More About Suckers and Such

These photos aren't from last night's Broadcast show at the Great American Music Hall, but they should give you a slight glimpse into the aural and visual ecstasy that I experienced last night. Or basically, they were pretty fucking rad.



Hats off to Trish Keenan. She's gotta crazy retro, kitschy 1950s space vibe about her. She has charming British sensibilites. And when she opens her mouth, I'll be darned if not every dude, straight or gay, wanted to take her hand in marriage. Speak sexy to me in robotic space talk, baby!

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

Read more!

Stand By Your Band

The Fiery Furnaces
Rehearsing My Choir (Rough Trade)

If you are a faithful reader of Backfield in Motion, it should be painfully obvious that I am infatuated with Eleanor and Matthew Friedberger, hereafter referred to as The Fiery Furnaces. Reviewing their music would be like critiquing my mother's home cooked meal. It's never bad and to find fault would be blasphemous. It's so far from my mind that the vaunted duo could wrong me. Love is blind, sometimes deaf, and that's the way it is.

It has come to my attention that not everyone is like me. The general public does not share the same unconditional love I have for the Furnaces. Some people have never cracked that shell, and some will undoubtedly be turned off sooner or later. And yesterday I broke a cardinal rule of mine: Never read a Pitchfork review before you've written one yourself. I rationalize that I've been steeped in Rehearsing My Choir for well over a month and a half, that it wouldn't influence or get a rise out of me. Pitchforker Amanda Petrusich dropped an anvil of a 4.0 rating on the album. I wished she had just kicked me in the Charlie Browns and stole my juicebox.

Now yes, my bias is high and perhaps my threshold higher, but what was surprising is that I, at points, agreed with Ms. Petrusich's review. But a 4.0? Come on!

I think I'm now officially influenced.

While it would be all too easy to play the "Art for Art's Sake" card here, frankly, I don't believe it wholeheartedly. The Fiery Furnaces at the base is a pop band, a rock and roll outfit which makes it all the more remarkable what they've achieved with Rehearsing My Choir. They've pushed limits of what can be experimental and remain pop music. Naysayers will be quick to say I'm flatout wrong. The album lacks any semblance of a melody. The spoken word is grating. The maniacal, aprupt changes hinders any sort of flow. Hello? Hear Blueberry Boat recently?

That's not fair. Blueberry Boat is exceptional, and at times Rehearsing My Choir can be quirky to say the least. But the model is the same, only with an assload of more ambition. Matthew presents a melting pot of styles: proggy landscapes, Randy Newman style piano bits, disco beats, exotic percussions, ragtime and Dylan-ish folk nods and the almost forgotten garage rock. You don't have to even that listen closely to hear the synth hooks, the melodic tickling of the ivories or vintage Furnace guitar riffage. It's there; I promise.

It really all comes down to the presence of Olga Sarantos, and OH! what a presence it is. The Friedberger's grandmother's spoken-word narrative acts as the most intriguing chip brought to the table and at the same time, the biggest roadblock for many listeners. Sarantos' voice is heavy and unsettling, androgynous and Bea Arthur-esque. The weathered quality of Sarantos' narration gives the story a great sense of weight and legitimacy. The story itself is engaging and dramatic, presented appropriately by Matthew's theatrical and at times extremely literal arrangement (ie buzz sawing guitars for construction in "Does It Remind You of When" and the ominous organ for the Archibishop's arrival in title track "Rehearshing My Choir"). It's full of re-emerging thematic piano parts representing various life moments. Sarantos' gruff delivery is perfect for Matthew's mouthfuls of uber-descriptive words and there is a great sense of history.

