down.

Tender Buttons thrives on Keenan's voice and the hidden melodic gems within the grayish English electronic distortion. But after a couple listens, it dawned on me how much having a live drummer really gave the band a silver lining on their ominous clouds. It gave them a touch of class that seperated them from other noisy pop outfits. I've always adored the jazz drumming of the past albums because jazz is classy, and I want to give the impression that I associate myself with the cutting edge, the creme of society. I want to do things in a stylish yet proper manner and act like "I don't need this shit."

So, first impressions will make Tender Buttons seem like a San Diego without a Burgundy. But with an open mind and a handful of wholehearted immersing listens, Tender Buttons becomes the problem child that you want to figure out. Eventually with a little patience and a tiny bit of elbow grease, you will crack that shell and you'll find the creme filling in the Cadbury Egg. You get it? Cadbury, the English butler in the Richie Rich comics, Broadcast an English band... forget it. I don't even like the filling all that much.

It seemed frustrating to have to look so hard and fight through all the noise to find the harmonious reward. But Broadcast aren't the cold hearted uber-artistes that you want to believe they are. They give you a couple openings into their heart. "Goodbye Girls" rides a Brian Wilson inspired melody. "Michael" is tremendously catchy with blippy dance hooks pushing Keenan's usual endearing deadpan. She utters "My feet are dancing so much/And I hate that." I love it. The dancey anti-dance song. And they aren't done with the zingers. "America's Boy" would be just another biting, anti-war rant if it weren't so damn engaging: the pulsating drum machine, the eerie ghost-like choral sampling and bouncy, robotic fuzzed out bass. Gone are the slightly more comforting, dirtied space-age, bachelor-pad, spy-music, electro jazz-pop (can I get more pretenious and jumbled?), replaced by a primitively robotic dance scrap, catchy but repulsive at the same time. The one clear exception is opener "I Found the F", complete with loose and effortless drumming, Keenan's chilly vocal and that unmentionable Fifth Dimension-esque pyschedelia that somehow always gets evoked here and there.

Ironically, it's in perhaps in their least Broadcast-y moment, that they succeed the most. The utterly gorgeous ballad "Tears in the Typing Pool" features the simplest of arrangements: a gently strummed nylon string acoustic with some signature faintly distorted and delayed organ. Keenan has never been so personal with this lilting whisper, and if she has, it's always been masked and hidden like a small fonted love letter, painted over on an enormous Jackson Pollack canvas. Her lyrics are simply heartbreaking and like all things that you never want to end, it ends way too soon. "Tears in the Typing Pool" barely reaches the 2 minute mark. How am I supposed to cry if you don't give me at least 3 minutes? Fortunately, I only needed 45 seconds.

Tender Buttons is, lamely put and predictably setup, a dream. It's confusing and hazy, but once I had a handle on what's going on and poked holes in the dense shroud of enigma, I was able to control it and in logical progression, enjoy it. If "Man is Not a Bird" (off Haha Sound) made me want to fly forever, "Tears in the Typing Pool" perhaps can help me come back down to Earth and face the waking life, like I desperately need to do.

Broadcast is playing on the most seemingly most forgotten day of year, my birthday, 10/28/05 at the Great American Music Hall. Look for the small party of pointy hats and the distinctive combination smell of bundt cake and cheap beer.

Broadcast: http://www.broadcast.uk.net/

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Other things that are or are not shitty

Shitty: Hurrican Katrina.

Not shitty: Katrina Benefit shows

If you are eastbay inclined, or just plain adventuous ("The EASTbay? You ain't getting me to go to Dublin.") this show might be up your alley, especially if you are generous person and like to shake your ass generously as well.

Another Katrina Benefit Show!
With The Lovemakers
Persephone’s Bees
And more..

