Bob Dylan is coming to town

Dylan is playing the LC Pavilion this Tuesday, Nov. 3, and (fortunately) he hasn't been playing stuff from his recent Christmas album. I saw Dylan the last time he came to Columbus, at the Schottenstein Center, and I still hold that the man is worth seeing, growling mumble-singing and all.

So as a preview, I'm just going to post my review that ran in the Other Paper after that October 2007 concert—a defense, of sorts, for why it's still a big deal when Dylan comes to town.

Other than introducing his band Saturday night, Bob Dylan didn’t say a word to the crowd gathered at the Schottenstein Center. This isn’t rare for Dylan, and it actually makes sense. When you’re an American icon/legend/cultural revolutionary who’s now 66 years old, what’s left to say?

While writing this review, the same question tugged at my own brain. The piece is necessary, of course, because Bob Dylan came to town, and one can’t ignore a concert like that. And yet, it’s also entirely unnecessary because, really, what’s left to say? I won’t pretend to add anything groundbreaking to the vast amount of critical praise that has been heaped upon Dylan over the years, but from a practical standpoint, just know this: He’s still worth seeing. Very much so. And that’s what most people wonder about Dylan these days, isn’t it? Sure, we recognize and acknowledge his influence and the sense of history he carries with him, but is he still worth paying $40 to $70 (plus surcharges) to see in person? “After all,” you might say, “he never could sing too well, and I heard he can barely carry a tune now.” Dylan acknowledged this question Saturday night in the song “Spirit on the Water” when he sang, “You think I’m over the hill/You think I’m past my prime.” The audience collectively responded no, and they were right.

Bob Johnston, who produced Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited, Blonde on Blonde and others, said in Martin Scorsese’s Dylan documentary, No Direction Home, “I think God, instead of touching [Dylan] on the shoulder, he kicked him in the ass. That’s where all that came from. He can’t help what he’s doing. I mean he’s got the Holy Spirit about him.” Sure, Dylan can’t sing the way he used to, and there was certainly a part of me wishing that I could hear him belt out, “How does it feeeeel.” But his other-worldly inspiration is still present; it just manifests itself in a different form these days, with Dylan in a wide-rimmed hat and cowboy boots rasping and spitting his lyrics as if they’re poisonous gravel that can only be spewed in short bursts.

Dylan also realizes the importance of a great backing band. The musicians were flawless and as tight as a band could be, following Dylan’s lead with ease--all he had to do was vaguely nod his head or slightly flick his wrist to indicate a change. Lead guitarist Denny Freeman was especially fun to hear, playing his solos with vigor and creativity while never upstaging the man we all came to see. Drummer George Recile established the groove for each song and added tasteful flourishes to keep it all interesting. Dylan only played his electric guitar on the first three tunes (“Rainy Day Women #12 & 35,” “It Ain’t Me, Babe” and “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues”), then stood behind the keys the rest of the night.

Other than those opening songs and closer “All Along the Watchtower,” the set list drew heavily from 2006’s Modern Times, mostly songs of love and heartbreak. The days of Dylan the protest singer are long gone, of course, but he can convey emotions in a surrealistic way that makes him just as relevant today. The fact that Dylan’s a creepy guy sometimes works in his favor, too--the renditions of “Ballad of a Thin Man” and “Ain’t Talkin’ ” felt vaguely downright haunting.

In “Thunder on the Mountain,” the first song of his encore, Dylan sang, “I’ve been thinking ‘bout Alicia Keys, couldn’t keep from crying... I’m wondering where in the world Alicia Keys could be.” It’s the perfect example of a Dylan song that’s simultaneously antiquated (uses a bluesy boogie structure), modern (references Alicia Keys) and somewhat inscrutable (Dylan’s looking for Alicia Keys?). He seems to realize that we’re continually drawn to what we don’t immediately understand, and Dylan certainly isn’t going to do any explaining for us, which is probably another reason he doesn’t engage in witty stage banter--all the puzzle pieces are right there in the songs. We just have to put them together.

Larry Jon Wilson, Columbus bands in Spin

I reviewed the new Larry Jon Wilson album for the August edition Spin. You can check it out on pg. 93 in print or the digital edition.

Also in that issue: Spin's list of the "100 greatest bands you've (probably) never heard of," which is a good read, especially because it includes four legendary Columbus bands: Gaunt, Great Plains, Royal Crescent Mob and Scrawl.

The Decemberists with Blind Pilot - LC Pavilion, 6-1

Conventional wisdom says that once a band jumps from an indie label up to the majors, the band satisfies its new corporation and larger audience with a more mainstream version of itself—something safe, with all the edges smoothed out. The Decemberists proved that notion false on 2006’s The Crane Wife as Colin Meloy, the band’s singer, songwriter and driving creative force, traded in some of his Brit-folk tendencies for a more grandiose vision, accompanying a bizarre Japanese legend with a (somewhat) unexpected dose of prog rock—keyboards, noodling guitars and all.

It wasn’t just a novelty experiment, either. The Portland band’s second outing on Capitol is this year’s The Hazards of Love, an audacious, ambitious, riff-heavy rock opera with a storyline about a woman named Margaret and her lover William, the son of a forest queen. There’s not an obvious single on the album; it plays more like one long song, titles merely indicating the tale’s progression. Not your typical major-label product.

Monday night at the LC Pavilion, the Decemberists played The Hazards of Love from start to finish, no breaks in between songs, no banter. For someone who wasn’t as familiar with Hazards going into the show, it felt a little lengthy and lacked some energy during the slower tunes. But for the most part, I was enthralled by the epicness of it all.

Meloy still has his Victorian Literature professor persona, but watching him was like realizing that not only does your nerdy college prof listen to Deep Purple and the Who, he can rip it up just like them, too, bounding around the stage pseudo-shredding and head-banging. And wow, the metal. The Decemberists threw in some rafter-shaking, low-end power (guitarist Chris Funk was a treat) that make you forget this band ever played folk ditties like “Eli, the Barrow Boy.” They’d never fit into Rock on the Range or anything (fortunately), but if this were the ’70s, people would just assume the Decemberists made sacrifices to Satan, or at least had an unhealthy obsession with Lord of the Rings.

Adding to the theatrics of it all were female singers Becky Stark (aka Lavender Diamond) and Shara Worden (aka My Brightest Diamond). Stark came out dressed in all white and accompanied her singing parts with flamboyant gestures and dancing, as did Worden, who stole the freakin’ show every single time she stepped up to the mic. Her manic stage moves were captivating, and her voice, oh man, her voice. During “The Wanting Comes in Waves,” as she belted out “Consider it your debt repaaaaid!” the whole crowd spontaneously cheered in admiration and excitement. I find Meloy’s affected, overly enunciated vocals mostly endearing, but Worden was still a welcome reprieve.