Unfortunately, it won't help my argument to say the best offering is the almost Granny-free, nearly disconnected to the mainline "The Wayfaring Granddaughter". Dark synths pepper a thumping disco drum track, and Eleanor contrastly gives a subtler, gentler vocal, save for a brilliant return to old form in describing "two Kevins": "When they met at Joey Meyer's Red White and Blue Demon basketball seminar tutorial clinic day care camp/for underprivileged kids and overstimulated brats/And they were both wearing vintage throwback 45 dollar 1983 White Sox hats/and now at HF, point guard and shooting guard" (and check the rambling of "Forty-Eight Twenty-Three Twenty-Second Street" for some delectible treats). Needless to say, I creamed. This "new" classy, pretty-voiced Eleanor is revisted in Slavin' Away", a sad, tender, and unbelieveably tuneful mourn of a hardworking, underappreciated wife.

When it all boils down, The Fiery Furnaces can pull a Barney and Kako and record themselves belching and counting for 78 minutes and I'll still lap it up like the brainless, obiedient dog I have come to be for them. I won't deny that. Nonetheless, Rehearsing My Choir stands as a piece of work so original and amazing, and whether you like it or not, some of it is catchy. Don't pretend it's not there. Of course, you're still free to hate it. In fact, I'm implore you to hate it. Follow the Pitchfork shepards! I might finally get a little QT with my love, a love that I've shared far much.

The Fiery Furnaces: http://www.thefieryfurnaces.com

Read more!

Hot Lady Guessing Game Time

Tonight, in procrastinating on a Constantines review, I stumbled upon a weblog by the name of The Modern Age and it keyed me into a NY Times Magazine fashion feature with these lovely ladies. Now, you can cheat and click the link to online coverage that I have made available. But why not for fun, play by the rules, make a few guesses and drop me an answer/comment (maybe a who's your fave comment? I think you'll know which is mine).

And if you want a hint (you probably won't need it), each of these vixens have been covered here on this weblog. That's right! I'm having an incredible year! Right up top!

(not in order of preference, though there's a reason she's on the front page)


#1 (You know it!)


#2


#3


#4

Man, I might be inclined to make my own little fashion spread with my favorite indie princesses. Maybe Top Ten style. Then we can try to get in a killer round of MASH in. Seriously, I'm feeling that teenybop right now. Perhaps I'll try it in a slowish time when I have less records to cover. No time for love Dr. Jones, indeed.

NY Times Magazine: http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2005/10/13/magazine/20051016_STYLE_SLIDESHOW_1.html
The Modern Age: http://www.themodernage.org
MASH: http://www.playmash.com

Read more!

Lucid, Creepy and Embarassingly Therapeutic

The Clientele
Strange Geometry (Merge)

When you are broken hearted, it's very natural to start believing that every love song ever written applies to your case. While this it is probably true you might want to "kiss her lips again" and that "he left me standing by the doorway", it's quite laughable that a personal song written by someone you likely don't know can touch you so personally. Come on! You hear the lines you want to hear, ignore the ones that don't apply and presto! The song is about your situation. Nevermind the song is actually about a dog, the death of a father, huffing pain thinner or the dreaded misleading "love god" track (eesh. gross.). I'm guilty of this no doubt. Having said that, I will say with a complete straight face, The Clientele might have saved my life.

I know that's more than a bit of an exaggeration and I'm guilty of the same blind application, but never has an album like Strange Geometry appeared in my life in such a timely fashion. When I first began listening to The Clientele, I enjoyed their dream pop superficially, lilting melodies powered by reverbed pysch guitars. But then, on a cathartic bad day that got worse, I found myself listening to a Clientele mix I made for my tape deck, "House on Fire" (off The Violet Hour) while driving back from Marin in the morning, "Five Day Morning" (Suburban Light) in the afternoon on scorching sidewalks of Lakeshore Ave. and staring blankly into the ceiling to "Everybody's Gone" in the middle of the night. "Everybody's Gone" became a staple for the next few weeks (along with Gilbert O'Sullivan's "Alone Again, Naturally" but that's whole other nut to crack).

Then came the first track off Strange Geometry (also the first track I heard off of the album), "Since K Got Over Me" and it hit me like ton of bricks. I, at that point, became Alasdair MacLean, but Asian with a lower voice and far less talented. Sure, someone has said what MacLean has said before, but his timing was impeccable and never has being brokenhearted been so descriptively poetic and at the same time grounded in reality. This is what Strange Geometry is all about.

