Dr. Dog - Fate

With the release of Fate, the members of Dr. Dog have put themselves in a tricky position, ripe for pooh-poohing from the bloodthirsty gatekeepers of irony who are ready to pounce in their rolled-jean capris. See, Fate is the Philly fivesome’s third straight album of unabashedly catchy ’60s pop that harkens back to a certain moppy-haired foursome from that era, complete with la la las and na na nas.

In 2005, Dr. Dog’s Easy Beat was a lo-fi, ramshackle affair; last year’s We All Belong was a bit more polished, and Fate’s production is as slick as singer/guitarist Scott McMicken’s unwashed locks. But other than that, the song remains the same. It’s that point in a band’s career where others have felt the need for reinvention—time to deconstruct that pop and rip it apart like Yankee Hotel Foxtrot-era Wilco, or infuse it with off-the-wall influences à la My Morning Jacket’s recent adventures.

But Dr. Dog has done nothing of the sort, and bully for them, I say. Deconstruction and reinvention isn’t a requirement, and shouldn’t be viewed as so. Why concoct something newfangled when the current recipe is tried and true?

Fate’s songs contemplate American malaise, as McMicken and fellow vocalist Toby Leaman tackle issues of action and inaction. “Army of Ancients” claims said army could arise and tear every nation apart, “and I’d still be sitting there counting my cards, wondering when will it start.” The chorus asks, “How did the fox get the raven to crow?” (followed by an “Oh yeah” that can only be described as Lennon-esque).

“The Ark” asks the question in a more direct way: “What does it mean to be here?” “Well I know because I can, and I will,” Dr. Dog answers, taking the easy route by implying the psychedelic-throwback maxim “Be Here Now.” But that bit of lyrical vapidity, which can also be found in a couple of other tracks, rarely overshadows the band’s knack for melody.

Carrying that melody on “The Old Days” is a saloon piano that fits right in with the album’s old-timey packaging, which will appeal to those who still like the tangible aspects of a record. The cover image is a quilted scene, and the insert is styled like a turn-of-the-century newspaper, each headline a song title with lyrics below.

As much as I’ve enjoyed the album, I’ll concede that Dr. Dog has planted its roots firmly in a sound and era that may not allow Fate’s songs to have endless staying power. But they sure do make for good sing-alongs. As the band advises on the opening track, “The Breeze,” if you feel like you’re stuck in time, just “put that needle to the groove, and sing.”

A Dr. Dog show scheduled for Tuesday at the Basement has been canceled, but the band is scheduled to perform for CD101’s Summerfest on Aug. 23 at the LC.
(From The Other Paper)

mp3: Dr. Dog - The Old Days

The Hold Steady - Stay Positive

It’s a pretty safe bet that an album by the Hold Steady will revolve around a few things: alcohol, drugs, sex and God. The formula is as old as rock ’n roll itself, but bandleader Craig Finn has done it better than most by weaving vivid tales of teen and twentysomething debauchery. And despite the new album’s title, Stay Positive is of the same mold.

People like to call the Hold Steady “bar rock,” whatever that means. Bar rock or not, the band excels at using classic rock archetypes and yes, Springsteen, to forge fist-pumping anthems soaked with beer and distortion. Since 2005’s Separation Sunday and the band’s breakthrough Boys and Girls in America in ’06, Franz Nicolay’s keyboard work has also become integral to the sound.

Boys and Girls captured the band in a more streamlined state, and Stay Positive takes that further with even more emphasis on production and some additional elements. You’ll notice a harpsichord on “One for the Cutters,” a talk-box solo on “Joke About Jamaica,” synth on “Navy Sheets,” etc. There’s even some guest vocals from the Drive-By Truckers’ Patterson Hood and Lucero’s Ben Nichols.

But the Hold Steady is a reflection of Finn first and foremost, his craggy voice talk-singing with almost audible spittle. In “One for the Cutters,” Finn tells the story of a girl who liked to party with townies when the regular crowd wasn’t around. They seemed pretty similar to her other friends, at least up until the night of the stabbing.