After The Hazards of Love was completed, the band took a long break before coming back to play favorites like “Leslie Anne Levine,” “We Both Go Down Together,” “16 Military Wives” and “Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then).” All sounded great, demonstrating the depth and diversity of the band’s catalog. Before the encore, Worden and Stark returned to the stage for Heart’s “Crazy on You,” a fun cover that may have been my favorite song of the night. It also made me really want to hear Worden front a real-deal rock ’n roll band—something a little less, er, arty, than My Brightest Diamond.

The band ended the show with “Sons & Daughters,” a song with wonderfully quirky instrumentation: bouzouki, accordion and hurdy-gurdy. As the crowd sang along to the refrain, “Hear all the bombs fade away,” it was a good reminder, along with “16 Military Wives,” that Meloy can do topical material (remember Iraq?) in addition to proggy tales of unrequited love and folky Civil War ghost stories. With the Decemberists, you can have your johnnycake and eat it, too.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least briefly mention opener Blind Pilot, also from Portland. Israel Nebeker’s buttery vocals sound even better live than on the band’s lovely folk-pop debut, 3 Rounds and a Sound. It’s probably a bit too breezy for those who only like the Decemberists at their most ELP, but Nebeker’s uncommonly good songwriting shouldn’t be ignored. Expect to hear lots more about these guys in the future.

More pics

Neko Case, Crooked Fingers - Newport Music Hall (last Thursday)

Singers with alt-country panache are a dime a dozen these days. Much of it is pretty, pleasant, safe and, to be honest, quite average. And I say that as someone who’s drawn to that stuff more than most.

On the surface, Neko Case doesn’t seem to have much that sets her apart from all the others in this loosely defined genre. She sings with vague country overtones that convey deference to the rich history of the American South, yet it’s subtle enough that an adjective like “twangy” would be jarringly inappropriate. Plus, her band incorporates lap-steel guitar, and Case herself often plays a four-string tenor guitar, an instrument long associated with country music (along with jazz and, later, folk).

And yet a Neko Case song is unmistakable, often executed with a brilliance that has rightly expanded her fan base far beyond the NPR-and-latte set. It all starts with her voice, which was in full force at the Newport last Thursday. One of my fellow reviewers has stated his disdain for Neko’s singing. To each his own, because I found Case’s bold, open-throated vocals a thing of beauty live, just as it is on record.

The Newport’s muddy sound system and generally talkative crowds don’t make for an ideal atmosphere in which to soak in all that good stuff, but it didn’t ruin the experience by any means. It did, however, make it difficult to decipher some of the words, which is a shame because her imagistic lyrics often get overlooked amid all the gushing over her voice.

“I Wish I Was the Moon,” a fan favorite from 2002’s Blacklisted, showed her sweet balladeer side, with the lonesome refrain “I’m so tired, I wish I was the moon tonight.” At the end of the set, “Dirty Knife” revealed a more disturbing side (“He laid down on the floor and he slept like iron/While the dirty knife worked deep into his spine/The blood runs crazy”). Both fit Case like a glove, effortlessly transitioning from pining to haunting.

The female backup vocalist filled out the sound nicely, though she was way too talkative between songs. Someone needs to remind her she’s a backup singer.

About halfway through the set, I got a little impatient for more Fox Confessor Brings the Flood tunes, but overall there was a pretty good mix of songs both new (“Middle Cyclone,” “People Got a Lotta Nerve”) and old (“Deep Red Bells”).

It’s rare to read anything about Case without mention of her long, red hair, and most of the press photos have only served to further her image as a sex symbol. But in concert Case came off like the farm girl that she is (she’s an animal lover with 100 acres in Vermont), devoid of anything diva. She even self-deprecatingly displayed her oddly shaped navel to the crowd, explaining that someone told her it looked like a dolphin.

Case excels outside the alt-country ghetto, too, adding her pipes to the New Pornographers, as well as guesting on a recent song by Crooked Fingers, who opened the show. Bandleader Eric Bachmann, who helmed influential mid-’90s indie darlings Archers of Loaf, suffered from a worse sound mix, but nevertheless played a good, short set that left me craving a full Crooked Fingers show.

While it’s doubtful that Archers of Loaf would have shared the stage with Case, Bachmann has become more entranced with folk structures and Springsteen since starting Crooked Fingers. (“Sleep All Summer” was a good example of the former, “You Can Never Leave” of the latter.) I missed the string and horn arrangements that a three-piece with keys and a half-kit couldn’t offer, especially on “Phony Revolutions,” but the songs still held up.

One thing, though. If you decide to play a song that, on record, is a duet with Neko Case, why wouldn’t you work it out so that she could come out and sing it live? What a missed opportunity.

(Also at The Other Paper)

My Black Keys Experience

Every so often Skully’s and Jack Daniel’s team up to host a free show with a band that would usually play a venue larger than Skully’s. Past shows brought in Spoon, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and The Walkmen, but Monday’s show with the Black Keys was a whole other tier. The excitement for this show was more than I’ve seen for any concert in a long time, and the fans came out in droves. Skully himself called it the most popular show he’s ever done.

Outside the music-diner before the show, the line snaked its way past the parking lot, supposedly stretching all the way to 5th Avenue earlier in the day. Some people gave up (“Dude, let’s just go get drunk at Surly Girl”), but there was still a line 10 minutes before the show ended. I was a doofus and didn’t show up till 9:35, and at point my name on a seemingly nonexistent list was not getting me past the red velvet ropes--and I mean that literally. There were actually velvet ropes.

Thanks to the generosity of one Wes Flexner (who gets on a list like that with a +3??), the flustered, bewildered, overwhelmed JD reps eventually parted the ropes, the free-drink tickets were administered and I eventually settled between the front bard and the bathrooms. There wasn’t much hope of getting any closer. The place was shoulder-to-shoulder all the way back, and every five feet closer to the stage was five degrees hotter.

Skully’s had been magically transformed into a Jack Daniel’s advertisement, with countless bottles of JD lining the bar and big posters that occasionally advised you to “add responsibility to the mix.” The win-tickets-only show brought all kinds: middle-aged men wearing short-sleeve, unbuttoned button-downs; ironic mustache types; the scenester glitterati; a roid-raging Keys fan who was ejected from the premises; and that dude who played the eccentric British boyfriend in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, or at least a look-alike who seemed to be very proud of his eyeliner.