Strange Geometry is The Clientele fully realized. After a host of uneven releases that showed glimpses of brilliance and piles of potential, The Clientele has harnessed their songwriting skill to display not only complex melodic execution but a real gift at lyrics. MacLean's soaring melodies set up his words immaculately. "Geometry of Lawns" is very similar to the early 70s soft singer/songwriter stuff (eh, Gilbert O'Sullivan tie in here?), catchy and soothing. MacLean's voice is nearly a whisper: "Once a spell of grace came over me/and I walked on through empty streets/redbricks, sweatshops and madrassahs/Inside everything I heard a voice/ mechanical, beyond itself/like a sentence of a dreamer". The swirling poetry matches the hooks step by step, the words contemplative as the music. And all of a sudden, you find yourself smack dab in the middle of the London fog, specs of mist on your cheek. It's that palpable.

MacLean and his cohorts, James Hornsey and Mark Keen, can't take all the credit. The incomparable Louis Phillipe lends his arrangement skills with one the most impressive displays of string usage. Phillipe gives the album a touch of class, an elegance that goes a long way to making Strange Geometry special. "Impossible" was a decent track off the Ariadne EP, a nice little dichotomy of fuzzed out pyschedelic licks and twee pop tunefulness. With Phillipe's workmanship, the subtle but noticeable string arrangement makes this track an absolute heartwrencher. As jangly guitar plays off the soaring violins, the song breaks into an unnerving distortion, an epic ending indeed. Phillipe's arrangements give ballads like "(I Can't Seem To) Make You Mine" and "Step Into the Light" a 70s soul quality, like early Al Green, and there ain't much sadder than great soul music. Even if it's three pale North Londoners in hip clothing.

When it all boils down, The Clientele makes great music. "My Own Face Inside the Trees" and "When I Came Home From the Party" are just hands down brilliant pop songs. Before you label me overdramatic for saying a band speaks to me, listen to it when you've been left by a lover and tell me its not true. Dirty trick, I know, but if you see footprints in the sand next to mine, it ain't Jesus. The Clientele is not "love god" music; it's music for the people. It's just speaking to you if you want to hear it.

The Clientele will steal your hearts or bore you to death (hopefully the former) at Bottom of the Hill on 11/12/05.

The Clientele: http://www.theclientele.co.uk/

Read more!

Who's the sucker now?

I missed the Deerhoof show. Yeah, I know. I was in Monterey for a lovely wedding (Go get 'em, Skid and Natalie!), but I get to live vicariously through photographs. As I do in all facets of life. Yes, I am Asian.

Here are some shots from the show, which hopefully will tie you over until I get into the meaty coverage of the four C's: The Clientele, The Castanets, Constantines and Clor. All fabulous records.

Thanks to the little Birdie on the wire for the pics.















Deerhoof's new album The Runners Four is currently in stores and is officially blowing my mind.

Deerhoof: http://deerhoof.killrockstars.com

Read more!

Band on the Run, Man on the Walk

Deerhoof
The Runners Four (Kill Rock Stars/5RC)

After years of dreading it, damning it and refusing to do it. I've come to terms that I have to do it. Walking. Yes, I know, walking seems like such a simple, primitive thing to execute but naysayers always forget one major factor in my non-ambulatory pursuits: I'm lazy as fuck. Running? You can just forget about it, buster.

It's ironic that I walked more than I ever had in a day (excluding vacations abroad) to buy an album called The Runners Four, having heard one song called "Running Thoughts". Granted, I've enjoyed Deerhoof for a little while and the anticipation was slightly teeming, especially with one former co-worker (Schmidty) being a huge fan and one other current co-worker (Miah) being a recent convert.

That walk knocked me out for the rest of the week. Tired and achy from an intense, hard battled 20 minute walk with slightly moderate hills and added obstacles such as leaky coffee lid and cigarette hand swing, I found my new records extra-rewarding, and a tremendous surprise in the unexpected accesible nature of The Runners Four.

