Enemies of the Sun - 'The Heartless EP'

I try not to get too self-righteous about typos, for two reasons: 1) Grammar Nazis suck and B) Everyone makes mistakes. Example: I recently submitted a review to the Org where I got the band’s name wrong… every time. Go on, count the errors. What’s more, the band e-mailed me to gently correct my mistake, which just made me feel like that much more of an asshole. Point is, everybody takes turns fucking up. So it is with full self-awareness of my hypocrisy that I need to roast metal act Enemies of the Sun for a glaring error on The Heartless EP.

The track listing on the back cover is done with Roman numerals. Star Wars fans/apologists know that I means 1, II means 2, etc. Things get iffy on track four, “Between Me and the Heartless,” which is listed as IX, which actually translates to nine. Now, I know they meant IV. It’s not a big deal, and given that I kind of hate the EP, which sounds like Def Leopard trying to be hip “for the kids” by covering Stone Temple Pilots, complaining about it seems extraneous and mean. So I said to myself, “Hey, man. Chill out. Now be a good Opinionated Internet User and read the press release for research…”

Son of a female dog, these guys are from Milan, Italy! How do you mess up numbers invented in your own damn country? Furthermore, how do you think Def Leopard is awesome? Have you heard Hysteria? It sucks so hard.

OK, let’s talk tunes. The Heartless EP is bad. Listeners get four songs/15 minutes worth of metal leaning toward the glam side of lame. Fans of Motley Crue’s Dr. Feelgood and Velvet Revolver’s Contraband might get a kick out of it, but the rest of the world’s inhabitants can go on with their lives. Oddly enough, the final track – the aforementioned offender “Between Me and the Heartless” – has more of an appealing White Zombie vibe, though it’s almost as ho-hum as the preceding tracks. Overall, the EP makes me want to make up derogatory puns of the band’s name, like Enemies of the Bum or Enemies of the Fun or Enemies of the Songs That Are Good.

Esprit de Corps - 'Under Constant Influence'

Colorado’s Esprit de Corps’ new-ish EP Under Constant Influence combines Brand New’s vitriol, the Blackout Pact’s freewheeling spirit, and Pistolita’s, uh, simultaneous use of keys and screams. It also comes on hand screened cardboard with black ink, which was awfully nice and/or DIY of them. Esprit de Corps (or the fuckin’ EDC as they like to be called) churns out five emotional hardcore songs in 14 minutes, taking on bitter ex-lovers all along the way. It’s very cathartic, and even a wee bit rocking.

“Mild Herb” starts the rant-fest, with frontman Chris Gardner in full-on nihilist mode, promising a girl two things: 1) “I’m not even here / I’m not even anywhere” and 2) “You’ll never find a boy quite like me / I promise you that.” Dude’s got a decent set of screamin’ pipes; he never goes too Botch-y, opting for a more intelligible, occasionally wounded approach. “Black Gold” adds a slight dance-punk element to the band’s repertoire, with Gardner turn his venom on himself. The music is fine, though Gardner throws too many clichés into the mix (“We crushed our bones for making bread,” “I pray my soul to keep,” etc.). It’s a decent tune, though at best it’s still only the second greatest song called “Black Gold” (Soul Asylum, I still loves you).

“On Conquering” and “Way Too Rowdy” follow the same angsty formula with solid results. At 4:24, “Forget the Titanic, We Sink Faster” feels downright epic compared to the other two-minutes-and-some-change tunes on Under Constant Influence. The song is pretty straightforward: “We’re fucked and this ship is going down.” Gardner sells the lines with great tenacity, especially when he gets to the crux of the matter – it’s not that they’re breaking up so much as his lady promised she loved him. Gardner acknowledges their youth, but it’s not enough when he put all his faith in three words (those words of course being “I tolerate you”). It’s a good ending to a good EP, making Under Constant Influence a worthwhile investment for those who enjoy hardcore that is emotional, maybe even occasionally screamingly so.

