Transportation troubles abounded for the Ted Leo/Cale Parks show at The Barbary Sun., Dec. 14. Parks, the Brooklyn-based electronics fan and pseudo-percussionist opener, lost some chunks of his rental car’s engine. On my end, my bus-riding, concert-going partner got lost somewhere on the outskirts of King of Prussia, wandering up and down the 202 highway on foot. A rescue mission was coordinated between his girlfriend and I. And as for headliner Ted Leo, well, the weariness of the road in general was tearing at him, as he amicably told the crowd through a series of anecdotes. In the last month or so, Leo’s gotten pulled over for speeding four times. He nearly died in a blizzard trying to get from Boston to Buffalo. But he did finally check out this one vegan restaurant somewhere in Pennsyltucky that he’s driven by dozens of times.
For all this hassle, thank goodness that show turned out so nicely.
Cale Parks specializes in sound collages and ambient vocals, which only synchs up with Ted Leo’s style if you count his experimental Tej Leo(?), RX / pharmacists album. All told, Parks was a decent, though somewhat lackluster, opener. He kept his set brief. He often avoided speaking directly into mic. Clearly owing a debt or two to Brian Eno, Parks’ music is ethereal yet dance-oriented. But it lacks a certain drive. With the exception of “Every Week Ends,” his live drumming never went beyond the simplest of notes. The preprogrammed beats weren’t that much more complex either. While minimalism can be a virtue, Parks’ compositions often seemed like the electronic equivalent of a grade school band recital. I kept waiting for “Hot Cross Buns,” to no avail.
Leo, however, was not lacking in energy or dexterity. He walked in through the front door, went to the stage, plugged in his electric guitar, and, after a few mock cock rock poses on the monitor, proceeded to tear through his set list. The first few songs went over well, with the highlight being a cover of “Nobody’s Driving” by Amebix. Later, Leo started cranking out older tunes like “The High Party” and “The Sword in the Stone,” to even greater applause. But while his originals are mighty fine, it was Leo’s covers and conversational skills that made the show truly great.
See, Ted Leo is the sort of the guy that, if you talk to him, he will talk back. The two of you will have a discussion. When he thanked the crowd for applauding after a song, one fan said, “You’re welcome.” This provoked a five minute dialogue about the performer/audience dynamic (and a running joke for the rest of the night). Another fan asked him about his Amebix cover. This later segued into a chat about Leo’s take on band reunions (Amebix good, The Specials bad, The Mescaleros… dubious), which in turn provoked a debate about whether or not Leo should cover “Johnny Appleseed” (Sadly, he didn’t). He told us about traveling versus “being on the road.” He talked about headlines that tickled his fancy.
The Barbary’s intimate settings allowed for a much more personal set than the one Leo gave at The Electric Factory with Against Me! a couple of months back. Surprises (The Misfits’ “Angelfuck?” Wha?) blended easily with more predictable choices like “Colleen.” Even without a band, tunes like “Little Dawn” and “Where Have All the Rude Boys Gone?” sounded loud and raw and passionate. Leo’s guitar playing had a nervous energy to it, which got the better of him when he tried to mimic the tin whistle solo on “A Bottle of Buckie” and had to switch to whistling after two failed attempts. He played this double flub off quite charmingly, though.
After about 85 minutes of music and conversation (with a surprisingly tender take on Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” near the end), Leo bid the crowd adieu to hurry home to their Comcast digital cable. The night turned out great in the end, as Leo’s set felt less like a rock show and more like a conversation with a good friend. Overall, the strong set list and friendly atmosphere made for a good show. Afterward, I drove my buddy home, and he showed me how to get back to I-95.
Today, A.V. Club writer Noel Murray published the last piece in his online series, "Popless." Murray gave up listening to and reviewing new music for one year (or thereabouts) to focus on his current collection. The goal behind the series was to streamline his personal music collection, to re-evaluate everything he owned up until this year to see what still holds merit and what flops like a fish.
Click here to check out "Popless" in its entirety. It's a lengthy series (it did run for a year, afterall), but Murray's blend of the critical and personal is a potent one. Dude examines music with just the right amount of heart and mind, and he's always honest, to the point where he openly admits ignorance on several occasions. The series has been an obvious influence on my current top ten project, which lacks a name as concise and evocative as "Popless," that's for sure. But if ya dig music criticsm, and I assume you do if you're here, check out this high-quality collection. It's funny, it's informative, and it has a lot of free music for streaming.