Avant-indie? Spaz-core? Art-rock? How about just "weird-ass shit". Deerhoof are the ultimate love 'em hate 'em band. I feel people love Deerhoof for being Deerhoof, as much they like the music itself. I certainly feed off the fact that Deerhoof alienates a great deal of joe schmo music listeners. Well, throw that idea out the window, too. Da 'Hoof has gone and made themselves a pop record.

Sorta. Milk Man and Green Cosmos EP displayed Deerhoof at their most experimental and increasingly poppy, relying on quirky, synth-symphonic and nerve-testing rhythms while developing a worthy ear for melody. The Runners Four follows the trail that Apple O blazed, a guitar driven rock record. This is to admit that Apple O had a trail, which I can't really strongly back, but nonetheless, Deerhoof has put everything together. By toning down the more trying oddities and turning up the hooks, The Runners Four might be their best album to date.

I read in The Guardian (in which I stote part of my title to this blog) over a messy lunch that The Runners Four is almost like a double album. I couldn't agree with that sentiment more. The first half features the sugary guitar pop of "Twin Killers", "Vivid Cheek Love Song" and "O'Malley, Former Underdog". These might be the best songs the group has ever recorded, full of clever melodies and hooky delights. Satomi's vocals are none the less chirpy and pecks like dull beak, in a marvelous way of course. The band rarely strays from its course, aside from other standout tracks like the aforementioned "Running Thoughts", a jazzy, drum-heavy (thanks to hailed banger Greg Saunier) pyschedelic trip and "Scream Team", a frenetic, spastic noise-pop number trying to roll carefree, only to be intermittenly interrupted by extreme distortion and drum mini-explosions. This collection of songs is like a soundtrack to a children's show, albeit a screwed up, overly-saturated sweet, mindfuck of a children's show. But not like that Wonder Showzen fodder, that's just plain horseshit.

Once past "Scream Team", part 2 begins. Pent up weirdness begins to spill out, sort of like a problem child in his sunday school clothes, it's constricting and as hard as he tries to stay kempt, something's bound to come off. Deerhoof wears the bowtie of relatively straight guitar pop through the first half, but at some point it's inevitable that the shirt tail gets untucked, a dress shoe finds itself missing and there's a big spill of fruit punch on a pant leg. "Midnight Bicycle Mystery" is still relatively listenable dispite it's monster movie meandering while "Spy On You" is a repetitive creep-out quirk-fest. The attention deficient album also hits its come downs in sequence with the hushed "After Me the Deluge", slowed-down bluesiness of "Siriustar" and bizarrely beautiful "Lemon and Little Lemon". At the end, comes the most annoying track in "Rrrrrrright", only for the fact that I had to count how many "R's" the song title had. The track itself is quite ass-kickin'.

So in the end you have fittier, happier, more productive (20 songs, 56 minutes) Deerhoof with the release of The Runners Four. And perhaps there will be an arrival of a fitter, happier version of me, with all the walking and potential for future walks. Again, no running. Now if an awesome band can just name their album Gets a Great New Job and Finds a Steady Relationship, I just might be alright.

"Son, now that you're going out into the world there's something you should know. You see that?"
"Yeah."
"That's shit. And this: shinola"
"Shit. Shinola."
"Son, you're gonna be alright."

Deerhoof is playing a record release party this weekend, Saturday 10/15/05 at the Great American Music Hall.

Deerhoof: http://deerhoof.killrockstars.com

Read more!

Game on, Toronto!

Metric
Live It Out (Last Gang)


Broken Social Scene
Broken Social Scene (Arts and Crafts)

This is where I would be throwing in some fantastically witty banter about Canada, but I bet you’re feeling like that shit is kinda tired. I’m sure thinking that right now. Plus, I have nothing. No jokes. I just have to call it like I see it. With the Parades, the Fires, the Eyes, the Pornographers, the “Nicer America” is getting more exposure than a blooper reel on Taradise (cue drums).

