Intense Psych-Rock from Caribou, Other 8/21 Releases

Andorra
Caribou
City Slang

Immensely-talented Daniel Snaith looks rather like a Comic-Con attendee than a rock star. Imagining him queuing up for a Joss Whedon autograph is considerably easier than imagining him on stage leading Caribou (his solo project that uses three other musicians during live performances) in its brand of lush electro-rock. But in Andorra, he unites 60s organic psychedelia, electronica and seriously funky beats with entertaining results.

"Melody Day" starts the album off in a ripping, whirling psychedelic assault. "Sandy" picks up from there, mixing marching-band rhythms with opulent melodies, and "After Hours" evokes the sounds of 13th Floor Elevators with beats ripped right off The Who.

But the album's appeal begins to decline after that. Quite frankly, the intensity of Andorra's sugary 60s sounds can be wearying. The middle of the album sags beneath its own weight – the songs seem rehashed and become tedious. "Irene" and "Niobe" are primarily electronic, and serve as intelligent contrasts to the 60s immersion, but their placement at the end of the album is stupefying. Clearly, they are meant to be paired together, but placing them in the middle of the album would have cushioned the impact of Andorra rising from its own ashes one too many times.

Caribou could have put out a five-star EP with those five songs: "Melody Day," "Sandy," "After Hours," "Irene," and "Niobe." Still, Andorra is one of the year's most unique releases. Yes, it's throwback. But no one else is doing anything remotely similar at the moment. Think of it as a prescription for the tired sounds of paired-down, indie rock that currently dominate the musical landscape.



www.caribou.fm



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Other Releases this Week:


Planet of Ice
Minus the Bear
Suicide Squeeze

Minus the Bear's second album, Planet of Ice, is a contradiction of hits and misses. Think mellow Circa Survive with a hint of soul in the vocals. Hits seem to come toward the latter part of the album ("Dr. L'Ling," "Throwin' Shapes," "When We Escape") but, ultimately, Planet of Ice merely threatens to break the bonds of mediocrity without ever doing so.



www.minusthebear.com



Under the Black Lights
Rilo Kiley
Warner Bros.

Under the Black Lights, Rilo Kiley's fourth full-length release, showcases an assortment of astoundingly dull alt-country songs. Cliched? Check. Devoid of meaning? Check. Cloying country-fried vocals? Check. Seriously, this shit is fodder for people who buy their music from Starbucks and college kids who mindlessly absorb Spin Magazine's sentiments because it makes them oh-so-cool. But it also makes them stupid, particularly in this case. Cool and stupid is no way to go through life, dear readers. Avoid this musical travesty at all costs.



www.myspace.com/rilokiley




- L.A. Bryan

8/13 Releases . . .

Forget the manufactured vacuity of Eisley. These are the real releases you should be checking out this week:

8/13 - London is alight with talk of trio Hatcham Social. Rightly so, as their double A-side single "Til the Dawn/Penelope (Under My Hat)," serves up indie rock so mod it should be delivered on the back of a Vespa.

8/14 - Chicago's ARKS release their latest album, The International. ARKS is perhaps best described as uniquely dark post-punk. The album is riddled with beat changes, key mutations and subtly brilliant drumming. Fans of Wire should love it.

Brits Mod Mania Short But Sweet

"Til the Dawn/Penelope (Under My Hat)"
Hatcham Social
WaKS Records

Little known yet already critically-acclaimed, London trio Hatcham Social serve up two delightfully quaint pop songs on their latest release, the double A-side single "Til the Dawn/Penelope (Under my Hat)." The trio, comprised of brothers Finnigan and Tobias Kidd and their friend Dave Javu, has blended the Left Banke and the Kinks for a sound straight out of Antonioni's Blow-Up. "Til the Dawn" is a kaleidoscopic menagerie of falsetto warbling and jangly guitars – just as catchy as it is psychedelic. Meanwhile, "Penelope (Under My Hat)" is a bizarre story wrapped inside mellow beats and whipped cream harmonies. Altogether, the release adds up to just under five minutes of music. Yes, the songs are short. But they're a gas, dig? Charlatans' frontman Tim Burgess produces his first songs with the release, and Faris Badwan – shy art student by day, maniacal Horror's lead singer by night – provides the cover art. The single debuts Monday (8/13) in the UK on 7" vinyl and digital formats.




- L.A. Bryan


www.hatchamsocial.co.uk
www.myspace.com/hatchamsocial

Happier with Stage Names (But Not too Happy)

The Stage Names
Okkervil River
Jagjaguwar


It would be an understatement to say that Will Sheff is a man with demons. As lead singer and lyricist for folk rockers Okkervil River, he is seldom at a loss for writing material. Count that as one of the few benefits of demons, because, luckily for Sheff, he was destined to be a rock star. Demons don't synthesize as well with other professions as they do with music. Think about it: would you want an emotionally distraught dentist hacking at your teeth?

