It’s a bit trite at this point to start a review with something along the lines of “in this sea of overproduced busy-ness business along comes Win Peter Winters with a gorgeously nuanced post classical folk pop fusion yada yada”, so I won’t do that. Already acts like Mumford & Sons have shown that people are both ready and willing to take the time to listen to some truly great songwriting with acoustic textures. The music has been compared to many things, but I think I’m gonna go with Rachel’s on this one. Except with more banjo.
What I really want to talk about regarding this new self titled album is the insistence of pop aesthetics with classical instrumentation. Glock, banjo, sound recordings and a lovely cello (Chris’s main instrument) combine with never-not-completely-not-dissonant lyrics to give the vague impression of being lost at sea. The vibe is melancholy and a bit lonely, but with a refreshing sense of dramatic irony (especially the quirky final track, “World Goes On”).
Though I wish the initial track was a bit stronger, by the time we get to “Rain” I was able to completely lose myself in the music, and directly following that we get “Ocean”, the above linked and my personal favorite. The concept album has generally consistent orchestration, but this particular track has a certain patience to it, which I love, and I’m always a sucker for a good solid refrain at the end of several successive stanzas. I know, I’m a nerd.
The new 2011 sampler from Lujo Records is pretty outstanding. The overall impression is one of purposeful eclecticity, which is a word I just made up. There is a definite shape to the sampler, and I’m proud of them for putting the more genre-bashing electro stuff first.
Tracks one and two come from Bluebrain and John LaMonica, respectively, and feature the coolest beats.
The third track comes from A Lull and has the best overall sound. If you ask me, this is the band to keep an eye on. Their debut album “Confetti” drops April 12 (their video for “Weapons For War” is at the bottom of this entry).
In a very close second comes “Trampolines” by Yourself and the Air, which many people probably prefer over the A Lull track. It has stronger and more discernible lyrics, but I personally prefer head-bobbin to indie. That’s just me though.
Next comes Enlou with the track “Amphibians”, which is the last of the truly strong tracks on this sampler. After this Lujo takes you through a few sine waves of fun, going super-ironic with The Torches and Baby Teeth, then out with some raw rock/strummy stuff that holds its own in authenticity. Favorite moment of the second half is probably the first third-ish of “When You Were Young” from Discover America, though I feel the song drops off in quality after the first chorus comes in.
All in all some really exciting stuff, Lujo Records! Looking forward to more.
It’s a tough thing, in this ever changing world, to be aware of one’s history while at the same time yearning for something new and different, and I’ve found that the electro sector has had a hell of a time trying to figure out what to do next. They often lean too heavily on either putting more in or taking more out, and it turns me off.
That said, I found Compensation for the Sound of Silence to be an extremely pleasing mix of those two options. In a word, I would describe this music as “undulating”. I got the very vivid impression that I was standing in a dark room, when suddenly the darkness began to shimmer and vibrate in the shape of sine waves, neurons, and, at times, a chorus of pale hands trying to rip me to shreds. I mean this in the best possible way.
Fitting to the album title, Urceus Exit remembers their most important tool in music… namely, silence. While there are few true pauses, almost every track makes sure to remind us that, while driving beats, arpeggiated blips, soundscapes, and baritone vox are here to help us that, eventually, all undulation ceases. Then it drives back in again. It’s a pleasing thing.
The overall sound achieved thankfully avoids the muddiness you sometimes run across in this genre. As a final touch, at key moments I was blown away by some truly compositional harmonic flavors, leaving me with a final impression of Voltaire meets Download. Head on over to urceusexit.com to learn more, purchase, and contact.
And a bonus:
Urceus Exit
by Austin Henry Dobson
I INTENDED an Ode,
And it turn’d to a Sonnet
It began a la mode,
I intended an Ode;
But Rose cross’d the road
In her latest new bonnet;
I intended an Ode;
And it turn’d to a Sonnet.
The greatly anticipated debut album from singer/songwriter Bryan Titus has finally arrived. It is a labor of love and the result of many years hard work… and brother, it shows.