“Constructive Summer” and “Sequestered in Memphis” are classic Hold Steady rousers, while “Lord I’m Discouraged” is the album’s stand-out ballad--a piano-driven tune with a narrator who’s justifiably concerned about the “excuses and half truths and fortified wine” coming from a woman who won’t ever be his. “The sutures and bruises are none of my business,” he says, but “this guy from the north side comes down to visit. His visits they only take five or six minutes.”

The album as a whole sends decidedly mixed messages, though. “We gotta stay positive,” Finn says on the title track, and that glass-half-full mentality stems from the leadoff track’s assertion that “We are our only saviors.” Yet on the very next song, and for most of the rest of the album, we see story after story--told in squirmy, veracious detail--about humanity’s pitfalls. We have slave-like addictions to all the likely suspects. We sacrifice pieces of ourselves while trying unsuccessfully to fit in. We take advantage of other people. Sometimes we even kill each other. And we are our saviors? That’s supposed to make us stay positive?

Finn himself admits the glaring inconsistency in that title track again: “It’s one thing to start it with a positive jam, and it’s another thing to see it on through.”

A discrepant philosophy, though, is just another aspect of the human struggle, and embodying that plight is what the Hold Steady does best. After all, it wouldn’t be a Hold Steady album if Finn actually saw all that positivity through to the end. It’s his heartbreaking grasp of depravity that keeps us coming back.

mp3: The Hold Steady - One for the Cutters

The Other Paper joins the 21st century

It's true. The Other Paper finally has a new website that doesn't look like it was made in 1995. And all content is now online. (I may still post reviews here, too, for a while.)

I think what I love most about TOP is that the paper doesn't take itself too seriously. Case in point: The self-deprecating "Kicking things off" blog entry:

"Welcome to the World Wide Web! Here at The Other Paper, we've long been skeptical of the staying power of the whole Information Superhighway fad. That's why, until now, our website consisted solely of an animation of a flying toaster and a link to a local CompuServe provider.

But we've come to realize that the Internet (or "Internets" as the president refers to it) isn't going away any time soon. So enjoy our new, revamped site and all its awesome features and interactive options. We've spent the better part of two years putting this thing together (known as 'Project 1994' here at TOP Headquarters), so keep your negative comments to yourself.

You will now be able to find every story that appears in the critically acclaimed print version of The Other Paper, along with the Agenda, our weekly listing of goings-on around town. Readers can post pictures of themselves, local bands can upload videos and information about upcoming shows, organizers can directly post their events to our online calendar and people can post comments on our stories. We even have click-able ads for strip clubs.

Admittedly, we've yet to figure out how any of these features work, so bear with us for a couple weeks until we straighten things out. By the way, if anyone knows what the hell a ".pdf" file is, please get in touch immediately.

More importantly than the improved content and design, we figure there's a boatload of cash to be made by riding the Internet wave. What's that? People can get on our site for free? Oh well, back to the drawing board..."

Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin, Ha Ha Tonka, Our Cat Philip - Skully's

If Zach Braff were still making mix CDs of his favorite artists to soundtrack his movies, I imagine Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin filling the spots once reserved for the Shins. Like a more cumbersomely named cousin, the band’s hook-laden indie pop songs are in the same extended family.

But at Skully’s on Sunday night, SSLYBY couldn’t recreate its super-clean, catchy sound effectively. The Springfield, Missouri, band came off as young and inexperienced, replacing boyish exuberance with bland stiffness. On Pershing, the band’s latest and mostly solid album, even songs like “Think I Wanna Die” somehow come off as gleeful and peppy, which made the concert all the more disappointing.

To be fair, a lot of this was probably due to the lead singer/guitarist losing his voice. Those sweet harmonies didn’t work, and every note felt like the tippy top of his register--a bad combination for SSLYBY’s nice little pop songs.

Actually, referring to him as the lead singer/guitarist might not be completely accurate, as he eventually switched to bass, surrendering the singer/guitarist spot to the former drummer as the former bassist then sat behind the kit. But the sometimes-drummer’s awkward timidity and strained voice weren’t much better. He did a fine job with “Modern Mystery,” though, buoyed by the song’s bouncy beat.

The band also threw in a cover of Arrested Development’s “Mr. Wendal,” a song I hadn’t thought about in years. It was a good diversion and a pretty fun choice, but mostly for nostalgic reasons, as the drummer-singer had no flow whatsoever.