Envy/Jesu - split

Summer’s halfway over, and I still haven’t made a beach trip yet. Haven’t burnt my feet on sand or dodged New Jersey’s tag policy or rocked my beach records. The Mescaleros, Band of Horses, and Minus the Bear always put me in a sunny mood, and that reissue of Dennis Wilson’s Pacific Ocean Blue was a welcome addition last year. Another album I always spin, preferably at night with the waves crashing in the distance and maybe some percussive rain, is My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless. The penultimate shoegaze record, it’s a beautiful hazy mess. A thundering behemoth. The dreamiest, the swirliest, the gosh dang bestest. And while I’ve found other bands that kinda, sorta, almost approximate that sound (M83, Mogwai, Sigur Rós), or rather certain angles of it, nothing has ever quite hit me the same way. And while sometimes that makes me sad, it’s still great to hear MBV’s ideas live on, however directly or indirectly. Which is why I don’t mind the year it took for Envy and Jesu’s split EP to drop in the states.

Jesu and Envy are two top-notch post-rock/post-hardcore/post-MBV bands that blend passion and atmosphere quite well. Envy goes first on the split with three tracks. If these songs recall Envy’s work with Thursday last year, well, that might be because they were recorded around the same time in 2008. There’s a more profound rising/falling arc here than on the Thursday split, and the material, when taken as a whole, feels better conceived. And also like that other EP, Envy comes out sounding like the better band. “Conclusion of Existence” opens the album with a subdued, droning electronic beat and ethereal guitars. It’s so hypnotic and calming that when “A Winter Quest for Fantasy” repeats the same trick before exploding during its final 90 seconds, it’s revelatory. Here is a band with a grasp of both chaos and order, violence and passivity. After this superb rising action, “Life Caught in the Rain” brings the listener back down. Where Loveless blew out of the gate with “Only Shallow” before creating a mood that stretched across the album, Envy shows moderation upfront, with a dynamic second act. However, all three tracks need to be considered together; the sequencing is crucial.

Jesu fills out the record’s backend with two lengthy ambient dance jams. Loveless was a lot of things; one them being a prediction of the U.K.’s love of jungle and techno. “Hard to Reach” winks at “Soon,” blending in cloudy, swirling instrumentation over a mid-tempo dance beat. At almost 14 minutes long, it’s somewhat of a patience-tester. But then, if you’re going to hate Jesu for droning too much, you probably shouldn’t have put ‘em on in the first place. “The Stars That Hang Above You” is more manageable at about half the running time, and just as solid. The tracks lack the flow of Envy’s material, though. Not that it’s a knock or anything. It’s just that Jesu’s songs work more individually, especially since “Hard to Reach” cycles through a number of ideas before its conclusion.

I know it’s been a year since these songs were written and recorded and what-not, but I can’t help but wonder where Envy and Jesu will go from here. Envy’s half of this split is arguably the best I’ve heard from them so far. Jesu’s got a full-length and an EP nearing completion for 2009. Until then, at least I’ve got five more nighttime ocean jams.

Ace Enders & A Million Different People - 'When I Hit the Ground'

Who knew the guy that recorded a cover of “Power of Love” by Huey Lewis & The News would go on to make an overproduced pop rock record? About two years after the emo boy geniuses in The Early November played their oddly chipper farewell show, the band’s former frontman Ace Enders (and A Million Different People) has dropped When I Hit the Ground, his first solo full-length (I Can Make a Mess Like Nobody’s Business notwithstanding). Like TEN’s triple-disc The Mother, The Mechanic, and The Path, the record is an uneven collection. Unlike Mother, however, When I Hit the Ground is only 14 songs long, so every clunker hurts a bit more.

Not that the record disappoints early on. Indeed, the double shot of “Reintroduction” and “Take the Money and Run” bears The Early November’s nervous energy with a dash of scene criticism. Lines like “You made a fortune off of me / Singing everyone around me looks the same” don’t cut too deep, bordering on mere bellyaching, but the hooks are too good to ignore. Track three, “New Guitar,” is a brief acoustic interlude almost on par with “1000 Times a Day” or “Never Coming Back.” Almost. The record starts to give off suspicious vibes with the next song, “The Only Thing I Have (The Sign).” Its 16-note dance rock feel still works, but the vocals are a little too layered, creating a distracting army of synthetic Aces.