@ iMusiccast
Thursday, October 6^th 2005
Doors: 7:30pm
Show: 8:00pm
$10 in advance/ $12 at the door
Tix available now at www.iMusicast.com
ALL AGES

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Camera-Phones Are Shitty

Well, MY camera-phone is shitty. And it's not so much the phone as it's the camera. It's shitty. The above picture is of The Arcade Fire's Win Butler serenading the faithful with Bowie covers ("Queen Bitch"? Am I right? I'm not positive) on Market Street after processing out of the Warfield. It might as well just be some Tenderloin wino playing guitar and singing crazy songs Woodrow-style. I tried. Mama, I tried.

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Extended? Please. Another double thingy action.

The industry is fast. So fast that the slowpokes like myself are in constant state of catchup. Hence these 2-in-1 reviews. How did I get so behind? If anything ever goes wrong you can blame it on these available handy evils: A) Lars Ulrich. B) Rio. C) The Black Plague. D) That assdick who cut me off on the freeway and didn't wave. And the increasingly most convincing thing to blame it on: E) Myspace.com.

In any case, let's focus at the matter at hand. Two EPs. That should make for the equivalent of one full record review. Seeing that I did my fair share of blabbing on the last marathon blog, I'll once again try to keep it sweet and simple, and with more one liners than a Zucker Brothers flick. Zing!


Calexico/Iron and Wine - In the Reins - Overcoat


Rogue Wave - 10:1 - Sub Pop

I'll start with Sam Beam, also recognized as Iron and Wine. We've already established that Mr. Beam has the ability to make dudes cry (see past blogs to "taste the sad"), does he have the ability to make dudes cry with a fuller arrangement?

Short answer is Yes. Long answer is Fuck yes. I thought Woman King EP was a bit of a misstep, be it a very tearjerking, minor misstep. It's ambitious but imperfect and the best song "Jezebel" was the most similar to Iron and Wine's previous work. Electric guitars and pianos seemed somewhat foreign to Beam and Co. and awkardness at times fumbled into mixed results. Beam's ability to write a tune still shines through, and his voice is lovely as always.

On In the Reins, Beam leaves it to Calexico, masters of the dark-country, americana arrangement to capture Beam's rough-edged, hyper-real emotions and at the same time draw out anything in Beam that he might not have known he had in him, sounds he would not have thought to use, words that he might not have thought to write, facial hair he might not have thought to grow. In the real world, these little realizations are inspired by many things: love, heartbreak, liberal arts private school, sex, LSD. For Beam, it's Joey Burns and John Convertino.

The opening track "He Lays in the Reins" is signature Calexico, theatrical, dark and flourishing. Beam's soft voice and softer melody takes it all in and just lets go (with almost over-the-top guest spanish verse mixed in). The sound is reminiscent of what Calexico did for Neko Case on Blacklisted. It's creepy and methodical, but at the same time, lulling, expressive and so darn purty. I always thought it was Angelo Badalamenti soundtracking a western Lynch film. It's a shame this song only hints at this sound, never to go back. But sometimes a drop of the sweet sweet nectar is far more pleasing than dunking your head in a barrel of it.

The following tracks shake it up even more. "Prison on Route 41" is a Beam vehicle (if the former was Burns/Convertino vehicle), again his keen sense of folk melody plays well with the country backdrop of acoustics, wheezebox and slide. The harmony-laden "A History of Lovers" is country pop meets Chuck Berry with cheery band of horns, upbeat and catchy as all get-up. From there, things get a little more gray, all excellent tracks but not as eye-popping as the first three numbers. The jazziness of "Burn that Broken Bed" comes from wily horns buzzing with sort of this improv feel, like a session. "Dead Man's Will" is the most stripped down track of the record, practically an Iron and Wine arrangement, but gets lifted by an amazing harmony between Beam and Burns.

