Our Cat Philip, The Damn Yous, Moon High

We're going to start doing more local album/single reviews in The Other Paper. They'll usually be shorter than the regular 400-wordish reviews, but it should still give a good overview. You can find this week's full installment here, and here's just my two below, plus a short show preview I wrote for the Moon High show at Carabar on Saturday. I'll unfortunately be out of town for it, but you should go.

Our Cat Philip - Apart of Someone
I didn’t know much about Our Cat Philip until I saw the youngsters open up for Ha Ha Tonka and Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin a couple of weeks ago, but the performance put the band atop my local-bands-to-pursue-further list. After listening to the group’s debut full-length, Apart of Someone, I’m officially down with OCP. And if you’re able to embrace your inner twee, you’ll be down, too.

Singer Max Sollisch’s quivering tenor (see: John Darnielle) is a quirky counterpoint to the folky melodies created by banjo, pianos (both the plinking toy variety and a grown-up version) and graceful string arrangements. The album, which sounds distinctly different from typically scuzzy Columbus offerings, isn’t quite as zippy as the band’s live show, and the record could stand a few more injections of that twee playfulness the group does so well; Our Cat Philip is at its best when embracing its inner oddities.

But the heart-on-sleeve mellow numbers are nice in small doses—“Like Movies” and “Dana” are particularly fetching ballads. No doubt other fledgling locals will be jealous of a debut like Apart of Someone.

mp3: Our Cat Philip - Like Movies (more freebies available on the band's myspace page)

The Damn Yous
The Damn Yous’ self-titled 7-inch is out on Burnt Sienna Records, which released stuff by Pretty Mighty Mighty back in the day. The accompanying press release describes the band as “fast columbus, oh punk raunch and roll,” and that’s a pretty fitting description. The trio takes the punk fury of Columbus’s New Bomb Turks and adds a hefty dose of Motorhead metal.

Here’s what the Damn Yous do well: raw power, especially on B-side “Suicide Squeeze,” a lo-fi beast that finds the drummer pounding furiously to keep up with the guitar, like a foaming pit bull fighting one of its own, Michael Vick-style.

Here’s what they don’t do well: songwriting and titling. Side A is “Anal Pledge” and “Cock Fight,” neither of which would be out of place on a Spinal Tap track list, but I doubt this is similarly tongue-in-cheek. Either way, these blink-and-they’re-gone songs probably work better in a dingy rock club than on vinyl.

Moon High
Saturday, Aug. 29, Carabar
Like Our Cat Philip, Moon High is a Columbus band playing music utterly different from most Columbus bands. I’ve really been digging the band’s self-titled debut—a moody, folk pastiche full of mournful, pretty songs that bring to mind a less flamboyant Sufjan Stevens. There’s enough going on to appeal to the freak-folk crowd, but it’s restrained enough to appease those who don’t like their folk too freaky. The band also sets the mood nicely at live shows, with big, glowing globes. Rounding out the bill are some other great bands that would make the show worth an outing on their own: Church of the Red Museum, Rosehips and Deerhead.

mp3: Moon High - Lying Here, Dying Here (stream the full album at the Moon High website)

CD101 Summerfest 2008

This year’s CD101 Summerfest was probably worth the money, but that’s not saying much since it was only $5. You’d be hard-pressed to put together a festival with seven bands for $5 (about 71 cents per band) and have it not be worth the cash.

The evening was mostly a disappointment, though, especially compared to last year’s great performances by Silversun Pickups, Sea Wolf and Miranda Sound. VHS or Beta played an underwhelming set last year, but for some reason the band was back this year to headline the main stage at the LC Pavilion, and Saturday night’s set wasn’t any better. In fact, it was worse.

The Louisville band is apparently content to recycle ’80s pop in a danceable form, mixing glossed-up post-punk (minus the spidery guitars) and Robert Smith vocals (minus the drippiness, adding some vocoder). Every song in the set sounded familiar, and not just because I heard most of them last year. It just felt recycled.

The instrumental numbers were no exception. I thought I was listening to muzak versions of other songs--like watching an infomercial for the “Instrumental ’80s.” Much of the crowd seemed to concur, as people trickled to the exit in larger numbers as the set went on, leaving a sparsely populated lawn.

