On his sixth (!!!) album, Daniel G. Harmann took a few stylistic chances, most of which pay off. With an album title so on-the-nose it’s almost ridiculous, Risk finds the singer/songwriter backed by the Trouble Starts, who add a slight influx of muscle to his melancholy tunes. The songs are still ethereal and folky in parts, but the Trouble Starts allow Harmann to branch out more.
Risk is an ambient pop record that fulfills a lot of needs. It’s otherwordly and dreamy enough to be a good 3 a.m. record, but it’s neither formless nor self-indulgent in being as such. Harmann is still a craftsman at heart, and these tunes have a focus – verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, chorus. He just happens to let the songs breathe, like on epic numbers “Solidarity” and “Estrella.” In a way, the group is like a less countrified Band of Horses, or perhaps a less paranoid Radiohead. Either way, they’re a little like the Long Winters, which is fitting since TLW bassist Eric Corson produced the album.
That said, this record doesn’t quite have BoH’s way with a hook. Risk has atmosphere to spare, but the songs blur together after a while. Sure, that’s part of the point of the style. And Harmann even breaks up the lengthier passages with potential singles like “The Horse & The Sistine Chapel.” But this isn’t driving music, or party music, of fightin’ jock music. Make-out music, maybe; sleep/sleep-deprivation music, definitely.
On their new EP Captains of Industry, Colorado’s Solar Bear dishes out blistering post-hardcore jams a la Dillinger Escape Plan and Every Time I Die. Boasting six tracks in about 30 minutes (minus some dead air between the last song and the bonus track), Captains of Industry is technically solid.
“Logical Fallacy” opens the disc with a hazy instrumental intro, as if the song was being played through a fish tank. Things finally shift into turbo on track two, “The Endless Choir.” Screeching guitars and off-kilter drums plow through, frequently shifting tempo in a fury. At five-and-a-half minutes in length, “Logical Fallacy” is a little formless in places, as if the band wanted to show off every musical trick it knew. But you could just as easily argue that the track sets Solar Bear’s M.O. There are gang vox and rock outs and break downs and this, that, and the other thing.
Pretty much every track afterward follows that same intense playbook, although the hidden track reveals a knack for At the Drive-In-style hysterics and classic rock guitar jams. Whether or not the band can synthesize those leanings into a series of full-fledged songs remains to be seen, but Captains of Industry certainly feels promising all the same.
[Vinyl Vednesday is a weekly feature about three favorite vinyl finds. It’s not meant to be a dick-measuring contest, but it usually turns out that way. Today’s edition comes from music impresario and cultural juggernaut Paul Tsikitas. He runs a music blog of his own, called In the Wake of Poseidon. Tsikitas sent his big vinyl finds to pelonej1@gmail.com, and so can you! Be like Tsikitas! Write for me for freeeeeee.]
Records: Torche In Return 10 “ (2007) on multi-colored vinyl, Reigning Sound’s Too Much Guitar (2004) on classic black and Black Mountain Wilderness Heart (2010) on classic black
Place of Purchase: First Unitarian Church at concert, AKA Records in Philadelphia, PA and Jagjaguwar.com.
Thoughts: Thanks to Mr. Picasso Blue’s recent love of Baroness, I finally have figured out how to get the inspiration to choose what records from my collection to talk about. A former bandmate turned me on to a band called Torche. Upon listening, I knew this was the kind of band I needed in my life. The sludgy yet catchy Floridians were right up my alley.We went to a show of theirs and I saw that not only was this band into kicking raw ass, but they had an eye for artwork. Immediately purchased the In Return EP, which was released on multi-colored 10” vinyl.The record itself was beautiful. When the needle met the groove, a hissing guitar followed by bludgeoning passages came forth via “Warship.” The titular track comes in with a fury and ends in a swirling barrage of spaced out yet distorted guitars slowly giving way to instrumental closer “Bring Me Home.” It’s hard to believe these three tracks last only half of the total 20 minutes of music. Side two has equally theatric numbers, with the highlight being “Rule The Beat” with it’s catchy, yet brutal hooks.