[Welp, I reckon I've been doin' somethin' right by the Define the Meaning, as their editor, Karen, asked me to do more reviews for the next issue. These will run with the articles I wrote in #2. I'd like to state for the record that I really do like Facing New York's new album. Side note: A band from the U.K. asked me to review their album for my blog. How weird yet flattering yet weird is that?]
The Answer – Never Too Late EP
Oh no, my Irish friends, it is too late for your Led Zep-loving brand of classic rock. We here in the states have been enduring the likes of Hinder, Buckcherry, and Silvertide for years, and lemme tell ya, this pseudo-bluesy bar bullshit has got to stop. I hate Aerosmith. I hate Robert Plant. I love The Hobbit, but I hate Led Zeppelin. The Answer’s self-indulgent, overly long guitar solos (overly long songs in general, for that matter), whining, grating vocals, and trite, pointless lyrics combine to form a maelstrom of weak songwriting. If you’re going to rip off bands from 30 years ago, couldn’t you settle for The Clash or, at the very least the ominous sludge of Black Sabbath?
Baskervilles – Twilight
Following the twee playbook like their lives depended on it, Baskervilles don’t quite hit the orchestral flourishes of Belle & Sebastion or Camera Obscura, nor the sarcastic witticisms of Stars. But the music is light and airy enough. I suppose the best and worst thing I could say about Twilight is that it sounds “nice.” You can dance to it, but the beats don’t require much rhythm or energy. The lyrics are forgettable; neither condemnable nor impressive. It’s not sleepy, but it doesn’t rock. So yeah… it’s nice. If the taste of water could form a band, it might sound like Baskervilles.
Bella Morte – Beautiful Death
Beautiful Death starts off promisingly enough. Frontman Andy Deane has a Martin Gore-esque baritone, made all the more chilling by a sole synth line on opening number “Find Forever Gone,” but whatever initial interest is piqued is soon dashed once the rest of the band joins in. Bella Morte wants so hard to be dark like Depeche Mode while still maintaining a metal edge. And indeed, the drums do factor in a lot of metal double-kick work, but the guitar riffs sound so canned that the group never quite achieves rockin’ levels. I never thought I’d write “Orgy did it better” in a review but uh… have you dudes heard Candyass?
Danava – Unonou
I take it back. I’m putting a moratorium on being influenced by Black Sabbath. As an exercise in guitar dexterity, Danava is solid. But as a compelling musical outfit, not so much. The group noodles on and on and on and… you get the idea. The album title is a made-up word, and the reasoning behind the title (“I hate being specific. It’s boring,” quoth frontman/guitarist Dusty Sparkles) more or less sums up the band’s songwriting. Sure, the songs are virtuosic. And they also blend brass/woodwind, strings, and synths into the sludgy metal mix. But Sabbath kinda already did that. Like 30 years ago. So while the group’s songs exhibit a technical ecstasy on par with uh… Technical Ecstasy… there’s little left to the imagination. Danava’s songs require skill to play, but ultimately these guys are trying really, really hard for such a redundant payoff. I’m gonna go spin Vol. 4…
Danger Radio – Punch Your Lights Out
Proof that you’re getting too old for this shit: When the groups you hated for ripping off your favorite bands start getting ripped off by other acts. Just as The Rocket Summer bastardized my love of Something Corporate’s heartfelt yet catchy piano rock by using way too many instruments to cover up poor lyrical choices, so too does Danger Radio do the same a generation later. Super poppy and extra super clean, this stuff haunts diabetics’ dreams. It’s somewhat unfair to draw only a SoCo reference, though, as Danger Radio includes way more funk, so all you closet Maroon 5 fans can feel cheated too, I guess.
Facing New York – Get Hot
Going through the review pile has been a bit of chore this issue, so I was less than enthused when I popped in Facing New York’s Get Hot. And admittedly, I was a bit underwhelmed by the band’s quasi-funky yet understated indie rock. Then the record shoved its delicately danceable tentacles right through my ears. Oh, I screamed at first. And there was a lot of blood. Like, Johnny Depp’s death scene from Nightmare on Elm Street-levels. But when I came to, halfway through the album, I realized I actually liked Get Hot a poop-ton. Somewhere between Steely Dan, Cake, Boz Scaggs, and The Dismemberment Plan, Facing New York crafted a delicious, catchy record. The second half drops the funk for more of a rock angle, but honestly, the band sounds great either way. Mad props for everyone!