Philadelphia’s Dr. Dog warmed up the stage for VHS or Beta, and while the fivesome didn’t set it on fire by any means, it was a performance worth seeing. For the most part, I preferred the songs the bassist sang--he’s got a howler of a voice that translates better live, especially on “The Beach” and “The Ark,” which was the best song of the night and deserving of the radio play CD101 has been giving it.

Dr. Dog played a lot of older stuff, which is unfortunate because most of the newer stuff had the most energy and sounded freshest. Also, everyone but the bassist was fairly distant and aloof, and that created a barrier that didn’t need to be there. Fortunately for Dr. Dog, the band’s swaying melodies juxtaposed with bouncy grooves helped to make up for it.

Darker My Love had a similarly indifferent stage presence. Maybe they were pissed off at being relegated to the tiny side stage, and deservedly so. Why put a psychedelic band with Big Muff guitars and huge, fuzzy bass lines on the side stage and put acoustic two-piece honeyhoney on the main stage? There’s probably some sort of logistical reason for this, but switching those two would have put both bands in a more natural setting.

Despite looking quite bored, Darker My Love rocked out nicely, albeit inconsistently. Songs without a distinct vocal hook got lost in a way that they don’t on record, but others--like “Blue Day,” “Two Ways Out” and “Talking Words”--rang true and trippy.

Honeyhoney ended up being my favorite band of the night, and previously I didn’t think much of the girl-guy duo. The band’s debut EP, Loose Boots, is a little too polished for my liking, but live the two stripped it down to Ben Jaffe on bass drum and acoustic guitar and Suzanne Santo occasionally accompanying on violin and banjo. Jaffe threw in some nice vocal harmonies throughout, but Santo’s sexy, jazzy voice was the set’s highlight--like a younger, salacious version of Over the Rhine’s Karin Bergquist.

Turning the Smashing Pupmkins’ “1979” into a jazzy vamp was a cool twist, and “I Go to Work” showed Santo’s blunt and playful sense of humor. Honeyhoney was also the most stylistically divergent band on the bill--something the fest could have used more of.

There’s not much good I can say about ism and Tickle Me Pink. Ism was like a less proggy, less talented version of Muse. Every song sounded the same as the one before. It reminded me of a high-school band that just discovered Boss guitar-effects pedals, complete with awkward silences during equipment failures. “Sacred Cows,” the CD101-pimped tune, was borderline horrible. Fittingly, the set ended with a song called “Give it Back,” which is what I wished the band would do with the previous 20 minutes of my life.

Tickle Me Pink--winning the award for worst band name of the festival--played super-bland emo songs with repetitive choruses that were usually screamed by the lead singer (who sported mid-’90s Jennifer Aniston hair). The parts without distortion highlighted his severe vocal limitations, and the lyrics were just atrocious. Exhibit A (“Go Die”): “It’s been so long since I saw you/But it’s been the time of my life/Now that it’s all over/I want you to go die, die.”

I missed Columbus opener the Lost Revival, but even without seeing them, I can pretty much guarantee they were better than ism and Tickle Me Pink.

Like last year, I still have to give kudos to CD101 for putting lesser-known bands on a cheap bill and giving them the opportunity to play for more people than they’re used to. (One example: Dr. Dog was scheduled to play the 300-capacity Basement recently; the band played to a heck of a lot more warm bodies than that on Saturday night.) The festival is also a good annual reminder that we’re lucky to have an independent rock station at all.

Let’s hope next year’s lineup, though, is worth a little more than $5.

Handsome Furs w/ the Cinnamon Band - Skully's

Apparently people really like Handsome Furs, because the band had a surprisingly large crowd for a late Tuesday night at Skully’s.

It’s particularly surprising because Handsome Furs is a mere side project of Dan Boeckner, who is Spencer Krug’s songwriting partner in Wolf Parade. Boeckner enlisted the help of his wife, Alexei Perry, to create a distinctly different sound arising from the limitations inherent in a two-person band. Boeckner’s rhythmic guitar clips briskly along to the beats Perry lays down on the drum machine, plus her various synth tones.

Though Boeckner’s frantic energy was eye-catching onstage, Perry stole the show as she jumped, danced, gyrated and kicked in her bright sequined outfit behind all the electronics. She was sweaty by the second song, and the recurring smile she flashed was just as sparkly as her top. The enthusiastic (read: drunk) front row couldn’t get enough of her, and even this bleary-eyed critic with a notepad at the back of the room was fully engaged.