Still, the quintessential person at this show was probably the college-age dude in a Black Keys T-shirt leading his drunk girlfriend out by the hand. Ah yes, the girlfriends. Many of these tag-along significant others could be seen exiting throughout the night, fed up with the heat, the close quarters, or just the fact that the Black Keys really do sound like a fuzzed-out, blues-rock duo. “They’re just not as good as I thought they’d be,” one woman said. This was after I redirected her from entering the men’s bathroom. She thought she was exiting the building.

I pretty much listened to the show more than I did watch it, although if I stood on my toes I could see the duo’s heads from time to time. It was still plenty loud, though. The first half of the set was mostly older stuff. “10 am Automatic” was a crowd pleaser. The second half incorporated more new stuff, which I thought sounded best: “Psychotic Girl,” “Strange Times,” “I Got Mine,” “Same Old Thing.” It was raucous and messy, all in a good, fun way.

The big question on my mind all night was: Why do people (myself included) like the Black Keys so much?

On the way home from the show, I got McDonald’s French fries, because no matter who you are or where you grew up or what social strata you belong to or see yourself in or if you’re urban or suburban or you grew up in a town of dirt and tumbleweeds, you probably crave McDonald’s French fries on occasion. It may be comfort food or a guilty pleasure, or maybe you even eat them ironically. No matter. The point is, just about everyone likes them. They’re the great societal equalizer.

And maybe the Black Keys are like McDonald’s French fries. People from all walks of life and musical inclinations love the Black Keys. At their base, the Black Keys play blues-rock, and ever since Jimmy Page and Robert Plant appropriated the blues and funneled it into young white people, blues-rock has become the base for subsequent subgenres of rock too many to count. And that’s a foundation with endless appeal if it’s done well. Classic rockers like it because it’s so bluesy. College rockers like it because it rocks so hard. Kids like it because the guitar is so loud and distorted, which = awesome. Indie rockers like it because it’s so simple. The list goes on. The Black Keys can be appropriated into whatever rock ghetto you’re drawn to.

The majority of the fans seemed to end the night pretty satisfied. I regretted not showing up earlier to watch the show from somewhere other than the bathroom, but still, mostly satisfied. See? Just like fries. Satisfied, with a twinge of regret.

Record Store Day

If you haven't heard, Record Store Day is tomorrow. It's a great day to go out and support your local record stores, because that's a good thing to do, but also because there are tons of limited-edition Record Store Day releases coming out. Pitchfork compiled an extensive list of them here, and each store has its own little deals, too. Here's what's going on in Columbus. (Feel free to add corrections or anything I missed in the comments...)

Used Kids will have some of those limited-editions and lots of live music. Here are the bands, in order from 1-8 pm: dick mackey, dottie and clyde, black phantom thousands, times new viking, ap (alleyes path), birds of hair, tv eye, brian harnetty, super desserts.

Lost Weekend Records:
All used LPs will be 33% off, all used 45s will be 45% off, all 78s will be 78 cents each and all new LPs & CDs will be 10% off (excluding limited edition Record Store Day releases). Everything else in the store (used Cds, used dvds, T-shirts, books, comics, etc.) will be 20% off.

Owner Kyle Siegrist also says: "Lost Weekend will also have cool record store day give-away items while supplies last, including such items as CD and LP samplers some 7" records (I know one is a Kings of Leon single), Beastie Boys turntable mats, Beatles numbered lithographs, and other stuff, plus we will be bringing out the free Herb Albert records. We will have several of the limited edition Record Store Day releases (the only things not on sale that day):

Some of these we only have 1 or 2 copies of and others we will have more including a live Pavement Lp from 1988, 7" singles from, The Smiths, Slayer, Akron Familiy, MC5, Stooges, Bob Dylan, Tom Waits, Bad Religion, Bruce Springsteen, Sonic Youth w/ Jay Retard and a cool split with Flaming Lips and The Black Keys. Plus the full latest full length album from Jorma Kaukonen "River Of Time" on Red House Records only 1,000 pressed and they were pressed in town at Mus-I-Col. There is also a double 10" record from My Morning Jacket and a 10" record from Ben Harper also a live Derek Trucks cd. There may be some others..."

-- I don't have any info on Magnolia Thunderpussy, but they had all sorts of free stuff last year if you purchased something, so I'm sure they will this year, too. Last year I got free 7" vinyl by MGMT, Wye Oak and some others.

-- Evil Empire Records (located inside Kafe Kerouac and What the Rock?!): "Both of the Columbus Store locations for Evil Empire Records will be giving away some of my favorite singles, no purchase necessary. (One per customer. While supplies last.)"

-- Ace in the Hole's website says it will have live music and limited-edition Record Store Day releases.

-- The new Elizabeth's Records: "We won't have the special goodies on national offer, but we will give a free 45 single to the first 25 paying customers, and a 10 % discount to any purchase over five dollars."

-- Singing Dog is apparently participating, too, but no specific info.

Bill Callahan at Used Kids

This was fun, nonexistent sight lines and all. Here's a video (courtesy of Scott Johnson) of Callahan performing "Rococo Zephyr" off Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle, out today.

Dr. Dog, Golden Boots, The Lost Revival - The Basement

The original plan Monday night was to check out the Cave Singers and Golden Boots, both slated to open for Dr. Dog at the Basement, then skip the headliner and shoot up north to see San Diego buzz band Crocodiles take the stage at Cafe Bourbon Street. It’s not that I dislike Dr. Dog. In fact, I quite enjoyed the Philadelphia band’s 2008 release, Fate. But I saw them at CD101 Summerfest last year and they didn’t blow me away. Plus, the strength of Crocodiles’ upcoming Fat Possum debut, Summer of Hate, coupled with rumors of stellar SXSW performances, had me jazzed for that show.

But Crocodiles canceled. Then the Cave Singers canceled. And yet, it turned out to be a pretty good night.

I walked into the Basement as a band I assumed to be Golden Boots was playing, but was pleasantly surprised when I saw eight people crammed onto the stage and realized it was the Lost Revival. The local band apparently was asked to fill in for the Cave Singers just a couple of hours earlier. I’d have enjoyed the Lost Revival even if I hadn’t known that the band a.) had to throw everything together in a matter of hours, and b.) played almost all brand-new songs. Singer/songwriter Kevin Collins was just born to be a front man. His throaty singing, interspersed with a strong falsetto, gives the folk-inspired, synth-laced epics a primal texture that’s missing from so many bands that use Americana as their undercarriage. And the man has charisma to spare.