With no last-song warning, “Oceanographer” wrapped up the set unexpectedly while the crowd stood waiting for an encore that never came. It was an anticlimactic ending to an underwhelming performance.

Fellow Springfield natives Ha Ha Tonka fueled their set with more Ozark energy and a sound that made it much more obvious the band hails from Missouri, coating good ‘ole rock-and-roll with a crispy southern crust. If you sometimes wish Kings of Leon had a better singer and more ferocious guitar, Ha Ha Tonka would probably be a good remedy.

All four of these guys can sing their hearts out, as they showed on an a capella cover of the traditional Southern folk song “Hangman.” It knocked me out. Ditto for a newer song called “12-Inch Three-Speed Oscillating Fan.” Though he probably should have saved his voice, Yeltsin’s John Robert Cardwell hopped on stage for the tune, as did the headliner’s guitarist, though most of his contribution involved dramatically eating a sandwich. Oh, and a skinny, long-haired dancer dude joined the conglomerate, as well. With arms and legs akimbo, his oddly frenetic, hypnotizing gyrations were an entertaining sideshow throughout the night.

Singer/guitarist Brian Roberts stuck with an acoustic most of the set, letting guitarist/keyboardist Brett Anderson handle the big, chunky guitar chords and smoking leads. (Anderson also did a fine job on lead vocals for one of the set’s more mellow tunes, “Falling In.”) I didn’t pay much attention to the lyrics, but no matter--the performance spoke for itself.

Opening the show was local act Our Cat Philip, an OSU band I knew nothing about but really enjoyed. Singer Max Sollisch’s high-pitched, quavery, crackly voice was eccentric in a way that reminded me of the Mountain Goats’ John Darnielle--a good thing. The songs were alternately driven by keyboard and guitar and always backed by a thick cello and/or violin string section.

It’s tough to put Our Cat Philip into any specific category, but the band employs the sort of simple, twee-folk melodies that make people bob their heads from side to side instead of front to back. The heart-on-the-sleeve lyrics could sometimes be a little cloying, but overall the melancholy ditties satisfied nicely. The band deserves some more of Columbus’s attention, and I anticipate they’ll get it soon enough.

Gentleman Auction House - Alphabet Graveyard

Gentleman Auction House's debut full-length Alphabet Graveyard came out yesterday on Emergency Umbrella Records, and it would be tragic if an album this good flew under the radar. So go grab it at Emusic, Amazon, iTunes or your bricks-and-mortar record store of choice.

In my live review of the band's show at the High Five last month, I said they were "best described as indie pop, but with an insatiable fire behind it. Think of the pop sensibilities of a less-precious Belle and Sebastian, the bombast of Arcade Fire and the eccentricities of Danielson all rolled into one." I think that pretty much holds true for the album, too.

And mark you calendars to catch the band the second time around at the High Five Sept. 25 with Yea Big + Kid Static, Bookmobile and Wing & Tusk.

mp3: Gentleman Auction House - ABCDEFGraveyard

Tim Easton - Rumba Cafe

Even though Tim Easton is an Akron native now living in Joshua Tree, California, it always feels like a homecoming when he comes back to Columbus, as he did for a show at the Rumba Cafe Saturday. And judging from the bursting-at-the-seams crowd, Columbus, in turn, still embraces Easton like a native son.

The man has certainly spent plenty of time here, dating all the way back to his days at Ohio State playing with Kosher Spears, then later during his stint fronting edgy, alt-country favorites the Haynes Boys, whose 1996 album Guardian Angel continues to feed crops of roots rockers.

Easton kicked off the night with just his acoustic and a harmonica, playing a couple of new songs from a home-recorded bootleg called Highway 62 Love Songs, which he had on hand. Before a drummer joined him onstage, he also played “Next to You,” a soft ballad from 2006’s Ammunition. It’s a song that shows Easton’s super-sensitive, gushy side that has surfaced more often in recent years. The tune even inspired a young couple in front to slow dance in front of the stage. You could almost hear them whispering, “This is our song!” into each other’s ears.

Needless to say, I prefer his grittier material, and he more than obliged as his ladyfriend drummer from Bucyrus pounded the skins the rest of the night. It was a new, unpracticed and probably temporary incarnation, but even with the dropped beats now and then, she gave songs like “Black Dog” some teeth and a fresh, forceful pulse to go along with Easton’s pleasantly croaky vocals.