Handsome Furs take electro beats that beg you to dance and combine them with big, washed-in-synth choruses that would make Springsteen jealous. The charging rhythms and overall volume of the Skully’s performance made all the songs feel more epic than they do on the band’s 2007 debut, Plague Park. And to sound epic with just two people and no drum set is quite a feat.

The self-described “hosers from Canada” played lots of new stuff, too, including “Evangeline” (about copulating) and “Thy Will” (about cocaine). Plague Park numbers like “Dead + Rural” got the whole crowd bouncing, and “Handsome Furs Hate This City” felt like the perfect summertime jam despite the lyrics. “Life is long and hollow/We hate this city and its drone,” Boeckner sang, but his and Perry’s attitude didn’t reflect the sentiment. From the looks of it, the two appear to be living life to its fullest.

The unfortunately named Cinnamon Band opened the show, filling in for the Witchies, who were supposedly held up at the Canadian border over some sort of work-visa issue. The Virginia guitar and drums duo played with much less gusto than other guitar and drums duos that come to mind (Black Keys, White Stripes).

Most of that stemmed from the singer/guitarist, who didn’t have a trace of charisma, making the band’s set less believable. The songs usually had country overtones, but they ended up sounding like incomplete Tom Petty tunes. And pounding on the drums extra hard didn’t make them feel more complete.

The harmonies were nice, but they couldn’t save the middle-of-the-road songs. I’m also not sure what forgoing a bassist and other musicians is doing for this band. A duo like Handsome Furs could fill the stage with two just fine, but to my ears, the Cinnamon Band’s songs could use the extra oomph another musician or two would bring.

Bodies of Water w/ Port O'Brien and Tulsa - Skully's

It’s a testament to the ever-expanding canopy of indie rock that Bodies of Water can nestle comfortably next to several other similar groups. In a game of Connect 4, the band would be your winning token on top of Akron/Family, Arcade Fire and Danielson Famile—groups that feel more like micro-communities that happen to play music rather than mere bands. If you’re into that, Bodies of Water is your bread and butter.

And yet, on Monday night at Skully’s, the Los Angeles band revealed over and over again what keeps it from being just another commune of rockers.

It all came to a head on “Gold, Tan, Peach, and Grey,” the exceptionally strong opening track off the band’s latest, A Certain Feeling. It was one of the set’s standouts, too, and I’m pretty sure it’s the only eschatological prog-rock gospel anthem I’ve ever heard.

In it, the husband-and-wife team of David and Meredith Metcalf led the band through visions of the end days, starting softly, then building boisterously as the world melds into the song title’s colors. “Sever the silver cord/And break the golden bowl/And let us return to dust/And be at last made whole,” David Metcalf sang in near-cabaret tones, describing a new world without “talk of where or when” or “feelings of vague rapport.”

Meredith Metcalf dominated the end of the number singing from behind the keys, her beanpole frame bouncing madly to let the notes escape. She’s something to hear and behold, a tiny woman with an outrageously big range that often reaches into operatic territory.

“Only You” found the band slow and overcast (yet still captivating), but the vast majority of the songs revealed the band’s skill at crafting irony-absent compositions with distinct and often surprising movements. “Water Here” completely changed moods halfway through, abruptly jumping from a sing-along tribal song to something much funkier with a driving, contagious beat. David Metcalf’s impressive versatility on guitar was just as essential as the drums on multi-movement tunes like these. He’s a deceivingly great guitarist.

Between tunes, the band expressed its disappointment that White Castle is one of Columbus’s best examples of “regional food.” I was equally disappointed that the band neglected to include “Under the Pines” in its set, but “These Are the Eyes” made for a great closer, with the Metcalfs and company chanting “Nature forgave but I cannot forget” with increasing speed and ending with a bang. Not a whimper.

The intriguingly named Van Pierszalowski, the barefoot singer for the previous act, Port O’Brien, aptly described his group as an “Alaskan country-rock band.” In a different world, Pierszalowski could have fronted an early ’90s grunge band (“Tree Bones” sounded a whole lot like a Nirvana Unplugged tune), but in this world he leads his merry band of musicians through Neil Young-tinged soundscapes with lots of nautical references—presumably from his prior experience as an Alaskan fisherman.