After “The Only Thing I Have,” When I Hit the Ground never really recovers. “Where Do We Go From Here,” easily the album’s best track, gets buried beneath middling pop like “Sweeter Light” and “Bring Back Love,” or worse, power ballads like “When I Hit the Ground.” Here’s a quick shorthand for When I Hit the Ground: If the song has piano, it sucks. Enders has always been willing to explore rock’s every nook and/or cranny, but the string-n-piano half-time of “When I Hit the Ground” is overwrought and underwritten. While it’s the only legitimately annoying song on the record, most of the remainder is forgettable, which is hardly an improvement.

Getting back to “Where Do We Go From Here,” though, we see a bonafide late period rock gem from Enders. It’s epic and rocking. Enders gets to play around with various rhythms and really opens up his throat on the chorus. It’s a roller coaster of a song – here’s the big crunchy opening riff, aw but here’s the soaring chorus, oh OK here’s the chillout bridge and what the hey now we’ve got a guitar and a drum solo. Yes. Sweet Christ yes.

But the joys of “Where Do We Go From Here” are rarely recreated on the rest of When I Hit the Ground. At its best, the record is comparable to Dashboard Confessional’s Dusk and Summer, an overly slick batch of hack radio rock concealing a few true, resonant gems. At its worst, well… it’s kind of like The Fray. It’s worth mentioning that the strongest tracks tend towards The Early November’s brand of emo, so take that as you will.

I mean, reunite already, geez.

Eternal Lord - 'Blessed Be This Nightmare'

Iron Maiden. DragonForce. Black fucking Sabbath. Great Britain has turned out some great metal bands. Ferret Music signees and “Dirty South, United Kingdom” residents Eternal Lord, however, are not among such elite. The group’s new album, the laughably titled Blessed Be This Nightmare, cycles through the metal/hardcore playbook quickly and efficiently. But as a listening experience, it’s a total death march, melodramatic yet ultimately tame.

Admittedly, Eternal Lord has some decent musical ideas; like any metal band, they are technically adept. Tunes like “Get to Fuck” and “I, the Deceiver” cycle through riffs and pounding double kick drums well enough. Guitarists Shaun Zerebecki and Chris Gregory show a solid range, mixing their chugging with some sweet harmonics and the occasional ambient part. If nothing else, Blessed Be This Nightmare is 38 minutes of adequately skull splitting, fairly face melting metal.

But the band is also entirely forgettable. There are countless metal/technical hardcore bands out there running the same plays, and better too. But more importantly, where the band really fails is in the lyrical department.

I gravitate towards intelligible singing. Operatic vocals in metal are A-OK with me, but what I really love is someone who yells with righteous fury but still manages to sound like a human being. Eternal Lord frontman Edward Butcher goes for the Marlboro-loving-grizzly-bear-masturbating-with-a-chainsaw sound, and it’s the kind of vocal approach that sounds demonic initially and then too much like a novelty after a while. It’s grating, yet also kitschy. Given the Org’s roots in punk and hardcore, I hope I’m not stretching too far in attempting to compare Butcher to, say, Henry Rollins or Ian MacKaye.

When I spin a record like Black Flag’s My War or Fugazi’s 13 Songs, I am met with a force far greater than anything Butcher can conjure. The fury that emanates from “My War” or “Waiting Room” is an all-encompassing energy, transcendent yet very much tethered to a human form. Because while these men express power in a brilliant way, their vocals still sound like they are coming from a human being. It is this quality, coupled with thought provoking lyrics, which makes such works so compelling. So while Butcher’s voice might sound “heavier” to some, to me it simply sounds cartoonish. I would much rather listen to someone like Rollins, who sounds like a pissed off man with (and this is important) something to say.

Ultimately, Eternal Lord is trying twice as hard to be half as good as a Metallica or a Strike Anywhere or a Minor Threat. This music does not move me in any possible way, whether musically, lyrically, or even ironically.

Elk City - 'New Belivers'

A band’s first single should, in addition to being kickass, never be the strongest track on said band’s album. It’s kind of a bass ackwards logic to not start off with one’s biggest asset, but bear with me. By introducing itself with its strongest volley, a band sets listeners up for disappointment once they buy the LP or EP. They’ve heard the best, now they get the rest, and that’s… not so great. Sadly, such is the case for Elk City and its latest release, New Believers.