He played a packed concert for a packed house, with two sets split by a break long enough to span just about all of Wilco’s Summerteeth over the PA, and both sets showcased Easton’s ability to appeal to just about everyone while still retaining every bit of his artistic integrity. He can go seamlessly from honky-tonk to blues, folk-rock to fiery roots rock. You could see it in the makeup of the crowd, too: old, young and in-between, equal parts hipsters, bumpkins, suburbanites and rockers. In fact, the most passionate front-row fan was a dude who looked just like the singer from Disturbed, faithfully hoisting the rawk hand multiple times during every song.

The Rumba crowd was also treated to an impromptu reuniting of old Haynes Boys drummer Jovan Karcic for a rendition of “The New Franklin County Woman.” Of all the songs off Guardian Angel, the tune has a punk ethos that shows Karcic’s overlap with former Columbus pop-punkers Gaunt wasn’t that big of a leap after all.

Easton took some requests during the second set, and they ended up spanning his career. Highlights included “Rewind,” a song off 1998’s Special 20 that Easton said he wrote on High Street at 3 am, along with “Poor, Poor LA” off Break Your Mother’s Heart, showcasing his knack for turning a memorable phrase (“You don’t have to break your mama’s heart to change the world”).

But of all the songs, there was probably one that carried the most significance for Easton’s one-night stand in Columbus: “Just Like Home.”

mp3: Tim Easton - Stones Throw Away (previously unreleased, off Highway 62 Love Songs)

Highway 62 Love Songs

I caught Tim Easton's show at Rumba Cafe Saturday night. He didn't disappoint. A full review will be coming shortly.

He also was selling a new "dirty boot bootleg" CD, complete with stapled construction-paper sleeve, titled "Highway 62 Love Songs." I put on the disc today, and it's anything but dirty--14 tracks of intimate, nicely recorded Easton songs, most of which are new. In the words of a McDonald's ad campaign, I'm lovin' it.

A couple tracks for your enjoyment:

mp3: Tim Easton - Two of Us
mp3: Tim Easton - Beat the Band

Alina Simone - Everyone is Crying Out to Me, Beware

It seems like an odd choice for an artist to release a sophomore album of cover material, especially someone looking to build on some debut-album buzz. But that’s what Alina Simone decided to do with her new one, Everyone is Crying Out to Me, Beware, a nine-song record of songs by Soviet-era songwriter Yanka Dyagileva.

For Simone, though, it’s not too much of a stretch. She was born in the Ukraine, then spent most of her youth in Massachusetts, graduating from art school in Boston before heading to Austin where she spent some time busking. She eventually graduated to clubs and bars in New York, releasing her debut album, Placelessness, last year. Her summer tour will bring her to Columbus Wednesday for a free show at Surly Girl with the Black Swans’ Jerry DeCicca.

Simone has also spent a lot of time in Siberia, where she first became acquainted with the music of Dyagileva, a folk singer with punk leanings (drawn from peer Egor Letov) who reached cult status in Russia only after her supposed suicide in 1991 at the age of 24. (Think Americans’ fascination with similarly tortured soul Nick Drake, but probably on a larger scale.)

Last year, the Durham Arts Council in North Carolina awarded Simone a grant to record some of Dyagileva’s tunes. Because of Simone’s history, Placelessness had a vaguely Russian feel, but this is taken to the obvious extreme on Beware, as everything is sung entirely in Russian. There’s also a spontaneous, somewhat lo-fi vibe on the album as Simone and her producer attempted to capture a feeling similar to Dyagileva’s original tapes.

Out of mental laziness and a previous unfamiliarity with Dyagileva, I admit I wasn’t initially excited about listening repeatedly to a Russian album. But to my surprise, I’ve begun enjoying Beware more than Placelessness, which probably caters more to fans of PJ Harvey and Bjork while this record eschews vocal histrionics for a more restrained but no less aroused approach.

The ramshackle nylon-stringed acoustic and occasional electric guitars, plus simple, organic-sounding horn and string arrangements, add a brooding backdrop to Simone’s renderings. Unless you speak Russian, chances are you’ll be clueless as to what she’s saying, but that shouldn’t stop you from understanding what she’s talking about. The glowering songs aptly convey Dyagileva’s restlessness and anger.