Equally loud yet in a different vein, Reigning Sound turn the amps up for their brand of classic garage rock. Jack White and Julian Casablancas only wish they were as cool as Greg Cartwright, frontman of the garage rock trio. Bathed in shimmering reverb and ear-splitting sizzle, the garage rock assortment is truly a wonderful album to own. And it being such a brilliant throwback to ’60s garage, there seems no other medium suited for it other than vinyl. The pop and crackle of the needle adds a flavor to the searingly loud guitars on tracks like “I’ll Cry” or the ridiculously loud “We Repel Each Other.”Their melding of CBGB-style punk rock and Memphis country on “If You Can’t Give Me Everything” sounds straight out of the late ’70s garage revival.The succinct tracks lead this record into a fury, culminating on side one in the fantastic cover of Sam and Dave’s “You Got Me Hummin’.” The garage stomper is one of my favorite covers of all time taking the original’s Stax sound into strange yet comfortable territory. If anything can be gleaned from Too Much Guitar, it’s that Reigning Sound don’t sacrifice grit for polished updates of garage rock tropes.If you play it honest, you don’t have to change the sound.
Black Mountain is one of those other bands I love that sound as if they rocketed in from some other time period or dimension of what popular rock and roll could sound like. On their new album, Wilderness Heart, they tone down the epic scope of songs like “Tyrants” or “Heart of Snow” from their previous two records for clearer, yet still epic-sounding pop numbers. This is easily the coolest artwork yet from Black Mountain. That shark is going to eat my face any second, I know it. Much like Too Much Guitar this record sounds delightful on vinyl. The high end of Amber Webber’s harmonies on “The Hair Song” sound even more angelic as the ominous swirls of Jeremy Schmidt’s organs gurgle behind it. “Radiant Hearts” futurescape swirls and swells and is given even more of a crisp sound on this vinyl. The Black Sabbath infused “Let’s Spirit Ride” skyrockets over your speakers in all it’s biker glory. This is the kind of band that the revival of vinyl was started for. It is imperative for fans of the band and fans of vinyl alike to own all their albums on vinyl, a personal goal of mine (anyone have the Druganaut EP on vinyl? I have cashahol for you!)
In 2009, Savannah, Ga. act Kylesa perfected its sludge metal style with Static Tensions. Just a year later, the band has already progressed beyond that sound with Spiral Shadow. It’s the kind of record that should easily win over converts. It’s the group’s most accessible release to date, as it skews closer to ’90s alternative a la Alice in Chains while still adding more psychedelic elements and even, on occasion, revisiting Static Tensions’ assault. Yet it’s these very same characteristics that might alienate fans, especially during the record’s second half. Given time, though, Spiral Shadow reveals itself to be every bit as good Static Tensions, just for different reasons.
When listening to opener “Tired Climb” for the first time, however, any differences between the two albums will seem negligible. Everything Kylesa does well is on display – twin drum kits bash and crash through dissonant guitars and vocals that can jump from dreamlike (Laura Pleasants) to gruff (Philip Cope) in an instant. It’s obvious why this is the first track – the song rocks. But stylistically, it’s a key move, an opening salvo that will satisfy metalheads before gradually feeding them new ideas.
Bassist Corey Barhorst lays down a thick, fuzzy bassline on “Cheating Synergy” before adding a haunting keyboard line that perfectly complements the song’s guitar harmonics. “Drop Out” retreats a little, just in case people can’t handle the group’s newfound sense of atmosphere, by blowing through another percussive punch. “Crowded Road” brings back a nice sludgy riff. Then the record tries something else to hook in listeners – a legitimately catchy song “Don’t Look Back” sounds like Kylesa alright, but it features an infectious hook so simplistic in design it’s a wonder no one thought it up first. The chorus is “Keep moving / Don’t look back,” which is right up there with such obvious punk statement as “don’t trust the government” and “I am a rude person,” but it works. The guitars are still sludgy, but the solo that cuts through the haze is triumphant. Fifteen years ago, this song would have dominated 120 Minutes.
The back half gives itself over to psychedelia. “Distance Closing In” is hazy, even for sludge metal, with the vox buried deeper in the mix and the guitars creating a cloud over the rest of the instruments. “To Forget” is just trippy. It all culminates in the five-minute title track, a retro-leaning piece of noodling guitars and tribal drums. There are still two more songs after it, but they’re just victory laps. “Spiral Shadows” is too epic.
Depending on what track is playing, Spiral Shadows manages to be both Kylesa’s most mainstream and experimental record, and a reward and a challenge to fans. Either way, Kylesa is in charge.