My only complaint with the short set was that the female background singer was consistently flat and too loud, which at times detracted from Collins. But mostly it was good, chaotic fun. It’s encouraging that after the Lost Revival’s strong debut, Homemade Confetti, the new songs are more focused, with even stronger hooks (see “Cotton and Lace” and “Mayqueen”), yet still grand and gutsy. The addition of saxophone was cool, too.

Next up was Dr. Dog labelmates Golden Boots, a band I’m more impressed with on record. The group incorporates southwestern sounds from its hometown of Tuscon, Arizona, but on the recent Winter of Our Discotheque, there’s more experimental, fuzzy psychedelia. At the Basement, the band played the songs pretty straight, with little deconstruction or even slightly fractured pieces. Neither of the two singers drew me in, and having two drummers seemed completely superfluous. I’d still recommend picking up Winter of Our Discotheque, but skip the live experience.

Dr. Dog, on the other hand, was in its element, feeding off the energy of the sold-out crowd. At Summerfest last year, the band seemed a little lost on the huge LC Pavilion stage, but the Basement’s modest digs proved to be more comfy. It was the difference between a sprawling storm system dropping scattered thunderstorms here and there and a funnel cloud concentrating its delivery with consistent ferocity.

(I’ve gotta say again, though, that though the Basement seems like a good venue for bands, it’s a horrible venue for every concertgoer except the 50 to 75 people up front, and a sold-out show only re-emphasized that. There’s a reason stages are usually above the audience, not below. No one should pay for a show and end up having to watch it on a lousy TV behind the bar. So it’s a good thing the band used the venue to its advantage, because there’s virtually no advantage for the fans.)

Dr. Dog has had more time to tour behind the the new material, and it showed. I still enjoy bassist Toby Leaman’s singing best, especially in a live setting. Songs like “The Ark” and “The Beach” are groovin’ head-nodders, due much in part to their bass lines, and Leaman’s sandpaper howling was the fuel for the fire. The band’s other singing/songwriting half, Scott McMicken, was on, too, especially during “The Old Days” and encore closer “Ain’t It Strange.” All the vocal harmonies were dead-on, too.

So despite my disappointment at the evening’s outset, the band reclaimed my affections. Dr. Dog had its day.

(Also at The Other Paper)

The Antlers - Cafe Bourbon St., 3-26

Depending on their subject matter, concept albums have the potential to alienate listeners. Even the term “concept album” sounds a bit pretentious. But the truly great ones transcend story-line, using the thematic material to communicate ideas, questions, truths, emotions--or all of the above--common to the human experience. In other words, you don’t need to be a deaf, dumb and blind pinball champion to appreciate the Who’s Tommy.

The Antlers’ new album, Hospice, uses a fractured relationship between a hospice worker and a young, terminally ill girl (Sylvia) to muse about mortality and all its repercussions--loss, loneliness, anger, empathy, guilt and the like. Singer/songwriter Peter Silberman, whose lyrical and compositional maturity belie his age (23), switches vantage points throughout the album, allowing glimpses into each character’s inner workings.

Complicating matters--in a good way, it turns out--is the patient’s condition. She apparently has cancer, but it’s her mental illness and the resulting nightmares and visions that make the relationship so antagonistic and heartbreaking. In the liner notes, Silberman explains (in character of the hospice worker, it seems) that “something makes her sting, and something makes her want to kill. It made her crawl under that house, and stick her head under the stove.”

The Antlers punctuate the interactions with huge swells of sound that wouldn’t be out of place on a Sigur Ros record, and subdued sections anchored by a gingerly tapped piano or lightly strummed acoustic guitar along with shimmery, atmospheric synth textures (see “Kettering”). It’s in those quiet portions that Silberman employs his greatest attribute--a beautiful, alabaster falsetto that’s more hushed than Jeff Buckley but less wispy than Antony and the Johnsons.

Ah yes, but this is supposed to be a live review, right? The Antlers did, in fact, play Cafe Bourbon Street last Thursday as a three-piece, though few were there to see it. (Our Cat Philip, however, did not open the show, to my disappointment. Bourbon Street’s website is notoriously inaccurate. Get on the ball, Bobo!) The mostly empty bar lent the show a vibe that was more flat than intimate, and the band hasn’t completely figured out how to replicate Hospice live yet. The climaxes were even more powerful when heard at arm’s length, but the subtleties weren’t quite as subtle. And I missed the acoustic.

The hardest thing, Silberman sings on “Wake,” is “letting people in.” He wisely jumped that hurdle with the Antlers, beginning Hospice as a solo project and gradually adding contributions from others until the Antlers became a real band, not just a nom de plume. It’s a potent combination on record, but the band needs some more road-testing to match that chemistry onstage.

Still, despite those shortcomings and an incredibly short set, I’m glad I ventured out. I particularly enjoyed “Shiva,” as well as the sheer epic-ness of “Atrophy,” with its desperate coda: “Someone, oh anyone, tell me how to stop this. She’s screaming, expiring, and I’m her only witness.” Haunting, but really pretty.

So yes, the Antlers are worth seeing live, but more importantly, go pick up or download Hospice. And when you do, listen from beginning to end. It’s a concept album that demands and rewards your attention.

Photos from the show
mp3: The Antlers - Two
mp3: The Antlers - Bear
The Antlers WOXY Session

Bill Callahan (Smog) at Used Kids, fer realz

Some news from Jerry DeCicca (Black Swans, Used Kids)--Bill Callahan of Smog fame will be at Used Kids Records on April 13, free. JD says:

"Instead of a midnight sale for the new Bill Callahan (formerly SMOG) album "Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle" to be released on Tuesday April 14th, we'll be having a 7pm sale featuring an in-store performance with Bill Callahan. Yes, a Bill Callahan release party featuring Bill Callahan."

Wow.

RTFO Bandwagon - Dums Will Survive

Given RTFO Bandwagon’s curious blend of folk and punk, it’s not surprising to find the band on bills with a shitgaze act like Psychedelic Horseshit (with whom it shares a drummer) and eccentric folkies like the Super Desserts. But with the release of Dums Will Survive, RTFO’s newest offering on Dull Knife Records, the punks now have more ground to stand on when staking their claim on the band.

“Skipper Bunkum” is RTFO at its punkiest, with talk-sung vocals over insistent, distorted guitar and keys. And then there’s the in-the-red, album-closing extended jam on “Dumbs Will Survive,” a reprised version of the leadoff title track (a bouncy, catchy tune propelled by percussive guitars and call-and-response vocals).