The Out_Circuit – Pierce the Empire With a Sound
No, they’re not a queercore band. The Out_Circuit attempts to fuse Christian, industrial, darkwave, and a dash of hardcore, and the result is somewhat uneven. Opening number “Come Out Shooting” is appropriately spooky and ethereal, but the borderline screamo vocals conflict with the music just a little too much. This collision of styles might have been the point, but the jarring result simply doesn’t work. The record leans more clearly in the ambient realm on track two, “Passchendaele,” which is for the best. The Out_Circuit sometimes gets a tad too iconoclastic for its own good, but when central figure Nathan Burke embraces his subtler, bass-heavy notions (and cleaner vocals), he really shines.
[In an effort to generate mo' content, I figured I'd share some playlists on my iPod. Whenever I try to make a mix, I opt to keep it short enough to either burn to a CD (> 80 minutes) or commit to a tape (> two hours). The 80 minute rule is good because it A) forces me to stick to the best of the best, B) makes it easier to get multiple plays, and C) can be burned to a disc for friends if they ever ask for a sampling of a given artist.]
Being one of the best punk, emo, and alternative bands of all ding dang time, Jawbreaker has had a profound influence this here life of mine. If you've been keeping up with my top 10 project, you already know I've loved Jawbreaker since I was younger and about 50 pounds lighter. Blake Schwarzenbach remains one of my favorite lyricists of all time, so much so that I bothered to learn how to spell his name. There's plenty of sadness, yes, but his songs with Jawbreaker describe punky youth to me perfectly. The awkward moments between flirting and kissing ("Chesterfield King"), the shitty shows you play with your shitty band ("Tour Song"), medical problems ("Outpatient," "Accident Prone"), the weird posturing we go through to seem cool ("Bad Scene, Everyone's Fault," "Boxcar"), the drinking - my word the drinking - are all covered. Many of the songs are unquestionably about Schwarzenbach and him alone, but his struggle for normalcy is universal. It would get a lot vaguer once he started Jets to Brazil, as well as factor fame into the writing, but that's another playlist altogether now, ain't it?
Each of Jawbreaker's albums exists as its own entity, so I didn't even bother trying to blend eras. This playlist more or less goes chronoligically, with a few exceptions. I go pretty overboard on Dear You material at the end, but that's my favorite album so ya'll can eat me. I know the stated purpose of these playlists is to make a running time that would fit on a CD-R to give to someone, and I actually did make this playlist with the intention of giving it to my girlfriend so she could learn about Jawbreaker. I didn't. But, ya know, I'll get around to it.
1. "Intro," Live 4/30/96 [Well, it had to start somehow...] 2. "Want," Unfun 3. "Caroline," Etc. 4. "Big," Bivouac 5. "Chesterfield King," Bivouac 6. "Face Down," Bivouac 7. "Tour Song," Bivouac 8. "Kiss the Bottle," Etc. [The most overrated underrated Jawbreaker song, and with good reason.] 9. "I Love You So Much It's Killing Us Both" For Callum [This alternate mix is killer.] 10. "Indictment," 24 Hour Revenge Therapy 11. "Outpatient," 24 Hour Revenge Therapy 12. "Ashtray Monument," 24 Hour Revenge Therapy 13. "Do You Still Hate Me?", 24 Hour Revenge Therapy 14. "Ache," 24 Hour Revenge Therapy 15. "Save Your Generation," Dear You 16. "Accident Prone," Dear You 17. "Jet Black," Dear You 18. "Bad Scene, Everyone's Fault," Dear You 19. "Into You Like a Train," Dear You re-release 20. "Basilica," Dear You 21. "Untitled," Dear You 22. "Boxcar," Dear You re-release [Sweet kiss-off. I've always preferred this cleaner version.]
Here's Vanilla Ice covering Public Enemy's "Fight the Power." Sadly, it's not bad enough to be funny... just kind of bland. Still, though, here's a great way to kill 30 seconds or more (with a max time wasting value of 4:31!).
On January 17, 2004, I became a vegetarian. I didn’t completely stop eating all meats on the spot, but I did begin pursuing the lifestyle. This was my first step towards building a new life. A huge hole opened up inside me after my grandmother died, which was agitated by some bad social experiences. My religious faith had been in steady decline for years, but it wasn’t until Mom-Mom’s funeral, in which I felt absolutely nothing the pastor said, that I realized I was no long a “real” Roman Catholic. I got depressed. I felt alone. And I felt really, really angry.