As Iron and Wine branches out with a little help from his (amazingly talented musican) friends, another Sub Pop rep tries to recreate a little of the magic that put them on the carpet ride to sold out shows and big time shout-outs. Rogue Wave in my office is practically bigger than the King of Pop. At first we were all like "Dude man, Rogue Wave. The Fillmore. With of Montreal opening." The explosion of the success (see a past blog 5/21/05 on the connection between my co-worker and Desoto Reds drummer, Jeremiah Johnson and Rogue Wave) has propelled our fantasy show bookings to new heights that soon it'll be "Rogue Wave. The Moon. Opening for Jesus Christ and his Incredible Band of Kazoo Playing Martians. THE Jesus Christ. Zach (Rogue) drinking PBRs with God, Ray Davies and the ghosts of Elliott Smith and Gram Parsons backstage."

As for the music on 10:1 EP, Zach Rogue has kept it simple on most of the tracks here. "Interruptions" is subdued for the most part, gentle and and even keel, "interrupted" (boooo) periodically by a rhythmic crashing tom and Rogue's prechorus hurried singing. "Crush the Camera" is more of the same, full of melody and soft baby hooks, indie-folk-pop bliss with nostalgic non-sequiturs.

The one odd ball is the title track "10:1" which in comparison is a raucous, frenetic new wave circus number. The guitars rage with fuzz a blaze. Heavy organs follow the punk rock drum beat. And Zach Rogue's voice, distorted and wild, is barely recognizable from the light birdy sounds he normally makes. You know what? It actually sounds like Desoto Reds song. Go figure.

If 10:1 is any indication, Rogue Wave's upcoming record Descended Like Vultures should be more of the same excellent pop as Out of the Shadow. It's a tease. If 10:1 is a tease, In the Reins is a full on flirt. One can only hope that Beam and Calexico will keep the flirtation going and continue this very very perfect union.

Calexico: http://www.casadecalexico.com
Iron and Wine: http://www.ironandwine.com
Rogue Wave: http://www.roguewavemusic.com

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Let Your Freak Folk Flag Fly

Devendra Banhart
Cripple Crow (XL)


CocoRosie
Noah's Ark (Touch and Go)

Hippies, man. Why is it that eventhough my disdain for all things patchouli smelling is at an all time high (I don't care if you are the sweetest, nicest and hippest hipster, if you stank, get the fuck away from me) yet my interest in sounds associated with it is blooming? I mean really, can I get any more obsessed with Joanna Newsom? Perhaps the idea of a flower girl in ass tight jeans singing like woodland elf sprite is turn on worthy.

And surprisingly San Francisco doesn't stand at the forefront, eventhough holding the Newsom card has critics and hipster wielding flowers in their hair (and Vetiver remains one of the most underratted of the folk acts). New York. The hustle bustle of Metropolis is producing and housing some the biggest names in the anti-biz, from the unlikely leader in the heaven-sent voice of Antony (and the Johnsons, of course) to the bizarre rhythmic circus that is the Animal Collective. But hey brothers, Antony is from the South Bay and perhaps the wackiest and endearing of them all, Devendra Banhart, used to call SF home.

Banhart's new album Cripple Crow is by far the most accesible album and most likely the best of his to date. However, this doesn't make Banhart Shins-accesible. Cripple Crow is not without frustratingly annoying tracks and its slightly hefty 22 song, 74 minute girth can be a bit grating. I was thinking, I can listen to Banhart's record start to finish and really enjoy it. But if I'm asked to listen closely and break it down song by song, you might have to throw me in straight jacket. Surprisingly, it didn't happen. Or the straight jacket fits me very nicely.

Banhart to me, has always been a marvelous songwriter with no clear direction. His songs seem like impromptu excercises in certain chord progessions and melodies. And like many of his contemporaries, things can get repetitive and static. But he also possess a beautifully freakish voice and a good grasp on whimsically wonderful lyrics.