Still, for the more folk-inclined, you’ll find French horn on the rambling “Like a Dan Shearer Over Troubled Water,” and you’ll find Old West-style piano (courtesy of Dane Terry) and lap steel on “Between the Ears.” Both songs are easy on the ears.

There’s beauty in all of it, though, regardless of the irrelevant genre tags. The record—seven tracks in all—has a ramshackle, homemade feel, and yet every instrument is present and accounted for, intricately pieced and layered together in analog warmth. (One of my favorite touches is Terry’s fuzzed-out, treble-heavy keyboard on “Dan Shearer” and “Public Relations Rag”; it sounds nothing like a keyboard.)

As far as this relatively lo-fi aesthetic goes, it’s probably one of the best-produced records I’ve heard.

RTFO Bandwagon’s release party is scheduled for March 27 at Skylab. Pre-orders are available at dullkniferecords.com; the first 50 orders will also receive a limited-edition cassette of “Like a Dan Shearer Over Troubled Water.”

(Also at The Other Paper)

Super Desserts - Barefoot in the Disenchanted Forest

The Super Desserts’ new album is called Barefoot in the Disenchanted Forest, and it features song titles like “Still Unable to Speak...Claude Somehow Manages to Express His Opinion to a Pack of Wild Cougars, Who Are Surprisingly Supportive.” The CD also comes in a colorfully decorated 7-inch sleeve accompanied by a handmade, photocopied booklet full of collages, animals, people with animals’ heads and some hilarious liner notes.

All of this should tell you this ambitious, eccentric band has a predilection for the fantastical, along with lots of twee cuteness—hand claps, ukulele, banjo, glockenspiel, etc. Featuring Eve Searls (of Bird and Flower), Justin Riley (of Terribly Empty Pockets) and other local vets and newbies, the band is only made stronger by the full roster of capable musicians, rather than being weighed down. And while there’s a whole lot going on throughout the album, there are also moments of quiet, restrained beauty, like the guitar melody on “Steve Attends the Martian Funeral.…”

It’s not just a clever name. The Super Desserts are super sweet, but not like those nasty orange peanut-shaped candies that leave you feeling sick to your stomach. More like awesome fair food that leaves you fat and happy.

Catch the Super Desserts at the Treehouse Feb. 7 with Two Cow Garage, Ghost Shirt and Tree of Fern.

mp3: Super Desserts - On the Way to the Hospital, Claude is Riding on the Back Wheel of a Backward Jeep While Clara and Her Half-Brother are Riding on the Mystical Motorbike with the Three-Legged Unicorn (aka "Funeral")

(Also at The Other Paper)

Donewating 6-yr anniversary show: Envelope, Two Cow Garage, Moon High, Adulture

(Late post of last week's show...)

I don’t pretend to be a connoisseur of the Columbus hip-hop scene. In fact, my knowledge pretty much ends with a passing familiarity of the Weightless Recordings roster and Wes Flexner’s entertaining ramblings on local music blog Donewaiting.com. So I can’t really compare Envelope’s performance for Donewaiting’s six-year anniversary show at Skully’s last weekend with other hometown rappers’ performances. But man does this guy put on a great show.

First off, it’s refreshing to see someone put so much time and energy into an actual stage show, as opposed to just getting up there, staring at the ground and going through the motions. Envelope (aka Tony Collinger) billed the night as “Envelope presents The Corner Store,” and he meant that quite literally. The guy constructed a huge set (mostly out of cardboard, I think) for the stage--what looked like a corner store stocked with cereal, ranch dressing, Magnum condoms, chips, etc. It made for a long set changeover, but worth the wait.

Collinger comes off like a lovable goofball bounding around the stage--a far cry from ultra-macho, egomaniacal emcees obsessed with proclaiming their lyrical superiority and sexual prowess. He’s humble, yet highly entertaining, with a self-deprecating sense of humor. (On one track from 2008’s Blueprint-produced Shark Bolt, he says, “I’ll even admit that I’m annoyed when I hear too much of my own voice.”)

It was definitely a sloppy show. Collinger has a great flow but can’t sing for his life; luckily he usually asked the crowd to help out with the sing-along refrains (e.g. “I’m not poor, I’m just broke, broke as hell”). He also screwed up one of my favorite lines from “Oh My My My...,” a complaint about the letdowns of science: “They got wisdom like the Masons lack secrets.” But he made up for it with some other choice nuggets: “American Apparel’s owned by a sexual predator”; “Lost my swagger so I started jogging/ Beer gut, not so awesome”; “If we’re so smart, and nothing is left unexplored/ Then why’s it 2009 and I don’t have my hoverboard?”

He’s also more acutely perceptive than he gives himself credit for. “Day Dream Nation” does a pretty good job of diagnosing society’s ills and skewering the culprits--a group from which he doesn’t exclude himself.

And while an Envelope album is all about the smirky, everyman lyrics, an Envelope show is more about the experience. Just a playful, talented dude dropping rhymes, shouting out to his friends (like onstage deejay Detox) and acting out tongue-in-cheek skits with other friends (like The Catalyst). A fellow TOP critic described Envelope’s last album as quintessentially “Columbus,” and that goes for the Whetstone grad himself, too. Collinger unapologetically embraces this city, and we’d be right to return the favor.

Two Cow Garage gave one of its typical gerbil-on-a-speedball performances, with all the gusto and grit we’ve come to expect from the band, along with a near-overdose of catchy choruses. I’ve been doling out ego boosters to these guys a lot recently, so I won’t go on and on, but I have no qualms calling Two Cow the best live rock band in Columbus. Oh, and the drummer smashed half of his drum set on the last song.

I didn’t stay for laptop duo Adulture’s closing set, but the young’uns played some cool stuff in between acts, doing impressive live edits of Portishead and more. Moon High, a newish folk-inspired act I’ve been enjoying, opened the show with one of the most upbeat songs I’ve heard from the usually super-placid band. I’m excited to hear more of that. Musically, the rest of the set was pretty solid, too, but I tend to think atmosphere is more crucial than usual when watching Moon High perform, and Skully’s garish surroundings seemed to clash with the band’s aesthetic (foot-switchable globe lights, banjo plucking, tranquil songwriting). I’d rather experience the songs at a place like the Treehouse (where the band performed this past Friday with the Couch Forts) than at what someone recently described to me as “Columbus’s version of L.A.”

(Also at The Other Paper)

Brian Harnetty - Treehouse, 1/16/09

It’s amazing what can fall through the cracks.