Musicians are an exception, though. Actors, writers, sculpters, poets, film makers, entertainers . . . they are all allowed to work with and through their demons. It is accepted that profound insight, in the forms of artistry and creation, can be gained through emotional and mental instability. Whether this is true or not is entirely irrelevant to this review. But it might explain why Sheff chose these people as protagonists in The Stage Names. Perhaps he felt closer to them, was drawn to them in some intangible way.

Still, Sheff seems to be more at ease with himself these days. While 2005's Black Sheep Boy was a wrenching, jangling catharsis, The Stage Names is more comfortable in the pitch of its emotions. There's room to breathe here, to wander freely in one's introspections and emotions – a controlled process as opposed to a roiling, uncontrollable mash of emotions that was Black Sheep Boy.

"Our Life is not a Movie or Maybe" opens the album with head-bopping rhythms intrinsic to Okkervil River. A flourishing melody gives way to an eerily stark instrumental section before regaining control by the end. "Unless it's Kicks" is quite possibly the best song on the album. Lyrics like, "your love isn't lost/my heart is still crossed," would be written off as cloying if played by lesser bands, but the combination of Sheff's melodramatic howls along and Travis Nelson's frenzied drums pulls it off superbly. The energetic track then melts into a sparkling ending that sounds like the musical equivalent of a leisurely summer picnic.

In "A Hand to Take Hold of the Scene," the listener gets the sense Sheff is either winding up to or coming down from a volatile temper flare. But the accompanying music is so utterly bouyant, complete with camp hand-clapping, that it's heedless to worry. In contrast, "Savannah Smiles" is an arresting confessional from the point-of-view of a father reflecting on his relationship, or rather, lack thereof, with his daughter. Like its protagonist, the song is subdued and pensive.

A lyrical triumph more than anything, "Plus Ones" gives an identity to the lost extras throughout musical history. The list includes: Question Mark and the Mysterians' 97th tear, the Zombies' 55th cell, and the Crests' 17th candle. There are plenty more, but half the thrill of "Plus Ones" is in finding them . . .

"A Girl in Port" is a pure melancholic slice of americana. Sheff might have fictionalized this protagonist, but he's channeling Neil Young. It's also here that Sheff's fragile, cracking voice is at its best. And while it's true that there's not a bad song on the album, "You Can't Hold the Hand of a Rock and Roll Man," is the weakest. No doubt it suffers from being sandwiched between two of the best tracks on the album.

Okkervil River are almost perfect on "Title Track," whose subject is The Stage Names, and whose tongue-in-cheek naming ironically negates the possibility of it being, in fact, the title track. But listeners won't be focusing on that. Rarely has bittersweet wistfulness sounded so divine. It's the song that most wholly encompasses the album's lethargic melancholy, and in that sense it truly is the definitive title track.

"John Allyn Smith Sails" is a final salute to stage names as the faint, snaking melody slips into a rollicking pseudo-cover of the Beach Boys' "Sloop John B." Smith was the pen name for mid-century poet John Berryman, whom Sheff has credited with influencing his confessional style of writing. No stranger to writing about death, Sheff spins an affecting take on Berryman's 1972 suicide. It's apt way to end an album about artists, and as the song dies in spasms of "I want to go home " the limit of stage names is decidedly clear: they can shroud identity from others, but demons are forever.

Stylistically, there are no surprises with The Stage Names. Aside from a somewhat airier sound than their last LP, Okkervil River are in familiar waters. The lighter mood makes for a more accessible sound than much of their previous work, but, contrary to what many reviewers would have you think, that isn't necessarily a bad thing. No, the biggest disappointment with The Stage Names is its short running time, ending at just over 41 minutes. Fans will be scrambling to hear more, certainly, but it is a staggering feat that the follow-up to the critical smash Black Sheep Boy is disappointing in just this one aspect.





- L.A. Bryan


Click to listen to "Unless it's Kicks"

www.okkervilriver.com
www.myspace.com/okkervilriver

Warning: Ulrich Schnauss May Induce Rapturous Daydreams, Sex

Goodbye
Ulrich Schnauss
Domino


The truest test of shoegaze greatness lies the material's ability to accentuate two of life's greatest pleasures: daydreaming and sex. (Not at the same time, mind, unless you're willing to accept the couch-sleeping consequences.) As long an album or song can claim this feat, it has fully earned its greatness.

Ulrich Schnauss, largely unknown outside of ambient and down-tempo circles despite having made music in under various pseudonyms since 1995, has crafted a luxurious follow-up to his 2003 release, A Strangely Isolated Place. Furthering his turn away from a predominately electronic sound, Goodbye is, essentially, shoegaze resplendence-on-a-disc: replete with time-delays, distortion and indecipherable, organic vocals. Most apparent, however, are the substantial layering effects, creating the expansive orchestral sound that carries throughout the album. At points during the recording of Goodbye, as many as 100 simultaneous tracks were used.