Kairos is a religious retreat for high school seniors. I spent four days in a cabin in the woods talking and listening about feelings with my peers. I hate being vague about it, since it kinda sorta maybe saved my life and all, but that’s all I can say. Kairos gave me the strength to stop eating meat, distance myself from damaging relationships, and go to therapy. That last one didn’t last long, but I still walked away feeling better about myself as a whole. Oddly enough, this religious retreat also made me confident enough to tell my parents I didn’t believe in going to mass anymore. My mom now refers to this moment as “that stinkin’ Kairos.”
So there’s that.
I had a great summer, though, spent with the people in my life who were actually good for me. Then I moved to La SalleUniversity in the fall, got scared by all the drunk jagoffs, made new friends, and proceeded to have a lot of fun. Freshman year is weird to remember, if only because I generally feel pretty good about it, even though my living situation really, really sucked. My roommates were always having parties and fucking up my stuff, and our RA was thoroughly useless. But everything else about my fall semester was great. I started hanging out with the kids who worked on the school paper, Collegian, and radio station, WEXP. I spent way too much time at the library (I certainly couldn’t study at home). I also spent way too much time at South Street, hunting for more albums. I made Dean’s List, which my parents were stoked on, and I finally found some people every bit as weird and silly as me, which I was stoked on.
I tend to view my life in two periods, before and after Mom-Mom’s death. My second life has been a lot more fulfilling so far. It hasn’t been perfect, but it has been glorious.
10. Regina Spektor – Soviet Kitsch
I was introduced to Regina Spektor when she opened for The Dresden Dolls at the TLA way back when. Listening to her then-new album, Soviet Kitsch, is about the same as seeing her live show from that period – endearingly haphazard, only live there’s way more crowd interaction. I’m of the opinion that lo-fi better suits the silly yet attractive meanderings Spektor’s work sometimes takes, like on “Poor Little Rich Boy” or “Your Honor” (and its accompanying intro track, come to think of it). My favorite piano-laced pop number is “Carbon Monoxide,” a slow cut time number about youths bumming around the city. “We’ll be oh so very much dead / But we’re still cool” goes the best line.
9. William Shatner – Has Been
William Shatner’s 1968 debut album, The Transformed Man, was an ironic gem, a so-bad-it’s-funny collection thanks to hammed up spoken word renditions of pieces by Bob Dylan and William Shakespeare. No one will ever call it legitimately good, unless they’re lying.
The belated follow-up, Has Been, however, is legitimately, incredibly good. Oddly enough, it also consists entirely of works co-written by Shatner, save for a rollicking cover of Pulp’s “Common People” and the Nick Horny-penned “That’s Me Trying.” With Ben Folds as his producer and co-writer, and additional help from Joe Jackson and Henry Rollins, Shatner crafted a record split between humorous anecdotes (“You’ll Have Time,” “I Can’t Get Behind That”) and gut-wrenching personal confessions (“What Have You Done,” the music-less retelling of his third wife’s death by drowning). Folds offers lush arrangements to support Shatner’s stories, effortlessly leaping from rock to pop to gospel to jazz. And as for Captain James T. Kirk himself, he’s in top form too. He’s intermittently fragile, bitter, paranoid, funny, loving, tender, angry. I love Shel Silverstein and Patti Smith, but this is by far my favorite spoken word album.
8. Ted Leo/The Pharmacists – Shake the Sheets
I feel a little weird writing about Shake the Sheets; it’s my third favorite Pharmacists albums (of four), yet it’s the only one on these lists. So it goes. I was initially let down by this album, as it stripped back the thick wall of instruments present on The Tyranny of Distance and Hearts of Oak. Gone are the Celtic trimmings. Gone are the friggin’ organs! This pairing down ended up freeing Leo’s creativity, though – Shake the Sheets is at times the best dance-punk could offer (“Me and Mia,” “The Angels’ Share”) while maintaining a sense of urgency. The album is still political (the title track), but not as dark as one might assume a Bush-era album would be – few songs are as reassuring as “Little Dawn,” with its constant assurance that “It’s alright.” This album came out in October 2004. I unquestionably hated my college roommates. I was going to class on four hours’ sleep or less, living in a space the size of a walk-in closet, and struggling to somehow find the time and energy to keep my grades up.
So yeah, it meant a lot to hear Ted’s words.
