2008 music

Last year, lots of people said that 2007 was a down year for music. I tended to disagree, thinking that those people just weren't looking hard enough.

But man, so far 2008 is blowing away 2007. Each month another couple albums come out that make me completely reshuffle my mental Top Ten list. There's been some great Columbus releases (Miranda Sound, Times New Viking, Our Cat Philip, Two Cow Garage), newer artists breaking through (Bon Iver, The Uglysuit, Frightened Rabbit), and to top it off, several artists from my top 25 of 2007 list have come out with records this year that are just as good, if not better than the '07 releases (Okkervil River, Blitzen Trapper).

So I guess I'm eating my words. 2007 was a little weak. But 2008 is more than making up for it.

Ra Ra Riot - The Basement, 9/9

I figured I’d enjoy the Ra Ra Riot show at the Basement Tuesday night just fine. I thought I’d walk away from the show thinking the band’s polite pop songs would result in a pleasant enough experience, but nothing to exclaim about.

Instead, I was completely surprised by Ra Ra Riot’s terrific live show. The Syracuse six-piece transformed the Basement’s stage into a living, breathing organism. All of the band’s inexorable energy existed only to serve the songs, and it created a collective charisma that was impossible to look away from.

Part of that magnetic force was due to cellist Alexandra Lawn and violinist Rebecca Zeller, neither of whom ever felt superfluous. Aurally, their gorgeous chamber contributions were not merely flourishes but essential components of nearly every song. Visually, the women anchored each side of the stage, their fluid movements an organic product of the music.

There’s some obvious overlap with Vampire Weekend on Ra Ra Riot’s debut, The Rhumb Line, which came out last month. (The two bands are apparently chummy, too.) Singer Wes Miles even sounds strikingly like VW’s Ezra Koenig at times, especially on “St. Peter’s Day Festival.” But Ra Ra Riot has far surpassed its preppy friends when it comes to a live performance.

Miles proved his smooth tenor wasn’t doctored up in the studio, either. It’s a little more yelpy live, but that didn’t hurt things. I would have liked to hear some of Lawn’s vocal contributions, too, but unfortunately her mic was virtually inaudible the entire night.

It was a well-attended show, especially for a Tuesday night, and the crowd responded especially well to “Ghost Under Rocks,” which Miles said was “the first single.” It was a good tune, but the “single” designation could have gone to any number of the band’s songs. The post-punk drumbeats, Sting-ish bass lines and tastefully sparse guitar ensured each song’s groove was a foot-tapper. The volume and intensity of the drums also gave the live songs more urgency than their album counterparts.

“Oh La,” “Too Too Too Fast” and “Can You Tell” were particularly compelling, as was “Dying Is Fine,” though that one has also felt haunting ever since the band’s original drummer and co-founder, John Ryan Pike, went missing after a party in Rhode Island last summer and was later found dead. The song’s lyrics are mostly taken from the e.e. cummings poem of the same name: “Death, oh baby/You know that dying is fine, but maybe/I wouldn’t like death if death were good.”

Ironically, the most cathartic song of the bunch was one the band didn’t write. The Kate Bush cover “Suspended in Gaffa” got a wonderful string treatment on the chorus, while cymbal crashes punctuated the purging. The song revealed the rare balance that Ra Ra Riot has managed to strike: The band is sincere without being haughty, emotional without being gushy and dramatic without being theatrical.

mp3: Ra Ra Riot - Suspended in Gaffa

(also at The Other Paper)

Rocktober

The number of bands coming to Columbus in October is unreal, so there's no excuse not to get out and see some shows this fall. (Unless you get horribly injured. That would be a good excuse.) Atomic Ned made a handy list of some of the highlights here. And that doesn't even include shows at Bourbon St., the Summit or Carabar. (The only advance Bobo show I know of right now is The Antlers on Oct. 5.)

The Verve - Forth

With the release of Forth, it must seem like the Verve is doing something right for a change, after having so many things go wrong.

The UK band, led by self-styled rock star Richard Ashcroft, faced career sabotage several times. After releasing a debut album to critical success in the early ’90s, the band got in trouble for trashing hotel rooms, then got in legal trouble from an American label with the same name. All the while, the band was said to be heavily drugged, which led to a split after the next album.

Then, after reuniting with indispensable guitarist Nick McCabe, the Verve came out with Urban Hymns, the 1997 album you no doubt remember from the still ubiquitous single "Bitter Sweet Symphony." But the international hit, with its string sample looped into oblivion, brought more legal action. The band split again.

And now, 10 years later, the Verve has reunited and given us some new psychedelic, symphonic pop songs. It’s genius planning, too, whether intentional or not. If Forth had come out a year or two after Urban Hymns, people probably would have said the Verve was just retreading the same path it had traveled before, but not as successfully. After all, any album that comes after a hit as gigantic as "Bitter Sweet Symphony" feels like a letdown to the masses.

Now, though, anything by the Verve sounds downright nostalgic (we won’t count Ashcroft’s dismal solo offerings). With extraordinarily high cheekbones intact, Ashcroft still looks the part, too. It’s easy to say, "I remember these guys. They had some good tunes. I’m glad they’re back."

But it’s a trap. Don’t fall for it. The majority of this album is, to use a culturally appropriate term, rubbish.

The Verve’s fourth (get it?) record has little to match some of Urban Hymns’ best, like "Sonnet" and "The Drugs Don’t Work." The eight-minute "Noise Epic" has Ashcroft delivering spoken-word ramblings amid dreamy, shoegaze atmospherics with a buzzy epilogue tacked on the end instructing listeners to "wake up." There’s some noise in there for sure, but epic? Nah.

The radio-ready first single "Love Is Noise" strives to be both edgy and huge, a tough tightrope. The verses lament the overarching ills of modern society ("Will those feet in modern times, walk on soles made in China?") while the built-for-a-stadium chorus laments the pitfalls of love ("Love is noise/Love is pain/Love is these blues that I’m singing again"). The song has a great beat, and it seems like it should be an anthemic call to arms, but with each spin the aftertaste feels more bitter and less sweet.

As much flak as Coldplay gets for complementing its artistic arena rock with lyrics that don’t always penetrate, Ashcroft could stand to take a few lessons from Chris Martin. The platitudinous songwriting is like a low-carb version of Coldplay Lite. Take "Valium Skies": "She got all I need, yeah the air I breathe/And when it comes to my Valium skies, she don’t mind if I cry."

"Judas" is the Verve’s attempt at a U2 song, complete with interspersed falsetto and pretty strings laying the base with understated, delayed guitar riffs. There’s even religious imagery. Sounds good, right? Ah, but again, those words. This line was the most egregious to my ears: "New York, I was Judas. She said a latte, double shot for Judas."

Forth also reeks of Ashcroft’s rock-star posturing. Even the cover depicts sun rays and clouds that should signal a triumphant return. But the only thing that shines through is a realization that 10 years after the Verve’s breakthrough into popular culture, dozens of bands have altered the group’s recipe to create works that far surpass their forefathers’ efforts.

Also at The Other Paper

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.