Long-time Schnauss collaborator Judith Beck was tapped to perform vocals on the album, a choice immediately substantiated as the listener drowns in folds of seamless vocals on the opening track, "Never Be the Same."

Despite velvet male vocals on "Shine," its glib lyrics and saccharine melody could incite one toward guitar-smashing ala Belushi's Bluto in Animal House. Thankfully, the brilliance of next track will sedate even the most incendiary guitar-smashing zealots. "Stars" dips Beck's diaphanous vocals first into a fervent Chapterhouseian melody, and then into twinkling synths reminiscent of Cocteau Twins. Indulgent? Oh yes. And listeners are all the better for it, whether daydreaming or . . . you know.

The middle of the album, however, slides into languid monotony. "Einfeld" and "In Between the Years," while not offensive, are crashing bores. Interest returns in full after that, especially beginning with the aptly titled "A Song About Hope," a forceful gem of a song that seems to be trying to create hope from naught but it's own tenacity.

Goodbye's standout track is "Medusa," whose dark and turbid stylings are unmatched elsewhere on the album. "Medusa" assimilates lush melodies and deranged, electronic torques with a haunting, visceral wall of sound made famous by The Jesus and Mary Chain. It's a mind-tripping six minutes, and itself nearly worth the price of the entire album.

The title track is as good as any song not named Medusa, opening with a cascade of bells and drums and keeping the pace for an ethereal Belle & Sebastian vibe throughout.

Goodbye, for all its exquisite intonations, evokes undercurrents of discontent, of sorrow – even aggression at times. You may dig the hundreds of musical layers, but it is these underlayers of emotional complexity that linger. Transitional albums, because of their inherently experimental nature, are often underdeveloped and directionless. Goodbye, for the most part, avoids this through the sheer sweeping beauty of its orchestrations. Here's to indulgent sex and daydreams . . .




www.ulrich-schnauss.com

"An unassuming sort of X-rated misfit . . . "

"Belt Loops"
The Films
7Hz Recordings


The Films' second single off their debut album, Don't Dance Rattlesnake, takes a wry look at relationships, and the world is all the better for it.

"Belt Loops" is manic from beginning to end, with a well-placed Ratatat-esque guitar duet towards the end that elevates the song to mad-dancing-in-the-privacy-of-your-home proportions. Lead singer Michael Trent adds to the mania, belting out fabulously cheeky lyrics: she's like a devil in a dark shade of lipstick/an unassuming sort of X-rated misfit/her bottle's shook up all you gotta do is twist it/before you get a chance you'll already have missed it.



It could be the mirror song to "She is the New Thing," by The Horrors. Similar subject, different styles: musically, "Belt Loops" trades menace for jaunty nonchalance, preferring to let its lyrics do the scathing. This catchy juxtaposition of substance and style seems to be the musical incarnation of Summer. "Belt Loops" rips for a fiery three minutes before ending abruptly – an anthem for spurned lovers of summer flings if there ever was one.

"Belt Loops" is by no means groundbreaking – just pure hedonistic fun. Few bands of late have been so rollicking and lyrically droll at the same time, however. And if their other material is anything like "Belt Loops," The Films should turn the American music scene on its tired, bloated head. It's too bad, then, that neither the single nor album has yet been slated for release in the U.S. Folks in the U.K., however, should soak up this cinematic sizzler.





www.the-films.com
www.myspace.com/thefilms

Rip It Up! No, Literally.

"Rip It Up"
Jet
Atlantic

The boys from Down Under really should stay there. Jet is back ripping it up with, uh, "Rip It Up," their latest ripping-it-off ode to every 60s,70s, 80s, and 90s garage band to ever plug into an amp and let 'er rip.

And if you think that was redundant, check out the "Rip It Up" video. No, it's not enough to scream the words "Rip It Up!" 26 times (yes, I counted!). But, inexplicably, the geniuses behind the video thought they should pound the message in a bit more by spelling out the phrase in the video nearly every time it's sung. And I know Australians aren't exactly famed for their subtlety, but this is ridiculous. Watch that video a few times and you'll start dreaming about Is and Ps.

The ironic thing is Jet need to quit ripping it up. "Rip It Up" sounds like it was recycled from a few different Get Born tracks and given new life. Suffice to say it's as boring as Frankenstein's monster was clumsy. The best ripping in the world can't make up for lack of substance, and they've chosen to cling to safe material, forgoing innovation and distinctiveness for methods so tried and true they were wearisome by the mid 70s. Granted, Jet do still sound like Jet simply because of lead vocalist Nic Cester's ubiquitous "Yeah!" ejaculations after every refrain. But, trust me, it's a lot more dull than that sentence makes it sound. The safe market, no doubt, consists of indiscriminate teeny-boppers and their paunchy, midlife crisis-immersed parents. Anyone else should steer well clear.