The Other Paper (and this blog) dedicates a fair amount of increasingly valuable print space to local musicians, either trumpeting their fine contributions to the Columbus scene or providing some (hopefully) constructive criticism that readers can digest as an intriguing analysis, helpful caution or yet more proof that we’re a bunch of buffoons who must have been at a different show or listening to a different album.

But Friday’s show at the Treehouse just proves there is always more to discover in this city. Before a few weeks ago, I had never heard of Brian Harnetty, even though he released a well-received album on Chicago’s Atavistic Records in 2007. His stuff is utterly unique, though I should probably stop being surprised at Columbus artists who are doing things unlike anything I’ve heard before. Harnetty takes found sounds and archival material and weaves them together with his own instrumentation. For American Winter, he immersed himself in the Berea College Appalachian Sound Archives in Kentucky, eventually coming up with a composition comprising old field recordings of songs and interviews, plus radio addresses and other various sounds, combined with live instruments that unobtrusively thread it all together like gossamer connective tissue.

Harnetty rarely plays live, so experiencing his too-short set at the Treehouse felt like a privilege, and the venue’s naturalistic, homey setting was the perfect spot for the intimacy of these songs--except for the frigid temperatures in that back room on one of the coldest nights of the year. Brrr. It wasn’t a scintillating stage show by any means, nor was it intended to be--just the tall, unassuming Harnetty seated below the Treehouse Christmas lights with his gear and occasional sparse accompaniment from others on drums, xylophone, etc. It was a stark contrast of new and old, with a laptop and various knobby devices settled next to an acetate-spinner playing worn, scratchy vinyl, full of authenticating hisses and pops.

Listening to Harnetty’s pastiches feels like eavesdropping on the past. He often includes the moments just before or after an old recording of a tune, capturing revealing comments about songs, or just highlighting the ponderous and sometimes awkward moments when the singer finishes singing--to great effect on “That’s Drunkard’s Dream, Nearly Everybody Knows It.”

Harnetty never overpowers the source material. His subtle accompaniment on the keys and various digital devices lends a sense of deference to the recordings. It’s music to drop your head and close your eyes to. Most of what he played was from the coming Silent City, which will be released on Atavistic this spring. The exciting wrinkle to these new songs is that they sprang from a collaboration with Will Oldham (aka Bonnie “Prince” Billy), who sings over the new arrangements in a way that feels consistent with Harnetty’s previous work. It’s still dreamily Appalachian, and all the lyrics are folk-song fragments combined with phrases from Oldham and Harnetty.

This collaboration with Oldham, whose fans tend to obsess over his prodigious output, could bring Harnetty a new level of exposure, and for good reason. Judging by the tunes he debuted on Friday night, the new stuff is just as strong, if not stronger, than American Winter, retaining that archival quality while inviting a talent like Oldham into his ghostly world.

mp3: Brian Harnetty - That's Drunkard's Dream, Nearly Everybody Knows It

(Also at The Other Paper)

Ghost Shirt, Couch Forts, Wing & Tusk, Phantods - Skully's

Four local bands played Skully’s on Friday night, and the place was packed. I don’t know if these bands just draw really well, or that was the only thing going on. Or maybe Skully’s always does that well on Friday nights and I just didn’t realize it. Whatever the reason, bully for you, Columbus, for supporting the locals.

For the most part, the bands didn’t disappoint. I was most excited to Ghost Shirt, one of the city’s most promising new bands. Singer/guitarist Branden Barnett led the band through a set of meticulously arranged songs rife with magnetic hooks that felt vaguely familiar but rarely rehashed, taking lessons from the Lemonheads, the Kinks and, like any rock group that embraces its inner pop, the Beatles.

I liked the songs from other vocalist/guitarist Phil Palma, too, but Barnett rightfully took the center stage spot next to Ghost Shirt’s exceptionally smiley violinist. Barnett has an electric presence live, and his strong vocals keep the pretty melodies from ever sounding precious. The slow crooner of the night (“History of the Blue,” I think) was nice, too, though probably a little lengthy for this crowd.

Ghost Shirt apparently has a 10-song demo CD circulating, which I’d like to get my hands on, but I’m hoping I don’t have to wait too long to hear a proper release by this band.

Following up Ghost Shirt was Couch Forts, a three-piece of electric guitar, banjo and violin that drew me in with their extraordinary musicianship. The songs rarely contained chords, instead opting for intricately picked patterns on each instrument that merged to create a surprisingly streamlined melodic base. Somehow this trio made virtuosic complexity sound simple.

Singer/guitarist Owen Kelley sang with unpretentious nerdiness and vigor, sounding like a mash-up of John Darnielle and Colin Meloy. Then, whenever he punctuated the beat with a floor tom, he’d spit lyrics with an edgy impetuosity. I mentioned last week that Couch Forts fit in well with fellow Columbus quirk-folkies Our Cat Philip and Super Desserts, which is true, but this band is still one-of-a-kind stylistically. If three leprechaun musicians woke up one morning and decided to renounce their Irish heritage and supplant it with Appalachia, I think it would sound like the Couch Forts. (The band prefers a shorter description: “yellowgrass.”) The downside is, Kelley’s vocal cadence is so static and the vibe is so consistent that after a few songs it felt like one long song. Some more structural and vocal creativity in the songwriting would be welcome.

Having never seen Wing & Tusk live before, I probably mischaracterized the band a bit in my preview last week by describing its sound as “brittle, Pedro the Lion-esque folk-pop.” There’s definitely some Pedro the Lion in there, and some folk-pop in Wing & Tusk’s recorded material, but live, Wing & Tusk was much more grandiose and sweeping than I had anticipated. (Guess that’s what I get for going solely off a band’s two Myspace songs.) What was brittle, however, was singer Joshua Rea’s voice. I’m OK with brittle voices, but Rea seemed to be going more for reverby, majestic vocals--not unlike a more epic and less pastoral Band Of Horses--and his consistent vocal cracks messed with that feeling some. I don’t know if he was singing out of his range, or if he just a bad night.

That didn’t ruin the songs by any means, though, and the band’s swell-filled rock was a nice contrast to Couch Forts.

The place was still packed when Phantods took the stage to close the night. Gretchen King is Phantods’ main attraction; her soaring vocals are a treat to hear live. I also applaud the band for taking chances and tackling so many genres, often in just one song. But to my ears, the band’s various influences car-crash into each other as often as they complement. The wide swaths of head-banging, metallic guitar don’t always cozy up next to the carousel melodies and waltzy interludes. I’d love to hear more songs where the heavy riffage is toned down, or at least sounds more seamless and less surgically implanted.