The band picked up on the small crowd (Skully’s feels cavernous on a slow night) and seemed to be playing mostly to itself and cracking inside jokes, but it didn’t detract too much. Port O’Brien could give the Black Crowes a few lessons in jamming, too: Several songs broke out of acoustic mode and into instrumental breakdowns with frenetic, creative leads and rhythms. The tunes didn’t have as much power as Bodies of Water’s, but the band wasn’t a bad precursor nonetheless.

Tulsa opened the night, and the Boston trio reminded me of reverb-heavy rockers like Band of Horses, (early) My Morning Jacket and even Fleet Foxes, but forgoing a crystalline sound for a dirtier, more vintage vibe. Like label mate Dr. Dog, the band has a love for classic rock and pop.

The singer looked strikingly young, so I’ll be curious to see how he develops the band’s sound beyond something that right now doesn’t deserve too much more than a cursory mention. But a song like “Mass” shows the potential is there.

mp3: Bodies of Water - Under the Pines
mp3: Port O'Brien - I Woke Up Today
mp3: Tulsa - Mass

Jeff Hanson - Madam Owl

I tend to like my singer-songwriters on the quirky side, especially when it comes to singing. The anxious bleating of the Mountain Goats’ John Darnielle and the brittle warbling of Son Lux’s Ryan Lott appeal to me more than someone with a pitch-perfect, pretty voice.

So when I read a press release that mentioned Jeff Hanson’s unique vocal style, I thought it might be right up my alley. And man, those PR folks weren’t kidding about uniqueness. Hanson’s falsetto is so high and odd-sounding it’s no wonder he’s often mistaken for a girl. This isn’t a big, full, Bon Iver-style falsetto. It’s an Alvin and the Chipmunks falsetto.

The character of Hanson’s voice dominates Madam Owl, and unfortunately it quickly goes from mildly intriguing to grating. Hanson’s phrasing and lilt is reminiscent of Elliott Smith, which isn’t a bad thing, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was listening to one of Smith’s LPs on a turntable set to the wrong RPM.

Hanson, who spent his teens in Wisconsin emo band M.I.J., also has an annoying tendency to coat his words in a too-precious, faux British accent, especially on “I Don’t Quite Remember” and “If Only I Knew.” It’s enough to make you madly search your iPod for the most gruff, gravel-voiced singer you can find just to cleanse the palate.

Hanson doesn’t make up for any of this with stellar lyrics, either. “Maryann” is a pleading love song that finds Hanson stringing together lines that you’ve heard in countless songs before: “So can we just run from here?/Cause I have seen no one like you/You were lost, I was too/Where are you from dear?/Can we just stay here?”

Still, there are a few things to enjoy on Madam Owl, namely the plushy string arrangements that accompany Hanson’s acoustic on almost every song. Though the strings probably would have worked better if they’d been more interspersed and not so up-front in the mix, they’re well done nonetheless.

The album’s opener, “Night,” is also a strong point, highlighting Hanson’s ear for melody. If only he’d sing it without all the ultra-feminine, disingenuous accouterments.

Madam Owl is out tomorrow on Kill Rock Stars.

mp3: Jeff Hanson - If I Only Knew

Other Paper link

Reno strikes again

Clint Reno is the go-to guy in Columbus for concert posters, and of all the ones I've seen, I think the Miranda Sound poster above is my favorite.

As the poster indicates so artfully and poignantly, Miranda Sound's last Columbus show ever is this Friday at the Ravari Room. It should be a bittersweet, don't-miss event. Stephen Slaybaugh wrote about the end of MS in this week's Other Paper.

The band takes the stage at midnight, and the poster will apparently be for sale at the show.

Indie Olympics

Commercials during the Olympics seem to have more indie-rock soundtracks than usual. Here's a few I've noticed. Any others I'm missing?

Chevy: Sea Wolf - You're a Wolf
Chevy: Silversun Pickups - Lazy Eye
AT&T: The Decemberists - The Crane Wife 3

edit--more:
Saturn: Noah and the Whale - 5 Years Time

It Always Happens First on Records

A few weeks ago I finally purchased a better turntable that will do my humble record collection justice, and it's been great rediscovering some gems and digging through crates at Used Kids and Lost Weekend to find new ones.