The album opens up with the deliciously mischievous A Little More, letting us know to expect the unexpected. Already we get a sense of the enormous personality of Bryan’s vocals, not to mention that great sense of fun so obvious to those who have seen him perform. Then we ramp it up for the stirring song from whence the album gets its name, only to slow it down with the anthem-level You Got Life. The song order manages to showcase Bryan’s diversity without being jarring, and as each song progresses we are lulled into the sense that anything goes, and that’s okay.
“Anymore…” is dedicated to the memory of Bryan’s father, so it’s appropriate that it ends with a chilling cover of the Alice in Chains classic Man in the Box. More than any other track, this one really displays the emotive quality of Bryan’s singing, as well as certifying his strong rock roots. It also further cements his ability to pull together a variety of genres into a cohesive record… Or show, or house party, or secluded field, or whatever. Seriously, the guy plays everywhere. There is probably some little green guy wearing a Titus shirt on Mars. He’s certainly been playing up a storm around L.A. for years, relying on word-of-mouth and fierce online support to gather his ever-growing crowds of adoring fans at locally cherished venues like the Mint, House of Blues, and Harvell’s. I’m happy to report that his studio of choice somehow managed to translate his charisma to track, thus providing you and I with an authentic listening experience so often lacking in contemporary popular music.
In addition to his outstanding vocals are the lilting slides/balls-out riffs of the versatile John Weed, and the masterful rhythms of drummer Jeremy Miller. Both of these musicians truly understand Bryan’s music, and it makes each track both cohesive and interesting. Just listen to relevantly titled A War Inside to see what I mean; as John’s guitar sidles alongside Jeremy’s marching snare (think Paul Simon), the tune grows all the more meaningful by the reinforcing of its theme. Then listen to SMC student favorite Numb to get an idea of their impressive range, a skill that grows increasingly important in the 15-second window of the modern world. Throw into the mix Will Weissman’s brilliantly understated bass lines to keep it all moving forward, then add a bit of fantastic production and lush vocal harmonies, and you’ve got a fully dynamic sound that manages modernity without forgetting its roots.
While I could harp on for a while about the incredible performers and engineers involved on “Anything…”, put together on a shoestring budget with a lot of old-fashioned elbow grease, the overall vibe is one that places excellent songwriting absolutely front and center. It is impossible to overstate just how much the world needs more music like this. I give this album 5 indie stars out of 5.
Having heard legends of the Walt Disney Concert Hall and the flawlessness of its acoustics, I was very excited to see such a fearsome foursome as the Kronos Quartet, Matmos, Mike Einziger, and Terry Riley all in one go.
First off, the WDCH does not disappoint in the slightest. We sat in the cheap seats behind the orchestra. Despite the fact that the performers are facing away from you, these are by far the best seats from which to eavesdrop on an electronic duo’s setup, not to mention hear an organ performance since you’re sitting directly under the pipes. Even given our weird positioning, the sound was so clear that as the orchestra played full tilt alongside 12 guitar amps for Einziger’s piece, we could still hear a lonely cellist turn a page.
The night, which kicked off the West Coast, Left Coast Festival, had a rolling cast. It began with the Kronos Quartet, who performed a piece by Thomas Newman. It involved live electronics and Newman’s trademark melodic rhythmicism, dissonanced up here and there to ensure no one forgot they weren’t listening to a film score. The Kronos Quartet has a sound so free and yet cohesive you’ve got to see it to believe it, and David Harrington is nothing short of a rock star.
Following this, Matmos and the Kronos Quartet performed two pieces, which to me was a highlight of the night. If you’ve read other articles around this site, you’ll know that I’m obsessed with quality reconstruction of electroacoustic music without any prerecorded tracks. Matmos, whose myriad influences date back to tape loops and musique concrète, seamlessly blended their infectious grooves and quirky live sampling with the furious sawing of two violins, a viola and a cello. The quartet dutifully supplied samples to Matmos when required, shaking rattlers, baby bells, and even smacking their own violin with a bright red squeaky hammer. This is how the future of electronic music should sound: masterfully beautiful with a twinkle in its eye. I have had it up to here with contemporary chamber electronica always taking itself so damn seriously.