(Also at The Other Paper)

Blitzen Trapper, Horse Feathers - Skully's

Blitzen Trapper is on track to become The Next Big Thing. Not a here-today-gone-tomorrow buzz band (remember Black Kids?)--a mainstay.

Here’s proof. First, the Portland band released Wild Mountain Nation last year to moderate acclaim. It’s a good record, if a bit uneven, with a hefty dose of messy slacker rock amid crispy bits of countrified rock. It was Blitzen Trapper’s most widely heard album yet, leading to a deal with Sub Pop and this year’s Furr. Furr is a terrific album of Dylan-inspired tunes that find the band maturing without growing dull--a tough feat. Expect to hear more about this record as the audience grows.

And so all that’s left to solidify Blitzen Trapper as a force to be reckoned with is its live show, and the six-piece proved Tuesday night at Skully’s that it’s more than capable of winning hearts and minds from the stage.

In the big scheme of things, bandleader Eric Earley’s chiseled good looks probably won’t hurt Blitzen Trapper’s coming ascension, either. Earley is the band’s songwriter, usually writing songs on his own and recording/producing lots of them himself in the studio. But Blitzen Trapper doesn’t feel the least bit like a solo project. On stage the band is a tight, finely tuned machine, and each part is integral in making the gears turn.

There were only a few Pavement moments Tuesday night, “Love U” being one of them. Most other songs mixed the band’s fuzzy past with its furry present. “Gold for Bread” was one of the best examples of how well Blitzen Trapper mixes the old with the new, taking an energetic rocker and giving it an unmistakable Western vibe.

The full room responded most to “Furr,” the superbly written centerpiece of the band’s new album. The acoustic-based tune is a songwriting exemplar that uses Dylan as inspiration, yet still manages to feel original. The creative, more electric live arrangement brought spontaneous, simultaneous cheers from the crowd at certain points. (See? A finely crafted song can even get hipsters all worked up.)

There’s no reason for the band to ditch older songs like “Country Caravan” or “Wild Mountain Nation,” either. It allows the Oregonians to unleash a more playful side. That side came out during the encore, especially on “Miss Spiritual Tramp” (“It was a drive-by/ Columbian necktie”) and a cover of Dolly Parton’s “The Last Thing on My Mind.”

Tour mate and fellow Portlander Horse Feathers, on the other hand, wasn’t playful in the least. The guitar-violin-cello trio played quiet, folky songs you’d expect to hear coming from inside the snowy, wintry barn on the cover of the band’s most recent record, House with No Home.

It was a strange juxtaposition to have a such a hushed, lulling band bathed in Skully’s pink lighting underneath a disco ball, but eventually everyone caught on to the vibe and quieted down, allowing singer Justin Ringle’s tenor to carry. Ringle’s voice is soothing, and he has a calm presence to match it. He also happens to look a lot like Ron Howard--the bearded, director version of Ron Howard, not Opie or Richie Cunningham.

The live performance offered more dynamic range than House with No Home, which suffers from a bit of sameness. But the strings provided plenty of interest Tuesday night, even when Ringle’s singing began to sound a bit repetitive.

“Working Poor” featured a violin riff that hung in the air long after it was gone. The violinist also played the saw for a tune called “Heathen’s Kiss.” Maybe it’s a gimmick, but I give extra points to any band that successfully employs a cutting tool in its songs.

mp3: Blitzen Trapper - Furr
mp3: Horse Feathers - Curs in the Weeds

Chairlift w/ Moon High - Wexner Center, 11-3

You gotta hand it to the folks at Apple. They’re pretty good at finding just the right songs to soundtrack all those boldly colored iPod TV ads. The most recent commercial for the Nano is no exception. While watching those new gadgets bleed their vivacious colors, you’ll hear Caroline Polachek of the band Chairlift singing about handstand attempts over the bounciest bass line allowed by law. The song is called “Bruises,“ and it’s playful, catchy, hummable, vaguely familiar--all the things Apple is going for in hopes that those Nanos will fly off the shelves, economic crisis be damned.

But Feist has no need to worry. She won’t be relinquishing the iPod-commercial crown to Chairlift anytime soon. For many, “1234” served as a jumping-off point for discovering other gems in the Feist catalog, but judging from Chairlift’s sparsely attended show at the Wexner Center’s Black Box on the Mershon stage, an exploration instigated by “Bruises” turns up a lot of filler from a band still searching for an identity.

That’s not to say that this Brooklyn three-piece doesn’t have some stuff worth hearing, namely the songs where Polachek showcases her tremendous pipes. “Make Your Mind Up” was the most impressive of Monday night’s very brief set, as Polachek’s soulfulness spilled over the levee, revealing a beautiful vocal tone and an uncommonly high range. The song made her slightly bothersome theatrical gestures (draping herself over the keyboard, etc.) seem more justified.

“Bruises” came off just as it should have, and the short-and-sweet “Evident Utensil” was nice and danceable, despite some rhymes that felt a little forced. But the rest of the set was spotty as Chairlift attempted U2 (“Deer Hunt”), French pop and some industrial-inspired stuff.

“Planet Health,” the closer, mentioned something about a food pyramid, puberty and saying no to drugs, with a chorus of, “I’m feeling great tonight.” It’s a snoozer till the the song’s resilient outro (“Stop, drop and roll”), but by that time it was a little late, and I was still befuddled about this planet Polachek was attempting to describe.

Until Chairlift learns to consistently harness Polachek’s voice, sharpen its focus stylistically and mature a bit lyrically, it’s probably not worth filling up that Nano with more than a couple Chairlift tracks.

Moon High, on the other hand, has created and fully embraced a unique identity. The local band’s ultra-mellow, organic folk--an odd contrast with Chairlift’s synth-heavy sounds--is unlike any other band in Columbus, and you’d have trouble finding an equivalent outside of Ohio, too. People like to lump Moon High in with freak-folk bands, and David Fowler and Ryan Wells may take some inspiration from that scene, but reducing the band to that label does it a disservice.

Fowler and Wells shared lead vocal duties and switched between various acoustic guitars, banjo and cello throughout the set, accompanied by flute and violin at times from the two female background singers. Moon High completes its aesthetic visually with a couple of large, foot-switchable, white globe lights that I find more warm and peaceful than gimmicky.

Just about all of the band’s songs have a mournful vibe, and that consistency does come with a small price. If you head to a Moon High show with some sleep debt, the tranquility of “Lying Here, Dying Here,” “Where You Go” and other songs can become a bit drowsy. But these guys aren’t trying to shake the rafters, so I have a feeling that if you kicked back and closed your eyes at a show, they might take it more as a compliment than an insult.