Cripple Crow's main theme is clearly youthfulness, as not only does the songs' lyrics plainly shout it out loud, but the music skips and hops with charm, fancy-free. It also lacks any clear structure, as Banhart's attention span is much like a kid in a candy store. One second, his hands are on dark chocolate, the next, he's reachin' for the pop rocks. "I Feel Just Like a Child" is pretty much hammers you over the head with a downright silly rhyme scheme and could pass for a theme song in Pee Wee's Playhouse. "Some People Ride the Wave" presents more childish wordplay over a jazzy piano and tootin' trumpet and Banhart confirms he's just "foolin' around".

With all the child's play, it is interesting that in more than one occasion Banhart sings of fatherhood. "Long Haired Child", one of the best tracks on the record, is a pyschedelic rock number, complete with staccato guitar rhythms and noodling fuzzed out leads. Banhart expresses his desire for his child to be long haired due to his own head being cold. The song travels into a breezy, tropical breakdown and Banhart wistfully coos perhaps the most heartfelt line of the record: "When my baby slips out of my mama's womb, we're gonna enter a new life that's for sure." And on "Chinese Children" Banhart jokes about all his children being Chinese no matter where he is, be it Oakland or "Greeceland". I'm just proud my people got a little shout-out. (On a side note: How about the forthcoming Fiery Furnaces' album Bitter Tea being set in Taipei, Taiwan? Yeah, that's the one after the also forthcoming Rehearsing My Choir. That's respect!)

With every repeated listen, Cripple Crow becomes more magical, each song taking its own shape and identity. Banhart and his "family" of musicians run the gamut of styles and textures from Indian pyschedelia ("Lazy Butterfly") to the very dominant latin rhythms (featuring Banhart's sweet tongued Spanish singing on multiple songs). And Banhart's subjects range from the NAMBLA inspired "Little Boys" to reminding us there are only two left in "The Beatles". I'm just shocked a hippie can be so insipred that he would not only get a job, but be incredibly good at it.

Two of Banhart's "sisters" Bianca and Sierra Casady, otherwise known as CocoRosie has chose to follow a different path, with a painfully disappointing result. Their debut album La Maison de Mon Reve was a solid mix of dirty folk mixed in with synthetic hip hop beats, glazed with a decidedly French syrup. It was sweet and weird and weird one more time over.

Noah's Ark, the sisters sophomore album is heavy as a gravestone, and excuse my horrible pun, is the death of the party, especially in comparison to Cripple Crow. It gets mired in dark static and annoyingly serious, forcedly bizarre lyrics of urban decay and the horrid ghetto life of the city. What they've created is this urban folk, gritty and peculiar at the same time, and it doesn't quite mesh.

The album art doesn't help. The cover features three unicorns sodomizing each other. Yeah, it's strange, maybe a little funny, but a bit over the top, and you seem to get a distinct feeling from the music it's not meant to be funny. What a buzzkill. The back cover and inset photos feature Sisters Casady posing in full Frida Kahlo regalia. It's a noble nod to womanhood but frankly comes off being forced, obvious and a little lame.

But back to the music, The Casadys trade in the folk blues guitars for droning keys and ominous pianos and perhaps a few too many soundbytes. The effects are so dominating that I could be watching a Police Academy movie or a sports blooper reel. Sure, it's avant-garde and interesting at points, but there is no subtlety in their usage of clips.

Admittedly, the music is often very beautiful. Many of the arrangements are heart-wrenchingly delicate. The matching with their interestingly contrasting voices to the down tempo stylings often can be emotional and/or soothing. "Honey and Tar" is a lovely number similar to "Good Friday" (off Maison), swimming in jazzy-folk vibes. Antony lends his distinctive amazing vocal to 'Beautiful Boyz", a shining light amidst the haze of mediocrity. But even Banhart can't save "Brazilian Sun" from being plain simply boring and a serious drag. And that's the problem with Noah's Ark. It, in small doses, is strange and lovely, but as whole is the same piano, harp lines over and over and over. They've wrung the melody out of their tie-dyes and it really makes for bad fashion. It is hard to get into something so musically repetitive when you are trying to avoid the lyrics or isn't instantly hooky. That's why I don't like ravers either. Sorry, I'm not really that hateful, you caught me at a weird time.