Matmos then performed two tracks to video. I can understand how such music can be underwhelming to those expecting a more club-oriented electronic duo like Plaid or Autechre, but I was delighted by the freedom inherent in their soundscapes. I felt it was a celebration of sound more than a celebration of themselves, a sentiment too often lacking in musicians the world over.
Next, we had the privilege of hearing Mike Einziger’s Forced Curvature of Reflective Surfaces, a through-composed process piece inspired quite clearly by the shape of the concert hall in which we sat. After an (extremely) short introduction by the ever low key Einziger, the piece began with a series of rises and falls, one side of the orchestra mirroring the other, interspersed with bits of tonality here and there. The guitar amps surrounding the string players like the earth’s crust included that of the composer himself, placed surreptitiously at the end of the row. Suzie Katayama, who conducted his piece End.>vacuum in the past, conducts with an easy, flowing style perfect for such an amorphous composition. At one point, when the song got to the big bulbous part of the building near the center, the incredibly long fall drew chuckles from the audience. Sure, Mike might be the guitarist for the pop alternative band Incubus, but don’t let that get in the way of the brilliance of this infinitely curious and tirelessly humble artist.
Matmos returned and jammed with Mike for a while, then Kronos and Terry Riley joined them for a session that really knocked me out. There I was, watching eight musicians who probably never expected to be so popular or successful, still down to earth and inspired by life, no one soloing wankily over the other, in one of the most acoustically perfect rooms in the world. What a treat! Terry Riley, as the elder, definitely seemed the Patriarch, Wise Man, and Shaman of the session, immediately setting up a bluesy ostinato and running over it, left and right and up and down and across and under and through. The cellist took up the hook and everyone just went off. When Terry Riley began singing a raga a la Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, it really took the performance to a level usually reserved for sex and prayer. I am ever impressed by the voice and to what heights (or depths) it may take us.
Terry Riley then left the stage organ and moved slowly (he is 74) up to the big organ roughly 15 feet to my left. The eccentric woman on my right remarked, “It is a gift to music lovers everywhere that the best seats in the house are the cheapest!” Terry played for one glorious hour, which we believe only involved 3 songs. Some people left, to my shock and horror, and some stayed until he finished at 12:30. Unbeknownst to me, he has been known to play concerts well into the sunrise, which were attended in the old days by acid trippers and families with sleeping bags alike. His music is not for the faint of heart, but to the heart of a thinking person it is undeniably a celebration of life and deserts and oceans and people and an endless stream of universal loveliness. He constantly toyed with rhythm, and not just in the conventional hey-look-5/4 sort of way. Sometimes he’d just skip a beat, so I would often be tapping along for a good bit before I realized I was now on the off beat. He plays music as if life were overwhelming, yet beneath it all is a beat that goes on and on despite the supersaturated humdrum of it all. Which is true… especially in Los Angeles.
Here’s a song by Terry Riley called A Rainbow in Curved Air, which someone synced up to 2001: A Space Odyssey because Youtube is funny like that. Happy Thanksgiving!
With the first chord strummed pickless on an old jangly guitar, the crowd surges toward the front of the stage and stays there for hours. Gogol Bordello frontman Eugene Hütz has hair almost to his shoulders and not an ounce of fat on his body. His handlebar mustache blusters about as he sings about work, drinking, loving, and giving the finger to the establishment. Also about wearing purple.
In December 1998 I cut my hair short after years of sporting an undercut. I cut it the day after I saw Rage Against the Machine on The Battle of Los Angeles tour, because I couldn’t imagine throwing it about at a concert the same ever again. Up until last night, I was right. But that’s not why there’s still hope for the future.