On “From Great Knowledge,“ Simone significantly slows the tempo from Dyagileva’s original to give full weight to the dark, desperate lyrics (translated): “From great knowledge comes only sorrow/ From a reckless mind, only ditches and moats/ From a beautiful soul, only scabs and lice/ From universal love, only mugs in blood.” A moaning cello adds gravity to the matter.

Perhaps the best description of these songs is the title of third track, “My Sadness is Luminous.” Simone’s reworking of the tunes communicates a distinct despair, but she also successfully seizes the palpable glow of Dyagileva’s music that still attracts followers like moths to lamplight.

mp3: Alina Simone - Beware

Titles - Bernie's, 7/13

The Titles show at Bernie’s on Sunday night was really disappointing, but that had nothing to do with Titles. The New Haven, Connecticut band played a great set--at least from the four songs I caught. The evening was a disjointed affair, and for some reason Titles got stuck playing the first slot.

Singer/guitarist Brad Amorosino was a good sport about it, and he led the band barefoot through a mix of diverse but accessible indie-pop songs with scraped vocals. Of the ones I caught, the tunes had some jazzy beats and country influences--especially “No Love,” a super-catchy song with some really nice pedal steel that can be found on the band’s impressive new album, Up With the Sun, on Safety Meeting Records (mp3s below).

Lead guitarist Matt Wilson, a more recent addition to the band, was a pleasure to watch and led the band through some tight jams in a style that reminded me of Nels Cline’s Sky Blue Sky Wilco contributions. It all ended too soon. Hopefully Titles will come back through Columbus on the next jaunt.

E for Explosion came up next, a late addition to the bill that really should have been relegated to the opening slot. The project is fronted by Jamison Covington of disbanded emo rockers JamisonParker. Explosion’s overdone songs were filled with big, empty choruses that would be the perfect soundtrack to the latest poorly written teen movie. One such example of a lyric repeated ad nauseum: “When you’re close to me, I’m in heaven.” I think the band is aiming for Taking Back Sunday meets Angels & Airwaves, or something like that.

Unfortunately for the band (but fortunately for me), the worthless sound man left during their set while the PA made a horrible, loud buzzing sound, so the bassist threw a hissy fit and they stopped after three songs. I overheard the drummer telling a fan, “We were about to play this beautiful song, and the PA was just going eeeeehhhhhh.” Who knows, maybe they were, but from what I heard, E for Explosion has a long way to go before they fall into the “beautiful” category.

Taking the stage next was local act TV Eye, a baby-faced trio (plus an inconsequential and slightly annoying tambourine player) led by the the singer/guitarist’s slurry garage-rock vocals and dirty, blues-based Telecaster riffs--heavy on the treble. The throwback songs were perfectly serviceable, but didn’t bowl me over.

At the end of the set, the drummer threw one of his sticks and said, “We used to play here a lot. It sucks now.” It seemed to be a sentiment shared by most of the musicians that night.

Winter Makes Sailors, a solo project from Columbusite Sean Gardener (The Kyle Sowashes, Melty Melty), closed the night. Accompanying Gardener was a group of musicians he said he’d never played with before, including a drummer, a guy playing atmospheric slide stuff and violin, another guy switching between keys, synth and trumpet (maybe vibraphone?) and a guest acoustic bassist.

Gardener was self-deprecating from the get-go, and it’s true his band was obviously unrehearsed. And the slide guy was way too loud. But the simple folk songs were nice, with creative arrangements, if a little rough around the edges. I also liked having the stage lit only by a single lamp.

Winter Makes Sailors and fellow locals Moon High would be a good fit for another show. But after this night, I’d relocate to somewhere other than Bernie’s.

mp3: Titles - No Love
mp3: Titles - Bloody Nose

Noel Sayre

I've been wanting to post something about Noel Sayre, violinst for the Black Swans, ever since hearing about his accidental death at a pool last week. The guy was only 37, and he was immensely talented. I wrote a short story about it for today's Other Paper, but it's more news-oriented and doesn't really seem like a fitting eulogy to post.

