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

Xiu Xiu - The Air Force

5RC
Released: 09.12.06

Both musically and lyrically Xiu Xiu should bother you. Their albums are darker than the inside of the coffin you are buried alive in during your worst nightmare. They create a collage of sounds and visions communicated direct from purgatory with several flashes of hell thrown in for balance.

Musically they engage in moments of quiet simplicity as well as roaring complex orchestration, similarly narrating in both whispers and sonorous yelps. Thematically, The Air Force is a mash of bizarre sexual deviancy, human morality, and howling depression. Primary member and songwriter Jamie Stewart does all of this without swimming around much in understated or metaphorical conflict. Rather it is harsh and frighteningly heartfelt.

Opener “Buzz Saw” states this from the outset, landing like a three minute sucker punch to the stomach. Once you’ve regained your breath you realize how profoundly you believe Stewart when he sings “I’m not like that.” In fact, you will believe all of The Air Force because lies are not expressed with such absorption.

“Vultures Piano” stakes claims as another album highlight, containing a surprising dance hook along with firework snapping percussion. Stewart puts an exclamation point at the end of the track by quickly spelling out the song title, followed by a couple aggressive hoots and a sharp whistle.

Still, the album’s finest confession might come in the form of “The Pineapple vs. the Watermelon,” an apparent autobiographical account of Stewart’s experience and understanding of his father’s suicide. Over a subtle, stripped down tone of guitar and bass, Stewart explains that “Someone felt something pure / And told it all to you / That was why you killed yourself / To prove it wasn’t true.” Somehow Stewart seems to both soar and crash here, feeling liberated enough to discuss it but too distraught to accept it.

Many of the reasons Xiu Xiu succeed are precisely the reasons they can be criticized. It is obscenely earnest. The music seems to lose focus at times. It couldn’t possibly be any more morose. But that is Jamie Stewart’s style and song to song, these are his demons wrestling with our taste and puncturing our subconscious, leading to one very simple conclusion: The Air Force is incredible.

- Kent Thompson

Three Legged Race - Mourning Order

Mountaain
Released: 2006

It's a slow slider, this one-track CDr release from Three Legged Race (aka Robert Beatty of Hair Police, Eyes and Arms of Smoke, and Nicholasville, KY). Beatty ably saunters down the line between effective transmission and numbing repetition, letting each semi-melodic synth line or shipment-bruised sample state its own case before being left behind. From a basement spook opening, it's off to the food processor buzzing in harmony with the in-sink-er-ator in the kitchen, then up through busted ceiling tiles to rat-chewed wires sparkin' in the insulation. Ever upwards: "Honey, aren't you glad we added on this second floor balcony, and the basso profundo wind chime from Keith's Hardware?" I am. But a balcony isn't the only thing to see up there. There's a kid in his bedroom bonding with some pre-disco Tangerine Dream, and in the next room Uncle Peach, whose HAM radio needs a new speaker. Robert Beatty says: "I'm trying to get more 'musical,' slowly but surely." He should say "slowly and surely."

- Aaron Rosenblum

The Slits - Revenge of the Killer Slits EP

Saf Records
Released: 10.17.06

What d'ya mean your not gonna buy the new Slits record? You like Kathleen Hanna, don't ya?

It's fair to say that the modern musical landscape would be quite different without Ari Up and the Slits. These three songs, recorded with Paul Cook (of Sex Pistols fame) and Marco Pirroni (a bit less famous, but on some fine recordings with Adam Ant, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and Sinead O'Connor), represent the range and history of the band. Sure, it's totally unfocused, but these are great songs.

"Slits Tradition", the opening track, offers the first Hanna reference. Reggae and dub (along with most of the world, for that matter) hadn't gone digital yet, so those early Slits recordings were more of a Lee Perry production than a Taxi-era Sly and Robbie. This is their update, and there couldn't have been a more natural progression. And, coincidentally, it sounds a helluva a lot like Le Tigre's first record.