7. The Arcade Fire – Funeral
Man, remember when The Arcade Fire was totally underrated? This one might actually be the first album introduced to me by the Collegian staff. Maureen “Mo” McElaney wrote a great article about the album’s lush orchestration, haunting vocals, and raw passion. Imbued with a “eh, why the fuck not?” spirit, I picked up the album afterwards and promptly filled with a new kind of angst, both highly dramatic yet ever so refined. Funeral’s title came about after several band members’ lost family members during the recording period, and the album desperately attempts to finds solace after these events. Still reeling ever so slightly from Mom-Mom’s death, I found this outlet very uplifting.
Arcade Fire’s orchestral indie rock sound has been somewhat diluted by the surge of other Quebec bands, but Funeral remains a thrilling original. The energy coursing through songs like “Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)” and “Rebellion (Lies”) come with the same Big Statements™ that I get from early U2. The Arcade Fire’s follow-up, Neon Bible, let me down a little bit, but following this analogy, that would make it their October, an overeager attempt to make too many grand gestures at once. Which means that up next is their War…
6. Ben Kweller – On My Way
While he skimped on the Weezer-ish nerd rock on LP #2, I was too stoked on Ben Kweller’s sunny guitar pop on On My Way to care much. Besides, Kweller kept a glimmer of the oddball lyrics fans craved (check the title track’s discussion of the merits of karate). I spent an inordinate amount of time listening to this record summer ’04, especially during the month or so that I lived at the Jersey shore. This was in the bulky, awkward Walkman days. I would wear big ol’ cargo shorts to the beach so as to make room for my CD player. Assuming I didn’t get too sandblasted, the subtle power of songs like “Believer” and “Different But the Same” would charm me. Ben Kweller relied a bit too much on piano, but On My Way finds a nice balance between keys and guitars, making for a delicious garage rock experience.
When I came back at the end of the summer, half of my stuff was on the curb. My parents dismantled my furniture in order to give my room to my brother. He eventually moved out, and now I sleep on a much shittier bed. This was one of several “you can never go back” moments that year. And no, I still haven’t gotten over it. Why do you ask?
5. Secret Machines – Now Here is Nowhere
Sometimes, peer pressure is a good thing. Three super-cool upperclassmen named Ryan P. Carey D.D.S., Nick Norlen, and Paul Tsikitas decided that they wanted me to come see one of their favorite bands, The Secret Machines, at the TLA. I only knew their single, “Nowhere Again,” which I kinda liked but didn’t love, and I had a major paper due the next day. Unphased, they then prepared – on the spot – an exact timeline for me to get all my work done and still make it to the show. And it worked. I saw the band and promptly had my mind blown.
The Secret Machines specialize in epic, soaring, atmospheric, psychedelic, catchy acid-prog-space-Kraut rock. Also, their live show is ridiculously awesome. I can still remember the exact moment I fell in love with them. I was already impressed by their live set before this point, but it was when they began the opening measures of “The Road Leads Where It’s Led” that I fell in love. A long, ominous pick slide segues into a rolling drum beat before lead singer Brandon Curtis hits the listener with a creepy post-Columbine lyric: “Blowing all the other kids away… with all your charm.” As the band hit these moments, flood lights kicked in from behind, bathing everything in the room in light and rendering them but shadows. It was fuckin’ cool.
4. Rilo Kiley – More Adventurous
Who knew Rilo Kiley’s mainstream bid would be their best album? More Adventurous took some time to grow on me – it lacks the quiet desperation of The Execution of All Things – but it truly is a stunning pseudo-country rock album. The album is full of “big moments,” like the electrifying, Janis Joplin-esque “Does He Love You?” or the sarcastic, anti-Bush anthem “It’s a Hit.” The record certainly has quieter, more intimate moments, like “Ripchord” or “The Absence of God,” but it’s the rockers like “Portions for Foxes” that hit the best. This marks the last time leading lady Jenny Lewis was able to be sassy and sad in the same breath, although I hear Acid Tongue is pretty good.
Loosely a concept album about the fictional success of a fictional band that also happens to be named Say Anything, the record hooked me right off the bat with its “song of rebellion,” “Belt.” The guitar is so damn crunchy here, aiding the disgust and chutzpah Bemis oozes as he describes the heavy trials he had to traverse to find both musical and personal satisfaction. The song ends in a West SideStory-style street fight. It’s awesome.