Immediately the diversity of Gogol Bordello’s current lineup makes you grin. A bass player from Ethiopia, a guitarist from Israel, accordian and fiddler from Russia, congas and whistle from Ecuador, a drummer from America. The ultra sexy Gogol girls are both half-Asian and half-something else (Just ask Weezer what that means!), dressed up in togas or viking hats and leaping about banging on marching percussion. The band deliberately draws from the best the world culture has to offer. And let’s not forget a gypsy punk at the forefront, inspiring a personality cult with a grin and a bottle of wine.
Eugene threw his famous red bucket over the microphone and banged it again and again in time. He leapt and stomped about. He drew a fan from the audience and danced with her, and she almost died of frenzy.
I brought earplugs. They broke. I had on a nice shirt. It’s almost unrecognizable from a bathroom towel now, and smells much worse.
During the intermission, I left the front mob to try and find a friend. I thought to myself, sagging from exhaustion, “I’ll just stay back here for the rest of the show.” I lasted about a song and a half into the encore, and then the band rushed the crowd all at once, and I ran through the crowd to meet them. “How the hell did I get back up here?” I wondered, my exhaustion completely forgotten. But that’s still not why there’s hope.
I was surrounded by people of all ages, but the crowd was definitely predominated by high schoolers. That definitely contributes to the hope factor. This age old music from the guts of the soils strewn about the planet spoke to them and they heard it and came in droves enough to sell out a show in Pomona, of all places. That’s very close to why there’s hope.
When I saw RATM in ’98, we got knocked about plenty. There was a lot of anger and confusion and lack of focus then. I’ve only really done that since at GWAR, which was flat out violent. But this time, while I was packed in like a sardine on a trampoline my shoe almost came off, and right about then the music went slow. I bent down to double knot, and the crowd made a little circle around me. I popped up in record time to a sea of smiles, and a shirtless kid behind me yelled over the music, “Good job!” And the crowd surged back in as the music swelled and were all the better for it.
That moment of cognizant positivity in the midst of such deliberate destruction is why seeing a band like Gogol Bordello in 2009 gives me hope for 2010.
It’s half past midnight in Hollywood and the smell of greasy hot dogs follows me to my car. A cool mist fogs my glasses, and I nod to the little lady behind a cart covered with aluminum foil, relish, and fried onions. She’s the same old Latina woman behind every hot dog cart in LA, and she nods back grimly. The wet weather is bad for business.
I first saw Jimmy Edgar in 2006 opening for Jamie Lidell at Troubdour. Jamie always puts on a great show and has really come out since the Multiply single got some play. I remember Jimmy Edgar as having the right idea but lacking in execution.
A few days ago a guitarist friend sends a text saying, “All live electronic music! This Thurs at Knitting Factory! I think u like…” Who could it be but Jimmy Edgar again? Great! He must have pulled a Jamie and gotten a band together, instead of the button mashing and Korg-talking of his last performance! Excitement!
But, no. Come Thursday, it was the same old schtick. A guy with floppy hair behind a lot of gear and wicked gangsta beats paying absolutely no attention to the audience. Occasionally he sang, modding his voice to sound the way he wished it did in high school. He didn’t sing complete songs, so the neat and funky vocal riffs were overshadowed by all the pre-recorded nonsense.
Did he notice when people stopped dancing because he let a naked rhythm go on too long? Did he give any thought to structure, harmonic or lyric? Did he have any stage persona at all, other than a vaguely Prince-in-supsenders outfit? No wonder he hasn’t learned anything in last three years! He never looks at his audience!
So! Here’s a list of rules for aspiring live electronic musicians:
Rule 1 – Excessive looping is boring.
It takes forever to get to the good parts, and it messes up your structure. Looping is a supplemental tool to be used tastefully. It is no basis for an entire track by itself, because nobody wants to listen to the same four bars for five minutes without a break. Also: Beat repeaters and knob-twiddling filters only count as a break the first time. By the twenty-seventh use it gets a little old.
Rule 2 – Pre-recorded music is disappointing.