Man, can I talk some freak-folk, eh hermanos!

Devendra Banhart is headlining Bimbo's 10/30/05 and probably won't be wearing shoes. CocoRosie is opening for Antony and the Johnsons (like forever) at the Palace of Fine Arts 9/20/05.

Devendra Banhart: http://www.xlrecordings.com/devendrabanhart/
CocoRosie: http://www.cocorosieland.com/

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"Good Job, Carl!"*

The New Pornographers
Twin Cinema (Matador)

*as quoted by Landis "Killadelphia" Knorr, PhD in concert (positive) heckling

It feels as if The New Pornographers album came out just yesterday as it still feels fresh. But in actuality it came out a little less than a month ago, meaning a blog on my hero, A. Carl Newman is long overdue. Unfortunately for you guys, you've probably been inundated with Porno press. So I will digress a long review of their new record Twin Cinema, and give it to you in easily swallowable tidbits.

First, did I mention AC Newman is a genius? Well, if I have, let me say it again. AC Newman is a genius. His natural, effortless ability to craft a melody is unparalleled in indie rock. Take "Sing Me Spanish Techno" for example. On Spoon's Gimme Fiction, the sister song for "Spanish Techno" for a lack of a better word is "Sister Jack", a mid-tempo, alterna-rock number with a simple arrangement , powered mainly by a overdriven guitar. Where "Sister Jack" comes off sounding cheese-rock a la KOIT (at least for Spoon, who I hold to very high standard), "Sing Me Spanish Techno" focuses less on the brainless guitar rhythms and lets Newman's cute, subtle melody lead the way. A person who does not try to sing along to the chorus might be considered soulless and should be ignored, when trying to talk. Newman's other delightful songs are the rollicking "Use It" and "Star Bodies", the latter featuring a splendid harmonization with the NP chanteuse Neko Case (similar to "The Laws Have Changed" and "Miss Teen Wordpower"). I can't mention Neko without using the word chanteuse. Call it a habit.

If Newman is the knight in shining armor, Dan Bejar is the wizard. Perhaps an alchemist. His bizarre voice lends well to his unique style of writing. The beauty of Bejar is that his NP contributions mesh well with Newman's, but his Destroyer songs would not fare as well. Bejar turns down his quirks to fit in, but still provides the strangest numbers on every NP album. "Jackie Dressed in Cobras" and "Broken Breads" are Bejar at his poppiest and succinct. The tracks are short and sweet and excuse my French, "don't fuck around", similar to his songs of Mass Romantic. His hushed "Streets of Fire" provides great respite from the sonically orgasmic rock that Newman provides on the rest of the record. Unlike his Electric Version contributions, Bejar is less epic, less dramatic and therefore much more in-sync with Newman's immediately gratifying hits.

Then there's Ms. Case. On every NP release, there is knee jerk reaction to bemoan that she is not used nearly enough on the album. And though that is truer than a drinking a bottle of Bud, there's just not enough space on an album to go around. When you have team of superstars, not everyone is gonna get playing time. Just appreciate what you have. Neko leads "Bones of an Idol" an steady-beated, motown-tinged, piano banger and "These Are the Fables", an interesting mix of Newman melodies and choral vocals, and again, even more piano banging. Kids love to bang them pianos these days. Uh, Hellloooooo, Spoon.

While the rest of the band remain at the top of their craft, the show can only really afford three spotlights. The exception is Kurt Dahle, whose drumming has always been stellar, but on Twin Cinema is much more pronounced. The sound is live and exciting, and if you've ever seen The New Pornographers live, I betcha a dollar, you'll find yourself sneaking more than peek at Dahle, a consummate showman.