This week's Other Paper

I'm getting lazy, so I'll just refer you to TOP's site for stories with my byline this week:

Concerts
Live review of Magnetic Fields (above) at the Southern Theatre last Friday

Locals
Review of Times New Viking's just-released Stay Awake 7"

Review of Ugly Stick's Still Glistening, the band's first release in 14 years

Review of Team Smile and Nod's Look Both Ways Before You Die

Margot & the Nuclear So and So's - Skully's, 10-19

At Sunday night’s Margot & the Nuclear So and So’s show--the band’s first in Columbus in quite a while--all the ingredients were there to make a memorable performance. The back of Skully’s was comfortably full with attentive attendees, the stage was set off nicely by an artful backdrop in the vein of Margot’s recent cover art, and all 10 players were audible in the near-perfect mix.

So my biggest complaint is that it didn’t last long enough. The band exited the stage after a strong 45-minute set. It wasn’t their fault, really. Skully’s had something else booked later that night. But it left me, and from what I could tell, most of the crowd, wanting more.

I imagine the band didn’t enjoy setting up for 10 people and then taking it all down 45 minutes later. But each musician played his or her role with aplomb. As I mentioned in last week’s preview, on record Margot has figured out how to avoid choking songs with overpowering arrangements--a common temptation for any band with more than five members. That strength carried over to the live show, as well, even with two extra people.

There was almost more of an emphasis on bandleader Richard Edwards’s words live. It wasn’t uncommon to have only two instruments playing at a time, or to see three tambourines and other hand percussion all going at once, which is comical, but also a good thing. You don’t need the brass on every song. (I’m still not sure what purpose the contraption with a big water bottle on top served, other than providing an elaborate stand for the attached triangles.)

Edwards had a serious disposition throughout the set, even when the violinist from Judgement Day (an opener I missed, along with David Vandervelde) was blowing bubbles in between maraca shakes. That could have been due to a cold, which made his voice a bit more nasally, but not detrimentally so.

Just as violinist/lap-steel player and hometown boy Erik Kang (Tiara, the Emerald Down) predicted last week, the band focused mostly on material from Animal!, Margot’s new album on Epic, as opposed to Not Animal, the other new album on Epic filled with songs of the record company’s choosing. The only two older songs of the night were “On a Freezing Chicago Street,” which had a beautiful, orchestral sound as Edwards conducted with his guitar, and “Skeleton Key,” one of my favorites from The Dust of Retreat. The strings were nice and pronounced on that one, too, but the slower, waltzy arrangement detracted from the propulsive feel the album version conveys.

“My Baby Shoots her Mouth Off” was chock-full of falsetto goodness, and I’m also partial to the back-and-forth vocals with keyboardist Emily Watson on “There’s Talk of Mine Shafts” and “Mariel’s Brazen Overture.” Other songs such as “O’ What a Nightmare!” and “A Children’s Crusade on Acid” showed how the band’s songwriting now focuses more on tunes with different movements that rely on a groove or feeling rather than traditional pop structures.

Animal! standout “As Tall as Cliffs” ended the abbreviated night on a loose, playful note, preceded by Edwards’s run-on send-off: “Sorry about the cold this is the last song hope you had fun bye.”

Oh, Margot. We hardly knew ye!

Margot & the Nuclear So and So's: A review/preview

It’s not uncommon for a band making the leap from the indies to the majors to have some disagreements with its deep-pocketed but often creatively impaired new boss. What is uncommon is resolving those conflicts by releasing two different albums—one to appease the band, the other to appease the label.

But that’s the route Margot & the Nuclear So and So’s and their new label, Epic, decided to take. The Indianapolis eight-piece just released Animal! (the band’s preferred version) digitally and on vinyl, while Not Animal is available on CD, digital and vinyl. The two records have five songs in common, but according to Margot member and Columbus musician Erik Kang, Animal! feels a bit darker.

“It probably reflects the fact that we were cooped up in a studio in Chicago during the coldest months of the winter,” Kang said. “I think there’s some songs on (Not Animal) that are a little bit lighter. Some people may like it better because of that.”

Kang, an alumnus of cowtown bands Tiara, the Emerald Down and Alasdair, joined Margot in 2006—a few months after the release of the band’s debut, The Dust of Retreat—and now handles violin and lap-steel duties. He admits there was some uncomfortable wrangling over the new album(s).

“It’s a complicated situation when you present music that you spent two months working on night and day,” he said. “To present what we felt was the strongest record, to have that rejected, you can’t help but take that personally and be hurt and be upset by it. It was really important to us to have that record released.”

At the same time, though, Kang said the band recognizes the strengths of Not Animal. “These were not songs that we never wanted to see the light of day,” he said. “We were proud of all of them. It was just a matter of which songs flowed the right way.”

Still, Kang recommends purchasing Animal! to hear the album the way the band intended it to sound. “We picked the songs that flowed the best and made sense as an entity itself. Not Animal is more just a collection of songs. They don’t necessarily flow as a record,” he said.

Both new albums reveal a much different band than Dust of Retreat-era Margot, trading some of its slightly emo tendencies for more orchestral, layered, atmospheric chamber pop. The hooks aren’t as immediate, and some of Retreat’s childlike spark is gone, but the slow burn usually pays off.

Is Animal! vastly superior to Not Animal? Not really, but it would have been a shame to miss out on the former’s boozy, string-heavy “Mariel’s Brazen Overture” and “There’s Talk of Mine Shafts.” Both find singer Richard Edwards in a duet with keyboardist Emily Watkins, whose ethereal harmonies can be found all over the new songs.

In general, Margot has discovered how to be an eight-piece without always sounding like an eight-piece, forgoing the bombastic tendencies of large bands. Edwards’ voice is always up front in the mix, often with scant accompaniment.

“Having all the instruments isn’t a gimmick,” Kang said. “It just makes sense for the songs that we’re doing. We’re very cautious and sensitive to only having the parts that really matter for the song and not overcrowding it.”

On the current tour, which will make a stop in Columbus on Sunday for the first time since Kang joined the band, fans can probably expect to hear more from Animal! than Not Animal because that’s the record Margot wanted to put together, Kang said.

Plus, the band has been keeping tallies of which album is selling better, and overall, Animal! is winning.

“So we’re right,” Kang said, laughing.

Margot & the Nuclear So and So's will perform Sunday at Skully's, 1151 N. High St., along with Judgement Day and David Vandervelde. Doors open at 6 p.m.; all ages. 614-291-8856.

(Also at The Other Paper)