Montreal, blah blah blah. What about about Toronto? The home of the Hockey Hall of Fame is the stomping ground for the gigantic collective Broken Social Scene, of which many successful off shoots and associates (Stars to name one) have branched out. Of them all, Metric might be the most dynamic.

Once again, I find myself in position to gush. Emily Haines is a bombshell. Haines’ range of voice, the pulsing synths, the disco drive and one of the most incredible live shows in the circuit makes them a handsome draw.

If Old World Underground, Where Are You Now? put them on the map, Live It Out, their new release, attempts the building process, but not without its snags and minor disasters. Live It Out is not as solid top to bottom as its predecessor, but with a few outstanding offerings makes it well worth the slight disappointment.

The album opens with "Empty" which over-dramatically switches from its hushed whisper intro to an all out guitar assualt with no time to brace yourself. The sonic burst of "Empty" sets the tone for Live It Out, an album of adequate melodies, guatir rockers and simple arrangements, a collection of "nothing specials". The next track, "Glass Ceiling" offers no savior, as the melody line is even more drab than the track before, sort of pounding away with no emotion. It's not sexy.

The main issue the Metric-faithful will have is that the album is simply not dancy. For those who didn't care for Haines razor sharp commentaries on the war in Iraq or her war against the scene, took comfort in the riding hi-hats and thumping kick. Asses were shaking and there was not a head turned when Haines slyly made fun of every white belted haircut in the place (me included). Live It Out sorely needs a few of those tracks, and "Poster of Girl" is not quite enough, though its synth hooks and disco beat valiantly tries to pick up the slack.

However, with a handful of mediocre, barely passable cuts, Metric also brings it on a handful of keepers. Live It Out is as close as it comes to modern day "alt-rock" album. They walk a fine line between respectable synth-punk and mid 90s radio cheese, but I've never heard a Republica song as brillaint as "Patriarch on a Vespa" or "Handshakes". "Patriarch on a Vespa" is a tailor made live song, arrangement-wise nothing spectacular but gets driven by Haines' maniacal, stuttering vocal outbursts. "Handshakes" is powered by guitarist Jimmy Shaw in what might be the guitar pop song of the year if it didn't tail off into a Haines rant, as snappy as it is ("Buy this car to drive to work/Drive to work to pay for this car"). "Moster Hospital" is also a fantastic single with bouncy drum work, anthemic chorus and tons of sass. The obligatory ballad-y tracks fare decently well. "Ending Start" and "Police and the Private" aren't gonna make you cry but they might make you play air piano. Or is that just me?

While Metric seemingly got impossibly more simple, their cousins in Broken Social Scene tried the opposite, making a bigger more complex album than their breakthrough You Forgot It In People. The lineup is bigger, arrangements are more detailed, and gridwork more vast. This makes for some tangled wires and short circuits, but again these damn Canucks are pretty damn resilient.

You Forgot It In People was an exercise in control. Here is band that can do a lot. They made an album both experimental and personal. And they not only succeeded, they may have set the bar insanely high. Broken Social Scene loses a lot of the intimacy because of its vast nature and sort of mad scientist style meandering. Old tracks like "Stars and Sons", "Almost Crimes" and "Lover's Spit" had a sense of containment, as if they bottled up something magical in a 5 minute song. Many of the tracks on Broken Social Scene feel like the genie was let out of the lamp.

This isn't as dire as it may sound. They album is still enjoyable to the max, but again the expectations are great, and I naively hoped they would out-do themselves. Explosive tracks like "Superconnected" and "Fire Eye'd Boy" still crank it up with no pretention; they are unfuckwithable. Haines-led ballad "Swimmers" defintiely hold a candle to "Anthems For Seventeen Year Old Girl" with its gentle sea-water like flow and breezy melody. And Kevin Drew describes "It's All Gonna Break" as "Bob Seger on acid" which is more accurate than playing Duck Hunt two feet away from the TV. Evidently, Bob Seger on acid kind of sounds like Nada Surf.