So the big question is... does it hold a candle to Electric Version (Mass Romantic being the brilliant but uneven debut)? Hmm. I would say it is the most cohesive NP album thus far. The songs blend nicely and lays out as nice as a thanksgiving dinner spread. But Twin Cinema rarely reaches the heights Electric Version effortlessly reaches. Electric Version is an album that is nearly perfect, even if it's slightly more jagged than its follower. So in comparison, it can only hang with Electric Version only to be edged out at the finish line. But to withhold deserved accolades from Twin Cinema would be be like not giving out a silver medal at the Olympics.


Lazy fucking Canadians.

How's that for sparing you the blah blah blah?

The New Pornographers go double in the bubble at Bimbo's 9/27/05-9/28/05. If you don't pay your respects at least one of the nights, you can just suck it, jerk.

The New Pornographers: http://www.thenewpornographers.com

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RFTC RIP

As I have been immersing myself in Head of Femur's delightful album Hysterical Stars, I've noticed that the band has songs that remind me of my "checkered" past. That's right, skanking bitch. Laugh it up furball, but those were days that were footloose and fancy free, and extremely short-lived. Along the same lines, I received news today that the rock champions of my youth have plans to call it quits. My knees now hurt after 20 minutes of standing at a show, but back in the day I was spry. I could dance. I could dance, but didn't... at least not well. In any case, the crazy legs, the handfuls of pomade and the cigarette reeking bowling shirts can be attributed to the fact that I was gigantic Rocket From the Crypt fan.



I still am. Months after John Reis' other band Hot Snakes called it quits and the reissuing of major label debut album Circa: Now!, RFTC hangs up the gloves, those sparkly tiger design gloves, and puts to rest one of the most exciting and awesome live shows in the history of rock and roll.

Their last show is to take place on Halloween at the Westin Horton Plaza Grand Ballroom in San Diego. As a person who barely stands walking to the fridge to get a beer, even I am considering a trek down south to see those sweaty but suave greasers one more time.



I never got the famed RFTC tattoo for many reasons (mainly I am huge sissy), but it could be time to pay my respects the hard way, even without the benefit of seeing free shows. I'm that sad and proud. (Wearers of the RFTC tattoo: if you want to get into this final show, you must RSVP to speedosarmy@hotmail.com by October 1!)

Rocket From the Crypt: http://www.rftc.com

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Cyberspace is the Place: Song(s) of the Day

I stand by the fact that Myspace is the bane of my existance, and yet, at the same time, utterly impossible to quit. Way worse than smoking. But aside from online communities, the internet is sometimes a pretty neat device. Why am I so turned on by the internet today? Because all three of today's songs of the day were found using it.

Rejoicing the Fier (and other bad puns): Song of the Day #1 The Fiery Furnaces "Seven Silver Curses" from the forthcoming album Rehearsing My Choir (Rough Trade)

Not too long ago, I had to beat the Freidbergers' cover of "Norwegian Wood (This Bird has Flown)" into my head so many times that in the end I would think it was the best fucking cover in the world. Well buddy, it sure is the best cover in the world. And though I still listen to it on a daily basis, my fix for more was beginning to get the best of me. I was jonesin'. No doubt about it. When I finally found "Seven Silver Curses" I threw it on the mp3 player and let out an orgasmic sigh upon the first few seconds.

Then something went weird. The high didn't go sour, it was just different and I got paranoid. My first thought was "Wow. I didn't think they could get less accesible." Worried that the honeymoon was maybe over and that I'd have to search for for a new sonic obsession, I hit the streets. I knew where to go. Queen of the Paw Paw Tree, Lady of the Straight Street, Funtasia Jones is the authoratative source all things jiveable. So I found her, slapped her some skin and let her get a hit of the "Seven Silver Curses". I tried to talk but she shushed me. Her first words: "They are trying to alienate everyone."