Hanna reference #2 (there are only 3 songs, so it had to come soon): "Number One Enemy" is pulled from the pre-Cut vaults. The Slits started in 1976, before they could play their instruments (famously asking Mick Jones to tune their guitars on a '77 Clash tour they were on). The only recordings from this period are some John Peel appearances. By 1979 (when Cut was recorded), they had progressed into their trademark sound. This is pure punk, proto-riot grrrl. Bikini Kill would've worshiped on this altar. And Ari Upp's voice holds its own after all these years, particularly on the call to arms and shriek that opens the track: "'76! The Slits! Number One Enemy! YAAAHHH!!!" All beautifully drenched in dirty spring reverb.

The final song, "Kill Them with Love", is back to basics. It sports some more digital production, but even with this, it could easily fit in on Cut.

This'll be on my regular play-list for some time.

- Dave Wolkensperg

Television Personalities - My Dark Place

Domino
Released: 03.21.06

Does knowledge of who an artist is affect the way we hear the music? I'd say there are three categories to the answer. Robert Johnson would still be the first recorded bluesman to play with a powerful, driving rhythm even if no one knew the myth of his deal with the devil. His life simply adds to his legacy. Syd Barrett's music begs the listener to ask the question, "What turmoil was going on in this guy's head?" The music and the artist are so wholly intertwined that the question becomes irrelevant. Then there's something like Eric Clapton. Songs like 'Layla' and 'Tears in Heaven' are always accompanied by "It's about George Harrison's wife," or "It's about his son dying." The stories serve no real purpose, but they're always there.

The Television Personalities leader, Dan Treacy, has a story unlike anyone else. But let's see how the music holds up on its own. Unless, of course, it falls into that second category.

Uncompromising in every way, My Dark Places is quintessentially British. It is unashamedly moody to the point of sounding like a desperate cry for help at times, but then quickly moving into playful, childish odes to boyhood heroes. It is musically dissonant with little sense of release from the cacophony. Treacy does no favors for anyone.

Without question, the highlight of the record is 'Velvet Underground.' This song couldn't sound any more unlike its subject. An up-tempo vaudevillian piano melody drives the song, with fake horns adding color sporadically, sometimes borrowing the melody of 'Here Comes the Bride' for no apparent reason. "The eighth mystery of the world I've found, How did the Velvet Underground get that sound," repeats, like everything in the song, sporadically, along with, "Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone but Lou Reed." The verses are just Treacy rambling about "how did they get it? I thought we had it." Like I said, this is the highlight of the record.

In the past 35 years, Treacy and company have made some of the most inspired music on record. At times - particularly 1984’s The Painted Word - Treacy has fallen into that second category with powerful results. My Dark Places teeters on that brink, but there is a self-consciousness that has never interfered with a TVPs records before this one. Treacy’s story is worth investigating for anyone who’s asked the question posed at the start of the review.

- Dave Wolkensperg

Inca Ore with Lemon Bear's Orchestra - The Birds in the Bushes

5RC
Released: 08.22.06

If Eva Saelens (aka Inca Ore) shows up at your house, expect her to pull all of the pots and pans out of the cabinet, and beat on them while she meows, stutters in nonsense languages, and chatters like a territorial squirrel. Expect her to demand your attention as she berates you one minute and strokes your head the next. You'll want to throw her out, but you won't, because even though Inca Ore comes across as a total head case when you first meet her, a few minutes later you'll realize that she's a complicatedly interesting head case.

On Inca Ore's second album, The Birds in the Bushes, she recruits the help of Lemon Bear to create eleven songs that invoke a wide range of emotions. This is Inca Ore and Lemon Bear's true talent. They'll set up the sounds of an entire garden of flowers facing the sun while ants carry leaves and bees gather pollen. Somewhere in the garden there is a deadly fight. We hear the loser's screams and the winner's triumph. The result is unfocused but complete. It's like listening in on every apartment on a city block. Love, hate, anger, happiness, sadness are all around us all the time; this album tries to show all of them taking place at the same time.

The Birds in the Bushes isn't an album made for most people. More interesting than enjoyable, you have to give it your full attention and several listens before you appreciate it. Even after you've discovered what makes it great, you'll probably only pull it out to make your friends listen to a track or two.