While by no means a “bad” record, New Believers suffers for the sins of its makers. The album’s lead single, and opening track, is “Cherries in the Snow.” Peppy, poppy, and ever so sugary, “Cherries in the Snow” is exactly like the orchestral indie pop Camera Obscura showcased last year on Let’s Get Out of This Country [NOTE: This ran in 2007], that The Smiths displayed during their excellent ’80s run, that David Bowie and Neil Diamond pioneered so very long ago. Complete with catchy arrangements, “Cherries in the Snow” is the strongest and quickest track New Believers has to offer. And that kind of sucks.

Everything that follows “Cherries in the Snow” is far tamer by comparison. While tracks like “Silver Lawyers” and “You Got Me” have their own indie-pop-meets-showtunes charm, they don’t quite ignite interest like that introductory cut. They’re just decent, although there are some other standouts. The mellow acoustic guitar and handclaps in “Little Brother” are cute, and frontman Renée LoBue’s smoky, sultry voice imbues the song with a beautiful soul. The dirty pseudo-psychadelia of “White Walls” is another solid track, but also a depressing reminder that this album could be so much more.

Next time around, Elk City could go two routes – write more up tempo numbers like “Cherries in the Snow,” or pursue the fuzzy classic rock that LoBue’s voice could easily lead. She’s got a strong, memorable set of vocal cords. It’s a shame that she’s trying to chill out like Feist when she could blow up like Janis Joplin.

The Eels live March 28, 2008

Not to brag or anything, but I totally met Mark Everett—E to his friends—Friday night. His band The Eels (just E and buddy The Chet) played the Sanctuary at the First Unitarian Church March 28, and it was a great time. Now, when I say I “met” him, I don’t mean we shook hands. Or traded witty anecdotes about our prolific sexual adventures in Paris. Or hit up Wawa together. Or even made eye contact, now that I think about it. But after that night, I can say I know E like a friend.

The Eels came to town as part of their “Meet the Eels” tour, and the show lived up to the title. A low-budget, multimedia extravaganza set amongst stiff wooden pews, chandeliers and turquoise walls, the event kicked off with a screening of an award-winning episode of the BBC documentary series Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives in which E appeared. His father, Hugh Everett III, just so happens to be the quantum physicist who proposed the concept of parallel universes.

The documentary follows E’s journey to meet some of his father’s colleagues, as well as disciples of his theory. E clearly still doesn’t know how to feel about the father he only mildly had, and he occasionally squirms underneath all the excitement people have towards him over a subject he barely comprehends. The episode is at times humorous, informative and touching. Oh, and mind-blowing. Alternate dimensions are very, very mind-blowing.

Parallel Worlds provided a great base for understanding E’s music, most of which deals with the deaths of his parents and sister. Now, my girlfriend is the real Eels fan; I was only a marginal listener until this night. But by the time E took to the stage, solo, grizzled and dressed like a gas station attendant, I felt like I had known him for years.

Even if he hadn’t screened Parallel Worlds, though, I still would have been drawn into E’s performance. His Virginia twang shines through his music, in his bluesy guitar playing and gruff-ish vocal delivery. Calling to mind Bruce Springsteen circa Nebraska more than he does ’90s alt-rock, E yelped and strummed his way into the crowd’s good graces with tunes like “My Beloved Monster” and “Flyswatter.”

The “Meet the Eels” theme was spelled out further for the crowd when a booming voice informed E that “this is your life.” He shrugged it off and played catchy tunes like “I Like Birds,” “Dirty Girl” and the always true piano ditty “It’s a Motherf-----.” Sideman and multi-instrumentalist The Chet accompanied on many tunes. The highlight of their partnership was when they switched positions on piano and drums mid-song during “Trouble With Dreams” without missing a note.

The Chet took the spotlight for two passages from E’s autobiography Things the Grandchildren Should Know. These readings offered two more brief glimpses into E’s life, specifically his first days trying to “make it” as a musician in California and the days following his sister’s suicide.

While most of the songs performed had a bluesy low key quality to them, the duo amped up the grunge on popular single “Novacaine for the Soul.” After two encores and an assertion of “You did good kid” from that mysterious booming voice, E and The Chet bowed out for good. There were no Missy Elliot covers (le sigh), but there were plenty of intimate good times. “Meet the Eels,” indeed.

