Andrew W.K. - Close Calls With Brick Walls

Universal
Released: September 25, 2006

Andrew W.K., with his debut record, I Get Wet, was heralded as a savior of rock. Every song was a fist pumping anthem, flawlessly reducing the ambitious studio tricks and masterful composition of Queen to the stupidity of AC/DC. The follow-up, the Wolf, turned the volume up, but lost all the naive punch that made the debut so heart-warming, in turn losing its timeless optimism. Close Calls With Brick Walls takes things in new, ambitious directions. It also manages to rehash some of the old. It is a sprawling, unfocused train-wreck. That's not to say it's a bad record by any means.

The two opening tracks don't even have guitars. They're beautiful, impressionistic splashes of Andrew's now refined voice and swirling, psychedelic guitars. They are jaw-dropping and gorgeous. Then enters "Not Going to Bed," what sounds like a left-over from the previous record. The record then offers non-stop one-two punches of loud, fast neanderthal-rock, followed by what I come to the plate for every time: piano-driven sing-alongs, with soaring
guitars and pounding drums.

At this point, it seems unlikely that Andrew W.K. will ever match the heights of his debut, but if he manages to focus in on the new direction he offered a fleeting glimpse of at the onset of Close Calls With Brick Walls, there will still be reason to give him another try. His live show will always be worth seeing, if nothing else.

-Dave Wolkensperg

Loney, Dear - Loney, Noir

Sub Pop
Released: February 6, 2007

Emil Svanängen (aka Sweden’s Loney, Dear) is a complete pro in the art of home recording. Almost entirely alone he has created a pop orchestra of guitars, bass, drums, keyboards, saxophone, clarinet, etc. The arrangements themselves are stunning, like a peppier, glossier, more compact little brother of the Microphones the Glow Pt. 2. Here there is something for nearly everyone. You like vocal substance with falsettos, tenors, and whistles butting heads? Check. How about bubbling keyboards that rest just above the surface, lightly breathing sweet sentiments into your ears? Right here. And finally, do you like Belle and Sebastian? Ya? Buy this.

As for the merit of the songs themselves, Loney, Noir hits the bulls-eye a couple times, while being overly precious and too earnest on other occasions. “I Am John” represents the finest track on the album as well as being one of the best pop singles in years, the music growing exponentially until there are so many vocal parts your head spins from overindulgence. Creating greatness with the little details – a single drum roll at the 2:57 mark, a barely audible, fuzzy keyboard rhythm Brian Eno would endorse – Svanängen knows what he’s doing, and it infects you with vivacity.

But it is short lived because the following track, “Saturday Waits,” is simply just not a good song at its core. Here his falsetto is inappropriate, grinding eardrums down to their base, and adding a hundred other instruments can’t fix that. Still, as is the case with all the slip ups of Loney, Noir, it is more forgettable than hateable.

There are other complaints to be made also, such as the lack of identity of the individual songs, aside from “I Am John.” It really feels like a Swedish pop record (which, well, it is) with the songs bleeding together too much. Nevertheless, Svanängen’s talent is outrageous and the not-so-thin line between innocuous and exuberant is one that he’s bound to cross more consistently.

-Kent Thompson

Dosh - The Lost Take

Anticon
Released: October 17, 2006

As more hip-hop acts expand their horizons to include elements of electronica, the aesthetics and attitude of indie rock and a progressive sense of experimentation, a new undefinable genre is gradually emerging. Anticon veteran Dosh's latest release, "The Lost Take", fits the bill as a noteworthy member of this recent phenomenon. Though the album has lofty goals, its aimlessness is the real pleasure: After only a few tracks, it's clear that Dosh isn't concerned with creating an easily classifiable listening experience. Instead, the multi-instrumentalist combines loose samples and jazzy carefree drumming with an impressive ensemble of talented live musicians, adding guitar, bells, and saxophone to the mix.

The most notable guest spot belongs to Andrew Bird, whose looped violin contributions infuse volume into each track until they're eventually overpowered by an always-changing backdrop of ethereal sounds and lush instrumentation. While the melodies ramble along without interruption, they typically leave each song feeling like a beautiful picture going in and of focus, always staying fuzzy and warm. Some tracks end up sounding like the rebellious bastard child of Chuck Mangione and Janis Joplin, almost lite-jazz but decidedly cool. Other tracks wouldn't feel out of place on Manitoba's "Up In Flames" or Four Tet's "Rounds", densely layered but also loose and compromising.