I came across the yellowed sleeve (above) inside an original 1969 Johnny Cash At San Quentin LP. It's Columbia Records' list of all the advantages of vinyl, which, 40 years later, is a hot topic again. All the major media outlets have been running stories lately about the comeback of vinyl, rife with quotes from audiophiles about the warmth of the medium, the big artwork, the tangible aspect of music, etc. Vinyl is the perfect counterpoint to the digital music revolution. Personally, I'm glad we have both. I love my iPod and my records for completely different (and probably obvious) reasons.

Anyway, some of Columbia's promotional claims fall right in line with what vinyl promoters have been espousing lately.

• Check out the "art" argument: "Record albums are never out of place. Because of the aesthetic appeal of the jacket design, they're beautifully at home in any living room or library." True. You can display records; you can't display eMusic downloads.
  

• And the "sound" argument: "Countless refinements and developments have been made to perfect the long-playing record's technical excellence and insure (sic) the best in sound reproduction and quality available in recorded form." Yep, there's still something about vinyl that sounds nicer than a digital file.
  

Some of the claims are humorously dated, though:

• "The Best for Less: Records give you top quality for less money than any other recorded form." It's the exact opposite now. Vinyl--at least new vinyl--is pricey compared to digital.
  

• "...because they're flat and not bulky, you can store hundreds in a minimum of space and still see every title." Pretty hilarious to describe an LP as "not bulky.
  

• "With records, it's easy to pick out the songs you want to play." I wouldn't say it's easy.

But I think the sleeve heading still holds true today: Records give you more of what you want. Especially when they come packaged with those digital downloads...

The Black Crowes - LC, 8/8

Nothing could save the Black Crowes on Friday night, not even the amazing weather. And it was amazing, the sun making the LC’s sheet-metal façade look downright warm and the night air becoming nice and chilled once the glowing orb finally descended.

I thought maybe, just maybe, a night like that would give me an extra portion of patience to enjoy a band that likes to showcase its musicianship on long, extended jams. I even tried to dispel any preconceptions when I noticed a.) an exceedingly high number of male ponytails, and b.) the sound guys carefully putting incense and patchouli around the stage before the band came on.

But this snoozer of a show never lived up to the potential created by such a pleasant night, making the outdoor experience even more disappointing.

The interminable jamming on almost every song, which I honestly can’t imagine enjoying unless you’re ridiculously high (and many folks were), led to copious amounts of awkward hippie dancing by singer Chris Robinson. He had just a few moves, like whipping his long hair from side to side, but his favorite was the ‘ole running-in-place motion, which looked more like a bad game of charades than a dance.

I guess you can’t completely blame Robinson, though. The dude rarely plays an instrument, so what else is he supposed to do while the other guys endlessly noodle? Plus, his singing was usually right on the mark, a bluesy howl that was equal parts 80-year-old gospel singer and Robert Plant.

And at least he was visibly into the music. His compatriots, on the other hand, played their parts--improvised and otherwise--with the emotion of an embalmed politician.

The band apparently is quite excited to have North Mississippi Allstars guitarist Luther Dickinson on board, since he got his own emotionless guitar solo just about every time Chris’s brother Rich got one. Neither lead player showed much variation beyond familiar, stereotypical classic/southern rock leads. (The sound mix was pretty muddy all night, too.)

The set was short on hits, with the band forgoing old radio favorites like “She Talks to Angels” and “Jealous Again” for stuff off the band’s newest album, Warpaint. The Bee Gees cover “To Love Somebody” was just as boring as the rest, but the Black Crowes’ version of “Senor (Tales of Yankee Power)” was surprisingly good--maybe because Chris Robinson picked up an acoustic for the tune, but more likely because it’s a Bob Dylan song.

Yes, these guys can play their instruments, but by refusing to edit themselves and make the music more than a side note to the communal concert experience, the tiresome show was too hard to handle.

Like the Black Crowes, openers Grace Potter & the Nocturnals’ best tune was a cover--the Rolling Stones’ “Paint it, Black.” Other than that, the songs were pretty blah.