I arrived slightly late for an all-ages show at the Fire in Philadelphia, Pa. Sun., Nov. 7. A couple of dogs wandered the bar. The crowd was sparse, but at least people were buying drinks. I caught the last three or four songs from the local opening act, Factors of Four, and regretted not having arrived sooner. The group dealt in riotous female-fronted pop-punk. Think Discount and Tsunami Bomb, although on record they sound more like something off of K Records. Maybe Mirah. Frontwoman Naomi Davidoff bounced on a perpetual musical high while drummer Frank Hafto played with the biggest, goofiest grin I’d see all night. It was a good set.
What drew me to the Fire, however, was the Measure [SA]. Like Factors of Four, they sport a lady lead singer and up the punx. They’ve dropped an insane number of seven-inches over the years, and tunes like “Union Pool” and “Historical Fiction” rank among the finest songs to come out of New Jersey in recent years. I was excited to finally see them live, but I still had a few more opening acts to get through.
Worn in Red followed Factors of Four. They toured with the Measure down to the Fest in Florida, and now they were touring back up the east coast as well. This act played competent post-hardcore. They were alright; honestly, I was more concerned with getting pizza at this point in the evening. While Worn in Red has a sound that should prove palatable with fans of bearded bands that may or may not be Hot Water Music, consuming pizza is perhaps one of my top three overriding impulses.
Two slices later, I was back in time for Omar, a guy/gal Ramonsey two-piece. They were a little sloppy, but also self-deprecating and fun. Besides, who am I to deny the allure of buzzsaw guitars, thundering drums and short, loud, fast songs?
The sets were brief throughout the night, with each band playing 20-30 minutes. This was disappointingly also the case for the Measure. The band gave off this aura of indifference. Granted, they were wrapping up a pretty intense travel schedule. They soundchecked a single note together so they could do shots at the bar, which was funny at the time… until the vocals came out a bit more buried in the mix than they were for the other bands. Even in the brief time, though, the set still brought the hits, with half of the band’s excellent Songs About People… And Fruit N’ Shit showing up. “Hello Bastards” remains their best song, an anthem that serves as a mission statement, origin story and party jam. It kicked butt live. But considering the group just dropped a new record, Notes, you’d think they’d be eager to play it. Instead, they tried wrapping things up 12 minutes in. What the Measure bothered to play was good, but also perfunctory and underwhelming overall.
Spent our last night in Manchester with the whole family. Everyone came out for a night of Indian/Chinese/conversation. Knocked out four hours of sleep, and then got up at 4 a.m. for our flight to Paris. Terrorists are threatening the country. The locals are rioting. Let's do this.
Had trouble with Michelle's passport again, but otherwise the trip was easy. Hired a taxi to drive us for a flat rate of 70 euro. Between the terrorist threats and the strikes, things sounded iffy on the metro.
Checked in and made the steep walk to L'engilie du Sacre-Coeur. I view churches the same as mansions - extravagant wastes of wealth. But the architecture is still gorgeous. Then we walked to the Dali Museum. I'm not an art buff, but I've always had a vague interest in his work. This gallery stoked that notion. Yeah, some of Dali's paintings look like prog-rock album covers, but his sketches and sculptures are amazingly otherworldly. And he had a sense of humor that kept his surrealist art from collapsing under self-indulgence. I'm going to act on my interest when I get home and try to pick up some books about his work and life.
Michelle and I wandered aimlessly for a bit before stumbling upon Indiana, a Native American-themed restaurant. The food was good, even though the decorations felt weirdly racist, a mix of First Nation impersonation and American mockery. This place would never fly in the states, although I enjoyed the U.S.A. 666 poster.
Afterwards, the metro seemed to be open and running fine, so we traveled down to Notre Dame cathedral. Watched two dance troupes dance-fight, because why the fuck not? Notre Dame was gorgeous, a testament to human ingenuity. We slowed down after that - checked out some parks, sat down for a cappuccino at Cafe Richard - before hitting up the Latin Quarter and, briefly, the Louvre. I hate to admit this, but I love Paris.