A good live experience is based on establishing a dynamic between the listeners dancing and the artists creating. Music is simple like that. The mind is simple like that. Adding a step where the mind has to interact with music created somewhere else is distracting, and the mind is never fooled. It knows this pre-recorded schlock could have been created for anyone and the only point of coming to the show was to hear it louder. The mind does not feel special after this and leaves to get a beer.
Rule 3 – A computer screen is not your audience.
The day recording went to 96K was a dark day for tape, because, frankly, 96K sounds great. That happened quite a while ago. Which means everybody and their friggin’ dog listens to music at least recorded and augmented electronically. Hip hop and club pop is nothing but electronic music. In 1998, yes, Americans listening to electro and IDM got a warm, fuzzy future window to carry around in their hearts. Now Muse and Infected Mushroom and Kid A exist, and the glitch vibe is a thing of the past. Listening to electronic music no longer makes you special. Bands now possess the ability to supplement their live act with quality sounding electronic instruments, which means the old one-person-behind-hardware-mountains doesn’t work anymore. We used to watch that because we didn’t have a choice if we wanted to hear the stuff live. Not anymore.
Rule 4 – If you can’t sing, don’t.
This goes out to every new artist out there: You are not Pete Townsend. You are not Daft Punk. You aren’t even Cher, probably. Autotune is not a talkbox. It just makes you sound really stupid.
New album rule! You are only allowed one vocoder-like track per album. The rest you have to sing completely un-pitchcorrected or get a real singer to do it for you. Royksopp is getting better at this. It’s only a matter of time until this production fad backfires anyway, and you want to be the first out the box on that one, don’t you? Rimshot.
Rule 5 – Memorability is a good thing.
“Music is Rotted One Note” is a prime example. As an avid Squarepusher fan I am happy to report I love this album. That doesn’t mean I ever listen to it.
There’s a lot of debate on memorability in music, which in my mind makes it the most important. When I recorded the Sex Pistols, John Lydon told me, “Debate! Always debate. Let the Nazi talk!” He also told me, “All good music is folky, mate!” He would point out the melody in any folk song (Not surprisingly, they all have one. Take note, Jimmy.) and then during an instrumental break he would say, “Can you hear it? It’s still there! They aren’t playing it, but it’s still there, and you can’t wait for it to come back in, can you?”
That’s called a hook, which sounds like marketing, which sounds like sell-out, which is bad. So don’t call it a hook. Call it folky. That’s called integrity. All music we owe to folk, because it was memorable. Don’t ignore thousands of years of songwriting because you’re afraid of being called a sell-out. Be at peace with the way the human brain works or stop complaining about your lousy concert turnouts. It isn’t just about you.
On a final note, let me talk about my friend Lee Noble. He used to play bass and pitchbent toys in a Nashville band called A Poet Named Revolver, and they were awesome. They made one great album and broke up, ignoring the interest from labels it sparked. He has a film degree and now lives in Burbank.
He sometimes performs under the name Conger Eel. His set up, which is usually in dim dive bars that serve more Mexican beer than domestic, involves several tape players, a guitar, illegible vocals and noise, noise, noise. His show is always different and the only genre label that might possibly apply is avant garde. His performances are fearless and without expectation and are to be taken seriously and very flippantly simultaneously.
Knowing that Lee exists gives me great comfort. His Conger Eel project won’t make him any money, but he follows all the rules I’ve just laid out. His loops are created on the spot and never last long un-chopped. There’s no computer screen, because he does this all with hacked tape cassettes. Anything pre-recorded is ironic, like an old M.C. Hammer sample found at a thrift store. And he is a good singer.
My friend Alen is a visual artist from Detroit, and he remembers the experience when I took him to see Lee at the Airliner with a vague sense of awe. That counts. Memorable means genuine, and Lee is most definitely that.
It’s half past midnight and the smell of greasy hot dogs follows me to my car. A cooling mist hangs in the air and fogs my glasses. Maybe the crummy weather explains the sparse crowd at Jimmy Edgar’s show.