Their expansive sound has lent to excellent a jazzy vibe (again thanks in part to the multi-talented Jimmy Shaw, trumpet player) in songs like opener "Our Faces Split the Coast in Half" and "Hotel". Horns accent the ending sequence of possibly the top track of the album "7/4 (Shoreline)", led by my heroine Leslie Feist, whose voice has never been so recognizable, confident and goddamn desireable. Of course, I've always believed Feist was amazing.

Burdened by high expectations, both Live It Out and Broken Social Scene inevitably disappoint, but I'd like to think of it as getting a point for tie (in hockey, of course, though come to think about it, I think they changed all those rules with the new agreement and stuff). You didn't win but you should be rewarded for not losing.

Blogger's Note: I sound like hard man here, but I do adore both records.

Metric is playing Slim's with Death of the Party supporting 11/3/05. Broken Social Scene rocks The Grand with the fabulous and gorgeous Feist supporting 11/9/05.

Metric: http://www.ilovemetric.com
Broken Social Scene: http://www.arts-crafts.ca/bss

Read more!

Photo Fun Procrastination Day: It's never the way it should be

Here's my story and I'm sticking to it. I was gonna blog like 6 times in the last day or so, but the server was down so I got nothing. It's not the fact that I watched almost every pitch of every baseball game on TV in the last few days.

Anyway, let me start by saying if you didn't see either of these two bands (below) this weekend (and you had more than one opportunity to), I might have to consider you to be a big sucker. Or maybe a buster.


Holy Ghost Revival: Jesus Fucking Christ.


Two Gallants: Cream in the Jeans.

Also, before I get to Metric and Broken Social Scene in the next post, here are some pics, my "source" ("The CSO") obtained from his "source" ("?") of the Fiery Furnaces two weekends ago.


Swooooooooooon.


Swooooooooooon. Harder.

These are some good bands: Castanets, Deerhoof, The Constantines, Danger Doom. I like them.

Holy Ghost Revival: http://www.holyghostrevival.com
Two Gallants: http://www.twogallants.com

Read more!

A Frighteningly Enlightening Experience

Wolf Parade
Apologies to Queen Mary (Sub Pop)

Let's cut the bullshit. I'll put it right out there. Every word of hype, every second of anticipation was worth it. Wolf Parade is all they're cracked up to be, with a slight possibility of more.

For the past two weeks I've been griping about the block that has plagued me in writing a review on the Montreal-based band's full length debut Apologies to Queen Mary. I was worried that when I settled myself to actually write, nothing but nonsensical gushing would spew out, singing praises like every indie publication, hopping on the overcrowded bandwagon.

I know this inevitable. Let the gushing begin.

The beautiful thing about Wolf Parade is their ability to embody a yin-yang sort of duality. On one hand, they're totally abrasive, visceral and jarring. On the other, they are melodic and strangely accessible. They gracefully go from pummeling rock to disco dance to atmospheric noise, and don't miss a beat. How do they do it? Why does it work so goddamn well? Why am I so moved?

Perhaps the vocals can best begin to explain this strange existence of good and evil. The meshing of two vocalists, Dan Boeckner and Spencer King, creates a off-setting harmony. Neither can claim a pure form of voice, in fact, both voices posess a nervous, spastic energy found in the likes of David Bryne, Ian Curtis and Isaac Brock. Brock produced Apologies to Queen Mary, and his Mouse-y fingerprints are smudged all over the record, and the popular comparison to (somewhere in between) Modest Mouse and friends The Arcade Fire are right on.

The album opens with "You Are a Runner and I Am My Father's Son" a raucous, eerie stomp. It moves like a lumbering Bigfoot smashing through trees in the forest. Then, seemlessly it fades into the comparatively understated "Modern World", an acoustic guitar-led, piano plinking echo of the Arcade Fire, haunting and comforting, if that's even possible.