- Matt Thompson

Faun Fables - The Transit Rider

Drag City
Released: 05.16.06

Dawn McCarthy created The Transit Rider, an ambitious theatrical production of an original song cycle, from her experiences on the New York subway system in the 1990s. The physical stage is set to resemble a light-rail train, with a row of chairs along a wall and images created by visual artist Eric S. Koziel appearing out of framed window space. As each actor reaches their “stop,” they perform a song into a microphone located in front of the train door and then exit the stage. The story is an arcane, fantastical journey in which McCarthy often interacts with a chilling train conductor and is unsure of how or where to find her stop.

Early on, the accompanying album works, with McCarthy leading us through a plot introduction in “Transit Theme,” followed by easily one of the finest versions of “House Carpenter” ever recorded. Here her voice floats over our heads and her thespian presence redefines one of our finest traditional songs. However, after the first three tracks, starting with “In Speed,” the vocal contributions of second Fable, Nils Frykdahl, become more prominent. This is a disaster. His habitation here is the equivalent of eating ten Twinkies in one sitting. It’s too much of a bad thing. All the fluff is then exposed, including a mildly funky schlock catastrophe (“The Questioning) and a couple boring folk prances (“Roadkill,” “Earth’s Kiss”).

In its most interesting form, The Transit Rider is to be seen as well as heard. Unfortunately though, theatricality tends to exasperate when not provided with all your senses (sight in this case). So rather than having a peculiar, yet cohesive performance art piece, we are given a rather lengthy and exposed mistake. Even as McCarthy begins to smuggle her extraordinary voice into our progressive sensors, it is again displaced out by the presence of Frykdahl’s operatic rankness.

As a performance, The Transit Rider has received remarkable praise, with one personal friend even calling it, “the most direct and sensational piece of art I can ever remember seeing.” Well, The Transit Rider may indeed be a brilliant or at least engrossing production, but as a record it begins to spoil and the whole encouraging and exciting concept of it eventually shits itself.

- Kent Thompson

Akron/Family - Meek Warrior

Young God records
Released: 10.03.06

This, the newest Akron/Family odyssey, is possibly the most beautiful and non-cohesive record of the year. One moment it’s taking a hatchet to your leg and the next it’s warmly embracing your entire body with pillow arms. Dear lord it’s a charming formula.

All four members share vocal duties throughout, often crossing and connecting their voices in chants, yelps, and lullabies. Whether it’s in the context of a dense psychedelic outcry (“The Rider”) or an acoustic hymnal (“Love and Space”), it is these mingling voices that keeps Meek Warrior sharp, jubilant, and overwhelmingly entertaining throughout.

Opener “Blessing Force” is the busiest tune, switching direction numerous times, the whole while abusing scatterbrained guitars and downright filthy percussive rhythms courtesy of master free jazz drummer Hamid Drake. Again, the vocals are a playful masterpiece in their own right, sounding like harmonized playground laughter. The song begins by luring like a post rock bender, and then switches into a bizarre vocal call, then a natural, straight rock surge, followed by an Afro beat percussive breakdown before finally settling on and ending with a noisy free for all. In fact, there is so much jaw dropping stuff in this first track that it leaves your brain violated. The rest of the album serves as the not-so-logical but entirely wonderful explanation for this feeling.

After “Blessing Force” we are shown a different side of our new lover. They throw us a delicately layered acoustic piece (“Gone Beyond”), followed by the perky and magnetic psychobabble of the titled track. Through the fog we stumble upon more fog, courtesy of the gorgeous drone and percussive takeover of “No Space in This Realm.” Here, right at the mid-point and high point of Meek Warrior, we are defenseless.

If listened to carefully, Meek Warrior can serve as a medley of life moments, combining into one your first kiss, a car wreck, that wonderful drug experience, this unforgettable party, a time you screamed into a pillow, and so on. It’s a vivid canvas. Stare at it as long as you can.

- Kent Thompson

Dmonstrations - Night Trrors, Schock!