Potter came out strapped with a Flying V for an opening number that significantly upped the rock factor compared with the band’s 2007 Hollywood debut, This is Somewhere. But she soon abandoned the guitar, retreating to the keyboard for some mellower tunes. Even the more upbeat ones only rocked out in the way that predictable Melissa Etheridge songs rock out. And the all-band drum solo came off as gimmicky instead of cool.

Potter does have some pipes, though. The woman can really sing with soul and didn’t miss a note. But she could use some songwriting lessons. Probably wouldn’t hurt to ditch the mom jeans, either.

This week's Other Paper

In addition to the Bon Iver review here and below, I wrote a story for this week's paper about bands that are converting their vans and buses to run on veggie oil. The topic is fascinating to me, and I think over the years we're going to see more and more people buying diesel vehicles and rigging them to run on grease. You can read "Powered by Crisco" in the print edition and online here.

Bon Iver, Bowerbirds - Wexner Center

Who knew Bon Iver could rock out?

Justin Vernon—the man behind the Bon Iver moniker—is known for the moody, ethereal songs he recorded during a winter spent secluded in a Wisconsin cabin. (If you’ve heard of Bon Iver, chances are you’ve heard the back story.) The woodsy retreat resulted in For Emma, Forever Ago, an album that will probably be perched atop more than a few Best of 2008 lists, including my own.

I knew Vernon had recruited a full band for the tour that stopped at the Wexner Center Sunday night, but I didn’t realize that band would be utilized to its full extent so often. There was a bassist borrowed from the openers, Bowerbirds, along with a drummer and guitarist, all of whom added backing vocals.

The band accompanied Vernon emphatically on familiar numbers like “Creature Fear” and “The Wolves (Act I and II),” filling the jam-packed performance space with powerful arrangements. It was wonderful.

The full-band mentality carried over to a couple of new tunes, too, both of which featured Vernon on the keys instead of guitar. “Babies” was a slow burner built around a repeated keyboard melody, dynamically adding more instruments as it developed. There was no verse, no chorus, just mood. Really lovely. “Blood Bank” was a rocker that found Vernon ditching his trademark falsetto for some deep, blue-eyed soul.

The new tunes proved Bon Iver is a different animal than the average flavor-of-the-month buzz band. And if the sold-out crowd wasn’t already an indication, the artistic yet accessible new songs suggested Bon Iver’s next release will increase his fan base far beyond a cult following.

It doesn’t hurt that Vernon is such an unassuming, affable guy. Oozing genuine humility, he couldn’t stop thanking the crowd for being so great. He was right, too—the audience was exceedingly respectful and attentive, as Wex crowds usually are.

The night had some hushed, spare moments, as well. The band left the stage for “re: Stacks” so that Vernon could convey the intimacy of the song on his own, and the selection was none the worse for it.

The set climaxed with a version of “The Wolves (Act I and II)” that had the entire crowd singing “What might have been lost” at the top of their lungs along with the band, followed by a stirring encore cover of Sarah Siskind’s “Lovin’s for Fools” with the band joined by Bowerbirds around a single mic.

For those who have yet to check out Bon Iver, it’s probably becoming annoying how many superlatives are thrown around about the bearded minstrel of the forest. But Vernon is one of those rare artists who actually live up to, and surpass, the hype.

I can’t think of many bands that would be fitting openers for Bon Iver, stylistically speaking, but Bowerbirds filled the role just fine. The trio played songs off its debut, Hymns for a Dark Horse (which was re-released this year on Dead Oceans), but it also played quite a bit of new material. It all sounded pretty similar, but fortunately Bowerbirds’ brand of folk doesn’t get tiresome.

Singer/guitarist Phil Moore used his full, slidey voice to accompany the casually creative strums of his nylon strings. Beth Tacular played accordion that was as awesome as her name, and multi-instrumentalist Mark Paulson handled bass notes on some sort of floor contraption, along with violin. Drum pieces were split among the three.

The trio’s harmonies were the best part of the set, but I welcomed the new song in which Tacular handled a verse on her own, just to spice things up. The song also had a quicker tempo, something I hope to see more of on the band’s next record.

Observation

Is it me or does Spiritualized's "Death Take Your Fiddle" off Songs in A&E sound a whole lot like Townes Van Zandt's "Waiting Around to Die"?