Overslept but we still saw plenty of sights the second day. Spent hours in the Garden du Luxembourg - sat in cafes and enjoyed coffee and conversation. St. Michel is the place for record shopping. While it pained me to do so, I skipped on vinyl. I'm just not sure how I'll get it home, no matter how badly I wanted these Morrissey singles. But I found some great CD imports, like Six By Seven. They're a great drone/ambient group from the U.K. It's a bitch finding their albums back home. Yes, I specifically bought Celtic Frosts' Into the Pandemonium because John Darnielle recently wrote about it. Grabbed a late lunch at another cafe - salad with goat cheese and walnuts - and then walked to the Louvre. It was too packed, though, due to the security checkpoint. France isn't fucking around with the terrorist threats. So instead we walked through the Tuileries Garden for a couple of hours, and then took the metro back to the hotel.
We had a bit of a scare then. The metro doesn't open early enough for us to ride it to the airport and the phone in our room wasn't working. Eventually, we broke through a language barrier and hired a taxi, but then we realized we didn't have enough cash on us to pay him. So off I went at night to find an ATM.
Now, I like our hotel. It's cheap, clean, and close to the metro. But it's also in the red light district. I was propositioned by sex worked. A LOT. I'm convinced some of them were prostitutes, sitting alone by the entrances to dimly lit bars, wearing dresses that left little to the imagination. They constantly grabbed at me. I fought my way through a mass of whores and drunks and after six blocks, found an ATM. I have fallen in love with Paris, but I need to leave.
Couldn't sleep. Stayed up watching this French music program where celebrities get inside a confession booth and request live videos. Sometimes I got the Bee-Gees, sometimes I got Iggy Pop. The format seems odd. Why have Tim Robbins request "Louie Louie" when you can just play it? It seems like a dumb gimmick, but it still hooked me in. Europeans listen to a lot of crappy electronica, but at least they actually have music on television.
Turns out I was worried about nothing. The taxi showed up on time. Got into the airport without issue, although the line was a clusterfuck. In 80 minutes, I'll be on a plane bound for London-Heathrow.
Paris, France to London, England
I wish the flight to Heathrow took longer. Now we're sitting through a seven-and-a-half hour layover. Picked up gifts for the family, as well as some books.
London, England to Chicago, Ill. to Philadelphia, Pa.
I started going crazy on the flight to Chicago. Eight hours and I'm still not home. But at least I'm briefly in another city I never thought I'd see. I've been singing Alkaline Trio songs to myself for the last hour. I'm drinking a Sprite, the thirst-quenching high fructose corn syrup mix of the American masses. I'm one flight away from home.
"A rush and a push / And the land that we stand on is ours." - The Smiths, "A Rush and A Push and the Land is Ours"
Reading List -Keith Jeffery - MI6: The History of the Secret Intelligence Service 1909-1949 -Simon Pegg - Nerd Do Well
Record Purchases -The Cardigans - Best Of European deluxe edition -Celtic Frost - Into the Pandemonium -Kasms - Spayed with three bonus tracks -Six By Seven - If Symptoms Persist, Kill Your Doctor -Torche - Meanderthal
For me, being a Weezer fan is kind of like reconnecting with an abusive old friend. I think about the good times we had early on (“Blue Album,” Pinkerton), see a glimmer of hope (“Keep Fishin’,” “The Greatest Man That Ever Lived (Variations of a Shaker Hymn)”) and get excited only to get hurt. I wish a pox on the people who told me Make Believe was the new Pinkerton. So it goes; with each successive album, Weezer continues to alienate me while still selling tons of records. I instantly regretted buying Raditude; I didn’t bother with Hurley.
All of this puts the recent two-disc deluxe edition re-release of Pinkerton at a strange intersection of interests. As a jaded fan, this might be my last Weezer purchase (as of opposed to Raditude… or “Red Album”… or Make Believe…). I get a handful of obscurities (“Tragic Girl,” plus some alternative mixes of varying quality). Current fans get a convenient tour through my favorite Weezer songs: The original 10 tracks and some fantastic B-sides (“Devotion,” “I Just Threw Out the Love of My Dreams”), plus a whole lot of live acoustic filler.
Pinkerton is Weezer’s semi-controversial second album, a concept record of sorts about dirty, hateful, self-indulgent sex. It was a commercial flop when it debuted in 1996 and the band later disowned it for a while. But it found favor with a newer, more emo generation a few years later. It first destroyed and then saved the band’s career, yet remains an artistic black sheep. It’s the rawest Weezer record, in terms of both lyrics and sound quality. You could draw a straight line of logic explaining the band’s pop rock evolution from “Blue Album” to Hurley were it not for this album.