GSL
Release Date: 10.17.06

The truth about reviewing handfuls of CDs in a brief period of time is that after 1 or 2, said reviewer starts to realize how short life is. CDs begin to fall into 1 of 2 categories: 1) discs that immediately grab attention and never let up, and 2) Rhett Miller. The incorrectly spelled Dmonstrations is the kind of band that makes you dance in your seat before you even realize that you are moving your cheese-filled American ass. And by dance, I'm referring to the Captain Beefheart, Pere Ubu, Boredoms type.

- Peter Berkowitz

Warmer Milks - Radish on Light

Troubleman Unlimited
Released: 09.12.06

When Warmer Milks put out their Early Castles CDR a few years ago, I fell in love with its vaguely psychedelic, vaguely folk tunes within a few listens. Not immediately accessible, it does take a few listens. But those who stuck it out through unexplained 7-minute silences and the breaking off mid-song when a string goes out of tune found some seductive and contemplative songs. Never the type to retrace their steps, they moved on with gusto, making a half-hour hypnotic jam of Penetration Initials, the tape manipulations of Aja Braun that I’m pretty sure consisted mostly of burps, farts, and gargling, and a harshly chaotic group of songs (frankly, I’m not even sure what it’s called since there wasn’t any indication and I was half-drunk when I got it at a show) that I could only describe as summoning the devil and raping him. It seemed that every time I looked them up, Warmer Milks were handing around new recordings that varied greatly from each other. And each one was fully realized. There was no half-assing about it. Warmer Milks was all about commitment.

So it’s a little disappointing to find out that Warmer Milks is no more. Still, they’ve left us the most proper of their releases, Radish on Light on Troubleman. Don’t be disappointed that there are only four songs. Each one packs a wallop, sounding like the basement recordings of a post-apocalyptic serial killer. Mikey T’s voice squirms over bending guitars and lackadaisical drums on “In the Fields” before screaming himself horse. “The Shark” gives us a brief rest, washing our ears with smooth noise. But not for long. Soon a beat comes into action, barely holding together a bass line that thrives in the dark corner and two guitars clanging against each other. The body is jittered by “Pentagram of Sores”’s twisted rhythms, coming across at first as a good friend and then dragging barbed wire across your back. Thank god for the healing power of a Sabbath riff that anyone can, not exactly bang your head to, but nod very aggressively. The fifteen-minute “Radish on Light” once again blows some cool air over our lobes. We needed it. Feedback surrounds us. Yes, we’ve killed you, but it we did it out of love. Let us wrap you in a blanket of warm fuzz and say goodnight to one of the most constantly surprising and fearless bands I’ve ever heard. There is no self-consciousness here. Sleep well.

- Matt Thompson

Joanna Newsom - Ys

Drag City
Released: 11.14.06

With her new record, Joanna Newsom has expanded how she as a songwriter works. While her 2004 breakthrough Milk Eyed Mender was a brilliant 12 song folk/pop record that happened to be written and performed with a harp, Ys is an exponentially more ambitious, 5 song, 55 minute emprise. Her simple harp and vocal presentation has gained a cohort in the form of a full orchestra (even including banjo and accordion) conducted by Van Dyke Parks (Beach Boys, various TV and film scores). The orchestral elements augment the intense nature of Ys, allowing the songs to continually take a variety of forms, whether they are solemn, hyper, violent, etc. For instance, on the nearly 17 minute “Only Skin,” the string and brass backing builds with the hectic drama of Newsom’s harp, making it both anxious and fun. It steers this epic lyrical creation (199 unrepeated lines!) away from becoming tedious and instead affords it the title of unforgettable.

And then there’s Newsom’s voice, a tool so far beyond even astonishing that its force calls to mind unspeakable images of beauty and brutality rather than cheap musical comparisons. On Ys, like Milk Eyed Mender, every sharp pronunciation and each unorthodox stanza spits and kisses with styled confidence. Furthermore, her lyrics themselves are fantastical tales of people, animals, and places we might not understand, but the fashion in which the words bounce off of each other, with clever and emotive agility, is reminiscent of nothing before it.