Regarding emo

This article appeared in the March 22, 2006 of La Salle University's student-run newspaper, Collegian. Two years later, it's still kinda relevant, I guess. What's funny is that the genre got even dumber.

“I built this life and now it’s mine.” – Jawbreaker, “Accident Prone”

For what it’s worth, I like “emo” music (hereafter referred to without quotation marks). Bands like Jimmy Eat World and Dashboard Confessional helped me deal with the painfully awkward experience that was high school, not to mention assorted sordid drives from Pennsylvania to Maryland and New Jersey in the summertime, with tuneful/tuneless emotional outlets. As one who has always had a good deal of social anxiety (or ineptitude), I can relate when I hear a singer croon/wail/whine about his or her own public shortcomings, and sometimes triumphs. I had a lot of angst back in the day.

Emo is a product of ’80s hardcore and is short for “emotional hardcore.” The movement has gone every which way since then, and is now ridiculously hard and pointless to define. So long as it is angst-tastic, it can have the emo label slapped on, which is unfair, lazy and annoying. Fashion seems to play into the genre now as well, as black-rimmed glasses, ink-black dyed hair and black eyeliner seem to have become prerequisites. While I do not doubt the earnestness of such bands that follow this dress code, I am annoyed as heck at their presence. It is in the interest of proliferating good music over bad that I will ignore such tripe and focus on three really good emo bands from the ’90s that I think need more credit and listeners. Since emo means a lot of different things to a lot of different people, I’m going to call this “Joe Pelone’s List of Three Bands That are Kind of Angsty but are Still Rocking.” Good enough?

Jawbreaker: Formed in the late ’80s, Jawbreaker combined punk rock intensity with journal-like lyrics. Frontman Blake Schwarzenbach’s throaty shout had an everyman kind of feel to it on the technically ambitious Bivouac and the straight-forward rock of 24 Hour Revenge Therapy. Throat surgery cleared his singing voice up a bit for the band’s last album, Dear You. While each album is musically unique, the frankness and imagery of Schwarzenbach’s lyrics is continuous throughout. Songs like “Bad Scene, Everyone’s Fault” discussed the politics of a party, while “Chesterfield King” agonized over the intricate actions that go into making a close friend a love interest. Elsewhere, “Boxcar” flipped off the entire underground with its catchy “1-2-3-4, who’s punk? What’s the score?” hook. Jawbreaker was one of the best punk/emo bands of the ’90s, period.

Discount: Described by many as the female-led version of Jawbreaker, Discount rocked just as hard and emoted just as wonderfully. Even more simple and direct than Schwarzenbach, frontwoman Alison Mosshart could convey the many ups and downs of a single day in two minutes or less. She did even more than that when she summed up an entire long distance relationship on in “Half Fiction.” Guitarist Ryan Seagrist (unfortunate name, indeed) could tear away at his strings with the fervor of Johnny Ramone. Discount broke up well before they should have, and the group’s three studio albums are all out of print. However, they can all usually be found used (and cheap!) at the various record shops on South Street. Ataxia’s Alright Tonight and Half Fiction rock out in a Tsunami Bomb meets The Buzzcocks fashion, while swan song Crash Diagnostic is like a more punk Sleater-Kinney record, or early Pretty Girls Make Graves.

Sunny Day Real Estate: Before Coheed and Cambria got the designation of “The Prog Rock Emo Band,” there was Sunny Day Real Estate. The best Sub Pop band ever, (apologies to Nirvana, The Shins) SDRE’s lyrics conjured up abstract moods more than the specific scenes of Jawbreaker or Discount, but Jeremy Enigk and Co. shouted the lines with such hard conviction that it didn’t really matter. When not breaking up for the umpteenth time, the band released four solid albums, the best being the debut Diary.“Seven” rocks at a frenetic pace while Enigk shreds his vocal chords. Elsewhere, “In Circles” trudges better than most grunge bands ever did, or could. The band’s eponymous follow-up extended Diary’s efforts, while third album How It Feels To Be Something On slowed down the tempo and turned up the moody ambience. Songs like “Pillars” are chilling and mature. Turmoil and discontent finally killed the band in 2000, but members have gone on to form the similarly sounding The Fire Theft.