Most of the offerings on Apologies to Queen Mary bleed into each other naturally. Wolf Parade has a great sense of sound. They have an ability to capture a great melodic burst in every track, that even the more subdued and slow tracks have life, even if its a dreary, painful one ("Same Ghost Everynight", which by the way reminds me of Spoon's "Chips and Dip"... anyone?). But the best moments still lie in their intense, driving numbers like "Grounds For Divorce", "Dear Sons and Daughters of Hungry Ghosts" or "I'll Believe in Anything". Each one of them tweak-free could be a hit single, but Wolf Parade twists and distorts them so much with vocals snaking its way through hooky guitar licks and omnious keys. It's so much better this way. They end the album with "This Heart's on Fire", a seemingly optimistic anthem. It's message passionate and encompassing: things can look bleak but "it's getting better all the time". This is language I understand.

Okay, so that's all laid out, still no answers. Shit, I'm always looking for answers. Wolf Parade's amazing because they make no sense, they can't solve all of my problems with a simple pop song about love. They know that life sucks and can be complicated. So in conclusion, I love Apologies to Queen Mary for its empathy. It itself is imperfect yet completely whole. It's good and evil. It's standoffish and inviting. It's impulsive but all wise. Perhaps Wolf Parade is the newest coming of Buddha? Just throwing it out there. Sleep on it.

Wolf Parade: http://wolfparade.cjb.net/

Read more!

Okay, one more time with feeling (very very ecstatic feeling) plus other shit

They're pretty good.

For those who missed the utterly radical two nights at Cafe Du Nord, trust me, you really blew it. Total suckers, you all. Highlights included pretty much everything, but if you're a cheater like me (and a self-loathing one at that) the stuff of Rehearsing My Choir, specifically "Slavin' Away", "Guns Under the Counter" and the "The Wayfaring Grandaughter" were especially exceptional. I think I've shocked a couple random bystanders by rudely approaching them and shouting "Guns under the counter! Guns under the counter" the way Eleanor did. Eh, I guess you had to be there.

Once again, I find myself at the proverbial desk in the bloffice (blog office? fuck it, whatever) while the man keeps piling up the stacks in the "to do" bin. I'm surrounded by towers of work waiting to be attended to. With today's release of Metric's Live It Out, Broken Social Scene's S/T, Franz Ferdinand's (CD release) You Can Have So Much Better and Ladytron's Witching Hour, among others, I really have my work cut out for me. I haven't yet gotten to Wolf Parade's masterful Apologies to Queen Mary either. I plain suck.

Well before I set sail on the sea of blah blah blah over the next few enteries, let me quickly mention that I'm adoring Laura Veirs' Year of Meteors (Nonesuch). I wanted to give it a thumbs up before it potentially got inadvertantly trampled by the onslaught of the heavy hitters. Musically somewhere between Beth Orton and Cat Power, and melody-wise falling smackdab in the middle of Colin Meloy and Mirah Yom Tov Zeitlin, Veirs is poised for some goddamn recognition. You might accuse me of just looking at pictures (check the cover) but her voice has sense of naive, nerdiness that really endears you to her quaint songs. From the comtemplative folky "Through the Glow" to the razor-sharp rock of "Black Gold Blues" and the poppy sing-along of "Cool Water" to the eletronically percussive "Secret Someones", Veirs' styles runs the gamut, yet is held together by her warmness and sincerity. She can be slightly MOR and tries her hardest to get lost in the pack of the lady singer-songwriters, but with intense, all-out dedication to Year of Meteors, you will undoubtedly be rewarded.

You can smell the boiled cabbage on the bullets. Sorry. Don't mind me, it'll all make sense soon. Unless you don't plan to get Rehearsing My Choir, then you will never get it. Let me tell you, it ain't no fun goin' through life never gettin' it.

Rehearsing My Choir will be released October 25 on Rough Trade. Laura Veirs is headlining Bottom of the Hill 11/16/05.

The Fiery Furnaces: http://www.thefieryfurnaces.com
Laura Veirs: http://lauraveirs.com

Read more!