The rest of the record tears through the banal and anxiety-filled situations with equal piss and vinegar. The stoner aura of “Yellow Cat (slash) Red Cat” gets just as furious as the blue balled pining of “Every Man has a Molly.”
But while the romantic “I Want to Know Your Plans” is endearing, Bemis is at his best when he’s pissed – see album-ender “Admit It!!!” Over six minutes long, the song takes to task shallow kids who try too hard to feign coolness and intelligence (or, most of Say Anything’s fan base, including me). After he gives it to the “prototypical nonconformist,” Bemis turns the sword on himself, stating, “I am shamelessly self-involved / I spend hours in front of the mirror, making myhair elegantly disheveled / I worry about how this album will sell / Because I believe it will determine the amount of sex I will have in the future.” Fact: When I played it for my best friend, he thought it was a passive aggressive way of telling him I hated him. And while I did frienemy-hate him, I still just wanted him to hear this song I liked, ya know?
2. Big D and The Kids Table – How It Goes
How It Goes marks the moment Big D and The Kids Table went from pretty good to frickin’ amazing. Here is where the band got the recording budget to capture their music, not to mention some incredible hooks to commit to tape. Not just another post-Less Than Jake ska-punk band, How It Goes marks the D’s transition into an overall ragga-awareness. Reggae and 2-tone mix freely, although the record still skews towards the punk end of the spectrum. The topics stay the same – chicks, work, d-bags, and poverty suck while drinking is fun – but songwriting carries those ideas much farther. The standout is “LAX,” an angry diatribe against the sort of dumbfucks now highlight on The Hills, over-coddled, under-educated rich bastards that specialize in inane, petty pursuits. Juxtaposed against the band’s own low-income lifestyle, “LAX” becomes a searing class war song on par with anything The Clash (or Crass… or The Sex Pistols… or…) ever wrote.
Boasting 76 minutes o’ music, How It Goes is stuffed to the rafters with tunes. From the breezy opener “The Sounds of Allston Village” to the pounding, endearing entreaty of ender “Moment Without an End,” it’s a heck of a party. Politically minded song “President” aside, it’s a goofy, fun time with songs like “Girls Against Drunk Bitches” (it’s about cat fights!), “175” (it’s about ultimate disc!), and “Little Bitch” (it’s a kickass Specials cover!). The D bleeds great songs on their albums and, Rancid-like, they delivered 20 solid ones with How It Goes.
1. The Mountain Goats – We Shall All Be Healed
If you’ve been keeping up with this blog, you’ve probably realized by now that I strongly believe in The Mountain Goats. I’ve always been wary about naming a “favorite band,” but a quick glance at my last.fm charts reveals a clear leader:
It’s also hard naming my favorite Mountain Goats album. Right now, this year’s Heretic Pride is leading, but for a good two years, We Shall All Be Healed, based on John Darnielle's experiences with drugs addicts, was my top pick. The album doesn’t stray too far from Tallahassee’s formula: The best lyrics of all time + Darnielle’s nasal, emotional vocals + guitar strums + sorta rockin’, sorta folky backing band. But here’s the thing, while the music diversity is minimal compared to the widely oscillating Tallahassee, which was both louder and softer, it’s a still a brilliant collection of stories. The tweaker fantasies of “Palmcorder Yajna,” the hospital setting of theGet Lonely precursor “Mole,” and the please-let-this-be-literal “Pigs That Ran Straightaway Into The Water, Triumph Of” all exist with their own individual identities while sounding sonically cohesive.
I have a hard time writing about The Mountain Goats because I will never be able to fully convey what they mean to me.
NEXT WEEK: I am going to make it through this year if it kills me, this modern love breaks me, these are the paranoias that have built your world, 2005.
Cale Parks specializes in sound collages and ambient vocals, which only synchs up with Ted Leo’s style if you count his experimental Tej Leo(?), RX / pharmacists album. All told, Parks was a decent, though somewhat lackluster, opener. He kept his set brief. He often avoided speaking directly into mic. Clearly owing a debt or two to Brian Eno, Parks’ music is ethereal yet dance-oriented. But it lacks a certain drive. With the exception of “Every Week Ends,” his live drumming never went beyond the simplest of notes. The preprogrammed beats weren’t that much more complex either. While minimalism can be a virtue, Parks’ compositions often seemed like the electronic equivalent of a grade school band recital. I kept waiting for “Hot Cross Buns,” to no avail.