For a certain group of people, Pinkerton is one of the most important records of all time. This is our Sgt. Pepper or Nevermind, in that it sums up a lot of feelings from our youth, and in that it is simultaneously over- and underrated. It’s my favorite Weezer record, but I also agree that it can come off as misogynistic at times. A common complaint about emo music is that it turns women into whores/saints, and Pinkerton is guilty of both. A lot of these songs are about having meaningless sex and then bitching about it. The record’s best track, “Across the Sea,” is about frontman Rivers Cuomo getting off on the idea of a teenage Japanese fan masturbating, and that was my high school crush’s favorite song. Sometimes I wonder if I would love Pinkerton if it came out today.
Still, though, there are plenty of reasons to recommend this record. Sometimes I feel bad for current Weezer bassist Scott Shriner. He seems like a nice, funny guy, especially on the band’s Video Capture Device DVD. But his legacy is Raditude. Original bassist Matt Sharp is the one who provided bass for Pinkerton, and it’s the best low end of any Weezer record. Pinkerton isn’t very glossy compared to the rest of the band’s output, and it’s better for it. It has a slight Pixies bent, with Sharp and drummer Pat Wilson delivering a deep, pulsing sound. The guitars are ugly, alternating between dissonant chords and squealing, uncomfortable solos. The guitar solos on “Blue Album” are almost as catchy as the choruses; here, they sound like how Cuomo’s fragile ego feels. Sharp’s synth-obsession from the Rentals bleeds into plenty of the songs.
As written before by plenty of people, Pinkerton is about loss and longing and sexual frustration. That’s ideal teen territory, and while some of the songs are uncomfortably honest, like opener “Tired of Sex,” there’s still some fun to be had, like on infectious single “El Scorcho.”
I wonder how Pinkerton would have gone over in the ’90s if the track listing had been switched around. The B-sides that supplement the first disc seem like more obvious singles, if only because they sound less hurt. “You Gave Your Love to Me Softly” is a fast and forceful number, and while it’s still pretty emo, it’s not overwhelmingly so. It features a memorable set of hooks, a “la la la” chorus and this insanely awesome cut time break near the end of every chorus that gets better every time the band returns to it. It’s like a bridge between the pop perfection of “Blue Album” and the sadness and anger of Pinkerton. Same goes for “I Just Threw Out the Love of My Dreams,” featuring former Rentals/That Dog member Rachel Haden on lead vox.
The essential material for this re-release could have filled a single disc. There’s a needless parade of live material from various radio promotions; most of them are boring and inferior to their studio counterparts. Being a native of the Philadelphia area, I hold a soft spot for the three songs presented from the band’s Y100 Sonic Session performance from 1997, but I wish the band had just issued the whole show on a separate release and instead included more material from the band’s aborted Songs From the Black Hole record. Granted, a decent amount of that material has surfaced on Cuomo’s Alone demo series, and according to the liner notes, some songs like “Superfriend” have been lost, but it’s maddening how many times the band includes “Pink Triangle,”, with single edits and live acoustic versions nearly killing what was once one of my favorite songs. Besides, this new version of “Longtime Sunshine” references “Blast Off!”, which makes me wonder if there’s a higher quality version sitting in the vaults.
As is, the live stuff ruins the otherwise great first disc, and renders most of the second disc dull. Still, the second disc picks up near the end, first with some alternate mixes of “Butterfly” and “Longtime Sunshine” that are actually good, and then some legitimate rarities. “Getting Up and Leaving” and “Tragic Girl” have never been released until now, and while they don’t top Pinkerton proper or its B-sides, they beat out almost everything Weezer has issued in the last decade.
I hate assigning numerical values to records. Most of the time, I feel like I’m pulling numbers out of my ass. Pinkerton’s first disc is far and away a perfect five-star affair. You get almost all of the best songs of the Pinkerton era, and it’s unfortunate that the remaining winners, like “You Won’t Get With Me Tonight” from Buddyhead’s Gimme Skelter compilation, get relegated to the more ho-hum second CD. It’s this glut of useless material that kills the record’s success. You really only need 23 out of the album’s 35 tracks, and even then I’m being generous by including the 38-second piano interlude from “Across the Sea.” By my estimate, that means 66 percent of the album is worth hearing, but this is still fucking Pinkerton. So let’s call this a four-star record, forget that Death to False Metal also came out this week and go complain about something else.