So, even though it's been posted elsewhere, I'm just going to post part of Black Swans singer/guitarist Jerry DeCicca's message he sent out last week. Jerry has a way with words and seems to have known Noel the best, so it's probably best to let his sentiments stand on their own:

Noel and I began playing music together on New Years Eve of 1995, opening a show for the Yips and the Bassholes at Bernies Bagels in Columbus, Ohio. We split $100 for that gig, and so began a partnership that quickly became a strong and lasting friendship that the Black Swans based themselves upon.

We were always more Heckle & Jeckle and Penn & Teller than Simon & Garfunkel, as we shared an idea about music as art, posing as entertainment, that we explored over hundreds of gigs and several recordings. Musically, I always stood in Noel's shadow and Noel always felt he was my shadow. We spoke in code, a short-hand, that sometimes alienated others and sometimes amused them. We were kindred spirits in many way and couldn't be more different in others. He was quiet and articulate, rowdy and beyond shy, hyper intelligent and incredibly dense. I think I knew him better than anyone and it is safe to say there was a lot I never saw. It is shocking to think he will no longer be a part of my physical life. We both imagined that we'd be standing on stage together when we were 80, an appropriate age for our favorite tempo.

...Too, I'm happy to say he already recorded his parts for the next Black Swans album and, as always, played with intelligence, humor, and a transcendent pallet of emotions.

Noel taught me a lot about myself. As we played witness to one another, we stuck to our guns, charting each others growth as a person and a musician. We went through a lot together, good and bad, always expressing ourselves in different ways, but never an unkind word was exchanged, always caring and supportive. I can't imagine my life or music without him.

Comfest recap

To completely contradict a column that ran in The Other Paper last week, I love Comfest, and this year didn’t disappoint. Yeah, it smelled like patchouli and it rained and it was muddy and the Libertarians are yet again trying to get a candidate on the ballot. But it also smelled like awesome fair food, the kids and hippies loved the mud and the rain didn’t stop some great bands from performing.

So here are my bests and worsts from the weekend organized into random categories. And let it be said that the good definitely outweighed the bad.

Best performance:
Miranda Sound’s unbridled final Comfest performance was top notch, but Brainbow’s epic, hypnotic set of instrumental rock just edged it out. The strings, sax and horns were a nice addition, and each song was completely cathartic, building tension and releasing it at all the right moments.

Best dancer:
Some hippie chick in a drum circle Friday night who made Shakira look like an amateur.

Worst dancer:
Some shirtless raver dude who decided to jump in the drum circle when the hippie chick left. Raving doesn’t work in a drum circle.

Best food:
Bahama Mama. Fish boats are overrated.

Best backing vocalists:
At the end of Two Cow Garage’s killer set of cow-punk, at least 20 guys came onstage to form a “dude choir” for an extended version of the David Bowie/Mott the Hoople song “All the Young Dudes.”

Worst moment of the weekend:
After a big Labatt Blue, I went to relieve myself in one of the oversized porta-potty structures equipped with a trough that can comfortably fit about three standing men side by side. I was on one side, someone else on the other, and then a self-professed “old man with a weak bladder” completed the trifecta in the middle. Alas, the old man didn’t quite make it in time, as my leg could attest.

Best T-shirt:
“My daddy is in a promising local band”--a tee for tots from Clintonville shop Red Rover.

Worst T-shirt:
“Keep Sublime Alive.” Bradley’s gone, man. He’s gone.

Most inaccurate sign:
Inside the booth for “One Hit Wunders: World’s Best One Hit Smoking System” was a small sign that read “For tobacco & herbal use only.” (One woman gave it a glowing endorsement, though, telling her friend, “That’s the best thing ever. It’s like a bowl, but you can smuggle it through airports and sh*t.”)

Biggest regrets:
Not seeing Moon High, Muscle Puzzle, Hugs & Kisses and Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments. Also, seeing part of Michelle Shocked’s set. Bleh.

Best kiddie pool:
The rainwater made a big, muddy lake next to the Bozo stage, and the kids loved it. I watched one little tike with his face painted dive headfirst repeatedly into the brown water. The face paint was gone in no time. Meanwhile, an old coot just stood in the middle of the knee-high water for hours with a big grin on his face--a couple of people even got their pictures taken with him.

Best stage:
Offramp