"There was some planning, initially," Dosh commented in a Daytrotter interview. "I knew I wanted to have more live drums on the record, I knew I wanted to use a Chamberlain and a Mellotron, and I wanted it to sound more 'band-y' than my other records. Aside from those general plans, just about everything was developed as I recorded the album." For all practical purposes, Dosh is a one-man band, having recorded 85% of "The Lost Take" alone before allowing friends (including Tapes 'n' Tapes' Erik Applewick) to flesh it out. Regardless of which section at Ear-X-Tacy you can find it, Dosh's uncategorizable sound hints at the future of music in general-- an all-encompassing, wide-spectrum view of what is, what isn't, and what can be.

-Brandon Bass

Andrew Bird - Armchair Apocrypha

Fat Possum
Released: March 20, 2007

I am sorry that I start so many of my reviews with personal anecdotes, but there is absolutely no way I can write this without telling you this brief story. One time, I touched Andrew Bird. It was my senior year of high school, he gave a free concert at the public library, and I talked with him after the show. I touched his corduroy-blazer-clad right elbow with my left hand. It was amazing. It was sort of like Michelangelo painting in which Adam is touching the hand of God, only better because we had on much snappier outfits.

Despite my deification of said musician, let it be known that the Chicago-based Andrew Bird is a truly unusual character. He’s been a Squirrel Nut Zipper, he’s been signed to Ani DiFranco’s label, Righteous Babe, for some time. He is perennially described as a New Weird American, like Espers or Vetiver, and, when asked, tells anyone who will listen that he is a professional whistler. A.B.’s biography doesn’t even scratch the surface of the curious music he crafts. At once quirky and catchy, he has created an odd niche for himself. With his rococo arrangements and cerebral lyric topics, it would be easy to categorize him as yet another pretentious indie act, but his work is so fun that it is impossible to fault him for his use of SAT vocabulary and excessive use of his looper.

His most recent record (and first real solo work), 2005’s Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Production of Eggs, garnered massive critical acclaim. For good reason, too; A.B. is a conservatory-trained violinist, truly astounding whistler, and in possession of the most bizarrely compelling voice known to man.

His latest record, Armchair Apocrypha, draws on all of his previous skills, but refines them. Gone is the jumpy, unsettling quality of previous records. Here, it’s replaced by a more restrained sound. It’s a more mature record, one that is more accessible, largely because it’s a little less subtle that previous efforts. When listening to old Andrew Bird records, you have to listen closely; the beauty is in the slight intricacies he slips in here and there. Armchair Apocrypha demands less of the listener but doesn’t abandon his commitment to excellent musicianship, complex arrangements, and lyrical density.

The record opens with the strange image of “Lou Dobbs on CNN” in the excited-sounding “Fiery Crash” and only expands from there. The record just gets better and better; references to Nietzsche, upper-level biology, and Roman Catholic dogma abound, enriched by intense violining and cheerful, birdlike whistling. Unlike prior records, though, this Armchair Apocrypha never gets quite so frenetic. There’s a degree of refinement here that has previously been missing. This is not to say that there was anything sloppy about his prior efforts (anything but, really), but that A.B. has taken his craft to a height I hadn’t previously imagined.

In this, his thirty-fourth year of life, Andrew Bird has finally found the maturity that he’s been seeking throughout his years as a freak-folk/nouveau-swing/pro-whistling artist. It’s here that he truly seems to have come into his own.

Armchair Apocrypha could well be the theme song to the Book of Revelation; at any time, you can feel warranted in feeling confused. At times, there’s no sense to be made of what he’s saying. Like the seven-sealed document God will give to man to signal the pinnacle of existence, so has Andrew Bird given us the apex of his creative talent. There’s really nothing more to be said on the topic, save that I touched The Andrew Bird. I’m thinking of donating my hand to the yet-uncreated Indie Rock Museum of History as a relic. After all, without that elbow, the man would never have been able to play the glockenspiel nearly this well.