That's all I needed to hear. I wasn't going crazy and this was the good shit afterall. I went back and listened to it two dozen more times, more than a solid three hour tour. And it all made sense. They're trying to alienate every BUT me. The sweet melodic parts, including a lilting piano part delicately played by Matthew, became that much sweeter. Eleanor was in top form, twistin' and turnin' all over the song. And the anti-star of the show, 83 year old grandmother of the siblings, Olga Sarantos, lends a gruff, grizzled, weathered voice, telling it how it is, or like it was rather. I liken her to Bea Arthur with an smoker's lung. It is her story that really drives the song.

Download the song on Infosupernet Highway or be square!
The Fiery Furnaces - "Seven Silver Curses" (via Insound)

Promise Unfullfilled: Song of the Day #2 The Clientele - "Since K Got Over Me" from the the forthcoming album Strange Geometry (Merge)

I promised no more wimpy bullcrap about failed relationships but The Clientele's "Since K Got Over Me" is probably the most sunny, optismistically sounding music from this fogged out London group yet. The catch? It contains probably the most heartwrenching relationship aftermath lyrics since Kelly Clarkson's "Since You've Been Gone". Hi-ohh!

The trio, who gained my heart by being completely ignored by the indie frat boy crowd while opening for Spoon, mixes their signature folky, pyschy, dream pop with an unabashed realistic recounting of the haze you find yourself in post-breakup. The deliriousness, the seemingly unwashable unhappiness and the feeling that everything is "so lucid and so creepy", they all factor in. Singer Alasdair MacLean handles the vocals with a gentleness that is overcome with sleepy mental anguish. Wrapped in a beautiful melody, MacLean elegantly tears his hair out by the handful. Just lovely.

The World Wide Webbing is so in! Download it baby!
The Clientele - "Since K Got Over Me" (via Stereogum)

Reliving the Glory Days, You Know, College: Song of the Day #3
Grandaddy "Pull the Curtain" from the forthcoming Excerpts From the Diary of Todd Zilla EP (V2)

Whenever I hear Grandaddy I insantly become an old man, recounting fond memories of college. I asscoiate Sophtware Slump with the second semester of my senior year. All of my friends have heard this recollection a number of times, so much so where they do the knee-jerk vocal reaction everytime: "Oh righhhht. You have told me this story..." Of course, I continue. It goes like this. I woke up 6pm on a Tuesday with a beer bong stuck to my lips. The familiar taste of Natty Light and mushrooms are still very fresh on my pallette. On one side slept a bustier blond version of an younger female version of Ernest Borgnine, on the the other a little foreign exchange student from the Phillipines named Manuel. I assure you, he had long hair and I was experimenting.

Something like that. Actually the real story is being knee deep in snow on the lacrosse field talking pictures of a the old run down scoreboard for a beginners photography class, listening to "Crystal Lake". It honestly was a zen moment if I ever had one (though I am gonna try to induce one by reading Siddhartha and listening to Six Organs of Admittance this weekend). My jeans and Vans were soaked through and freezing and Jason Lytle was crooning about winter games and "residing by the duraflames". Amazing.

Since then, we've had the immaculate Sumday, and a tease in "The Nature Anthem" but "Pull the Curtain" brings Grandaddy back in full swing, with an EP and a LP on the horizon. But "Pull the Curtain" presents a side of the band that was largely absent on Sumday: the Rock (think "Chartsengrafs" or "Summer Here Kids"). The song starts out gentle but when buzzy guitars begin to chug and the keyboards begin to bleep, the serene memory of taking pictures in the snow goes poof and I'm giving old ladies the devil symbol while driving on the street and kicking ugly dogs during my power walk. The song is not super outstanding, but it serves as nice little preview of things to come and good opening for me to share more made-up college war stories.

Downloading on the Interweb! It's the best!
Grandaddy - "Pull the Curtain" (via Insound)

Now excuse me, there is Myspacing to be done.

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