For an album of only 5 songs, there are countless highlights, none the least of which is “Sawdust and Diamonds.” This is the lone track Newsom performs without Van Dyke’s arrangements, articulating only with her harp strokes and magnetic delivery. It’s the type of song that anyone anywhere can hear and feel something deeply personal. As she sings “I will swallow your sadness, and eat your cold clay, just to lift your long face,” the morrow in our bones boils; our guts shake. Yes, it is perfect because nothing else is this original, charming, or affecting.

There are not enough superlatives in the world to describe Joanna Newsom and Ys. Still, this is the greatest album of 2006, by our finest, most talented modern songwriter. That should be enough.

-Kent Thompson

My Morning Jacket - Okonokos

RCA/ATO
Released 09.26.06

My Morning Jacket is a live band. Or, they always had been. Then Z came out. It was critically acclaimed and generally loved by their fans, but it was also a huge sonic departure. The greatest change was a focus on studio craft. Their earlier albums were very much natural recordings, capturing the players in their live element. Was Z such a studio-based album that the songs couldn't survive live? Not only does Okonokos confirm that the songs from Z can sound just as impressively epic on the stage as on record, but by including a good deal of older material, it lays bare that though the band has gone through some eclectic changes, these songs can work together as a magnificent whole. That being said, the 2 discs of Okonokos almost work as two different documents of an event. On the first disc, the band follows their recorded work almost to a T. The songs sound like what you've heard on the records. The second disc, starts with "Dondante", which singer Jim James strips to its emotional core. The disc continues to let loose, with the band subtly reinterpreting bits and pieces of familiar songs, though always keeping the basics intact. For someone who hasn't seen the band for a few years, I left the record promising myself I would make a point not to miss them again.

-Dave Wolkensperg

The Evens - Get Even

Dischord Records
Released: 10.18.06

Ian Mackaye is all grown up and he plays sitting down now as the strumming half of The Evens.

But the fire is still there and though the lyrics and instrumentation both are more direct, stripped down, a pillowcase next to Fugazi's tapestry, the stitches are still tight --how corny, right-- and their second album Get Evens makes your room a little better to be in.

Mackaye's jangly syncopated change-ups are there, though he lingers more in the slow melodious realm, singing more than yelling, strumming more than assaulting, though there's some of that too. And let's not forget The Evens' other half, Amy Farina who not only lays down some snappy drum action, but awful strong, purdy vocals to boot.

A lot of the album is overtly political with jabs at Bush like, 'everybody knows you are a liar', 'you're fired!', and 'your plate is overflowing, can't you see you've had enough' peppered throughout. This would be distracting if they weren't so damned earnest. When trying to get a singalong going at The Evens' show at St. John's Church last month, Mackaye implored the small audience, 'come on now, nobody try to be cool.' This totally unhip sincerity (singalongs at a show! huh?) comes through on the album, and whether or not you voted on the 7th, or like Fugazi, or shop at Diesel, or whatever, the uptempo optimism of Get Evens might just make you smile.

It's not Fugazi nor is it Anti Flag and it's certainly not 'Ian Mackaye's new side project', it's just two friends making music together. Aw.

- Nathan Tempey

El Perro Del Mar - s/t

The Control Group
Released: 05.30.06

Some of my favorite pop music ever has come out of Sweden (Abba, Eggstone, and Dungen). I hold Swedish pop music to a higher standard than most. And even for a self-confessed Swedophile like myself, I have to give this album two opposable thumbs up – but for completely different reasons than I like most Swedish music. I was singing along with the opening track “Candy” before the end of the first listen. Vocal melody seems to be where the Swedes soar, but El Perro del Mar (translation “Sea Dog”) adds a refreshing twist with a production style that sounds more like quintessential American “wall of sound” than it does any of the obvious earlier Swedish influences. Press for El Perro Del Mar always points to her Motown and Spector girl group influence. It is there no doubt. But I find myself trying to imagine this album coming out in the early 60’s. The lyrical content is way too melodramatic, and even tragicomic, to have been on the radio in the 60’s – even too revisionist girl group and un-commercial to be on the radio in 2006 for that matter. Heartbreak and misery haven’t felt this good in a while. I would recommend for fans of Motown girl groups, Broadcast, and Joanna Newsom- and some Neil Young fans as well.

- Jeremy Midkiff