-Kirsten Schofield

Bill Callahan - Woke On A Whaleheart

Drag City
Released: April 24, 2007

My favorite part of CDs, a lot of times, is their cover art. Sometimes, I buy things solely based on their cover art. You will understand, then, why it really upsets me when the cover art of a record doesn’t really match what’s inside. As an Elephant Six enthusiast, I will pretty much buy any record that looks like it was designed by a six year old on LSD. Hopefully, this will give you enough background to understand why I was extremely saddened to hear Woke on a Whaleheart.

There’s nothing wrong with this CD. Nothing at all. In fact, if it had just had a picture of an egg timer or something on the cover, I probably would have liked it (it falls into the category of singer-songwriter music that I find tolerable. Bill Callahan has a gravelly voice, and likes to play the mandolin sometimes.). I just feel like, given its title, its design, and its song titles, that Bill Callahan is misrepresenting his own music. With songs called “A Man Needs A Woman or A Man to Be A Man”, you expect the sound awaiting you to be something really quirky. You’re sort of expecting someone to play a saw or a melodica or a recorder. You are not expecting this country-tinged pop-rock. No, you are not.

So, if you buy Woke on a Whaleheart, go into it knowing what you are going to get. You are going to get some highly satisfactory rock music that is nice to listen to while you whittle or do laundry. Don’t expect Dusk at Cubist Castle, because that’s just not what you bought.

-Kirsten Schofield

Sloan - Never Hear The End Of It

Yep Roc Records
Released: January 9, 2007

During the summer of 2005, the only conversation I had, and I had it many, many times, was the I-can’t-wait-to-hear-the-new-Posies-album conversation. I decided not to buy Every Kind of Light until July 4th, when I would be able to listen to it with Jason, the only person I know who was as excited as I was. I couldn’t stick to it. I craved the vocal rhythms and guitar mastery. So when I showed up at a party on the 4th, Jason and I immediately began yelling about how indescribably disappointing it was. Finally in the winter of 2006, I found the Posies album I wanted hidden between other tracks of Sloan’s newest album, Never Hear the End of It.

Sloan packs 30 songs onto Never Hear the End of It. By stringing together three or four songs at a time with no time lapsed between tracks, they manage not to overburden you. If you’re listening to it on an iPod, you’ll hear the space between each song, but the album should be listened to on a CD player, allowing the songs to flow seamlessly in groups. Most songs are catchy, lodging themselves deep in your mind where they show up a week later. There are few missteps. “Listen to the Radio” uses an annoying vocal effect the band hijacked from a Cher or post-British Madonna song. “Someone I Can Be True With” soon reclaims the pop-rock rush, giving you repetitive acoustic guitars, handclaps, and synth strings as it falls into the piano driven “Right or Wrong.”

With thirty songs, you’d expect a lot more filler, but with most songs last no more than 2 and a half minutes, anything that doesn’t seem genuine is quickly forgotten in the rush. Sloan has made several albums of blended harmonies and forceful lead guitars, if you’re not a fan already, this is as good a place as any to get converted.

-Matt Thompson

Six Parts Seven - Casually Smashed Top Pieces

Suicide Squeeze
Released: January 23, 2007

The Six Parts Seven have always been recognized for their dense guitar interplay, including the subtle coloring of a lap steel, but Casually Smashed To Pieces has weaved in even more, including abstracted horns, a graceful Fender Rhodes, and even a touch of distortion. They haven’t changed musical direction so much as they have grown more confident, thus allowing for the emergence of techniques and instruments that don’t often find a home on instrumental indie-rock records. The end result is striking, with notes and drum strokes appearing like illusions, blushing listeners nerves.

“Stolen Moments” is the finest track start to finish, with trumpet, coronet, and clarinet sailing over guitar and keyboard fills. As all the notes begin to sweep together over the steady and soft drumming, our own nostalgia becomes vital to the music, liberally instituting each listener into the fold. And as the record moves on, there are moments of surprising aggression (“Knock At My Door”), impeccable pop structuring (“Falling Over Evening”), and bouncy resolution (“Everything Wrong Is Right Again”). It is in motion throughout, benign and swift in communicating many relatable sentiments.

Casually Smashed To Pieces is a narrative with deviating elucidation and varying effect. Beautiful and kindly combative, it draws blood from our memories, swelling and deflating as each track ends like our final conscious thought before falling asleep. It is a unique collaboration with the listener, rewarding in every second it sits with you.

-Kent Thompson